Animus

Animus (Part 3)

I wake up some time later to find that it is no longer night time and that I have an immense headache.

I lift a hand and place it on my forehead as if that will somehow alleviate the pounding within my skull. It doesn’t. Not at all. I open my eyes and look up at the ceiling through the spread of my fingertips.

Another cloudy day...I can tell by the opaque light that I see above me. I stay in this position for a few minutes, willing the pain to settle down so that I can at least move. When I realize that it’s pointless to wait and prolong the torture, I sigh audibly and force myself to sit up. Blinding pain shoots through my head and I have to suppress a groan.

Once the pain settles back into its more familiar throb, I glance down and notice that I’ve managed to fall asleep on top of the covers. This is nothing new for me. But the fact that I am completely naked is definitely outside of the norm.

And it is at this moment when it happens. The memory of last night, which had been conveniently hiding somewhere behind the headache, comes rushing at me, so intense I almost fall back over.

Malfoy standing on a street corner...my offering him money to come stay with me...touching him...his mouth...his eyes...being inside of him...

Oh gods...it all actually happened. All of it. Oh, if Ron and Hermione could see me now...they’d put me away in St. Mungo’s for sure. I mean, they’re always worrying about me anyway, but this...this is beyond what they’d be able to accept, for this they’d definitely think I’ve gone over the edge.

Bloody hell, who am I kidding? I probably have.

Well, insane or not, I can’t stay up here forever. After all, this was all my idea. I’m the one who offered him the money and proposed the deal. It’s time to go downstairs and see if young Master Malfoy is still here or if he’s decided all this isn’t worth the money and has run for the hills.

I get up from the bed and wander into the bathroom, where I relieve myself and quickly down some hangover relief potion. I keep it in the bathroom so that it’s close by if I ever need it. Not that I need it that often, really.

Not really.

Afterwards, I grab a robe from my closet, wrap it around my body and prepare to see what the new day is going to bring.

I have taken no more than two steps out of the room when I smell the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Ah, so he is still here.

I try to ready myself as best I can for this. What will I say to him? What does one say to someone from his past who he essentially detests but slept with anyway? Well, since there are no etiquette guidelines for this, I guess I’ll have to improvise again.

I follow the scent of coffee and poke my head into the kitchen. Ah, there he is. Sitting at my kitchen table, his hands wrapped around a mug of something so hot that it steams.

He looks up at me as I walk in. “Finally decided to get up?”

Hmmm...so he’s acting normal. Interesting. I ignore his question and ask one of my own. “You made coffee?” Of course I instantly regret asking that. Of course he made coffee; Christ could I sound any dumber?

He shrugs. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“I just never thought I’d see the day when you would understand how to operate a Muggle contraption, that’s all.” Good save, Harry, good save.

“I’ve been living among Muggles for almost a year now, Harry. One does pick things up.”

I make a noncommital noise and walk over to the coffeepot, pour myself a cup, then sit across from him at the table. I look over at him and take in the fact that he’s shirtless and wearing the black trousers from yesterday. He must see something in my eyes because he shrugs and says, “I told you I didn’t have any other clothes.”

“We can go shopping later today for some.”

He nods and looks away, staring at something on the counter.

From this vantage point I can see very clearly the bite mark on his shoulder.

I did that to him. I marked him that way.

The thought is mildly unsettling, so I push it away.

As we continue just to sit, a heavy, uncomfortable silence settles in around us. I’m starting to wonder how often it will be uncomfortable like this; starting to wonder if the moments that I’m paying for will make up for moments like these. I stare down at my coffee cup as if it holds the answers. Surprise, surprise...it doesn’t.

I finally look back up to see that he’s staring at his coffee cup also. I clear my throat to get his attention. “Well...ummm...Malfoy...you can have full run of the house while I’m gone...except for my room, of course. The place isn’t all that big really, not like your old mansion, but I’m sure you can find something to entertain yourself with.”

“You’re leaving?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say as I stand and pull the robe around myself a little more tightly. “I have to go to work.”

He smirks slightly. “You go in to work at...” he glances at the clock on the wall, “11:30 in the morning?”

“Well, it’s...”

