Everything I Do - PreBETA
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Chapter One: Reassured
“I love you, Draco Malfoy,” he whispered softly, bringing his right hand up to his lovers face to push a lock of hair behind his ear.
Dead silence.
Harry shifted up onto one arm and pulled the blanket tighter to his naked chest afraid that this was the reaction he’d been dreading for nearly four months. He cringed internally, every passing second feeling like an eternity, watching the Slytherin Quidditch captain’s pale chest rise and fall as he breathed heavily. His eyelashes fluttering open, Draco turned on his side and after a matter of moments shakily caressed the brunette’s face with his long fingers. As he traced the invisible trail where his kisses had been planted moments before, his breath caught in his chest.
“I love you too, Harry,” he sighed, “More than you’ll ever know.”
A look of relief washed over the Gryffindor’s face and he fell back into Draco’s arms. “What was that Muggle saying you like so much?” the blonde chuckled.
“Love thine enemy?”
“Mmm, and that I do.”
His chin titled down, Draco gazed into Harry’s jade eyes and felt like he was home. Not in the Malfoy Manor where he was waited on hand and foot, silver spoon in mouth, nor in the Slytherin Common Room where he reigned as the lion in the serpent’s den, expected to beat the best in order to be the best. There, in Harry’s arms, Draco found the one place where he felt free to be himself. There he was able to escape the titles bestowed on him by his underlings and superiors. In those arms, Draco wasn’t a Malfoy; he was just Harry’s lover. He was just Harry’s.
Thoughts interrupted by a faint mewl, Draco’s smoky eyes refocused as he glanced at the mischievous grin upon Harry’s lips. Brushing himself across the length of Draco’s body, Harry brought himself toward the blonde’s face, his lips barely hovering above his lover’s in a picture perfect tableau. The muscles in Harry’s arms shook, making Draco ache for what was just beyond his reach. Lips came crashing down on lips as the Slytherin arched forward and the kiss that had begun with intent to be soft and loving and gentle soon became a passionate fight for superiority. Wrapping his long slender legs around Harry’s, Draco ran his hand through the tangled black hair, grasping a handful and pulling Harry’s lips from his own, though it broke the connection for a second that he would forever miss. They gasped almost simultaneously, the sensation sending shivers down Harry’s spine. In that moment he was certain that Draco would take care of him; that he would be forever safe in Draco’s arms.
Just over an hour later - after barely prying himself away from his lover’s porcelain embrace - Harry ducked into his dormitory under his invisibility cloak and threw it off of him like he had the clothes he had worn the night before.
“If my father knew that I was using this to sneak out of Draco’s private quarters - “ he stopped in mid-thought. It was bad enough that his father was already dead, but if James were still alive, Harry didn’t exactly think his father would be congratulating him on falling in love with Lucius Malfoy’s only child, no matter how much Draco truly was unlike his father. To the wizarding world, the Pureblood Prince was simply a possession of the Dark Lord’s right hand man. It was unfortunate that Lucius felt the same way about his son.
Harry sank slowly into his mattress and tightly held the sheets around him, imagining the silk embroidery that had once held Draco captive was the serpent’s feather soft touch; wishing that the warmth from his blankets was the heat emanating off of the lithe body that had been pressed so close to his a mere hour before. He let his eyes fall shut, begging the streaming rays of morning to go away. Harry finally fell asleep as the castle began to wake, dreaming of soft kisses and loving demands.
Chapter Two: Wake Up Call
It had taken the Gryffindor sixth years the better part of an hour to wake Harry from his splendor, breakfast being over for nearly twice the time. Throwing his arm across his face to shield his eyes from the mid-morning sunlight creeping between the gaps of the crimson curtains that hung around his bed, he reached with his other hand for the covers that had just been torn from his thankfully clothed body, grasping at the fading wisps of sleep induced memory. Harry opened his eyes begrudgingly, rolling over and wrenching his honey toned sheets from the hands that held them captive, only to have them removed from his clutches once again.
“Harry, it’s nearly eleven in the morning. Hermione will have a bloody righteous fit if you dodge her study group and that’s not something I want to deal with. All day. Again,” Ron sighed.
“Eleven in the morning?” Harry mumbled, face half buried in his pillow.
