Title: Collateral Damage
Pairing: Harry/Draco, Harry/Zacharias
Warning: Mild dub-con.
Disclaimer: JKR owns. I only play. You do not sue.
Length: 6.5K words
Summary: At a seedy seafront bed-and-breakfast, Harry Potter waits for the end of the war.
Beta: donnaimmaculata, pen_and_umbra
Note: Originally written for Permelia Wrench as part of HP Reversathon 2005 under the pen name "Frederic Knutson". There is a line in there from The Matrix that Draco insisted on using.
Concrit: Always welcome and appreciated.
Harry sat on a grassy knoll overlooking the sea, watching as the sun rolled relentlessly down into the water.
He'd taken to counting the sunsets lately instead of marking days of the week. When had he got here? Sixteen sunsets ago. When was the last time he'd spoken to someone from his world? Eight sunsets ago. How many sunsets till the final bell tolls? No one knew the answer to that, and Harry didn't bother asking.
On some days, the sunsets didn't happen but Harry thought he could still see them despite the thick cloud cover. He sat and watched imaginary suns on a painted sky.
When shadows began to gather at last, Harry rose and brushed bits of grass off the backs of his legs. Another day in paradise. The traffic had abated now that it was evening and he crossed the street, nodding to the pale girl with her golden retriever. The dog strained forward, the leash stretched and the girl rushed past with a quick, shy smile at Harry.
Harry wondered who she thought he was. A travelling salesman, perhaps, staying at the bed-and-breakfast for want of better lodging? He approached the building warily as usual, but nothing seemed out of order. Harry could see his reflection in the dining room window as he passed. He paused.
Ravenclaw blue polyester suit with a white shirt, ugly tie. Three-day-old stubble on his cheeks: he never had got the hang of shaving the Muggle way, so he tried to avoid it these days. Maybe he should grow a beard; he'd be unrecognisable. Hands in his pockets: a very unprofessional travelling salesman. Maybe that's why business wasn't booming. Harry frowned and pulled the front door open.
He crossed the small vestibule in three strides, squinting a little to try and see through the patterned glass door that led to the entrance hall. He could see movement through the swirls but not much more. He'd been doing this after every sunset, always watching for signs of trouble but there never were any. Harry wondered how long it would take him to let down his guard.
He pushed the door and walked inside, bypassing the small corner desk with its fabric flowers and gaudy brochures. Mr Chetman, the proprietor, was trying to fix the payphone opposite; he'd been at it every evening ever since Harry had first arrived. Chetman turned around and gave Harry a huge grin that would have been infectious if Harry could remember how to smile.
"Mr Owens! There is someone here to see you," he said in a cheery voice. "Bloke turned up about twenty minutes ago. He's in the dining room."
Harry froze. "Did he say what his name was?" No one was supposed to know he was here except for a select few people, and only two of them knew the name under which he was staying. Why would any of them risk showing up?
Chetman fished a suspicious-looking instrument from his toolbox and squinted. "Er, Smith? Jones? A common name, don't remember exactly."
Harry nodded, thanked the man and walked into the dining room, scanning the mismatched tables for a familiar face. His heart gave a wobble when he saw Zacharias sitting at a round table near the bar in the far left corner. Harry walked over to him and sat down across from him.
"Hi," he said quietly. "Is something wrong?"
Zacharias turned to look at him, an expression of concern on his face. "Hi. I just came to check up on you. You haven't sent word or anything, I was worried."
Harry stared down at the ceramic ashtray in the middle of the red and white checkered tablecloth. "You shouldn't have come here," he said. "You might have been followed."
"I wasn't followed," Zacharias replied with an edge to his voice. "I made sure of it."
Harry made no reply. Instead, he rose and walked back to the door. He poked his head out of the doorway and called Mr Chetman's name.
"Yes, Mr Owens?"
"I was wondering if you could send Andrew to fix us drinks," Harry said.
"Certainly, Mr Owens! Just give me a moment," Chetman said, banging the side of the payphone with a screwdriver for emphasis.
