Title: Elegy for Vincent Crabbe: Dance Suite in Five Movements for Viola and Marimba Rating: NC17 Pairing: Harry/Draco Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, and all associated characters from the Harry Potter universe are the property of J.K. Rowling and those to whom she has licensed her creations, including without limitation Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No copyright infringement is intended. Summary: "But he would have kept on trying to kill you. He wouldn't have been anything more than who he was at that moment. You can't possibly believe that everyone is redeemable."
Harry shrugged, as much as he could while lying on his side. "Some aren't," he said. He reached out again and let the tips of his fingers trail down Draco's cheek. "But most are."
A/N: Merry Smutmas, Furiosity. I hope this brings you wonderful holiday cheer. Much thanks to my stellar betas, S, E, and K, your guidance and assistance proved invaluable (per usual).
The structure of this work is based on a bastardised dance suite, cobbled together from the Renaissance, Baroque and Classical dance forms, with a few things borrowed in between. The dances and style cues are explained in parentheticals at the beginning of each dance. There are five altogether, taking place over the course of nearly twenty years.
ELEGY FOR VINCENT CRABBE: DANCE SUITE IN FIVE MOVEMENTS FOR VIOLA AND MARIMBA
Pavane
larghetto ma non troppo, molto expressivo
(The beginning dance, a little slow but not too much, very expressive)
It began with a slow, decorous sweep of words that tumbled out in a breathless rush of emotion.
"Watch it, you bloody idiot! You've made me spill my drink!" Harry scowled as his Firewhisky nearly sloshed over the rim of his glass. Again.
The man next to him dug his elbow into Harry's side as he tried to lever himself away from the bar. Someone jostled Harry from behind, knocking him forwards.
"Fucking hell," he muttered under his breath as the crowd around him hollered at the Puddlemere Keeper's dramatic save. It was a Quidditch Saturday, which meant the Black Cauldron was packed with raucous wizards watching the game on the large Wizarding Communications screens scattered around the small pub. But Harry was there for a very different reason.
"Can't even have a proper drink in honour of a man," he muttered to himself as someone new took up the stool next to his.
The man pulled back the hood of his cloak, nearly jabbing Harry in the eye with his elbow.
"For fuck's sake, keep your bloody elbows—" Harry stared into grey eyes and groaned. He drank the Firewhisky in one go and slammed the glass on the bar.
"Malfoy."
"Potter."
One of the Puddlemere Chasers caught the Quaffle and zoomed down the pitch. The crowd went wild as he scored a goal. Bodies pushed against Harry's and Malfoy's, forcing them together as if they'd been paired as unwilling dance partners. It wasn't a new experience—they'd been dancing around each other for years, but it was fate that usually did the pushing.
"I can't believe the only place to sit is next to the specciest git on the planet," Malfoy said under his breath, but in such a way that Harry knew he was meant to hear it.
"You could always just leave, you know," Harry said, taking a long sip. He was on his fourth Firewhisky of the evening. He figured one or two more and he'd have paid his respects to Vincent Crabbe for another year.
"You're not going to run me out of this pub. I'm just as entitled to be here as the next man. What are you doing here anyway, Potty? Isn't this a little common for the Saviour of the Wizarding World?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Try me."
"No. Don't think so. Just mind your own business. Pretend I don't exist." Harry sniffed. "Won't be such a hardship on my part. You barely register nowadays. What's it like, watching your sad little world fade away each day, knowing that, eventually, it won't exist at all?"
A sharp wince of pain cut across Malfoy's face and immediately Harry felt the flush of guilt work across his own. He'd only just remembered that Malfoy's mother had died six months before. It was amazing how much life could change in the space of a year. A year ago, Malfoy had been pressed against him, screaming at him in terror as they zoomed through the Room of Requirement.
"Malfoy, I—"
But Harry didn't get to finish. Malfoy lunged forwards and grabbed the front of his robes, shaking him hard. "You have no idea what I’m capable of," he hissed. "I could—"
"Take it outside, boys. Quidditch isn't worth a brawl, now is it?" the barman asked, his voice mild, but his eyes and his curled fists showing he meant business.
Malfoy's hands slowly uncurled from Harry's robes, strength bled out of him as he turned back around to face the bar.
"I didn't—Look, Malfoy, I wasn't thinking. I, erm, I was sorry to hear about your mother."
"Course you were. Your sympathy note was both eloquent and surprisingly sensitive."
"Note? Erm, sorry, Malfoy, I didn't—"
Malfoy's stare pierced him straight through, and once again, Harry felt guilt bite at his cheeks. "Oh. Right. Erm—"
"Forget it, Potter. Believe it or not, I'm not much in the mood for harassing you or being harassed. Just let me have my drink in peace, yeah?"
Harry swallowed. He nodded. They were supposed to be adults now. And—according to the Wizengamot—Malfoy had been under extreme duress during the war. Visions of his pale, drawn face during Voldemort's last months reminded Harry of the truth of that. He'd pitied Malfoy then. Still did, he figured. But he also figured that Malfoy had done what he could to help Harry during those final days of the war, even if by other people's standards it wasn't very much.
Harry snorted. Those people probably wouldn't drink a silent toast to Vincent Crabbe either. He had been a boy when he died; one who'd desperately wanted to be the man his father wanted. Harry understood that. He raised his glass, finished it off, and slipped off the stool.
He started to say goodbye to Malfoy, but the way he was staring into his glass, the way his body contorted along lines of mourning and regret, was enough to tell Harry that the best goodbye he could give was none at all.
He shut the door of the pub. Behind him, he heard the roar as Puddlemere scored another goal.
~*~
"Do you live here or something?"
Harry looked up, surprised to see Malfoy. He looked the same as he had three months prior when they'd been knocked together during the Puddlemere/Cannons game.
"What?"
"It's just that this is only the second time I've been in this pub and it's twice that I've seen you sitting at the bar nursing a drink."
