Careless Whisper
folder
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
14
Views:
3,142
Reviews:
49
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
14
Views:
3,142
Reviews:
49
Recommended:
0
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.
Careless Whisper
Disclaimer:
Obviously, I dont own any of this great Harry Potter stuff or I would know Daniel Radcliffe and Tom Felton personally and I wouldn\'t have to write fantasies about them.
Careless Whisper
Ch 1 -- Careless Whisper
Yelling over the obscenely loud beat and the pulsing mob, Harry ordered another whiskey sour from the bar. This had become routine for him, partying at The Meat Market on nights when sleep eluded him. He would drink enough to gather up the courage to bust a move on the floor. And that’s where he would remain until last call.
He preferred dancing alone, but inevitably others would try to cut in. It was hard to resist the man he had become. Unruly ebony hair framing those emerald eyes, the tiny lightning scar barely visible after the final battle. Those chiseled features accentuating the naturally flushed lips that begged to be kissed. His 6’ frame, rippling with muscles that subtly filled out his tight shirt and pants. Who would want to resist him?
This night was no different than any of the others. The speakers were blaring 80’s music, so Harry knew it was a Thursday night. Merlin bless the predictability of this place. He had arrived at 1 am, after being unable to will himself to sleep in his empty loft. Then the drinks started. Harry preferred the harder liquors, but always in a drink. He detested shots, finding them vulgar and saving them for only when he fully intended to get sloshed.
He had been dancing for two hours. The time on the glowing digital clock behind the bar indicating that it was 3:30. Harry silently thanked Merlin for insomniacs who kept places like this open until at least 5. Downing the remainder of his drink, Harry went back to the dance floor.
They had just finished playing Dexy’s Midnight Runner’s version of “Come On, Eileen,” and Harry was gearing up for the next song. A saxophone started a slow song and Harry sighed and began a solitary dance, emanating the desire to be left alone. His body moved sensuously against the light of the optical show on the grand screen behind the DJ’s booth. Many observed the young man dancing in such a graceful way; he appeared to move by magic.
Lost in the music, Harry continued to sway. Then he heard the words.
I\'m never gonna dance again
guilty feet have got no rhythm
though it\'s easy to pretend
I know you\'re not a fool
Should\'ve known better than to cheat a friend
and waste this chance that I\'ve been given
so I\'m never gonna dance again
the way I danced with you
The words invaded Harry’s inebriated conscious and infiltrated his thoughts. His movements slowed and his shoulders drooped under the invisible weight of grief.
Abruptly, he stopped. His body swayed from side to side much the way a heavily dosed psychiatric patient would, though he had no knowledgemovimoving at all. Lost in reverie, Harry was losing himself to the emotion washing over him. This song, it spoke to him. Almost as if it were written with him in mind. Listening to the chorus again, Harry felt that he would never dance again after this night and this song.
Tears in his eyes, Harry left the dance floor. There were numerous pairs of eyes watching him, but one pair in particular watched from the shadows of the club. These silver-blue eyes watched as Harry made his way to the bar, ordered another whiskey sour, then another, and a third before finally making his way to the exit.
*****
Harry woke the next morning and groaned. Mornings after nights like the previous one always led to a hangover. Still, this morning there was something more. An unsettling, a heaviness that seemed to sit on his chest, making breathing difficult. Harry sat up, rubbed his eyes and willed himself to remember what had happened the night before. Following the events in his mind, he remembered the song. Sad, but determined, Harry roused himself and headed for the shower.
Friday. He found himself standing outside of a muggle music shop. The bells on the door jangled as he entered. Not having the slightest inkling what he was looking for, he walked up to the stringy haired boy behind the counter. “Excuse me, I’m looking for a song,” Harry began.
The boy looked at him with a glazed expression that clearly implied a sarcastic remark.
“It’s an 80’s song. I don’t know who sings it or what the title is. All I know is that I heard it last night and I need it.”
The boy looked bored, but at least answered this time. “Well, if you can’t tell me anything about it, how am I supposed to help you? I can’t exactly _read_ your mind, can I?”
Harry was beginning to get frustrated. “It says something about guilty feet not having rhythm. I can’t dance the way I did when I danced with you. Isn’t there someone who could help me?”
