Fine Lines
chapter 7
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I
was the first one to wake the next morning, which was good.
Potter
was asleep on his back, head turned slightly toward me. His bangs were pushed
to one side, so I could see the thin scar on his forehead, which I traced with
one fingertip as I studied his face. Propping myself on one elbow I angled mine
to fit the curves of his nose and chin, lowering my head until my mouth made
gentle contact with his. His lips were soft, so soft
as I lingered for a moment, feeling his breath on my cheek.
I
pulled back with satisfaction and had to smile. I’d done it. I’d kissed him.
He
stirred slightly, perhaps feeling my gaze on him in his sleep, and his eyelids
fluttered.
“Morning,”
I whispered, so close I could see just how dark each of his eyelashes were.
“Morning,”
he replied. The skin around one eye still slightly discolored, making the green
in one eye seem brighter than the other. “Draco, kiss me again.”
I
dipped my head again and this time his soft lips moved to fit with mine, suckling
gently as one hand came up to cup my cheek. He opened his mouth and tickled my
lips with the tip of his tongue, slipping it in to flick the edges of my teeth.
He kissed me in ways that I’d heard about, but never expected to experience.
Potter
smiled, resting his head back on the pillow, still holding my cheek.
From
downstairs I heard Mrs. Weasley waking her sons as
she called up the stairs to us, “Boys, breakfast!”
“Mother’s
dead,” I heard myself say quietly, as if I had just realized it. Then something
between my heart and mind connected and Potter’s face started to swim. “Potter,
my Mother is dead. And my father hates me.”
I
lay on my back, not wanting to shut him out by rolling to my side but not
wanting him to see me cry, either. He didn’t say anything as we lay there.
So
this is what it felt like to be an orphan. Abandoned, with a
shot of hurt. Two hot tears ran tickling into my ears, but there were
only two and I was glad.
“We
don’t have to go down yet,” Potter said quietly. “We can stay here as long as
you want.”
“Thanks,”
I mouthed at the ceiling. Somehow, that was the right thing to say.
When
we eventually went downstairs, we found the kitchen to be deserted, save for
Mrs. Weasley.
“The
exterminators are finished,” she said, ignoring the fact that we were an hour
and a half late for breakfast. “So everyone has gone back to the Burrow and
we’re being re-established. Sit down, dears, you look starving.” She piled two
huge waffles high with strawberries and cream, setting the plates down with a
thump and looked between us anxiously; I knew she could see how red my eyes
were. “I need to be getting back, but…well, if you need anything, just let me
know.”
With
considerable effort Harry swallowed and said, “Thanks, Mrs. Weasley.”
My
mouth was too full so I nodded, cheeks bulging.
She
paused, looking loathe to leave us, then kissed us each on the top of the heads
murmuring, “Poor dears.”
I
don’t remember a lot of that day. I wandered the yard and the cottage, not
really seeing where I was going, not really feeling sad or happy or anything
really.
Potter
returned to find me lying on the couch, staring at the wall. Mrs.
and his eye was loads better, and she must have mended his leg too because he
wasn’t limping anymore. In fact, he didn’t look like he’d suffered a great deal
of physical trauma as he came and sat on the couch at my head.
Without
thinking or realizing what I was doing, I scooted up and lay my head in his lap.
He placed one hand on my shoulder and stroked with his fingertips, as if he
didn’t realize what he was doing either.
“Come
here,” I said, pulling at his shirt until he lay down beside me. I curled into
the shape of his body, facing him, nuzzling our faces close. He stroked my hip
and I leaned my head in, and we kissed. Just a simple kiss.
Reaching
out I touched his side, above the hip, brought my hand around to the flat front
of his stomach. There was comfort in touch. I liked to touch him, and liked it
when he touched me.
We
kissed again, this time a not so simple kiss. I learned to use my tongue,
feeling around the blunt edges and curves of his teeth while my fingers slid
through his hair and along the line of his jaw. His hair was so thick, feeling
as unruly as it looked, so different from the fine slippery sleekness of my own.
He
kissed down my neck, rolling atop, coming to my shirt collar, and unbuttoning
the buttons. Spreading the lapels wide he kissed down the length of one collar
bone, then back, opening his mouth on the hollow of my neck and nipped.
I
gasped, jumping a little, and he pulled back and looked at me. I looked back up
at him, eyes wide, sorry that I had done whatever that had made him stop.
He
lay down again, nestling his head into my shoulder. I started to stroke his
neck, marveling at the softness of his skin just below the chin, running my
fingers along the line of his collar bone. “Take off your shirt,” I said,
wondering if we were being reckless or stupid or both.
Potter
sat up, tugged his shirt over his head, and lay back
down, unbuttoning my shirt the rest of the way and ran his hand back and forth
over my stomach.
I
was hard, and bent my legs just right so my pants hid it, but Potter knew
anyway. He was hard too. “Go on.” I said.
“Are
you sure?” he asked.
“Okay
then.”
I
watched as he undid the button, the zipper, and lifted my hips so he could
slide them down. His eyes settled on the tenting of my boxers, the darker damp
spot at the peak. A shiver ran up my spine; I’d never felt so vulnerable
before, and my stomach was fuzzy. I must’ve looked it because Potter said,
“I
know.” I nodded and swallowed, watching his fingers slide down my midline and
down to the elastic waistband. He lifted it and I lifted my hips again as he
tugged, and I turned on one side to face him.
He
kissed my nose and shifted his head to watch his hand slip up and down one
inner thigh, then the other.
I
shuddered and sighed, growing harder still, bending one leg up to brace myself
and give him better access as he took me in his hand, starting to rub.
