Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/316687.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Draco_Malfoy/Harry_Potter, Harry_Potter/Ginny_Weasley
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Draco_Malfoy, Ginny_Weasley
  Additional Tags:
      Angst, Infidelity
  Stats:
      Published: 2004-10-04 Words: 2860
****** I Don't Love You ******
by xylodemon
Summary
     What Harry has and what Harry wants are two completely different
     things.
I.
The wall is hard and cold when Harry is pushed back against it, gray and
unyielding, just like Malfoy's eyes. The chill of the old castle stones creep
through the thin fabric of his Muggle t-shirt, the ridges and bumps struggling
against the black cotton to leave their impressions on his skin.
Malfoy's mouth is on his neck, teeth and tongue bent on leaving impressions of
their own.
Harry shivers and his skin pebbles, as much from the icy emptiness inside him
as the feel of Malfoy's lips sliding across his throat. He reaches for Malfoy,
though he knows he shouldn't, hands grasping roughly at Malfoy's hips to pull
him closer.
"I don't love you," Malfoy murmurs, his voice hoarse and breathy as he fumbles
with Harry's flies.
"That's…" Harry trails off, jolted by Malfoy's hand wrapping around his cock.
His fingers are deceptively warm and stroking firmly, so Harry decides it
doesn't matter what kind of lies Malfoy feeds himself.
Malfoy kisses him harshly, a desperate and heated clash of tongues that reminds
Harry vaguely of fighting, of hexes and fists and angrily exchanged words.
Harry kisses him back just as roughly, nipping at Malfoy's lower lip a little
too hard. He likes the muffled sound Malfoy makes when the flesh gives, enjoys
the slight hint of copper that spreads across his tongue.
Harry swallows a moan, his hips arching towards Malfoy, his body rushing
towards completion as he thrusts mindlessly into the circle of Malfoy's
fingers. Malfoy tightens his hand and Harry comes with a gasp, a sharp intake
of breath that echoes off the ancient stone walls.
He manages a hand between the tight press of their bodies, cupping and rubbing
Malfoy through his trousers. His movements are frantic and hurried, just as
they always are, and within moments Malfoy's body goes taut and his eyes slide
closed.
"I don't love you," Malfoy rasps as he comes, his voice thick and slurred with
release.
Harry doesn’t have the chance to reply because Malfoy is already walking away,
the rubber soles of his trainers squeaking on Filch's clean, pristine floor.
 
II.
Harry has come to dread mealtimes, with the same flat, disinterested hate he
used to save for Snape and Double Potions. It is the same way he hates Malfoy,
and he does hate Malfoy, but Malfoy is also why he hates mealtimes.
Harry can try and forget him when he is up in Gryffindor, or in Hogsmeade with
Ron and Hermione and Ginny. He can pretend to ignore him during Potions and
Care of Magical Creatures. But, at mealtimes, Malfoy is always there, always in
sight, too close for comfort yet painfully out of reach.
Harry is enthroned at the head of Gryffindor, another thing he hates, his
apathy and disinterest veiled in a swirl of red and gold. Ron and Hermione are
across from him, chatting amiably with each other, and ostensibly, with him,
though he is not paying attention. Next to him, Ginny is tucked in the curve of
his arm, her head heavy on his shoulder, her hand idle on his thigh because he
can’t be arsed to hold it.
Across the Great Hall, Malfoy holds court at the Slytherin table, gallant and
proud where Harry is detached, his arrogance surrounded by a flurry of silver
and green. Crabbe and Goyle are across from him, leaned over their porridge,
hanging on every word. Pansy Parkinson is nestled closely at his side, a smile
on her upturned face as Malfoy speaks to her.
Distantly, Harry is aware that Ginny is speaking to him, a lilting chain of
chatter that doesn't really permeate his brain. He doesn't know what she is
saying, the words don't truly reach is ears anymore than Ron's or Hermione's
do. He smiles and nods anyway, because he is supposed to, and absently drops a
kiss on her forehead.
Harry studies Malfoy out of the corner of his eye as he eats, watching as
Malfoy wraps an arm around Pansy, a sour pang of jealousy washing over him when
Malfoy leans in to kiss her.
The kiss is quick and dutiful, the hand resting on her shoulder cool and
detached. Malfoy favors Pansy with a smile before turning back to his
breakfast, a smile that does not quite touch his eyes.
It almost reminds Harry of him and Ginny; and empty relationship comprised of
mindless gestures and meaningless platitudes, a thing that has been dead so
long he can't be bothered to bury it.
 
