A Love So Belated
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
44
Views:
46,659
Reviews:
358
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
44
Views:
46,659
Reviews:
358
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 9: To Waste His Whole Heart
Chapter Number/Total: 9/44
Chapter Title: To Waste His Whole Heart
Words: 3314 Words
Harry didn't go to the Weasleys', but rather a little way from Grimmauld Place, out of sight of the Muggles. He walked the rest of the way there, watching the Fidelius Charm-protected house seem to pop into existence.
He entered and stayed there – for hours. He just sat at the kitchen table, a cup of tea from Kreacher that had long gone cold clutched in his hands as he stared into it. It wasn't until the sun had set that he, to his slight horror, felt his eyes water, and it wasn't until the stars were bright in the sky that he actually considered going back to The Burrow.
He simply stood there in the backyard. The cold air seemed to press in on him, though it was somehow still more inviting than the warm glow coming from the Burrow’s windows.
He almost Disapparated again. Perhaps he could just stay the night at number twelve, but then someone’s voice rang across the yard to his ears.
“What’re you bloody doing? Aren’t you freezing your bollocks off out there?”
It was Ron, and he was holding the kitchen door open, peering at Harry from where he stood.
Harry thought he was exaggerating the cold. It still seemed better than facing Ron, and the others, and … Ginny. But Ron had seen him now, hadn’t he? What was he supposed to do? He shrugged, walking toward the open kitchen door.
Ron stood back to let him in. Harry would have reached to pull off his jacket, but he’d left his jacket behind.
“Merlin,” said Ron, shutting the door with a sharp snap. “Are you off your rocker? You haven’t even got a cloak or anything. And where were you all day?”
“It’s not that cold out,” Harry muttered, ignoring the second question.
Ron snorted, and though Harry was turned away, he knew Ron shook his head.
“Mum made some really great Yorksh –” Ron stopped off suddenly. He’d walked around and was now facing Harry. “Harry?” His voice held concern and Harry’s stomach squirmed, much like it had been doing since he’d left the Manor.
“Yeah?”
“You okay?”
There was a short pause that Harry cursed. “Yeah.” His voice caught only slightly, as if it had stumbled over the word.
Ron continued to frown at him. Merlin, what did he look like? Well, he did know that he felt sick.
“Do you want to sit down?”
Ron had to be exaggerating, like he had done with the weather. Harry didn’t look like he needed to "sit down" because of bloody Malfoy, though the chairs at the wooden table weren’t looking so bad. “Yeah, I guess,” he heard himself say. Was his voice shaky?
Ron actually helped him into the chair. Harry wanted to tell him not to, only his legs suddenly felt as shaky as his voice. Because he’d kissed Draco Malfoy, hadn’t he? He’d done it. His stomach churned again with the thought of it.
“Where the hell were you?” Ron asked, sitting and staring. He sounded serious now.
“Nowhere,” Harry answered. “Just at number twelve.” Fuck, his voice really needed to stop shaking.
“What happened?”
“Why do you think something happened?” No pause that time.
Ron didn’t even give that an answer, his eyes narrowing in suspicion and confusion.
Harry sighed. Goddamn, that was shaky too. He took off his glasses and rubbed his temples.
Soft footsteps sounded then, as someone else entered the kitchen. Harry knew the footsteps. I think I’m actually going to sick up, he thought.
“It’s about time you came back,” said Ginny. “I was starting to worry.”
He didn’t look over, which was probably very stupid, because what could be more suspicious?
“Harry?” She sounded like her brother.
He sighed again, thought about turning his head, and then realised that he really couldn’t look at her. “Yeah?”
“What’s the matter?” That was said a little softer than Ron would've said it.
“Nothing. Mm' just tired. I think I’ll go to bed.” Yes. That sounded good. Better than sitting there anyway. With Ginny. At whom he couldn't look, which would be, no doubt, odd to her.
