10 February, 2004: Tuesday
Harry was awake at 5:30 , head pounding as much as his heart. He stared at the ceiling, occasionally glancing at the clock to see how many minutes had ticked by since the last time he'd looked. His stomach was churning with a blend of anxiety and hangover.
At 5:45 , the phone rang, and he sat straight up. He let it ring three times before he picked it up.
“Hello?”
“Harry, it's me. I just wanted to make certain you were awake.”
Harry flopped back onto the mattress. “Of course I'm awake, Hermione. I'm lying here in a complete panic.”
She snorted. “You should be nervous. All hell broke loose here yesterday when Bass got your fax.”
“Oh god...”
“And Fallin went positively ballistic–”
Harry nearly dropped the phone. “Fallin ? The Minister for Magic saw it?” He sat up again, and clenched a hand in his hair. “Oh, shit.”
“He's the one calling you this morning.” She paused at Harry's sharp intake of breath. He imagined her tilting her head and giving him that look she always gave him when she was about to tell him exactly what he should do. “Harry, just promise me you'll listen to him, all right? You're not going to get everything you wanted, but I think you'll be able to live with it.”
“Okay,” Harry breathed. His mind was completely blank. What had he asked for again?
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. No. Fuck.”
“Cho said you called here last night.” It sounded like she was trying to change the subject, to calm him down.
Harry focused on breathing. “Yes, I did. How was The Burrow?”
“We missed you. I told them you were doing important work out of the country.”
“How'd the kids do?”
“Fine. They kept talking about visiting Daddy, the whole time on the train.” She paused.
Harry wished he could be more sympathetic, but his head was throbbing. He had no idea how he was going to pull off this phone call with Fallin when he felt like utter shit. “Is there anything else you can tell me before Fallin calls? Anything I should know in advance?”
“What I've heard is that Fallin's going to try to negotiate with you. Just listen to him, won't you?”
“Why is everyone so worried? I can be reasonable, you know.”
Hermione sighed. “I know, I just... Harry, what's happening between you and Malfoy?”
The question should have surprised him, but he was too self-absorbed at the moment. “Nothing,” he answered, truthfully. It pained him to have to admit it out loud. “We're friends, and that's all.” Hermione was silent, and Harry closed his eyes. “I would have liked it to be more than that, but...”
“Oh, Harry,” she replied. “Are you sure you can be objective about this?”
“Yes,” Harry lied. “Of course. That's my job.”
The phone still hadn't rung at 6:04 , and Harry didn't think his stomach could take it much longer. He paced the length of his small room, running his hands through his hair to keep himself from chewing on his nails. He had no idea what he would do if Fallin refused to offer Malfoy some sort of amnesty. He supposed he could follow through on his threat and just resign, stay here. Maybe go into hiding as well, and try to find a way to help Malfoy.
But he was here on a tourist visa, so he couldn't really do anything. He couldn't get a job, not even in the wizarding district. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, but his queasiness increased, so he opened them again. What he wouldn't give for a mug of hangover potion. He pressed his thumbs against his temples, and the pain of the headache faded.
The phone rang. Harry counted to three, and then picked it up. “Yes?”
“Hello, Harry.”
“Minister Fallin.” His knees were shaking a little, so he sat down on the bed.
“We both know why I'm calling, so let's get right to it, shall we?”
“Of course, sir.” Harry took a deep breath and said the words he'd been rehearsing for the last fifteen minutes. “Let me start by reminding you that I was sent here by Director Bass to do a job, with no parameters or specific instructions other than to find Malfoy and learn why he left his position in New York. I've done the best I can, with limited resources. I'm asking you to consider this situation carefully.”
“I have considered it, son, believe me,” Fallin replied with a heavy sigh. “That was quite a threat you made yesterday. Do you intend to carry it through? ”
Harry swallowed. “Yes, sir. I hope it isn't necessary.”
“As do I. But the situation is far more serious than you may realize. We need you to return with Mr. Malfoy this week, or the consequences for us all may be dire. ”
“Consequences?”
“You'll be debriefed upon arrival.”
“That's not good enough,” Harry replied, steeling himself. “I'll need more than your insistence to convince him to return.”
“That's all we can give you. I'm sorry.”
“What about asylum?” Harry asked, resting his elbows on his knees. “He won't come back if he's to be taken into custody.”
“Harry, you may trust Mr. Malfoy, but the government does not.”
Harry made an exasperated sound. “With all due respect, Minister, I believe I know more about Mr. Malfoy's trustworthiness than the government does.”
Fallin made a sound like a snort. “We've sent you the intelligence, Potter, and the picture it paints is clear. I suspect your judgment may be a bit clouded by your... personal feelings for Mr. Malfoy.”
