Ten Steps

Author’s Note: Many thanks to Kasey and Shannon for looking over this chapter for me and thanks to all who had reviewed so far. You make me feel warm and fuzzy, which coincidentally makes me write faster. *grin

Chapter 16 Alone

“Excuse me, do you know where I can find the skybox suites?” Harry asked a man in security robes, hoping the wizard might point him in the right direction. The man took a look at his ticket and motioned for Harry to follow him, which he gladly did.

It was precisely one thousand, eight hundred and forty two stairs up to Oliver’s box – Harry was able to count each one in the silence that emanated from the security guard. Harry was just thankful that it wasn’t one of the goons from Harry’s first visit to the pitch and held his tongue, not wanting to press his luck.

He was curious to see who he would be sharing the box with, but he found it empty when he arrived. He secretly hoped that it would be someone he could talk to about the game, because he really needed the distraction. After last night and Malfoy’s rude dismissal, Harry could use all the meaningless conversation he could get to take his mind off of the blond prat who had managed to work his way into Harry’s heart, only to shatter it from the inside.

It was his own fault, Harry knew. He shouldn’t have trusted the Slytherin, shouldn’t have let his guard down and certainly shouldn’t have snogged him senseless. He debated telling Oliver about it, but he knew he couldn’t confess to his boyfriend right before Oliver had to play tonight, but he was still debating whether or not to tell him afterward. The honest Gryffindor in him wanted to spill his guts and let Oliver punish him however he needed to. If that punishment came in the form of breaking up with him, then Harry would just have to cope with that. But seeing as there was zero chance of it ever happening again, Harry wondered if it might be better to remain mum about the entire incident. It would only hurt Oliver to learn that Harry had cheated, and in the end, Harry knew he would berate himself more thoroughly than Oliver ever could.

He felt like a moron having fallen for Malfoy’s tricks.

The memory of the blond’s lips still made him shiver, and he had to admit, Malfoy was a brilliant actor. He had honestly believed, in that moment, that Oliver was entirely wrong for him and that it was Draco he was meant to be with. Just the way the man fit against him, the way his lips and tongue seemed to know him, it seemed far too much to be coincidental. Harry still didn’t know what it was that had caused Malfoy to so swiftly and cruelly dismiss him. It had probably been a test all along, as he’d feared and suspected, and now that Harry had given in and practically thrown himself at the Slytherin, Draco was likely to drop him as a client as well.

Walking out the door to Draco’s flat had been heart wrenching, and Harry felt as though he’d lost his lover, his best friend and his soul mate all in one fell swoop. And even though Harry knew it was ridiculous to think that Draco had been any of those things, it didn’t stop his heart from shattering as he let the door slam shut on an entire chapter of his life. He didn’t know if he’d ever see the Slytherin again, and he had very mixed feelings about that.

Part of him hoped Draco would fall off the face of the Earth, and the rest of him still craved the man’s company as if it were oxygen. He was pathetic.

Luckily, he didn’t have long to dwell on his inability to discern fantasy from reality. At that moment, a blur of blue and gold whooshed by and Harry found himself leaning on the edge of the rail to try and make out which player was his boyfriend. From his vantage point they all looked roughly the same, but then Oliver separated from the pack as he took his place by the goals. Harry waved, even though he knew Oliver could neither see him nor respond in kind, even if he had. The seat next to him was still empty and remained that way through the entire game, so he didn’t care how foolish he might look. He found himself constantly turning to the empty chair when Puddlemere scored a goal, wishing he had someone to celebrate with and feeling rather lonely way up in the clouds by himself.

It wasn’t even a close game. Oliver was perfection at warding off the Quaffle, to the extent that the Harpies didn’t score even one point before Logan swooped in and captured the Snitch, securing Puddlemere’s victory. It was the shortest game Harry had ever sat through, but then he rarely bothered going until the teams were closer to the World Cup. By then it was only the best of the best playing and sometimes the games would last hours. Once, Harry sat through a Puddlemere versus Hammers game that went on for three straight days. By the end, most of the fans had left and weren’t around to see who had won.

He hoped that the brevity of the game meant that he could take Oliver out to dinner afterward. He still hadn’t decided whether or not he should tell his boyfriend about the kiss with Draco, but he’d rather do it in a public place where Oliver would likely keep his cool rather than alone at his flat where Oliver could throttle him. Not that Harry would stop him. If it were physically possible, Harry would have very much liked to throttle himself for his ignorance.

