Fic: Mr Potter Goes to Massachusetts - Part 2
Here's the second part of my little 'Harry goes to America' story. Today he's in Newport.
Thank you, Olivia for your comments ... as always you manage to put me in my place when it comes to Harry and Draco *grins*.
Mr Potter Goes to Massachusetts
Harry stared long and hard at the cup of coffee on the table before him. He’d never been a very big coffee drinker (that had always been Draco’s passion), but only the British knew how to make proper tea. Which had led him very quickly to the notion of ‘When in Rome...’ or in this case ‘When in Newport, Rhode Island, do as the local do’.
So it was coffee in its many forms that kept him sustained while he waited for the American Auror to finally meet up with him. If the man (or woman) took much longer, Harry decided, he would turn into one of these mugs of coffee ... or at the very least a donut.
With a sigh he looked, unseeing, out of the window of the third Dunkin’ Donuts shop he’d visited in as many days and wondered why he’d been stupid enough to volunteer to trek three thousand miles to get Draco Malfoy. Hermione had sent him another email the previous evening once again reminding him just how dangerous the other man was. He’d emailed her back telling her to stop quoting the obvious and that he wasn’t a boy anymore more but a grownup who could deal with the likes of Draco Malfoy thank you very much!
Thinking back now on his response, Harry decided it had been rather curt and more than a little spoilt-bratish ... a bit like Malfoy he decided who was the world’s worst spoilt brat in history.
Harry picked up his mug (one of those paper things with the plastic top to keep the coffee warm) and sipped at the hazelnut-flavoured coffee within. He could get used to this and he was just considering whether it was too soon for another donut when a man about his own age sat down opposite him.
“Harry Potter?” the man whispered as he pushed a chocolate-iced donut across the table. “I recognised the scar.”
Harry glared. That wasn’t the sort of response he’d expected from a trained Auror ... there were codes and responses to confirm identity. And besides, any witch or wizard would know about the scar, so this could be some random American.
He automatically pushed at his hair, trying without success to cover the mark, and started to speak but the other man beat him to it.
“It’s an honour to meet you ... I’ve heard so much about the scar and Vold.... Um ... You-Know-Who.” He thrust out his hand. “Felix Singer.”
Harry took the hand and Felix shook vigorously before reaching for the donut and taking a bite out of it.
“Sorry I missed you yesterday. I was following up a lead from my contact in Salem and by the time I got here you’d already given up. So, let’s cut to the chase.” Felix took another bite and Harry thought briefly he might be able to get a word in himself, but the man just continued talking. “We’ve been tracking Malfoy for about two months now. He’s not an easy guy to follow and sometimes I think that when we do manage to track him down it’s because he wants us to.”
“That sounds like him,” Harry finally managed to comment.
“Yeah. Latest word is that he’s down here, in Newport, which is why I sent word for you to meet me here while I checked it out.” Felix laid his hand on the table and underneath a photograph appeared. “This house belongs to the Vandenbergs ... they’re one of our older Wizarding families. It’s called ‘The Breakers’ ... built in the 1800s and named after the Atlantic breakers that hit the beaches here. It’s now owned by their last surviving son who isn’t a supporter of You-Know-Who....”
“You can say his name,” Harry quickly interjected. “Voldemort.”
“Oh.” Felix raised a quizzical eyebrow. “I was told you Brits didn’t like to say it.” He waved a finger in the general direction of Harry’s forehead. “Especially not after that.”
“Some people don’t like to, but I’m not one of them.” He subconsciously pulled at his fringe again before tapping on the photograph. “Tell me about The Breakers?”
“Well, Samuel Vandenberg isn’t a supporter, but he’s into the Dark Arts and pure-blood connections. He’s holding a big party going on there tonight. It’s been planned for weeks, but my contact only confirmed Malfoy’s on the guest list a couple of hours ago.”
Harry picked up the photo just as a couple strolled across the lawn and sat down on a bench under a tree. “Can you get me on the guest list?”
The man’s hand touched the tabletop again and beneath it a small white gilt-edged card appeared. “Already done.”
