Pour Vos Yeux Seulement: For Your Eyes Only
SUMMARY: It was an illicit affair born one morning in Paris above a small café.
AN: So, it hasn't been a complete year yet! I'll TRY to finish the last chapter BEFORE NEXT Sunday! So keep checking back!
We gather matters of the heart
So we can act a fool
It's incomplete without you
The silver soul is running through
It's a vision, complete illusion, yeah.
It is happening again.
When Draco awoke to the sun gently warming his face, stretching his body and arms languidly, he noticed on his table a small vase with freshly picked cherry blossoms. He smiled, for these few branches spoke of the beauty Paris was evolving into this month. The month of April brought beautiful flowers such as these, along with its stunning, awe-inspiring landscapes and lively, colorful streets. Draco indeed fell in love with Paris all over again during the spring time. It was a time of rebirth, the act of dead coming back to a blissful life.
"Good morning, darling."
Draco made a humming noise and smiled at the man leaning against the doorframe, his brilliant blue eyes searching his half naked form. "Good morning, love. I see you've been busy this morning?" Draco asked, a sweet aroma filtering into their bedroom. Dorian smiled brilliantly and motioned towards the flowers.
"A bit of spring for you," he said, leaving the doorframe to pounce on Draco's body. He brought his lips down onto his and they shared an intimate yet chaste kiss. When Dorian pulled away, he laid beside Draco to pull him close.
"Thank you, they're lovely," he responded, glancing at the blossoms once more. Dorian kissed him on the cheek.
"Come and get ready, then, I have made breakfast, as you can smell," he said, sniffing the air. "And Jacques was kind enough to bring up freshly grounded coffee beans before he opened the shop."
"Mmm," Draco started, closing his eyes and leaning into the other man, "Jacques is heaven sent." Dorian nodded. Even though his eyes were closed, Draco could feel Dorian's gaze upon him. "All right, I'm getting up." Dorian kissed him once more before jumping off the bed and quickly heading out the bedroom towards the kitchen.
Once gone, Draco rolled over to his side, again looking at the blossoms. They were so delicate and fragile, as if, with the wrong gust of wind they would fall apart. He felt that way. Dorian made him undeniably happy, and he was swift to make up for his mistakes. But with the comings of spring Draco couldn't help his mind from wandering to the green of a particular person's eyes.
"Bonjour, Draco!" Jacques called, upon seeing Draco descend the stairs. "Comment allez-tu aujourd'hui?" he asked, as Draco took a seat beside him behind the register.
"I think wonderful, Jacques. I think I am simply wonderful today," Draco responded with a light sigh. "et toi?"
Jacques smiled. "I am wonderful as well. It's a beautiful new day filled with promise," he responded contentedly. "I see you are pink about the cheeks," Draco's cheeks grew pinker. "I like this color on you, oui? You look healthy."
"I feel healthy. Since Dorian has come back…it's been almost a blessing and a curse. A blessing to have someone here that is able to pick up the pieces and help me put them back together, but a curse because…it is just so terrifying…savez-tu?"
"Oui, I know completely of what you speak of, mon cher. You have to be careful, Draco. What you have gone through is worse than anything I can imagine, worse than the Great War, possibly," Draco injected a dubious laugh, "And it will take time to heal."
"Today is his wedding, did you know that?" Draco asked quietly, picking a piece of invisible lint off of his jeans.
"I just don't understand," he started, before stopping himself. "It doesn't matter! Forget it. He is history. Bon débarras!"
"Say so only if you mean it, Draco."
"You know I mean it."
"I know. So where is your young fellow?" Jacques asked, pushing a mug of sweet smelling coffee into Draco's hands.
He took the cup and blew onto the surface. "He has decided to answer some posts and do some researching. He's so persistent with his work," he took a sip. "And quite frankly, I enjoy the time alone."
Jacque gave him a small frown, and started to wipe the counter clean. Draco ignored the gesture, choosing to continue sipping the coffee as he people watched.
"You know, mon cher," Jacques started, almost hesitantly, "If you feel pressured to be with Dorian at all to keep the thoughts of 'Arry away, it will not last forever."