“Oh wait...I get it. The great Harry Potter can go in to work whenever he damn well pleases. Must be nice, Pot...Harry...making your own hours.”

Ok, that hit a nerve. I’ll admit it. And now I’m a little bit angry and it shows in my tone when I answer. “I don’t have to justify anything to you Malfoy. Not a damn thing.”

He looks completely unfazed by my remark. “So what do you do now? You an Auror? Still fighting the good fight?”

I should just slap him or walk away or something. I don’t owe Malfoy anything, least of all an explanation, but for some inane reason, I find myself answering his questions. “I work at the Ministry.”

“Doing what?” Funny, he sounds genuinely interested.

“Not that it’s any of your concern Malfoy, but I’m an administrative assistant at the Department of Magical Transportation.”

“A desk job? You’re a pencil pusher?” He is shocked, incredulous.

Damn it, now he’s judging me! He’s actually sitting there in his ‘fuck me’ trousers and judging me. And now I’m pissed off. Now I’m very pissed off. “Do you really think you’re in a position to judge my career choice...whore?”

He attempts a smile, but it’s so weak that it disappears instantly. Then he slumps against the chair as if someone had suddenly pulled all his bones out of his body. “That was a good one Harry.” He shakes his head and looks away. “That one actually stung a bit.”

Hmmm...I’ve hurt him. And it’s no surprise that it feels good. But it was also almost a little too easy. Would the old Draco Malfoy have folded so easily?

Well, I don’t have time to think about it right now. I do have a job to go to. I go upstairs without another word and shower and dress as quickly as I can. If I hurry, I can make it there by lunchtime and avoid my boss’ reproachful looks.

Once dressed, I disapparate to the office without so much as a goodbye to my houseguest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Malfoy calling me a pencil pusher is a bit ironic actually, seeing as that’s about all I’ve done all day. I’ve moved my quills around on my desk. I’ve moved parchment around...I even made a few attempts to do some actual work, but the truth is I just can’t seem to concentrate on anything except the fact that Malfoy is in my house. As three o’clock rolls around, I finally decide to give in and go home. There’s just no point in me being here any longer. Nothing is getting done.

I inform my boss that I’m leaving. He doesn’t look surprised at all, just sighs and nods and waves me away.

A moment later I apparate back home to find that the place is extraordinarily quiet. You would never know that someone else was here. I begin looking for Malfoy, room by room, starting on the first floor. I finally come across him in the library. He’s curled up on the sofa, asleep, still wearing those ridiculous trousers.

I walk to him and stand directly over him. And as I look down at him I find myself surprised at just how innocent and pure he looks when he’s not awake and aware. Should I let him sleep for awhile? I mull it over in my head til I decide that I might as well wake him and get this over with. I shake his shoulder lightly and say his name.

Nothing.  

I shake him again, this time a little harder.

A low moan of protest, then nothing.

Frustrated, I grab his shoulder and shake with much more force as I yell his name.

This time, his eyes shoot open and he pulls away from me, cringing against the back of the sofa as if he could make himself disappear into it. He’s yelling now too. “No! Stop! Please...”

I was not expecting this. For a moment I am at a complete loss as to what to do. I crouch down so that our faces are level and I say, “Malfoy, it’s me. Harry. Harry Potter.”

His eyes, which had been focused on something which I could never see, suddenly focus on me, and his body instantly relaxes. His breathing is heavy as he puts a hand up to his forehead. “It’s just you...”

I stand up slowly and step away from the sofa. “I didn’t mean to startle you, I just thought we should get moving if we’re going to get you some clothes.”

He drops his hand and looks up at me. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. What time is it?”

“About three.”

“You go in at noon and you get to come back at three? Damn but you’ve got it made.”

I say, “Shut up, Malfoy,” although my voice has no venom in it. Truth be told, I’m a little thrown off by what just happened. Malfoy’s voice sounded so desperate; he was so truly afraid. Of what, I wonder. Or of whom?

He holds his hands up in surrender though he says nothing.

“Let’s just go,” I say.

A short, bitter laugh comes from him as he stands. “You don’t expect me to go like this, do you?” He crosses his arms in front of him and juts his chin out. “I won’t.”

As if I would do that. That would humiliate us both.

