Trophy

Author's Note: Much love to my new beta, Angel for her work on this chapter

Chapter 9 Falling

Harry’s warm mouth closed over Draco’s nipple and elicited a sharp gasp from the blonde before he pulled Harry’s face up to his lips. His smoldering green eyes burned like bursting gemstones as they kissed, tinged at the edge with thick, black lust. “I want you, Draco,” he whispered, the sound like a purr against the Slytherin’s ear.

A moment later Draco had their positions flipped, Harry’s back lying against the cool ivory sheets and his dark hair splayed in exquisite contrast against the pillowcase. With an almost reverent gesture, Draco ran his fingers along Harry’s jaw line, before leaning in and capturing the man’s lips once more. Twilight filtered into the room through the sheer white curtains and made Harry’s skin glow beneath the rising moon. He was so beautiful, sweaty and glorious in his want.

Harry’s lips were swollen and abused; nearly purple from the force of Draco’s yearning. “I love you,” he whispered to the ebony-haired man beneath him and the smile Harry rewarded him with made the words worth their weight in Galleons.

It looked as though Harry was about to speak when his eyes broke Draco’s gaze and looked to the wall beside them. There in Draco’s room had sprung up a connecting door that led directly into his trophy room, and with the door ajar, it was clear what was inside. Harry pushed Draco roughly aside and padded over to the door, pushing it open further. “What is all this?” he demanded.

Draco’s throat sealed up and he was unable to answer, not with Harry’s once love filled eyes glaring so menacingly at him now. “I can explain,” he stammered finally, but Harry was gone, disappeared like smoke, being absorbed into the surrounding air. “Harry?” Draco called, spinning round and round in desperation, looking for his lost lover. “Harry!” he shouted again before falling to his knees in dismay.

With a start, Draco woke up, his pale body shining with a thin sheen of sweat. He looked around his quarters, trying to confirm that it was in fact only a dream, then muttering to himself after deciding it most certainly was. It irked the blonde beyond measure for several reasons. He always hated it when a blissfully erotic dream took a sour turn but it was more than that. Never, not even in his fantasies, had he taken a lover into his private bedchamber, yet that was precisely where this last dream took place. He could still see, in vivid detail, the way Harry looked against the same ivory linens that currently surrounded his own body. Harry had looked so soft and succulent like a ripened fruit. Then there was the thick and heavy regret Draco felt at having his secret trophy room revealed to the Gryffindor. Even though Harry knew, from the file stored safely in his office desk, that Draco always kept a trinket of his conquests, having Harry see the room of abandoned knickers with his own emerald eyes was another story altogether.

Worst of all though, were the words Draco had uttered while admiring the sun-kissed brunette, naked and panting beneath him. Never had Draco said the ‘L’ word out loud and meant it. Never had he cared enough about someone else to bother with emotions like love, yet here was his subconscious mind declaring it to Harry without even having the sentiment returned –and he meant it. He could feel the warm burning desire for Harry working its way through his flesh, and not simply desire for the Gryffindor’s body; desire for his whole being.

It was unsettling at best and foreboding at worst. Draco wasn’t ready to change and settle down, he wasn’t ready to fill the shoes of boyfriend in reality. In fact, he was prepared to put off that responsibility for as long as humanly possible. Being a boyfriend was a thankless job. Draco never saw the point of binding himself to someone in that manner, not when he could have or do as he pleased without such ties.

No, Draco would remain true to his original intentions. He would bag the Gryffindor, bed him, and be done with it. So, the man was stunning and clever and the perfect companion at parties; that didn’t give him the right to ruin Draco’s life. It was Draco who would do the ruining or no one at all.

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It wasn’t like Harry to whistle, but he hadn’t been able to help himself all morning. He didn’t even know what tune his lips kept blowing, but he imagined it was probably some orchestra set he had heard the night before at Malfoy’s Gala. As he got ready to leave the house he studied his reflection and couldn’t help but notice his own smile.

“My, my aren’t we chipper today?” the mirror commented, unasked.

Harry merely shrugged, but he couldn’t manage to wipe the grin from his face.

“Did you have fun last night then?” the shiny silver surface inquired.

“I suppose,” Harry replied softly. “The music was lovely, the food was quite good.”

“And the company?” the magical mirror asked, and if the mirror could smirk, Harry imagined it might be doing so then. The silly item had been one of those things left in Grimmauld place that he couldn’t seem to pry off the wall no matter how many spells he tried. Normally it grumbled that he slouched too much or that his hair looked funny, but today it was pestering him in a different manner altogether.

“You shouldn’t eavesdrop,” Harry chastised.