Harry nodded and walked back to their table. "Just asked the owner to send his son by so we can at least have a drink, since you're here."
Zacharias nodded. They sat in tense, uncomfortable silence for a few moments. Both of them began to speak at once, then stopped and stared at each other for a few beats.
"Go ahead," Harry said, feeling his face grow hot.
"No, no, you first," Zacharias said, looking away with a small smile.
"Why are you really here?"
Zacharias sighed. He rested his elbows on the table in front of him, linked his fingers together and pressed his forehead into his hands. "You can't do this by yourself, Harry," he mumbled. "Please come back, let us help you."
"No," said Harry, his tone flat. "I'm not putting any more people at risk."
"It wasn't your fault. What happened to Ron wasn't-"
Harry leant forward quickly, accidentally pulling the tablecloth towards himself and causing Zacharias' elbows to slip.
"It bloody well was my fault and you know it. I should have made sure he was out first. I didn't. I did as Moody told me: I left. And now Ron's dead."
"Ron chose to stay and fight," said Zacharias.
"Then I should have stayed with him." Harry was having trouble keeping his voice down; it was a good job they were the only ones in the dining room, though it was nearly time for supper and people would start coming in at any moment.
"That's nonsense, Harry," hissed Zacharias, his eyes narrowing. "You are the most important - you can't -" He coughed. "If you die, we lose the war."
"So Moody's sent you to remind me of that, did he? Thinks I'm going to go off like a loose cannon, does he?" Harry wanted to get up and pace, but restrained himself.
"Moody didn't send me," said Zacharias. "Hermione did."
Harry's lips twitched, forming a grimace. "I thought you said you were worried."
"I was. Am. But I didn't want to come here because you're right, it's too risky." Zacharias looked away.
Harry didn't know how to react. He was glad when Andrew showed up to take their drink orders. He asked for a whisky, straight. Zacharias eyed the bottle with some apprehension and mumbled "Butterbeer." Luckily, Andrew seemed not to have been paying attention and simply poured beer from the tap into a tall glass.
"Muggles don't serve Butterbeer," said Harry after he'd paid for the drinks and sat back down.
Zacharias blew on the foam in his glass and looked up at him. "Hermione misses you. And she's hurt that you left. You didn't even say anything to her."
Harry downed his whisky and set the glass down too strongly. "What was I supposed to say? I fucked up, Zacharias. I let her down."
Zacharias' lips pressed together into a tight line. "You were following orders."
"Yeah," said Harry slowly. "I was. The Death Eaters were just following orders, too."
Zacharias pushed his glass aside and leant forward. "You're not going to get anywhere by beating yourself up over what happened."
Harry glared at him. "He was my best friend."
They stared at each other until Zacharias looked away. Harry closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. "Let's talk about something else."
"Please, Zacharias. Don't. Just don't."
Zacharias leant back against his chair and brushed his fringe out of his eyes. "I ran into Oliver Wood the other day," he said, his tone light. Too light.
"Was he any good?" asked Harry.
"You don't have to be so crude."
Harry took a deep, noisy breath through his nose. "What's the point of beating around the bush? I might as well have a giant bull's eye on my forehead, can't blame you for exploring other options. You always were more sensible than me."
Zacharias looked taken aback for a moment, then leant forward again. "You're not upset?"
Harry felt his mouth curl into a sneer. "Why would I be? I'm practically dead."
"Don't say that." Zacharias' jaw had a stubborn set, his eyes guarded.
Harry said nothing. He sat back and looked at Zacharias, trying to remember the times when things had been different between them. When they had used to sneak out behind the greenhouses, drunk on teenage lust and laughing. When Zacharias would sneak into Harry's bed at Headquarters after Order meetings. It had only been three years since they'd finished Hogwarts; the time used to be filled with a hopeful sort of feeling - when they would all get together at Headquarters after a long day's work, they would talk about plans for after the war.
Now, Harry had no plans for after the war. Perhaps he wasn't the sharpest knife in the box but he understood that whatever it was that he had to face, it would claim his life. Dumbledore had disappeared two years ago; most people, even Harry, believed him to be dead. Even so, Harry used to feel that as long as he had his friends, everything would be all right.
