All I Ever Wanted

DISCLAIMER: Warning! I make no claim to any property of J.K. Rowling's, and am in no way profiting by this. I do offer her my sincerest thanks for allowing us this garden of the mind in which we play. Further Warning! This story...and likely any I ever write...are dominated by gay themes and characters. That's how it is, if this in any way makes you uncomfortable...do not read further.


"All I Ever Wanted".....chap. 2 'Harry's Bad Day'

This day ranked high on the list of Harry's worst days ever. Maybe not as high as nearly getting killed over and over again, certainly not as high as detention with Umbridge, but pretty close. He stomped through the halls of Hogwarts on the way to Gryffindor's common room with an absolutely wretched headache tearing his skull open.

With every step, he cursed himself for getting so drunk the night before. He'd never really had Firewhiskey before, just a few Butterbeers. Seventh years were permitted certain luxuries, and Harry had almost no experience with luxury of any kind. A few drinks and all he remembered were blurry faces talking nonsense at him.

As soon as he had regained consciousness that morning, he had known that something was horribly wrong. He was naked, in a strange bed, someone was showering in the suite's bathroom, and clothes were strewn everywhere. On top of all that, his penis was faintly sore, the skin slightly chafed and red. Everything pointed to sex with someone he couldn't remember. Harry couldn't think of anything more humiliating or insulting than not recalling whom he'd slept with...wait...whom he'd had actual sex with!

Damn it all! He'd known he was gay for over a year and still hadn't 'played the field' for a good reason. No matter how much he didn't want it, the wizarding world had made him famous, and all he'd ever wanted was to find someone who just liked him as he was...without all the baggage that came with his infernal scar. So he'd waited...and dated...and just never let anyone too close.

He'd imagined over and over again what it must be like to be in love, to just adore one person and know they felt the same about him. He wanted it to be perfect in every way; a perfect date, a perfect kiss and then, eventually, a first night of making love to someone for all the right reasons. All that was ruined and now nothing could bring it back.

Worst of all, making it a 'perfect storm', was that of all the people he could have had this accident with, it just had to be Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin Slut. Aside from making five of their seven years at Hogwarts hell for Harry, this was the one gay boy in school with the kind of reputation that Harry desperately didn't want for himself.

Draco was as arrogant as ever, as vain and petty as anyone could be, mean spirited and vicious as hell, AND he coupled with anyone he pleased and flaunted his permanently unattached status even while guys fawned all over him. Admittedly, Malfoy had been better since sixth year...or at least quieter. He was still as acidic and cold as ever, but he seemed to put more effort into running Slytherin House, getting laid, and classwork than into pissing off Harry and the rest of Gryffindor.

In fact, as Harry mulled it over, it occured to him that Malfoy had bordered on nice near the end of this morning's nightmare scenario, and THAT was really unusual.

All the way to his home tower, memories of the morning flitted through Harry's head at random, dogging his every step. One thought that lingered over and over again was the moment that Malfoy had stepped out of the bathroom...only wearing a towel.

His skin had been pink as a baby's after the shower, and his ribs were just barely visible on a perfect, slender chest. He had small pink nipples that only scarcely made themselves known, and in spite of being a bit on the thin side and half a head shorter than Harry, he had surprisingly broad shoulders and incredibly defined limbs with just a faint sheen of softness from good living.

Malfoy had faintly steamed when he'd stepped into the bedroom, with little wisps rising off his cooling skin. He really was as beautiful as his overinflated ego claimed. The tone of his voice had been cheerful and warm...until he saw Harry. Then he was Malfoy again, rude, spiteful, prat Malfoy.

Harry stopped just outside of the common room entrance to Gryffindor and collected himself for a moment. It was all he could to keep his face from showing how miserable he really was. He leaned against the wall and took a deep breath...and that's when the flashback hit him.

Lips against his lips; soft, pliant and patient, letting him find his own pace, his own time to push further, letting their tongues mingle. Alcohol blurred it, but when they parted for breath, the softest grey eyes he'd ever seen were staring back at him. So unbearably close to each other that the very air around them threatened to close in. There was no world, no room, no school...just a tiny universe of two made one...and a pair of grey eyes lambent with desire. Heat suffused them, like nothing Harry had ever known. A sudden warmth that made the world he had always known seem like a colder place than ever before. He wanted so badly, so frantically to be wrapped in that warmth forever...to pour the whole of himself into this person and never be cold again.

"Harry?" someone was talking to him. Their voice seemed to rip through the fog around him and he found himself back in the hall outside Gryffindor...breathless, cold, and with a headache that was slowly getting seriously cruel. He blinked owlishly and found Hermione peering at him nervously.

