Secondhand Robes: Epilogue

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.

A/N: This is the second part of a special epilogue for Secondhand Robes, the final parts will be uploaded over a week or so, when I have cleared my work slate.


Secondhand Robes: Epilogue (part 2)


‘I love him. At least…I think I really do. How do I know? I’m pretty sure he loves me, too. Oh, god…I’m such a complete pillock at this stuff! How can he even stand me?! Fuck all, Harry. Get it together.’

Harry stared at his reflection in the mirror. He was still wet from his shower, and his hair was a mussed tangle that almost blocked the little vision he had without his glasses.

Once he’d dried himself and fumbled with his glasses, he blinked a bit owlishly and looked at his reflection again. The mirror was a bit fogged yet, but Harry scrutinized every detail anyway.

’I never used to care about this stuff! I feel so stupid gawking at myself in the mirror all the damn time. It’s bloody ridiculous.’

Less subtle than ever, his inner voice slapped his pretense away ruthlessly. He stared because he wanted Draco to stare. How he looked from day to day mattered to him now, because it mattered to his boyfriend. As embarrassing as it was to admit, being desirable to Draco was intoxicating, and Harry took more pleasure from it than he’d ever imagined was possible.

The boy in the mirror wasn’t quite tall, at least not quite as tall as Draco, but certainly couldn’t have been called short. The best he could do with his thatch of almost coal black hair was to slick it back enough to keep it out of his eyes, and he already knew from experience that that wouldn’t last once it dried. His chest was well defined, if a bit thin, and his skin was a few shades darker than most people’s, leaving the first impression of a light, uniform tan. Harry let the towel slip away, and stepped further back.

He’d rarely been completely naked around Draco, despite all the sexual activity they’d managed to indulge in when they could get the time alone, and the image in the mirror suddenly meant more when he thought that this was how Draco would see him. Harry turned left and right, vainly attempting to figure out whether he had what constituted an attractive backside. It was just hard to do without a second mirror, and more than a bit embarrassing when he realized he was preening and posing more than any of the girls that had once annoyed him by doing those same things.

“HARRY! C’mon…give it a rest, mate! I need the bloody loo!” Ron’s exasperated voice shattered Harry’s quiet reflection, and he hurried to get his towel secured and grabbed his things.

Harry stepped out of the room as Ron dashed in, muttering a rather insincere apology for occupying their dorm room’s toilet. Ron hurried in, still half dancing in his pajamas, fighting the rising urge to pee until he reached the toilet. Once the door was shut, Ron unleashed his bladder and shouted over his shoulder.

“Just ‘cause I gave up trying to talk you out of dating the Ferret, doesn’t mean you get to hog the mirror all morning like Ginny!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…and stop calling him that! It’s Malfoy, or Draco, but nothing else. I mean it, Ron. He’s hasn’t given you a minute’s grief since the year started, so just let it go already…please?”

Ron finished his business and stuck his head out the door with a wounded look.

“Sooorry. I mean…seriously, Harry, six months just isn’t enough to make me believe Malfoy has turned over a new leaf. You act so different around him. I feel like I don’t even know you anymore. It’s like my mate’s been replaced with someone I never met before. We never do stuff like we used to, and we miss you. Malfoy gets every spare minute you have, and we get the leftovers!”

Harry leaned back against the wall and sighed. “Maybe I am different now, or maybe no one recognizes me all of a sudden because it’s the first time I’ve been allowed to be happy for more than a couple weeks before something horrible happened. We’re still mates, Ron, but we’d be better mates if you’d stop insulting my boyfriend…and stop cringing every time I call him that!”

Ron stopped in mid-cringe. “Okay, okay. I promise I’ll lay off Malfoy, but do me one favor…tell me, why him, mate? Why did it have to be Draco Malfoy instead of someone we could all get along with?”

“Honestly? You want to know?” Ron nodded soberly. “I think…I think it’s cause he’s the only person I’ve ever known who doesn’t expect me to be anybody but who I am. He never bought into the Boy Who Lived hype, and he never judges me for not living up to it. He always listens to me when I say what I’m really thinking. That, and we understand some things about each other that no one else ever could. Ron…I’ve never been this happy, and I just wish you guys were happy for me, too. I love him, Ron.”

Ron shook his head, then looked Harry in the eyes again.

“Whew! So it’s like that is it?” Ron looked a bit pale after Harry’s confession. “What can I say, mate? If he makes you feel that way, there’s nothing else for it. I can give Malfoy a break if you promise you won’t be a stranger here, but if he hurts you in any way, Filch will be cleaning up what’s left of him for weeks!”

Harry’s heart leapt, just knowing that the tension between his best friends and himself was finally wearing away. If Ron had finally come around, Hermione would follow soon, and he could look forward to coming back to Gryffindor Tower and getting treated to something other than scowls and muttering each night.

“Thanks, Ron. You’re still my best mate, and don’t worry…I’m not getting into anything I can’t handle. I’ll be fine. I’ve gotta get dressed and go, but I can catch up with you in class.”