Now, Ron was gone, and there was no more Harry, Ron and Hermione. He would watch a few more sunsets and then set off to face whatever it was he had to face. He would try to kill Voldemort for them, that much he knew. He was also pretty sure that he'd fail, and that was all right with Harry. The war had taught him just one thing: they were simply on the opposite sides of the same coin.
"I'm tired," said Harry, sitting up abruptly as he spoke. "Tell Hermione I'll get in touch with her."
"When?" asked Zacharias, rising from his seat.
He walked Zacharias out to the entrance hall and stared at the patterned glass door for a long time after he was gone. The tiny room was deserted: Chetman had evidently given up on the payphone for the night.
Harry made his way up the narrow, steep staircase, fishing for his room key in his pocket. The plastic tag attached to the ring was broken and Harry nearly cut his fingers on it when he finally found it. He walked into his room and sank down on the single bed, leaning his elbows on his thighs and digging his fingers into his hair. He hadn't lied to Zacharias - he was tired, despite the fact that all he did all day was loiter around the bed-and-breakfast and feeling utterly useless.
He got up and removed his suit, putting the trousers across the seat of a rickety wooden chair and draping the jacket across the back. The tie went on top of the jacket and Harry tossed the shirt onto a pile of clothes by the side of his bed. After a trip down the hall for a quick shower, he climbed into bed and tried in vain to fluff the thin pillows. He drew the coarse blanket up to his chin and stared at the television, which was fastened on a metal bracket to the wall opposite. He had yet to make use of this particular amenity and he felt no desire to do so.
Harry put his glasses on the bedside table, closed his eyes and hoped that no dreams would disturb his sleep.
When Harry awoke, his arms felt cold. He tried to reach down for the blanket, such as it was, but found that he couldn't. Confused, he tried to sit up, but he couldn't do that, either. Harry opened his eyes with some effort and blinked into the darkness.
Except it wasn't dark. There were shadows dancing across the ceiling, as though from a fire burning. Harry screwed his eyes shut then opened them again. What was going on? He became aware that his wrists were bound behind his head, tied to the metal bars of the bed. Harry's fingers touched the cold metal briefly as he tried to feel for whatever it was that bound him. Smooth material of some sort - his tie.
He turned his head to the right and realised he wasn't alone. There was someone sitting on the side of his bed, blond head bowed slightly so that Harry couldn't see his face.
"Zacharias?" whispered Harry.
The figure on the bed turned towards him. Harry knew that face, that scowl. Draco Malfoy. He pushed his hair out of his face and stared down at Harry.
Harry tugged on his bonds, hoping to wrestle the knots loose, but that only made them tighten around his wrists further. He couldn't see much past Malfoy, and his glasses and wand were useless on the bedside table.
"Don't struggle, Potter. You'll only make it worse," said Malfoy. His voice hadn't changed, either. How had he found Harry?
Harry started to say something but realised that no sound was coming from his throat. Malfoy must have cast a Silencing Charm on him. Malfoy smirked, his eyes cold and distant. He was wearing his wizard robes. How had he managed to get past the Muggles downstairs dressed like that? Why had he tied Harry to the bed? Harry's insides grew cold - of course, he couldn't risk taking Harry somewhere else; anything could have gone wrong along the way. He had probably already contacted his Dark Lord and was guarding Harry until Voldemort got there.
"You know, Potter, for a long time I thought I was in love with you," said Malfoy conversationally.
What? Harry blinked at him, trying to wriggle his wrists, feeling for any loose sections. Malfoy turned even further towards Harry and leant down. "I used to dream about you," he said. His breath hit Harry's cheek in a sudden shock of warmth. Harry could smell Malfoy's cologne; the fresh yet slightly musky scent made him want to sneeze.
"It started at the end of fifth year, when you walked away from me. You looked so indifferent. I used to wake up in the middle of the night and wonder why it should upset me that you would ignore me, consider me uninteresting."