“Ah, Wham,” the boy replied.
Harry looked at him questioningly. “Wham? What does that mean?”
“Wham is the group, dude. Or you can check out George Michael’s greatest hits. The song’s called ‘Careless Whisper,’” the boy said lazily.
“Do you have it here?” Harry asked, then headed off in the direction the less than helpful boy pointed.
Walking out with his purchase, Harry headed to the comfort and privacy of his own home. Once at his loft, he placed the CD into his stereo and put the song on repeat. Taking a tall glass of Jack and Coke, he sat on the couch. There he stayed for the remainder of the day, moving only to refill his drink every so often.
*****
Across town, someone else had risen slowly from bed that day as well. In the Chelsea District, one Draco Malfoy crawled out of slumber around noon. Fumbling to the kitchen and coffee, he brooded at the kitchen table, memories of the night before lingering in his mind.
He, too, had heard the song at the Meat Market. He had watched from the shadows as the dark-haired man had slowly stopped his dancing. There was a feeling somewhere within him, he could only begin to recognize. He hadn’t allowed himself to feel in nearly a year. And he wasn’t about to give in to it again now.
Dressed for work, he apparated to the Ministry of Magic, knowing no one would question his extreme tardiness.
*****
“Draco, good to see you made it in today,” Ron Weasley yelled from across the hall. Draco rolled his eyes.
The two had come to an uneasy truce during the war. Lucky for Weasley, Draco had lost his malicious nature once the war ended. Both wizards now worked as aurors for the Ministry. There wasn’t much for either of them to do, but they managed a few raids a month and bantered enough to keep things interesting.
Ron was married to Hermione, of course. She worked at Hogwart’s with Dumbledore and McGonagall. She had taken over History of Magic when their class had graduated. Ron and Hermione were happy together. They kept in touch with their old friend, Harry, as much as they could, which wasn’t saying much.
Harry was something Ron and Draco never talked about. He was a sore subject. Ron was surprised, then, when Draco was the first to mention the Golden Boy.
“I saw Harry last night, Ron,” Draco said in a tone belying the emotions he was trying to deny.
Ron moved from behind his desk and came into Draco’s office, shutting the door. “What happened?” he asked.
“Nothing. He never saw me, never knew I was there. He was drunk, again. I don’t know why, I knew he’d be there. He’s always there. I just had to see him, to see if things had changed,” Draco’s voice faded until it was almost inaudible.
Ron looked sympathetically at his co-worker and reluctant friend. “Draco, it’s been nearly a year. Merlin knows you miss him. He hasn’t been the same since you left. Why can’t you get over your shit so you can be with him,” Ron started.
“My shit? He’s the one that fucked everything up! I’m not the one who…the one who-“Draco couldn’t finish his thought.
“The one who what? Let me finish, Draco. He needs you right now, and whether you like it or not, you need him too. The next time you see him out, talk to him Draco. If not for him, then for yourself, even if it’s just to close the door on him. You deserve closure,” Ron said softly.
Draco looked at him, tears in his eyes. He _knew_ Ron was right. He _hated_ knowing Ron was right. Draco just shook his head and turned to his desk, ending the conversation for a moment.
*****
Hermione had been thinking of Harry all day. It had been months since she had spoken to the man who used to be her best friend. Something pulled at the back of her mind, telling her to owl him at the least. The urge to see him was even stronger. Owling Ron and hoping Harry still lived in the same loft, Hermione apparated there after her last class.
Standing outside the door to his apartment she heard music. Listening closely, she rzed zed it was a muggle song she recognized from her childhood. A song from Wham her mother had loved. Such a sad song.
Not sure what had drawn her here, Hermione waited, forming an excuse to be there in her mind. Running from idea to idea, it took her several minutes to realize she had heard this same song at least twice now. Something was wrong with Harry. Something would be wrong with anyone who listened to a sad love song too many times in a row. And who knew how many times he had heard it before she arrived?
Knocking on the door, she received no answer. Not even a muffled sound from within. Convincing herself Harry wouldn’t be able to hear, she knocked louder. Hermione began to get nervous when he didn’t answer after the third knock. Pulling out her wand, she used a simple door opening spell. The door opened gently and what she saw in front of her caused her jaw to drop.
