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wook77Title: Hands
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wook77
Genre: Angst/Drama/Romance
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JKR and associated businesses. I am not one of the associated business or JKR.
Warning(s): Angst, Slash.
Excerpt in lieu of a summary: Harry had always had a thing for hands. Cataloging each and every hand that passed his vision, he made note of the long and skinny ones, the short and fat ones and all the ones in between. He remembered the ways they held wands, the over-the-top grip for Voldemort, the no-nonsense pointer finger steadying grip for Ron and the loose but no less steady grip of Hermione.
Notes: Written forfuriosity's request of H/D They meet again after the war. No Fluff. Beta'd by yodels66 and luciology. Any remaining mistakes are mine and mine alone.
Length: 1910 words
Concrit: As always, welcomed with open arms.
Harry had always had a thing for hands. Cataloging each and every hand that passed his vision, he made note of the long and skinny ones, the short and fat ones and all the ones in between. He remembered the ways they held wands, the over-the-top grip for Voldemort, the no-nonsense pointer finger steadying grip for Ron and the loose but no less steady grip of Hermione.
So when he saw a familiar grip in a man he didn’t physically recognize on the street, Harry instantly knew that one of the “disappeared”, those that were lost but not confirmed dead during the War, had returned to Britain’s Wizarding Community.
“Malfoy.” The only response the man gave was a slight start before moving towards a small alley off the main concourse. Harry raised his voice to shout after him.
“I know it’s you.” This time, the man gave no reaction and Harry made to follow. Smelling of stale garbage and urine, the alleyway was small and far too close-feeling. The bricks were stained and Harry really didn’t want to know what caused it although the scent gave him a hint. After a few seconds of following, the man turned and pointed his wand at Harry.
“What the bloody hell do you want?” The familiar grip didn’t tremble as it pointed a wand at Harry.
“I know it’s you, Malfoy.” The blue eyes that looked back at Harry sparked before going cold and angry once more.
“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about, or, more importantly, who the hell you’re talking about.” Harry let a small smile drift across his lips before responding.
“It’s in your grip, Malfoy. Only you hold a wand that way. You might have changed your looks permanently, Polyjuiced yourself into someone else or hid behind a glamour, but I know it’s you.” Harry took a few steps towards Malfoy before the wand raised just a bit more, an unmistakable warning.
“Malfoy is dead.” The cold emotionless voice started to take Harry back into memories he didn’t want to contemplate.
“What about Draco?” Harry refused to admit what drove him to try to force Malfoy into acknowledging his return.
“The Prophet reported him dead. I’m sure you’ve read the paper.” The next thing Harry knew, Harry had Malfoy pressed against the stained brick and was snarling in his face. The press of flesh against flesh was painfully familiar.
“Don’t lie to me. Don’t you ever lie to me.” Pressing harder, Harry brought his body completely in line with Malfoy’s.
“Draco Malfoy is dead, Potter.” No longer argumentative, Malfoy’s voice was resigned and sad. Transfixed, Harry watched Malfoy’s head drop. Their foreheads were close together, so close that Harry had only to breathe deeply and their lips would press.
“Not to me, he isn’t.” The conviction behind his declaration surprised even Harry.
“Why?” Harry was unsure what question Malfoy was asking, “why do you care”, “why won’t you let me disappear”, “why are you holding me here”.
The small, hopeful and naïve part of Harry thought, perhaps, the question was more, “why can’t things be as they were” or “why did I leave you”. Each of these questions flitted through Harry’s brain, pulling up memories. Those hands, shaking and griping a wand, pointing it at Dumbledore. Those hands, holding a wand, this time pointed at Harry. Those hands, strong and sure, griping a wand before tossing it away. Those hands, touching Harry’s face for that first kiss. Those hands, running down his body before using that same grasp on Harry’s cock. Those hands, open to the heavens, wand leaving a lax grasp as Draco fell backwards. Those hands, for Harry, everything came back to those hands.
Upset, at himself for feeling bereft and lost and hurt, at Draco for making him feel those things and dredging them back up after years apart, Harry lost his courage and cut his losses.
“I can’t do this.” Quickly letting go and turning on his heel, Harry started to walk away.
