Ten Steps

Author's Note: Many thanks to Kasey and Shannon for the beta work on this chapter and thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far. You can all thank vampgoddesss for the quick update. It's her birthday today and she requested that I update this as her gift. Now, I suppose I'll have a barrage of people claiming it's their birthday tomorrow and to update again....

Chapter 21 Step Seven

When Harry opened the door, expecting to see any number of his friends, or even Draco, he was surprised to be met with a fuzzy bear. It was about a meter tall, wore Puddlemere United’s Quidditch robes and hovered just in front of his face. Harry leaned around the bear to smile curiously at the Scot standing at the bottom of his stoop. “Oliver,” he greeted, grinning ear-to-ear. “I missed you.”

“I can tell,” Oliver replied, holding up a stack of parchments – all the letters Harry had been sending him in his absence no doubt.

Closing the gap between them, Oliver quickly climbed the stairs and pulled Harry into a crushing embrace before capturing his boyfriend’s lips in a fevered kiss. “I’m sorry,” Harry whispered when they broke apart.

“I’m sorry, too. I wanted to write you back, but I just didn’t know what to say,” he said, as Harry pulled him inside. “This Malfoy business is getting to me more than I’d like to admit.”

Harry sighed and shoved his boyfriend to the sofa, straddling his legs and leaned forward to kiss those sweet lips again. “I need to tell you something,” he said, his tone growing serious. “But you have to promise not to leave until I’m finished explaining.”

All the color drained from Oliver’s face and he struggled to get out from under Harry’s thighs. “Please tell me you didn’t,” he said, his voice choking.

“Didn’t what?” Harry asked, thoroughly confused by Oliver’s reaction. He hadn’t even told his boyfriend any damning information yet.

“You slept with him, didn’t you?” he demanded, his pain quickly shifting to fury.

“Draco? Gods no,” Harry exclaimed. “Why would you think that?”

“What else would you have to tell me that I would get angry over?” Oliver balked.

“Would you just listen?” Harry hissed, clenching his thighs and levering himself over the man. Oliver easily had two or three stones on Harry, but Harry was a trained Auror. He couldn’t be thrown off so easily, and even if Oliver managed it, Harry would be able to maneuver him back in place with ease.

“Fine,” Oliver bit out, clearly upset over being held against his will.

“The reason I’ve been seeing so much of Draco lately, is that he’s been,” Harry swallowed, finding the words difficult to say, “giving me dating lessons.”

“Dating lessons,” Oliver repeated flatly.

“He’s helped Mione, Ginny and Ron with their relationships, and I thought he could help me,” Harry explained. “Every relationship I’ve ever had before now has been sabotaged some way or another, and I really liked you. I didn’t want that to happen to us.”

All the air seemed to release from Oliver’s lungs as he pulled Harry into a tight embrace. “So, you’re really not shagging him?”

“No,” Harry huffed, a little more indignantly than he’d planned. “But maybe you should be around more to prevent it,” Harry whispered seductively, nibbling the edge of Oliver’s ear.

Harry had expected the man to melt into his ministrations, but Oliver went stiff instead. “Is that a threat?”

“What? No!” Harry exclaimed, pulling back to stare down at his boyfriend. “I was only teasing.”

“Well it’s not funny.” Oliver’s eyes were bright with resentment and Harry found himself cringing away from that gaze.

“I’m sorry,” Harry sighed. “See why I might need dating lessons,” he added, trying to make it a joke, but judging by the look on Oliver’s face, he fell short.

“Do you have a problem with my job, Harry,” the man asked.

Harry could only shrug. “Not your job so much as the hours. I feel like I never get to see you.”

“You’ve played Quidditch before, Harry. You know how much work it takes to win.”

“I know,” Harry sighed, threading his fingers through Oliver’s short, cropped hair. “I just miss you is all.”

“I’ve never said anything to you about being an Auror. I don’t see where you get off making demands on me like this,” Oliver fumed.

“I’m not making demands!” Harry explained heatedly.

“Your job could get you killed, Harry! I could get a visit from the Minister one day telling me you’ve died in a duel or something!” Oliver seethed.

“I’m not going to die,” Harry whispered, trying to soothe him.

“You don’t know that. You’re not invincible, Harry. One day you’re bound to come across someone who is better than you,” Oliver challenged.

