Ten Steps

Author’s Note: Thanks again to Kasey and Shannon for their beta work, and thanks to everyone for their reviews! This chapter is dedicated to Twistyguru, who lets plot bunnies run rampant in my brain matter. This might be the longest chapter of the story so far...

Chapter 17 Green-eyed Monster

Warm, amber light flooded into the street as Clive opened the door to The Unicorn Horn, ushering Harry ahead of him and into the crowded pub. The heady aroma of malted barley and black cherries took over, coming from the massive copper cask in the corner where the pub brewed their own dark lager. It also served to naturally heat the room on this blustery evening, and Harry found himself drawn instinctively away from the doorway to that side of the room.

The patrons were packed edge to edge, and Harry had to fight his way through robes of varying shades to get to the spot at the bar where Ron and Neville already sat nursing pints. Harry hadn’t been to this particular wizarding pub before, and found the place a sight classier than any of the places he and Ron used to inhabit, and he had thought those pubs nice. The bar was a long oval, made of polished walnut that showed both age and beauty in the raw finishing. Above the bar hung several chandeliers of different sizes, but all of them looked like dismantled family crests, with lions fighting unicorns and eagles soaring around mighty dragons over swords and shields.

The front consisted of a wide bay window with bistro tables and chairs, and though the patrons could look out over the streets of London and passing traffic, all the Muggles would see was a dusty façade of a closed down bookstore. Even when customers entered at the street, others would merely see the wizards wandering down a dark alleyway beside the shop. It was a tricky prospect to put a popular wizarding facility like this one smack dab in the middle of plain sight, but the pub had been successful with it for over fifty years so far.

Harry clapped Ron on the shoulder and leaned over to spy on his drink. “How long have you been here?”

“Two pints worth,” the redhead answered with a grin. “Though Neville’s been here longer and that’s still his first,” he added, gesturing to the half-full glass in front of their friend. Neville rolled his eyes and wasn’t the least bit put-off by Ron’s teasing.

“You just have no survival instincts,” Neville countered.

Harry laughed and slid onto a stool between the two men, while Clive sat on the other side of Neville. He could easily picture the fright that Hermione would be if Neville showed up sloshed on her doorstep that evening. He couldn’t blame the Herbology Professor for being cautious. “Clive said he’ll be drinking light as well,” Harry mentioned, shooting the man a placating smile. “He doesn’t want to anger the missus,” he explained.

“Stumbling in pissed tends to rule out any chance of a shag in my near future,” the Slytherin pointed out and Ron laughed for a moment before his face fell into a deep grimace.

“Clive, Mate, how many times do I have to ask you not to talk about shagging my little sister?” he complained, gulping down his pint as if that might drown out any images he had conjured before it was too late.

Instead of apologizing, Clive merely chuckled and raised his hands up in defense. “It’s not my fault your sister is so good in bed.”

Ron groaned around the rim of his glass and drank faster while Harry laughed, tuning out the conversation he’d already heard a hundred times as he scanned the bar for anyone he might recognize. Harry had agreed to meet Oliver and the other Puddlemere players here after their practice, but he didn’t know what time that would be.

Unexpectedly, his eyes landed on the man he’d been trying not to think about for the last several hours, no matter how fond of the man he’d grown. Harry felt a twinge of pain as he thought again of their kiss, and then Draco’s reaction. He still didn’t understand it and he desperately wanted to. As if sensing that he was now the focus of Harry’s gaze, Draco looked up and offered him a hesitant smile and a nod before drifting back into the conversation he was having with the gentleman beside him.

Harry parted from his friends with muttered excuses and shoved his way over to where the blond was sitting. He couldn’t explain the pull he’d felt, or the reasoning behind his wanting to speak to the blond just then, but he knew there was something that still needed to be said between them. “Malfoy, it seems weird somehow to see you in a pub,” he said, trying to start off lightly.

Draco turned and glanced around him before settling on Harry. “This is the only one I ever visit.”

“Are the rest too low rent for you?” he asked, unable to keep the bite from his voice. He’d been intent on apologizing for the abrupt rudeness of his letter that morning, but his earlier ire stole through.