He got to his feet, pleased to find that he was maybe a little less shaky now that he was going to get away. He shuffled across the room, expecting to be stopped, especially by Ginny, but was only stared at. Maybe they thought he was having some sort of emotional breakdown. He was Harry sodding Potter after all, torn war hero and all that shit. No matter what the reason for them not stopping him, he was grateful.
He made his way up the stairs, entered into Ron's violently orange room, and crossed to the bed that had been smashed into the small amount of available space. He kicked off his shoes, but didn't remove the rest of his clothes. His hands rested on his stomach as he lie on his back and stared up at the sloped ceiling.
Sleep, he thought. That was what he really wanted to do, because perhaps that would mean he could stop thinking. It was no use. The scene played before his eyes yet again. He'd leaned down and he'd kissed Draco. He'd snogged him for a good minute and a half, tongue and all.
He couldn't work out why he'd done it. He wasn't a bloody, flaming poofter. No. He wasn't. He had a girlfriend. A nice, hot girlfriend with a pretty arse and gorgeous tits. But then why did a little voice in the back of his mind inform him that Draco owned quite a pretty arse as well? Why did that little voice also inform him that he'd been sort of thinking that for a while before the kiss?
He groaned quietly. Why had he continued going over to the Manor? Shouldn't he have stopped immediately after he'd started to – possibly – think that he'd been developing a .... A what? A crush? Merlin, that was embarrassing to even think. He had a crush on Draco Malfoy?
No. No, he did not.
In fact, he couldn't go over to the Manor again. He wouldn't. That would be risking everything. If Ginny were to find out that he had kissed Draco – that he had done it – God, that would be just .... She couldn't find out. So then had he cheated? Oh, Merlin. No. No he had not cheated on Ginny with Draco. But he still couldn't tell her, because then she would think that he ... liked other blokes or something. And what if Ron found out?
He closed his eyes, feeling shame redden his face and guilt tug at his gut. What about Draco in all of this? He probably would have never kissed Harry. Harry had kissed him. And the look on Draco's face when he had left him. Merlin, what was this ache in his heart? Why was he feeling it?
Right then, Ron entered into the room. Harry immediately closed his eyes, able to assume a better sleeping position in the dark by flipping onto his side, facing away from Ron.
“Harry?” Ron asked quietly. He still sounded concerned.
Harry didn’t answer.
Ron even went so far as to walk over to Harry’s bed and peer down at him. Harry could feel it. But after a moment, Ron released a huffy sigh and moved over to his own bed.
Harry sighed too, but did so much more quietly. He knew he couldn't go over to the Manor again. He couldn't see Draco.
He felt another ache.
***
When Harry awoke the next morning, his head hurt and he felt completely lousy. He could faintly smell breakfast cooking, which meant that Mrs Weasley had been awake for a bit. He wondered if Ron and Ginny had told her he was acting strangely or anything. Ron wasn't in his bed.
Harry remained in bed for a bit longer himself, staring out the window and trying to think about the colours outside rather than what his brain was really trying to make him think about.
He sighed, pushing himself up before getting to his feet. He felt stiff, and stretching didn't really help. He was also still wearing his clothes from the previous day. He got some new clothes out and changed into them. No need to let everyone think he had more of a problem than he actually did. Because he didn't have any problem he couldn't get rid of. He'd already got rid of it. He just wouldn't see Draco anymore. There was that ache again, but he ignored it.
He went downstairs, entering into the kitchen. Ron, Ginny, and Mr Weasley were sitting at the table while Mrs Weasley stood at the cooker. "Oh, good morning, Harry," she said, her voice almost overly cheerful. She'd been notified then.
"Morning," Harry said, suddenly wishing he hadn't come down. But he crossed to the table and sat down in his usual spot. Next to Ginny. And then he wished even more that he hadn't come down. He could feel her eyes on him, but he couldn't seem to make himself turn his head to meet her gaze.
"Sleep well?" Mr Weasley asked in a tone similar to his wife's. Mrs Weasley set a plate of sausages and eggs down in front of Harry.
