The worst part of winning the war had to be the constant stream of invitations to parties that followed. After Voldemort fell, there was months of mourning, of funerals and memorials, of parties to celebrate the lives of those who were lost. They were somber, at first, as people adjusted to this post-war world. Gradually, though, they became a tribute to those who sacrificed themselves for freedom and strong ideals. Why cry and grieve for those who were heroes and deserved to be commemorated with happy memories and testimonies to the lives they had led?
Time passed and the post-war tributes were finally finished. Rebuilding began as the Wizarding world went through reconstruction. Many businesses had to be rebuilt and there was a new regime at the Ministry, one selected to bring change and new laws that would protect and serve. There was finally hope and that meant people could start looking towards the future and making plans.
That’s when the weddings started. Every week, a new invitation arrived. Harry found himself at the top of every guest list, regardless of whether he even knew the people involved, just because he was the Harry Potter. He didn’t like crowds and wasn’t very fond of parties so he spent a lot of time declining invitations. He wanted to simply refuse to acknowledge the ones from people he didn't actually know, but he found he couldn't bring himself to do it. Ron said he was too polite; Hermione said she was proud. Harry liked making Hermione proud, but he thought Ron was probably right.
So he kept declining them. He tried tossing them in the rubbish and putting them in his desk, but he always got them out and wrote a short little note, then tucked them away with the rest.. No one knew, but he kept every one. He also kept the thank you notes that were often accompanied by photos as well as the birth announcements that started coming in several months after the wedding invitations. He had lost a lot in his life, though he was lucky to still have Ron and Hermione, and it made him feel good to know that other people were moving on after the war.
It didn’t matter that he’d never met any of them, really, because he didn’t want to know them. He just liked to look at the photos and see happiness and love after so many dark years. The thank you notes often made him smile, and some made him laugh, and the baby announcements with their joyful photos, when he got those, he felt like it might have been worth it. The photos and owls grounded him, in a way, and gave him a sense of purpose in a way no one would really understand.
The war hadn’t been won without sacrifice. Lives were lost, of course, but it was more than that. Ron couldn’t see out of his left eye after a well aimed hex by Macnair and had a permanent limp after a curse was thrown at him in the same battle. It had taken him months to regain his sense of balance. He could now fly and play in Quidditch scrimmages, but his dream of playing for the Cannons had died during that battle in Portsmouth.
The scars on Hermione’s face made many people look away or stare, vivid pink reminders of a confrontation with Lucius Malfoy near the end of the war, but it was the rest of that fight that had changed her life. It had taken her a year before she could read on her own without difficulty, and she still struggled, several years later, with lapses of memory that frustrated her to tears.
Neither Ron nor Hermione ever complained about what they lost, but Harry never forgot. They were his heroes, after all, because they had a choice and stood beside him without hesitation. He never had a choice, never had a chance to decide if he wanted to fight or simply hide until the war was over, and Harry couldn’t consider himself a hero for simply doing what he had to do. In comparison to Ron and Hermione and others who had suffered and made amazing sacrifices, he didn’t deserve the praise and accolades.
He had made his own sacrifices, sure. He had given up Ginny when he’d really wanted to keep her if only so he wouldn’t be alone. By the time the war was over, three years had passed and neither of them were the same as they’d once been. She was happy with Neville, and Harry was glad for them both even as he was jealous of what they had. Ron and Hermione hadn’t lasted, either, but Ron had just started to date Luna, of all people, and Harry thought that there might be something happening with Hermione’s frequent trips to Scotland to visit the new dragon preserve but he hadn’t asked.
Harry hadn’t dated anyone since Ginny. There had been a handful of anonymous encounters, always with Muggles who had no idea they’d shagged Harry Potter, but nothing more until six months ago. The Boot-Bones wedding had changed Harry’s routine of occasionally shagging a Muggle and leaving before any names were even exchanged. That was the night that he’d run into Blaise Zabini, and he’d ended up bent over the dessert table in the kitchen with Zabini balls deep in his arse before the reception was over.
