Good Intentions and the Best Deceptions

Chapter One: Betray

“Blame it on the Alcohol.”
--Blame it (Jamie Foxx)


“Come get a drink with me, Potter.”

Harry looked up from his report surprised and a little suspicious of the request.

It had been a long day at the office and he did not look forward to returning home to his wife, Ginny; he had planned to get a drink after work and put off his return until later when he knew she would be sleeping. That was how he usually handled her these past few months, anyway; he would wake up before she did and join her in bed long after she had fallen asleep.

Seeing Malfoy leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed, wearing his usual, damn-cocky smirk and offering no insight into his intentions seemed a little too coincidental.

“You’ve never wanted my company before Malfoy, why do you want it now?”

“Do I have to have a reason?” Harry glared. “Really, Potter, just a drink, you look like you could use one.”

“Since when have you cared about my well being?”

“You really are a suspicious person, aren’t you?” The blonde shook his head pityingly and pushed off of the doorframe with one graceful motion. Harry watched him carefully as he sauntered across the room and came to a stop at the edge of his desk, slender hands pressing into the paperwork flooding the surface.

“Pardon me for not trusting the motives of the person who spent most of his life hating my existence,” Harry responded dryly, already turning back to his paperwork.

“You know,” Malfoy began almost casually, even as he bent in too close for comfort, “you turned away my offer of friendship, not the other way around.”

“Fine! I’ll get a drink with you. But only one.”

“Fantastic.”
--

The Three Broomsticks was the same as Harry remembered it, if not a little smaller (he supposed he had grown a few inches since his last visit), and he welcomed the nostalgia it brought him; the brief relapse into his past eased a bit of the tension he experienced in the present, especially with the state of his marriage and the fact he was here with Malfoy, of all people.

Malfoy lead the way to an out of the way booth tucked toward the back of the shop, and Harry’s eyes locked on the way his black Potions Master robes swayed with his graceful gait and then on the confused expressions of the customers around him and then on the length of Malfoy’s platinum blonde hair to the ceiling. He was having trouble concentrating as his fatigue caught up to him as it always did when he left the Ministry. He was rarely tired when at the office and vibrantly alive on the field but as soon as that stimulation was taken from him, he deflated.

Hermione often told him he should see a Mind Healer about that, jabbering on incessantly about how it might have to do with posttraumatic stress from the War, but Harry knew differently. He just was unwilling to admit it yet, even to himself.

“—otter, Potter!” Harry snapped to at the edge to Malfoy’s voice and the blonde’s expression said he had been trying to get his attention for quite a bit of time. Harry grimaced helplessly and Malfoy sighed, resigned. “Do you ever sleep, Potter? I didn’t notice until now, but you look like a corpse.”

“Thanks, Malfoy,” Harry responded dryly as he took his seat. Malfoy followed suit and a fidgety waitress appeared almost immediately, her too large eyes falling onto Harry’s forehead so many times that she missed his order three times and Malfoy’s twice. “Bloody scar,” he muttered under his breath as she scurried away, cheeks aflame. “I do sleep.”

“You could have fooled me.” Malfoy’s smirk was all too amused for Harry’s comfort and he asked himself not for the first time why he even agreed to meet with him. Guilt, he reminded himself not two second later. I felt guilty for something that happened over a decade ago.

“What do you want?”

“Still with the suspicious attitude?” The bloody git laughed making Harry scowl. “I assure you my motivation is completely innocent.”

Harry snorted but made no comment as the waitress returned with a bottle of butterbeer for him and firewhiskey for Malfoy. She lingered, a second, only leaving when Malfoy leveled her with a flat, unamused stare.

They sat in silence for a while, the blonde seeming completely at ease, Harry wanting nothing more than to rip his hair out in frustration. Why was he here? Why didn’t he just leave?

“Stop fidgeting, I’m not going to curse you,” Malfoy finally said, breaking the silence. Harry glared ineffectively before sipping his almost completely untouched butterbeer.

“I don’t see the point of being here. I have nothing to say to you, you seem to have nothing to say to me, so why even pretend to be on amiable terms?”

Grey eyes considered him silently for a moment, the sharp features smoothed completely of emotion and Harry began fidgeting all over again—he hated being scrutinized, he had spent far too much time in the limelight for his taste and it still irked him when he wandered back into it.