I’d
masturbated on my own, hidden behind closed doors at home, or fast and quiet as
possible at school, late, with the curtains drawn around my bed. It’d always
been me, myself, and I, focusing on the end and how to
get there as quickly as possible, squeezing as hard and fast as I could.
But
now it was different. Potter was not as tight, slower, as if he
good, so good I wished the end would never come. On my side I swayed back and
forth, thrusting my hips into his hand and he drew tighter and moved a little
faster. Muscles started to twitch with white hot little flashes, finally
seizing into one big one as my scrotum pulled up tight and-
“
recognizing the sound as liquid white semen ran onto the carpet and scattered in
flecks over his jeans.
“Okay?”
he whispered.
“Yeah,”
I mumbled, knowing something had changed and that things could never go back to
the way they were. But that was alright, now. “You?”
“Good.”
I reached for his pants, pulling off his boxers and jeans in one go.
His
hair was dark around the base of his penis, which was ruddy and thick, making
my fingers look even more pale and slender in comparison. He must have been
very eager, for he thrust his hips at me as soon as I touched him. I grabbed
hold and pumped, watching the back and forth motion in fascination. He loved to
be fondled about the head, groaning and arching when I dragged my thumb in
circular motions over the slit. I had to smile as I watched him. I liked it
too.
He
murmured my name, shuddering as he finished. Potter’s skin was warm as we
curved against one another, not needing to say what this meant now and would
mean later.
“The
Weasley’s won’t be here tonight,” he said. “For
dinner or anything else, but Hermione was going to come and visit for a few
days. Ron was going to come over tomorrow.”
“You
can still sleep in my bed,” I said. “I guess I don’t mind. Can’t
have a girl sleeping on the floor down here anyway.”
He
smiled. “Hermione’s a girl now, is she? Not a Mudblood?”
I
paused. “She’s…Granger. A lot of hair with even more
information.” I couldn’t help but make a face. Granger had always made
higher marks than me, and it remained a bit of a sore spot. “I don’t know. Your
mother was a…a Muggle-born, wasn’t she?”
“I
guess,” I said begrudgingly, “If you think about it, everyone’s a
“Not
you pureblood families.”
“Yeah,
but we sleep with our cousins. Take your pick, Potter. Fancy marrying your cousin?”
Potter
turned a shade paler. “My only cousin is a boy. But not six months ago I
would’ve had him over you. At least he’s stupid and mean, not cunning and mean.”
I
thought of my cousin Nyphadora, and then of how much
I had hated Potter. Yeah, I had to agree.
“Hermione
will be here,” Potter said. “We’d better get cleaned up.”
Granger
arrived that evening, and I couldn’t help studying her when she burst through
the front door. It was odd not saying Mudblood!
moment I saw her. Somewhere along the line she’d gotten her front teeth fixed,
so I couldn’t even snark that she was bucktoothed.
Her hair was still as bushy as ever, which was some sort of familiar comfort to
me.
“Harry!”
she squealed, typical girl, as she threw both arms around him.
“Hi
Hermione,” Potter said, returning her hug.
“Hi
Draco,” she said stepping back, smiling but decidedly cool.
“Hi,”
I said, and there was an awkward pause instead of an insult.
That
night in bed, Potter and I were laying on our sides,
facing each other. “What’d you think they’d say if they knew we…”
I wasn’t sure what to call what we did. “You know.”
shrugged. “I’m not going to tell them.”
“It’s
none of their business anyway.”
“Well,
I guess if you feel that way I really won’t. What’d your father say if he
knew?”
“Then
he’d really kill me, with his bare hands. Pureblood lines can’t exactly be
perpetuated this way, you know. But I think he’s got a lot more to be upset
about without me, now. What’d your parents think? Sorry, I forgot,” I said
quickly.
“I
guess, well…they’d be that much happier knowing there was a little more love in
the world.”
Wrinkling
my nose I asked, “Where’d you hear that?”
“Alright
I’m not sure what they’d think, but I bet Dumbledore would think so at least.” Rolling
onto his back Potter closed his eyes, then opened them
as if he remembered something suddenly. “D’you
tomorrow? Ron, Hermione, and I were going to go.”
“I
think you’ve forgotten something.”
“Hermione
could transfigure you. We already talked about it.”
This
gave me a pause. Granger, whom I’d been rather nasty to for the past five
years, could point her wand at me and mutter pretty much any spell she wanted
to? “Uh, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”
“We’ll
all have loads of fun.”
Visions
of warts with tentacles, various jinxes, and other horrible, non-reversible
things started to dance through my mind. On the other hand, maybe all this
staying inside safety thing was making me a bit dull and boring, and I longed
to get out of Godric’s Hollow.
Which
is why, the following morning, I was sitting on a kitchen stool between Granger
and Potter, with Weasley glowering a little off to
the side.
“We’re
not supposed to do this, and it really could be dangerous, and we don’t have
Madame Pomfrey to fall back on,” Granger was saying
dubiously as she studied my face. “Professor McGonagall never actually taught
us how to do stuff like this; it was supposed to be at the very end of last
year but-“
“Come
off it, Hermione,” Potter scoffed, half teasing, half annoyed. “We know you
read ahead and know how to do it anyway. You’re a
N.E.W.T witch; we trust you to do it well.”
I
wasn’t sure if I did, but now wasn’t the time to say that.
Granger
sighed. “Alright. But don’t blame me if he explodes or
something.”
I
winced and Weasley perked, looked mildly hopeful.
“Close
your eyes, Draco. I won’t do anything too drastic in case…just some color
changes and a drop or two of aging potion, courtesy of Fred and George’s joke
shop.”
I
squeezed by eyes tight shut and pressed my hands together between my knees,
wishing I’d thought to apologize to Granger for every mean thing I ever said to
her.
TBC