Harry's jaw dropped and he sat straight up again. “Sorry?”
“We know that Draco Malfoy has been in contact with his father, a known Death Eater and collaborator with–”
“What do you mean by ‘personal feelings'?” Harry repeated.
Fallin paused. “I read your report, and I've seen the intelligence from the CIA. We didn't send you there to–”
“My feelings have nothing to do with this,” Harry retorted. If only it were true. “I thought you sent me here because you trusted my judgment. Because you thought I could find him, and–”
“Of course I trust your judgment. It's just that... you must know what the situation looks like, from here.”
“No, sir. I'm afraid I don't.”
Fallin sounded like he was taking a measured breath. “Harry, what exactly is the nature of your relationship with Draco Malfoy?”
“I... He's become a friend, I suppose. I've got to know him and–”
“Are you sleeping with him, Harry?”
Harry blushed, even though no one was there to see. “No, sir,” he replied. “I'm not.”
“Our intelligence would seem to indicate otherwise.”
Harry felt his stomach drop. “Intelligence? I've been under surveillance?”
Fallin was silent for a moment. “You must try to understand what it looks like from here. We get little information back from you, and your report doesn't coincide with the CIA's intelligence, and then we start getting reports of you as a suspicious character, running with Malfoy's crowd, and possibly cooperating with Death Eaters? What were we to think?”
“It's not...” Harry gritted his teeth. “We've allowed people to believe that we're lovers, but we're not.”
“The CIA seems convinced of it, Harry, enough to be suspicious of your motives. There's even been some suggestion that you and he are working together.”
“For what purpose?” Harry asked, dumbfounded.
“Any number of purposes, Harry, and none of them are terribly flattering. I have to admit that it looks suspicious to me as well, especially in light of your recent demands. Why would the two of you go out of your way to convince others that you're lovers when you aren't? I didn't even know you were–”
“I'm not gay,” Harry interrupted. “And we're not working together. He barely trusts me, despite all of my efforts.” Harry felt his cheeks burning. He was angry and embarrassed, and startled that the minister was even making such an accusation.
“I don't have a problem with it, Harry. I'm an open-minded man. I have a cousin who's gay.”
Harry groaned in frustration. “Sir, I know what it looks like, but the situation is... complex. I can't explain it, but you have my word that I want nothing more than to bring Malfoy back with me, and to protect him.” His head was still throbbing, and he dug his thumb into a pressure point in his eye socket. It helped, a little. “There was a time when my personal assurance meant something to you. Is that no longer the case?”
Fallin sighed. “Let me be honest with you, Harry. Your name still carries a certain amount of currency in the Ministry, but if you press this Malfoy issue now, you will have spent it all.”
Harry exhaled. “I understand, and I–”
“I don't trust Malfoy, but I do trust you , despite the CIA's reports. I've known you since you were a boy, and I don't doubt that you believe what you are saying. However, I remain unconvinced your faith is well-placed.”
“Sir, I trust him,” Harry said, feeling his stomach lurch at the words. It was true. He trusted Malfoy, despite the fact that he had little reason to do so. And he was willing to risk everything on the basis of that trust. Harry took a deep breath. “You could release him to my custody, if you like. I would be responsible for him.”
Fallin didn't seem surprised by this suggestion. “Are you certain, Harry? You'd be taking quite a risk.”
Harry closed his eyes. He still wasn't sure he could convince Malfoy to return at all. What would he do if Malfoy refused?
“Yes,” he replied. “I'm certain. And I want immunity from prosecution for him. If he really does have valuable information, he should be afforded the opportunity to volunteer it.” Harry paused, wondering what else he could possibly say to convince the man. “He's an auror, you know. Doesn't that mean something?”
“Yes, Harry, but he's also a suspected Death Eater, and a flight risk .”
“I don't believe he's either, sir. Any contact he has had with Death Eaters, or anyone else – it was all in the line of duty. He was working undercover for the FBI in New York .”
“Our intelligence indicates he was working as a double agent.”
Harry closed his eyes. “Yes, I've seen that intelligence. But I've seen no evidence to support it. It was based on the testimony of an ex-lover, someone who may or may not have had an ulterior motive.”
“It was enough evidence to convince me, and the Director and senior staff of the Investigations Office.”
Harry clenched his jaw. “Of which I am still a member, sir. And I disagree.” It was on the tip of his tongue to make a comment about the relatively small amount of evidence needed to convince a government official of something he or she wanted to believe was true.
But the same could be said of Harry, couldn't it? He didn't want it to be true, so perhaps he was seeing Malfoy as he wanted to see him.