Harry tried to stay as still as he could. As long as Malfoy was busy talking, he wouldn't pay much attention to what Harry was doing, which at the moment was trying to feel out any protrusions on the metal bars behind him that could be used to wear away at a particularly loose section of tie.
"For two years I watched you. You probably didn't even notice that I started to keep away from you. Still, I haunted your steps. It became an obsession: to watch you."
Harry frowned. Malfoy was right; he hadn't really noticed, but now that he'd mentioned it, it was true - Malfoy hadn't made any more badges or set any more traps after fifth year. Harry had simply assumed that his parents had told him to stay away from Harry Potter, because Harry Potter was as good as dead anyway.
Harry found a sharp ridge on one of the bars just then and started to slowly move his bound wrists towards it. He didn't know how long it would take, but he had to try and get free.
"When I first saw you with Smith, that was when I thought I must be in love with you. It bothered me to see someone else touch you. It made me so angry. You had him pinned to a wall behind greenhouse three and the only thought I had was 'That should be me'. I didn't think I would have lasted the evening, but still I kept going back and watching you with him, and every time I did, I would become a little more resolved to take back what's mine."
Hot anger surged through Harry and he had to fight to keep himself from trying to wrench the metal bars free of the bed. Those moments with Zacharias - those had been private, they had been theirs and of course it had to be Malfoy who messed that up for Harry. Now he'd never be able to think about those frantic encounters without imagining Malfoy sitting behind a hedge somewhere, watching his every move.
"What was worse were the times when you weren't with him. You only had eyes for him and I was just - nothing to you. It wasn't supposed to hurt but it did, and I hated myself for it. Then school was over and you disappeared, along with your friends. I used to lie awake and wonder where you were, what you were doing. My mother took me to Greece and I used to sit on the seashore and watch every sunset, wondering if you were watching it, too."
Harry froze for a moment. How ironic that Malfoy should mention sunsets. The one Harry had just watched had been his last one, and Harry hadn't even known. He kept working on the tie, careful not to let Malfoy see his arms moving. Malfoy didn't seem to be paying attention, anyway - he was bent so low now that his lips were at Harry's ear.
"It consumed me, you know. Being so far away from everything. I didn't know what was happening back home. I was going mad."
Malfoy pressed his cheek to Harry's and licked his ear. Harry shuddered, revolted. Malfoy was mad. He turned away, taking the opportunity to start pulling gently as he kept rubbing the tie against the ridge. It wouldn't work, of course, but he had to try. Malfoy sat back up and ran two fingers down Harry's right upper arm.
"I couldn't stay there. I had to come back. Father told me about the ambush at the Black house after Dumbledore died, how you got away. How they were hunting you because of some prophecy."
Harry whipped his head around to look at him. Malfoy's face was impassive and empty, except for his eyes - they glittered amongst the dancing shadows. Harry frowned. It looked like a fire was burning in the room, but how was that possible? There was no fireplace.
Correction - there hadn't been a fireplace. Harry stared past Malfoy, at the wall where the TV used to be. There was an old-fashioned fireplace in its stead.
"Do you like it? I transfigured the Muggle device and its holder. Useless things."
Harry looked at Malfoy and tugged slightly on the tie. He thought he could feel it fraying. Malfoy was still looking at the fireplace, his expression wistful, or at least Harry thought it was; with Malfoy, there was no way to tell.
Malfoy's hand still rested on top of Harry's bound upper arm; he moved his thumb along a muscle, causing an unexpected tingle to go through Harry. Harry tried to move away, but Malfoy's fingers gripped his arm like a vice.
"Don't move," said Malfoy, the steely notes in his voice sounding exactly like his father's.
Harry turned to look up at him, trying to infuse his glare with all the hatred he felt for the poncy git and his whole family. It may have even worked, because Malfoy seemed to recoil. Harry blinked.
"Don't blink," breathed Malfoy. "You know, I don't think I've ever noticed your eyes before, hidden as they always are behind those hideous glasses."