"Oh. No, sorry. I just felt like coming in. A bit of a coincidence."
"Right. Like anything in our lives has ever been coincidence." Malfoy gestured towards the stool next to his. "May I?"
"Erm, sure."
Malfoy ordered a glass of something Harry had never heard of. He said nothing further for a long while. It unnerved Harry. He was about to say something when Malfoy finally spoke.
"I got your note."
"Oh. Right. I hope it was—"
"Did you know that you were the only person to write to me about her? The only one who didn't say I was better off when she died?"
"No—I—People really said that?"
Malfoy didn't answer.
"I meant what I said. She defied Voldemort just to get to you. She loved you very much, I think."
"I don't understand you, Potter."
"That's no surprise. You never did. But . . . I don't think I ever understood you, either."
"So, what? You think we understand each other now?"
Harry snorted. "Not a chance."
"Too right."
"We might one day, though."
Malfoy gaped for a moment, but then nodded, a thoughtful frown on his face.
Malfoy finished his lager and left.
Passamezzo
legato, molto liberamento
(A quick-step and counted in four, the passamezzo is a more intricate dance than the Pavane. Smooth and performed with much liberty.)
The fourth anniversary of Vincent Crabbe's death sneaked up on Harry. He'd almost forgotten it, actually, but he'd seen a man with pale blond hair earlier in the day and he'd remembered in an instant.
The pub hummed with excited chatter, nearly full of barflies flitting about each other in a strange, circuitous dance. Harry scanned the room for an empty seat, finding only a few at the bar. His gaze fixed on a hunched figure, white blond hair spilling haphazardly around the collar of his robe. Malfoy. Harry wondered if he knew what day it was, whether he expected Harry. The mere thought of it sent a jolt through him.
The stool next to Malfoy was empty as were the three on the other side of the bar. Harry hesitated, dithering about whether to sit next to Malfoy or ignore him. His consciousness had a right laugh about it all, he figured, because there was no question about where he'd sit.
He slipped onto the stool next to Malfoy. "Lo, Malfoy," he murmured as he signalled for a drink and pressed a Galleon to the bar.
Malfoy turned awkwardly and stared, his eyes unfocused and red-rimmed. "Potter," he slurred. He squinted. "Still the specciest git on the planet, I see."
Malfoy looked awful, like he'd been beaten down and didn't want to get up anymore. Concern roiled through Harry. Throughout every indignity the Malfoys had rightfully suffered after the war, they'd retained a certain level of haughtiness.
Malfoy now stunk of humanity.
"Drunk off your arse, I see," Harry said.
Malfoy tried to shrug, but couldn't quite muster up the coordination to do it.
"Careful there, you'll hurt yourself."
"Why would you care?" Malfoy asked, clearly not expecting an answer. He signalled for another drink, sending his Galleon skidding across the bar and to the floor.
"You're always here. I can't ever get away from you," Malfoy murmured. "Where's my bloody lager?" he called out, spittle flying from his lips as he lifted his head just enough to glare at the barman.
The barman opened his mouth to say something scathing, Harry was sure. Harry shook his head at the man and mouthed, "Sobering Potion." The barman rolled his eyes and rifled through a low drawer.
"I was talking to you," Malfoy bellowed at the barman's back. "I have money. I have—I have—"
"I told him not to serve you," Harry cut in, his gut twisting at the sight Malfoy made.
"Why'd you do that?"
"You started without me," Harry quipped, hoping that would shake Malfoy out of whatever had got hold of him. Instead, Malfoy stared at him before swinging back around and curling his hand around his glass.
"Here you go, son," the barman said, sliding a glass of watered-down potion towards Malfoy.
"Don't need that," Malfoy said as he tried to push it away.
"You do if you think you're going to stay here. Drink it or leave, don't care which," the barman said.
"For God's sake, Malfoy, drink the damn potion," Harry hissed.
"Oh, well, of course. If the great Harry Potter commands it, it must be so."
"You don't have to be a snot, you know. Perfect, prissy Malfoy all mussed and foul smelling. What would your father say?"
"At least I have—" Malfoy inhaled sharply. "Go fuck the she-weasel's ginger-haired twat and leave me the fuck alone."
"You're a right arse, d'you know?"
Malfoy leered at him as if Harry had just told him that his hair was exceptionally pretty.
"Brilliant. Just fucking brilliant," Harry muttered under his breath before knocking back his first shot of Firewhisky. He'd been stupid to think that a note, a few kind words, and a vague sense of understanding would make Malfoy bearable.
He decided to ignore Malfoy. It became easier with each drink, even after Malfoy finally drank the Sobering Potion.
Harry drank his fourth and final Firewhisky. He got to his feet, feeling a bit less steady than he'd thought, and prepared to leave. He was just considering whether to say anything to Malfoy when a man behind him started talking.
"Oi! Isn't that Draco Malfoy?"
"Yeah. Heard his dad finally got what was coming to him. Died in Azkaban. Found him yesterday," a second man said.
Harry's gaze shot to Malfoy. Malfoy's body was still hunched, but still as death, as if he were waiting for what the man said next.
"Bloody hell! Seriously?" the first man asked.
"Yeah. His heart stopped. No one found him for days. A guard smelled something foul and assumed the tosser had shit himself."
Both men sniggered. It made Harry's stomach turn.
"So the guard—my cousin, that's how I know all of this, very hush-hush, of course—let him wallow for a day or two, figuring eventually even that man's proud neck would bend. When the smell got too awful, he went to give old Malfoy a right proper dressing down. Found the old blighter propped in the corner, grey, eyes staring ahead, dead as a fucking doornail."
"Blimey."
"And the best part? Turned out he had shit himself."
The two men laughed uproariously, not caring a whit that Draco Malfoy sat not two feet away.
An unaccountable anger rose in Harry.