That was when it started.
Harry didn’t even know what to call it. Repeat casual sex with a former Slytherin who had bided his time overseas until the war was over was much too long to say, not that Harry had told anyone. Ron and Hermione knew that he preferred men, as he’d never keep secrets like that from them, but he didn’t know what they’d say if they knew that the first time he’d really felt alive since Voldemort fell was when Zabini was talking filthy and fucking him so hard he was sore for a couple days after.
He and Zabini only met at parties. They never spoke about anything important or had meaningful conversations about life and death. It wasn’t about any of that for either of them. For him, it was about escape and pleasure. Zabini was attractive, always had been, and he was a great fuck. He didn’t know what Zabini got out of it, unless it was the twisted enjoyment of fucking Harry Potter, though that seemed too common for Zabini. All he really knew was that he would receive an unsigned owl listing a party and time occasionally, always a function that he’d received an invitation for, and that Zabini would be there waiting.
They’d shagged in a kitchen twice, on a balcony while a party had gone on right beneath them, three times in a library, once in a cloakroom, once in a dark study, and once in a garden. Sometimes he sucked off Zabini, sometimes he got sucked, and they usually ended up with Zabini inside him. While Harry liked having control of his life normally, he liked to give that control to someone else when it came to sex.
Harry now looked forward to receiving invitations in a way he never had before. September was always a slow time for parties, though, and it had been two weeks since he’d received any invitations. He felt restless and horny, which wasn’t a good combination. Hermione was gone to Scotland again, spending a week researching a new breed of dragon, or so she said. He personally thought that she was probably shagging Charlie, who ran the preserve and had been the one to help her learn how to read again years ago. Ron was busy with Luna, who seemed to be planning a camping trip to look for Poxies, which she claimed were forest dwelling cousins of Doxies. Harry personally thought that Ron had to be the most patient man in the world, despite always being an impatient git with everyone else.
With his only friends gone to shag dragon keepers or busy with their nutty girlfriends, he knew that he had been acting like a moody prat all day. It was fortunate that he lived alone, though it was the silence and loneliness that was making him feel so on edge. It certainly wasn’t the fact that he’d not seen Zabini in two weeks or that he kept wanking to thoughts of being fucked, which left him feeling dissatisfied and tense. No, that would be a complication that Harry didn’t want or need.
He groaned when he realized he’d been thinking about this far too long. He got up, leaving the box of photos and invitations on the table, and went into the kitchen to stare at the contents of his cupboards. He could actually cook reasonably well, but nothing sounded good. He finally decided that take-away was in his future. There was a new Muggle curry place not too far outside Diagon Alley, and a walk might not be bad. He could work off a bit of excess energy and get something really spicy that made his eyes water.
This decision made, he went to the loo and then got a handful of Muggle coins to pay for his food. He was counting these, making sure he'd grabbed enough, as he stepped out of his flat, so it took him a moment to notice a familiar figure pacing in the hallway. Harry wondered if he’d fallen asleep and was now having some weird dream. He ran his hand through his hair and stared at the man, who hadn’t realized he was being watched yet. “Zabini?”
Zabini stopped walking and looked up at Harry. For a moment, he looked nervous, embarrassed, and confused all at once. Then he seemed to shake himself and was cool, distant, and untouchable once again. He arched a brow as his shoulders straightened and he smirked. “Potter.”
Well, this was awkward. Harry stuck his hands in the pocket of his jeans and frowned. “Did you need something?”
“Did I need something?” Zabini repeated in a slow drawl as he walked closer to Harry. He stopped when Harry was backed against his door and leaned forward. “No, I don’t need anything. However, there is something that I want.”
Harry blinked at him. “Uh, yeah?” he stammered as Zabini smiled the predatory smile that had first caught his attention during that reception months ago. His eyes widened when his mind finally caught up with Zabini’s words. “Oh.”
