Rating:
PG-13
House:
Astronomy Tower
Ships:
Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Characters:
Draco Malfoy Harry Potter
Genres:
Romance Angst
Era:
Harry and Classmates Post-Hogwarts
Spoilers:
Order of the Phoenix
Stats:
Published: 07/19/2005
Updated: 07/19/2005
Words: 2,020
Chapters: 1
Hits: 1,436

The Prelude Series

mizBean

Story Summary:
What do you do if the one you love is not the one you married? A short fic in four parts. [Harry/Draco]

Posted:
07/19/2005
Hits:
1,436
Author's Note:
The first part of this fic "Prelude" was originally written as a stand-alone drabble. The series grew from there.


Prelude.

Draco ran his palms across Harry's shoulders, tracing the shadows left by the fading light. His hands then moved slowly downward drawing concentric circles across his stomach, soft touches ghosting Harry's skin as he mapped every curve and plane as if he was committing it to memory. He could touch Harry all night. He shut his eyes. He wished...

Harry stirred, finally, a content smile playing across his face. "Hmm, don't stop. Feels good."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? Me touching you forever," Draco smirked, watching Harry's flesh quiver, as he lazily dragged his fingers down Harry's left thigh. Sighing, he let his hands trail off onto the sheets and he moved to get off the bed. "It's late, I have to go."

Harry moved quickly, grasping Draco's wrists and pulling him back down to the bed.

"Don't," Draco whimpered, as Harry's fingernails pressed harder into Draco's flesh. Harry's eyes bored painfully into his and for a moment Draco felt lost, drowning in those hurt green eyes that spoke promises of passion and want and... Draco flinched. Love.

"Stay. Please."

"Harry," Draco said, wincing at the pathetic sound of his voice. He half-heartedly tugged at his hands. "I can't stay, you know that."

"Fine." Harry let go, roughly pushing Draco's hands away. "Just go," he whispered, turning his head away.

Draco hesitated, waiting, wanting Harry to look at him again. He reached out letting his hand hover just over Harry's shoulder, feeling the warmth radiate from his skin. No. He screwed his eyes shut and let his hand drop limply to his side.

He got up slowly and moved toward the door as Harry's silence overwhelmed the room. He closed the door behind him with a soft click. Shutting his eyes, he leaned against the closed door and took a deep breath before making his way. He'd have to hurry if he is going meet his wife in time for the first act.

Act One.

Harry stared at the overpriced glass of firewhiskey in his hand. Steeling himself, he brought it to his lips and drank it down, feeling the liquid burn as it ran down his throat. He closed his eyes as the alcohol slowly warmed his body.

Not enough, he thought wryly as he signalled to the young woman behind the bar for another.

He let his eyes wander taking in his surroundings. It was one of those trendy places that Draco liked to go to and that Harry hated, not that they spent much time in public anyway.

A new glass of firewhiskey was placed in front of him and the bartender smiled at Harry expectantly. Harry grimly returned her smile while wondering how it was that everyone seemed to get younger and younger while he just stayed the same.

He raised the glass, sipping slowly this time. It wouldn't do for him to get drunk yet, not with what he had to do.

**

Harry's head was starting to feel pleasantly muddled when he heard a familiar voice cut through the chatter. He turned around to see Draco and his wife walk by and take a seat at small table in the corner.

His insides twisted as he watched Draco's wife. This was the first time he had seen the real her, not the serene visage smiling from the society pages of The Daily Prophet. She was pretty, Harry had to concede that, with her long dark hair fashionably coiffed, but she had that starved look of someone who survived only on cigarettes and steamed vegetables. She was the daughter of one the richest families in Europe, a Hungarian whose family had kept carefully neutral during the war. In other words, the perfect match for a troubled scion of England's richest family hoping to restore his family's lustre.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Draco," Harry said brightly, as he turned to see Draco glowering at him, his eyes flashing in the reflected candlelight. "Just enjoying a night on the town."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Right. Except that you hate places like this."

"I don't know, I kind of like the scenery," Harry smirked, watching Draco's knuckles whiten as he gripped the edge of the bar. This was going exactly as planned.

"Look, I don't know what you're trying to do here, but..."

"I'm ending it, Draco," Harry interrupted.

"What?"

"It's over, I can't do it anymore. I--" Harry gestured helplessly, looking for the right words. "I won't share," he said finally.

Draco looked stunned. "Harry, I--" His eyes darted over in the direction of his wife. "I think we should talk about this another time. I'll come by later."

"No, it's over. Now."

"Why?" asked Draco, his voice rising. "Why now?"

"Draco," Harry whispered softly, "don't do this."

"What, make this hard for you? You know, I can't leave my wife."

Harry drained the last of his glass and he grinned bitterly. "And you have such a happy marriage, don't you?"

"It's never been about my happiness."

"What is it, then? Is money that important to you? You're pathetic," Harry spat, feeling some satisfaction at seeing Draco flinch. The firewhiskey was still burning through his body, numbing his brain.

"I would have thought," he went on, "that with everything we went through during the war you would've learned what's important in life."

"All this didn't stop you from sticking around," Draco sneered back.

"Well, I'm done with that now."