Draco shrugged slightly, not really looking anywhere now. "I am with Dorian and it is wonderful, it's different. I don't feel pressured, but I feel comfortable and…permanent, Jacques. The man brought me flowers for God's sake."
The older man chuckled sadly, "Flowers are a great sign, mon cher, but are you truly happy?" He faced Draco now, urging him to look at him. "Sometimes, I worry about you now, more than ever, Draco. I am getting old," he smiled. "One day this shop will be yours, and I want to make sure you're happy and right when I go."
"Oh, don't talk like that Jacques!" Draco chastised lightly. "I don't ever want to think of such things, you're going to be around forever," he paused for a sigh, "I miss Harry greatly, don't get me wrong, not a day goes by that my heart doesn't ache at the near thought of him. But he's getting married today. Our time together was magical, but it does not compare to what he has with her."
"She is a mistake," Jacques said. "And he is making the poorest mistake of his life if he marries her. I know he loves you. I saw it in his eyes every day he was here with you. To deny that would be to deny the very oxygen we breathe…It is a poor mistake, indeed."
"But alas, we all dig our own graves, do we not?" Draco responded sadly. "I knew from the beginning about the situation of their relationship, and I still pushed for him to be with me. I foolishly thought we would be forever."
"Mon cher, you were not foolish." Draco was not inclined to respond to Jacques assurance, his gaze falling back to the people bustling by outside the café. Although the sun shined brilliantly, warming the Parisian scene, Draco couldn't help the chill that consumed him to his very bones.
Draco stood in front of a small, black marble bar in Las Halles, a sweet aroma of perfume pulsating from a group of young twenty-something year old girls and boys conversing as they smoked a quick cigarette in the beautiful weather. Dorian had wrapped an arm around Draco's waist, as he waved at the group of people before the establishment. He suddenly questioned why he had agreed to come out with Dorian's friends in the first place. He recognized a few people enough to make him weakly smile as they engulfed him. One person he recognized immediately and smiled at was the flaming-haired Dominique. She disturbingly reminded Draco of Ginny, but her hair was longer, thicker, and wavier than the Weasel's, with a strong, lithe and desirable body. She also had a poise that was mysterious and seductive; he couldn't help but notice her on campus. As Draco was a recreational smoker, someone had quickly thrust a cigarette in his hands for him to enjoy, breaking his smile from the red head. He stood and nervously puffed it for the next fifteen minutes, not particularly listening to the swift, uninteresting conversation his peers were seemingly enamored in.
He found himself sitting beside a roaring Dorian, hunched over as he laughed heartily into his glass of wine. The group of seven or eight people he was around also holding their sides. He sat quietly, having realized his waitress and old friend Monique was not working, his presence felt unimportant. He was almost like a complete stranger watching in from the window. He was the flanuer, but even then the journey wasn't pleasurable. Draco sighed as a blonde girl, a friend of Dorian's, came to stand between the two of them seated. She leaned over, planting a kiss on Dorian's cheek as a camera flashed. Draco then felt a strong arm, the blonde girl's arm, wrap around his shoulder as the flash went off once more. Draco closed his eyes tightly, the abrupt light hurting his eyes. When he opened them, the girl was once again wrapped about Dorian as they laughed and spoke loudly. He turned to the side, only to notice that Dominique was watching him.
"Bon soir, Draco," she said sweetly, a smile playing her lips. Draco smiled weakly back, barely able to hear the girl over the laughter.
"How have you been, Dominique? Did your semester end well?"
She shrugged, "I've been as good as ever. It is a new day, I am here, with these…interesting people…" she motioned towards her lot of friends, who were now singing a song together, barely audible over their obnoxious chortles. "My blood is warm, and I was incredibly satisfied with my semester. As I'm sure you did well with yours?" she gave him an expectant look, and he nodded. She was in his Potions class, and knew he worked hard. "You look a bit worse for wear. A euro for your thoughts?"
"It's nothing," Draco assured, with a wave of his hand. "Just a tad tired, with all this excitement," he said with a roll of his eyes.