---
The house was huge and Harry tried not to be awed by the sheer scale of the building. He was currently standing in the great hall with its 50ft-high ceiling and elegant curving staircase, and he was reminded of his one visit to a stately home in England.
He slipped a finger into the collar of his shirt, tugging slightly. Unfortunately the gathering was formal, so dress robes had been called for. It had been a long time since he’d worn robes of any kind, let along ones with a tie and a red cummerbund.
Dressed now in a white shirt and dark grey dress slacks, he took a glass from the waiter and wandered rather self-consciously around the Hall. People would nod at him in greeting and then, without fail, their eyes would flicker surreptitiously (and sometimes blatantly) to his forehead. Squaring his shoulders, he met the looks with green-eyed defiance and set about trying to find Malfoy amongst the two-hundred-or-so guests.
Two hours and several glasses of champagne later, Harry had all but given up in his search. He’d considered asking outright, but the chances where that if Malfoy had friends at the gathering they would quickly tell him of the interest of a certain scarred wizard.
He strode past the billiards room (which he’d scrutinized several times already), checked out both the music room and library and finally found himself back in the great hall. The huge doors to the terrace had been opened and picking up another full glass, he strolled out onto the darkness.
The lights from the building only spread so far. They lit the terrace and some of the lawn, but the sea was lost in the night. Harry could hear the waves breaking on the shoreline and he listened for a while, relaxing with the sound, which somehow seemed to mask out the noise from the party.
This, he decided, was pointless. Clearly Felix’s information had been wrong and Malfoy was probably hundreds of miles away smirking at the thought of Harry trying to track him down.
He put the now empty glass down and stepping onto the neatly manicured grass wandered into the darkness.
---
The tip of the cue hit the billiard ball exactly dead centre and it ran in a straight true line across the table where it just kissed against another ball, which dropped almost lazily into the corner pocket.
Cue still in his hands, Draco Malfoy remained bent over the table, grey eyes watching the ball intently. As it disappeared into the pocket he straightened and smiled at his opponent. “Another game to me, which I think brings the total to twenty-five Galleons.”
His opponent glared, blue eyes trying to appear menacing but instead looking just a little intimidated. Draco thought the man would rather like to wrap the cue around his neck, but instead he just squeezed at the wooden shaft. “Double or nothing.”
It wasn’t a question but a demand, Draco decided, and he gave a nonchalant shrug. “If you wish.” He’d learned to play billiards at his father’s knee and beating someone as inept as this fellow would be easy.
He had just placed the triangle on the table and begun putting the balls inside when a flash of colour through one of the doors caught his attention. He straightened and got a brief glimpse of a familiar figure; the dark, messy hair was unmistakable.
What the fuck was Harry Potter doing in Newport, Rhode Island?
Mind working overtime, Draco quickly returned the cue to the rack. “Can we continue this later? Something just came up.”
---
Harry wandered across the grass and finally stopped beside the tree he’d seen earlier in the picture Felix had shown him. He stood there for a few minutes, lost in his own thoughts and finally rested back against it facing the sea. Hidden from the house, it was possible to pretend the party didn’t exist and that the noise was coming from elsewhere.
Tomorrow, he decided, he’d head up to Salem. That was where Hermione’s informants had placed Malfoy. Remaining here was pointless.
The combination of champagne and the sound of the surf crept slowly into his being and it began to lull him into a sleepy stupor. Somewhere, in the back of Harry’s mind, he knew he should leave and get back to his hotel, but surely a few more minutes couldn’t hurt.
“Hello, Harry. Fancy meeting you here.”
Harry jumped at the sudden voice and automatically reached for his wand. He never managed to retrieve it from his sleeve; instead hands grabbed at his wrists, pinning his arms against his sides and he found himself looking into the all-too-familiar face of Draco Malfoy.
For a moment all he could do was stare, then suddenly it occurred to him that he should be struggling, but any thoughts of trying to get away quickly dissipated in a cloud of shock and arousal as the other man leaned forward and pressed his lips against Harry’s.