"Yeah, slept okay," Harry answered. He wished he could make himself sound a little louder, but he felt like if he did that, he would sound too loud.
"Good."
Harry nodded, picking up his fork and taking a small bite. He didn't feel terribly hungry.
And then Ginny reached and played gently with the short hair at the back of his neck. Harry tried not to flush as, uncontrollably, the thought of Draco's hand on the back of his head, in his hair, cropped up in his mind. He casually continued to eat.
Mrs Weasley set the rest of the food down at the table and then took a seat herself. They all sat there, eating quietly while Ginny still played with Harry's hair.
"So, you okay then?" Ron asked.
Harry looked up in just enough time to see Mrs Weasley giving Ron a stern look.
"I – There isn't – Nothing's wrong," Harry said.
"Well, of course not, dear," said Mrs Weasley, reaching to pat his hand, which, of course, told him that she did think something was wrong.
He only sighed and tried to ignore his squirming stomach as Ginny gently kissed his cheek and rubbed his back.
***
For the most part, the Weasleys pretty much left Harry alone for the rest of the day. They thought he was just having some problems with grief. He supposed, to them, that would seem the most obvious reason for his withdrawal. It made him feel more guilty that the actual reason for it was ....
When he went to bed that night, he realised that he hadn't kissed Ginny once, and when he fell asleep, it was to insuppressible thoughts of Draco Malfoy.
***
The next few days were almost exactly the same, only Harry could tell that Ron was getting slightly frustrated with him for not telling him what was up, even though he knew Ron probably assumed it was grief. And Ginny was starting to seem hurt when all she had done in a few days was kiss Harry's cheek and had received a few pecks on the lips. She didn't say anything about it, but he could tell, and it made him feel even more guilty because she was trying her best to make him feel better – to give him his space, even though she was confused with the timing.
What was worse was that even after three whole days, the ache of hurting Draco, of being ... without him ... wasn't going away. It was intensifying. Harry had dreamt of him now.
He was sitting out in the backyard, thinking of Draco right then, and thinking – reluctantly – of what might have happened if he hadn't run.
The sound of crunching leaves announced someone else's presence, and that someone sat down at the picnic table with him. Then the pleasant flowery smell told him who it was.
"Hi," said Ginny quietly, but with a smile in her voice.
At least Harry could look at her now, so he did. "Hi," he echoed.
"What are you doing out here?"
"Just thinking." Well, it wasn't a lie.
Ginny hummed, nodding, and a few moments of silence passed between them. "About ... Remus, Tonks and ... Fred and them?" she finally asked.
Harry winced and looked away, keeping his silence.
"I do understand, Harry," she said. "You know I do. We all do."
Oh, no you don't, Harry thought.
She moved closer on the bench. "I know it's been a little while now. Not nearly enough time for all of it to heal. It probably never will completely. I get like this some days, when it feels like he should just be here with us, I -" Her voice broke and she stopped talking.
Harry turned to her then and slipped an arm about her shoulders, pulling her against his chest. He wasn't sure if he had ever felt so guilty in his life.
It was obvious that she took comfort in his arms. And she should have, shouldn't she? He was her boyfriend, was he not?
They sat out in the breezy autumn cold together. Harry stared at the fallen leaves blowing and tumbling over the ground. He thought it was stupid to think of, but he pretty much felt like those damned leaves right then.
Though Ginny had almost cried, no tears had actually come and she finally shifted a little when it seemed she had got control of herself. She sighed. "I wish thinking of him didn't hurt so much," she said quietly.
Harry frowned, rubbing his hand over her arm. "Me too," he agreed, but he didn't know if he was talking about Fred.
***
That night, while Ron was in the shower, Harry started thinking of Draco while lying in bed. First he had only been wondering if he himself really did like blokes. Well, obviously, said that voice in his head. He scoffed at it, but the longer he lie there thinking – thinking of how Draco's body had felt, hard and straight underneath him, how his lips had felt, how his hands had felt, how his voice had sounded, Harry noticed that he was getting ... aroused. He gasped quietly, half-surprised, though he supposed he shouldn't have been. He was a little surprised that the thoughts had taken so long to spring this reaction. He didn't want to. He really didn't want to, but he reached down and touched his cock. Oh, it felt good after almost a week of simple, minute long wanks in the shower. He tried to think of Ginny, but when he came, it was Draco's mouth he imagined around his prick.
