Paradigm Chapter Five
Feb. 13th, 2009 08:24 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dysonrulesMany many thanks to my lovely beta who stays up ridiculously late at night (morning?) fixing my ficcage. *squishes ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
byaghro *
For the uninitiated: Chapter One
Draco was tired, but far too discombobulated to sleep. He sat on his sofa and stared at the wall for nearly an hour, trying to think of anything other than Harry Potter. When that worked for no more than three minutes at a stretch, he allowed his memory to track back over every moment of the night past.
It was too much to bear. It was over. It had been amazing, but it was done. He should never have agreed to a second night with Potter. It had been a massive mistake. Draco had never been able to predict Potter’s actions. Had he sought out Draco in order to drive him crazy?
Draco lurched to his feet, haunted by the memory of Harry Potter’s touch. Fuck, why could he not have acted like a normal mark? Why had he looked at Draco like he was… like he was someone. Like he was a person instead of a thing.
Draco Disapparated. He needed some fresh air. Not surprisingly, a walk in the pouring rain did nothing to ease his whirling thoughts. He stared into the murky water of the Thames several hours later, soaked to the skin, chilled, and utterly miserable.
He also knew what he had to do. Thanks to Potter he had ten thousand Galleons, a veritable fortune. It was time to start over. He would leave his flat and move to another city, or at least another part of the city. Somewhere nearer his mother, perhaps. Maybe he would find a job. He could not keep Memory Charming people without drawing the eventual attention of the Aurors. Aurors other than Potter, at any rate. He wondered what happened with Potter’s investigation. Potter seemed to have completely forgotten Bernard Carversham.
Draco frowned. It made no sense. Of course he was still on the case. Potter was only trying to lull Draco into a false sense of security. Now that he had blackmail material, the Auror could drag Draco in for more intense questioning.
Draco shook the wet hair out of his eyes with a sigh of disgust. What the hell was he thinking? He was the one with blackmail material. One bloody Pensieve memory released to the press and Potter’s closet sexuality would be exposed. The hero’s pristine reputation would be demolished.
Even as the thought occurred to him, Draco knew he would never do it, not only because the resulting scandal would destroy his mother, but also because the memories of Potter were his alone.
He sneezed and drew his wand. He Apparated home before he caught a bloody cold. As it was, he knew it would take a steaming hot bath and an hour in front of a roaring fire to warm up.
He appeared in his living room; and nearly ran straight into his nemesis. “What?” he spluttered, “Are you doing here, Potter?”
“Waiting for you.”
“Do you have any concept of privacy?” Draco demanded. Bloody Auror! Draco knew damn well he had locked and warded his door.
Potter’s hands reached out to touch Draco’s face. “Fuck, Draco, you’re drenched—and chilled to the bone! Where have you been?”
“Out,” Draco said and jerked away from Potter’s oh-so-warm touch. “Which is where you are going.”
“Let me help,” said the Wonder Auror and pulled out his wand. Before Draco could protest, a dense whirlwind seemed to swirl around him, nearly pulling the air from his lungs and compressing him tightly before dissipating and leaving him completely dry. He inhaled sharply and opened his mouth, but Potter uttered another spell. This one seemed to curl around Draco’s feet and then wrap itself around his calves, knees and legs before moving quickly upward, blanketing him in a cradle of warmth. Despite himself, Draco nearly sighed with pleasure at the sudden onslaught of heat. He felt gooseflesh stand out all over his body as the chill was driven away.
Potter watched him expressionlessly. “Better?”
Draco wanted to rail at him, but he was too out of sorts. Why was he here, making Draco feel good? Taking care of him, for fuck’s sake? “What do you want?”
Potter looked away and shifted his feet. His fingers tapped on his wand nervously. Draco sighed. One minute Potter was ludicrously powerful, casting two difficult spells without half a thought, and the next he was acting like a bashful child. He made no sense at all.
“I… um… I have a proposal for you,” Potter finally said.
Draco’s heart nearly leaped into his throat and it was a moment before he could speak. “A. Proposal.”
“Um…” Potter’s eyes widened and he flushed darkly. “I mean a proposition! A proposition. You know, a… a plan.”
Draco’s heartbeat resumed something akin to a normal rhythm. “A proposition.” He tried to keep the glacial tone from his voice, but knew he hadn’t quite managed it.
Potter nodded quickly. Draco walked around the Auror and headed for the bedroom before he realized that would be a colossally bad idea and switched his trajectory to a small chair before the window. He sat down and raised an ankle to rest it on his knee. He leaned back with an air of disdain. And waited.
Potter cleared his throat and stepped closer. Draco enjoyed the Auror’s nervousness. Doubtless he wanted another night, the imbecile. Draco would take immense satisfaction in refusing. He did not dare spend any more time with Harry Potter.
“I’m hoping… Well, I want to ask you…” Potter’s babbling, while entertaining, could not withstand the vaunted Gryffindor courage, which finally showed itself in a deep breath and a rush of words. “I want to buy your services for an extended period of time.”
Draco raised a brow. It wasn’t what he had expected. “An extended period of time.” He realized he had done nothing but repeat Potter’s words since his arrival and vowed to break that habit just as soon as Potter stopped saying things of utter ridiculousness.
“Yes. For six… six months.”
“Six months?” Draco burst out, mimicking Potter yet again, but unable to stop himself. To make matters worse, Potter dropped to his knees at Draco’s feet and put a hand on Draco’s raised calf.
