The Goodness of Their Hearts

Potter was tense. Tense in a manner Draco hadn't witnessed since taking him on as a client. He walked through the house, from room to room, at first in genuine interest but after a short while showing perfunctory attention to the details. He wandered outside a little, too, onto the small stone patio and the sheltered stretch of grass beyond. And the more he wandered, the tenser he got. In under an hour he was at the point of shaking out his hands as he walked, as though he couldn't bear to have a single part of his body still.

"It's very quiet here," he said.

Too quiet, Draco interpreted.

"So still."

Oppressively unmoving.

"You'd think we were the only two people in the world."

Unpleasantly isolating.

Draco was oddly disappointed. He loved his home. He was proud of how different it was from Malfoy Manor, from any other place he had seen. He didn't show it to many, and every guest he had ever had, had been impressed.

Perhaps it was a reaction to the near miss in the game. It had to be a reaction to something. Was he coming down from something? Draco would have sworn not. Aside from the occasional joint, he hadn't seen Potter indulge in any drugs. And surely Harry Potter wouldn't play a game while high.

Draco watched him, despite himself. Potter as the prowling panther was annoyingly hard to avoid watching. It had been a mistake bringing this alluring bundle of energy into his sanctuary. Though how was he to know Potter would choose to be something other than his normal apathetic self?

"Whatever happened to your mother, Malfoy?"

"Nothing happened to her."

"How did she avoid getting arrested?"

"You have the most appalling manners, Potter. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Many. Including you. Do you ever see her?"

Draco spent a moment debating whether to tell him. But what the hell. It wasn't as though it were any grand secret. "I am unwelcome at Malfoy Manor."

"Because you didn't become a Death Eater?"

"Because I showed disloyalty to the family name."

"Because you didn't become a Death Eater?"

Draco almost laughed. "It's not as simple as that. But never having a proper family of your own, you wouldn't understand that."

He was immediately ashamed of remark. It was worthy of his adolescence, which meant it wasn't worthy of much. That the remark seemed to sadden Potter, rather than angering him, made it even worse.

Then Potter shrugged. "Was it worth it, losing your family?"

"To do the right thing? Isn't doing the right thing worth any price?"

"Not always." Potter was defiling his serene living room by insisting on pacing, from one wall to the other, flicking his fingers against the leg of his trousers. "I don't think it would be worth giving up a family."

"Maybe it depends on the family."

Potter looked at him, another one of those hard looks. "There were rumours about you at school, you know."

"I'm not surprised."

"About the things your father did to you."

Ah. Those rumours. "He really didn't teach me that much about the Dark Arts." His father, taking time out of his busy schedule to teach his young son anything? Hardly.

"No no. That he, well," and for the first time since meeting up with him again, Draco saw Potter looking uncomfortable. "That he believed in ... brutal forms of punishment."

"I was caned occasionally, and I didn't like it at the time, but it was nothing drastic."

"And that he believed in ... twisted forms of punishment."

It took Draco a few moments to figure that out, and he still wasn't sure he was right. He hoped not. "Are you talking about some kind of sexual abuse?"

Potter shrugged and wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Bloody hell! Who was talking about that?"

"I don't know. Everyone. They said that was why you were such a bastard."

"I wasn't that much of a bastard! For Merlin's sake!" He couldn't believe it. How disgusting. How embarrassing. People walking around talking about his father raping him.

He just wished he could grab a rubber and erase all seven of those years.

"So they weren't true?"

"Of course they weren't true! Gods!" Remember where you are. There will be no screaming in your calm, serene living room. "My parents, both of them, were very busy, and very highly placed. Like others in our class, they had high expectations for me, which included living according to certain principles. When I failed to do so, they had no use for me. Mother sees me as an embarrassment, and Father, well, I guess he doesn't see much of anyone nowadays."

Potter was staring at him. "These people are your family. How can you be so cold about them?"

Ah, the sanctimony. Another aspect of Potter's character that was resurfacing for the first time. He hadn't missed that. "You've met Perona, right?"

"Obviously."

"You like her?"

"What I've seen of her."

"She hasn't spoken to any of her family in years."

"Why not?"

"Because none of them want to. Including her. There was no huge severing event. They just don't get along, and don't really like each other much. A lot of families are like that, you know. Just because you have the same blood as someone else doesn't mean you can stand to be in the same room as them."

"That's the most depressing thing I've ever heard."

"Probably because you don't have a family of your own. You have this expectation that everyone lucky enough to have a family should appreciate them no matter what. It doesn't work that way."

