The Bad Influence Who Lived
Harry makes it back to his dorm in one piece somehow, after the conflicting experience in the locker room. It’s Saturday and weekends typically mean the shared bedroom is fairly empty since people are either in the common room or out and about throughout the castle and grounds, enjoying the early signs of fall descending down on Hogwarts.
Now he lies alone on his bed trying to make sense of what he’s feeling.
One of the most prominent thoughts going through his mind is about how Malfoy had listened when he said to stop. Even with all the other things he thinks through it keeps coming back to this. It makes him cry. It shouldn’t make him cry. It should feel nice after what happened this summer, and in a way it does, but for some reason it also opens the wound more when he thinks about what he should have had.
It also makes him angry about how everyone has responded to it. It’s not fair that his life is ruined because some grown ass man decided he could do whatever he wanted to him… but Harry can’t stand to keep brewing on that. It’s a constant daily battle, but as always he manages to shove it away into the corners of his mind and focuses on all the other shitty things that are happening.
Everything Harry feels are polar opposites to each other, making everything so confusing and he’s so tired of not understanding himself anymore.
Why does it feel so good that Malfoy stopped when he asked, yet at the same time he enjoys it when Malfoy disrespects him with his words and actions? How could he both want and not want respect?
Why does he want to feel used and then feel betrayed when Malfoy gives him what he asks for and then walks away from him like he was nothing, just a reminder of Malfoy’s own apparent shame.
Why did he like it so much when their last encounter had no pain at all, but also feel so very terrified of the thought of it?
Why does he have the feeling that Malfoy is going to disappear for days again (or maybe even forever) like he had after the first time Harry propositioned him. Why does he hate that possibility, but also feel terrified at the thought of him coming back for more?
Something had shifted with them today and he doesn’t want to have these butterflies in his stomach at the thought of Malfoy of all people.
And again, why does he feel so warm and giddy at the thought of someone stopping when he asks while simultaneously feeling guilt and fear? He wishes he could get that stupid thought out of his head.
Harry spends a good portion of the afternoon crying. When Seamus and Dean come in he hastily wipes his tears, but it must be obvious because they look awkward and make jokes that don’t quite land to try and cheer him up.
Harry’s fake laugh is just as uncomfortable as their fake jokes and they end up leaving the dorm again fairly quickly.
It turns out that Harry is right about Malfoy.
Without the distraction that Malfoy provides and with nothing to look forward to through his days, he finds himself more depressed than ever. He can’t really bare the thought of being in public any longer than he needs to be and spends the next few days avoiding the great hall until he can’t stand the hunger anymore. Even then he waits until times when he knows there won’t be a lot of people and is less likely to run into Ron and Hermione.
He’s eating a very early dinner or perhaps very late lunch when he gets the letter.
Harry,
I’m not sure what to say in this letter, but I know that I cannot continue to avoid this conversation. I wish terribly that we could have it in person so we could avoid any miscommunications that reading words without hearing inflections can lead to.
I suppose I should start with eliminating that possibility as much as I can. I want you to know that I care about you and I always will. You’re James’ son and no matter what you do it will never erase that fact. There’s nothing that you could ever do to make me not want you in my life.
What you did this past summer, though… it wasn’t okay. And that’s coming from the king of making horrible mistakes, so I’m not trying to get down on you for your own. I just want to know what you need and how I can be here for you. I want to understand what you were trying to get from lying about something like that.
I’ve made horrible choices myself that have harmed other people, and I include you in that. If I wasn’t so impulsive perhaps you could have grown up with me. I’ll never fully forgive myself for that… But we all have a dark side and do things we shouldn’t. I guess I’m just trying to understand why you did it and if there’s anything you need. Clearly there had to be something you’d hoped to gain from it, even if your method wasn’t great.
I’m here for you Harry. You just have to reach out.
Snuffles
He hasn’t eaten that much, but as usual he finds himself not hungry anymore after reading it. He feels sort of numb.
On one hand, it’s nice that Sirius is being so kind and is trying to offer some sort of support. On the other hand, well… he doesn’t want to think about the other hand or any of this anymore.
In an increasingly rare need to socialize, Harry decides it’s time he stops avoiding going down to see Hagrid.
“‘arry! ‘Bout time yeh came down fer a visit!” Hagrid says cheerfully, stepping aside to let Harry in. “I’ve been worried about ya, with everythin’ that’s gone down!”
The second he walks in the door Fang is on him jumping madly with thick goopy strands of drool coating the sleeve of his robes. Harry manages to stop himself from saying ‘gross’, but he can’t quite hold back the wince that clearly displays his disgust. He’s never been a huge fan of dogs.
“DOWN FANG, YEH MANGY BEAST!”
It’s several minutes before the dog calms down and Harry shuffles awkwardly, temporarily forgetting how to people after going so long without.
“Sorry, Hagrid.” Harry manages eventually, “‘Suppose I’ve just been avoiding everyone lately.”