“Because I’d like to think the past can possibly be left where it belongs and we could try to become professionally courteous if not friendly towards each other.”

“Pardon me if I have trouble believing that.”

“I’m willing to give you time to believe it.”

“How thoughtful.” Harry took another sip, actually contemplating the idea even as he shot Malfoy a scornful look. His co-worker was a snake, he knew that, but in the past two or three years that had worked together, he had never once given Harry a reason to truly distrust him the way he did. He had in Hogwarts, sure. But Harry had stood in defense of Malfoy before the Wizengamot and he never would have done so if he thought he was truly evil, right?

No, he just had trouble getting rid of his school-day animosity and was irked because Malfoy was handling things more maturely than he was.

“Are you still with me there, Potter?” Malfoy passed a delicate hand before his face and he realized he had disappeared within his own head once again. That was happening a lot.

With a heavy sigh, Harry finally conceded. “Alright, I’ll go along with this experiment.”

“Wonderful.” How delighted Malfoy looked surprised Harry and the rest of their evening was spent in safe, work related conversation.

Harry did, however, remained suspicious and made his one butterbeer last their meeting.

__

Harry snuck into his flat silently, hoping desperately Ginny was already long asleep and that he could follow unimpeded. Most nights, that was the case and while he felt guilty for his behavior he still had not come to terms with the causes.

Maybe he had and he was too much of a coward to face them.

His stealth turned out to be pointless. In bed with a single candle for light, Ginny sat propped up with pillows, a book long forgotten lay across her bent knees. Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair, but otherwise did as he always would and prepared for bed.

“Why are you so late?” She began, the same thing she always said to him when he returned and she remained awake.

“I had a report I had to finish at work.” He pulled off his robes and shirt in quick succession and discarded them haphazardly across a chair back. “It took longer than expected.”

“You smell like smoke.”

“I got a drink with Malfoy afterward.” At her sharp intake of breath, he cursed his honesty and tore off his trousers with unnecessary force.

“You what?” her voice trembled and he hoped desperately she was not about to cry. He really didn’t have the energy for that. Grabbing a flannel pair of pajama bottoms, he pulled those up and then faced her. Far from being on the verge of tears, her brown eyes shown with rage and he was immediately on the defensive.

“I got a drink with Malfoy.” He crossed his arms over his chest and waited for her temper to flair over like it always did when she looked like that. The both of them really did have terrible tempers that had only revealed themselves to each other after their first year of marriage.

“So you will spend time with the man you hated through Hogwarts, who made our lives hell, over time with me? I’m you WIFE, Harry! Yet every night you come in at some ungodly hour and you leave at the crack of dawn!” She remained where she was on the bed, but she had the book clutched tightly in her hand and Harry made sure he had room to move when she decided to throw it at him. “You work and work and work and virtually ignore my existence! Why?!”

He could feel his anger simmering below the surface of his chest and fought back the acid he wanted to sling at her. He had tried! He had done so much for her that first year and all she had wanted was more! “I don’t want to discuss this right now, Ginny. I’m tired.”

Wrong answer. She flung the book at him hard enough to dent the wall behind him when he dodged out of its path. Shooting her a bland glare he grabbed a pillow and some blankets in anticipation of what she would say next. Their arguments always ended the same, anyway. “Sleep on the couch, then!” The light went out with a wave of her wand and he crept out, thankful that he would not need to be near her tonight.

__


“Harry, you look terrible!” He grimaced at the sound of Hermione’s overly concerned voice, her volume unnecessary for so early in the morning. However, he welcomed the sight of her and the distraction she offered from his overbearing thoughts.

“Good morning to you too, ‘Mione,” he smiled tiredly up at her and she sighed, pulling up a seat to his desk.

“Sorry, Harry. Good morning to you as well.” she said with a little laugh but her concern was still evident in her eyes. “But really, you do look terrible. Did you even sleep last night?”

“No,” he said honestly, rubbing his face with his hands, the callused skin catching on the stubble. “Do I really look that bad?”

She nodded then stood abruptly. “I’ll be right back, hold on.”

He did not have time to really absorb her absence before she returned with two cups of tea, one of which she placed before him. With a flick of her wand she snapped the door to his office shut and sat back down, her face intent. “Another fight with Ginny?”

