Animus

Author’s notes: I apologize for the length of time it took to get this chapter out. Between the holidays, moving and not having internet access, this was a real bitch to get done. But I promise everyone that I will see this story out to the end. I am NOT going to abandon it.

Also, there’s one more thing I’d like to comment on. I’ve had more than one person say that this story is similar to something called “Just This” by Blue. All I can do is give all of you my word that I have not read that story and that I am not, in any way, shape or form, plagiarizing. This story and all its details are coming from my head. If there are similarities, there’s unfortunately nothing I can do about that. I’ve known how this story was going to progress and end since its inception. So all I can do now is write it out.

And when this story is done, I’ll read “Just This.”

Animus (Part 9)

The next morning, I wake up from a pleasantly untroubled sleep to find myself in a situation that I’ve never been in before - waking up with someone in my bed.

Not to say that I haven’t ever been with anyone before Draco. There have been many people I’ve had sex with. But this is the first time that I’ve actually woken up next to someone. It’s good at first; warm and secure and unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. But then conflicting feelings begin to enter the picture. Aren’t I supposed to hate this man? Yes, I’m supposed to, but I can’t seem to feel that emotion. I keep remembering last night and the things I told him - dark things that I’ve never told anyone.

And I remember the way he reacted. He didn’t mock, scoff or laugh.

He told me I was human.

I said I was a monster and he said that I was human.

A strange tightness closes around my throat and I find I have to pull away from him. I sit up and look down at his still slumbering form.

As if not having my arms wrapped around him will gain me some perspective.

It doesn’t; all it does it confuse me more. Because I miss his warmth. And I still don’t know where the hatred went.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s not polite to stare?”

The soft voice breaking into the quiet startles me so much that I almost fall off the bed. I manage to regain my balance just in time to save myself a little pain and humiliation. Then I watch as Draco shifts onto his back and opens his eyes.

“I didn’t know you were awake,” I gasp as I place a hand over my much-too-rapidly beating heart.

“Obviously,” he says dryly, lifting one eyebrow; a gesture that is so quintessentially him that it looks wrong on anybody else.

We stare at each other for a while, during which time my heart resumes its normal pace and he seems to be contemplating me. Finally he says, “Look, Harry . . . ”

And at that, I bolt. Because any sentence that starts with “look Harry” can only mean one thing. That he wants to talk. And I am not prepared for that.

I scramble off the bed and begin to step back toward the door. “I have to go,” I say quickly.

“Go? Where?” he asks in confusion.

“To work,” I say as if it should be obvious. I glance down at my wristwatch and see that it is about half past eight. It is time for me to go, and I won’t even be as tardy as I usually am. My boss will be so pleased.

Draco sits up. “Oh. So you’re leaving right now?”

 

“Yes, I really should.”

Two more steps back. Two more steps closer to escaping.

Some strange, intense look passes over his face, as if he’s trying really hard to read my thoughts but is finding them out of reach.

“I should get going, ” I say again. Two more steps. The door is right behind me now.

He raises that eyebrow again. “So you’ve said.” Expecting him to say something acerbic and sarcastic, I am surprised when he merely shrugs and turns away. “So go,” he says.

And I do. Surprised or not, I still feel incredibly relieved that I got away that easily. Moving quickly, I make it out the door and down the stairs, all the while thinking that I really, really need some coffee.

I enter the kitchen and head straight for the coffee machine, trying to forestall any pesky, intruding thoughts about what the hell is going on with my life. No sooner do I lay my hands on it however, that a faint tapping sound catches my attention. Looking around the room, I soon spot the source of the noise. There is an owl tapping its beak on my kitchen window.

Hermione’s owl.

 

Oh, this should be good.

I open the window and let the owl in, carefully pulling the note off of her leg to read it. It’s very concise and to the point.

It seems that Hermione wants to check on her patient and she wants to know what time she should come over.

For a brief moment I consider lying and replying that there is no good time to come over today. But all that will accomplish is to delay the inevitable. Because truthfully, I half-expected this was going to happen. Hermione is much too thorough and compassionate to not want to see Draco again.

Accepting that I’ll have to face this today, I grab a pen from the junk drawer and quickly scribble a note on a napkin saying that noon would be the best time since it’s my lunch break. Then I attach it to the owl’s leg and send her on her way.

