The Postmortem
Harry did not go into work early the next day. In fact, he went in almost an hour late, hair still drying from his shower, utterly exhausted. He had been at his desk just long enough to do his most pressing paperwork when Kingsley approached.
“Harry,” he said, “I appreciate your dedication, but you look like shit. Go home and rest.”
He looked up at Kingsley, considered arguing. But then he sighed and said, “All right.”
“Good boy,” said Kingsley. Harry ducked his head to conceal his blush at the memories of last night those words conjured.
Kingsley was nearly back to his office before Harry realized he wanted to talk to him, so he ran after him.
“This doesn’t look like going home,” Kingsley pointed out.
“I know. And I will. But, sir, I wanted to talk to you about something.” Kingsley gestured for Harry to sit in the chair opposite his desk.
“It’s--Tom,” Harry managed. “My ex? He’s the one who came into the office yesterday and brought a coffee. But I didn’t--” Harry choked. “I didn’t want the coffee.”
“Harry--”
“No, wait. I need to say this. Please, just, don’t give Tom any information about me, all right? I know he seems nice, but he’s really--”
“Harry,” Kingsley interrupted, “I’ve been a social worker for over twenty years.” He came around the desk then and put a fatherly hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I’m not blind. That man has hurt you. He’ll never be welcome here. Know that we’ll do what we can to keep you safe.”
Harry swallowed and nodded, tearing up a bit. “Thank you, sir.”
“Go home and rest. Stay home through the weekend; you clearly need the break. We’ll see you Monday.”
“But--”
“Your next visit is Tuesday, so you’ll have time to prepare. Give your notes on the Khan case to Colin.” Harry wanted to argue, but found his mind was blank.
“Yes, sir,” he said, and left.
By the time Harry got home, his mind was all in a muddle, and he felt all his soreness catching up with him. Barely stopping to pet the cat, he made a beeline for his bedroom, stripping off his work clothes and getting into bed. The sheets and mattress were soft, the pillows pleasantly firm, the duvet fluffy and warm. This was the one luxury Hermione had been able to convince him to add to his otherwise average flat: a bed to rival the comfort of the surprisingly luxurious ones in the Hogwarts dorms. He had even got a canopy frame and, at Hermione’s suggestion, added swathes of soft grey gauze as a nod to the curtains he had become used to in school. Ron had commented that the bed looked like the set for a softcore porno, but Harry paid no mind to that. It was comfortable, and yes, maybe a bit romantic, and even though Tom had rather liked it, it still felt very much his own.
Harry smiled as he imagined Draco here, imagined his teasing, imagined his silver eyes set off by the gray canopy behind him. This led to him thinking of Draco as he was the previous night, on top of him, fighting for control and just barely keeping it, and then only because Harry wanted him to have it. He thought of how Draco had locked his flat door behind them and then, in a flash, had Harry against some wall, he didn’t know which, kissing and nipping at his neck as he moved them, slowly and dizzily, toward the bedroom. Draco’s bed screamed “wealthy bachelor,” with black satin sheets and a beige-and-cream striped duvet, tastelessly combined but probably quite expensive and trendy. Harry didn’t have a chance to notice this till later, when Draco had stepped away to the loo, and it made him laugh, because Draco probably considered himself the epitome of good taste. And what would Harry know? As if Hermione and Ginny and even Ron and Mrs. Weasley hadn’t more or less coached him on appropriate decorating choices ever since he got his own flat.
But when they had fallen onto that bed for the first time, Harry had seen nothing at all, eyes closed as Draco pulled his jumper over his head, then unbuttoned his shirt, kissing his chest as it was exposed.
“This--shirt--is--hideous,” Draco had muttered between kisses.
“Then get it off,” said Harry.
“...get you off,” Draco muttered, as if arguing, though really he had moved to Harry’s belt now and was probably just stating his intent.
“Please do,” Harry gasped, reaching for Draco’s shirt.
“None of that,” said Draco sharply, slapping Harry’s hand away. “That’s not how this goes. I’m making you forget. That means you’re going to lie the fuck down and I’m going to suck you off.”
Harry felt weak at those words, but managed to say, “Make me,” because, after all, this was Malfoy.
Malfoy--Draco--who had looked him in the eye and said, “Not without negotiating first. For now, you’ll just have to control yourself.” Then his expression had shown a flash of uncharacteristic self-consciousness. “Er, if that’s what you want?”