“I think he got in over his head, sir, and he's running. He hasn't come to us because he probably doesn't believe we can protect him.” Harry was speculating heavily, but he had little choice. “We need to give him a reason to come home. He needs to trust us, more than we need to trust him.”
Fallin was silent, though Harry could hear him breathing. He could almost picture the man rubbing absently at his bald spot, as he always did when thinking. “All right. Immunity, and he'll be released to you, on the condition that he arrives with you on Thursday.”
Harry tried not to sound exasperated. “I need more time than that.”
“The longer you're there, the more danger you are in, Harry. If the CIA thinks you're working with Malfoy, they might take action against you as well. We need you back here, as soon as possible, with or without Malfoy.” Fallin paused, as if waiting for him to argue, but Harry remained silent. “And he'll be your responsibility once he's here. If anything goes wrong – if he turns out to be other than what you say he is – I'll hold you personally responsible.”
Harry closed his eyes, wondering if he was doing the right thing. He did trust Malfoy, though he wasn't sure he'd be able to earn Malfoy's trust in the next two days. He desperately needed more time, but he wasn't going to get it – not right now, at least.
“I can accept that,” he said at last. “And I want it in writing. Two copies, in your hand, on parchment, signed by you and Director Bass. Give one copy to Hermione Granger, and Fed Ex the other to me here in San Francisco . I won't be able to convince Malfoy without that document in my hand.”
“Fed Ex?” Fallin asked.
Harry sighed. “It's a Muggle post service. Ask Hermione's assistant. Thank you, sir.”
“I'll get that document out today, Harry, and I'll look forward to seeing you Thursday night.”
Harry lay on the bed for a while afterwards, staring at the ceiling. The CIA was spying on him as well? He had little doubt that Manny was behind these reports. He was clearly jealous of Harry's friendship with Malfoy, and the possibility that Harry might convince Malfoy to return to England . But was Manny working for someone else, as well? Was Manny the double agent?
He couldn't go back to sleep, so he took a hot shower, hoping it would help him relax. It did, happily, and he stood under the steaming water for a long time, letting it pound down onto his back. It was only the guilt of using more than his share of “California 's most precious resource” – as described on a little card by the sink – that made him turn it off.
He opened the shower curtain, and nearly shouted: Malfoy was standing not two feet away from him, looking pale.
“Fucking hell, Malfoy, didn't you ever see Psycho?” He wiped water from his eyes and pointed to the towel rack.
Malfoy handed him a towel, blushing. “I'm sorry, but I knocked, and when you didn't answer...” He looked away. “The ward was still up, so I took it down, and came in. I'm sorry.” He turned and walked out.
“Wait!” Harry called after him, wrapping the towel around his waist and nearly slipping in his haste to get out of the tub. Malfoy was standing in the middle of the room, looking flustered. “It's okay, really. You gave me a fright, is all.”
Malfoy looked exhausted, as if he'd not slept at all. “I'm a bit tired this morning. Sorry.” He pointed to a steaming mug he'd set on the nightstand. “Brought that for you. Will you come to the café after you've dressed?” His eyes raked over Harry once, nearly an unconscious gesture.
“Sure,” Harry replied. Something about Malfoy's expression was disconcerting. “I'll come right over. Fifteen, twenty minutes.”
Malfoy nodded. “I'll make a latte for you.”
The hangover potion worked quickly, much to Harry's relief. He spent several minutes trying to decide which of his three clean shirts to wear, and settled on a navy jumper Malfoy had particularly liked when he'd worn it out to dinner one night last week.
He'd just set foot outside the door of the Inn when he heard someone call his name. He turned to see Colby waving at him from across the street. Colby jogged over, dodging a speeding Suburban, and gave him a pained smile.
“You all right?” Harry asked.
“Hung over as hell,” Colby replied, running a hand through his mop of dark hair. “I called in sick today, actually. I have no idea how I got home last night. Just woke up on my sofa, feeling like shit.”
“We got you a taxi,” Harry offered.
“I have no memory of that,” Colby grinned. They started walking north, towards the café where Malfoy worked. “The last thing I remember was you disappearing after...” He broke off, biting his lip.
Harry stopped walking and sighed. “Yeah, well–”
“Harry, I was looking for you this morning because we need to talk,” Colby blurted. “Last night–”
“Stop,” Harry interrupted. Colby stared blankly at him. “Look – I like you, Colby, and you're a very nice bloke, really. But I'm leaving Thursday.” Colby's brow furrowed, and Harry paused. There wasn't an easy way to say this. “I plan to spend the rest of my time here with Derek.”
