hd_hols (hd_hols) wrote in hd_holidays,

Happy H/D Holidays cutecoati

Author: bewarethesmirk
Recipient: cutecoati
Title: Release of the Past
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, mentions of Harry/Ginny and Draco/Blaise
Summary: Two years after the war, Harry's life is at a standstill. Harry meets Draco on a forced social outing and is motivated to relinquish his ties to the horrors of wartime's past.
Rating: R
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): Just a bit of sexual content but nothing kink-oriented.
Word Count: 5,557
Author's Notes: I hope, hope, hope you like this, cutecoati. Thank you to those who offered support and betaed. I would thank you here, but I am supposed to remain anonymous. ;-) Also, thank you to the mods!

Release of the Past

Each beat of the music resonating in his ears grated on a different nerve. This place was entirely too loud, much louder than the silence of his sitting room at home. The laughter around him should have been contagious; it should have made him happy to be sitting in this pub with his two oldest friends, engaging in this thing known as a social life.

Quite to the contrary, he was realising why he preferred sitting at home.

Ron and Hermione were squeezed close together on the bench opposite him; so close it made him a bit queasy. He was well-practiced at seeing them as a couple – they had been dating seriously for over two years – but right now he was just not in the mood to cope with the lovey-dovey eyes and the knowing grins. If they would rather be sequestered in a locked-up room somewhere, why drag him out here - unless his friends were indulging in a spot of torture?

Something of his expression must've shown outwardly. Hermione turned her gaze from Ron's face, and looked at Harry in a display of concern that made his grimace become a pronounced scowl.

"Are you all right?" Her lips formed the words, but the music stole the sound away, that or Harry was going deaf at the age of 20.

"What?" he asked, just so she would have to repeat the words.

"Are you all right?"

"Sure. Just a bit loud in here is all." She would probably see right through the lie, but he didn't much care.

Her eyes sparkled at him knowingly. "Harry," she dragged out his name in a way that made him flinch, "if you just sit here, you're not going to have any fun. You should go dance."

Ron nodded his agreement. It was so typical of him to agree with Hermione, rather than Harry, these days.

Harry cradled his chin in his hands and affected a sigh. "And dance with who exactly?" The pub was crawling with girls. Girls, women, females everywhere. No attractive men, let alone queer men, were in sight.

Harry looked toward the floor in the middle of the room that was serving as a makeshift dance floor. Bodies gyrated against one another, but all of the couples were distinctly female and male. He didn't feel like making the wizarding world aware of his sexuality in this place and not on this night.

"I'll dance with you!" Hermione offered. Ron didn't nod this time.

"Fine," he said through clenched teeth. Maybe after that he could go back to the comfortable silence of his flat, where it was him and Hedwig, and none of this forcing him to mingle.

Harry gripped the mug of black and tan, took one last sip, and wiped the condensation from his hands onto his jeans. Hermione jumped up from her seat and grasped his hand, pulling him out on the dance floor with more enthusiasm than he would have credited her. Ever since the war had ended, Hermione had been in a good mood.

And he had not.

Hermione had enough sense to choose a corner for their dancing – in order to prevent giving the press fodder for rumours of a love triangle. Harry was not one for dancing, let alone to fast-paced music, so he held Hermione's hips gently and let her sway back and forth. Without even turning around, he knew Ron was watching with red ears.

As he danced, he let his mind wander. Tomorrow, he started the last tests of his Auror training. It hadn't been necessary for him undergo all of the routine training since he had done the unthinkable and defeated Voldemort, but something very akin to Severus Snape's voice had taunted him in his mind, until he felt as if he needed to go through the normal process and properly earn his credentials.

He lived by himself, spent a lot of time at Hermione and Ron's flat, but rarely went anywhere else. He had figured out after sometime of dating Ginny that he was not, in fact, attracted to her. He liked some women – found a few attractive, even – but largely, he considered himself to be gay.

He knew without ever having kissed a man - much as the Weasley twins told him otherwise. They would have liked to be the ones to test his not-so-scientific hypothesis of his sexuality.