Harry sipped his tea in silence for a moment before answering, as he always did. “Yeah, another fight.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really. I’d just be repeating myself from last time.”

“Oh.” She fidgeted, sipped her tea, looked around the room and sighed. Harry would have laughed, the woman’s insatiable need for all knowledge made it hard for her not to pry and her efforts not to were adorable in their own way, but he was too tired. “Er…how have your reports been going? Still swamped?”

A safe subject. Harry gave her a grateful look and launched into the incompetence of their Head Auror Stephens and how that forced him to handle far more than his share of the work. Hermione was not an auror, but she worked closely with them and sometimes on the field; what she really did was lost on Harry, but he did know she was stationed in the Law Enforcement Department and it included a lot of research and she was happy with that.

They spent the rest of the morning discussing anything and everything but his marriage and by the time she had to leave he was in much better spirits.

__
“Are you busy tonight, Potter?” It had been a couple of days since Malfoy’s first invitation and Harry had begun to believe he had lost interest in the idea of befriending him. Yet, there he was, leaning against the doorframe like last time. He was dressed in his customary black, which made his long hair stand out starkly where it lay braided against his shoulder. Harry shook his head slightly, confused why he was even concerned with the git’s appearance.

“No.” He probably should have said yes, but home was becoming just a house and he wanted little to do with it until he had his emotions and thoughts fully in order.

“Care to grab a drink with me?”

“Why not?”

__

“You look worse than ever, Potter.” Malfoy commented dryly when they took their seats at the same booth they had before. “More corpse-like.”

“I’ve been swamped with reports,” Harry shot back defensively. The same waitress as before materialized at once, no less flustered when she took their orders than last time. “I don’t have time for sleep.”

“You have to sleep sometime,” Malfoy said authoritatively. “Besides, no one auror should have that much paperwork—” his lips curved into a smirk as he added: “—unless, maybe you’re just putting off your work until the last moment, like at Hogwarts. Such habits really should be controlled, Potter.”

A brief wave of agitation gripped him and he wanted to reply with something cutting for all of five seconds before he caught himself. That would be counter-effective, would it not? So instead he chuckled and shook his head. “Hardly. All I ever seem to do anymore is paperwork. Hardly what I signed up for as an auror.”

The blonde looked surprised for a moment before he leaned forward, his expression interested. “Surely you knew that would be part of the job?”

“Of course,” Harry said waving a dismissive hand as he accepted his bottle of butterbeer and Malfoy accepted his wine. He took a heavy sip before continuing. “In the beginning when Ron and I were starting out as partners we had plenty of field work. Then Steph…er Head Auror Stephens split us for Merlin knows what reason and I’ve been stuck with more than my share of paperwork ever since. I basically run the damn department.”

He paused again, thought about what he said, and drank deeper from his bottle. “I don’t know why I said all that.”

Malfoy’s lips quirked a bit as if amused. “Sounds as though you are a bit… malcontent.”

Harry opened his mouth to argue but the Potions Master raised a hand placatingly. “You’re not the only one. I can hardly say I’m pleased with our Ministry’s most recent choices.” He sneered and sipped delicately at his wine to hide the expression. “I never thought you, The Golden Boy, however, would have such problems.”

The auror snorted derisively. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Malfoy.”

“Well, I’m here to change that, now aren’t I?” His smile was devastatingly charming and Harry wondered how many girls had had their hearts broken over it.

Harry snorted again. “Of course.”

__

“Head Auror Stephens did what?” Malfoy demanded, his face a perfect mask of surprised revulsion even as his eyes danced with mirth. Harry grinned, finding that he was once again enjoying his time with his former rival. This was their fourth, maybe fifth, time out together in the past month and both had become more open with the other. As he quickly discovered, both of them held very strong views against the new management of their department and he found pleasure in finally given voice to his discontent.

“He made a bloody fool of himself in front of the Minister, he did,” Harry explained after downing the last of his second butterbeer. Their regular waitress was there in an instant with another and she was no less flustered around them as she had been that first day. This was the first night Harry had drank more than one, his suspicion of Malfoy’s motives and his inability to hold much alcohol keeping him from indulging in more. “Tried delivering our reports like he knew what was going on but couldn’t answer any of the damn questions. He had to defer to me so many times the Minister just asked me to finish the bloody thing. Why that man’s in power is beyond me!”