“I’m sorry.” Harry wasn’t sure if he heard the words or thought them. Turning, he saw the stranger staring at him. As Harry continued to look, the length of the dingy alley separating them, the unrecognizable features melted away until Draco Malfoy looked at him with the same indiscernible expression.
The years had been kind to him, Harry thought objectively. Hair neat and shining down to his shoulders, face softened but no less dramatic, slim build encased in expensive trousers, Malfoy looked the same to Harry’s eyes. They stayed like that for what felt like hours but was only moments before each took a step towards the other.
“My hands?” Harry nodded at the hesitant question. “Such a simple thing, really.”
“Simple is not the word I would use to describe you.” Harry’s wry statement caused Malfoy to laugh before the moment became awkward again.
“I had to go.” An innocuous comment and all the memories Harry battled back previously came rushing through his mind. This time, those hands reached out for him. Those hands cupped his cheek as he cried over Hagrid’s grave. Those hands rubbed small circles on his back as he retched up his dinner, sick with guilt and pain. Those hands played his body like a fine instrument.
Harry nodded once more before turning to walk away. Had he found Malfoy years ago, Harry would have railed and yelled about the unfairness of it all. Had Malfoy returned years ago, Harry would have grabbed those hands and created new memories. For just an instant, Harry wanted to forget the years in between and grab those hands and learn the new marks and lines.
However, he couldn’t. The alley was far too close-feeling but there was still too much distance between them. Harry continued walking; nothing said or done would make it better or fix what was broken. As Harry walked towards the main street, he heard a soft, "I never meant this to happen" before the pop of Apparition. Shaking his head, Harry continued on his way. The appointment with his solicitor wasn't going to wait any longer.
~~**~~
Every once in a while, Harry thought back to that reunion of sorts. The smell of piss in the air, stained bricks and garbage surrounding him while he realized that Malfoy lived and hid. It never failed to twist him up, even a year later.
It was during one of his wretched times for Harry that Ron decided to set Harry up with a friend of a friend or some other rubbish. Sitting at a table in a pub with Ron, Harry wished he could go home and sit alone. Whoever it was that Ron wanted him to meet, Harry didn’t want a single part of it.
Harry grabbed his lager and took a deep drink while he watched Ron weave through the crowd, followed by a dark-haired man. When they reached the table, Harry refused the gloved hand in front of him, choosing to keep his lager in his hand.
“Harry, this is Acteon.” Harry raised his glass a bit and then continued to sit.
“I’m charmed to finally meet the great Harry Potter.”
“Well, now you have. Has it improved the quality of your life?” Signaling to the bartender, Harry drained his drink.
“Harry, there’s no call to be…” Ron was cut off by Acteon.
“No need, Weasley, I can take care of a rude blighter myself. Meeting you has improved my life about as much as that beer is going to improve yours, I suspect.” Harry looked up and met the sardonic sneer in front of him.
“Touché.” Harry raised his empty pint.
“Acteon, here, was just telling me about his work, weren’t you?” Ron swiftly changed the subject.
“I’m sure it’s exciting stuff.” Harry thanked the waitress for his new lager and took a swift sip.
“Oh, it is. I’m a journalist. I travel a fair amount, reporting the news and such.” Acteon and Ron quickly placed their own orders.
“Fascinating to suck the privacy from your victims, yeah?” Ron sputtered at the blatant rudeness but Acteon merely laughed.
“You’re quite refreshing, in an embittered sort of way.” This time, Harry laughed.
“Thank you, I think.” Acteon raised his glass in response.
Slowly, the conversation turned more civil until all three were sharing stories from their individual careers and lives. When Ron made his excuses and left, Harry and Acteon continued to converse in a cordial manner.
Throughout the night, Harry frequently noted that the man was attractive. His hair brushed his shoulders and Acteon would habitually push it behind his hair and then continue gesturing as he made a point. His hands, gloved as they were, tugged at Harry’s memory with the way they reached for a glass.
“Why are you single? It can’t possibly be the charming first impression.” The question bumped Harry out of his not quite casual cataloging of Acteon’s features. As Harry laughed, he contemplated the response.
“I just haven’t felt a need, honestly.” This time, it was Acteon’s turn to laugh.