The song ended, but Hermione kept dancing, so Harry stayed for one more song. The music was more enjoyable while surrounded by people, rather than sulking on the sidelines. He still didn't like dancing, though.

Ever since he had killed Voldemort, with the surprising help of Snape, Harry had been happy the weight had been lifted off his shoulders, but without that burdening weight, he felt unlike himself. He would never give up the life he had now, but he hardly felt comfortable with his place in it.

He wanted everything and nothing, always wanted to be doing something, but while doing something, wanted to be doing nothing. He felt empty, and at fleeting moments, perfectly satisfied. He was a mess, but he couldn't begin figuring out what the problem was - or so he told himself - so he had learned to live with the problem. If there was a problem. Whatever it was – might be –

He stopped thinking and let Hermione drag him off the floor.


The next week, Harry agreed to go out with Ron and Hermione, on the condition that they went to a different pub.

This time they went to a Muggle pub in downtown London that looked eerily like a dungeon. Had he not actually seen it in his third year, he might have imagined this to be an exact replica of the Slytherin common room. Unsure of the place's actual name, Harry christened it "The Dungeon" in his mind.

Harry was happy to see that the place was not a dancing club, but a place to drink. He, Ron, and Hermione slid into a booth in the corner. Hermione ordered them all some drink called the Serpent's Tongue.

He found himself more comfortable now than he had been the previous week. His mood was lighter since he was only three weeks away from becoming an Auror.

Even Hermione and Ron were more tolerable tonight than usual. Their loving touches and glances didn't even bother him so much. He reckoned they deserved their own peace after all they had endured during the war. Hermione was working in the Ministry on a venture to help house-elves, and Ron went away to Romania for two weeks of every month to help Charlie with dragons and various other creatures.

Harry relaxed back in his seat and let Hermione and Ron's conversation lull him into relaxation just as effectively as the alcohol. The Serpent's Tongue turned out to be a green fizzy drink with quite a bit of rum. He closed his eyes and let the sinister music the pub was playing float into his ears…

"Look what we have here." Harry placed the arrogant tone immediately, his shoulders tensing. He reached for his wand underneath the booth, not knowing why nor how that bastard could be here to disturb his short-lived peace.

Harry opened his eyes and focused on Malfoy for the first time since the trials following Voldemort's defeat. Malfoy was wearing the tried-and-true smirk but Harry's gaze fell to the long blond hair, floating down to his shoulders. Harry had never seen Malfoy in Muggle clothes, and he considered that a blessing – for not only was it hypocritical beyond all bounds of reason, but Malfoy looked…fetching…in black trousers and a soft, white button-up shirt that wasn't cotton or silk but something in between.

Hermione kicked Harry's leg under the table, and Harry shot a look at her – anything to break his stare from Malfoy's tapered waist…

He had been drinking too much, Harry told himself.

"Malfoy." Harry nodded since Ron seemed too surprised at Malfoy's presence to say anything, and Hermione's attention was focused too closely on Harry.

"Impressive memory, Potter." Malfoy turned to Hermione and Ron, sitting very close together and holding hands. He wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"I see you two have finally ceased the tantrum-as-foreplay and moved onto something less…I mean, more substantial."

Ron's cheeks reddened, and Harry heard shoe meet leg under the table.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "And I see your witty repartee has been reduced to that of a first-year's. Remarkable improvement, Malfoy."

Malfoy raised his eyebrow at Hermione but offered no rebuttal. Instead, he turned back to Harry, who felt his stomach burn under Malfoy's intense stare.

Then, the former Slytherin did the unthinkable and slid into the small booth next to Harry, moving so close they were thigh-to-thigh. Harry had no doubt that his ears were as red as a Weasley's, and he pressed himself as close to the stone wall as he could to get away from that black-clothed leg.

"Why are you sitting –"

Draco interrupted. "I hear you're about to become an Auror, Potter."

Harry nodded and to aid in biting back a retort, gulped down some more of his drink. He savoured the burn as it slipped down his throat.

"And Weasley - following in the shadow of your brother's footsteps? I commend you."

"And what are you doing here? Did you not notice this is a Muggle joint?" Ron asked, ignoring Malfoy's insult.