“Politics,” Malfoy answered, taking a swig of his own firewhiskey. “Politics get in the bloody way of everything. His father’s Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, you know. Heavily influential position, it is.”

“That shouldn’t matter. The Minister’s higher and should care about who is running our law enforcement.” How had he gotten through his third bottle so quickly?

“He should, but bribes and blackmail go a long way. That much hasn’t changed from before the War,” the blonde explained with a wise nod. His cheeks were beginning to pink as he worked his way through a second glass and his face relaxed from its usual high angles and haughty points. Harry might even go so far as to say he looked attractive, but that was something he tried not to admit to himself.

“Bloody politics,” Harry muttered and Malfoy laughed.
__

“Care to step away from your reports long enough to grab a bite to eat?” Although Harry was growing familiar with Malfoy’s presence in his office the request surprised him enough that he blotted his paper messily and only barely managed to spell it fixed before the ink settled.

“Now?”

“No, Potter, next year,” the blonde responded sarcastically. When Harry made to speak Malfoy cut him off impatiently. “Of course now.”

“Give me ten minutes?”

“Fine, fine. Ten minutes.” With a swish of black he was gone and Harry settled down to finish his paragraph. He barely touched his quill to the parchment before him when Ron busted in, looking incredulous if not a bit irked.

“Was that Malfoy, Mate?” He began, settling down comfortable in the chair before Harry’s desk. Ink soaked into the paper and he cursed as he had to again fix his report.

“Yeah,” he answered distractedly as he made sure everything he had written was still intact. Sometimes the spell he used to fix blots would soak up whole paragraphs of text if the words were still wet and he hardly wanted that.

“What’d he want?” Ron sounded personally offended that the Potions Master would dare darken the step of his best mate’s office. It would be amusing if Harry had not recently developed a tentative friendship with the man.

“To get lunch together,” he said and then quickly added when the redhead looked ready to rant: “I think he wanted my opinion on one of his cases.”

“Oh.” Ron seemed to think a second and then grinned. “The prat must be desperate if he’s asking you for help. Make sure to give him hell.” He stood, stretching out his lanky form in a full body yawn. “Anyway, ‘Mione and I have a date, so I’m gunna head out.” He winked and then loped out of the room. Harry watched him go, a bit frazzled by the quick succession of interactions. After a moment, he sighed deeply and relaxed back into his chair.

Tentatively at first, Harry touched his quill back to his parchment and when no more interruptions made themselves known, he quickly scribbled in the rest of the paragraph.
__
Tonight the lights were out. Slowly, Harry tiptoed into his bedroom and began undressing for sleep when the bedside lamp flared to life and Ginny sat up, her brown eyes flaming.

“Again!?” She growled and he sighed. Why tonight?

“Ginny, please, just go back to bed,” he said tiredly rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses.

“What, so you can go back to ignoring me?” She demanded as she slipped out of bed and stalked toward him, wand in hand. Oh, it looked like she was feeling particularly violent tonight. He, however, did not care. He did, however, care about her words and his own temper quickly flared to the surface.

“Ginny, I’m not doing this tonight.” His voice was quiet and deep with warning but his wife never listened to the signs but instead, without fail, antagonized.

“’I’m not doing this tonight,’ ‘I’m tired,’ ‘got to bed,’” she mocked with each step she took toward him. “It’s always the same Harry. It’s always the bloody same. If you were more of a man—“

He had his own wand in his hand now and his green eyes narrowed dangerously. “Don’t you go lecturing me on what I should be doing better. I did my best, Ginevera, I did, but that wasn’t good enough for you. I’m done trying.”

“Your best?” She scoffed, her face cruel. “You call holing yourself up in an office your best?”

“Better than waiting around at home for something that’s never going to happen,” he snapped back and instantly regretted his words when her expression froze.

“How dare you!” She shrieked as sparks flew from the end of her wand. “I gave up everything so we could have a family. Everything! And what do I get? A good for nothing husband who would rather spend time in his office or with Draco bloody Malfoy!”

“You think you’re the only one who’s sacrificed anything?” Harry growled back, his anger close to breaking free of his control. “He was my child too! I did everything I could to make things better, I did! But you just pushed me away. Every. Single. Time!”