Malfoy's jaw worked back and forth as he stared hard at the bar. When Harry saw Malfoy's hand clumsily dip beneath his cloak, he reached over and pressed his hand against Malfoy's arm, putting a bit more weight behind it than he'd intended. Malfoy jerked his head up, his face screwed up in anger.
"Don’t," Harry said. "They're not worth it. Don't let them make it worse."
Malfoy swallowed. His eyes darted from Harry to the two men—still laughing at the indignity of Lucius Malfoy's death—and back again. "I should think you'd want to see me get thrown out."
A headache started behind Harry's eyes. There would have been a time when he'd been gleeful about the prospect of Malfoy getting tossed on his ear for starting a brawl in a pub, but that was before . . . well, everything. Certainly before he started paying his respects to Vincent Crabbe on the anniversary of his death.
"If you're going to get tossed out, I want to have something to do with it," Harry said with what he hoped was an easy grin. "Not because of two drunk idiots who don't have a whit of sense." Harry sniffed. "Where's the challenge in that?"
Malfoy stared at him for a long moment before the left side of his mouth pushed up in a half-smile. "You're an idiot," Malfoy said.
"Yeah, I guess. Erm, sorry about your fa—"
"Save it. He was a weak man who believed in the wrong things and who sacrificed his family for it. Good riddance, I say."
The crack in Malfoy's voice said anything but.
Harry wondered whether Lucius Malfoy had ever felt the kind of regret that came with the sharp understanding of being well and truly wrong. He didn't feel sorry for Lucius Malfoy—not in the slightest. But he did feel sorry for the ones he'd left behind.
The war had made orphans of all of them.
Harry gathered his cloak, staring at the back of Malfoy's hunched-over form the entire time.
"Potter."
"Yeah?"
"Why are you here? Tonight, I mean?"
Harry's lips twitched. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
Malfoy gave that same little half smile. "Try me."
"Maybe next year," Harry said.
"Next year? You seem to think I might be here next year."
"Yeah, I do."
"All right then. Next year."
"Next year. See you, Malfoy," Harry said, the blood pounding in his veins as an odd sense of elation coursed through him.
~*~
"Last call's been done for a bit now."
Harry nodded glumly at the barman. "Suppose you're ready to close up, then."
"I'd like to." The barman licked his lips and held out his hands. "But only if that's all right with you, Mr. Potter. I'll gladly stay as long as you'd like. Just can't serve you any more drinks. I do apologise."
"That's not necessary," Harry said, hoping his smile didn't look as thin and pinched as it felt. Sometimes he almost forgot he'd saved the wizarding world. "I'm sorry to have kept you."
"Not a problem. This pub is always open to you, sir."
"Except for tonight," Harry said with a laugh, teasing.
But the barman's face went white and his eyes huge and round.
Harry grimaced. No one could take a fucking joke. "I was joking," he said.
The barman stared at him before forcing out an obviously fake laugh. "Who knew the saviour of the wizarding world was so funny?"
"Funny in the head," Malfoy would have said.
Harry frowned. Malfoy hadn't been there that year, or the year before. He'd heard bits and pieces about him, but nothing substantial. He wondered what he was doing, why he hadn't come.
"Sorry to have kept you," Harry said again as he gathered his cloak and left the pub.
He'd wanted to see Malfoy—he could admit that. Malfoy made him feel alive, even if it was only through anger and annoyance. It was something, though—more than he had now. He shut his eyes and pictured Ginny's flat. He was just about to Disapparate when a hard body collided with his.
"Watch it, Scarhead. Taken to standing in the middle of streets as if you own them, have you? You don't own them, you know. No matter who you bloody well are."
Blood pounded through Harry's veins. He smiled, feeling giddy and reckless.
"If you'd been watching where you were going, Malfoy, we wouldn't have met in the middle of the street," Harry said, opening his eyes and grinning like a loon.
Malfoy stared at him with his head cocked to the side. "Just how much have you had to drink?"
"Not nearly enough. Didn't think I'd see you this year."
"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."
"Yeah, you do. Glad you made it. Wouldn't be a memorial without you sneering at me every few minutes."
"Memorial? What are you—Just what are you implying?" Malfoy asked with an angry scowl.
Harry laughed. "Ask me next year," he said as he knocked Malfoy's shoulder. He was about to lurch away when Malfoy caught him by the elbow.
"You said that last time. Said you'd tell me."
"Well you didn't bloody show, now did you?" Harry asked, not caring how the hurt in his voice betrayed him.
"So sorry to disappoint you, but the world does not revolve around your skinny arse."
"Oh, and it revolves around yours?"
Malfoy smiled. "Naturally."
Harry laughed. "Of course you'd think that. But, no, I'm not telling. I suppose you'll have to wait another year."
"Doesn't have to be that way. Why don't you tell me next week? Dinner. Hog's Head. Next Tuesday at seven o'clock."
Harry's lips twitched. "Why would I go to dinner with you?"
"Because the idea of me asking intrigues you. Because you've never been able to leave me alone. Because you're drunk and less likely to say no. And when you stand me up, I'll have just reason to send you a Howler."
"I might pummel you, you know."
Malfoy smirked. "You could try."
Harry grinned. "Why would you want to go to dinner? Seriously?"
"Thought we might try to act like adults. Try and get along and all that—understand each other, isn't that what you said?" Malfoy hesitated. He shifted his feet and looked down at the pavement. "And I suppose I owe you," he said in low voice.
Some of Harry's giddiness drained away. "I don't know what you're—"
"I know it was you. Don't—don't make this harder than it is. I know you influenced the Prophet after Father . . . . I know what you did."
Harry didn't know what to say. He usually didn't, truth be told, and that also usually got him into trouble. "Not a big deal. I'd have done it for anyone."
"No, you wouldn't have."
Harry shrugged. He felt unnerved by the way Malfoy seemed to see straight through him, like he knew things about Harry that even Harry couldn't begin to guess.