Potter shook his head and resumed pacing.

Draco knew he should just ignore his unsettled guest. Just go off and do his own thing. Only there was nothing else he felt like doing. Usually he had no trouble amusing himself within his home, but none of his usual activities entertained him.

He didn't want to leave Potter. He wanted to be around him, and the desire was irritating him. And he couldn't stand to watch Potter pacing pacing pacing. He wanted to tackle Potter and force him to just stay still.

An unanticipated reversal, wanting to calm Potter down.

It was unnerving him. He was starting to feel more stupid impulses. Time to cut those off. "Jasmine tea, I think," he said. "It soothes the nerves."

Potter smirked again. "How is that any different from smoking pot to calm down?"

"It's legal and shows more class." Draco spelled up the tea and dragged Potter back out to the patio, able to stop short of physically forcing the Seeker into one of the steamer chairs.

The sun was setting, and watching it sink behind the trees while sipping jasmine tea was a therapeutic way to end a stressful day. But it wasn't effective this time. He was too aware of Potter sitting less than three feet away. He breathed in the exotic scent of the tea, and closed his eyes, and listened to the rustle of the trees, and all he could hear was Potter, breathing, slurping the tea, shifting on the fabric of the chair.

And tense. He didn't know how he knew Potter was still too tense. He could just feel it. Like it was contagious. The tea and the silence were doing nothing for his own clenched muscles.

"Why did you bring me here, Malfoy?" the guest demanded.

"I told you."

"To avoid the reporters."

"Yes."

"And it's safe."

"Yes."

"Why didn't you have me move in here in the first place?"

"I don't offer up my home for clients!"

"Exactly."

How unattractive Potter sounded when he felt smug.

"I think it was for another reason altogether."

"Do tell."

Draco heard the sound of pottery being placed on stone, and more movement on the chair fabric, and suddenly he felt Potter right beside him. He opened his eyes with alarm.

"I think you brought me here so we'd be safe from prying eyes and any danger of interruption."

No. Draco could say in all honesty that he had had no such plan in mind. Because he hadn't had any plan at all. He'd just wanted to go home, and he couldn't in good conscience leave Potter. The simple solution to that, or so it had seemed at the time, had been to bring Potter to his home.

He really didn't need to be reminded of the lack of possibility of interruption. Not when Potter gripped the arms of his chair and leaned too close, and the aforementioned tension zinged through his body until he couldn't deny that it was nothing other than arousal.

He wanted to sink his hands into that wild black hair.

"Do you mind, Potter?" He was proud of the scathing tone he managed to inject into his voice, but was embarrassed that he had to clear his throat immediately after speaking.

"But we've got all this lovely peace and space. It seems a shame to waste it."

"Look at the sunset, Potter. Then it won't be wasted." Or better yet, they could just leave. This had been a terrible idea.

Potter smelled really good.

"But I'd rather fuck you."

Those words shot straight to his groin.

"Or be fucked by you. Either one would be good. Or even both. To be perfectly fair."

Draco pulled in a quick hard breath. Harry Potter could have anyone he wanted. He really could. There was no reason for him to keep coming back to his old rival. It made no sense. "Can't stand being turned down, is that it?"

He stiffened as Potter leaned in closer. Didn't do anything to stop him, though.

Potter put his lips by Draco's ear. "I'm so tired," he whispered.

Not the sweet nothing Draco had been expecting. He cleared his throat again. "There are three bedrooms here." Potter drew back suddenly, with a new sparkle to his eyes, and Draco realized what he'd said. "That's not what I meant."

Potter pouted playfully and lifted the mug from Draco's hands, setting it on the ground.

"I don't fuck clients, Harry."

"Why not?"

"It's bad for business."

"I won't tell a soul."

"It's against policy." Oh, now that didn't sound stupid.

"You're the boss. Change policy."

"Harry ...." Oh Merlin Oh Merlin Oh Merlin. He was tired, too. Probably not for the same reason. He just felt like he'd bound up in wire for years, wrapping on layer after layer and pulling tight. It would feel so good to let go. "You hated me a short while ago."

"I didn't hate you. I was angry. That's just a mood. And it's gone now."

"How fickle your moods are, Potter."

"Don't you want to feel good, Draco?" Potter crooned. "Remember what I told you I would do?"

He did. He didn't need the heat that flooded through him. He felt like he couldn't breathe. Potter was just inches away from him. It would take so little to bridge that distance. He was working very very hard to stay still. "I'm not a mate with privileges."