Harry picked up his glass and grimaced, noticing it empty. He set the glass back on the bar and looked over at Draco, the man who against all odds was the one he fell in love with and was the only one he couldn't have. I'm definitely going to need more to drink before this night's over, he thought as he pushed up his glasses and rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand.

"Harry," Draco's voice pleaded. "What would we do? Do you have any idea the how people would react if we were together? You remember how your friends reacted when they found out about us in school? I seem to recall Granger hexing me from your bed."

Harry laughed despite himself. "She was always good at those defensive spells."

Draco snorted in agreement. "And I spent three days in the infirmary, no thanks to you."

"That's because she wouldn't give me the counter curse unless I promised never to see you again. She only fessed up when Dumbledore threatened to take her Head Girl badge away."

Harry took a deep breath and looked at Draco again. "Draco, you have to understand. I can't do this anymore. It's killing me."

Draco said nothing, the candles behind him setting his profile in complete shadow. He gave no indication that he had heard Harry at all.

"I'm sorry I ruined your evening," Harry said, not insincerely. He threw a pile of Galleons onto the bar and turned, stopping as his eyes locked with Draco's wife. He suddenly felt sick and he ran towards the door, barely making it outside before he was on his hands and knees retching all over the pavement.

After awhile the spasms subsided and he sat back on his heels, noticing for the first time that is was snowing. He looked up mesmerized by the sight of hundreds of snowflakes dancing in the air as they fell. It was the first snowfall of winter. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, as he felt the sting of tears well in his eyes.

Act Two.

The cold rain felt like it was seeping through Draco's skin. Everywhere he looked, last minute Christmas shoppers bustled past him, their arms laden with gifts. What a Happy fucking Christmas, Draco thought miserably as he dodged a harried-looking witch with two screaming children in tow, a swarm of purchases floating behind them.

He blew on his hands in a futile attempt to warm them. He had left his gloves at home, which was stupid, really. He usually wasn't this forgetful, but he supposed it wasn't everyday that a man's wife walks out on him. Here he was, Draco Malfoy, supposedly the catch of the Wizarding world, wandering aimlessly around London, on Christmas Eve, wearing sodden dress robes.

Shivering, he wrapped his arms around himself and caught a glimpse of himself in the plate glass window of a bakeshop overflowing with customers. He looked rather like a drowned ferret, Draco thought wryly, remembering the word that Harry used to taunt with back at school, a word that slowly evolved into a sly endearment.

Ferret.

Scarhead.

Love.

Harry.

He shut his eyes, feeling the cold rain run down his face. Funny, how a bloody and dangerous war made sleeping with your enemy so easy. No commitments, no messy emotions, no reality. Just a relationship born out of loneliness and fear that started on a miserable night not unlike this one. Truthfully, he would have done anything for Harry back then, he even would have died for him, but then the war ended and life had to go on. Appearances had to be maintained.

He looked at his reflection again; his dress robes were irrevocably ruined. He expected Mother would be horrified. If she wasn't already horrified, and livid that he wasn't there now by her side. No doubt excuses were already being made for his wife's absence: a sick relative abroad, couldn't be helped, the poor dear. All said with a calculated smile while subtly inquiring into the romantic status of what was certain to be an endless stream of young witches eager to meet her son. Always making contingencies, a skill Mother honed to perfection rebuilding her life after Father's unfortunate participation in the War.

His fists clenched under his sodden robes, as waves of anger rose from his chest. What was that that Harry had told him seventh year? Your choices make you what you are. I never had any choice, Draco thought bitterly, and neither did Harry. Dumbledore was deluded fool.

He resumed walking, aimlessly following the footsteps he'd traveled many times over, not realizing until he stopped that he was standing in front of Harry's flat. He looked up at window to see candles burning and a small Christmas tree twinkling near the windowsill. Suddenly his chest tightened. Why did everything go back to Harry? He had been a constant in his life since he was a child, the dishevelled, self-righteous boy that he had wanted nothing more then to best who became, he realized, as his eyes began to sting, the only one he really...

Loved.

He looked up again at the window, seeing a vague shadow moving about and he swallowed, trying to tamp down the emotions that were threatening to overcome him.

Harry.

He took a breath, steadying himself, and walked purposely towards the front door and rang the bell.

Postscript.

Draco.

Harry kissed him fiercely, pulling Draco closer until nothing separated them, but wet robes and cloth.

Draco.

He felt intoxicated, warmth growing inside him as Draco's words replayed over and over in his head.

I love you, Harry. I love you... I love you...

Draco's grip on Harry's shoulders tightened. I'm yours, he had said, standing on his threshold shivering and wet from the rain.

I'm yours.

Harry's hands drifted downward as he unbuttoned and peeled off layer after layer of wet clothing, while running a line kisses along Draco's shivering body. When he was finished, Harry stood again and pulled Draco to him, wrapping his arms around him and hugging him tightly.

"You're so cold," he murmured, resting his head on Draco's shoulder.

Draco laughed shakily. "You try spending an hour wandering around London in the rain."

Harry stepped back and smiled as he watched the twinkling Christmas lights play across Draco's face. Draco smiled back, rolling his eyes as he reached for Harry's hand. They stood, hand in hand, smiling at each other like lovesick teenagers until finally, Harry leaned forward and kissed Draco gently. "I love you, too," he whispered. "But, now I think we need to run you a warm bath."