“Yes, Harry. Eleven in the morning,” Neville piped up.
“Second last Saturday of January?”
“Hey, Scarhead, is there a point to the twenty questions?” Ron snickered.
“Yes,” Harry yawned, passing off the comment as if it were an endearing pet name instead of one of the many verbal assaults he had almost grown used to in his childhood. “It’s a ridiculously bright morning on one of the coldest days in of the year,” he blew a puff of cold breath to prove his point, “in which I don’t have to deal with Snape or classes or mortal peril and here I am freezing my arse off,” he tugged one last time at his blankets, bringing them to his chin and snuggling into the warmth they provided, “because Hermione,” he yawned again, “sent you two gits up here on a suicide mission to wake me up to study for tests that aren’t for another five months?”
“Pretty much,” Ron grinned. “Now get off your lazy arse and come be bored to death with us.”
“It can’t be any worse than Professor Binns’ classes,” said Neville.
“Yeah, Harry. Neville’s right. And maybe Hermione could teach you how to brew up a love potion and you can finally get shag-“
“Go suck Malfoy,” Harry growled at the freckled boy, not realizing what he had just said and freezing in horror once he had. His relationship with the Slytherin boy was a close guarded secret and had it not been for the fact that Neville and Ron had chosen that exact moment to tip over his mattress, throwing him to the cold stone floor causing a look of bewilderment to conveniently mask the previous emotion scrawled across his face, he was certain they would have figured it out simply by looking at him.
“I hate you,” Harry said, sprawled across the floor in a tangle of bed-sheets and blankets, glasses askew and emerald eyes glaring at the ear-to-ear grins on the face of the boys standing above him crippled with laughter.
At the darker end of the castle underneath a stone ceiling enchanted to resemble the pale pinks and cardinal yellows of soft morning light, Draco lay alone, unmoving since the moment his lover had left his side. Unable to sleep and refusing to allow himself to try, he lay atop the soft, albeit tangled forest coloured blankets, cursing himself for allowing Harry to leave. Without Potter there Draco felt vulnerable and utterly alone.
“Goddamn you, Potter,” he mumbled. “Damn you for loving me.”
He was jolted from his thoughts by a sudden knock.
“Bloody hell,” he whispered to no one, throwing the covers over his naked frame.
“What?” he snapped at the closed oak door.
“Draco, are you coming for breakfast?” a shrill female voice called. It could only be Pansy, and as she opened the door a crack, Draco cursed himself for not remembering to lock it after Harry left.
“Draco, it’s breakfast. I’ll walk with you to the Great Hall. Just throw some robes on over your pajamas - or lack thereof,” she giggled, noticing Draco’s obvious nudity despite the covers.
“Sod off,” he grumbled. “It’s Saturday bloody morning and if I wanted to drag my arse out of my comfortable fucking bed to join you and a hundred other early morning gits, I would be the one banging at your door at,” Draco rolled over to look at his clock and scowled, “seven forty-three in the morning and not the other way around. Now,” he said pleasantly, “get the hell out of my quarters and bloody well let me sleep.”
Pansy looked slightly crestfallen, but only for a moment or so. “If you aren’t going to come up,” she said with a smirk, “can I come in and persuade you?”
The Slytherin boy turned his head slightly, finally looking at her, his gaze piercing hers with an icy hatred.
“Fuck. Off.”
“But - “
“Get the bloody hell out of my room!” Draco roared.
Completely taken aback, Pansy’s eyes began to well with tears and turning on her heel, she glared at him over her shoulder. “Who are you shagging now, Draco? Is it Blaise? Millicent? Or is it one of your baboons?”
Draco sneered with disgust at the thought of shagging either Crabbe or Goyle.
“Everyone but me, Draco, and I’m the only one who loves you!”
The door slammed, rattling on its hinges. Draco grabbed his wand and shouted every spell he knew to lock the door. He threw his wand back on the table beside the bed, sank back into his pillow, drove all thoughts of Parkinson from his mind, forced himself out of his head and finally slipped into semi-unconsciousness.
Chapter Three: Involuntary Knowledge
“I can’t believe you dragged me out of bed for this,” Harry yawned. “Does it matter that I really don’t give a newt’s tail about Olrig the Oblong?”
