Ten Steps

Author’s Note: Thanks to Kasey and Shannon for their beta work, and thanks to all who have reviewed this story so far! You all make my day!

Chapter 14 Numb

Draco hadn’t been sleeping well, and he knew exactly why.

It could be explained easily enough by any number of things, such as the fact he was falling helplessly in love with a man who only had eyes for another, but Draco knew better. He wasn’t able to sleep because the magicks were angry with him, and they were keeping him awake. It might have seemed like a silly coincidence except for that when he did sleep, his dreams were filled with the image of Harry placing flowers on his tombstone. Morbid, yes. Scary, of course, but the worst part was that Draco knew that these weren’t dreams at all, but premonitions – images of exactly what would happen to him if he continued this foolish path with Harry.

He’d almost kissed the man, almost broken two unforgivably powerful spells with one single gesture that Harry would have likely punched him for. But he’d seemed to want it at the time….

Draco shook his head. No. He couldn’t go down that road again. It didn’t matter if Harry had wanted to kiss him in that moment, because the Gryffindor would have hated him for it in the very next. He would have labeled Draco the villain for ruining his relationship with Oliver, and then the magicks would have sought Draco out and murdered him in a very slow and painful way.

Proof of that was plastered all over the front of every newspaper and magazine in Europe, featuring the smiling, happy faces of Oliver and Harry. Soon enough, those same papers would hold the announcement of the couple’s engagement. That was what Harry wanted, what the man craved and what Draco had promised to deliver.

It was ridiculous to even dwell on it, and even more ridiculous to have told Clive his every frustration over a bottle of wine. His Slytherin friend didn’t know about Draco being Harry’s soul mate, but he did tell Clive about being Harry’s second match.

“Did I have another match?” the man asked, and Draco merely shrugged.

“Not that I’m aware of,” he replied, “but it’s not an uncommon thing.”

“What about Gin?” he inquired and Draco shot him a wry grin.

“Worried someone else could have been buggering your wife?” Draco teased, but his friend merely pursed his lips and shook his head.

“She’s an unpretentious pureblood with the perfect genetics to breed dozens of heirs, and to top that all off, she’s the Chosen One’s ex girlfriend. Who wouldn’t want that as their ever-after?” the man reasoned but Draco saw straight through Clive’s words. He knew, probably better than anyone, that his best friend was head over heels in love with his wife, and it had nothing to do with her perfect uterus or her pure blood.

“Once I matched you two, and saw the way you connected, I had no need to compare either of your profiles against any one else,” Draco assured him. “So, if either of you have another match out there, it remains unknown.”

“For the best, I’m sure,” Clive whispered, no doubt thinking about Draco’s precarious situation. “So, you matched yourself against Harry to prove that he wasn’t meant for you, and then he turned out to be your one and only? How tragically ironic.”

“Get stuffed, Clive,” Draco muttered. “It seemed like a perfectly good idea at the time, but now I can’t get the sodding Gryffindor out of my head.”

“Why don’t you just tell him? Let Harry decide who he wants?” Clive suggested, but Draco shook his head.

“I asked if he would want to know if he had a second match, and he said he wouldn’t, and anyway, he’s already chosen Oliver. He chose him at the dinner party, he chose him on the Quidditch field and he chose him again Sunday night after the play. Besides, I don’t even know if the magic would let me tell him,” Draco sighed.

“Harry’s oblivious, Draco. You of all people should realize this,” Clive explained. “You have to put aside your Slytherin tendencies and be direct with him, show him how you feel about him in a way that he can’t possibly dispute and twist around in his head. Knowing Harry, he probably thinks you’re trying to trick him with your flirtations.”

“He couldn’t possibly be that dense, could he?” Draco asked, but he already knew the answer, and Clive’s patronizing gaze confirmed it for him. Yes, if Potter wanted to, he could thoroughly convince himself of just about anything. He was the epitome of a stubborn Gryffindor, and once he got it into his head that things were a certain way, it took nothing short of slamming the truth over his head like a brick to get him to think differently. Harry still thought he was the sneaky prat from Hogwarts, and even though that part of Draco still lurked inside of him, he was so much more than that now.