The sudden contact cut its way through some of the stupor in Harry’s brain and he tried to raise his arms, only to find them both pinned against the knobbly surface of the tree trunk. Draco played him as he’d always done in the past ... long hard kisses pressing deeply onto his mouth until Harry finally gave way and let him in. And when Draco finally released his wrists, Harry didn’t fight back. Instead his fingers reached for Draco’s shoulders, clawing desperately at him in an effort to increase the pressure of those damning lips on his mouth.
It had been a long time ... such a very long time.
The kiss deepened and Harry responded in kind, turning his head slightly to deepen the pressure. He groaned as Draco sucked then bit lightly on his lower lip; when he let go the blood rushed headily to the spot and in response Harry reached for Draco’s neck, at that moment only intent on pulling his closer.
Then slowly a thought started to blossom through the red-hot heat of passion that only Draco could ever stir inside him. That thought was simply that he’d told Draco he didn’t want this anymore.
Finally he flattened his hands against Draco’s shoulders and pushed. Draco didn’t struggle, stopping the kiss almost immediately as he pulled back a little. In the dim light, Harry could just make out the smirk on the man’s face. He knew he was panting a little from the kiss and was only too aware of the way his body was reacting to Draco’s closeness. Finally he managed to find his voice. “What the fuck are you playing at?” His words carried a hint of anger.
The smirk grew and Harry felt the firmness of a hand press against his groin. “Oh, just renewing old acquaintances.” The pressure grew. “And what the fuck are you playing at?”
Harry gasped, remember exactly how easily he’d always responded to Draco’s touch in the past. This man knew exactly how to play him and the trouble was at that moment it was exactly what he wanted Draco to do.
He flexed his hips without really thinking, pushing into the hand. “I’ve come to take you home.” His words were hissed through clenched teeth as Draco’s fingers wrapped around him through his trousers.
Draco leaned closed and chuckled against Harry’s ear. “Take me home? Your Aurors razed that to the ground, remember.” He licked a swathe of skin on and around Harry’s ear.
“That’s not what I meant.” Harry’s eyelids fluttered closed as Draco continued to work his mouth over all the sensitive spots on Harry’s face. “And you know it.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“That’s it’s not safe for you out here any longer.” Harry groaned as Draco squeezed. God, he’d forgotten how good this had been.
“I think I should be the judge about what is and isn’t safe, Harry.” Draco suddenly leaned forward, sucking hard enough to mark on that sensitive spot just where Harry’s neck joined his shoulder.
Harry came with a knee-trembling shudder; hips thrusting back and forth into Draco’s hand and the feel of his own come dripping down his legs. Gasping for breath he held on to Draco, trying to decide whether he adored or hated the man and know that both were true in equal measure.
“Why did you do that?” he finally managed to ask.
“Because you looked like you needed it.” Draco started to pull away.
“No! Wait ... I need.... We have to talk.”
“You expect me to meet up with you in public?” Draco scoffed. “Do you know what will happen if we’re seen together?” He smoothed a hand down Harry’s chest and briefly dipped his fingers into the cummerbund. “I’ll be in touch.”
And with that the man turned on his heel and disappeared into the darkness leaving Harry breathless and trembling against the tree.
---
Finally back in his hotel room, Harry slumped down on the chair. He’d cleaned himself up earlier but he was still sure he could smell Draco on his skin and in his hair. He debated for a moment whether to shower away the memory, but for some reason he didn’t want to, at least not right now.
But he didn’t want to think about what had happened, or how he’d responded to what Draco had done, or even why Draco had done it. The fact was the experience had brought flooding back everything they had ever shared in the past before Draco had told him he was going to spy on Voldemort and Harry had told him to get lost.
With a growl of annoyance he pulled off the cummerbund and tie. Damn Draco!
He was just going to shower when his Blackberry organiser beeped at him. He knew exactly who the message would be from as Hermione was the only one who knew his email address. He’d emailed her earlier about the party and no doubt she was anxious to know what had happened.
Her message was simple. Well, did you get him?