"Couldn't stand to see that pretty hair all mussed from having to work for a living, now could I?" Harry said. He'd meant it in jest. Honestly, it was the first thing that came to mind, but the way Malfoy looked up, startled, made Harry realize just what he'd implied.
"Malfoy, I—"
"Oh, I could think of quite a few situations in which you'd like to see my hair mussed."
Harry's throat went dry. "I really don't—Look, Malfoy, I think there's been—"
"Besides, we get on now," Malfoy interrupted.
"We do? What would give you the impression that we get on?"
Malfoy's gaze flicked so fast to the pub that had Harry not been staring intently, he would have missed it. Malfoy shrugged and licked his lips. "Fine, then. We don't get on. But I figure you're a bit of sport. I wager you think the same of me. So . . . what's the problem? Scared, Potter?" he asked with a sneer.
Harry grinned. "You're slipping if you have to resort to the insults you used when we were twelve."
"Out of the mouths of babes, I say. So, are you, Potter? Scared?"
"Not on your life. And make it eight, Malfoy," he said. He was suddenly aware of a seismic shift in his life's orientation, but he hadn't a clue what to make of it. Harry found he didn't care. There was something about Malfoy that just . . . .
Harry Disapparated in a wild rush, his thoughts on what dinner with Malfoy would bring.
~*~
"That wasn't so bad," Malfoy said. He leaned against the wall and stuck his hands in his pockets. The pose was far too casual for a Malfoy, Harry thought. He liked it.
"It was good. We—we almost got along there, I think."
Malfoy nodded and glanced down the street.
Harry had no idea what to say. "Right, well. I suppose I should be going," he said.
Malfoy pushed himself away from the wall. "We could do it again, you know."
Harry stared.
Malfoy shrugged and licked his lips. "Or not. Your call, really."
"No—I mean, yes. I mean—bloody hell, what do I mean?" Harry asked himself. It was Malfoy's bemused smile that got him in the end. "I'll, erm, I'll send a note, or something. I've got—There's—Maybe in a few months? Maybe, erm, maybe every few months, or so? I mean, not like it's a date, erm not a date, I mean—"
"All right."
Harry nodded, grateful that Malfoy had cut his blabbering short. "Okay. So I'll send a note or something."
Malfoy nodded. He sauntered forwards and stood directly in front of Harry. "Night, then," he said. He seemed expectant in a way that Harry didn't understand.
"Night," Harry said in return as he backed up just a bit, feeling confused and a bit hazy all of a sudden.
Malfoy smirked and Disapparated with a soft crack.
Galliard
agitato, assai appassionato, con bravura
(An athletic dance, characterized by leaps, jumps, hops, and other similar figures. Agitated, performed very passionately and boldly.)
Harry stood at the door of the Hog's Head, hesitant. He'd been avoiding Malfoy. He didn't know why exactly, except that Ginny didn't like him spending so much time with him. That was as good an excuse as any—it kept the self-examination to the barest minimum.
Malfoy's note earlier in the day, though, had stirred something deep within him. Harry missed him.
He saw a familiar head of blond hair and all hesitancy was lost.
"You made it after all," Malfoy said as Harry sat and bought a drink.
"Yeah. Sorry I didn't send a note back."
Malfoy waved his hand. "No apologies necessary."
Harry nodded, apprehension curling in his gut.
"So, haven't seen you in almost nine months," Malfoy said. He took a drink and stared ahead.
"Er, yeah. I was—"
"You've been busy, I expect. What with trying to start your own curse-breaking business."
"I didn't know you knew—"
"Prophet."
"Ah. Yeah."
"Going well for a start-up, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Harry said, eyeing Malfoy with suspicion. Malfoy's tone may have been glib, but the sharpness in his eyes betrayed him. Malfoy was rarely so agreeable.
"I can't imagine how you have time to do that and plan your wedding to the she-weasel."
Harry groaned. "I was going to tell you," he said in a rush, not considering how ridiculous that sounded. Since when did he care what Malfoy thought?
"Of course you were," Malfoy said, taking a generous swallow of lager.
"It's none of your business to begin with."
"Of course it's not."
"Stop being so—God, you're such a fucking prat!"
"Of course I am."
"Stop doing that," Harry said, angry beyond belief. Even Ginny couldn't make him this angry.
"What am I doing, Potter? I thought I was being considerate. Compassionate, even."
"No, you're being an arse."
"Really? How do you figure? You see, I thought being an arse implied being inconsiderate. Say, for instance, not telling your mate that you've started a new business or that you're getting married."
"I knew this was a bad idea. You only invited me here so that you could rub it in my face that I've been a bad friend, that I should have told you what was going on. That's being an arse, Malfoy."
"Friends," Malfoy said. "Is that what we are?"
Harry bit back, "Of course we are," opting instead to throw back the rest of his drink. He didn't understand a thing about what he and Malfoy were. All he knew was that they'd been dancing around each other for years, that no one got under his skin the way Malfoy did, that no one affected him the way Malfoy did. It scared the fuck out of him.
Harry didn't answer Malfoy's question. He threw two Galleons on the bar and stalked out. He didn't look back. He didn't say goodnight. And he refused—absolutely refused—to consider that the churning in his gut felt like guilt.
~*~
Harry pulled his cloak around him, pleased to be away from the oppressiveness of his flat. Ginny and her incessant wedding plans were driving him spare. He needed a very stiff, very large drink and by the gods, he would have it.
He heard a moan as he passed by the alley next to the Black Cauldron. He whipped out his wand and stalked forwards. He crouched at the entrance to the alley, expecting danger.
Instead, he found two men silhouetted in blue light, one with long hair leaning against the wall, his head thrown back as he moaned in pleasure, the other kneeling and giving what sounded like an incredible blowjob. Harry's throat went dry and his cock stirred. His eyes fixed on the head bobbing back and forth. He wondered what it felt like, whether it was different from Ginny's rather unenthusiastic sucking. It certainly appeared as though it was. He'd never seen something so hot, so sexy.