Malfoy shrugged, his shoulder brushing against Harry's in the process. Harry wondered why he seemed to have moved closer, even with Harry pressed against the wall.

"Who are you here with?" Hermione asked, obviously attempting to be nice.

Surprisingly, Malfoy answered politely. "I was here with Pansy, but she got bored and left with Blaise." The way Malfoy said 'left' was a clear indication of what Pansy and Blaise had gone to do.

"What happened with you and the pug?" Ron asked. Hermione hid a smile behind her hand.

"I fucked Blaise Zabini," Draco said simply, as if it were talk of the weather. Harry choked, and moved farther away from Malfoy's thigh, as if it were diseased.

"I thought you said Pansy left with him…" Hermione shot Malfoy a speculative look.

"Prudish as you are, Granger, I thought you would have heard the little word 'bisexuality' by this age."

"I do know of bisexuality!" Her eyebrows were knitted in a furrow.

"Oh, you do, do you?" Draco's voice had become a purr, and Ron was looking back and forth between Hermione and Malfoy as if he wasn’t sure whether to be intrigued or furious.

Harry found himself jumping in. To save Hermione, he assured himself. "I'm sure Hermione knows what bisexuality is Malfoy. That doesn't mean she is bisexual."

Grey eyes flickered to him and traced from his scar on down, and Harry looked down to see if he had spilled something on his shirt. "What --?"

"Potter, how intriguing. You're not with the Weasley twit" – Ron slammed his glass down – "any longer."

Harry knew he was blushing, but hoped in the shadows and flickering candles of the pub that it would not be seen. "Yes, we haven't been together for some time."

Malfoy continued to study him, and Harry knew what Malfoy was thinking – knew it must be written somewhere on his forehead in flaming, red letters: "Queer."

Hermione interrupted. "I have to work tomorrow, so I think Ron and I shall be leaving. Harry, you coming?"

Ron shuffled out of his seat, and Hermione followed him. Harry realized after a moment that he had still been staring down at the table and had not answered. "Oh, I'll stay here for a bit longer," he found himself saying.

Hermione looked at him in that sneaky way again, and she waved goodnight to him. Ron called a, "'Night, mate," and then they were gone, leaving him alone with Draco Malfoy all but plastered against his side.

"So, Potter –"

"Why do you say my name so much?"

"Would you prefer I call you something else? Something more intimate, perhaps?" Malfoy was smirking again, and Harry had the strange thought that a gay man was hitting on him…but this was Malfoy, and Malfoy couldn't be hitting on him.

Harry angled himself to face the arrogant twerp, instead of hiding in the corner. "Not hardly. You just say 'Potter' quite a bit. It's a bit unnerving, honestly."

"'Unnerving?'" Malfoy repeated, a slight twist to his lips.

Harry rolled his eyes. Malfoy was definitely up to something. He had no doubt picked up on the fact that Harry might be gay, but that didn't mean that Harry had to play along, nor did it mean that it was any business of the other man's. If Malfoy wanted to go around bragging about his fucking exploits with the whore of Slytherin, Blaise Zabini, then let him. That in no way mandated that Harry had to share anything.

In an attempt to change the conversation to something resembling normal, Harry asked, "What're you up to these days?"

Malfoy placed his elbow on the table and rested his still-too-pointy chin atop his hand. He looked for one moment like some great philosopher, all smooth skin and concentrated eyes, and Harry had to stifle a snort of amusement.

"I've been helping to organize a foundation that gives money to Ministry events," Malfoy stated, tone smug.

This time Harry did release a snort of amusement. "Still bedfellows with the Ministry. A Malfoy, through and through."

Instead of answering, Harry's companion stole the mug from in front of him and sipped it, quickly sputtering after swallowing a large gulp. "Serpent's Tongue, Potter?"

"Hermione's suggestion."

"Figures she would choose the cheapest and sweetest drink on the bloody menu." Malfoy snapped his fingers, once, twice, and a barkeep appeared at his side. Malfoy would never tire of being waited on hand and foot and cock.

Harry wiped that thought from his mind quickly.

