hd365_mod (hd365_mod) wrote in hd_365, @ 2006-10-24 18:57:00 |
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Current mood: | bitchy |
Tuesday fic for the D prompt
Original poster: rurounihime
Sorry this is so late in the day. I had to work. ^_^
Title: Denial
Author: rurounihime
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 2,212
Summary: Harry finishes the day on the Quidditch pitch.
Disclaimer: The HP characters aren't mine. If wishes were horses... *sigh*
A/N: This draws off of some old angst, as well as the newest batch from Grey Hunter. ^_^
...
Denial
The Quaffle glanced off of Oliver Wood’s left hand and shot wide. Harry craned his neck and watched as Oliver turned head over heels in a potentially disastrous tumble. A collective gasp came from the crowd in the stands. But Harry could already see the grip Oliver had on his broomstick, and he knew there was nowhere Oliver would be going except to the right, hard, rocketing into position in time to snatch the follow-through lob right out of the air. The Chaser on the other team cursed loudly and swung around, readying to intercept the pass, but a shout from the other side of the pitch signaled the catching of the Snitch. A whoop went up from the stands.
Harry’s eyes never left Oliver. He tracked the man as he circled the goalposts on his broom, pumping a fist in the air. His team whirled around him, chanting some cheer Harry couldn’t quite make out, and he relaxed his grip on his wand. Eventually, the Magpies managed to make the ground, and they shouted and catcalled their way through slapping hands with the other team, and then back to the lockers. Harry followed at a distance, casting a glance toward the stands. The fans were filing out, chattering excitedly. He squinted in the waning light, but no one looked to be dallying, and the rival team had already vacated the pitch.
Harry made his way into the locker room with the coach’s permission, and sat on a bench by the door, listening to the sound of showers and laughter. It took nearly thirty minutes for everyone to dress and go; the two women among the Chasers were hitting the nearest pub with the bigger male Beater, and as far as Harry could make out, the Seeker was returning home to her husband and twin boys for some homemade cherry pie to celebrate the Magpies’ victory.
When there were only two people left in the locker room besides Harry, Oliver finally came around the corner, equipment bag slung over his slim shoulders, rubbing a white towel through still-wet hair. He chuckled in response to some joke from the direction of the showers, and then turned, still smiling to himself, and saw Harry.
Oliver’s steps faltered. “Hey. Potter.”
Harry stood up and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Good show out there, Oliver. My heart was in my throat.”
Oliver snorted softly. His smile stretched into a self-conscious grin. “No, it wasn’t.”
Harry cocked his head. “No. You’re too good to fall.”
Oliver shrugged. “Whole team’s doing well this year.”
Harry nodded, and an awkward silence fell between them. Oliver’s smile began to look a little uncertain, and Harry cleared his throat. Orchestrating the plot against Merryweather had been one thing. But this was the first time they had really spoken to each other one on one since Draco’s all-too-clear warning at the club months ago.
“So you’re my honor guard tonight?” the Keeper said at last.
Harry nodded. “Just until you get home. Tonks is there already, checking your house.”
Oliver’s sniff had a slightly bitter edge. “I remember when I used to just be able to come home and crash on the couch with a cold beer and leave my front door as wide open as I pleased.”
Harry shook his head. He cast an intensive deflection spell over them both and ushered Oliver out of the locker room into the dusk. If the extra precaution bothered him, the Keeper didn’t show it.
Oliver gave him a half-grin. “Saw Malfoy here earlier. He was sitting…” He shaded his eyes and then pointed toward the middle stands. “There. You know, he makes a handsome Quidditch fan.”
Harry glanced down at his own worn jeans and corduroy jacket. “Yeah, undercover work suits him.”
“Suits you both.”
Harry glanced up, but Oliver was looking down at his broom, rubbing away caked dirt and scuff marks. Harry glanced away, feeling his cheeks heat. “So. Anyone you feel like telling me about?”
Oliver sighed. “No, no one suspicious. Unless they’re all acting suspicious. I don’t even know if I care anymore. Bloody arse is probably just blowing off steam with all those letters. You know I can’t even go out to the pub with my teammates anymore?”
