Fic_ Choices - Part Twelve
I haven’t forgotten the other stories I’ve been writing while I’m engrossed in Samhain, and to prove it, here is Part Twelve of Choices.
The first eleven parts have followed a structure of changing pov for each piece, switching from Draco to Harry and then back to Draco again. This one is a bit different as it includes both boys. But then I’m the author, so I can do what I want *grins*.
Part One -- Part Two -- Part Three -- Part Four --Part Five -- Part Six -- Part Seven -- Part Eight -- Part Nine -- Part Ten -- Part Eleven
Choices , Part Twelve
Eyes defiant, Draco straightened and in a hard, cold voice he said simply, “Take me home.”
Harry stared at the rebellious features of the man standing in front of him. The look Draco ... Malfoy ... was giving him made Harry’s stomach flip at the arrogance radiating at him. How dare Malfoy throw his offer of a bed for the night back at him like this? After all Harry had done for him so far. It wasn’t his fault Malfoy whored himself for a living. Hadn’t he stopped Reynolds beating Malfoy up at the club the previous evening? And hadn’t he taken Malfoy away from that hovel of a flat and helped heal his injuries?
His hand tightened around his wand and he considered throwing a hex ... any hex ... at the man just to show how precarious Malfoy’s current position actually was.
Then just as he was about to snarl a reply, Harry thought he saw something in those grey eyes that wasn’t condescension. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was; possibly fear, or pleading, or just plain tiredness, but the look cut through Harry’s own anger like a hot knife through butter and he felt his own resentment dissolve.
He couldn’t send Draco home to that awful flat where the floor was littered with shards of glass from shattered light bulbs and where more ‘clients’ might be waiting to use him.
Frowning he tried to read what was going on inside a mind he’d never been able to understand in all the years he’d known the man. Take me home, Draco had said. What if Draco was trying to say something else and the home he was talking about wasn’t a flat in Muggle London? Maybe Draco was just too proud to accept any more help from someone he clearly still saw as an enemy.
Harry licked briefly at his lower lip before speaking, his voice carefully neutral. “You know I can’t do that ... I can’t take you back to the Wizarding world, at least not just now.”
Draco opened his mouth as if to respond but closed it again, throat working as he swallowed. He looked at Harry for a heartbeat and when he finally did speak it was simply to say, “I know.”
Although the man’s expression remained closed, Harry saw understanding in Draco’s eyes. Unable, or maybe not wanting to, have a further conversation with his unintentional visitor, Harry quickly pointed towards one of the closed doors leading from the lounge. “The spare room’s through there, first door on the left ... it’s got its own bathroom with a shower, and that’s the kitchen,” his hand waved absently behind him. “There’s tea and coffee and some stuff in the fridge.” Quickly he headed towards the door leading to the bedrooms. “Good night.”
---
Draco was woken the next morning by a shaft of sunlight spilling through a gap in the curtains. He moved a little, just enough to avoid the light, but kept looking at the curtains as if he looked at them for long enough they would close on their own accord.
As he dozed, the previous day’s events slowly crept back into his mind, everything from Reynolds turning up at his flat to the Wildfire magic he’d used. And then Harry Potter arrived to save the day, bringing Draco back here ... wherever ‘here’ was. Not only had Potter helped mend Draco’s broken arm, but he also hadn’t tried anything on all night. In fact after Potter had disappeared to his bedroom, he’d never reappeared even though Draco had spent a good hour in the kitchen, suddenly very hungry.
The shaft of sunlight slowly crept across the bed, eventually settling on him again and he decided that if he were ever going to get back to sleep, he’d have to close the curtains. And he did want to sleep. He felt physically shattered, as if he’d had no sleep in days, and his body ached, especially where his arm had been broken.
Maybe, he considered as he pushed back the covers, the tiredness was because of the Wildfire magic. After all, it had been two years or more since he’d last done any magic, so it would naturally take a toll on him. Or perhaps it was shock from what had happened to him. Whatever it was, his body was crying out for rest and recuperation.
