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I know I have to leave. Not because I am forced to. Not because they actually make me. But because I want to.
It has been months since the last battle, since I defeated Voldemort, since I actually won for our side. But sometimes I wonder if it really was a victory. Yes, of course, our children can grow up in safety, without the constant fear of losing family members or dying because their dad has the wrong beliefs. Then I think of all the people we lost. Fred. Remus. Tonks. Ted. Severus. Colin. And so many more whose names I don't even know, can't bear to know. They fought for what was right. What was good. What was definitely not the easy way out. And how did we repay them? With a lousy commemorative service. With graves of their own. With a memorial stone next to the stairs leading up to the front doors of Hogwarts. Each name engraved on the white marble pillar, their houses next to their names.
Ron and Hermione help to rebuild the school. I can't. I would love to, I really would. But it hurts too much going back to where it all happened.
Everyone has to cope how they think it's best. Ginny helps rebuilding, too. Andromeda never leaves Teddy out of sight. Molly frets over the not-there-yet baby bump Fleur will sure show soon. Charlie is back in Romania, diving head over heels back into work. And George. Well, we all would like to say he copes. But it's not even that. “He lives” probably describes it best.
It is strange that the war changed us. No, scratch that. It is not strange. Of course it is not. Killing changes people. Seeing people get killed changes people. Let me rephrase. It is strange what the war made of us. Children should play and study and not fight against each other.
I sigh and stuff the plane ticket into the duffel bag standing by my feet. I admit that taking a Portkey would probably be faster and cheaper. And meaning less jet lag. But right now I am so sick of magic that I could not bring myself to go to the Ministry, asking for a Portkey to the United States. Up until I bought the ticket a week ago I didn't even know where I wanted to go.
When I knock on the door the sound seems to echo in the apartment behind it. I have forgotten how many times I stood in front of this door, asking to be let in. And every time my question was answered.
This is another strange thing the war caused. Why else would I find myself in front of a door in a small wizarding neighborhood of London? Especially when the name tag on the door clearly says “D. Malfoy”.
The door opens and Malfoy is standing there. Charcoal slacks, feet bare and a white tee, pulled out of his pants. His hair is ruffled and he looks exhausted.
“Potter.” His snarl is familiar and more than welcome right now.
“Malfoy.” I nod at him and he steps aside, letting me in. I drop my bag next to the door.
“What's with the bag? You never bring stuff when you stay over night, Potter.” Malfoy closes the door behind me and walks towards the kitchen. The apartment is rather small, at least for Malfoy standards. A kitchen, a living room, a bathroom, a master bedroom and an office. Nothing fancy, but tasty. I suspect his mother had her way when it came to decorating, but the one time I actually asked he just shrugged.
I choose to ignore his question and follow him into the kitchen instead. By now he is used to me being quiet most of the time.
He pours himself a glass of wine and raises the bottle questioningly. “You want one, too?” I shrug. Sure, why not. He has to stretch a bit to get to the row of glasses above the oven and I can see the muscles rippling underneath his shirt. I smile, just the tiniest of smiles, but I do. Because I can remember a lot of times when those muscles were underneath me. When I licked down the spine, making him shiver in anticipation. His back muscles tense shortly before he comes.
Once he has put the glass down on the table he pours me some wine, too. Not as much as himself, though. He knows that I don't like white wine that much. He offers me my glass and I take it, looking at him and we both take a sip at the same time.
“So, Potter, why did you come?”
It's not like it's rare that I come over. Or he's over at my place. Twice, maybe three times a week. We don't always stay over. We don't always have sex, either. Most of the times we do, though. And it is a bit peculiar that he, of all people, is the one I want to say goodbye to. In my own way. Three and a half months after the war have done more to our relationship than going to the same school for six years could ever have.
“I wanted to see you.” It's not even a lie. He nods and takes another sip of his wine.
“Do you want something to eat?”
I shake my head. “Can we...” I sigh. This is harder than I thought. “Can we just cuddle a bit?”
Malfoy raises one of his eyebrows. I bet he is suspicious. I barely want to cuddle and the beginning of … this, whatever it is we have, was about having sex. No obligations. Just fucking. Only over time we started talking. About us. About our jobs. And friends. And what we left and lost in the war.
“Uhm, yeah, sure.” He puts his glass down and walks back into the living room. “Want to watch a movie?”
I empty my glass in one big gulp and put it down next to his on the table.
“Sure.” Whatever. I don't really care. But I still follow him into the living room.
Opposite of the really comfortable couch is a huge TV. Malfoy switches it on and crouches down, rummaging through his collection. His fascination for everything concerning Muggle entertainment is funny, regarding that he was raised as a pureblood wizard.
“Any preferences?”
I sit down on the couch and watch him. “No, pick whatever you want.” By now I probably wouldn't even mind if he popped in Gettysburg, but I know he won't. It's considered bad taste in our generation to watch movies with war in it, even if it's not our war, even if it happened ages ago. He holds up the case of “The Evening Star”.
Yes, Malfoy is a sucker for chick flicks. So, naturally, I have to tease him. Old habits die hard, as they say.
“Really, Malfoy?”
He turns around, looking a bit furious. “You said I should pick and last time we watched Terms of Endearment and -” That's when he catches the grin I'm trying to hide. “Oh, I get it Potter. Ha ha, very funny.” He puts the cassette into the VCR and starts it.