“Why would I want to be near you then?” Her eyes were dangerous now and he could already predict her next words. “It was your fa—“

“Silencio,” he hissed, knowing that if he heard the rest he would lose it. “If you blame me, fine, that’s your own damn opinion and I can’t change it. But it’s wrong and I won’t stand to hear you say it. I did what I could to save the baby, and deep down I know you know that’s true but somewhere along the line you decided that pushing me away, hating me, would make things better.

“Has it?” He removed the spell wordlessly and waited.

“I don’t…I don’t hate you.” Despair replaced anger. “But you could have tried harder, you could have come home earlier or…or taken time off!”

“Ginny, I took almost a full year off of work to make sure you would be okay. I came home early every night I could the next year and even most of this year I still tried. I’ve given up. I’m tired of the same old fights, the same old half-arsed apologies and fault slinging.” He leveled her with an unmovable glare, gathered his things and walked out of the room.

__


“Good morning, Harry,” Hermione said the next day as she took the seat before him and offered him a cup of tea. He stared at it uncomprehendingly for a few moments, his mind slow to take in the words and their meaning.

“Morning, ‘Mione,” He finally managed, rubbing his face of the exhaustion he knew probably took root there.

She looked him over critically, concernedly. “You look worse than I’ve seen you in a long time. Another fight?”

He nodded listlessly and pulled the steaming cup toward him to warm his hands. After his fight with Ginny he had tried to sleep for about an hour on the couch and found that was out of the question, so instead he walked about his neighborhood, then Diagon Alley with only his thoughts for company. He did not like what they had to offer. “Another one. It's always the same, you know? Sure, some days I come home so late she’s already asleep and I can escape the yelling. But those nights I don’t manage that, she’s waiting to tear me apart, especially recently now that I’ve been meeting with Malfoy after I leave.”

Hermione gave him and odd, confused look. “You’ve been meeting with Malfoy?”

“I know, unbelievable, right?” He laughed humorlessly. “Who’d have thought I’d enjoy hanging out with the git more than my own wife?”

“How long has this been going on?” She asked neutrally but her eyes said that he would upset her with the wrong answer. Unfortunately, he had no idea what the right answer was, so he went with the truth.

“About two and a half months,” he mumbled and her face tightened almost imperceptibly. “Maybe three.”

“Why?”

“That’s a pretty broad question.”

“Why him? It sounds like you’re trying to escape, but why are you using him as a means to? If you’re not going to deal with the issue, why not, I don’t know, hang out with me?”

Harry gave her wry smile, but like every other one he had given that morning, it hardly held any warmth. “I don’t want Ron to know, he’d kill me if he knew I’d ever spent time with Malfoy on a basis not work related. And he knows Ginny and I are having problems, but he thinks they can simply be fixed. They can’t.”

“For the sake of understanding this better, why not?”

“I don’t love her anymore.” His answer surprised him almost as much as it seemed to surprise her, but he knew it to be undeniably true. As the realization began to settle around his shoulders he placed his head in his hands and sobbed like he would only do in front of her. “Oh Merlin, ‘Mione, I don’t love her!”

Silently she moved around the desk to him and pulled him up into a tight, wordless embrace and he clutched her shoulders as the tears disappeared as suddenly as they had arrived—but he still held on. She was comfort and familiarity and unwavering loyalty and he needed that as an ideal he had tried to uphold and make real crumbled to ash.
__

“Woah, slow down there, Potter,” Malfoy laughed as Harry downed his second glass of firewhiskey as soon as it hit the table. He just glared in response and began to tap his fingers irritably against the wood grain. Tap, tap, tappity tap. “What has you wound up so tightly?”

“None of your business,” he snapped with unnecessary fire and then frowned at his own rudeness. Another glass was placed before him and he tapped it with his finger and watched the amber liquid flare like flames before taking a small sip. Maybe he should slow down.

“Alright, I won’t pry,” Malfoy said, holding his hands before him calmingly. Harry snorted, decided that going easy was not how he wanted to spend his night and then tipped the contents of his glass down his throat. “You really should slow down though.”

“I won’t,” Harry shot back a bit childishly. He didn’t care. “I’ll drink as much as I damn well please.”