“Oh,” Zabini said with amusement before he bit Harry’s neck. “Do you want me to fuck you right here, Potter? I can turn you around and take you against your front door, let all of your neighbors watch you push back against me for more, let them all hear you beg for more. If not, you’d better take me inside your flat. Your choice.”
“Fuck,” Harry hissed as Zabini punctuated every word with bites and nibbles on his neck and shoulder. “W-w-we’ll go inside.”
He turned and fumbled with the key to his door as he muttered the words to lower his wards. Hermione had insisted they be a complex series of voice recognition, languages he didn’t even know, and some sort of magical signature ward she’d developed prior to the brain scrambling that Malfoy had done. At the time, he’d been glad she had thought up such a complicated way to keep him safe from possible threats. Currently, he was ready to curse her for not allowing him to make it a simple one word ward that he could stammer when he was getting hard and totally focused on the man behind him.
After he finally had the wards down to allow Zabini to pass, Harry opened the door and went back inside his flat. He felt nervous, for some reason, and dropped his keys on the counter as he turned to look at Zabini. Should he offer a drink or just start stripping so they could get to the shagging? He was still somewhat shocked that Zabini was in his flat, and that seemed to delay his thought process. At least, that was his excuse for not knowing exactly what to do.
Zabini shut the front door and glanced around the small sitting room and foyer that was visible from the front door before he stared at Harry expectantly.
“Did you, uh, want something to drink?” Harry finally asked.
“Is that how this is done?” Zabini asked curiously.
“How what is done?”
“This,” Zabini said with a roll of his eyes as he motioned between them and around the flat. “You offer me a drink, we exchange polite conversation, and then I shag you? I’m not much for conversation, especially when it’s not necessary, so why don’t we just skip to the part where I fuck you?”
“Uh, well, um, sure?” Harry stammered as he stared at Zabini. “I mean, I’m not much for talking either.”
“Really? That’s surprising since you do far too much of it,” Zabini muttered as he began to strip.
Harry licked his lips as he watched Zabini. He’d never had the opportunity to see him nude since their encounters had consisted of quick shags wherever they could find a place. “We can, uh, go to my room,” he suggested as his gaze moved over the dark skin that was revealed when Zabini took off his shirt. Only Zabini would strip a few steps away from the front door without seeming to care that things like that just weren’t done, Harry decided.
“Why?” Zabini asked with a knowing smirk as he folded up his shirt in a precise way that made Harry all too aware of the clothes currently scattered around his room. Zabini put the shirt on the counter before he began to unfasten his trousers.
Harry was distracted by those long graceful fingers as they expertly pushed the buttons through the loops. It wasn’t until he heard a chuckle that his gaze moved up to find Zabini smiling smugly. “Why what?” he asked as he tried to remember what they were talking about.
“Why would I want to waste the time in going to your room when there is a perfectly good sofa for you to bend over right there?” Zabini asked casually before he glanced down and frowned. He stopped unfastening his trousers so he could remove his shoes and socks, which he folded neatly and put beside his shirt.
“The sofa?” Harry glanced into the sitting room and nearly groaned as he imagined bending over it while Zabini fucked him. When he looked back at Zabini, he couldn’t help but feel that this was all just so surreal. If he hadn’t known the difference, he’d have been sure that this was just a really good dream. Zabini showing up at his flat unannounced wanting to fuck just wasn’t something that Harry thought would ever happen.
“You know, Potter, it’s a good thing you’ve got an adorable clueless quality that you somehow make sexy because you’re not very bright,” Zabini observed as he finally pushed his trousers past his hips. His erection was obvious beneath the dark blue of his silk shorts, and Harry was distracted momentarily by the bulge.
“I’m not clueless,” Harry defended once he stopped drooling over Zabini’s nearly nude form. Well, mostly stopped. “You’re the one who shows up at my flat out of the blue and starts stripping without even asking if I have plans so excuse me for needing a few moments to catch up.”