We settle on the couch. Sitting first, but over the course of the movie we slide into a lying position. He is in front of me, his back against my chest. My arm is slung around his waist and my hand rests on his stomach. I breathe in his scent, inhaling deeply. Trying to commit it to my memory to keep there for ever. I wish it were something I could bottle up and take along with me. He smells like vanilla and summer rain and wind, like coffee and a bit of the cologne he likes to use. It is so distinctly Draco.
He wiggles his ass a bit, trying to get more comfortable. Unfortunately, maybe, he just rubs against my dick and my thoughts stray from the movie playing in front of me to what could happen between us. I picture him on his knees, his perfect lips wrapped around me, cheeks hollowed and looking at me from beneath his lashes. Draco on his hands and knees on the bed, his back arched while I pound into him. Draco pressed against a wall. Bend over his kitchen table. On top of me. Lying underneath me. I barely register that my hand strokes downward, finding that trail of soft blond hair that vanishes oh so teasingly underneath the waistband of his pants.
“So much about cuddling, Potter.”
Draco still looks towards the TV, but I can hear the slight tinge of arousal in his voice. I look to where my hand is and, well, yes, so much about cuddling. Screw it, really. It's my last night here, my last night with him, so I can enjoy it, right? I press my hand against his crotch and feel him hot and hard underneath me.
“Don't say you're not enjoying it, Malfoy,” I whisper into his ear, and he shivers.
“Never said I didn't.” But he doesn't do anything, apart from lying there next to me.
I tease him a few more minutes, before he gets impatient. He winds out of my embrace and stands up, pulling me with him.
“While I am partial to sex in every room and, well, basically everywhere, I think the bed is our best choice tonight.”
I stumble along. I don't need to look where he leads me. I know that there's a dresser right next to the bedroom door I have to avoid and when I don't pay attention he'll let me run into the bedroom door. Again. Once inside his bedroom, I push the door closed with my foot and it is dark around us. Not completely, though, since there is a streetlamp a little to the right of the window and the light reaches into the room. It is enough to see and it is dark enough for me to feel calm.
Draco kisses me, long and teasingly. I put my hands on his hips and push his shirt a little bit up. Almost as if it were a Pavlovian reflex, his kiss becomes more urgent and passionate. It is weird, but after all this time, I know what buttons I have to press to get what I want. Even if he'd deny it.
We land on the bed, somehow, and everything is a bit of a blur. His hands are on my body, touching seemingly everywhere at once. My hands are on his ass. No, I'm not even sorry to admit that. I just love his ass.
Some time between entering the bedroom and now – I'm lying on top of him, propped up on my elbows, my legs between his – we got rid of most of our clothes. I'm only wearing my socks and briefs and he only has his briefs left. It seems black, but I know that it is a really dark green.
I push down, our erections meet and Draco moans, throwing his head back onto the pillow. His hands scrape down my back, no doubt leaving marks.
I push down again and he grabs the sheets, bucking up.
“Skip the bloody foreplay, Potter and fuck me already.”
“My, my, look who is still able to talk.” I smirk down at him and he scowls.
“Shut it, Potter.”
I laugh and with a flick of my wrist I get rid of both our underwear. He bucks up again and this time there is no cloth between us, just pure hot, hard flesh.
“Fuck!” I moan and close my eyes.
I hear Draco whispering something. Probably a spell to prep himself.
“You ready?” He looks at me and I nod. He grabs one of the small throw pillows and lifts his hips to place it underneath. Draco wraps his legs around me and I reach between our bodies, aligning myself before I push in. Slick, tight heat surrounds me and it is almost like coming home.
Quickly we fall into a rhythm, first slow and deep but it soon becomes more frantic.
Draco looks beautiful. His hair is tousled, his eyes are closed and his mouth is open. His lips are red and shiny, his cheeks are flushed. It's an image I want to keep for ever in my mind. He reaches between us and starts stroking himself. I watch entranced.
One stroke. Two. Three. Four. Five strokes and he is coming white and pearly, painting both our bodies. His body is tense and I feel him clenching around me.
It is too much and I come, too. My head drops down, resting against his shoulder and Draco starts stroking my neck, massaging slightly.
We disentangle ourselves from each other, he mutters a cleaning charm and curls up next to me, his leg draped over mine and his arm across my stomach.
I'm not sure if I should say something, but I bet it'd just ruin the moment. Before I can make up my mind, I hear his deep breathing. Draco fell asleep.
I allow myself the luxury to fall asleep, too. I know that I'll wake up eventually. Ever since the war ended, there hasn't been a night I was able to sleep through.
When I open my eyes next, Draco is still draped across me. Almost as if he knew I'm going to leave him. Carefully I sneak out from underneath him and he curls in on himself, grabbing the blanket even tighter. I spell my clothes on and sneak out of the room, closing the door quietly behind me.
Once inside the living room, I head towards the apartment door and pick up my duffel bag that is waiting for me next to it. I take one last look around and leave, quietly, trying not to make a noise. I pull the ticket back out of the bag and look at it. Albuquerque, it says. There I'll rent a car and will drive to Silver City. That's where my arrow landed. Well, it landed close enough when I threw it at a map of the United States. Maybe I'll go even further west, once I've settled a bit. But now, now it is goodbye.
I place one hand just below the name tag on the door and sigh.
“I'm sorry, Draco,” I whisper, before I turn around and leave, very cliché, into the night.