“How long have you been concerned about my job, Olli?” Harry asked quietly, leaning down so that he snuggled against the Scot instead of pinning him to the sofa. Oliver seemed to relax, pulling Harry against him as they leaned back into the couch together.

“I worry all the time that you might be taken away from me. I guess…I guess I didn’t even know how much I worried until now,” he replied softly, all signs of anger leaking away.

Harry didn’t know what to say or what to do after such a desperate admission. He didn’t want to cause Oliver any pain, but could he stop being an Auror? Could he suppress his need to help people? Harry nearly chastised himself aloud. Being an Auror wasn’t the only way he could help people. Surely there was something else he could do that wouldn’t put his life at risk so often, although honestly it wasn’t as if he was sent out on field assignments as often as he used to be.

If this was what Oliver needed to feel safe and secure, than Harry thought he could give it to him. After all, perhaps if Harry quit his job at the Auror department, Oliver might cut back on his own hours and they could start that family Harry had always wanted. Harry kissed Oliver’s forehead and held him tightly, trying to ease the man’s worries. “I’ll talk to Shacklebolt tomorrow,” Harry assured him.

Oliver didn’t protest, as Harry had almost expected him to, he just made a soft, contented sound and wrapped himself more fully around Harry’s body before plying his neck with delicate kisses while Harry wracked his brain for what in Merlin’s name he was going to do with himself now.

True to word, Harry didn’t contact Draco in any way for the next four days, as he waited for some word from Oliver. When he finally received an Owl, asking to resume their meetings, he couldn’t help but feel both relieved and disappointed. Part of Draco had hoped the Quidditch star gave Harry the boot, but not only was he afraid of what the magicks would do in that scenario – given that Draco’s flirtation would have been the direct cause of said break up – but he was also worried about Harry. Truth be told, Draco could live with whatever outcome so long as his soul mate was happy. He knew the potential was there for the Gryffindor to be very happy with Oliver Wood, and if Draco hadn’t been so near, he probably already would have been.

That Draco still saw a spark of unease when he spoke of his boyfriend or stood next to him at a party was the only reason he was still in London. Hope burned through him brighter than any candle flame, spurring him to do asinine things – all in the name of love. He didn’t even bother asking himself when he’d turned into a sappy Hufflepuff, because Draco was growing so used to being in love with Harry Potter that it came as second nature to him.

Every morning, Harry would be the first thing on his mind. He’d find his thoughts constantly drifting to the man all day, wondering what he was doing at work, curious what cases he was working on and how much danger he might be in because of them. When he went out, Draco often thought of Harry and how he’d like to bring him to a certain café for lunch or see what the brunet would look like in a certain pair of robes. What was once a maddening change to his normal life, now seemed to be another sliver of his own being. Draco was comfortable in the fact that he belonged to Harry, even if Harry would never belong to him.

Draco sighed and tried to relax. Harry would be there for their seventh lesson, one he’d been dreading from the start. He didn’t know how he was going to get through the night, let alone the many lonely evenings to follow. He was going to have to give permission for Harry to take his relationship to the next level, which meant that in addition to wondering how Harry’s day was, or if he’d like a certain ice cream flavor, Draco was going to have to wonder if he was having sex with Oliver.

It wasn’t as if Draco was under the delusion that Harry was still a virgin or anything. He didn’t expect the man to have remained untouched his entire life while waiting for ‘the one’. Hell, Draco had thought he’d found the one in a woman he’d started dating just after Hogwarts, and then again when he met the first man he’d slept with. Clearly, none of them were the one, but hearts tend to make minds foolish when hormones are involved.

But, knowing that Harry had participated in acts of consensual sex at a time Draco would like to imagine was ages ago, and knowing that he was now going to be eagerly fucking the man he was dating when he should be with Draco was another thing altogether. He knew it made him a hypocrite. He just didn’t care.

He’d been secretly pleased by Harry’s jealousy of Alston, and wondered if Harry had suspected more happened between them than what did. Truth be told, Draco had allowed the man to suck him off before they both passed out in a pissed haze. Draco had consumed far too much alcohol that evening as he surreptitiously watched Harry with Oliver on the other side of the pub. The amount of liquor consumed increased exponentially after he’d watched Oliver carry Harry out of the pub. Honestly he’d been wondering if something had happened between them that night, but he was too afraid to ask.