“You hardly ever drink more than one butterbeer,” Malfoy pointed out unnecessarily. Did he think Harry could not count? “Three glasses of firewhiskey seem a bit…excessive so early in the night.” The auror vaguely took in the fact that Malfoy was still on his first glass of wine. Damn.

“I’ve had a bad week, give me a break.”

“I’ll back off if you let me in on what’s wrong,” the blonde responded and for the entire world Harry could not figure out why the hell his normally icy eyes held concern. Nevertheless, he threw his drinking companion a dirty glare before deciding to concede.

“A fight with Ginny,” he started and realized that just sounded petty. “Another one. Bad one.” He took and long drink and the words started pouring out.

“We always fight about the same bloody things. She usually gets onto me about spending too much time at work, or leaving too early in the morning or ignoring her. Lately we’ve been arguing about you.” He snorted at that and downed half his fourth glass upon realizing its existence. “She doesn’t like how I spend more time with you than with her.” Suddenly he was laughing, finding that amusing. “It is funny how I spend more time with my old school rival than my wife.”

“Potter, if spending time with me is going to cause trouble at home—“ Malfoy began but Harry waved that thought away carelessly.

“Forget it, Malfoy. This started long before you came around and if anything, you’ve offered a brief respite from everything she’s thrown at me.”

“This fight, though, was worse?”

“Of course it bloody was!” Harry’s voice rose and a couple of patrons looked over, concerned.

“Alright, alright,” Malfoy said placatingly all the while looking around as he too noticed their newfound attention. “Maybe we better continue this conversation elsewhere. Would my home suffice?”

“Whatever.”
__

Harry all but staggered through the front door of Malfoy Manner, his foot having snagged on something around the entryway. The blonde caught him with a little sigh and led him somewhere with a fireplace.

“I can walk by myself, Malfoy,” Harry growled, trying to pull away from the firm hand on his forearm even as he was led to a chair before the warm flames.

“You tripped on air, Potter, forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

Harry frowned, all but fell back into the chair behind him and placed his hands over his face, knocking his glasses up his forehead. He sat like that awhile, barely taking note of the sound of another chair scraping toward his and the weight of a hand on his knee. When he pulled his hands back, his eyes were glassy but he seemed composed enough.

He looked down briefly at the slender hand rested against his knee, drawn in by the porcelain flesh contrasted against his black trousers. It was a pretty hand, as far as hands go. Then he looked up and met concerned silver eyes. “Potter, are you going to be alright?”

“Someday.”

“May I do anything for you?”

“Have anything else to drink?” He gave the blonde a self-deprecating smile, which was awarded with a sigh.

“Is that really wise? You’ve had a lot in a very short span of time…”

“Let me indulge just this once.”

Malfoy silently conceded with a snap of his fingers, drawing a house elf to his side. The creature already held a tray laden with a large, elegant amber bottle adorned with flowing gold gilt and two crystal glasses. He offered these up with a bow and disappeared with a soft pop.

“What is that?” Harry asked as Malfoy poured the honey-gold liquid into the two glasses and handed one to him. The glass was warm to the touch and he found himself cradling it in his hands like a child would a pot of warmed chocolate after a day in the snow. The other man placed the tray and bottle down on a side table that Harry thought had not been there before.

“Mulled mead that’s been aging long before my birth.” The blonde took a delicate sip and Harry could not help but watch the way his pink lips pressed against the glass and the way his throat bobbed gently as he swallowed. Why was he paying attention to that? “However, that is unimportant. What is, is why you feel the need to drink so much.

“Why was this fight so much worse?”

Harry worried his lip between his teeth anxiously before taking his own sip of the mead. The taste was thick and rich with honey and spices and fruit that made him want to savor and devour it all at once. He decided to savor for the moment and pulled the glass from his lips. “Because it…it made me realize things I didn’t want to.”

The glass was at his lips again and before he knew it, Malfoy pulled it from his fingers and refilled it. The weight that had gone missing at the arrival of the house elf once again settled against his knee and Harry could feel the slow path of the other’s thumb move soothingly over the cloth. It felt nice.

“Like what, Harry?” The switch in names was almost lost on him as everything grew hazy with the heat of the mead and the fire he had forgotten about crackling in the marble hearth. Almost. More heat flooded his cheeks at the sound of his first name being spoken for the first time by this old school rival.