Harry grinned, and, keeping eye contact, whispered, “Green.” Draco pinned his wrists down and crashed over him, kissing him mercilessly. Harry melted, letting it all in.
Remembering all of that now, Harry cried out, then opened his eyes in surprise. He hadn’t even realized he’d been touching his cock, but now he was so close to coming. And he was getting closer, barely touching himself as he remembered Draco’s nails digging into his thighs as he sucked him, Draco grabbing the base of his cock when he got too close, Draco fucking him into the mattress and eating him out after, waking up to Draco’s mouth on his neck…
There was so much to sort out. Perhaps Harry’s nap could wait just a bit longer.
***
Luckily, by the time Harry would normally have come home from work, he was decently dressed in pyjama trousers and an old band tee of Sirius’. He’d had a leisurely time recollecting the previous evening, then showered again, had a cheese toastie, and spent the afternoon napping. He had just now got up, and was puttering about the kitchen making tea. So when the intercom buzzed, he was not in a compromising position, which was good, because it was Ron and Hermione. He let them up.
“‘Lo,” he said as he opened the door, “I’ve just put the kettle--oomph!” His speech was interrupted when he was enveloped in an almost violent group hug by his best friends--and, he saw through Hermione’s hair, Ginny and Luna as well.
“I didn’t know you two were back!” Harry said, muffled by the intensity of the hug. Ginny was a professional footballer and Luna an itinerant cryptozoologist, so they hardly ever saw each other, let alone their London friends.
“We texted,” said Ginny.
“And called,” said Luna.
“Well, Luna called,” Ginny corrected. “I texted.” Ginny really hated phone conversations--it had been part of the reason for her and Harry’s breakup.
“Yes,” said Hermione tartly, “and while we’re at it, where have you been? All that you went through yesterday, and then hardly a word from you!”
“I texted you last night,” said Harry weakly.
“Harry James Potter,” she hissed, “you texted ‘I’m okay. Need time.’ And then turned your mobile off!”
Harry gulped. “Oh. Did I?”
“Yes! It’s still off. And has been for, by my count, twenty-seven hours!”
“Hermione,” Ron muttered.
“Well?” she asked Harry, “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“Hermione,” Ron warned gently, “You sound like my mum.”
“Do I,” said Hermione. “I sound like your mum? And who was it who waited up for me when I worked late Tuesday, said he was worried sick, then proceeded to serve me twohelpings of shepherd’s pie?”
Harry couldn’t help but smile fondly at them both.
“I love you two,” he said, “and I’m sorry I made you worry. Luna, Gin, I’m sorry I missed your messages.”
“Oh, Harry,” said Hermione, making her famous ‘what am I going to do with you?’ face.
Ginny hugged him. “Forgiven, you sod.”
“Just don’t do it again,” said Luna in a surprisingly stern voice.
“Noted,” said Harry.
“So where were you?” Hermione asked. “We stopped by your office at lunch, and Kingsley said you’d come in feeling poorly and he’d sent you home.”
“Yeah,” said Ron, “and he said you skived off yesterday, too.”
Hermione elbowed Ron, who winced. Harry looked at his four friends’ inquisitive faces. He took a moment to flirt with the idea of not telling them, but he’d never get away with that. And, if he was honest with himself, he needed their help.
“I need tea for this,” he said at last. “Come on, you lot. I’ve just put the kettle on.” Of course, he had to take the kettle back off in order to add enough water for five people, but he did so, and shortly the tea was steeping. For something to do, Harry opened a packet of hobnobs and loudly arranged them on a plate.
“Well?” Luna probed once Ron began to serve the tea.
“It’s a...difficult situation,” said Harry. He took a sip of his tea in the manner one might create a diversion in a battle. “See, my heart is in turmoil, but so is my cock.”
Ron sat down, wearing the smug expression he always did when he saw an opportunity to offer romantic advice ‘from the perspective of a married man.’ Luna was nodding serenely, Ginny’s eyes alight with the intent to mock him mercilessly. Hermione, though, had caught on.
“Oh, Harry,” she said, “You didn’t.”
Harry blushed.
“Oh,” said Ron. “Mate…”
“What?” demanded Ginny gleefully. “What’s he done?”
“Made love with Draco Malfoy, of course,” said Luna matter-of-factly.
“How did you know?” Ron demanded, luckily drowning out Harry’s muttering about how they had not exactly made love.