After Harry had discovered Alston boldly answering his door in nothing but ill-fitting boxer shorts, Draco had thrown the man out and told him not to bother Owling. He couldn’t believe the tantrum Alston had caused, ranting about how he was going to Witch Weekly with a story about Draco and Harry’s affair while Harry was dating Oliver Wood. Draco couldn’t allow such a scandal to besmirch his or Harry’s name, so he’d Obliviated the wizard of all knowledge of Draco. Thankfully it had worked, but Draco had been a little nervous for the next few days, wishing he’d had more practice at memory charms.

A knock on the door startled him out of his ill thoughts and Draco rushed to the door, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly through his teeth before opening it. “Harry,” he greeted, wondering if the Gryffindor even thought it odd any more that Draco rarely referred to him as Potter now. Harry’s warm smile and the easy use of his own given name told him that no, Harry must not find it unusual at all.

“How was your day?” he asked, leading the man into the living room. Draco offered him a drink and Harry replied with his usual ‘whatever you’re having’ and took a seat.

“It was eventful,” Harry said at last. “We finally caught the wizard who’d set those fires a few weeks back, remember?” Draco nodded dutifully. The fires meant quite a lot to him; actually, because that was the first day he realized his true feelings for the Gryffindor in front of him. Not that he was allowed to say so. “Well, he was trying to do the same to an orphanage over on briar, but one of the sisters reported suspicious activity and we got there in time.”

“Who was it?” Draco asked.

“Some bloke named Octavius Parkin,” Harry murmured. Draco didn’t understand why Harry didn’t seem more victorious than he did. He’d expected joyous shouting and toasts to the Ministry prevailing once again. “It’s been a long day.”

Harry’s sigh made Draco lean forward and place a hand on his knee. “You look upset when it seems to me you should be celebrating.”

“Why?” Harry replied, looking glum. “It’s just one more criminal I’ve put in Azkaban. It’s not as though they’ll all stop now. Besides, you probably don’t want to hear about it.”

“Stop being ridiculous, Harry. You’ve done a great thing today. Think of how many villains there would be out there if they didn’t have you on the Auror force,” Draco replied. “You single-handedly captured Fenrir, Avery, the Carrows and over a dozen other former Death Eaters. Just imagine the havoc they would have wreaked on the wizarding world if left to the rest of your bumbling department.”

“They are not bumbling, they just aren’t…as dedicated as I used to be,” Harry said, “and how do you know all that?”

“I can read, Harry,” Draco replied sharply. “And they are bumbling, but that’s besides the point. What do you mean by ‘used to be’?”

Harry sighed and sunk deeper into his armchair. “I can’t keep it up forever, can I? How can I expect Oliver to quit playing Quidditch, a game that holds one hundredth of the danger my job holds, when I won’t stop being an Auror?”

“He wants you to quit?” Draco asked, slightly taken aback.

“Well, he didn’t say so in so many words, but he certainly hinted at it enough for me to get the point. I can understand where he’s coming from, and it’s not fair for him to give up the career he loves if I’m not willing to do the same. It’s not like we need the Galleons,” he sighed.

“I can’t believe you’re saying this!” Draco exclaimed, getting to his feet to pace the floor. “Wood knew what you did when he agreed to date you!”

“I knew what he did as well,” Harry pointed out. “Yet, I find myself hating how often he’s away. I want a husband who is there for me, not someone who I only get to see on the weekends.”

Draco massaged his temples, and glared at Harry, hating that they were having this conversation. “I would never make you quit the job you love,” he muttered, when Harry only glared back.

“Well, I’m not dating you, am I?” Harry bit back.

“No, you’re not!” Draco nearly shouted. He was so frustrated he could hardly stand it.

“Then stop acting as if I am!” Harry replied, standing up to match Draco’s height. “It’s bad enough I have to have this argument with Oliver, I don’t need it from you as well. You’re supposed to be my relief from all that!”

Draco made to shout back, halting for a moment as he processed Harry’s words. “What did you say?”

Harry looked as though he was going to repeat what he’d said but then realized the weight of it. “I didn’t mean it that way,” he sulked, throwing himself back down into the armchair.

“Really? Because it sounded a lot like you meant I was your escape from Oliver,” Draco whispered.

“I said I didn’t mean it that way, I just…I just want to get on with the lessons,” he muttered at last.

“Harry,” Draco breathed, once again reaching out to the Gryffindor, his hand landing on the man’s shoulder until Harry shook it off.