"Two Divine Deaths." The keep nodded and then turned away. "Both with cherries!" was called to his retreating back.

"I'm going to introduce you to something with merit."

"And why should I trust you?"

"Who else are you going to trust?" Malfoy asked.

Harry shook his head and stifled a smile.


Divine Death, to Harry's utter disappointment, turned out to be delectable – and not just because Malfoy had sucked on the cherry for a solid fourteen seconds – tongue relishing the flavour, the stem sticking out of his mouth -- before eating it properly. Harry had looked away and willed the twitch in his pants to subside. All he needed was for Malfoy – who was still hitting on him – to notice that too.

They had talked about the trials following the war, Malfoy's mother, and Blaise and Pansy, among other things. Harry had tried to stay away from the sexuality issue and proved successful.

After drinking down three Divine Deaths, all of which Malfoy paid for in Muggle notes (a new surprise), Harry found himself yawning. It had to be well after two o'clock in the morning. Malfoy's eyes were also at half-mast.

On the way out, Malfoy stopped in front of Harry – too close.

"You know, Potter, as much as I'm going want to murder myself for saying this, come sobriety - you aren't nearly as dim-witted as I had once imagined."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Thanks."

Malfoy bowed his head. "I'm coming here next week with Pansy and Blaise. A ritual of sorts. Perhaps, the Weasel and Granger would consent to meet here, as well?"

The series of shocks this night had held seemed to be surpassing each other moment by moment.

"I don't think that's such a good idea."

Malfoy shrugged. "Fine. How about I ditch Pansy and Blaise, and you ditch your sycophants?"

"Erm…you mean just me and you?" What was Malfoy doing?

Malfoy bent closer and whispered into Harry's ear before Harry could pull away. "Yes, Potter, just you and I."

Malfoy walked away, leaving Harry standing in front of the oddly dungeon-esque pub with his mouth agape.


"You're going on a date with bloody Malfoy?" Ron asked. He looked as if Harry had just announced that Voldemort had been resurrected, and that Harry would be bearing Voldemort's lovechild.

"It is not a date." Through clenched teeth, this was Harry's rebuttal.

Hermione circled him, brushing at imaginary wrinkles on his shirt. "And Hermione, stop acting like Ron's mother!"

"Yeah, please do. That's fucking disturbing," Ron said.

"I certainly think Malfoy intended it as a date, Harry. He was staring at you the entire time we were there...and I can't even imagine what he said or did after we left." Hermione looked downright mischievous.

"Hermione!" Ron wrinkled his nose, as no doubt more visions of Harry and Draco corrupted his mind.

Harry understood; he was having a hard enough of a time getting rid of those pictures, himself. "Would you two stop?" Harry was getting angry, so much so he was almost seething. "It is not a date."

"It sounds like a date," Hermione said.

"It is not a date!"

Harry Apparated away from the flat before he did something unforgivable to his oblivious friends.


Harry walked into The Dungeon, wincing at the pain between his shoulders. Earlier in the day Kingsley had taken it upon himself to teach Harry some Muggle fighting skills he had picked up and wanted to try out. Harry, who had had plenty of experience at the fists of Dudley, had taken the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement up on his offer.

Now, this Friday night, Harry was regretting it.

He walked down the steep incline of stone steps and looked around the bar, eyes searching the darkest shadows for a flash of blond hair. Upon his perusal he noticed just how much this place did resemble some kind of hidden Slytherin lair. The candlelight chandeliers cast yellow-green light across the stone floors and the heads of the patrons that were crowded in the booths. The walls were of a gray, dank stone, and Harry had the impression of being miles underground. The room was cold except for a huge fireplace at the wall to the left. Manacles were attached at various places on the walls, and Harry wondered at their purpose.

Not seeing any sign of Malfoy or anyone else he knew, Harry took a seat at the bar and ordered himself a Serpent's Tongue, just to make a statement.

Because, in all honesty, he realised that last week he had allowed himself to get a bit too tipsy and had become a bit too friendly with his schoolboy nemesis. Even though Harry knew this was not a date, he wasn’t so sure that Malfoy knew that.

Malfoy was not going to toy with him.