I tell him so and then tell him to follow me up the stairs. A few minutes later we are both dressed as Muggles (he in my borrowed clothing), and ready to go out into the world.

The rest of the day crawls slowly by as we attempt to find suitable clothing for my “guest”. When I thought up this agreement, the last thing on my mind was to spend social time together with this man and I want this over with as soon as possible. He, on the other hand, is enjoying himself immensely and seems to be prolonging this as long as he can by trying on every outfit in sight.

Finally, finally, it ends and Malfoy has in his possession enough clothing to get him through the next twenty nine days and then some.

What can I say; I was feeling generous.

Our little excursion ends with a near silent dinner at an Italian restaurant on the way home. I briefly wonder what the waiter must think of us; what a couple we make, neither of us saying more than two words to the other the entire meal.

Afterwards we get in the car and begin the drive back home. I’m about to turn on the radio in an effort to drown out the silence when Draco suddenly speaks. It startles me so much to hear his voice that I almost run off the road. After I straighten the car back out and my hearts stops trying to beat its way out of my chest, I ask, “What did you say?”

“Jesus Harry,” he says as he clutches at his own chest. “You trying to kill us both?”

“I had forgotten you had vocal chords, Malfoy. What did you ask me?”

“I just asked you why you worked at the Ministry, that’s all.”

“It’s a job. People have jobs,” I say dryly.

“But you obviously don’t need it. Not if you can afford to throw out twelve thousand pounds as if it were nothing. I’m not blind Harry. You have a nice car, a nice house, nice things in your house. You just spent a lot of money on me without even twitching...” 

I sigh. “You’re right, Malfoy, I don’t really need the money. The job just gives me something to do. It beats laying around the house all day.”

“But why aren’t you an Auror then? Or playing Quidditch somewhere and making even more money? Why this?”

There it is again, that genuine curiosity. He really wants to know.

And I really don’t care to explain it to him. I grip the steering wheel tightly and mutter, “It’s really none of your fucking business.”

“All right. Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I was just trying to make conversation, that’s all,” he says as he turns to stare out the window

God damn Malfoy. What’s it to him anyway? Why does he care what I’m doing with my life?

‘Fuck him,’ I think as push the conversation out of my head and try to concentrate on getting us back in one piece.

Fuck him.

 

Once we’re safely back home, I begin to search for something to drink. I need something to help me unwind after the tenseness of the day. Do I have wine? That’s what I had at dinner. Hard alcohol is usually my drink of choice, but one of the cardinal rules of drinking is that you’re not supposed to mix. Ah, I do have wine. Pinot noir. Lovely.

I uncork it, and as I begin to search for a wineglass I glance over at Malfoy. Odd...he’s looking at me strangely. I wonder why. Maybe he wants some. Well, screw him, he doesn’t get any.

 

Feeling quite pleased with myself for being so selfish, I grab a wineglass, pour, and begin to sip.

“Harry?” he asks after a minute.

I look at him and wait.

He rolls his eyes and sighs. “Do you mind if I go up to bed, or do you want...?” He leaves the question unfinished.

 

Gods, how it must have hurt him to ask that.

I nod. I do want. Not that I’m really in the mood; but I do want.

He sighs as if defeated, then looks to me to give him a sign as to what will happen next.

“Take off your clothes,” I say. And while he does so, I drink my wine, refill my glass, drink some more.

When he’s naked, he just stands there, waiting. My turn. I set the wineglass down and it’s instantly forgotten. I take off my clothes hastily, then move over to the sofa. I sit and beckon him to come to me.

He does.

“Kneel,” I whisper.

And he does.

“Do what you did last night. Get me ready.”

And he does. He leans forward and begins to lick me, suck me, almost tenderly at first. Then with more power, more expertise. I close my eyes and just let the sensations roll over me, through me. He is good at this; I can’t deny that. But then again, I wouldn’t want to. He is a very good whore.

I grab his hair and pull him away from me. He understands and stops, then looks up at me. And in his eyes, I see the same hatred from yesterday. Except this time, I see the hatred mingled with disgust and resignation and shame. It’s funny, but I don’t think I’ve ever noticed how expressive his eyes are before. They show me everything that’s inside of him.

