Ten Steps

Author’s Note: Thanks to Kasey and Shannon for their beta work on this chapter, and thanks to all who have reviewed so far! Also, special thanks to Dracosoftie and BoudahMIM. for their help with the French. It’s been ages since I’ve had a chance to use it fluently and I was a bit rusty. So, the general consensus was that I should go ahead and post chapter 24 before I went away on holiday (well, it was actually that I should post the rest of the story before I left, but since 25 hasn't been entirely beta'd I couldn't possibly do that.) So, here it is. I probably won't be able to update until next week, so if you don't want to be dangling from the edge of my cliffhangers, I suggest waiting until 25 is up, but let's see if you can resist. *grin.

Chapter 24 Lonely Night

Harry read the last note Oliver had sent him for the twelfth time before reasoning that he was an idiot and shoved it away from his body, where he continued to stare at the folded parchment for several moments. Their vacation had been ruined and potentially their entire relationship. Harry hadn’t cut his holiday short just because Oliver had abandoned him, but instead used that time to think about what he wanted, what he needed. Harry was beginning to realize more and more that perhaps just because he and Oliver were matched, didn’t mean it had to work out. Draco had said as much in one of their meetings. Sometimes the timing was just off.

Harry didn’t know if he was being unreasonable, expecting to spend more time with his boyfriend even though he knew they were playing to win the Quidditch World Cup, but the Quidditch season lasted nearly all year and the final tournament was still months away. If this was how things were going to be – Oliver gone for days at a time – Harry didn’t know how he was going to cope. The man promised to slow down in the next few years, but Harry didn’t even know what that meant yet, and Oliver certainly didn’t show any signs of proving it.

Was being left alone all the time enough reason to break up with the Quidditch star? No, but all the other details were beginning to weigh on his mind. Harry couldn’t stop comparing Oliver to Draco, and in every aspect, Oliver failed to measure up. More than ever, Harry felt determined to find out if there was something between he and the Slytherin, something real and tangible, not just a dream that would never come true.

He feared that the magic had been wrong about Oliver, and he didn’t think they would last through another date. Despite the many apologetic letters Harry had received from his distant boyfriend, Harry suspected that they would be breaking up when Oliver got back into London the next morning.

“This is ridiculous,” he huffed aloud, even though there was no one in his flat to hear him. “I’m not a kept woman, I don’t have to sit here wallowing in loneliness.”

But he didn’t feel like going out, especially when he knew pub patrons would cast odd stares his way if he continued to talk to himself. He tried to think of what he could do to pass the time. Oliver had been out of town since the morning he left their beach house for a Quidditch emergency, and that had been almost a week ago.

None of his friends seemed to think Oliver was right for him either. But did he listen to them? It’s not as though they would be there to entertain him every evening if he were to break things off with Oliver. For that matter, Oliver wasn’t there either. Maybe his friends had a point. If the only reason he was with the Scot was to ward off lonely nights, he could do better. Hermione had been adamantly pressing Harry to learn about the magic that had matched he and Oliver together. Maybe there was something faulty with it; maybe it was less accurate than he’d thought.

Which reminded him, a certain blond Slytherin had promised to explain about the magic he used to create the bond between his clients and hadn’t brought it up in any of their latest meetings. Without another thought, Harry fetched a handful of Floo power and cast it into the fire, shouting out Draco’s address as he went. An image of Draco’s study opened up in front of him, but the blond was nowhere in sight. “Of course not,” he muttered bitterly. “It’s Friday night and he probably has a date.”

That revelation, coupled with the face of the blond in question, rounding the corner into his office, made Harry end the fire call rather abruptly. He leaned back on his haunches and stared into the flames as they went from green to black to orange once more. He had no business interrupting Draco’s Friday night, or his date, if Draco had one, which someone as perfect as he was surely did.

Shaking his head, Harry had to chastise himself. Wasn’t it his rule that the pair kept things professional? And here he was, thinking of Draco’s lovely face and fire calling him in the middle of a Friday night. It was inexcusable. Draco almost certainly had plans that were more important than chaperoning a lonely client. He remembered the man who had answered Draco’s door a few weeks before and nearly flushed with embarrassment all over again. Draco had obviously gotten close with the man, Alston he recalled, if he allowed him to wander his flat half-naked and answer his door. Harry couldn’t imagine being that bold at Oliver’s place even now, and they had been practically engaged.

Hoping he’d ended the call before Draco had noticed him, Harry made his way into the kitchen to pop some corn. He was already imagining the taste of warm butter coating his tongue, and he strode to the dining table to grab the salt, eagerly anticipating his evening treat. Sitting at home alone watching a Muggle film with hot buttered popcorn wasn’t a bad way to spend a Friday night. Not bad at all.

