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Harry wasn’t sure why Malfoy was up in the tree, wavering to catch some random piece of fruit amidst large, wide branches. He had left the boy behind, the Slytherin prefect called to deal with other duties. Which was fine, whatever, Harry didn’t want the distracting bastard around anyways. Sure, Malfoy probably could have tracked the bloodthirsty beast a hell of a lot faster, having spent months in a forest with his veela brethren, but he was fine on his own and preferred to work alone anyways.
He wasn’t sure why he thought Malfoys didn’t climb trees… It just seemed like something the Slytherin would say. Sure, Draco could. He was about as athletic as you could get without actually being a jock, his veela heritage having made the blond into a tall, toned slab of pale, sexy prat overnight. He was probably faster too, but Harry didn’t think Malfoy could be that fast to get ahead of him in the forest.
The journey had been slow, treacherous and eventful, Harry following the bloodied trail of the unidentified creature that had attacked a small group of first years at the edge of the castle. Remus and Padfoot were searching the East territory, Hagrid plunging deep into the darkest depths with Buckbeak. Harry had gone willing into the West territory, uncaring that he had no backup. Following what he was certain was the creature’s powerful, magical aura that had the taint of human energy clinging, Harry had come across the peaceful glade. That Malfoy had gotten ahead of him and up the huge tree just didn’t make much sense.
Harry skirted the perimeter of the glade suspiciously. He found the tracks he had been following north, leading a mangled, blood soaked path away. The rogue had not entered the clearing, may not have even seen it. Satisfied that no ambush awaited, Harry silently stepped into the glade and made his way to the base of the towering tree.
Malfoy was reaching precariously for a sapphire colored fruit just beyond his grasp. Fifteen feet above, it was difficult to see his face, but it did seem to look like the blond. His hair was still the same waist length white-blond locks, having grown exponentially when his veela heritage kicked in last summer. It was even in a ponytail, neat and immaculate as always. He was wearing his normal school robes, managing to not have torn or ripped them while Harry’s were already slashed from random creatures and thorns. The blond even moved the same as always, grace and agility refined with pure power just underneath the surface. But it wasn’t Malfoy. Harry couldn’t place what it was that told him, just knew it was something beyond the location and the boy’s activities that gave it away.
A frustrated cry broke Harry from his observations. He was just in time to see Malfoy wobbling to catch his balance, his desired fruit now plummeting to the ground. Harry’s seeker reflexes caught the fallen fruit, but inadvertently alerted the heedless boy to his presence. It wasn’t Malfoy. Not even close.
Harry waited for the creature to climb down, eying the egg shaped fruit absentmindedly. It was such an innate, intimate thing he shouldn’t even know. The boy scrambling down the tree did not have the same magical signature that the real Draco Malfoy had. In fact, the being’s aura was as foreign as his face was similar.
Harry scowled. Why the fuck had he memorized the prat’s magical essence? What fucking good would it be to know that Malfoy’s magic tasted cooler, darker, and dripping with sex?
“Thank goodness for you, boy. That was an amazing catch.” The blond jumped down the last few feet, straightening in front of Harry. He was exactly Draco’s height, a head taller than Harry, shoulder’s wide, jaw angular. “Thought I had lost my dinner for the day. The guardian only allows one fruit for every sunrise…” Harry glared, the stranger falling silent.
That settled it. Malfoy never would have thanked him. He sure as hell wouldn’t be looking at him the way the creature was, like he was the meal and not the fruit in his hand. Malfoy wouldn’t have the damn guts after all they’d been through. Harry relaxed slightly only because it somehow felt safer to be dealing with a doppelganger of some sort, than the real Draco Malfoy.
“Your guardian beast, is it vicious?” Harry asked, looking around cautiously as he absorbed what the blond had said.
Raising his brow in a very Malfoy like way, the boy shook his head. He took the fruit when Harry handed it to him, smirking secretively. “How many vicious guardian trees have you met, human?”
“Er… none, I suppose,” Harry muttered, looking up at the large tree with new understanding. The glade was safe because the tree protected it, giving off a magical aura. It was the first time he had come across such a tree… It also meant the Malfoy lookalike had to be fairly trustworthy to be allowed in the glade and eating the fruit. “So, if you’re calling me human, I have to assume you’re not, correct?”
“That would be an astute judgement, yes.” Eyes sliding up Harry’s form slowly, the boy grinned wickedly. “Tell me; what do you see when you look at me?”
Harry frowned, not liking the more than interested gaze directed at him. “Don’t you know?”
The blond shook his head, hand touching lightly to his features. “My form never changes. But people view me differently. Usually they like what they see, but you have been glaring quite angrily at me. Am I familiar?”
“Yes… very fucking familiar,” Harry grunted, watching as Malfoy’s pink tinted fingers began to dig slightly into his pale skin, moving down his long neck and pausing at the collar of his robes. Up close Harry could see they weren’t school robes, just enchanted to shift as his eyes fell upon them. The boy’s flesh did not shift, not even when the creature began to unzip his robe open.
“What are you doing?” Harry asked, wishing he could step back even as his feet remained motionless. Malfoy’s eyes weren’t glowing silver—That was usually when he recognized the bastard was using his veela powers. But this creature wasn’t a veela. Wasn’t fucking anything he’d ever heard of.
“I want you to describe me. It’s always so interesting to see how the details are perfect. It’s my magic, you see,” the boy teased, head tilting as he unhooked the zipper at the bottom. “All enchancubi are born this way. Only our own species can see our true form.”
“Why?” Harry asked, feeling breathless as the boy that looked just like Malfoy began to push his robe off. He wore nothing underneath, revealing pale, luminous flesh and strong, hard muscle. Harry swallowed unsteadily, eyes unwilling roaming over the planes of said muscle and taking in Malfoy’s crotch with interest.
“Because we can’t feed off of our own, of course,” the blond whispered, taking a step closer, eyes intent on Harry’s face. “Tell me how I look. Tell me what you like about it. Tell me what you’d like me to do to you, pretty human.”
“Oh, hell,” Harry gasped, the blond touching his chest and gently pushing him back. He found his heel hitting the base of the tree, his shoulders quickly following. “Stop,” Harry whispered, wishing he sounded more convincing and wasn’t staring at the muscles of Malfoy’s chest and abs while he said it.
“No. You are far more delectable than that tasteless fruit. I wish to taste you. Will you let me do that? May I taste you, you angry eyed thing?”
Harry shook his head mutely, afraid if he opened his mouth he would have a very different answer. “I… I don’t like him. You, uh, look like someone I hate, and I… God, please stop touching me like that while looking like him.” Harry whimpered, the hand that had landed on his shoulder running down his side, sliding up his shirt and pressing to his flesh. It felt like Malfoy, his hands the same strong, slightly rough touch.
“Close your eyes. You don’t have to see this face if it bothers you so.” The boy brushed his lips lightly to Harry’s ear, his other hand braced on the tree, blocking any thought of escape.
“It does,” Harry insisted, closing his eyes slowly only to open them again, tracing over the blond’s handsome features. “I really can’t stand him.”
“I can tell.” Harry let his eyes fall shut to block the smug smile from his vision. A thumb pressed to his nipple, circling it, fingers pinching and rolling the sore bud. “You can’t stand this face so much, you’re determined to bludgeon me with your erection, I think.”
Harry growled, only to groan, a hot palm cupping his traitorous dick through his jeans. “S-Spell… I can feel it.”
“Yes, you have caught me, pretty boy. I have cast a spell on you to drink your passions down. But I cannot control who I look like. That is completely your fault,” the blond taunted, tongue licking out over Harry’s lips. “You were smelling of sex the moment I jumped down from the tree. I started my spell long after that.”
Gritting his teeth, Harry let out a sudden, sharp breath. “Fuck, just stop talking.”
“You like this voice. It reminds you of him. What do you like about your boy?”
“Nothing!” Harry hissed, grabbing the hand gripping his hip. “I can’t fucking stand him.”
“Come now, I won’t tell. It’s only us here.” The blond brushed his lips to the corner of Harry’s frown. “Even with all your anger, I can feel your need.”
“I don’t…” Harry trailed off, the boy grinding forward into his hips with a slow, hard motion. God, he needed. He needed so badly.
“He’s strong,” Harry whispered. “I like how strong he is.”
“I can see that.” The blond held Harry tighter, pushing him back harder against the tree. “Like this?”
“Oh fuck, yes.” Harry moaned, head falling back heavily. “He’s confident. Never hesitates to—Yes, like that,” he gasped, his t-shirt torn up his torso, hands pulling harshly at his belt while Malfoy’s perfect mouth began to lick his nipple with hard, wet strokes of his tongue. Harry shuddered, tangling his fingers into the blond’s hair, tearing the binding tie loose so the silky locks brushed against his skin.
“Does he take you, pretty boy?” The boy asked, nipping up Harry’s neck, sucking a red welt on his throat, tongue slowly wetting after. “Does he fuck you?”
“Yes, he can’t stop. Can’t ever stop when he touches me.” Harry pulled the blond closer, hands wrenching at the warm, pale flesh. He opened his eyes, unable to keep them closed any longer, wanting to see Draco when he was touching him.
“He takes you hard?” Harry’s belt had finally come undone, his hips rocking forward to meet the fingers unzipping his fly.
“Yes. It’s always…” Harry trembled, fingers brushing over his dick through his underwear. “God, he’s rough with me. He knows I like when he… he can’t stop himself.”
The blond chuckled in Harry’s ear, slamming his hips forward, grinding them together, and then quickly tearing Harry’s jeans and underwear down. “Who could ever stop when you make such… oh, very needy cries, pretty one? He must fuck you raw every night.”
Harry whimpered, shaking his head fitfully while a hot, strong hand wrapped around his hard cock. “Never.”
“Madness. Look at you, so delicious and tight,” the boy said heatedly, free hand running down Harry’s hip, moving back to cup his ass and squeeze hard. “What a crime your boy has committed, ignoring one such as you. Shall I fix it for you?”
Barely able to comprehend the words over the feel of the rhythmic tugs on his dick, Harry nodded weakly.
“Oh, pretty one, shall I fuck you? Do you want me to take you?”
Gasping, Harry bit back another moan. “N-no,” he choked out, body arching on the tree as the hand on his ass began trembling fingers towards his entrance.
“Do you want him to fuck you?” The boy asked instead, smiling wickedly when Harry cried out in reply. “Tell me his name. Tell me the name of the fool who will not have you, my delectable boy.”
“D-Draco,” Harry whispered, something inside of him melting just to say his name while he was held by someone who looked just like Malfoy. Harry pressed closer, palms moving up the blond’s sides, fingers dragging in, wrenching closer.
“Open your eyes, beautiful. Open your eyes and watch his face drink you down.” Lips brushed Harry’s lightly, the brunette trying to press into the touch, only to have them withdraw. God, he wanted a kiss. A proper, wild kiss where Draco would devour his mouth like before.
Realizing he had again closed his eyes, his mind focused on the sensations running through his body, Harry pried them open. “Oh fuck… Draco you’re…” Harry let out a shattered moan, the boy sinking to his knees before him, hot hand replaced with an unimaginably hot mouth and tongue. It wasn’t a kiss but it was fucking fine and Harry was not complaining. He watched, gaze transfixed as the blond’s lips parted to the head of his cock, slowly engulfing him into wet heat. Pink lips held tight as his dick plunged in, saliva trickling down the corners of Draco’s mouth, his tongue rubbing the underside of his shaft.
“That’s it,” Harry muttered, fisting the boy’s silky hair, fingers twisting tight as he thrust forward into the overwhelming heat. “That’s how you like it… On your knees, Malfoy… Fuck… Full of my cock.” Draco’s face was flushed, cheeks pink, sweat trickling down his forehead while Harry continued to hold the boy in place and fuck his mouth. Draco opened wider, hot, clear fluid dripping down his chin as he led Harry deeper inside. “Oh hell.”
Harry came with a groan, forcing his eyes to stay open, needing to watch Draco swallow him down, drink everything he gave the boy. He wasn’t disappointed, the blond greedily taking everything he had, lips and tongue milking Harry for more before eventually letting his softening length go. Falling back against the tree, Harry heaved for breath, eyes closed as he tried to hang on to the mental image of Draco, lips wrapped around his cock, face twisted in need.
“Delicious. You are the tastiest meal I’ve had in ages, pretty boy,” the blond said, pulling Harry’s pants up, tucking him in and zipping him tight. Standing, he rested both hands on the tree, trapping Harry in place. He breathed the brunette’s scent in, sighing deeply. “I have not fed on so much passion—I must thank you, human. Please, you must let me return such a gift.”
Seeing how Harry had just cum, he really didn’t think he needed anything else at the moment. Then, as if reality had found a way to creep back into his lust addled mind, he remembered where the hell he was and why he was there.
“I’m seeking something… A beast that attacked my classmates. His trail went by here, heading north.” Harry ran a hand over his face, rubbing his temples as he felt the spell slipping away that he’d been ensnared in.
“You mean the maddened one. I know of it. The creature is deadly and will taint all it touches.” The boy gently removed Harry’s hand, running fingers over the brunette’s face, lingering on his lower lip. “I will guide you, if you wish. I can lead you to its lair.”
Harry nodded, swallowing hard. The lust spell had slipped away, but he still wanted to kiss the boy badly. “What… What do I call you?” He asked, needing any name just so long as it wasn’t Malfoy’s.
“I am called Dren, my pretty one. But I will not be upset if you call me by his name.” He ran his palm along Harry’s jaw, grasping his cheek, fingers curling against his neck. “Meet me here tomorrow before noon. I will lead you to your monster.”
Harry nodded, making no move to leave, eyes caught on Draco’s silver gaze. “Dren, can I kiss you?”
“I tend not to, human. It can ruin the illusion if you’ve kissed him before.” Dren leaned closer to Harry, lips pressing to the corner of his mouth. “It is such an intimate thing, so unique to each person. And you have kissed your boy. I can tell. He’s taken you, pretty one. He’s had you hard and you are aching for him.”
Harry just nodded silently, unable to deny it. Eyes running over Draco’s features, he felt the familiar pang of regret. “Once. And it will never happen again.”
“Let me give you a gift, pretty one.”
“Harry,” he whispered, finding it difficult to hear Malfoy call him pretty all the time. Draco had called him beautiful once, never pretty.
“Harry, I have a gift. To help you find what you’re looking for,” Dren said softly, right before a wave of magic crashed down on Harry. The brunette started, jerking away, eyes wide as he fell to his knees.
“Shit—What did you do? You can’t just—You don’t just spell people, Dren! It’s not right!”
“It is harmless, boy, I promise,” Dren said, helping Harry to his feet.
Harry only glowered, not a fan of being spelled without consent, no matter what he had just done with the boy. Especially since he probably would not have done what he had done if not for a different spell. The damn enchancubus was as bad as the veela. Just fucking taking without ever asking. Without caring that they were faced with a damn person, not just a meal to enjoy.
“I have to get out of here,” Harry muttered, making sure his shirt was pulled down and he hadn’t lost anything important while being pawed at. He dusted his knees off as he stood, avoiding the blond’s eye. “You’re fed, right? I can trust you won’t pull any of this shit tomorrow when I return?”
“I will be perfectly behaved. Unless you wish me otherwise,” the blond teased, again reaching for Harry’s face as if he were going to caress it. Harry ducked away, scowling.
“Stop it. I can’t be distracted tomorrow and I need to focus now and I wish you would just… just stop looking like him.” Grumbling, Harry checked again to make sure he had his wand still tucked away in his tattered robes. “I will meet you mid-morning. Be ready.”
“I will be, but understand I do not battle, pretty Harry. I am not a warrior no matter how I may appear.”
Harry suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Of course he wasn’t. No, Dren was the other kind of predator that wove spells and enchantments to manipulate his prey right into his lap. And if it hadn’t been sex—if it had been blood or flesh—Harry probably would have killed the arrogant thing. But it had been sex, and with a particular Slytherin, and Harry had not been willing to pass that up no matter how bad an idea it was. Sex with Malfoy equaled death. The last time, seventeen deaths, to be exact. This was certainly a safer compromise.
Harry left without another word, stalking forward into the dangerous forest with his wand drawn. He was in a fighting mood and there was plenty on the way back to the castle to terrorize.
Night had fallen and Harry was exhausted by the time he got back to the castle. He had owled his report to Sirius, unwilling to search for his godfather and actually have to talk. He was hungry, he was tired, and he was feeling fucked up in the head. Limping slowly, Harry made his way to the Great Hall where he could hear the distant roar of students. He had made it just in time for dinner, and after eating he was planning on bed.
Grimacing in pain, Harry tucked his damaged left arm closer to his body to keep from bleeding all over the floor and made his way towards a well deserved, hot meal.
“Shit, Potter, did you walk into every beast in the damn forest?”
Harry froze, glaring dully at the floor. Un-fucking-believable. He didn’t bother looking up, just started limping again. “Get lost.”
Huffing, Draco walked into Harry’s view, coming up from the side corridor that led down into the dungeons. “Believe it or not, I’m not here to bother you. I’m hungry.” He tilted his head down the hall, Harry raising his gaze to stare in growing dread. The Great Hall was full and Malfoy was going to walk in with him.
“Did you catch the bastard?” Draco asked quietly, his eyes roaming over Harry and thankfully not glowing with need. “You look like you went a few rounds with him… Potter, your arm is broken.”
Harry shrugged, eyes slipping over Draco’s leather boots. The boy was always dressing in leather now, something to do with his veela heritage. “I’m going out tomorrow. I found someone to lead me to its den.” Shaking his head as he thought of Dren and his fucked up afternoon, Harry tried to walk faster and ignore the boy. That Malfoy just felt the need to chat with him after what had happened in the forest was just icing on the damn shit cake for Harry’s nerves. He could feel his anger rising, his jaw tensing almost painfully.
Draco stood still, watching the boy struggle to walk. Eventually he strode forward, getting ahead of the brunette and forcing him to stop. Harry still refused to meet his eye, staring stubbornly at the floor. “Potter, there’s food in the infirmary. I’ll help you. Just… just stop bleeding everywhere.”
Eyes snapping up, Harry glared the taller boy down. He could see it, just beneath the blond’s guarded surface. Concern. “Fuck off, Malfoy. I don’t need your fucking help, so just get the fuck away from me.”
Nostrils flaring, Draco inhaled sharply, his face a stone mask of restrained rage. He stepped to the side and Harry limped forward, ignoring the Slytherin once again as he made it to the long Gryffindor table. He didn’t acknowledge anyone, just sat at the closest empty seat and began pulling food towards him with his one usable arm.
“Move the hell over.”
Harry kept his head down, trying very hard to ignore the asshole of a Slytherin that was shoving some poor fourth year Gryffindor off his bench just to sit across from him. It was difficult, said asshole slamming his fists down on the table once he sat and pointedly glaring at him. Malfoy didn’t even bother eating, the damn prat.
Harry’s appetite was quickly dwindling and he was considering just skipping dinner and going straight to bed. As if reading his thoughts, Malfoy finally opened his mouth.
“I’m taking you to Pomfrey’s.”
“Over my dead body,” Harry gritted out, nearly biting his fork in his anger.
“The way you’re bleeding out, in five minutes that will likely be the case,” Draco snapped back.
“You know what will slow my bleeding? You shutting the fuck up!”
“What the hell is your damn problem, Potter?” Draco snarled, hands tightening into fists.
“You, you fucking git.” Harry stood abruptly, eyes widening as he fell forward, his vision going dim around the edges. “Shit… I might have needed some of that blood.”
Draco grabbed his shoulders to steady the brunette, but Harry reared back from the touch, nearly toppling over the bench backwards. Harry grabbed onto his neighbor’s shoulder to keep from tumbling, catching himself and panting.
“Potter…” Draco’s voice was alert, full of warning.
“I fucking see them, Malfoy,” Harry gritted back, noticing for the first time that no one was talking. They were in the Great Hall surrounded by students of all ages and no one was talking. Not even the person who he had grabbed and likely injured while trying not to fall. Harry straightened, trying to catch the eye of the oddly motionless person still under his hand. He gulped, Colin staring back at him, eyes hungry and intent.
“Malfoy, whatever you’re doing, fucking stop it,” Harry whispered hoarsely, anxiety twisting his stomach as he recognized the look in the many eyes turned his way.
“I’m not doing fucking shit,” Draco shot back, looking around at all the faces silently staring at Harry as if he was their dessert.
“You’re the only goddamn veela in this entire school—”
“Am I glowing?” Draco growled. “Are my eyes bright? Feathers? Do you feel any fucking thing for me besides your stubborn, unceasing anger? It’s not fucking me!”
Glowering, Harry forced himself to look at Malfoy just to make sure the git wasn’t lying. Tall, gorgeous, not glowing. Harry immediately looked away, taking in the faces staring back at him. “That fucker,” he hissed, the pieces clicking together in his mind. “That fucking enchancubus!”
“What? What the hell are you…” Draco fell silent, extracting himself from the bench as the students started standing. “Potter, you need to get out of here.”
“No fucking shit,” Harry muttered, nearly falling again as he tried to get around the bench, his tattered school robes tripping him up. His body burned pain and he gaped, someone having the nerve to grab his broken arm and start licking his blood. Panic began to rise in Harry, his heart racing, breath coming out in short bursts. “Oh hell, don’t do this to me. I can’t handle anymore pawing!”
He pulled from the grasp, falling back over the bench. He likely would have cracked his skull on the floor if Draco didn’t suddenly surge over the table and catch him by the collar. Harry didn’t even have the strength to be angry about the boy touching him, panic causing him to gasp for air. “Make them stop… Please… make them stop.”
Looking at him as if he’d lost his mind, Draco jumped onto the table and then hauled Harry up with him. “Get yourself together, Potter. It’s just some fucking kids with an urge to touch.” Draco pushed the closest back sharply with his foot, the girl falling back to her seat heavily. “Calm down and we can just walk out of here.”
Harry whimpered, shaking his head fitfully. “I don’t… I don’t want to be touched—God, I can’t… I can’t handle this.”
“Are you freaking out?” Draco asked, confusion and disbelief twisting his features.
Harry just whimpered, stepping backwards when someone reached for his ankle and nearly falling as plates slipped and cracked beneath his shoes. Draco had to grab both his shoulders just to keep him from falling to the ground. Everyone was too close, staring at him, trying to touch him with their hands outstretched.
“Potter, I’m going to fix this,” Draco said softly, right in his ear as he curled around his back. Harry struggled, realizing what the boy was going to do.
“Don’t—Don’t fucking do that,” Harry pleaded, knowing he sounded like a crazy person and unable to stop. He could feel the lightest of pulses, the beginnings of such familiar power wrapping around him. Draco only held him tighter, keeping him from slamming his broken arm while Harry fought to get away.
“It’s okay. I know you’re scared, but it’s okay.”
It wasn’t. It really fucking wasn’t. “There has to be—Please don’t.”
“You can fight it, Potter. You’re very good at fighting the pull.”
Harry shivered, already hearing it in Draco’s voice. Desire curled around his ear, touching against his throat, tingling down through his core. “You’re too close.”
“I was this close last time. Just weeks ago. You walked away like it was nothing,” Draco murmured, hands loosening as Harry began to calm from the sound of his voice. “They’re going to look at me now. And you… You’re just going to step away like you always do.”
Harry tried to ignore the bitterness in Draco’s voice. He tried not to care that the last time the blond had lost control he had been fighting with Harry, nearly punching him into a wall because the Gryffindor had said another really fucking terrible thing. But Draco hadn’t punched him. He had started glowing, groaning and pulling away while every student from every class flowed out of doorways to get to the veela halfling.
It had not been easy to walk away. Harry had wanted to crawl on hands and knees and beg Draco to forgive him for being such an angry, rude asshole all the time. He had wanted to strip and kneel and beg the boy to take him, to fuck him as good as he knew Draco could, hard and relentless. He had wanted the boy to hold him, caress him, love him and never leave him again. That was what Harry was feeling now, all those things on top of exhaustion and pain. He did not know if he could walk away.
Harry looked down, the outstretched hands no longer reaching for his legs. Now they were on Draco’s, pressing into him lightly, some more boldly pulling at the boy’s slacks. That was all they ever did when Draco made his call. They just pressed against him. Sometimes someone tried to kiss him. Harry, for whatever fucked up reason, always wanted to do so much more.
“Go on, Potter. They’re not going to touch you,” Draco whispered, so very still behind him, hands resting carefully on his shoulders. Like Harry would break if the boy just touched a little too hard. Like maybe Draco would break if he let his grip grow tighter.
Harry swallowed hard, his mouth feeling wet. He wanted to turn. He wanted to see Draco’s glowing, silver eyes and beg him for forgiveness. He had taken so much from the blond, had taken the unforgivable. Which was why Harry never looked. There would be no forgiveness for what he had done. He didn’t deserve to be forgiven.
Limbs trembling, pain lancing through his arm, Harry took a cautious step forward, the hands parting to let him through, Draco’s fingers falling away. He stooped, getting his feet awkwardly to the bench, sitting on the table and then thumping down the next level with his injured arm tight against his body. He didn’t dare look back, still feeling Draco calling him, promising mercy and love like the deceiver he was. Harry pushed forward, limping painfully with each step as he struggled to get to the Great Hall doors.
Harry shut the doors behind him but it only blocked the call a little. Draco could pull everyone in the castle to him with ease if he tried, and all they would do is press a hand to him. Harry was the only one who could walk away, and he was in love with the prat. It was cruel. How unfair for him to face a power that would have allowed him to finally give in to his feelings, only to be too strong to succumb to it.
Harry kept walking, feeling Draco in the back of his mind, seeing him like a pale, shining light of power and desire. It was the worst when Draco was like this. He thought the boy cared. Maybe, even deep within his frozen exterior, Malfoy did. It didn’t matter. There was no fixing what Harry had broke. There was no reseeding what had barely bloomed once before.
Harry fell against the wall, darkness encroaching on his vision. He didn’t want to go any further. He could feel the edge of Draco’s call, the pull ending right where he stood. He didn’t want to go past it. He wanted to stay, turn around, and return to the boy. But he couldn’t do that either, so he stood, eyes closed, giving in to the weariness of his body and heart.
Draco found Harry passed out halfway to the infirmary. The boy was slumped over against the wall bleeding down the side, yet somehow managing to still stand. Harry was resilient like that. Resilient, powerful, and miserably stubborn.