“Oh,” Colby said, a strange look spreading across his face. “God, you're... This is it, then? Is that what you're...?” He looked away, and Harry felt horrible.
“I only have two days left,” Harry continued. “I did come here to visit him, after all.”
“I see,” Colby replied, still looking down. “So what was that, with me, then? Just a way to pass the time until Derek was free?”
It was, of course. Harry schooled his features into something resembling sympathy. “Colby, I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. It's just... You're a sweet bloke, very nice. If we lived closer together, things might be different.” Liar , he chastised himself.
“No, they wouldn't,” Colby grumbled. “Not as long as Derek was around.” They started walking again, and an awkward silence stretched between them. Colby seemed to be lost in thought. He glanced up several times, as if he were going to speak, but didn't. He finally made a sound like a disgusted laugh. “I can't believe you just gave me the ‘You're such a nice guy' speech.”
Harry tried to smile. “Better than ‘It's not you, it's me', isn't it?”
“I suppose,” Colby replied. “I'm just tired of losing great guys to men like Derek. Nobody wants a nice guy, you know. They all want someone like him . A high maintenance jerk who'll fuck around on them.”
Harry sighed. He'd had a very similar conversation with Cho, right before she'd left the first time, only he'd been on the other end of it. Harry, you're a wonderful man, and I wish I could love you like you deserve to be loved. I just can't give you what you need, and we both know that. You're better off... She'd been better off with Aaron, it turned out.
“It's horrible, I know,” Harry said. “I've no excuse, and I'm sorry.”
They turned at 15 th Street and again on Noe, and Harry wondered if Colby was going to follow him into the café. But Colby paused outside the door, and stared at him.
“Well,” Harry said.
“Oh god, this is it, isn't it?” Colby muttered. “I'm not going to see you again.”
Harry sighed and shook his head. He hated this, he really did. He didn't know what to say. “Thanks” just didn't seem appropriate.
“Wait,” Colby said, and fumbled through his pockets for his wallet. He opened it and handed Harry a business card. “That's my home address and phone number and email on the right. If you're in town again, or whatever...”
Harry took the card and smiled. “Sure thing.” He didn't have a card to offer in return, so he just tucked it in his pocket.
“Right,” Colby said, looking down at the ground. “So...”
“Yeah,” Harry said. “It was nice meeting you, Colby.” He reached for the door handle.
“Same here,” Colby said, biting his lip. “Bye.” He glanced at Harry once more, and then walked away.
Harry went right into the café so he wouldn't be tempted to turn around. That had felt completely horrible. He swore he'd never do that to anyone again if he could help it.
Malfoy was busy and didn't look up when Harry walked in. Harry went to the counter instead of sitting at a table. A woman he didn't recognize beamed at him and asked what he wanted to order.
“A cappuccino, with a shot of caramel,” he said.
“And an extra shot of espresso,” Malfoy added. Harry glanced over to see Malfoy grinning at him. “Or are you cutting back on the caffeine?”
“Can't get enough,” Harry replied, smiling.
Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “That's not your usual order, you know.”
“It's always been my favorite,” Harry replied. “I just never told you.”
“I'll bring it to you,” Malfoy said. He seemed happy to see Harry, more so than usual.
Harry found a seat in his favorite corner. There was a copy of the San Francisco Bay Guardian lying on the table, to his delight. He'd developed a fondness for the quirky newspaper over the last week.
Malfoy brought his coffee and sat down across from him. “Anything interesting?”
“This sex column is hilarious,” Harry commented. Malfoy grinned back, and they just looked at each other for a moment. The blow job from the night before flashed through Harry's mind, and he felt his cheeks heat. “How are you?”
Malfoy smiled. “Good, actually. Hangover potion help?”
Harry nodded. “Thanks.” Malfoy's eyes were unusually bright, and they were fixed on his own. Harry swallowed, wondering what Malfoy was thinking. “We were going to talk today, right?” he ventured.
“Yeah,” Malfoy said, glancing down almost shyly. “But not here. Later. In private.” His eyebrows raised a fraction, and Harry felt a twinge in his abdomen.
“Okay,” he replied, grinning.
“I'm going to take off a little early,” Malfoy continued. “We have a dinner reservation at six.”
“That's early for dinner,” Harry remarked.
“That's because we're going to the theatre tonight,” Malfoy grinned. “I thought it would be fun.”
“Sounds lovely,” Harry replied. “Is this a date?”
Malfoy shrugged. “I guess.” He winked at Harry and walked away.