“Yes. Look, I know it’s crazy, but I can’t seem to get you out of my head and I don’t think a couple of weeks are going to cut it and maybe it will wear off with familiarity. I know it’s going to cost me a fortune and I’m almost terrified to hear your price, but I’ll take you out of here…” Potter waved a hand at Draco’s modest surroundings, “and set you up in your own place. But I want exclusivity.”
Potter’s face was set in the same determined planes he had likely turned on the Dark Lord right before staring his own death in the face, but his fingers had begun to caress, ever so lightly, and work their way down to Draco’s ankle. The word exclusivity repeated itself in Draco’s mind like a chant. Six months. His expression must have reflected his horrified shock, for Potter tightened his grip on Draco’s leg.
“I know it’s a crazy idea and maybe I should have thought about it more, but I went to work this morning and I could hardly think straight and the idea of someone else touching you is turning me into a fucking mental case and…” Potter got to his feet as Draco’s breath caught in his throat. Potter was jealous of Draco’s clients? That was revealing. It also opened a whole world of possibility to Draco’s Slytherin instincts. Luckily, Potter continued to babble. He could not seem to contain the words now that they had begun and he paced while he spoke. Draco watched the Auror’s lithe body move. The git had carelessly thrown his Auror robes over the back of Draco’s couch and wore only a pair of regimental black trousers and a cream-coloured tunic belted with a burgundy sash. He was utterly gorgeous.
“You’ll have to give it some consideration, of course. I don’t want you to decide hastily, as it’s a big decision. You might have to make some arrangement with your… regular clients…” Potter’s jaw clenched slightly and his emerald gaze shot to Draco’s for a moment. He felt a flare of purest satisfaction at the possessive gesture. Bloody hell, the power of it was nearly monumental, but it warred with sheer terror. How could Draco possibly withstand the intensity of becoming Potter’s possession?
“Anyway,” Potter continued, “I’d like you to think about it and… and maybe have dinner with me tonight to let me know your answer? And your… um… price?” Potter’s fingers plucked nervously at the sash at his waist. “I’ll pick you up here at eight?” Hopeful green eyes turned to Draco, who nodded, because Potter’s pacing and plucking and possessive revelation was too much to take in, and Draco could not concentrate on anything but the way Potter’s thigh muscles moved when he walked, which brought to mind the memory of the feel of those muscles moving between Draco’s legs…
“Eight o’clock, then,” Potter said briskly and grabbed up his robe from the couch. With a flick of his wand, he was gone.
~~ x ~~
Harry Apparated home, tossed his Auror robes over the arm of a chair and sank onto the sofa. He put his head in his hands and wondered what the hell was wrong with him. This had grown beyond obsession.
As soon as Draco had departed earlier, Harry felt such a void he had actually gone to the Ministry and enlisted the services of an Obliviator to check him for signs of a Memory Charm or an Imperius. It was almost upsetting that the man had found nothing. Whatever he felt for Draco came from within. Harry had been so distracted that Kingsley had taken one look at him and sent him home. “Whatever it is, go sleep it off before you come down with something,” the Minister had ordered.
Harry wished it were that simple, but he did as bid and left the Ministry. He had paced the length of his living room for nearly an hour and thought about returning to work, because his flat was filled with memories of Draco Malfoy.
After suppressing the urge to wank himself raw, he left his flat for Diagon Alley and Gringott’s. A gruellingly long wait and relatively short conversation with a goblin later and Harry knew more about the contents of his Gringott’s vault than he had in… well, ever. He was also quite satisfied that he could afford his new rentboy, but it wasn’t until he returned home that the insane idea came to him—the insane, but tantalizing idea that perhaps he could have Draco for longer than a single night. Longer than a few nights. Before he could talk himself out of it, he had Apparated to Draco’s flat and spent some time cracking the wards and letting himself in. He decided it was better to wait than try and track down the blond.
Harry made a soothing cup of hot tea, which grew cold while he spun the cup mindlessly on the table in a repetitive pattern.
Damn, it was hours until eight. He would be a bloody nervous wreck by then. Hell, he would be a wreck anyway, if Draco refused. He tugged at his hair and wondered why he had even made such a ludicrous offer. Draco was probably laughing his arse off right now.
And when had he become Draco and stopped being Malfoy, anyway?
Harry sighed. Probably about the time he had thrown back his head and screamed Harry’s name to the ceiling.
He rose at the memory and went to take a shower. He gave in to a much-needed wank that barely took the edge off, but it did help a bit. He at least had the presence of mind to quickly dress and Apparate to Diagon Ally, this time to prepare for his “date”. If Draco did plan to refuse him, Harry would not make it an easy decision.
~~ x ~~
Draco sat in the chair for a long time, trying to process the Auror’s outlandish suggestion. He could feel the heat of Potter’s hand on his leg long after he was gone.
Could he be serious?
Draco threw himself to his feet and took a long, hot bath, after which he went to visit his mother. She sensed his turmoil immediately.
“What is it, darling?”
Draco shook off his reverie of Potter kneeling at his feet with that stupidly earnest expression. Stupid, lunatic Potter.
“I’m sorry, Mother. I have a… business deal… on my mind.”
She smiled. “I understand, Draco. Just relax and enjoy your lunch. I will pretend you are listening while I tell you about my shopping expedition yesterday.”
That caught Draco’s attention. “You went shopping?”
His mother seldom left the house these days. It worried him, which was one reason he made damned sure she lived in a place conducive to relaxation.
She smiled at him, looking almost like her old self, in the days before they had lost… everything. “Yes, dear. I do that, on occasion.”
