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[FIC] Never Tear Us Apart (NC-17) - PART ONE
TITLE: Never Tear Us Apart
AUTHOR: Lani (aka lanisfanfiction)
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: SEQUEL TO In The Air Tonight: It’s a rainy evening in London, a year passed since Harry and Draco’s paths crossed on that island resort. If there is no fate, what could possibly explain what is in store for them next?
WARNINGS: Sexual content, rimming, adult language, HBP compliant, Post-Hogwarts
WORDS: 15,541
NOTES: Inspired by the song ‘Never Tear Us Apart’ by INXS. As Draco is also singing this song in this sequel, I again recommend listening to it (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4NxBicmNNOA). Reference also to ‘One More Night’ by Phil Collins (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=56tC3I_YFhs)

CHAPTERS: |PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | EPILOGUE |

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. JKR owns everything.

* * * * *

PART ONE

“Goddamn fucking rain,” Harry cursed to himself, awkwardly side-stepping to avoid landing directly in a puddle before him. He bumped into a lady holding her briefcase over her head as shelter. He apologised profusely, but she just glared at him and continued on her way. Harry sighed. London in the middle of winter had a way of doing that to people. Wearing you down to the point where you wondered what the fuck you were doing there. The rain and sleet didn’t help the short days where it was dark until late morning and dark again early evening.

It was now one of those evenings. Harry was trying to get home as quickly as the weather allowed after a terrible day at work spent at a desk hunched over inane case after inane case. Less than a year ago, he’d been injured on the job. Shot in the leg by a Muggle-born wizard who had taken it upon himself to try and fill Voldemort’s shoes. The bullet had lodged itself in his knee and caused months of pain and discomfort after a lengthy operation to remove it. They confined him to a desk job with promises he would be back on the field when he was up to it…

Harry scowled. He’d been ‘up to it’ for close to two months now, but still his return to Auror investigations had been delayed. Tonks moaned to him on a daily basis that his replacement as her partner was a huge prick who wouldn’t know what to do with his wand if it came with attached instructions because he was too busy using his wand hand for wanking. Harry had come to the point where he just didn’t know what to tell her anymore. He couldn’t promise her he would be back soon like he had often at the start, because he was starting to suspect the Ministry didn’t want him back on the beat at all.

Harry glanced up the road for any signs of buses or taxis, but there were none within sight, so he continued his path. He couldn’t Apparate home yet because he was still too much in the thick of Muggles. That’s what he hated about this city. Too many faceless people with seemingly no purpose but to be there to get in his way when he was having a bitter and pessimistic day. Just like today…

His life had become boring and unexciting now that he was a paper-shuffler. He wondered regularly if he had ever been satisfied with his lot in life. It hadn’t taken long for him to lose interest in things once his hands weren’t busy getting dirty chasing the crims of the Wizarding world. Each day blended into the next, with the odd night out drinking on the town with his mates to break the monotony. He just couldn’t quite put his finger on when or why his life started being nothing but a chore.

Harry’s mind suddenly flashed to a memory of a moonlit beach like it often did when he was feeling particularly morose. He shook himself to rid his brain of it and pushed it back into the nook where it had come to remain in because nothing would ever make him actually forget that night. Not ever. Not that night… and not that song…

“Get fucked,” Harry mumbled, though he wasn’t quite sure to who or what he was referring. It had been just over a year since that night on the island. It had only been mere weeks once they touched back down in London that he’d been shot. During the many weeks he’d spent in hospital recuperating, Harry found himself frequently wondering if his accident had been punishment for fucking with fate. His encounter on the island had seriously made him rethink his values, but by then, it had all been too late. Harry had gotten on that plane and walked away. Nothing would ever change his decision or the consequences of that.

Since that night, which now seemed like a lifetime ago, Harry hadn’t had a single relationship. He’d slept with a few one-night stands, but disappeared in the morning before they woke up. He was either a huge fucking coward or it was a higher power at work. Harry snorted derisively at himself. He was going with the coward route. Merlin knows he got on that plane that day because he was nothing but a coward.