"It was you, wasn't it?"
"What do you mean?"
She nodded, her eyes lifted upward as if she was struggling to remember something. "Yeah, the last time I was here, I saw you. I saw you with Harry Potter." Draco felt the tips of a million tiny sharp, hot needles prod his entire body at the mention of Harry's name. "Oui…It is coming back to me…my friends debated for hours afterwards whether that was him. I knew because I saw him, again."
It was then that Draco felt Dorian's arm coming around him, breaking him from the silent, personal tunnel of conversation he had had with Dominique. He was brought violently back into the noise and bustle of Dorian, his friends, and the rambunctious bar. He looked over to Dominique, who was swept into a one-sided conversation with a very talkative blonde. She gave him a glance, every few seconds.
Draco leaned into Dorian, "Mon cher, puis-je avoir une fume?" Dorian gave him a squeeze and produced a cigarette for Draco. He took it from him, sending Dominique a slow, sideways glance as he stood from his seat.
When Draco drew his first puff, Dominique had slipped between a group of people who were entering the bar, her face not betraying a bit of her emotion. She stood coolly in front of Draco, producing a cigarette to dangle between fire-read lips. She lit it and took a drag.
"He was here and you two seemed very into each other. Then, one day," she took another drag jumping headfirst into the conversation, "during winter interim, I ran into Harry Potter on campus." She smiled. "He called me some name, je ne sais pas…Ginny? I think? He said he was in love, too in love. With you."
"Did you seek him out?" Draco asked, anger etching his voice. He did not know Dominique very well, but he did not peg her for a celebrity hawk.
She gave him another small smile. "Mon cher," she started. "I come from a long family of Seers. We see what others do not see, or want to see. We can read a person's soul from a mere glance if we want to," she said quietly. "He simply called out to me."
Draco snorted, "Forgive me, but I have little regard for Divination." "
It is not my job to install belief in you, Draco. Your young man was wandering aimlessly, his heart on his sleeve. His thoughts were so loud they consumed me from across the courtyard. On one hand, he wanted what he had promised to so many people: love, a family, marriage, on the other: he wanted Paris. He wanted you." Draco gave a cold little laugh and flicked his own cigarette, only for Dominique to produce a new one before him, which he took and lit.
"He didn't want me."
"Fear is a disgusting demon, Draco."
"Don't you think I know?" he spat bitterly. "Don't you think I was, and still am, afraid? Fear reared its ugly head every time I felt I was losing him. And one day, he was gone."
"The courses of true love never did run smooth," she said sweetly. Draco paled at her reference, his stomach turning at the thought.
"Is that what you think we had, Seer? Obstacles? He fucking broke my heart." he said the last bit, scornful. Her eyes narrowed before fixing him with an apathetic stare. She drew in another drag and flicked the cigarette onto the curb.
She ran a hand through her long locks. "Why did I come out here, Draco?" He bit his lip, his heart egging him to ask the question that had been burning through him once he came outside. The question he didn't even know if she knew the answer to. His fidgeting seemed to melt away Dominique's cool demeanor, as she closed the space between them and placed a hand against Draco's cheek. "You still love him and yet you close your eyes against the cheek of another. You're not alone in your hurt, Draco. Surely you know that true love, no matter its obstacles, always comes up on top?"
"Will he come back?" he asked hastily, as if trying to prevent the words from slipping out, but failing. She withdrew her hand and took a step back, as if surveying him.
"He was a fool to leave you, but a wise man knows himself to be a fool." With that, she turned and reentered the bar, leaving him alone to wallow in his thoughts.
Later that night, Dominique's chilly voice filtering through his mind, he stood in the kitchen, preparing a mug of coffee to enjoy as Dorian practiced his cello. He often enjoyed when his beau would bring out the monstrously beautiful instrument. He paused at the sink as Dorian warmed up with Bach's Prelude to Cello Suite No. 1, the movement filling Draco with an ache in his chest that seemed to linger. He knew that ache to be the remembrance of Harry, never fully leaving his body. If he licked his lips, he could still remember the taste of him, if he touched his neck; he could still remember the feel of him. He was a lost man indeed.