I push myself off the couch and grab his hand to show him he’s to stand also. Then I lay down on the floor, still holding his hand. “You’re on top,” I say.

Hatred...disgust...resignation...shame...all there again, flashing so bright in his eyes.

He straddles my hips and begins to lower himself onto me. As I help guide him with my hands, I ignore the winces and the small gasps that indicate pain as he takes me inside.

“Close your eyes,” I tell him. Like yesterday, I can’t look at those eyes while this is happening.

He closes them, bites his lip and begins to move, impaling himself on me over and over again.

Things progress much as they did yesterday, he is tight around me, the friction feels good. His head is thrown back as he works, he is beautiful. 

But again, it is not quite enough. Almost, but not enough.

I reach up towards that pale throat that he has so kindly exposed for me and wrap my hand around it. I squeeze, remembering the final battle and how my hands did the same thing then.

 And I come so violently it almost hurts.

It takes us both a minute to get our breathing back to normal. When we finally do, he makes as if to get up. I don’t let him though. Instead I grab on to his hips and turn us over so that he is lying on his back and I am on top of him. I am still inside him, although I am shrinking fast.

 

He stares at me, probably wondering what I’m going to do next. But all I do is wait.

“Harry?” he finally asks.

I counter his query with one of my own. “Why do you hate me so much, Malfoy?”

“What?”

“Tell me why you hate me so much. Ever since our first year at school. Why did you do the things you did to me? To my friends?”

He looks at me for a brief second, eyes searching mine, then he shakes his head violently. “No! You don’t get to ask me that!”

His hands are on my chest and they are pushing at me.

“I just want to know!” I yell, suddenly angry.

“Get off of me!” he yells back, still pushing, now squirming and bucking underneath me.

“God damn it, Malfoy, just answer the fucking question!”

He’s still struggling, screaming at the top of his lungs now. “NO! You can buy me, you can fuck me, but you do NOT get to get inside my head! You didn’t pay for that. You did not pay for that!”

“Fine!” I scream back as I push myself off of him. “Fine, it was just a god damn question!”

He stands up quickly and grabs his clothing. “Go to hell, Harry!”

Without even really realizing that I’m doing it, I grab him by his arms and pull him close to me.

“I’ve already been there, Malfoy,” I don’t say it so much as growl it, and then I push him away from me as quickly as I brought him towards me.

I turn away from him and stalk back towards the table that holds the wine. I grab the wine glass and throw it against the wall, watching as it shatters into pieces and red wine splashes everywhere.

Hmmm...that’s the second glass in as many nights, I’m on a roll.

Two seconds later I hear him going up the stairs, then slamming the door to his room.

I don’t turn around.

“Bastard,” I mutter. I watch the red liquid trickle down my wall and I marvel at how much it resembles blood. Except that blood is much, much thicker. And warmer - blood is so very warm when it’s fresh.

Keeping an eye on the blood - no wine - on my wall, I lift the wine bottle and drink from it. It’s empty before I know it, and in another fit of anger, I throw that against the wall as well.

And then suddenly, it’s gone. The anger is gone as quickly as it came, leaving me feeling drained and weary.

This happens to me sometimes, emotions find me and then leave me so quickly that I can barely keep track of them, much less understand them.

  

I look at the glass all over the floor and decide to deal with the mess tomorrow. Then I grab my own clothes and practically drag myself up the stairs.

Before I go to my room however, I stop just outside of Malfoy’s. His door is partially open and I can hear slight whispering sounds coming from inside. Curious, I move closer, trying very hard to be completely silent so as to not be discovered.

Ah yes, Malfoy is talking. To himself apparently. I strain to hear.

His words are coming quickly, and his voice...his voice sounds like he’s on the very edge of crying.

“You can do this, Draco. You can do this. It’s just a month. Just a month. You can do this...”

I listen to his words, spoken in a quick puffs of breath, and I’m reminded of the retching sounds from yesterday.

I walk away from his door, no longer desiring to listen in on Malfoy’s pain.  

Perhaps earlier tonight I would have gained some grim satisfaction from it, maybe even reveled in it. But now...now it just makes me feel so very tired.

I crawl into bed and wrap the covers around myself tightly, ignoring the stickiness around my groin and thighs.

I fall asleep instantly.