“Harry, it’s your own fault for taking NEWT level History of Magic lessons. I honestly don’t know why you did. You can never manage to stay awake for more than ten minutes in that class anyway,” Hermione chided.
“Something about prerequisites,” Harry said shortly. “Ask McGonagall. Besides, its not as if I’m doing this willingly.”
That much was true. Ron had cast a charm on Harry’s chair making it so he was unable to get up until Hermione said revisions were done. Which made bladder control a bit of a problem.
“Hey, mate. If Neville and me have to sit through this, so do you,” Ron grinned.
“You don’t have to do anything. You’re just here because you don’t want to fear Hermione’s wrath. That and the snogging bit every time you answer something right. It’s enough to make me gag.”
Ron blushed a ferocious red. “It was incentive, blame her.”
“And besides,” Hermione smiled slyly, “have you ever seen him pay so much attention before?”
If it was possible, Ron blushed an even fiercer red. “How’d you wind up for qualifying for History of Magic anyways, Harry?”
“I dunno,” the dark haired boy scowled grumpily, “I guess I was lucky.”
“Hey, Hermione,” Neville said timidly, “It’s already past one and my stomach won’t stop grumbling. Any chance of us going for a bit of lunch any time soon?”
“I suppose it couldn’t hurt. I can’t make you stay here any longer. You’re all pretty much hopeless,” Hermione said, exasperatedly, gathering her books from the table. “Harry wouldn’t learn anything even if I Imperiused him.”
Harry glowered at her. “Any chance of me getting up, then?”
“Oh, sorry mate,” Ron said, with a sheepish grin. “’Mione? Can Harry go now?”
“Oh, I suppose,” she sighed, “although maybe I should just leave him stuck there. He might just get so bored, he’d pick up a book.”
Harry shot Ron a look that told him that it didn’t quite matter whether Harry would wind up with a chair permanently attached to his arse or not, Ron would be a dead man if he didn’t make his occasionally insufferable girlfriend lift the charm.
“’Mione…” Ron pleaded.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Fine. Harry, you may go now.”
The second the charm was lifted from his chair, Harry dove towards the portrait of the Fat Lady and left the rest of his friends trailing in his wake.
“What’s gotten into him lately?” Hermione asked.
“Whatcha mean, Hermione?” Neville looked at the girl curiously.
“Have you guys noticed the way Harry’s been behaving? Secretive, moody, sullen. Its almost if he’s turned into a slightly nicer version of…”
“Malfoy?” Ron tried.
“Exactly.”
It was far too cold for anyone in their right mind to be wandering around outside wearing only robes, but Harry was so infuriated that he barely noticed the icy winds whipping against his skin. Stomping quickly towards the Quidditch Pitch, tears blurring his vision, everything he passed looked like a dull whirlwind of colour. Nearing the mammoth stands far sooner than had been expected, Harry flung himself towards a rickety looking post behind the Hufflepuff tarp and began to sob, blinking back the tears that threatened to leave a trail of destruction as they burned their way down Harry’s face. He simply could not believe how frustrated he was.
“This morning was a mess.”
Harry choked back another sob, burying his face into his arms from shame. He was not alone and he did not want to be seen looking like he did.
Draco leaned against a post not far from the one Harry was nestled against and blew out a puff of cigarette smoke. He looked warm bundled in a large, yet sleek green coat with his Slytherin scarf and earmuffs. Draco had recently taken to Muggle clothes by someone named Vuitton. Harry thought it all very ostentatious, having never worn anything except Dudders’ old hand-me-downs and having very little, if any knowledge of Muggle designers.
“I, personally, was ready to hex anyone who dared look at me this morning with what I had to deal with after you left,” Draco said nonchalantly, as if he didn’t notice Harry’s tears. He took another drag off his cigarette. “Parkinson, the pug-faced beast that she is, decided to come and roust me from my lack of sleep at quarter to eight this morning, and it will most likely take me a fortnight or twelve to get the image of her undressing me with her eyes out of my head. It was bloody delightful, the way I could see her thinking of pawing at me. And she had the sheer audacity to mention that she happens to love me and is delusional enough to think that she’s the only one who does. That’s a laugh, isn’t it Harry? Pug-face being the only one in love with moi. Clearly she hasn’t seen the way half the school looks at me, has she? Why I’m almost surprised that Granger friend of yours hasn’t tried throwing herself at me yet, the way everyone else does."