Harry watched him off and on over the next hour, marveling at how happy Malfoy seemed. Perhaps what happened between them the night before had caused Malfoy to look at Harry in a new light? His heart began to beat faster at the thought. Maybe this was going to work out after all. Maybe Malfoy would finally open up to him, finally trust him. Maybe they could be honest with each other, at last. Harry could tell him everything, and maybe Malfoy would agree to return to England with him.
Maybe.
Harry finished reading the paper and picked up a copy of a news magazine someone had left nearby. He was just getting interested in an article about Julia Roberts when someone stopped in front of his table. He looked up to see the stony face of Manny Padilla glaring down at him.
Manny was very handsome, but he had the kind of face that could seem frightening when he was angry. Manny pulled out a chair and sat, still staring at Harry. Malfoy spotted them from across the room and shot a concerned look at Harry. Harry expected Malfoy to rush over with a cup of coffee for his boyfriend, but he didn't. He just watched, a wary expression on his face.
“Have a good time last night?” Manny asked. It didn't sound like he hoped Harry had.
“Yes,” Harry replied. He attempted a smirk. “Derek gives amazing head, doesn't he?”
“Do you think I'm jealous of you?” Manny's smirk was much more convincing.
“As a matter of fact, yes. I do.”
“I'm not, Harry. I know who you are, and why you're here.” His expression darkened even further, remarkably. “And you're not going to succeed. I plan to make sure of that, personally.”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” Harry replied, sipping his coffee – a gesture he hoped appeared calm. “I'm here to visit him. That's all.”
“Maybe that's what you'd like him to believe,” Manny replied. “But my sources tell me differently.”
“Your sources are stunningly inaccurate,” Harry snorted, though his stomach was twisting into a large knot. The morning's phone conversation flashed through his mind, and he wondered who Manny's “sources” were. Perhaps he was just fishing for information. “While we're on the subject, I know you're not a lawyer. I know why you're here as well.”
Manny's eyes narrowed, and his voice lowered to a whisper. “If you really care about him, Harry, go away. Leave him alone. Stop fucking with his emotions. Every day you're here, he's in more danger.”
Harry's brow furrowed. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”
Manny smirked. “I think you do, though. Leave him alone.”
“Maybe I want to protect him.”
“You can't, Harry.”
Harry clenched his jaw. “Are you so certain?”
Manny glared at him. “He may trust you, but I don't. And I'm watching you.”
“Is that a threat?” Harry asked, trying to be flippant.
“Yes, it is,” Manny replied. He stood at that, and cast a brief glance at Malfoy before leaving the café.
Malfoy watched him leave, and then looked back at Harry. Harry managed to smile at him.
A few minutes later, Malfoy brought him another cappuccino. Harry still had half a glass left from the last one. “What was that about?” Malfoy asked, sitting in the seat recently vacated by Manny.
“I don't know,” Harry replied. “You tell me.”
Malfoy shrugged and tilted his head. “He's jealous, I think.”
“Does he have a reason to be?” Harry asked.
Malfoy paused for a moment, eyes locked onto Harry's. “Yes, I think so.” He exhaled, and smiled.
Harry's heart was pounding in his chest. Did that mean what he thought it meant?
“So, I was thinking,” Malfoy began, tracing his finger through a puddle of spilled water on the table, “that we could go to Napa on Thursday. I'm off Thursday and Friday, and we could hire a car, make a weekend of it.” He looked up at Harry again, a radiant expression on his face.
Harry's heart sank. “Oh, Draco, I...” He paused, uncertain what to do. Malfoy's expression faded, and Harry took a deep breath. He should start being honest, right now, but he couldn't bring himself to do it just yet. “I'm leaving on Thursday at noon. I got a call this morning, and I'm needed in the office on Friday.”
Malfoy's face had gone pale, and he stared at the table in front of him. It looked as if he was thinking feverishly. “You're leaving?” he said at last. His voice was unusually small.
Harry took his hand across the table. “Yes. I'm sorry. I tried to get them to let me stay longer, but...”
“So that's it? Holiday over?”
“Yeah,” Harry replied.
Malfoy's smile was weak, and he squeezed Harry's hand before pulling away. “Well, we'll just have to have fun for the next few days, I suppose.” He stood and returned to the counter.
Harry wanted to go to him, to take him in his arms, to kiss him – anything to get that smile back. He silently cursed Minister Fallin. He needed more time here, and he would just have to tell Fallin that. He'd call him tomorrow morning, and demand it, in fact.
Malfoy's attitude was different after that, though. Over the next few hours, he went back to being his old self again – closed, sarcastic, and unreadable. Harry also had the strange impression he was relieved.
