This Time For Real

A/N: A thousand thanks to Resimesdra for her attentive reading and suggestions. As with the original story, One Bitchen Summer, this is written as much as possible in California dialect.
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Somewhere, Harry had heard that gay guys loved show tunes. He’d never really cared for that stuff, but he figured that maybe things had changed, now that he might actually be gay, for real. But he wasn’t completely sure if he was. After all, twenty minutes of listening to his aunt’s favorite Broadway mix tape on Dudley’s Walkman only convinced him that Cabaret reeked, seriously. And so did Chicago. Although Phantom of the Opera… well, a couple of those songs weren’t too bad, actually.

But liking show tunes didn’t mean anything, really. His Aunt Petunia was neither gay nor a guy, but she was totally into musicals, especially Cats. She listened to the soundtrack constantly, and was always hinting that she’d just love Uncle Vernon to take her to New York to see the show. It was kind of funny to Harry that she was so nuts about the play, because she refused to allow the subject animals or any other pets in the house. As she’d explained many times, those filthy creatures would do nothing but scratch the genuine reproduction antique furniture and stain the carpet (which, though faithfully vacuumed, was already so worn and ugly that Harry didn’t see how a cat could make it any worse).

It wasn’t as though there was anything particularly gay about Harry, anyway. He didn’t own a single cut-off muscle t-shirt, or short shorts, or any other gay-looking clothes he could think of. Nor did he have any desire to move to San Francisco- although if he did turn out to be gay, he really wouldn’t need to. There was plenty of that kind of action in West Hollywood, which was only a mile or so away from the Dursleys’ modest home on the southern outskirts of Beverly Hills.

Yet even if Harry didn’t like all the things that gay men were supposed to, what happened last week was seriously making him question whether he was straight. Just a few days ago, another guy had been inside him, fucking him. And Harry had been like so completely into it, too. Even today, he couldn’t stop thinking about what it had felt like, and dreaming about doing it again. For sure, surrendering his virginity to Draco Malfoy was by far the most awesome thing that ever happened to him. And the weirdest thing was that right up until the day it happened, Harry had totally hated the dude.

He picked up the June issue of Surfer from his bedside table and flipped through it until he found the crumpled napkin with Draco’s number on it. It had been at least three days since he’d last seen Draco, and he figured that Ron’s party this weekend was as good an excuse as any to pick up the phone. It was going to be fully intense, and he was sure Draco would be interested. Or at least Harry hoped he’d be.

Ron had been like all excited when he told Harry about the party. His parents were going to be gone for the entire weekend, and his older brother Bill had agreed to pick up a couple of kegs. He asked Harry to help get the word out to everyone, and Harry decided that everyone included Draco, even though Draco and Ron were like lifelong enemies. Ron’s dad actually worked with Draco’s at the Federal Building in Westwood, doing some kind of government stuff, and Ron said Mr. Malfoy was a complete jackass. He acted like he was hot shit compared to Mr. Weasley, and Draco had always displayed the same attitude to Ron. But even with all that going on, Harry was sure Ron wouldn’t turn Draco away if he happened to show up. Ron was cool like that.

The phone picked up on the first ring, and Harry’s heart leapt right into his throat when he heard that soft, familiar drawl. He was so stoked to talk to Draco again that he hardly knew what he was saying. Somehow, he must have gotten the word out about the party, because Draco said that he was 100% free on Saturday night and that he’d definitely make it.

Right before hanging up (and after he was sure that Draco had), Harry gave the phone a great big smooch right on the receiver, grimacing as his mouth registered the taste of dirty plastic. He smelled something rancid, too. Looking up, he saw his cousin looming over him, an evil smile stretched across his fat, stupid face. Dudley must have been spying on him the whole time, as usual.

“Who was that, your boyfriend?” Dudley sneered.

Fuck it, he had nothing to hide. “Actually, yeah, totally!” Harry replied proudly.

Dudley’s big ugly mouth fell open like the maw of a fish gasping for air. Harry felt like throwing something in it, like a gumball, or maybe a coin for good luck, but restrained himself.

“Wish you had one, don’t you?” he added jauntily, and stuck out his tongue.


*** *** ***


A few hours after dinner on Saturday night, Harry bolted out of the Dursleys' house and ran down to the bus stop at Pico. Less than twenty minutes, he was casually walking down Ron's street in West L.A., not wanting to look as though he was in any hurry. Even half a block away from Ron’s house, he could hear the thumping sound of bass, accompanied by loud cheering and laughter. He congratulated himself on getting there at just the right time- not too early when the place was empty, and not too late when everyone was taking off. Maybe Draco was already there!

Stopping for a second, he gave his glasses a final rub with the edge of his shirt, making sure there were no smudges. Harry’d spent way too much time worrying about what he was going to wear to the party, and ended up mostly dressing the way he always did, with the exception of his new underwear (courtesy of a clandestine mission by skateboard to International Male in West Hollywood). Unlike his usual boxers, the black silk-weave briefs clung to his body and looked all sophisticated, kind of like something you’d see on one of those male model dudes. He couldn’t wait for Draco to peel them off.

He found Ron hanging out on the porch with Seamus Finnigan and a few of his other buddies, looking all relaxed. Ron jumped to his feet when he saw Harry, and grabbed him in a bear hug.

“Duuuuuuuuuhuuuuuuuude!” he shouted in triumph. “You made it!”

He gestured extravagantly with the red plastic cup in his hand, making the liquid inside slop back and forth precariously. “Keg’s out back! We’ve still got a lot left, but Finnigan only just got here.”

Seamus laughed. “Yeah, as if I could do nearly the damage that your brothers are going to do!”

“Cool,” said Harry, all normal-like. “Um, like, have you seen Malfoy?”

Ron was already both stoned and drunk, but he was conscious enough to at least attempt to act as though there was nothing unusual about that question. Of course he hadn’t invited Malfoy, but he knew very well who did. After a long talk, he and Hermione had agreed it was better not to confront Harry about what they’d inadvertently seen him doing on the beach with Draco last week.