“No, the others are all darker and quiet. I only come here for the noise. Sometimes I just need to get out of my own head for a bit,” he explained and Harry nodded, thinking it made unfortunately perfect sense.

“I wanted to apologize for my rudeness this morning,” he told the blond. “I just…well, I just don’t know how to deal with what happened between us the other night, but I wanted to give you a chance to explain.”

The man to Draco’s left vacated his stool, so Harry took it up, ignoring the man on Draco’s other side that shot him an odd look. It wasn’t until Harry caught Malfoy’s discomfort, billowing off of him in waves, that he stopped to take in the situation fully. Draco looked nice in perfectly tailored gray robes that matched his eye color, his hair purposefully disheveled in the way Harry found he fancied and his eyes were bright with nerves. The man next to him was handsome, dark hair, dark eyes, just enough facial hair to look masculine but not enough to appear unkempt, and deep sapphire robes that made a striking contrast against Draco’s just as everything else about the man seemed to. And his hand was resting possessively on the small of Malfoy’s back.

“Potter, this is Alston, my date,” he told Harry sharply when it seemed they had all come to the same conclusion at once.

“Oh,” Harry breathed, feeling a flush of embarrassment that overpowered the humiliation at his delayed reaction to such an obvious fact. “I didn’t know you were dating anyone,” he said at last, as if that would explain his utter lack of observation and the sudden flight of his usually keen Auror skills.

“Well, I am,” Draco informed him briskly, and Alston reached out his hand for Harry to shake, which he did, albeit reluctantly.

“You’re Harry Potter, aren’t you?” the man asked, awestruck with celebrity. “Hon, you didn’t tell me you knew the Harry Potter.”

“I wasn’t aware that a list of all my acquaintances was a prerequisite when meeting you for drinks,” Draco snapped, and Harry had a feeling it had less to do with Alston’s words and more to do with Harry’s interference, though he made a good point.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” the man replied sheepishly and tucked the hand Harry had just shaken back into his robe pocket quickly. All the while, Harry was wondering how he’d been demoted from friend to acquaintance in a matter of minutes. “I was only trying to be courteous.”

“I know,” Draco whispered and shot the man a begrudging smile. “Thanks.”

That one word made Harry’s insides boil as Alston beamed at him and leaned in to kiss the corner of Draco’s mouth. Jealousy, like the stinger of a scorpion, lanced through him and it took all his learned political skills to refrain from showing the couple just what he thought of the tender display. It was nothing really, just a small kiss, but that one touch made Harry want to scream at Alston and hex him through the window.

He tried to shake it off, tried to reason that there was no call for him to be so jealous, so angry, because Draco wasn’t doing anything wrong. Besides, Harry had Oliver, who was waltzing into the pub with his arm wrapped around two other blokes just that moment. That was something to be jealous of, not this quiet couple beside him.

“Right, well, have a good night then, I’m off to fetch Oliver from the grasp of his admirers,” he said as he launched himself quickly away from Draco and his date and toward his boyfriend. “Olli,” he greeted, carefully enunciating the pet name, “Who are they?”

He tried to keep his voice level and dispatch with the accusatory tone, but some of it must have leaked through, because Oliver shot him the oddest glance before pulling away from the other two men and wrapping himself tightly around his boyfriend. “Harry, you remember Countius Higgenbaum and Rupert Gruff, Puddlemere United’s Beaters, don’t you?”

Harry felt his face flame up again; it seemed he was getting all his perceptions wrong tonight. Had he paid attention, instead of swimming in an envious fog, he would have recognized the men straight away. “Happy to see you again,” he greeted, reaching out his hand to shake as Oliver whispered in his ear.

“You were jealous,” he accused lightly, smiling against the shell of Harry’s ear. “How adorable.”

Harry smiled and tried not to betray the shiver Oliver had caused him to the two newcomers. He didn’t know how Oliver’s teammates would take it and didn’t want to place himself in the center of more humiliation tonight. “I was a little,” Harry admitted, though he left off about the source of his jealousy.