“I’m sorry, Oliver.”
This time the other man’s smile looked a little more genuine. “Not your fault, Harry. Just doing your job.”
Harry stopped and Oliver turned to face him. “You’re my friend, Oliver. It’s not just a job.”
“Cheers, Harry.” Oliver’s weariness showed through his mask at last, and Harry caught his first real glimpse of the strain of the past few months. He wasn’t all that far from haggard.
“So.” Oliver walked through the grass beside him, gripping his broom in one hand and his bag strap in the other. “I suppose you have to be getting home, then?”
Harry allowed a laugh. “If you’re asking if Draco is waiting dinner for me, then the answer is probably no. Weekdays, we have a hard enough time coordinating being awake, let alone dinner.”
“Never really figured him for the domestic type anyway.” Oliver’s lips pursed and he furrowed his brow curiously. “Actually, I never really figured him for one of us either. You know.”
He gestured between them and Harry really did laugh. “Oh, I know. Trust me, though, he’s definitely gay.”
“Yes, I guess you would know.” It was spoken pleasantly enough; Harry couldn’t hear anything definitive beneath it. He let it go without comment.
Oliver let out a deep breath, hitching his bag up over his shoulder. “To tell you the truth, you both surprise me. I would have thought you were the type for kids by now, Harry. What with your history and all.”
Harry smiled down at his shoes. “The idea is definitely appealing.”
Oliver chuckled, sending him a warm look. “Now, me and kids… We don’t exactly mix. I wouldn’t know what to do with them if I had ‘em. Besides teach them Quidditch, that is. I’m beginning to think that’s all I can do.”
Harry shook his head. “You’d make a good father, Oliver.”
“Oh, yeah? And how do you figure?”
“Just a feeling.”
They were nearly outside of the gates, but Harry kept the slow pace, feeling the protective spell hum softly around them. Oliver cast a look back and clenched his jaw. “Well, if our mystery man has his way, I won’t get a chance to find out, will I?”
Harry looked at the other man and Oliver held his hand up. “Sorry. Sorry, Harry, I know. Think happy thoughts.”
The walked on a little further, and Harry was just starting to look for a proper place to Apparate from, when Oliver spoke again. “Now, Malfoy, him I would have pegged for a family man.”
Harry smirked, unable to stop the surprise. “Draco? That’s not most peoples’ first impression, you know.”
Oliver shrugged one shoulder. “Oh, I don’t know. I don’t think he’d be the stay-at-home dad or anything like that. But I sort of expected him to marry. A wife, a kid, a quaint little manor with a rose garden. Take one for the team and all that.”
Harry blinked into the falling twilight. His throat suddenly felt a little full. “I’m sure a lot of people expected him to do that.”
“Well, he is a pureblood, from a long line of purebloods. Stands to reason. Nice to see he’s breaking away from tradition, though.” Oliver grinned slyly. “All the tradition in the world can’t do much about liking another man, can it?”
Harry shook his head. He wished he were convinced of his own words, but…
Oh, it wasn’t Oliver’s fault. He couldn’t possibly know about Draco’s opinion concerning being attracted to men. All the same, he felt his chest cinching up with dull, unspecified worry. They hadn’t resolved it, not really. Or not at all. Harry looked around to distract himself, but there was little to be done about the familiar hollowness Oliver’s words caused.
Yes, Draco liked men. Harry was certain about that. What he wasn’t certain about was whether or not that would really stand in the way of tradition, in the end. Draco had made it disturbingly clear that—
Harry shook his head and took out his wand. “There. We can get you home from there.” He pointed to the small copse of beech trees about fifty yards to the left of the pitch’s gate.
* * *
Harry opened the front door to his apartment and kicked his shoes off, shrugging the jacket from his shoulders. The house was warm, and he could smell the remnants of a cooked meal. He hung his jacket over the nearest chair and wandered into the kitchen. Draco was nowhere in sight, but there was some sort of pasta under a heating spell on the stove. He dished himself out a little and ate leaning against the counter, savouring the slight sweetness of ripe tomato and the tang of garlic.
