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bottom_dracoTa-da! This is partially unbetaed, so if it has a few mistakes, forgive me. There's some notes about the possible upcoming sequel @ the end, and PLEASE comment.
Chapter 5: In Which The Match Is A Blessing In Disguise
The week plus passed in a whirlwind for Draco. Robbie, it seemed, did not know their songs quite as well as he had assumed, and so the first show they played with him on bass went disastrously, and it was not helped by the fact that Christian had always had a curiously strained relationship with him.
It was quite a disturbing surprise to wake up on the morning of the twenty-eighth and suddenly remember that he had a--he grinned helplessly--date the very next day.
The day was long at work, as usual, but Draco scarcely even noticed. Every time he thought about the following day, his throat squeezed up. It was a bit alarming, actually.
That night, the remaining members of Angelfish and the remaining members of Cashmerac went to see Dramatic Automatic, the electroclash-slash-punk band. The show was several miles away, as there was no way Michael and Christopher would be able to show their faces at The Roxy Villa for a long while.
Draco had to admit, the band was actually not that bad. In fact, if Draco didn’t completely and utterly despise Michael, he might even have bought one of the records they were selling after the show.
“God, I can’t believe they have the bloody nerve to be good! After that sort of betrayal and mutiny, they were supposed to sound like Russell Crowe’s band! IE, really crap! You know,” Max ranted, lighting a cigarette in the alley behind the club. “I’ll never forgive Christopher for this, ever. I hope they go on tour and get murdered by a pack of roaming French people. Bastards, the lot of them. Well, except for the ones I don’t know, obviously. No, actually, better kill them as well, just for good measure.”
“It was a really good show. Christopher looked happy, that’s for sure.” Christian sighed.
“Who cares if Christopher is happy?! From now on, Christopher is the bane of all of our existences. We want Christopher to be miserable, okay? We want them to be dropped from their label and have all their dreams crushed!”
“So I guess that means I can’t go in and buy one of the records?” Max gave him a look to kill and said,
“Only if you want to be castrated with a butter knife in your sleep tonight.”
**********************************************
Draco awoke to the now familiar sound of Max’s maniacal ranting.
“They’re supposed to be awful!”
“Well, it’s only to be expected that they’re good, Max. Christopher is an excellent musician.” Simon’s voice.
“Whose bloody side are you on, Simon? The side of your dear old friends, or the side of a bastard and some German? Remember what Christopher did to your people!”
“What people?”
“The Jewish, Simon, the Jewish!”
“But I’m not Jewish. I’m Protestant. How could you confuse the two?”
“Oh, so I suppose just because you’re not Jewish, you think the Holocaust was okay, then? Great stance, Simon, it figures you’d be on Christopher’s side! Nazi!”
“Max,” Simon said gently. “I don’t think there’s a connection between the Holocaust and electroclash music. But I’m clearly not going to be able to have a reasonable conversation with you, so I’m going to go and talk to Draco. I’ll see you later.” Knock at the door.
“Fascist calling?” He said as Simon came in the door and shut it behind him.
“Has Max gone a bit mad?”
“More than a bit. What’s the visit for? It’s eight-thirty in the morning and I’ve got to go at ten.”
“Just came by to see how you were.”
“I’m all right. Ish.”
“Big date today, huh?”
“Yeah…I’m a bit nervous.”
“What are you wearing?”
“I’m going incognito, so khaki cargo trousers, my Chucks, rugby shirt, and my black tweed pea coat. And a hat to be on the safe side.”
“Very Coldplay.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” They were silent for a moment. “Simon, what do you really want? If you had really come over for a chat, you’d be talking my ear off right now.”
“Okay, I admit it. I….I stayed at Tim’s house last night. He got a bunch of new records of Ebay he wanted to show me.” Long pause.
“Yeah, and?”
“We started talking.” Long pause. This was starting to get really annoying.
“And?”
“Draco,” Simon whispered urgently, turning to him and grabbing his arm. “I think Tim is in love with me.”
“Simon.”
“What?”
“Shut up, okay? You’re delusional. Tim’s not even gay.”
“He said, ‘Simon, you and I have been friends for a long time. I think I need to tell you something.’ So I’m like, ‘What?’, and he’s like, ‘I’m in love with someone I really shouldn’t be in love with.’. IE, me! How tragic is that?”
“Simon, Tim is not in love with you.”
“Is so! Because I said, ‘Really? Who?’, and he said, ‘I can’t tell you.’. Because it’s me!”
“Or maybe because it was, I don’t know, Marco?”
“What does Marco have to do with this?”
“Marco is your ex. Therefore, as your friend, Tim would feel bad liking him. Therefore, he was probably referring to Marco. Wait, what am I saying? Tim’s not gay!”
“Then whom was he talking about? Lucinda?”
“Maybe. Xev is his ex and Lucinda’s her girlfriend. That would be bad. My point is, not you.”
“Why are you so adamantly against the idea? Are you jealous?”
“Simon, get out now, okay? I’m going back to bed.”
*********************************
Except he didn’t go back to bed because now that Simon had posed the question, he was obsessed with knowing the answer. Could it be Simon? Lucinda? Marco? Xev, even?
Soon enough, however, his thoughts were steered in a different direction.
“Max,” He said, nervously smoothing down his hair. “Do you think I should bite my lip a lot? You know, to, like, draw attention to my mouth?”
“Draco?”
“Hmm?”
“Shut up. You look fine, he’s in love with you, so get him pissed and shag him already so you can shut up about it to me.”
“Cor, you’re bloody supportive! Honestly, Max, I can’t help it, I’m nervous.”
“Well, try and remember that he is a quidditch freak. And you’re going to a quidditch match. Therefore, he will probably be looking at the match rather than at your self-ravaged mouth.”
“Do you think it would be presumptuous to, like, take his hand or something?”
“Do you think it would be presumptuous for me to stab you in the heart with a steak knife if you say one more thing about it?” Max grumbled. He glanced at his watch. “God, he won’t even be here for another bloody hour. Sit down and relax.”
“I can’t relax. Not only is it, like, a date, right, with Harry, but I have the added discomfort of running the risk of seeing people I never want to see again.”
“So tell him you’re ill and you’d rather rent a film or something.”
“No, I can’t, I’ve obligated myself to it now, haven’t I?”
“Then shut up. Besides, Finnigan’ll be there, and he’s apparently your biggest fan. He’ll fight off your critics. Though if I recall correctly, he’s about the size of a Cornish pixie, so maybe he won’t be of much aid in that department.” He paused and gazed at Draco over the top of his book and the exasperated look in his eyes softened. “Draco, you can handle this. You’re going to be fine.”
They passed the rest of the hour sorting through the songs they had written since their last record, I Lost My Head In Tokyo, had been released and choosing the ones that had the potential to make the next record, which had the working title Burning Together In Beautiful Paris, along with the tentative concept of packaging it with another copy that was sung entirely in French, which Draco spoke fluently.
They were just debating on whether or not a song called ‘Your Bed Is My Grave (But My Grave Is Cold)’ should be retitled (Draco felt the lengthy name gave it an operatic quality, but Max insisted it sounded pretentious) when the doorbell rang. They looked at each other bracingly.
“That’ll be him, then.” Max said quietly. “Better answer it.” He got up and went to the door. He paused and looked back at Draco for a brief second before opening the door.
“Hello, Harry.” He said coolly. “How’s that, then? Good day for a match?” He asked, stepping back away from the door. “Draco and I were just sorting through some songs and what have you.” He glanced at his watch. “Reckon you’ll want to get going quick if the match is at ten. Taking the Floo?”
“No, just figured we’d do some minor Apparition.” Max shot Draco an apprehensive look as he pulled on his coat. Apparition? He hadn’t touched his wand in five years, how was he supposed to Apparate?
“Er, I’m not certain if I really recall how to Apparate.” Harry frowned for a moment, then shrugged.
“We could always just take the Floo network. Probably doesn’t matter too much. Are you ready?”
“Yeah.” As they stepped into the elevator, Harry said,
“I don’t think he likes me.”
“Max? Max is like that to everyone. He’s a misanthropist. Well, sort of, anyway. He’s antisocial, in any event.” They stood in silence until the elevator reached the lobby. “I guess we’ll take the Floo. Nearest one is a shop a few streets over.”
The nearest Floo outlet was in an antiques shop called The Old Cabinet. Harry gestured surreptitiously with his wand and elderly woman who was watching the shop tipped her head in the direction of a door that was half-obscured by a rusty trunk and a birdcage. The room held a table, a few chairs, and a huge fireplace. Harry handed Draco a handful of powder and stepped into the fire.
“Be careful with the pronunciation. McLeod’s Stadium!” There was a crack, a flash, and the fireplace was empty. For one panicked moment, Draco considered just turning around and going home, but he instead swallowed and stood in the fireplace. He squeezed his eyes shut and called out the name of the stadium.
He fell right into Harry’s arms.
“Alright?” Harry asked, brushing the dust off his shoulder.
“Fine.” Draco answered dazedly. He looked around cautiously, but the room was full of Floo outlets, so no one seemed to have noticed them. “Let’s just get to our seats.”
Harry took the sleeve of his coat as they weaved through the crowd on the way to the seats. Draco kept his eyes on the ground, but he could hear a few people whisper as they passed.
When they reached their section, someone brushed past them roughly and Draco instinctively glanced back to see whom it was. He caught a pair of deceptively warm brown eyes.
Draco’s breath caught in his throat and he stopped dead in his tracks as he was instantly transported back to the night of May 19, 1998, his father’s study. He remembered staring into those endless eyes as Blaise Zabini told him casually that the deepest circle of hell was reserved for betrayers.
And that voice, oh, that voice, God, did he remember that voice, whispering to him as he was forced to suffer the severest and most brutal indignity of being raped in his own home by his erstwhile best friend.
Harry had noticed his stopping. He glanced back at him and started to ask what was wrong before he glimpsed Blaise turning away. His eyes narrowed.
“Forget it.” He said firmly. He took Draco’s hand. “Come on.”
Whispering and muttering broke out around them as they sat down, but Draco didn’t notice at all because Harry was still holding his hand. He wasn’t certain he could handle any other intrigues in one day.
But amidst the whispering, one voice rang perfectly clear.
“Harry!” One solitary screech. They both turned to the sound (along with half the bloody stadium) to see Seamus Finnigan making his way down the aisle towards them.
“Hi, Seamus. I almost missed you. You’ll have to shout a bit louder next time.” Harry said with a grin, standing up and putting his arms around Seamus.
“Oh, shut up, alright? It’s loud, how would I get attention if I was quiet?” They hugged for a moment, then Seamus eyes landed on Draco behind him and he became completely quiet.
He moved around Harry and held his hand out to Draco with a totally solemn expression that looked out of place on his sunny face.
“I cannot tell you how much I respect and admire you.” He said earnestly. “I quite literally love you.” Draco shook his hand and said,
“Um, thanks. Those are some rather blushing sentiments.”