“I’ll let you make it up to me later,” Oliver whispered, his tone promising delicious things and Harry couldn’t help but smile in return, deftly ignoring the pair of smoldering gray eyes boring into the side of his head.

“Everyone’s over there.” Harry pointed to the other side of the pub, where Neville, Clive and Ron still sat and Oliver nodded, indicating that Harry should lead the way. He took the long way around, avoiding where Draco and his date were in deep conversation, and led Oliver and his teammates to the far end of the room. Harry took a stool, and Oliver stood behind him, his arms lacing around Harry’s shoulders as they waited for the barman to fetch them drinks.

“You know, it’s not fair that we had to leave our wives at home, but Harry gets to bring his,” Clive pointed out. Harry and Neville suppressed a snigger while Ron and Oliver both shouted ‘Oi’ in unison as if it were practiced.

Harry pressed back into him and ran his hands along the outside of Oliver’s thighs in a calming movement, though Oliver didn’t sound mad at all, simply amused and mockingly offended. “Is that what you call me when you’re out with your friends?” he asked, chuckling lightly when Harry responded, ‘of course’ and rolled his eyes as if that would be the obvious thing to do.

“They all ask where you are, and I tell them you’re at home making me dinner,” Harry explained sarcastically.

“Speaking of, I’ve left a delicious pot roast warming in the oven, Sweetie,” he teased. The friends all laughed at that, and Harry felt awash with contentment. Oliver was the perfect boyfriend, so he couldn’t explain how his eyes still managed to find Draco’s in the crowded pub.

The bar was spinning slightly in Harry’s vision, though he didn’t think that had anything to do with the amount of alcohol he’d consumed while watching Draco and his date make eyes at one another all evening. It wasn’t the touching, or the smiling, or even the way they spoke intimately in the loud din of the pub, albeit, all those things made Harry’s stomach churn from more than just lager. It was the way Alston made Draco smile and laugh that really sliced Harry to the thick. He’d admitted to Harry once that not many people could make him smile the way that Harry always seemed to, and as little a thing as that might be, the comment touched Harry more deeply than he had realized until right this moment. He felt guilty for devoting so much attention on a man who was only supposed to be his friend, but no matter how much he tried, Harry couldn’t seem to help it.

Oliver leaned into Harry's back and steadied him, leaning over every now and then to check Harry’s progress into drunkenness. Oliver smelled good - like fresh cut grass and tumbled linen - he was handsome – no one would deny that – he made Harry laugh, they had loads in common, so why wasn’t he completely and utterly happy? Why was Draco, out on his own rightful date, still drawing him in and ruining his night? It made no sense whatsoever, and hard as he tried, Harry couldn’t seem to find the answers at the bottom of his pint glass.

“I think we’ve got a shot at the World Cup this year,” Ron announced proudly. “We’ve bested all the teams we’ve played so far, and it’ll just get tougher, but I think the Cannons are up for the task.”

“What happens if both our teams make it to the World Cup?” Oliver speculated. “Who are you going to root for, Harry?”

“It’s not like you can root for both of them,” Clive pointed out with a mischievous, Slytherin grin.

“He’ll root for the Cannons, of course,” Ron scoffed. “I’m his best mate.”

“But I’m his boyfriend,” Oliver pointed out. “Surely that would make him root for Puddlemere? Plus, he’ll have my box seats to watch the game.”

“He’ll look pretty silly wearing orange in the Puddlemere box seats,” Ron mused.

“Boys, boys,” Harry slurred. “There’s plenty of ol’ Harry to go around. I can cheer for both of you.”

Oliver and Ron both shared a glance over Harry's head and then burst into a fit of laughter. “Harry, mate, I think it’s time to take you home,” Ron offered.

Ron himself was slurring, and stumbled as he tried to help Harry off his stool so Oliver interceded and grasped Harry tightly around the waist and pulled him to his chest. “It’s alright, Ron. I’ll get him home. I’ve only had one beer all night and I’m fine to Apparate.”