“I don’t think I—“ he stopped a moment, not sure he should divulge this most personal part of him, but either the earnest expression Malfoy—Draco?—wore or the amount of alcohol flooding his intolerant system pushed him forward. “I don’t think I love her.”

The hand on his knee clenched slightly and then released as the thumb continued gentle revolutions. “Surely you don’t mean that. The way you two were at Hogwarts…”

“That’s just it!” Harry exclaimed. “We married almost immediately after the War and I was given no chance to explore my feelings for her. Were they lust? Was I marrying her because I wanted so badly to be a part of her family? Or did I love her?

“I didn’t know, so I went on believing I loved her for so long but now…I just don’t know!” He buried his face in his hands again after setting his half-empty glass down and waited for his heart to calm. He heard the clink of another glass placed on the table, the rustle of clothing and then the weight of hands pulling his away. Malfoy was close now, and their hands were pressed together where they rested against their now touching knees.

Those hands were so warm against his and soft, not calloused like his from rough work. The skin stretched across the fine bones was almost translucent and he could count the blue veins etched below the surface. The nails were manicured and evenly cut, not stained like he had been expecting. Snape’s had been stained. He looked up and his eyes were caught on the soft lips not particularly full or narrow but enticing…should he really be thinking of those lips as enticing? So he pulled his gaze further, past the straight, angled nose to those intense grey eyes.

He did not know how to handle those eyes looking at him so intently, without hatred or malice but an entirely different emotion altogether. So he just stared. At least he thought he just stared but they were getting closer…or maybe just he was? Suddenly those lips were pressed to his and he was lost.

__

The warmth of those lips pressed against his was intoxicating, terrifyingly so, but he could not stop. He pressed back and when the soft pressure of tongue met his lips, he parted them, helpless against the building lust beneath his chest and pooling in his groin. Those soft hands let go of his to tangle in his flyaway hair and grip his neck roughly, deepening the kiss and intensifying the sensations he was having trouble dealing with.

Grabbing a fistful of Malfoy’s black shirt (when had he removed his cloak?), he pulled the slighter man out of his chair and closer to him so that he was practically in his lap. The chair moaned its protest beneath the weight, but the writhing bodies on top paid it no heed as their hands and lips grew more frantic.

I shouldn’t be doing this, Harry thought a little belatedly as the idea forced its way through layers of alcoholic fog, but when Malfoy’s knee forced his legs apart and rubbed against his swollen groin it disappeared on the waves of his moan. His back arched and the man above him leaned in further, pressing against him relentlessly even as the chair tilted dangerously and then toppled backward.

“Fuck!” hissed Harry as Malfoy landed hard on his stomach and his back jolted against the cushion of the defeated chair. Malfoy laughed and rolled off of him gracefully, offering his hand as he stood, unruffled. He grasped it and was pulled to his feet hard enough that he stumbled into Malfoy, which would have knocked them both over again if Malfoy had not been so coordinated.

“Shall we move this elsewhere?” Malfoy whispered huskily into Harry’s ear before nipping it hard. He arched into him with an almost inaudible whimper but tried to pull away a second later; the fall had knocked just enough sense back into him for him to begin doubting their actions.

“I think we should stop, Malfoy.”

“And why is that?” Harry shuddered as Malfoy’s lips ghosted against the shell of his ear.

“Because…because…” he knew there was a reason they should stop, but he could not think of one, especially with the way Malfoy palmed his erection firmly through the fabric of his trousers. “Oh, fuck, I don’t remember.”

“Good boy.” Suddenly they were in another room entirely, but he had no time to take in the décor as Malfoy shoved him onto a large bed and straddled him with long, lean legs. Nimble fingers slipped buttons from their home and soon Malfoy was half naked and smirking confidently down at him. Harry hardly noticed as his eyes caught the silvery glint of scars etched across the pale flesh and briefly he thought, I caused those.

Then he saw the confident smirk and with little effort he had the blonde pinned beneath him and he attacked the column of flesh between Malfoy’s chin and collar and fisted his hands in the silky, platinum hair to pull his head to the side.

“Oh, we can’t have this, now can we?” Malfoy chuckled before he bucked his hips up and twisted so that Harry lost his balance and was once again underneath. An evil glint flashed across slate-grey eyes as his long fingered hand slid his hawthorn wand from his rear-pocket and cast a silent charm that had Harry’s wrists where Malfoy had placed them bound above his head and his ankles spread and bound to the bed.