“Saw him a while ago,” he said off-handedly. “He asked about you.”

“Malfoy asked... about me?”

“First thing out of his mouth, dude.”

“When did you see him? What’d he say?” Harry demanded.

Ron yawned. “About an hour ago. Wanted to know where you were. I said you were coming, far as I knew.”

That wasn’t nearly enough information for Harry. “Where’d he go?”

“God, I don’t know, dude! Chill, OK?”

A bunch of older guys who looked like friends of Ron’s brothers came up, and Ron turned to greet them. The music stopped for a second, then started up again. Someone had ditched Ron’s Mötley Crüe tape in favor of the cheesy Euro-pop sounds of Falco’s “Rock Me Amadeus.”

Seamus performed an exaggerated mincing dance step and snickered. “Now we know where Malfoy is!”

“Nah, dude,” Harry corrected him, “sounds more like Percy’s taste, if you ask me!”

Seamus chuckled. It was pretty much unanimous among Harry’s friends that Ron’s older brother had become even more of a dweeb since he started working with his dad at the Federal Building.

Harry made like he was going out to the backyard to get a beer, but instead he headed for the living room. He knew Draco would never seriously listen to that kind of music, but it was definitely a place to start looking. Instead, he found the person most likely to have hijacked Ron’s stereo, bopping around amid a flock of her girlfriends.

“Oh-oh-oh, Amadeus,” Romilda Vane chanted, shimmying energetically in her lacy black corset and matching skirt. She waved her arms in the air, causing the millions of skinny rubber bracelets she always wore to click against each other and slide up to her shoulders.

Harry kept walking, but didn't manage to escape before Romilda made eye contact with him. “C’mon Harry, dance with meeee!” she shrieked, her bracelets racing back toward her wrists as she lunged at him. Her smile was so wide that Harry imagined he could see almost all of her teeth.

“Oh, uh, like, sorry, can’t do it. Hurt my leg surfing,” he improvised in what he hoped was a regretful tone.

Romilda pouted. She’d only been waiting for the past six years to ask him. “Oh really?” she asked, clearly not buying it. “Maybe you should just go home then. Get some rest.”

The song changed to Duran Duran’s “Union of the Snake,” and Romilda spun around, renewing her wild dancing. Even though probably no one was looking, Harry made sure to feign a limp as he slunk past the whirling girls toward the Weasleys' back yard, where a large group of people was gathered around the keg.

“Harry!”

He turned to see Ron’s younger sister Ginny grinning up at him. Up until a few months ago, Ginny had been the sweetest surfer chick, always hanging out on the beach in her frayed Baja jacket and cut-off shorts. Though she still surfed, she’d recently made the metamorphosis to cute punk rock babe, all thick black eyeliner and cheeky attitude. Tonight, she was a calculated mess in a thrift shop flannel shirt over a black slip, hair still its natural red but ratted out, her athletic legs swathed in ripped fishnet stockings and tucked into newly scuffed combat boots.

Harry had always liked Ginny, and he knew she used to have somewhat of a crush on him. In fact, he had almost worked up the courage to ask her out when the whole thing happened with Draco and his life changed forever.

“Guess what, dude - my band’s playing tonight!” she said, allowing Harry to fill a cup for her.

“Your band?” Harry repeated. He’d never thought of Ginny as musical. She couldn’t play any instruments that he knew of, and the yowling noises that she made in last year’s Hogwarts production of Camelot had caused his hair to stand up on end.

“Fuck yeah!” Ginny declared. “We’re called Fire n’ Venom! I’m vocals and bass! Daphne Greengrass on guitar! Millicent Bulstrode on drums! Dude, we’re gonna totally fuckin’ rock the house!”

“Hey, have you seen Malfoy, by any chance?” he asked carefully, still aiming for casualness.

“No, why would he be here?”

“I, um, invited him?” Harry said, his inflection rising unintentionally at the end of the phrase. God, he was starting to sound like a girl or something!

Ginny didn’t seem fazed. She cracked her knuckles and took a quick chug from her plastic cup. “You’re still gonna check us out, right?”

“Yeah, for sure!” Harry said. Despite his best intentions, he knew all bets were off if he managed to find Draco. He kissed Ginny on the cheek, and she blushed.


*** *** ***

Harry wasn’t worried yet. There were still lots of areas of Ron’s home left to explore. He found Fred and George in the basement rec room, playing some serious pool with whoever was unwise enough to challenge them. Both were smoking cigars with a world-weary flair.

“Mal-foy?” asked Fred haughtily, feigning cluelessness as well as an upper-crust British accent.

George twirled his pool cue in the air. “Malfoy, Dra-co Malfoy, he’s a fucking jerk from Mal-i-bu,” he sang, to the tune of the theme from “The Flintstones.” Everyone laughed.

Harry frowned. The twins didn’t really know Draco, obviously.

“If you see him, tell him we’d love to take his fab-u-lous money. All of it!” Fred said, fanning out his winnings between his fingers.

Draco had to be somewhere around; Harry was sure that it was too early for him to have left already. Ron’s bedroom door was cracked open, and Harry poked his head into a thick haze of smoke. Dean Thomas was sitting on Ron’s bed, toking from Ron’s dragon-headed pipe. He was flanked by the Patil twins, who were giggling at something as usual.

Dean wore a sage, blissful smile, as though he had all the time in the world. Like he was the Keeper of Time, even. He nodded slowly at Harry. “Like, hey. Dude. Man. Harry Potter. What’s up?”

“Where’s Malfoy?” Harry asked again. Why didn’t anyone know?

“Maaaalllllfoy,” said Dean patiently, rolling it off his tongue as if it was a magic word or something. “Like, why are you looking for him?” He dropped his dreadlocked head to Parvati’s shoulder, and she tittered.

Harry ignored his question. “Yeah, have you seen him?”

“Harry, forget Malfoy. Come party with us!” Padma cut in, taking the pipe from Dean.

Parvati looked up innocently. “I think I saw him in the kitchen,” she offered.

“Yeah. With Blaise!” Padma interjected. She and her sister instantly started to giggle again.