“It’s obvious,” said Luna. “He’s smiling when he thinks no one’s looking, but he walks like he feels guilty about something. He disappeared for the night directly following an emotionally distressing event. He also has a lovebite on his collarbone.”
“Okay,” said Ron, looking at Luna like she was a chessboard, “but how d’you know it’s Malfoy?”
“Who else would it be?” asked Luna. “Aside from us, and maybe Neville who we know wasn’t involved, who would Harry want to talk about Tom with?”
“I’ve married Sherlock Holmes!” Ginny crowed. “Look at his face! It’s true, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is,” said Hermione quietly.
“Mate!” said Ron.
“Let him speak for himself,” Luna suggested. Everyone turned to face Harry.
“Er,” he said, “there may be...an element of truth…”
“Wow,” said Ginny. “Wood owes me fifty quid.”
“Gin,” said Harry, looking at her woundedly, “you didn’t.”
“Ginny yes,” said Ginny.
“That’s not how memes work!” Ron exclaimed; this was an ongoing battle of theirs.
“Yeet,” said Ginny stubbornly.
“Look,” said Harry, dunking his hobnob aggressively into his tea, “You can make fun of me later, God knows I’d do the same in your position, but for now will you lot help me figure out what the fuck is going on?”
Another silence.
“Sure,” said Ron after a moment. “Yeah, Harry, let’s talk about this.”
“Thanks.”
But there was more silence.
“Let’s start,” said Luna eventually, “from the beginning. It might help you to put it all in place, and anyway, Ginevra and I have only heard it secondhand.”
“All right.” Harry took a sip of his tea, and, two cups later, they were all caught up to speed.
“Well,” said Hermione when he had finished, “one thing is clear, at least.”
“Is it?” asked Harry acidly. “Do tell.”
“You and Draco are moving too fast,” she said, cringing in anticipation of an indignant response that didn’t come.
“I know,” said Harry, dunking his biscuit again.
“I--you do?”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “I know it’s not...healthy to be with someone I don’t fully trust right now. And I think it’s the same for him--I mean, last week he was completely caught up in Tom’s bullshit. It’s all going really fast, and it feels like we can’t control it.”
“Wait,” said Ginny, “we’re talking about trust? I thought this conversation was about sex!”
“No,” said Ron, with a resigned expression, “it’s definitely about trust.”
“You’re making me sound like some kind of teenager with a crush,” Harry grumbled.
Luna glanced at the ceiling, while the others leveled him unimpressed stares.
“Stop it,” Harry said.
Hermione sighed. “Can we pretend to be adults for a moment?”
“Yeah, pipe down,” said Ron. “We’re about to talk about Harry Potter’s feelings. D’you lot know how rare that is?”
Harry groaned.
“I think sex can help to build trust,” Luna announced.
“Yeah it can!” Ginny exclaimed, offering a hand for her wife to high-five. Luna did so with an indulgent smile.
“That can be dangerous, though,” Hermione said to Luna, ignoring Ginny. “Sex can create affectionate feelings that aren’t necessarily warranted. In some cases, that’s why--”
“That’s why what, Hermione?” Harry snapped. The mug in his hand was shaking.
“That’s one of many reasons people sometimes stay in abusive relationships,” Luna finished quietly.
“Oh,” said Harry, “Good to know. Thank you for that new information.”
“Harry--” Hermione began apologetically, but Ginny held up her hand for silence.
“Right, you lot. I think it’s time for a meeting of the Ex-Hets Club. Clear out. Ron, I’ll bring him to dinner, don’t worry.”
“I’m a bit worried,” said Ron, “but we’ll let you talk.” Hermione sighed, but left with Ron. Luna kissed Ginny on the forehead before following them.
Ginny immediately went to the sideboard (purchased when he’d just moved in, because years of living with Petunia Dursley had convinced him that people just had sideboards) and chose a bottle of whisky. She refilled both their teacups with it, topping them off with fresh tea.
“Details,” she said, taking a sip. “What are you really obsessing over right now?”
Harry took a gulp of his drink, coughed a little.
“It was, like, really good, Gin. Honestly, if I’m scared of anything, it’s that.”
“That...doesn’t sound particularly scary, if I’m being honest, Haz.” Harry frowned at her. “If I’m being honest,” she continued, “it sounds kind of hot.”
