Chapter 21
The eerie thing is that they cheered for me. I know they cheered for everyone, but the everyone included me. My chest ached and I hoped it was only because I was out of breath from the running. I’d really hate if it was in response to something foolish like appreciation.
It hadn’t even been the full distance for the final exam. Only half. But Weasley made a big to-do of it and every trainee, year one through five, was brought out for a race. He believed we could all finish it, every one of us. Probably I didn’t even have to come in last, but I wasn’t going to try or anything. Not for the aurors. And being last meant I could goad Potter’s struggling trainees into not giving up. After all, no one wanted to be outdone by the resident Death Eater.
One of them hugged me after. Gods, these people.
Weasley might have considered congratulating me without adding in how the first half was the hardest and now we’d proven we could do it the rest would be easy. That was when I hobbled off, flashing him a two fingered salute.
I liked when the DMLE was quiet. It was calm as I strolled through the labyrinthine locker room. It felt like a proper wizarding space. If you went too deep the lockers moved and you could lose your belongings. If you went deep enough along just the right path you found hidden places. Shower stalls where the water stayed warm and things in storage never mildewed. The lockers there were nearly all claimed by seasoned aurors who knew a good thing when they found it. I’d claimed one of the spots, too.
I needed a warm shower. A decadently long pelting against my sore limbs. I sagged until I could stand, then I stood until I got the will to stretch. The agony of tight muscle took effort to dispel. Only after I’d turned to jelly did I bother to wash off the sweat. I liked when it was quiet and I could work through the kinks in my body instead of the jumbled thoughts in my mind. I didn’t understand what had happened today. I hadn’t meant to go through with it. I hadn’t meant to be part of anything. It was just another of Weasley’s schemes to trick all the trainees into being invested and it in no way should have applied to me.
I turned the water off and tried to silence my thoughts with it.
Oddly, as I dawdled in the shower, I heard more than the drip drop of water falling off my body. There was rustling in the space outside. I’d never actually encountered one of the aurors who hid out here like me. I assumed they rarely had need of the space or had a more traditional schedule. Weasley’s race had brought out a crowd, likely causing the abnormality.
I didn’t move. If I was dedicated I could just wait them out. So what if this shower stall was always stocked with the good shampoo and the water pressure was just a tad better than the others. Surely they wouldn’t outwait me?
Who was I kidding. These were aurors. If I acted weird they’d probably investigate.
Fuckity fuck. I pulled my towel over the side of stall and wrapped it around me. I pulled it higher up than normal, so not even a single scar showed. There was nothing to be done for the Mark. I’d have to hold my arm to my chest, like I needed it to keep the towel up. There we go then. Get out. Avoid eye contact. Move quickly. I was half way through opening the curtain when I heard an unmistakable ping.
I was prepared to bite back curses at the sight of Harry Potter, but nothing could have prepared my jaw not to drop at the sight of topless Potter wearing only jogging shorts hung low under his hip bones. His dark tufts of hair drew the eye downwards towards his waistband. I realized where I was looking and snapped my eyes back up to his face.
What is one to do when the half naked man you shagged that one time and has since avoided you finds you equally half naked in the shower? Freeze up and stare at each other while your competing blushes flamed to life? Look away first and free up his eyes to wander downwards towards where your towel certainly did not cover enough skin?
Get out. Avoid eye contact. Move quickly.
The plan failed immediately when I made a beeline for my locker opposite Potter and the moment I turned my back to him he gasped. I could feel his eyes on me. Not on my back, but on the clear skin of my behind that the towel didn’t dip low enough to reach.
Potter was staring. He was staring at my ass.
I nearly dropped the towel in an effort to cover myself. It dipped lower than I’d intended. I had to catch it before it fell completely, with the top hanging right below the dimples of my lower back.
There was another ding in the room but I didn’t hear movement in response. Potter was still staring, he must be. His eyes raking over my pale, unblemished skin. The places where I’d allowed him to lavish me with touches. The pieces of me he made a point to learn. Was he remembering that night the way I did? Was he imaging trailing his hands over me once more, gliding his tongue along my collar bone and marking me with his teeth?
Gods, Malfoy, what are you doing? My thoughts, his words. I was being ogled, clearly. I didn’t say that, Merlin no. My defensive retort of choice was to snap out don’t worry, I’m not trying to seduce you.
He made some half sputtering choked noise while I readjusted the towel. Clearly he wanted to say something useless, like insisting that wasn’t what he meant or he didn’t mean to imply it. I could feel my blood pounding in my ears and focused on that instead of him. Three times he rejected me. Three times. Once was more than enough, but the number three held power. I wouldn’t be throwing myself at him again.
Honestly I was ignoring him. Wasn’t thinking about him at all. I didn’t consider what it would look like if he was still staring when I bent over to rummage through my locker. Didn’t realize my ass was wiggling back and forth as I fished out clothes. I put on a plain undershirt first so I wouldn’t accidentally put my scars on display like I had with my ass. Then those horribly scratchy DMLE boxers. There was half a second when I lost balance of the towel while stepping into the undergarments and I ended up flashing Potter again. It shouldn’t have mattered. He shouldn’t have been looking. Only there was another harsh intake of breath behind me, because he was.
The glare I sent over my shoulder was not harsh enough. This man. This ridiculous, obsessive man, blushing up to his ears because he knew he’d been caught watching longer than he had any right to. The blood was pounding in my ears again because, while he definitely looked away now, he kept glancing back.
The smart thing to do would have been to take all my things and beeline for the door. I may just have done something stupid instead, like bite out how he was the one who said no.