Harry rolled his eyes. Like most of the girls at Harry’s school, the Patil sisters were clearly stuck on Blaise Zabini, who was one of Draco’s lame-ass friends. Blaise lived in Santa Monica, just a few blocks from school. He was half Italian and half black, and his mother was an actress in some big-time soap opera that Harry could never remember the name of. Girls were always drooling over him, but Harry wasn’t sure if it was because of his mother’s fame or his own good looks. Zabini was always parading around with his nose in the air, and he annoyed the fucking shit out of Harry.

But it was only natural that Draco wouldn’t have ventured into potentially hostile territory like Ron’s house without bringing a friend or two. Harry told himself that it didn’t really matter, just as long as Draco was there. Hurrying to the kitchen, he thought of the wonderful moment when their lips would meet again. This could even be the night when he’d tell Draco that he loved him and everything.

As he approached the doorway, he heard a moronic chortling sound which could only have come from Greg Goyle or Vince Crabbe. Those guys always reminded Harry of the two dumpy look-alike dudes in that Alison Somethingorother book he was supposed to have read back in elementary school. Crabbe and Goyle were forever hanging around Draco, so Draco had to be close by. For sure.

Sure enough, Draco was standing by the sink and as fucking gorgeous as ever. Harry felt kind of shy going up to him with all his friends around, especially because he couldn’t stand them, and was in the middle of trying to figure out a plan when Blaise bent his tall body toward Draco, kissing him right on the lips. Goyle hooted and pointed to his watch as the kiss went on and on, and Crabbe roared with laughter.

Harry couldn’t stand to watch a moment longer. He bolted to the bathroom, and barely made it there before he was overwhelmed by nausea. Shaking and sweating, he vomited round after round into the toilet basin until he felt like his guts might come out. He couldn’t remember being this sick since last year, when he ate too many chili dogs after going with Ron to that all-ages Black Flag/Circle Jerks show up in Hollywood. When he couldn’t puke anymore, he started bawling like a little kid. He’d been so stupid to think that Draco really wanted him, or that he’d been anything more than the current flavor of the week.

People were all cursing and hammering on the door, but Harry didn’t budge. He couldn’t stand to see anyone or have anyone see him. It was official- his life was now completely fucked.

*** *** ***

Harry felt cold, his head hurt, and he couldn't remember his bed ever feeling so hard or smooth. He stretched, and then he opened his eyes. He was still at Ron’s house, lying in Ron's bathtub, and feeling like total and complete crap.

There was a sickening, sour smell in the air, and Harry realized it was coming from the dried vomit caked onto his T-shirt. He wondered if he was going to throw up again. At least he wasn’t wearing the shirt that Draco had let him take home. Draco. And Zabini. Oh fuck.

And that wasn’t the only weird thing that had happened last night. Harry also had a vague recollection of someone turning the light on in the bathroom, long after the noise of the party had died down. He heard the whoosh of the shower curtain being pulled open, and then a pair of gasps. For a second, he thought he might have seen two white figures that looked just like Ron and Hermione, except for the fact that they were both completely naked.

It had to be a dream; it was simply too fucking bizarre not to be. Harry’s two best friends and nakedness just did not go together. At all. Hermione had looked- well, there were no words for it other than totally bodacious, and Harry was sure he would have been completely turned on if he could be attracted to anyone but Draco. But Ron was a different story. Harry’d never really paid much attention before when Ron changed in the locker room, and now he found the fact that so many freckles could fit on a single body to be more than unsettling.

He tore off his clothes and turned on the shower, hoping the hot water would obliterate his memories of last night. When he was done, he put on his shorts (the lone survivor of last night’s puke fest), and wandered barefoot and bare-chested into the Weasleys’ den. Somehow, Harry wasn’t surprised to see Hermione there along with Ron, sitting at the table and eating breakfast.

“Hey,” Hermione said cheerfully. She didn’t look surprised to see him. Thankfully, she was now fully dressed. Her clothes were obviously borrowed from Ron- a baggy pair of rolled-up sweatpants, and a big old orange shirt with the name of Ron’s favorite team on it, matching the shirt that Ron himself wore.

Harry gave a pathetic sort of wave and sat down. Ron’s dad had made the table himself, and it kind of wobbled a bit because all the legs were different lengths, but Harry managed to steady his elbows on it. Something whizzed by his head, and he reached out limply and caught it without looking.

He turned it over in his hand. In the grand scheme of things, a cherry Pop-Tart was a good thing, an important part of his nutritious breakfast, even. Now, not.

Fuck, it wasn’t even toasted or anything. And somehow, he knew that Draco Malfoy would never eat a raw Pop-Tart.

“Dude, I’m fuckin’ hungover, can’t eat anything now,” Harry muttered thickly. He tossed the Pop-Tart half-heartedly in Ron’s direction and it landed in the middle of the table.

“Want anything else, dude?”

“Got a cold soda?” Harry mumbled.

Ron rolled a Pepsi across the table and Harry held it to his forehead. He folded his elbows on the table and dropped his head onto them. “This totally fucking blows!” he moaned.

To his chagrin, he started to cry again, humiliated to be reduced to this level in front of his friends. Hermione walked behind Harry and gave him a hug, which made him blubber even more.

Ron looked sharply at him. “That fucking Malfoy! It’s him, isn’t it?”

“Y-yes,” Harry sobbed, and gradually, the whole story came out. How he lost his virginity to Draco in the back of his Jeep. How he totally fell in love. How he was maybe even gay, or sort of. And finally, what he saw Malfoy doing last night.

Ron swore. “So Malfoy blew you off for Zabini, huh? That’s so fucking bogus!” he said. “Harry, you’re worth like a million Zabinis. I hope you know that.”

He and Hermione seemed totally sympathetic, which kind of surprised Harry even though he knew it shouldn’t have. It was like such a relief not to have to maintain in front of them or anything. Hermione seemed more worried about him than judgmental, and Ron told Harry he was still his bro, no matter what.