***
He kissed Ginny the next day, on the lips, properly. He was reminded of the fact that her lips were slightly softer than Draco's were.
But.
She didn't kiss with an edge of power that Draco had seemed to kiss with, that slight desperation, that incredible want. Her tongue didn't slide perfectly against his own. Her lips didn't part for him in a way to drive him mad. She didn't make that little oddly masculine mewling sound that Draco had.
Fuck.
When had Draco become the perfect kisser in his mind? Maybe he was completely losing it.
***
The day after that, he and Ginny were talking in her bedroom, and then suddenly they were kissing. He pushed her down onto the bed. He'd started it. He wanted it.
Her hair fanned out over the sheets as he pulled her shirt off and unhooked her bra. Oh, she was gorgeous. Yes, he thought, ignoring the ache again.
He entered her and she was so soft. So perfectly beautiful. He kissed her gently and rocked above her.
"Harry," she moaned breathlessly, quietly.
He leaned down, moving closer until their bodies were pressed together.
"Harry," she moaned again.
He sighed.
"Oh, fuck, yes, Harry. Fuck me."
His eyes snapped open. That had certainly not come from Ginny's mouth. That had sounded like .... Had that been in his head?
His breathing had sped up a little and he'd stilled. Ginny arched up against him and only then did he resume the pace.
When he closed his eyes again, Draco was there under him, instead of his girlfriend. His grey eyes were dark slits under heavy lids, his pale skin glowing, his lips slightly parted as he released short pants. Draco mewed and Harry groaned, thrusting harder.
When Harry came, with Ginny, on Ginny, in Ginny's bed, he'd come for Draco Malfoy. He'd never come so hard in his life.
***
He actually cried that night.
***
He was really starting to get worried. What the hell was wrong with him? It had been a kiss that he'd shared with Draco, a bloody kiss. They hadn't declared their love for one another; he didn't love Draco, not in that way, but he couldn't stop thinking about him, couldn't stop feeling the ghost of Draco's lips on his own, his hand on his back, couldn't stop hearing that sound from Draco's throat.
He fucked Ginny. He fucked her hard, trying to wash Draco out of himself, trying to hold back the panic he felt when he ached for him at night, when he came for him.
It didn't work.
No matter how hard he pumped his hips, no matter how loud he cried Ginny's name, no matter how much he slipped fingers through her long red, flowery-smelling hair, Draco would still find a way to look up at him with those nearly silver eyes, find a way to run those long fingers over his skin, whisper to him in his deep voice.
Harry didn't know what to do. It had been a kiss.
***
Two weeks had passed. Two weeks of near torture. Draco hadn't left his mind for hardly a single second. Harry dreamt of him more. He tossed off thinking of only Draco, he fucked Ginny thinking of only Draco, he did almost everything thinking of only Draco.
Maybe he was mad.
But he couldn't take it. If he wasn't mad yet – which he doubted – he was certainly going to be mad soon. He was trying to lie to himself and he knew it. Everything he was doing wasn't fair to Ginny, and he definitely couldn't keep doing it.
He didn't know what going to the Manor would accomplish, but he couldn't stand staying away any longer. Maybe two weeks was not a very long time, but it felt like it had been. He had to know if clearing things up with Draco would make everything go away. And there was also a niggling feeling of worry he felt when he thought of Draco. That, however, was overridden with an overwhelming, almost desperate need to see the other man.
He dressed warmly, using a cloak instead of a jacket, and left the Burrow. He gave the excuse that he was going to check on Kreacher and, though he was terrified, confused, and aching for something horrible that he didn't quite understand but wanted. Badly. With his heartbeat thumping in his throat, he stood on the Malfoys' doorstep, raised his fist, and knocked.