“You don’t feel any needs?” A waggle of eyebrows and Harry shared the joke.
“Well, I have needs, we all do. It’s the commitment part I haven’t felt a need for, not for a long time.” Harry’s voice lost the mirth by the end of his explanation.
“Bad ending?” Possibly a far too easy summation of the death of his relationship, Harry merely nodded.
“Something like that, I suppose.” Acteon nodded. “What about you?”
“Similar, I suppose. Things happened, I had to leave, he moved on or at least I hope he moved on.”
“It’s hard to move on, you know?” Acteon reached out a hand and touched Harry’s hand.
“You have beautiful hands, Harry.” Harry wanted, with all his heart, to turn his hand over and grab that gloved hand. Instead, he kept it flat against the table as Acteon traced the veins and tendons that pushed out.
“Why do you still have gloves on?” The question popped out and Harry felt mortified. Acteon merely smiled slightly before he pulled his hand away from Harry’s and slowly tugged the glove off.
In a flash, the memories attached to the hand pulsated through Harry’s head.
“Someone once told me I had memorable hands.” Transfixed, Harry watched as the other glove came off and those hands, those long narrow hands that held so many memories, reached out and held his own.
“This is cruel. This whole thing has been cruel.” Harry whispered as his eyes never left those hands as their thumbs rubbed tight circles into his palms.
“I’ve missed you, Harry.” Draco whispered back with Acteon’s mouth.
“You had no right to do this to me. I was finally moving on.” One of those hands touched under his chin and Harry couldn’t control the shudder that raced through him at that intimate contact. When they met gazes, Draco leaned forward and brushed his lips against Harry’s.
“You weren’t, not really. Don’t you think I’ve been watching you?” Harry shook his head and another slight smile graced Acteon’s lips. “Can we get out of here?”
Harry quickly nodded and his hands trembled as they tossed a handful of notes on the table. His hands longed for the ones so close but he wasn’t sure if he could do this. Deciding to leave it up to Fate, Harry followed Draco, still clothed as Acteon, out the door.
Author:
wook77Genre: Angst/Drama/Romance
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JKR and associated businesses. I am not one of the associated business or JKR.
Warning(s): Angst, Slash.
Excerpt in lieu of a summary: Harry had always had a thing for hands. Cataloging each and every hand that passed his vision, he made note of the long and skinny ones, the short and fat ones and all the ones in between. He remembered the ways they held wands, the over-the-top grip for Voldemort, the no-nonsense pointer finger steadying grip for Ron and the loose but no less steady grip of Hermione.
Notes: Written for
furiosity's request of H/D They meet again after the war. No Fluff. Beta'd by yodels66 and luciology. Any remaining mistakes are mine and mine alone.Length: 1910 words
Concrit: As always, welcomed with open arms.
Harry had always had a thing for hands. Cataloging each and every hand that passed his vision, he made note of the long and skinny ones, the short and fat ones and all the ones in between. He remembered the ways they held wands, the over-the-top grip for Voldemort, the no-nonsense pointer finger steadying grip for Ron and the loose but no less steady grip of Hermione.
So when he saw a familiar grip in a man he didn’t physically recognize on the street, Harry instantly knew that one of the “disappeared”, those that were lost but not confirmed dead during the War, had returned to Britain’s Wizarding Community.
“Malfoy.” The only response the man gave was a slight start before moving towards a small alley off the main concourse. Harry raised his voice to shout after him.
“I know it’s you.” This time, the man gave no reaction and Harry made to follow. Smelling of stale garbage and urine, the alleyway was small and far too close-feeling. The bricks were stained and Harry really didn’t want to know what caused it although the scent gave him a hint. After a few seconds of following, the man turned and pointed his wand at Harry.
“What the bloody hell do you want?” The familiar grip didn’t tremble as it pointed a wand at Harry.
“I know it’s you, Malfoy.” The blue eyes that looked back at Harry sparked before going cold and angry once more.
“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about, or, more importantly, who the hell you’re talking about.” Harry let a small smile drift across his lips before responding.