“You didn’t have plans,” Zabini said confidently as he put his folded trousers on the counter, “unless you count spending the night at home feeling sorry for yourself and wanking as plans.”
“How do you know?” Harry challenged, annoyed that Zabini seemed to know him so well. “I might have been on my way to meet someone for a drink followed by a great shag after.”
Before Harry finished his taunt, he found himself pushed against the wall. His head bumped a picture frame and he had to fight not to whimper when Zabini pressed against him. “I don’t share, Potter,” Zabini growled softly as he moved his hand down Harry’s chest. Harry bucked forward when Zabini gripped his cock and squeezed. “This is mine until I tire of it. You’re mine until this game becomes tedious.”
“It’s not just a game,” Harry murmured. Zabini was breathing heavily and didn’t say anything to Harry’s comment, which confirmed that maybe his realization was accurate. If so, it made things even more complicated, though Zabini showing up tonight had done that anyway. Harry kept sex and life separate, and never mixed the two. Having someone in his flat, especially someone he’d been shagging for several months, was just confusing.
“Strip,” Zabini demanded as he stepped back, ignoring Harry’s attempt at finding out what the fuck was happening between them.
Harry didn’t bother teasing or taking his time. Instead, he pulled his T-shirt over his head and tossed it on the ground. Zabini kept watching him with an intense gaze, though he did flinch when Harry’s shirt hit the ground in an untidy mess. Harry kicked off his shoes, didn’t bother with his socks, and wiggled out of his jeans until he was just wearing the Chudley Cannon shorts that Ron had given him for Christmas a few years ago. They were now a faded orange but the Snitch over his crotch still fluttered when he was aroused. Today, its wings were flapping fast as his cock pressed against the fabric.
Zabini’s lips quirked into a slight smile as he looked at the novelty shorts before his gaze shifted to the clothing piled on the floor. He seemed to grit his teeth before he finally reached down and picked up the clothes, folding them in a manner that confirmed his fussiness. Harry found it surprisingly endearing that Zabini would stop in the middle of their awkward soon-to-be fuck to fold clothes, which was definitely a sign to him that ‘complicated’ might be an understatement.
“Now what?” he asked as he looked at the sofa and then back at Zabini. He smiled when he saw Zabini shake his head and heard him mutter under his breath.
“This works much better when I shove you against a wall and there’s too many people around for you to talk so much,” Zabini pointed out crossly as he put Harry’s folded clothes on the counter. He looked at Harry and scowled. “You’re not supposed to ask questions, Potter. This conversation thing doesn’t work for me, especially when things are so odd and different.”
“What am I supposed to do then?” Harry smirked when he noticed that Zabini, the unflappable and always composed Blaise Zabini, was flustered and possibly just as confused as he was, even if he hid it very well.
“Sucking my cock would be a good place to start,” Zabini said dryly, just the right amount of command in his voice to make Harry shudder and obey.
Harry knelt on the floor in the entry way of his flat and tugged the silk shorts down Zabini’s hips. Zabini’s cock was hard and slapped against Harry’s cheek as he leaned forward, leaving a trail of pre-come on his pale skin. He left the shorts gathered around Zabini’s knees and began to suck. This was something he was good at and enjoyed doing, especially when Zabini’s fingers tangled in his hair.
“So good,” Zabini hissed as he moved his hips back and forth so he could fuck Harry’s mouth.
Harry licked the underside of Zabini’s cock and sucked hard as he moved his head. He gripped Zabini’s arse, squeezing the firm cheeks as he took more into his mouth. He couldn’t suck it all, didn’t know how people could do so without gagging, but he took as much as he could. Zabini was thick but not that long so Harry’s jaw started to hurt before he had to worry about gagging. He alternated sucking with wanking, wrapping his fingers around it and jerking as he sucked the head.