Obviously, I dont own any of this great Harry Potter stuff or I would know Daniel Radcliffe and Tom Felton personally and I wouldn\'t have to write fantasies about them.
Careless Whisper
Ch 1 -- Careless Whisper
Yelling over the obscenely loud beat and the pulsing mob, Harry ordered another whiskey sour from the bar. This had become routine for him, partying at The Meat Market on nights when sleep eluded him. He would drink enough to gather up the courage to bust a move on the floor. And that’s where he would remain until last call.
He preferred dancing alone, but inevitably others would try to cut in. It was hard to resist the man he had become. Unruly ebony hair framing those emerald eyes, the tiny lightning scar barely visible after the final battle. Those chiseled features accentuating the naturally flushed lips that begged to be kissed. His 6’ frame, rippling with muscles that subtly filled out his tight shirt and pants. Who would want to resist him?
This night was no different than any of the others. The speakers were blaring 80’s music, so Harry knew it was a Thursday night. Merlin bless the predictability of this place. He had arrived at 1 am, after being unable to will himself to sleep in his empty loft. Then the drinks started. Harry preferred the harder liquors, but always in a drink. He detested shots, finding them vulgar and saving them for only when he fully intended to get sloshed.
He had been dancing for two hours. The time on the glowing digital clock behind the bar indicating that it was 3:30. Harry silently thanked Merlin for insomniacs who kept places like this open until at least 5. Downing the remainder of his drink, Harry went back to the dance floor.
They had just finished playing Dexy’s Midnight Runner’s version of “Come On, Eileen,” and Harry was gearing up for the next song. A saxophone started a slow song and Harry sighed and began a solitary dance, emanating the desire to be left alone. His body moved sensuously against the light of the optical show on the grand screen behind the DJ’s booth. Many observed the young man dancing in such a graceful way; he appeared to move by magic.
Lost in the music, Harry continued to sway. Then he heard the words.
I\'m never gonna dance again
guilty feet have got no rhythm
though it\'s easy to pretend
I know you\'re not a fool
Should\'ve known better than to cheat a friend
and waste this chance that I\'ve been given
so I\'m never gonna dance again
the way I danced with you
The words invaded Harry’s inebriated conscious and infiltrated his thoughts. His movements slowed and his shoulders drooped under the invisible weight of grief.
Abruptly, he stopped. His body swayed from side to side much the way a heavily dosed psychiatric patient would, though he had no knowledgemovimoving at all. Lost in reverie, Harry was losing himself to the emotion washing over him. This song, it spoke to him. Almost as if it were written with him in mind. Listening to the chorus again, Harry felt that he would never dance again after this night and this song.
Tears in his eyes, Harry left the dance floor. There were numerous pairs of eyes watching him, but one pair in particular watched from the shadows of the club. These silver-blue eyes watched as Harry made his way to the bar, ordered another whiskey sour, then another, and a third before finally making his way to the exit.
*****
Harry woke the next morning and groaned. Mornings after nights like the previous one always led to a hangover. Still, this morning there was something more. An unsettling, a heaviness that seemed to sit on his chest, making breathing difficult. Harry sat up, rubbed his eyes and willed himself to remember what had happened the night before. Following the events in his mind, he remembered the song. Sad, but determined, Harry roused himself and headed for the shower.
Friday. He found himself standing outside of a muggle music shop. The bells on the door jangled as he entered. Not having the slightest inkling what he was looking for, he walked up to the stringy haired boy behind the counter. “Excuse me, I’m looking for a song,” Harry began.
The boy looked at him with a glazed expression that clearly implied a sarcastic remark.
“It’s an 80’s song. I don’t know who sings it or what the title is. All I know is that I heard it last night and I need it.”
The boy looked bored, but at least answered this time. “Well, if you can’t tell me anything about it, how am I supposed to help you? I can’t exactly _read_ your mind, can I?”
Harry was beginning to get frustrated. “It says something about guilty feet not having rhythm. I can’t dance the way I did when I danced with you. Isn’t there someone who could help me?”
“Ah, Wham,” the boy replied.