Chapter Title: To Waste His Whole Heart
Words: 3314 Words
Harry didn't go to the Weasleys', but rather a little way from Grimmauld Place, out of sight of the Muggles. He walked the rest of the way there, watching the Fidelius Charm-protected house seem to pop into existence.
He entered and stayed there – for hours. He just sat at the kitchen table, a cup of tea from Kreacher that had long gone cold clutched in his hands as he stared into it. It wasn't until the sun had set that he, to his slight horror, felt his eyes water, and it wasn't until the stars were bright in the sky that he actually considered going back to The Burrow.
He simply stood there in the backyard. The cold air seemed to press in on him, though it was somehow still more inviting than the warm glow coming from the Burrow’s windows.
He almost Disapparated again. Perhaps he could just stay the night at number twelve, but then someone’s voice rang across the yard to his ears.
“What’re you bloody doing? Aren’t you freezing your bollocks off out there?”
It was Ron, and he was holding the kitchen door open, peering at Harry from where he stood.
Harry thought he was exaggerating the cold. It still seemed better than facing Ron, and the others, and … Ginny. But Ron had seen him now, hadn’t he? What was he supposed to do? He shrugged, walking toward the open kitchen door.
Ron stood back to let him in. Harry would have reached to pull off his jacket, but he’d left his jacket behind.
“Merlin,” said Ron, shutting the door with a sharp snap. “Are you off your rocker? You haven’t even got a cloak or anything. And where were you all day?”
“It’s not that cold out,” Harry muttered, ignoring the second question.
Ron snorted, and though Harry was turned away, he knew Ron shook his head.
“Mum made some really great Yorksh –” Ron stopped off suddenly. He’d walked around and was now facing Harry. “Harry?” His voice held concern and Harry’s stomach squirmed, much like it had been doing since he’d left the Manor.
“Yeah?”
“You okay?”
There was a short pause that Harry cursed. “Yeah.” His voice caught only slightly, as if it had stumbled over the word.
Ron continued to frown at him. Merlin, what did he look like? Well, he did know that he felt sick.
“Do you want to sit down?”
Ron had to be exaggerating, like he had done with the weather. Harry didn’t look like he needed to "sit down" because of bloody Malfoy, though the chairs at the wooden table weren’t looking so bad. “Yeah, I guess,” he heard himself say. Was his voice shaky?
Ron actually helped him into the chair. Harry wanted to tell him not to, only his legs suddenly felt as shaky as his voice. Because he’d kissed Draco Malfoy, hadn’t he? He’d done it. His stomach churned again with the thought of it.
“Where the hell were you?” Ron asked, sitting and staring. He sounded serious now.
“Nowhere,” Harry answered. “Just at number twelve.” Fuck, his voice really needed to stop shaking.
“What happened?”
“Why do you think something happened?” No pause that time.
Ron didn’t even give that an answer, his eyes narrowing in suspicion and confusion.
Harry sighed. Goddamn, that was shaky too. He took off his glasses and rubbed his temples.
Soft footsteps sounded then, as someone else entered the kitchen. Harry knew the footsteps. I think I’m actually going to sick up, he thought.
“It’s about time you came back,” said Ginny. “I was starting to worry.”
He didn’t look over, which was probably very stupid, because what could be more suspicious?
“Harry?” She sounded like her brother.
He sighed again, thought about turning his head, and then realised that he really couldn’t look at her. “Yeah?”
“What’s the matter?” That was said a little softer than Ron would've said it.
“Nothing. Mm' just tired. I think I’ll go to bed.” Yes. That sounded good. Better than sitting there anyway. With Ginny. At whom he couldn't look, which would be, no doubt, odd to her.
He got to his feet, pleased to find that he was maybe a little less shaky now that he was going to get away. He shuffled across the room, expecting to be stopped, especially by Ginny, but was only stared at. Maybe they thought he was having some sort of emotional breakdown. He was Harry sodding Potter after all, torn war hero and all that shit. No matter what the reason for them not stopping him, he was grateful.