“I am so completely thrilled that you’re here.” Seamus said, breaking into a grin suddenly. “There’s tons of stuff I want to ask you about.”
Seamus and Draco barely watched the quidditch match, for they were too busy talking. As it turned out, they had a lot in common; they had the same taste in music, they each had an embarrassing obsession with Posh and Becks, they would both drank anything that boasted mocha flavoring, they both loved designer clothing, and they had both been Frankie in a stage production of The Rocky Horror Picture Show.
But it was when they conversation came around to Angelfish that things really got interesting.
“So when do you think you’ll get into the studio?” Seamus asked, sipping his soda.
“Beginning of next year. Though I don’t know now since Christopher quit.” Seamus sat bolt upright.
“What? He—what?”
“Oh, yeah, I suppose we forgot to post the news on the website. Christopher quit the band due to ‘creative differences’. At least, that’s what he told the stations.”
“So you’re looking for a bassist?” Seamus asked slowly.
“Yeah.”
“This is fate.” Seamus breathed.
“What is?”
“Angelfish, quite possibly my favorite band on the planet, is looking for a bass player. And I play bass. And know all the songs. And I am sitting here, talking with you. If that is not fate, I don’t know what is. I am very clearly meant to be your new bassist.”
“Well,” Draco said apprehensively. “Do you really play bass? Or do you fuck around with a bass guitar when you’re drunk to give your mates a laugh?”
“Oh, I play bass. And what’s more, I know all of your songs, I swear. I have the official tabs from the fan club website.”
“Well…”
“Come on, just let me play one show with you. Or even just a practice.”
“Well, we did have a practice tonight that we had to cancel because our stand-in bassist couldn’t make it. I guess I could just tell them it’s back on.”
“So I’m in?” Seamus asked eagerly. Draco sighed.
“Yeah, I suppose so.”
“Yes, yes!!!”
“What, what’s happened?” Harry asked, tearing his eyes away from the pitch.
“I’m joining the band!” Seamus replied triumphantly. “I am the new—er, some famous bassist. Flea, I suppose, though obviously, you know, not like him in any way, shape, or form. But you know what I mean.” Harry smirked.
“The scary thing is, I do.”
***********************************************
Though, Blaise never reappeared, Draco was unable to stop thinking of their brief encounter, and when he got home, he called Quincy for some minor reassurance.
Quincy had gone to school with them. He had been a Slytherin, and was the embodiment of the house’s qualities. While Quincy didn’t want anything particularly dastardly, it was the lengths he was willing to go to get them that was frightening. All Quincy really wanted was to have a boyfriend, live in the French countryside, and write. He had always known that to have this life, he would probably have to kill his father, so that was exactly what he’d done, and he’d gotten away with it without even being questioned at that.
But Quincy had a sort of cold disdain for just about everyone and everything, including Draco, so they had never been very good friends. Nevertheless, Quincy was the one who had very carefully orchestrated Draco’s scot-free escape from his own muddied allegiances using nothing more than fancy legal terms and sheer bluster, so Draco could not bring himself to dislike the other boy, though he reminded him a bit too much of his father for his tastes.
(The matter of Quincy’s bizarre and somewhat sadomasochistic relationship with Max didn’t even bear thinking about, because Quincy had made it quite clear on many occasions that it was no business of Draco’s.)
“Hello?” The quizzical and heavily accented voice of Quincy’s housemate/catamite, Jacquese. Quincy had never bothered to get a real boyfriend, presumably because he didn’t see much point if he couldn’t have Max.
“Bonjour, Jacquese. It’s Draco. Is Quincy home?”
“Oui. Shall I get him?”
“Could you, please?” There was a moment of silence before Quincy’s voice came over the line.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Quincy. It’s me.”
“Hello, Draco. How are things at home?”
“Um, they’re all right.”
“How are you and Max?”
“Fine…I mean, you know, I assume you know about Christopher quitting the band?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I—and I assume you know about Harry Potter showing up at our flat and the quidditch match and everything?”
“Yes.” Quincy’s voice was even, but Draco could tell he didn’t approve.
“Well, I think Seamus Finnegan is going to be our new bassist.”
“Seamus Finnegan? Draco, I must tell you, I really don’t think—“
“That’s not what I was calling to talk to you about though. I ran into Blaise Zabini at the match.” There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end.
“And? Did he saying anything?”
“No, we just brushed each other in the aisle.”
“Hmph. Bet it was quite annoying to him, considering he can’t do anything to you within the confines of the law. Well, if he says anything to you, ever, tell me and we’ll sue him.”
“For what?” Draco laughed.
“I’ll find something.”
“So when are you coming for the holidays?”
“The twentieth, and I’m back on the twenty-eighth.” There was a brief pause. “How are Max and Lance?” Quincy asked, carefully casual.
“Fine, amazingly enough. I think Lance might actually be serious about changing his ways.”
“I’m sure.” Quincy replied, his voice vicious and dripping with sarcasm. “Well, I’m sure you’ve got practice or something, so I’ll let you go. Bye, love.”
“Bye.”
************************************************
“He’d better not be drunk.” Max said warningly to Draco that night as they waited for Seamus to arrive at Christian’s house for practice. “Because he’s Irish, you know, and we both know about them.”
“Max,” Christian said. “For one thing, that is a horrible and demeaning stereotype of the Irish, and for another, your boyfriend is a drunk, so I don’t think you should judge.” Max flushed.
“My boyfriend is not—“
“I’m not what?” Lance asked, coming out of the bathroom.
“Nothing.” Christian said smoothly. “Just chatting.” Lance simply raised an eyebrow.
Seamus was ultimately ten minutes late, but he arrived with his bass in hand and huge smile on his face.
“This is all very Fanatic.” He said when Christian opened the door.
“Only we’re not the cast of Felicity, obviously. I’m Christian.” He said, holding a hand out to Seamus.
“Seamus Finnegan.” Draco could see him smile in an alarmingly amorous way. ‘Here we go again.’ He sighed inwardly.
“Right, and this is Max,” Max nodded at him. “And you know Draco, of course, and this is Lance, our sound technician.” After the introductions had gone around, Christian said, “Now I must ask, merely as a precaution—have you ever actually been on the road?”
“Er, I followed Placebo around Rome for a month and had sex with one of their roadies.” Christian turned and grinned at Draco.
“Oh, I like him.”
***********************************************
The next night, they played their first show with Seamus. While the crowd was slightly disoriented by the sudden changes, things went reasonably well. He wasn’t the best bassist in the world, but he certainly had charisma.
Everyone in the band liked Seamus, but Christian liked him most of all, a fact which was of some distress to the rest of them. In any event, they continued to play, practice, and write through December. (Seamus was not a songwriter, by the way. He tried, but everything ended up sounding like a Cure rip-off.)
Draco saw Harry several more times, and while nothing truly significant ever happened, Xev insisted that she could see the sexual tension simmering between them, so Draco held on to hope. In any event, Draco would occasionally catch Harry looking at him with something in his eyes that was not unlike adoration, but whenever he asked what he was looking at, Harry would just smile and shake his head.
Quincy arrived on schedule and the house was suddenly full of tension again. Late at night, Draco could hear Lance and Quincy shouting at each other. It drove Draco insane to have him there, but he could hardly complain considering it was actually Quincy’s flat.
Eventually, Xev and Lucinda’s annual Christmas Eve party arrived. (Amazingly enough, Xev had managed to finish the paper mache globe and get it cleared out and taken to Robbie and Tim’s in time for the party.)
Xev answered the door in a knee-length black silk dress, and before Draco could say anything, Xev said,
“I wanted to wear the hot pink cocktail dress, but Lucinda insisted that I wear something classy because we could dress up for the New Years party. Apparently she thought I looked trashy.” Draco could tell they had had a fight, because that was the only time Xev ever called Lucinda by her full name.
One person who was very clearly not interested in looking classy was Shirley. She was decked out in her usual look of “skank chic”. It had always amazed Draco that Shirley could wake up, wash her face, and spend all day in the house, yet somehow at the end of the day, still look like she’d just wandered out of a rave/mugging.
The flat, which was small in the best of times, was absolutely tiny now that it was crammed full of people, a huge Christmas (though God only knew how they’d gotten it into their fourth floor flat), and a huge pile of gifts.
In the kitchen, when Draco was helping himself to some (severely spiked) eggnog, Xev whispered,
“I invited Seamus and he invited Harry, okay? That’s okay, right? I hope so, because I already invited him to the New Years Eve party, too.”
“Why wouldn’t it be okay? It’s fine.”
“How are things going? Radical snogging yet? Sex in public? Discussion of cats and/or children?”
“No, nothing yet.”
“But he totally wants you, trust me. If there’s one thing I’m an expert on, it’s gay male sex. Which probably isn’t the best thing in the world, but you shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” She paused. “Um…also, I sort of invited Christopher and Michael to the New Years party. Like, three months ago, and I hadn’t seen them, and I wasn’t actually speaking to them, so I couldn’t uninvite them. So…yeah, they’ll be there.” Draco sighed.
“Excellent. Maybe we can shove Michael off the roof instead of that stupid paper mache thing.”
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t want to waste the paint. I’m going to go and find the usual idiots. Try not to break and/or vomit on anything, okay, love?”
It was half past ten when Simon appeared at his side.
“Draco, I’ve just fallen in love.”
“Not with that statue again, I hope? Because when you get smashed, you really are the most—“
“Draco, shut up and listen to me. Ron—oh, God, Ron, he’s an angel, I swear—Ron brought his brother along, his fabulous, amazing gay brother, Fred. He is—I mean, he’s hilarious. He’s like Robin Williams, only not incredibly hairy or an American. Or like Eddie Izzard, only not a transvestite. Or like—“
“Yeah, I get the picture, okay? Is Harry here as well?”
“Honestly, Draco, is that all you can think of? I’ve just met my soul mate, and all you want to hear about is your stupid boyfriend? Yes, he’s here; he’s in the kitchen talking to Seamus. Just abandon me.” Draco rolled his eyes.
“Simon, if I listened to everything single thing you said, I wouldn’t have time to do anything else in life.”
“Yes, well, those are the sacrifices one makes for friends, aren’t they?”
Draco took a bit more time to mingle amongst the various guests before going into the kitchen, where Shirley was regaling a crowd of partygoers with tales of the various reasons she’d been arrested. Harry was standing by the refrigerator, looking distinctly non-plussed.
“Bit wild, isn’t she?” He whispered to Draco when he came to stand next to him. “Who is she?”
“Xev’s ex-girlfriend from when she was in school. She comes calling every Christmas to take advantage of Xev’s soft spot for her.” Harry hummed non-commitally and held up the ladle from the eggnog bowl.
“Drink?”
Several hours (and drinks) later, both Harry and Draco were preparing to leave. The party had finally cleared out and the apartment was empty, aside from Max and Lance making out in an armchair as though their lives depended on it. Draco was pulling his coat on in the doorway while Harry reached for his scarf from the coat rack when Shirley said,
“Oh, hey, you’re under the mistletoe. Kiss kiss, then.” Harry and Draco both glanced up and looked at each other. As Harry took a step nearer to him, Draco vaguely thought in the back of his mind that mistletoe was a very cheap way to have your first kiss.