Harry closed his eyes, hoping that Voldemort would just show up and put him out of his misery. It was bad enough that he had to be caught by Draco bloody Malfoy, the most ineffectual school rival that ever existed. Now he had to listen to Malfoy's inane babbling, too. He heard Malfoy sigh, then Malfoy's mouth was at his ear again.
"You're really determined to make this even more difficult than it already is, aren't you, Potter?"
Difficult? What the hell was Malfoy on about? Harry snorted. Malfoy slapped him. The sound rang in Harry's ears in tune with the stinging of his cheek. Harry opened his eyes and glared at Malfoy, who was glaring back.
"Fuck you, Potter. You never did know how to listen, did you? I thought I'd take care of that part with the Silencing Charm, but you've just got to make yourself heard somehow. Shut the fuck up and listen, for once in your life."
Harry frowned. If he didn't know any better, he would have said Malfoy sounded half-desperate.
"I heard your conversation with Smith down in the dining room."
Harry's eyes widened. How had Malfoy-
"You're probably wondering how I could hear you," continued Malfoy, holding Harry's gaze. He reached over to where the bedside table was and showed Harry an invisibility cloak. "This belongs to you. I used it to tail Smith and to listen in. Father had it in his study, along with some other things of yours. I brought it back."
Harry looked from his cloak to Malfoy's face and back to the cloak again.
"Is this what it takes for you to actually listen, Potter? Presents? I'll keep that in mind," said Malfoy. His tone was snide but his eyes were shining with mirth. Harry shook his head involuntarily. Malfoy's face turned serious again. "When the Aurors raided the Parkinson estate two weeks ago, Pansy died. Collateral damage, they called her," he said, gazing intently at Harry, who froze.
Of course. Malfoy was just playing with him. He'd come to take revenge for his dead girlfriend - wait. Girlfriend? What was that rot about Malfoy spying on Harry and Zacharias, then?
"When I came back, my father was just berating Macnair for killing Weasley. You see, he may have been a blood traitor but he was a pure-blood young wizard and we can't afford to be killing off any more pure-bloods, it defeats our whole purpose in the war. 'Collateral damage' was Macnair's response."
Harry's jaw tightened. Different sides of the same coin.
"It was my former infatuation with you that made me remember those words when I heard about Pansy. I found it ironic at the time that Harry Potter was the only person who could understand what I was feeling. Losing your best friend to a shapeless thing like collateral damage - no one deserves that."
Draco Malfoy - making sense? What more, making Harry commiserate with him, somewhere deep within Harry, in a place he didn't care to examine any closer just then. The world was going to stop any minute now. Harry realised he'd forgotten all about getting free. He was beginning to think he wouldn't need to.
"Can I lift the Silencing Charm now or are you going to make a scene?" asked Malfoy.
Harry wasn't sure how he was supposed to answer an either-or question without being able to speak, so he settled on nodding.
"Finite Incantatem," said Malfoy, pointing his wand at Harry's throat.
Harry coughed. "Thanks," he said, his voice hoarse. "Why are you here, Malfoy?"
Malfoy sighed. "Isn't it obvious?"
"I want to hear you say it, Malfoy," said Harry. He felt a bit ridiculous saying this, considering he was still tied to the bed and therefore at Malfoy's mercy, but there it was.
"I'm here because…" Malfoy trailed off, staring at a spot on Harry's blanket-covered chest. In a swift series of movements, he straddled Harry on the bed and stared down at his face. Harry tried to move his lower body to throw him off, but Malfoy had him pinned. He leant down to whisper into Harry's ear.
"I'm here because of you, Potter." His voice was barely above a whisper. "Somewhere between fifth year and now, I forgot how to hate you. Somewhere between listening to my father's pure-blood prattle and Pansy's senseless death, I forgot how to care."
"Malfoy?" Harry's voice sounded unnecessarily squeaky.
"Do you have to, er, not hate me while on top of me?"
"No, I don't have to. I want to."
"Well, get off. You're crushing my legs."
"Huh?" Malfoy hadn't said that. Harry tried to sit up, instinctively, but ended up flopping ungracefully back down. The tie cut into his wrists and he winced. "Did you hear that?"