He would have to make Harry see that.

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The tickets to Oliver’s Quidditch game tomorrow were taped to a photo of Harry, Ron and Hermione from their Hogwarts days. Harry could hardly believe what those three ragamuffin kids had morphed into after thirteen years, but here they were, all three of them having turned thirty that year, and all of them were happy – Harry included for a change.

Harry was excited about watching Oliver play, something he hadn’t done since he stopped going to every Quidditch match in his early twenties. It made it that much better that now, when Harry cheered the team on, he’d be rooting for his boyfriend and not just some random Keeper. Things seemed to be falling into place for both of them, but Harry just had one final issue to settle, and that was Malfoy. Even after spending a terrific evening with Oliver, the blond still lingered in his thoughts and gnawed at his subconscious until Harry was riddled with guilt.

After worrying over it all week, Harry decided that the reason he was still so attracted to Draco, was because they had developed a physical connection where he and Oliver had not. It wasn’t Oliver’s fault of course - the man had made it clear that he was ready to move things forward where that was concerned - but Harry had shied away from it because of the program. He needed to follow Draco’s steps and advice, because the man hadn’t led him astray so far, but he also needed to rush things along because he and Oliver were both growing impatient.

Which brought up another problem. Draco hadn’t tried to contact him even once since their non-date had ended abruptly Sunday night and Harry was growing antsy. He wanted to contact Draco himself, but every time he looked at a blank sheaf of parchment, he kept seeing the dejected look in Malfoy’s eyes as the man walked away and he couldn’t find the right words. It was silly, Harry knew, mostly because there was no reason for Draco to seem upset over Oliver showing up on Harry’s doorstep, only…they’d been about to kiss.

Harry shook his head and admonished himself for thinking of that evening again. It was good that Oliver had shown up when he did. If Harry had kissed Draco, it would have ruined everything. Harry had been out of his mind with pent up sexual tension, and Draco had been the nearest outlet, that was all it was, and Harry would have regretted it for the rest of his life had he closed those last few inches and attacked Draco’s perfect lips.

“Mail!” shouted a voice from the hall before a stack of letters came careening into his office to land haphazardly on his desk. Harry cursed and whipped out his wand to clean up the mess from his coffee being tipped over and muttered under his breath about the Ministry’s capability to hire qualified mail clerks.

He flipped through the contents of the day’s Owls and separated them into piles for vendor invoices, case related mail, personal and junk. The junk pile was the largest, as usual. There was only one personal note, so Harry opened it first, growing curious as he saw Clive’s elegant scrawl.

Harry,

I’m thrilled you could attend the play Sunday night, especially since the invitation had been so last minute. I trust my friend Draco did an adequate job of getting you home safely? Please tell me if he was in any way ungentlemanly and I’ll ensure the proper recourse.

Yours truly,

Clive Harper

Harry rolled his eyes but couldn’t seem to contain his soft laughter. The note was clearly nonsense, because Harry hadn’t seen Clive at all that night. That had all been part of Draco’s elaborate lie to Oliver, which Harry still felt like rubbish for. Still, he couldn’t complain too much when the lie had gotten him out of boiling water with his boyfriend. It seemed the blond had gone to additional precautions to ensure the falsity of his words were never discovered.

Harry appreciated the lengths Draco had gone in order to cover their tracks, but the best part about the letter was that it finally gave Harry a reason to contact the blond without seeming like an insufferable bother. Without a moment’s hesitation, Harry had a note scrawled and sent to the man’s flat within minutes.

Draco,

I got a letter from Clive this afternoon. You’re very thorough. Floo me when you get the chance. I’d like to discuss our next meeting.