Draco tried not to frown. The last “occasion” he knew of had been six months ago, when he had practically dragged her to a lesser-known part of wizarding Wales so that she could procure some new clothing. She absolutely refused to be seen in London. Thankfully, their trip had been brief and no one in Wales had recognized her. Even so, she had locked herself in her room for days afterward, claiming to have acquired a fever from being out in public.
“Where did you go?”
“Paris.”
“You went shopping in Paris?” Draco gaped at her.
“Of course, darling. I’ve been there before, you know.”
“Well, yes, but…”
“Estefan was so glad to see me. He’s been saving several new gowns for my perusal. It was very exciting. I need to see him more often.”
“You certainly do,” Draco agreed. He wondered what had brought on the sudden change in his mother, but dared not ask. She volunteered without his prodding.
“It was Harry Potter, actually, that made me go to Paris.”
Draco tried not to goggle at her and failed. “Potter?” he asked stupidly.
She nodded. “His visit made me realize how much I had missed interacting with others of our kind. What was I thinking, shutting myself away like this? Your father…” Her voice faltered for a moment, but she went on in a stronger tone. “Your father would hate to see me puttering about the house like an old woman. Although I would rather not show my face amongst those that would look down their noses at me, I see no reason why I should shut myself off from the rest of the world, do you?”
Draco shook his head quickly. “Of course not, Mother.”
“In fact, I’m thinking about moving to France.”
He could not suppress his horrified expression and she quickly reached across the table to grip his hand. “Oh, my darling, not right away! Don’t look so stricken, Draco!”
He suddenly felt faint and clutched her hand. She couldn’t leave him! He had no one else in the world! His face must have matched his terrified thoughts, for his mother got to her feet and hurried around the table to embrace him tightly. He drank in the familiar scent of her perfume.
“Oh, Draco! I won’t go, darling. Don’t fear, I won’t leave you. I’ll never leave you.”
Her cooing, motherly tones brought him back to reality. He mentally shook himself. For fuck’s sake, he was no longer a child, clinging to his mother’s skirts! He hurried to reassure her. “No, it’s fine, Mother. It was just a… a bit of a shock. If you want to move to Paris, I will support you, of course.”
“No, it was a silly thought.”
He tried to recover his aplomb. There was no reason he couldn’t visit her in France as well as here. The expense would be another matter, of course, but there was always Potter’s offer to consider…
“It was not a silly thought, Mother. I think it’s an excellent idea. You have many friends there, do you not?”
She nodded, although she still looked uncertain. “Yes, actually.” She began to rattle off a significant number of names that Draco had no recollection of whatsoever. She released him in order to gesture with her hands, becoming more animated by the moment. Draco smiled at her. If he had to lose her in order to bring her back to the person she had been, then it would be worth it.
And perhaps Harry Potter was the very person to bring about that change.
When the knock sounded at the door, Draco jumped, even though he had expected it. The clock had barely finished tolling the eighth hour before the rapping began.
“Come in!” Draco yelled, knowing Potter would do so whether invited or not.
The door opened and Potter stepped inside, or at least Draco thought it was Potter. The man in the doorway could have stepped from the pages of a wizarding fashion catalogue. Draco knew his jaw was standing open, but he could not seem to close it.
Potter had cut his hair. Instead of sticking out at unruly angles looking like it had been chopped by a mad gardener, it now stuck out in spiky, just-rolled-out-of-bed, tousled glory.
He also had new glasses. The clunky black frames had been replaced by delicate gold spectacles whose lightness highlighted the brilliance of the green behind them.
And the robes… bloody fucking hell. “Who dressed you?” Draco asked in amazement.
To his astonishment, Potter turned in a slow circle to give Draco a view of all angles. The damned Auror was dressed all in white and gold. The pure white trousers hugged him in all the right places, showing off muscular thighs, tight arse and—dear Merlin—the exquisite package in front.
Potter’s white button up shirt looked anything but bland. It had been perfectly tailored and oversized cuffs buttoned midway up Potter’s forearms. A pale gold cravat was properly tied at Potter’s throat. The outer robes were slung over Potter’s left arm. Draco could spot the excellent quality merely from the drape and sheen of it.
The makeover might have been an affectation, but the grin was pure Potter.
“Madame Toulouse,” he admitted. “I thought I might need some… ammunition.”
Ammunition. Draco made a mental note to send a token to Madame Toulouse. She had provided Potter with enough ammunition to bring Draco down with a single glance. Not that he would ever admit that to Potter.
“I hope you kept the receipt,” he said callously and then wanted to cut out his own tongue at Potter’s stricken expression. The Auror looked down at his clothing uncertainly and then turned his gaze back to Draco. He looked like a beaten puppy.
“I can change if you’d like,” Potter said quietly.
Draco waved a hand airily, still feeling like a heel. “It’s fine. Better than you usually look, at least.” Potter nodded, but Draco could see he was not convinced. Draco wanted to shake him. The Defeater of Voldemort. How could he not know he was the sexiest man alive, even dressed in his usual Muggle denims and oversized t-shirts?
“Then you’ll come with me?” The hopeful tone in Potter’s voice did disturbing things to Draco’s libido, especially when he took the words completely out of context.
“I had no idea you planned to dress so… upscale,” Draco said. “I’ll have to change.” Truthfully, he was not certain he had anything available. Most of his clothing was in storage at his mother’s. Everything in his closet at the moment was geared toward sleazy seduction, not dining out with the Hero of the World.
Potter coughed. “I bought you something. You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to, but I thought it would look nice on you and since I didn’t tell you I’d be wearing this, because frankly, I had no idea myself…”
“Potter, you’re babbling.”
