Intrigue - Tumblr Posts
Death of a Senator
Alexi was a man of talents. At the moment, he was a man employing his talents in service of his country. That service was framed against the backdrop of the enemies of his people, the neighboring state of Raxxis. Raxxian politics didn’t become strictly anti Stryx until after a dispute over land. It was an old dispute, one that had raged between the two countries in centuries prior, to the chagrin of their small neighbors. If Alexi succeeded tonight, there would be no further conflict. The Raxxian Sovereignty party emissary was deeply involved with preparing his speech, and the Stryxian government had obtained this information, at cost, and passed this on to Alexi’s employers, the Birds of Prey.
Raxxian architecture was tall, imposing and intended to remind the citizenry that their duty to the state was absolute. It achieved this through being as thoroughly monumental as possible. Towers reached to the sky, grand courtyards and markets lay spread at their bases ringed by round, majestic colonnades and the air was filled with the smells of moss and the roar of waterfalls, for the Raxxian architecture always included flowing, far-falling water features.
Raxxis was a nation of sorcery, not a land of wizard rulers, but a place where almost every citizen had a basic understanding of magic. The Raxxian physiology, so dependant on ample supplies of water, provided the people of Raxxis with keen senses, their magical sight was significantly more developed than that of most peoples. So it was that scaling a Raxxian tower to assassinate its inhabitant without being detected was work reserved for a man of talents such as those that Alexi had spent years to master. As a Bird of Prey, a thief and assassin trained by ancient houses of Stryxia, Alexi stepped with a careful and quiet foot, placed his hands on the smooth, marbled walls with deliberate care, and studied the hand holds of the hundreds-of-feet high tower with a learned eye.
Like all Stryx, Alexi had the benefit of light bones, a superior sense of balance, and strength that belied his athletic yet graceful form. As any Bird of Prey, Alexi was in good shape even for a Stryx. Nimbly grasping the ledge of the window he was below, he pulled himself up high enough to glance inside and allowed his body to drop back down, still clinging with his hands to the ledge. The room was empty, so Alexi allowed himself the luxury of a grunt of exertion and hauled himself swiftly and silently over the ledge and into the room within. The room was unoccupied, but lavish as were the rooms of most Raxxian senators. Checking his pack, Alexi removed a small piece of fabric, bearing the crest of the family of Drusil, a Raxxian noble house. He slipped it onto the floor below the ledge. Later, when the senator’s vengeful family combed their home seeking his assassin, they would discover the crest of the Drusils, their blood enemies.
The Drusils and the Entrari had been enemies for many years, reaching back to an impropriety regarding a Drusilian daughter and a son of the Entrari house, who had raped her. The Drusils had tried for years to take one form of revenge or another upon the Entrari, but had failed time and time again. With the dispute now a generation in the past, the houses had reconciled, though formally they were still in a state of blood-feud. The land dispute with Stryxia had united these old enemies in the Sovereignty party, and their voices now spoke together in the Raxxian senate. After tonight, however, those old rivalries would be cast aside, the Drusils would be accused of getting close to the Entrari to lull their enemies into a sense of security and exact their revenge. With Lars Entrari dead and the Drusils and Entrari embroiled in blood feud, the Sovereignty party would dissolve. That was the plan anyway.
With a quiet and practiced step, Alexi made his way out of the room and into the towers corridors and stairways, the water cascading through the central courtyard of the tower a blessing to his efforts of stealth. This high up, some seventy feet, guards did not move through the halls, and at this hour of the night, the family was either sleeping, enjoying their bed company, or too drunk to notice Alexi’s passing. Reaching into his pack, Alexi drew another scrap of cloth and tore away some of the crimson strings, leaving them on the stairway as he passed. The Drusil colors would lead investigators back to Alexi’s point of entry. Creating the illusion of a sloppy assassin was a crucial part of his contract, and Alexi took pains to deliberately break all the rules of leaving no trace he had been trained so painstakingly in: wear solid, durable clothing, avoid sharp edges, carry as little metal as possible- all things meant to leave the assassin with maximum mobility, minimum culpability if captured, and nearly impossible to track. To ensure that the Entrari drew the conclusions desired, the assassination needed to look like a vengeful, sloppy, emotionally driven Drusil out to prove something about his honor.
Alexi came at length to the door of the apartment of Lars Entrari, head of the family. The ears of a Stryx being what they were, Alexi could hear the quiet moaning of the whore, the creaking of the bed, the breathing of Lars and his flabby, over-fed body’s rhythm. Alexi looked around, and drawing a splinter of wood from his glove, listened to the tumblers of the lock as he probed it with his splinter just as Lars probed his concubine. The assassin smiled softly as he found the lock disengaged, and turned the handle carefully. The door swung open- not as quietly as Alexi would have preferred, but he expected Lars was too occupied to notice. The door to Lars apartment opened into his sitting room, there were doorways to a bathing room, a study- both unlit- and a bedroom, with the soft light of a single candle and the hard noises of copulation drifting out. There was another candle burning on the table, and next to the candle was a carcass of a bird- barbarous to Alexi’s eyes- and a carafe. It was almost too good to be true.
Lars and his whore were getting to the end of their lovemaking. Their breath had quickened in pace, the rhythm of Lars thrusts had accelerated and the old man was beginning to grunt softly. Lars had little time. Deftly drawing a vial from his bracer, Lars emptied the contents into the carafe. For good measure, he used a second vial in his other bracer on the bird, choosing the legs and breast- he understood from his travels that barbarians preferred to eat avian legs. Finally, as Lars grunted a lazy, satisfied completion and his whore gasped- with the practice of a skilled liar, Alexi could tell- Alexi ducked out of the door and closed it behind him.
He stayed there in the hallway for a moment, listening closely for the sounds of success. It wasn’t long before they came. Heavy, labored footsteps. Greedy, wet-sounding lips smacking, the tearing of the meat, the swallow. Then came the gagging. The chocking, trying to cough up the poisons that were constricting his throat. The softer footsteps of the whore running to help her lord- that was all Alexi needed to hear. He left some of the crimson string at the base of the door and began quietly making his way higher into the tower.