His spirits lifted, Harry had gotten as far as the sofa when a frantic knock resounded from his entryway. Puzzled, Harry put the popcorn down and went to see who was calling on him so late. A glance through his peephole revealed a frazzled looking Draco, who was angling to knock again when Harry yanked the door open.

“Hullo, Malfoy,” he greeted conversationally.

“Hullo? Hullo?” Draco repeated, each time more aggravated than the last. “You disappear from my fireplace without a word and all you have to say is hullo?”

“I wasn’t snooping or anything,” Harry muttered, more defensively than he’d like.

“I know you weren’t snooping,” he bit out. “Are Gryffindors even capable of snooping?” he asked, but apparently he didn’t need an answer to that, because he plowed ahead. “You looked…scared or something. I thought something was wrong!”

“Oh,” Harry replied, somewhat bashfully. “No, nothing’s the matter. I was just bored.”

“Bored,” Draco repeated again, as if he was suddenly unable to come up with words on his own. “You decided to give me a heart attack because you were bored?”

“I didn’t think you’d seen me. I was lonely and thought that maybe you weren’t too busy to explain the magic the way you’d promised, only I realized too late that it was Friday night and you probably had a date or something and I didn’t want to interrupt, and…I’m babbling. Sorry,” he finished quickly, a slight blush to his cheeks.

“I didn’t have a date,” Draco replied.

“Oh,” Harry replied again. “I’m sorry I pulled you away from whatever it was you were doing. I remembered only too late that we weren’t friends or anything. It’s not as though you’re obligated to fly over here and keep me company.”

“Grands Dieux, mais que vais-je faire de ce Gryffindor entêté?” Draco grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Harry’s lips curled into a slow smile. “That sounded cute, what did you say?”

“I was disparaging the gods for bringing you into my life,” Draco sighed, his gray eyes blazing with amusement.

“Well, in that case, it doesn’t sound nearly as cute,” Harry muttered, but he couldn’t stop grinning nonetheless.

“Harry, I know I’ve seemed a little…scattered,” Draco started, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “I’ve just been under a lot of stress lately. But I assure you, despite what I told you earlier about this just being a business transaction, I do consider you a friend. You’re welcome to come to me whenever you want.”

Harry pursed his lips and tried not to breathe. He was afraid that if he did this beautiful, sweet Draco would be replaced by the evil, nasty Malfoy he’d gotten recent glimpses of. Besides, he enjoyed Draco’s company, as much as he’d tried to deny it. “Is that an apology?”

“If you’ll accept it,” Draco replied, smirking slightly.

“Only if you say the words,” Harry countered, looking quite serious despite the mirth in his gaze.

“Je suis profondément désolé, Harry,” he replied and Harry laughed, his gut warming at the sound of his name in Draco’s French accent.

“You’re such a cheat. I have no idea what you just said,” he told the blond, but opened the door wider, allowing room for Draco to pass. “Would you like to come in? I’ve got some popcorn and I was about to watch a movie.”

“I suppose I could be bothered to visit with you, since I’m already here, that is,” Draco whispered, smiling sweetly as he slid past Harry into the living room. Harry did his very best not to allow his gaze to wander down to the Slytherin’s perfect arse, made even more delicious with the fit of the man’s dark denims. It really wasn’t fair that someone so unattainable kept himself within seemingly easy reach. Harry knew – only too well – that once he reached out to capture what he wanted, Draco would be gone like the mist. It wasn’t fair, but then Harry hadn’t yet broken up with Oliver, so he shouldn’t still be coveting Malfoy anyway.

“How was the vacation with Oliver?” Draco asked as he moved fluidly into the living room.

“Can we not talk about him tonight?” Harry requested. He thought the blond was going to challenge him, but instead, after a long, curious glance, Draco merely shrugged and changed the subject.

“What are we watching?” Draco asked as he made himself comfortable on Harry’s wide sofa. He took the bowl of popcorn, still hot, and popped a few kernels into his mouth.

“I hadn’t decided yet,” Harry admitted. “Would you like to pick?”

“What are my choices?” he asked and Harry merely pointed to the bottom shelf below his Muggle telly. Draco hopped up and knelt down in front of the selection, perusing the different titles. “Seen it, boring, no thanks, not right for tonight, funny but eh,” he muttered, much to Harry’s increasing amusement behind him. Then Draco made a noise that sounded as though someone had unexpectedly latched onto his cock with a hot mouth. “I think this is the one,” he purred moments later and Harry strode over to see what the blond had chosen. “I never could turn away from David Bowie in a fluffy blond wig and skintight trousers. Have you noticed how often the camera pans to his groin?”