A loud and obnoxious horn suddenly blasted on the street nearby and Harry jumped, jolted abruptly out of his thoughts, and causing him to stumble into a puddle on the sidewalk. “Oh fuck me!” he swore, jumping back out of the soppy hole and kicking the excess water from his shoes. He put his hand up on the stony wall next to him to brace himself while he brushed the muddy water off his trousers. When he pulled his hand back down, he realised a small portion of a glossy poster had torn off on his palm due to the dampness of the paper. He tried to shake it off, glancing at the offending advertisement with a frown, as if it was to blame for his misfortune with the puddle.

When he saw what was printed on the poster, Harry’s stomach lurched so suddenly into his throat that he feared he might vomit. He gaped at it in utter disbelief, his mouth hanging open and the rain pelting down on him, soaking his hair. He didn’t care. He pressed his shaky fingers to the edge of the wet paper and heard a whimper escape his throat.

PERFORMING LIVE IN BRITAIN FOR THE FIRST TIME!
D
WITH HIS BAND, THE EMERALD HEART
HERE FOR ONE NIGHT ONLY!
TICKETS LIMITED! BOOK EARLY TO AVOID DISAPPOINTMENT!
ENQUIRE INSIDE FOR DETAILS

Silhouetted behind the wording was an image of a slender singer caressing the microphone with his head down, that familiar soft blond hair hanging over his eyes…

Harry’s first instinct was to run very fast in the opposite direction; rain be fucked. He settled for angrily ripping the piece of torn paper off his palm and throwing it into the puddle on the ground. This wasn’t happening! He peeled his wet hair out of his eyes and glared at the poster. What the fuck! He could hear Draco’s voice in his mind spouting how much he loved the island; that it was his home, and he had no intentions of returning to Britain. What a fucking load of bollocks! “YOU ARSEHOLE!” Harry roared at the poster, furiously reefing it off the wall and squeezing it in his clenched fists. Leave, Harry, his mind demanded. Turn around and get into the first cab that comes along and don’t even look back at the theatre.

The next thing Harry knew, he was standing in the theatre’s foyer, staring at a life-sized version of the poster hanging from the roof; this time Draco’s piercing grey eyes staring directly back at him. Harry didn’t know what he was doing there or why he wasn’t leaving immediately. He growled in frustration. Just as he was about to turn and indeed run and not look back, some soft strands of music caught his attention to the left.

The double doors into the auditorium displayed a large handwritten sign declaring SOUND CHECK IN PROCESS and Harry realised then he was hearing the first chords of the song… their song… belting out for all the world to hear. He forced his feet to walk towards the doors and he pushed them open, petrified of what he would see. He hoped to Merlin himself it was just Draco’s band. It would be so much easier if it was just the band.

Although he knew what he was inevitably about to be faced with, Harry didn’t think he could’ve ever been prepared for that moment. He stepped into the darkness at the back of theatre, and there, standing up on stag alone was Draco.

Harry’s heart skipped up its pace and he choked on a small gasp. It was almost a mirror image of the sight he’d been met with in the resort bar a year ago. Though this time, Draco looked so much better. The blond singer hadn’t changed at all, but the sight was like gold to Harry’s eyes. There was no band. Draco was singing to a sound recording and to the bare eye, he could’ve been alone in the whole theatre and seemingly oblivious to the fact.

Harry held himself up against the wall when Draco started singing ‘In The Air Tonight’… That voice – that gorgeous gorgeous voice – piercing right into Harry’s heart all over again. How had this happened? There was no such thing as fate, yet Draco was standing here before him, in London, when Harry had been so sure he would never see his ex-school rival ever again.

The microphone, the unconscious caressing of his own slim torso, the emotion and strength of both the voice and the words… it was all as it had been that night…

Then the song was over, and Harry was left swiping away at some tears from his cheeks as Draco yanked the sound piece from his ear and snapped his fingers, indicating to someone off to the left of the stage. “Franco! The bass is out! Can’t you fucking hear that?! I sound like a fucking Smurf on speed! Deepen it. There is too much feedback too. Fix it.” Draco tucked his hair behind his ears and shook himself, rolling his head around to loosen the neck muscles. “The band isn’t even fucking here. You all better get your act together! We’re live tomorrow night and this is fucking London, not some seedy casino Vegas!” He picked up a bottle of water from the stool before him and took a long drink.