"Of course not." Potter smiled. "You're my bodyguard with unlimited access to my body. Big difference."

Potter kissed him. A hard ruthless invasion of his mouth that just took his brain right off any rational track. What the hell. He grabbed handfuls of black hair, as he'd been wanting to moments before.

Without removing his mouth Potter lowered himself down, deliberately positioning his thigh against Draco's erection. Draco groaned and pressed up, grinding himself against the Seeker's hard muscle.

Potter's mouth was unrelenting and skilful and Draco tilted his head to get a deeper taste of it. One of Potter's arms shifted and suddenly there was a tight grip on his cock, and he gasped into Harry's mouth. One strong stroke had him a breath away from coming.

He pulled his mouth away. "No!"

Stroke.

"Not - "

Stroke.

" - like - "

Stroke.

" - this!" He arched involuntarily as he climaxed, his head falling back.

When he could think again, Potter was sucking on his neck and his trouser were wet and disgusting. He shoved at Potter's shoulders, pushing him off the chair.

"What? What's wrong?"

"A tawdry bang in my trousers is a little cheap for my tastes." He moved cautiously from the chair, trying to avoid contact with the front of his trousers. "Just the kind of pre-adolescent fumbling I would expect from a sport ape." Maybe Potter really was entirely straight and had no clue out to act in his big gay adventure.

Draco shouldn't have let him kiss him, or touch him. Stupid stupid stupid. Now he was disgusted with both of them and didn't want to look at Potter. Ever again.

Ah, yes. The reason for the no sex with clients rule. He'd known there was one.

"That was only the first step, Draco. To get things started."

"I am not a thing to be started." He could barely stand to be in his own skin. "I'm taking a shower. Do what you want."

"Draco." Potter caught his arm, and with his skin still experiencing minor implosions from his climax Draco couldn't bear to be touched right then, and he yanked free. "Tell me what you like, then, Draco. Teach me what will please you."

Draco paused in his exit from the patio, slowly turning to look at Potter. "What is this about, Harry? Why are you acting like this is important to you?" Because, now that his head was clearing, he suspected it was all about boredom. Potter couldn't find anything else to do in this too-quiet place.

Potter bit his lower lip. "I'm not acting," he confessed.

"Don't try to convince me you have some grand passion for me, Potter. I won't buy it."

"Why wouldn't someone have a grand passion for you?"

"Not someone. You. Harry Potter. For me. Draco Malfoy."

"Hogwarts is over, Draco."

"Live in the now, is that it, Potter?"

"If you like."

"Living in the now doesn't seem to be making you very happy."

"Not living at all doesn't seem to be doing it for you, either."

Draco felt too filthy and disgusted with himself to enjoy verbal sparring. A part of him wanted to strip off and show Potter exactly what pleased him. And he was so ashamed of that part that he spent a moment considering obliviating himself. "Potter, I need to take a shower. Then I need to write about what happened this afternoon. With the Bludger. Enjoy your tea and the night sky, for a while."

Potter shrugged. His favourite gesture when he didn't feel like speaking at all.

Draco left him, stripping off his clothes as soon as he knew he was safely out of view. What a stupid thing to do. And wholly unsatisfying. That wasn't at all what he'd anticipated when he thought of letting go, an episode that was really little more than a wanking session with shared participation. No, he didn't need scented sheets or candles. But if it didn't take at least five minutes it wasn't worth an effort, and a proper fucking took hours.

That was what he wanted. Hours at their disposal, in the safe isolation of night, a big bed with pure white sheets. Four posters, good for tying if that was what was wanted. Scented oils, and maybe some candles after all, to heat the oil. And Potter stretched out beneath him while he fucked him until they both screamed. Repeatedly.

Draco shook his head sharply. "Mind on the job, Malfoy." Which was Potter's life, not his prick.

He showered. He wrote a report concerning the events of the day. And then he sent Perona an owl. Everyone at Malfoy Security Inc. that could be spared was to be put on the Potter file. No new clients were to be taken on, and as assignments were finished those who had been performing them were to be shifted to the Potter file. Draco wanted the backgrounds of everyone connected to the Cannons researched once more. He wanted everyone watched who could be. He wanted this finished.

This assignment had become a joke, and it was playing merry hell with his professionalism. The sooner this was done, the sooner Potter would be out of his life. His brain knew that was the best thing for him, even if other parts of his anatomy didn't agree.