The man against the wall hissed a long string of curse words as he started bucking into the other man's mouth. Harry pressed his hand against his hard cock, squeezing and rubbing, his hand moving in time as the other man's head bobbed faster and faster.
The man against the wall came with a muffled groan. Harry bit his lip to keep from screaming at the man to keep going. Harry wanted to come, too.
The other man sat back on his heels, his lips slipping off the man's cock with a long, sensuous slide. He stood and leaned in. He murmured something that made the man laugh, a secret between lovers. Harry longed for such intimacy.
The man leaning against the wall reached up and trailed his fingers down the other man's cheek, before following with his lips. They kissed long and hard. It looked as though they were attacking each other—there was no other way Harry could think to describe it—and holy gods, Harry wanted that.
The kiss finally ended and the man pushed away from the wall and walked away. The other man turned and began walking towards Harry. Harry scrambled to his feet and leapt behind a large rubbish bin, terrified of being caught.
As the man left the alley, Harry finally got a look at him. His heart stopped. It was Malfoy. Malfoy licked his swollen lips as he walked by, completely unaware of Harry's presence. Harry felt sick and angry as if someone had just hexed him with a dozen Stinging Hexes.
He staggered from behind the bin and watched as Malfoy entered the Black Cauldron.
Harry turned and ran as hard as he could.
~*~
Harry sat huddled in the corner, paying his respects to Vincent Crabbe as quickly as he could. He couldn't face Malfoy, not after what he'd seen. And yet, he was desperate to see him, watch him, seduce him. Only Harry was sure that he really didn't want any of those things. He wanted Ginny.
He said that over and over and over until he almost believed it.
He forgot all about Ginny, though, as Malfoy entered the bar, looked around, found Harry and sauntered over. Harry braced himself and tried to push down the thrilling feeling he felt squirming inside.
"What are you doing here, Potter?"
Malfoy's hoarse voice sent shivers down Harry's spine. His swollen lips begged to be bitten. He jerked his head away and closed his eyes, but the vision of Malfoy on his knees, sucking a hard cock, came anyway.
He'd not been able to get away from it. He dreamt about it, fantasised about it, watched it play over and over and over again until he was the one against the wall with Malfoy between his legs, Malfoy's lips wrapped around his cock.
"Potter?"
"What do you want?"
"Someone's in a right mood. What, the impending nuptials getting to you?"
"Go fuck yourself, Malfoy."
"They are, aren't they? Realising that in a week's time you'll be breeding ginger-haired abominations and even you can't stand the thought of it."
Harry sprang to his feet and grabbed Malfoy by the front of his cloak, smiling viciously as Malfoy tipped forwards and made a choking sound. "Ginny's worth ten of you."
"Keep telling yourself that," Malfoy said through gritted teeth as he tried to prise Harry's hands from his cloak. "Truth is, Potter, you want something entirely different, don't you? Only you're not man enough to take it. Such a waste."
"You son-of-a—"
"That's enough!" the barman bellowed, brandishing his wand. "Out. Now. I don't care who you are, you're not going to get into a brawl in my pub. Take it outside."
Before Harry or Malfoy could protest, the barman waved his wand and invisible hands picked them up and pushed them out of the pub. The door slammed shut.
"Now look what you've done," Malfoy drawled.
Anger, desire and frustration tangled up inside of Harry. He didn't know what he was feeling, only that he had to—had to— He turned with a shriek and wrapped his hands around Malfoy's neck. He pushed him against the wall. He wanted to bash Malfoy's head in, no!—He wanted, he wanted—
Harry darted in and slammed his lips against Malfoy's. He had no idea what he was doing, but figured it couldn't be half-different from what he did with Ginny. Only this was entirely different. There was nothing gentle or fragile about what he was doing with Malfoy. Harry bit Malfoy's bottom lip, smiling viciously as Malfoy moaned and bucked against him.
Harry feasted on Malfoy's lips, his neck, his shoulders. He thrust his thigh in between Malfoy's legs and rubbed it against his hard cock, marvelling at the way he moaned and clung to him as if he were the only thing keeping him from collapsing.
"Want you to suck my cock," Harry said as his hands ripped the cloak from Malfoy's shoulders. Harry pushed him down. "Want to—want to—"
Malfoy dropped to his knees and looked up through errant strands of blond hair. "Do you even know what you want?"
"What?"
"Nothing. Want me to suck your cock, Potter?"
Harry lost the ability to breathe. He nodded and with a garbled moan said, "That mouth is made for it."
Malfoy smirked, whispered an incantation. Harry's trousers and pants fell around his ankles. Malfoy leaned in, sucking the head of Harry's cock in between his lips.
"What—ah, fuck," Harry groaned, the feel of Malfoy's lips more incredible than he could have imagined. He threw his head back as Malfoy drew him all the way in, his tongue slithering along the underside. Nothing had ever felt as good, as right, as Malfoy on his knees, giving Harry the best blowjob of his life.
Malfoy made to pull away, but Harry's hands were faster. Tugging and grasping at Malfoy's hair, Harry held his head in place and started thrusting erratically. He didn't care that Malfoy made a few choking sounds at first. Malfoy knew what to do—Harry was sure of it—and would adjust.
He was right, of course. Within seconds, Malfoy was bobbing back and forth, sucking Harry, sliding his tongue everywhere, making Harry feel like a million stars were scraping across his skin.
"I'm—I'm—" Harry gasped, trying to tell Malfoy what was coming. Malfoy swallowed, taking Harry in even deeper, and Harry was lost. Moaning, he came hard, ejaculating down Malfoy's throat.
Harry slumped against the wall. "Fuck, you're good at that," he said in between panting breaths. "I should buy you a drink or something."
Malfoy sat back on his heels. He stared at Harry for several long moments, his eyes going colder by the second. "Yeah. You should buy me a drink," he sneered.