As Harry pressed their mouths together, Draco could not help but think that it was a deliciously perfect fit. He leaned forward, opening his mouth with the minutest of sighs. He wanted to moan, but he couldn’t find his breath. He put an arm around Harry’s neck and tilted his head just the slightest bit, deepening the kiss.
After what felt like an isolated lifetime, Harry pulled away, his eyes opening into a bewildered stare. Draco opened his mouth to speak, but in that moment, Robbie came crashing through the doorway.
“Forgot my um—you know—yeah, yeah, my hat.” He slurred, plucking a hat from the coat rack. (It was hot pink, so Draco doubted he was thinking straight. No pun intended.)
Draco glanced at Harry, but Harry just gave him a shuttered look and went out the door after Robbie.
“That was bizarre.” Shirley said blandly.
Draco had to agree.
******************************
But Draco lost no sleep over it. The important thing was that Harry had kissed him, and really, considering their relationship, a post-kiss freak-out was almost par for the course.
So, on Christmas morning, he exchanged gifts with Quincy, Max, and Lance (who practically lived with them now, much to Draco’s consternation) and had (non-spiked) eggnog with Max in the kitchen after the others had gone back to bed.
“So,” Max said with a grin. “Last night, under the mistletoe…” Draco blushed in spite of himself.
“Yeah, yeah.”
“You think he’ll call you today?”
“I don’t see why not. He’ll probably call.”
Except Harry did not call that night, but Draco forced himself not to be concerned about it. After all, he rationalized, it was Christmas; he was probably busy.
Yes, busy.
******************************
The next day, Draco was awoken by an extremely panicked call from Christian.
“Draco, I’ve made a horrible mistake.”
“Oh, Christian, I’ve told you and told you, chartreuse is just not your color.”
“Shut up. This is far more serious than fucking chartreuse.” Draco sat up with a sigh.
“Must be bad then. Out with it; got arrested? Someone preggers, though God only knows how that would happen.”
“I accidentally almost had sex with Seamus last night. And I know that you know that I really like Seamus, but I know that we had an agreement about dating in the band, so I knocked him back, and now he’s miffed at me because he thinks that I don’t think that he’s attractive, but I do, God, I do, but I can’t do anything about it. So what do I do?”
“Write to an agony aunt, because you’re giving me a headache.”
“Draco,” Christian sighed, sounding miserable. “I really like him. Like, a lot.”
“Oh, for the love of God’s knickers, Christian, just do it!”
“But we—“
“I know we had an agreement about dating in the band, but you and Seamus are nothing like Lance and Max. If you like him so much, just do something about it and I swear I won’t hold it against you.”
“Do you think he’ll even still speak to me?”
“Make an indecent proposal. I hate to break this to you, but Seamus is kind of easy.”
“Mmmm, I know…he’s great, isn’t he?” Draco rolled his eyes.
“I’m putting the phone down on you now, Christian. I’ll see you later, okay?”
“Mmmm.”
Harry didn’t call that day either, but Draco refused to worry.
***********************************************
By the twenty-eighth, however, he was panicked.
“Why hasn’t he called me?” He asked Quincy as the other boy was packing.
“He’s probably busy with all his stupid mates. Maybe he got dragged out post-holiday shopping.”
“But how could you kiss someone like that and then not call them for three days?”
“Well, did he say ‘see you later’? Because that doesn’t mean anything, you know. Why don’t you just call him? Maybe he hasn’t got the nerve.” With a sigh, Draco picked up the phone, saying to Quincy as he dialed,
“I was really hoping it wouldn’t come to this. Now I run the risk of looking sad and desperate.” He let the phone ring a few times and prepared to hang up just as the other end of the line picked up. He swallowed hard.
“Harry, hi, it’s Draco. I just—“ The line went dead. Draco stared in utter amazement at the phone for a moment.
“What’d he say?” Quincy asked.
“Nothing. He hung up.” He started to dial the number again.
“Well, don’t call back! Then you’ll really look sad. Just give it another day, you know, see if he calls you.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Forget it, I suppose.”
“Quincy, why are you so adamantly against me having anything to do with Harry?”
“Because I really do only want you to be happy, Draco, and to my recollection, Harry Potter has never made you anything but miserable.”
“Well, you never make Max anything but miserable.”
“That’s different.”
“Why?”
“Because Max doesn’t want the same things you want. Max doesn’t really want to be happy, and if he were happy, he wouldn’t even know what to do with it. He’s a masochist, and he defines his entire life by pain and betrayal. That’s what he looks for in his relationships, is the potential to get hurt. You have to remember that not everyone wants the same things you do, Draco, domesticity and safety.”
“But I’m the one who wants what’s normal, so why can’t I ever get it?”
“No, you want what’s out of reach. Face it, love, Potter is Potter and you are yourself, and there’s a very strong possibility that the two of you are just not meant to be together, ever. It’s not fair, but it’s the way things go. Just promise me you won’t let it ruin your life again, okay?”
“I—“
“We’re back!” Max said, coming into the room. “Are you about ready?” He asked Quincy.
“Yeah, I think that’s everything. Let’s get going.” When he left, he hugged everyone, including Lance, and after Max and Quincy had left for the airport, Draco turned to Lance and said,
“Quincy’s not coming back, is he?” Lance smiled serenely.
“I don’t think so.”
*******************************************
On the thirtieth, Draco broke down and called Harry. There was no answer after thirty-six rings.
Normally in times of emotional duress, Draco went to A) Max or B) Xev, but on this particular night, Max had gone with Lance to some club (Lance had vaguely mentioned Jarvis Cocker, but who knew, really?), and Xev’s flat was practically a war zone because she and Lucinda were still fighting. This was perhaps how he ended up at Tim’s house, and as luck would have it, Robbie had gone to the same club as Max and Lance, so Tim was home alone.
“Draco?” He said when he opened the door, looking surprised. “What’s up?” Draco swallowed hard.
“Nothing, I just—um, could I come in, maybe?”
“Oh, yeah, sure, sorry.” He stepped aside. Draco stepped in out of the icy night and into the front hall of the house. He took off his coat and tossed it onto the bench against the wall. “Are you okay?” Tim asked.
“I’m fine, I just—you know, I—you were at the Christmas party right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, there was mistletoe, and I—I mean, he—he didn’t call me!” He cried his voice cracking. “And I just thought that maybe, for once, things might work out the way they were supposed to, you know? Because, you know, I have not had an easy life! The number of times I’ve been asked if the ‘carpet matched the drapes’ alone is enough to drive a person to drink! And then he hangs up on me, and I—and they went to some club so I have to just sit at home, wondering what’s—“
“Draco, maybe you should just tell me later when you’ve calmed down.” He held his arms out. “Come here, okay?” Draco went readily into the embrace.
“You’re the only person who makes any sense, Tim.” He sighed. “I’m sorry I’m getting your shirt wet.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He took Draco’s hand and pulled him towards the stairs. “Come up to my room and tell me what happened.”
*******************************************
“…And I called him about an hour ago, but there was no answer.” Draco sighed half an hour later. He was stretched out on Tim’s bed with a cup of tea after having just recounted the entire story to him.
“And you were alone because Max and Lance went to the club downtown to see Jarvis Cocker DJ?”
“Did they? That sounds great, I wish I’d gone…yeah, that’s it.”
“Maybe you should go around to his house?” Tim suggested.
“No, I can’t. I’ll come off like a really sad loser. I just really thought things were working out, you know? I mean, it’s just that it’s been five years since I left school and I haven’t got anything to show for it, you know? I’m not married, I don’t have any kids, I haven’t got any real career to speak of.”
“You’re only twenty-three, Draco. And you were almost married. And you’ve got a perfectly viable career! You were even almost on Top of the Pops that one time.” Draco sniffed.
“Only because the other band canceled at the last moment. Then uncanceled, the bastards. But you must admit, I’ve managed to fuck up every single relationship I’ve ever had.” Tim shrugged.
“We’re in our twenties; that’s what we do. We look good and fuck up. We aren’t supposed to start getting things right until later.”
“But—I mean, it’s just—“ Draco sighed. “He’s all I’ve ever really wanted, you know?” He whispered sadly. Tim put his arms around him.
“I know.” He leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.
Now, this was not an unfamiliar scene to either of them. They had done the hurt/comfort situation several times before; they knew the routine. But for some reason that particular night (or possibly out of what you would probably like to call desolation), Draco tilted his head and their mouths met.
But Draco wasn’t an idiot. Immediately, he realized this was stupid, not to mention pointless, and started to break away, but found that Tim had taken this brief meeting as an open invitation and was now more or less devouring his mouth.
Draco had a habit of doing things out of spite, and this was most likely the reason he slept with Tim that night. Almost the entire time, he was envisioning (rather maliciously, in fact) the crushed look that would come over Harry’s face when he found out that Draco had moved on. If Harry even cared. Or remembered who he even was.
Afterwards, he lay next to Tim, cringing at the thought of what he had just done. Not only had he had (thankfully protected) sex completely on impulse (which never seemed to be a good idea in his experiences), but he was also leading Tim on horribly.
But, he rationalized frantically, Tim was cool, not to mention straight, so he was probably thinking this was a horrible mistake as well, but he’d be really laid-back about it. This was probably why he had subconsciously chosen Tim in the first place, right? (Draco was a mastermind at rationalizing his own bad decisions.) He swallowed hard and turned to look at the other boy.
However, what he saw was not a look of rueful apology, or even a look of mortified embarrassment; it was a look of sheer and utter bliss.
This was clearly going to be a lot harder than he’d expected.
“So…” He began carefully. “This is—“
“You don’t have to say anything, okay?” Draco sighed.
“Tim, I didn’t come here to—“
“I know, I know. Best-laid plans. I’m just—really glad you’re here.” Oh, God. This was going to be a miserable situation to try and get out of. Grasping at straws, Draco said,
“What about Simon?”
“What about—what?”
“Simon. He told me you were in love with him.”
“Well, why would you believe that? Have you still not remembered that night in the alley?”
“The Poe thing?”
“No, not the Poe thing. When I told you I loved you.” Sirens immediately went off in Draco’s head. The time for delicacy was over; it was time to focus on getting the hell out of there as quickly as possible. “But then you threw up, so I thought it was best not to say anything again, and then you started going out with Christian, then the other Christian, then Brian, so I just had to bide my time, but I knew that eventually—“ Draco sat up and cut him off.
“Tim, I really don’t think you know what you’re saying. I think we both need some time to think about what’s happened, so I’m going to go home, and I’ll see you at the New Years party.” He said, pulling his clothes on.
“I don’t need to think about it, Draco. I already know how I feel about you.” Draco winced as he leaned down to tie his shoelaces.
“Tim, you’re not even gay.”