The dark-haired man nodded and cast a Conjuration Charm. A large box appeared in his hands and he thrust it toward Draco. He took it reluctantly and plucked at the copper-coloured ribbon, a signature of Madame Toulouse’s. Ribbon and box top sailed to the floor and revealed ice-blue fabric. Draco ran a finger over it and realized he had not had anything new of this quality in… years. His throat felt suddenly tight and he turned away to avoid divulging too much to Potter.
“I’ll be right back,” he said and entered the bedroom with his gift.
It fit to perfection. Either Madame Toulouse still had his measurements on file—and Potter had disclosed his identity (and wasn’t that a disturbing thought)—or Potter was a better judge of fit than Draco would have imagined.
The trousers and shirt were identical to Potter’s, but for the colour. The ice-blue made Draco’s grey eyes seem brighter, highlighted by the silver cravat. The robes were brilliantly soft and looked winter-thick, which was a deception. They were light enough to wear on a summer day and would be perfect with the cool, wet weather they currently experienced. Draco ran a hand over his front and then tied the silver sash. The edges of the garment were heavily embroidered with silver thread in a pattern reminiscent of ancient Muggle kings.
Draco spent too much time fixing his hair and studying his reflection in the mirror. How long had it been since he dressed like this? He had always taken the social activities for granted—the dull parties and luncheons and events that his parents had dragged him to as a boy. He never would have guessed that he would miss them once they were gone. How much worse must it be for his mother?
Draco straightened and gave himself a haughty glance in the mirror. He could do this. He would sell himself to Harry Potter and possibly one day regain all that he had lost.
~~ x ~~
Harry thought he might have made a huge mistake. When Draco returned, Harry was utterly transfixed. He looked like the moon—cold, distant, and absolutely untouchable. The colour had been a perfect choice and the cut of the robes was brilliance. The silver sash belting Draco’s lean waist made Harry want to drop to his knees and untie it with his teeth. He felt his erection stir and shut his eyes to block out the sight. Thankfully, the dry tones washed over him and gave him something to focus on other than how edible the blond looked.
“It will do, Potter. Where are we going?”
“I… um…” Harry opened his eyes, but kept his gaze firmly fixed on Draco’s face, which was not much help, actually. Platinum hair fell perfectly over Draco’s brow, making Harry’s hands itch to touch it. “I was hoping you would know of a place.”
Draco issued a long-suffering sigh. “Very well. Since the Icon of Purity cannot be seen with a lowly rentboy, we will have to leave the country. Do you have a problem with that?”
Harry shook his head, wishing he could deny Draco’s words, but they were true, not merely because Draco was a rentboy, but also because of who he was—Malfoy, former Death Eater, Harry’s former nemesis. There would be a bloody uproar. Harry’s friends would go into apoplexy, especially Ron.
Draco marched forward and took his arm, assaulting Harry’s senses with his heady cologne, but it was his proximity that nearly did Harry in. He almost leaned forward to steal a forbidden kiss, but Draco hastily produced his wand and swept them away.
Harry had no idea where they ended up. The restaurant was elegant and the service was impeccable. He thought the language spoken was French, although it sounded like something else entirely when the waiters spoke amongst themselves. Draco spoke flawlessly when he ordered their meals and a bottle of wine. Harry obediently tried every dish and saw Draco’s eyes glint with amusement several times. He had little doubt some of the items were questionable, but all were palatable, so he refused to ask.
Harry covered his nervousness by talking throughout the meal, telling stories of amusing cases. Surprisingly, Draco seemed interested. He laughed at the right times and asked the proper questions. Harry almost felt like they were old friends reacquainting themselves after a long absence. By unspoken agreement, they avoided incendiary topics, as well as the matter that hovered between them.
After a delicious desert of cakelike volcanoes that erupted with tiny flames and edible gold dust before oozing thick lava fudge, Harry sat back with a sigh of contentment. He rarely ate out and never at such an amazing place.
Draco took a sip of some exotic after-dinner liqueur and then raised his eyes to Harry’s. “Five hundred thousand Galleons, Potter,” he said.
Harry gasped and sat up straight, suddenly dead sober despite three glasses of wine. “Five hundred thousand…”
“And Sundays are mine,” Draco added.
Harry studied his plate and allowed relief to wash over him. Five hundred thousand Galleons. He had prepared for double that. What he had not prepared for was Draco’s acceptance. He had been certain the blond would refuse, at least at first.
He raised his eyes to meet the cool gaze that seemed to measure him. Harry took a deep breath and then smiled. Six months! Six months of touching, holding, tasting…
“Exclusivity,” Harry blurted.
Draco blinked at him. “Pardon?”
“I don’t want you seeing anyone else while we’re together. Even on Sundays or whatnot.”
To his astonishment, Draco smiled. “I don’t see a problem with that, Potter.”
“Really?” It was obviously the night for surprises.
“Well, obviously some of my clients will not be so understanding, but personally…” He shrugged. “One client is as good as another, eh?”
Harry’s lips thinned at the comment, but he knew he had no right to expect preferential treatment. “How much time will you need to prepare?” he asked. “You know, to tell… whoever… that you won’t be available.”
“A few days,” Draco replied.
“Saturday, then?” Harry asked.
Draco nodded. Harry smiled and quickly paid the check. They made their way outside where Harry Apparated them back to Draco’s flat. It was dark until Draco lit a couple of lamps with a flick of his wand.
Harry hovered for a moment, torn between the door and the man standing before him. He took a tentative step toward Draco, but was halted by the wand between them.
“Saturday, Potter,” Draco said with a beatific smile.
“Harry.”