"What—?"
"Nothing, Potter. Nothing."
Malfoy sighed and got to his feet. Harry was keenly aware that he was in an alley, his bits hanging in the wind, his trousers and pants twisted around his ankles, his come still smeared across Malfoy's lips.
"Well, I suppose we should head in," Harry said, trying desperately to sound cool and unaffected.
"Like two mates, down to the pub for a pint."
"Yeah. Exactly."
Malfoy shook his head. He leaned in and kissed Harry soundly, only pulling away when Harry tried to pull him closer. "Two mates do that, too, Harry?" he whispered.
"What are you—I don't understand," Harry said.
"I know you don't. You will. One day." Malfoy pulled back and turned to leave the alley. "Coming, Potter? You promised me a drink, after all."
"Yeah. Coming."
To what end—or where—Harry didn't know.
It was two years before Harry saw Malfoy again.
Passacaglia and Ciaccona
cantabile primo, capriocoso con brio secundo
(The passacaglia is comprised of a gentle, melancholy rocking, while the ciaccona is joyful and deeply erotic. In a singing style at first—for the passacaglia. Capriciously, unpredictable and with vigor—for the Ciaccona.)
Harry raised his glass to Vincent Crabbe and slammed it back down on the bar. He hadn't meant to slam it, just like he hadn't meant to tell the man next to him that his mouth looked like it needed a good fuck.
"You've had enough, I think."
Harry swung around, the world not moving at the same speed. He thought he might be sick.
"What have you done to yourself?"
"Mal—Drac—Draco."
"Yeah?"
"Why—Where—You weren't here."
"I'm here now," Draco said softly. "Thanks," Draco said to the barman.
Harry tried to swing back around. "What d'you thank him for?"
"For Flooing me. Said you were in a right state. He wasn't taking the piss."
"Why'd he do that? Why not Gin—Ginny?"
"He remembered me. Probably didn't think you wanted your wife to see you like this."
Harry tried to work through that. "Oh," he finally said. "Tired." Harry sagged against Draco's body. God, he smelled good. He was solid and warm and Harry wanted to fuck him.
"Oh no, you don't," Draco said, jostling Harry and trying to lever him up.
"Stop yelling."
"You're completely smashed."
"You're getting married."
Harry felt Draco's breath catch. "So? You're already married with a new baby at home."
"But you're getting married."
"Yeah. I am."
"Read about it in the Prophet. What, you couldn't tell me yourself?"
"We haven't seen each other in two years. Why would I tell you?"
"Because . . . because."
Harry felt Draco lean him back against the bar. He kept his hands on Harry's shoulders, holding him steady.
"Her name's Ariella. My fourth cousin arranged it. I've met her twice. She wasn't a troll or anything, so I figured, why not?"
"You don't love her?"
Malfoy snorted. "Certainly not."
"Why—why would you—" Harry leaned forwards and tried to kiss Malfoy. His tongue and lips were too slow, his movements too sloppy. Draco allowed it for a few moments before stepping back.
"I just need—"
"I know," Draco murmured. "But it's not the right time. We haven't got to that step yet."
"What? I don't unders—"
"My mother used to say that life was nothing but a carefully planned dance and that people move in and out of our lives like dance partners. You—we're—there's steps still to go."
"What are you saying?"
"You need to go home to your wife. And I need to marry mine."
"I—Why?"
"Because that's the way it is. There's no—It's not—That's just the way it is."
Harry whimpered and pressed himself closer. He kissed Draco again, trying to make it mean something. Draco met him halfway, kissing him the way Harry remembered. Eventually Draco drew back and smiled the little half-smile Harry knew so well.
"Can you stand?" Draco asked.
Harry nodded, glumly staring at the floor.
"Right. Let's get you home, then."
"Will you be here?" Harry asked, knowing that Draco would know what he was talking about.
"Yes."
"Promise?"
"Yes, I promise."
"I—Congratulations. On getting married, I mean."
"Thank you," Draco said quietly. He glanced around the empty pub. "Home?"
"Yeah."
Draco put his arm around Harry's shoulder and pulled him to his feet. Harry closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He wanted to remember.
~*~
Harry made a point of seeing Draco every three months after that. It was as if he had to prove to himself that he could sit and laugh and look pleasant while his gut twisted and his body ached to be next to Draco's. To anyone else, they were two mates having a drink and catching up on family.
To pretend that they'd never shared any intimacy was hardest of all. It got easier over the years, of course, but when Harry was alone, he wrapped his hand around his cock and imagined Draco's mouth drawing him in deep and sucking. He imagined what it would be like to fuck Draco, to feel that tight heat. Sometimes when he fucked Ginny from behind, he could almost imagine it was Draco.
Draco, of course, seemed unaffected. He spoke of Scorpius and his wife's extravagant spending and politics that Harry didn't follow. Harry wanted to kiss the words out of Draco's mouth, make Draco beg for him. But Harry shoved away his wants and drowned his desires in Firewhisky and false laughter.
In his dreams, Draco arched beneath him and moaned his name as if no other word existed.
~*~
It happened so quickly. One moment, he was standing on a Muggle street corner, the next, a car slid around the corner and ploughed into the lamppost not two feet from him. As he'd stood frozen, watching the car careen towards him, he realised he'd miss Lily's junior Quidditch game.
He'd nearly been killed.
And then he thought of Draco.
~*~
Harry watched the door, waiting for Draco to arrive. He drank another shot of Firewhisky and turned the empty glass with nervous fingers. Nineteen years he'd waited for this.
Draco strolled in, removed his gloves and sauntered towards Harry. Harry didn't even give him a chance to say anything. He stood, wrapped his arms around Draco and Apparated them into the hotel room he'd set up earlier in the day.
"What in the hell do you think—?"
Harry didn't give him a chance to say anything, either, before he sealed Draco's lips with his and forced his tongue into Draco's mouth.