Zabini cursed and bucked forward, sending his cock deep into Harry’s throat, when Harry pressed a finger against his arse. It was different to hear Zabini making noise. He was usually quiet unless he was talking dirty so Harry enjoyed hearing every low groan and curse. Harry worked a finger into Zabini’s tight arse as he started sucking again and moved his hand down to caress Zabini’s balls, squeezing just enough to give some pressure.
They usually had such limited time, the risk of being caught making it exciting and urgent, that he didn’t have the opportunity to explore Zabini’s arse and devote attention to his cock. Harry was hard and there was a wet spot on his shorts from his arousal. He didn’t dare touch himself, though, because he wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t just spill all over his hand.
Zabini finally pushed him away and licked his lips. “On the sofa, now,” he demanded huskily as he shoved his shorts the rest of the way down his legs and didn’t bother to pick them up as he walked into the sitting room, giving Harry a great view of his bare arse.
Harry got to his feet and followed. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and wasn’t surprised to see that his face was flushed and sweaty and that there were small bites on his neck and shoulders. His glasses were askew, his hair was a mess, and he looked aroused and excited. He didn’t know what it was about Zabini, especially considering they never really spoke and that Zabini was generally a quiet, demanding, rude prat, but he always seemed to make Harry feel alive.
“Those have to go,” Zabini murmured as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of Harry’s shorts and pulled them down.
Harry stepped out of them and shifted awkwardly. This was the first time Zabini had seen anything but his bare arse or cock since they never undressed before. It was strange to be completely naked with him. Well, Harry still had his socks on but that was because his feet got cold in his flat, even with warming charms. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever been naked with another man; his previous times had usually been fumbling adventures in a pub loo or somewhere else convenient but not conducive to undressing.
“You’re too skinny,” Zabini observed as he reached out and ran his hand over Harry’s ribs before he dragged his fingers down Harry’s belly and lightly touched his cock.
“You know, that’s not really the thing to say when you’re about to fuck someone,” Harry pointed out.
“No, it’s not the sort of thing to say when you’re trying to seduce someone,” Zabini corrected smugly. “However, there is no need to seduce you so I see no point in wasting words on lies or false adoration. I highly doubt you’d prefer for me to wax poetic about the color of your eyes or how lovely your cock is so why bother? You respect honesty.”
“Ode to a Cock?” Harry teased as he smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, I’m definitely a sure thing so you can save the seduction for someone else.”
“Oh, I’ve already seduced you, Potter. True, it took awhile, but I always love a challenge,” Zabini said matter-of-factly. “And there isn’t a ‘someone else’. I am not a hypocrite, regardless of what opinion you might have of me. If I expect for you to not be with another while we enjoy each other, I expect the same of myself.”
That was news to Harry. He had assumed he was one of many, a thought that had made him more than a little jealous, if he were completely honest. Instead of replying, he walked behind the sofa and bent over, spreading his legs slightly until he was comfortable. His gaze met Zabini’s and he found himself fascinated, as always, by the eyes that were a dark golden brown unlike any he’d ever noticed before.
Zabini nodded and smiled his approval. He joined Harry and touched him. Zabini traced the scar that was on his shoulder-blades and the freckles that were scattered over his back before he dragged his fingertip along the curve of Harry’s spine. Harry bit his lip when he felt Zabini’s warm breath against his arse. This was new, not that he was going to complain when Zabini spread his cheeks and licked.
Harry reached down to touch his cock, finally, and cursed when Zabini’s fingers immediately wrapped around his wrist. “I don’t remember giving permission for you to touch,” Zabini scolded in a low voice before he moved Harry’s hands behind his back. There was rustling behind him and then he felt the fabric of Zabini's tie wrapping around his wrists.
Once Harry’s hands were secured, Zabini went back to what he’d been doing. Harry whined when he felt Zabini’s tongue press against his arse, licking and teasing as his fingers gripped Harry’s cheeks. Zabini was as thorough at this as he was at everything, Harry decided in between pants and whimpers. He felt like a git for his reaction, but it really felt unbelievable and Zabini was great with his tongue.