Too slowly, Harry made his way down the many levels to the pitch. He was hindered at every turn by the turtle-like progression or by a fan who would recognize him and feel the need to spark up a conversation as if they were longtime friends. “Is it true you’re dating Oliver Wood?” “Do you think he’ll quit the team now?” Or his favorite, “Have you given thought to the fact that Wood might really be a dark wizard in disguise?”

Harry plastered on a pleasant smile through most of it and answered with the fewest words possible to remain polite. The last thing he needed was the front page of the Prophet showing him screaming at a Quidditch fan who was only being curious. Patience was key in a situation like this, only the trouble was, Harry didn’t feel patient at all. He wanted to get to his boyfriend, hoping the man would erase his lingering feelings of rejection. Oliver wanted him, even if Draco didn’t, and he knew his boyfriend would prove that if he could only get to him.

Finally, Harry drew to the ground floor and walked as swiftly as he could toward the main gate that would lead to the pitch. A security guard blocked his way, but thankfully it was the same one who had directed Harry to the skybox and he merely stepped aside for Harry to pass. He spared no time bolting in the direction of the locker rooms. He didn’t know how long the men lingered there after they changed and it would be just Harry’s luck that he’d miss Oliver altogether. It seemed to have taken ages just to get this far.

He slowed as he started to hear the bustle from the players and realized he’d been panicked over nothing. They mostly ignored him as he made his way into the locker rooms, glancing around to try and find his boyfriend. He nodded occasionally and spouted the usual ‘good game’ to the ones who looked up as he passed, but he still couldn’t seem to locate Oliver in the crowd of sweaty, half-naked men.

“Looking for Olli?” a voice asked from behind him and Harry turned around to see Logan Bradford step up to him.

“Er, yeah,” Harry replied with a nod, not sure what else to say to the man who he temporarily crippled in his stunt to make himself look better. He felt both guilty and indignant toward the man. He didn’t think he was wrong about Logan’s affection for Oliver, but he knew he was wrong to have acted out in such a childish manner as he had.

“He’s gone to look for you, actually. You probably passed him on the stairs without realizing it,” Logan explained, a soft smile on his lips.

“Oh,” Harry sighed, wishing he’d just stayed put. He hadn’t needed to brave all those hectic crowds after all He and Oliver could have had the skybox all to themselves. “Thanks,” he added as he turned to leave.

“Wait, Potter!” Logan called after him. “You can wait here. He’ll be back I’m sure. He didn’t even change before he took off after you.”

Harry didn’t think it was his imagination that Logan looked bitter about that fact, but he pushed it aside and tried to be friendly. “Sorry about the game the other week,” he offered and Logan just shrugged.

“It was silly of me to be jealous,” Bradford admitted. “You’re like a legend to Oliver, though. The best Seeker he’s ever known,” the man whispered, taking on the reverent tone that Oliver often did when he spoke of a brilliant play. “Seeing that you were dating him, I began to question my place on the team.”

Harry blanched and shook his head. “I have no desire to play professional Quidditch,” he assured the man he’d thought was a rival for Oliver’s heart. Turned out he was just a man who thought he was going to get sacked from his dream job because of Harry Potter.

Logan nodded and flushed, scraping his foot along the floor like a chastised student. “Oliver explained that to me in hospital. I’m sorry I was such a prat.”

Harry grinned and held out his hand, which Logan took at once. “Me too. No hard feelings?”

“None,” Logan replied, his own grin matching Harry’s wattage.

“I feel like I should get a picture of this.”

Harry and Logan turned simultaneously to see Oliver leaning against a set of lockers with a smirk on his face that wouldn’t normally be seen on a Gryffindor. “My two favorite guys kiss and make up all on their own,” he added cheerily.

“But, Oliver, I thought we were your favorite guys,” replied one of the Beaters, Countius, who was making his way to Oliver’s side along with the other Beater, Rupert.

“Yeah, Olli,” Rupert said, imitating a sickeningly sweet tone and making loud smooching noises in Oliver’s direction. “Last night you told us we were your favorite.”

“Sod off, guys,” he replied with a laugh, ruffling their hair like a big brother. Harry and Logan joined in the laughter, and Oliver pulled Harry into his chest, pressing a hot kiss to his temple. “So, how did you like the game?” he asked.

