The Weather is Here, Wish You Were Beautiful

Chapter Four: Who is the Blonde Stranger?

*

Ginny smiled as Raj fed her a strawberry, delicately biting the fruit before looking at Harry. Harry offered her a weak smile, and then drained his once full glass. She shook her head and nudged him. "Come on, cheer up. We're behind the bar of a very popular club, flirting with the owner who is giving us free drinks. We're young, we're slightly drunk and we're going to get shagged tonight."

"YOU are flirting with the owner, and I'm not getting shagged anytime soon," Harry said, staring into his glass as if wondering where all the alcohol had gone.

"You could be if you actually did more then drink. There's about ten guys checking you out."

"They're not interesting."

Ginny raised an eyebrow at him. "Darling, I would do them, and I like breasts."

"Yes well that just proves that you're a very twisted girl," Raj said, sliding Harry another drink. "But perhaps..." She trailed off, her eyes spotting something across the pub.

Both Ginny and Harry turned to look but only saw more drunk and rowdy patrons. They turned to give Raj confused looks, only to watch her disappear into the crowd.

Harry shrugged and turned back to his fresh drink, sipping this one more slowly, savoring it.

*

Raj took Harry's hand and lead him to the middle of the dance floor before smiling and kissing his cheek. Blushing, Harry watched her as she headed back to the bar, her short skirt brushing over Ginny's arm as Ginny turned to watch Harry's embarrassment.

Harry nearly jumped as a hand slid across his hip, and he swallowed hard as breath tickled over his ear.

"Close your eyes," The voice whispered. Harry complied. He felt a wand press against his temple and the voice returned. "Trust me."

Harry nodded, knowing what was come. It was a popular spell in dark clubs where a nameless, faceless shag was all the rage. The darkness that enveloped him was thicker than before and he opened his eyes only to see an unchanged darkness. He was temporarily blind, left only to touch, taste and smell to get by. It was rather fun.

The music swelled around them, reaching an unbearable level before gliding down to a calmer volume; Harry could feel the vibrations in the floor, yet the sounds weren't as violent anymore. He licked his lips as the stranger's hips pressed against his arse, once more guiding his movements. This was...different then the time on the beach, though. This wasn't dancing. It was sex, violence, lust, desire, hate, fear, pain, pleasure...everything you could dream of. Everything you could imagine. Everything you could want wrapped in a primal beat.

Harry moaned softly, pressing back against his partner...lover? One of the man's hands was splayed across his stomach, the pinkie dipping into his waist band. The other hand was lifting Harry's arm behind the man's head, slowly running down the smooth, tender flesh of his arm. Lips and teeth were at Harry's throat, nipping, biting, sucking, drawing sounds from Harry that he forgot he could make; and all the while they moved.

They were inside each other, they were separate from everything, they were blown apart and re-assembled, yet they were all in their clothes, all in front of the hundred or so patrons of the small pub.

Harry wondered how long a song could last, how long HE could last. It already felt like eternity. Yet it kept going, kept thumping, or in Harry's case, pushing.

Harry was spun around, chest, hips and thighs pressing against another, his lips a hairs breath away from another pair. A thigh slipped between his legs, pressing up against Harry's arousal, causing him to gasp. He was bent backwards in a dip before slowly drawn up, the power of magick and lust building around him, pressing on him as he was pressed against that hard body again.

This was a tango, a rumba, a forbidden dance that was all and nothing Harry had ever done before. Seamus had given him dance lesson's years ago. Salsa lessons that lead to sweaty bodies and heavy breathing. Dance lessons that had turned into a wicked dance of naked flesh and Harry screaming. But this was nothing like that. This was...

"This is passion," the voice whispered. "This is pleasure, lust...and this is the end." He hissed and captured Harry's lips, kissing him hungrily as the final, frenzied beats of the song crashed together, climaxing, pulling at Harry's chest, tightening around him.

Harry jerked away as the silence reigned. He stumbled instinctively through the crowd, still sightless. He paused outside the area where he knew the restrooms to reside, tracing a wooden engraving with his finger before guessing on it's gender, pushing open the door. If he was wrong, the screaming would let him know.

Thankfully, though, he wasn't wrong. He leaned against the wall, the heel of his palms pressed against his eyelids before turning and splashing water onto his face. He raised his head to look into the mirror before remembering he couldn't see. He groaned and leaned his forehead against the cool glass, still breathing heavily. He listened to the silence of the room for several minutes before sliding a hand against this thigh, trying to wipe the seat off. He gave up on that, letting his hand simply rest on the thigh before cursing softly.

He failed the fight against his body and slipped the hand into his pants. He just held himself, not wanting to give in to a wank in a pub bathroom. He heard the door open and froze, caught in the middle of the room, his hand down his pants. The footsteps strode across the room, stopping just behind him. Harry cursed again before raising his head, trying not to look completely mortified. A palm slid down his arm, stopping at the buckle of Harry's pants before deftly un-doing it, sliding in to join Harry's hand wrapped around the hardened flesh, entwining it's fingers with Harry's. "May I?" An increasingly familiar voice whispered, and Harry bit his lip before nodding. As the two hands slid slowly across Harry's flesh he moaned softly, his head dropping back onto his lover's shoulder.

As Harry's breath caugh,t he could hear his partner's breathing growing increasingly erratic. He had to smile, turning to bite and suck on the smooth flesh of the neck next to him as their joined pace increased faster and faster, driving Harry quickly to the edge.

He gasped, thrusting up against their hands, biting his lip again, his head making small back and forth motions as he tried to hold away the explosion fast approaching.

But as with all things, everything comes in time, and Harry did so a moment later, his cry muffled by a pair of soft lips. The stranger's hands were moving soothingly up and down his forearms as Harry slowly came down from his high, blinking rapidly.

As his thoughts struggled to re-arrange themselves and his lungs tried to work again, lips brushed over his ear. "Wingardiam Leviosa," Memories suddenly crashed into Harry's brain.

A glass shattering on the floor of the Great Hall, stormy grey eyes turning to glare at him, fear, pain, nervousness. O.W.L.'s that had no results, Mudblood and Half-Blood. Sneering lips, nervous smiles, the rush of realization. A spy. Blood, holiday magick, an almost forgotten corridor. Warnings and heated passion. Rings and pleasure. Competition. Fear...but this time for another. Silver blonde hair. Red stains. Cold grey eyes that won't close. PAIN. Slow healing. A soft laugh. Echoes of whispers in a deserted house.

Harry spun around, light blinding him as his vision was returned, just in time to catch a glimpse of the door closing. "Draco?" he whispered, his voice breaking. He sunk trembling, to his knees as the memories continued to flood his inner eye, a whisper repeating throughout them.

Draco Malfoy died at five p.m. Halloween Night.