Draco didn’t cook often, but there were some dishes he knew damn well.
Harry left his dish in the sink when he was finished, and exited the kitchen, padding down the hall to the bedroom. One of the lamps was lit, spilling yellow light into the hallway. Harry paused in the doorway. Draco had transfigured a desk and was seated, his head leaning on one hand while his other scribbled busily with a quill over a stack of parchment. Harry noted the plate and fork on the corner of the desk, containing the remnants of spaghetti sauce.
Draco still had his undercover clothing on: dark jeans and a worn red Harpies T-shirt. A grey scarf was draped loosely about his throat, the ragged ends brushing the floor. Harry crossed the room and bent over his shoulder, settling his arms around Draco’s chest.
“Hey.”
Draco let out a sigh and leaned back. One hand came up and gripped Harry’s wrist. “Hey.”
Harry pressed a kiss to Draco’s neck. “Thanks for the pasta.”
Draco squeezed his wrist. “You’re back earlier than I expected.”
“You cold?” Harry asked, fingering the ends of the scarf.
Draco shrugged. “Just never took it off. Wood alright then?”
Harry heard the stiffness underlying the words. He nodded. “Tonks is staying at his flat tonight. They’ve got the place warded up like a prison. I think it’s getting to him.” Draco didn’t say anything, so Harry changed the subject. “You find anyone worth looking at?”
Draco eased forward out of Harry’s arms and pointed with the end of his quill at the top sheet of his report. “I had three fans followed home. One in particular I want them to concentrate on. Lupin’s researching all of them. They fit the profile.”
Harry glanced at the parchment, but it all swirled in front of his eyes and he shut them. He reached forward and covered Draco’s hand with his own. “You… up for a break?”
“Merlin, yes. Bloody paperwork takes longer than the actual solving of the crime.”
Harry nodded. Draco’s mouth quirked into a smile and he half turned, but when Harry drew his hand to his mouth and pressed an open-mouthed kiss across the back of it, Draco’s smile faded.
“Harry? What’s wrong?”
He kissed Draco’s hand again, and again. Tiny pecks over his knuckles. “I’m just… I missed you today.”
Draco tried to rise from his chair, but Harry laid a hand on his chest and pushed him back gently. Tugged the chair away from the desk and swung his leg over Draco’s lap. His lover’s eyes skirted over him, and Harry could see the odd glow in them. “Well. I always miss you,” he said lightly. Harry tried to smile but knew he’d failed when Draco’s frowned grew more pronounced. “Harry—”
He shook his head and met Draco’s mouth, slow and deep, cupping his face with both hands. Draco moved with the kiss, hesitated, lipped at Harry’s mouth. Harry shifted, leaned Draco back into the chair, and slid his hands under the hem of his shirt.
Draco pulled away breathlessly. “Don’t you think… Harry, we could do this somewhere more…”
His words faded away. Harry pulled the scarf off with one hand, and then slid the shirt over Draco’s head and dropped it to the floor. He lifted one of Draco’s hands to his own chest. “Undress me. Please?”
Draco’s brows lifted, but he nodded readily enough, and began to flick the buttons apart on Harry’s shirt. “What’s gotten into you?” he murmured. Harry smiled weakly.
“You, of course.”
Draco grinned at that. His fingers made quick work of Harry’s shirt and then trailed down to his jeans flies. Harry returned to the kiss, just tasting Draco’s mouth. He undulated his hips, and Draco’s breath caught in a hiss. Arms locking around him tightly, pressing him closer. Harry let Draco plunder his mouth, kissed back, felt Draco take control, roll his hips forward, and he went with it.
“Mmm,” Draco whispered against his lips, “love you.”
You don’t know what will happen. It echoed in Harry’s head, beating alongside Draco’s words. Harry shut his eyes, stroked Draco’s face, and tried to remain in the moment, instead of in some dark future.
~fin~