Harry. Harry. Harry, his mind rang out. As he lifted the cup to his lips to blow on the surface, the smell flared into his nostrils, his head becoming dizzy from the tantalizing smell. He tipped the cup upward so the hot liquid could spill against his tongue, the tiny hairs on the back of his neck standing erect. He closed his eyes and imagined the raven haired man cupping the back of his head as he drank from Draco. He drank from his very soul, and he tasted so sweet of freshly brewed coffee, the smell of baked cakes surrounding them. It was at this moment that Draco felt the most horrid pain shoot through him. He dropped the coffee mug, watching as the porcelain broke against his tile kitchen floor, flying out to cover the ground before him. He clenched his stomach, a pain shooting through him that felt like the tip of a knife piercing his flesh deeply. He groaned softly as the pain ploughed through him, looking down at his stomach in puzzlement, half expecting blood to appear on his hand. He shook his head in confusion as Dorian ran into the kitchen.
"Draco, are you okay?" the other man looked down at where the mug had shattered on the floor, and back up to Draco's terrified face.
"I don't know," he started slowly while leaning against the kitchen counter for support, "I had this horrid sharp pain…but it's slowly going away now."
Dorian rushed to him, his hand replacing the hand that Draco held against his stomach. "Are you sure it's going away?"
Draco blinked slowly, the question striking a nerve in him. "It'll never go away," he responded. "How can I just ask for the pain to go away if it means feeling him?"
"What are you talking about, Draco?" Dorian asked, his brows furrowing. "Did you hit your head, mon cher? You look paler than usual. Please, come sit?" Dorian led Draco to their small table, where Draco sat heavily, his head falling onto the table. He closed his eyes lightly, tears pushing their way from the corner of his lids. A sob escaped him, and he felt Dorian kneel beside him. Dorian hooked a finger under his chin, pulling his face forward to meet his eyes. His look was that of concern, even fear, for Draco. Draco's watery face cracked into a silly grin.
"The courses of true love never did run smooth," he said, before pulling himself from Dorian's grasp, to clean the mess on their kitchen floor.
When Harry awoke he noticed two very simple things: one, his chest was on fire and two, he was soaked to the core. Sitting up, he started coughing uncontrollably, spitting up water. He wildly looked around for his eyes to finally land on Ron. "You left my baby sister to come kill yourself at the beach? Mind you, it took me about five times to revive you. Thank Merlin Hermione taught me revival the muggle way."
"I wasn't trying to kill myself," Harry answered, his throat raw and his voice weak.
"Really, because when I traced you here, it looked like you were trying to kill yourself." There was a pregnant pause as Harry shook his head slowly. Harry surveyed before him a deeply troubled Ron. He was dressed in track pants, a grey hoodie and black shirt underneath. He had come looking for Harry in his sleep clothes. The redhead was pacing back and forth, his arms flying up as he spoke. He closed his eyes several times, as if trying to wish something away. Harry began to tense up, knowing Ron was prepping himself to speak frankly, even brutally. "I know what's happened, Harry. Everyone knows now. Mum…Dad…the entire family. We know that sometimes things…they don't work out…and we're not going to point the finger in this…this is between you and Ginny…but this…what I just witnessed…" again he closed his eyes. "I thought you were dead, Harry…I had to revive you FIVE FUCKING TIMES!"
"I'm sorry, Ron."
Ron ceased in his pacing to stare openly at Harry, his eyes filled first with shock, then confusion, anger, and worry worry. Harry hated himself as he averted his gaze from his best mates'. "Don't be mad," he broke the silence, his voice hardly heard over the crashing of the waves. "Please don't be mad, but Hermione told me about the conversation you two had at the party last night."
Despite the heat of the sun glaring down at him, Harry felt oddly cold, his insides freezing. "Harry…Harry…" he said, sitting heavily beside him. "Why didn't you tell me, mate? Why did you feel you had to hide this, and from me of all people? I love you, Harry. You're my best mate and nothing could ever break that apart, do you understand that? I don't care if you're gay or straight, Harry. I just care that you are true and happy."