“I must be bi, because I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, really. Well, except for Xev, but I’m not sure that really counts because I was really into pot back then, so a lot of that was probably—“
“Tim, I really can’t handle this right now. I have to go, but we’ll talk at the New Years party, okay?” Tim looked at him for a moment before smiling and saying,
“Okay.” Desperate to be out of there, Draco forced a smile in return and bolted down the stairs and out the front door.
“Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God,” He whispered to himself as he walked down the street to the underground station. As he boarded the subway, he searched his pockets for any leftover tabs of E, but came up empty except for a fuzzy Lifesaver. Heaving a sigh, he slumped back against the seat.
*********************************************
The apartment was still empty when he got home, so Draco filled up the tub to block out the bizarrely loud ticking of the clock. When he got out, he stood idly in front of the mirror, inspecting himself.
His glance first went to his forearm, where the Dark Mark still lay. With a shudder, his gaze traveled slightly upwards to the long, white scars tracing up and down both arms from elbow to wrist from the one time he had very seriously tried to kill himself. (Naturally, that had been right after he had spoken to Harry for the last time.) They were also littered with several smaller scars from when he had struggled with his ever-lingering cutting problem.
He turned around and twisted to look at the Malfoy family crest between his shoulder blades. Several inches below it was where the word ‘whore’ had once been inscribed.
Draco turned again and stared at his reflection for a moment, looking into his own tired, gray eyes before pulling on his robe with a shiver. He climbed into bed and thought of all the things that had happened to him that he had tried to forget: the years of obsessing over Harry, his so-called betrayal of his family, his subsequent punishment and disownment, the perpetual sneers on the faces of the Ministry officers, returning to Hogwarts only to discover he was now a laughingstock, abandoning magic all together.
He fell asleep with dry but burning eyes.
**********************************************
The next day, Draco was dreading going to the New Years party. He was in bed under a mound of blankets, wearing his pajamas and listening to The Cure, when Max came in an hour before the party.
“Draco, get up and show me what you’re wearing to the party.”
“I’m not going.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Xev’ll never speak to you again if you’re not there.”
“I can live with that.”
“Get up and pick something out.”
“I’m not going.” Draco repeated. Max sat on the bed with a sigh.
“Draco, you’re going to have to see him eventually.”
“I’m not ready yet. Besides, I’ll have a miserable time and be awful company and everyone will hate me.”
“You’ll get pissed and be hilarious and everyone will adore you. Now get up.” Draco sat up with a sigh.
“I’ll go, but only if you promise not to leave my side all night.” Max rolled his eyes.
“Be serious.”
“I am being serious. Now promise.”
“I’m going to ditch you as soon as we get there if you don’t get your arse out of bed in ten seconds.” Draco swung his legs over the side of the bed and lay back.
“You dress me.”
Max himself was wearing a Dashboard Confessional t-shirt, jeans, and Chuck Taylors. Draco looked pointedly at him as the other boy tossed clothes from the closet on the bed. “Your outfit shows a lot of daring, by the way. I never would have expected it of you.” Max rolled his eyes.
“You must be feeling better if you’re being a smart-arse. Wear this.” He said, holding up a velvet navy-blue suit jacket and a pair of jeans.
“I don’t like it.”
“Draco, shut up. You have seventy-five versions of this outfit; you love it.”
“Whatever happened to all my dresses? Let’s both of us go in drag, it’ll be like old times.”
“Draco, put your clothes on. I’ll be back in ten minutes to see if anything can be done about your hair.” Draco touched his head.
“There’s nothing wrong with my hair!”
“Homeless chic?” Max asked brightly, going out of the room.
An hour later, Draco was at the party, unhappy but well coiffed. He had hid in the bathroom for as long as he could (predictably, Max had disappeared after fifteen minutes, presumably to gaze lovingly at Lance, who was the DJ) and, after doing the obligatory chat with Xev and Lucinda, he was now trying desperately to avoid everyone he knew. This endeavor was successful for quite some time as he gravitated between the DJ booth and the corner of the kitchen, which had somehow become the center for condescending music geeks. After nearly two hours of being lectured on Radiohead, The Clash, etc., he was happy, for a moment, to see Seamus, until he realized what his presence meant: Harry was there as well.
With a sigh, Draco weaved through the crowd for the back door. Now he had Harry and Tim to worry about avoiding.
Fortunately, at that moment, Xev climbed up onto the dining room table, pulling Lucinda up with her, and called for everyone’s attention.
“Yeah, excuse me, I have some stuff I’d like to say.” She whirled dramatically on the tabletop to Lucinda.
“Cinda, baby, I cannot thank you enough for putting up with me for all these years, through thick and thin and lots of in-betweens. You’ve always been there for me, even when I didn’t deserve it, or maybe even especially when I didn’t deserve it, and I think it’s time you finally got some compensation for it outside of the bedroom. I know you’ve always wanted someone to make an honest woman out of you, so—“ She knelt down and took out a ring box. “Lucinda—will you marry me?” Lucinda shrugged, and in the total silence of the room, said,
“Eh, I’ll give it a shot.” The crowd cheered and Xev threw her arms around her.
“I feel so fucking Melissa Ethridge right now!” She sobbed.
Draco shook his head and grinned at the spectacle before heading towards the stairs.
“Draco?” He turned halfway up the steps. Christopher was standing at the bottom. He licked his lips nervously. “Um, hi.” Draco found himself stepping down a few stairs towards him in spite of himself.
“Hi.”
“How are things going? With the band, I mean.”
“We’ve replaced you, if that’s what you mean.”
“Um, that’s—“ He swallowed. “Good. How are you?”
“Suicidal, actually. If you’ll excuse me, I was just on my way to hang myself.” He started up the stairs again.
“Draco, I’m really sorry about what happened! I wish things could have gone differently!”
“Me too.” Draco called back, already at the top and turning.
The second floor was as crowded as the first. Draco passed Tim’s room with a pang of guilt.
After another forty-five minutes of avoiding people, it was ten minutes until midnight. He made his way to the back door.
He took the familiar path across the backyard, ducking under the projector screen Xev had actually insistently put up, and went out the gate into the alley.
Draco climbed on top of the old cabinet that had been out for the trash for the entire five years Draco had known Tim and Robbie. He took a cigarette out of his pocket, lit it, and took a drag.
Draco sighed and leaned back against the fence. For a few minutes, it was almost eerily quiet, but soon enough, he heard some people come crashing out of the house. He turned and peered cautiously over the top of the fence.
“Yeah, I know!” It was Harry, Ron, Seamus, Fred, and Michael. Michael seemed to be fall-down drunk.
“Mmm-hmm, that was what I always said about that, too.” Seamus was saying. “And I think that’s what Simon thinks, too.” Michael let out a snort of disgust.
“Don’t talk to me about that fag.” Before anyone could blink, Michael was on the ground with Fred standing over him. But while everyone was attempting to diffuse the situation, Harry had turned, seen Draco, and was slowly walking over.
Draco turned back around, his heart thudding in his chest. He frantically searched for a place to put his cigarette out before reminding himself firmly that Harry could get stuffed because he didn’t care about his opinion.
Harry came through the gate. Draco glanced over the fence and saw that the rest of the partygoers were spilling out into the backyard. Xev, Tim, and Robbie were on the roof, carefully holding onto the paper mache globe. Harry climbed on top of the cabinet and sat next to him.
“Hi.” Draco remained diligently silent. He took a drag off his cigarette and tipped his chin up at the other boy. “Um, are you not talking to me? I guess you wouldn’t be, would you?” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about the phone thing. Uh…are you going to say anything?” Draco took the cigarette out of his mouth and coldly said,
“No.”
“Oh, okay. I guess it’ll make this easier anyway. The reason I sort of avoided you after the party was—I thought you were calling to tell me off because of what I did. I mean, I’ve really tried to be, right, like, really cordial and everything because I didn’t want it to seem like I was taking advantage of you, but I, uh, really wanted to take advantage of you. And I guess I was right since you’re not talking to me.” He sighed unhappily. “I’ll just go, okay? If you’re not gonna say anything.” He started to get off the cabinet. Draco sighed.
“Potter, you are a complete idiot.” Harry looked at him. “You’re right, I was calling to tell you off, but only to tell you off for not calling me.” Draco snorted. “God, I can’t believe all this ‘call me’ stuff. I feel like I’m in an episode of My So-Called Life.” Harry smirked.
“Am I Jared Leto or Claire Danes?”
“Harry, shut up. You don’t have to worry about taking advantage of me. Trust me, I want to be taken. Advantage of, that is.” He said with a grin. Harry smiled slightly and tentatively touched his hair.
“I really like you, you know. I’m your groupie.” He said ruefully. He leaned in to kiss him.
“I’m not your charity project, am I?” Draco asked at the last moment.
“I usually give money to charity, rather than having sex with them.” Harry replied, before kissing him.
Draco vaguely registered the countdown to New Years and the cheers as the giant paper mache globe was rolled of the roof and into the kiddie pool full of paint (they would later find out that it cracked in half, prompting Xev to go into a destructive rage and break seven champagne flutes and Michael’s nose), but it all seemed inconsequential when compared to the slick, hot slide of Harry’s tongue against his own and the flush of heat creeping up his back.
They were the first to leave the party, needless to say.
***************************************
The next morning, Draco woke up alone, and he panicked for a moment before rolling over and finding a note on the other side of the bed. It was from Harry.
Draco,
I went out to get breakfast. I was tempted to wake you up (you know, for morning sex), but I decided to let you sleep. Be back ASAP.
XOXO, Harry
Draco stretched out under the covers with a sigh and thought about the night before. He’d have to remember to apologize to Max, because they had almost certainly kept him and Lance up for quite awhile.
Harry came back around fifteen minutes later with breakfast from McDonald’s. (‘Unhealthy moron.’ Draco thought affectionately.) Harry smiled at him over their hash browns and said,
“Isn’t it strange to think that we could have been like this all this time? Imagine how much trouble we could have saved ourselves if we had just skipped all the adversary crap in school and just gone straight to this?” Draco nodded sagely and smirked.
“We should have recognize the sexual tension back when were eleven.”
“No, ew, that’s gross. I wish I didn’t have that in my head.” Harry took a sip of his orange juice and grinned. “Are you gonna write a song about me now?”
“I’ve already written a thousand songs about you.” Draco replied honestly. The only difference is that now they can finally be happy.” He paused. “You know we’re leaving for America on the fifth, right?” Harry nodded.
“I don’t mind. I’ll wait for you. I know how to wait.” Draco thought about the eight odd years he’d spent waiting for this. He smiled.
“Me too.”
The End
Post-note: :sobs: Oh, God, I did it!!! Now what? Sequel? I truly can’t believe it’s over; I kick ass. I wrote a 105-page fic that doesn’t really really blow. Crap! Did I just write a novella? I did! Anyway, sequel entails RPS, incest, more horrible mistakes, and phone sex. Good times, if I write it. If you want it, I’ll write it.