Harry chuckled and rolled his eyes, though he felt very much the same way. “Got a thing for Bowie hm, Malfoy?”

“I have a pulse, don’t I?” Draco replied before returning to his spot on the sofa. Harry sat next to him after he’d started the movie and blindly reached over for the popcorn, getting a handful of Draco’s groin instead.

His eyes went wide as he looked down to see his hand had missed the bowl entirely – because Draco had moved it, of course, not because he’d wanted to get frisky – and his fingers were curling into the fabric of Draco’s trousers instead…and touching his cock. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed, completely mortified and yet decidedly turned on. As was Malfoy it seemed, because the shaft he clutched was certainly not flaccid.

Draco began to chuckle as he stared into Harry’s flushed face. “You do realize you’re still touching it…right?”

Harry pulled back his fingers as if they were on fire and buried his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry,” he repeated, but Draco just kept chuckling.

“No harm done,” the blond said after a few minutes, his eyes lifted to the sky briefly as if he was waiting to be struck down by a bolt of lightning any moment. When he sighed in relief, Harry shot him a peculiar look, but Draco merely shrugged.

“I didn’t realize exactly how much you liked Bowie,” Harry mentioned, trying to steer the embarrassing situation away from himself.

He was pleasantly surprised when the blond’s cheeks flushed with a hint of pink and he turned away. “I get a little excited around attractive men,” he muttered.

“Clearly,” Harry replied, nudging Draco with his shoulder. “Oh, how’s Alston, by the way,” Harry mentioned, trying to be the considerate friend he was supposed to be. He didn’t really want to hear about Draco’s relationship with another man, but that’s what friends did, right?

“Alston?” Draco asked, confusion written across his features but then shook his head. “He wasn’t the one,” he replied after a long moment.

Harry tried to look sad but couldn’t quite manage it. “I’m sorry,” he offered.

“Are you?” Draco asked, his delicate blond eyebrow quirked in amusement. “Because you don’t seem terribly torn up over it.”

Harry blanched. He hadn’t thought he was being that translucent. “I just…I didn’t think he was good enough for you,” he replied honestly.

“You didn’t know him,” Draco pointed out with a smirk.

“I knew him well enough to know he wasn’t right for you,” Harry huffed, feeling suddenly quite defensive.

Draco’s smirk widened into a genuine grin as he sidled closer to Harry, unable to stop himself as he leaned in. “Oh? Well, who is?”

Me.

That’s what Harry wanted to say, but instead he simply rolled his eyes and pointed at the screen. “Well, you seem to like him…maybe Bowie is good enough for you.”

“I don’t date blonds,” Draco replied with a shrug.

“You do realize he’s not actually blond, right?” Harry mused, his own mouth quirking into a smile.

“He’s blond enough of the time for it to count against him,” Draco quipped.

“What do you have against blonds?” Harry asked, leaning closer than before.

“Nothing, but how fair would it be to them? They’d always be looking at my hair and wishing theirs was half as lovely,” Draco sighed, his voice a reverent whisper that didn’t for a moment betray the bubbling laughter he felt.

Harry swatted him lightly on the arm and laughed. “You’re a pompous arse, you know that?”

“Would you have me any other way?” Draco whispered. Their faces were so close that Harry could feel the other man’s breath caress his lips, making him flick his tongue out to wet them.

“No,” he breathed. They stared at one another from inches apart for a long moment, neither willing to close that last bit of space. Harry wanted to kiss him so badly, but he was afraid of being rejected like last time, and in the next moment, he was grateful he hadn’t pushed it.

“I’m sorry,” Draco muttered, breaking the spell as he shifted far enough away that Harry could see the pain in his eyes. “I wasn’t trying to invade your space. I just….”

“Wanted to kiss me?” Harry asked, and Draco nodded without hesitation.

“I shouldn’t have though. I agreed to keep things professional, after all,” the blond sighed, running a hand through his silken locks. Harry stared at him curiously, having never noticed the movement before. Had Draco picked up one of his own quirks? Had they really been spending so much time together that Draco was now imitating him? Harry wondered if he’d done the same, if he’d managed to cling to a habit of Draco’s without realizing it. As soon as his tongue darted out to wet his lips again, he knew that he had - and he didn’t mind for even a moment that it was happening.

“What if I said I wanted you to?” Harry breathed.