III.
Harry can feel Malfoy approaching before he sees or hears him, a prickling,
nagging sensation along the back of his neck that makes him shiver. He lets his
Invisibility Cloak fall to his shoulders as he peers out from his hiding place,
his eyes searching the dark hallway almost frantically until he sees Malfoy at
the end of the corridor.
Malfoy is paler than usual in the darkness, the soft glow of his wand washing
all the color from his face. He moves quickly, feline grace coupled with a
sense of urgency, his gray eyes darting around, presumably looking for Filch.
Inside, Harry finds this amusing. The map says Filch is three floors up and two
corridors over, but Malfoy doesn't know this, and Harry likes knowing something
that Malfoy doesn't.
Harry's arm snakes out when Malfoy passes him, catching him by the tails of his
shirt. He spins Malfoy around and slams him into the wall, wedging him between
the ancient stones and a squat, misshapen statue of Hubert the Humpbacked.
Malfoy's back hits the stones with a satisfying crack, a sound that makes
Harry's blood rush in his veins. He's tempted to pull Malfoy back and slam him
into it again, wanting to hear that noise again, and the soft, angry hiss that
would leave Malfoy's lips.
He knows they shouldn't do this here, with nothing to hide them but the flimsy
blanket of darkness and a likeness of a goblin. He thinks maybe they should
move this to the place they agreed upon, but bites Malfoy instead, teeth
sinking into the soft, pale flesh of his neck. Malfoy makes that noise again,
that low, soft, hissing sound, his fingers tightening on Harry's waist, and
Harry decides he doesn't want to wait, doesn't want to navigate two flights of
stairs and poke around looking for an unlocked classroom when he can have
Malfoy right here.
Harry kisses him harshly, then falls to his knees, hands pulling at the button
of Malfoy's trousers. Malfoy moans quietly when Harry's fingers curl around his
cock, his hands reaching to snag in Harry's hair when his cock slides into
Harry's mouth.
Harry sucks him there, in the corridor, his hand pinned between Malfoy's hip
and heel of Hubert the Humpback's boot, the Invisibility Cloak pooled messily
around his feet. Malfoy is quiet when he comes, a low, guttural moan the only
warning Harry gets before his mouth is flooded with saltiness and warmth.
Draco's hand is waiting form him when he stands, and he rubs against it twice
before his release wracks his body.
Malfoy lingers for a moment, watching silently as Harry gathers the
Invisibility Cloak and straightens his clothes.
"I don't love you," Malfoy whispers.
Harry starts at this, not because of the words, they are too familiar to be a
shock, but because it took Malfoy so long to say them. He never waits until
after, he always says it during; hissing, gasping declarations made with his
cock down Harry's throat, or Harry's cock pushing inside him inch by inch.
"I don't love you," he repeats, a note of warning in his voice, as if he takes
Harry's lack of response for disbelief.
Harry replies by wrapping the Invisibility Cloak around him, disappearing in a
silent swirl of cloth.
 
IV.
Harry's dormitory is cold and dark when he returns, an eerie reflection of the
heaviness in his heart. He's always cold afterward, consumed by a harsh,
chilling emptiness that eats him slowly from the inside.
He can still feel Malfoy's hands on him as he dresses for bed, can still feel
Malfoy's fingers in his hair and Malfoy's cock sliding down his throat. He
tries futilely to push the thoughts away, because it makes his body hurt, a
slow, dwelling ache like phantom pains from a lost limb.
He pulls the drapes on his bed to find Ginny waiting for him, a curtain of
long, red hair framing her peaceful, sleeping face. He looks at her for a long
moment, watching her doze, his stomach knotting and twisting painfully. He
wonders how long she waited for him here before she fell asleep, how long she
sat alone in the common room, staring at the fire, before she gave up and
sneaked into his bed.
She stirs slightly when he climbs into bed, rolling towards him and throwing a
thin, freckled, arm across his chest. He traces light, lazy patterns on her arm
with his fingertips, his eyes unfocused as he stares blankly at the ceiling. He
hopes the feel of her skin on his will wipe Malfoy's presence away, but it
doesn't. It only makes it worse, makes his body throb and ache until it's so
unbearable it's all he can do not to shove her away.
She shifts again, wiggling closer, lifting her arm to trace her fingertips
along his jaw and over his lips. He freezes at first, stilling at the contact,
hoping she'll think he is asleep if he doesn't acknowledge it. The hand is
insistent, trailing over his shoulder and pulling lightly at his bedclothes. He
tries to find the words to send her back to her own bed, but they don’t come
out, so he rolls over and kisses her, because he can't think of anything else
to do.
He doesn't want this, not with her, hasn't wanted this with her since the first
time he touched Malfoy. But Malfoy is not here, and she is, and if they're
fucking he can’t think and she can’t talk, and the only thing he wants more
than Malfoy in his bed is silence from her and peace and quiet in his own mind.
He realizes, as he kisses her, that Malfoy's scent is all over him, that
Malfoy's come is still on his tongue. He knows she should smell Malfoy on him,
should taste Malfoy on him, and he wonders briefly if she doesn't notice, of if
she just doesn’t care.
When he moves his mouth to her neck she whispers his name with a tone of wonder
and reverence that makes him feel like he's swallowed a lump of lead, and he
decides he doesn’t want the answer to that question.
 