"Are you alright, Harry? Is it another vision? Do you need a hand?" Hermione's hands already moved to his shoulders to steady him.

"No...nothing like that, luv...don't worry. I just had a little too much to drink last night. I'll score a potion off Finnigan and rest a bit. Be fine in a few hours, you'll see."

Harry smiled the best he could, it might be a train wreck of a day, but if there was one thing he was grateful for, it was friends like Ron and Hermione. Nothing seemed quite as awful when they were about. They'd been there for him when he finally came out. No grief, no distance, just happy for him that he was okay with it. Ron had even launched into stories about growing up with Fred and George 'experimenting' with each other so frequently that they almost had to be hosed off to separate them, and that had left Harry laughing so hard he'd gotten a stitch in his side.

"Right then," chirped Hermione, "...let's get in and see what Finnigan's got left in the way of hangover cures, trust an Irishman to lead the way after a wicked bender. You really, really shouldn't have touched the Firewhiskey, that's stronger than anyone needs. Yours isn't the only hangover in Hogwarts today. By the way, where ever did you get off to last night? You never made it back here from the party, and you know I worried a bit."

"Ummm...nowhere in particular, just staggered into an empty room and took a nap. Say...uh...'Mione? I didn't...you know...um...do anything embarrassing last night, did I? I don't remember all that much after the Firewhiskey got passed a few times."

Harry played it as cool as he could, but he was already feeling a flush coming on and he could feel sweat starting to bead on his upper lip...it was hard to keep anything from Hermione. Maybe it would pass as part of the hangover. Who would have guessed there would be a useful purpose for a hangover?

Hermione smiled, "Well, you staggered around a bit and you couldn't get a clear sentence out, but you seemed normal...considering how many shots you drank that is. The most normal thing you did all night was that blowout shouting match you had with Malfoy. You two were yelling at each other right up until you stormed out. If it's any comfort, Malfoy was really sauced, too. Most of us couldn't even make out what you were shouting about but, since wands weren't drawn, we let it slide. Besides, he's been quiet since the year started, it wasn't worth the trouble and you held your own quite well."

"Oh...so that's all then? No dancing with a lampshade on my head or snogging strangers? Just a drunken row with Slytherin's favored son? That's good. Might as well head in then. I could use a cuppa and a spot of rest."

'I think she bought it, all is good, all is good, smooth as silk.' Harry felt relief wash over him. He had promised to keep silent if Malfoy did, but without any memory of last night, all he could hope for was a lack of witnesses to whatever had happened.

They marched into the common room, chatting idly about classwork and other post-party rumors and gossip, squeezed a potion out of Finnigan's dwindling supply, then soaked up a little tea together before Ron wandered in and completely occupied Hermione's attention. Neville and others passed in and out of the commons, dropping greetings and sympathy for Harry's fading hangover. Then Ron managed to get Hermione into 'snuggle' mode and Harry made a graceful exit, thankful for the chance to get to his own bed.

Seventh year dorms were spacious, and Harry had a shower to himself at last. Not that he thought of himself as shy, but people sometimes stared at him when his clothes were off, and as much as he thought he ought to enjoy that...well, it still rankled.

He knew he had nothing to be ashamed of...and more than a few other boys had made admiring comments about Harry's body...or sometimes, more specifically, one part of his body...but he'd never felt comfortable showing off or anything. Never minding other people's thoughts on the definition of manhood, Harry noticed that it could be a right nuisance at times. He'd spent most of his adolescence thankful he had robes on, anything tighter and he'd have given the whole school a show every time he got 'the horn'.

Harry showered in silence, savoring the hot water sluicing down him and peeling away the last of his morning blues. He scrubbed himself thoroughly, even more so than normal, trying to clean away even the faintest potential memory of the previous night. When he finally emerged from the steam he felt a lot better. A hasty Drying Charm later, he was towel clad and ready for a short nap when he paused in front of the mirror.

He supposed he was looking for a sign of change. Now that he thought about it calmly, he remembered that he wasn't a virgin anymore. He wasn't sure why, but it seemed kind of important. Like a milestone had passed. He couldn't pin it down exactly, but even with the stinging shame of last night's disaster he still felt...well...calm...amazingly relaxed...and just a little proud.

Then he remembered Malfoy. That killed the calm in a heartbeat. As if seventh year had no pressures to start with! Bloody stupid Malfoy would be twice the prat as usual now. Just to prove some obscure point, he'd make Harry as uncomfortable as possible every chance he got. Still, if that was the worst his year had in store, it would rank as one of the better ones. Malfoy's scorn could be handled, and it was time for a short nap. Harry headed off to bed, hoping the rest of the day would go easy on him.