At the top of the tower, Alexi came to the Overyard, it was a lavish affair of hedges and fine, marble benches, all rung around the enchanted waterfountain, with a statue of the Entrari founder in the middle of the Overyard. Here, the water rose from the center of the fountain and cascaded over the lower edge of the fountain and down into the courtyard of the tower, falling hundreds of feet to the base of the tower courtyard, from where it would flow out into the rivers, streams and lakes that criss-crossed the elegant Raxxian city-scape. Here was Alexi’s contacts job: if it hadn’t been done, then he would have to improvise a new escape route. The package was however behind the founder statue, just as it was supposed to be. Alexi could see the other towers and domes and smaller buildings of the Raxxian capitol spread out below him as he unfolded the glider from the pack. Wrapping the pack around his torso, he used its fabric to attach himself to the glider, as it was designed: leave no trace. Throwing the piece of crimson fabric into the waterfall, Alexi got a running start and dove off of the top of the tower of the noble house of Entrari of Draxxis, whose patriarch he had just murdered.
Forbidden fruit 🍏
😭 Arlong-! Where has the fandom been all my life???~ I loved this immensely, and it is certainly a treat to read something about one if my favourite Fishmen. I cry an encore. Double servings of Arlong, please~!!! 😍🩵🥰♥️💕✨✨
Shark Bait - Arlong x Reader
Arlong x Fish/Human Hybrid AFAB Reader
Content Warning – This is a darker story than my other Arlong Pirates related work (and has no connection to said works, consider this my dark Arlong AU) and was inspired from a prompt/headcanons from @sheisabitchbicth here on Tumblr and contains elements of yandere, dubcon, and noncon. (and yes, this work is 18+/NSFW!)
If no likey, there’s the Back button. I have other OP stories or other works that may be more your taste.
If you like this kind of thing though, then read on. I’ve been wanting to do something dark for a bit, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity to do so, so have fun with this guilty pleasure project of mine :) All feedback is very much appreciated.
Shark Bait - Part 1
You had never met another fishperson in your life until Arlong’s crew came across you. Your parents were slaves who had escaped together, using their combined skills to make their way out. From what your mother told you, they became friends while they were slaves, and after their escape they were lovers for a while. Eventually, they parted, though on amicable terms. Your mother never told your father that she was pregnant, though.
She did not want to return to her family or native land, though. So she found an island that seemed out of the way, and settled there. People felt bad for her for being a former slave, so when you were born, they looked in the other direction, so you for the most part led a quiet life. Your father’s heritage gave you the ability to breathe underwater, so you would go fishing, or search for various items that would augment your mother’s meager income. Sometimes you might help out neighbors in a similar manner, so even though you were half fishwoman, you found some acceptance in your community.
By the time you were in your late teens, you were used to most people not noticing your gills, or the color of your skin. You stayed out of trouble and often out of sight. If you dressed appropriately and wore a large hat or hood, you could escape the notice of Marines who touched upon your island during their trips. It was a quiet life. Were you happy? Sometimes you were not sure. As you’d gotten older, you wanted to know more about your father’s people, and there was only so much your mother could tell you.
So one day, you’re out swimming, and looking for treasures that you can bring home. Since you’ve pretty much picked clean the areas closest to the island, you’ve had to venture out further, which hey, it’s great swimming practice. You feel at peace in the sea, feeling it move through your lungs as you move through the water. You know there are fish- and merfolk and Sea Kings and beasts out there, but at the moment it’s easy to imagine that you are alone in this world. You drift past the coral, admiring it.
Suddenly, you see movement out of the corner of your eye and turn around to see what you are almost certain is another person darting off in the murky distance, if it’s not a large fish. A few of the people on the island dive, but you know that none can dive this far or deep. So maybe it’s a big fish that would probably be a welcome meal for your mother. You’re debating whether you should go after it before a shadow passes overhead, and you look up, wondering if it’s another fish, when in shock you realize it’s a ship. You were so absorbed in your work that you’d failed to notice the coming of a ship, nor did you expect one as the Marines did not come by often. You drift towards the hulking dark shape before something much, much closer swoops down in front of you, close enough that you feel the water displacement against your body as he fills the space.
You see clear blue eyes and the longest nose you’ve ever seen, and there is a grin full of the sharpest teeth you’ve ever seen or even imagined. A short shriek bursts from your throat before a wave of lightheadedness overcomes you.
The next moments are a haze as you try to fight passing out. You are pulled to a strong chest before you are dragged to the surface, a red sun filling much of your vision as you stare dumbly at the chest of the person who’s taken you. You gasp softly as the two of you break the surface of the water, and your limbs hang limp as you’re hauled onto a ship that is most decidedly not a Marine ship. Or even a merchant ship, from the looks of it.
As your head lolls back, you get another look at the face of your captor. No, you didn’t imagine that serrated nose, or the mouth full of sharp teeth, and you start to panic, finding your strength and starting to push against him.
“Oh, we have a feisty one here,” Sawnose chortles, letting you go for but a moment before he grabs your wrists in his large hand, hoisting your hands above your head, leaving you helpless under his scrutiny, and he is not the only one staring.
“Let me go!” you cry, trying to kick him as other men surround you, with a variety of skin colors, some of them having fins, or other fishlike features, in a wide assortment. One thing they all have in common – and you do with them – are their gills. If you were not so frightened and anxious, you might be reveling in the fact that you’re finally meeting other fishmen for the first time in your life.
You are lifted off your feet, and can not help but feel like a hooked fish that is being held up by a fisherman for inspection or display. You try a few more kicks, but Sawnose is incredibly tall and his arm is long enough to keep you at just enough distance to keep you from any effective kick. He laughs as your feet graze his upper legs and stomach.
Your next instinct is to curl up as you see the hungry gazes that are fixed on your damp and near-nude form. You’ve found that diving is more comfortable the less clothes you wear, so you’re in a tank top and briefs, which both cling to you, your net bag hanging empty at your side. The way you’re being handled makes you wonder if these fishmen might try to sell you into slavery. You know your mother will worry about that if you do not come home.