Chapter 5: In Which The Match Is A Blessing In Disguise
The week plus passed in a whirlwind for Draco. Robbie, it seemed, did not know their songs quite as well as he had assumed, and so the first show they played with him on bass went disastrously, and it was not helped by the fact that Christian had always had a curiously strained relationship with him.
It was quite a disturbing surprise to wake up on the morning of the twenty-eighth and suddenly remember that he had a--he grinned helplessly--date the very next day.
The day was long at work, as usual, but Draco scarcely even noticed. Every time he thought about the following day, his throat squeezed up. It was a bit alarming, actually.
That night, the remaining members of Angelfish and the remaining members of Cashmerac went to see Dramatic Automatic, the electroclash-slash-punk band. The show was several miles away, as there was no way Michael and Christopher would be able to show their faces at The Roxy Villa for a long while.
Draco had to admit, the band was actually not that bad. In fact, if Draco didn’t completely and utterly despise Michael, he might even have bought one of the records they were selling after the show.
“God, I can’t believe they have the bloody nerve to be good! After that sort of betrayal and mutiny, they were supposed to sound like Russell Crowe’s band! IE, really crap! You know,” Max ranted, lighting a cigarette in the alley behind the club. “I’ll never forgive Christopher for this, ever. I hope they go on tour and get murdered by a pack of roaming French people. Bastards, the lot of them. Well, except for the ones I don’t know, obviously. No, actually, better kill them as well, just for good measure.”
“It was a really good show. Christopher looked happy, that’s for sure.” Christian sighed.
“Who cares if Christopher is happy?! From now on, Christopher is the bane of all of our existences. We want Christopher to be miserable, okay? We want them to be dropped from their label and have all their dreams crushed!”
“So I guess that means I can’t go in and buy one of the records?” Max gave him a look to kill and said,
“Only if you want to be castrated with a butter knife in your sleep tonight.”
**********************************************
Draco awoke to the now familiar sound of Max’s maniacal ranting.
“They’re supposed to be awful!”
“Well, it’s only to be expected that they’re good, Max. Christopher is an excellent musician.” Simon’s voice.
“Whose bloody side are you on, Simon? The side of your dear old friends, or the side of a bastard and some German? Remember what Christopher did to your people!”
“What people?”
“The Jewish, Simon, the Jewish!”
“But I’m not Jewish. I’m Protestant. How could you confuse the two?”
“Oh, so I suppose just because you’re not Jewish, you think the Holocaust was okay, then? Great stance, Simon, it figures you’d be on Christopher’s side! Nazi!”
“Max,” Simon said gently. “I don’t think there’s a connection between the Holocaust and electroclash music. But I’m clearly not going to be able to have a reasonable conversation with you, so I’m going to go and talk to Draco. I’ll see you later.” Knock at the door.
“Fascist calling?” He said as Simon came in the door and shut it behind him.
“Has Max gone a bit mad?”
“More than a bit. What’s the visit for? It’s eight-thirty in the morning and I’ve got to go at ten.”
“Just came by to see how you were.”
“I’m all right. Ish.”
“Big date today, huh?”
“Yeah…I’m a bit nervous.”
“What are you wearing?”
“I’m going incognito, so khaki cargo trousers, my Chucks, rugby shirt, and my black tweed pea coat. And a hat to be on the safe side.”
“Very Coldplay.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” They were silent for a moment. “Simon, what do you really want? If you had really come over for a chat, you’d be talking my ear off right now.”
“Okay, I admit it. I….I stayed at Tim’s house last night. He got a bunch of new records of Ebay he wanted to show me.” Long pause.
“Yeah, and?”
“We started talking.” Long pause. This was starting to get really annoying.
“And?”
“Draco,” Simon whispered urgently, turning to him and grabbing his arm. “I think Tim is in love with me.”
“Simon.”
“What?”
“Shut up, okay? You’re delusional. Tim’s not even gay.”
“He said, ‘Simon, you and I have been friends for a long time. I think I need to tell you something.’ So I’m like, ‘What?’, and he’s like, ‘I’m in love with someone I really shouldn’t be in love with.’. IE, me! How tragic is that?”
“Simon, Tim is not in love with you.”
“Is so! Because I said, ‘Really? Who?’, and he said, ‘I can’t tell you.’. Because it’s me!”
“Or maybe because it was, I don’t know, Marco?”
“What does Marco have to do with this?”
“Marco is your ex. Therefore, as your friend, Tim would feel bad liking him. Therefore, he was probably referring to Marco. Wait, what am I saying? Tim’s not gay!”
“Then whom was he talking about? Lucinda?”
“Maybe. Xev is his ex and Lucinda’s her girlfriend. That would be bad. My point is, not you.”
“Why are you so adamantly against the idea? Are you jealous?”
“Simon, get out now, okay? I’m going back to bed.”
*********************************
Except he didn’t go back to bed because now that Simon had posed the question, he was obsessed with knowing the answer. Could it be Simon? Lucinda? Marco? Xev, even?
Soon enough, however, his thoughts were steered in a different direction.
“Max,” He said, nervously smoothing down his hair. “Do you think I should bite my lip a lot? You know, to, like, draw attention to my mouth?”
“Draco?”
“Hmm?”
“Shut up. You look fine, he’s in love with you, so get him pissed and shag him already so you can shut up about it to me.”
“Cor, you’re bloody supportive! Honestly, Max, I can’t help it, I’m nervous.”
“Well, try and remember that he is a quidditch freak. And you’re going to a quidditch match. Therefore, he will probably be looking at the match rather than at your self-ravaged mouth.”
“Do you think it would be presumptuous to, like, take his hand or something?”
“Do you think it would be presumptuous for me to stab you in the heart with a steak knife if you say one more thing about it?” Max grumbled. He glanced at his watch. “God, he won’t even be here for another bloody hour. Sit down and relax.”
“I can’t relax. Not only is it, like, a date, right, with Harry, but I have the added discomfort of running the risk of seeing people I never want to see again.”
“So tell him you’re ill and you’d rather rent a film or something.”
“No, I can’t, I’ve obligated myself to it now, haven’t I?”
“Then shut up. Besides, Finnigan’ll be there, and he’s apparently your biggest fan. He’ll fight off your critics. Though if I recall correctly, he’s about the size of a Cornish pixie, so maybe he won’t be of much aid in that department.” He paused and gazed at Draco over the top of his book and the exasperated look in his eyes softened. “Draco, you can handle this. You’re going to be fine.”
They passed the rest of the hour sorting through the songs they had written since their last record, I Lost My Head In Tokyo, had been released and choosing the ones that had the potential to make the next record, which had the working title Burning Together In Beautiful Paris, along with the tentative concept of packaging it with another copy that was sung entirely in French, which Draco spoke fluently.
They were just debating on whether or not a song called ‘Your Bed Is My Grave (But My Grave Is Cold)’ should be retitled (Draco felt the lengthy name gave it an operatic quality, but Max insisted it sounded pretentious) when the doorbell rang. They looked at each other bracingly.
“That’ll be him, then.” Max said quietly. “Better answer it.” He got up and went to the door. He paused and looked back at Draco for a brief second before opening the door.
“Hello, Harry.” He said coolly. “How’s that, then? Good day for a match?” He asked, stepping back away from the door. “Draco and I were just sorting through some songs and what have you.” He glanced at his watch. “Reckon you’ll want to get going quick if the match is at ten. Taking the Floo?”
“No, just figured we’d do some minor Apparition.” Max shot Draco an apprehensive look as he pulled on his coat. Apparition? He hadn’t touched his wand in five years, how was he supposed to Apparate?
“Er, I’m not certain if I really recall how to Apparate.” Harry frowned for a moment, then shrugged.
“We could always just take the Floo network. Probably doesn’t matter too much. Are you ready?”
“Yeah.” As they stepped into the elevator, Harry said,
“I don’t think he likes me.”
“Max? Max is like that to everyone. He’s a misanthropist. Well, sort of, anyway. He’s antisocial, in any event.” They stood in silence until the elevator reached the lobby. “I guess we’ll take the Floo. Nearest one is a shop a few streets over.”
The nearest Floo outlet was in an antiques shop called The Old Cabinet. Harry gestured surreptitiously with his wand and elderly woman who was watching the shop tipped her head in the direction of a door that was half-obscured by a rusty trunk and a birdcage. The room held a table, a few chairs, and a huge fireplace. Harry handed Draco a handful of powder and stepped into the fire.
“Be careful with the pronunciation. McLeod’s Stadium!” There was a crack, a flash, and the fireplace was empty. For one panicked moment, Draco considered just turning around and going home, but he instead swallowed and stood in the fireplace. He squeezed his eyes shut and called out the name of the stadium.
He fell right into Harry’s arms.
“Alright?” Harry asked, brushing the dust off his shoulder.
“Fine.” Draco answered dazedly. He looked around cautiously, but the room was full of Floo outlets, so no one seemed to have noticed them. “Let’s just get to our seats.”
Harry took the sleeve of his coat as they weaved through the crowd on the way to the seats. Draco kept his eyes on the ground, but he could hear a few people whisper as they passed.
When they reached their section, someone brushed past them roughly and Draco instinctively glanced back to see whom it was. He caught a pair of deceptively warm brown eyes.
Draco’s breath caught in his throat and he stopped dead in his tracks as he was instantly transported back to the night of May 19, 1998, his father’s study. He remembered staring into those endless eyes as Blaise Zabini told him casually that the deepest circle of hell was reserved for betrayers.
And that voice, oh, that voice, God, did he remember that voice, whispering to him as he was forced to suffer the severest and most brutal indignity of being raped in his own home by his erstwhile best friend.
Harry had noticed his stopping. He glanced back at him and started to ask what was wrong before he glimpsed Blaise turning away. His eyes narrowed.
“Forget it.” He said firmly. He took Draco’s hand. “Come on.”
Whispering and muttering broke out around them as they sat down, but Draco didn’t notice at all because Harry was still holding his hand. He wasn’t certain he could handle any other intrigues in one day.
But amidst the whispering, one voice rang perfectly clear.
“Harry!” One solitary screech. They both turned to the sound (along with half the bloody stadium) to see Seamus Finnigan making his way down the aisle towards them.
“Hi, Seamus. I almost missed you. You’ll have to shout a bit louder next time.” Harry said with a grin, standing up and putting his arms around Seamus.
“Oh, shut up, alright? It’s loud, how would I get attention if I was quiet?” They hugged for a moment, then Seamus eyes landed on Draco behind him and he became completely quiet.
He moved around Harry and held his hand out to Draco with a totally solemn expression that looked out of place on his sunny face.
“I cannot tell you how much I respect and admire you.” He said earnestly. “I quite literally love you.” Draco shook his hand and said,
“Um, thanks. Those are some rather blushing sentiments.”
“I am so completely thrilled that you’re here.” Seamus said, breaking into a grin suddenly. “There’s tons of stuff I want to ask you about.”