“You’re on. See you later.” Ron closed the bathroom door and went about his business, leaving a very cheerful Harry to get dressed for the new day.

The day passed with a certain predictability. A blur of classes and hushed conversations with classmates, smiles and glances between him and Draco, and the occasional hallway snog when they got the chance.

A hasty round of empty classroom snogging after lunch left Harry aching for more as well as needing a quick Scourgify. Even though they hadn’t time for more than a bit of grinding, Harry had reveled in the feel of close warmth, savoring the taut muscles that his hands could feel beneath Draco’s clothes.

Their encounters had been brief by necessity, and with Filch prowling the halls each night, there were real risks attached to slipping out of their dorms at night. Throw in classmates that didn’t approve and who were probably itching to turn them in for breaking curfew, and the situation was tricky at best.

Most evenings, Harry studied alongside Ron and Hermione, despite the strained silence and underlying tension that often strangled communication between them. It wasn’t that he enjoyed those unpleasant hours, it was that, when he tried to study with Draco, they almost inevitably wound up mauling each other and forgetting to study at all. When both their grades slipped after their first few weeks together, they agreed, however reluctantly, to study apart from then on.

This night, Harry studied alone in the library, and not very successfully, since his mind drifted more often than not, and History of Magic was not a subject that held his attention easily.

He knew it was insipid and childish to pine for Draco despite having seen him several times that day, but that knowledge didn’t lessen the restless hunger inside him in the slightest.

The Goblin Accords, which framed their modern relationship with wizards and the financial stability now enjoyed by all, were far less appealing than the thoughts and memories that scudded like clouds through his mind.

It was vaguely humiliating, being so bloody needy, but after the first time he’d come in Draco’s arms, his back pressed against cool stone and his head on fire from Draco’s kisses, a switch had been thrown in Harry’s body, and it simply couldn’t be turned off.

He’d wanked alone before, as every boy his age had, but it had been an idle pastime, indulged in only occasionally…until Draco. Now Harry was almost constantly aware of his body in a new and nearly frightening way, and the thrill of being touched, and held, and caressed lovingly made him ache for more desperately. Sometimes, when Draco couldn’t meet him before curfew, wanking was all Harry could do to get himself to sleep.

Draco was so reserved, and his face rarely gave away his inner thoughts, but at least when he and Harry talked, Harry could tell when Draco was being sincere. It was different for Harry, who was used to being untouched except for blows, unloved, ignored and silent by cruel necessity. Harry’s reserve melted away whenever Draco was near, and his smile and demeanor gave away the depth of his affection in a way that almost made words unnecessary.

Harry also tended to act more on impulse than Draco, whose life had very nearly depended on maintaining a disciplined and disdainful front whenever his family was near. Draco had rarely initiated anything more than snogging or a bit of grinding between them, and that had been more instinct than choice. It had been up to Harry to push things in the direction he wanted, and the were so very many things he wanted.

Harry grinned, letting his mind drift pleasurably through his keenest memories of the past months. Had anyone been sharing a table near him, they would have recognized the glassy look in his eyes as that of a teenage boy in the throes of lusty daydreams.

The first time he’d come because of Draco, they’d been in one of the halls between classes, enjoying a hasty snog that was originally intended to make the time apart before supper pass a bit quicker.

Draco had been at what Harry considered his best, which meant that he’d been enthusiastic, and almost forceful, when he pushed Harry back against the wall and pressed their groins together while he worked his mouth down Harry’s neck and collar. Harry whimpered when a soft love-bite suddenly turned savage, and the straining erection pressed against his own felt enormous and distinct against his hipbones.

The pleasure was just too much, more than he’d imagined, and more than he could handle. Harry let go, letting his head loll against Draco’s, and let himself melt into that warm embrace. Seconds later, his erection erupted out of control, and he didn’t feel any shame about the sudden and sticky warmth that kept trickling and spurting into his pant for almost half a minute or so. He only hungered for more.

Draco had backed away a few seconds later, aware that the soft noises that Harry usually made when they snogged had suddenly turned quite different than before, and also aware that Harry’s entire body had been trembling for what were rather obvious reasons, given the moisture darkened patch of cloth on Harry pants.

“Did you…just…?” Draco queried, with a look that was half surprise and half fluttering pride.

Harry just grinned and nodded sheepishly, glassy eyed and suddenly feeling boneless and slightly giddy. He leaned his head back against the wall and finally slurred out an answer.

“That was soooo good. Wanna do that again tonight? I’m free after Advanced Transfiguration…”

And that was only how it had started. With every passing week, things had gotten better, and wilder, and more frenzied.

Harry never stopped restlessly searching for new ways to broaden their repertoire. Gryffindor courage had its advantages, and as soon as Harry tired of the familiarity of one act, he experimented with another, always to Draco’s benefit.

As much as Harry enjoyed being touched, he still couldn’t get over the thrill of touching Draco…anywhere. Draco’s skin was infinitely softer than velvet, and wonderfully warm to Harry searching hands. He’d first made himself acquainted with every spot that Draco responded to, and then Harry took the final step.