Draco paused.
"Why hasn’t Granger thrown herself at me yet, Harry? Harry?”
Harry stopped sobbing and glared at Draco, red-faced both from anger and the cold. Sometimes he had to remind himself that Draco was still a Malfoy and as much as he enjoyed him, he was still going to be an insufferable prat more often then not.
“You always do this.”
“I always ask you why Granger doesn’t throw herself at me? Well, I mean, I know I’m attractive. My mirror tells me so every morning. And Hermione is supposed to have some sort of wit about her, is she not? So I simply figured anyone with half a brain cell - “ he shuddered, remembering Pansy’s insinuation of him buggering Crabbe or Goyle, “-would see me for how amazing I am and follow me around like a little lost puppy dog. I am part Veela, you know.”
Harry hung his head. Really, there was no reasoning with Draco once he started talking about himself.
“You always fucking do this to me, Draco.”
Draco blinked, suddenly realizing Harry had something obviously upsetting on his mind. “What do I always do to you, love?” he asked.
“Don’t call me that,” Harry half-snarled.
“Why, love? What’s bothering you?”
“You are, Draco darling. You are the never ending issue, perplexing me and twisting me and tearing up my emotions like they were itty bitty pieces of paper only to be glued together again with false hopes and promises.” Harry sighed.
“Are you, the almighty Mr. Potter, calling me a liar? And if so, whatever the hell for? I have never once lie- alright, never once since we’ve started shagging - lied to you.” Draco spat.
“Shagging. Is that all we are, Mr. Malfoy? It seems to me that one moment you‘re all chocolates and lubricant and feelings, then you turn around and you’re the insolent, adolescent, annoying, conniving, self-absorbed prick that I grew up with. You give me these promises of love and devotion and make me feel all bloody warm and fuzzy inside, then in the morning, as it is most mornings, you turn back into … you.”
“What exactly is wrong with being me, Harry? Or did you just fall in love with some fantasy wearing my face? What about the promises you made to me? When you said ‘I love you, Draco Malfoy’ I thought you meant you loved me and not just this wonderful body that I happen to have.”
“I DO LOVE YOU, YOU AGGRAVATING PONCE!” Harry screamed, startling a flock of birds into shooting off from beneath the stands.
“THEN WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THE PROBLEM, POTTER?” Draco yelled back at him.
“The problem is that I love you and I don’t know if you really feel the same about me,” Harry said, barely above a whisper.
Draco’s face fell soft with emotion and he dropped to his knees next to Harry, taking off his stylish jacket and wrapping it around the brunette’s shivering frame. “Whatever gave you the idea that I didn’t love you, Harry? I love you more than anything. I thought you knew that.”
“It’s just… it’s just that you tell me that I mean the world to you, you tell me that you love me, that you live for me, that everything you do is for me, and yet I can’t seem to see it. You tell me that you love me and yet I’m the only one who knows. I walk through the halls every day having to pretend I hate you and sometimes it almost feels natural again because I hate the way that I feel when I’m not with you and more often than not, I can’t be around you. You’re always saying that all hell will break loose if anyone finds out, but I’ve almost given up caring. What can they do to us, Draco, that we haven’t already put ourselves through? Kill us? I’m willing to die for you, Draco, and I’ve almost begun to hate myself for it. You tell me that you love me, but that we can’t really be together, not just yet. I can stand you being an insufferable ponce; it’s part of who you are. A charm, a quirk or whatever you want to call it, but I can’t stand not being with you. Why can’t the world know about our love? Draco… tell me again, please,” Harry cried softly.
“Harry,” Draco said, lifting his lover’s chin so he could look into the brilliant green eyes shimmering with tears. “Harry, you said you would die for me. That’s why no one can know just yet. Because I couldn’t live if you were taken from me.”
Harry lifted his head slightly and softly kissed Draco’s remarkably unchapped lips. It was in that moment that Harry feared death the most.
“Now are you done being a woman so I can tell you about the rest of my morning?”