“Being gay isn’t all about the sex, Ginny,” Harry deadpanned. “I can’t believe you’re trying to fetishize my kinky hookup.”
“Ooh, it was kinky?”
“Yeah. As much as I hate to humor you, that’s actually relevant.”
“Go on,” said Ginny. “I’ll try to be serious.”
“You know how Tom...was?” asked Harry. His voice was increasingly halting.
“Yeah,” said Ginny.
“Draco’s...kind of like that too.”
“Harry!” said Ginny in alarm.
“Not like that!” said Harry quickly. “I just mean he’s...er...he’s so much more careful about it, but he’s...dominant.”
“Oh.” Ginny thought for a moment. “Is that bad?”
“No,” Harry sighed, “not...in and of itself.”
“Say more.”
“It just makes me wonder. Draco was fucking Tom the whole time, right? I wonder...he couldn’t have been like this with Tom, right? Tom wouldn’t...I mean…”
“Hmm,” said Ginny quietly, sympathetically. “I suppose you’re right that Tom wouldn’t be willing to be dominated. But as for Draco...you know, Harry, there are people who like both.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Harry, blushing, “I guess there are.”
They were both silent for a moment, remembering another of the reasons their relationship hadn’t worked.
“Doesn’t it bother you?” Ginny asked at length.
“What?”
“Malfoy and Riddle,” she said. Harry thought for a moment, drinking the dregs of his tea-flavored booze.
“No. Not really. I mean--yeah, some things about it bother me. Being cheated on bothers me. But it doesn’t feel like something Draco did. When I think about it, I’m almost more bothered at the thought of him being with Tom from his perspective. It makes me...I dunno, worry about him.”
Ginny shook her head. “You’re too good, Haz.”
“No,” said Harry, “that’s not it. I just hate the thought of anyone being in that position. If it had been me...if Draco had been like I was with Tom, and I had been on the outside...I’m not sure I wouldn’t have done the same.”
Ginny drained her cup. “Tom’s a bastard. I’m sorry he ever got near you, and, when you put it that way, I guess I feel sorry for Malfoy, too. I’m glad you two fucked it out.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
“But I know you, Harry Potter,” she continued, waggling a finger in his face. “You don’t just fuck it out. You’re the kind of bloke who wants breakfast the next morning. You want to fuck it back in.”
“I...what?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I really don’t,” Harry protested. “You’re not drunk already, are you?”
“Course not,” said Ginny, “but I am right, and the effects are similar.”
“You’re not wrong,” Harry admitted. “We didn’t exactly have time for breakfast this morning…”
“But you wish you had.”
“Maybe...but I’m not sure if I wish that for today. I guess I want to take my time. But then I’m worried, because it doesn’t feel like we have time.”
“Ew,” said Ginny, “you really like him.”
“Maybe. I’m really surprised by him. And, weird as it is, I find him kind of comforting. We’ve been through a lot of the same things, even if we experienced them differently. I’ve known him a long time. It’s true that it’s only recently that I started to consider that a good thing, but now I do. I like him, Gin. I’m trying not to think too much about it. But what if we could be good for each other?”
“Honestly,” said Ginny, sitting back, “this is a lot more thinking than I expected to do on this visit. I won’t tell you to be careful, because you have Hermione for that. But yeah. I think there’s a chance. As long as you’re both willing to admit that you’re idiots.”
“Sorry?”
“I mean that affectionately,” Ginny carried on as if Harry hadn’t spoken, “but when it comes to this sort of thing, you and Draco are both morons. I was witness to six of your seven years of inept pigtail-pulling, so I know a thing or two about this. Collectively, you have the emotional intelligence of a rhinoceros with sunstroke. I’m not saying this to discourage you, of course. I just...you two can’t do things the normal way. So don’t try.”
Harry was silent for a long moment, wondering how to respond.
“Thanks,” he finally said. “That’s...good advice, actually.”
“Ugh,” said Ginny. “I take it back.” She poured them each another teacup of whisky, and the conversation moved on to some of the less Ron-friendly stories from her time away training. When they were tipsy enough that Harry was capable of being good company, they headed out to join the others for dinner.
When they were in the cab, Harry took a moment to send a quick text to Draco (having exchanged numbers with him on his way out the door that morning).
Ginny and Luna are home. Friends showed to drag me to dinner. Recovering well. Hope you got a full English in.
He smiled to himself as he sent it. He figured that probably counted as flirting.