In the Astronomy Tower, curled in a heap of blankets, he’d simply stopped thinking and just did what his fantasies had centered on for weeks. He’d opened Draco’s pants without a word between them, save for Draco’s kiss-drowned gasp of surprise, and then took his boyfriend’s stiffened cock into his hand.

It made Harry think of silk…and fire. It was the most intimate thing he’d ever done, and when he could spare a glance between kisses, he’d glimpsed the incredible thing that stretched upward and out from his palm.

It was as beautiful as everything else about Draco, a pale and heavy wand of flesh that jutted proudly upward from a nest of blond curls, and at its tip, a single drop of moisture was shining in the moonlight. Harry’s own recently spent prick, still buried in his pants, seemed flawed and ugly next to this.

Draco had groaned into Harry’s mouth when Harry gently squeezed, and he quickly found an even rhythm, similar to the way he wanked himself, then let the tempo rise slowly as he worked, kissing Draco as fiercely and hungrily as he could all the while.

A minute or two later, Draco was arched and stifling a cry between gritted teeth, thrusting into Harry’s hand as white drops jetted onto their clothes and rolled down Harry’s wrist.

That had been the most enlightening moment of Harry’s life. In those fateful minutes, he had discovered what it meant to be utterly in control of another person, as well as what it meant to have intimate knowledge of another person at the moment of their complete surrender to desire.

This was a knowledge more powerful, more narcotic and overwhelming than orgasm itself, and Harry reveled in it. The starved, unwanted boy that once languished in a cupboard alone was finally dead. Draco’s gentle, gratitude laden kisses and words of praise had killed that boy, and a stronger, happier young man had risen from the ashes to take his place. Harry had a lover. And now he finally knew it as never before.

His contentment was absolute, but that didn’t mean that his ardor was easily sated. Harry wanted their intimacy to be complete, and there was only one definition for that. He’d mulled over the possibilities, and finally made peace with the notion of giving his virginity to Draco.

People had often spoken crudely of sex around him, adding connotations that were like cruel barbs, not because they meant to hurt, but because they couldn’t have known better. Teenage bluster and bravado didn’t leave much room for frankness and honesty. Harry had simply worked it out for himself.

Words like bugger, shag, screw and fuck made the act seem inherently wrong and dirty. Even less pleasant terms were applied to the people who preferred to be the one buggered, shagged, screwed or fucked. Punk…bitch…slut…whore…sissy…nancy…the list dragged on endlessly. But when Harry thought of what it would be like to feel Draco inside of him, to be utterly linked to his boyfriend in a fashion that could not be matched any other way, his stomach fluttered nervously, his breath caught in his throat, and he couldn’t imagine anything wrong or evil about being made love to by someone he adored. However the world’s view was slanted, his gut instincts told him they were all wrong.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like the notion of shagging Draco, but, at least for their first time, it just seemed right. Harry suspected that, given Draco’s Slytherin heritage and upbringing, it would be very difficult for him to be comfortable surrendering that much control…at least until he’d seen Harry do it first.

He’d discreetly asked questions to a few carefully selected others, most notably Michael Corner of Ravenclaw, and had gotten some very honest answers from some of the other gay students of Hogwarts. The talks had been riddled with tension, but he learned what he needed to know, and all that was left now was to act on it.

He’d been slipping hints to Draco for several weeks, and at first, Draco had seemed oblivious, and completely content with their relationship as it was. When the hints had become a bit brazen and obvious…like deliberately turning around during a snog and grinding his bum against Draco’s straining lap until he came…Draco began to get nervous.

Harry couldn’t figure out why Draco kept shying away. Wouldn’t most guys leap at the opportunity to shag their girlfriend or boyfriend? Draco was only occasionally sentimental, and chastity was not a famed Slytherin virtue…so what was holding him back?

Terrible, haunting fears tugged at Harry’s
insecurities as the weeks passed. If Draco didn’t want to make love to him, did he really love Harry back? Was the prospect of that much intimacy more than Draco could deal with? Their relationship had started suddenly, and Harry’s friends had assured him time and again that Draco Malfoy was the type to get easily bored and move on…was that happening right before his eyes while he was too love struck to notice?

Those things just couldn’t be true. They couldn’t. Ron and Hermione were just beginning to soften toward Draco, and it had taken months. Draco was sly, prideful and occasionally viciously sarcastic, but he’d never seemed unwilling or unhappy, if anything it was quite the opposite.

Harry looked down at the History of Magic text in front of him. Study period was almost over, and he was due back at the dorms. He hadn’t finished his essay, and he didn’t even have a lusty interlude to remember in its stead. This just sucked!

He’d sworn never to Legilimize another person again, unless lives were on the line, but he’d have given his eyeteeth to know what was going on in Draco’s head. Harry made up his mind…if Draco didn’t come around soon, or at least explain his feelings, Harry would set a date and force a conversation out of him if need be. The other option was letting himself slowly go crazy with worry, and that possibility didn’t even bear exploring. Draco would come around…he had to. Didn’t he?


TBC