“I’m the client here,” he replied bitterly. “Can we just move on, please?”

Draco pulled away and went back to his own seat, the sting of rejection pulsing through him. “It’s your Knut,” he sneered, making Harry wince, but the man didn’t say another word. “You’ll be pleased to learn that tonight you’re finally able to give yourself to your precious Keeper.”

“What?” Harry asked, looking confused.

“Sex, Potter. You’ve heard of it, right?” Draco mocked. He knew he was being childish, he knew that Harry wasn’t really upset with him, merely taking it out on him, but he couldn’t seem to make his tone any less rude.

“Of course,” Harry replied, narrowing his eyes. “I just don’t understand how step seven can be about sex if we’ve never even talked about commitment.”

“Well, you’ve been arguing,” Draco prompted. “The best sex is makeup sex after all.”

“That’s moronic, Malfoy,” Harry scoffed. “I’m not having sex with a man I don’t love.”

“How very sweetly Gryffindor of you,” Draco sniped, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that hearing Harry say that he didn’t love Oliver sent a thrill through his soul.

“I guess I’m just not some whorish Slytherin who fucks a man on the first date,” Harry seethed.

Draco narrowed his eyes and stood, stalking near enough to loom over Harry’s form. “Is that what you think of me?”

“What else am I supposed to think, Malfoy? I find that Alston character in his underwear the morning after you’re out with him, and you hit on me constantly even though I’m taken. Are you even capable of being in love?” Harry hissed back.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Draco sighed and nearly lunged at Harry. The usually spry Gryffindor was taken off guard and ended up sprawled backwards as the chair he was sitting in toppled under both men’s weight. Draco regained his faculties quicker than Harry and had the brunet’s arms pinned above his head, their faces only inches apart.

“Get off, Malfoy,” Harry breathed, but the glint in those fathomless green eyes practically pleaded for him to stay.

“You know,” Draco teased, his voice no longer holding anger but the first stirrings of lust, “from this angle, I could offer you some intimate instructions in step number seven,” he purred.

Harry faltered and gaped, his previous struggles to be free of Draco’s clutches had abruptly died. “Pardon?” he gasped, eyes wide.

“Surely you could use a few pointers in that area. Everyone needs a little practice after all,” Draco offered, his voice silky and low.

“Even you?” Harry replied sharply, his eyebrow cocked in challenge.

“Well, maybe not everyone,” Draco replied with a smug grin.

“Do you offer all of your clients practice?” Harry asked in a throaty whisper.

“Only the very, very special ones,” Draco said, leaning in to capture those beautiful lips as they pursed into a frown. Harry’s eyelids fluttered shut and all his movement ceased. He was going to allow this, he was going to let Draco snog him and perhaps he would even allow Draco to bed him, but Harry would be awfully angry over it in the morning - especially if he woke to find Draco’s corpse in bed with him.

Reluctantly, Draco rolled away, staring up at the ceiling as his back pressed into the plush carpet. The magicks were already assaulting his body with sharp pinpricks, as if millions of needles were piercing his skin all at once. He sighed and rode out the pain, waiting for Harry to scream at him or run away.

He did neither.

“I’m not going to shag Oliver until I know for certain that I love him,” Harry whispered. When Draco looked over, meeting the man’s gaze, he saw that Harry had casually propped himself up on his elbow, as if lying along the back of an upturned chair was an everyday occurrence to him.

Draco refrained from pointing out that Harry hadn’t seemed to unwilling to shag him just a moment before. “If it feels wrong, you should wait,” he said instead.

“Thanks,” Harry whispered, his eyes locked with Draco’s as they stared at one another, side-by-side on the ground. “I should go.”

“Right,” Draco replied, but Harry made no move to do so. Instead they both laid there for what seemed like hours longer while Harry seemed to be searching him for something with that penetrating emerald gaze.

“See you later, Draco,” he said after a long time, pulling himself to his feet at last as he made his way over to the door. Draco heard it open and heard it click shut behind the Gryffindor, but Draco stayed where he was. He hoped that staring at the ceiling fan spinning round and round might shed some light on the mess he’d made with his life, but all it did was dry out his eyes until it grew difficult to blink.

Author's Note: Well, I'll be waiting for the barrage of 'Poor Draco's' any moment now. I agree, of course, but I've always been on Harry's side too, as oblivious as he sometimes is.