“Saturday, Harry.”
He smiled, gave Draco a formal bow, and left.
Chapter Six
byaghro *For the uninitiated: Chapter One
Draco was tired, but far too discombobulated to sleep. He sat on his sofa and stared at the wall for nearly an hour, trying to think of anything other than Harry Potter. When that worked for no more than three minutes at a stretch, he allowed his memory to track back over every moment of the night past.
It was too much to bear. It was over. It had been amazing, but it was done. He should never have agreed to a second night with Potter. It had been a massive mistake. Draco had never been able to predict Potter’s actions. Had he sought out Draco in order to drive him crazy?
Draco lurched to his feet, haunted by the memory of Harry Potter’s touch. Fuck, why could he not have acted like a normal mark? Why had he looked at Draco like he was… like he was someone. Like he was a person instead of a thing.
Draco Disapparated. He needed some fresh air. Not surprisingly, a walk in the pouring rain did nothing to ease his whirling thoughts. He stared into the murky water of the Thames several hours later, soaked to the skin, chilled, and utterly miserable.
He also knew what he had to do. Thanks to Potter he had ten thousand Galleons, a veritable fortune. It was time to start over. He would leave his flat and move to another city, or at least another part of the city. Somewhere nearer his mother, perhaps. Maybe he would find a job. He could not keep Memory Charming people without drawing the eventual attention of the Aurors. Aurors other than Potter, at any rate. He wondered what happened with Potter’s investigation. Potter seemed to have completely forgotten Bernard Carversham.
Draco frowned. It made no sense. Of course he was still on the case. Potter was only trying to lull Draco into a false sense of security. Now that he had blackmail material, the Auror could drag Draco in for more intense questioning.
Draco shook the wet hair out of his eyes with a sigh of disgust. What the hell was he thinking? He was the one with blackmail material. One bloody Pensieve memory released to the press and Potter’s closet sexuality would be exposed. The hero’s pristine reputation would be demolished.
Even as the thought occurred to him, Draco knew he would never do it, not only because the resulting scandal would destroy his mother, but also because the memories of Potter were his alone.
He sneezed and drew his wand. He Apparated home before he caught a bloody cold. As it was, he knew it would take a steaming hot bath and an hour in front of a roaring fire to warm up.
He appeared in his living room; and nearly ran straight into his nemesis. “What?” he spluttered, “Are you doing here, Potter?”
“Waiting for you.”
“Do you have any concept of privacy?” Draco demanded. Bloody Auror! Draco knew damn well he had locked and warded his door.
Potter’s hands reached out to touch Draco’s face. “Fuck, Draco, you’re drenched—and chilled to the bone! Where have you been?”
“Out,” Draco said and jerked away from Potter’s oh-so-warm touch. “Which is where you are going.”
“Let me help,” said the Wonder Auror and pulled out his wand. Before Draco could protest, a dense whirlwind seemed to swirl around him, nearly pulling the air from his lungs and compressing him tightly before dissipating and leaving him completely dry. He inhaled sharply and opened his mouth, but Potter uttered another spell. This one seemed to curl around Draco’s feet and then wrap itself around his calves, knees and legs before moving quickly upward, blanketing him in a cradle of warmth. Despite himself, Draco nearly sighed with pleasure at the sudden onslaught of heat. He felt gooseflesh stand out all over his body as the chill was driven away.
Potter watched him expressionlessly. “Better?”
Draco wanted to rail at him, but he was too out of sorts. Why was he here, making Draco feel good? Taking care of him, for fuck’s sake? “What do you want?”
Potter looked away and shifted his feet. His fingers tapped on his wand nervously. Draco sighed. One minute Potter was ludicrously powerful, casting two difficult spells without half a thought, and the next he was acting like a bashful child. He made no sense at all.
“I… um… I have a proposal for you,” Potter finally said.
Draco’s heart nearly leaped into his throat and it was a moment before he could speak. “A. Proposal.”
“Um…” Potter’s eyes widened and he flushed darkly. “I mean a proposition! A proposition. You know, a… a plan.”
Draco’s heartbeat resumed something akin to a normal rhythm. “A proposition.” He tried to keep the glacial tone from his voice, but knew he hadn’t quite managed it.
Potter nodded quickly. Draco walked around the Auror and headed for the bedroom before he realized that would be a colossally bad idea and switched his trajectory to a small chair before the window. He sat down and raised an ankle to rest it on his knee. He leaned back with an air of disdain. And waited.
Potter cleared his throat and stepped closer. Draco enjoyed the Auror’s nervousness. Doubtless he wanted another night, the imbecile. Draco would take immense satisfaction in refusing. He did not dare spend any more time with Harry Potter.
“I’m hoping… Well, I want to ask you…” Potter’s babbling, while entertaining, could not withstand the vaunted Gryffindor courage, which finally showed itself in a deep breath and a rush of words. “I want to buy your services for an extended period of time.”
Draco raised a brow. It wasn’t what he had expected. “An extended period of time.” He realized he had done nothing but repeat Potter’s words since his arrival and vowed to break that habit just as soon as Potter stopped saying things of utter ridiculousness.
“Yes. For six… six months.”
“Six months?” Draco burst out, mimicking Potter yet again, but unable to stop himself. To make matters worse, Potter dropped to his knees at Draco’s feet and put a hand on Draco’s raised calf.
“Yes. Look, I know it’s crazy, but I can’t seem to get you out of my head and I don’t think a couple of weeks are going to cut it and maybe it will wear off with familiarity. I know it’s going to cost me a fortune and I’m almost terrified to hear your price, but I’ll take you out of here…” Potter waved a hand at Draco’s modest surroundings, “and set you up in your own place. But I want exclusivity.”