“So, what’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?” Sawnose asks with an amused tone. You try to be silent, but he snarls at you, and it’s obvious he could cause serious injury, so you have no choice but to answer his question, and any other that he wants to ask you. You confirm that you are indeed the child of a fishperson. When asked what that parent’s name was, you utter it, and his eyes widen.
You are dropped to the deck, wincing as you land on the bare wood. It is then that you learn that your father was once a crewmate of the man who’d just kidnapped you. For a moment you feel your heart leap up in your throat. Will you have the chance to meet him? But your heart plummets to the pit of your stomach when you learn he’s been dead for years. You start crying, and surprisingly, Sawnose kneels next to you, stroking your hair.
“I want to go home,” you plead.
“Silly girl. You are home,” he asserts as you give him a confused stare. He informs you that since you are the offspring of someone from his crew, it means you belong to the crew, and to its captain above all else. So… this means you’re not going to be sold into slavery? You’re just going to be conscripted into a pirate crew?
Fuck. Your mind races as you wonder how you can find your way out of this predicament. Because this can not fucking happen to you. Just because your father was a pirate… a father you’ve never met, who’d never even held you in his arms after you were born. What cruel fate has wrought this?
“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” you manage to inquire as you rise to your feet, crossing your arms to maintain as much modesty as you can. It’s one thing to dive near-naked, when there is no one else around to impede on your enjoyment of the sea, and another to be ogled at by so many eyes. When’s the last time these men saw a woman?
Sawnose laughs, and introduces himself and his crew. He is the mighty captain Arlong the Saw, leader of the Arlong Pirates, and Lord of the East Blue. Your island is his next target in the expansion of his territory, and his men have been scouting around it for a couple of days, staying out of sight. You are an unexpected – but not unwelcome, Arlong assures you – find. Since you’re now part of the crew, you will be spared the tribute that Arlong and his crew are going to extract from the island.
Your thoughts fly to your mother. As a single mother, your mother never had much money. Usually there was food in your belly, and always a roof over your head. Your mother occasionally managed to scrape together enough money for a treat, for what was life without small enjoyments, she would say. You knew she had a bit of money squirreled away for medicine or doctors, and to your dismay, you remember how she has needed more of these in the last couple of years. How will she be able to afford all that on top of Arlong’s tribute, especially if you’re not there to help her?
As Arlong’s words sink in, and the reality of what your mother and the rest of the village faces, you feel light-headed again. Since you were a child, you would get an attack like this rarely, usually after being dealt with an emotional blow.
And this isn’t just an emotional blow. It’s a fucking emotional sucker-punch, and you actually pass out.
Someone is stroking your forehead and hair, and for a moment, you think it’s your mother tending to you. But you’re not in a bed, you’re… on someone’s lap, and your head and neck is on top of what you’re pretty sure is an arm. You hear conversation going on around you, footsteps bustling about, commands being given as the island comes into sight. A quiet whine escapes your throat as you struggle to gain consciousness.
“Looks like the little clownfish is coming awake,” you hear someone chuckle. You would come to hate being called that, for your captor uses it when he thinks you are being silly or stupid.
Who is calling you that, you wonder, and it all comes crashing upon you. Arlong. Arlong the Saw. Who just claimed you for himself and his crew. Who just told you the ultimate fate of your father. And who will terrorize your island and collect tribute from villagers who only want to live a quiet life. You try to bat away the hand that’s touching you, and suddenly find your wrist ensconced in the iron grip of the hand you just tried to defend yourself from.
“Now, now, there will be none of that,” you hear him chide, and you open your eyes, seeing these bright blue eyes and that impressive nose hovering over your face. Your first instinct is to scoot back but the arm that had been supporting you now holds you in his lap in an iron grip. It’s hard to not feel vulnerable pressed up against this impressive specimen of a fishman. And as your gaze darts around, you realize that the other fishmen are pretty tall too. Taller than even the tallest man in your village.
Now you really do feel like a little clownfish, surrounded by all sorts of predatory sea creatures.
What Can We Learn About the Antichrist?
By Author Eli Kittim
Daniel 8.23 (NRSV) reads:
At the end of their rule,
when the transgressions
have reached their full
measure, a king of bold
countenance shall arise,
skilled in intrigue.
The Westminster Leningrad Codex says that there shall arise a “king” [melek] (מֶ֥לֶךְ) of “fierce” [‘āz] (עַז־) “countenance” [panim] (פָנִים) who is “skilled” [ū·mê·ḇîn] (וּמֵבִ֥ין) in “intrigue” [ḥî·ḏō·wṯ] (חִידֽוֹת׃).
——-
The verse suggests a headstrong political leader with fierce features (cf. Dan. 7.11). Concerning his business skills, he’ll be well-versed in solving riddles and breaking codes. The only people who are professionally skilled in this line of work——deciphering veiled messages with double meanings——are spies. Much like James Bond, spies are involved in sinister plots, clandestine operations, and secret intrigues! Daniel 8.25 goes on to say:
By his cunning he shall
make deceit prosper . . .
Thus, according to Dan. 8.23, it seems highly probable that the Antichrist is a well-trained *high-level spy* who commits political espionage!
——-
Inexplicable Things (Chapter 3)
Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Theodore Nott, Ginny Weasley/Blaise Zabini
Summary: No way, no way in hell. Draco is supposed to be in France or America or, wherever else he’d deemed more important than Harry when he left five years ago. Draco is not supposed to be showing up at the DMLE out of the blue, forcing Harry to watch him as he struts confidently across the room towards him.
Read on on AO3 here
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
When Harry finally drags himself home he feels wrung out, like exhaustion has taken root deep in his bones. He keeps his head down, eyes focused on the floor and crosses his fingers that no one is home.
“Hi,” Theo calls to him softly, as soon as the door opens. He’s spread out on the couch holding the book Harry had been reading earlier. The lamplight falls on him softly making his skin glow golden in the dusky light of the room.
“You okay?” He continues, looking up at Harry with a gentle light in his eyes.
“Um, I think so,” Harry lies, hoping it isn’t obvious. He steps closer and Theo swings himself into a sitting position. He pats the newly vacated space next to him inviting Harry to sit.
“Well,” Theo says, syllables long and drawn out, “I think we have a lot to talk about.”