“You guys did a fantastic job. The Harpies didn’t stand a chance,” Harry complimented, warming under his boyfriend’s beaming smile.

“If Morgan would stop using that Cleansweep, she might have been able to score,” Rupert exclaimed.

“She’ll be clutching that thing with her cold, dead fingers, mark my words,” Countius added.

“Is the Cleansweep even regulation?” Harry asked, feeling an errant lump forming in his throat. It was a very old broom model, and Harry started to wonder if Oliver hadn’t been fibbing when he made excuses for not using the broom Harry had bought him.

“She uses the fifth edition, which is the only Cleansweep allowed. I’m sure the only reason it hasn’t been knocked off the regulation list is because Morgan pads the committee’s pockets. She swears her broom is good luck,” Logan laughed.

“Obviously, she’s wrong,” Harry muttered and the rest agreed, poking fun at the ancient broom. The group laughed and changed and made plans to go out the next night for a drink at one of the team’s favorite pubs. They invited Harry along, and he found himself rather comfortable in the company of Oliver and his teammates, even Logan, which was not something he could have said just a few hours before.

Slowly but surely, Draco’s face faded from Harry’s mind, and with it, the lingering tingle he felt when he thought about their kiss. Harry would get over this; he would move on. He felt confident of that much at least. Draco had just been a passing fancy, an unattainable dream, but Oliver, his Oliver, was the real thing. He sunk deeper into his boyfriend’s embrace and let the other voices wash over him, taking away the guilt he felt. There was no reason to tell Oliver about his and Draco’s indiscretion because it hadn’t meant anything at all, at least not to Draco. Why give all of this up for one silly, meaningless kiss?

“Ready to go?” Oliver asked Harry after Logan had named off the last ten World Cup winners on a dare. It had been fairly easy since most of them had been Puddlemere United.

“Sure,” Harry replied quietly and they bid everyone a good night and strode out into the balmy air of the pitch.

“You seem distracted tonight, Harry,” Oliver noticed, threading his fingers through Harry’s. “What’s on your mind?”

“It’s just been a long night I think,” Harry evaded. “It was nice meeting some of your teammates.”

“Yeah, they’re all good guys. They’re all happy for me, well, for us,” he amended.

Harry laughed and glanced over at his boyfriend, noticing the expectant gleam in his eyes. He knew he was allowed to kiss Oliver now, that he’d gotten to the point in the program where he could just lean in and press his lips to Oliver’s and give the man what he wanted, but it seemed too soon after his minor infidelity.

“We should go out this weekend,” Harry proposed out of the blue, smiling as Oliver’s eyes lit up. “A proper date, just the two of us. It feels like we’ve been in groups more often than we get to be alone.”

“Are you planning to seduce me with a candlelit dinner, Harry?” Oliver teased.

“Maybe,” Harry replied, waggling his eyebrows. “Would you turn me down?”

Oliver stopped short and used their joined hands to pull Harry to him, chest to chest. It knocked the air out of Harry’s lungs, and not just because of the suddenness of the movement, but from the weight of Oliver’s dark gaze as he pressed every line of his body against Harry’s. “I could never refuse you anything, Harry,” he replied evenly, his voice deep to match the color of his eyes.

Harry swayed with the emotions that were ripping through him. He leaned in, inches away from ignoring his initial inclination and capturing Oliver’s lips when a bright flash accosted them, leaving Harry stumbling and blind. Harry tried to blink away the white spots from his vision as a barrage of questions assailed them and more bulbs flashed.

“Mr. Potter, are you and Mr. Wood really engaged?”

“Oliver, Madeline Clancy with the Daily Prophet, does this mean you’ve sworn off of your bachelor days?”

“Edgar Rothschild with Wand Magazine. As prominent wizards in the community, are you concerned about the heightened attention toward homosexuality because of your union?”

“You are both second generation purebloods, aren’t you at all worried about ending your bloodline by not marrying a pureblood witch and producing proper heirs?”

Harry wanted to throw his hands over his ears and scream for everyone to shut up and leave them alone, but this was his life. Harry was a celebrity - despite his best effort to get the world to forget about him - and now he was dating the captain and Keeper for the most successful Quidditch team in Britain. He was going to have to get used to being the media’s focus, at least for a while. It didn’t mean he had to like it, though.