“Ready for more?” Zabini purred before he nipped at Harry’s arsecheek. He didn’t wait for Harry to reply. Instead, he moved closer and began to push his tongue inside Harry. His grip on Harry tightened until there would probably be bruises. He moved his tongue, wiggling it and licking and doing other things that made Harry’s knees weak-; Harry thought he might come just from having Zabini’s tongue in his arse- it felt that good.
The tie binding his wrists rubbed against his skin as he became more aroused and pulled at it. Harry heard Zabini chuckle before his tongue went back to torturing him with lazy licks and deep thrusts. Harry muttered about evil Slytherins and teasing bastards in between the noises he’d never made before. His insults earned him a slap on the arse, hard enough to sting, and he bucked forward against the sofa at the contact. “Please,” he finally begged softly, knowing he couldn’t stand much more.
Zabini kissed his way up Harry’s spine and nipped his shoulder as he rubbed his cock against Harry’s arse. “Is this what you want, Potter?”
“Yes,” Harry whined as he pushed back.
“You look good like this,” Zabini said. “Moaning like a wanton whore, chasing my cock, begging for a fuck. You need me, Potter. No one can give you this like I can.”
Before Harry could respond, Zabini began to ease into him. Once the head was inside, Zabini gripped his hips and thrust forward completely. Harry’s back arched and he gasped as Zabini began to fuck him hard. He pulled at the tie as he pushed back to meet Zabini and listened to bare skin hitting bare skin. It sounded much better without clothes muffling the sound.
There was nothing gentle or teasing now. They needed this, needed a rough fuck that was deep and hard, needed to lose themselves in sensation and feeling. Zabini reached around and gripped Harry’s cock, tugging it in time with his strokes as he bit and licked Harry’s shoulders and neck. Harry’s eyes rolled back, his glasses slid down his nose, and he grunted as he came all over Zabini’s hand.
He opened his mouth and sucked the wet fingers that Zabini offered him, feeling like the whore Zabini accused him of being as he kept pushing back for more. Zabini’s hand moved into his hair, pulling his head back as Zabini leaned forward and kissed him. The kiss was fierce, all tongue and teeth, before it deepened and became something too intense to think about right then.
Zabini pushed forward and gasped against Harry’s mouth as he came. He shuddered as he spilled inside Harry’s arse, making shallow thrusts until he was completely spent. When he finally pulled out, he released Harry’s wrists and ran his hand over his face as he panted.
Harry straightened up, felt the come dripping from his sore arse, and smiled as he pushed his glasses back up his nose. He met Zabini’s gaze and, for the first time ever, saw beneath the façade that was constantly on display. There was a raw vulnerability there and confusion before it was covered up with that unaffected aloofness that he always wore.
“I was going to get curry,” he said hesitantly after he decided this, whatever it was, was worth exploring. And that for all the invitations he'd saved, it was time to issue one of his own. “You hungry?”
“Curry is acceptable,” Zabini told him before he arched a brow. “What game are you playing, Potter?”
“I thought we’d have some dinner and you can tell me I talk too much. After that, I don’t know,” he replied with a shrug and sheepish smile. “No games. I’m tired of games.”
“You do talk too much,” Zabini murmured as he grew thoughtful. “I’ve never not played games. I’m not quite sure how it works.”
“I can teach you,” Harry offered as he watched and waited, feeling ridiculously nervous considering he was asking to take things to a different level with someone who spent their entire life playing games and defining ‘casual sex’.
“Why not? It could be fun,” Zabini finally said with a slight smile. “Now what was this you mentioned about curry?”
Harry noticed the box of invitiations and photos as Blaise spoke, and wondered if he would still need them to fill the loneliness. He looked back at Blaise and grinned, relieved that he hadn't made a fool out of himself. It might not work out between them, since they really had no idea if there was something more than sex to work with, but, like Zabini said, it could be fun to find out.
End
Invitations
Story Notes:
6/9/2006