“Nope,” Harry says, popping the p and looking determinately at the flames in the fireplace, “Nothing to talk about here.”
“It seems like Draco brings up a lot of emotions in you.” Theo says calmly, putting his hand on his thigh.
“For the thousandth time, it’s not like that.” Harry snaps brushing Theo’s hand away.
“Hmm,” Theo murmurs, his intense aura of calm is starting to annoy Harry, “Well, first of all that’s the first I’ve said anything about it so it’s really not the thousandth time. Second of all, I think you should tell me how it is because there’s clearly something going on that you feel the need to defend yourself about.”
“Nope. Nothing.” Harry grits his teeth so hard it hurts.
“Harry, I found you half naked in Ron’s pub’s loo kissing your childhood nemesis turned maybe lover turned who even knows what and then you looked straight at me and ran away, only to return two hours later looking like you’ve been crying,” Theo throws his hands up in exasperation, “I think you might have something to talk about.”
When Theo puts it like that it does sound sort of insane and the thing is, maybe Harry could benefit from talking about Draco. Theo might give him some perspective, help him differentiate the present from the past.
“Okay fine. We hooked up for a while in eighth year and then one night he walked out on me. If you really want to know what’s going on though you should ask the stupid blonde git. He’s the one who bloody left.” He grabs a pillow off the couch and throws it hard into the wall next to him watching it bounce off the sage wallpaper and tumble to the ground.
“Wow, you’re not bitter at all,” Theo says with a sarcastic smile.
“Shut up,” Harry grumbles, turning back towards him, “I’m in emotional distress.”
“Yep,” Theo says grinning a little, “That’s been made pretty clear.” He waits a minute, then adds, “So do you want to tell me about it a little?”
Harry sighs and stretches his long legs out on the couch shifting sideways till his head falls onto Theo’s thighs. The firelight reflects on his face in stripes of golden light setting his green eyes on fire. Harry trails his eyes down his face taking in his shapely cheekbones and tanned skin. He thinks, not for the first time, how easy it would have been if they could have fallen in love.
“Well,” He starts and then pauses, “They roomed all the eighth years together in the same dorm. I was with Dean, Terry, and Neville. Ron was with Blaise, Draco and Michael.”
“I didn’t know you and Ron got separated like that,” Theo says, looking pensieve.
“Yeah, he didn’t take it well at first,” That was a bit of an understatement. Ron had thrown an armchair across the common room and yelled at Mcgonagall. She’d refused to grant him a room switch and he’d boycotted her class for two whole weeks until Hermione told him she’d break things off if he didn’t start attending class. The threat, unsurprisingly, had worked and as time went by he’d resigned himself to his fate. Though, that didn’t stop him from pouting about it daily and sneaking away at night to sleep in Hermione's bed.
The absence of Ron in Draco’s dorm had often been helpful, Micheal stayed late in the library most nights studying and Blaise was often gone having amorous adventures (Harry only knew that because he liked to regale them with graphic stories every morning at breakfast). This meant it was easy for Harry to slip through the door unnoticed and quickly slide between the green curtains surrounding Draco’s bed.
“So was sharing a common room what made you realize you liked Draco?” Theo asks, looking down at Harry through thick eyelashes.
“Not immediately,” Harry replies, “It was more that the forced proximity forced us to see each other for who we really were.”
Harry thinks about the first time he saw Draco study in the common room book held high against his face, brow furrowed. Harry had been unable to look away. The idea of Draco Malfoy curled up doing something as unassuming as reading a textbook felt unfathomable. Draco was a Death Eater, had let Voldemort into the castle, and yet there curled up in a brocade armchair he looked so mundane, so normal, it was hard to wrap his head around. Harry watched as he turned the pages, eyes squinting and serious. He noticed that every couple of pages Draco brought his long slender fingers to his mouth and wet them with the flick of a tongue to help grasp his parchment more easily.
When Ron had walked into the room Harry had quickly thrown himself into raucous conversation, grateful for the distraction. He hadn’t liked the way that looking at Draco like that made him question things.
In the next couple weeks he became distracted by glimpses of other versions of Draco. Draco tumbling into the common room early in the morning, the crease of a pillow on his cheek, hair rumpled. Draco sitting in the corner of the room, head tilted back against the wood paneling, laughing at Blaise’s joke as they shared a bottle of whiskey.
Things hadn’t really changed between them until the night Harry stumbled into the common room late at night mind still riding on the coattails of a nightmare to find Draco, pale and alone, huddled in the corner of the coach crying.
Harry had tripped over the leg of an armchair and Draco had turned to him, eyes brimming with tears. There, illuminated by a single lamp he looked so young and hurt, so fragile that Harry had moved towards him, tentatively perching next to him on the couch.
Draco had yelled at him then, in a broken hiss, so as not to wake other people. He’d told him to go away and called him a variety of obscene names, some Harry hadn’t ever heard before. Harry had sat silently and ignored his tirade until he’d finally given up and sunk back desolately into the cushions. That night they sat in silence for hours watching the flames flicker and consume.
It had taken two weeks of them stumbling upon each other in the dark for them to speak a single sentence.
“So, when did you realize?” Theo prompts him and Harry realizes he’s been staring quietly at the ceiling for several seconds.
“It took me so long,” Harry tells him, looking sheepish, “I didn’t realize till he kissed me.”
Harry pauses, staring up at Theo’s chin. He tries to focus on the warmth of Theo’s body underneath him, the glimmer of light on his face. He draws a conscious breath, stomach rising with it. His mind won’t stop playing the scene for him in an obsessive loop; the dark of the potions classroom, the green of the flames beneath the cauldron, and Draco’s lips against his soft, cautious, like Harry might rip away at any moment.
“That makes sense for you,” Theo tells him, laughing a little.
“Why does it make sense for me?” Harry asks, feeling a little put out.
“You tend to be kind of unaware of your emotions,” Theo says carefully, “I think it has to do with the way you were raised. We emulate a lot of the patterns we were taught as children, even subconsciously.”
Harry is suddenly reminded of the period two years ago when Theo forced himself to read at least six extremely large psychology textbooks.