Draco bit his bottom lip hard and pushed him away. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked, panting.
"I want you," Harry said, as if this explained everything.
"As if that's news—"
"I'm going to have you," Harry said, stalking forwards, pinning Draco with his gaze. "You're going to suck my cock until it's nice and hard. Then, I'm going to fuck you against that wall over there. Later, I'll fuck you on the bed, on the floor, in the shower, everywhere I can. And you're going to scream my name and you're never going to forget me."
Draco swallowed. "What makes you think I want to go along with this?"
Harry put his hands on Draco's shoulders and pushed down. Draco groaned in the back of his throat and dropped to his knees.
"You want me too. You always have."
"Took you long enough," Draco said as he rubbed his face against Harry's cock.
"Gods, that feels good," Harry said.
Draco mouthed over his cock, rubbed his cheek against it, bit through the fabric of Harry's trousers.
"Please, please," Harry whispered as he wound his hands in Draco's hair and held him in place.
"All right," Draco said against Harry's cock. He wound his arms around Harry's thighs and pulled him close. He murmured an incantation, Charming away their clothes.
Harry moaned, feeling Draco's naked body against his for the first time. He tugged Draco's hair and bucked his hips.
Draco tongued Harry's cock, teased the head, and then took it deep into his mouth, sucking.
"Fuck, you're so good at that. Your mouth was made to suck my cock. Made for it. You love it, don't you? Love sucking my cock. So good. Feels so good."
Draco responded by sucking harder, causing Harry to moan and thrust erratically into Draco's mouth. When he felt close to the edge, he pulled out and stepped back. "Going to fuck you."
Draco scrambled to his feet. Harry kissed Draco hard, loving the way their teeth knocked and saliva smeared across their lips and faces.
"Against the wall," Harry said, following behind.
Draco splayed his hands apart, and looked over his shoulder with a smirk on his face. "Like this?"
Harry rushed forwards and covered Draco's body with his. He snatched up Draco's hands with one of his own and pulled them high over his head. "Going to fuck you."
"Quit talking and start fucking," Draco said, rubbing his arse against Harry's hard cock.
Harry growled and kicked Draco's feet apart. He looked around wildly for the lube he'd left somewhere convenient, spying it on the nightstand. With a wandless, non-verbal Accio, he Summoned it.
"Not too gentle, Potter. I'm not a girl."
Harry smiled into Draco's back and prepared him.
Fucking Draco was unlike anything he could have imagined. It was rough and hard and tight. They snapped and growled at each other like savages. There would be bruises all over Draco's body, and Harry knew Draco would glory in every one.
This was the way fucking was supposed to be.
"Let go . . . of my hands. Need . . . need to come."
Harry let go and put both hands on Draco's hips, pulling him back from the wall and thrusting harder.
"Ah, fuck—right there. Right there," Draco howled, his hand flying across his cock.
"So good . . . so fucking good," Harry hissed, desperate to come.
"Going to—going to—"
"Me too. Hold—just there—Hold on," Harry shouted, thrusting one last time and coming hard.
Draco's body tensed. He gasped and bucked his hips a few times. Harry could imagine the come spilling all over his hands—just like it had all of the times Harry had masturbated whilst thinking of Draco.
Harry slumped against Draco's body. "Tired. Bed. Over there."
"Yeah."
They stumbled and fell together on the bed in a tangle of limbs.
~*~
"Why do you go there every year?" Draco asked after they'd both been roused from sleep.
Harry reached out and brushed his fingers across Draco's cheek. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
Draco snorted. "You say that every time I ask."
"Yeah, I know." Harry paused, imagining what a sight they made, tangled in white hotel sheets. There was an intimacy between them that would be cheapened if he didn't tell Draco why. "Did you know that this is the day Vincent Crabbe died?"
Draco looked at him, dumbstruck. "What are you—?"
"I go to the Black Cauldron every year and have a drink for Crabbe."
"I don't believe you."
"I said you wouldn't."
"You're serious."
Harry nodded.
Draco was quiet for a long moment.
"I've never told anyone else that," Harry said, his heart in his throat. "No one else knows I go there every year."
"I expect not. You'd be shipped off to the Thickey Ward in a second."
"No—that's not why—I—It's private. I didn't want to share it with anyone. Not even Ginny. But you—You and I have shared it for so many years . . . I wanted to tell you."
"And your reasoning has nothing to do with the fact that you just made good on your promise to fuck me through the wall?"
Harry laughed softly. "No. Well, not entirely."
"That's better. My arse inspires the most stony to spill their secrets."
Harry laughed again—when was the last time he'd laughed so freely in bed? "And you think I have more secrets to spill?"
"Yeah."
Harry shrugged. "I suppose that's true."
"Why? Why him? Why not Lupin or Fred Weasley or cousin Dora?"
"I honour them every day. I can't get away from honouring them, thinking of them, nodding silently as everyone praises their bravery and conviction. But no one ever mourns the likes of Crabbe."
"There's a reason for that. He tried to kill you."
"Don't get me wrong, he was a stupid, mean, vile bastard, but he was also his father's son. I figure . . . we're all our fathers' sons. Some of us just had a chance to be more than that. He didn't. Regardless of what he did or who he was, that's worth a drink or two and a bit of thought once a year."
"But he would have kept on trying to kill you. He wouldn't have been anything more than who he was at that moment. You can't possibly believe that everyone is redeemable."
Harry shrugged, as much as he could while lying on his side. "Some aren't," he said. He reached out again and let the tips of his fingers trail down Draco's cheek. "But most are."
Draco closed his eyes and nuzzled the cradle of Harry's hand for just a moment. Harry wished he had a picture of it so that he could watch this moment over and over again. It was remarkable how the quietest moments made the greatest impact on one's life.
"There's a lovely inn in Wiltshire. I can be there by half-five most days. What are you doing next Tuesday?" Draco asked, his eyes still closed.