Malfoy had assured him casual dress was perfectly acceptable at the theatre, which was a good thing for Harry: he didn't have anything nicer to wear. They took a taxi to the restaurant, an Asian fusion bistro called Ponzu, near Union Square . They chatted amiably over a meal that seemed to consist entirely of duck, and drank several bottles of a sake called Bishonen. The conversation never drifted towards a serious topic, no matter how hard Harry tried to steer it. Malfoy was skilled at avoiding subjects he didn't want to discuss.
After the plates were cleared away, Harry sighed and poured the last of the sake into their glasses. “I'm really going to miss this,” he said, looking up at Malfoy. “I'm going to miss you .”
“No you won't,” Malfoy smirked. “You'll head down to Soho the minute you get back and fuck your brains out. I'm jealous.”
“You could come with me, you know,” Harry ventured.
Malfoy snorted. “Oh, yes. I could be your arm candy. We could work together to pull cute boys.”
“I'm serious, actually,” Harry replied, smiling.
Malfoy studied him for a minute. A muffled tune began to play. Malfoy blinked, as if he'd been somewhere else, and searched his coat pocket. He produced his mobile, furrowing his brow as he did.
“Hello?... Eating... Yes.” He rolled his eyes. “No, I told you–” He listened for a moment. Harry had little doubt as to who was on the other end of the line. “All right, all right. I will.” He snapped the phone shut with a sigh and smiled at Harry.
“Who was that?” Harry asked, as casually as possible.
“Who do you think?” Malfoy snorted.
“Everything all right?”
Malfoy shook his head. “I think so. He's just...” He shrugged. The waiter dropped their check on the table and Malfoy snatched it up before Harry could. Malfoy smirked. “Some seeker you are. I'm getting this tonight.”
Harry grinned. “Finally.”
They walked to the Marines Theatre, which was just a few streets away. It was uphill, and they were both panting by the time they got there. The house hadn't yet opened, so they stood outside with the rest of the crowd. Malfoy seemed nervous, and tugged Harry over to stand against the side of the building. He fumbled with a packet of cigarettes and finally managed to light one.
“I wish you wouldn't smoke,” Harry remarked.
“Me too,” Malfoy said, and took a long drag. He leaned his head against the wall, looking up at the sky as he exhaled.
“You okay?” Harry asked.
The mobile started ringing again. Malfoy groaned and dug it out of his pocket. “What?... Oh, for fuck's sake! I'm at the theatre, and I'm shutting this bloody thing off the minute I walk in the door.” Harry raised an eyebrow at him, and Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Not now, all right? I'll call you later, I swear.” He listened for a moment, and then began to smile. “A viente, pendejo. Cuídate .” He turned the phone off and slipped it into his pocket. “Sorry,” he said to Harry.Harry stared at him for a moment. “Do you speak Spanish?”
Malfoy shot him a strange look. “No. I know some swear words and a few handy phrases. Manny switches to Spanish when he's really cross with me. I had to learn enough to figure out what he was saying.” He shrugged and returned his attention to the rapidly burning cigarette.
Over the next twenty minutes, Harry tried every romantic gesture he could think of – anything to make Malfoy smile again. He held his hand until Malfoy pulled away. He kissed him on the cheek in full view of the crowd waiting to go in. He humored Malfoy when he pouted about having spilt soy sauce on his shirt at dinner.
“But I love this shirt,” Malfoy mumbled, frowning.
Harry slid his arms around him and hugged him from behind, hooking his chin over Malfoy's shoulder. He glanced down at the tickets in Malfoy's hand. “Noises Off . So what's this play about, anyway?”
Malfoy leaned back against him, and Harry nuzzled his hair. “It's about a theatre troupe that's trying to put on a play, but everything keeps going wrong. It's supposed to be quite funny.”
The play was indeed funny, though Harry spent as much time watching Malfoy as he did the stage. They strolled out into the street afterwards, still giggling.
“You know, I don't think Americans get British humor,” Malfoy said.
“Everyone was laughing,” Harry noted.
“Not as hard as we were, though. And the accents were terrible .”
“Well, I've heard worse,” Harry grinned. “You're difficult to please tonight, aren't you?”
“I can't help it if I have high standards.” Malfoy winked, and Harry felt his stomach flip. “Want to get a drink?”
Harry took his hand. “I want to get a taxi, actually.”
Malfoy looked away. “We'll never get a taxi with all these people around.”
“Then let's walk up a few streets.” Harry looked at the slope of the hill and reconsidered. “Or maybe down , now that I think about it.” He grinned and pulled Malfoy by the hand, but Malfoy's feet were planted. Harry sighed. “You promised me we'd talk today, remember? If we go to a bar...” He looked away, frustrated.
