Shooting Lessons

"Here. This is yours now. Learn how to use it." Harry pushed the gun into Draco's hand. It was a fairly typical example of its kind, lightweight and easy to conceal.

Draco held it by his fingertips, looking blank. "What is it?"

"For fuck's sake. You've never used one? How did you survive?"

"My dazzling charm? My unspeakable sexiness?"

"Shitfaced luck," Harry decided. "Probably slept with anyone who wanted to kill you."

"And I was good, too," Draco smirked. "Want a sample, Potter?"

"All I want is for you to be able to shoot a gun."

"This is a real gun? You want me to kill people with it!" Draco twitched and dropped the weapon as if burned, letting it clatter to the floor.

Slowly and deliberately, Harry picked up the gun and placed it firmly into Draco's cringing palm. "Yes, Malfoy," he said with exaggerated patience. "You wanted to work for me, remember? Well, on occasion, I may ask you to kill people. That's why you need a gun."

"Isn't there anything else I could do for you? Something less violent?"

"You have a problem with killing people?" Harry's voice implied that such a problem would not be healthy for Draco's continued employment.

Draco wasn't stupid. "No, I don't. But guns are so messy, Potter. I've seen them; they make people explode all over the place. Can't I use a knife? An elegant little dagger? A garrote?"

"Absolutely not. Besides, half the game is intimidation."

"I can be intimidating!"

"Not in the way I need you to be. I promise you, if you can't even use a gun, you won't even begin to be useful to me."

Draco regarded the gun with distaste, fiddling with the safety catch. "Well, can't I at least get a more elegant one? This is so... ugly. Lumpy."

"Learn to shoot this one first," Harry advised.

"How would I do that?"

"By pulling the trigger."

Draco did so. Harry barely got out of the way in time, and the recoil drove Draco back a few steps.

"Did you see that? It blew a hole in your desk," Draco said, wide-eyed. "You want me to use this on a *person*?"

"That was the general idea," said Harry through gritted teeth. "Now if you don't mind..." He snatched the gun back and unloaded it with quick, practiced movements, pocketing the ammunition. "Let's try this at a firing range, shall we?"

"Whatever you say, Potter."

---

Draco fired, bracing himself against the kick. Then he squinted at the target.

"Still no good. Didn't even touch it," Harry sighed. "Let's move it closer."

The paper target scooted forward.

Draco aimed and fired again. This time he managed to nip the target on the outside shoulder.

"I hit it," he gloated, "did you see?"

"Wonderful," Harry groaned. "You can hit a target on the arm at practically point-blank. Amazing." He put his head in his hands.

"It's only my first day. You can't expect instant improvement," Draco said, gesturing at the target with his gun.

Harry ducked instinctively. "Watch it, Malfoy!"

"Sorry," said Draco. "I'm new at this sort of thing."

"Just keep practicing," said Harry, from his crouched position on the ground.

Draco pouted and fired again, and again. The first bullet hit the target in the chest, but the second missed completely.

Harry rose. "I'll just leave you to it, shall I?"

"Wait - don't leave! Maybe I just need a little help?"

"The understatement of the century," Harry said, heading for the door. "You're practically hopeless."

"I'll improve," Draco promised desperately.

"You'd better." The door swung closed.

Draco slumped against the wall and gazed morosely at the gun.

---

The next day, Harry found Draco at the firing range, shooting with determination if not accuracy.

"I've been practicing," Draco said proudly.

"Show me." Harry called up a new target.

His face screwed up in tremendous concentration, Draco aimed and pulled the trigger. The gun kicked in his hands, and a neat hole appeared in the target's shoulder.

"See?" Draco beamed.

"Very nice. Now do it again."

Draco's face fell. "Why? I'd already have killed him."

"He ducked," Harry said blandly. "Just do it."

Draco tried, but the next shot barely clipped the target's side.

Harry made a small, barely audible sound, equal parts despair and resignation.

Draco smiled hopefully at him. "Maybe you could tell me what I'm doing wrong?"

"I wouldn't even know where to begin."

"Try," Draco said, widening his eyes and putting on his best puppy-dog look. "I want you to teach me, Potter, I really do."

"I'll bet. Well, for starters, your grip's all wrong. Move your fingers forward a little. And don't lock your elbow."

Draco attempted to obey, and Harry cut him off before he even took aim. "No, no, no... look, see, you need to keep your arm straight, but not locked." He hissed when Draco blinked at his elbow, and he finally got up and adjusted Draco's arm himself. "Like that."

Draco could have purred at the impatient slide of Harry's hands along his shoulder and arm. "Anything else you'd like to change?"

"Your entire stance," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "It's a wonder the recoil doesn't knock you over." He positioned himself alongside Draco, aiming an imaginary gun, arm straight, feet planted. "See? You want to place your feet like mine."

"Like yours," Draco echoed consideringly. He slipped sideways and before Harry could move, Draco was nestled close against the other man, matching him pose for pose. His back was greedily drinking the warmth of Harry's chest, the bare skin of their arms were pressed together, and Draco's legs were snugged against Harry's, imitating the exact angle of his stance. "Like that?"

He felt more than heard Harry's intake of breath, and grinned.

Then Harry's warmth was abruptly gone. Draco sighed.

"Yes," Harry said, his voice sardonic. "Like that. Now shoot."

Draco pulled the trigger, and punctured the target's chest. He turned to Harry, his grin triumphant. "That was easy!"

"Good. Now do it again."

"Maybe you could put me back into position?"

"Keep dreaming."