“Besides,” Ron added, “Malfoy’s an asshole, and he’s always been an asshole. What did you expect?”

Harry put down his Pepsi. “Dude! He is so not!” he said quickly, but he knew with a sick feeling that Ron might actually be right.

*** *** ***

Ever since the incredible day that Draco Malfoy first kissed him, Harry hadn't missed a night of listening to the entire tape of AC/DC’s Back in Black through his headphones before he went to sleep. It was the soundtrack of the first time that he and Draco made love, and it never failed to bring back happy memories.

Until after Ron’s party, that was. Less than ten minutes after Ron dropped him at home, Harry succeeded in reducing the cassette to tiny shards and tangled loops of brown plastic, using his foot and every hard object he could get his hands on. He’d stuffed the whole mess into the trash, along with Draco’s t-shirt. Draco didn’t need it, and neither did Harry, although he couldn’t stop himself from pulling it out periodically and holding it to his face to see if he could still pick up Draco’s scent. Truthfully, at this point, the shirt smelled more like Harry, as he had slept with it for seven days straight before the horrible night when he discovered Draco's deception.

Most of the time, Harry felt tired and listless, though the Dursleys didn't notice a thing. He spent hours sulking in his room with the door shut, making an appearance only for the occasional meal.

At some point during the week, he overheard Dudley telling someone on the phone that his cousin didn’t live there anymore, that Harry had moved permanently to northern Scotland. Harry didn’t even protest a few days later when he heard Dudley tell the phone somewhat gleefully that Harry had died of AIDS and to stop calling. In fact, he would have even thanked his cousin, but for the fact that Dudley would surely reverse his behavior if he even suspected that Harry appreciated it.

Ron and Hermione had dropped by the day before yesterday to see if he wanted to hang, but Harry wasn’t up to it. He just sat there, staring into space as Hermione started going on and on about this new protect-the-wetlands thing she was into. It was easier to nod than to say anything, and that’s how Harry ended up agreeing to help her hand out environmental flyers in front of Santa Monica Place, the shopping mall down the road from Hogwarts. Now he was supposed to meet Hermione in an hour, and he supposed he had to really do it. He managed to throw on some clothes and was well on his way to the front door when Dudley blocked his path.

“Someone’s at the door, Harry. Some guy,” he announced.

Harry frowned. “So, get the door already, dickwipe! Leave me the fuck alone.”

“I think it’s your boyfriend,” Dudley said, making a fish-lipped kissy face at Harry and smacking his lips.

“I don’t have a boyfriend!” Harry hissed.

“Aw, what happened, you guys have a little fag fight or something?” Dudley teased.

“Fuck off, Dudley!”

“Fuck you, fuckwad!”

Harry wanted to go back to his room right away. But he didn't. There was absolutely, positively, no way he was ever going to open that door. Malfoy was an asshole, and this time, he wasn’t going to get anything from Harry.

Through the spyhole, he watched Draco press the doorbell, looking kind of sad. Then he started walking away, and despite Harry' strict orders to himself, his hand automatically reached for the door handle.

"What’re you doing here, Malfoy?" he asked, making sure to keep a good distance.

“Well, you hadn’t returned my calls or anything. And when I called, someone, like, told me you were dead. What gives, dude?” Draco asked.

“You fucking know what gives!”

“Dude! I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!”

“Zabini. That’s what the fuck I’m talking about.” Harry spat. “You and Zabini!”

“Zabini’s my friend, dude. Got a problem with that? I’ve like known him for fucking years. He’s totally cool.”

“I saw you with him. At Ron’s party. Remember?”

Draco clapped his palm to his forehead. “Oh, fuck, dude! I was just playing around, you know? We were all fucked up and playing Truth or Dare, and Blaise took the dare from Vince and had to kiss me. Vince made him do it for a whole minute. Greg timed it and everything.”

Harry crossed his arms over his chest. “So what if it was a dare? You kissed him! I saw the whole thing!”

"Dude. I didn’t kiss him. He kissed me."

“But you – you were kissing him back-”

“Worst kiss, ever. I mean, he’s my friend and all, but his breath was fucking murder on ice. Fuck, it was like old pizza, seriously. Wish you could have been there to take the taste away.”

Harry looked down at the ground. His toenails needed a trim. “I was there, all right,” he muttered. “Obviously.”

“Dude, what happened to you that night?” Draco asked. “I was looking around for you for like forever. Granger and the Weasel said they hadn’t seen you leave.”

Harry felt a gleam of hope, but he didn’t smile. “His name is Ron, you know,” he said stiffly. “Weas-ley, not Weas-el.”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “Whatever. Look, I just drove all the way from Malibu, okay?” he sighed. “You wouldn’t believe how much fucking traffic there was. Two lanes on PCH were blocked by a landslide, so I had to drive up Temescal Canyon, and of course, there was road construction all the way up the hill to Sunset. Then the signal was out at Doheny, some asshole cut me off at La Cienega, and I sat for twenty minutes because of a three-car pile up on Olympic. But dude, I kept going, you know? Guess I just really wanted to see you, Harry.”

Harry. Not Potter, but Harry. He lifted his head, meeting Draco’s eyes. “No more kissing Zabini?” It wasn’t so much of a question as a direct order.

“Promise,” said Draco. He stepped forward and kissed him.

Harry forgot where he was. He forgot that Dudley was standing right behind him, probably leering. He forgot absolutely everything, except the need to press his lips against Draco’s right away and to seize him in his arms, kissing him repeatedly until they were both forced to breathe again.

Dudley made no attempt to hide his hostile stare as Harry paraded past him in the entrance hall, leading the blond queer by the hand. Neither of them said anything, but Harry’s guy gave him a smug look like he’d just won the lottery or something.

Harry was happy, and Dudley knew this had to be against the rules. “Mom! I saw Harry kissing his fag friend and now he’s bringing him to his room!” he shouted.

"Get lost, jizzbrain!" Harry retorted, not looking behind him. He moved to close the door of his room, and then he remembered. Fuck. Hermione and her fucking flyers! At fucking Santa Monica Place. Shit.