“Whatever you say, Mate,” Ron replied with a wink, to which Oliver just shook his head and smiled weakly.

The bar grew fuzzy for Harry before he even reached the door, but he felt as though Draco’s gaze never left his progress through the pub, even though Harry never turned to confirm that. The last thing he remembered was the sickening feel of Apparition, fighting to keep his dinner down – he thought he succeeded - and the feel of warm lips pressed against his forehead where his scar sat placidly, soaking up the affection before Harry fell asleep.

Harry hated life.

He hated the way the sun shone brilliantly and persistently through his windows. He hated the way a bird had decided to chirp just outside his bedroom. He hated how scratchy his sheets felt and how dry his mouth was and how painfully his head pounded. He hated how weak his legs felt, and how much he shook as he tried to climb out of bed and stagger blearily down the stairs to his kitchen.

He hated the fact that he could smell the soothing aroma of tea even though he couldn’t have brewed any. In fact, he was so deep in his hatred of every sight, smell and sound, that it took him longer than it might usually to notice he had company.

Sitting at his breakfast table, looking quite comfortable drinking from Harry’s favorite mug and reading Harry’s morning paper, was Oliver Wood. He didn’t look hung over at all, and Harry almost hated that he looked so bright and chipper, except the man was only wearing red boxer shorts, which only left a swirling pit of lust forming in Harry’s gut that quickly dissolved his nausea and hatred as if it had never been there.

It didn’t take long, however, for the implications of Oliver’s casual partial nudity to set in. As delicious as his boyfriend looked sitting there with his sun kissed skin and tousled bed hair, it left Harry with a sneaking suspicion that there was something very big he should be remembering and no matter how deeply he tried to search his memory, he couldn’t recall anything after leaving the pub on Oliver’s arm.

“Morning,” Harry greeted; startling Oliver away from the article he’d been reading. Harry took a seat at the table across from his boyfriend and studied him for a moment, noticing that he must still be drowsy because none of Oliver’s features seemed very clear.

“Good morning to you, Harry,” he replied, still more energetic than Harry ever felt in the mornings, least of all after several pints of lager. “Tea?” he offered, and a mug hovered from the countertop, still under a warming charm, and landed in front of Harry on the table. Honey, sugar, milk and cream all floated over to him afterward and Harry sighed as he let the smell of it wake him up. He put a dollop of honey and a little milk in his cup and levitated the rest of it back into the icebox. “Feeling rough?”

“A bit,” Harry admitted.

“I thought you might after last night,” Oliver replied with a cheeky wink.

The gesture made Harry blush and he wondered again if something had happened between them that he should remember, but he didn’t know how to ask. Knowing Oliver was a fellow Gryffindor, he thought bluntness might be the key, and the most appreciative tactic he could take. “About last night,” he began and Oliver beamed and purred, pulling his chair up next to Harry and running his cool fingers along Harry’s thigh.

“Yes?” he asked. “I was wondering when the compliments would begin.”

Harry’s throat constricted harshly and he nearly choked on his tea. “I…um…did we…”

“Oh yes,” Oliver replied with a languid nod and leaned in to run his tongue along the shell of Harry’s ear. The touch made him shudder, but he was horrified by the implication. He hadn’t even had his first kiss with Oliver yet, but apparently last night they’d done a good deal more and Harry couldn’t even remember it. “You were fantastic,” he breathed.

“Er…thanks,” Harry stammered. “You were too,” he lied and Oliver chuckled and pulled away from him.

“We didn’t do anything, Harry,” he laughed. “You were too pissed to even move. I slept on the couch.”

“All night?” Harry balked, feeling returning to his limbs as he realized he hadn’t had sex with Oliver after all. He shouldn’t have doubted it really; he suspected that when he and Oliver finally made love, it would be very memorable. “You could have shared the bed with me, or even slept in the guest room if you weren’t comfortable with that.”

Oliver shrugged, a sort of graceful movement that reminded him of Draco. “I’d only ever been here a couple times and I didn’t want to go snooping around your house. I thought the sofa slept just fine.”