He feels guilty for ever doubting the man to begin with. Hagrid has always been so loyally unconditional in his support of Harry. He needn’t have feared that Hagrid would treat him awfully because of everything.
“Yeah. Hermione told me about everything… But I’d like ter hear your side.”
Harry shrugs, looking at the floor miserably. It’s maybe the first time anyone asked for his side, outside of the first responders and the two detectives he talked to… But something about telling part of his story to that detective only to be shot down like he had… he’s not sure he wants to go through that doorway again.
As nice as it would be to not feel so alone with it all, his throat feels constricted at the very thought of telling anyone what happened and it sort of feels like a metaphor for how voiceless he’s felt since he was attacked. It’s almost like his body can physically feel what happened to him emotionally.
He can feel a pressure behind his eyes and he imagines that they’re probably tinged red, because Harry’s eyes always do that when he’s trying to hold back tears. He shakes his head vigorously and Hagrid sighs, sitting next to him.
“We don’t have ter talk about it. Just wanted ya to know that… if yer need ter talk, I’m here.”
“Thanks Hagrid.” Harry croaks out, “Maybe you can just tell me what all’s been going on with you.”
So Hagrid rambles on about the creatures in the forest that are wreaking havoc and blessedly leaves anything Ron and Hermione are doing out of the conversation. By the end he’s feeling a lot better. He forgot how good it feels to have a friend.
He’s still feeling a bit emotionally hung over though and he knows that once he’s back in the castle it’ll all be raining down on his tired shoulders once again.
When Hagrid’s distracted by Fang grabbing a raw steak from the counter, (why it’d just be sitting out in the warm September air, Harry has no idea) he notices a bottle of fire whiskey sitting on the floor next to his pantry.
He knows he shouldn’t steal from his friend, but the prospect of having just one night without any worries is too much for him and he snags it up, hiding it in his cloak.
“I should probably go Hagrid, I’ll come and visit real soon though.”
“What?” Hagrid asks glancing towards him distractedly as he tries to wrestle the steak from Fang’s jaw. “But you haven’t even been here that long, Har-“
Internally, Harry wonders why he’s even bothering and hopes that Hagrid doesn’t plan to still cook it up for himself and eat it after it’s been salivated on and chewed up by the dog.
“My stomach’s bothering me.” Harry lies, “But thanks again. It was nice to catch up.”
Later that night he sneaks out of the common room and heads up to the astronomy tower with his prize, almost jittery from the thrill of excitement that comes with doing something he’s not supposed to be doing.
It’s starting to get a bit cooler at night and Harry enjoys the crisp breeze that feels some how both comforting and energizing at the same time.
After spending some time with Hagrid, Harry had felt half way normal for once and was even able to get some of his school work done that he’d been slacking on, the excitement of enjoying the evening keeping him motivated and distracted from everything else.
He pours himself a glass of firewhiskey and smells it. The honey and cinnamon hit his nostrils, a seemingly weird combination, but it actually smells good. He ends up choking on his first swig, unprepared for the fire that burns down his throat in a way that seems to warm him up instantly.
After sputtering for a moment he takes another, smaller sip and savors the taste before swallowing. It’s good, sweet with a hint of earthiness and now that he expects it, the burn actually feels good going down.
He’s never been drunk before, but Harry is surprised to find that it doesn’t really take too much before he’s starting to feel the sweet buzz of liquor coursing through his veins and improving his spirit. He ends up loving the feeling and he wishes he could always feel this good.
He’s only two drinks in and wondering if muggle alcohol works just as quickly or if it’d take longer to reach his system, when Malfoy steps outside and he thinks it’s strange how he always seems to find him lately. You’d think he had his own map detailing where everyone was.
At first Malfoy flinches when he sees him, but then he catches a glimpse of the bottle and his eyes take on a mischievous glint.
“Are you drinking, Potter!?”
“No!” Harry exclaims, his voice coming out much louder than socially appropriate as he shuffles the bottle behind him.
Malfoy laughs and Harry, who’s already feeling heated from the drink, feels more warmth flood through him at the sound.
Unfortunately, he succeeds only in knocking the fire whiskey over rather than hiding it from view, further incriminating himself and Harry laughs too, able to recognize a lost cause when he sees one.
“Maybe a little…” He giggles.
“At least you had the foresight to cap it so it didn’t spill.”
Harry feels light hearted and amused, which is probably why he has the ‘bright’ idea to engage further.
“Want some?”
Malfoy tilts his head to the side, squinting his eyes at him in suspicion and sighs heavily, as if Harry is forcing him to do something daunting and not simply offering him a drink. But he sits down anyway, just a few feet from Harry and he takes that as a ‘yes’.
“Lumos Sphaeras.”
Harry’s never seen a spell like this and looks around in amazement as little glimmering balls of light, almost bubble-like form off the tip of his wand, before they start to levitate in the air around them at an aesthetically pleasing distance from each other. It’s like a magical version of string lights, except better, floating about at various heights.