“Anyway, he kissed you and you liked it and then what?” Theo continues hurriedly, probably trying to distract from the fact that Harry has unknowingly been the subject of his psychoanalysis.
“We fumbled around in the dark, in hidden alcoves, in the potions lab late at night. I didn’t tell anyone about it. I don’t think Draco did either. Most of the time we didn’t even talk about it to each other, but we kept doing it.”
When Harry remembers eighth year it’s a montague of wandering hands, soft touches and secret smiles.
“When he showed up in the DMLE it was hard,” He admits ignoring the quaver in his voice, “It reminded me of how easily I fell in love with him and how little he hesitated to take it all away.”
“Circe,” Theo breathes, reaching down and carding a hand through Harry’s hair, “So he didn’t feel the same?”
“I thought he might have,” Harry admits, leaning into his gentle touch, “Everything was just so good between us. By the end of the year we were sleeping together most nights. We talked about everything, the war, our childhoods. I guess we talked about everything except how we felt.”
Theo makes a pensieve noise, blowing out a breath of air in a little puffing sound. “So what made you think that he suddenly didn’t ?”
“He left,” Harry says simply, closing his eyes. He watches the scene play out on the inside of his eyelids.
He’d been aware of it before he even opened his eyes. They’d left the window open and with the lack of body heat next to him he’d woken up with goosebumps along his skin. If he was honest with himself he’d already known something was wrong then. He’d felt it in the depths of his stomach, in the unsteady beat of his pulse. He’d rushed out of the room in his pajamas and stumbled upon Blaise in the common room. Usually he tried to be discreet, but that day was different. He’d matched right up to Blaise in front of everyone and asked if he knew where Draco had gone. When Blaise had explained he’d left. Harry had turned around and walked directly out of the room. He couldn’t comprehend how Draco could treat him so cruelly.
He spent the rest of the day convinced there had been a misunderstanding, that Draco would come back for him, but a day turned into a week and suddenly it was graduation. Draco returned, just for the day. He ignored Harry the whole time, looked straight past him like he wasn’t even there. Harry had thought he would go crazy with the feeling of missing someone who was right in front of him, close enough to touch but impossible to hold. Looking back on it, he doesn’t even remember the rest of graduation, just Draco’s eyes cold and blank and the horrible ache blossoming in his chest.
“And when he came back for graduation he refused to talk to me.” There’s a traitorous tear slipping out from between Harry’s tightly closed eyelids. He swipes at it angrily. Theo pretends he doesn't see.
“I knew he was leaving that morning for his potions mastery. We’d talked about it for weeks. He was so excited. I just thought we’d talk about it before he left. That I would have time to tell him how I felt and we would find a way to make it work. I didn’t think he’d just leave me.” His voice cracks as he finishes, and he pulls a great shuddering breath deep into his lungs.
Theo sighs, “That’s horrible Harry. It must have made everything worse that no one even knew about it.”
“It did. Though, they definitely knew something was wrong. I started going out a lot. Drinking. Hooking up with strangers. Ron and Hermione were so happy together and I felt like they couldn’t understand the pain I felt. Ginny was the one who really stuck with me. I think that’s why we’re so close now.”
“I’m glad you had her. I wish I could have been there too,” Theo says, looking sad.
“It’s okay. I have you now don’t I,” Harry attempts to grin at him, it comes out twisted and strained.
“You do,” Theo looks down at him fondly. They sit there for a second watching the light of the fire track it’s way across each other's skin.
“Harry,” Theo breaks the silence, voice soft and even, “Do you think there’s a chance that maybe Draco did care? I mean… I didn’t know him then but I knew him before and I think he has a tendency to be afraid of the things he wants.”
Harry sits up then, peels himself out of Theo’s lap, and perches back ramrod straight on the couch. There’s tension in every sinew of his body.
“That’s such a cop out though,” He struggles to keep his voice flat, “ I was scared too but I never would have just fucking left him.”
“Yeah but did he know that?” Theo asks, “You said you never talked about your feelings right? So maybe he thought you’d move on once he was in France. Maybe he was just trying to spare himself the pain of it all.”
Harry clenches his fists and tries to keep his face blank.
“I’m not trying to make excuses for him or anything,” Theo continues hurriedly, “It was screwed up that he left you.”
“So what if he did care?” Harry asks, the words feel strange on his lips.
“Well,” Theo’s voice is drawn out and contemplative, “Then maybe being back here means something for him too.”
Harry thinks about that, pictures the tense line of Draco’s shoulders when they’d first seen each other at the DMLE, remembers the way Draco had almost kissed him in the potions lab only to draw back at the last minute with carefully blank eyes.
“Maybe,” He tells Theo noncommittally, trying to tamper down the quiet flutter in his chest, “I can’t do anything about it though.”
“You could talk to him.” Theo suggests, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
“Ugh, why would I do that?” The whole idea sounds terrible. Harry would rather get the stomach flu than talk about his feelings with Draco Malfoy.
“Because he still means something to you,” Theo rushes before pausing and then continuing in a more tentative tone. “He drives you up the wall mate, it has to mean something. When has anyone else ever gotten under your skin like that?”
Theo’s got a point. Harry can’t remember a time that Draco hadn’t been there in the back of his subconscious, a flash of gray eyes, a blur of blonde hair. He’d died and been reborn, been saved by Narcissa only to spend his whole way back to the castle picturing the contours of Draco’s face and wondering what he would have looked like if he’d been born with his mothers eyes.
“You’re right.” Harry sighs, “But it's more complicated to talk to him than you think… We might have, um. Okay we kind of hooked up that first day he was back. And, um” He finishes in a rush, “I left that time, I walked away in the middle of it. I think it was a one time thing.”
“A one time thing that was about to happen a second time, if I hadn’t walked in on you,” Theo corrects him with his eyebrow raised.
Circe, Harry can’t believe he’d forgotten. He thinks about the soft brush of Draco’s fingertips on his warm skin and shivers a little.
“Okay, maybe not a one time thing,” he dips his head looking sheepish, “But I don’t think it really meant anything.”
“So you wouldn’t do it again?” Theo looks skeptical.
“Um, I mean… I might?” Harry stumbles over his words, “But again, it wouldn’t mean anything.”