“It’s in your grip, Malfoy. Only you hold a wand that way. You might have changed your looks permanently, Polyjuiced yourself into someone else or hid behind a glamour, but I know it’s you.” Harry took a few steps towards Malfoy before the wand raised just a bit more, an unmistakable warning.
“Malfoy is dead.” The cold emotionless voice started to take Harry back into memories he didn’t want to contemplate.
“What about Draco?” Harry refused to admit what drove him to try to force Malfoy into acknowledging his return.
“The Prophet reported him dead. I’m sure you’ve read the paper.” The next thing Harry knew, Harry had Malfoy pressed against the stained brick and was snarling in his face. The press of flesh against flesh was painfully familiar.
“Don’t lie to me. Don’t you ever lie to me.” Pressing harder, Harry brought his body completely in line with Malfoy’s.
“Draco Malfoy is dead, Potter.” No longer argumentative, Malfoy’s voice was resigned and sad. Transfixed, Harry watched Malfoy’s head drop. Their foreheads were close together, so close that Harry had only to breathe deeply and their lips would press.
“Not to me, he isn’t.” The conviction behind his declaration surprised even Harry.
“Why?” Harry was unsure what question Malfoy was asking, “why do you care”, “why won’t you let me disappear”, “why are you holding me here”.
The small, hopeful and naïve part of Harry thought, perhaps, the question was more, “why can’t things be as they were” or “why did I leave you”. Each of these questions flitted through Harry’s brain, pulling up memories. Those hands, shaking and griping a wand, pointing it at Dumbledore. Those hands, holding a wand, this time pointed at Harry. Those hands, strong and sure, griping a wand before tossing it away. Those hands, touching Harry’s face for that first kiss. Those hands, running down his body before using that same grasp on Harry’s cock. Those hands, open to the heavens, wand leaving a lax grasp as Draco fell backwards. Those hands, for Harry, everything came back to those hands.
Upset, at himself for feeling bereft and lost and hurt, at Draco for making him feel those things and dredging them back up after years apart, Harry lost his courage and cut his losses.
“I can’t do this.” Quickly letting go and turning on his heel, Harry started to walk away.
“I’m sorry.” Harry wasn’t sure if he heard the words or thought them. Turning, he saw the stranger staring at him. As Harry continued to look, the length of the dingy alley separating them, the unrecognizable features melted away until Draco Malfoy looked at him with the same indiscernible expression.
The years had been kind to him, Harry thought objectively. Hair neat and shining down to his shoulders, face softened but no less dramatic, slim build encased in expensive trousers, Malfoy looked the same to Harry’s eyes. They stayed like that for what felt like hours but was only moments before each took a step towards the other.
“My hands?” Harry nodded at the hesitant question. “Such a simple thing, really.”
“Simple is not the word I would use to describe you.” Harry’s wry statement caused Malfoy to laugh before the moment became awkward again.
“I had to go.” An innocuous comment and all the memories Harry battled back previously came rushing through his mind. This time, those hands reached out for him. Those hands cupped his cheek as he cried over Hagrid’s grave. Those hands rubbed small circles on his back as he retched up his dinner, sick with guilt and pain. Those hands played his body like a fine instrument.
Harry nodded once more before turning to walk away. Had he found Malfoy years ago, Harry would have railed and yelled about the unfairness of it all. Had Malfoy returned years ago, Harry would have grabbed those hands and created new memories. For just an instant, Harry wanted to forget the years in between and grab those hands and learn the new marks and lines.
However, he couldn’t. The alley was far too close-feeling but there was still too much distance between them. Harry continued walking; nothing said or done would make it better or fix what was broken. As Harry walked towards the main street, he heard a soft, "I never meant this to happen" before the pop of Apparition. Shaking his head, Harry continued on his way. The appointment with his solicitor wasn't going to wait any longer.
~~**~~
Every once in a while, Harry thought back to that reunion of sorts. The smell of piss in the air, stained bricks and garbage surrounding him while he realized that Malfoy lived and hid. It never failed to twist him up, even a year later.
It was during one of his wretched times for Harry that Ron decided to set Harry up with a friend of a friend or some other rubbish. Sitting at a table in a pub with Ron, Harry wished he could go home and sit alone. Whoever it was that Ron wanted him to meet, Harry didn’t want a single part of it.