It had taken Draco a while to pull himself from the Great Hall. Not from the students—He had gotten used to the odd side effect and had learned to manipulate people well enough to back them off to a good couple feet away. No, he had taken his time to calm himself down, Harry’s scent still full in his senses, the boy’s damn magic-soaked blood dripping all around him. The things Potter did to him just being there… It had been awhile before he could shut down his call, the power hand in hand with his arousal. Harry made Draco hard, wanting, and damn maddened at every turn. Giving in just a little bit was a dam bursting of desire and so hard to hold back from.
Even now he struggled, Draco under control and Harry so exhausted he had fallen asleep on the wall, bleeding and unable to get fully away from his call. He told himself to shut it down, to stuff the damn feelings inside and down into the darkness within. It was difficult, Harry’s face free of anger for a change. Harry had been angry for a long time now, ever since Draco had taken something he shouldn’t have. That he still wanted it… Well, it just revealed how much of a monster he was.
Harry swayed, mumbling softly when Draco gently pulled him off the wall and into his arms. And if he lingered, eyes sliding over Harry’s face currently covered in blood, dirt and sweat, he couldn’t blame himself. He was connected to the boy even if the brunette couldn’t feel it. Harry was Draco’s mate even if they never spoke a kind word again or kissed or touched or even loved. Draco was bound to the reckless, wild boy and had no regrets for it.
“Come on, Potter. Let’s get you patched up.” He lifted Harry easily, wrapping the boy’s toned, tanned arms around his neck and holding him beneath his thighs. He carried him slowly down the hall, feeling the weight of the boy, smelling his hair and his flesh and blood. He was beautiful—Fucked up and absolutely beautiful.
Something had gotten to Harry while he was out in the Forbidden Forest. Draco wasn’t certain what, but he knew it had lust properties similar to a veela. His beast inheritance had come with new senses, ones absolutely fixated on every aspect of sex, including the magic that influenced it. That’s how he could sense that Harry had been enchanted. It was also how he knew the boy wanted him, for all his angry, vicious behavior and words. But Harry also hated him and that came first before anything else.
Draco waited outside the door to the hospital wing, leaning against the wall with Harry still wrapped in his arms. It was completely his fault. He had lost control months ago when he first woke up as a veela. He hadn’t even understood half of what he was doing, so overcome with the strange, new instincts. He had wanted to live. He had wanted Harry.
Shaking his head at his own stupidity, Draco pushed the door open with his foot, laying the boy down on the nearest cot. He went in search of Madame Pomfrey, finding her in her office sipping a cup of tea.
“Mr. Malfoy, not another slip, I hope?” Pomfrey asked, looking sternly over her cup at him, paperwork surrounding her on the table.
“Not exactly,” Draco said with a faint blush. He wasn’t supposed to let his veela call loose in the castle anymore. Although he had enough control to keep himself protected, it could get really embarrassing for the other students. That he still couldn’t seem to keep the call isolated to a small area was also concerning, or so his veela cousins had suggested. “It’s Potter. He’s back from his hunt and wounded. Also he’s been enchanted.”
Pomfrey stood, clucking under her breath. “Of course he is. Heaven forbid if the boy could walk outside these castle walls and not end up at death’s door.”
Draco silently agreed, Harry an absolute menace for anything ordered and peace oriented. Even more so lately as if the boy was deliberately trying to get himself killed. Draco frowned at the thought, moving aside to let the healer by. Everyone else had been enjoying the spoils of a Voldemort free world while Harry had been quietly drifting, growing smaller and dimmer until all Draco noticed half the time was his anger.
“Oh dear,” Pomfrey gasped, backpedaling into the room and slamming the door behind her. Draco raised a brow, confused at the display. “It’s strong,” she explained, a faint blush on her cheeks as she fanned herself. “My god, I thought you veela were bad.”
“What, you’re saying it’s worse than a veela call?” Draco asked, completely horrified at the thought.
Moving shakily, Pomfrey waved her hand, summoning supplies to a tray. “That would depend on the level of control that particular veela has. You have been very tame, Mr. Malfoy, which we are all grateful for, by the by. But I’m sure if you so chose it, you could have us all eating out of your palm, in a manner of speaking.”
Draco shook his head, not certain at all of such a thing. His call was far reaching but not potent. Not like his cousins who could take the mating call and, well, use it to mate. Not always by choice of their object of affection. Draco had been glad that his call had never been so strong.
“Whatever has spelled Harry, it’s powerful. It will not be satisfied by touch, putting him in greater danger by those who feel the effect. Thankfully, it seems to be contained by walls. Do we know what caused this?”
Mind drifting back to the Great Hall, Draco tried to remember what Harry had said. “I think he called it an enchancubus. I’ve never heard of it before.”
Pausing, Pomfrey began mixing up some potions. “I have. A rare creature that can change its appearance to lure in prey and feed off of them.”
“Feed?” Draco hissed, his eyes narrowing.
“Just sex. Nothing gruesome,” Pomfrey assured. “But they’re powerful magic. I will have to do some research to see if we can’t make him an antidote of some sort. For now, you are going to have to be my helper.”
Draco blinked down, Madame Pomfrey placing the tray of potions and bandages into his hands. “Um, the thing is…” He really shouldn’t be alone with Harry. Especially when the boy was weak, bleeding, and asleep. At least when Harry was swearing at him, Draco was able to see things objectively.
“You were able to bring him here. I can only assume you are immune to the spell. He’s badly hurt; I noticed that much.” She gave him an accessing look, eyes piercing. “You will be fine, Mr. Malfoy, like you were the last time when faced with him. Once he is healed, you must take him to one of the single rooms or I will be trapped in my office. Understood?”
Draco nodded, his stomach twisting in knots. If he lost his shit, she would not be able to help. He wished sometimes there were other veela in the school, ones with enough knowledge and power to help him get through moments like this.
Sighing, he turned, letting Pomfrey step back further into the room before he quickly opened the door, slipped through and closed it. He started, eyes drawn up when he heard a noise, meeting Harry’s surprised, wide eyed gaze. Draco didn’t move, didn’t breathe, forcing the memory of flesh, sweat, and moans from his mind.
“Where’s Pomfrey?” Harry croaked, Draco flinching from the sound of fear in the boy’s voice.
“You’ve been enchanted,” he said flatly, forcing himself to move in slow, cautious steps so he didn’t startle Harry. It was only half successful, the brunette watching him like a hawk. A terrified, wide eyed hawk ready to claw the instant he slipped up. “She can’t help until she brews up an antidote. Fortunately, I can.” He tried to be light about it, but his voice just sounded grim in his ears.
Eying the blond warily, Harry sat up in the cot, putting his back to the wall and raising his chin as if ready for a fight. Draco would not be surprised if the boy started one, Harry obviously feeling cornered and overwhelmed. “She mixed up some calming draught,” Draco said, raising the vial.” If Harry didn’t want it, he would gladly drink it down.
Glaring at the blue-green liquid, Harry gave a curt nod, making the barest of beckoning motions for Draco to approach. Not fully trusting that the boy wouldn’t bolt or try to break his nose, Draco first went to the bedside table, placing the tray down so nothing could be spilled if Harry decided he’d rather brawl. He hadn’t really spoken to Harry much since the incident—Not that they ever really did before. They were in two different houses, lived two very different lives that shared amazing similarities. But somehow that year, for all of Draco trying to avoid the Gryffindor, they had managed to run across each other more and more, usually with Harry swearing up a storm, being absolutely rude, and smelling delicious. And for whatever reason, Draco was having a very difficult time ignoring Harry like he had promised himself he would.
Harry took the vial when handed to him, sipping and making a face at the bitter flavor. He eyed the metal tray, mind calculating what everything was for. Handing the drained bottle back to Draco’s waiting hand, Harry fixed him with a glare. “I’m not taking my clothes off.”
Draco scoffed, eyes narrowing at the challenge. “You think I can fix a broken arm when I can’t even see it?”
“Do I look like I give a fuck? I’ll wait until Pomfrey brews up that antidote,” Harry said sharply.
Draco just waited, hoping the damn calming draught would have an effect eventually. Anything concerning will tended to be useless against Harry. Which was why magic ranging from veela calls to the Imperius curse never worked properly. Harry was as stubborn as possible, defying even the laws of magic. Draco couldn’t help but admire it.
“Will you compromise with me?” Draco asked, hands held limply at his side, palms open. Dealing with Harry was like dealing with a wild, injured animal most of the time. He always found himself overly aware of his body language, trying to keep the boy from freaking out.
Harry stirred slightly, having grown drowsy, startling green eyes slightly hazy. Blinking, he hesitantly pushed his robe off, letting the shredded material fall to the bed. Draco held back a sigh, the brunette somehow more damaged underneath the robe, his t-shirt slashed and bloodied.
“Why the hell did you go out there without armor? It looks like you rolled out of bed and decided to go hunting the creature without any preparation at all.” Harry looked away, smirking widely, and Draco realized that had been exactly what had happened. The boy was a reckless fool.
He took a step towards the bed, preparing to heal the broken arm first. Harry stiffened, eyes once again glaring at him, body held as if getting ready to bite or run. “I just want to heal your arm. It must hurt, right?”
Harry’s glare intensified as if pointing out that he was in pain was beyond the rules of whatever fucked up game they were playing. “It’s fine.”
“It’s broken. You can’t move it. I can see the bone trying to push out of your skin. Would you like another calming draught?” One was usually the limit for someone of Harry’s height and weight, but Draco was willing to push the boundaries if it would get the boy to calm the fuck down. At the brunette’s nod, Draco carefully handed another vial over, Harry’s hands shaking when he took it. The boy threw it back like a shot this time, making Draco wonder if he shouldn’t have tried to get some alcohol instead.
“Alright… But just my arm. I don’t want it to heal fucked up,” Harry muttered, tearing at the shreds of bloodied shirt tangled around his left shoulder, managing to bare his side and half his chest in the process. Draco hissed when the boy’s tanned skin came into view, bruised, slashed, and a distinct burn pattern revealed.
Harry glared, chin again raising defiantly. “Just the arm.”
“Like hell. That’s a vice vine burn. You’ve been poisoned.” Draco stopped himself from continuing, hands held up in defeat. “Fine, the arm for now. Maybe you’ll feel like getting the rest healed after you see how much better it feels.” He didn’t really believe it but was hoping the double dose of calming draught might actually knock the boy out. Harry was already swaying, eyelids heavy, and looking far too sexy for his own good.
Closing his eyes for a moment, Draco counted to ten. As he carefully approached the bed, eyes fixed on the brunette’s arm and not the cautious green glare following him, he wondered if Harry was more afraid of him, or himself. Draco could smell it now that he was next to the boy, fingers gently probing his broken arm. Bleeding, exhausted, and in excruciating pain, Harry still managed to be aroused, body nearly brimming with want. Want for him, which only made it all the more infuriating when the brunette snapped and snarled the way he did.
Draco held Harry’s arm firmly, feeling the muscles tense beneath his palms. “This will hurt,” he said, then squeezed, feeling the broken bones realign beneath his fingers. Harry merely hissed, teeth gritted as he grimaced. Holding the boy’s arm in place with one hand, Draco used his wand in the other, knitting a binding around the bones so that they would heal properly when the accelerator potion was applied. He worked swiftly, not immune to Harry’s increased breathing, never mind flooding of scent. How Potter could get fucking hard while being patched up was beyond him. Harry did seem to have a damn pain kink.
Draco stepped back once the arm was bandaged, more for himself than the now scowling Gryffindor. Shit, the boy was always so goddamn angry. It was like the harder Harry got, the fucking angrier he was. Considering how angry Potter always seemed to be, Draco imagined the boy was always goddamn hard. He shut his eyes again, counting to twenty, trying to focus on the caustic smell of antiseptic and not the alluring scent of Harry’s musk. It was difficult… very difficult…
“Stop,” Harry hissed, feeling the beginnings of Draco’s pull, warm tendrils slipping around his flesh.
Growling, Draco stepped away, crossing the room and facing the other direction. Harry’s scent didn’t reach this far, his breath not loud enough. His magic could still be felt, pulsing like some siren’s call, but Draco had learned to ignore that months ago. Harry’s magic was always so strong to him, always so loud and begging for connection.
Mine, Draco thought, trying not to hate the half of him that had made it so. Harry was his and trying to twist his magic around him to pull him down into his fucked up, angry self.
Draco wanted to give in. He wanted to be consumed by the boy’s heated, dark desire. Taste his skin again. Feel his tight flesh open to him…
“Shit, Malfoy, just get the fuck out of here. You clearly can’t control yourself since having to… stop them.” Harry was panting, the barest of need in his voice that Draco couldn’t help but focus on. “I’m glad you stopped them… but you’re not in control and…” Harry trailed off when Draco turned, the boy’s green eyes dark and full of desire beneath heavy lashes.
“I’m in control of myself,” Draco said flatly, eyes roaming over the beautiful boy. He had not jumped Harry. He had not pinned him down and stolen a hundred deep kisses. He had not even touched the boy’s flesh the way he wanted, pulling hot moans and aching cries from Harry’s lips. Draco was in perfect bloody control of himself and had been since returning to school after learning said control from the veelas. That he called sometimes trying to pull his chosen one to him was to be more than expected, and Draco had managed to avoid even that every goddamn day.
“I don’t believe you,” Harry said, frown growing when Draco slowly returned, crossing the distance between them.
Draco wanted to remind him what he could do, what he had done when he lost control. Harry knew the fucking difference, knew what it was like when he couldn’t stop—Didn’t even have enough in him to want to stop. But Draco didn’t dare speak the words to call back that memory. They would never speak of it again. He had been desperate and newly changed and Harry… Harry had been beautiful and powerful and dripping in blood and scent that had just been irresistible. Draco knew how to resist now. He did it every day.
“How does your arm feel?” Draco asked evenly, knowing his face was blank, his eyes cold again.
Huffing, Harry managed to shrug without wincing. Clearly it was better.
“Let me get the poison out. It’s just a salve to heal the vice vine.” Draco held up the pot, not surprised that the healer had managed to spot the hint of blue to Harry’s lips even while fighting the powerful enchantment on the brunette.
Swallowing hard, Harry shook his head no, now completely adverting his eyes. Draco took it as a positive sign, the brunette tired enough to let some of his anger go. Draco sat carefully on the side of the bed, making sure not to touch the boy in any way. It was five long minutes of strained breathing, Harry’s throat showing signs of swelling from the invasive toxin the plant carried before he finally relented, pushing the rest of his shredded t-shirt over his head.
Draco kept silent, knowing anything he said would be taken the wrong way. He gave Harry another minute before even moving, and then it was just to touch his wand to any particularly nasty wound and heal it quickly, avoiding the pattern of poisoned flesh for now. Harry still jumped when Draco opened the small jar of light green salve, eyes blinking sleepily as he watched Draco’s fingers dip in and coat.
“W-Wait,” Harry whispered, Draco’s fingertips nearly an inch from the largest of the wounds. Draco stilled, feeling the tension in the boy, energy jolting through Harry’s form even as his muscles relaxed further, the calming draught flowing deeper into his cells.
“Ready?” Draco asked when the brunette made no more protests. Harry was still staring at his fingers, eyes completely hazy now.
“Okay,” Harry breathed out, sinking deeper back, relaxing against the wall. He closed his eyes at the first touch of fingers, sighing softly as the salve soothed the burning sensation on his skin.
Draco tried to work quickly and efficiently but his hands would not obey him. They kept straying, kept slowing and touching, small caresses that just begged for more. And Harry, eyes barely opened, just watched his hands as they pressed firmly into his skin and rubbed slick circles and patterns into the slowly disappearing wounds. Eventually there were no more marks on his flesh and Draco had to force himself to stop. To touch the boy then was to cross a line he had no right to cross. It was difficult, especially when Harry kept sighing soft, breathless sighs, his hips rocking subtly up when Draco pressed down.
It would be so easy to kiss him, Harry nearly asleep, gaze meeting his while he rested slumped on the wall. “Don’t fall asleep, Potter,” Draco warned, taking in the boy’s stunning eyes and full, parted lips. He was beautiful and far too vulnerable to be alone with Draco in that moment.
Harry smirked weakly, eyelids drooping lower. “Thought you were… in control,” he whispered, his voice the barest of murmurs in the room.
“I am,” Draco whispered back, cupping Harry’s face, dipping forward to steal just one small, little kiss. He stilled, centimeters away, an unfamiliar scent filling his senses.
“Has someone—Have you been with someone, Potter?” He asked abruptly, moving over Harry’s skin, breathing deep and trying to figure out just what the hell Harry was covered in. It wasn’t human. Wasn’t veela. But it reeked of magic, sex magic, and Draco found himself growling the lower on Harry he got and the more he smelled the creature. “Fucking—Are you fucking shitting me?” He snarled, pulling Harry’s waistband forward only to be assaulted by the creature’s scent.
He snapped his gaze up, Harry’s eyes blinking dazedly back at him. “Who, Potter? Who the fuck touched you? Did he fuck you? Did you let some fucking lust creature fuck your beautiful body while I can’t even touch you?” Draco hated the misery so clear in his voice. Harry could fight every lust power he knew of, even from his stronger, full blooded veela cousins. But he had let this creature touch him.
Harry held his hand up, fingers nearly taking Draco’s eyes out before the boy’s intent was clear. He covered the blond’s mouth. “Don’t call me that. Only he can call me that.”
Draco was pissed, and Harry insisting only another man could call him something was not helping. “I will call you whatever the hell I want. You are—”
“No,” Harry mumbled, eyes drifting closed again. “Only Malfoy calls me beautiful.”
“For fuck sake,” Draco moaned grabbing the fingers that were slipping down his chin as Harry’s breath began to even out. “Damn you, Potter. Damn you for doing this to me.” He could not help it when he ran his lips over Harry’s fingertips, tongue reaching out, tasting dirt, sweat and the brunette’s distinct flavor of flesh.
He had to know. It would haunt him forever if he had let Harry go out alone only to be fucked by some enchanted predator.
Dumbledore had asked him to stay back, to make the terrible phone calls to the parents of the three Slytherin students attacked that morning. By the time he had learned that Harry had been asked to go out and had left alone, Draco had then had to deal with the panicked parents of said students, one particularly angry brute threatening to hex him into oblivion if he did not get to see his daughter. Draco had been forced to restrain the man, the children tainted and contagious with no cure in sight. The entire day he had been worried for Harry being out there alone with a crazed beast. It had been a shit day and now here was Harry, dripping in another’s scent, covered in an enchantment that would surely only draw more people with many scents to cover him. It was too much.
Growling, Draco released Harry’s hand, using both of his to quickly untangle the sleeping boy’s belt. He had the brunette’s pants down to his knees in less than a minute, hissing and pulling them off entirely when he saw the huge gash on the boy’s thigh that ran down to his calve. God, he was a fucking mess. Glaring at the wound a long moment, Draco deliberately ignored it, hands sliding to Harry’s briefs.
“I will fucking kill him, Potter,” he promised, pressing his cheek to Harry’s sharp hipbone and breathing deep. “I don’t care if you hate me. I don’t care if you never want me to touch you again. I will kill anyone that fucks you.” He peeled Harry’s waistband back, moving the soft material down and slowly unmasking the last of Harry’s flesh to his view. He scowled as the foreign scent grew stronger.
Draco moved slowly, careful not to give in to the overwhelming urge to taste the soft length nestled in dark curls. Instead he slipped lower, nose nuzzling in, seeking out Harry’s balls and behind. He pulled back abruptly, quickly wrapping the boy back up. He held his hand over his face while his mind whirled.
Not fucked. Not taken. Just soaked in saliva. Draco groaned, sinking to the floor to sit, knees folded up while he fought the urge to rock back and forth in agitation. He couldn’t live like this. He just couldn’t keep fucking doing this.
Standing, he caught the cut again on Harry’s leg. Growling deep in his throat, he used his wand to heal it, wishing to touch the boy instead, to taste the damn blood that his instincts and memory told him would be perfect. He couldn’t. It would just be the end of him no matter how much he wanted him.
Harry’s jeans were soaked in blood and filth, Draco glancing around until he found the cabinet Madame Pomfrey kept the pajamas in. He brusquely slipped the pants up the brunette’s legs after pulling the boy’s shoes and socks off, then, with far more hesitation than was needed, lifted Harry’s hips to get the boy finally decent. Draco paused, hands firmly on his hips, fingers digging in too hard, staring at Harry’s sleeping face and wishing the Gryffindor would wake and yell at him to keep him from the madness growing inside.
Harry was out cold, two draughts too much for his already exhausted body. He had been accosted by something in the forest along with a host of lesser beasts that left their claw marks on him and then had returned to school to have a cafeteria full of students try to grind on him. And now he was asleep, completely defenseless with a love-crazed veela halfling who was too powerful for anyone to stop if he truly tried to take what he wanted.
“Wake up, you reckless, angry idiot,” Draco whispered hoarsely, leaning forward to press his forehead to Harry’s. “Don’t just fucking sit there and trust me. You know I can’t be trusted.” He tilted his head, gently brushing his lips to Harry’s. He did it again, pressing harder, groaning when Harry responded sleepily, the slightest of returning pressure and the parting of his lips.
“Damn you,” Draco muttered, flicking his tongue out, tasting Harry’s lips, the flavor the same dripping, heady honey of before. “Tell me you’re still mine, Harry,” he pleaded softly, tasting again, diving into the boy’s sweet mouth and nipping his bottom lip. “You are my beautiful mate. Tell me that you’re mine.”
Harry didn’t answer, stubborn even in a drug induced sleep. Sighing, Draco pulled away, tongue running over his lips, trying to taste every bit of Harry still clinging to him.
It was almost a year since he had tasted Harry the first and only time. For all he knew, he would never have the chance again. Seventh year was nearly over and he’d be returning to an empty manor. Harry would… Well, he wasn’t sure what Harry would be doing. Maybe living with his godfather and his werewolf boyfriend. Maybe punishing himself and going back to his hateful relatives. He wouldn’t be visiting Malfoy Manor anytime soon. Not after his last visit. Not after Draco had raped him and forced him to kill.
Draco left Harry in a private room, tossing his dirty clothes in a pile on the floor and locking the door behind him. He lit the sign that informed any passerby that the occupant was enchanted and dangerous and then gave a quick knock to Madame Pomfrey’s office door.
“He’s settled in?” She asked, well aware that Harry could no longer be in the room if she was not feeling his enchantment’s pull with the door open.
“Asleep. Healed.” Delicious. “His arm will be fine in about an hour. I’m going to bed but I’m willing to help in the morning until you find your antidote.”
“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. I know how difficult this must be for you.” She patted his arm lightly, her eyes sober.
Maybe she did know, having treated halflings before. Draco wasn’t sure. His veela brethren had scoffed at him for even lusting after a human. But then, they barely thought humans were worth the air they breathed even though they kept mating with them. Draco shook his head wearily. “Earlier I had to pull a large group of students off of him in the Great Hall. I can protect him, but I think it’s better if he’s not around people.”
“I agree. Mr. Potter has been trying lately,” Pomfrey said carefully, thinking of how many times Harry had been in there recently, brawls and explosions resulting in many a broken bone. “Maybe some forced isolation will do him good.”
Draco shrugged, not really caring. Nothing was going to fix Potter. Not after what he had done to the boy. A part of him didn’t even care, just so long as no one tried to touch him and take him away. Draco didn’t think Harry would ever truly be his but he was able to live with that as long as Harry was no one else’s.
Harry was not surprised he dreamed after his terrible day of Malfoys at every front. He had not had this dream for a while. He had hoped he could finally block it out and move on with his life. It was of the night he killed Voldemort. The night he destroyed fifteen Death Eaters in one instant. The night Draco Malfoy saved both their lives with sex magic.
“Shit, you’re bleeding everywhere.”
“Hurts,” Harry groaned, fighting the darkness, fighting the red dull throb pounding in his head.
“I’m going to help. Fuck… Fuck, Potter. You smell so good.”
Someone was breathing up Harry’s neck, nose pressing into his skin, warm breath ghosting over his flesh. Harry struggled to open his eyes, trying to remember what had happened. The Order… They had been changing locations… There had been spells, flashes of lights, and screams…
“Hell… fucking hell. Potter, I need you to wake up. He’s going to kill you. He’s going to kill us both, and I need you to wake the fuck up.”
Brows furrowed, Harry tried to focus on the voice in his ear. It was familiar but different. Male… low… Licking him. He whimpered, the hot touch of tongue on his neck only increasing. What was… What was Malfoy doing?
Harry again fought to open his eyes but his body didn’t want to listen to him. His head hurt so much, he could barely think. He wanted to sleep. It was dark and he was tired. It was time to sleep.
“Come on, Potter, don’t die on me.” The tongue returned, long, hot trails of wet moving up to his jaw, teeth nipping in, clamping firmly. Harry was so tired but his body felt hot, very hot. His skin was tingling, jolting from every brush of flesh against him, touch of hand, press of lips. “I’m going to give you some energy. You need to stay alive.”
Lips descended on Harry’s, warm, firm, persistent. He groaned again, his head throbbing, fire racing over his skin like a million painful bee stings. A tongue pushed its way past his parted lips, delving in, tasting him, finding his tongue and touching, taunting until Harry had to respond. His body shuddered, the pain behind his eyes dulling. Another wave of tingling, this time within him, prickling agony all throughout. He whimpered, his entire body crying out for the peaceful, numbing darkness.
The darkness wouldn’t come. He was on the ground, the floor cold and unyielding beneath him. There was something heavy atop him, hot and moving, tearing at his clothes and stealing his air. Harry blearily pushed at the body, pausing when his hand touched bare, smooth flesh. The mouth suffocating him suddenly pulled away, a hand moving over his face, pushing his hair back in a firm, dragging way that sent shivers through him.
“You there, Potter?”
Harry cracked his eyes open, his lids feeling unbearably heavy. “Malfoy?” He croaked weakly. He thought it was Draco, but the boy looked different. Older. His white-blond hair was long, his features more defined and aristocratic. His shoulders… Harry licked his lips, unable to stop staring at Draco’s very broad, absolutely bare shoulders. He reached his hand up, grabbing onto a thick bicep and squeezing firmly. They felt real. Fucking tight, compact, strong muscle.
Draco stilled from the touch, his eyes silver and searing as he met Harry’s gaze and held it. There were feathers dusting around his pale face, tipping on his ears and making his eyebrows extend in an intense, fierce expression. Draco dipped his head, hand holding Harry’s face in place while he ghosted the barest of touches to his lips. “Potter, we don’t have a lot of time.”