Draco pouted and repositioned himself, doing his best to call back the feeling of Harry's body warming his. Harry's wiry frame, his tense muscles, the warmth of his breath against Draco's neck... Draco closed his eyes, squeezed the trigger a few times.

"Good work," said Harry, a faint note of surprise in his voice. "Nice grouping."

"Thank you. Maybe all I needed was the right encouragement." Draco looked at Harry through thick blond lashes.

"You don't need any encouragement," Harry snorted. "Now practice that. I need you able to hit a target with your eyes closed and one hand tied behind your back."

"Are you volunteering to tie me up, Potter?"

"Just keep practicing," Harry said, and was out the door rather more quickly than he needed to be. Draco lowered the gun, smirking.

---

Harry burst in the door without warning. "Malfoy. How's your shooting?"

"It's all right," Draco shrugged. "Haven't practiced much since yesterday."

"It'll have to do. I've got a meeting with a business associate, and I need some muscle. Come along. Bring your gun." The words were clipped and quick. By the time Draco understood, Harry was halfway out the door.

"Hey, hold on." Draco seized a jacket and hurried after him, waving the gun. "I don't quite know how to use this yet, remember?"

"Hopefully, you won't need to," Harry shot back, walking faster. "Just try to look dangerous. And for God's sake put that away, we're trying to be inconspicuous."

Draco caught up with him a few paces down the street, winding his arm through Harry's. Harry absently shook him off. Draco determinedly reattached himself. "Can we call this a date?"

"No." Harry disengaged again.

"But," Draco began.

"The only reason I'm bringing you," Harry snapped, "is because I haven't got the time to get anyone competent. Do us both a favor and shut the fuck up." He wrenched open the door to his car. Draco barely had time to seat himself before the car jolted into motion.

Draco lapsed into a wounded silence, although this didn't stop him from stealing appreciative caresses of Harry's thigh as they drove. He was only human, after all.

They stopped at a very dingy restaurant. Draco winced visibly at the state of the booths, and tried not to touch the seat he was given. Harry's business associate was a disappointment to Draco. He wasn't handsome at all; just a thin, balding man who had a tendency to smile without moving the rest of his face. He had brought along his own thugs, three burly men who walked with their hands tensed in their pockets. They sized Draco up with quick, experienced glances, and an amused look settled in their faces as they relaxed. Obviously they didn't think much of him.

Draco didn't think much of them either. Definitely not his type.

Harry ignored all of them, leaning forward to address the thin man. "Explain yourself," he ordered.

In contrast to Harry, the man took careful notice of Draco, flicking his eyes over him and comparing him to his own bodyguards. Then he turned to Harry and spoke through his smile. "What have I done?"

"Don't fuck with me," Harry said pleasantly. "You've been trying to buy out one of my clubs. Why didn't you just come directly to me?"

The man shrugged. "I didn't want to bother you with such a trivial matter."

"What part of 'don't fuck with me' did you not understand?" Harry's eyes were bright and glinting behind his spectacles. Draco would have admired Harry's poise, were it not for the increasing menace with which the three thugs were tensing their hands in their pockets.

"Mr. Potter," the man said primly, "you are the one who is failing to understand." One of the thugs took out a gun.

Draco shot from the hip. The gun disappeared, as did one or two of the thug's fingers, and blood sprayed. The thug yelled, and kept yelling.

"Let's be civilized," Draco suggested. Around them, the occupants of the restaurant had mysteriously vanished.

"Yes, let's," Harry agreed. "Now, about my club?"

The thin man had gone pale, and the smile had definitely disappeared. "It was mine first," he said, almost pleading.

"Mine now," Harry corrected. "It's roughly tripled in value since I bought it, if I recall correctly."

"You know I can't pay that," the man whispered.

"Then why are you bothering me?" Harry stood smoothly, his own pistol dangling loosely from his fingers. "You're lucky I'm letting you live." He walked straight to the door and out, carelessly exposing his back. Draco swore under his breath and covered his exit.

"Hey. Hey," Draco said, catching up to Harry on the sidewalk. "Aren't you going to kill him?"

"He might be useful," Harry said shortly. He was walking very quickly, his steps brisk and angry.

"You're furious," Draco said, reaching out to rub his shoulders. "You have to calm down, you're too tense."

"Damn it!" Harry spun suddenly, catching Draco by the collar and shoving him against a rather grimy wall. "It's you I'm furious at. Why didn't you tell me you knew how to use a gun?"

"You never asked," Draco said, cringing away from the wall. "Relax, Potter, and let me down. You're getting dirt all over my good jacket."

Harry shoved him harder. "What the fuck were you playing at?"

Draco grinned. "You wouldn't have touched me otherwise, would you? This way you got to play the wise teacher. Come on, you know you enjoyed it."

Harry's hands tightened on Draco's collar.

Draco leaned forward and kissed him gently, tenderly. "Come home with me?"

For a moment, he thought he saw those green eyes soften.

Then Harry released him and turned away, making choking sounds.

"Potter? ...Harry? Are you all right?" Draco took his shoulders and turned him around.

Harry was laughing. Draco blinked at him.

"You," Harry gasped, "you haven't changed a bit. You're nothing but a dirty-minded little brat, aren't you? Do you ever think of anything but sex?"

"Does this mean you'll come home with me?"

"Fuck off."

"That was the general idea."

"Don't push me, Malfoy." But Harry was smiling as they walked back to the car, and he at least waited until Draco was seated and belted in before he started the engine.

Draco figured that it was as good a beginning as any.