Leaving Draco sprawled on his bed, he walked back toward the living room and nearly collided with his aunt. She was heading for the door, her purse over her shoulders and car keys in hand.

Aunt Petunia scowled at Harry. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m going grocery shopping, and when I get back, your, uh, ‘friend’ had better be out of here, do you understand?”

“Mom, can you go to Gelson’s?” interrupted Dudley. “I want potato salad!”

Harry’s aunt’s expression became sweet and loving as she gazed at her only son. “Sweetheart, they have potato salad at Vons, too,” she gently pointed out.

“But Gelson’s is better!” Dudley whined.

“Of course, precious! I’ll stop by on my way back.”

Harry wasn't listening to them. He had his hand on the phone, trying to think. He could just call Hermione and tell her that he was sick, but that was like way too wimpy, and maybe she really needed an extra hand to help out. Suddenly, a wild idea came to him and refused to leave. He racked his brain for the number, than began dialing.

Was she even home? Harry usually didn’t give it more than five rings, but he knew that Luna Lovegood required more patience. Finally, the phone clicked, but all he could hear was this trippy granola music with echoing swirly guitars and shit. It sounded like he’d called India or something. Boy, would that be one huge fucking phone bill.

He coughed. “Hello? Uh, Luna?” He hoped she hadn’t already dropped acid or something. It wouldn’t be the first time, that was for sure.

The familiar jingle of Luna’s cowbell necklaces sounded, heralding her high-pitched, spacey voice. “Wow, like, hello?” she ventured. “Oooh, wait... don’t tell me who you are… I’ve got to guess! I’m all, like, trying to develop my powers, y’know? Ms. Trelawney told me last semester that I have the gift!”

Yeah, you and every other girl in the whole fucking class, thought Harry. He cleared his throat, but Luna wasn’t finished.

“Okay, now I’m making my guess!” she babbled. “It’s, it’s, it’s Terry… no, Harry... Harry, uh, Harry Potter! Am I right, am I right, huh?”

"Yes, Luna, you’re right," Harry said, swallowing the urge to sigh. He really didn't like the idea of leaving Draco alone in his room, especially when Dudley was around.

Even though Luna knew that the mall was chock-full of intergalactic invaders masquerading as rowdy teenagers, she was utterly thrilled at the opportunity to help Hermione save the wetlands. “Oh my God, I like, totally heart the environment, like, so, so much! Nature is like so- spiritual, you know?"

Yeah, whatever, Harry thought. “Oh, for sure," he agreed.

Luna giggled. “Harry, are you in love?” she asked.

Harry was like too surprised to even lie. “Uhh... yeah, I guess I am,” he confessed. He hadn’t asked Ron or Hermione not to tell anyone, but somehow he thought that they would have known not to spread the news.

“Wow, I can totally hear it in your voice! There’s like so much love there. And it’s real love, too!” Luna exulted. “Who is it? No, don’t tell me! Um, she has long black hair, kinda gypsy lookin', like Cher? And her name begins with a “Z”, right? And she’s a Leo, oh, I’m so totally getting a Leo vibe here. Am I right or what?”

Harry exhaled. “Whoa, right again, Luna, you’re like, incredible! Well, um, ‘Zora’s’ waiting for me, so catch you later, okay?"

There was a long pause, and Harry had almost hung up when he heard Luna’s tremulous voice again.

“Hey Harry, can I, like, do your chart sometime?”

*** *** ***

Harry practically ran back to his room, grateful to find Draco still in one piece. He definitely didn't want to deal with Aunt Petunia when she got back, so he eagerly accepted Draco's invitation to go back to his place, especially since his parents would be out of the house. Mr. Malfoy was still at work, and Draco’s mother had opted for a spa day with the girls, although Draco had confided his suspicion that she was getting some work done instead. Like many of her Malibu neighbors, Mrs. Malfoy had developed somewhat of an addiction to cosmetic surgery.

Draco climbed into his Jeep, and shut the door. He turned on the air conditioner, but didn’t start the car. Throwing Harry an impish smile, he scooted his seat back as far as it could go and spread his legs apart.

Harry’s eyes widened appreciatively. Draco was like all hard and everything, and his dick was practically sticking out of the top of his shorts. Harry could almost feel the heat emanating from it.

Draco slid a hand onto Harry’s thigh. “Come on, dude,” he urged. “Your uncle’s at work, your aunt’s at the market, and I’m not worried about your cousin. He thinks we’re gross, anyway.” He looked out of the window to see Harry's old lady neighbor waving at him gaily, and waved back.

Harry was totally impressed by Draco’s smoothness. The guy didn’t have to go, “Hey dude, give me a hummer,” for Harry to get the idea. His mouth was already watering just thinking about it. He clambered over Draco and knelt under the steering wheel, right between Draco’s legs. Draco propped his thighs over Harry’s shoulders, resting his calves against the dashboard. He grabbed the sports section from the Los Angeles Times from the door compartment and unfolded it over Harry’s head for a bit of privacy.

Harry took in a deep breath, focusing every ounce of his attention on the delicious task before him. Draco’s naked cock rose quivering from its thatch of soft, light curls, begging to be kissed and licked. Stretched tightly over dense muscle, the fragile, paper-thin skin was practically edible itself. Harry brushed his lips over Draco and nuzzled him, delighting in the salty drop of sweetness clinging to the rosy tip.

Carefully, he wrapped his lips around Draco’s balls and sucked at them, then slowly ran the flat of his tongue over the length of his warm cock from base to head. He paused between licks, sighing with deep pleasure as though Draco was the best thing he’d ever tasted. Once his tongue had caressed every inch of him, he opened his mouth wide and took Draco all the way in, cradling him like a ripe, delicate fruit about to burst with juice, savoring him. Grasping the base of Draco’s cock firmly in his fist, Harry sucked him deeply and thirstily, feasting on him, melting him in his mouth.

Draco’s breath was coming faster now, and he couldn’t suppress a small moan when the head of his cock caught against the back of Harry’s throat. He lifted the newspaper to watch him work. Harry's eyes were closed in concentration, and his lashes were as thick as a girl's behind his ever-present glasses.