Harry wasn’t exactly sure what they were in a rush for. All he knew was that Draco was looking like some glowingly pale, magnificent specimen of feathery male and was kissing him. Harry let his hand thread through the boy’s long, silky hair, Draco sighing softly in reply. Harry tightened his grip, fisting a thick chunk, silver eyes locking on his in question. Smirking, Harry pulled harder, watching raptly as the boy’s mouth parted and he began to pant. Harry leaned up, tongue trembling, tracing over those perfect, tasty lips and wet them thoroughly.
Draco gave a broken moan, a thin trail of fluid dripping down the corner of his mouth, his hips jolting forward from the touch. Harry gasped, feeling the boy’s erection grinding down into his hip. Growling heatedly, Draco slammed him flat on the ground and with a wrench, had the brunette’s shirt torn in half.
“Holy fuck,” Harry gaped, eyes following down the long tear, noticing for the first time that Draco was completely naked. His chest looked sculpted out of marble, his abs a perfect eight pack, each muscle tight and smooth, making the boy look more sleek and lithe than the pure power Harry could feel moving over him. He wanted to see more but Draco’s hips were pinned to his, stealing the view of the hard flesh searing through his jeans.
Harry watched, dumbfounded as strong, long fingers descended on his pants, tearing at his belt with frustrated jerks. “What, you’re not going to rip my pants in half, too?” Harry asked breathlessly.
Draco gave another growl, moving back up the boy’s body, mouth on the brunette’s ear while he asked silkily. “You want me to tear you in half, Potter? Want me to fuck you so hard you can’t fucking walk?”
Harry moaned shakily, hips pushing up into the blond’s hard body. “Fuck, yes.”
“Oh, thank god,” Draco whispered back, tongue laving over Harry’s neck, teeth nipping, mouth sucking desperate purple welts. “Because I feel like I’m going to die if I don’t fuck you, Potter. You are so fucking tight, and sexy, and goddamn tasty… And I really want you… to be mine.”
Eyes blinking blankly at the top of Draco’s head, Harry grinned, wider and wider until he felt like a full out lunatic. Draco fucking Malfoy liked him. Holy fuck.
He had never considered that Draco might have a thing for him given that they were always fighting, barely spoke otherwise, and well, Harry didn’t think of himself as anything worth wanting. He knew he was a mess—And not just his shaggy chocolate locks. He had tried to fix himself up a bit, ditching his glasses for spells, dressing in clothes that actually fit. But he was always going to be a torn jeans and faded t-shirt kind of guy.
His toned, average height body was strong, lithe and sinewy, but didn’t look sculpted like the form grinding down on him. Tanned, he always looked dirty, mostly because he was from his work outside during the summer. He had scars and cuts littered all over him from his many accidents and battles. Scars Draco seemed intent to touch and lick as he pulled the scraps of the brunette’s shirt away. Harry might have been beautiful with his stunning green eyes, sharp cheekbones and full red mouth, but he didn’t see it even if Hermione kept insisting.
“Oh crap,” Harry swore, once again flat on his back, Draco pinning his shoulders down and glaring at him. He swallowed hard, biting his lip under that searing gaze. Harry had sort of had a thing for Draco for a while, one he had really wished not to have. There really was no way to get around the extreme complications of Malfoy’s life, especially since Voldemort had been suspected of moving into the boy’s house. Apparently there had been more complications because Draco was definitely glowing and feathery. “What… uh… Why do you look so different?”
With slower, sure motions, Draco attacked Harry’s belt again, this time succeeding in unbuckling it. “I’m a veela. A halfling. Woke up a couple of days ago like this…” Draco trailed off, hissing softly as he managed to unzip Harry’s jeans and push them roughly down his thighs with his underwear.
Harry blushed, Draco staring fixated on his straining dick. Then the boy was moving down his body, Harry wide eyed as that very talented tongue slid down to touch into his slit and steal his dripping precum. “Oh god…” he breathed out unsteadily, watching the boy widen his lips and sink his dick into his mouth, circling his cock with intense heat but refusing to touch. It was torture, and Harry was about to say something when his eyes caught sight of a bloody hand on the floor across the room.
“M-Malfoy. There’s a body over there.”
Draco lifted his head, tongue again flicking out to taste along Harry’s slit in an intense, hip jolting touch. “My father.”
Harry nodded dumbly, taking him a moment to realize Draco was talking about the body on the floor. “Why is your…?”
“I killed him.” This time when Draco descended on his length, he kept his mouth barely open, dragging his wet lips around his sensitive tip and rubbing. Harry moaned, head falling back heavily on the floor as Draco tongue began to swirl over the head of his cock, rough, hungry licks that had him writhing on the ground. Draco grabbed his hips, heavy palms holding Harry in place while he bucked into the blond’s mouth.
Suddenly Draco let him go, heat and strong hands replaced with grasping claws as he tore his jeans down his legs, pulling his shoes off with quick movements. Harry lay panting, trying to get his mind to start working again. “Fuck, Malfoy. Why did you kill your dad?”
“Because he was going to kill you and then feed me to that freak next door,” Draco said with a growl, Harry finally stripped, sweaty, and his. He practically purred as he sleekly crawled back up the brunette’s form, hands lingering over scars, head dipping to taste a nipple and tease with restrained nips.
Eyes closing from the sensation, Harry fought for his train of thought. “F-Feed?”
“Yes,” Draco hissed, tongue laving out. “Dozens already. Dead, half eaten veela. I didn’t even realize why he had come here until I woke up changed.”
Mind whirling, Harry tried to remember what Hermione had owled him about weeks ago. Ritualistic killings. Dark magic where sex and cannibalism were combined to steal the victim’s power. Young, beautiful men found dumped, bodies half eaten. Harry felt sick, his stomach churning as he paled. “My god, he…”
“My father tried to give me the potion,” Draco continued, grabbing Harry’s chin and forcing him to meet his glare. “My own father with his fucking veela genes was going to feed me to You-Know-Who.”
“What a monster,” Harry said heatedly, wishing Draco’s eyes would stop glowing so brightly, burning him so deeply, all he could feel was fire inside instead of the disgust and horror he should be feeling. Voldemort was in the other room. He was expecting Draco soon, to rape and eat, and his guard was dead. Harry should be trying to get them the fuck out, not rocking his hips in unbearable need.
“I saw you. Saw you broken,” Draco said softer, eyes running over Harry’s face. He paused on his lips, staring at the brunette’s gasping red mouth. “I was afraid he was going to do the same to you. Touch your golden skin. Make you bleed. Scream. Come. I just couldn’t let him do that to you.”
Harry was starting to think Draco might have lost his fucking mind. “This potion, what was it supposed to do?”
Tongue lapping over the brunette’s swollen lips, Draco took a moment to answer. “It makes you so horny, you don’t care if someone is eating you alive.”
Harry whimpered, very much afraid of the answer to his next question. “Did you actually drink it?”
Draco grinned wickedly, revealing white teeth with sharp fangs. “I’m going to fuck you so hard, Potter. Do you like it hard?”
Harry was pretty sure as long as Draco kept glowing his veela eyes at him, he was going to like it any way the boy gave it.
“Malfoy, we need to get out of here,” he said weakly, grunting when Draco bit his neck harder this time. “We need to, oh fuck… escape.” If Voldemort or one of his henchmen walked in there that very second, Draco would likely just try to fuck them too and get himself eaten in the process.
“I have a plan. A very good… very, very tight plan,” Draco murmured, stretching his body over Harry’s, hot bare flesh pinning the smaller boy down, long strong legs tangling with his. “Veela have this special magic. Sex magic. That’s why that sick fuck keeps eating us.”
Harry really wished Draco’s voice wasn’t so fucking sultry and seductive while saying disgusting things. A large palm was suddenly moving down his thigh, spreading his bare legs wide and hooking one around the blond’s hip. Harry bucked up, rocking into the boy’s hard erection, moaning when he realized Draco must have come once already, hot, sticky fluid dripping between their taut bodies.
“I’m going to give you my power… We’re going to kill… that fucker,” Draco said between bucks of Harry’s hips. He pushed the brunette’s other knee up, hand moving down and caressing the inside of his tense, strong thigh. “And you… fucking gorgeous, sexy, Harry… are going to be mine.”
Harry cried out, two thick fingers pressing against his hole. He felt magic tingling inside him an instant before the fingers pushed into his now slick passage, deep and relentless, filling him in a way he had never been filled before.
“Oh, that’s it… Louder. Show me how much you like it,” Draco growled, watching Harry’s face while the boy gasped and moaned uncontrollably. “You are so hot. So fucking tight inside… Have you ever been fucked, Harry? God, do I get to be your first?” Draco groaned, hips grinding down against his while he plunged fingers into his clenching, slowly stretching, tightness.
“Oh god… my god… I can’t…” Harry arched, his head nearly slamming on the floor. He felt crazy, the sensations from the fingers moving within him creating an agonizing fire inside that just kept building and building with no relief in sight. He tightened his leg around the pale boy’s strong waist, hands grasping over Draco’s shoulders, wrenching at his flesh, pulling him down closer so that he could feel every inch of his body.
Draco kissed him, stealing his heated moans, drinking his cries while he added another finger deep inside him. Harry was becoming undone, body shaking, mouth gasping around Draco’s tongue and spilling clear wet down his chin and throat. “Amazing. You are so, fucking, amazing, Potter… That’s it. Oh, I can feel you… loosening. Give it up, sexy. Open up to me.”
The fingers were suddenly gone, Harry whimpering, feeling so empty and cold inside. He rocked his hips impatiently, knowing what was coming next. He needed it… needed it so bad. Needed Draco to fuck him like he had promised. “Oh fuck… Oh, my god,” Harry sobbed, feeling the blunt head of Draco’s hot cock press against his entrance.
“I know what you need, Harry. Now look at me,” Draco demanded lowly until they brunette’s eyelids flew open. Harry started, Draco’s silver gaze glowing brighter, pulling his focus, stealing all his pain when the powerful boy surged forward and sheathed deep into his tight flesh. Harry gaped, choked gasps of air, his body so full, stretched so wide around the thick cock impaling him.
“You’re tight… so fucking tight, beautiful,” Draco hissed, holding his gaze, not letting him look away. “It’s like you were meant to be open to me… Spreading to me. Do you feel it, Harry? Can you feel how you’re mine?”
Harry truly could, something inside him clicking with Draco buried deep inside him. Something more than flesh, more than the sweat and gasps of breath. It was as if he could feel Draco, his power, his energy and his thoughts just at the cusp of his awareness, twining with him, trying to sink in just as deep as he was in his flesh. He was being added to. Opened wide and filled with another soul.
Harry surrendered to the boy as Draco began to thrust into him with slow, jolting slams. He wrapped his arms tight around the blond’s neck, short nails digging into his sweat soaked shoulders, heel gripping his rippling lower back for leverage as he rocked with the pale boy’s thrusts. He was losing his mind, the pleasure so great, the boy so sexy and deep inside him. “Oh god, Draco. You feel so good… So big and, oh… Oh fuck. You’re so fucking thick.”
The friction was intense, Draco’s cock dragging across the tight walls of his passage, slick, wet sounds as he drove into him again and again. Harry watched the boy’s biceps flex before each forceful push, blearily feeling something else building in the pit of his stomach.
“You’re getting close. I need you to focus now,” Draco whispered, slowing his rocking hips, burying deep into Harry’s clenching heat and staying deep. “Can you feel your power?” He asked hoarsely, again pulling his gaze.
“Y-Yes. It’s bright… pulsing,” he murmured, staring deep into Draco’s silver depths and wishing he never had to look away.
“Good. You need to pull it up. Like drinking through a straw.” Draco ran his hand down between them, pressing the soft pads of his fingertips against Harry’s dripping naval and sliding up towards his chest. “Yes, I can feel it. Can you feel mine?”
Harry nodded mutely, mouth gasping for air. Draco’s power was already shimmering around them, soaking them together as much as their sweat was.
“When you touch my power you’re going to hear heartbeats. Don’t be alarmed. I’m keyed in to the other room.” Draco closed his eyes for a moment, his expression twisting, hips pressing forward as he groaned. Harry moaned in response, Draco grinding deep within him. He clenched down, tightening around the thick flesh so hot inside.
“N-No, got to hold back,” Draco gasped, trying to bring himself under control. “You’re just so… fucking beautiful.”
Harry had never been called beautiful, especially by someone that was clearly more so than him. The potion must have really fucked Draco up. Harry tried to focus on his power, pulling more up, brows furrowed when he realized just how deep it reached inside him, so much energy swirling and growing. He had never felt so much power, but it was his. Had always been there, not fully tapped.
“Careful now,” Draco warned, sweat dripping down his face as he caught him in his glowing glare again. “Reach for my power.”
Harry did, eyes widening as heat and sound suddenly filled his senses, his vision going dark.
“Don’t panic. It’s dark. Supposed to be dark.” Draco swallowed hard, shifting slightly to relieve the strain on his arms. “Now focus. There’s a different heartbeat… slower… older. He’s so much older, and his heart gives it away. It stutters—Right there.”
Harry winced, not wanting to go towards the sick, twisted presence. It was soaked in blood and decay. And something else… Something shimmery veiled around it, tattered and corrupted. It reminded him of Draco. Scraps of veela energy and flesh. “Hell.”
“Yes,” Draco hissed. “You need to strike him, Potter. Wrap your power around him and snuff that heartbeat out. Do you think you can do that? If I hold the link, can you crush his heart?”
There was so much hope and fear in Draco’s voice. He could feel it, the boy’s emotions through his flesh as well as his power. Harry nodded once, pulling at the golden glow within him. Draco’s energy began to shimmer and twist, accommodating his power as he built it up. He had never woven a spell and as he felt Draco’s thoughts, the blond hadn’t either. Draco was going on instinct—The instincts of a desperate, magical creature halfling that didn’t want to be a meal for the monster on the other side of the wall.
“My god, you’re powerful… So much power,” Draco whispered in awe, having touched down, found the well within Harry as the boy pulled power up. He didn’t reply, needing to focus, weaving his net around the rotting heart, wide and afar so that his presence wouldn’t be felt. His energy flared and calm faltered, his body clenching around Draco’s hard length embedded deep inside him.
“Hold onto it, Harry. Don’t lose your focus now… We’re so close.”
Gasping, he began to tighten his glowing net. What was once a million thin threads of power solidified together as it condensed and began to close. They both whimpered, Voldemort’s power suddenly surging in awareness, pushing at the flowing energy. Harry could feel it trying to push out and tear through the seemingly thin skin. He fought against it, constricting, wrenching energy, but the evil power was too strong.
“Quickly—Before he regroups,” Draco hissed. They didn’t have much time. Surprise was their true advantage and they were losing it.
Connected still to the well of power within, Harry urgently grabbed for it, surging wave after unimaginable wave through his body, through the connection to crash down around the net. He felt Voldemort relent, felt the evil weaken like a wilting, shriveling plant, curling in under his bombardment. It was an old heart, no matter how much magic was used to fortify it. Old, weak, and stuttering its last beats.
“Potter—No!” Draco cried, but it was too late. The net snapped shut, down to a mere pinprick of light. The darkness flowed in as silence fell and the heat began to dissipate.
“Oh hell… fucking… No.” Harry struggled to get up, drained of his power, horrified once he realized what he had done. The room had not been empty. It had been full of heartbeats. Full of life. Now it was completely silent.
Draco, eyes wild, slammed his hands down on Harry’s shoulders and kissed the boy fiercely. He jerked, trying to pull away, but Draco was too strong, tongue persistently suffocating him as the boy pinned him down and pushed forward into his shaking, trembling body. Moaning, Harry gave in, heat and touch building as Draco’s eyes again burned fire into him.
“No—I… Those people,” Harry choked out, arching on the floor. Draco didn’t say anything, just growled, wrapping the brunette tight in his arms while he filled the boy with his scalding seed. Harry bucked, clamping down on the spurting flesh, urging more even as tears streamed down his face. As if determined to destroy any sanity that could ever be when looking back at this memory, Draco reached between them, wrapped his fingers around Harry’s hard cock, and stroked. Harry came with a sob, pleasure and agony complete as his cum spouted in white trails over the blond’s hand and both their stomachs.
Then Draco left him, gone to see the destruction in the other room, Harry moaning fitfully on the floor while his frantic, numb mind tried to count how many heartbeats he had heard.
Seventeen. One Dark Lord. Fifteen Death Eaters. One Narcissa Malfoy, beaten bloodied and chained for trying to save her son.
Harry awoke shouting, sweating in the dark. Realizing he was in a small room of the infirmary, he slowly calmed his breathing. He curled in on himself, body bowing forward, knees tight against his chest. He had found a way, somehow, to deal with the lives he had stolen. Evil men and women. Evil, frightened people that had done terrible things so that they would not be harmed. All but that one. Draco’s mother.
He had passed out after the spell. His power had been depleted. The well of power had been his life energy. He hadn’t understood it at the time. He could have killed himself attempting what they had succeeded at. Draco hadn’t understood it either. Neither of them had known the consequences that came from killing Voldemort.
He and Draco never talked about the incident, if they ever talked at all. Harry had never been so connected and then so torn from another living being the way he had with Draco Malfoy. Part of him still ached, still felt those strange shimmering connections of power and emotion, especially after the dreams. But Draco hated him for losing control and killing his mother. And Harry hated himself for having killed everyone.
The veela had come for Draco shortly before Harry had recovered from the energy loss. They had taken the boy away, welcomed him into their tribe and given him a place of honor as an ambassador. Draco had stopped Voldemort from killing his veela brethren. Even though Draco had insisted from the beginning it had all been Harry’s doing. Harry’s unimaginable power. Harry’s fault.
He knew it was true. Draco never would have made such a mistake. The blond was perfectly controlled even when full of a lust potion. Harry wasn’t. He was just some explosive fuck up that couldn’t figure out how to control his power.
After the dreams, He could almost understand why Draco had done it. Both of them starting their seventh year of school, Draco’s veela friends coming down to wish the halfling farewell. He could understand why Draco would have sent those boys, cornering him in an empty classroom, glowing pale eyes at him until he could barely think straight. They had tried to touch him. Had wanted to break him. Rape him. No wonder Draco would want to hurt him as much as he hurt from losing his mother.
After the dreams, Harry wondered if it was wrong that he had fought back.
Sirius was waiting for Draco once he had finished his breakfast and found the nerve to check on Potter. It was still early morning, too early for Harry to be awake. Which only made it more surprising when he found his surly cousin sitting in a chair outside Harry’s door, wide awake and glaring at him.
“Black,” Draco said as way of greeting, eyes straying towards the closed door and then to the man. Sirius had been cleared of all charges shortly after Harry had killed Voldemort, Pettigrew’s body among the dead. He had taken to haunting Hogwarts. Draco had first thought it was a way to be next to Lupin, who had retaken the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor position, and then later figured out it had been to watch over Harry.
He could hardly blame the man. His godson was fucked in the head and needed all the watching he could get.
“What the hell happened to him, Malfoy?” Sirius asked, unfurling from the chair and straightening. He had a familiar menace in his eyes that always seemed to harden when looking at the blond. Draco had to assume Harry had told his godfather about the night they’d killed everyone. “Pomfrey told me some lust creature caught him in the forest. Was it one of yours? Are they still harassing him?”
“Harassing him?” Draco echoed, confused. The veela had shown a mild interest in Harry when Draco had explained how Voldemort had died by the boy’s unmatchable power. But veela really fucking hated humans so Draco didn’t think much about it. “Potter told me it was an enchancubus. A creature that changes its appearance to lure humans in. Not a veela,” Draco finally answered.
Sirius relaxed a bit, his glare losing some of its fire. “Fine,” he grunted. “Can you… Can you tell me how he’s doing? I’ve been out here for hours, and apparently no one but you can even go near him.”
Realizing he was dealing with just another overly worried parent even if Sirius was not quite related to Harry, Draco nodded. “Give me a second. I’m sure he’s sleeping but I can—”
“He’s awake,” Sirius said grimly.
Draco blinked, hand clasping the back of his neck beneath his ponytail. “He was so full of calming draught—”
“Trust me, veela boy. Harry is awake, pacing, and likely breaking things. He can’t be kept alone for long or he gets… twitchy.” Sirius snorted softly, glaring at the door to Harry’s room. “Remus is off talking to Poppy, trying to figure out the creature that did this to Harry. We can’t help him with the rogue…”
“And you know he won’t let you hunt it yourselves,” Draco finished, rolling his eyes. Potter was such a fucking stubborn, reckless thing and clearly his godfather knew it too. “I’ll be going with him today. There is no way I’m letting him out alone with that spell, or that damn enchancubus, for that matter.”
“Yes, well, Remus thought you might say something along those lines.” Again that piercing blue stare, as if trying to tear Draco apart for ever having touched Harry in the first place. Let the man glare. Potter was his and Draco wasn’t letting the boy go.
“Get on the other side of the room, Black,” Draco said sharply, turning towards the door. Sirius did eventually, grumbling under his breath. He made sure he was still in line with the door, wanting to let Harry know he was there even if he couldn’t help him at the moment.
Draco unlocked the door and pushed it open. Sure enough, Harry was awake, pacing topless, mid-step as he turned, relief on his face. Only to quickly scowl on seeing Draco.
“What the fuck do you want?” Harry grunted, hands on his hips. “Where’s Siri? He always visits me when…” he trailed off, focusing behind Draco’s wide shoulder. “Aw, crap. Better shut the door, then.”
Draco didn’t bother looking behind him, able to scent that Potter’s gruff godfather was more than a little aroused and fighting it. Draco shut the door behind him, making no move to go any further into the room. It was tight quarters as it was, Harry only getting a good five paces before hitting the wall and forced to turn. The room reeked of Potter, growing hornier and hornier as he just stood there. It was actually fascinating to watch if the damn scent wasn’t so intoxicating and Harry wasn’t so fucking sexy, golden skin healed and rippling toned muscles beneath.
“So, what the hell do you want?” Harry repeated angrily.
Draco wondered how long he could just stand there before the boy started punching. Probably not too long. Harry had torn off his cast, his arm healed and no longer in pain. He had also managed to rummage through the cabinets pulling blankets, one torn to shreds. There were feathers strewn about, a pillow not surviving whatever the hell was wrong with the kid.
“Honestly, I just wanted to see if your arm was better. I didn’t know you’d be up,” Draco said mildly, watching Harry’s expression become stormier with every careful word he said. He also smelled even nicer, the damn menace apparently having a thing for his voice. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes,” Harry snapped, pacing agitatedly, hand stuck in his messy hair. “I want out of this fucking room already.”
Draco nodded understandingly. “There’s two ways that can happen.”
Harry stilled his movements, glaring spectacularly in his direction. Draco couldn’t help but notice that Potter’s eyes would not stay still when looking at him, green drifting down idly over his tall form.
“You can wait for Pomfrey to figure out that antidote—”
“No fucking way!” Harry snarled.
Draco smirked, not at all surprised. “Or you can let me escort you. Understanding that if we run into people, I will have to use my call to protect you.”
“Shit—You can’t be serious!” Harry wailed loudly. He pushed his way to the door, Draco quickly stepping aside to keep from touching the brunette. “Siri! There’s got to be another way!”
Black, who had apparently been on the other side of the fucking door the entire time, gave a loud growl. “Sorry, Harry. It’s too strong of a spell. Let the damn veela help you for now. Remi’s on the case and we’ll have this sorted in no time.”
Draco raised a brow, not sure if he was glad to be considered a help or just sick of being referred to as a veela. “Potter, what do you want to eat?” He asked, ready to get the fuck away from Harry’s very delicious, topless form.
“Shit, like I care? Just food, Malfoy.”
“Fine. Black, will you kindly back the fuck away again?” He snapped, slamming his hand on the door. Harry jumped from the sound, Draco glancing back to find the brunette biting the side of his thumb while staring blatantly at his ass. Fucking Potter. Draco threw the door open, shutting it too harshly behind him while trying to collect himself in the hall.
“Malfoy, if you lay a goddamn—”
“Finish that sentence and I will tear your fucking face off, cousin,” Draco warned lowly, hands combing fitfully through his hair as he tried to focus on the pain and not think about the fucking rabid thoughts of Harry gasping underneath him.
“Nice to see you two are getting along,” Remus said wryly, stepping in from the adjoining hall and softly closing the door. “Siri, maybe you should stop growling at the boy?”
“Like hell. He’s clearly lusting over Harry. Why he’s even allowed in this school with so many young students at risk, is beyond me.”
Draco hissed, pulling his hair harder, eyes glinting open to glare at the annoying man. “Want to lock me away, Black? At least when I lose control you don’t have to worry about me turning people into slavering, vicious beasts.”
“You obnoxious, arrogant—”
“Enough,” Remus said, his normally mild voice steely with authority. “Whether we like it or not, Malfoy is the only one that can help Harry right now. Insulting him is not going to make that job any easier. Hell, Harry is going to make it tough enough.”
Draco and Sirius glared at each other, Sirius finally backed down with a huff. He tilted his head towards the exit, looking meaningfully back at Harry’s door. Draco rolled his eyes, annoyed to realize the boy was probably listening to everything they were saying. He grudgingly followed when the men led him out into the hall.
“Can you control yourself, Malfoy?” Remus asked softly, not reacting when Draco scowled at the question. “He’s enchanted and you’re responding to him. You… you have difficulty with him. I know it and I’m sorry to ask this of you.”
“What the hell do you know of my difficulties, Lupin?” Draco growled back. Only to get a face full of Sirius when the man grabbed him by the collar.
“Do not talk to him that way, you arrogant sod!”
“Siri, stop—Shit,” Remus groaned, backpedaling when Draco’s eyes started glowing in defense.
“Fucking… veela,” Sirius muttered, glaring as hard as he could until he couldn’t any longer, his hand reaching up to touch Draco’s face.
“Back off, you uppity bastard,” Draco ordered, pushing the man back with the flat of his hand. “Unless you want to be on your knees… That’s what I thought.” Draco snapped his eyes shut, willing the pull to stop, hating that even rooms away he could feel Harry every time the pull glowed, the brunette’s energy responding to his call.
“As you can both see, I am in control of myself,” he said too hoarsely.
“You’re struggling,” Remus replied pointedly, glaring warningly at Sirius until the man growled and walked down the hall. “Harry’s messing you up.”
Eyes narrowing on the man, Draco had to wonder when the hell he had become so bloody transparent. Two days ago no one would have dared suggest he could get messed up by Harry, having been a block of ice whenever around the boy. “I am not—”
“You are. Is it the spell on him? Is that the problem?”