He looked skyward as if for divine inspiration and began to type, Not exactly. We met, but he seemed to get the upper hand....
---
Thank you, Olivia for your comments ... as always you manage to put me in my place when it comes to Harry and Draco *grins*.
Mr Potter Goes to Massachusetts
Harry stared long and hard at the cup of coffee on the table before him. He’d never been a very big coffee drinker (that had always been Draco’s passion), but only the British knew how to make proper tea. Which had led him very quickly to the notion of ‘When in Rome...’ or in this case ‘When in Newport, Rhode Island, do as the local do’.
So it was coffee in its many forms that kept him sustained while he waited for the American Auror to finally meet up with him. If the man (or woman) took much longer, Harry decided, he would turn into one of these mugs of coffee ... or at the very least a donut.
With a sigh he looked, unseeing, out of the window of the third Dunkin’ Donuts shop he’d visited in as many days and wondered why he’d been stupid enough to volunteer to trek three thousand miles to get Draco Malfoy. Hermione had sent him another email the previous evening once again reminding him just how dangerous the other man was. He’d emailed her back telling her to stop quoting the obvious and that he wasn’t a boy anymore more but a grownup who could deal with the likes of Draco Malfoy thank you very much!
Thinking back now on his response, Harry decided it had been rather curt and more than a little spoilt-bratish ... a bit like Malfoy he decided who was the world’s worst spoilt brat in history.
Harry picked up his mug (one of those paper things with the plastic top to keep the coffee warm) and sipped at the hazelnut-flavoured coffee within. He could get used to this and he was just considering whether it was too soon for another donut when a man about his own age sat down opposite him.
“Harry Potter?” the man whispered as he pushed a chocolate-iced donut across the table. “I recognised the scar.”
Harry glared. That wasn’t the sort of response he’d expected from a trained Auror ... there were codes and responses to confirm identity. And besides, any witch or wizard would know about the scar, so this could be some random American.
He automatically pushed at his hair, trying without success to cover the mark, and started to speak but the other man beat him to it.
“It’s an honour to meet you ... I’ve heard so much about the scar and Vold.... Um ... You-Know-Who.” He thrust out his hand. “Felix Singer.”
Harry took the hand and Felix shook vigorously before reaching for the donut and taking a bite out of it.
“Sorry I missed you yesterday. I was following up a lead from my contact in Salem and by the time I got here you’d already given up. So, let’s cut to the chase.” Felix took another bite and Harry thought briefly he might be able to get a word in himself, but the man just continued talking. “We’ve been tracking Malfoy for about two months now. He’s not an easy guy to follow and sometimes I think that when we do manage to track him down it’s because he wants us to.”
“That sounds like him,” Harry finally managed to comment.
“Yeah. Latest word is that he’s down here, in Newport, which is why I sent word for you to meet me here while I checked it out.” Felix laid his hand on the table and underneath a photograph appeared. “This house belongs to the Vandenbergs ... they’re one of our older Wizarding families. It’s called ‘The Breakers’ ... built in the 1800s and named after the Atlantic breakers that hit the beaches here. It’s now owned by their last surviving son who isn’t a supporter of You-Know-Who....”
“You can say his name,” Harry quickly interjected. “Voldemort.”
“Oh.” Felix raised a quizzical eyebrow. “I was told you Brits didn’t like to say it.” He waved a finger in the general direction of Harry’s forehead. “Especially not after that.”
“Some people don’t like to, but I’m not one of them.” He subconsciously pulled at his fringe again before tapping on the photograph. “Tell me about The Breakers?”
“Well, Samuel Vandenberg isn’t a supporter, but he’s into the Dark Arts and pure-blood connections. He’s holding a big party going on there tonight. It’s been planned for weeks, but my contact only confirmed Malfoy’s on the guest list a couple of hours ago.”
Harry picked up the photo just as a couple strolled across the lawn and sat down on a bench under a tree. “Can you get me on the guest list?”
The man’s hand touched the tabletop again and beneath it a small white gilt-edged card appeared. “Already done.”