Potter’s face was set in the same determined planes he had likely turned on the Dark Lord right before staring his own death in the face, but his fingers had begun to caress, ever so lightly, and work their way down to Draco’s ankle. The word exclusivity repeated itself in Draco’s mind like a chant. Six months. His expression must have reflected his horrified shock, for Potter tightened his grip on Draco’s leg.
“I know it’s a crazy idea and maybe I should have thought about it more, but I went to work this morning and I could hardly think straight and the idea of someone else touching you is turning me into a fucking mental case and…” Potter got to his feet as Draco’s breath caught in his throat. Potter was jealous of Draco’s clients? That was revealing. It also opened a whole world of possibility to Draco’s Slytherin instincts. Luckily, Potter continued to babble. He could not seem to contain the words now that they had begun and he paced while he spoke. Draco watched the Auror’s lithe body move. The git had carelessly thrown his Auror robes over the back of Draco’s couch and wore only a pair of regimental black trousers and a cream-coloured tunic belted with a burgundy sash. He was utterly gorgeous.
“You’ll have to give it some consideration, of course. I don’t want you to decide hastily, as it’s a big decision. You might have to make some arrangement with your… regular clients…” Potter’s jaw clenched slightly and his emerald gaze shot to Draco’s for a moment. He felt a flare of purest satisfaction at the possessive gesture. Bloody hell, the power of it was nearly monumental, but it warred with sheer terror. How could Draco possibly withstand the intensity of becoming Potter’s possession?
“Anyway,” Potter continued, “I’d like you to think about it and… and maybe have dinner with me tonight to let me know your answer? And your… um… price?” Potter’s fingers plucked nervously at the sash at his waist. “I’ll pick you up here at eight?” Hopeful green eyes turned to Draco, who nodded, because Potter’s pacing and plucking and possessive revelation was too much to take in, and Draco could not concentrate on anything but the way Potter’s thigh muscles moved when he walked, which brought to mind the memory of the feel of those muscles moving between Draco’s legs…
“Eight o’clock, then,” Potter said briskly and grabbed up his robe from the couch. With a flick of his wand, he was gone.
~~ x ~~
Harry Apparated home, tossed his Auror robes over the arm of a chair and sank onto the sofa. He put his head in his hands and wondered what the hell was wrong with him. This had grown beyond obsession.
As soon as Draco had departed earlier, Harry felt such a void he had actually gone to the Ministry and enlisted the services of an Obliviator to check him for signs of a Memory Charm or an Imperius. It was almost upsetting that the man had found nothing. Whatever he felt for Draco came from within. Harry had been so distracted that Kingsley had taken one look at him and sent him home. “Whatever it is, go sleep it off before you come down with something,” the Minister had ordered.
Harry wished it were that simple, but he did as bid and left the Ministry. He had paced the length of his living room for nearly an hour and thought about returning to work, because his flat was filled with memories of Draco Malfoy.
After suppressing the urge to wank himself raw, he left his flat for Diagon Alley and Gringott’s. A gruellingly long wait and relatively short conversation with a goblin later and Harry knew more about the contents of his Gringott’s vault than he had in… well, ever. He was also quite satisfied that he could afford his new rentboy, but it wasn’t until he returned home that the insane idea came to him—the insane, but tantalizing idea that perhaps he could have Draco for longer than a single night. Longer than a few nights. Before he could talk himself out of it, he had Apparated to Draco’s flat and spent some time cracking the wards and letting himself in. He decided it was better to wait than try and track down the blond.
Harry made a soothing cup of hot tea, which grew cold while he spun the cup mindlessly on the table in a repetitive pattern.
Damn, it was hours until eight. He would be a bloody nervous wreck by then. Hell, he would be a wreck anyway, if Draco refused. He tugged at his hair and wondered why he had even made such a ludicrous offer. Draco was probably laughing his arse off right now.
And when had he become Draco and stopped being Malfoy, anyway?
Harry sighed. Probably about the time he had thrown back his head and screamed Harry’s name to the ceiling.
He rose at the memory and went to take a shower. He gave in to a much-needed wank that barely took the edge off, but it did help a bit. He at least had the presence of mind to quickly dress and Apparate to Diagon Ally, this time to prepare for his “date”. If Draco did plan to refuse him, Harry would not make it an easy decision.
~~ x ~~
Draco sat in the chair for a long time, trying to process the Auror’s outlandish suggestion. He could feel the heat of Potter’s hand on his leg long after he was gone.
Could he be serious?
Draco threw himself to his feet and took a long, hot bath, after which he went to visit his mother. She sensed his turmoil immediately.
“What is it, darling?”
Draco shook off his reverie of Potter kneeling at his feet with that stupidly earnest expression. Stupid, lunatic Potter.
“I’m sorry, Mother. I have a… business deal… on my mind.”
She smiled. “I understand, Draco. Just relax and enjoy your lunch. I will pretend you are listening while I tell you about my shopping expedition yesterday.”
That caught Draco’s attention. “You went shopping?”
His mother seldom left the house these days. It worried him, which was one reason he made damned sure she lived in a place conducive to relaxation.
She smiled at him, looking almost like her old self, in the days before they had lost… everything. “Yes, dear. I do that, on occasion.”
Draco tried not to frown. The last “occasion” he knew of had been six months ago, when he had practically dragged her to a lesser-known part of wizarding Wales so that she could procure some new clothing. She absolutely refused to be seen in London. Thankfully, their trip had been brief and no one in Wales had recognized her. Even so, she had locked herself in her room for days afterward, claiming to have acquired a fever from being out in public.