Gritting his teeth, Draco shook his head. “There is no problem.”
Glancing to side at Sirius’s quiet form, Remus leaned closer to speak into Draco’s ear. “Malfoy, I have dealt with a lot of veela in my day and I know a lovesick one when I see it. And I do mean sick.” Hissing, Draco glared down at his boots. “Harry is fucking you up and if you can’t handle his energy then you need to tell me now. Because if you hurt him, I will not be able to protect you from what his very explosive godfather is going to do to you.”
Draco really fucking hated werewolves with their over sensitive noses and goddamn perceptive brains. “I’m fine, Lupin.”
“You’re sweating.”
Draco growled, touching the back of his neck hastily. Sure enough, he was dripping sweat. “Shit—What the fuck is wrong with me?”
“You came out of his room like that,” Remus disclosed. “What did he say to you? Did he touch you? If you can single it out, maybe you can prevent it from repeating.”
Draco shook his head, not remembering anything particularly different. “He was bitching at me, like he always does. Reeking of sex, like he always fucking is. Pacing like a damn loon… He tore the room apart. Never seen him do that before,” he added offhandedly.
“He does that after nightmares,” Remus mussed. “Do your kind pick up on fear? Did you scent his nightmares?”
Draco shrugged, having no idea. “He poisons me enough with his twisted energy. If there is anything to smell besides sex on that kid, I have no fucking clue.”
Sirius made a growling sound, Remus shooting him a warning look. “He does reek of sex and you know it. For months now, ever since…” He trailed off, brown eyes fixing on Draco’s meaningfully.
“You know what would make this worlds easier?” Sirius grumbled, stomping back towards the two of them. “If someone would tell us what the hell happened that night. What broke him so? Why he won’t even say your bloody name without his face twisting in so much hurt that I want to break something—Namely you!” He slammed his hand down on the wall beside Draco, glaring menacingly.
“Fuck off, Black. If he doesn’t want to tell you, that’s his business.” Draco could had sworn Harry had told them. Could not understand why he hadn’t because these two annoying, over-protective men would clearly do anything for the boy.
“He is hurting and won’t let us help him,” Sirius growled. “All he will say is that he hates veela, and I wish it was just you and I could know for certain, but it’s not. He hates them all and I can’t, for the life of me, figure out what an entire race of people could have done to him.”
Again a flutter of worry wormed its way into Draco’s gut, his mind stuttering on the idea of Harry and his veela brethren. Harry had never met his people. He had been nearly dead when Draco had gone off to meet them and learn their ways. The only opportunity would have been when a small group had traveled with him to Hogwarts at the beginning of the year, but they had been with him in the Slytherin dorms the entire time. Draco had kept close tabs on them, realizing just how little they thought of the humans in the castle.
“I don’t know what to tell you, cousin. He has plenty of reason to hate me. Reasons he can tell you if he chooses. I sure as hell won’t speak them,” Draco muttered, pushing away from the wall.
“Please, Malfoy,” Remus spoke up, his damn eyes brimming with concern. “He’s hurting so badly. If we knew what happened…”
“What? You think you can fix it?” Draco closed his eyes, smirking humorlessly. “There’s no fixing it. I fucked up; he killed everyone. Whenever he looks at me he will see seventeen dead people staring back. He will never stop hating me and I… Well, I deserve it.” He took a step backwards, turning on his heel.
“What are you saying?” Sirius said gruffly, grabbing Draco by the arm before he could leave.
Draco flinched from the touch, fingers twitching with the urge to tear the man’s hand away. “I was damn clear, Black. I fucked up.”
“He said it was on purpose. That he killed all of them to escape. They were going to kill you and him, and he had to do the worst.”
“Yeah, well, Potter lies a lot,” Draco grunted, pulling from the hold. “You-Know-Who was the only one that was supposed to die.” And he would’ve been, if Draco hadn’t been so weak.
Harry’s power had been so great, so dazzling to his senses, he could not contain his own. He had lost control of the room, lost his focus on Voldemort, and everyone had been pulled in to Harry’s death blow. He had killed his mother, had killed parents to his friends, relatives and strangers all because he had been too weak. And then Harry had shouldered the burden, like the idiotic martyr that he was, and quickly deteriorated from the weight of it all.
Draco walked away before anymore questions could be asked, ducking around corners and into a corridor, heading for the Great Hall and some proper food for Harry.
That he had thrown himself into schoolwork and prefect duties while managing to not speak to the many students with relatives he had killed was hardly a consequence in comparison. Because he was some weird, half veela freak to be avoided. Stared at most of the time because students couldn’t help but stare, and the rest of the time because they hated him for the attention he got. Some—like Goyle and Parkinson—actually thought he was just like them, losing both parents in one night. Not knowing Draco had been the reason their parents had died. Not knowing he had killed his own father intentionally in a fit of rage so complete, he still could not remember fully how he had done it.
Draco refused to talk with any of his old friends anymore and they didn’t seem to mind. He frightened them with his new powers. Slytherins had never been big on halflings to begin with even though their histories were soaked in them. He didn’t mind being an outcast. He found it easier than pretending.
Harry could lie all he liked while Draco didn’t bother. He knew there was a darkness inside him and had no wish to corrupt anyone else with it. He had already hurt so many and his heart—His heart still longed for the one he had hurt the most. It was better if he was alone. He had broken the beautiful boy and did not deserve to be near him anymore.
Touching his energy had destroyed something in Harry’s head. It had made the brunette smell of sex and lash out like some wild animal. Whatever he was, it would surely only hurt others.
Harry’s return to the Forbidden Forest was very different from yesterday’s. For one, he was dressed appropriately, if not somewhat embarrassingly. Dumbledore had insisted on armor if he was determined to return to the hunt. Fine enough, but it was the charmed, lightweight stuff that did not work with additional clothing. He was in skintight leather pants—and he did stress skintight because every time he caught a glimpse of Malfoy it was very clear there was nothing left for the imagination. Harry had made sure to use a concealing charm on his, not interested in revealing to his silent companion just how fucking hot he thought the Slytherin looked in his armor. They wore no shirts, their vitals covered by heavy fire hide that held so much heat he found himself sweating even with his arms and sides exposed. Along with the strong leather boots, his outfit allowed him to be completely limber and silent in movement and he knew if anything tried to grab onto him, it would have a difficult time holding.
He had not expected Malfoy to come along, having hoped the boy would stay behind and play nursemaid for the parents still roaming the school. He wasn’t sure what to anticipate, having not been in the forest with the boy for many years. Distracting was a word that kept jumping to mind, especially when Draco would suddenly dash ahead, crouching low, sometimes wrestling something to the ground, sometimes stunning it instead with his wand. Very fucking distracting in leather pants and a nearly bare back, his spine and shoulder blades covered by the armor and not much else from the backside.
They had been able to leave the castle without incident, Madame Pomfrey clearing their path of students and teachers before he was even let out of his room. An absolute relief, given that he had still been dizzy from feeling the trickle of Draco’s pull when the boy had been arguing with Sirius and had not wanted to repeat the daze. His godfather had this grudge against Draco and most Slytherins in general and Harry hadn’t felt arsed to do much about it. The more people that took his side in thinking Malfoy was a prat to be avoided, the better.
Walking into another low hanging branch when Malfoy suddenly appeared out of the foliage to carefully float a sunning snake off of the path, Harry cursed heatedly under his breath, glaring at the boy. Malfoy glanced over his shoulder at him, silver eyes lingering just a little too long on his bare arms and tight pants and then looked away, stunning something that was about to drop out of a tree on top of him.
“You know, if you bitch a little louder, I’m sure half these critters would run at the sound of you,” Draco said offhandedly, stilling so Harry could catch up.
“Well, we can’t all be fucking tiptoed ballerinas out here,” Harry snapped back, every step he took somehow five times louder than the taller, heavier boy’s.
“Bitter, are we?” Draco asked, spinning his wand idly between his fingers. “You’re actually not that loud. Except for all the swearing. That is quite loud and likely going to get us killed.”
“Actually, it’s going to keep the smarter things away,” Harry said, stomping his foot down and scaring off whatever had been rustling in a bush up ahead.
“And the stupid things that just think you sound like bumbling prey?” Draco asked, eyebrow raised.
“They’re stupid and deserve what I do to them,” Harry said with a shrug. He had not had to actually attack anything just yet, Malfoy ridiculously efficient and alert to every goddamn thing around them. As if to prove just how damn alert Draco was, the boy suddenly shot his hand out, just missing Harry’s face as he caught something.
“You just got yourself stung by a bee, didn’t you?” Harry commented, watching Draco’s face twist in a grimace of pain.
Draco nodded, his fist tightening. “I can’t always turn it off.”
Harry found himself staring at the boy, Draco’s eyes sharpening as they looked towards something only he could hear. “Do you like it in the forest, being half veela and all?”
Draco nodded, his hand opening to drop the dead insect, eyes glancing back to Harry’s. “It’s peaceful, yet alive with danger. Wakes me up. Gives all these damn senses a reason to sense.” Glancing down, he very carefully plucked a feather that had managed to fall on the brunette’s shoulder, smirking slightly. “Hell, you’re even bearable out here.”
He didn’t know if he should be angry or go with the more annoying feeling of arousal to have Malfoy looking at him that way. Anger won and he glared, stepping ahead and stunning the next damn thing that dared move.
“We’re coming up on the clearing,” Harry said after another fifteen minutes of silent walking. The trip had been faster this time, Malfoy clearing the path easily. He did his best not to feel impressed. “I want you to hang back and let me deal with Dren. He’s not expecting company and I don’t want to overwhelm him.”
“Your guide?” Draco asked, again suddenly at his shoulder as if he hadn’t just been wrestling something half a yard back. Harry glanced over to the boy, Draco’s face flushed, eyes glowing slightly. It must be the forest. Malfoy really did just come alive out there in all the green.
“Don’t get too close to him,” Harry said, stopping suddenly as he saw the tall guardian tree rising up in the distance. “He weaves magic and I have a feeling he’d have no qualms using it on you.”
“Weaves?” Draco’s eyes narrowed, Harry watching with interest when the boy suddenly stepped away and sneered. “When you say weave, do you mean…?”
“There’s only one type of fucking magic that weaves,” Harry said bluntly, refusing to get into it. “I don’t know if you’ll be immune or even more susceptible. Not interested in finding out. He might look like somebody you know. Someone you might, well… you’ll see.” He shrugged another annoying feeling away.
Whoever Malfoy saw when looking at the enchancubus, it would be someone he’d want to fuck. Badly. So much so that a simple lust spell could make him give in. Harry had determined that Malfoy was never going to look at him the way he did that fucked up night almost a year ago when dosed with a lust spell. It didn’t mean he wanted to see the boy look at Dren that way. Or at anyone else, for that matter.
“Trust me, Potter, whatever the damn thing is, I won’t be getting caught in any weaving,” Draco said haughtily, a hard note in his voice.
Now at the edge of the clearing, Harry could make out Dren, sitting bored under the tree, staring up at the branches dotted with heavy, blue fruit. He went to step into the glade, surprised when Draco grabbed his shoulder and held him still.
“Potter, when you say he might look like someone…”
Harry glanced the boy’s way, Draco glaring at Dren’s calm form. “Anyone you know?” He asked, eyes following, taking in Dren’s very long, white-blond hair and bright pale skin.
Draco pulled his gaze away, glancing at Harry and then quickly letting his shoulder go. “I don’t want to say.”
“That’s your right,” he said with a shrug, having no interest in telling Malfoy that Dren looked just like him. He stepped into the clearing, catching the softest of humming as he approached the boy. Even though he wasn’t as quiet as Malfoy, he was apparently quiet enough to still sneak up on Dren, the enchancubus giving a small start when he came into view.
“Hi, Dren,” Harry said, keeping his distance when the boy jumped to his feet.
“Pretty one, I was wondering if you were going to make it. You look… Well, I’d say prepared, but for what, I’m not so sure.” the enchancubus smiled seductively, taking in his armor and leather, walking around him slowly. Harry held his hand up when Dren tried to touch him, shaking his head.
“Dren, you cast a spell on me. I need you to remove it.” He spoke evenly, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. He did not wish to upset the creature, just get the damn spell off of him.
“Has it not worked?” Dren asked, full of disbelief. “Harry, it was potent. That spell has never failed to…” He trailed off, head turning as Draco suddenly stalked into the glade. “You brought someone?”
“To help with the rogue,” Harry muttered, annoyed that Malfoy had completely ignored what he had said and had come in without being signaled.
“Potter, get away from him,” Draco demanded, his wand raised and pointed straight at Dren.
“Malfoy, put your fucking wand down. I don’t need your goddamn help and I sure as fuck don’t need you scaring our guide.”
“He is weaving a spell. Now get the fuck away,” Draco said tightly, his eyes never leaving Dren’s face.
Except, to Draco, Dren was shorter, making it look to Harry like he was glaring at the boy’s mouth. Harry suppressed a very inappropriate smile, glancing back and forth between the two lookalikes. He was feet away from a Malfoy sandwich, the idea more than interesting when it was suddenly standing before him.
As if reading his mind, both blonds turned to stare at him at the same time, Dren smirking as he eyed Harry, Draco very much glaring in frustration. “For fuck sake, Potter, must you smell like that right now?” Draco snarled angrily.
Harry scratched the back of his head, brows furrowed. “Smell?”
Draco threw his hands up in exasperation. “Yes, smell! No wonder you’re being accosted out in the goddamn forest. Every time a beast comes near you, you start reeking of sex. Is there something wrong with your bloody wiring? Do deadly, vicious creatures just do it for you? This damn doppelganger is trying to get into your pants and you’re damn near giving him reason, you bloody imbecile!”
Glaring at the exasperated boy, Harry raised his chin defiantly. He did not get off on vicious beasts, so much as watching Draco in skin tight clothing kill said beasts. It was an extremely arousing sight and he did not feel embarrassed by the fact at all even if he would not be explaining it to the blond. “What exactly are you saying, Malfoy? That you can smell when I get hard?”
“Right, focus on that tidbit in all of this,” Draco hissed. “Not that you’re drooling over every goddamn monster I killed on the way here. No, apparently me being able to smell your overwhelming sex scent is the point in everything I said.”
“You do smell very nice, pretty one,” Dren said softly, eyes following as Draco waved his wand in frustration. “Why don’t you leave your friend here, and I can help you deal with all that—”
“Back off, you bloody manipulative predator,” Draco growled, renewing his target on the enchancubus. “If you touch him, so help me, you will not live to regret it.”
“Malfoy, seriously, I don’t know what the hell has gotten into you, but you better fucking stop it.” Harry stepped between the two, forcing Draco’s arm down and glaring up at the boy who was still fixing a death gaze at Dren.
“Tell him to take the spell off of you, Potter. We will deal with the rest after,” Draco said tightly.
Harry huffed. “That’s what I was trying to do when you fucking interrupted. Stop being a damn nuisance.” He turned to Dren, trying to look apologetic instead of pissed. “Dren, I really need that spell taken off of me.”
Staring at Draco warily, Dren gave a small sigh. “I cannot, Harry. It is the type of magic that must run its course. I did not expect it would have lasted this long even. The spell is very strong.”
“Er… What exactly was the spell, Dren? You never really explained the point of it all,” Harry said worriedly, anxiety building. It didn’t help that Malfoy was growling, sounding more like an overprotective Sirius at the moment.
“Isn’t it obvious, Potter? The damn thing wants to fuck you,” Draco said sharply, his arm again twitching as if to raise his wand. Harry grabbed it without looking, keeping his eyes trained on Dren in front of him.
“Shut up, Malfoy. Siccing a castle full of students on me just doesn’t really align with that idea. Dren, please. You said it was to help me find someone. I thought you had meant the rogue, but I can see that was really dumb now.” Harry ignored Draco’s huff, tightening his grip when the blond made to pull away.
“No, that would not be a wise spell indeed, Harry,” Dren said with a weak smile. “It is a spell to help the one you see when you look at me pay you some attention, that’s all. You’re a very pretty thing and it just seems a shame that you are being ignored. Once he kisses you, the spell will cease.”
Heart beating in his chest, Harry very slowly stepped away from a loudly growling Draco, releasing the boy’s arm in the process. “Dren, please tell me there is another way.” He couldn’t kiss Malfoy. He couldn’t tear that raw wound open any wider than it already was after yesterday and the damn dream again and just—No. He just couldn’t do it.
“Stop your damn whimpering, Potter. After we kill the rogue, we’ll hunt down the stupid sod of a boy and have him kiss you,” Draco muttered, pocketing his wand. “Just a kiss, right? Nothing else?”
“Just a kiss,” Dren agreed, eyes following as Harry swayed unsteadily. “Although, if the spell has caused him such trouble, I have to wonder if there isn’t something off about his boy. Why would so many chase him when it was meant for only one?”
“Potter plus magic never ends in the results you expect,” Draco muttered under his breath, also watching as Harry continued to stare at his shoes, blinking dumbly. He reached over, poking the brunette’s shoulder, the boy starting and nearly falling over in his surprise. “Who’s the boy, Potter?”
Harry blanched, stepping away. “No one, Malfoy. It’s… Just forget it,” he whispered hollowly, wishing he had never come into the forest, had never found the glade, and had never, ever, ever seen Dren up in the tree.
“Forget it? Scarhead, I am not spending the rest of my school year following you around just to keep the students off of you,” Draco snapped, folding his arms over his chest. Harry couldn’t help but notice that the blond’s voice had a hard edge to it as if he was fighting back the urge to start hexing things. “What’s the big fucking deal? One kiss to stop all the pawing you hate so much. It seems like a breeze.”
“I’m sorry, Harry. I didn’t realize it would be so difficult on you,” Dren said softly, reaching a hand to gently touch the boy’s shoulder. “The spell truly should work. Just find your Draco and he will…”
Harry winced, ducking his head and refusing to look at the suddenly very motionless Slytherin. “Dren, could you not, like, talk right now?” He mumbled weakly. Could this day get any fucking worse?
“Potter?” Draco growled, voice full of something he did not wish to try and identify.
“Shut up, Malfoy. Just fucking let it drop and leave me the fuck alone,” he said lowly, glaring over at Dren.
“Like fuck.” Draco snagged Harry by the collar of his armor, pulling the boy back. “He looks like me?”
Harry glared, fighting the too strong grip. “So? Who the fuck cares? It’s just some goddamn enchantment.”
Draco grinned widely, revealing sharp, pointed fangs. “Yeah? Then why the fuck could I smell him all over you?”
“God dammit, I fucking can’t stand you!” Harry shouted, tearing at his armor until the blond relented and released him. “Shit, you couldn’t fucking let it go, could you? Just had to stick your nose where it didn’t belong—I’m not fucking kissing you, Malfoy. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I let you anywhere near my lips, you arrogant pain in the ass!”
“Stop. Just, everyone please calm down.” Eyes wide, Dren carefully pulled Harry away, placing the boy behind him so he could rest on the tree and regain his composure. “I am beginning to see where things have gone wrong, pretty one. He is similar to me.”
“Hardly,” Draco glared, making no move to approach even though his fingers were twitching on his wand again. “I’m half veela and impervious to most sex magic. Your spell must have bounced off me and is hitting everyone else.”
“It is a very simple solution,” Dren said, looking confused that neither boy seemed interested in it. “It’s just a kiss. A conscious mixing of saliva and desires.”
“Yes, well, we are not simple people,” Draco snapped bitterly.
“But you must see him as well, pale one! I can see it in your eyes—You see Harry when you gaze upon me. Why are you two so full of anger and spite?”
Draco grunted, glaring at Harry and then abruptly walking away towards the edge of the glade. He paced their agitatedly, swearing under his breath.
“Just drop it, Dren,” Harry muttered, wishing he was surprised that Malfoy saw him as well, but he wasn’t. He was fucking doomed to be tied to Draco at every goddamn turn and still never truly have him.
“It doesn’t make sense, Harry. The two of you—You are drawn to each other. You are—”
“Seriously, just stop.” He sighed wearily, running a hand through his hair. “We came here to kill the rogue. This other shit can wait for now. We’re losing daylight, and… Hell, I’m already tired. Whatever you’re taking with you, gather it. It’s time to go.”
Biting his lip, Dren nodded curtly. He ducked behind the trunk of the tree, wrapping a cloak with a hood over him, his face hidden from sight. Harry immediately felt some relief, not realizing just how distracting it was to live in a world where two gorgeous Draco Malfoy’s could coexist. Shaking his head, he checked his hip for his wand and blades, following after the enchancubus.
They walked in silence, Harry following Dren closely while Draco slipped into the trees around them, using his unique senses to sight any danger. That Malfoy had chosen to play shadow guard was a great relief, the extra distance definitely the defining factor in them not arguing and Harry not getting distracted. He was having a hard enough time trying to shut his brain down from its constant ramblings back to the fucked up revelations of earlier. He was going to have to kiss the prat. If he wanted to be able to walk through the castle unaccosted, he was going to have to kiss Malfoy.
He wasn’t sure there would ever be a moment when that idea was not full of dread and pain. Kissing Dren, if the enchancubus had allowed it, would not have been like kissing Malfoy and not just because Dren did not know how to kiss like the blond. No, it was because veela connected with energy, Harry remembering very well what that felt like. He would not just be kissing Malfoy’s lips, he would be kissing his essence, and that, after being so connected and then violently torn from it once before, just seemed completely cruel and brutal. That Malfoy agreed, glaring and now killing more than stunning whatever got in their way, only highlighted the reality of how terrible a situation he had gotten them both into.
Once near its hunting lands, the rogue’s influence in the woods was very obvious. The destruction alone with no care of the victims, was a sign that this animal was not in its right mind. Dren had called it the maddened one and it surely was.
Harry stilled as they cleared a hill, the body of some sort of large animal coming into sight among the fallen leaves of a dead tree. Its stomach had been gutted, entrails spilling onto the ground in a gory path. Looking closely, besides the attack wounds, Harry could find no signs of it being touched. Unusual for a corpse a few days old in the life filled forest.
“None will feed on his prey,” Dren said softly, eyes sliding around cautiously. “It reeks of his taint.”
Harry nodded in understanding. The children attacked by the rogue had all fallen to a strange illness that left them delusional and violent. The main reason he was out there was to recover the rogue’s body so Madame Pomfrey could find some sort of cure. Harry stepped around the gutted feline, careful not to disturb the earth near it, pausing mid step. He raised his hand, signaling to Draco silently ahead while indicating to Dren to step back. He waited until he could sense Draco motionless and waiting before carefully using his wand to blow a breeze of air, clearing the pile of leaves and dirt around the body.
Seven small bodies lay on the ground. Two birds that had died from tasting the corpse and five young cubs. Harry bit his lip, exhaling sharply as he realized the mother had died protecting her children. For some inexplicable reason, he was reminded of Narcissa Malfoy and his own mother, something twisting inside him at the thought. Three of the cubs were definitely dead, their bodies collapsing in on them once their life had fled. He wasn’t sure, but he thought the other two breathing shallowly could be saved if they acted quickly enough.
“They are cursed,” Dren warned, tugging at Harry’s shoulder. “Once touched by the maddened one, death is welcome.”
Narrowing his eyes, Harry watched the slow movement of breath from the two balls of fur stained with dirt and their mother’s blood. “They’re not wounded, just undernourished. If I leave them, they’ll die of exposure like the other three.” He crouched lower, crooning softly so as not to startle the sleeping duo. He cast a few healing spells on each and a charm for serendipity to help them hold on until Madame Pomfrey could care for them properly.
“How much further to its lair?” Harry asked, peering ahead where he could just make out Malfoy, the boy facing out towards the forest.
“Nearly half an hour if walking at this pace.”
Straightening, Harry cast a shielding spell on the two cubs and carefully covered them back in the leaves. They would only be a handicap for the battle ahead, and he was done with unnecessary deaths. “Be strong, little ones. I’ll be back soon.” Ignoring Dren’s disapproving look, he signaled to Malfoy that they were ready to move. Hopefully the cubs would still be alive by the time they had dealt with the rogue.
Harry couldn’t trust Dren to help him in the battle. If the enchancubus was a warrior, he hid it well. So far he had only seen Dren use innate sex magic. He didn’t move the same way Malfoy did out of the glade, instead his steps tense and anxious with too much noise. He was hoping the guide would not be a hindrance once the fighting began. If Dren spent all his time hiding in the glade luring prey in, he may not be competent to defend himself outside of his home, even if living in the Forbidden Forest. There was probably a reason why Dren’s kind were so rare.
Catching Draco’s signal, Harry threw his arm out and halted Dren. He scanned the trees carefully, eyes falling on another body of a beast to the left, its dark fur too thick to decipher. But Malfoy wasn’t looking at the corpse. He was staring off ahead, his wand drawn and form tense in anticipation. Harry followed his gaze, sighting the movement far in the distance through the trees. From here he couldn’t tell what it was but he could see the creature was agitated, throwing itself into trees and bushes, stopping to roll on the the ground and snap at its own shoulders. The coloring was wrong, too light to be the rogue. But it may have caught the madness if it had survived an attack, and it was clearly a threat.
They all watched motionless as the creature made its lumbering approach, running into every obstacle in reach. They kept silent, hoping to avoid confrontation. It could be blind, for all its crashing and tripping. Yards away from Draco, close enough to make out the blood matting the wolf’s bright gray pelt, that notion was dismissed when the creature noticed them.
“Garruth,” Dren muttered, eyes softening to something akin to pity. “He has been tainted. The forest will mourn greatly at his loss.”
Warning shooting up his spine, Harry had only a moment to catch Draco’s eyes focus behind him in shock before a body crashed into him, thick fur tickling his skin even as unrelenting steel muscle threw him to the ground. Harry tried to use the momentum to roll, but his attacker was far too heavy and he felt his left arm snap when he jarred into the ground, suffocated by heat and fur.
Time slowed as gaping jaws filled with rows of dripping teeth and scalding breath came at his face. Harry’s body moved without conscious thought. In an instant his right hand was grasping the furry jaw, his wand biting into his palm while it was crushed into the beast’s throat. His power channeled through his arm and into his hand, exploding out and momentarily blinding him as flesh splattered down in a gory, hot rain.