Without stopping what he was doing, Harry suddenly looked up at Draco, his eyes crinkling as though he were smiling. Draco felt something unfamiliar and warm explode deep inside his chest. This was crazy. Harry was just some hot guy from school, and it wasn't like a big deal or anything that they were fucking. But his eyes! They were like so green, the exact color of a Heineken bottle or something.

Draco thought of a million dipshit, lovey-dovey things to say about Harry and his eyes, but he didn't say a single one of them. Instead, he ruffled Harry’s hair and smiled back at him before throwing the newspaper back over his head.

*** *** ***

Dudley relished the perfect view from his second story bedroom. On a good day, he could make out the distant hills dividing the city of L.A. from the Valley, and right now, he could see everything going on inside Harry’s friend’s Jeep. The skinny blond faggot who’d kissed his cousin had both of his legs up on the dashboard, and the rhythmic bobbing of the unfolded newspaper spread over his lap was causing Dudley’s eyes to nearly to pop out of his head.

There really should be a law against all the disgusting things that homos liked to do to each other, he reckoned. Especially if that meant he could call the cops on Harry. Dudley smirked, thinking of how he would laugh right in Harry’s stupid four-eyed face as they pulled him off the guy’s dick and carted him away. If he were lucky, Harry’d probably end up as some convict’s jailhouse girlfriend.

Dudley kept his eyes rooted on the Jeep. He felt hot, and hungrier than he’d been in a long while, but the economy-sized bag of potato chips stashed under his bed wasn’t calling to him. Slowly, his pudgy hand crept under his stomach and began fumbling with his pants. He might never do what Harry was doing, but this was the next best thing.

*** *** ***

Barely ten years old, the sumptuous mahogany leather couch in Draco’s father’s home office had already enjoyed a glorious history. In the time since Mr. Malfoy had arranged for it to be specially shipped from Milan at great expense, the couch had become the seating place of choice for many prestigious callers, including two Republican presidents and at least three prominent conservative members of Congress.

The most recent visitor to rest his hindquarters on Mr. Malfoy’s couch wasn’t particularly illustrious, nor did he have any association whatsoever with the right wing elite. But he was distinguished from all other guests in that he wasn’t wearing pants, or any clothes at all, for that matter. Instead of sitting properly as other callers had, this honored newcomer was lying flat on his back, legs spread wide and knees splayed in the air as Draco Malfoy leaned into him, rock-hard dick already halfway up his recently virginal ass.

Harry felt kind of dizzy, and he wasn't sure if it was from the single-malt Scotch they'd snagged from the office’s supposedly locked liquor cabinet, or from the hard, startling beauty of Draco himself, so very close to him. He locked his legs around Draco’s waist, his body tensing reflexively as he remembered the pain of the first time, pressing his face sideways into the smooth, buttery leather.

Draco touched his shoulder. “Hey, let it happen, dude,” he said quietly, and kissed the edge of Harry’s ear. “Just let it happen."

Harry turned his head to look at him. With his fingertips, Draco brushed away the tears that Harry didn't realize had rolled down both cheeks. He paused, adjusting his hips.

"Better now?" he asked.

Harry nodded, unable to speak.

“Want me to stop?”

Harry shook his head. Draco touched his cheek again lightly, and Harry felt himself relax, gazing into the depths of his astonishing blue-gray eyes. They traded a few fiery Scotch-flavored kisses, and Draco began to move inside Harry, slowly at first, then more purposefully, angling for the sweet spot deep inside him.

The now-familiar pain soon eased into a keen, delightful tingling which spread right through his bottom up to the tip of his cock, and Harry rolled his hips against Draco with every thrust, drawing him inside, wanting more and more of him. He hoped that Draco’s father would never notice the few discreet bite marks he’d left in the leather.

*** *** ***

The Malfoys’ pool was like way rad. Conveniently located right off Mr. Malfoy’s office, just past the sliding glass doors, it was large and oval shaped, with a fake waterfall running into it. The whole thing was surrounded by a tall redwood fence that afforded a measure of privacy from all except the police helicopters that sometimes flew overhead, and Harry didn’t give a fuck what they saw. As actual swimming turned out to be way too much trouble for their sex-addled bodies, he and Draco soon pulled themselves out of the water and flopped dripping onto two chaises pushed together.

Dozing in the sun turned into cuddling, which turned into kissing, which turned into wrestling, and Harry found himself pinning a squirming Draco on his belly, holding his wrists tightly behind his back. Tell me you love me and I’ll let go, he wanted to insist, but thought better of it. If Draco was ever going to say the words, Harry didn’t want to force him. He had to mean it for it to be real.

Harry released Draco's wrists, and skimmed his eyes over his back, lingering on his perfectly symmetrical rump, so much whiter than the rest of his body. He pressed his palms firmly against each cheek and spread them apart to examine the tiny, closed-looking knot that he'd once felt with his fingers but had never seen. It was clean and pink, and he thought it looked like the coiled heart of a seashell. Even though it was probably a weird thing to do, he was unable to resist lowering his head in there and licking him a little, just to see what it was like.

Draco tasted mostly of chlorine from the pool, but with an underlying succulence which became more pronounced the longer Harry tasted him. Harry began to nibble and slurp at the delicate little circle, crushing his nose against Draco’s crack, burying himself in his pungent essence. He stiffened his tongue and butted it against the entrance, which stubbornly refused to admit anything but the very tip. He tried a finger, which slipped in more easily, then another one. Alternating mouth and hand helped his tongue slither in, and caused Draco to shiver and make the most delirious, anguished little noises. Balancing on his knees and an elbow, he ground his bottom against Harry’s mouth, one shoulder twitching as he stroked himself.

Harry reached around Draco's waist and snatched his wrist, staying his hand. Although he was kind of concerned about his breath after where his mouth had been, he ran his hands up Draco's back and spoke close to his ear.

"Will you- can I- uh, do you mind-?" he stuttered.