V.
Harry looks up from his plate to see Malfoy is watching him, favoring him with
a flat, disapproving glare that makes Harry's heart ache and his cock stir. He
ignores it, busying himself with piling more food on his plate, but he can
still feel Malfoy's eyes, and his hand shakes as he pours himself more pumpkin
juice.
Ginny leans into him just as he glances back over at Malfoy, kissing him on the
cheek as she reaches across him for the basket of rolls. Malfoy's lips press
together in a thin, white line, and there is a flicker in his narrowed eyes, a
brief flash of something angry and dangerous.
Then, Malfoy stands, whispering quiet words to Pansy as he tosses his napkin on
the table. She starts to follow, but Malfoy waves her off and shuts her down
with a few snappish words. She nods in agreement, but blushes furiously as she
watches him leave, and her shoulders slump when she turns back to her food.
Harry makes himself to count to one hundred before following, forces himself to
take a few more bites of pork and another swallow of juice. He mumbles
something as he stands, nonsense about Snape and Remedial Potions. He knows it
sounds stupid as it comes out of his mouth; dinner has barely started and Snape
is still at the staff table, but he can't think of anything else, and he
doesn’t care enough to try.
Malfoy catches him just as he walks into the hall, pulling him inside a broom
cupboard so close to the Great Hall it is practically inside it. The cupboard
is dark and smelly, and so crowded with cleaning supplies there is scarcely
room for them to move, and Malfoy upsets and stack of mops and brooms when he
reaches out to pull Harry to him.
Malfoy's tongue is demanding as it pushes against his lips, searching and
plundering as it slides against his own. Malfoy's hands are rough on his body,
clenching and grasping, fingers digging into his flesh hard enough to bruise.
He fucks Malfoy up against the wall, sucking angry, red spots on the back of
Malfoy's neck as he buries his cock inside him. Malfoy pushes back against him
and makes a low noise in the back of his throat, and Harry thrusts into him
hard, pounding into him until he thinks Malfoy might break.
When Malfoy comes, in hot spurts that spill over his hand onto the dusty floor,
Harry thinks maybe that is exactly what he wants, and that thought alone is
enough to bring him over the edge.
Harry pulls out of Malfoy, tucks himself away and starts for the door before
Malfoy can speak.
"I don't love you," Malfoy hisses after him, his voice thin and shaky.
Harry opens the door and walks through it without even turning around.
 
VI.
When Harry walks into the common room, Ginny is waiting for him on the couch.
Her face is blotchy and nearly as red as her hair, and her eyes are puffy and
swollen.
He takes three steps towards her before she hurls something at his head, he
catches a brief glimpse of gold sailing towards him that he reaches out and
wraps his fingers around it like a snitch.
It's the bracelet he gave her for Christmas, a thin, gold chain with a small,
heart-shaped charm. The necklace he gave her for her birthday follows shortly,
catching him in the shoulder, then the matching scarf and gloves he bought her
on his last trip to Hogsmeade, sailing through the air to land at his feet.
Harry is not entirely surprised, and when he tears his eyes away from the scarf
and gloves to look up at her, he finds he cannot pretend that he is. He starts
to apologize, starts to make excuses, but he stops himself, knowing they will
be as false and bitter on his tongue as Malfoy's come and his own betrayal.
He's silent as she screams; sobbing, disjointed accusations of Malfoy and
bastard and I loved you and how could you. He opens his mouth, gropes
desperately for something to say, but the words stick in his throat. He can't
explain anymore than he can apologize, so he stands there, blinking at her, his
mouth slack and useless.
"I don't love you," she shouts, as she pulls off the jumper she is wearing, his
jumper, and throws it at him.
Those words, familiar and somehow comforting, jolt him, remind him that he can
move. He turns on his heel and starts for the portrait hole, because leaving is
the only thing he knows how to do.
 
VII.
Entry Hall. Midnight.
The note flutters out of the pages of his Potions textbook when he opens it, a
small scrap of crumpled parchment with the tail-end of notes on the other side.
Malfoy has never written him personally, but he has seen his handwriting on
enough potions essays and transfigurations assignments to recognize it straight
away.
He slips it in his pocket as he runs out the door, scarcely stopping for his
Invisibility Cloak, and completely forgetting the map. It's two minutes after
midnight when he reaches the Entry Hall, and Malfoy is waiting for him, a heavy
traveling cloak over his shirt and trousers.
Malfoy's face is tight and pinched, and his eyes are sunken in, dark and
shadowed like he has not slept in two or three days. After a moment, Harry
realizes that Malfoy is in the company of his owl, and that he is sitting on
his trunk with his wand out.
Harry doesn't ask, because deep down, he already knows.
They don't speak as Harry leads him through the corridors to the One-Eyed
Witch, and Harry hisses the password so quietly that it almost doesn't break
the silence.
"Honeydukes," Harry says, as the passageway opens.
Malfoy kisses him, gently, a slow, liquid slide of tongue against tongue, warm
pale hands cradling his face. Harry wraps his arms around Malfoy and deepens
the kiss, but it remains soft and tender, and Harry is shaking when Malfoy
pulls away.
"I love you," Malfoy says quietly, is voice odd and distant.
"I know," Harry whispers, just as he pulls the Invisibility Cloak around him
and vanishes from sight.
The passageway closes behind Malfoy with a soft creak, and the ragged grind of
stone against stone.
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