He padded across the wood-inlayed floor, warm against his bare feet, and paused at the window, one hand holding back the curtain as he looked out. Potter’s flat overlooked the River Thames and Draco wondered just how much the other man must be worth to be able to afford the rent. Or maybe Potter had owned the flat outright. He turned back and scrutinized the room. It looked exactly as the lounge had; devoid of anything personal, and Draco decided Potter must have rented it furnished and had done nothing to stamp his own mark on the pace.
Tugging absently at his pyjama bottoms, which had slipped a little, he went to the bathroom to relieve himself before heading out to the lounge. Potter would, no doubt, be throwing him out sometime soon, so he might as well get it over and done with.
But there was no one there. Potter, it seemed, had run off and left him. As he stood in the middle of the lounge, Draco had a sudden thought that maybe the flat didn’t belong to Potter at all and that at any moment the real owner would come in and find a stranger dressed in too-big pyjamas sleeping in their bed.
Wouldn’t that be just like Potter ... finding a way of getting him back for everything Draco had ever done to him in the past?
It was then he saw something on the dining room table ... a sheet of white paper resting against something scarlet. He crossed to the table and found the scarlet to be his carefully folded -- and washed -- corset and the paper contained a hastily scrawled note in familiar handwriting.
Malfoy - I’ve got a meeting this morning. If you want to stay, that’s fine but don’t bring any of your clients back here. If you want to go I’ve left some clothes that might fit you on the chair in your room....
So Potter had come into his room during the night after all. He shivered a little, wondering just how long Potter might have stood there, watching him.
Here’s some change for the tube....
Draco pushed at the little pile of coins and pursed his lips. It was exactly enough to buy a one-way tube ticket.
....Don’t forget your own clothes.
He turned the note over, but there was nothing else, not even a signature. Then tossing it back onto the table, he picked up one of the neatly folded stockings and then the other. Not only had they been washed, but also the hole where Potter had pushed his finger through the sheer fabric had been mended. When he checked the corset, he couldn’t keep a smile from his face as he found that had been repaired as well.
It was as he put the corset back on the table Draco noticed that one thing was missing ... his panties. The scrap of scarlet material was nowhere to be seen.
Just what, he wondered with a knowing grin, had Potter done with them?
---
And in case you're interested, here's the layout of Harry's flat.
The first eleven parts have followed a structure of changing pov for each piece, switching from Draco to Harry and then back to Draco again. This one is a bit different as it includes both boys. But then I’m the author, so I can do what I want *grins*.
Part One -- Part Two -- Part Three -- Part Four --Part Five -- Part Six -- Part Seven -- Part Eight -- Part Nine -- Part Ten -- Part Eleven
Choices , Part Twelve
Eyes defiant, Draco straightened and in a hard, cold voice he said simply, “Take me home.”
Harry stared at the rebellious features of the man standing in front of him. The look Draco ... Malfoy ... was giving him made Harry’s stomach flip at the arrogance radiating at him. How dare Malfoy throw his offer of a bed for the night back at him like this? After all Harry had done for him so far. It wasn’t his fault Malfoy whored himself for a living. Hadn’t he stopped Reynolds beating Malfoy up at the club the previous evening? And hadn’t he taken Malfoy away from that hovel of a flat and helped heal his injuries?
His hand tightened around his wand and he considered throwing a hex ... any hex ... at the man just to show how precarious Malfoy’s current position actually was.
Then just as he was about to snarl a reply, Harry thought he saw something in those grey eyes that wasn’t condescension. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was; possibly fear, or pleading, or just plain tiredness, but the look cut through Harry’s own anger like a hot knife through butter and he felt his own resentment dissolve.
He couldn’t send Draco home to that awful flat where the floor was littered with shards of glass from shattered light bulbs and where more ‘clients’ might be waiting to use him.
Frowning he tried to read what was going on inside a mind he’d never been able to understand in all the years he’d known the man. Take me home, Draco had said. What if Draco was trying to say something else and the home he was talking about wasn’t a flat in Muggle London? Maybe Draco was just too proud to accept any more help from someone he clearly still saw as an enemy.
Harry licked briefly at his lower lip before speaking, his voice carefully neutral. “You know I can’t do that ... I can’t take you back to the Wizarding world, at least not just now.”