His brain jarred to reality, screaming that the gray wolf was still approaching and far too close to Malfoy for him to be able to help. The full weight of his overgrown attacker slumped limp, its black fur threatening to smother him. Fighting his initial panic, Harry choked out a Wingardium Leviosa, the body wrenching and jolting, so heavy it didn’t want to float. He forced the thing away, barely acknowledging the chunks of flesh that had slipped through his armor and were squelching against his skin. Rolling, he stumbled to his feet one-handedly, looking frantically around until he found Draco wrestling with the wolf, Dren frozen and staring at the scene in horror.
Running unsteadily, Harry hit the wolf with numerous stunners, careful to avoid hurting Draco. He broke through the heavy underbrush, thorns sliding over his boots ineffectively, dagger already in hand as he noticed the spells were having no effect on the magical being. He was only feet away when Draco gave a sudden, power filled shout and sent the creature careening, the wolf crunching sickeningly into a tree trunk.
Harry stood panting, trying to push down the very annoying feeling of panic that he had just been full of, not to mention the quickly rising desire from seeing Malfoy throw something twice his weight across the damn forest with ease. The boy was fucking strong.
Growling at his fucked up head, Harry sheathed his dagger and crouched beside the blond. “Did it bite you?” He asked roughly.
Silver eyes suddenly snapped to his, Harry freezing under the heated stare. Malfoy was in half glow, feathers just starting to peak through his hair, talons fully formed, fangs long and sharp. Harry cautiously sat back, not sure if Draco was all there just yet, the boy full of blood lust and forest. And then the blond was suddenly gone, moving so swiftly, Harry could barely track his movements only to find Draco stopped in front of the wolf he had thrown.
Breathing a heavy sigh of relief, Harry got back to his feet, turning and checking on Dren. The enchancubus was unharmed, if not a bit green tinged from all the blood.
“Keep watch,” Harry ordered, the cloaked boy trembling but nodding in reply. Harry returned to his attacker, eyes running over the dark beast. It was the rogue and it looked about as dead as you could get. Its throat was the equivalent of a mangled pile of hamburger but Harry still checked for breathing. He had already been fooled once by thinking it was dead and would not make the mistake again.
The wolf, Garruth, was alive and conscious. Its back was broken, blood dripping from its muzzle where it had bit its tongue. There was a sharpness to his eyes reflecting intelligence when he approached. Malfoy was on the other side of the tree, not speaking, not moving, barely breathing. Harry spared the boy a glance, hoping he wasn’t going full veela in the middle of the damn forest.
“Do you speak?” Harry asked the wolf, careful to stay out of reach of its fangs.
The wolf huffed for air, a low growl ripping from its throat. Kill me.
Harry rolled his eyes. It was always death or honor with some sorts and he found it absolutely useless. “Why did you attack us?”
Kill me!
Harry stepped back from its snapping jaws and scowled. “Answer the fucking question. Why did you attack? Are you tainted and unable to control yourself, or are you just a massive dick, hurting anyone that comes your way?” When the wolf continued to growl, Harry turned. “Dren! Can you vouch for him?”
“Yes. He’s…” Dren swallowed hard, stepping up slowly. “He is experiencing the first signs of the madness. We should honor his wish for death.”
“Like fuck,” Harry muttered, kicking a tree root. “Malfoy, you got your shit together yet? We might have a live test subject if you’re willing to not go all murderous veela on him.”
When Draco didn’t respond, Harry chanced another peek the boy’s way. From the angle, all he could see was Draco holding his wrist, and he quickly rounded the tree to make sure the boy hadn’t been bit. “Are you tainted? We can—Crap.” Harry groaned, Draco’s eyes very much burning molten silver as they moved over him.
“Potter, was it because he looked like me?” Draco asked quietly, his voice sliding across Harry’s ears like the softest, most exquisite silk.
“W-What?” Harry asked, trying to fight the pull slowly curling up his legs, warm trickles of desire that had no place being there at the moment. Except that he got really hot when seeing Malfoy beat the crap out of things and the blond could apparently smell it on him.
“You let him touch you. You don’t let anyone touch you.” Draco reached his hand out, peeling a chunk of slick fur and flesh off of Harry’s chest, the brunette whimpering from the contact of warm fingers. “I want to know what made him so fucking special that you would let him touch you.”
Feeling very weak in the knees all of a sudden, Harry struggled to step away. Draco wouldn’t let him, fingers clasping around one of the metal buckles connecting the leather of his armor, holding him in place. “Malfoy… you’re losing your shit,” Harry gasped out, fighting another groan when Draco roughly pulled him close, armor knocking into armor.
“Tell me… Tell me it was because he looked like me,” Draco whispered, mouth breathing hot air over Harry’s ear and neck. “Tell me that you’d never want another unless you thought they were me.”
Whining low in the back of his throat, Harry fought to keep his eyes shut against the searing silver. “Get… bent.”
Draco growled, claws prickling the boy’s skin as he grabbed Harry’s hips and pulled him tight against his body. “Damn you—Let me have this one fucking thing, Potter! Before I lose my mind. Just tell me. Please, my beautiful… please?” He finished, his anger fading to plead softly in Harry’s ear.
“Fuck,” Harry muttered, hating the vulnerability in Draco’s voice, the absolute, unignorable raw need. Why was he doing this? Why the fuck did the boy have to care that he had thought of him when with Dren? Why, after months of ignoring him beyond their occasional spats of angry bickering, did Malfoy have to touch him and call him beautiful? He hated him. Malfoy hated him and would never forgive him, so why was he doing this?
“Please. Can you feel how crazy it makes me? To know you… you touched someone. Let someone touch you.” Draco ran his hands up Harry’s sides, burrowing his face against the boy’s neck. “You let someone taste you. Hear your cries of pleasure. Those are mine, Harry.”
Harry moaned, Draco’s mouth opening wide, teeth scraping against the skin of his throat, palms grasping his flesh hard. His heart ached and flesh burned all at once, and he could not understand how he had ever confused Dren for Draco. Draco’s hands were so much stronger, so forceful and passionate, his energy rising up in a haze of shimmery silver to pull him down into the absolute heat and darkness of his desire.
“Can you feel it?” Draco growled, fingers digging into Harry’s back and dragging down over his muscles. “How deep it runs. How strong it is. That is how far you reach into me.”
“Oh god, Draco,” Harry gasped, his body shaking uncontrollably. How did he do this to him with just one touch? Just twisted him round, stole all his reason and anger and the last of his fucking sanity—So damn easily.
“You’re still mine, right? You’re still my beautiful one?” Draco asked, despair brimming in his voice, infecting the energy surrounding the two until all Harry could feel was the boy’s unceasing pain. “Please, Harry. Please… I need you.”
Swallowing hard, Harry pushed weakly at Draco’s shoulders. “You’re… you’re sick, Malfoy. I c-can feel it. It’s, uh, it’s on your chest and it’s fucking with your head.”
“No!” Draco snarled, pulling Harry’s head back by his hair. “This is real. This is how I… how I feel for you.”
“He bit you,” Harry whispered, turning his face away before Draco could kiss and infect him too. “I can feel it in your energy. It’s spreading.”
“Why won’t you listen to me? Do I mean so fucking little to you?” Draco cupped the boy’s face, fingers biting in, voice full of sorrow. “I know I… I hurt you. I know I took what wasn’t mine… But god, I felt it, Harry. All those new senses all said you wanted me back. That you—That you cared. Didn’t you feel me too? Couldn’t you feel how deep you reached inside me?”
Harry did not know when he had started crying, just that it was difficult to keep his eyes shut fully while fighting tears. “You have to let me go, Draco. I can get you back, but you have to calm down.”
“I don’t want to go back. I will die in this fucking forest if I have to,” Draco hissed out. “Just tell me, beautiful. I need to know you can still feel me. That… that I’m not alone with this… this unbearable ache inside.”
Sobbing from the full weight of that ache, Harry refused to answer. And then, when he felt the taller boy dip his head to kiss him, he quickly covered his mouth. “Saliva. You’re infectious. I need you to step back,” he whispered hollowly. “You need to stun yourself so that I can get you to the castle safely. Please, Draco.”
Harry fought the urge to open his eyes, fought the desire to see if Draco truly looked as real as he sounded because surely it was just the quickly spiraling madness of the rogue’s illness flowing through the halfling’s veins. Draco pulled away with a groan, Harry listening intently for signs that he might run or attack or just hurt himself like all the infected did. But none of that came, just one spell, Draco stunning himself and quickly crumpling to the ground.
Eyes cracking open, Harry stared down, wiping viciously at his wet cheeks. He could still feel it inside, the unbearable ache, the need for the boy he had tried so hard to stomp down inside. It was misery; hot and cold, full and empty, and just too much to bear for one person.
“What a fucking shit couple of days,” he muttered, crouching and arranging Draco so he wasn’t curled up uncomfortably. “Dren! I’m going to have to move fast and you’re going to have to help carry.” Harry glared up, Draco’s face peering down at him from beneath Dren’s hood.
“I do not know if it would be wise for me to enter your castle,” Dren answered guardedly under the brunette’s angry eye.
“I’ll protect you,” Harry said gruffly, inspecting the row of teeth marks on Draco’s chest that had just missed his armor. “I’m going to knock your friend out and then float the three of them. I just need some help guiding them through the trees. One of my arms is broken and there are still the cubs to recover. I will escort you back to your tree later, if you like,” he added, straightening.
Dren nodded hesitantly, looking down at Draco’s unconscious form. “You were very cruel to him, pretty one. I think… I think you are both very cruel to each other.”
Harry stilled, hand curling into a fist. “You don’t understand, Dren, and I’m not going to explain it. He’s just fucked in the head from the madness. He never would have said those things otherwise.” He forced himself to move, stunning the wolf and binding its muzzle just in case it managed to wake and snap at one of them.
“You’re wrong, Harry. You two are connected.” Dren bent, carefully lifting Draco up, his natural form apparently strong enough for that much. “That you can ignore his pain, never mind your own… There is something wrong about it.”
Harry gritted his teeth, wishing the boy would just shut the fuck up. Because it wasn’t just Dren, it was Malfoy taunting in his ear some goddamn lie about affection.
Dren shook his head when Harry merely floated Garruth up, bound and trailing behind him. “Why do you do it, Harry? It must hurt you to hurt him. You two are nearly joined—”
“Stop it, Dren. Just shut up!” Harry growled, rounding angrily. “So what if it fucking hurts? Being with him hurts so much more. I’d rather just hate myself and be done with it.”
“Harry…”
“No! Either help me or leave. I don’t need another damn distraction.” Harry turned back to bind the corpse of the rogue, not caring what the damn enchancubus did.
He never should have come here. He should have stayed in bed yesterday and never thought to step out into the Forbidden Forest in search of the rogue. But Hermione had nearly knocked down his door when the attack happened, and had mentioned so goddamn coyly that Malfoy was supposed to be out hunting as well that he had given in just for the fucking chance to have some small closeness to the boy. And then Malfoy hadn’t showed, instead being asked to deal with parents. Harry had realized he was such a damn fool once again, getting sucked into whatever shit fantasy he had in his head that he and Draco could ever make things work. He couldn’t even get along with a damn Malfoy doppelganger that was hundreds of times more pleasant than the Slytherin.
God, he was such a fucking fool.
“Ready?” Harry snapped, turning on his heal once he had gotten the rogue situated. Dren looked back at him dolefully and Harry suppressed a sigh.
“Did you wish to carry him?” Dren asked, heaving Draco onto his shoulder. Harry frowned at the question, stepping closer to inspect Draco’s back. The blond had gotten scratched up when the wolf had knocked him to the ground, blood dripping down. He healed the cut, then charmed the boy to float.
“You carry him for now. I’ll take the cubs once we get to them,” Harry muttered, trailing the two beasts behind him and urging the enchancubus forward. Holding Malfoy was a bad idea even when unconscious. His fucked up head didn’t care if Draco could lie through his teeth over something like wanting him. It was better just to separate and avoid the boy from then on. He had managed to get Draco infected by a madness and stuck as the target to a rebounded lust spell within two days. He had done enough wrong.
Getting back into Hogwarts was far more difficult than leaving, Draco not conscious to stop the very interested students in the hall from following Harry as he raced towards the infirmary. Dren also seemed incapable of helping even though he could at least control himself. The enchancubus immediately pulled his hood down over his face when entering the castle, Draco still safely in his arms, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.
“Madame Pomfrey!” Harry shouted on entering the main room of the hospital ward and locking the door behind them, the witch nowhere to be found. There was a loudly clacking bell just for such an occasion and Harry brutally began to clang it until the mediwitch appeared in one of the connecting doorways frowning, only to flush and abruptly shut the door.
“Crap,” Harry muttered, realizing there was no way he could be in the room while Malfoy was being healed. He walked over to the closed door, speaking to the healer on the other side. “Malfoy’s been infected. The black dead one is the rogue—Pretty sure the original carrier. The wolf is another victim and willing to be tested on. The guy in the robe is the enchancubus and if he gives you any trouble, tell me and I’ll deal with him. Oh, and there are two baby cubs that need to be nursed and kept warm.” Harry winced inwardly, realizing he had just dumped a lot of work into the mediwitch’s lap, the woman always complaining loudly about it.
“Mr. Potter, don’t you dare go traipsing around the castle in your condition. Your arm is broken, you’re covered in blood…”
Harry rolled his eyes, growling under his breath. “Fine, whatever. I’ll be in the damn tiny white room. But I want something to read—And not school books! Ron has quidditch magazines.”
“I will find a way to get you healed, Harry, I promise. We will just have to figure something out without Mr. Malfoy’s help.”
Harry nodded curtly even though the woman couldn’t see. He should have kissed the prat. There was no way in fuck he could have, but he really should have. Because now Draco was contagious and who the fuck knew if it was even curable?
“Madame Pomfrey, like I said, the enchancubus is here and is willing to help—To a certain degree. He can interact with me safely and may be able to help with the antidote. I’m going to run now so that you can take care of Dra—Malfoy,” Harry said gruffly, pushing away from the door and towards the one that led to his room of that morning. He gently deposited the two sleeping cubs in the center of a cot, wrapping them in a nest of blankets.
“Sorry to do this to you, Dren, but they shouldn’t give you too much grief. She nags, but that’s the worst of it,” Harry said apologetically.
“Do you really think you can heal Garruth?” Dren asked, carefully brushing the unconscious wolf’s ear.
“The physical injuries easily. The madness… Well, that’s the whole point to try. I’ll be in a room over here if you need me. And if you’d be willing to update me on what’s happening, that wouldn’t be too bad either,” Harry said, wetting his lips as he floated Draco down on the nearest cot. The boy was so beautiful, so still. He did not want to think what would happen if they didn’t find a cure. Another life lost because of him—A life of such unimaginable value to him that he could hardly fathom it fully.
“There are so many people in this place. It is difficult on me, pretty one,” Dren said, eyes flickering as if he could see through the walls. Maybe he could, the creature’s senses tuned towards more than sight.
“Er, you’re not going to go, um, hunting in here, are you?” Harry asked, worry prickling as he thought of the many very innocent children he had just opened up to the predator’s senses.
“I will control myself,” Dren whispered, eyes downcast. “It would be easier if…” Harry bit his lip, breath catching as the boy removed his hood and fixed hungry silver eyes on him.
“A little later, Dren,” Harry mumbled, stepping back towards the door as fire began to curl in the pit of his stomach. “Just, um, after you help them a bit.” It was very much Draco again, healthy, lust blazing through his gaze. Harry could not stop the thrill of desire especially after that afternoon, now when it was so much safer since Dren was unable to reach his heart the same way Draco could.
“No, pretty one. It will be you, and it will be now. You have been brimming with scent, aching with need and I cannot concentrate.”
Edging through the doorway, Harry tilted his head, beckoning the blond to follow. He snapped the door shut behind them, ducking away before Dren could touch him. That it looked like Malfoy stalking him down, smirking as he followed to Harry’s room, only made his heart beat faster, his need grow greater. He slammed through the door to his small room, noticing it was now no longer a mess of feathers and linens only to be pushed up against the door by the blond, forcefully closing it with his back.
“You are dripping in want,” Dren growled and if Harry only heard Draco, seductive and hoarse with need, he couldn’t blame himself. “Ever since the forest. Ever since he touched you. He does something to you that makes your scent stronger.”
Ignoring the words, Harry focused on the voice, quickly pushing off the boy’s heavy cloak one handed, fingers tearing for the zipper to the robe underneath. “God, just… just touch me,” Harry said with a gasp, not caring that his arm was broken or he was covered in the blood of some terrible beast. He just needed Draco to touch him and everything would be so much better.
“There is just something about you, pretty one,” Dren murmured, fingers slipping under the band of Harry’s tight leather pants, fanning around to find the clasp in the front. “Your energy… It is intoxicating. Unique. Powerful.”
“Harder,” Harry grunted, pulling the blond’s hips to his. “Fuck, just, just do it hard, and rough, and… oh god, fuck… fuck yes…” He moaned, Dren biting his shoulder, jaw focused on the muscle and clamping tight. Harry fell back against the door, nearly boneless, the pain more a release than the hands trying to get into his pants in that moment.
He wrapped his one good arm around the blond’s neck when he was lifted, legs quickly clenching around the powerful waist holding him up, just to be slammed into the door again. He let out gasp after gasp, eyes tight on Draco’s fierce, handsome features as he ground his hips rhythmically.
“You’re so close… So hard this entire time… What does he do to you?” Dren asked lowly, pushing Harry’s pants down his hips, the material folded below his ass. He snaked a hot hand between their bodies and wrapped fingers around Harry’s hard length. “Are all his kind like that?”
Harry shook his head weakly, moaning against the door, eyes half open to stare at Malfoy’s intense silver eyes. Draco was special. Harry didn’t know how to explain it, just that he had never truly reacted to veela energy before that first time with Draco, and now he couldn’t seem to stop reacting even when the boy was unconscious. “Please, just…”
“I know… I know what you need,” Dren whispered, teeth digging into Harry’s neck this time, biting hard. Harry closed his eyes, hating the pain those simple words caused. Fucking Malfoy, ruining everything, even his damn fantasy of a lie. Head knocking back against the door again, Harry came with a silent cry, thighs clenched tight to the hips jarring into him.
“That’s it, my lovely. Give me your release.” Voice husky in his ear, Dren shuddered against him. He blearily noticed the enchancubus’ energy this time, a wave of cool air sweeping over him, drinking down the heat and sweat from his tanned skin like a sacred elixir. Dren lifted his hand, pinning Harry to the door with his hips while he licked the cum from his palm in slow laps.
Harry unwound his legs, standing unsteadily on his feet as he slid down the toned, pale muscles of Draco’s body. He pushed aside the robe still clinging to the boy, hand moving down, seeking the hard length he had yet to get a proper look at.
“Harry, you don’t…” Dren trailed off, panting quietly, head resting forward against the door while the boy explored his still hard cock with his fingers. Draco was large, but not overly so, pale flesh flushed almost glowing red especially at the tip, Harry’s thumb rubbing circles with the precum glistening there.
“I want to watch him come,” Harry said, eyes straying up, catching on Draco’s flushed cheeks and very hazy expression. He had been so fierce the first time, as if trying to sear something into him beyond just his flesh and seed. But Dren looked nearly weak and open, mouth gasping soft murmurs of pleasure. He looked almost like Draco had sounded in the forest, pleading for Harry to be his.
Groaning, Harry rubbed his hips forward as he pumped Draco’s thick cock, sweat slicking his hand with each hard stroke. “God, come for me… Take that hard, big cock of yours and come all over me.” He kissed Draco’s jaw, finding himself panting loudly just thinking about the boy drizzling him with his seed.
“That scent again… You are insatiable, pretty one,” Dren said roughly, arm wrapping around Harry’s waist and crushing their lower bodies together.
“I need him… to fuck me,” Harry admitted between gasps, feeling Draco’s flesh swelling in his fist, getting ready to spurt and cover his already sweaty, blood drenched skin. “God, I need it so bad… I never knew how much… until he touched me that time.”
“Then let him, you foolish boy,” Dren chuckled, only to stop, the brunette’s mouth covering his lips. The enchancubus stared, eyes narrowing, mouth gasping suddenly when his hand squeezed firmer, pulling the blond over the edge. Harry fell back against the door, gaze falling down to watch the final streams of cum slick over his hips.
“God… that’s tight,” Harry panted out, eyes slowly moving up Draco’s smooth, sweaty skin revealed in a wide stripe between the edges of the long robe. Then back down, groaning as he rubbed the semen into his flesh, the need inside him only growing greater.
Staring at Harry for long moments, Dren eventually pulled away, zipping his robe together and sliding his cloak back on. Harry just watched him, fingers still moving over his hips, head heavy against the door. Dren reached a hand up, carefully pressing his palm to the boy’s cheek. “Doesn’t your arm hurt, pretty one? Aren’t you hungry or tired or something besides this painful ache I sense in you?”
Eyes trailing over the blond’s features, Harry shrugged unconcernedly. “No.” Sometimes he was angry. Sometimes he was just this numb blackness of despair. And sometimes, when he let himself think of Draco, he ached for whatever he had been before that night. Surely he had been a whole person once and not this broken half, crying desperate for a connection to the boy that held the rest of him inside.
“You trouble me, Harry,” Dren whispered, slipping closer to gently kiss the corner of his mouth.
Harry watched him unblinkingly. “You’re a predator, Dren. What the fuck do you care if your prey is happy or not?”
Shaking his head, Dren carefully looked over the boy’s broken arm, fingers lingering. “I am not a predator, you jaded thing. I am a bringer of good fortune and love. I enhance the physical pleasures of sex, help destined lovers find each other and even increase fertility. I can sustain myself on worldly food if I so choose. But sometimes very pretty, very needy creatures will find me and I will taste them and if possible, help them.”
Eyebrows rising, Harry gave a weak, shaky grin. “Sorry to disappoint, Dren, but you are way out of your league here.”
Dren nodded, grinning wryly in return. “That may very well be the case. But I am hardly disappointed. And if you need my help, whether it is to talk or just touch your boy that you refuse to touch in real life, I am happy to be of service.”
Harry looked away, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. It was easier to think of the boy as a predator, just seeking touch and sex in exchange for a meal. But if Dren thought of himself as some damn good Samaritan love token, it just made him feel like a pity case.
As if reading the many thoughts swirling in his cloudy green eyes, Dren suddenly pushed Harry back against the door again, growling heatedly in his ear. “Believe me, pretty one, it is not an offer I extend to just anyone. I will not touch your little classmates, nor even the object of your affection—Although I know very much how you might wish me to,” he drawled, Harry smirking wickedly as he remembered Draco glaring his lookalike down.
“There is that scent again. It is reminiscent of your boy but so heady,” Dren remarked, pulling away from Harry and straightening the brunette’s pants back into place. “It is almost as if you have made a scent to call him since you so clearly do not listen to his.”
Harry’s grin faded, his mind again drawn to the madness induced pleas of Draco before he had stunned himself. “Dren, I want to be alone.”
Dren nodded, pulling away so Harry could step around him and sit on the bed. Harry didn’t bother to look up, not wanting to see any version of Draco in that moment. Eventually the door shut and he could relax, slumping sideways on the bed, arm braced carefully on his side.
“God, you’re a fuck up, Potter,” Harry whispered, staring blankly at the texture of interwoven threads of the sheets. Wasn’t it bad enough falling for some veela halfling? Now he just had to start transferring onto some other lust creature. It he wasn’t careful, he was just going to fuck Dren up too.
Anyone that got too close to him became fucked up, Malfoy worst of all. He was more an infection than the damn rogue, his sickness subtle and insidious until no one was happy anymore, just full of pain whenever they looked at him.
He had become very good at making his mind blank the last year. He had figured out how to shut all the voices up, all the questions and worries and desires that swirled so madly inside. It didn’t stop the crazed feeling but it did stop the thoughts, and that was good enough. Every word Draco had said, pain and need tinged, every burning desire he had felt, every small, teasing point of shimmery contact so reminiscent of that night; Harry silenced it all. His fear, nearly tangible that he might have destroyed Draco by being so distracted and careless in the forest, letting the rogue and wolf catch them unaware—He silenced that as well. And if his heart still ached, full of pain and unbearable need for the damn beautiful Slytherin, he had learned to numb and harden that with even greater ease.
To see his father at the foot of his bed, long dead all these months, did not surprise Draco. He had come back to this memory many a night alone in his bedroom in the Manor, then in the room the veela had given him in their city and finally, his single prefect room at Hogwarts. It was always the same, his father waking him in the middle of the night dressed in his black Death Eater robes, eyes hard, lips twisted in the most chilling of smiles.
“You are needed, Draco. You have been called to serve him.”
If Lucius was tense, Draco did not think much of it. Anything that had to do with Voldemort made his parents tense. His mother had been so upset that he had barely seen her since he had woken up changed, his veela inheritance lengthening and fortifying his body in ways he had not expected. There were other new things too, senses and energies he didn’t quite understand but kept flowing up the last two days as he tried to make sense of the muddled, magic soaked world he had found himself in.
Draco got out of bed slowly, still getting used to his new height and legs. He took his father’s hand when it was offered, flinching away from the energy he felt in the man’s cold fingers.
“Father, what am I supposed to do?” He asked quietly, eyes straying to the door of his room where he could see his aunt glaring in, smiling cruelly. He knew he could not say no, whatever it was. It was Voldemort and the monster would kill him if he refused, but probably first Draco’s parents just to make sure everyone understood what saying no would result in.
“It is very simple, Draco,” Lucius said, grabbing the boy by his elbow and leading him to the adjoining bathroom. “You are to shower and dress in this robe. You will be assisting our lord in a spell.”
“A spell?” Draco repeated, blinking in surprise as he took the silky white robe from his father’s hands. “What if I…? My magic has been so confusing since the change, Father. I do not want to disappoint you.”
“It is a very simple spell,” Lucius said tight lipped. “Now hurry along. We mustn’t keep him waiting.”
Glancing again to where Bellatrix was leering at him, Draco stepped into the bathroom, his father closing the door. His mind kept whirring in fear, but he forced himself to go through the motions of cleaning.
The white robe was concerning. White was rarely used by his father and the Dark Lord for spells. It represented innocence and purity. It represented a victim. That he had to wash and then wear such a robe was ringing loud warning bells in his head.
There was a knock on the door, Draco jumping in surprise. “Are you ready?” It was Lucius, impatient and stern.
“I need to dry my hair,” Draco said uncertainly through the door. “You have my wand.” His father had taken it from him the morning he had changed, muttering something about Draco being hurt by his own spells.
“I will dry your hair.” Lucius pushed the door open, Draco turning away, body half wrapped in a towel. There was a sudden warmth, dry air crackling around him, and then his hair was light and loose again. Trying not to flinch, he held his head still as his father insisted on brushing his new, long locks, his dread growing.