“Well, it seems I have a lot to make up to you,” Harry noted. “My jealousy last night, my childish, drunken behavior, and now your poor sleeping arrangements. I’m a terrible boyfriend,” he pouted, moving over to plant himself in the Keeper’s lap as he pressed kiss after kiss along the man’s jaw.

“Mmmm,” he sighed and leaned into the affection, “You can mess up as often as you like, if this is how you apologize.”

Harry chuckled and looked into Oliver’s eyes, wondering if his Eagle Eye Charm was wearing off, because his vision was almost as hazy as it would be without his glasses. Still, he could read the lust in those dark eyes well enough and leaned in to accept his very first kiss from Oliver…when the doorbell suddenly rang, sounding far louder than it should.

He pulled away abruptly and sighed, shooting his boyfriend an apologetic look as he padded over to the door, yanking it open. His frustration melted immediately when he saw Draco standing on the other side, and suddenly Harry didn’t hate the sunlight because of the glittering effect it had in Malfoy’s blond locks.

“Malfoy,” he whispered. “What are you doing here?” Having him and Oliver in the same room didn’t seem like the best idea, and he was sure Oliver would get the wrong impression…or the right one for that matter.

“Last night,” he growled, and Harry was surprised he hadn’t noticed the anger boiling off of the blond like a wave of heat. “What in Merlin’s name was that?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Harry replied innocently.

“Bullocks,” Draco spat. “You were staring at me all night long. You made my date very anxious; I had to reassure him all evening that there was nothing going on between you and I. Why is that, Potter?” he hissed.

“Because I have a boyfriend,” Harry replied with a roll of his eyes.

Draco looked confused for a moment and then shook his head in frustration. “I know why there is nothing going on between us, I’m asking why you were acting as if you were jealous?”

“Because I was,” Harry admitted with a flush of his cheeks. “I am,” he added. “I don’t know why, I just-” But Harry got no more out before Draco’s lips were crashing into his and his tongue was sliding, probing and tasting every inch of him.

Harry melted into the kiss, feathering his fingers through Draco’s soft hair and sinking into the man’s embrace, all the while ignoring the niggling in the back of his mind that tried to remind him that this wasn’t right, and that they had company.

He was reminded thoroughly enough in the next moment when a pair of strong hands wrapped around his arms and tore him away from Draco’s mouth. Harry whimpered at the loss, but his eyes soon settled on his boyfriend and a wave of guilt squashed all the lust Draco had built within him just a moment ago. “I’m sorry,” he whispered while Oliver just stood there and stared at him with wide, furious eyes.

“I’m not going to lose you to a Slytherin,” he hissed at last, and pulled Harry’s face to his, kissing Harry himself and matching Draco passion for passion. Harry groaned at the delicious violence and possession of the kiss, making his knees weak with desire. Just when he thought he might drown from it, he felt another body press against him, lining itself along his back and attacking his earlobe from behind.

He gasped into Oliver’s mouth and writhed between the two fit bodies. This was bliss, sheer and unadulterated bliss. Oliver snarled and tried to pull Harry away from Draco’s form on the other side, but Draco kept shifting, as if anticipating every tug, and managed to sink back against Harry’s body as if he’d never moved at all.

“He’s mine,” Oliver snarled when he couldn’t seem to rid Harry of Draco’s presence.

“No, he’s mine,” Draco challenged, his own voice level and purring into Harry’s ear like a lover’s breath.

“Boys, boys,” Harry gasped, not wanting to lose the feel of either of them, “there is plenty of ol’ Harry to go around.”

Oliver and Draco shared a look over his head, both skeptical, both scathing, but eventually they seemed to have reached a silent agreement and Harry was lost once more in a sea of hot flesh and even hotter kisses.

He didn’t know how he had made it up to the bedroom, but suddenly he felt cool sheets brush his skin where tangled limbs did not. Legs clung around him, hands groped and rubbed, lips kissed and teeth bit and tongues stroked and Harry was crying out his pleasure into the air. He took a moment to try and orient himself, but it was so hard. Draco was somewhere below him, preparing his arse for the delicious cock that bobbed enticingly near his entrance. Harry could feel the sharp thrust of Draco’s long fingers and nearly sobbed at how good it felt being stretched out by this hauntingly beautiful man.