“Malfoy,” he growled warningly even as his cock pressed painfully against the constricting material of his trousers. Malfoy’s haughty confidence as he spelled away Harry’s shirt and attacked the revealed flesh with brutal nips and pinches in all the right places affected Harry in ways he never thought a man could affect him and he strained against the invisible bonds now more for contact than escape. Malfoy pulled back and fixed him with a mischievous smirk.

“Do you enjoy being bound, Potter?” Harry glared defiantly; the change back to his surname was lost to him. Somewhere, though, the change from the concerned Malfoy to this dominating one disconcerted Harry, but his lust and the alcohol still rushing through his veins pushed the feeling away easily.

A long finger traced the outline where his length swelled and pressed forward against the fabric. He arched, desperate for more contact, but the finger was gone and Malfoy’s smirk grew sharper. “Answer me.”

Harry’s glare deepened, but he nodded.

“Use your voice, Potter,” Malfoy tsked and Harry growled, frustrated.

“Yes, damnit!” The blonde looked maliciously delighted and Harry’s cock throbbed with desire in response to the expression.

“Good boy,” Malfoy hissed again as he pulled completely away. Harry let out an indignant growl, but did not get to voice his frustration because the other man had set to work on the buttons of his trousers and had them at his ankles in no time at all. His erection stood at attention and tented the fabric of his pants, twitching as Malfoy puffed hot air across it teasingly.

Then that fabric was gone as well.

Malfoy stopped briefly, and Harry was able to catch a look of pure, black hunger before he had better things to occupy his mind with, like the way the blonde swallowed him whole, then pulled back slow with a languid stroke of his tongue. His pace was slow, teasing, but Harry knew he would reach his climax soon anyway; it had been years since he and Ginny had had sex and she would so rarely go down on him then, that he forgot how erotic it was to watch someone’s head bob up and down the shaft of his cock. He wanted to burry his hands in the platinum hair and force the pace faster, but his wrists were still locked above his head and Malfoy was speeding up of his own accord.

That tongue was ungodly, slick and silky as it stroked expertly up and down and around the sensitive head. Everything was warm and wet and his hips jerked up of their own accord. Harry could feel his stomach tighten, his heart rate pick up and was he whimpering? Surely, that was not him. His fingers clenched and unclenched uselessly and his toes curled as he approached his limit.

Then the heat was gone.

Malfoy pulled back with that damned, smug smirk curling his swollen lips and Harry actually growled indignantly, frustrated beyond belief that he had been brought so close and then dropped. “Are you close, Potter?”

Green eyes glared back. The blonde bit the inside of his thigh punishingly and his hips jerked up in response. “Bloody hell.”

“Answer me.”

“I’d think it was obvious,” Harry shot as everything but the silver eyes he was glaring into spun. “Why the fuck is this relevant?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I don’t see the point.”

“Well, if you don’t see the point…” Malfoy trailed off as he stood and brushed off his slacks.

“Yes, Malfoy! I’m bloody close!” Desperation to have that warm mouth wrapped around him again outweighed any bit of pride he hung onto. “Are you happy?”

“Yes,” he purred as his crawled back in between Harry’s legs. “Though I’m curious, Potter. How does it feel to have another man suck your cock?”

Somehow, he felt that statement should bother him, but he could not see the relevance. Pleasure was pleasure and at the moment he felt such a talented tongue should not be put to waste speaking. He said as much.

“Patience, patience,” Malfoy reprimanded, his warm breath teasing the head of his erection unbearably.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Malfoy!”

“Beg for it.”

“I’m not going to beg you.” Malfoy smirked wickedly before tracing the underside of his shaft with his tongue and then moving away as if he would get off the bed again. Harry panicked. “All right! Please, suck me off.”

“Very good,” he purred before swallowing him whole once again. Harry gasped and cursed and bucked as the sensations became unbearable and he felt like he would explode. When his orgasm ripped painfully through him he saw spots, his head throbbed with the beat of his pulse and he all but collapsed in on himself, spent.

Harry watched as Malfoy swallowed, his throat bobbing obscenely and his lips returning to their default smirk. The blonde chuckled, but he was too tired to ask why and his vision had already begun to darken as sleep came to claim him.