He made his way up the stairs, entered into Ron's violently orange room, and crossed to the bed that had been smashed into the small amount of available space. He kicked off his shoes, but didn't remove the rest of his clothes. His hands rested on his stomach as he lie on his back and stared up at the sloped ceiling.
Sleep, he thought. That was what he really wanted to do, because perhaps that would mean he could stop thinking. It was no use. The scene played before his eyes yet again. He'd leaned down and he'd kissed Draco. He'd snogged him for a good minute and a half, tongue and all.
He couldn't work out why he'd done it. He wasn't a bloody, flaming poofter. No. He wasn't. He had a girlfriend. A nice, hot girlfriend with a pretty arse and gorgeous tits. But then why did a little voice in the back of his mind inform him that Draco owned quite a pretty arse as well? Why did that little voice also inform him that he'd been sort of thinking that for a while before the kiss?
He groaned quietly. Why had he continued going over to the Manor? Shouldn't he have stopped immediately after he'd started to – possibly – think that he'd been developing a .... A what? A crush? Merlin, that was embarrassing to even think. He had a crush on Draco Malfoy?
No. No, he did not.
In fact, he couldn't go over to the Manor again. He wouldn't. That would be risking everything. If Ginny were to find out that he had kissed Draco – that he had done it – God, that would be just .... She couldn't find out. So then had he cheated? Oh, Merlin. No. No he had not cheated on Ginny with Draco. But he still couldn't tell her, because then she would think that he ... liked other blokes or something. And what if Ron found out?
He closed his eyes, feeling shame redden his face and guilt tug at his gut. What about Draco in all of this? He probably would have never kissed Harry. Harry had kissed him. And the look on Draco's face when he had left him. Merlin, what was this ache in his heart? Why was he feeling it?
Right then, Ron entered into the room. Harry immediately closed his eyes, able to assume a better sleeping position in the dark by flipping onto his side, facing away from Ron.
“Harry?” Ron asked quietly. He still sounded concerned.
Harry didn’t answer.
Ron even went so far as to walk over to Harry’s bed and peer down at him. Harry could feel it. But after a moment, Ron released a huffy sigh and moved over to his own bed.
Harry sighed too, but did so much more quietly. He knew he couldn't go over to the Manor again. He couldn't see Draco.
He felt another ache.
***
When Harry awoke the next morning, his head hurt and he felt completely lousy. He could faintly smell breakfast cooking, which meant that Mrs Weasley had been awake for a bit. He wondered if Ron and Ginny had told her he was acting strangely or anything. Ron wasn't in his bed.
Harry remained in bed for a bit longer himself, staring out the window and trying to think about the colours outside rather than what his brain was really trying to make him think about.
He sighed, pushing himself up before getting to his feet. He felt stiff, and stretching didn't really help. He was also still wearing his clothes from the previous day. He got some new clothes out and changed into them. No need to let everyone think he had more of a problem than he actually did. Because he didn't have any problem he couldn't get rid of. He'd already got rid of it. He just wouldn't see Draco anymore. There was that ache again, but he ignored it.
He went downstairs, entering into the kitchen. Ron, Ginny, and Mr Weasley were sitting at the table while Mrs Weasley stood at the cooker. "Oh, good morning, Harry," she said, her voice almost overly cheerful. She'd been notified then.
"Morning," Harry said, suddenly wishing he hadn't come down. But he crossed to the table and sat down in his usual spot. Next to Ginny. And then he wished even more that he hadn't come down. He could feel her eyes on him, but he couldn't seem to make himself turn his head to meet her gaze.
"Sleep well?" Mr Weasley asked in a tone similar to his wife's. Mrs Weasley set a plate of sausages and eggs down in front of Harry.
"Yeah, slept okay," Harry answered. He wished he could make himself sound a little louder, but he felt like if he did that, he would sound too loud.