Draco caught his breath but shook his head. “I would point out that it’s wrong. You’re with Oliver,” Draco said, bitterness apparent in his voice.

“And if I weren’t?” Harry asked, and Draco swallowed thickly, willing the words to come.

“Then I wouldn’t protest,” he managed, just barely, before the magicks grew impatient with him.

Harry pursed his lips and leaned back a bit. That wasn’t the answer he’d been after, but that wasn’t what Harry was contemplating in that moment. Remembering Hermione’s words, Harry decided to be bold. “How could you desire me if you know I’m meant to be with Oliver?” he asked, a question that had been on his mind off an on since they’d kissed.

“To explain that, you’d have to understand the theories behind the magicks I use,” Draco replied.

Did the spell bring the castor closer to his clients? Perhaps the Vows they’d given had? Harry couldn’t fathom an answer but merely smiled in response. “Well, you did promise to teach me,” Harry reminded him.

“That I did,” Draco replied, in the barest of whispers before leaping to his feet and holding out his hand. Harry took it willingly, noting the spark as their flesh connected, and followed Draco into the fireplace, where he’d just cast in Floo powder and shouted his address. “This will be easier in my study,” he explained at Harry’s curious glance.

“So, you’re not just bringing me back to your place to seduce me?” Harry quipped. Draco’s eyes darkened with a lust so thick he had to literally shake it from his bones. He led the brunet upstairs and paused just as he opened the door to his tidy office, turning to Harry with those starving gray eyes.

“You’d better watch it, Potter, or you’re going to get us both into trouble,” Draco replied huskily before turning back to his desk and adopting a more serious tone. “These are all the profiles I’ve created,” he explained, pointing at the various locked cabinets and drawers. “I’ve collected hundreds, if not thousands of surveys, each one unique from the next. It’s not the questions that really catch the magicks though, it’s the essence found in the answers that trigger the spell.”

“So, it doesn’t matter what you ask?” Harry queried.

“Not really,” Draco replied with a shrug. “The questions I’ve devised for my own benefit, because it helps me weed out couples that I shouldn’t even bother with. The spell takes a lot out of me, and if one person answers that their ideal life consists of living in the country with a dozen offspring and another person indicates that they’re a sterile city boy, than it’s pointless to waste my time. It’s obvious they’re not right for one another.”

“That makes sense,” Harry reasoned. “So, mine and Oliver’s tests match up?”

“Yes, but of course you knew that already,” Draco replied.

“What happened when you cast the spell?” Harry asked, smiling indulgently. He could tell Draco really enjoyed explaining the way his job worked by the excitement lighting up the man’s eyes.

“For you and Oliver?” Draco specified, trying to appease the magicks and Harry both, and Harry nodded. “It came up golden. There are several different levels.”

“Golden being the highest,” Harry added, but Draco frowned.

“No,” he corrected. “Golden is the second highest match you could get. A pure bond, that’s the highest.”

“And a pure bond means what, exactly?” Harry asked, gaining full interest for the first time.

“Soul mates,” Draco breathed, finally able to say the words because Harry had asked for them directly and out of the context Draco so desperately wanted to say them.

Harry’s eyes widened slightly, and he let out a soft breath. He was on the verge of being selfish, of asking if he had a soul mate - if perhaps Draco was that man. It certainly felt that way; their connection had been undeniable from the start. Even when they were schoolboy rivals, Harry felt a constant pull toward the blond. Hell, he’d spent his entire Sixth year skulking around after him. Draco seemed to know him in a way that no one else did. Like the way he could so easily predict things that Harry would enjoy, and the way he would just show up when Harry needed him – as if the blond had a ‘Harry Potter’ channel on his wireless.

But then Harry remembered that it was impossible for him to be Draco’s soul mate. “Oh gods,” he whispered, leaning in to clutch the blond’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

Draco looked puzzled for a moment, and then a violent cringe raced through him. Had Harry figured it out? Was he rejecting him after all of this? “Sorry for what?” he asked, holding to hope that he was wrong.

“When I first came here, you mentioned that your soul mate had died,” Harry whispered, as if he were in a library and trying to avoid Hermione’s lectures on ‘inside voices’. “I only just realized how important that was. I thought you were exaggerating when you used the word soul mate, but you weren’t, were you?”

Draco closed his eyes and cursed his own fibbing tongue. “I didn’t mean that, Harry. I only meant that the person alighted as my soul mate was dead to me. They are already with someone else.”

“Oh,” Harry replied, a bit sharply. “Why would you lie about something like that?”

“I didn’t lie,” Draco sighed. “I merely have trouble-”

“Telling the truth,” Harry finished for him, still frowning.