"Not ssssupossssed to be in here, humanssss."
Harry recognised that sort of voice - it sounded just like the boa constrictor he'd talked to once, a long time ago. There was a snake in the room. Harry shut his eyes and tried to picture a snake. "Who are you?" he asked.
He felt Malfoy stiffen on top of him. "Potter, what are you doing? Why are you-"
"I didn't know humanssss could sssspeak our language," said the snake's voice.
"Who are you?" Harry insisted, trying to figure out where the sound had come from. Malfoy's breath was noisy in his ear and he tried to move aside.
"I? I am an Ashhhwinder. We sssspring from firessss."
"Oh, great. Wonderful. Malfoy, you're an idiot," said Harry, opening his eyes and glaring up at Malfoy, who was still on top of him. Malfoy looked like he was having trouble breathing for some reason. Had he heard the Ashwinder, too? "Are you listening to me?"
"Yeah, I was listening. To you," said Malfoy in a strangled sort of voice. What was his problem?
"There's an Ashwinder in this room, Malfoy, and it's your fault."
"But it hasn't been nearly long enough for an Ashwinder to be born," said Malfoy, blinking.
"That's not a real fireplace, Malfoy. It's a transfigured one, I wouldn't be surprised if-"
"You're going to desssstroy my egssss, aren't you?" the Ashwinder interrupted. The sound was coming from somewhere under the bed.
"Well, it'll kill us if we don't," said Harry.
"What will kill us?" asked Malfoy. Harry had forgotten that he had to picture a snake to talk to the Ashwinder.
"Oh, would you get off me?" Harry squirmed, trying to get Malfoy to move, but he refused. Harry closed his eyes and pictured a snake again. "It'll kill us if we don't destroy your eggs," he said to the snake.
"Thissss issss true. Ssssay, do you know another placccce where no one will desssstroy them? I have sssstill got time."
Harry worked his mind feverishly, trying to remember the immediate surroundings of the bed-and-breakfast. "Yes. There's a shed across the road, by the beach. The window next to the TV - I mean, the fireplace - it's open. Just watch out for the cars."
"Big moving things with shining lights."
"I'll try to remember. Thankssss."
Harry turned his head to look at the window and found himself nose to nose with Malfoy. "Potter?" Malfoy said weakly. He was trembling slightly. Was the prat this scared of the Ashwinder?
"Don't worry, he's leaving. I told him about a shed across the road, he'll lay the eggs there," said Harry. "And would you get the hell off me?"
"No," said Malfoy. "I wasn't finished."
He leant down above Harry, balancing on his elbows so that their faces were level, with only a few inches separating them. Harry was struck by how young Malfoy looked - without the sneer, his face was actually pleasant, in a pointy sort of way.
"I'm here because of you. Because I want the war to end and I don't want you to die." Malfoy's voice became a whisper as he spoke and it broke off completely at 'die'.
Then Malfoy leant down and pressed his lips to Harry's, slowly, and it felt like a breath that had been held for a long time and released in a rush of cold air. Malfoy's tongue swiped at Harry's bottom lip and Harry felt chills ripple through his sides. His bound arms felt numb and heavy, and Malfoy's eyelids were almost translucent in the flickering firelight.
Malfoy kept kissing him, soft lips sliding over Harry's, with the occasional flutter of tongue and scrape of teeth. It had to stop, Harry knew, because it felt too good to be kissed like that, like he was the most precious thing in the world. It felt too good for something that involved Malfoy, of all people. He turned away and Malfoy pressed his forehead against the pillow with a frustrated sound.
"Malfoy, you need to get the hell off me and untie me," said Harry. "Just because you're-"
"Just because I'm what, Potter? What?" growled Malfoy. He grabbed Harry's chin with his right hand, turned his head towards himself and attacked Harry's mouth, only this time there were no slow, sweet kisses. Malfoy forced Harry's mouth open with his tongue and began to kiss him hungrily; his eyes no longer hidden by pale eyelids but open and staring into Harry's, as though challenging him to do something.