The barkeep with hypnotising blue eyes – a different one from last week - was trying to engage Harry in conversation, but Harry was not in the mood to talk. His stomach seemed to be doing weird things, and the white, toothy grin of the man in front of him did nothing to help his mood.

Harry stared into the bottom of his glass, searching for answers to questions only his subconscious voiced.

"Don't look so forlorn, Potter."

Harry swivelled his bar chair around. "I am not forlorn," he said, eyes flaring.

"Mmm…bad mood I see. I'm sure Weasley and Granger will let you join in on their games another night. For now, let's go in the corner, shall we?"

Before Harry was given a chance to answer, Malfoy had taken his elbow and was leading him to a very shadowy corner of the room. Harry felt himself cringe at Malfoy's hair, glimmering green from the light and making his companion look too much like Lucius Malfoy. No, there had certainly been nothing about the late elder Malfoy that had been attractive, and absolutely nothing about his son was attractive, either.

Draco took the seat across from him, and Harry breathed an audible sigh of relief.

Malfoy eyed the drink in Harry's hand and rolled his eyes. He snapped his fingers as he had done the week before, and in several minutes Harry's drink had been discarded – and his pleadings to keep it ignored – and in its place was a Divine Death, cherry and all.

Malfoy put his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers, doing his best to look authoritative, no doubt. When Harry found his eyes straying to the skin of Malfoy's pale throat, he closed them, wondering what in the hell was wrong with him.

Harry met Malfoy's eyes, fearing how their conversation might begin without anyone else present.

"Let's stopping beat around the bush, shall we?" Malfoy's face was devilish. "When did you figure it out? Was it the Weasel's sister, or have you known for years?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Denial, yes, he would deny everything.

"Oh, I know you do." Draco's eyelashes fluttered, and then his voice lowered. "Even if you aren't gay" – Harry jumped – "I can tell by the way you look at me that you're attracted, so what's the point in denying it?"

"Malfoy, have you lost your mind, or are you just that desperate for someone to taunt? Even if I did like men, in no way, in any universe, would I ever be attracted to you."

Malfoy's voice lowered even further, and Harry had to crane his neck to hear – even while part of his brain shouted that he needed to run far, far away so that he didn't hear.

"So, if I got under the table right now with a Disillusionment Charm and sucked you off -- you wouldn’t be hard, you wouldn't enjoy it and beg for more?" Malfoy's lips quirked at whatever expression Harry's face held.

There was no way the other boy would have enough nerve. Harry smirked. "You're so eager, then? Go ahead, Malfoy."

Malfoy looked shocked for a moment, then glared. "Fine," he said through clenched teeth. "But my point should be clear."

"Crystal." Harry rested his elbows on the table, mirroring Malfoy's position.

Malfoy cast around for a change of conversation. "I hear tell that you are all but assured your Auror's license now, not as if that was a surprise, given that you are the 'Chosen Hero' or some other revolting title."

"Yeah, I have one more test, and then there'll be a ceremony in a few weeks."

"Don't you feel as if you're just repeating the first part of your life all over again?"

Harry furrowed his brow. "What'd you mean?"

"Well, you spent all your time at Hogwarts with that bizarre connection to the Dark Lord, and now you're going on to fight more, under the guise of being an Auror, only to placate some sense of purpose."

Malfoy's words struck something in him, and he had to take a big gulp of his drink in order to hide his reaction. "Well, I don't know - I guess - yeah, I am tired of fighting."

"You don't know what else to do."

Harry nodded. "I don't know…I feel caught up in the war still, like I haven't moved on. I love Ron and Hermione, but they are the only friends I have."

"A lot of people haven't moved on, Potter. I'm not as pathetic as you, perhaps," Harry scowled, "but I'm not the living embodiment of someone who has crafted a new life, either."

"Yeah, I don't really deal with it. I just stay at home most of the time. That's why we were here last week – Ron and Hermione were dragging me out of my flat."

"You don't even date?" Malfoy asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Since Ginny…no."

"Why not?" Malfoy sounded so innocent, but Harry knew it was a ruse.