HJP

It was simple and to the point, as Harry often was in his missives. Sending the letter off reminded him that just weeks ago he’d been corresponding with the blond over sausages and again, without fail, his lips curled into a smile at the thought. It didn’t make sense to him why everything had been so easy with Draco. Harry often found himself craving the man’s company, even when he was with Oliver, but he couldn’t understand why. It was obvious that they had a connection, but he was matched with Oliver, and the way Draco explained the spells he used to determine the match, Harry and Oliver were nearly perfectly compatible. So then why did he sometimes feel as though it was Draco he was courting and not his boyfriend?

The answer eluded him, so Harry tried to push the question out of his mind. Perhaps he’d just known Draco for longer, or maybe they had very similar sensibilities, or maybe it was just one of Draco’s many talents to make his clients feel perfectly comfortable around him. Either way, Harry was sure that his attraction to the blond would fade as soon as he completed the program and took Oliver for his own, once and for all.

With this in mind, Harry fell into his work with mindless abandon. It was a slow field day, so he took the down time to catch up on all his paperwork, even though it was an excruciatingly dull task and he let his mind wander to other things, namely, the two men who constantly occupied his thoughts these days.

He’d skipped over lunch in his preoccupied state and when he looked up, he realized it was already half passed three and his stomach was rumbling. Harry got up, intent on tracking down a snack to tide him over until he could leave for the day, but discovered his arse was completely numb from sitting in the same spot for hours on end. He really needed to find a different office chair.

Rubbing at his arse cheeks with the palms of his hands - Harry had thought it was a good idea to try and dispel the pins and needles feeling that had crept into unwanted areas of his body - until a soft chuckle from the doorway had him blushing furiously as he realized how ridiculous he must look.

“Need some assistance with that, Potter?” Draco asked from the doorway, his elegant eyebrows poised in obvious amusement.

“Thanks, but no,” Harry muttered and placed his hands securely in his pockets instead. “My arse had fallen asleep,” he tried to explain, but stopped when it only seemed to fuel the blond’s smile that much more. “What brings you here?”

“I got your letter,” he replied, “and I was in the area.”

“You could have just Flooed like I’d asked,” Harry pointed out, still annoyed and embarrassed at having been caught in such a compromising position.

“And miss the sexy arse rub I got to witness? Never,” he replied with a cheeky grin. Harry resisted rolling his eyes, but just barely. “Besides, you said you wanted to discuss our next meeting, and I thought it would be rather tiresome to sit on my knees that long in front of a fireplace when I could be doing so with a moaning bloke instead,” he added with a wink.

“You’re insufferable,” Harry replied, but his had to fight back a laugh so as not to encourage the blond. “Do you actually pick up men with lines like those, or are you just testing it out for the first time?”

“I’ve bedded men with sillier tripe than that,” he confessed, “but it’s hardly fun if it’s not a challenge.”

Harry nodded, understanding flooding him completely. That was what he was to Draco. A challenge. Well, not anymore. “Well, you can save it for the whores you pick up in the pub, Malfoy. I’m not interested in your lines.”

An almost imperceptible wince flew across Draco’s features, but he nodded and took a step closer to Harry in the next moment, crushing any resolve that Harry had built up in the last few minutes. “What is it that you want from me, Harry?” he whispered, when he was so close that Harry could feel his breath, warm and fragrant, against his lips.

Everything. Nothing. Both seemed like excellent answers right that second, but Harry couldn’t seem to utter a word with the intoxicating blond so close.

“Clive said I should tell you everything,” he continued when Harry remained mute. “Should I, Harry? Should I bear my soul to you?”

Harry’s eyelids fluttered and drooped, and his throat produced a soft moan at the words, so erotic sounding from Draco’s purring mouth. He started to say yes, began to plead with Draco to tell him anything, everything, but his mind screamed at him to stop being bowled over by Malfoy’s games and his eyes snapped open and his feet carried him backwards.