“All right,” Malfoy replied, voice barely more than a whisper. “But we'll apparate.” They walked down the street, and Malfoy tugged Harry into an alley. He looked both ways before gesturing for Harry to come closer. Harry slid his arms around Malfoy and looked down at his face. In the dim streetlight, he looked almost fragile.
Malfoy looked up at Harry, his eyes dark and wide. “What?”
“God, you're so beautiful,” Harry said, realizing it sounded hokey, but not caring.
Malfoy just stared at him in response, breathing much too hard for a person standing still. It was a wonderful moment, and Harry couldn't resist leaning forward and kissing him. Malfoy's lips were surprisingly soft under his, and they parted when he pressed the tip of his tongue between them. Malfoy's mouth was warm, and Harry didn't even mind the taste of cigarettes so much. With every passing second, he felt a little more lost in the moment. They were leaning against a grimy wall now, Harry pressed tightly against Malfoy.
Malfoy's hands slid up inside Harry's shirt, across his back, and he turned his head enough to pull out of the kiss. He tucked his forehead against Harry's shoulder, panting, and hugged Harry tightly. Harry hugged back, and closed his eyes.
“Ready?” he heard Malfoy whisper. He nodded in response, knowing Malfoy could feel it, and then he felt the strange shift that accompanied apparition. Right after the feeling of his feet hitting pavement again, he heard a metallic crashing sound. They turned to see a homeless man staring at them, mouth open, a plastic bag of aluminum cans spilling at his feet.
“Oops,” Malfoy muttered, releasing Harry. “Come on.” He led Harry out of the alley they'd apparated into, looking around carefully. Harry realized they were about a street from Malfoy's flat. “I can't risk apparating into the corridor of my building,” Malfoy said. “The neighbors are nosy enough as it is. I can only imagine the looks I'd get if they saw me appear out of thin air.”
Malfoy seemed relieved once they had passed the front door of the building, and he heaved a sigh when the door of his flat was closed behind them. Harry instantly pinned him against it, kissing him. Malfoy's body was tense, though, and his arms hung by his sides. He didn't return the kiss so much as tolerate it. Harry leaned away from him and sighed. He was hurt, and frustrated, and didn't know why he was being pushed away yet again. Or why this seemed to matter so much. Was it all about getting Malfoy to leave with him, or wasn't it?
Harry sat on the sofa while Malfoy went to get them drinks. He returned with two bottles of beer and sat across the sofa from Harry, tucking his feet under him.
“So,” Harry said.
“So,” Malfoy repeated. He looked uncomfortable.
“You said we'd talk, and you've avoided it all day,” Harry sighed. “And now you're avoiding me . What's wrong?”
“Nothing's wrong,” Malfoy replied, picking at the label of his Amstel Light. “It's just that... Harry, you're leaving day after tomorrow.”
“What does that have to do with us, now?”
“It's for the best, though,” Malfoy continued. “You'll go home, and that'll be that. So there's nothing to talk about.” Malfoy still wasn't looking at him.
“Draco,” Harry began, and paused. He wasn't sure what to say. “If I weren't leaving, would it be different?”
Malfoy shrugged, still not looking up. “I don't know. I thought so, last night. I thought about it all morning, and... I do care about you, Harry. But my life is really fucked up right now. I can't be in a relationship, not even with someone who lives here . You live in London .”
At the word relationship Harry felt his stomach lurch. He took a deep breath. “I'm going to call the office tomorrow and tell them I want to stay longer.”
“No,” Malfoy said, making a sound like a sad laugh. “You're not listening, Harry. I can't do this. You'd leave, eventually, and it'd be that much worse. We're better off not going there at all.”
Harry wracked his brain trying to think of something to say. There was nothing else for it but to throw his cards on the table. Sort of. “I was serious earlier when I said you should come back with me.”
Malfoy looked up at him then. “Harry, that's a horrible idea.”
“Why? What's keeping you here? You're running from something; that much is clear. If you come back with me, I can help you.”
Malfoy snorted. “You can't help me, Harry. And I'm not going anywhere.”
“Why not?”
“It's a long story, and I don't feel like telling it.” Malfoy's tone had changed to one of warning.
“All right, fine,” Harry replied. “You don't have to tell me. But promise me you'll think about it.” Malfoy stared at his beer bottle and said nothing. Harry slid across the sofa until his thigh was pressing against Malfoy's knee. “Draco, I really care about you. I don't think I realized how much until I found out I had to leave. I don't want to walk away from this, without even trying to–”
“Trying to what ?” Malfoy interrupted, meeting Harry's eyes again. “Give me a fucking break, Harry! You only figured out you were bisexual, what, a week ago?” Harry swallowed, and Malfoy continued before he could reply. “You don't have a clue what it's like to be gay. You've been on holiday here, playing a game. What's going to happen when you get back to London , and the big story in the tabloids is that the fucking ‘Boy Who Lived' fucks boys? You have no idea how that's going to affect your life, and you want me to be there, to take the blame when you decide you were wrong?”