Harry's hand dropped. "We can't do this again. Not while I'm still married to Ginny. I'm sorry. I shouldn't—"
"Don't. Don't you dare use apologies as a way to excuse this or make it less real."
"I'm not. I wouldn't. I wanted this, wanted you. Still do, in fact."
"Then what's the problem?"
"I'm married to her. I love her."
Draco snorted. "And what of me? A memorial fuck every year? Is that all I am to you?"
"No." Harry's hands scrabbled through his hair. "Fuck, I don't know what I'm doing."
"Makes two of us."
"You're married too, you know."
Malfoy stared at him as if Harry had said the most asinine thing possible. "My family has an entirely different view on marriage than you do." Draco sighed. "We're not going to do this again, are we?"
Harry pulled Draco closer, touching as much of him as he could. He shook his head.
Draco sighed. He pulled away, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and sat up. He stood and cast about for his pants and trousers. "What a laugh. Fucking Harry Potter whilst celebrating Vincent Crabbe day."
"Draco, I—"
"Just . . . just don't." Draco snapped his buttons into their holes. "I should have known not to get tangled up with you."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Draco snorted, shook his head, and tied his shoes with angry pulls on the laces.
"Look, I said I was sorry. I didn't mean—"
"Yes you did. You meant every fucking kiss, pinch and thrust. You meant it."
"Yeah. I did. It's just . . . we've got wives and kids and you can't expect me to turn my back on that."
"For me, you mean?"
"For anyone."
Draco grabbed his cloak and strode towards the door. He stopped just inside the frame. Without turning around, he said, "Why is it that Slytherins are the only ones capable of dividing their loyalties? Such a shame, I think."
"That's not fair."
"Don't talk to me about fair." Draco made to take a step forward but hesitated at the last second. "Crabbe would have found all of this hilarious, you know. But he wouldn't have got the truly funny part of it."
"Oh?"
"Yeah," Draco said. "It's not Crabbe you're mourning every year. It's yourself—what you lost, what you missed out on. What you never got to be. But—and here's the funny part, Potter, so listen up—even when you get the chance to be who you want, you don't take it." Draco turned around and pierced Harry through with his stare. "Unless I'm wrong. Will you? Take it?"
"I—I—"
Draco rolled his eyes and snorted. "Forget it." He left, closing the door quietly behind him.
Harry's mind raced. He felt as if blinders had been snatched away and he was seeing the world for the first time. Draco was right. He was absolutely right. How could it be that Draco knew him better than he knew himself? He bit his lip and thought about the last twenty years, how relatively few moments over the course of that much time could mean the world to him.
Harry skittered off the bed, pulled his trousers and shirt on and ran from the room.
"Malfoy! Wait!" he called.
Draco turned slowly and cocked his head.
Harry took a chance and stepped forward. The world spread out beneath his feet.
Sarabande
allargando, a piacere
(The final dance, slow and thoughtful. Broadly, becoming a bit slower; the rhythm at the pleasure of the dancers.)
Harry saw Malfoy across the platform in the distance. They nodded to each other. Harry worked to hold back his smile.
"You coming back to the house?" Ron asked.
Harry shook his head. "Ginny wants to take Lily to your mum's. I've got errands to run. It's better this way, I think."
Ron frowned and looked on the verge of saying something.
"Just say it."
"Are you sure that you can't work it out?"
"I'm sure. And so's Ginny. Just wasn't meant to be—not forever, anyway. I loved her, Ron. Still do. Never doubt that. But . . . ."
"But there's something you want more?"
Harry's gaze darted across the platform as Malfoy and Ariella said goodbye stiffly before parting ways. "Something like that."
Ron nodded, though he looked subdued. "You're still part of the family. Forever. Even if you and Ginny had tried to split each other's guts on the Christmas ham, Mum will still demand that you come around for Boxing Day."
Harry laughed. "That means a lot. Thank you."
"See you?"
"Yeah. See you."
~*~
"It's not Vincent Crabbe day," Draco said as he slid onto the stool next to Harry's. "What are you doing here?"
"Having a drink. It was hard seeing Al off today. And . . . I hoped you might turn up."
"Pure coincidence."
"Ah."
"I hear you're separating from your wife," Draco said.
"Cutting right to it, then."
"I've learned the very hard way to get what I want."
"And what is it you want, Draco?"
"I don't believe you've ever called me that, and as for what I want, I think you know."
"I might have an inkling. I imagine it's the same thing I want. And more than just that mouth of yours wrapped around my cock."
"I told you I'd be the best."
Harry smiled in return.
"So, are the rumours true?"
"About me and Ginny? We've been separated for a long while, now. Haven't told the children, of course. I suspect that the divorce will come through in a few months' time."
"Do you—I suppose I should say I'm sorry."
"No you shouldn't. You'd be lying."
"I suppose you're right. In any event, we should have a drink the day after. I know a little pub—"
"No. Right here. We should do it here."
"What, and ruin Vincent Crabbe Memorial Day?"
"I figured there was something new to mark each year. Maybe the days in between, too. If you're interested."
Harry was cold all of a sudden, freezing in fact, if the violent tremors he could feel inside were any indication. He felt as though he were being weighed and measured as Draco stared at him, not saying a word.
Harry was just about to cuff him on the head and laugh, saying he'd only been taking the piss, but then both sides of Draco's mouth pushed up in a smile.
"How about I see you on Vincent Crabbe Day?" Draco asked. "We'll mark it with something a bit different."
"Something different?"
Draco licked his lips. "Yeah, my arse, your cock, and the best hotel suite you can get." He cleared his throat. "And—"
"And?"
"And maybe we'll mark the days in between, too."
Harry closed his eyes for a brief second, not daring to believe that his life had led to this one, blissful moment. He nodded, clasped Draco's hand, and squeezed.
Harry figured he'd finally got the steps right. One dance ended as a new one began. Harry looked forward to learning a new dance.