“So you’re telling me you wouldn’t care if he took someone else home? If he started dating them?”
Fuck, Draco’s lips parted, his irises blown wide. His strong smooth hands spread across someone else’s body. Harry’s stomach flips over, it takes conscious effort to will down the rising nausea.
“I think…,” his voice comes out rough, he coughs a little before continuing, “I think I do care, you’re right.” He leans forward scrubbing a hand over his forehead, “Merlin, Theo what am I going to do?”
“Probably talk to him.” Theo says bluntly, lips quirked up in a wry smirk.
“God you really should have stuck with your psychology studies.” Harry tells him, “How am I supposed to talk to him? It’s like anytime I try to say anything to him I can’t force the words out of my mouth.”
“I think you just need to force yourself to start talking. Once you get a couple words into the conversation it should get easier.”
“Ugh, what if I just don’t tell him?” Harry whines, wriggling in closer to Theo’s side.
“Then you don’t tell him and you don’t find out how he feels and whatever this is, continues.” Theo says, shifting until he can swing his arm over Harry’s shoulder. “It’s up to you mate. You have to decide if Draco is worth having the conversation.”
Harry leans into Theo’s warm embrace. He thinks about Draco’s gray eyes, they way they narrow when he wants something and flicker to light when he laughs. He thinks about Draco’s long limbs, his casual saunter. He thinks about the afternoon in the potion’s lab with Draco leaning back beside him. He thinks he always knew it would come to this, his heart full and ready, waiting to spill into pale broad palms.
“Okay,” He signs, leaning boneless into Theo’s side. “I’ll talk to him, but give me some time.”
“Oh Harry,” Theo says fondly, sounding almost like a mother. “There’s no rush at all. And, don’t worry if he turns you down I’ll get you a nice treat.”
Groaning Harry shoves at his shoulder, “Way to inspire confidence in me Theo.”
“What?!,” Theo crys, indignant.“I’m trying to make sure there’s positives either way!”
“You are insufferable.” Harry tells him leaning into his chest even further.
“Well you’re stuck with me so you’ll just have to suffer.” Theo says cheerfully, taking his hint and pulling Harry into a long hug.
“Hey. Where’s Ginny?” Harry exclaims, suddenly pulling out of Theo’s arms.
“Oh,” Theo says, a glint in his eyes, “I think she went home with Blaise.” He glances over at Harry and immediately breaks down into a peal of laughter, “Mate! You look like your eyes are going to pop out of your head!”
Harry laughs then too and burrows into Theo’s side.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry avoids talking to Draco for a whole week.
He watches as Draco walks through the DMLE lobby every morning and feels like his heart is going to rabbit out of his chest. Everytime he thinks about visiting Draco’s office or tracking him down in his laboratory his palms start to sweat and the back of his neck feels uncomfortably itchy.
On Thursday Ginny attempts to force an interaction by making Harry get a potion ID’d but he has a panic attack instead and she finds him in the loo hands on his knees gasping over the toilet bowl.
“Oh Harry,” She tells him, her eyes filled with worry, “I really thought this would help things. You know, help you get it over with.”
He just shakes his head at her and continues to struggle through shallow breaths.
Ginny stands there with him until he gets himself under control and convinces him to ditch work with her for the rest of the day to get ice cream. The ice cream, and the break from thinking about the inevitable doom of talking to Draco Malfoy, cheers Harry up immensely.
On Friday he focuses on blocking out all thoughts of Draco. He figures the conversation will happen if it’s meant to and he doesn't need to push it.
But then the weekend comes, and he spends both days thinking about Draco wrapped around other men, pressed together in bed or in bathroom stalls, open mouths and pants shoved down. It makes him feel breathless like there’s not enough space behind his ribs for his lungs. He commits to talking to Draco at work on Monday. He tells Ginny if he doesn’t do it he will let her dye his hair in punishment. She is ecstatic.
~~~~~~~~~~
It’s the end of the day before Harry finally convinces himself to knock on the door of Draco’s office. His hands are sweating and his heart is pounding out of his chest. The sound of his fist against the wood door sounds hollow and comes to quite an anti-climactic conclusion when Harry gets no response.
He waits a minute and then knocks again.
Still no answer.
Harry wants to hit something, preferably his own head against a wall, for being stupid enough to harbor feelings for Draco Malfoy.
He turns on his heels to return home and wallow in his own misery, only to freeze stock still in the hallway. Shit, he can’t go home because Ginny is waiting for him with a manic grin and a vat full of fluorescent hair dye. Tensing his shoulders he moves back to Draco’s door. Swallowing hard, he gives it a tentative push and holds his breath as it slowly creaks open.
“Dracooo” He calls cheerfully, before quickly falling silent. Because what? Draco’s office hadn’t looked like this last time he’d visited.
Harry’s hands start to shake as he looks around the room. The desk is overturned, the lamp shattered against the hardwood. Books have been ripped off of the bookshelf and scattered haphazardly across the floor and ripped slivers of parchment rain like confetti. He swallows down the dryness in his throat and makes a conscious effort to breathe through his nose, just like the sodding meditation practice Hermione has thrust on him against his will.
Before he’s even thought about it he’s leaving the room at a flat out run and banging his way through the door of Kingsleys office.
“To what do I owe the pleasure Mr. Potter?” Kingsley asks him in a wry voice, looking like he’d rather be talking to literally anyone else.
“Um. Uh. Someone’s ripped apart Draco’s office. I think he’s missing. Maybe he’s been kidnapped. We have to do something.” He spits out in a garbled mess.
“Oh,” Kingsley looks unperturbed, “That. It’s fine Harry. We’ve got it under control.”
“What?! The office didn’t look in control. In fact, it looked the opposite of control. It looked like a complete mess,” Harry spits at him, crossing the room in two long strides and pulling his wand from it’s holster.
“It’s fine Harry,” Kingley says sounding exasperated and perhaps a little fond. “I know where Draco is. I know what happened. Take some deep breaths. It’s okay.”
“It is not okay and I don’t believe you.” Harry retorts. He moves up to the edge of Kingsleys desk where he towers over him and stares at him harshly, narrowing his eyes into green slits. “You better explain yourself right now.”