Draco opened his mouth as if to respond but closed it again, throat working as he swallowed. He looked at Harry for a heartbeat and when he finally did speak it was simply to say, “I know.”
Although the man’s expression remained closed, Harry saw understanding in Draco’s eyes. Unable, or maybe not wanting to, have a further conversation with his unintentional visitor, Harry quickly pointed towards one of the closed doors leading from the lounge. “The spare room’s through there, first door on the left ... it’s got its own bathroom with a shower, and that’s the kitchen,” his hand waved absently behind him. “There’s tea and coffee and some stuff in the fridge.” Quickly he headed towards the door leading to the bedrooms. “Good night.”
---
Draco was woken the next morning by a shaft of sunlight spilling through a gap in the curtains. He moved a little, just enough to avoid the light, but kept looking at the curtains as if he looked at them for long enough they would close on their own accord.
As he dozed, the previous day’s events slowly crept back into his mind, everything from Reynolds turning up at his flat to the Wildfire magic he’d used. And then Harry Potter arrived to save the day, bringing Draco back here ... wherever ‘here’ was. Not only had Potter helped mend Draco’s broken arm, but he also hadn’t tried anything on all night. In fact after Potter had disappeared to his bedroom, he’d never reappeared even though Draco had spent a good hour in the kitchen, suddenly very hungry.
The shaft of sunlight slowly crept across the bed, eventually settling on him again and he decided that if he were ever going to get back to sleep, he’d have to close the curtains. And he did want to sleep. He felt physically shattered, as if he’d had no sleep in days, and his body ached, especially where his arm had been broken.
Maybe, he considered as he pushed back the covers, the tiredness was because of the Wildfire magic. After all, it had been two years or more since he’d last done any magic, so it would naturally take a toll on him. Or perhaps it was shock from what had happened to him. Whatever it was, his body was crying out for rest and recuperation.
He padded across the wood-inlayed floor, warm against his bare feet, and paused at the window, one hand holding back the curtain as he looked out. Potter’s flat overlooked the River Thames and Draco wondered just how much the other man must be worth to be able to afford the rent. Or maybe Potter had owned the flat outright. He turned back and scrutinized the room. It looked exactly as the lounge had; devoid of anything personal, and Draco decided Potter must have rented it furnished and had done nothing to stamp his own mark on the pace.
Tugging absently at his pyjama bottoms, which had slipped a little, he went to the bathroom to relieve himself before heading out to the lounge. Potter would, no doubt, be throwing him out sometime soon, so he might as well get it over and done with.
But there was no one there. Potter, it seemed, had run off and left him. As he stood in the middle of the lounge, Draco had a sudden thought that maybe the flat didn’t belong to Potter at all and that at any moment the real owner would come in and find a stranger dressed in too-big pyjamas sleeping in their bed.
Wouldn’t that be just like Potter ... finding a way of getting him back for everything Draco had ever done to him in the past?
It was then he saw something on the dining room table ... a sheet of white paper resting against something scarlet. He crossed to the table and found the scarlet to be his carefully folded -- and washed -- corset and the paper contained a hastily scrawled note in familiar handwriting.
Malfoy - I’ve got a meeting this morning. If you want to stay, that’s fine but don’t bring any of your clients back here. If you want to go I’ve left some clothes that might fit you on the chair in your room....
So Potter had come into his room during the night after all. He shivered a little, wondering just how long Potter might have stood there, watching him.
Here’s some change for the tube....
Draco pushed at the little pile of coins and pursed his lips. It was exactly enough to buy a one-way tube ticket.
....Don’t forget your own clothes.
He turned the note over, but there was nothing else, not even a signature. Then tossing it back onto the table, he picked up one of the neatly folded stockings and then the other. Not only had they been washed, but also the hole where Potter had pushed his finger through the sheer fabric had been mended. When he checked the corset, he couldn’t keep a smile from his face as he found that had been repaired as well.
It was as he put the corset back on the table Draco noticed that one thing was missing ... his panties. The scrap of scarlet material was nowhere to be seen.
Just what, he wondered with a knowing grin, had Potter done with them?
---
And in case you're interested, here's the layout of Harry's flat.