Oliver, in stark contrast, looked feral as he leaned in and took Harry’s cock into his mouth, his chest leaning partially on Harry’s stomach as he maneuvered the best place to attack from. Oliver’s mouth was heaven, velvet and satin and silk, all woven together in erotic harmony that made Harry buck and thrust into it with wanton abandon.

The moment Draco entered him, everything changed. The bed, the walls, the floor, it all melted away and it felt like Harry was hovering in the center of his own orgasm. Lips, tongue, cock, all drove him into madness and then Harry was coming more violently than he’d ever climaxed in his entire life.

His screams seemed hollow in his own ears, as he clutched the sheets around him and shouted both their names. Panting through the last shuddering throes of his orgasm, Harry looked up to see what lasting damage had been done between he and Oliver and Draco and found the room empty of both of them.

He felt a moment of panic, wondering if they’d both just left him there alone, but then the other details of the room met his awareness, such as the fact he was still wearing his clothes from the pub the night before and that his sheets, and trousers were very, very sticky. He groaned and fell back to his pillow, wondering how his dreams and imagination had gotten so far out of hand to manufacture a blissful threesome between he, Oliver, and Draco.

Still, as thoroughly debauched as he felt without ever being touched, Harry knew two things that he wasn’t willing to admit before now. One, Harry was uncontrollably attracted to Draco Malfoy, even though he had no right to be, and two, Oliver was going to be pissed. But how could Harry keep leading Oliver on, knowing he had feelings for another man as well? Not that he could go leap into Draco’s arms, because the guilt worked both ways, but he couldn’t make his relationship with Oliver progress if he kept fantasizing about Draco. He just needed to break things off with both of them until he could figure things out and make a decision.

Besides, Draco had made it fairly clear that he wasn’t interested. He’d been on a date when Harry saw him last, and looked to be getting very cozy with the other man. A flash of green entered his vision again, but this time it was from a tall, thin vial beside his bed. Harry looked over and saw a note propped up against the potion and pulled it to him.

My dearest Harry,

You’ve had quite the eventful evening tonight, and a tad too much to drink, so I think you’ll appreciate the hangover potion I’ve left by the bed for you.

I hope you’re feeling better soon and I had fun with you last night. Owl me when you feel up to having company. I’d love to see you later today if you’re well enough.

Love,

Olli

Harry smiled, and couldn’t help the feeling of warmth and love that settled over him from Oliver’s sweet gesture. Already his headache seemed to be subsiding and he hadn’t even taken the potion yet.

So what if Harry was attracted to Draco? Plenty of people were probably attracted to the man, Ginny included - and she was a happily married woman. And didn’t Harry have the right to be happy, and not conflicted over whether or not Draco wanted him? Oliver made him happy, and he was a spectacular bloke and together they had the potential for a perfect future. Why give all that up because of one silly dream?

Harry sighed and clutched the note in one hand and the potion in the other. This was what he needed, someone who loved him and took care of him and told him when he was being an arse. Oliver was the man he needed, so Harry just had to ignore the fact that he thought Draco Malfoy was sex on legs. Oliver was probably attracted to other blokes too, but it didn’t mean that either of them had to do anything about it.

He would be careful from now on, and do whatever he could to make his feelings toward Malfoy subside. It should be easy enough now that Draco was happily dating someone else too, taking him off the market for Harry altogether, and because they were barely friends to begin with.

Yes, he would be happy, he would be Oliver’s and the world would finally make sense.

Any minute now.

Author’s Note: Well, I hope I sufficiently tricked some of you. I know a lot of you have been wanting Draco to find someone who would make Harry jealous, what you probably didn’t realize is that I’d already written it! I’ve had this chapter written since right around chapter 4…. Anyhow, I hope this taste of smut will tide you over a bid until the real thing in, I don't know, 8 chapters... lol And, if you aren't signed up for Author alerts, I've posted enother oneshot called House of Masks.