Harry watched Draco’s throat working as he swallowed the cooling liquid. Should he say anything? Make his presence known? He wanted to desperately, but he was suddenly feeling like the World’s Largest Wimp and had no idea what to actually say to get Draco’s attention. ‘Oi’ or ‘Hey you’ seemed a little crass and Draco would probably just tell him to go fuck himself anyway. Was there any point? He opened his mouth a few times to say something, but chickened out each time.

He turned to leave, giving up hope and completely prepared to disappear into the dark, wet evening and never look back, but he got a wave of confidence and turned back. He opened his mouth again and was ready to throw his hand up in the air when the music of the next song boomed out through the large room and Draco resumed his stance at the microphone, taking it back in one hand. Draco’s lips were so close to it, Harry wondered if he was about to kiss it. He didn’t though, instead he started breathing out the words to the next song, and he had Harry transfixed all over again.

Don’t ask me
What you know is true
Don’t have to tell you
I love your precious heart…

Not a thing in the world was making Harry’s arse turn around and leave now. It was another familiar and very famous song. Yet again it was like Harry had never heard it before. Draco wasn’t just singing someone else’s words; he was taking someone else’s words and making them his own. Harry knew enough to know Draco was singing this song to someone, but he chose to ignore the tiny dagger in his heart when he wondered who it was meant for this time. Was the previous song even their song to Draco anymore, or had he forgotten about Harry once Harry left him standing alone on the beach at dawn?

I…
I was standing
You were there
Two worlds collided
And they could never tear us apart…

It was time to leave. Harry had to go, but he couldn’t. Instead, he stepped forward and leant against the one of the seats in the back row. If Draco looked up, he would see Harry standing there… Would he look up?

We could live
For a thousand years
But if I hurt you
I’d make wine from your tears…

Harry put his fingers to his throat. Draco’s hand was resting on his stomach, and Harry knew that just beneath that very thin layer of fabric, Draco’s navel ring was nestled. Harry felt himself start to breathe deeply and his heart start beating faster. He was drawn back to their night of passion on the beach. He’d not only been mesmerised by Draco’s piercing, but also his long hair, sliding silkily though his fingers as they fucked. Why was this happening? He thought he’d gotten over it! Put it all behind him as just a mistake. Now history was repeating and Harry didn’t know how to deal with it.

I told you
That we could fly
cause we all have wings
But some of us don’t know why…

The words. The words of the song were getting to Harry again, but unlike last time, none of them really made any sense. Draco had drawn him again. It was almost like the blond had reached out and was gripping Harry by the heart, holding him there until he heard the last of the song and not letting Harry leave. If only… Draco didn’t even know Harry was there, and if Harry had his way, by the time he song was over, Draco still wouldn’t know Harry was there, or ever had been.

I…
I was standing
You were there
Two worlds collided
And they could never ever tear us apart…

The song reached an instrumental bridge and Draco stepped back from the microphone briefly. His head was still stooped low, but he moved his hips in time to the rich saxophone smoothing out through the sound system. Harry saw Draco lick his lips, the soft tongue swiping ever so quickly over his full lips. As the instrumental reached its peak, Draco snatched up the microphone again, almost embracing it to his chest, and eased into the final part of the song. He looked up, but not in Harry’s direction. He was too focused on singing the song to be paying attention to what he perceived as an empty room.

I…
I was standing
You were there
Two worlds collided
And they could never ever tear us apart…

It was nearly over. The song was nearly over and it was nearly time for Harry to go. The minute the last word is sung, you fuck off, he told himself. No questions whatso-fucking-ever. This is all just a fucking coincidence and not a thing in your life will change if you speak to Malfoy. There is no such thing as fate.

You…
You were standing
I was there
Two worlds collided
And they could never ever tear us apart…

Harry didn’t miss the references in the song switch in the last repeat of the chorus and he was trying to force himself to turn around and run. Draco stepped back from the microphone and wiped some sweat off his forehead from the glaring spotlights. “Perfect! We’re all set. One more run through in the morning, then we’re all systems go for opening tomorrow night. Here’s hoping the fucking rain stops and we still have a full house,” Draco said, once again looking off to the left and sending a thumbs up to whoever he was talking to.