It’s quite pretty really, and Harry finds himself glancing at Malfoy. He smiles at him briefly and returns his gaze to enjoy the view as he takes a sip of his firewhiskey.
“May I?” Malfoy asks, pointing to the bottle of Ogden’s sitting between them.
Harry nods, unsure why he’s asking when he’s already offered.
“You’re a bad influence, you know.” He says calmly as he transfigures a quill from his bag into a goblet.
“How’s that?”
“Other than Pansy, I don’t know anyone else our age that gets up to the stuff we’ve been doing… that you started. And now you’re sharing firewhiskey with me. For a self-righteous goody two shoe, you’re certainly up to no good. In fact it’s almost Slytherin, how good you are at fooling everyone.”
“Shut up, Malfoy.” Harry laughs, shoving him lightly, but not quite meaning it. “Why do they call it goody two shoes anyway? It’s not like bad guys walk around with one shoe on. Or look different than everyone else. They look just like me or you and they wear appropriate footwear.”
Malfoy snorts, taking a few gulps of his drink.
“I think I need to catch up to you.”
“Surprised you’re even talking to me.”
“Wouldn’t be, if you didn’t have alcohol.”
“You’re a dick.”
“You’re… an enigma.”
“What’s that even mean?”
“You really ought to expand your vocabulary… you’re being all mysterious. I don’t like it.”
Harry thinks maybe he does, maybe that’s why he keeps coming back around, secretly.
“I guess… if you think I’m all the papers say I am, then you don’t really know me at all.”
Malfoy doesn’t seem to have a comeback for once, so they settle into silence for a bit and Harry finds himself worrying over what to even say. How do you talk to a kid that you’re enemies with benefits with? He doesn’t really know the first thing about Malfoy, either. He knows from his own experience that people are more than how they look to the world.
“You say I’m a bad influence,” Harry settles on, “But this isn’t the first time you ever drank.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because you didn’t choke like I did earlier.”
Malfoy snickers, “Fair… And I wasn’t the first person you ever gave head to.”
Harry knows that if he was sober he’d feel uncomfortable with where the conversation is going, but as it is he finds himself not too bothered by it.
“What makes you think that?” He parrots.
“Because you didn’t choke nearly enough.”
Harry’s laugh is the kind that makes your whole body shake and you feel it deep in your belly and again he thinks he loves the feeling he gets when he drinks.
“That’s where you’re wrong, sir.” He teases.
Malfoy opens his mouth to say something and he looks playful, but bites his tongue and Harry thinks maybe he had been about to make some sort of joke about him calling Malfoy sir. When the other boy grimaces slightly, and Harry’s almost sure he was right. He wonders what sort of things he’s heard from people to feel ashamed of liking guys, or if it’s just specific to doing this with him that’s so worrisome.
“You’ve seriously never done that before!?”
Harry shakes his head and they spend the next hour or so drinking and acting like their friends which is weird, but the firewhiskey makes it feel normal somehow.
At this point Harry thinks they both have hit the point that they’re drunk, when Malfoy finally asks the question he’s apparently been wanting to ask.
“What happened that made you decide to not want to… you know… orgasm properly.”
A sudden and irrational anger bubbles inside, because for the first time in forever he feels normal and is having a good time and almost forgot what bloody well happened and now Malfoy is bringing it up and reminding him, the stupid tosser.
“Nothing happened!” Harry snaps, “It’s just what I like.”
Malfoy raises his hands placating, but Harry isn’t having it.
“It’s none of your damn business, Malfoy.”
“I’m just wondering where you even got the idea. Or why you like it. I’m curious potter, that’s all.”
“Well you can take your stupid curiosities somewhere else.” Harry says irritably and stands up, prepared to storm off in a huff.
Malfoy stops him though with an arm wrapped around his wrist and it’s not digging into him painfully like it had the other day in the locker room.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about it. Let’s just… keep doing what we were doing.”
But now they’re standing very close to each other again and Harry’s looking into his eyes trying to determine if he’s actually serious about dropping it and Malfoy glances down at his lips before looking up at him again. Harry feels that familiar feeling of attraction running through him and the alcohol in his system does nothing to dampen his already screwed up decision making skills, apparently.
Because then he’s crashing his lips against Malfoy’s and he’s returning it immediately, much to Harry’s surprise. He tries not to think too much about the hot and cold behavior Malfoy engages in when it comes to whatever the hell the two of them are doing together.
The kiss is sort of sloppy, because neither of them seem to know what they’re doing, really. It’s short lived too, the clumsiness of it interrupting the original passion. After a few seconds Malfoy is pulling away and looking at him again and he seems heated now. As much as Harry likes feeling Malfoy’s cock in his mouth he hopes that whatever they end up doing is more like the last time they did this.
He can’t quite stamp down his own curiosity and he wants to know just what the hell is going on in Malfoy’s brain… If Harry was an enigma, well Malfoy certainly was as well.