"Good."
Harry nodded, picking up his fork and taking a small bite. He didn't feel terribly hungry.
And then Ginny reached and played gently with the short hair at the back of his neck. Harry tried not to flush as, uncontrollably, the thought of Draco's hand on the back of his head, in his hair, cropped up in his mind. He casually continued to eat.
Mrs Weasley set the rest of the food down at the table and then took a seat herself. They all sat there, eating quietly while Ginny still played with Harry's hair.
"So, you okay then?" Ron asked.
Harry looked up in just enough time to see Mrs Weasley giving Ron a stern look.
"I – There isn't – Nothing's wrong," Harry said.
"Well, of course not, dear," said Mrs Weasley, reaching to pat his hand, which, of course, told him that she did think something was wrong.
He only sighed and tried to ignore his squirming stomach as Ginny gently kissed his cheek and rubbed his back.
***
For the most part, the Weasleys pretty much left Harry alone for the rest of the day. They thought he was just having some problems with grief. He supposed, to them, that would seem the most obvious reason for his withdrawal. It made him feel more guilty that the actual reason for it was ....
When he went to bed that night, he realised that he hadn't kissed Ginny once, and when he fell asleep, it was to insuppressible thoughts of Draco Malfoy.
***
The next few days were almost exactly the same, only Harry could tell that Ron was getting slightly frustrated with him for not telling him what was up, even though he knew Ron probably assumed it was grief. And Ginny was starting to seem hurt when all she had done in a few days was kiss Harry's cheek and had received a few pecks on the lips. She didn't say anything about it, but he could tell, and it made him feel even more guilty because she was trying her best to make him feel better – to give him his space, even though she was confused with the timing.
What was worse was that even after three whole days, the ache of hurting Draco, of being ... without him ... wasn't going away. It was intensifying. Harry had dreamt of him now.
He was sitting out in the backyard, thinking of Draco right then, and thinking – reluctantly – of what might have happened if he hadn't run.
The sound of crunching leaves announced someone else's presence, and that someone sat down at the picnic table with him. Then the pleasant flowery smell told him who it was.
"Hi," said Ginny quietly, but with a smile in her voice.
At least Harry could look at her now, so he did. "Hi," he echoed.
"What are you doing out here?"
"Just thinking." Well, it wasn't a lie.
Ginny hummed, nodding, and a few moments of silence passed between them. "About ... Remus, Tonks and ... Fred and them?" she finally asked.
Harry winced and looked away, keeping his silence.
"I do understand, Harry," she said. "You know I do. We all do."
Oh, no you don't, Harry thought.
She moved closer on the bench. "I know it's been a little while now. Not nearly enough time for all of it to heal. It probably never will completely. I get like this some days, when it feels like he should just be here with us, I -" Her voice broke and she stopped talking.
Harry turned to her then and slipped an arm about her shoulders, pulling her against his chest. He wasn't sure if he had ever felt so guilty in his life.
It was obvious that she took comfort in his arms. And she should have, shouldn't she? He was her boyfriend, was he not?
They sat out in the breezy autumn cold together. Harry stared at the fallen leaves blowing and tumbling over the ground. He thought it was stupid to think of, but he pretty much felt like those damned leaves right then.
Though Ginny had almost cried, no tears had actually come and she finally shifted a little when it seemed she had got control of herself. She sighed. "I wish thinking of him didn't hurt so much," she said quietly.
Harry frowned, rubbing his hand over her arm. "Me too," he agreed, but he didn't know if he was talking about Fred.
***
That night, while Ron was in the shower, Harry started thinking of Draco while lying in bed. First he had only been wondering if he himself really did like blokes. Well, obviously, said that voice in his head. He scoffed at it, but the longer he lie there thinking – thinking of how Draco's body had felt, hard and straight underneath him, how his lips had felt, how his hands had felt, how his voice had sounded, Harry noticed that he was getting ... aroused. He gasped quietly, half-surprised, though he supposed he shouldn't have been. He was a little surprised that the thoughts had taken so long to spring this reaction. He didn't want to. He really didn't want to, but he reached down and touched his cock. Oh, it felt good after almost a week of simple, minute long wanks in the shower. He tried to think of Ginny, but when he came, it was Draco's mouth he imagined around his prick.