I watch the bird until she is no longer visible in the sky, then I turn my attention back to the coffee.

Once the steaming mug is in my hands, I look upward. Looks like I’ll have to face Draco again after all. It’s only right to let him know he’ll be having a visitor.

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

 

The first few hours of work pass by excruciatingly slowly. But really, how can I possibly pay any attention to paperwork when I’ve got a million and one things buzzing around my skull?

Like the fact that Draco thinks I’m alcoholic.

Or the fact that I don’t find that a completely fucking ridiculous idea.

Or the way he was kind to me.

 

And the way I wanted to stay with him last night, but not for sex.

All these thoughts swirl around in my head until it feels like it’s going to explode. Feeling overwhelmed, I let my head drop onto my desk, finding satisfaction in the small amount of pain that my action brings.

 

But cheap satisfaction like that is always short-lived. An instant later, the thoughts are back again, and now some of them are demanding answers that I don’t have.

I sigh as I read over the same memo for the seventh time in a row.

Things were so much simpler in the moonlight.

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

Noon comes round at last, and with it, time to face Hermione. I apparate home, shrug out of my robes and begin to pace the floor as I wait.

As I make the rounds of my living room for the third time, a glint of glass catches my eye. I turn to the bar to see that all the bottles of alcohol are still on it, completely intact.

So he didn’t . . .

As I stare at them in something akin to wonder, until a loud crack echoes throughout the room. I drag my eyes away from the bottles. It is painfully difficult to do.

When I see Hermione standing there, all I can manage is a weak, “Hey,” by way of a greeting.

She smiles, although it’s not an entirely comfortable one. “Hi, Harry.”

She comes toward me and we embrace warmly, and even when we part we still hold on to each other.

“So, you probably want to see Draco,” I say quickly, hoping to avoid any real conversation.

 If she finds it odd that I called him by his first name, she doesn’t mention it.

“Yes, please,” she answers, seeming to sense my discomfort and obviously not wanting to push things.

I take her upstairs and knock on his door. He surprises me by opening it, fulling dressed. I guess I had expected him to be in bed, pretending to be in a world of agony or something. Then I remind myself that that’s what the old Draco would have done. He’s changed. Didn’t I say so myself last night?

Draco nods at Hermione and ignores me completely. Seems he’s being pissy about my sudden departure this morning.

“Granger,” he says politely.

“Malfoy,” she says, just as politely.  

An uncomfortable silence begins to build as we three stare at each other. Finally, I clear my throat and say what needs to be said. “Well, I’ll leave you two alone.”

Hermione turns toward me. “Yes, thank you.”

“I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

She nods and then Draco steps aside and she enters the room. One of them gives the door a push and it swings closed.

Almost.

It actually stays open just a few inches.

I’m about to turn around and start downstairs, really I am, when something stops me. Actually, it’s my own curiosity that stops me dead in my tracks. I could walk away, go down the stairs and wait patiently as I’m meant to. I could do that. And yet the need to know what is happening behind that door completely overpowers sensible thought. So I find myself pressing my back against the wall and sidling up as close to the door as I can safely get. Then I press my ear against the wall and listen for all I’m worth.

Their voices, although slightly muffled and low, are intelligible.

“You’ll have to take off your clothes,” I hear Hermione say.

“Why, Granger, I didn’t know you were that kind of girl.”

A loud sigh of frustration comes from my friend. “Just do it, Malfoy.”

“I am. I am,” he mutters.

A minute of silence, then . . . “How’s that?” Hermione asks in a businesslike manner.

“That’s fine.”

“Doesn’t hurt?”

“No.”

A sharp intake of breath. “That hurts.”

“I was afraid that wouldn’t heal well. I’d better get some salve to put on that. Anywhere else that’s still sore?”

“Here, just a bit,” he says.

Wondering where he still hurts, I move imperceptibly closer to the door.

Another minute or two of silence. Then . . . “So, he must have told you why I’m here?”

“Who told me what?” Hermione asks, her voice confused and distracted.

“Harry. He told you why I’m here.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you can’t look me in the eye, Granger.”