“What’s a mirror to do? You fretted about it enough with that friend of yours. Though, how you could be so obstinate over dating someone with pure and regal blood is beyond my comprehension,” the mirror muttered.

“Perhaps that’s because you’re an inanimate object,” Harry replied shortly before leaving the room to shrill ‘don’t you walk away from me’ protests from the annoying piece of décor.

Sunday was the day he always went to the Burrow for dinner; it was a tradition. He always arrived too late to be guilt-tripped into helping with the food –not because he didn’t want to, but because he was rubbish in the kitchen- and stayed late enough to assist with the clean up and chat with all the Weasleys about their previous week.

He arrived slightly earlier than usual and was greeted at the door by a bouncing young girl. Victoire squealed her delight and jumped into Harry’s awaiting arms. “Uncle Harry!” she shouted, throwing her tiny arms around Harry’s neck.

“How is my favorite little angel?” he asked and she beamed at him.

“I’ve colored you a picture,” she announced proudly and squirmed out of his arms to the floor where she proceeded to tug him into the kitchen.

“Who’s there?” Molly asked when they entered the steam filled room. She was too involved making several whisks whir through bowls of mashed potatoes to turn around.

“Harry!” another voice shouted and Teddy rounded the corner to leap into Harry’s arms the way Victoire had just a moment before.

“Hey there, Champ,” Harry greeted. “Are you staying long enough to try and beat me to the Snitch after supper?”

“Aunt Andromeda is letting me sleep over!” the boy replied, bouncing on his heels with excitement as Harry set him back down. Teddy was a natural on a broom and Harry enjoyed getting to teach the boy new tricks.

“Harry!” shouted a third and fourth voice in unison and Harry turned to be met with the thick bushy hair of his best friend.

“Hermione, Ron. Good to see you both, it’s been ages,” Harry teased.

“So how did last night go?” Hermione inquired.

“What was last night?” Molly asked, still not turning around. “Sorry, Harry dear, glad you could make it.”

“Last night was Harry’s date with Malfoy,” Ron announced.

“Oh, a date? Harry that’s wonderful,” Molly interjected.

“It was nothing,” Harry replied, blushing slightly from all the attention. The Burrow was always a bustling hub of activity; it was often hard to keep things straight.

“You dog!” Ron exclaimed. “You got laid!”

“Ronald!” Molly chastised. “Out of my kitchen with that mouth!”

“I did not,” Harry protested quickly, doing as Molly suggested and making his way out of the hot room and into the overgrown backyard.

“You’re smiling ear to ear, you’re blushing like a schoolgirl, and you’re wearing green,” Ron pointed out. “You never wear green. You look like a Slytherin.”

Harry looked down at himself to see that he had in fact slipped on a thin green jumper instead of the normal burgundy or black he usually wore. He couldn’t even remember buying it and suspected Hermione had something to do with its appearance in his closet. He hadn’t thought twice about throwing it on that morning though. “So?” he asked, knowing he was still blushing a tad.

“Did you?” Hermione prodded, her face set into a curious grin.

“No!” Harry repeated. “Nothing untoward happened whatsoever. I didn’t even kiss him.”

“Did he kiss you then?” Hermione asked, always knowing the right questions.

“On the cheek,” Harry muttered, still unable to clear the smile from his face even during his friends endless scrutiny.

“Adorable!” Hermione squealed while Ron just rolled his eyes.

“Lame is more like it,” the redhead grumbled.

“I think it’s sweet that he didn’t press Harry for more on their first date,” Hermione lectured. “There will be a second date, right Harry?”

“He hasn’t asked,” Harry replied carefully.

“If he does are you going to say yes?” she prodded.

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “Maybe. I did have fun.”

“And you’re sure you didn’t get laid? You’re awfully glowy,” Ron observed.

“I think I would remember,” Harry laughed.

“Maybe Malfoy’s just really small and you just didn’t notice,” Ron teased.

“Ronald!” Hermione hissed, but none of the trio could stop from giggling at Ron’s flippant remark.

“What’s this I hear about tiny wangs?” George asked, butting into the conversation as he walked outside and threw his arm around Harry’s shoulders.

“I was just speculating on the cause of Harry’s happy mood,” Ron quipped, still chuckling under his breath at the image of Malfoy having his way with Harry and his friend not even realizing the blonde was there.

“Well, sometimes great things come in small packages,” George interjected.

“Know that from experience do ya, George?” Ron quipped, barely dodging the swat from his older brother’s palm.

“No. I just thought someone should defend whoever you three were bad-mouthing,” George grumbled.