“I don’t need to know your soul, Malfoy. We have a contract, a business deal together, that’s all. At most we’re friends, but even that is balancing on a thin strand if you think you can continue to boldly proposition me without consequence,” Harry huffed, glaring up at the man, who had turned back into his usual, stoic self.

Harry knew that meant he had hurt Draco’s feelings, and that knowledge dug deep within his chest and stabbed straight into his heart, but he couldn’t make himself listen to that stabbing pain. He was a Gryffindor, of course he didn’t enjoy hurting people, but something had to be said, because Draco was taking things too far now. Malfoy was using himself as a tantalizing morsel to steer Harry away from his true path, and it wasn’t right. Especially not when the man had committed to help Harry win Oliver.

“I’ll do my best to try and resist your charm, Potter,” Draco replied sarcastically. “I apologize if I’ve offended you with my overt flirtations. Though, you should know that I do not think you’re just another notch.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m sure,” he scoffed, but Draco’s haughty glare stopped him in his tracks.

“You’re foolish if you think this is just a game to me, Potter,” Draco continued. The words soul mate were on the tip of his tongue, but the magic clamped around his throat and squeezed, taking the breath he would have used to speak the title.

“Yes, well, you spend an awful lot of time calling me a fool, but what else am I to think?” Harry pressed. “If you want me to see you in a different light, make your intentions plain,” he insisted, and even Harry didn’t understand what he meant when he pleaded for the blond to be clear. He couldn’t acknowledge the feeling that chewed at his heart, begging Draco to tell him something that would make a difference. He didn’t realize it at the time, but he desperately wanted Draco to confess to having the same affection Harry felt.

The problem was, Draco wasn’t allowed to.

He just stood there, his face turning red with the effort to simply tell Harry that he was in love with him, that he belonged to him, heart, body and soul, but the words remained frustratingly out of reach and eventually Harry sagged and nodded. “I thought not,” he whispered and turned away so as not to show how hurt he was by Draco’s silence. “Look,” he said, upon turning around to face Draco once more. “How about we just start fresh, hm? Do you have time to meet with me this week for another session?”

“Tomorrow night?” Draco suggested with a rasp as the magic let go of him, but Harry shook his head.

“I have plans with Oliver,” he confessed, determined not to make his voice sound disappointed.

“How about tonight then,” he offered and Harry nodded.

“Tonight is fine. I can come by your place after work,” he suggested and Draco turned away with a curt nod.

“As you wish,” he replied over his shoulder.

Harry stopped him just before he was out the door, his hand wrapped firmly around Draco’s pale wrist. “Listen, Draco,” he began, swallowing down the shiver that ran through him from the contact with the blond’s skin, “I know I’m probably a difficult client.” He ignored the look that Draco gave him, clearly saying that Harry would get no argument from him, and pressed on. “But, I like you, and I really do appreciate everything you’re doing for me.”

Draco just stared down at him with an exasperated sigh. How could this man, this stubbornly blind Gryffindor, keep pulling him back? Why could Draco never stay angry with him? Right. Soul Mates. The term was beginning to sound more like a curse the longer it whispered through his mind. “It’s all part of the job, Potter,” he replied curtly, though the words lacked the venom they would have held for anyone else.

“I find it hard to believe that you pay such careful attention to all your clients, Malfoy,” Harry rejected.

“Well, the Savior of the Wizarding World is special, after all,” Draco replied, knowing the words would injure Harry as much as Draco himself was currently hurting. True to form, Harry cringed at the title but it didn’t make Draco feel any better. It only made his pain sharpen and burn.

“Fair enough,” Harry sighed and let go of Draco’s wrist.

“I’ll see you tonight,” Draco whispered, disappearing from the room before he could say anything else that might forever haunt his nightmares.

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Author’s Note: Oh, they hurt each other so deeply. Silly boys. Harry’s sort of coming around, but now that Draco’s broken through Harry’s oblivious nature, he’d better watch out for those magicks….