Kingsley sighs looking resigned and motions for Harry to sit down. Harry ignores him.
“Okay look Harry. I don’t like to spread people's personal business around but I don’t think keeping this information secret is worth getting hexed over so if you’ll shut the door I’ll explain.”
Harry twitches a finger and uses a burst of wandless magic to slam the door closed. The sound of the wood banging shut echos in the silent room. Kingsley winces and rubs his temples.
“Can you at least sit down?” Kingsley asks, looking exhausted.
“Fine,” Harry concedes, sitting down with his back ramrod straight into the bright purple armchair next to Kingsleys desk.
“Well,” Kingsley tells him, sighing, “Once again this stays between you and me, but Narcissa was admitted to St. Mungos today. Draco didn’t take it very well when I told him. He was the one who destroyed his own office. So, it’s all fine, he's okay.”
“Okay?” Harry practically screeches, “Obviously he’s not okay if he had a magic flare strong enough to destroy his whole office.”
“He didn’t have a magical flare,” Kingsley explains to him slowly. His brow is creased and he looks fed up. “He destroyed it piece by piece while holding his wand. He displayed an excellent amount of control actually.”
“Okay, but that doesn’t mean he’s okay?!” Harry bursts out again. He wants to reach out and shake Kingsley. How could he be so unworried?
“Harry,” Kingsley is talking slowly like he’s working with a kindergartener, “I have Aurors come back from missions maimed and dead all the time. A sick mother? A small tantrum? Those things are barely a blip on my radar.”
It certainly doesn’t feel that way to Harry. Draco’s hurt feels huge and significant and Harry thinks he would move heaven and earth just to ease it.
“You can go comfort him if you want,” Kingsley offers calmly, his lips twisted in an expression of amusement. It makes Harry want to hit something.
“Yes,” He says without hesitation, “Yes. I’ll do that. Since you can’t be bothered too. Even though it’s your literal job to keep Aurors healthy and safe.”
Kingsley doesn’t even flinch, “Great Harry, you do that.”
Harry pushes his chair back and rises from his seat, “Alright, well where is he?”
“He might be in his potions lab,” Kingley says kindly, “Or his house. I’d check both.”
“Oh good. Don’t tell me you don’t even know where he is.”
“Harry,” Harry suspects Kingsley's tone is meant to be soothing, “I told you. Blip on my radar. He’s going to be okay. You’ll find him.”
Harry doesn’t even dignify him with a response. He shoves his way out of the office, jaw clenched and heart beating fast. He’ll find Draco. He has too.
~~~~~~~~~
Harry tries the potions lab first. It’s a gentle mess as usual. There’s a couple of cauldrons strewn across the gray countertops and he notices several potion vials capped off and waiting for inspection. Harry doesn’t think that Draco’s there until he reaches over and flicks on the lights illuminating him curled in a chair in the corner of the room.
Harry waits for a fight. For a hex to be thrown. Anything.
Nothing comes.
“Draco?” He calls hesitantly as he moves slowly towards the corner.
“Harry, I-” and then suddenly in the next breath Draco is sobbing. Great heaving sobs that wrack his entire body. The scary part is they’re nearly silent besides his ragged breathing as if he can’t bear to let them out.
Harry finishes crossing the room faster than he thought humanly possible. Before he knows it, he’s kneeling at Draco’s feet and Draco is reaching out for him, clutching at his shoulders and pulling him in.
“I’m here,” Harry whispers in a rush.
“Okay, I, okay.” Draco responds, his voice breaking.
Harry barely dares to move lest it make Draco stop touching him. He raises his hands slowly up to Draco’s waist and rests them gently on his hips, his chest between Draco’s thighs.
“It’s okay,” He repeats himself. “Take some deep breaths. You don’t have to tell me anything just now.”
Harry’s entire chest feels like it will cave in. Draco. Draco who pushes him away, is holding him like his life depends on it. Harry leans into his body heat and focuses on modeling long deep breaths. Eventually Draco calms enough to mirror him and they breathe in unison.
“I’m here if you want to talk about it,” Harry says, when he thinks Draco’s finally calmed down enough to speak.
Draco pulls away from him enough to raise his head. He looks beautiful even like this, with his gray eyes red rimmed and desperate. Harry presses his fingertips to Draco’s pale cheeks wiping the wetness away.
“Fuck,” Draco exhales, “Sorry.” He falls silent again.
“Hey, you don’t need to be sorry. It’s important not to bottle everything up.”
“Merlin” Draco whispers, leaning forward and pressing their foreheads together. “I just can’t stand it. She wasn’t even a good mother. It’s not fair that I feel like this.” His breath stutters into another small sob.
“Narcissa was selfish,” Harry tells him softly. “But, you’re allowed to think that and love her all at the same time.”
“It just hurts so much,” Draco confesses, his warm breath tickling Harry’s ear. “It shouldn’t hurt this much. Circe, she spent my whole childhood making me hurt. It should be over by now.”
“I know,” Harry breathes. He reaches up cradling Draco’s shoulders and stroking softly across his golden locks. Draco relaxes into the touch.
“Sometimes I wish she was already dead,” Draco’s voice is quiet. His eyes are squeezed shut.
“That’s okay,” Harry tells him gently. “She put you in unfair positions. She never protected you. She didn’t keep you safe. It’s okay to feel that way.”
“It doesn’t feel okay,” Draco snaps, pulling away from Harry and sitting stiff backed in his chair. With a twitch of his wand he levitates a glass vial and hurles it across the room. Harry watches as it hits the heavy wood door with a crash and collapses into silver shrapnel.
“Well,” Harry says wryly. “That’s one way to deal with your emotions.”
Draco makes a choked noise in his throat and Harry turns his gaze back on him expecting more tears. He’s surprised to see a small smile etching it’s way across Draco’s cheeks.
“Criticizing my coping mechanisms is not a good way to comfort me, Potter,” He says, amusement glinting in his eyes.
“Well pardon me if I took issue with you destroying half the Ministry,” Harry says pointedly, his chest full of relief.
“I was having an emotional crisis.” Draco corrects him. He looks pale and worn out, like he’s barely holding himself together. “You weren’t even having an emotional crisis when you burnt down the potions labs. At least I have an excuse.”