“I think my sexuality has been addressed in all of your papers before,” Harry replied, trying his best not to sound too snippy. “As for the rest, you’ll all just need to wait for our representatives to make a public statement.”

Oliver shot him a curious look, to which Harry wanted to shrug but knew he couldn’t with the camera’s still flashing. By representative, Harry meant Hermione. She’d always been his mouthpiece when something was too big for Harry to handle alone. She always knew exactly what to say and with what tone to say it in and the media had always trusted her without pause. He had no idea if Oliver had someone who made public announcements for him, but Harry was sure that Hermione wouldn’t mind speaking for them both when the time came.

The bulbs continued to go off and the offensive questions shouted at them until Harry was at his wits end. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we were just on our way home to engage in some hot gay sex,” Harry shouted over the din, smirking to himself when the crowd of reporters grew suddenly silent and still in their shock.

Oliver snickered beside him as Harry led them off the pitch and to a nearby alley, where he Apparated them both to his flat. “Did you mean that?” Oliver asked, chuckling to himself.

Harry sighed, and tried to find the humor in the issue that his boyfriend did, but he just couldn’t muster up the energy. “I just wish they’d leave me alone,” he groaned, flopping onto the nearest soft place, which happened to be his sofa.

Oliver moved to sit on the edge, pulling his boyfriend’s feet up into his lap where he quickly shoved off his trainers and began rubbing between Harry’s toes. “You should be dating someone less prominent then,” Oliver chastised. “The media is there after all of my games, even if there is nothing this salacious for them to report on.”

“I know,” Harry moaned, both from frustration and the fantastic feel of Oliver’s fingers. “I just wasn’t as prepared as I should have been, and can you believe them? Asking about our sexuality as if it were any of their business, and accusing us of sullying our family names?! It was outrageous!”

“It was,” Oliver agreed in a voice that Harry would have called patronizing on anyone else, but he knew his boyfriend was being genuine. “It was out of line, but it’s only going to get worse after your last comment. They’ll be after you for a blow up now,” he warned.

Harry knew all of this already and had regretted the words the moment they left his lips. Still, he’d been able to bask in some satisfaction at getting them all to shut the hell up, even if it was for just a minute. He couldn’t help but think that Hermione and Ron would be proud. Hell, Oliver looked practically giddy from Harry’s outburst, but that might mean he thought he was getting shagged tonight.

“So, about that date,” Harry prompted, trying to dispel that notion and lead away from another conversation about how much he hated the media all at once. “Are you interested?”

“Harry,” Oliver began, looking down at him with lust-starved eyes, “I’m always interested.”

Harry smiled and pulled Oliver from the arm of his sofa down on top of him, plying his cheeks and forehead with kisses. “I’ll make all of the arrangements then. How is Saturday night?” he asked.

“Saturday is perfect,” Oliver whispered and pulled himself to his feet. “I should get going.”

“Did I say something wrong?” Harry asked, unsure why Oliver seemed so quick to go.

“No,” Oliver assured him. “I’m just a bit…I can’t lay here with you without wanting to press my luck, so I’m going to go home and wank,” he admitted at last with a brilliant blush. Harry couldn’t stop grinning.

“Really?” he asked, standing up and winding his arms around Oliver’s waist so that he couldn’t escape. He pressed their erections together, hissing with pleasure at the delicious friction. “I’ll likely be doing the same right after you go.”

Oliver’s answering sigh sounding like frustration mixed with relief. “I was beginning to wonder if you just weren’t physically attracted to me,” he whispered and Harry kissed the corner of his mouth to try and assuage the man’s fears.

“I just want everything to be perfect,” he replied, curling his fingers into Oliver’s hair. “I find you very, very,” he began, rutting against his boyfriend to drive home the point, “very attractive.”

Oliver grinned and stole a chaste kiss from Harry before pulling away and heading for the door. “Stop testing my willpower,” he warned with a laugh. “I’ll see you at the pub tomorrow night?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Harry promised and Oliver was gone the next moment, leaving Harry alone on the sofa to contemplate how he was going to spend the rest of his evening.

