Author: Makoto Sagara
Series: Harry Potter
Archive: the usual suspects; anywhere else, ask first
Pairings: Harry/Draco, Draco/Blaise
Category: Angst, Romance
Warnings: Slash, language, ooc, EWE, cheating, angst
Disclaimers: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Publishing, and Warner Bros. I make nothing from this. In fact, I lose money to write this, so… no suing, 'kay?
Author's Notes: Ugh, this wouldn't go away. And I didn't think I'd be doing a cheating fic, so that's a surprise. This is the first in a series that I have no idea how long it will encompass. The first part is inspired by the song of the same name performed by Rihanna. And no, I don't own that either. More's the pity.
You would think that being the lover of the Great Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding world, the Boy Who Lived Twice, the Defeater of the Dark Lord, the Chosen One, and whatever they're calling him this week, would have been enough for me. I suppose that it should have, but it wasn't.
I've always been attractive. In school, males and females both threw themselves at my expensive ankle boots for the chance to spend a few hours in my bed. And sometimes, I'd let them. Back then, it was because I couldn't have the one I wanted. He hated me. With a passion that both broke my heart and set my blood boiling. Just standing near him was enough to infuriate me and get me rock-hard.
The incident in the bathroom during sixth year? Yeah, besides the fact that Potter nearly killed me, the look in his eyes – betrayal, outrage, disbelief, and pity – made me want to reconsider everything that my parents had raised me to believe, but by that time, it was too late. The die had been cast, my part in the macabre play already set and I was forced to go through the motions. All this because I was scared. I was a sixteen year old boy, terrified of an insane half-blood madman who would kill me and my parents if I said no.
And then the scene up on the Astronomy Tower with Professor Dumbledore… Merlin, if I could take everything back, I would. I never wanted to be a killer, and thanks to my godfather, I didn't have to be. But that was the last time that anyone besides my parents showed me any sort of kindness. I was ridiculed, beaten, tortured, and Greyback threatened me with contamination at least once a week until Potter and his friends came to the Manor.
And after I refused to acknowledge that it was Potter, my dear aunt Bellatrix felt it was necessary to mind rape me as often as she possibly could, while her master sat and watched. Sometimes, he helped. Other times, he made me torture whatever people the snatchers had brought to the Manor. What was worst was the time I had to watch as Bellatrix and her husband, Rodolphus, stripped the skin off of a pair of Muggle children with a Flaying curse. It was enough for me to realize that I never had the stomach to be a Death Eater. Never in a million years could I have been that cruel or insane. But it was too late for me.
Or so I thought.
When Potter and his little friends showed up for the Final Battle, I was torn. I could have turned him over to the Dark Lord, and in fact, I made a feeble attempt at it because Crabbe and Goyle would have beaten me ruthlessly had I not. I could have just killed them all. One spell, two words, and my side would have won the day. However, I didn't want Voldemort to win. I wanted Potter to win and to save me from what I was raised to become.
And he did. Literally and figuratively.
He hauled my skinny arse out of the Room of Requirement so that I didn't burn to a crisp in the Fiendfyre. He kept a fellow Death Eater from killing me in the confrontation in the halls. And then, he walked into the Forbidden Forest to let Voldemort cast the Killing Curse on him once again. Then, he played dead, let the stupid bastards take him up towards the castle, came to, challenged the 'great evil' to a final duel, and then rid the world of the most useless excuse of a man to walk the earth.
And, if that wasn't enough, he then spoke for my mother and me at our trials, keeping us from facing life in Azkaban.
He returned my wand without any hesitation.
He told Ginevra Weasley that he had no intention of ever getting back together with her and that she should find someone who would actually love her, because he wasn't it. In front of witnesses. Because she'd pushed the issue one too many times.
And in that same breath, he'd told me that he loved me.
It was everything that I ever wanted. A handsome, rich, powerful wizard telling me that he wanted me. And not just any wizard. No, this was Harry Potter, Saviour, Boy Wonder, the only person I'd ever wanted. And he wanted me back. Of course I jumped on that as fast as I could.
And for the first two years, it was absolutely brilliant. The sex was, is, amazing. The attention he showered on me was perfect. I was in heaven, floating in absolute bliss.
And then he started Auror training. After that, it was being an actual Auror. There was no time for me. There was no excess of affection. There were only long waits, wondering if he was going to come home safely, or if I was going to have to rush to St. Mungo's, or… worse… There were nights were he'd come home and collapse on the bed, fully dressed, without even giving me a kiss.
It was Hell.
The first time it happened, I was out drinking with Pansy, Blaise, Theo, Greg, Daphne, and, oddly enough, Seamus Finnegan. We were in some new bar that Pansy's boyfriend, Adrian Pucey, had opened. It was all the rage. It was a bloody cesspool, but I was lonely and angry at Harry. We'd fought again over the fact that he wouldn't take a vacation, even though the Ministry owed him time off. He said something about being in the middle of an important investigation and that I was being unreasonable.
I knew he was going to come home early that night to try and make up. It's what he always did. We fought. He went to work and thought and brooded. He came home and we had fabulous sex. I didn't want to deal with that. I wanted to be with my friends, people who wanted to spend time with me, since Harry obviously didn't.
I'd had way too much to drink. After the fourth bottle of Firewhisky disappeared around the table, I could barely see straight, let alone think or talk. I'd stumbled to the loo and Blaise followed me, pinned me to the wall and proceeded to try and suck my face off. It was the first time in five years that anyone other than Harry had touched me like that, and I felt like a dying man clinging to a lifeline. Blaise was a decent kisser, definitely not up to Harry's standards, but it was enough to distract me.
When I followed Blaise back to his flat for a rather lukewarm shag, I didn't feel guilty. Not at first. Not even the second time. Or the third. It wasn't until three months of this had passed before it caught up to me.
Slowly, I realized that Harry was spending more time at home, but I was going out nearly every night with Pansy, Blaise and Adrian. It was like a Slytherin gathering all the time. He'd come into the bedroom while was I getting dressed and would watch me with this haunted look in those green eyes that I loved so very much, and my heart would clench in my chest, but it never stopped me. He'd ask me what my plans were and I'd tell him that I was just going out with friends. He'd nod sadly, kiss my cheek, and go to bed.
And I'd go out, get completely shitfaced, go to Blaise's flat, shag him, shower, go home and curl up in bed with my lover.
Occasionally, we still made love, but as things continued, those times became fewer and farther in between.
And then, one day, he said the words that broke my heart. The words that had my world crashing down around my knees.
"I can't keep doing this, Draco."
~ Finite ~