“Okayyy, whatever.” Harry retorts, pushing himself to his feet.
He stands in silence. Draco collapses into the back of his chair with a forlorn expression on his face.
‘So, are you going to go see her?” Harry asks him carefully.
“No.” Draco replies. Harry watches the muscles in his jaw clench and then slacken. “I can’t see her right now. Maybe in a day or so-” His eyes flick closed for a second, in a tired blink - “but not now.”
“Alright, come on then,” Harry says, offering Draco his hand to pull him from the chair.
“To where?” Draco asks. For once, he doesn’t sound stubborn or angry. Just tired. So very, very tired.
“To my house,” Harry tells him simply. “I’d have to be crazy to leave you alone like this. Who knows, you might decide you fancy destroying Kingsleys office next and then we’d all get sacked.”
A slow smile creeps it’s way across Draco’s face. “Well when you put it like that…”
“Exactly,” Harry says, trying to hide the smug look on his face. “You can’t risk being responsible for the end of my career. Come on now.”
Draco reaches for his arm tentatively and Harry just barely suppresses a full body shiver as hand makes contact with bicep. Then, before either of them can talk themselves out of it he spins on his heel and apperates them out of the lab into his living room.
“Hey, I didn’t know you could apperate out of the DMLE,” Draco whines at him looking betrayed as he straightens his robes.
“Only after five o’clock,” Harry tells him smugly. “I’m surprised no one told you.”
He turns away from Draco for a second, glancing surreptitiously around the flat for Ginny’s bright hair or Theo’s ruffled curls, both of their bedroom doors are firmly shut. He breathes a small sigh of relief.
“Interesting decorations,” Draco says slowly, glancing around the room apprehensively.
Harry looks around the room, taking in Ginny’s quidditch posters and Theo’s photography experiments with fresh eyes, “Yeah, it’s kind of a mix of things. Ginny and Theo are in charge of the decor. Don’t ask me.”
“So Ginny and Theo also picked out a lifesize cardboard cutout of you to place in the middle of the living room?” Draco asks wryly, stepping forward to investigate the figure.
Shit, Harry had forgotten about that.
“Yeah, they think it’s hilarious.” Harry tells him. He focuses on the wall in front of him and tries not to blush.
“It is a bit.”
Draco smiles and sits down, perching on the edge of the couch.
~~~~~~~~~
They order pizza for dinner and eat it on the couch. Draco jokes with him but his cheeks remain pale and his smile is small and tense everytime it spreads across his face. Harry wishes he could wrap him in his arms and never let go, but he’s not sure if he’s allowed as much as a brush of his hand across Draco’s leg, so he fixes himself firmly to his side of the couch.
When they finish eating Draco mumbles about needing to finish some potions work and pulls several thick packets of paper out of the small pocket of his coat.
“Do you have an extension charm on that?” Harry asks him, eyes wide.
“Obviously,” Draco drawls in a way that reminds him of Snape. He levitates the papers into the air with a flick of his wand and pulls a quill from his other pocket with a flourish.
Draco’s eyes are narrowed and Harry finds himself cataloging the sprinkles of darker color in his light gray eyes.
“So, do you have anything to do?” Draco asks him, whipping his head up from his papers and looking Harry pointedly in the eye.
Harry flushes a deep beetroot, “Oh um, yes. Now that you mention it I think I do.” He scrambles for the case notes he’d left on the bookshelf yesterday only to drop them. The papers scatter like snow.
“Merlin,” He groans.
“Well,” Draco says long and drawn out, “That does look like a lot to do. Especially since you have to do a bit of cleanup now.”
When Harry looks over his shoulder to glare at him he’s biting his lip in a clear attempt to keep from breaking into laughter. Harry wants to shove him. Harry wants to kiss him so hard he forgets his own name. Harry blinks slowly and focuses back on the papers before him. He gathers them slowly and pretends he doesn’t feel Draco’s gaze tracking him as he moves across the floor.
~~~~~~~~~~
Harry spends the next hour carefully focused on the parchment in front of him. He focuses on the scratch of his pen over the parchment, the rough edge of the paper against his fingertips, the couch steady and solid under his body. He refuses to look at Draco. He can go an hour without looking at Draco. It shouldn’t be hard.
It’s excruciating.
Eventually, Harry gives up and lets his gaze skitter across to where Draco is sitting. He freezes for a second, his breath caught in his throat.
Draco’s asleep. He’s tucked up against the side of the coach, his papers still hovering in the air around him. He’s curled into himself with his limbs bent awkwardly, quiet snuffling breaths escaping him. The flames of the fireplace leave his features in shadow, as he dreams, his lashes flicker against his cheek.
When Draco had sauntered into the DMLE Harry had pictured it would end in angry words and an ache in his chest. He’d never thought it could lead to this, Draco wrung out and seeking comfort on the left side of his couch.
Maybe Theo was right. Maybe Draco had cared more than he’d let on.
Harry thinks about love, the way it arrives when you least expect it and leaves exactly when it must. Sometimes love stays; Ginny, her small hands clasped around his shoulders as he gasps for breath in the Ministry toilets. Sometimes love can’t; Sirius, eyes dark, body vanishing behind the veil. Sometimes love shouldn't; Draco, young, afraid, slipping out through the crack of Harry’s door towards a fresh start at life.
Harry watches as Draco twitches in his sleep and realizes he no longer feels a painful twist in his stomach when he thinks about the way Draco left. They’d never talked about their feelings. Harry had thought showing them with a gentle caress of a cheek, a wink across a crowded classroom, would be enough. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Draco never knew. But, maybe he did. Maybe he left anyway.
That doesn’t change the fact that Draco’s here now.
Harry takes a deep breath and promises himself that he’ll talk to Draco. He shifts closer to him and quietly calls his name.
Draco snorts and rolls onto his side, and then Harry has some problems speaking because the firelight catches on Draco’s hair like a halo, and Harry isn’t prepared for the double whammy of hot and disarming all at the same time. He gulps in an attempt to clear his throat and by the time he gets himself under control Draco is blinking at him slowly and stretching his legs out catlike in front of him.