***
He kissed Ginny the next day, on the lips, properly. He was reminded of the fact that her lips were slightly softer than Draco's were.
But.
She didn't kiss with an edge of power that Draco had seemed to kiss with, that slight desperation, that incredible want. Her tongue didn't slide perfectly against his own. Her lips didn't part for him in a way to drive him mad. She didn't make that little oddly masculine mewling sound that Draco had.
Fuck.
When had Draco become the perfect kisser in his mind? Maybe he was completely losing it.
***
The day after that, he and Ginny were talking in her bedroom, and then suddenly they were kissing. He pushed her down onto the bed. He'd started it. He wanted it.
Her hair fanned out over the sheets as he pulled her shirt off and unhooked her bra. Oh, she was gorgeous. Yes, he thought, ignoring the ache again.
He entered her and she was so soft. So perfectly beautiful. He kissed her gently and rocked above her.
"Harry," she moaned breathlessly, quietly.
He leaned down, moving closer until their bodies were pressed together.
"Harry," she moaned again.
He sighed.
"Oh, fuck, yes, Harry. Fuck me."
His eyes snapped open. That had certainly not come from Ginny's mouth. That had sounded like .... Had that been in his head?
His breathing had sped up a little and he'd stilled. Ginny arched up against him and only then did he resume the pace.
When he closed his eyes again, Draco was there under him, instead of his girlfriend. His grey eyes were dark slits under heavy lids, his pale skin glowing, his lips slightly parted as he released short pants. Draco mewed and Harry groaned, thrusting harder.
When Harry came, with Ginny, on Ginny, in Ginny's bed, he'd come for Draco Malfoy. He'd never come so hard in his life.
***
He actually cried that night.
***
He was really starting to get worried. What the hell was wrong with him? It had been a kiss that he'd shared with Draco, a bloody kiss. They hadn't declared their love for one another; he didn't love Draco, not in that way, but he couldn't stop thinking about him, couldn't stop feeling the ghost of Draco's lips on his own, his hand on his back, couldn't stop hearing that sound from Draco's throat.
He fucked Ginny. He fucked her hard, trying to wash Draco out of himself, trying to hold back the panic he felt when he ached for him at night, when he came for him.
It didn't work.
No matter how hard he pumped his hips, no matter how loud he cried Ginny's name, no matter how much he slipped fingers through her long red, flowery-smelling hair, Draco would still find a way to look up at him with those nearly silver eyes, find a way to run those long fingers over his skin, whisper to him in his deep voice.
Harry didn't know what to do. It had been a kiss.
***
Two weeks had passed. Two weeks of near torture. Draco hadn't left his mind for hardly a single second. Harry dreamt of him more. He tossed off thinking of only Draco, he fucked Ginny thinking of only Draco, he did almost everything thinking of only Draco.
Maybe he was mad.
But he couldn't take it. If he wasn't mad yet – which he doubted – he was certainly going to be mad soon. He was trying to lie to himself and he knew it. Everything he was doing wasn't fair to Ginny, and he definitely couldn't keep doing it.
He didn't know what going to the Manor would accomplish, but he couldn't stand staying away any longer. Maybe two weeks was not a very long time, but it felt like it had been. He had to know if clearing things up with Draco would make everything go away. And there was also a niggling feeling of worry he felt when he thought of Draco. That, however, was overridden with an overwhelming, almost desperate need to see the other man.
He dressed warmly, using a cloak instead of a jacket, and left the Burrow. He gave the excuse that he was going to check on Kreacher and, though he was terrified, confused, and aching for something horrible that he didn't quite understand but wanted. Badly. With his heartbeat thumping in his throat, he stood on the Malfoys' doorstep, raised his fist, and knocked.