---
The house was huge and Harry tried not to be awed by the sheer scale of the building. He was currently standing in the great hall with its 50ft-high ceiling and elegant curving staircase, and he was reminded of his one visit to a stately home in England.
He slipped a finger into the collar of his shirt, tugging slightly. Unfortunately the gathering was formal, so dress robes had been called for. It had been a long time since he’d worn robes of any kind, let along ones with a tie and a red cummerbund.
Dressed now in a white shirt and dark grey dress slacks, he took a glass from the waiter and wandered rather self-consciously around the Hall. People would nod at him in greeting and then, without fail, their eyes would flicker surreptitiously (and sometimes blatantly) to his forehead. Squaring his shoulders, he met the looks with green-eyed defiance and set about trying to find Malfoy amongst the two-hundred-or-so guests.
Two hours and several glasses of champagne later, Harry had all but given up in his search. He’d considered asking outright, but the chances where that if Malfoy had friends at the gathering they would quickly tell him of the interest of a certain scarred wizard.
He strode past the billiards room (which he’d scrutinized several times already), checked out both the music room and library and finally found himself back in the great hall. The huge doors to the terrace had been opened and picking up another full glass, he strolled out onto the darkness.
The lights from the building only spread so far. They lit the terrace and some of the lawn, but the sea was lost in the night. Harry could hear the waves breaking on the shoreline and he listened for a while, relaxing with the sound, which somehow seemed to mask out the noise from the party.
This, he decided, was pointless. Clearly Felix’s information had been wrong and Malfoy was probably hundreds of miles away smirking at the thought of Harry trying to track him down.
He put the now empty glass down and stepping onto the neatly manicured grass wandered into the darkness.
---
The tip of the cue hit the billiard ball exactly dead centre and it ran in a straight true line across the table where it just kissed against another ball, which dropped almost lazily into the corner pocket.
Cue still in his hands, Draco Malfoy remained bent over the table, grey eyes watching the ball intently. As it disappeared into the pocket he straightened and smiled at his opponent. “Another game to me, which I think brings the total to twenty-five Galleons.”
His opponent glared, blue eyes trying to appear menacing but instead looking just a little intimidated. Draco thought the man would rather like to wrap the cue around his neck, but instead he just squeezed at the wooden shaft. “Double or nothing.”
It wasn’t a question but a demand, Draco decided, and he gave a nonchalant shrug. “If you wish.” He’d learned to play billiards at his father’s knee and beating someone as inept as this fellow would be easy.
He had just placed the triangle on the table and begun putting the balls inside when a flash of colour through one of the doors caught his attention. He straightened and got a brief glimpse of a familiar figure; the dark, messy hair was unmistakable.
What the fuck was Harry Potter doing in Newport, Rhode Island?
Mind working overtime, Draco quickly returned the cue to the rack. “Can we continue this later? Something just came up.”
---
Harry wandered across the grass and finally stopped beside the tree he’d seen earlier in the picture Felix had shown him. He stood there for a few minutes, lost in his own thoughts and finally rested back against it facing the sea. Hidden from the house, it was possible to pretend the party didn’t exist and that the noise was coming from elsewhere.
Tomorrow, he decided, he’d head up to Salem. That was where Hermione’s informants had placed Malfoy. Remaining here was pointless.
The combination of champagne and the sound of the surf crept slowly into his being and it began to lull him into a sleepy stupor. Somewhere, in the back of Harry’s mind, he knew he should leave and get back to his hotel, but surely a few more minutes couldn’t hurt.
“Hello, Harry. Fancy meeting you here.”
Harry jumped at the sudden voice and automatically reached for his wand. He never managed to retrieve it from his sleeve; instead hands grabbed at his wrists, pinning his arms against his sides and he found himself looking into the all-too-familiar face of Draco Malfoy.
For a moment all he could do was stare, then suddenly it occurred to him that he should be struggling, but any thoughts of trying to get away quickly dissipated in a cloud of shock and arousal as the other man leaned forward and pressed his lips against Harry’s.