Now, Harry! Fucking speak to him! Harry’s inner conscience screamed. He took another step forward and opened his mouth. At the same time, someone came bouncing from the right hand side of the stage and swept Draco up into his arms, spinning him around.

“Fucking brilliant, D!” the young man enthused. He was about the same age as Harry and Draco with strawberry blond hair and a very nice physique. Harry stared in horror. Oh please let this fucking be the roadie… please! he thought desperately to himself. This wasn’t happening!

Draco laughed. “You’re just biased, love!” He pressed a smacking kiss to the man’s lips and grinned at him. “You better have a very nice and expensive restaurant booked for us tonight. I’m famished and maybe the slightest bit horny.”

“You’re insatiable, honey,” the man chuckled. “Give me one last kiss to get me through and then I’ll go check our booking while you clean up.” He leaned in and Draco never hesitated before they melted into a long snog followed by a warm embrace.

Harry involuntarily whimpered and it echoed through the hall. Draco’s eyes snapped open to look over the man’s shoulder; they connected immediately with Harry’s and widened. Before anyone could move further, Harry spun around and fled the theatre, the door crashing closed behind him.

This time, he didn’t look back.

* * * * *

“I’m not fucking going,” Harry bit out, rolling over in bed with his back to Ron and Hermione. “Fuck off.”

“Free tickets, Harry!” Ron enthused. “You don’t turn down anything free, mate.”

Hermione huffed. “Harry, you’re reeking of booze.”

“And I’m also hung over, so fuck the hell off!” Harry repeated grumpily. “I’m not going to any fucking concert.” He refused to turn back to look at them. They were holding tickets to Draco’s concert that night in their hands. He just knew it. They hadn’t said, but karma was fucking with him. Anything he did these days seemed to come with a little chorus of laughter from the devil of his subconscious constantly sitting on his shoulder now.

He’d come home last night and raided his liquor cabinet. He was so completely hurt over seeing Draco in someone else’s arms, and even more hurt knowing he had no fucking right to feel like that. He’d lost any chance he might’ve had with Draco. Although he had often considered returning to the island for a second chance, he’d never done it. It was his own goddamn fault to be having this flaunted in his face again.

“You’d rather lie about here and wallow for another night?” Hermione asked disapprovingly. “If your job is still getting you down, why don’t you quit?”

Harry groaned. “You call yourself a fucking Professor?! Good idea, Mione! Why didn’t I think of that?!” he grumbled sarcastically. “It’s not my job, even though that is a load of shit too!”

“Come to the concert, Harry!” Ron urged. “We’ll make sure you enjoy yourself.”

Harry sighed, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. “Who’s performing?”

Those dreaded words followed immediately. “D and the Emerald Heart,” Hermione replied happily. “Surely you’ve heard of him? He’s only just made it big in Britain, but he’s been taking America and Canada by storm for the last six months.”

“Do you know who D is, by chance?” Harry sneered, sitting up and flinging his legs over the edge of the bed, looking blearily at his friends. His head was pounding and throwing up felt like a good option at that point. He fumbled in the drawer of his nightstand for a Hangover Potion and swallowed it quickly with a cough.

Hermione shot him a disapproving look, but left off commenting on Harry’s boozy binge from the night before. “He’s a British singer, though he hasn’t lived here for years, apparently. He hit the big time with his remake of ‘In The Air Tonight’.”

Harry looked down at the carpet. “Over ten years…” he mumbled.

“You’re a fan, then?” Hermione asked in surprise. “Well, why in Merlin’s name are you passing up free tickets to his only London concert? I heard a rumour that he’s going to be signing copies if his album after he performs. It might not be true, though. I’ve also heard he’s pretty mysterious and likes his privacy…”

Harry pulled a discarded pair of sweat pants on and stood up. “You’re apparently a huge fan yourself and you don’t even know who he really is? Have you actually looked beyond the blond hair and singing voice?”

“I’m not a fan!” Hermione protested. “I’ve just read all about him…” She shot Ron a sheepish glance. “He’s an interesting person.”

“Then I repeat,” Harry said bluntly. “How come you don’t know who he really is?”

“Do you, Harry?” Ron asked curiously.

Harry closed his eyes briefly, struggling not to burst into tears. “We all do,” he snapped, disappearing into his bathroom and slamming the door shut.

* * * * *

On to PART TWO...