There was nothing Harry could do; his arms were bound and he couldn't even feel them, anyway, and his legs were pinned beneath Malfoy and there was - oh, crap - Malfoy had a hard-on that felt rather substantial against Harry's thigh. Malfoy appeared to realise that Harry wasn't going to respond to his kiss because he moved his mouth to Harry's neck, shoving his head back roughly. Malfoy kept planting kisses and licks and bites in spots Harry hadn't even known were connected directly to his cock. Malfoy licked along a muscle, his tongue firm against Harry's skin, then he bit down in the spot where neck just met shoulder, causing Harry to gasp.
"This is what you fucking do to me, you bastard," said Malfoy, his voice unsteady, the words muffled against Harry's neck. "Do you have," - he mouthed near the hollow of Harry's throat - "any idea," - he shoved the blanket aside and Harry started from the sudden cold - "what it's like," - he released Harry's chin and ran two light fingertips across Harry's right nipple - "Potter?"
Harry's cock was becoming far too interested in Malfoy's hands being just there and doing just that; Harry had to fight for control as he tried to come up with something to say that would make Malfoy stop at once - but he didn't want him to stop - of course he did - of course he didn't. Malfoy rose a little and tore the blanket away completely. He threw it aside and took hold of Harry's pants - oh, this really had to stop now.
"Malfoy-" Harry started to say, but Malfoy ignored him and yanked his pants down. He rolled off the bed and pulled them off Harry, then threw them towards the door. Harry's legs were aching from where Malfoy had sat on them, but Harry didn't have time to dwell on this because Malfoy shoved his legs roughly apart, leant down and took Harry's half-hard cock in his mouth.
Harry wasn't having it, though. He pulled back and lifted his head to glare at Malfoy. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
Malfoy gripped Harry's legs with his hands, forcing them further apart. "What I've wanted to do since I got here," he said in a low voice. "And for all your stupid questions, it sure looks like you want the same thing," he added, smirking as he leant down to kiss a spot just below Harry's navel. He continued planting soft kisses on Harry's abdomen, which made Harry want to lie back and let him do whatever the hell he wanted. Which was, of course, not on. He tugged at his bonds experimentally, but to no avail.
"Malfoy," said Harry, his voice disquietingly unsteady. "I think you need to stop."
"Don't blink," said Malfoy, his voice soft. He released Harry's legs and sat back.
Malfoy's robes were bunched up near his knees. He lifted the hem and started to pull them off.
Malfoy's robes were off.
Harry stared at Malfoy's shoulders, suddenly reminded of an ice sculpture he'd seen once as a child. Malfoy threw his robes aside and ran his hands lightly up Harry's calves. Harry threw his head back in frustration. Why wouldn't Malfoy just stop and - oh. Malfoy slid on top of Harry, put his hands on the bed next to Harry's head, then leant down so that his lips were almost touching Harry's.
"Still want me to stop?" asked Malfoy.
Harry swallowed and tried to ignore the way Malfoy's erection pressed into his belly, causing warmth to pool right there, despite Harry's best intentions. Malfoy lifted a hand and caressed the side of Harry's face, dragging a finger along the edge of his stubble.
Harry licked his lips and opened his mouth to speak, but Malfoy's tongue found Harry's and flicked against it. A jolt of warmth shot straight down to Harry's cock and Harry closed his eyes as he moved his tongue to meet Malfoy's. If the great pointy git was offering, why should Harry refuse? It was only sex.
Malfoy gave a low, guttural moan and gripped Harry's shoulders too strongly as he deepened the kiss, dragging his tongue along the roof of Harry's mouth. Just how closely had Malfoy watched Harry and Zacharias behind the greenhouses? Malfoy shifted on top of him and broke the kiss, then started to move down while planting open-mouthed kisses over his neck, chest, and belly. Malfoy pressed his hands firmly against Harry's thighs and gazed at Harry's cock, which was still having trouble deciding if it would be worth its while to participate.