"I haven't met anyone I wanted to ---"

"Oh, shut up, Potter. You're afraid of taking risks, of moving on, as you said. You haven't wanted to get out there and meet other men."

Harry said nothing.

"You know what? We're going to move on - and now. No more of this playing the Hufflepuff." Draco banged his fist on the table.

"There's nothing wrong with Hufflepuff – "

"It's a figure of speech! Lighten up, for fuck's sake."

Malfoy threw a few pounds down onto the table, and grabbed Harry by the hand this time and led them out of the pub.

Harry didn't pull his hand away.


Malfoy Side-Along Apparated Harry to somewhere in a very different part of London. The nearest street sign read: Elizabeth Street.

Being so late at night, the footpath was all but deserted.

Harry pulled his palm from Malfoy's. "Where are we going?"

Malfoy ignored him and set off into the warm night air.

"I don't see how walking down an empty footpath is going to help us get over the war," Harry said to Malfoy's back.

Malfoy turned to the left abruptly, leaving Harry to scamper after him. Harry couldn't remember Malfoy having this long a stride back at Hogwarts or during the war when he had helped Hermione and Ron to retrieve Slytherin's locket from Mundungus Fletcher.

They approached a plain, brick building that did not seem as if it would be the beacon of any kind of new life.

Malfoy didn't even try the locked doors before whipping out his hawthorn wand and declaring, "Alohomora."

Harry went through the held-open door, giving a stiff "thank you", then following Malfoy through several sets of doors. They both stopped in front of a large rectangle that was gleaming with water that was the shade of sky blue, glistening from the artificial lights under the pool.

"We're going swimming?" Harry found himself chucking before he could help himself.

"In a fashion." Draco said nothing else and started to unbutton his light blue shirt with careful fingers.

Harry felt his mouth go dry. They could swim in their clothes couldn't they? Some people swam in their clothes.

Much as he didn't want to, Harry's traitorous eyes were drawn to the pale skin revealed as the shirt was unbuttoned more and more. When he saw a flash of pink nipple, he knew he would never be able to take off his clothes – ever. His trousers were probably already tented from his erection.

"Are you going to get undressed?" Malfoy asked casually and swept off his shirt. Harry stared, transfixed, at the light blond hair trailing down the flat surface of the other boy's abdomen.

"Potter - hey, Potter! I am up here, you know, although you are more than welcome to peruse my body, if you'd like."

Harry pulled his own shirt over his head, mostly to hide his blushing cheeks. He pointed his wand at his trousers and muttered a spell that Transfigured them into a pair of red swimming shorts. The embarrassing y-fronts beneath that Vanished with another flick of his wand.

"You're just as prudish as that Granger."

Harry was sick and tired of Malfoy's retorts. He was going to put an end to them if he could. He marched up to the half-naked man. "Look, Malfoy, just because I have not slept with half of Britain –"

Malfoy narrowed his eyes and pointed his own wand at Harry. "I only recall mentioning fucking Blaise."

"Yes, but I can infer –"

Malfoy's wand tip sunk into Harry's bare chest, and Harry could feel hot breath on his cheek. "You inferred incorrectly. Blaise is the only male I have slept with."

Harry nodded, some of his anger decreasing. He didn't much care how many girls Malfoy had slept with – that was different.

And he wasn't even sure why he cared to begin with.

Malfoy, breathing heavily, pulled back from Harry and began to unzip his trousers.

"What are you doing, Malfoy?"

"In case you failed to get the memo, Potter, the point of this was to have a bit of fun. We are doing this thing called skinny-dipping. Millicent told me about it at Hogwarts." He sounded proud of himself for this last bit of knowledge.


"Yes - at least I am. You can stand here and cower, if you'd like." With that, Draco pulled his trousers down to his knees, and stepped out of them. Harry tried his best not to stare at the pale, well-muscled legs, did not look up, did not…

Nothing else followed, and then Harry did look up.

Malfoy. Was. Not. Wearing. Underwear.

He wet his lips as he surveyed the half-hard, pink-suffused prick, the delicate balls hanging below. Malfoy withstood his observation only for a moment, and dived into the pool with a splash.

