Secondhand Robes

DISCLAIMER: Warning! I make no claim to any property of J.K. Rowling's, and am in no way profiting by this. I do offer her my sincerest thanks for allowing us this garden of the mind in which we play. Further Warning! This story...and likely any I ever write...are dominated by gay themes and characters. That’s how it is, if this in any way makes you uncomfortable...do not read further.


Secondhand Robes (part 8)…by Samayel


Harry had spent the last couple of days on pins and needles, anxious for Friday evening to hurry and arrive. It was a wonderful new feeling, this exquisite tension that filled him, distracting him from studies (for which he was grateful) and putting a spring in his step. There was a certain wonderful confidence that came from knowing that someone liked you, and Harry enjoyed that confidence to the fullest.

Unfortunately, the change in Harry’s demeanor had not gone completely unnoticed. While most of his classmates simply assumed that Harry had finally relaxed and was just enjoying a good mood, Hermione had known better.

Harry’s unwillingness to talk about the source of his good cheer had peaked her curiosity, and before the week was out, she’d figured it for herself and had confronted him quietly.

She’d taken his partial confession at face value, even though he heavily edited parts of it, but she had great difficulty accepting that Draco Malfoy wouldn’t show his true colors as soon as he got whatever he wanted. Only Harry’s insistence that he knew Draco better than most of Slytherin dissuaded her from a threatened intervention. He hadn’t divulged what he’d seen over the summer, but he had implied that his truce with Draco was rooted in some common experiences and conversations over the past two months.

Hermione had grudgingly agreed to keep silent, and run interference by keeping others from learning the truth. She wouldn’t lie if someone already knew the truth, but she would at least divert attention and allay suspicion when she could. That would have to be good enough.

Draco had been as quiet as usual the last couple days, showing no outward sign that he had an assignation with Harry. It was an impressive display of Draco’s self control, but at least his friendly smirk was still in place when no one else was watching. Today, he’d even given Harry a full on smile and a conspiratorial nod in the hall on the way to class. Harry’s stomach had been fluttering ever since.

‘So this is what a crush feels like. I never understood why people said they had ‘butterflies’ in their stomach before. I still can’t believe I have them for Draco Malfoy. This is so weird.’

Weird, but wonderful nonetheless. Now he just had to survive the actual date itself. Harry had finished his classes for the day, and was fussing over his clothes for the first time in…well, ever.

He didn’t really have any formal clothes, and the closest thing he had to casual clothes were his jeans and T-shirts. At least he had some that were clean and fit well. A year ago he hadn’t even had that, and after hiding with the Order this summer, he’d only managed to shop for himself once.

Harry looked at himself in the mirror and grimaced. It would have to do. It was cursedly strange, suddenly caring about how he looked just because he’d be meeting Malfoy tonight. If the notion of dining across a table from Draco seemed uncomfortable, the recurring thoughts of what it would be like to actually snog him were ruinous!

There was nothing to be done for it. His time had been eaten up searching for the ‘right’ jeans and T-shirt, fighting his seemingly unfixable hair, and checking himself in the mirror. This was his first actual date, and he had no intention of being late. Harry gathered his nerve and left with just a little time to spare.

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Draco arrived at The Three Broomsticks a full half hour early, and ensured that the small table in the back, largely obscured by shadows and ideal for romantic couples, was open and ready, as he had reserved it just for this dinner.

Not that he was gushing with Hufflepuff sentimentality, but Malfoys, poor or no, never did anything halfway. If he was going to take Harry Potter out for dinner, it would be done in true Malfoy fashion, and nothing less would do. It had cost almost every Knut of his stipend from Snape, but at least no one would ever suggest that Draco was a cheap date.

Draco sauntered up to the bar and inquired after his table. Assured that it was ready and waiting, he asked for Mr. Potter to be directed to it as soon as he arrived. The barman nodded assent, and Draco made his way to the table and got comfortable.

He ordered a glass of wine, and as soon as he felt at ease, sure that he looked the perfect picture of the waiting suitor, he was interrupted by an unpleasant fellow in non-descript clothes.

“Still your father’s son, eh? The Master will be pleased. You’ve lured Potter out of hiding when no one else could have. Well done, little dragon.”

Draco bit back his sense of horror. A fucking Death Eater in Hogsmeade. He must have been sent to keep tabs on Potter’s movements. The bastard had overheard Draco at the bar and assumed the worst, but at least that left room to turn things to his advantage. Draco’s mind and pulse raced while he answered on the fly.

“I’ve done my part. He’ll be here soon. Will the Master want him tonight, or shall we bide our time?” Draco privately prayed that his eyes wouldn’t betray his terror.

“If he’s out and untended tonight, bring him to the alley behind here when you leave. Do what you must to convince him, but get him there. He should be easy to take if he’s unready, and I’ll Apparate him to our Master’s redoubt.”

Draco sneered as evilly as he could manage. “We’ll Apparate together, you mean. I want my share of the credit. I’ve managed where even my father failed, and I mean to gain from it!”

The ugly bloke gave a gap toothed and cruel grin. “So very much your father’s son. Good enough. The Dark Lord’s largesse will be for the both of us. See to your end of it, I’ll be waiting.” With that, the man turned and left, slipping out a side door and into the alley.

Draco felt the bile rising in his throat. He wanted to vomit, he wanted to run and never stop, he wanted anything but to be the reason Harry was in danger. If something happened, who would believe he hadn’t planned it from the start? This was a complete disaster!