“Oh yes . . . he mentioned it . . . I mean, well he . . . ”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

What I wouldn’t give to see Hermione’s face right now. Draco Malfoy just apologized to her. She must think it’s one of the signs of the apocalypse.

There’s more silence and I have to assume she’s gone back to putting on salve, or looking over the wounds or whatever else healers do. And then I hear a noise of frustration come from Hermione. She says, “I must have completely overlooked this one. Look how it’s scarred up. This one will need more medicine.”

“Don’t bother, Granger. It’s not anything you missed. It’s not recent.”

“Oh. What is?...”

She doesn’t get to complete her sentence. He lashes out at her, something dark in his voice. “It’s from a knife, Granger. It came from a nice older gentleman who felt that sex was no good without a little blood and pain.”

“Oh, Malfoy, I’m . . . ”

But Draco cuts her off again. “You’re probably enjoying this aren’t you, Granger? Seeing me like this? Probably getting off on it. Tell me, do you want to be like your friend downstairs and have a go? I do women also, you know.”

“Malfoy, don’t be so fucking stupid! God, no, I don’t want you! And no, I am not enjoying this. Despite all the things you’ve done, I don’t think anyone deserves this life. Not even you.”

A tense silence follows in which I hold my breath and pray that no one storms out of the room. Then, “I don’t know why I said that,” he says.

“Forget it. Just let me finish up. I’m almost done.”

More silence, followed by noises that indicate she is doing what she needs to do. Then come terse questions and quiet answers.

Then . . .

“All right, I’m done. You’re healing well considering I’m not a true medi-witch. You should be completely fine in a couple days’ time.”

“Granger,” I hear him say in a very soft, childlike voice.

“Yes?”

“Thank you. You’ve been very kind to me when you didn’t have to be.”

“Well, I . . . ”

“You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know.”

“Oh. Well, you’re welcome.” She sounds completely stymied and confused. I sympathize. I know that feeling well.

Now I begin to hear sounds like she’s putting things away. Which means that they are done and I will be caught eavesdropping if I don’t move.

I rush down the stairs as quietly as I possibly can, then throw myself on the sofa and try to look innocent, as if I’ve been there the entire time. Not long after, Hermione makes her way down the stairs.

She crosses the room and sits next to me as she gently takes my hands in hers. “I wish you would let me heal these.”

I look down. “I’m all right.” I can see she doesn’t quite buy it, so I change the subject. “How is he?”

“He’s doing well. He should be completely fine in a day or two.”

 

I nod.

“Harry?”

“Hmmm . . . ”

“I know what kind of person Malfoy is. But I can’t condone what you’re doing here.”

Yes, here we go. It’s true confessions time. Taking a deep breath, I plunge right in. “‘Mione, he’s a prostitute. This is what he gets paid for.”

She shakes her head as if to dispel my words. “I’m not talking about the sex. I’m talking about you hurting him. I know he’s hurt you in the past. I know he was a complete ass, but is this really the best way to deal with it?”

“I’m not going to hurt him again.”

She looks at me as if she doesn’t believe me. “Harry . . . ”

“Hermione, it was the first and only time, I swear!”

She shakes her head. “I want to believe you, I really do, but . . . ”

“Then do, Hermione. I don’t lie to you.”

“You may not lie, but there is so much you keep from me.”

“Hermione . . . ”

“I just . . . I worry about you so much, Harry. I know things aren’t right with you and I want so much to help you. Both Ron and I do. But we don’t know how.”

“Just . . . be my friend. Please. That’s all I need.”

“Always, I’m always your friend.”

“Then that’s all I need right now.”

She wants to argue, I can see it in her face, but I think she realizes she’s not going to get anywhere. She squeezes my hands very gently and then leans in to give me a kiss on the cheek. I in turn place a soft kiss on her forehead.

“So, you know I love you, right?” she asks.

“And you know I love you.”

She lets go of my hands and glances up the stairs before turning her sharp gaze back to me. “And you two will be all right?”

I know what she’s really asking. “I won’t hurt him anymore.”

She nods and smiles, although her smile is sad. I wonder if she believes me at all. “Owl me, ok?”

“I will. We’ll go out to dinner. You, me and Ron. Like old times.”

“Ron and I would like that.”