Harry wanted so desperately to stick his head into the sand in shame. "I'm a bloody fool," he sobbed. "I'm sorry I did this." He glanced over to Ron finally, his eyes shining, to find that the other man's eyes were also bright. Ron closed the space between them by throwing an arm around Harry's shoulders, pulling him close. "I don't know why I didn't tell you."
"We've been drifting apart, I know it. I…I'm sorry too, Harry. When you went to France, I was so angry at you for leaving Ginny, but…I started noticing some behavior changes in her. She seemed…secretive. I had my doubts," he paused, moving a hand to grasp to bridge of his nose, closing his eyes tightly as he shook his head. "I didn't say anything because I wanted you two to work it out. I just kept lying to myself. I didn't want to think my baby sister was cheating on my best mate. And I didn't want to think my best mate unhappy and trapped…when I pulled you from the water…bloody hell, Harry, I couldn't breathe. I bloody well felt like I was going to drown right along with you in that water. We all love you too much, I love you too much. But I failed you."
"You didn't fail me, Ron. I failed myself. I failed…Ginny. I failed my lover in Paris." Ron shook his head sadly. "I want to be honest with you about this, Ron." Harry removed Ron's arm from around his shoulders and positioned himself so he could better see Ron. "I love your sister. Since meeting her when we were kids, Ron, I loved her," he said with a shrug. "And she's the only woman I've ever…been with," Harry said, looking away from Ron. "But as time went on, and this wedding becoming overwhelming, I found myself feeling lost, out of touch with myself and Ginny. I became insecure, depressed even," Harry admitted shamefully. "With the release of Model 3000, and the training of the Team, I felt like I was losing my mind. For nearly two years I've felt this way."
"In France, I found myself dropped off at a corner café my very first night. The owner, an older man by the name of Jacques, was very kind to me. He helped me get a cab to my hotel, and I came back to the café the next day, intrigued by the older gent and his café. I came back only to run into someone I could hardly stand. Draco Malfoy," Harry smiled weakly at the memory of them bumping into each other, his lips almost numb. He noticed that Ron had stiffened at the mention of Draco. He continued on. "He lived and worked at the café. For five years he'd been studying and working in Paris, and I soon found out after the encounter that he was a son-figure to Jacques," Harry voice became tight. "Fists flew, swear words flew, hell, even customers flew. It was a destructive first encounter in year's experience, to saw the least. We tried to reconcile by going out for a drink. After that night," Harry paused and closed his eyes, remembering when he and Draco slipped in front of the small ominous bar in Les Halles, and how he had caught the blond, only to bring his lips down softly mere seconds afterwards. "I was no longer the old, aimless Harry." He shrugged. "I felt like I had entered my own, private beautiful universe with Draco. I felt real."
"You fell in love with Draco Malfoy?"
"Yes, and I broke his heart. I will never forgive myself," Harry sobbed, his hand coming up to remove his glasses. "I fucked up."
"Harry…" Ron started uncertainly, but stopped. Harry took in Ron, the other man's face twisted up. "I'm trying to still fully comprehend that you fell in love with Draco Malfoy in France…so please…explain to me further how this happened?"
"He showed me what love is, Ron!" Harry shouted, becoming angry at Ron's skeptical tone. "Draco showed me the potentiality of my own self. He opened me up, Ron. He made me feel human, just human. It was blissful, peaceful, and reflective. I knew I wanted to stay forever with him.
"So why did you come back?"
He shook his head, "because I am…a coward…a failure."
"And now you want him back?" Ron asked. Harry nodded. "Harry, I don't think I can ever truly understand the depth of your feelings for Malfoy, but I want you to be happy with the person you truly love. You still love him?" Harry nodded. "Do you reckon he still loves you?"
"No," Harry sighed. "I wrote to him, but his response rejected any initiation from me."