“We were talking about Draco Malfoy,” Hermione replied brightly.

“Ew, Harry, you slept with Malfoy?” George asked, pulling his arms promptly off the man’s shoulders. “I’m afraid my attraction to you has suddenly withered and died.”

It was a running joke between the two, ever since they had drank a little too much firewhiskey and snogged in the back booth of Harry’s favorite pub, that George was in love with him. It wasn’t true of course, the pair never even tried to make a go of it as a couple. Morning sobriety brought more than a headache the following day –it brought the knowledge that neither thought dating someone that was practically a brother was a good idea.

“I’ll win you back one day,” Harry quipped. “You’ll see. You cannot resist my charms for long.”

George ruffled Harry’s wild mane and laughed. “We’ll see. I actually came out here for a reason though,” he mused, his face scrunched in thought.

“Are you lot coming to dinner or will you be fending for yourselves?” Molly called out the window.

“Oh right!” George announced triumphantly. “Dinner is ready.”

Ron rolled his eyes and shoved his big brother aside as he made his way back into the house while George grabbed Harry and Hermione’s hands and tugged them inside after Ron. “Better hurry. We’ll never get anything to eat if Ron beats us there!”

Dinner with the Weasleys was a laugh as always. Harry’s adopted family was so warm and open, he always felt comfortable there. Still, even with all the ruckus surrounding him, Harry had a hard time not thinking about his date with Draco. The former Slytherin had been nothing but a gentleman, even if he was obviously miffed that Harry knew his guests better and that all attempts to impress his famous date had gone by the wayside. Draco clearly assumed that Harry fell for the same trappings that any of his other aristocratic conquests would, and just like everyone else, Draco assumed Harry was easy to ensnare with pomp and circumstance.

Nothing could be further from the truth, however. Harry enjoyed his quiet life, remaining out of a limelight whenever possible but charming his way through it whenever it was forced upon him. He was a far cry from the stammering boy who could barely hold his own against Rita Skeeter in fourth year, but that didn’t mean he sought the attention like some did.

No, Malfoy certainly had his faults, but then who was Harry to judge when he had his own dark skeletons lurking in the dank closets of his home. Still, it wasn’t clear what Malfoy’s true motivation was in targeting Harry, aside from the prospect of another notch to add to his growing list –he imagined the man had run out of bedpost some time ago and his bed was probably held up by toothpicks by now. It wouldn’t do to lose sight of who Draco Malfoy really was, a libertine who had yet to change his ways as Harry had. He refused to be sucked back into a world where all he thought about was the next great fuck. No, Harry had grown and changed from that confused and broken eighteen year old boy but Malfoy was still stuck there. Harry doubted he had the energy or power to make the Slytherin change his ways.

After dinner Harry and Ron volunteered to do the dishes and the two men laughed more than Harry could remember doing since their days at Hogwarts. It was nice to feel light and carefree again, and even if Ron was wrong about Harry’s compatibility with Malfoy, maybe he wasn’t so far off on the fact that Harry needed to date again. Although, seeing Xander the night before had been sobering for sure, the time he spent with Malfoy was actually quite fun, and he agreed with Hermione that it was sweet that the blonde didn’t insinuate himself so boldly onto Harry’s person –Merlin knows he got enough unwanted attention from Xander. In comparison Malfoy’s behavior was refreshing, which in itself was rather frightening.

“So, Harry,” Ron began, pulling Harry from his thoughts about the night before. “I was wondering about that time you took off after the war. Where did you go?”

“Why so curious all of a sudden?” Harry asked worriedly. Harry had made it clear to both of his friends upon returning to England that he didn’t want to discuss his time away. He told them he’d been traveling and just needed to get away and the vague explanation coupled with the gratitude that Harry was finally back seemed sufficient enough for them at the time.

“It’s not all of a sudden,” Ron countered. “I’ve always wondered what happened to you all that time. I mean, aside from one letter telling us you were okay, we didn’t hear a word from you.”

Harry finished one last dish and let the charm that was cleaning them fall so he could give his friend the full weight of his gaze. “Ron, what’s this about?”

The redhead shrugged and broke Harry’s stare by looking down at the floor. “I know it was a long time ago, but as your best friend, shouldn’t I know where you were at least?”

“For one, Hermione is my best friend,” he teased, trying to lighten the mood again. “I only keep you around because she insists.”

Ron’s throat clenched as he tried to hold back a laugh. “Very funny, Harry. I’m serious though.”

Harry sighed, seeing that his friend wasn’t planning to let up. “The past is the past, Ron. Let’s leave it there, okay?”

