Happy Thanksgiving, Americans! Your customs are strange and incomprehensible to me. But hey, you don’t judge us for celebrating a man failing to blow up Parliament by burning him in effigy. Right?Title:
and delphiWord count:
“Weren’t you supposed to hate someone less
after you had sex with them?”Warnings:
The boys and girls belong to JKR, even though I’m often much nicer to them than she is.Author’s Notes:
A slightly edited version of my Week One Harry/Draco LDWS ficlet. The prompt was I hate that I want you
Weren’t you supposed to hate someone less
after you had sex with them?
Draco spent the anniversary of Voldemort’s defeat getting quietly pissed with Goyle at the Leaky Cauldron. They stared at the pitted table instead of mentioning Crabbe while Goyle inhaled Guinness. Draco drank whiskey that burnt his throat so that for a moment he couldn’t breathe.
Potter was the man of the hour: laughing, drinking Bitterbeer too fast, thumping Longbottom’s back.
They met in the men’s room. They shuffled around each other, carefully silent, until Draco caught Potter’s eyes in the mirror. They were bleak and miserable: an emerald-green wasteland.
“Potter – ”
Potter lunged. Draco cried out, reaching for his wand, but Potter seized his wrist and squeezed hard before planting his lips on his. The clatter of his wand on the tiles meant nothing: Potter’s hot tongue was moving slickly in Draco’s mouth, Draco’s hand was clutching his hip.
They Apparated to Draco’s bedroom without a word. Potter slid to his knees, his mouth hot and fervent and fucking unbelievable. Draco’s eyes rolled back at the sight of Potter’s cheek distended round his cock; he came shamefully fast. Potter fucked him then, and Draco’s breath came in sobbing pants as he begged.
Potter was gone come morning. Draco saw him at lunchtime. He looked tired, but essentially the same: bristling with vibrancy, hair a ridiculous supernova of black, laughing too loudly.
Draco waited for the private look that said they shared a secret.
It never came. Potter’s gaze hitched for a moment like a fingernail caught in cloth, then slid past.
Draco looked at the women his mother lined up and was sickened. He couldn’t be without Potter. Potter hadn’t spoken to him since.
Draco hated him. Would never forgive this desperation.
Potter didn’t seem to notice.