Draco turned his head and gave Harry a huge kiss, without hesitation. "Dude, go for it!" he said. He lowered his elbows to the ground and parted his legs, offering himself.

Harry's heart began thudding in his chest as he thought about actually being inside Draco. He could hardly breathe. "Where's the-?" he asked.

"Right underneath you- on the ground."

Draco turned over on his side and helped Harry pull on a condom, showing him how to pinch the end to avoid any air bubbles. Harry's hands shook just a little as he slicked himself with lube. He wasn't sure just how much to use, so he applied it generously all over his rubber-encased cock, to Draco's amusement.

One leg at a time, he climbed up on the chaise to straddle Draco, gripping the sides of Draco's thighs with his own. He had never felt quite so masculine and powerful as he did now, kneeling atop Draco and sinking himself inside him, almost as if this was what he was born to do.

Draco had stayed pretty quiet when he was fucking Harry, apart from his breathing, but that wasn't the case while he was being fucked. He moaned, he grunted, and he sighed, and every sound wrenched out of him made Harry feel as though he were giving him the greatest fuck of his life. Harry grabbed his ass in his fists on both sides for traction, and felt his fingernails dig into Draco’s flesh as he tried to go deeper. His mind was completely empty and his dick had taken over, addicted to the sheer sensation of being swallowed whole.

Everything turned purple and Harry closed his eyes, knowing he was about to come. But as he began the swift series of blunt, final strokes to push himself over the edge, an unexpected sharpness stabbed into his shoulders, and he cried out in pain.

Startled, Harry slipped out of Draco and looked straight into the panicked blue eyes of Narcissa Malfoy, Draco's mom. She was standing over him in the tiniest of shocking pink bikinis, her lacquered talons maintaining their pincer-like grip on his shoulders. For an old lady, Mrs. Malfoy really didn’t look all that bad, and Harry made a mental note to let Ron know.

“Get the hell off of my son, right now!” she screeched, shaking him almost violently. “What have you done to him? Sweetheart, are you all right?”

"Mom, relax! It’s okay!” Draco sounded totally stressed. Harry had never seen him lose his cool like this before, and it was really bizarre to hear his usually mellow voice so strained and tight.

Mrs. Malfoy's hands flew off Harry's shoulders."Okay? You mean you- you let this pervert do this to you?"

Harry was like incredibly embarrassed himself, but he couldn't imagine the extent to which Draco must have felt. Although he would never admit it, sometimes he was almost glad both his parents were dead. He quickly wrapped a towel around his middle, painfully aware of his unflagging erection.

"Everything all right here, Cissie?” came a deep, unctuous voice. A tall, paunchy bald guy with the palest skin Harry had ever seen appeared on the patio. He had no eyebrows whatsoever, and just slits in the place where his nose should have been. Harry's eyes were immediately drawn to the bold green stripe down the middle of his black Speedo, emphasizing the generous package lying just underneath his bulging gut.

The man made no attempt to hide his lascivious grin when he caught sight of Draco lying naked on his stomach, along with the ripped condom packet and the jar of lube lying casually on the ground. “Why hello, young Draco,” he oozed. “Nothing wrong with swimming au naturel, is there? Mind if I join you? And who is your enchanting friend?”

Narcissa smiled graciously. "Laird, will you please excuse me for just a moment? I need to have a word with my boy," she said in a pleasant tone, as though she was obliged to tend to other guests at a garden party. She looked mock-reproachfully at Draco as if he had merely been a bit naughty, though Harry didn’t miss the underlying steeliness behind the polite gesture.

Harry’s scar tingled. He pressed both hands to his brow, and sharp jolts of pain zinged through his head. Dimly, he realized that the dude who was practically drooling over Draco’s ass must be that Laird Voldemort creep whom Draco had mentioned. The top-seeded Republican gubernatorial candidate, who was over at the Malfoys’ the last time that Harry had visited. The man who just happened to be around when Harry’s forehead scar last gave him a hard time.

Right now, all he wanted was to find his way up the stairs to Draco’s room, to lie down on Draco’s bed with a thick pillow over his head until the whole world gave up and went away. His scar had bothered him off and on ever since he was eleven, but he couldn’t remember when the pain had ever been this bad. He ran stumbling inside, clapping his hands over his eyes to shield them from light.

Halfway up the stairs, Harry felt a hand tug at his towel. He whirled around, and there was that Voldemort dude again, smiling like he knew something that Harry didn’t and would never, ever tell him.

“Harry Potter,” he said slowly. His voice was soft but sinister, kind of like Dracula but without the Transylvanian accent.

Harry was too out of it to wonder how the dude knew his name. “Hi- um, I gotta go lay down, my head totally hurts, okay?" he said, checking his towel to make sure it was wound tightly around his waist.

"Does it hurt… now?" Voldemort reached out and touched Harry right on his scar with a bony white finger.

“Whoa,” Harry breathed. Amazingly, the pain had like totally vanished. It was almost as though Voldemort had drawn it right up through his finger or something.

He looked hard at the guy, trying to figure out what just happened, and it was like he totally slipped into a flashback. In his mind, he saw a cozy, cluttered kitchen, the same he’d seen many times in the bent, peeling photos he kept hidden in his sock drawer. The tall dude with shaggy black hair and big clunky glasses talking excitedly into the wall phone was familiar too, though Harry barely had any memories of him.

“Shit, that’s too heavy, man!” Harry’s father said. “All right, brother. Stay safe!” He hung up, laughing.

A woman bounded into the room with a baby on her hip. She was barefoot, and her long red hair spilled down to the top of her bellbottom jeans.

The man turned to her. “Dig this, Lily. That was Peter. Man, I hadn’t heard from that cat since he went underground.”

“Is he all right? I was starting to think that the feds must have gotten to him,” Lily said, sinking into a battered-looking chair and adjusting the baby on her lap.

“Yeah, he’s doing great! And get this. I filled him in on how we suspected that Laird Voldemort rigged the city council election, and he says he’s got hard evidence to back it up, though he didn’t want to say more on the phone. He’s gonna try to come by when he can.”