“In a way, yes,” Draco huffed. “These magicks I work with are very strong, Harry. Pair that with an Unbreakable Vow, and what am I supposed to do? You know I’m not allowed to discuss my clients with anyone who doesn’t already know what I do. Well, that applies to the man I’m in love with. I can’t tell him how I feel about him either. I’m not allowed.” Draco waited patiently for the pain to come, but it was only mild. Apparently since Draco was only answering Harry’s questions, the magicks didn’t seek to harm him. Although it might have to do with the fact that Draco was trying to come at the subject very indirectly. He suddenly wished he had a manual for these magicks so he knew what he was and wasn’t allowed to do or say.

“That’s terrible,” Harry gasped, wincing in sympathy for the blond.

“It’s maddening,” Draco confirmed, leveling Harry with a powerful gaze, as if trying to will the man into understanding his plight fully. “The worst part is that this other man is only with his golden match.”

“Wait, but wouldn’t the soul mates win out? Why wouldn’t the magic recognize you as the stronger match and allow you to confess?” Harry asked, leaning even closer to Draco in his excitement.

“You’d think, but no. The first contract must be broken in order for another to be formed,” Draco replied.

“So, until your soul mate sacks his lover, your hands are tied?” Harry reasoned.

“Exactly,” Draco rasped, feeling relief wash over him. Still, Harry had understood the nuances of the magic, but he hadn’t seemed to connect the dots.

“And what would happen if you tried to break them up?” Harry asked. “Are these magicks like the ones in the Unbreakable Vow?”

“Very similar,” Draco agreed, the first stirring of a headache forming behind his eyes. “I would find myself in a great deal of pain if I even so much as kissed my soul mate. If I were to press further than that, I could die.”

“Are you in pain now?” Harry asked, running his fingertips along the edge of Draco’s jaw.

“So much pain, Harry,” he confessed, though the magicks only seemed to be toying with him now, but Harry removed his hand as swiftly as he had done earlier that night.

“If I’m clear then,” Harry pressed on, taking a deep breath and letting it out very slowly. “What you’re saying is, that all I have to do is break up with Oliver and you can be with your soul mate?”

Draco nearly choked hearing the solution so bluntly from the Gryffindor’s mouth. He wanted to shout ‘Yes!’, scream it to the heavens that please, please, please have Harry ditch Oliver to be with him, but the words would not come, just as he wasn’t permitted to tell Harry he loved him directly. And just as he was about to growl in frustration, knowing that once again Harry was bound to take his silence as a negative response, his brilliant Harry did something unexpected.

“You can’t say yes, can you?” Harry asked, his eyes widening. “I see it now that I know what to look for,” he whispered. “All that time…I thought you were just toying with me.”

“I wasn’t,” Draco assured him in a rasping tone.

“And this is what happened to Hermione and Gin as well? Because they were trying to interfere with my relationship with Oliver?” he asked, but he clearly didn’t need an answer as he paced the floor, rubbing at his forehead.

“Harry, I just want you to be happy,” Draco told him. “So do your friends.”

“I need to think for a moment,” Harry said, holding up his finger to silence the blond. “Stop talking. I don’t want you in any more pain than you’re already in,” he added, and Draco smiled at the Gryffindor’s hero complex kicking in, even at a time like this.

Soul mates.

The word resonated through Harry with a thrill and a few weeks ago he would have laughed at the very notion of it. Not only was he certain they didn’t exist, but for Draco Malfoy, bane of his entire life to be that man…. “I’m sorry, Draco, I really am, but I need to see Oliver. I’ve been with him for too long to just end things like this,” he whispered and fled Draco’s study, leaving a gaping blond in his wake.

He’d been prepared to lose Harry to Wood, but not like this. Draco had been sure that if Harry knew about the magic, once Harry realized that they were soul mates, that he would hold Draco tight and never let go. He’d assumed that if Harry remained ignorant to the fact that Draco loved him that surely he would choose Oliver, but the idea of him knowing everything and chasing after Oliver instead had never entered into his mind. But here he was, living a nightmare. Harry was his soul mate, Harry knew this, and still he chose Oliver?

The sobbing cry that issued from Draco’s throat was only the first of many that assaulted him that evening.

Author’s Note: So, the movie, as some of you have no doubt guessed, was Labyrinth, my all time personal favorite. Alas, one of my beta’s, Shannon, has never seen it, and even didn’t know who David Bowie was until I told her, so I had to have a bit of fun at her expense. Right? Oh, and poor Draco, right? *smirk.