“Where did you go?”
“Paris.”
“You went shopping in Paris?” Draco gaped at her.
“Of course, darling. I’ve been there before, you know.”
“Well, yes, but…”
“Estefan was so glad to see me. He’s been saving several new gowns for my perusal. It was very exciting. I need to see him more often.”
“You certainly do,” Draco agreed. He wondered what had brought on the sudden change in his mother, but dared not ask. She volunteered without his prodding.
“It was Harry Potter, actually, that made me go to Paris.”
Draco tried not to goggle at her and failed. “Potter?” he asked stupidly.
She nodded. “His visit made me realize how much I had missed interacting with others of our kind. What was I thinking, shutting myself away like this? Your father…” Her voice faltered for a moment, but she went on in a stronger tone. “Your father would hate to see me puttering about the house like an old woman. Although I would rather not show my face amongst those that would look down their noses at me, I see no reason why I should shut myself off from the rest of the world, do you?”
Draco shook his head quickly. “Of course not, Mother.”
“In fact, I’m thinking about moving to France.”
He could not suppress his horrified expression and she quickly reached across the table to grip his hand. “Oh, my darling, not right away! Don’t look so stricken, Draco!”
He suddenly felt faint and clutched her hand. She couldn’t leave him! He had no one else in the world! His face must have matched his terrified thoughts, for his mother got to her feet and hurried around the table to embrace him tightly. He drank in the familiar scent of her perfume.
“Oh, Draco! I won’t go, darling. Don’t fear, I won’t leave you. I’ll never leave you.”
Her cooing, motherly tones brought him back to reality. He mentally shook himself. For fuck’s sake, he was no longer a child, clinging to his mother’s skirts! He hurried to reassure her. “No, it’s fine, Mother. It was just a… a bit of a shock. If you want to move to Paris, I will support you, of course.”
“No, it was a silly thought.”
He tried to recover his aplomb. There was no reason he couldn’t visit her in France as well as here. The expense would be another matter, of course, but there was always Potter’s offer to consider…
“It was not a silly thought, Mother. I think it’s an excellent idea. You have many friends there, do you not?”
She nodded, although she still looked uncertain. “Yes, actually.” She began to rattle off a significant number of names that Draco had no recollection of whatsoever. She released him in order to gesture with her hands, becoming more animated by the moment. Draco smiled at her. If he had to lose her in order to bring her back to the person she had been, then it would be worth it.
And perhaps Harry Potter was the very person to bring about that change.
When the knock sounded at the door, Draco jumped, even though he had expected it. The clock had barely finished tolling the eighth hour before the rapping began.
“Come in!” Draco yelled, knowing Potter would do so whether invited or not.
The door opened and Potter stepped inside, or at least Draco thought it was Potter. The man in the doorway could have stepped from the pages of a wizarding fashion catalogue. Draco knew his jaw was standing open, but he could not seem to close it.
Potter had cut his hair. Instead of sticking out at unruly angles looking like it had been chopped by a mad gardener, it now stuck out in spiky, just-rolled-out-of-bed, tousled glory.
He also had new glasses. The clunky black frames had been replaced by delicate gold spectacles whose lightness highlighted the brilliance of the green behind them.
And the robes… bloody fucking hell. “Who dressed you?” Draco asked in amazement.
To his astonishment, Potter turned in a slow circle to give Draco a view of all angles. The damned Auror was dressed all in white and gold. The pure white trousers hugged him in all the right places, showing off muscular thighs, tight arse and—dear Merlin—the exquisite package in front.
Potter’s white button up shirt looked anything but bland. It had been perfectly tailored and oversized cuffs buttoned midway up Potter’s forearms. A pale gold cravat was properly tied at Potter’s throat. The outer robes were slung over Potter’s left arm. Draco could spot the excellent quality merely from the drape and sheen of it.
The makeover might have been an affectation, but the grin was pure Potter.
“Madame Toulouse,” he admitted. “I thought I might need some… ammunition.”
Ammunition. Draco made a mental note to send a token to Madame Toulouse. She had provided Potter with enough ammunition to bring Draco down with a single glance. Not that he would ever admit that to Potter.
“I hope you kept the receipt,” he said callously and then wanted to cut out his own tongue at Potter’s stricken expression. The Auror looked down at his clothing uncertainly and then turned his gaze back to Draco. He looked like a beaten puppy.
“I can change if you’d like,” Potter said quietly.
Draco waved a hand airily, still feeling like a heel. “It’s fine. Better than you usually look, at least.” Potter nodded, but Draco could see he was not convinced. Draco wanted to shake him. The Defeater of Voldemort. How could he not know he was the sexiest man alive, even dressed in his usual Muggle denims and oversized t-shirts?
“Then you’ll come with me?” The hopeful tone in Potter’s voice did disturbing things to Draco’s libido, especially when he took the words completely out of context.
“I had no idea you planned to dress so… upscale,” Draco said. “I’ll have to change.” Truthfully, he was not certain he had anything available. Most of his clothing was in storage at his mother’s. Everything in his closet at the moment was geared toward sleazy seduction, not dining out with the Hero of the World.
Potter coughed. “I bought you something. You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to, but I thought it would look nice on you and since I didn’t tell you I’d be wearing this, because frankly, I had no idea myself…”
“Potter, you’re babbling.”