Seamus and Draco barely watched the quidditch match, for they were too busy talking. As it turned out, they had a lot in common; they had the same taste in music, they each had an embarrassing obsession with Posh and Becks, they would both drank anything that boasted mocha flavoring, they both loved designer clothing, and they had both been Frankie in a stage production of The Rocky Horror Picture Show.
But it was when they conversation came around to Angelfish that things really got interesting.
“So when do you think you’ll get into the studio?” Seamus asked, sipping his soda.
“Beginning of next year. Though I don’t know now since Christopher quit.” Seamus sat bolt upright.
“What? He—what?”
“Oh, yeah, I suppose we forgot to post the news on the website. Christopher quit the band due to ‘creative differences’. At least, that’s what he told the stations.”
“So you’re looking for a bassist?” Seamus asked slowly.
“Yeah.”
“This is fate.” Seamus breathed.
“What is?”
“Angelfish, quite possibly my favorite band on the planet, is looking for a bass player. And I play bass. And know all the songs. And I am sitting here, talking with you. If that is not fate, I don’t know what is. I am very clearly meant to be your new bassist.”
“Well,” Draco said apprehensively. “Do you really play bass? Or do you fuck around with a bass guitar when you’re drunk to give your mates a laugh?”
“Oh, I play bass. And what’s more, I know all of your songs, I swear. I have the official tabs from the fan club website.”
“Well…”
“Come on, just let me play one show with you. Or even just a practice.”
“Well, we did have a practice tonight that we had to cancel because our stand-in bassist couldn’t make it. I guess I could just tell them it’s back on.”
“So I’m in?” Seamus asked eagerly. Draco sighed.
“Yeah, I suppose so.”
“Yes, yes!!!”
“What, what’s happened?” Harry asked, tearing his eyes away from the pitch.
“I’m joining the band!” Seamus replied triumphantly. “I am the new—er, some famous bassist. Flea, I suppose, though obviously, you know, not like him in any way, shape, or form. But you know what I mean.” Harry smirked.
“The scary thing is, I do.”
***********************************************
Though, Blaise never reappeared, Draco was unable to stop thinking of their brief encounter, and when he got home, he called Quincy for some minor reassurance.
Quincy had gone to school with them. He had been a Slytherin, and was the embodiment of the house’s qualities. While Quincy didn’t want anything particularly dastardly, it was the lengths he was willing to go to get them that was frightening. All Quincy really wanted was to have a boyfriend, live in the French countryside, and write. He had always known that to have this life, he would probably have to kill his father, so that was exactly what he’d done, and he’d gotten away with it without even being questioned at that.
But Quincy had a sort of cold disdain for just about everyone and everything, including Draco, so they had never been very good friends. Nevertheless, Quincy was the one who had very carefully orchestrated Draco’s scot-free escape from his own muddied allegiances using nothing more than fancy legal terms and sheer bluster, so Draco could not bring himself to dislike the other boy, though he reminded him a bit too much of his father for his tastes.
(The matter of Quincy’s bizarre and somewhat sadomasochistic relationship with Max didn’t even bear thinking about, because Quincy had made it quite clear on many occasions that it was no business of Draco’s.)
“Hello?” The quizzical and heavily accented voice of Quincy’s housemate/catamite, Jacquese. Quincy had never bothered to get a real boyfriend, presumably because he didn’t see much point if he couldn’t have Max.
“Bonjour, Jacquese. It’s Draco. Is Quincy home?”
“Oui. Shall I get him?”
“Could you, please?” There was a moment of silence before Quincy’s voice came over the line.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Quincy. It’s me.”
“Hello, Draco. How are things at home?”
“Um, they’re all right.”
“How are you and Max?”
“Fine…I mean, you know, I assume you know about Christopher quitting the band?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I—and I assume you know about Harry Potter showing up at our flat and the quidditch match and everything?”
“Yes.” Quincy’s voice was even, but Draco could tell he didn’t approve.
“Well, I think Seamus Finnegan is going to be our new bassist.”
“Seamus Finnegan? Draco, I must tell you, I really don’t think—“
“That’s not what I was calling to talk to you about though. I ran into Blaise Zabini at the match.” There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end.
“And? Did he saying anything?”
“No, we just brushed each other in the aisle.”
“Hmph. Bet it was quite annoying to him, considering he can’t do anything to you within the confines of the law. Well, if he says anything to you, ever, tell me and we’ll sue him.”
“For what?” Draco laughed.
“I’ll find something.”
“So when are you coming for the holidays?”
“The twentieth, and I’m back on the twenty-eighth.” There was a brief pause. “How are Max and Lance?” Quincy asked, carefully casual.
“Fine, amazingly enough. I think Lance might actually be serious about changing his ways.”
“I’m sure.” Quincy replied, his voice vicious and dripping with sarcasm. “Well, I’m sure you’ve got practice or something, so I’ll let you go. Bye, love.”
“Bye.”
************************************************
“He’d better not be drunk.” Max said warningly to Draco that night as they waited for Seamus to arrive at Christian’s house for practice. “Because he’s Irish, you know, and we both know about them.”
“Max,” Christian said. “For one thing, that is a horrible and demeaning stereotype of the Irish, and for another, your boyfriend is a drunk, so I don’t think you should judge.” Max flushed.
“My boyfriend is not—“
“I’m not what?” Lance asked, coming out of the bathroom.
“Nothing.” Christian said smoothly. “Just chatting.” Lance simply raised an eyebrow.
Seamus was ultimately ten minutes late, but he arrived with his bass in hand and huge smile on his face.
“This is all very Fanatic.” He said when Christian opened the door.
“Only we’re not the cast of Felicity, obviously. I’m Christian.” He said, holding a hand out to Seamus.
“Seamus Finnegan.” Draco could see him smile in an alarmingly amorous way. ‘Here we go again.’ He sighed inwardly.
“Right, and this is Max,” Max nodded at him. “And you know Draco, of course, and this is Lance, our sound technician.” After the introductions had gone around, Christian said, “Now I must ask, merely as a precaution—have you ever actually been on the road?”
“Er, I followed Placebo around Rome for a month and had sex with one of their roadies.” Christian turned and grinned at Draco.
“Oh, I like him.”
***********************************************
The next night, they played their first show with Seamus. While the crowd was slightly disoriented by the sudden changes, things went reasonably well. He wasn’t the best bassist in the world, but he certainly had charisma.
Everyone in the band liked Seamus, but Christian liked him most of all, a fact which was of some distress to the rest of them. In any event, they continued to play, practice, and write through December. (Seamus was not a songwriter, by the way. He tried, but everything ended up sounding like a Cure rip-off.)
Draco saw Harry several more times, and while nothing truly significant ever happened, Xev insisted that she could see the sexual tension simmering between them, so Draco held on to hope. In any event, Draco would occasionally catch Harry looking at him with something in his eyes that was not unlike adoration, but whenever he asked what he was looking at, Harry would just smile and shake his head.
Quincy arrived on schedule and the house was suddenly full of tension again. Late at night, Draco could hear Lance and Quincy shouting at each other. It drove Draco insane to have him there, but he could hardly complain considering it was actually Quincy’s flat.
Eventually, Xev and Lucinda’s annual Christmas Eve party arrived. (Amazingly enough, Xev had managed to finish the paper mache globe and get it cleared out and taken to Robbie and Tim’s in time for the party.)
Xev answered the door in a knee-length black silk dress, and before Draco could say anything, Xev said,
“I wanted to wear the hot pink cocktail dress, but Lucinda insisted that I wear something classy because we could dress up for the New Years party. Apparently she thought I looked trashy.” Draco could tell they had had a fight, because that was the only time Xev ever called Lucinda by her full name.
One person who was very clearly not interested in looking classy was Shirley. She was decked out in her usual look of “skank chic”. It had always amazed Draco that Shirley could wake up, wash her face, and spend all day in the house, yet somehow at the end of the day, still look like she’d just wandered out of a rave/mugging.
The flat, which was small in the best of times, was absolutely tiny now that it was crammed full of people, a huge Christmas (though God only knew how they’d gotten it into their fourth floor flat), and a huge pile of gifts.
In the kitchen, when Draco was helping himself to some (severely spiked) eggnog, Xev whispered,
“I invited Seamus and he invited Harry, okay? That’s okay, right? I hope so, because I already invited him to the New Years Eve party, too.”
“Why wouldn’t it be okay? It’s fine.”
“How are things going? Radical snogging yet? Sex in public? Discussion of cats and/or children?”
“No, nothing yet.”
“But he totally wants you, trust me. If there’s one thing I’m an expert on, it’s gay male sex. Which probably isn’t the best thing in the world, but you shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” She paused. “Um…also, I sort of invited Christopher and Michael to the New Years party. Like, three months ago, and I hadn’t seen them, and I wasn’t actually speaking to them, so I couldn’t uninvite them. So…yeah, they’ll be there.” Draco sighed.
“Excellent. Maybe we can shove Michael off the roof instead of that stupid paper mache thing.”
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t want to waste the paint. I’m going to go and find the usual idiots. Try not to break and/or vomit on anything, okay, love?”
It was half past ten when Simon appeared at his side.
“Draco, I’ve just fallen in love.”
“Not with that statue again, I hope? Because when you get smashed, you really are the most—“
“Draco, shut up and listen to me. Ron—oh, God, Ron, he’s an angel, I swear—Ron brought his brother along, his fabulous, amazing gay brother, Fred. He is—I mean, he’s hilarious. He’s like Robin Williams, only not incredibly hairy or an American. Or like Eddie Izzard, only not a transvestite. Or like—“
“Yeah, I get the picture, okay? Is Harry here as well?”
“Honestly, Draco, is that all you can think of? I’ve just met my soul mate, and all you want to hear about is your stupid boyfriend? Yes, he’s here; he’s in the kitchen talking to Seamus. Just abandon me.” Draco rolled his eyes.
“Simon, if I listened to everything single thing you said, I wouldn’t have time to do anything else in life.”
“Yes, well, those are the sacrifices one makes for friends, aren’t they?”
Draco took a bit more time to mingle amongst the various guests before going into the kitchen, where Shirley was regaling a crowd of partygoers with tales of the various reasons she’d been arrested. Harry was standing by the refrigerator, looking distinctly non-plussed.
“Bit wild, isn’t she?” He whispered to Draco when he came to stand next to him. “Who is she?”
“Xev’s ex-girlfriend from when she was in school. She comes calling every Christmas to take advantage of Xev’s soft spot for her.” Harry hummed non-commitally and held up the ladle from the eggnog bowl.
“Drink?”
Several hours (and drinks) later, both Harry and Draco were preparing to leave. The party had finally cleared out and the apartment was empty, aside from Max and Lance making out in an armchair as though their lives depended on it. Draco was pulling his coat on in the doorway while Harry reached for his scarf from the coat rack when Shirley said,
“Oh, hey, you’re under the mistletoe. Kiss kiss, then.” Harry and Draco both glanced up and looked at each other. As Harry took a step nearer to him, Draco vaguely thought in the back of his mind that mistletoe was a very cheap way to have your first kiss.