Harry soon followed – swimming shorts still in place.


Harry, who had never been a great swimmer, found himself merely floating around in the pool, enjoying the relaxing chill of the water.

Malfoy had stayed at the far end of the pool, no doubt playing hard-to-get.

Harry was sick of hiding, so he waded over to the other end, where Malfoy was floating on his back, prick poking proudly above the water.

"This the exciting endeavour you had expected?" Harry asked, half-smile in place.

"If you would get over yourself and come here, it would be." Malfoy got to his feet and moved closer to Harry.

"You are gay, Potter. You are in a pool with a naked male – above all, a Malfoy – and you refuse to come within two metres of me. Who is restricting the fun?"

Harry threw his hands in the ear, flinging chlorine-water into his own face, then squinting as it burned his eyes. "Stop flirting already! It's not as if you actually want me to come near you!"

Malfoy looked at Harry long and hard and then laughed. And laughed some more. "I am not flirting; I am taking pity on you. You obviously have no idea of the mechanics of flirting – let alone dating. In fact, I imagine you to have a first-year's knowledge of sex."

"Oh, yeah?" Harry's face and prick were flushed.

"Yeah." Malfoy smirked.

The spark of challenge welled within Harry, and he couldn't resist what he had restricting in himself any longer. Even Malfoy wanted to toy with him, Harry would toy back.

Harry grabbed Malfoy's hair and yanked, pulling him forward until their noses were touching. "You're wrong." Harry dove into the kiss, snarling. He bit both pink lips, top and bottom, before they parted to emit a groan that began in the back of Malfoy's throat.

The reaction set Harry on fire. He pulled Malfoy until they were chest-to-chest. His hand went below…needing to touch something, anything…he had never touched any male like this before… His fingers latched onto the blond's nipple, and he squeezed it between his fingers, hard.

"God, Potter –"

Harry shut that whiny voice up by slipping his tongue into the mouth, his finger still doing damage to Malfoy's nipple. Malfoy's tongue twined with his and the soft, intimate sensation set Harry's mind reeling. The strong cheekbone against his face was so different from Ginny.

Harry had to catch his breath and pulled back, panting. Malfoy rested his forehead against Harry's. "Wanted to do that all night," he admitted, quietly.

Saying nothing, needing to say nothing, Harry began to attack that column of throat, biting, and sucking, and worshipping.

"You're acting -- oh -- like a rabid animal."

"I've never done this before…I can't – " Stop, Harry thought, and licked from Malfoy's chin down to his other, not yet abused nipple, and started to suck, like he would've done Ginny but harder.

"Potter, I want this to be more than –"

That got Harry's attention. He lifted his head (not before giving a small bite). "You what?"

"I don't want this to be just a fuck," Malfoy stated, slowly, carefully. He winced afterwards. "God, I sound like a sentimental twat."

"No-no, I don't think I want it to be a fuck either…but I need – "

"You need to get off?" Malfoy said.

Harry nodded.

In the next moment, Malfoy's hand was down his swimming pants, fisting his cock as if he had been doing it all Harry's life. "Then get off." The voice in his ears sent flutters down into Harry's stomach.

Malfoy swiped the head of Harry's cock, once, twice, and then in two more hard strokes, Harry was coming into the blue depths of the pool.

Harry struggled for breath and leaned his head against Malfoy's wet shoulder. He mumbled something against Malfoy's neck.


"I don't speak gibberish," Malfoy said, amused.

"Was this a date?" Harry said more clearly.

Malfoy shook his head. "God, Potter, you are an idiot."


The following month, Harry was officially made an Auror in front of a crowd at the Ministry. He found he actually enjoyed the thought of being an Auror, as long as he was able to leave his job as that: a job.

Ron and Hermione were in the front row, smiling broadly. Across the aisle, also in the front row, was Harry's former nemesis, now sort-of-boyfriend, giving a half-smile.

It was an odd scene, but after a few weeks of dating, one with which Harry was starting to become accustomed.

Harry was waiting for Kingsley to get finished with his congratulations speech. Harry was going skinny-dipping tonight.


Tags: [fic], rated: r, round: summer 2007

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