“You look very nice, Draco, and you must be proud of it. You-Know-Who will be judging you on how well you hold yourself while in his presence.” Lucius pressed the back of Draco’s shoulder blades, forcing him to stand taller and more confident. “I have a potion for you to help calm your nerves. It is very important that you stay calm.”
Nostrils flaring, Draco gave a curt nod. He could smell his father’s fear. He held himself perfectly still when his towel was taken from him, the white robe wrapped around his shoulders brushing soft against his skin. When his father stepped back, Draco quickly zipped it, new senses alert and picking up too many things to fully understand from the man behind him. Fear, yes, but also a faint guilt and an even greater excitement. His father was anticipating something.
“I am going to help guide you through the beginning of the spell before you are brought into the room,” Lucius continued, again pulling Draco by the elbow. The man fell silent and Draco looked around as he was led from his room, bare feet touching soft on the carpet. Bellatrix was gone but he could sense the remains of her crazed presence as they went down the stairs, Lucius twisting them to the hidden door that led to the basement of the manor. He could sense many people down there, scents and sounds and something else he couldn’t quite name but found people like red hot lights in the dark of his mind. He wanted to ask his father what this new sense was but kept quiet. Lucius was part veela but had never woken up, having done a spell to keep his genes dormant. The man, for whatever reason, had not done the same spell on him.
“Father…” Draco swayed, a strange feeling hitting him as they stopped in front of a shut door. “Father, who is that?” He asked breathlessly, feeling something glowing very bright in his new senses, so bright it was blocking out all the other people he could feel only a room away.
“Good, Draco. It is good you can sense him.” Lucius pushed the door open, walking them slowly inside, Draco’s feet not wanting to agree with his commands. His nose had picked up the scent related to the glowing presence and his body was reacting oddly.
“All you need to do is focus on his heartbeat,” Lucius said, holding Draco’s chin and turning his face towards the crumpled form on the ground that was glowing red hot in his mind’s eye. “It will not be a true sound, or a sight. It will be a heat, as you feel the warmth in his blood and energy. Reach for that now, Draco, and see if you can feel that heat.”
Eyes straying briefly to his father’s hard glare, Draco looked back at the body, the smell of blood filling his senses. It was a male, his heart weak and frantic, body cooling from the loss of the blood he could practically taste. He reached carefully with his new senses, everything suddenly closer as if he were right on top of the boy instead of the room away. The boy’s name came to him like an omen and Draco quickly stuffed it down, keeping his expression flat. Darkness began to edge his vision, the heart growing louder along with the sudden appearance of others on the other side of the wall. Then Draco could feel his father’s heart beating evenly next to him, a sick betrayal pumping with every thump.
“Do you sense his heart, Draco?” Lucius asked, his grip on the boy’s chin tightening painfully.
“Yes, Father,” Draco answered as blandly as possible, all of his attention on the strange whirl of his father’s emotions and thoughts.
“Good. You will be asked to focus on this heart and only this heart. Do you think you can do that? It is very important that you not lose that focus or others can be harmed.”
Eyes turning again to his father, Draco carefully pried the fingers off of his chin. “Am I going to harm that heart?”
“You’re going to help kill it, yes. You have a very special gift, Draco. One that our Dark Lord would like to share.” But Draco could now hear what Lucius wasn’t saying, could now sense what his father knew was to come. There would be no sharing, only taking. His eyes followed down when Lucius pulled something from his robe, a vial full of golden liquid.
“Father, that is—”
“To calm you, Draco,” Lucius said smoothly, placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder soothingly. He could feel the guilt rising from the man before him, a damp musty scent of bog and rot. “There will be a lot demanded of you tonight. This is just to make things easier.” Lucius popped the stopper with his thumb, the glass vial pushed to Draco’s pursed lips while his shoulder was held tight.
He knew this potion, the one he had seen too many times floating around the manor, passed from Death Eater to Death Eater. The group of villains had been there only two weeks and Draco had seen that potion five times. He had asked his mother and she had nearly burst into tears, begging him not to grow up. To just stay young a little longer. The paper had been more helpful the next day. Another body full of ‘Siren’s Voice,’ a golden hued potion that had at least protected the victim from the pain of being eaten alive.
Harry Potter was lying half dead across the room and his father had a vial of Siren’s Voice. Maybe more than one vial, maybe two. Maybe he would first have to listen to Harry’s heart as it was eaten, his smooth flesh torn by teeth, bones cracked open, chest ripped apart. There was a monster in the other room and he had already seen this potion five times.
Draco didn’t know what happened next. Even in his dream he never remembered how he killed his father. His memory jumped. It began with his father’s heartbeat sickening with anticipation for a death to come, guilt for the betrayal of his only son, and the darkest of lust to see just what the potion would do once it touched his tongue. Then Draco closed his eyes, darkness falling, and when he opened them again the world was a shimmer of veela silver and everything was changed.
His father was dead, broken on the floor, vial dripping gold onto the stone blocks. Draco’s robe was red in the man’s blood and he stripped it away, disgusted by the scent of it. There was another’s blood in the room that smelled far sweeter and he needed to taste it.
He crossed the room swiftly, kneeling down over the prone, weak creature he felt glowing so bright. They had wanted him to kill this boy—This beautiful, glowing boy whose heart had been so different compared to all the others. Fingers reaching out, he ran his thumb through the red dripping down from the head wound on Harry’s face and brought it to his mouth, tongue flicking out to lick the scarlet.
Eyes wide, Draco gasped, falling forward and just managing to catch himself from tumbling to the ground. It was as if a light had gone on in fifty new parts of his brain, information zapping through him faster than any spell could ever work. “My god… Potter, what the hell are you?” He asked shakily. But Harry was unconscious and slowly bleeding out, not willing to answer. As Draco continued to stare, more information, emotion, and sensation began to swirl in him, his body trembling. Sweat prickled on his skin and he felt it this time when his feathers started to sprout, the silver glow nearly blinding his vision.
Harry Potter belonged to him. If asked to explain this fact, he would say something along the lines that Potter’s blood had told him so. It was the right flavor, the right scent and information and power that if any other person were to taste it they would certainly understand. They belonged together. Harry was his and he needed to save the boy before he bled out completely.
That Draco did not have his wand was irrelevant. His body seemed to know how to use magic while in the new form, his claws retracting to allow him to press his hands safely to Harry’s flesh and seek out where he was bleeding. Draco could sense more than just the wounds, energy in the brunette so strong zipping through, calling loudly to him to reach and tangle and pull the boy to him. And that seemed like a perfectly intelligent thing to do because Harry was his and in danger and Draco needed to be close so he could help him.
He pushed Harry flat on his back, opening his arms up so that he could get to the brunette’s torso. He rested his head on the boy’s barely moving chest, pushing the bloodied shirt up to hear more clearly. There was a rattle in his lungs, a wheezing where something was struggling to move properly and unable to. Draco relaxed further onto Harry’s form, tongue lapping out while he melded his energy deep into the boy, weaving the flesh back together. Harry’s lung suddenly inflated and raised his chest up firmly. Draco suppressed a groan, his entire body burning as he pushed the spell further into Harry’s body, seeking out every tear and rip inside and out.
God, it felt good. Panting, he tried to fight the lust rising up in him. Fuck, why did he smell like that? The more he healed Harry, the more his lithe, toned body was giving off this delicious, irresistible scent. It was like the boy was taunting him, begging him to stop his damn doctoring and just fuck him. Which was crazy because Harry really needed to be healed. But the harder Draco got, the better his spell got and so maybe, if he just pressed against the boy a little… God, just, just rubbed a little harder…
Eyes fluttering shut, Draco groaned, power moving through him in a wave even as his orgasm swept through him. He could feel his energy glowing brighter, a curtain of silver rising up. It was like he had caught every molecule of water in the air and then connected to it. Except he didn’t want to connect with air. He wanted to connect with the boy that was glowing bright in his head full of maddening energy and scent.
“Sorry, Potter, but if you could smell what I smell, you would totally understand,” Draco whispered, biting his lip and running his hand down the boy’s side. He needed to wake Harry up. The boy was in danger and needed to wake up. God, and if he was awake, it would totally be okay to fuck him then—not weird or fucked up at all—and that was really, really important.
He moved up Harry’s prone form, tongue lapping at the blood still soaking the boy’s face. He began pulling strings of his energy up, wrapping them around the brunette like a blanket, allowing the power to drift in and be absorbed by his skin. Harry made a soft noise, Draco’s energy helping to bring him back to consciousness. He could feel the pain in the boy, his confusion, his panic, and then, as he flowed more energy in, stealing deep, hungry kisses from the weak boy, Harry began to fill with desire. It was so perfect, so sweet and hot and dark, Harry’s need even more delicious than his blood had been but only by a little.
Draco pulled away reluctantly, his entire body tight with want. Harry was awake, stunning green eyes blinking up at him. God, the boy was beautiful, face drawn, bruised, bleeding.
“Malfoy?” Harry whispered, eyes moving over him like a touch. And then he did touch, Draco holding his breath, all his senses keyed in to the absolute desire Harry was building just by squeezing his arm. Just like when he had first tasted Harry’s blood, this instant too seemed to slow as he focused in on the brunette’s conscious want. Harry liked him. He liked his body and he liked how he was smart and witty and only fought when someone else started it. He hated that Voldemort had found a way into his life, had corrupted Draco’s home the same way he had corrupted Harry’s entire existence.
Looking down at the boy, Harry’s tongue flicking out to wet his lips, Draco was certain if he just killed Voldemort they would never be apart.
“I need this room cleared now! You and you, grab his arms—And for the love of Merlin, do not get scratched!”
“This isn’t—Shit! Siri, are you okay?”
“Restraints!” Madame Pomfrey demanded while stepping over Sirius’s groaning form, a house elf popping in an instant later. The first spell did not work at all, just bounced off and shackled a cot to the floor. The second one was barely any better, Remus, who had been the only one strong enough to pin Draco in the cot while the boy snarled and foamed, finding himself with new metal bracelets.
“For the love of—He’s a halfling!” Remus growled, snagging Draco’s wrists again as the boy broke free, making sure to avoid claw and fangs as much as possible. “Dose him in a sleep draught!”
The house elf popped out, two more popping in simultaneously, a large beaker of purple liquid in each of their clawed hands. One beaker was immediately floated over to Remus, who just glared as it was clear both his hands were full of a maddened Draco. Sirius, pulling himself from the floor, swiftly grabbed the floating container, held Draco by the nose, and poured half the beaker down his throat before anyone could yell otherwise.
“Stop! You’re going to kill him!” Remus shouted, then fell back with a grunt of pain when Draco managed to push him stumbling across the room. Madame Pomfrey was fast, pulling Sirius away with a quick spell before Draco could even slash, the two house elves throwing stunners at the boy while he struggled to stand and swing wildly.
Remus jumped back to his feet, stalking across the room and barreling into the boy. He pinned Draco chest first into the ground, pulling his arms behind his back. Draco continued to fight, bucking erratically, his movements slowing as each minute passed.
“Get me the boy’s head of house,” Madame Pomfrey asked the nearest house elf, the creature popping away. Everyone watched, the minutes ticking by until Draco stopped moving altogether. “Remus, is he breathing?”
Remus gave a quick nod, pulling Draco’s slack form up off the ground and laying him on a cot. “God only knows how long. That dose would have killed a dragon. Sirius, what were you thinking?”
“I was thinking I didn’t want him to scratch you and then have to deal with two crazed, super powerful beings,” Sirius snapped, running his hand agitatedly through his hair. “Where’s the quiet one? He might know if the boy can survive it. They’re both lust creatures.”
“That hardly makes them comparable, Mr. Black,” Pomfrey said in exasperation. “I can pump his stomach but then we have to deal with him being awake and violent…”
“Hagrid!” Remus exclaimed suddenly, running for the door with his wrists clanging metal. “He’ll have something to chain a magical beast,” he explained, nearly bowling into Severus, who was just entering. “Sorry.”
“Lupin,” Severus sneered, stepping back quickly. “This place is turning into a madhouse. Madame Pomfrey, you sent for me? I trust having something to do with my status spells telling me my storeroom is now empty of sleeping draught?”
“The majority will be returned, Snape,” Pomfrey said with a defensive ring to her voice. “I was hoping you would contact Draco’s people. We are in an urgent situation and I feel we may have reached the extent of our resources. His physiology is so unique and the boy is strong. Heaven help if he starts pulling while in this state.”
“Are you no closer to a cure?” Severus asked, dark eyes solemn as they fell on Draco’s barely breathing form.
“I am getting there. By all means, if you can find the time, I would readily accept the help of a potions master,” Pomfrey said. “The wolf and children are showing some improvement, but Mr. Malfoy’s form is making things very difficult. He is just too strong, and I don’t mean physically. That he hasn’t defeated the illness on his own is a wonder. If I could talk with his veela relatives, maybe have them send an expert down to help, I feel like we would have a much better chance of sorting him.”
Sirius folded his arms, meeting Severus’s hard gaze. “Do you honestly think that arrogant lot is going to help anyone? They usually toss halflings to the side of the road like garbage.”
“They seem inclined towards Mr. Malfoy,” Severus muttered, his frown growing grimmer. “They are hardly dependable and very reluctant to share information.”
“Be that as it may, we must still try,” Pomfrey said sternly. “Mr. Malfoy saved countless veela lives along with even more human ones. We will simply remind them of that fact.”
Sirius didn’t look convinced but remained silent about it, Severus leaving to owl the veela and see if they would help. Pomfrey went back to the other infected, checking on their progress. Staring down at Draco’s silent, pale face, guilt and worry niggled at Sirius. Just that morning he had been yelling at the boy only to find out that Harry had been lying about what had happened that night with Voldemort. Somehow the two boys had managed to kill seventeen people instead of one, both their magic found in every corpse in the room of dead. Only one body had been free of the odd tangle of magic and that had been Lucius Malfoy, flesh shredded and neck broken.
That no one had pushed to find out what had happened, no inquiry, no questions at all, had only been because Voldemort wasn’t even officially alive in the Ministry’s eyes to begin with, while at the same time stacking up a pile of dead veela. When a cult of Death Eaters all die in an instant, their insane leader among them, it was just easier for the officials to sweep it away and call it a win. Hell, Sirius had been lucky to be pardoned given just how little the Ministry wanted to deal with the incident. Harry and Draco were underage and the only witnesses, except Harry had been passed out and Draco half crazed and half veela when found.
Sirius had wanted to ask Malfoy more questions. Had wanted to pry whatever remaining scraps of information he could from the boy about what had happened with Voldemort. That Draco had returned infected and crazed had not been fully a surprise. Because he had gone out with Harry and that just led to trouble recently. Not intentional or deliberate or even malicious, but it was still the end result with the boy. Harry was messed up and he was messing up lives.
That Draco had no family now, seemed to have few friends as well, with just the cold veela to call in an emergency only made Sirius feel worse. Malfoy had ended up with just as many problems as a consequence of that night as Harry had, but the boy was possibly even more alone for it. Certainly demonized, unlike Harry who had been acting out since and yet no one would dare speak wrong of him. No, the halfling had gotten the short end, being looked down from all sides just because of his genetics and parents… Parents he had accidentally killed to ensure Voldemort died.
Sighing, Sirius took a seat by the door, glaring at the floor while he waited for Remus and Hagrid. Draco was his distant cousin, and even though he wasn’t really big on bloodlines, it seemed important at the moment. He didn’t know what he meant to do about it, if anything, but he was pondering and that rarely led to anything easy in the long run.
Pacing the tiny room had gotten old very quickly. Harry had been trapped there for two days, had read every Quidditch magazine Ron and Seamus owned, and had even given schoolwork a shot only to stop, completely bored. He wanted out. Dren had visited only once to let him know he was assisting in one of the potions labs in the dungeon and would not be available. No one had told him how Draco was although someone had managed to heal Harry’s arm while he was sleeping. Giving another angry look to the four walls surrounding him, he decided it was time to take a walk.
Once he was out of the castle he’d be fine, it was just the getting through the castle that was the issue. He figured he’d have a plan by the time he got out of the infirmary. For now, he peeked his head out the door, bare feet edging on the cool stone floor as he slipped out the exit of his room. He was halfway through the large room when he heard a noise, turning slowly to find three pairs of unfamiliar eyes staring dazed at him.
“Aw, crap,” he muttered. Given their age, they were parents to the injured first years. They were also between him and the door to freedom. Hopping from one foot to the other, he reached for the nearest doorknob in the line of private rooms to the right of him, only to find it locked. “Crap, crap, crap, crap…” Hand reaching out, Harry began backing up from the approaching trio, trying each handle in turn until one blessfully opened. With a sigh of relief, he stumbled through the open door and slammed it shut behind him.
“Harry Potter. Now this is a treat.”
Harry jumped wide eyed as he tried to place the voice of the boy talking to him. He found him by the bed, Harry groaning when he saw Malfoy fast asleep among the sheets. Out of all the damn doors, he had to end up in Malfoy’s room? Exasperated, he turned his attention to the boy sitting in a chair next to Draco’s bed. His scowl grew once recognizing the veela.
“Terrence,” he said stiffly. Maybe someone had pulled the parents out of the hall? He was almost willing to brave three adult humans with uncontrollable lust, than the fucker slowly getting to his feet.
“I knew it was you,” Terrence said smugly, eyes roaming over the boy possessively. “I could scent you rooms away. You look good, Potter. You look… interesting.”
Harry stiffened when Terrence took a step forward, the boy’s eyes starting to glow, feathers rippling and sprouting. He tried to keep his panic from rising, his mind flashing back to the last time he had seen Terrence in this form with four other veela egging him on. “Back the fuck off, you overgrown chickenshit,” he snapped. “If I had known you were here, I sure as fuck never would have entered this room.”
“Oh, don’t sound so unhappy to see me. We had so much fun the last time… And you smell even nicer now.” Terrence was suddenly a foot away, his speed unmatched. “We didn’t get to finish what we started last time, Potter. I have deeply regretted that. But you’re here now as am I. And this time I don’t have to share you.”
“If you touch me, I am going to hurt you,” Harry said hoarsely, unable to look away from the veela’s glowing eyes. His knees were growing weak and his body very much wanted to surge forward and touch this boy… this cruel, ugly, terrible boy that had tried to rape him so many months ago.
“Who are you trying to kid?” Terrence asked, head tilted as he looked Harry over in his thin pajamas. “I can sense how hard you are, how much you’re begging for it. Only certain humans get that way around veela, Potter. You’re one of the lucky ones… The type we get to fuck.”
Harry pushed back against the door, hating how even now his body was responding. He couldn’t close his eyes to the unnatural glow but he could feel his own power. Ever since his night with Draco, he could feel the well of power inside him whenever veela energy was near. He reached for it now, sipping up strands of magic, wrapping himself in a golden barrier floating just above his skin. He would make sure Terrence regretted ever trying to touch him again.
“What have you been fucking lately, Potter? You have an unfamiliar musk on you.” The veela frowned, trapping the boy in his power while breathing up the side of his neck. “Don’t you know you’re made for veelas? This smell you give off… You’re begging for a veela. Hot, desperate, begging for it.”
Harry struggled against the fog that had come over him, Terrence now inches from his skin. “I’m warning you,” he gasped out.
“That’s okay. You’re even nicer when glaring like this.” Smirking cruelly, Terrence went to cup Harry’s cheek. The instant he made contact, power shot out, the veela thrown back across the room with a loud screech.
Harry grasped weakly for the door behind him, trying not to fall as the veela’s spell was broken. Fucking arrogant fucking veela always trying to fucking take.
“Shit… You’re powerful.” Terrence pushed himself to his feet, feathers charred, smoke rising off his clothes. “Which just makes hunting you all the more fun.”
“Hunting?” Harry fumbled for the door handle, pretty sure it would still be safer with the parents at this point.
“Oh, yes. The high council has been trying to figure out who gets to keep you, Potter. Ever since we found out you could weave, they’ve been searching to pick someone strong enough to subdue you.”
“That was… that was just a spell. Malfoy showed me how,” Harry muttered, his mind whirring at the thought of the veela government trying to capture him.
“No, you ignorant thing. One cannot learn to weave. Malfoy woke you up and now we just need to figure out who is going to keep you.” Terrence began pushing his feathers back on his head, smoothing them down, some floating to the floor. “I think if I work on you long enough, I just might win.”
Harry had heard enough of this particular line of insanity. “Listen here, you rude piece of shit. No one is ever going to fucking own me or keep me or subdue me or anything. You tell your goddamn veela council if they don’t leave me alone, I’m going to come after them. I will hunt you fuckers down and I’ll weave your hearts out of oblivion. And it will not be an accident!”
Terrence had recovered himself enough, leaning on Draco’s bed, eyes again alight with veela power. Harry quickly shut his eyes, drawing more power up in preparation to battle. “Potter, you hardly know how to do a simple weave. You might have amazing power but you don’t know how to use it. You could never match my people. As for your little trick of earlier—Who the hell says I even have to touch you? I can make you so full of need that you’ll be begging me to touch you. I could make you ride me without even—”
Harry could not see why Terrence stopped talking but the veela started making a strained, wheezing noise and his power dropped again. He debated whether it was a trick or not, then decided it mustn’t be because Terrence just loved to hear himself talk too much to ever pretend otherwise. Harry opened one eye carefully, the second quickly following.
Malfoy was strangling Terrence. One handed, sneering silently, holding Terrence high over his head. Staring at the scene, Harry had two separate thoughts. The first was the question of if Draco was actually healed or was this the boy full of murderous rogue rage. The second thought being that Draco looked absolutely sexy when his muscles flexed like that.
“Er… You alright there, Malfoy?” Harry asked, biting his lip when Draco turned searing silver eyes his way. Shit, even mad as a hatter, Draco was really, really hot. It helped that he totally hated Terrence. But then… Malfoy was supposed to be friends with Terrence. He was supposed to have sent the veela to hurt him in the first place. Blinking, Harry decided it was time to go.
“Potter,” Draco hissed when Harry went to open the door and leave. Glancing back, his knees nearly gave out when he caught Draco glowing, transforming to feathery and sexy.
“What do you want me to do to him?” Draco continued, looking at the brunette meaningfully.
Harry swallowed hard, a wicked grin breaking across his face. Terrence looked very, very scared, eyes wide as he clawed at Draco’s hand. Veela halflings were much more powerful physically than the full blooded types and Terrence was feeling it the hard way.
“Thought he was your friend, Malfoy,” he said, taking a step forward and then another, really wanting to see how Draco’s muscles bulged up close. The boy wasn’t even straining, still just holding Terrence up even though he had been stuck in bed for days.
“That was before I heard him say he was going to touch you,” Draco said tightly, anger making his voice hard. “No one gets to fucking touch you.”
Eyebrows raised, Harry was not sure what the hell to make of such a statement. Well, beyond his body’s initial burst of lust. He stepped closer to the bed, resting at the foot of it, hands inches from Draco’s feet. He glanced briefly up at Terrence, the veela looking paler than proper, eyes nearly bulging out. He smirked, bringing his gaze back to Draco. “You’re still out of your mind.”
Frowning grimly, the blond just stared at him, eyes glowing brighter as if trying to pull the brunette into the bed with him. Harry really didn’t mind. Draco was damn sweet when crazy, being protective and pretending he was actually someone the blond cared about. He wished the boy was like this all the time.
“Hurt him,” Harry said abruptly, answering Draco’s earlier question. And while he rested his elbows on the bed, Draco did as he asked without the slightest signs of hesitation. It was quick, efficient, and brutal, the brunette admitting a great amount of arousal to the vicious sight.
Growling, Draco threw Terrence’s whimpering, bloodied form to the ground, eyes again fixed on Harry. “You’re mine.”
He shrugged, bemused with Draco’s crazy conviction of such a statement. “Your asshole friends don’t seem to think so. Actually, I’m pretty sure you didn’t think so when you sent them after me at the beginning of the school term.”
Draco sat up further in the bed, tucking his knees until he was crouched in front of the brunette. “I did no such thing.”
“Oh? Then they just managed to know where I liked to hang out while having never been here before?” Harry kept his voice light, his body feeling numb just thinking about it. “They called me by my name outside the closed door. Told me how you had told them everything about what I had done that night. Terrence said I had ‘brought it on myself.’ His exact words.”
“Brought what?” Draco demanded, his eyes snapping down to the veela whimpering on the floor. When Terrence made no move to answer, Draco leaned down, hauling the boy up. “What the fuck did you do to him?”
“M-Malfoy, it’s not what you think—Shit! Potter, you need to talk him down!”
Harry, who was feeling about as numb as he had ever felt before, didn’t say anything. He watched with mild interest when Draco squeezed Terrence’s hand a little too tight and something snapped loudly. Malfoy was just being crazy. Because even if he hadn’t known, it still didn’t mean he would fucking care.
“Fine—f-fine! We were sent to test him! To see if he was as powerful as you said—Dammit! You didn’t tell us you claimed him!”
“Potter, is he telling the truth? Did they just test you?” Draco asked, his words muffled by his long, sharp teeth.
“No,” he said flatly, Terrence shrieking as another finger was broken.
“What. Did. You. Do.” Draco shook the veela with every word.
Terrence held on weakly, eyes again turned to Harry pleadingly. “Potter, please… you have to… calm him.”
He didn’t have to do fuck. “I think you should answer the question. Poor Malfoy is very sick from the madness and you aren’t helping things by being difficult.”
“He’s not—Ahh!” Terrence screamed, Draco twisting his thumb.
“Not the right answer, Terrence.” Harry gave a bored sigh, pushing taller on his arms until he was standing fully. He wondered idly how many more fingers Malfoy would have to go through until the veela actually got the damn hint. It turned out to be two.
“Oh hell… we… we pulled him… We wanted to see if he could fight it… like you said…”
Draco went still, wrenching the veela up to his face, Terrence’s head rolling forward, his neck unable to support the weight anymore. “Did you touch him?”
“Y-Yes…”
Draco gave a warning roar, suddenly standing and holding the veela by the head, hands pressing over his ears painfully. “Did you rape him!”
“No!” Terrence cried, eyes squeezed shut as Draco held his head tighter. Draco turned to Harry, eyes blazing for confirmation.