“Far out. I knew we were right, I just knew it! Who should we call first? Sirius? The L.A. Times? The Examiner? God, I’ve been dreaming of this moment for years!”

“Either way, it looks like that pig’s finally gonna get what’s coming to him!” James poured what looked like wine from a jug into the two cracked cups on the table.

“Oh, James, no human being should ever be referred to as a pig. Even if that fucker Voldemort happens to be one.” Lily chided gently.

“You’re right, honey, I shouldn’t have called him a pig. He’s really more of a snake,” James chuckled.

The doorbell rang. “Hold on, babe. I’ll get that. Maybe it’s Sirius!” he said, and moved out of Harry’s visual range. Seconds later, a loud popping noise rang out, accompanied by a flash of light that might have been gunfire. The baby began to wail.

Harry’s mother screamed. Then Harry saw a much younger Voldemort walk into the room, all dressed up in these long black robes with a crazy-ass look in his eyes. This Voldemort had a nose and he wasn’t bald, but otherwise he looked pretty much the same as the man now holding his finger to Harry’s scar.

Voldemort sauntered toward Lily, cackling. Lily backed away, her face ashen. Moving deliberately, she quickly deposited the howling baby into his playpen and stood in front of it, her outstretched arms clutching the rails.

“Not Harry!” she cried. “NOT HA-!”

There was that same popping sound and the flash of blinding light. Before everything went dark, Harry heard his mother scream again, a horrible half-scream that ended far before her breath was exhausted.

Harry didn’t want to remember another second of this. "You killed my parents!" he bellowed.

“Now, let’s not jump to any conclusions we might regret later, shall we?” Voldemort spoke calmly, not raising his voice above a whisper.

He stared at Harry with those dead red eyes, so obviously trying to fake him out. Harry stared back without blinking, not moving even when his towel fell off, revealing his half-hard dick with a rolled-up condom still absurdly hanging off of it.

Voldemort’s eyes flicked down for barely a second, but it was one second too long. His face flushed, and he jerked his hand away from Harry’s forehead like it was on fire or something. Stumbling backwards, he missed the step behind him, landing hard on his back and rolling down the stairs thump after thump until he landed face down on the spotless carpet.

Harry couldn’t tell if Voldemort was alive or not, but didn’t want to get close enough to find out. Abandoning his towel, he rushed naked to find Draco just inside the sliding glass doors. Both of them sped back to the stairs, and Harry looked around in disbelief.

“Fuck, he was right there!” he insisted. Even if Voldemort wasn’t dead, it seemed like he would have been all injured and shit from falling down the stairs. But he, or his body, had completely vanished, and there was nothing that indicated he’d ever even been there in the first place.

Luckily, Draco had watched a lot of crime shows, and he knew the drill. “Look, dude- no body, no harm, no foul,” he said, squeezing Harry’s hand.

“What the fuck are we going to tell your mom?”

“Ah, don’t even worry about her, dude. She’s already taken her Valium, and she’s like in the total do-not-disturb mode now.”

“Is everything cool?”

“Yeah… she was a little freaked out when she saw us, but I think she knew about me all along.”

“Wow,” Harry tried to process. “No way.”

“Uh huh, totally,” Draco confirmed. “And the best thing about it is that I know she’s never telling my dad. Think she wants him to know who was sporting around the pool with her?”

“Yeah, what was up with that?”

“Don’t know, she didn’t say.”

“Bummer,” Harry said. It sounded like maybe Draco had one of those dysfunctional families that Phil Donahue liked to talk about on his show.

*** *** ***

Harry and Draco lay on their stomachs at the mouth of the small cave, looking out at the rising tide and listening to the seagulls cry. They had the whole afternoon in front of them, and weren’t about to waste it. After confirming there were no traces of Voldemort anywhere in the house, they’d gone to the beach where they’d first kissed- their beach, as Harry liked to think of it. Hidden behind a rock wall and halfway up the cliff, the cave had long been Draco’s secret- the private place where he’d retreat whenever he needed to think, or if things with his parents got to be too much. He told Harry he’d never shown it to anyone else.

Harry watched Draco as he talked, admiring the way the filtered sunlight defined his boyfriend’s sharp profile. Fuck, even Draco’s shadow was beautiful.

“Hey, how’d you know you liked guys?" he asked.

“Don’t know, dude. I guess I just always did. How ‘bout you?”

“I knew ever since I saw you on the beach that day,” Harry said. He swallowed. “Uh, do you like Cats?”

“Do I like cats?” Draco laughed. “I had a kitten once, but my dad made me give her away. You know that couch we were on, in his office? You should have seen what she did to it. Cost a fortune to reupholster, too. But if it were my choice, I totally would have kept her, even if she’d scratched up all my stuff. That’s not something you do to someone you love.”

Harry pressed his lips together. It was no use; he couldn’t control himself any longer. “Draco, I love you!” he blurted out.

Without looking directly at Harry, Draco grabbed him, hugging him so hard that he almost cracked his ribs. Then he covered Harry's lips with his own, kissing him soundly.

Harry totally cracked up, forcing Draco to stop his kiss. “You love me, dude!” he sang out. “I so knew you did!”

“I never said that,” Draco mumbled. But he smiled, and his quiet eyes were warm and gentle and full of light.

By anyone's standards, the little cave was not an ideal place for sex. Even on a sunny summer day it was chilly inside, and its stony surfaces were thoroughly unforgiving to tender backs and knees. But Harry and Draco were in love, and couldn’t be stopped by such minor details. There was no need to rush through kisses, but they did, and soon Draco braced himself against the wall with Harry hard against his back, Harry’s hands holding Draco’s hips, as they moved together to finish what they’d started back at the pool, this time for real.

_______________________________________________________________________
END NOTES: Of no particular importance is the fact that later that night, Draco took Harry out to dinner in Malibu and hand-fed him sushi, piece by piece. He wore his distressed leather jacket and used his father's credit card. When Lucius got the bill, he suspected Narcissa, but didn't say anything. The Malfoys had an understanding when it came to these sorts of things.