The dark-haired man nodded and cast a Conjuration Charm. A large box appeared in his hands and he thrust it toward Draco. He took it reluctantly and plucked at the copper-coloured ribbon, a signature of Madame Toulouse’s. Ribbon and box top sailed to the floor and revealed ice-blue fabric. Draco ran a finger over it and realized he had not had anything new of this quality in… years. His throat felt suddenly tight and he turned away to avoid divulging too much to Potter.
“I’ll be right back,” he said and entered the bedroom with his gift.
It fit to perfection. Either Madame Toulouse still had his measurements on file—and Potter had disclosed his identity (and wasn’t that a disturbing thought)—or Potter was a better judge of fit than Draco would have imagined.
The trousers and shirt were identical to Potter’s, but for the colour. The ice-blue made Draco’s grey eyes seem brighter, highlighted by the silver cravat. The robes were brilliantly soft and looked winter-thick, which was a deception. They were light enough to wear on a summer day and would be perfect with the cool, wet weather they currently experienced. Draco ran a hand over his front and then tied the silver sash. The edges of the garment were heavily embroidered with silver thread in a pattern reminiscent of ancient Muggle kings.
Draco spent too much time fixing his hair and studying his reflection in the mirror. How long had it been since he dressed like this? He had always taken the social activities for granted—the dull parties and luncheons and events that his parents had dragged him to as a boy. He never would have guessed that he would miss them once they were gone. How much worse must it be for his mother?
Draco straightened and gave himself a haughty glance in the mirror. He could do this. He would sell himself to Harry Potter and possibly one day regain all that he had lost.
~~ x ~~
Harry thought he might have made a huge mistake. When Draco returned, Harry was utterly transfixed. He looked like the moon—cold, distant, and absolutely untouchable. The colour had been a perfect choice and the cut of the robes was brilliance. The silver sash belting Draco’s lean waist made Harry want to drop to his knees and untie it with his teeth. He felt his erection stir and shut his eyes to block out the sight. Thankfully, the dry tones washed over him and gave him something to focus on other than how edible the blond looked.
“It will do, Potter. Where are we going?”
“I… um…” Harry opened his eyes, but kept his gaze firmly fixed on Draco’s face, which was not much help, actually. Platinum hair fell perfectly over Draco’s brow, making Harry’s hands itch to touch it. “I was hoping you would know of a place.”
Draco issued a long-suffering sigh. “Very well. Since the Icon of Purity cannot be seen with a lowly rentboy, we will have to leave the country. Do you have a problem with that?”
Harry shook his head, wishing he could deny Draco’s words, but they were true, not merely because Draco was a rentboy, but also because of who he was—Malfoy, former Death Eater, Harry’s former nemesis. There would be a bloody uproar. Harry’s friends would go into apoplexy, especially Ron.
Draco marched forward and took his arm, assaulting Harry’s senses with his heady cologne, but it was his proximity that nearly did Harry in. He almost leaned forward to steal a forbidden kiss, but Draco hastily produced his wand and swept them away.
Harry had no idea where they ended up. The restaurant was elegant and the service was impeccable. He thought the language spoken was French, although it sounded like something else entirely when the waiters spoke amongst themselves. Draco spoke flawlessly when he ordered their meals and a bottle of wine. Harry obediently tried every dish and saw Draco’s eyes glint with amusement several times. He had little doubt some of the items were questionable, but all were palatable, so he refused to ask.
Harry covered his nervousness by talking throughout the meal, telling stories of amusing cases. Surprisingly, Draco seemed interested. He laughed at the right times and asked the proper questions. Harry almost felt like they were old friends reacquainting themselves after a long absence. By unspoken agreement, they avoided incendiary topics, as well as the matter that hovered between them.
After a delicious desert of cakelike volcanoes that erupted with tiny flames and edible gold dust before oozing thick lava fudge, Harry sat back with a sigh of contentment. He rarely ate out and never at such an amazing place.
Draco took a sip of some exotic after-dinner liqueur and then raised his eyes to Harry’s. “Five hundred thousand Galleons, Potter,” he said.
Harry gasped and sat up straight, suddenly dead sober despite three glasses of wine. “Five hundred thousand…”
“And Sundays are mine,” Draco added.
Harry studied his plate and allowed relief to wash over him. Five hundred thousand Galleons. He had prepared for double that. What he had not prepared for was Draco’s acceptance. He had been certain the blond would refuse, at least at first.
He raised his eyes to meet the cool gaze that seemed to measure him. Harry took a deep breath and then smiled. Six months! Six months of touching, holding, tasting…
“Exclusivity,” Harry blurted.
Draco blinked at him. “Pardon?”
“I don’t want you seeing anyone else while we’re together. Even on Sundays or whatnot.”
To his astonishment, Draco smiled. “I don’t see a problem with that, Potter.”
“Really?” It was obviously the night for surprises.
“Well, obviously some of my clients will not be so understanding, but personally…” He shrugged. “One client is as good as another, eh?”
Harry’s lips thinned at the comment, but he knew he had no right to expect preferential treatment. “How much time will you need to prepare?” he asked. “You know, to tell… whoever… that you won’t be available.”
“A few days,” Draco replied.
“Saturday, then?” Harry asked.
Draco nodded. Harry smiled and quickly paid the check. They made their way outside where Harry Apparated them back to Draco’s flat. It was dark until Draco lit a couple of lamps with a flick of his wand.
Harry hovered for a moment, torn between the door and the man standing before him. He took a tentative step toward Draco, but was halted by the wand between them.
“Saturday, Potter,” Draco said with a beatific smile.
“Harry.”
“Saturday, Harry.”
He smiled, gave Draco a formal bow, and left.
Chapter Six