“You won’t tell me anything?” Ron asked again, getting a tad angry.

“I wasn’t far,” Harry told him, slightly wary of the vein in Ron’s neck that was beginning to throb. “I was off the coast of Spain for the most part,” he amended, hoping the little detail would appease his friend, and it did for the most part.

“So it was really just a vacation?” Ron asked skeptically. “Nothing untoward?”

Harry grimaced and shook his head. “I’m not proud of anything that happened while I was gone. I was a mess after the war, Ron, and I’d rather my best friends not see me in a negative light.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “What’s the worst that could have happened if you came back? Obviously you had a relationship with a man while you were away because you came back gay…”

Harry laughed at Ron’s words. “Technically I was probably gay when I left too,” he pointed out with a smirk.

“Right, still why can’t you just tell us about it?” Ron asked again.

“Because you wouldn’t want to know,” Harry admitted. “Trust me.”

“But-“

Harry held up a hand to Ron’s protest. “I didn’t kill anyone, I got over my depression, I’m fine now, can we just leave it at that?”

“Fine,” Ron huffed, not sounding as though he was ready to drop it, but Harry didn’t give him the chance to bring it up again.

“I think I’m going to head home early tonight,” Harry sighed. “Tell everyone I said goodbye and let Teddy know I’ll catch up with him one night this week,” he requested and walked out the back door before Apparating back to Grimmauld Place.

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Lucius stared up at the fresco in his elaborately decorated study and sighed to himself. His son was still stubbornly refusing to admit his infatuation with the Gryffindor Hero and it was beginning to make him doubt his wife’s wise words. Perhaps the boy wasn’t falling for Potter after all and they were still doomed to reap whatever terrible bounty Draco created for them. Just the thought of having to spend one night in a cold dank cell made Lucius’ blood run cold and he rubbed at his wrists where the icy steel had bound him once before. He tried to be patient and trust in his wife’s ability to see what potential futures held for their boy, but part of him worried that Narcissa was blinded by her love for Draco and unable to see a negative fate for their heir.

With sudden and flaring determination, Lucius marched upstairs toward his son’s quarters eager to speak with him. The sound of crumbling paper met his ears upon his arrival and he spied Draco sitting at a table, his back to Lucius, as he scribbled furiously on a scrap of parchment before crushing it into a ball and launching it across the room.

With a quick disillusionment charm, Lucius crossed the room and hovered over his son, scrutinizing the boy’s task. It was immediately clear that Draco was trying to write a note to Potter, and getting easily frustrated with each attempt, he would throw his work to the ground. He’d get as far as ‘Dear Harry, I can’t stop thinking about you,’ before casting an Incendio spell and turning the parchment to ash.

Beginning again, Draco wrote only the words ‘Love’ before ripping the paper to shreds.

“Fucking insufferable Gryffindor Prat!” Draco shouted, shoving himself away from his desk and launching into a violent bout of pacing across his study. Lucius used the distraction to pick up a few of the discarded notes and pocketed them before leaving his son alone, a satisfied smirk on his lips.

As soon as he was away from the study, Lucius pulled out the balled up parchment and gently smoothed them out. ‘Dearest Harry,’ the first began, ‘I trust you made it home in one piece. I thought about you quite a bit today and wanted to see if you…’ and then it ended abruptly. The next mentioned a dream he’d had the night before with Harry as the starring role and Lucius nearly blushed at the romantic lines written within such as ‘your exposed flesh mirrored the moon’s light’, and ‘I’ve wanted to run my hands through your hair all day, wanting to feel the power of it just as I had last night’.

So it was decided then –Draco was falling in love with Potter whether he knew it or not. They were out of the woods for the moment, as the pair seemed to be getting on as well as could be expected, but there might still come a time when Lucius would need to intercede for the benefit of the Malfoy name. If Harry continued to reject Draco, his son’s chase could turn ugly, which might put them in the same danger, or worse, as they had been before. Neither would it do well to allow things to progress too quickly. The boys must fall for one another at a decent pace, if Potter were to sleep with Draco too soon, then all the change in his son might still be lost and his plan may go on unhindered. Lucius couldn’t have that and he would take every precaution possible to keep his son on track.

With a determined air, Lucius went back to his own desk to flip through his little black book. Toward the middle under ‘N’ for ‘Naughty’ Lucius found the name and owl address of the man he wanted. Hedrick VonCrown was well known in the circles Lucius used to take part in, and he would offer a service that the elder Malfoy felt would assist greatly in his new mission.

Author's Note: tee hee. I wonder who else is under 'n' for naughty?