Harry stepped over, grabbing Terrence by the jaw. “You see what he’s doing to you? If I ever run across another one of you fuckers trying to test me or touch me or rape me ever again, this is going to seem like a fucking picnic. You want to tell me I can’t weave? The first time I tried, I was powerful enough to kill Voldemort while your full-blooded, shiny haired bitches kept getting eaten by the monster.” He turned away in disgust, anger boiling in him suddenly so much stronger than the numbness of before.
“Potter?” Draco growled, his unasked question clear.
“They tried, Malfoy,” Harry snapped. “I was stronger. Fucking five glowing veela tried to break me. They touched me, and when I realized they were going to rape me, I wove myself the fuck out of there. Blinked into the damn Shrieking Shack and had myself a nice, lonely freakout. Fucking hate veela.”
Draco abruptly dropped Terrence, the veela crumpling to the ground in a pained heap. “Why didn’t you tell me? Is this why—Damn it, you haven’t said a fucking word to me since we started school! Why the fuck would you not tell me?”
Harry looked at him in disbelief. “Because I thought you sent them to do it, Malfoy!”
Draco stepped back as if slapped, his eyes wide. “My god… Do you really think so little of me?”
It was too much for Harry, Draco looking so shell-shocked and small. He was already upset from having to remember so much, from the veela to Voldemort. Now he had to feel guilty for thinking Draco had wanted to hurt him? “What the fuck do you want from me, Malfoy? You ran off that night. You fucking left me on the damn floor. You never tried to say a fucking word—And shit, you were right for it.”
“I came back,” Draco said weakly, hands reaching for Harry, who quickly stepped away. “You had passed out. I stayed with you. I left to get help and then I stayed with you while you were unconscious.”
Harry shook his head agitatedly while gnawing on his lower lip. “You left. You left me all alone to… to count them. Every heart. Every single one, trying to figure out who I had killed.”
“You were so weak! I had to get you help. I-I…” Draco took a deep breath, tears welling. “I forced you, Potter. You were so weak, bleeding and confused and I was so much stronger—”
“Stop! Why are you saying that?” Harry shouted, pulling at his hair fitfully. “You were under a spell. That fucking potion. You can’t blame yourself over a goddamn spell!”
Draco groaned, turning and nearly tripping over the fallen Terrence. “I never drank the fucking thing! My father tried to make me and I blacked out. When I came to I had gone all veela for the first time.” He turned back, eyes begging Harry to understand. “I couldn’t let them hurt you. I just couldn’t. There was something inside me that wanted to kill everyone so that you would be safe. And that same something… it wanted to make you mine. Even though you were weak and didn’t understand and couldn’t fight back properly.”
Harry couldn’t speak, his mind reeling wildly. It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. Malfoy had been full of a lust potion. He had wanted to have sex with him because of that potion, using his call. And while they were having sex, they happened to do a spell to kill Voldemort and save both their lives with Draco’s veela powers. But… but if you took the potion out of the mix, how the hell had any of it happen?
“Wait, don’t run away!” Draco shouted, racing Harry to the door and slamming it shut while the brunette struggled to open it. “Talk to me! Yell at me! Anything! Just stop running away from me!”
Harry growled, turning and shoving the boy back. “What! What the fuck do you want from me! So you didn’t take the potion—What the hell is that supposed to mean? You left me and then you never talked to me again. And we started school and those fuckers came after me—”
“But I had nothing to do with that!”
“It still fucking happened!” Harry yelled, hitting Draco again, the taller boy stumbling back. Draco grabbed his fists before he could strike a third time, trapping them against his chest.
“I would never do that to you. My god, Harry, I felt bad enough for what I did to you that night. I would never… Never do such a thing.” Draco pulled him closer, trying to get the boy to meet his gaze. The brunette kept his head ducked, struggling still to pull away.
“I killed your mom,” Harry whispered hoarsely, tears in his eyes. “It was okay that you wanted to hurt me because I killed her. You should hate me… I-I hate me and you should too.”
Eyes downcast, Draco sighed heavily. He released Harry’s hands only to thread his fingers through the boy’s dark locks, pulling his face up. “What are you doing to yourself, my beautiful?” He whispered, pressing his forehead against his. “You didn’t even know what you were doing. I was supposed to guide you. Keep you focused. I never even warned you that others could get hurt. It wasn’t your fault.”
Harry just shook his head weakly, more tears falling from his blinking lashes. “I am so sorry, Draco… So, so, so fucking sorry,” he gasped out.
Draco tried to wrap his arms around the boy, but Harry began to pull away the instant he felt it. So Draco kept his fingers lightly on the back of his neck while his other hand combed Harry’s hair. “It’s okay. I promise.”
“I gotta… I need to go,” Harry mumbled, stepping back. “I just can’t…”
“Please stay—God… just… just stay for a few minutes,” Draco pleaded softly. “You don’t have to say a word if you don’t want.” He pulled away, his hands out and open. “I won’t touch you. I just… I just want to be around you.”
Harry paused at the door, eyes staring blankly at his bare feet. Draco relaxed slightly when the boy made no further signs of trying to escape. “Um… did you come in here to see me?” He asked, trying to draw Harry into a safer line of conversation.
Harry shook his head mutely. He chanced a glance up, gnawing on his now swollen bottom lip, only to look away when he caught Draco’s eye. “I was trying to get outside for a bit but there were people out there.” He tilted his head towards the door.
“They, uh, didn’t hurt you, did they?” Draco asked, remembering how the brunette had freaked out in the Great Hall.
“Nah.” Harry sighed, staring at the floor again. “Really, I should just get out of here and…” He needed to think. He needed to get away from the damn beautiful boy and think.
“Let me at least take you to your room?” Draco asked, taking a small step closer. “Just to make sure no one hurts you.”
Harry spared a glance behind Draco’s legs, Terrence groaning in pain on the floor while he held his broken hands to his body. “You think that’s a good idea? You’re not quite yourself right now.”
Draco furrowed his brow, turning to where he was looking for a moment, then back to the brunette. “Harry, I’ve been free of the illness for ten hours now.” He stooped, picking Terrence up by the shoulder and throwing him unceremoniously on the bed. “My body actually fought the illness off, it just took a while. Pomfrey wants me to stay in bed for another day. You know how she gets.”
Harry just stared. His mind kept freezing up at the very thought of Draco saying all the things he had just said while at the same time not being infected. He shook his head quickly, trying to clear the strange blush from his cheeks. He really needed to just get the hell away and think in peace.
He stepped aside when Draco approached, staring at the taller boy’s back and long silky hair as he opened the door. “All clear?” Harry asked hopefully.
“Give me a second and I’ll clear them out,” Draco said, stepping out the door and latching it behind him. Staring blearily at the doorknob, Harry wondered if Draco was out there throwing people literally out of the room. He glanced again at the broken pile of Terrence. Malfoy had systematically pulled the veela apart just because he had… What, exactly? Was it because he had asked Draco to hurt Terrence? Or was it because Draco didn’t want anyone touching him?
And why, exactly, didn’t Draco want people touching him? He had been upset in the forest too. Upset he had let Dren touch him. Draco had been begging that he only be his… And now he had beaten up Terrence, the ringleader of the asshole veela that had attacked him months ago. He had… Draco had said he was his…
The door suddenly pushed open, Harry starting, eyes rising to catch on Draco’s. Staring at him far too long, Draco eventually stepped back so Harry could get into the now empty hall connecting all the single rooms together. Harry glanced down and sideways, catching Draco in his peripheral as the boy followed him slowly to his room. And then Harry was suddenly pushing his way into his tiny white room and Draco was in the doorway behind him, hanging on the frame, long hair blocking his face from sight.
“Potter, I need to talk to you about that night. Seriously talk to you.” Draco looked up, his expression tired but resigned. “It’s… It’s difficult, the things I need to say, and I just really don’t know how to say them all. But I need to. Because I just don’t know how to keep doing this.”
Harry sat heavily on the bed, hands braced on his knees. “Yeah, okay. We can do that. Just not…”
“Not now,” Draco agreed quietly. He straightened, staring at Harry’s bowed head and shoulders. He walked further into the room, sinking down to his knees in front of the boy, Harry’s green eyes widening as he caught sight of him.
“What are you…?” Harry gasped, Draco’s hands cupping his face firmly.
“You’re in danger like this. And you’re bored in this room. And I… I would really like to kiss you,” Draco murmured, nose brushing against Harry’s lightly. “Would that be…?”
“Yeah,” Harry replied breathlessly, eyes fluttering shut, Draco’s hands warm on his skin, breath even warmer as he slipped closer and gently pressed their lips together. It was soft, sweet and tinged with sorrow. Exhaling slowly, Harry yielded into the firmer touch, Draco’s fingers pulling him closer, tongue urging his lips to part. “Oh… oh hell,” Harry whispered weakly, shuddering as he melted under Draco’s hot mouth.
Groaning, Draco tangled his fingers into Harry’s hair and crushed the boy’s lips as he surged forward, delving his tongue deep and tasting. Harry gave a resounding moan, arms wrapping around the blond’s neck as he met each thrust of tongue with his own. Gasping loudly, he suddenly found himself in Draco’s lap, the boy pulling him down to the floor on top of him. Harry wrapped himself tighter, straddling the boy’s thighs while Draco slid an arm around his waist and ground their lower bodies together.
Harry could not fully understand why he needed to crawl inside the boy holding him but that was what he wanted, to pull Draco’s flesh so tight to him that they would eventually meld and merge and be complete again. And Draco definitely understood, his grip so strong and forceful as he wrenched Harry’s hips, twined their tongues and tried to breathe through the brunette’s mouth as if it were his own. Harry pushed fitfully at Draco’s pajama shirt, finding the hem and getting his hands underneath, seeking out the waiting hot flesh beneath. He tried to undo the buttons, his fingers uncoordinated and impatient, tearing and slipping on each small disk.
Draco growled, far less impeded, grabbing Harry’s shirt by the bottom of the hem and pulling it up his back, twisting and folding until the brunette finally relented and raised his arms long enough to pull it free. Except neither was willing to break from their kiss long enough, Draco finally groaning and wrenching away so that he could have the boy topless, dark hair ruffled into a mess. Seeing that Harry had still not gotten his shirt undone, Draco quickly tore the two halves of his top apart, buttons popping and rolling away.
“Harry, your—mmph!” Draco was cut off by his desperate mouth again, groaning as the brunette attacked him with such force he toppled backwards, Harry following relentlessly after.
Forcing Draco flat onto his back, Harry kissed him hard into the floor, hands moving down his sides and up his chest, fingers fanning and digging in as he explored every hard plane he could reach. Draco explored his back, large palms running possessively over every bare inch of flesh and muscle, moving down and grabbing the boy’s ass. Harry cried out when Draco suddenly pulled him tight against his hips, their hard lengths crashing into each other.
Glaring as he heard voices in the hall outside, Harry reached for the still wide open door, nearly losing his balance as he leaned to push it shut. Seeing him stretched out, Draco caught the boy’s extended arm, other hand flowing over his body, lingering on his hips. Sharp hipbones peeked out from the waist of Harry’s pajama pants that Draco immediately began to push further down, revealing more creamy, golden skin.
“Oh fuck,” Harry gasped, Draco pulling him further up his body by his outstretched arm, their flesh rubbing together achingly. With his free hand, he braced himself on Draco’s shoulder while the blond managed to get his palm down the front of Harry’s thin pants and into his sweaty curls. Harry moaned loudly, hips rocking forward in hard, desperate thrusts, pumping into the fingers wrapped around his cock.
“That’s it, beautiful,” Draco murmured huskily in his ear, releasing his wrist to grip the boy’s hip and add more resistance to each grinding pump. “God, I’ve dreamed of this. Holding you again. Hearing you gasp and cry for me.”
Harry whimpered, panting into Draco’s neck as he held the boy’s shoulder and hip. It took everything in him not to say what he was feeling. How horrible and wonderful it was to be back in Draco’s arms. It wouldn’t last. It couldn’t last. He was fucked in the head, and Draco… god, Draco was fucking perfect.
“Come for me,” Draco demanded, mouth wide as he licked up the side of the brunette’s neck, teeth nipping into his jaw. “You are mine, Harry. Every time you come, it’s for me. Every cry, every breath, every drop of your seed; these are the gifts you give me.”
“Draco,” Harry moaned, his eyes rolling back in his head when the blond’s free hand pushed his pants down, fingers teasing between his cheeks. It was too much, those long digits stretching his flesh, dipping into his hole and touching inside him. Harry’s cry was of surrender, his cum streaming into Draco’s ready palm, hips jerking fitfully while the blond held him tight.
As Harry’s breathing began to even out, the rest of the world started to filter in. The sun streaming in through the window. Voices outside the door. Draco, mouth moving over his neck, pausing only to lick his hand clean of cum with hungry strokes. He could feel the blond’s stare, trying to catch his eye, trying to figure out what he was thinking. But he wasn’t thinking. He never fucking thought anymore, he just reacted and acted with no regard for consequences.
Face buried in Draco’s neck, Harry slid his hand down between their sweat soaked bodies, seeking out the hard length still burning into his hip. Draco caught his hand before he could wrap his fingers around his cock. Harry bit his lip, not sure why Draco would stop him and unwilling to seek the boy’s face out to ask him.
Draco entwined their fingers together while pulling Harry’s pants back up. “If you touch me, I won’t be able to hold back,” he said hoarsely, kissing his cheek. “Every part of me is screaming to fuck you, my beautiful. I want to come inside you. I want you to come inside me. There is only so much I can control right now.”
Harry felt dizzy, the world spinning wildly at the very thought of Draco so close to the brink that just to touch his dick would be to break his self control. He made himself pull away. Forced himself to get up away from Draco’s heat, sweat and breath and sit alone on the bed while not looking at the boy. Because he would touch him if he stayed. Just to see if Draco was lying. Just to have the boy inside him again.
Draco didn’t move for a while as he collected himself. He stayed long enough for Harry’s eyes to wander back his way, taking in his long legs, bare torso, fierce, contemplative face while the boy breathed haltingly with his eyes closed. He was beautiful. Harry fought the urge to go back, to unveil Draco’s erection and wrap his lips around his cock the way he’d been dreaming of doing nearly every time he closed his eyes.
“Harry,” Draco whispered, his eyes remaining shut. Harry wondered if they were shining behind his lids even though he felt no pull.
“Yeah?”
“The spell should be gone.”
Wetting his lips, Harry slowly got to his feet. “You want me to go?”
Draco gave a harsh laugh, his hand covering his face. “Never. I want you to never leave my presence again. But if you don’t get the fuck away from me soon, smelling the way you’re smelling, I’m going to lose my shit.” He trailed of, groaning softly as the world again went dizzy for the brunette.
Harry paused, standing over Draco, watching the boy determinedly keeping his eyes closed. “Is that all it is? Just some sort of scent?”
Draco didn’t say anything for a long minute, his fingers threading through his hair. “Everyone has a scent,” he finally answered, choosing his words carefully. “The same way the arrangement of facial features, physical attributes and even desirable emotional states can provoke a response of attraction.” He hesitated, finally adding softly. “Just… I don’t notice anyone else’s scent but yours.”
Heart racing in his ears, Harry bit the side of his thumb. “Why’s that?”
Draco shrugged, hand again covering his eyes. “Not sure. Probably because… well, it’s one of the things I need to talk to you about. Soon.”
“Oh… okay.” He was too distracted to move his feet even though he knew he should. Draco was waiting for him to leave. Needed him to go so he could get himself back under control. His body just didn’t seem to care. “What happens if you look at me right now?” He asked softly, both of Draco’s palms now over his eyes.
“Nothing.” Draco lifted his hands away, his eyes perfectly normal and free of glow. Except the tears streaking from the corners of his eyelids, fresh ones even now threatening to spill.
Harry swallowed hard, not sure what to do. “Why are you…?”
“Missed you,” Draco said simply, closing his eyes again. “A lot.”
His throat feeling tight all of a sudden, Harry nodded weakly. “I’m gonna go,” he mumbled, stepping around the boy.
“Soon, Potter.”
“Yeah.” Harry escaped out into the hall, shutting the door behind him. Sirius, Remus, Severus and Dren all looked up at him, the four in a huddle as they conversed. Harry barely noticed them, walking past and ignoring their calls.
Harry skipped classes for the next three days, wandering the dungeons of the school, eventually hiding away in the Chamber of Secrets. He didn’t know what to make of anything except the realization that his heart was breaking and had been doing so for a very long time. Before that summer. All the way back when he had fallen for a rather brilliant, cocky, son of a bitch Slytherin whose family had been so deep in Voldemort’s pocket, Harry had known he would never have a chance with the boy.
One incident had changed everything and nothing. They had gotten Voldemort out of the way only to pile a stack of bodies so high between them, there was no way to see past. Which was probably why Harry ended up in the Shrieking Shack tonight, drinking himself blind.
Draco killed Lucius and he killed Narcissa. Whatever weird, animalistic instincts took over veela halflings, it was apparently able to ignore very terrible facts like that. Harry couldn’t. He knew how horrible it was to have your parents be murdered and he had just been a baby at the time. Malfoy was fully aware of the horrors that had happened and whatever his veela blood was doing to him, it didn’t warrant forgiveness.
Now, apparently, Harry had fucked up any other family connections for the boy. Terrence had been shipped off to wherever they kept full-blooded veela assholes with a very big chip on his shoulder that would likely keep Draco from ever being welcomed back. And fuck—Harry honestly didn’t feel bad. Because he fucking hated the veela and hated that Malfoy had ever left with them in the first place. Draco should have stayed with him. They should have fucking talked the second he had regained consciousness and tried to figure something the fuck out.
“Damn it,” he growled, getting unsteadily to his feet so he could explode the broken bits of furniture around the room properly.
It wasn’t fucking fair! How dare Malfoy still want him after all this. He had fucked up beyond all reproach, had killed a house full of Death Eaters, and that fucking prat could cry over missing him these last months? He had iced Harry out—had been a fucking stone around him every time they made eye contact. How dare Draco feel underneath it all while Harry had been bleeding raw the whole fucking time!
“Hate him… fucking hate him…” Now he was supposed to just talk to him? What, have like some fucking pity party over how it had all gone to shit that night? Grunting, Harry glared at the banister leading to the stairs, each wooden rung exploding one after the other in a shower of splinters and green smoke. Harry didn’t need to go over how he had fucked up. He had gone over it so many fucking times in his head as it was.
Malfoy thought he rape him… The fucking moron.
Harry would have taken a seat next to Voldie and downed a glass of poison to have a chance at Draco. Even now, pissed out of his skull, legs unresponsive, and angry as fuck, if Malfoy walked in there, Harry wouldn’t think twice to get on his knees and take anything the boy wanted to give him. Fucking idiot.
“Hate you!” Harry slammed his arm into the wall, scowling as his bottle of Firewhisky shattered all around him. With a sloppy spell, it was back together, allowing him to throw it across the room with a more satisfying glitter of glass. He stumbled up the stairs, glaring at the bedroom door hanging off its hinges until it relented and exploded.
He would not let Malfoy forgive him. Holy fuck, the boy had to be out of his fucking mind. He had killed his mother. His fucking mother! If anything was going to kill a relationship before it started, that was it. Fucking veela. He shouldn’t be forgiven, no matter how fucked in the head Malfoy was.
“Fuck, he’s a good kisser.” Harry fell to his knees, halfway in the bedroom door, his head heavy but anger still burning strong. Missed him. Draco had missed him. What a fucking moron.
For an instant Terrence’s pain twisted body flashed in his mind’s eye. Harry snorted, chuckling as he fell forward, face slamming into the rough floorboards and bruising his nose. “Drake, you are one hot psycho when you’re angry,” he mumbled.
God, he had wanted to fuck him so bad. In the forest after the rogue was dead and Garruth incapacitated. Malfoy belonged in the woods, hunting things, hurting things, covered in the blood of his enemies. So what if it meant Harry was fucked up? Malfoy was a killing machine, and it was so fucking hot.
He was not a good drunk, he was realizing as the floor wobbled nauseatingly.
Keep him. Fucking veela. They were just as bad as humans. Everyone wanted a piece of Harry fucking Potter. Well Harry fucking Potter was tired of being him. He should have beat Terrence himself. Should have exploded his fucking fingers instead of Malfoy carelessly breaking them. Fighting over him like a quaffle—Why? Because of some fucking scent? Because he could weave a spell? Terrence had said… had said he was made for veela.
Was that really all it was for Malfoy, just some sex scent gone crazy in his head? Harry hadn’t bothered to study up on veela and, after his run ins, had chosen to avoid anything to do with them including research. All he knew was that he hated them even more so after learning what their council intended for him. Own him. Fucking own him. Fucking arrogant, piece of shit, manipulative predators. He would show them what it meant to mess with Harry fucking Potter.
He killed seventeen people with one fucking spell by accident. Just think what he could do if it was on purpose.
The floor dusty beneath his scraped cheek, Harry closed his eyes. Fucking veela.
Missed him. A lot.
Harry exhaled a long sigh, fingers curling on the ground. “Miss you, too.”
Stuck in the Headmaster’s office, facing Dumbledore, Elder Hollands, and Madame Pomfrey, Draco was doing his best to keep his temper in check. It was about Potter, of course. The boy had disappeared days ago, no one seeing hide nor hair of him. He assumed it was another of Harry’s passive aggressive ways to avoid him and the many things they needed to talk about. Draco hadn’t deluded himself in thinking Harry would make it easy. Harry was erratic and stubborn and had spent months thinking he had sent veela to rape him. There was no way that was going to fix itself over night.
Draco had first thought Elder Hollands, the veela spokesman, had come there to reprimand him for his actions against Terrence. No, his reason had managed to be far more annoying than that.
“Mr. Malfoy, if you might just have some insight into his whereabouts?” Dumbledore asked. “It’s imperative that we find Harry as soon as possible. If what Elder Hollands says is correct, he could be in a lot of danger.”
“He’s fine,” Draco grunted out, glaring at the veela. “And even if I did know where Potter is, I’m sure as hell not telling him.”
“I understand that you’re upset right now,” Holland said, his handsome face stern, back straight and tight with perfect posture. “I don’t even understand how you’ve coped this long, Draco. You should have told us immediately when we took you into our care. We could have avoided what is undoubtedly unbearable pain for the both of you.”
“Like fuck,” Draco snarled, standing and pushing into the man’s personal space. For the Elder’s credit, he didn’t flinch or step away. “You would have broken it somehow. Would have torn us both apart so you could chain him to some full-blooded veela. I never would have let you in this castle if I had known you were interested in him. Would have killed every fucking last one of you—”
“Mr. Malfoy! Calm yourself,” Poppy admonished. “I have brought the needed draughts with me if you cannot handle this conversation without losing your control.”
“I am in perfect fucking control,” Draco gritted out, never taking his eyes from the veela Elder. “Ask him. I found out that every goddamn veela out there is fighting over who gets to win Potter—That’s how they see humans, if you didn’t know. Things. They think Potter is some fucking thing that they can just give away to another. Like they own him. I have killed no one; I am in control.”
“It’s more complicated than that, Draco,” Elder Holland said stiffly. “You have gotten your information from an adolescent, one still in the throes of his aggressive mating cycle.”
“What, you want to tell me he was lying?” Draco kept his voice low, knowing if he started shouting it would all go to shit soon after. “The council isn’t trying to win Potter?”
“That is not…” Holland fell silent, flicking a loose strand of silver hair over his shoulder. “No one is authorized to approach Harry Potter until he has come of age next summer. And when that time comes, adolescents are discouraged from participating because of the dangerous nature of the boy’s power. It is important that we remedy this situation as soon as possible. That Terrence has aggressively—”
“Twice,” Draco growled, the first of his feather’s sprouting, fangs already tipping, claws quickly following. “The first time I wasn’t there to stop him. Did Terrence tell you that as well, Elder? That when my supposed brethren entered this castle at the beginning of the year, all five of them hunted Potter down with the intent to rape him?”
By the surprised looks all around, that information had not reached veela or professor ears alike. For some reason it only made Draco angrier to realize Harry had managed to suffer so much alone, not only blocking him out, but his teachers as well.
He stepped back, the rest of his feathers rippling through him along with his anger. But he wasn’t here to fight with the Elder, he was here to keep the man from making things worse. “I invited my brethren into my territory because they had shown signs of wanting to get to know my other people better. They lied to my face, wished me well in my endeavors and then tried to rape my beautiful mate. Do you seriously think anything you say is going to remedy this?”
The Elder was silent as he thought, eyes straying to Dumbledore, who had lost all twinkle in his blue gaze.
“This doesn’t change the fact that he’s in danger,” Elder Holland finally said, directed at the Headmaster. “If anything, he’ll be more unstable and in need of guidance.”
“That may be the case, but I can hardly trust you to protect him. These revelations are beyond grievous,” Dumbledore replied sternly.
“The boy could be lying,” Elder Holland pointed out, ignoring Draco’s growl. “Potter looking for attention to feed his self destructive spiral. The halfling desperate to have Potter to himself. You really don’t know just how strong these instincts can go.”
Dumbledore sat taller at his desk, his fingers bridging in front of him. “Oh, I’m getting a clear picture, Elder. All the more reason for me to believe that five adolescent veelas with full instincts would cross a line that their kind have been known to cross before. I might be willing to offer lodgings for a veela that would help Harry with his new instincts, but I do not believe I will be granting him leave of these grounds during the school year.”
Pensive, the Elder eventually nodded. “Very well. I will need to confirm that he is indeed a Gilt before anything else is determined. Mr. Malfoy, if you would happen to have the names of those adolescents that accompanied you to your school, I require them for further investigation.”
Draco wrote them down with an angry scrawl, hating the man even more. Nothing would be done. Veela didn’t give a fuck about humans—He had figured that out very damn quick. If anything was done, it would be just for show, to set Harry’s mind at ease. It wouldn’t be enough, whatever it was. Nothing would ever be enough to fix what those fuckers had done to his Harry.
Reading the parchment, Holland folded it up and slipped it into his long, grey robes. “Alright. Now, if you will lead me to Mr. Potter, I can get on with the point of my visit.”
Draco just stared at him, disbelieving. “And why, exactly, would I do that?”
“Because if you care a thing for the boy, you will see that he is in need of help,” Elder Holland said evenly, without any animosity or smugness. “From what your professors have revealed, his health has been degrading along with his mental stability since returning to school. You must feel it. The boy will be poisoning you soon enough with his toxic energy, if he isn’t already.”
Draco looked away, glowering.
“It is not a betrayal to get him help. That he turns from you as well only shows how ill he truly is.” The man’s hand was cool on Draco’s arm, jolting him. “Gilt veela are emotionally erratic under good circumstances. His circumstances have been anything but.”
