Title: Admission
Archiving: just ask.
Rating: PG.
Date: Feb. 15, 2002.
Summary: Sequel to Assurance.
Notes:
I think this is an absolutely horrendous fic, and it gets moreso every time I read it, haha--but I'm keeping it here anyway as a testament to 'how bad bad writing can be.' I'd prefer it if you didn't archive this, haha, not that you'd want to.




Oh my god!”

Harry looked up at Hermione, mildly resentful that she had intruded upon his reverie to remind him that other people in the world existed besides Draco. For a moment he was confused, but then the meaning of her words became abundantly clear from her horror-stricken expression.

“Oh my god!” she said again, gaping at him. “Harry—you were serious!”

He gazed into her eyes for a long moment without acknowledging or acknowledging that vague statement, and calmly returned to his occupation of stirring his potatoes from one side of his plate to the other. Across the room he could feel Draco’s eyes upon him, doubtless the fact that had led to Hermione’s sudden outburst, and he allowed himself a tiny smile.

My turn, he thought. Tonight.

~~~~~

“You’re here.”

“Of course I’m here.”

“I didn’t think you would be.”

“Then you obviously don’t know that a Malfoy keeps his promises.”

“Really?” Harry stepped closer to the Slytherin, whose silver hair was shimmering distractingly in the quiet light filtering into the charms classroom where they had agreed to meet.

“Stop looking at me that way.” There was a decided lack of edge to Draco’s voice.

Harry grinned. “What way?” He went to Draco, closer than he’d ever been without the intent to do him bodily harm in some fashion, and stood smiling at him.

“That—that look you have, like you know something I don’t and you’re about to spring it on me.”

“Maybe I do.”

“Ridiculous.” A pause, then a light laugh as Draco flushed, broke into a smile in spite of himself, and looked away from Harry’s steady gaze, delightfully embarrassed. “Stop it. I hate it when you look at me that way.”

“I have plenty of other looks to throw at you, Malfoy. Wanna pick one?”

“Well, I’m used to the ‘I hate you, I loathe you, I despise you’ glare,” Draco smirked. “Maybe you’d better start with the one I know.”

“Is that the one you always counter with the ‘I’m a Malfoy and I rule the earth, so get ready to kiss the mud I walk upon, you worthless piece of crap’ leer?”

Draco stared at him, and then they both cracked up.

It was the most unbelievable feeling in the world to be laughing with him. This was—this was what was right—so right it rendered the intense power of their enmity as meaningless as chaff in the wind. Harry couldn’t help himself—he placed his hand on Draco’s arm and said softly, “I like you this way.”

Instantly Draco sobered and looked up, his long lashes fluttering so delicately it made Harry’s heart tremble. “I…You said you wanted peace. I’m just trying to give you what you wanted.”

Harry noticed Draco was trying not to shiver under his touch. He decided to press his luck—ever the bold Gryffindor—and casually wrapped his other arm around Malfoy’s waist. The Slytherin jumped ever so slightly, but did not move. “So that’s all, right?” Harry asked him, his voice a soft challenge. Draco swallowed and nodded. “Then why don’t I believe you?” Harry continued, tracing a line up from Draco’s chest to his throat with his palm.

“Harry—no…”

Draco was trying to make himself struggle, pull away from the warmth of Harry’s touch, but he was failing adorably. Harry continued to move his palm steadily over Draco’s chest.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” Draco murmured almost pleadingly. “I—I’m still a Malfoy…”

“I know,” Harry said softly, moving in even closer to the small form beside him. “I like you that way, too.”

And he pressed his lips gently against Draco’s neck.

“I—no! No!” Draco broke away as though he were being jolted out of a dream. “I can’t! I can’t—I—I’ll hurt you. I’m not going to be the one mourning for you, dammit! I won’t!”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Don’t be an idiot, Malfoy, you can’t protect me from anything.”

“Well, I don’t have to lead you into certain death, and in fact that’s what I’d be doing if I allowed you to—” Malfoy gulped—“to fall in love with the son of Lucius Malfoy!”

“You can’t force my feelings, Draco, and anyway, it’s too late for that. The damage is done.”

Draco stopped, stopped everything—stopped speaking, moving, even breathing, for a second. He didn’t move again, not even when Harry wrapped an arm around his waist and gingerly kissed him on the forehead. “I’m in love with you. Have been for a while.”

“I—you…no…”