“Draco, I'm not going to decide–”
“Harry, you've just been through a divorce. How do you know you're not just angry at women and trying out men instead?”
“I know what I feel!” Harry retorted.
“You can't deny that you're fucked up emotionally. I'd be a rebound fling, and I'd be out of the picture the moment you started missing the taste of pussy again.”
“That's not fair!” Harry spat.
“I know it isn't,” Malfoy said, standing. “Life's not fair, and I have to look out for myself. I learned a long time ago that no one else is going to do it.”
“Maybe I would, if you'd give me a chance,” Harry replied, standing as well. He took Malfoy's hand and pulled him close. “Why won't you let me in?”
Malfoy was trembling against him, but it seemed he couldn't tear his eyes away. “I can't afford to be hurt by you, Harry.” Harry started to protest, but Malfoy pressed his fingers against Harry's lips. “Listen to me. You've been a part of my life since before we met. I don't think you have any idea how much of a role you've played, in everything. When you showed up here last week...” He stepped back, putting some space between them, and ran a hand through his red-streaked hair. “I really wanted to make love to you tonight. But I can't bear the thought of having you and then losing you.”
Harry's heart pounded in his chest, and he reached out for Malfoy again, but Malfoy pulled away.
“God, Harry... I could fall in love with you, and that would be the worst thing that could happen to me. You might think you could love me back, but... I know you. You want to get married, and have a family, and have all those things you didn't have as a kid.”
Harry swallowed and looked down at his shoes. It was true, of course. Before a week ago, he couldn't have imagined his life being any other way.
“You can't have those things with me,” Malfoy whispered, “and one day you'd realize I wasn't enough. And then where would I be?”
“Draco, please...” But he couldn't think of anything to say. He felt horrible, and his stomach was churning. He didn't know what he wanted, except that he didn't want this . He didn't want it to end now. “I don't know what's going to happen, but I can't leave without you. I can't bear the thought of not even trying .”
“I'd be the one taking all the risk,” Malfoy said. “God, Harry, could you be any more selfish? You want me to drop everything – my life here, my friends – and just run away with you?”
“I'm trying to help you!” Harry cried. “I know you're hiding here. I know you're in danger. If you stay here–”
“You don't know anything about me.” Malfoy's tone had become belligerent again.
Harry's frustration was nearing the breaking point. “Will you cut the shit, please? I know more than you realize.” He took a step closer, and Malfoy backed away. “You trust Manny so much, but I know who he is. I know he's a wizard, and a CIA agent as well.”
Malfoy's eyes widened. “You... what the fuck?”
“They're going to arrest you. They're just waiting for a chance, and you–”
“You don't know what the fuck you're talking about!” Malfoy took a few more steps backward. He looked shaken.
“Draco, please listen to me.”
“I think you should go,” Malfoy replied, eyes hard. “Before either of us says something he regrets.”
Harry stared back at Malfoy, feeling almost desperate. There was nothing he could think of to say that might ease the tension between them. Maybe it would all be better in the morning, after Malfoy'd had a chance to think.
“Look, we'll go out for sushi or something tomorrow, all right?” Malfoy sighed. “And we're not going to talk about this any more. We're just going to have a fun evening, and then you'll go back to England . It's best that way.” He stared at the floor, suddenly seeming very tired, and walked to the door and opened it. “You can apparate from just outside the door, if the neighbors aren't peeking.” He looked up at Harry, and there was no emotion in his eyes.
Harry ran a hand through his hair, stalling for time, but he couldn't think of anything to say. He crossed to the door, pausing to kiss Malfoy. Malfoy turned his head so that Harry's lips met his cheek.
“Good night, Harry,” he said. His voice sounded tense.
Harry stepped into the hall, and the door closed behind him. He stood there for nearly a minute before apparating to his room at the Inn . He stripped out of his clothes, pulled on a pair of pyjama bottoms, and stretched out on the bed.
It was only then that he allowed himself to think, and to feel. He closed his eyes and the room seemed to spin, even though he'd had nothing to drink for hours. He wondered what would happen if he didn't show up at the portkey station on Thursday, didn't go back to England . There was no reason to go back. There was nothing there for him. There was no one there for him. The only person who seemed to matter right now was Draco Malfoy.