She stands up. A hug, a few more words of farewell and she’s gone.

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

I return to work and then I manage to do something I haven’t done in months. I stay late.

Apparently avoidance and denial are great professional motivators. The boss is thrilled. He praises me incessantly. He even tells me to go home when he realizes that it’s quitting time and I’m not going anywhere. I tell him I’m fine and to go on home himself.

He does.

When the great Harry Potter speaks . . .

When I finally make it home, I find Draco curled up on the couch, still reading Pride and Prejudice. I notice that he’s much farther along in it than last time.

“You’re late,” he says without looking up.

“I know. There was a lot of work today,” I say as I take off my robes and throw them on the back of a chair.

“What’s left of dinner is in the refrigerator.”

“That’s all right. I ate at the office,” I say as I walk toward the stairs without making it seem like I’m hurrying.

I’m two steps away from walking out of the room when he speaks again. “Why are you avoiding me, Harry?”

Bloody hell.

I stop, then laugh a little just to show him how preposterous that is. But I won’t look at him. “I am not avoiding you.”

“You rush to work this morning, and rush back again as soon as Granger leaves. Then you stay late. You never stay late.”

“I had a lot of work to do.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“All right. If you say so,” he says nonchalantly.

My room, my little sanctuary is so close. So why am I turning around? Why am I sighing and saying, “All right. I’m avoiding you.”?

I see that the book is closed now. “Would you mind telling me why?”

I jam my hands into my pockets. “Because I don’t know what the hell is going on here!” I say in frustration.

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t understand why I don’t feel any hatred toward you right now. Or why I haven’t felt it all day. This isn’t normal. It just isn’t!”

He leans back and says, “Oh,” quietly.

“And you! I don’t understand why you were so kind to me last night when you hate me so much!”

His calm voice interrupts my building hysteria. “I don’t hate you.”

Stopped in the middle of my tirade like that, I flounder. Struggling for any words, I finally manage to say, “What?”

“I said I don’t hate you,” he repeats.

Trying to regain my mental footing, I take a second to marshal my thoughts. “But I see it,” I insist. “Every time I touch you, I see it in your eyes. You can’t tell me I’m imagining that.”

“No, you’re not but . . . look, I hated you for a very long time. And then the war started and we went our separate ways and, truth is, I didn’t think about you all that much. Hating someone takes a lot of energy, Harry. And it was energy I couldn’t afford to spare. Then, when I saw you again, the hatred came back, I guess. But not for long.

I guess mostly what you see is my complete and total loathing for the things I have to do.”

I stare at him. “You said the hatred went away. Why?”

“Because I realized . . . ”

“You realized that I was the most fucked up individual you’d ever set eyes upon.”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Do you pity me?” I ask suddenly.

He surprises me by chuckling. “Pity you? Why should I pity you? You have the whole world within your grasp, all you have to do is wake up and realize it.” He pauses to let the small bit of laughter die down. His face however, still shows his amusement. “If anyone is to be pitied around here, it’s me. My life fucking sucks.”

I smile briefly. This happens every once in a while; he’ll say something funny and then I have to try not to show that I find it funny. I don’t know why I do it; I just do. I bite my lip and erase the smile, then I run my fingers through my hair and glance in the general direction of the bar. The first thing that pops into my mind are the first words that fall from my mouth. “I need a drink.”

He just looks at me.

“Aren’t you going try and stop me?” I ask in bewilderment.

Wait, did I just sound disappointed?

“No. You’re not violent tonight. You’re more morose than anything. I think I’ll be all right.”

Ok, so he’s not going to try and stop me. Good. I’ve got carte blanche here with no worries about having to justify my actions. So why aren’t I moving toward the bar?

Because I’m not an alcoholic.

Draco may be perceptive about some things, but he’s wrong about this. He’s got to be.

Not that I need to prove anything to him. I would drink if I really wanted to. But maybe I don’t. Maybe tonight I don’t really want to after all.

Deciding that I’ve had enough of this inner monologue shit, I turn away from the bar. It is almost physically painful to do so but I don’t allow myself to think about that.

“I’m going to . . . go upstairs, I guess,” I say somewhat shakily.

He turns back to his book. “Good night then.”

“Good night.”