The sudden contact cut its way through some of the stupor in Harry’s brain and he tried to raise his arms, only to find them both pinned against the knobbly surface of the tree trunk. Draco played him as he’d always done in the past ... long hard kisses pressing deeply onto his mouth until Harry finally gave way and let him in. And when Draco finally released his wrists, Harry didn’t fight back. Instead his fingers reached for Draco’s shoulders, clawing desperately at him in an effort to increase the pressure of those damning lips on his mouth.
It had been a long time ... such a very long time.
The kiss deepened and Harry responded in kind, turning his head slightly to deepen the pressure. He groaned as Draco sucked then bit lightly on his lower lip; when he let go the blood rushed headily to the spot and in response Harry reached for Draco’s neck, at that moment only intent on pulling his closer.
Then slowly a thought started to blossom through the red-hot heat of passion that only Draco could ever stir inside him. That thought was simply that he’d told Draco he didn’t want this anymore.
Finally he flattened his hands against Draco’s shoulders and pushed. Draco didn’t struggle, stopping the kiss almost immediately as he pulled back a little. In the dim light, Harry could just make out the smirk on the man’s face. He knew he was panting a little from the kiss and was only too aware of the way his body was reacting to Draco’s closeness. Finally he managed to find his voice. “What the fuck are you playing at?” His words carried a hint of anger.
The smirk grew and Harry felt the firmness of a hand press against his groin. “Oh, just renewing old acquaintances.” The pressure grew. “And what the fuck are you playing at?”
Harry gasped, remember exactly how easily he’d always responded to Draco’s touch in the past. This man knew exactly how to play him and the trouble was at that moment it was exactly what he wanted Draco to do.
He flexed his hips without really thinking, pushing into the hand. “I’ve come to take you home.” His words were hissed through clenched teeth as Draco’s fingers wrapped around him through his trousers.
Draco leaned closed and chuckled against Harry’s ear. “Take me home? Your Aurors razed that to the ground, remember.” He licked a swathe of skin on and around Harry’s ear.
“That’s not what I meant.” Harry’s eyelids fluttered closed as Draco continued to work his mouth over all the sensitive spots on Harry’s face. “And you know it.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“That’s it’s not safe for you out here any longer.” Harry groaned as Draco squeezed. God, he’d forgotten how good this had been.
“I think I should be the judge about what is and isn’t safe, Harry.” Draco suddenly leaned forward, sucking hard enough to mark on that sensitive spot just where Harry’s neck joined his shoulder.
Harry came with a knee-trembling shudder; hips thrusting back and forth into Draco’s hand and the feel of his own come dripping down his legs. Gasping for breath he held on to Draco, trying to decide whether he adored or hated the man and know that both were true in equal measure.
“Why did you do that?” he finally managed to ask.
“Because you looked like you needed it.” Draco started to pull away.
“No! Wait ... I need.... We have to talk.”
“You expect me to meet up with you in public?” Draco scoffed. “Do you know what will happen if we’re seen together?” He smoothed a hand down Harry’s chest and briefly dipped his fingers into the cummerbund. “I’ll be in touch.”
And with that the man turned on his heel and disappeared into the darkness leaving Harry breathless and trembling against the tree.
---
Finally back in his hotel room, Harry slumped down on the chair. He’d cleaned himself up earlier but he was still sure he could smell Draco on his skin and in his hair. He debated for a moment whether to shower away the memory, but for some reason he didn’t want to, at least not right now.
But he didn’t want to think about what had happened, or how he’d responded to what Draco had done, or even why Draco had done it. The fact was the experience had brought flooding back everything they had ever shared in the past before Draco had told him he was going to spy on Voldemort and Harry had told him to get lost.
With a growl of annoyance he pulled off the cummerbund and tie. Damn Draco!
He was just going to shower when his Blackberry organiser beeped at him. He knew exactly who the message would be from as Hermione was the only one who knew his email address. He’d emailed her earlier about the party and no doubt she was anxious to know what had happened.
Her message was simple. Well, did you get him?
He looked skyward as if for divine inspiration and began to type, Not exactly. We met, but he seemed to get the upper hand....
---