It was then that Ron began to rummage through his back pocket to pull out a small, velvet box. He opened it and inside held a small, gold key. Ron held the box in front of Harry. "This key was meant for you and Ginny after the wedding. Hermione and I got you both a portkey to France as a wedding present," Ron smiled and shrugged. "I think it still serves an important purpose, though."
It took Harry a few moments for the bit of information to register in his head. When it did, though, he released a watery sigh. He turned to Ron. "You're the best mate a poor sod like me can have," Harry said with a rough laugh. Ron began to pat him on the back, a small smile cracking his lips.
"Go find him."
"I WANT to do this for you, mon cher."
"But why today?"
"Because, you've been quite sad lately, and I want to rid you of these ill thoughts."
"But at the Eiffel Tower, Dorian? Can you get anymore cliché? That horrid concoction of an icon is pathetic. Especially with all the lights on it, making it look even more hideous? It's a waste of time, and money, if you ask me. We can eat downstairs."
Dorian stood before Draco, who was lounging underneath the covers of their bed. He did not want to be bothered with Dorian's insistent need to cheer him up. Lately, the young man had become nervous around Draco. He was constantly putting his hand in his pocket, as if clenching something and his brow was always furrowed. Draco threw the covers over his head and moaned.
"Don't you want to spend a lovely, special day out with me?"
"Not really. I'd rather just stay home."
"To flounder in your filth and sadness, Draco? Non! We're going out!"
"Dorian, if you want to go have lunch with your friends, please attend to them. I don't need to be there every time you decide to have a laugh. Your friends are your loved ones, after all."
Dorian's face grew dark at the comment. "I always knew you disliked my friends, but here, here I have the proof in your spiteful remark!"
"Leave me alone, Dorian, please!"
Dorian ripped the covers from over Draco. "You're acting like an imbecile, Draco. I can't help but be reminded of how you ruined our relationship the first time around with these foolish antics."
Draco sat up, his eyes ablaze with anger. "Vas te faire encule! Fuck you, fuck YOU, Dorian! How dare you say I'm the reason we did not last."
"Who is 'Arry, ah? Who is he?" Dorian's voice boomed, jolting Draco. His eyes grew wide at Dorian's question.
"You cry out for him in your sleep, who is he? A current lover? Someone you are cheating on me with?"
"You pig," Draco spat. "I would never cheat on you."
"Then what do you call this, Draco? Ah? It's not a relationship when the man you love cries out in the middle of the night for a complete STRANGER!"
"HE'S NO ONE!"
"Then stop," Dorian suddenly grew quiet as he took a seat beside Draco on the bed. "Stop, please, Draco, before we cross another line. I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life together with you…and all I ask is that you put aside whatever sadness you are feeling and come out with me today."
"I won't go."
"Draco! Please stop being difficult. Get up; we're going to have lunch. Together."
"Why can't we just—"
"S'il vous plait, arrêtez, Draco! PLEASE! Just STOP!" Dorian roared, startling Draco out of his wits end.
Draco paused in his response. What was he doing? He questioned himself wildly. This man wanted to love him, and here he was arguing with him after receiving a sweet invitation to dine at the Eiffel Tower. Draco lowered his head, suddenly interested in his pale, cold hands. He felt lifeless, and just then, Dorian wrapped his strong arms around Draco. Nearly crushing him.
"Get up, shower, and come with me. You will not regret today, mon cher." Dorian kissed the side of Draco's cheek.
When they entered the café not long after their argument, Draco was greeted by a cheerful Jacques, who offered them a cup of coffee and pastry. Dorian turned it down for them, insisting that they hail a cab.
"I wouldn't mind a cup of coffee," Draco whined as Dorian glanced through the selection of pastries.
"Oui, mon cher, but we'll be late for our reservation. Perhaps when we come back, Jacques? I'm eager to try your banana-walnut and blueberry bread."
"Oui, I'll make sure you receive the freshest slice!" Jacques responded, waving the two young men goodbye.
As Draco slid into the cab Dorian had hailed, he did not notice that just mere minutes after they pulled away from the front of the café, a one Harry Potter rounded the corner of the street, a small travel sack on his back, and his face bright with determination.
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