Malfoy pressed Harry's cock against his belly with one hand while leaning down and licking at the base. Harry gasped when Malfoy's mouth closed around one of his testicles. He'd never felt anything quite like that before and he absently wondered what else Malfoy knew how to do that Harry didn't. Malfoy rose a little, then licked up the length of Harry's cock, leaving a wet trail that tingled as the air hit it. He pulled Harry's foreskin down, then drew the head into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. Harry's eyes fell shut against the deep, tingly sensation rising up from his groin.
Malfoy's mouth moved over the head of his cock in quick, short pulls, just exactly the way Harry liked it; he opened his eyes to watch and almost came when he saw Malfoy's mouth on his cock. Malfoy started to take him in just a little deeper with every movement, moaning softly every once in a while. Harry's balls tensed and he felt warmth spread across his chest - it was as though everything else seemed to fall away around him, all that existed was his cock and as long as Malfoy kept doing whatever he was doing, everything would be right with the world.
Then Malfoy stopped, and Harry cursed loudly, lifting his head to look at him. Malfoy's eyes were oddly unfocused as he stared at Harry's cock, his lips red and wet. Malfoy moved his hands up Harry's sides, sliding up again until his cock brushed with Harry's. Harry thrust upwards, frustrated, wanting to pull him closer - and he felt his hands come free of the tie. As he put his arms around Malfoy, the other man shuddered.
"Had it charmed to come free when you wanted to touch me," he said, his voice muzzy as though he was having trouble moving his tongue.
Harry hauled himself up and rolled them over until he was on top of Malfoy. "A bit presumptuous, don't you think?"
"Always," whispered Malfoy, and Harry kissed him until he was dizzy, until Malfoy was making desperate little sounds and clawing at Harry's shoulders. They were both sweaty now, which Harry found slightly odd since he didn't usually associate such normal, human things with Malfoy.Malfoy's cock was trapped between them and Malfoy started to move, still trying to kiss Harry but obviously not able to concentrate on both at the same time.
"Ohgodfuckpotter," gasped Malfoy a moment later and Harry felt pulsing against his belly, then a liquid more slippery than sweat spreading across. Malfoy's eyes opened, almost black because of the hugely dilated pupils. Harry felt a hand close around his cock and pushed into it, finding his own release moments later, hot and twisting as Malfoy watched him from beneath pale eyelashes.
In the morning, Harry watched the sunrise from a grassy knoll much like the one at the beach. Malfoy sat beside him, knees drawn up to his chin, one arm around his legs, the other propping him up. Harry glanced down at Malfoy's hand splayed on the grass, slivers of green between his fingers. He looked up at Malfoy's profile, pensive and guarded as he stared at the blood-red horizon.
They'd talked for several hours that morning and there seemed to be nothing else to say for the time being - neither of them had made any apologies, which was just as well. Apologising would have implied regret; Harry regretted nothing. He covered Malfoy's hand with his own and turned to watch as the sun blazed its way up from the edge of the world.
"You know, I've always hated sunrises," said Malfoy without looking at Harry. "They paint the sky in Gryffindor colours."
Harry smiled. "Clouds paint the sky in a Slytherin colour and can hide the brightest sunrise."
Malfoy turned to look at him. "The Slytherin colour is only in the lining to the clouds, Potter," he said with a raised eyebrow.
"My name's Harry."
"Draco. But that doesn't mean you can ignore my witty metaphor."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm still on the fact that it took us ten years to get to first-name basis."
Draco gave Harry a guarded smile. "Give it another ten years and we might even agree on something."
Harry glanced at the sun, which was hovering above the edge of the sky, quivering rays suffusing the air with a pale glow. He rose to his feet, pulling Draco up with him. They stood facing each other for a long moment, then Harry took Draco's other hand and pulled him closer.
"I think we're already past that point," said Harry quietly.
Draco leant his forehead against Harry's shoulder, squeezed his hands briefly then looked up.
"Just be with me, Harry," he said.
Harry felt as though a tight spring had unravelled inside him, unleashing a feeling that was at once terror of what was to come tomorrow and desperate, against-all-odds hope. He sighed and squeezed Draco's hands lightly in return.
"Okay," he replied. "I can do that."
That was as good an after-the-war plan as any.