“I’m sorry. I know it’s sudden.”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just that I—oh, God, Harry. How? I mean…why?”

“Why not? Just because you’re a death-eater’s son doesn’t mean you are.”

Draco blanched. “You—you figured it out?” He looked appalled.

Harry nodded. “I’ve had a hunch for a while now. Some things didn’t add up. You didn’t really mean what you said on the train, did you.”

“About Cedric?” Harry looked away. “No,” Draco replied, looking dazed. “I didn’t.”

“That hurt me deeply.”

It was Draco’s turn to look away. “I—I had to make it convincing because the Dark Lord was back.” Pause. “I’m sorry. But you were never—never supposed to know…”

“I know.”

“So…” A sudden look of understanding swept over Malfoy’s features. “So you’ve been playing along this whole time?” Harry nodded. Something very much like joy cascaded into those cool gray eyes. “You were just letting me keep up the act? You didn’t—really mean…”

“No. I never hated you. I just took my cue from you.”

Draco looked as if he might never recover from this news. Harry gathered his courage and continued, “So you see, if I were to let you leave and go back to the way things were, there wouldn’t be any point. You know how I feel and I know how you feel and—”

“You don’t.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

Draco was unreadable. “You haven’t heard me say how I feel about you.”

Harry flushed. “I—well, I know you don’t hate me.”

Ever so slowly a hand crept up the side of Harry’s arm, to brush gently over the back of his neck and the bottom of his cheek. Harry allowed his eyes to fall shut. “You’re right,” Draco whispered. “I don’t hate you.” He continued trailing his light, barely-there touch along Harry’s skin. “And you say you love me, for god only knows what reason.”

Harry nodded, barely able to contain a moan as Draco leaned into him again. He wrapped his arms around the other boy’s waist and let his head fall back as Draco bent to flick his tongue over his pulsing Adam’s apple. “Do you realize what Voldemort could do with those two pieces of information?” Draco murmured in between kisses.

“I didn’t come here to talk about him,” Harry growled, his voice surprisingly fierce—or maybe just guttural.

“Mmm,” hummed Malfoy along the edge of Harry’s throat, but then he pissed Harry off by removing his lips from his skin and backing away. “I’m not going to let you start out by ignoring him, or this will never work.”

Harry broke into a huge, triumphant grin. “So, it’s a ‘this,’ is it?”

Malfoy looked exasperated. “Oh, shut up, Potter.”

“Gladly,” said Harry with a tone that could only be described as adoration, and before Draco had a chance to back away or protest further, he swung his arms around the Slytherin’s neck and kissed him passionately. He felt Draco start, go rigid, and then relax almost in the same instant as his mouth parted for Harry’s entrance and his hands wound around him—one entangling his dark hair, the other pulling Harry even more firmly into the curve of his body.

Draco’s embrace was home. He always had known it would be. But only in that very instant did the full meaning of home finally overwhelm him. Home was comfort and peace and assurance; it was warmth and nurturing and support; it was a vacation after having to bear the weight of the world for so unbearably long. Home was Draco, not opening himself up to some modern-day Atlas, but to Harry, just Harry—just himself, and no one else.

It was an eternity before he could allow himself to break their kiss—before he could make himself leave the salty sweetness of his sanctuary.

“Draco, I meant what I said,” he whispered, allowing himself to drink in those slightly nervous but currently radiant silvery eyes. “I love you.”

Draco let out a heavy sigh and rested his head against Harry’s shoulder. Harry held him there, and he stood without speaking, taking deep, calming breaths against Harry’s chest.

Finally, he lifted his head and looked into Harry’s face for a long moment. “I think we need…to think about this,” he said weakly.

Harry just moved to lightly touch his lips again.

“I think we…need more time…”

Harry focused on feathering his tongue over Draco’s beautiful, arrogant, perfect throat.

“I think we…” and suddenly, Draco’s hands were holding Harry’s chin, tilting his head up to meet his gaze, and the truth in his eyes erased all argument.

“…I think we need each other,” he finished.

He took Harry in his arms and replaced the easy caresses with savage, branding kisses.

And somewhere in the fire that came after, Harry discovered what need really was.



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