Harry looked at him questioningly. “Wham? What does that mean?”
“Wham is the group, dude. Or you can check out George Michael’s greatest hits. The song’s called ‘Careless Whisper,’” the boy said lazily.
“Do you have it here?” Harry asked, then headed off in the direction the less than helpful boy pointed.
Walking out with his purchase, Harry headed to the comfort and privacy of his own home. Once at his loft, he placed the CD into his stereo and put the song on repeat. Taking a tall glass of Jack and Coke, he sat on the couch. There he stayed for the remainder of the day, moving only to refill his drink every so often.
*****
Across town, someone else had risen slowly from bed that day as well. In the Chelsea District, one Draco Malfoy crawled out of slumber around noon. Fumbling to the kitchen and coffee, he brooded at the kitchen table, memories of the night before lingering in his mind.
He, too, had heard the song at the Meat Market. He had watched from the shadows as the dark-haired man had slowly stopped his dancing. There was a feeling somewhere within him, he could only begin to recognize. He hadn’t allowed himself to feel in nearly a year. And he wasn’t about to give in to it again now.
Dressed for work, he apparated to the Ministry of Magic, knowing no one would question his extreme tardiness.
*****
“Draco, good to see you made it in today,” Ron Weasley yelled from across the hall. Draco rolled his eyes.
The two had come to an uneasy truce during the war. Lucky for Weasley, Draco had lost his malicious nature once the war ended. Both wizards now worked as aurors for the Ministry. There wasn’t much for either of them to do, but they managed a few raids a month and bantered enough to keep things interesting.
Ron was married to Hermione, of course. She worked at Hogwart’s with Dumbledore and McGonagall. She had taken over History of Magic when their class had graduated. Ron and Hermione were happy together. They kept in touch with their old friend, Harry, as much as they could, which wasn’t saying much.
Harry was something Ron and Draco never talked about. He was a sore subject. Ron was surprised, then, when Draco was the first to mention the Golden Boy.
“I saw Harry last night, Ron,” Draco said in a tone belying the emotions he was trying to deny.
Ron moved from behind his desk and came into Draco’s office, shutting the door. “What happened?” he asked.
“Nothing. He never saw me, never knew I was there. He was drunk, again. I don’t know why, I knew he’d be there. He’s always there. I just had to see him, to see if things had changed,” Draco’s voice faded until it was almost inaudible.
Ron looked sympathetically at his co-worker and reluctant friend. “Draco, it’s been nearly a year. Merlin knows you miss him. He hasn’t been the same since you left. Why can’t you get over your shit so you can be with him,” Ron started.
“My shit? He’s the one that fucked everything up! I’m not the one who…the one who-“Draco couldn’t finish his thought.
“The one who what? Let me finish, Draco. He needs you right now, and whether you like it or not, you need him too. The next time you see him out, talk to him Draco. If not for him, then for yourself, even if it’s just to close the door on him. You deserve closure,” Ron said softly.
Draco looked at him, tears in his eyes. He _knew_ Ron was right. He _hated_ knowing Ron was right. Draco just shook his head and turned to his desk, ending the conversation for a moment.
*****
Hermione had been thinking of Harry all day. It had been months since she had spoken to the man who used to be her best friend. Something pulled at the back of her mind, telling her to owl him at the least. The urge to see him was even stronger. Owling Ron and hoping Harry still lived in the same loft, Hermione apparated there after her last class.
Standing outside the door to his apartment she heard music. Listening closely, she rzed zed it was a muggle song she recognized from her childhood. A song from Wham her mother had loved. Such a sad song.
Not sure what had drawn her here, Hermione waited, forming an excuse to be there in her mind. Running from idea to idea, it took her several minutes to realize she had heard this same song at least twice now. Something was wrong with Harry. Something would be wrong with anyone who listened to a sad love song too many times in a row. And who knew how many times he had heard it before she arrived?
Knocking on the door, she received no answer. Not even a muffled sound from within. Convincing herself Harry wouldn’t be able to hear, she knocked louder. Hermione began to get nervous when he didn’t answer after the third knock. Pulling out her wand, she used a simple door opening spell. The door opened gently and what she saw in front of her caused her jaw to drop.