The echoes of pain still laced through Draco’s body when he woke up Friday morning. He tried to disregard that fact in his gratitude that he had woken up at all. When he took the sleeping draught Wednesday night, trying to numb away some of the pain with sleep, he wasn’t entirely sure he would live through the night, let alone the next day. At the moment, he hadn’t cared. Draco had just wanted the searing fire in his veins to end once and for all. He even allowed himself a moment of logic amidst his excruciating state where he reasoned that death might make everyone’s lives easier, including his own.

Harry might mourn, especially if he was in any way alerted to the cause of Draco’s death, but it would save him the confusion Draco was putting him through and Draco would finally be out of his hair so that Potter could pursue Oliver wholeheartedly.

But Thursday came and went with Draco in a comatose state and then the Friday morning sun beamed brightly into his windows and his eyelids opened to meet it. Draco was thankful the magicks had spared his life but he didn’t think he had too many ‘get out of Azkaban free’ cards still left in his deck. As the affliction receded into a dull ache, just sharp enough to remind Draco of his folly, the blond got up, steadying himself on wobbly legs, and headed downstairs.

He drew himself a bath, intent on soaking in it for hours if that’s what was needed to repel the final vestiges of pain from his limbs, and he wondered what he was going to do now. He couldn’t kiss Harry again. Even though the ache in his body sharpened just thinking about it, it didn’t overshadow the ache in his heart at the loss. He was no closer to finding a new match for Oliver than he’d been a week ago and his eyes at the Puddlemere pitch didn’t make Logan seem like a promising option. According to his favorite reporter, every word Oliver exchanged with the man and every gesture made was clearly only platonic and Quidditch related. Draco knew that Harry was jealous of Bradford, but he couldn’t manage to prove anything untoward was going on there. Either Oliver honestly had no feelings for his Seeker, or he was just another oblivious Gryffindor.

Draco’s Galleons were on the latter, but even if he were right, it wouldn’t help him. Oliver was an upstanding citizen of the wizarding community and had been nothing but faithful to his boyfriend. He knew Harry’s conscience was going to be lashing through the man today after the dust settled and the Gryffindor realized he’d cheated on his boyfriend with a Slytherin, but Draco couldn’t assume that Harry would act on his guilt because of the way things had ended between them. Had Draco just rode out the pain long enough to explain, or had he even been more magnanimous in his insistence for Harry to leave, things might look different today. As it stood, Draco would be lucky if Harry ever spoke to him again.

But, maybe that was for the best.

Avoiding Harry, or Harry avoiding him, seemed to be the most consistent way of remaining a living and breathing wizard. It would ensure that no more slips occurred, and it would allow Harry to move on and forget all about him.

Although, it might also anger the magicks, and Draco didn’t want to take a chance of that happening again. Not when he’d barely escaped with his life the last time. It seemed that there was a rock to his left, a hard place to his right and the wind was dashing his body in between the two, leaving him bruised and broken.

Staring down into the golden ribbons of his soothing bath potion, Draco had a reluctant epiphany. If Harry had a golden match outside of his pure match with Draco than why couldn’t Draco not have the same? Maybe there was some handsome stranger out there, waiting to fill the void that his heart felt from being denied Harry. Sure, he had searched for that match for years already, but perhaps if Draco focused on a new search, instead of only thinking about Harry, then this mystery man might finally materialize. He’d certainly earned it, being as restrained as he’d been so far. One kiss was nothing in comparison to the depth of emotions he had been denying himself. If Harry was going to run off and marry Oliver and live happily ever after, didn’t Draco deserve the same?

When a dark owl swooped in to drop off the morning paper, Harry and Oliver’s faces plastered across the page with the former’s scandalous quote in blinking red script, Draco had his confirmation. Harry wanted Oliver and the Gryffindor Golden Boy always got what he wanted.

Draco scribbled a quick note and sent it along to the Ministry. It wasn’t even a half hour before his owl returned with his own note and Harry’s tight scrawl beneath it.

Potter,

I do hope this morning’s paper is mistaken and you haven’t jumped ahead in our lessons.

Draco

Malfoy,

I’m not taking any more of your bloody lessons, so you can stop feigning concern and mind your own business.

HJP

Yes, Harry was rightfully livid and had moved on to bigger and better things. Draco would have to do the same. He was going to start dating again, if only to take his mind off of Harry once and for all.

Author’s Note: Well, well, well. Now what? The title of the next chapter is ‘Green-Eyed Monster’, so I suppose you can all guess what Harry’s reaction to this development will be. Does anyone like Oliver yet? Lol.