As Harry pressed their mouths together, Draco could not help but think that it was a deliciously perfect fit. He leaned forward, opening his mouth with the minutest of sighs. He wanted to moan, but he couldn’t find his breath. He put an arm around Harry’s neck and tilted his head just the slightest bit, deepening the kiss.
After what felt like an isolated lifetime, Harry pulled away, his eyes opening into a bewildered stare. Draco opened his mouth to speak, but in that moment, Robbie came crashing through the doorway.
“Forgot my um—you know—yeah, yeah, my hat.” He slurred, plucking a hat from the coat rack. (It was hot pink, so Draco doubted he was thinking straight. No pun intended.)
Draco glanced at Harry, but Harry just gave him a shuttered look and went out the door after Robbie.
“That was bizarre.” Shirley said blandly.
Draco had to agree.
******************************
But Draco lost no sleep over it. The important thing was that Harry had kissed him, and really, considering their relationship, a post-kiss freak-out was almost par for the course.
So, on Christmas morning, he exchanged gifts with Quincy, Max, and Lance (who practically lived with them now, much to Draco’s consternation) and had (non-spiked) eggnog with Max in the kitchen after the others had gone back to bed.
“So,” Max said with a grin. “Last night, under the mistletoe…” Draco blushed in spite of himself.
“Yeah, yeah.”
“You think he’ll call you today?”
“I don’t see why not. He’ll probably call.”
Except Harry did not call that night, but Draco forced himself not to be concerned about it. After all, he rationalized, it was Christmas; he was probably busy.
Yes, busy.
******************************
The next day, Draco was awoken by an extremely panicked call from Christian.
“Draco, I’ve made a horrible mistake.”
“Oh, Christian, I’ve told you and told you, chartreuse is just not your color.”
“Shut up. This is far more serious than fucking chartreuse.” Draco sat up with a sigh.
“Must be bad then. Out with it; got arrested? Someone preggers, though God only knows how that would happen.”
“I accidentally almost had sex with Seamus last night. And I know that you know that I really like Seamus, but I know that we had an agreement about dating in the band, so I knocked him back, and now he’s miffed at me because he thinks that I don’t think that he’s attractive, but I do, God, I do, but I can’t do anything about it. So what do I do?”
“Write to an agony aunt, because you’re giving me a headache.”
“Draco,” Christian sighed, sounding miserable. “I really like him. Like, a lot.”
“Oh, for the love of God’s knickers, Christian, just do it!”
“But we—“
“I know we had an agreement about dating in the band, but you and Seamus are nothing like Lance and Max. If you like him so much, just do something about it and I swear I won’t hold it against you.”
“Do you think he’ll even still speak to me?”
“Make an indecent proposal. I hate to break this to you, but Seamus is kind of easy.”
“Mmmm, I know…he’s great, isn’t he?” Draco rolled his eyes.
“I’m putting the phone down on you now, Christian. I’ll see you later, okay?”
“Mmmm.”
Harry didn’t call that day either, but Draco refused to worry.
***********************************************
By the twenty-eighth, however, he was panicked.
“Why hasn’t he called me?” He asked Quincy as the other boy was packing.
“He’s probably busy with all his stupid mates. Maybe he got dragged out post-holiday shopping.”
“But how could you kiss someone like that and then not call them for three days?”
“Well, did he say ‘see you later’? Because that doesn’t mean anything, you know. Why don’t you just call him? Maybe he hasn’t got the nerve.” With a sigh, Draco picked up the phone, saying to Quincy as he dialed,
“I was really hoping it wouldn’t come to this. Now I run the risk of looking sad and desperate.” He let the phone ring a few times and prepared to hang up just as the other end of the line picked up. He swallowed hard.
“Harry, hi, it’s Draco. I just—“ The line went dead. Draco stared in utter amazement at the phone for a moment.
“What’d he say?” Quincy asked.
“Nothing. He hung up.” He started to dial the number again.
“Well, don’t call back! Then you’ll really look sad. Just give it another day, you know, see if he calls you.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Forget it, I suppose.”
“Quincy, why are you so adamantly against me having anything to do with Harry?”
“Because I really do only want you to be happy, Draco, and to my recollection, Harry Potter has never made you anything but miserable.”
“Well, you never make Max anything but miserable.”
“That’s different.”
“Why?”
“Because Max doesn’t want the same things you want. Max doesn’t really want to be happy, and if he were happy, he wouldn’t even know what to do with it. He’s a masochist, and he defines his entire life by pain and betrayal. That’s what he looks for in his relationships, is the potential to get hurt. You have to remember that not everyone wants the same things you do, Draco, domesticity and safety.”
“But I’m the one who wants what’s normal, so why can’t I ever get it?”
“No, you want what’s out of reach. Face it, love, Potter is Potter and you are yourself, and there’s a very strong possibility that the two of you are just not meant to be together, ever. It’s not fair, but it’s the way things go. Just promise me you won’t let it ruin your life again, okay?”
“I—“
“We’re back!” Max said, coming into the room. “Are you about ready?” He asked Quincy.
“Yeah, I think that’s everything. Let’s get going.” When he left, he hugged everyone, including Lance, and after Max and Quincy had left for the airport, Draco turned to Lance and said,
“Quincy’s not coming back, is he?” Lance smiled serenely.
“I don’t think so.”
*******************************************
On the thirtieth, Draco broke down and called Harry. There was no answer after thirty-six rings.
Normally in times of emotional duress, Draco went to A) Max or B) Xev, but on this particular night, Max had gone with Lance to some club (Lance had vaguely mentioned Jarvis Cocker, but who knew, really?), and Xev’s flat was practically a war zone because she and Lucinda were still fighting. This was perhaps how he ended up at Tim’s house, and as luck would have it, Robbie had gone to the same club as Max and Lance, so Tim was home alone.
“Draco?” He said when he opened the door, looking surprised. “What’s up?” Draco swallowed hard.
“Nothing, I just—um, could I come in, maybe?”
“Oh, yeah, sure, sorry.” He stepped aside. Draco stepped in out of the icy night and into the front hall of the house. He took off his coat and tossed it onto the bench against the wall. “Are you okay?” Tim asked.
“I’m fine, I just—you know, I—you were at the Christmas party right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, there was mistletoe, and I—I mean, he—he didn’t call me!” He cried his voice cracking. “And I just thought that maybe, for once, things might work out the way they were supposed to, you know? Because, you know, I have not had an easy life! The number of times I’ve been asked if the ‘carpet matched the drapes’ alone is enough to drive a person to drink! And then he hangs up on me, and I—and they went to some club so I have to just sit at home, wondering what’s—“
“Draco, maybe you should just tell me later when you’ve calmed down.” He held his arms out. “Come here, okay?” Draco went readily into the embrace.
“You’re the only person who makes any sense, Tim.” He sighed. “I’m sorry I’m getting your shirt wet.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He took Draco’s hand and pulled him towards the stairs. “Come up to my room and tell me what happened.”
*******************************************
“…And I called him about an hour ago, but there was no answer.” Draco sighed half an hour later. He was stretched out on Tim’s bed with a cup of tea after having just recounted the entire story to him.
“And you were alone because Max and Lance went to the club downtown to see Jarvis Cocker DJ?”
“Did they? That sounds great, I wish I’d gone…yeah, that’s it.”
“Maybe you should go around to his house?” Tim suggested.
“No, I can’t. I’ll come off like a really sad loser. I just really thought things were working out, you know? I mean, it’s just that it’s been five years since I left school and I haven’t got anything to show for it, you know? I’m not married, I don’t have any kids, I haven’t got any real career to speak of.”
“You’re only twenty-three, Draco. And you were almost married. And you’ve got a perfectly viable career! You were even almost on Top of the Pops that one time.” Draco sniffed.
“Only because the other band canceled at the last moment. Then uncanceled, the bastards. But you must admit, I’ve managed to fuck up every single relationship I’ve ever had.” Tim shrugged.
“We’re in our twenties; that’s what we do. We look good and fuck up. We aren’t supposed to start getting things right until later.”
“But—I mean, it’s just—“ Draco sighed. “He’s all I’ve ever really wanted, you know?” He whispered sadly. Tim put his arms around him.
“I know.” He leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.
Now, this was not an unfamiliar scene to either of them. They had done the hurt/comfort situation several times before; they knew the routine. But for some reason that particular night (or possibly out of what you would probably like to call desolation), Draco tilted his head and their mouths met.
But Draco wasn’t an idiot. Immediately, he realized this was stupid, not to mention pointless, and started to break away, but found that Tim had taken this brief meeting as an open invitation and was now more or less devouring his mouth.
Draco had a habit of doing things out of spite, and this was most likely the reason he slept with Tim that night. Almost the entire time, he was envisioning (rather maliciously, in fact) the crushed look that would come over Harry’s face when he found out that Draco had moved on. If Harry even cared. Or remembered who he even was.
Afterwards, he lay next to Tim, cringing at the thought of what he had just done. Not only had he had (thankfully protected) sex completely on impulse (which never seemed to be a good idea in his experiences), but he was also leading Tim on horribly.
But, he rationalized frantically, Tim was cool, not to mention straight, so he was probably thinking this was a horrible mistake as well, but he’d be really laid-back about it. This was probably why he had subconsciously chosen Tim in the first place, right? (Draco was a mastermind at rationalizing his own bad decisions.) He swallowed hard and turned to look at the other boy.
However, what he saw was not a look of rueful apology, or even a look of mortified embarrassment; it was a look of sheer and utter bliss.
This was clearly going to be a lot harder than he’d expected.
“So…” He began carefully. “This is—“
“You don’t have to say anything, okay?” Draco sighed.
“Tim, I didn’t come here to—“
“I know, I know. Best-laid plans. I’m just—really glad you’re here.” Oh, God. This was going to be a miserable situation to try and get out of. Grasping at straws, Draco said,
“What about Simon?”
“What about—what?”
“Simon. He told me you were in love with him.”
“Well, why would you believe that? Have you still not remembered that night in the alley?”
“The Poe thing?”
“No, not the Poe thing. When I told you I loved you.” Sirens immediately went off in Draco’s head. The time for delicacy was over; it was time to focus on getting the hell out of there as quickly as possible. “But then you threw up, so I thought it was best not to say anything again, and then you started going out with Christian, then the other Christian, then Brian, so I just had to bide my time, but I knew that eventually—“ Draco sat up and cut him off.
“Tim, I really don’t think you know what you’re saying. I think we both need some time to think about what’s happened, so I’m going to go home, and I’ll see you at the New Years party.” He said, pulling his clothes on.
“I don’t need to think about it, Draco. I already know how I feel about you.” Draco winced as he leaned down to tie his shoelaces.
“Tim, you’re not even gay.”
“I must be bi, because I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, really. Well, except for Xev, but I’m not sure that really counts because I was really into pot back then, so a lot of that was probably—“
“Tim, I really can’t handle this right now. I have to go, but we’ll talk at the New Years party, okay?” Tim looked at him for a moment before smiling and saying,
“Okay.” Desperate to be out of there, Draco forced a smile in return and bolted down the stairs and out the front door.
“Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God,” He whispered to himself as he walked down the street to the underground station. As he boarded the subway, he searched his pockets for any leftover tabs of E, but came up empty except for a fuzzy Lifesaver. Heaving a sigh, he slumped back against the seat.
*********************************************
The apartment was still empty when he got home, so Draco filled up the tub to block out the bizarrely loud ticking of the clock. When he got out, he stood idly in front of the mirror, inspecting himself.
His glance first went to his forearm, where the Dark Mark still lay. With a shudder, his gaze traveled slightly upwards to the long, white scars tracing up and down both arms from elbow to wrist from the one time he had very seriously tried to kill himself. (Naturally, that had been right after he had spoken to Harry for the last time.) They were also littered with several smaller scars from when he had struggled with his ever-lingering cutting problem.
He turned around and twisted to look at the Malfoy family crest between his shoulder blades. Several inches below it was where the word ‘whore’ had once been inscribed.
Draco turned again and stared at his reflection for a moment, looking into his own tired, gray eyes before pulling on his robe with a shiver. He climbed into bed and thought of all the things that had happened to him that he had tried to forget: the years of obsessing over Harry, his so-called betrayal of his family, his subsequent punishment and disownment, the perpetual sneers on the faces of the Ministry officers, returning to Hogwarts only to discover he was now a laughingstock, abandoning magic all together.
He fell asleep with dry but burning eyes.
**********************************************
The next day, Draco was dreading going to the New Years party. He was in bed under a mound of blankets, wearing his pajamas and listening to The Cure, when Max came in an hour before the party.
“Draco, get up and show me what you’re wearing to the party.”
“I’m not going.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Xev’ll never speak to you again if you’re not there.”
“I can live with that.”
“Get up and pick something out.”
“I’m not going.” Draco repeated. Max sat on the bed with a sigh.
“Draco, you’re going to have to see him eventually.”
“I’m not ready yet. Besides, I’ll have a miserable time and be awful company and everyone will hate me.”
“You’ll get pissed and be hilarious and everyone will adore you. Now get up.” Draco sat up with a sigh.
“I’ll go, but only if you promise not to leave my side all night.” Max rolled his eyes.
“Be serious.”
“I am being serious. Now promise.”
“I’m going to ditch you as soon as we get there if you don’t get your arse out of bed in ten seconds.” Draco swung his legs over the side of the bed and lay back.
“You dress me.”
Max himself was wearing a Dashboard Confessional t-shirt, jeans, and Chuck Taylors. Draco looked pointedly at him as the other boy tossed clothes from the closet on the bed. “Your outfit shows a lot of daring, by the way. I never would have expected it of you.” Max rolled his eyes.
“You must be feeling better if you’re being a smart-arse. Wear this.” He said, holding up a velvet navy-blue suit jacket and a pair of jeans.
“I don’t like it.”
“Draco, shut up. You have seventy-five versions of this outfit; you love it.”
“Whatever happened to all my dresses? Let’s both of us go in drag, it’ll be like old times.”
“Draco, put your clothes on. I’ll be back in ten minutes to see if anything can be done about your hair.” Draco touched his head.
“There’s nothing wrong with my hair!”
“Homeless chic?” Max asked brightly, going out of the room.
An hour later, Draco was at the party, unhappy but well coiffed. He had hid in the bathroom for as long as he could (predictably, Max had disappeared after fifteen minutes, presumably to gaze lovingly at Lance, who was the DJ) and, after doing the obligatory chat with Xev and Lucinda, he was now trying desperately to avoid everyone he knew. This endeavor was successful for quite some time as he gravitated between the DJ booth and the corner of the kitchen, which had somehow become the center for condescending music geeks. After nearly two hours of being lectured on Radiohead, The Clash, etc., he was happy, for a moment, to see Seamus, until he realized what his presence meant: Harry was there as well.
With a sigh, Draco weaved through the crowd for the back door. Now he had Harry and Tim to worry about avoiding.
Fortunately, at that moment, Xev climbed up onto the dining room table, pulling Lucinda up with her, and called for everyone’s attention.
“Yeah, excuse me, I have some stuff I’d like to say.” She whirled dramatically on the tabletop to Lucinda.
“Cinda, baby, I cannot thank you enough for putting up with me for all these years, through thick and thin and lots of in-betweens. You’ve always been there for me, even when I didn’t deserve it, or maybe even especially when I didn’t deserve it, and I think it’s time you finally got some compensation for it outside of the bedroom. I know you’ve always wanted someone to make an honest woman out of you, so—“ She knelt down and took out a ring box. “Lucinda—will you marry me?” Lucinda shrugged, and in the total silence of the room, said,
“Eh, I’ll give it a shot.” The crowd cheered and Xev threw her arms around her.
“I feel so fucking Melissa Ethridge right now!” She sobbed.
Draco shook his head and grinned at the spectacle before heading towards the stairs.
“Draco?” He turned halfway up the steps. Christopher was standing at the bottom. He licked his lips nervously. “Um, hi.” Draco found himself stepping down a few stairs towards him in spite of himself.
“Hi.”
“How are things going? With the band, I mean.”
“We’ve replaced you, if that’s what you mean.”
“Um, that’s—“ He swallowed. “Good. How are you?”
“Suicidal, actually. If you’ll excuse me, I was just on my way to hang myself.” He started up the stairs again.
“Draco, I’m really sorry about what happened! I wish things could have gone differently!”
“Me too.” Draco called back, already at the top and turning.
The second floor was as crowded as the first. Draco passed Tim’s room with a pang of guilt.
After another forty-five minutes of avoiding people, it was ten minutes until midnight. He made his way to the back door.
He took the familiar path across the backyard, ducking under the projector screen Xev had actually insistently put up, and went out the gate into the alley.
Draco climbed on top of the old cabinet that had been out for the trash for the entire five years Draco had known Tim and Robbie. He took a cigarette out of his pocket, lit it, and took a drag.
Draco sighed and leaned back against the fence. For a few minutes, it was almost eerily quiet, but soon enough, he heard some people come crashing out of the house. He turned and peered cautiously over the top of the fence.
“Yeah, I know!” It was Harry, Ron, Seamus, Fred, and Michael. Michael seemed to be fall-down drunk.
“Mmm-hmm, that was what I always said about that, too.” Seamus was saying. “And I think that’s what Simon thinks, too.” Michael let out a snort of disgust.
“Don’t talk to me about that fag.” Before anyone could blink, Michael was on the ground with Fred standing over him. But while everyone was attempting to diffuse the situation, Harry had turned, seen Draco, and was slowly walking over.
Draco turned back around, his heart thudding in his chest. He frantically searched for a place to put his cigarette out before reminding himself firmly that Harry could get stuffed because he didn’t care about his opinion.
Harry came through the gate. Draco glanced over the fence and saw that the rest of the partygoers were spilling out into the backyard. Xev, Tim, and Robbie were on the roof, carefully holding onto the paper mache globe. Harry climbed on top of the cabinet and sat next to him.
“Hi.” Draco remained diligently silent. He took a drag off his cigarette and tipped his chin up at the other boy. “Um, are you not talking to me? I guess you wouldn’t be, would you?” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about the phone thing. Uh…are you going to say anything?” Draco took the cigarette out of his mouth and coldly said,
“No.”
“Oh, okay. I guess it’ll make this easier anyway. The reason I sort of avoided you after the party was—I thought you were calling to tell me off because of what I did. I mean, I’ve really tried to be, right, like, really cordial and everything because I didn’t want it to seem like I was taking advantage of you, but I, uh, really wanted to take advantage of you. And I guess I was right since you’re not talking to me.” He sighed unhappily. “I’ll just go, okay? If you’re not gonna say anything.” He started to get off the cabinet. Draco sighed.
“Potter, you are a complete idiot.” Harry looked at him. “You’re right, I was calling to tell you off, but only to tell you off for not calling me.” Draco snorted. “God, I can’t believe all this ‘call me’ stuff. I feel like I’m in an episode of My So-Called Life.” Harry smirked.
“Am I Jared Leto or Claire Danes?”
“Harry, shut up. You don’t have to worry about taking advantage of me. Trust me, I want to be taken. Advantage of, that is.” He said with a grin. Harry smiled slightly and tentatively touched his hair.
“I really like you, you know. I’m your groupie.” He said ruefully. He leaned in to kiss him.
“I’m not your charity project, am I?” Draco asked at the last moment.
“I usually give money to charity, rather than having sex with them.” Harry replied, before kissing him.
Draco vaguely registered the countdown to New Years and the cheers as the giant paper mache globe was rolled of the roof and into the kiddie pool full of paint (they would later find out that it cracked in half, prompting Xev to go into a destructive rage and break seven champagne flutes and Michael’s nose), but it all seemed inconsequential when compared to the slick, hot slide of Harry’s tongue against his own and the flush of heat creeping up his back.
They were the first to leave the party, needless to say.
***************************************
The next morning, Draco woke up alone, and he panicked for a moment before rolling over and finding a note on the other side of the bed. It was from Harry.
Draco,
I went out to get breakfast. I was tempted to wake you up (you know, for morning sex), but I decided to let you sleep. Be back ASAP.
XOXO, Harry
Draco stretched out under the covers with a sigh and thought about the night before. He’d have to remember to apologize to Max, because they had almost certainly kept him and Lance up for quite awhile.
Harry came back around fifteen minutes later with breakfast from McDonald’s. (‘Unhealthy moron.’ Draco thought affectionately.) Harry smiled at him over their hash browns and said,
“Isn’t it strange to think that we could have been like this all this time? Imagine how much trouble we could have saved ourselves if we had just skipped all the adversary crap in school and just gone straight to this?” Draco nodded sagely and smirked.
“We should have recognize the sexual tension back when were eleven.”
“No, ew, that’s gross. I wish I didn’t have that in my head.” Harry took a sip of his orange juice and grinned. “Are you gonna write a song about me now?”
“I’ve already written a thousand songs about you.” Draco replied honestly. The only difference is that now they can finally be happy.” He paused. “You know we’re leaving for America on the fifth, right?” Harry nodded.
“I don’t mind. I’ll wait for you. I know how to wait.” Draco thought about the eight odd years he’d spent waiting for this. He smiled.
“Me too.”
The End
Post-note: :sobs: Oh, God, I did it!!! Now what? Sequel? I truly can’t believe it’s over; I kick ass. I wrote a 105-page fic that doesn’t really really blow. Crap! Did I just write a novella? I did! Anyway, sequel entails RPS, incest, more horrible mistakes, and phone sex. Good times, if I write it. If you want it, I’ll write it.
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Date: 2004-01-29 08:18 pm (UTC)You've turned me into a Placebo addict btw!
Cover art is currently on hold because I'm making a movie about this guy who kills people and feeds their bodies to flies. Stimulating, I know. I'm the Art Director.