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

I don’t know how long I’m in my room, staring at a magazine that I’m not reading, then looking at a television program that I’m not watching. Time crawls, and then it flies, then crawls again as I try to pull my thoughts away from the man living in my house.

I finally give up on the television programs and the magazine. I get ready for bed by discarding my clothes and getting into pajama bottoms.

I am not, however, walking toward my bed.

As I pass through my doorway and into the hallway beyond, I tell myself that if he is not in his room that I will turn around and go to sleep.

I try very hard to make myself believe this.

I reach his closed door and rap on it lightly.

He opens the door immediately, almost as if he were waiting behind it for me. His eyes bore into mine; he says absolutely nothing at all.

I begin to speak. “I...”

“You’ve come to get what you’re paying for,” he finishes for me.

I can’t deny his words, so I don’t bother trying.

Instead I nod and whisper, “Come with me?”

He nods and follows me to my room. As he steps inside, he discards his clothing before I have a chance to tell him to.

Usually, I would turn off all lights and leave us in the dark. But not tonight. Tonight I want to see.

Carefully, I lay him down on the bed and climb atop him.

Curious, I feel around his body until I feel it. The scar that Hermione found. My fingers trail gentle lines across it, feeling the puckered skin. Funny how I never noticed it before. But then again, I’ve never really looked at him before, have I?

“Curiosity killed the cat,” he says in smoky voice.

“What?” I ask as I pull my fingers away.

“You heard about it earlier and you just couldn’t resist seeing it for yourself, could you?”

There’s no need to ask what he’s talking about. It’s painfully obvious.

“How did you know I was there?” I ask as I fight to keep from blushing.

He smiles. “As if you could ever outsly a Slytherin.”

“I don’t think outsly is a word,” I say.

“It is when I say it.”

My lips break into a smile and this time I don’t bother trying to suppress it.

And then the scar, and made up words, and everything in between is forgotten because I’m kissing him. This is only the second time my lips have touched his. And this time there is no violence in it at all. There is no tenderness, but there is an almost overwhelming need and fire that obliterates everything else. He returns the kiss and arches up into me, and I am lost. Completely, utterly lost.

My hands slide down his sides, stopping at his hips. I grab him, hard, enjoying the small gasp that escapes from his lips into mine.

I stop the kiss to whisper in his ear. “I want you.”

“I know,” he whispers back.

“God, I want you so bad,” I say, more to myself than to him, as if I have to convince myself that this feeling is real. Yes, I have wanted to hurt him, and humiliate him and own him. But I have never actually wanted him. Not like this.

I kiss along his jaw line, and across his pale throat, and all the while my hands are wandering over his body. There’s no agenda, just to feel as much of him as I can.

As my hands continue to roam, I look down at his face, at his eyes so gray, so pale. I have to wonder at the fact that I don’t want them closed this time. This time I want to see. I want him to see.

I somehow manage to get rid of the pajama bottoms, then I guide myself into him, intoxicated by how warm and tight he is and by the breathy sounds he can’t help but make.

I move within him, and just like that - all thought is gone.

I can’t say how long I dance within him, because this kind of ecstacy doesn’t know time. I do know that eventually it builds until climax can’t be denied, no matter how much I’d like it to last forever.

I lean down, my face against his throat as I groan and shudder into him.

After a few seconds, I pull out of him, and lay on my back next to him. I run shaking hands through my sweat-soaked hair, enjoying the after-tremors of pleasure that are still somehow running through my body.

I think that was possibly the best orgasm I’ve ever had in my life.

I close my eyes and try to burn the feeling of it into my memory.

A minute or two passes by, and his breathing slows, as does mine. Then I feel the mattress move and I know he is getting up. My eyes still closed, I reach out and grab his wrist. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving. Like I always do.”

“Stay.”

“What?” he asks.

“Please. Just stay.”

“Why?”

“Because I asked you to. Isn’t that enough?”

“When I first got here, you couldn’t stand to have me near you after you were done.”

“Things change,” I say.

“Do they?”

“Don’t get philosophical on me. Just stay.”

“You kissed me.”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t hurt me.”

“No.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re talking too much.”

Silence, then the mattress dips as he lays back down.

“I’ll stay.”