Harry grabbed his lager and took a deep drink while he watched Ron weave through the crowd, followed by a dark-haired man. When they reached the table, Harry refused the gloved hand in front of him, choosing to keep his lager in his hand.
“Harry, this is Acteon.” Harry raised his glass a bit and then continued to sit.
“I’m charmed to finally meet the great Harry Potter.”
“Well, now you have. Has it improved the quality of your life?” Signaling to the bartender, Harry drained his drink.
“Harry, there’s no call to be…” Ron was cut off by Acteon.
“No need, Weasley, I can take care of a rude blighter myself. Meeting you has improved my life about as much as that beer is going to improve yours, I suspect.” Harry looked up and met the sardonic sneer in front of him.
“Touché.” Harry raised his empty pint.
“Acteon, here, was just telling me about his work, weren’t you?” Ron swiftly changed the subject.
“I’m sure it’s exciting stuff.” Harry thanked the waitress for his new lager and took a swift sip.
“Oh, it is. I’m a journalist. I travel a fair amount, reporting the news and such.” Acteon and Ron quickly placed their own orders.
“Fascinating to suck the privacy from your victims, yeah?” Ron sputtered at the blatant rudeness but Acteon merely laughed.
“You’re quite refreshing, in an embittered sort of way.” This time, Harry laughed.
“Thank you, I think.” Acteon raised his glass in response.
Slowly, the conversation turned more civil until all three were sharing stories from their individual careers and lives. When Ron made his excuses and left, Harry and Acteon continued to converse in a cordial manner.
Throughout the night, Harry frequently noted that the man was attractive. His hair brushed his shoulders and Acteon would habitually push it behind his hair and then continue gesturing as he made a point. His hands, gloved as they were, tugged at Harry’s memory with the way they reached for a glass.
“Why are you single? It can’t possibly be the charming first impression.” The question bumped Harry out of his not quite casual cataloging of Acteon’s features. As Harry laughed, he contemplated the response.
“I just haven’t felt a need, honestly.” This time, it was Acteon’s turn to laugh.
“You don’t feel any needs?” A waggle of eyebrows and Harry shared the joke.
“Well, I have needs, we all do. It’s the commitment part I haven’t felt a need for, not for a long time.” Harry’s voice lost the mirth by the end of his explanation.
“Bad ending?” Possibly a far too easy summation of the death of his relationship, Harry merely nodded.
“Something like that, I suppose.” Acteon nodded. “What about you?”
“Similar, I suppose. Things happened, I had to leave, he moved on or at least I hope he moved on.”
“It’s hard to move on, you know?” Acteon reached out a hand and touched Harry’s hand.
“You have beautiful hands, Harry.” Harry wanted, with all his heart, to turn his hand over and grab that gloved hand. Instead, he kept it flat against the table as Acteon traced the veins and tendons that pushed out.
“Why do you still have gloves on?” The question popped out and Harry felt mortified. Acteon merely smiled slightly before he pulled his hand away from Harry’s and slowly tugged the glove off.
In a flash, the memories attached to the hand pulsated through Harry’s head.
“Someone once told me I had memorable hands.” Transfixed, Harry watched as the other glove came off and those hands, those long narrow hands that held so many memories, reached out and held his own.
“This is cruel. This whole thing has been cruel.” Harry whispered as his eyes never left those hands as their thumbs rubbed tight circles into his palms.
“I’ve missed you, Harry.” Draco whispered back with Acteon’s mouth.
“You had no right to do this to me. I was finally moving on.” One of those hands touched under his chin and Harry couldn’t control the shudder that raced through him at that intimate contact. When they met gazes, Draco leaned forward and brushed his lips against Harry’s.
“You weren’t, not really. Don’t you think I’ve been watching you?” Harry shook his head and another slight smile graced Acteon’s lips. “Can we get out of here?”
Harry quickly nodded and his hands trembled as they tossed a handful of notes on the table. His hands longed for the ones so close but he wasn’t sure if he could do this. Deciding to leave it up to Fate, Harry followed Draco, still clothed as Acteon, out the door.
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Date: 2005-12-15 08:44 pm (UTC)Hahaha, if that's the case I would think that he hadn't bought a drink in years.