When he was younger, and the Dark Lord’s influence hadn’t yet turned his father into a brutal maniac, being a Death Eater had seemed darkly glorious, and Draco had wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps. Now it was every nightmare he’d ever had made real.

Should he just tell Harry and then both run for it? He could just flee and let the Boy Who Lived deal with it himself…but that thought made his sour stomach ache all the more. There was another horrible temptation he felt. He could be high among the Dark Lord’s favorites if he turned in Harry Potter. The Ministry had already robbed the Malfoys of their wealth and home, did he really feel any loyalty to the side that had left him starving?

That clinched it. He had no loyalty to any side, but one person had fed him when he hungered. One person had guarded his dignity in secret, with no desire for repayment, or even gratitude. One person had felt sympathy for him despite five years of pranks and insults. Harry.

It was a hard, fast way to define his feelings, but there was no time for anything less than absolute self honesty. Maybe it wasn’t love, and maybe it wasn’t anything that would last, but for what it was worth, he liked Harry more than he could recall liking anyone else…ever. He’d find a way to get Harry out of this mess no matter what it took!

He was still blushing at the sudden clarity of his own thoughts when Harry walked into the room and was directed to their table. Draco forgot to strike his pose, and just stared as Harry walked up.

He looked pretty good in Muggle clothes, even if they weren’t high quality, and his hair was as mussed and imperfect as always. This time, however, Draco saw things he’d never noticed before.

Harry seemed happy, but terribly anxious, and the slight shyness and awkward, self conscious movements made him look more vulnerable and desirable than ever. Draco forgot all about the emergency in the offing for a second, while he watched the green eyed boy take his seat and smile at him nervously.

“Nice table. This is great. I never really sat down for dinner here before. Didn’t even know they set private tables like this for people. By the way, I’m really glad you asked me here.”

Harry was rambling. It was actually kind of flattering. Draco found it intoxicating to think that he could turn Harry Potter into an awkward, stammering wreck. The he saw an ugly face near the bar, staring at the two of them, and his mind snapped back to the present.

“Yes. Well, you certainly did a greater kindness to me this summer. It was the least I could do. You know, if the Ministry ever gets off its sorry arse and does the paperwork to free my inheritance, I could do something a little more lavish to say thank you.” Draco did his best to sound casual, as he wasn’t really comfortable saying exactly how he felt about Harry’s kindness.

Harry’s cheeks pinked and he cast his eyes down and kept his voice low. “Draco…you don’t owe me anything. We’re even. I’d never expect anything…”

“Shut it. I know what you do or don’t expect. We discussed that. I don’t HAVE to do anything, I’m a Malfoy, we do as we please. It just happens to please me to have dinner with you. It might later please me to do something a little more grandiose. I’ll ask you when the time comes, and your part is saying yes or no…how’s that?”

Harry flushed full crimson. “Okay…okay. I got it.” Then Harry smiled and it felt like Draco’s world had just gotten brighter. “I can think of something right now, that would be a perfect gift…if you wanted to give it?”

Draco was still edgy and aware of the danger that surrounded them, but he couldn’t bear to ruin the moment so soon. He went along with Potter’s coy question with a wry smirk of his own. “Pray tell, what would that be?”

Harry looked him in the eye. “Tell me. Are we here just to talk about things…or is this a real date? I want to know.” It was so matter of fact, the way Harry had put it, that Draco was momentarily silent.

Draco marshaled his thoughts. There wasn‘t much time, and even though he hated the lack of subtlety involved, he found he really wanted to just tell Harry what he felt. “There are things we need to talk about…” Harry’s face fell, and his body language screamed tension. “…but I asked you here for a real date. I don’t want to talk about the dream. I think I already know how you feel, and…and as crazy as it sounds, I like you, too. I don’t know how we could possibly do this, but I want to go out with you, Harry. I just hope I haven’t made an idiot of myself asking that.”

Apparently bluntness worked well when dealing with Gryffindors. Harry’s face lit up like a living sun, and Draco could almost feel the joy radiating outward from Harry. In true Gryffindor style, Harry stood and leaned across the table, reaching forward to a suddenly very nervous Draco.

A second later, hands were in his hair, and Harry’s lips were on his, uncertain and trembling, but slowly and surely working out ways to move in time with Draco’s own.

Draco’s head was spinning. He knew how to snog, more or less, but it had always been so clinical and vaguely boring. This…this heated his blood and stole his breath. Harry made him feel like he was starving, and not for anything as simple as food, but for Harry alone.

He relaxed and slid his way away from the table, still attached at the face to Harry, loving the intensity that getting physically closer to Harry brought. All he could think of was the softness of those lips that pressed and curled against his own, and the thrill that came from arms that wrapped around his waist so comfortably that he couldn’t remember when they hadn’t been there. A sudden rush of blood to his groin produced a swelling that positively ached, but he no longer really cared.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw the scowl of the Death eater at the bar. Reality crashed back, and he knew what he had to do. He worked his way away from Harry’s mouth, brushing his lips against the line of Harry’s jaw, and ultimately finding his way to a spot just behind the lobe of Harry’s ear. The dark haired boy was gasping, and practically melted into a puddle in Draco’s arms.

It took all the strength Draco could muster to whisper into Harry’s ear, “Harry, we’re in danger. The man at the bar is a Death Eater. We have to get out of here or take him out. We need a plan, but whatever we do, I’m with you.”

Every muscle in Harry’s body stiffened, and the gasps and small sounds he’d been making screeched to halt. He kept Harry’s face out of view, hoping the man wouldn’t see the change in Harry’s demeanor, but he couldn’t have imagined feeling more terrible than he did at that moment.

TBC