No, no, of course he meant no. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Potter wasn’t trying for a shower anymore. He was fishing into his gym bag and pulling out clean clothes to put on over his grimey skin. He was moving quickly. Quick, efficient actions that were the precursor to his escape. His double down on avoiding was not something I needed to react to. Find a different word, I scolded, because I wasn’t going to tell him not to go. His eyes flicked back to my face, taking in all my frustration and helplessness. He gulped back another of his damn apologies and yanked on a fresh shirt.
The thing about Potter was he never meant to be rude. The fucker was too noble, too heroic. I listened to him make excuses, or rather, “explain himself,” while he shoved each foot into his trousers. He hadn’t thought through the lies he was yammering, clearly. I doubt even he believed it when he said he hadn’t realized he was staring. The man had practically been drooling. Merlin knows why, but whatever it was that drew him to me was as strong as ever and it didn’t make any sense.
He was acting the fool and I said as much. I mean, I got it, I was ashamed of me, too. It must be really embarrassing for him to think of anyone finding out what we did together. I knew how disgusted he was with the idea of anyone else touching a Death Eater like me.
Bloody hell, Malfoy, what are you on about? You know I don’t think of you like…
Maybe he stopped talking because without even thinking I’d moved my left arm behind my back. Why the fuck hadn’t I finished getting dressed? Circe’s tits, I was having this discussion in my underwear.
No one thinks of you as a Death Eater, Malfoy. You know that, right?
Ha. Ha! I think I actually was laughing but in a disturbed way. Weasley once told me Potter didn’t know they hexed me and I think Weasley had it right. He didn’t see how I couldn’t walk through the main auror floors without being attacked because they all knew who I was and what I’d done and they remembered I deserved it. And I knew Potter had those thoughts, too. That’s why he said I would be bad for Ajax. That’s why he thought Weasley would get mad if I got too close to his brother. Wasn’t that why Potter didn’t want to touch me?
I had the sudden urge to make him admit it. I pulled my Marked arm back out and shoved it right up in his face.
The absolute fucker didn’t so much as flench. Worse, he wrapped one of his hands around my forearm so his thumb rested right on top of the vile snake head etched onto me. My jaw clenched and I could feel my teeth grinding as I held myself stock still. Potter stroked the Mark with his thumb, like it was nothing to him. He stared at me while he did it, soft and pitying and soul wrenching. I think I may have been shaking but neither of us moved away. That is, until he tried to talk.
Look, I know they sent me here to be redeemed and benefit society, but nothing Potter said about my progress would make it true. He didn’t even know the things I’d done for the Dark Lord. The ministry had no idea. And for the most part I did it eagerly. You needed to want the Dark Mark for it to take on your skin, you needed to accept the poison else it would kill you. This is who I am. There are no take backs. There is never a day when being a Death Eater is done and over. There is no way to carve this Mark off my skin. Don’t you think I’ve tried?
I hated when Potter looked at me like there was something wrong with me. I know I pushed him there on purpose. Maybe I should have seduced him. I bet I could have. I could have had him showering me with gentle kisses instead of gently asking me if I ever talked with Ron about this. As if I’d fucking talk to Weasley. As if I wanted the mind healer Potter said Weasley would find me, “when I was ready.”
Get it through your thick, useless skull, Potter, I’m not looking for you to save me. Nowhere in my plans is to turn into a productive member of society. I am just here, trapped in the pit of the DMLE, hating everything about life, being harassed by Harry Potter because he can’t make up his mind about whether or not he wants to sleep with a Death Eater.
It was unclear to me where Potter should have started in his reply, but what he stayed stuck on was how it wasn’t about the Death Eater thing. Un-fucking-believable. The only reason I was here was all of my horrible crimes, but Potter had simply moved on. I’d understand maybe if he didn’t have to live with a lifetime of consequences, but my side of the war killed his parents, and that was just the start. Maybe I should have started by unpacking any part of that, but I didn’t want to play mind healer to Potter any more than I wanted one for myself. And besides, the thing that actually mattered in all of this was, if it wasn’t the Death Eater thing, why didn’t he want to shag me?
I would have accepted any number of answers to that question, but of course Potter chose something ridiculous. He said it wasn’t fair to me. He was taking advantage, he was abusing a position of authority, he was putting me in a position where I couldn’t say no.
Honestly, I was contemplating putting all the training Weasley forced on me to the test to see how hard I could hit him. Because, you know what, Potter? What wasn’t fair to me was a life of indentured servitude, “for my own good,” while being told everyone gets to make all my decisions for me, “for my own good,” and I couldn’t be trusted to know what I wanted or what’s actually good for me. And I do know what I want, actually, and Potter didn’t have the right to take that way. It’s not like he wasn’t out there having casual sex whenever he wanted, right? Right, Potter?
There may have been the longest, most uncomfortable pause of my life. Then Potter shook his head no.
He wasn’t good at casual sex, apparently. He bit his lips and looked away and didn’t say anymore.
Adrenaline had my heart thudding and my blood pumping and I felt like I could go run another race with all my energy, but I didn’t know what to say in the here and now. I didn’t know what Potter meant. I was a rather pessimistic person and I could think of a dozen ways that was a rejection, but it hadn’t sounded like one. He was blushing, even, and of course, on occasion, glancing back at me.
I swallowed, hard. The way he looked at me. I didn’t understand how he could look through and see every part of me while keeping himself so guarded. What a mess I was, for not keeping my guard up as well as him. I tried, I really did try, to pull in all the feelings he brought out in me. My neediness and desperation. I’d told myself I wasn’t going to throw myself at him again, but look at me demanding to know why I wasn’t good enough. I should go. Take my things and make a beeline for the door while Potter ducked his head and refused to admit what he wanted. Three was a powerful number. He’d said no three times. It was tempting fate to push things again.
So I told him I wouldn’t ask. I’d never ask him again.
But I waited. I waited in case deep down he wanted something. In case if I waited long enough, he would ask me.