A war was waging in Draco, one with too many sides to fully comprehend. He wanted Harry well and safe and happy. He wanted Harry for himself. He wanted to be the only one that could help the boy even though he knew he had been failing miserably at the task since the very beginning.
“I don’t know what to do,” Draco finally admitted, his heart feeling painfully tight in his chest. “You’re… you’re going to try to take him away from me.”
Hands cupped Draco’s face, raising his head to meet the Elder’s gaze. “He was never truly yours.”
Draco winced, shutting his eyes.
“He couldn’t have known what it meant to you,” Holland continued gently. “His type wake up slowly. Genetic memory kicks in much later for the Gilt. That he survived his first weave was accomplishment enough for one just waking up. Call him, Draco.”
Draco wrenched himself away from the man’s hands, his body trembling. “Fuck you.”
“Call your love to you and see if he bothers to answer.” By the Elder’s tone, he didn’t expect it. Neither did Draco. Harry never answered him. Not once had the boy come to him when he called.
Harry felt it, tendrils of warmth and light curling up his legs. He was half awake, staring blankly at the floor of the Shrieking Shack. He had somehow managed to end up in the broken kitchen downstairs, although how he had gotten there was a mystery to him.
His mouth tasted like a gutter and his joints were stiff and pained. Rolling on his back, he found the ceiling, a huge hole gaping above him revealing the bedroom above where he had been in. Vaguely he remembered waking up, angry, lashing out and exploding everything around him. Apparently the floor hadn’t been able to handle it.
“Drake?” Harry sat up stiffly, grabbing his pounding head. God, he felt like shit. Fucking Terrence. This was definitely all his fault. And Dren’s. If Dren hadn’t been in that damn clearing, Malfoy never would have known a fucking thing about him wanting the blond… Well, except that apparently the boy could smell him… Fuck.
Groaning, Harry got to his feet, the world shifting around him. “Shit… what the fuck do you want?” He grumbled, the boy’s power licking at the edge of his consciousness. What day was it? Didn’t Malfoy know he was hung over and didn’t want to fucking talk to him, like ever? Shit, what a pain. Harry stumbled to the door, stooping through the underground entrance to the Shrieking Shack. He blinked his way outside, nearly getting bowled over by the willow before he remembered to spell it still.
Draco was out on the grounds, Harry freezing mid step once seeing him. The halfling had a strange mix of sorrow and hope on his face Harry was having difficulty reading. “Err… hey,” he greeted, eyes skimming over the three adults standing behind Draco and watching him like he was about to start killing people. They were far less interesting than the silver haired boy and he focused in on Draco’s eyes that were no longer glowing. “You, um, wanted something, Malfoy?”
Draco made as if to step forward but a hand clasped down on his shoulder, keeping him still and silent. Harry narrowed in on it, glaring at the pale man standing behind the boy.
“Who’s the veela?” Harry asked, his guard immediately up. He still felt like shit and seeing a full grown veela was not helping anything. “You better not be here to punish Malfoy. It was my fault what happened to Terrence, not his. It it wasn’t for Malfoy, I would have killed the asshole.”
“My name is Elder Holland,” the man said, dismissing Harry’s angry rant. “I’m here to determine just what exactly you are, Mr. Potter, and how to help you.”
Scoffing, Harry shoved his hands into his pockets, walking up to the group. “Listen, man, I don’t actually care who you are. Just get your fucking hands off of Malfoy and get lost. I have no interest in your damn veela crap. Actually, I’m pretty sure I was straight with Terrence about this. If you’re here looking to fucking own me—or so help me, you try to touch me—I’m going to fucking lose it.” He grabbed Draco’s arm, the taller boy’s eyes widening in surprise when Harry snagged him away from the Elder in a show of possessiveness.
“What did you want, Malfoy?” Harry asked, barely glancing at Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey, his head ducked down to whisper to the blond. “You don’t do that pull thing unless you’re losing it or looking for me, and you don’t look like you’re losing it… Are you?” Harry tilted his head, studying Draco’s face a long moment.
Swallowing hard, Draco gave a nonchalant shrug that looked stiff more than anything. “They want to talk to you. Asked me to get you.”
Harry narrowed his eyes, looking away for a moment. He turned back, sighing in exasperation. “Don’t… don’t waste my time like that, Malfoy. If you want me, call me. Don’t do it for someone else. Fuck.” He shook his head, making as if to leave but Draco curled fingers around his wrist, holding him still.
“I didn’t think you’d actually answer,” Draco said quietly, pinning Harry with an unreadable expression. “You always walk away.”
“Yeah, well, things are different now.” Draco wasn’t glowing but even just having him close, warmth radiating from his skin, familiar masculine scent and sexy, elegant feathers was driving Harry to distraction. The fingers on his wrist felt like electricity and before he had realized it, he turned in the grip so that he captured Draco’s arm while the boy held his. “I’m… well, shit. I’m trying. I mean, I just went on a brooding bender and all but I’m trying to piece it together like it actually happened and not how I spent the fucking year thinking it happened. So, eventually, I’m probably going to stop being so pissed off at you because you didn’t actually do all those things I thought you fucking did. You know?”
Draco nodded silently, his expression still revealing nothing. It was actually starting to piss him off, the boy being cold to him again. Except his hand. His hand was anything but indifferent, Draco’s claws scratching ever so lightly against his arm, sending shivers of lust through Harry’s entire body. Shit, he must be really hard up if a few little scratches were doing it for him. And Draco had to know, his nose able to pick up his arousal. So even if the blond was totally a mask to read, he kept lightly tracing over his arm, clearly intent to drive him crazy. And Harry really wasn’t complaining about it.
Harry didn’t let go of Draco’s hand even when he turned and finally addressed his headmaster. “So, why am I here?” He asked, staring Dumbledore in the eye.
“A few reasons, actually,” Dumbledore said, hardly nonplussed that Harry had skipped school and still managed to seem put out for being called back. “But I’d say the most pertinent would be discovering if you’re a Gilt veela or not, so our guest can finally be on his way.”
Eyebrows raised, Harry glanced over to Draco. “Err, I don’t really think I look much like a veela, Sir. And I don’t just mean feathers here.”
Dumbledore gave a small smile. “I can see how you might think that. But there are different species of veela and the fact that you destroyed Voldemort by weaving a spell suggests you may be a very specific breed.”
Harry absorbed this information with a furrow to his brow. “Huh… part veela. This might end up with me hating myself even more than before. Alright, what do I have to do for you to figure it out? Nasty potion? Blood draw?”
“Nothing so barbaric,” Elder Holland broke in, stepping forward. “I will pull you and you—”
“No,” Harry said hoarsely, taking a large step back, hand tightening around Draco’s wrist. “No way in fuck I’m letting anyone pull me.” A full-blooded, fully grown veela was more a threat than the five punk kids that had cornered him in the classroom. Veela magic only grew with age, as did their control. And Harry could feel it in this man. The power. The confidence of control. The ease he would use to try and break him just because he fucking could.
“It’s just for the test, Harry,” Dumbledore said soothingly. “We’re all right here. No one will… No harm will come to you.”
Harry just shook his head, his panic growing to realize that Dumbledore wouldn’t be supporting him on this. “No. I don’t want—I can’t—I just can’t. And if he tries something, I can’t promise I won’t fucking lose it. Just get him away and, and shit, I’m serious!” He shouted, taking another step back when the man began to ripple feathers and glow.
Suddenly Draco was in his line of sight, the boy wrapping his arms around Harry’s shoulders. And damn, but Harry couldn’t stop himself from burying his face into the blond’s chest while he gasped for air as unfamiliar veela energy rose around him. Too strong. The man was way too strong, threatening to overwhelm him, steal his will away.
“I have you,” Draco muttered, glaring over Harry’s head at the other veela. “You need to stop this!” But Harry didn’t notice, too busy pulling his power up, weaving a barrier to stop the call currently trying to push him down to the ground.
“Get him off me, Malfoy,” Harry hissed, feeling something underneath the call trying to probe him, read him, change him in some way he had never agreed to. “I’m so sick… of you fuckers… taking from me!”
Harry wasn’t sure what happened next, his panic and anger cracking something inside him. His power rose up, a curtain of protection, and then the Elder was on the ground, gasping for air. All Harry knew was that the pressure had stopped and he felt dizzy and full of fear, the world tilting the wrong way.
“You never should have gone against his wishes like that,” Draco snarled from far away. “You could have waited to let him calm—Could have bothered to explain to him. Asked for his permission! What did you honestly expect? You might as well have attacked him.”
“Madame Pomfrey, can you…?”
“I’m doing the best I can, Albus, but he’s losing energy quickly. I think… You need to stop Harry.”
Suddenly the darkness faded and Harry was eye to eye with Dumbledore. He wasn’t sure when he had ended up on the grass but the man’s long nose was inches from his. “Harry, can you hear me?”
Harry nodded weakly, the world spinning from the motion.
“You’re still connected with the Elder. You need to let him go. You have him wrapped in your power. Do you understand me, Harry? You need to release him or he’s going to die.”
Harry didn’t understand. He hadn’t wrapped anyone in anything. At least, he didn’t remember doing such a thing. Closing his eyes, he sifted internally, seeking out the threads of golden power that were reaching outside of him. He followed the strands, finding the Elder veela like a fly within a web, struggling weakly, heart and lungs wrapped so tight they could barely move. For one terrible, angry moment, he felt the hot pulse of what it would be like to just pull a little tighter, to crush the man that had so easily filled him with unbearable fear.
Harry breathed and he let go. His anger. The veela. The unfairness of the world for demanding so much of him unapologetically. He unraveled his energy and twined it back within, then he shook on the ground, hands buried in his hair.
“Oh, thank god,” Madame Pomfrey murmured, throwing status spells up while gently slapping the Elder’s face. Harry watched, feeling numb and empty inside as the man came to, Dumbledore and Draco also by the veela’s side.
He had fucked up. Again. Had nearly killed someone just because he had been scared. God, he couldn’t do anything right. Couldn’t fucking get anything straight in his damn head.
Harry struggled to his feet, determined to get the hell as far away from everyone that he could. But Draco was at his side in an instant, pulling him close, trapping his arms when he tried to break away. “Let me go!”
“You were defending yourself,” Draco said evenly, holding Harry’s fists in place. “You thought he was going to hurt you and you defended yourself.”
Fuck, was he a fucking mind reader now? “Get off me, Malfoy. I don’t need your goddamn pity or understanding—or whatever the fuck—Oh.” He fell silent, Draco slamming him into his chest with a growl. Damn he was hot.
“You are fucking amazing,” Draco rasped, breathing deep against his neck and ear. “Do you even understand how powerful an Elder veela is? Less than a minute and you had him completely subdued and defenseless. My god, Harry—You’re magnificent.” Hands tangling in his dark hair, Draco pulled him up, hot mouth descending and claiming his possessively.
Ignoring the fact that he was in four day old clothes, likely tasted like death and reeked of stale booze, Draco wrapped Harry into his arms. Moaning, Harry hooked an arm around the blond’s neck, tearing at the boy’s shirt, drinking down every noise Draco let loose.
“God, you’re beautiful. Fucking… brilliant.” Biting at Harry’s lip harshly, Draco nipped down the boy’s jaw and throat, pulling loud gasps. “The things you do to me…”
“That, unfortunately, is the reason Elder Holland has traveled here.” Before Harry could fully discern Dumbledore’s words, he found himself again on the ground, the strange dizziness of earlier sweeping through him. This time Draco was with him, the boy lurching sideways as he struggled to keep his balance.
“Elder, I can assume you have gotten the information you were seeking?” Dumbledore asked the still slightly stunned man.
“Yes.” Smoothing his long hair down, the veela stood tall again, eyes sweeping to where Harry was fighting gravity on the ground. “He is a Gilt and given his overly emotional reactions, soon to transform. He will need training. Immediately.” He met Dumbledore’s eye, his expression growing grim. “I would isolate him from all veela interaction. His ability to corrupt his own will only add to his confusion when he reaches his next stage.”
Harry finally found his balance, glaring at the two of them. “Stop talking about me like I’m not even here. And shit—Seriously, that was really fucking rude what you just did there.”
“You’re not yourself,” Madame Pomfrey said tightly while casting status spells over Harry. “You’re erratic, unstable, emotionally explosive—”
Harry scowled, pulling away. “I’m a teenager. Not everything is life and death. If I want to kiss Malfoy, I don’t need you trying to ‘save’ me from it. Sure as hell didn’t ask you to sic a fully grown veela on me after having to fight Terrence off days ago. Are you trying to fuck me up even more? Where the hell is Sirius? You’re not doing another goddamn thing to me without my guardian present. You never would have done anything like this to any other student without their parents present—None of this is okay!” He was yelling by the time he was done, breathing heavily, anger crackling around him in electric sparks.
Draco found his feet as well and with a warning glare at the adults present, wrapped an arm around Harry’s angry form and pulled him close. “They think you’re going to go nuts and start killing for the fun of it. They want to bond you to an older veela to keep you stable. That’s what Terrence was trying to do. They want someone strong enough to overpower you to keep you in line.”
“Well fuck that, I don’t want to be controlled,” Harry hissed, directing it towards the elder veela even while pressing into Draco’s touch. “And if any of them try it, I make no apologies for my actions.” There was a fire in Harry’s eyes, a stubbornness that had not worn no matter how exhausted he was. No, it had only seemed to grow. But that was Harry. Pure will.
As if to prove just how beyond everyone’s reach he was, the brunette pulled from Draco’s hold and began walking away towards the castle.
Draco, glaring at the Elder that had started this mess, whirled, following after the boy and falling in step beside him.
“Mr. Malfoy, please don’t do anything rash,” Elder Hollands called after, his voice full of command. “Reestablishing the bond at such a time could harm you permanently.”
Draco kept walking, his shoulder’s stiff, a low growl rumbling through the tall boy.
Harry didn’t say anything, just glancing his way a moment. He wasn’t yelling at him to get lost—something Draco knew the brunette was more than willing to do when he wanted him gone—so he took it as a good sign and committed himself to repairing any trust he might have fucked up by calling Harry to the meeting with Elder Hollands.
He never should have let anyone interfere. Things were fucked up enough between the two of them without adding a nosy veela with ulterior motives into the mix. It didn’t remove the unease he felt though. Harry was messed up, unstable and dangerous. He didn’t want to hurt the boy more, even if every cell in his body was screaming to mate him again, make him his. It wasn’t safe.
Glancing his way again, Harry’s fingers brushed against his hand, the brunette lingering for a moment. Draco inhaled sharply, nearly losing a step from the simple contact. “You still want to talk?” Harry asked quietly.
What Draco really wanted to do was dig a hole so deep he’d never have to face this fucking topic ever again. “Yeah. It’s important,” he finally said, spreading his fingers wide until he found Harry’s hand inches from his own and touched again.
“Alright. I need a shower first.”
Draco paused once they were inside the castle, Harry stopping to look at him. “I’ll meet you at—”
Harry rolled his eyes, grabbing the blond’s hand and walking again, Draco stumbling forward, eyes wide in surprise. Keeping his mouth shut, he let Harry lead him to the closest men’s room with showers, his stomach clenched tight with nerves.
“Dren is looking to take the wolf back to his home now that he’s healed. And the cubs are well, running about and apparently taking a liking to Lupin. I never would have thought a werewolf would have any positive effect on an animal, given the scent the creatures give off…” Draco was rambling and couldn’t stop it. Harry had stalked into the bathroom with him in tow, stripped right in front of him and then jumped into a shower stall. It was taking all of his restraint not to follow after and look, touch, fuck the boy senseless.
“Okay,” Harry said, his voice echoing in the tiled room. “That’s what you wanted to talk to me about?”
Draco shook his head, the brunette unable to see. Just the sound of Harry’s voice, knowing he was feet away, naked, wet… No, this had not been a good idea. “I can’t speak of the other thing like this. I need to see your face. Your reactions.”
Huffing, Harry pushed the stall door open, Draco’s freezing in shock as the boy stood before him sleek with water and nothing else. Hard. Fuck the boy was hard. “Better?”
God, what the fuck was he doing to him? Groaning, Draco forced himself to turn away, glaring at the wall so he didn’t have to see every bare inch of Harry’s warm flesh and toned muscle. His eyes were glowing, he knew it, but could do little about it.
Shrugging, Harry let the door swing shut, soaping himself up and ducking his head under the spray of hot water. Having Draco just outside the stall was doing something to him, and not just the trickles of the boy’s warm call. He let his hand slip lower, grunting as he wrapped his fingers around his hard cock and stroked slowly. The spell to protect himself from the Elder had gotten him hard. It seemed a side effect of sex magic, arousal, and Draco right outside after just defending him, having kissed him only minutes ago was maddening.
He leaned forward in the shower, bracing his hand against the wall, smirking when he heard Draco snarl in frustration. Could the boy smell him? Could he hear every slick movement of flesh on flesh, every small, needy gasp he made. He really hoped the boy could. If Harry couldn’t have him in the stall he at least wanted the blond to feel as crazy as he was.
Harry kept his gaze straight ahead when the stall door swung open, Draco’s presence filling the doorway. He continued to stroke, groaning when a large hand pressed against the flesh of his ass and squeezed.
“Tell me to leave,” Draco rasped out, his voice full of unrestrained need.
Biting his lower lip, Harry remained silent beyond his soft pants for air. Draco took a hesitant step closer, water hitting his clothes and bouncing off loudly.
“I’ll go if you tell me to,” Draco insisted, his hand moving slowly up Harry’s sleek side.
“Stay,” Harry whispered, his back arching when Draco ran his hot palm down his spine. “Fuck.”
Draco inhaled sharply, Harry wondering if the blond had taken his curse as a command. He wouldn’t mind—God, he really wouldn’t fucking mind. He needed Draco inside him. Needed the boy to fix it all and he could think of no other way.
***
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I have no clue why Draco Malfoy is standing on my front steps. Well, the Dursley’s front steps. If I owned front steps of my own, I still wouldn’t expect Malfoy to grace them. Which makes this very surreal moment extremely confusing. Because he’s here. All pale, sexy prat.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” He asks, his eyebrow raised in his normal sardonic expression like he’s not on my stoop in the middle of summer.
“Fuck no.” If Vernon sees him, life is going to go to shit really fucking quick. I might not look like magic, but Malfoy does. All the time. I don’t think I’ve ever looked at him and not thought he was otherworldly. Even here in my boring as fuck neighborhood, he’s a damn hunky prince, flesh beyond glowing pale, silky white-blond hair drifting sexily into his shining silver eyes, lips lush, and red, and terribly tempting. No, he is not coming into my house.
He sighs, running a hand through his hair and glancing behind him. He’s got nice, broad shoulders and I can’t help staring at them. “Potter, I need to talk to you and I can’t do it out on the fucking street. This is important.”
Oh, I’m sure it fucking is. He’s at the Dursleys, on my steps, dressed suspiciously like a muggle. I say suspiciously, because Malfoy should know how to dress like a muggle, seeing as he attends school with plenty of muggleborns. But he’s managed to turn jeans and a t-shirt into something exotic. No joke. He’s in tight dark jeans ripped stylishly, tucked into buttery tall black leather boots. His t-shirt is tight, with a picture of—Yup, you guessed it—fucking Merlin, name and everything written in script. He looks like some sort of rock star, or model, or just Draco Malfoy. Hot. That’s his default. And prat, but that goes without saying.
I, naturally, feel like a goddamn pauper next to him. It’s actually really fucking annoying to get up ridiculously early in the morning in the middle of summer to have to feel like a pauper at your own front door. He’s not mentioning it, but he keeps staring at my bare chest—It’s really fucking early. Like, fast asleep, worried Vernon is going to come hollering down the stairs for breakfast and work soon, early. I’m apparently under-dressed. Too fucking bad.
“Listen, Malfoy, I don’t know what the hell you want but you’re not coming in here. My relatives are annoying enough without bringing a wizard into the house.”
He blinks at that, his crystal gray eyes focusing behind me, taking in the wall with the family portraits I’m not included in, the tacky paintings of flowers, mail piled up to the side and Aunt Petunia’s pristine floor. He huffs after a moment, meeting my eye again. “I don’t see anyone else.”
“They’re asleep. The thing I was doing—Do you even realize what time it is?” Dawn has only just hit the sky, turning his hair near gold in the morning light. He looks angelic, the damn bastard.
“I need to talk to you,” he repeats, staring me down like he’s offering some fucking solution to our standoff.
God, he’s annoying. I thought I had gotten rid of him for a summer, at least. “Wait here.” I shut the door in his face, turning and walking up the stairs to my small room.
I glare at my bureau, then at my mirror. Everything I have is going to look like shit next to him. It’s like a goddamn curse. I could suddenly become the neatest, most fashion forward guy out there, but next to Malfoy I’ll still look like a homeless person. Fucking prat.
I throw on jeans that actually fit, having gone shopping weeks ago once returning to the Dursleys. Fucking Merlin t-shirt… Where the hell did he find that? I want that shirt. It’s not fair that he can get a damn Merlin t-shirt when he never wears t-shirts. Grumbling under my breath, I pull out a black NIN tee—because it’s fucking classic, thank you very much—and pick up my sneakers. Aunt Petunia throws a hissy every time I walk in the house in shoes. Even with her asleep, I’m not risking it.
He scowls when I open the door, like he’s been waiting for hours and not less than three minutes. I ignore him, locking the door behind me, clipping my keys to my belt loop and sitting on the cement stairs to pull my socks and shoes on. I run my hand down my face, trying to get the lingering sleep out of my eyes. Nightmares again. Always nightmares. Waking up to him shooting sparks at my window sure as fuck didn’t help anything.
“Is anyone dead?” I look up at him, watching his face carefully. Nothing. He’s gotten better at hiding shit. If I piss him off enough, he’ll probably crack. But I don’t know if I want to play that game so early in the morning.
“No.”
I stand, starting down the stairs. He follows after hesitantly, glancing back at the Dursleys like it’s the one place he wants to be. “Potter, I need to…”
Yes, yes, talk to me. “Coffee,” I grunt. “There’s a place down the street. And my relatives won’t throw me out on my ass for bringing unsavory characters home.”
“Unsavory?” He huffs, catching up to me, mild annoyance flashing in his eyes. “People love me, Potter. Mothers think I’m the fucking ‘cat’s meow.’ Their words, not mine.”
It’s way too early. He’s also apparently a morning person. Of course. “My relatives are scared shitless of magic. That includes the people that wield it. They will not like you. They will bitch me out for you showing up. They will be reminded that I possess magic, and they will again question if I really should be under the same roof as them.” I don’t bother pointing out that he’s a total prat, and even if mothers like him, I find him annoying as fuck.
He falls silent, his lips taking on a tense edge. Anxiety, maybe. Anger. I really need to stop looking at his mouth.
It’s less than twenty minutes to the convenience store. For whatever reason, he doesn’t say anything. He’s not looking around, so I don’t think he’s worried about being followed. I don’t know. I still don’t know why the fuck he’s here and if I really care. The air still has that chill dew to it, and I turn my face up to the sun when I step into the patches of light through the trees. Warmth. Light. An absence of the unceasing dark and the nightmares it contains.
He stops cold when I walk up to the glass doors to the place and they slide open automatically with a ding. Holy fuck. He’s never seen—There are no words. Malfoy Manor must be located under a rock.
I let him stand there figuring out if he wants to chance the electronic doors, stepping in and heading straight to the back where there’s another morning person already full of caffeine to take my order for some cavity inducing donuts and coffee flavored sugar. I find him beside me after a moment staring at the menu curiously above our heads.
“Got any cash?” I ask, trying not to smirk when he shakes his head. Rich little prat doesn’t have muggle money. Of course. “Pick whatever you want. I’ve got it.” The girl comes over with my donuts in a bag, handing an egg on a bagel with bacon—or the damn near equivalent. It never seems like the real thing in these places, like they manage to slip some plastic in there somehow.
Malfoy orders a donut and coffee. Missy behind the counter drools. Yeah, I know. It’s actually kind of refreshing. If we were in the wizarding world, that look would be directed at me just because of the scar on my forehead. Out in the muggle world, I still get that look a bit, but it’s not assumed. And next to Draco Malfoy, I can disappear into obscurity among the rest of the people that don’t look like sex gods. It’s kind of nice.
“Is there something wrong with my clothes?” He mutters when we get outside, glaring at the people coming in that are looking him up and down. I just sip my coffee, refusing to address that fucking question ever. Maybe I could get him into my clothes if I say something. Maybe I could just get him out of his clothes.
“Malfoy, what the fuck are you doing here?” I ask, feeling it’s about time to address this fucking problem and send him on his way to stop tormenting me. Seriously, it’s way too fucking early. Early in the morning, early in the year—I’m not prepared for him. My brain and dick are very much fighting over how I should handle this situation. Never a good sign.
He looks around, scowling as he nearly burns his mouth on his drink. What is he, a fucking idiot? I mean really, hot coffee. Blow. Fucking wizards apparently don’t know shit about anything.
“Ugh, this taste like crap.”
That he can taste it at all is amazing enough after burning his tongue. We reach the park I’ve been eying and I put my stuff down on the merry go round. I snag his cup from him, popping the top off. It’s black. Fucking noob. I hand him mine—Ridiculous sweet shit I shouldn’t be drinking anyways. I sit with my food, sinking my shoes into the sand and watching him rise to the learning curve and actually blow on his coffee before trying it this time. The boy’s brilliant.
I eat my plastic egg sandwich, washing it down with the murky shit he ordered. Once the caffeine hits my system, I probably won’t hate him as much. Or maybe I’ll hate him more. Depends what mood he’s in.
“Well?”
He looks up at me from his donut, his lips covered in powdered sugar. Fuck. I train my features. If he sees me laughing, he’s going to wipe it away. And he cannot, ever, be allowed to do that. Fucking adorable, sexy prat.
“Why are you here? What do you want?” I wave my hand encouragingly when he doesn’t seem interested in answering. I fear I might have let a smirk free. But still, he hasn’t wiped it away.
“I need your help.”
Ugh, seriously? “Malfoy, it’s like 5 am.”
“I didn’t mean right this second. Well, sort of.” He gives me a haughty sniff, which also clues him in to the fact that he’s got powdered sugar on his mouth as he coughs. Sigh. I hand him a napkin, cus he can’t seem to figure out life without cleaning charms. The kid is damn hopeless in the real world.
“How did you get here?”
“Apparated.”
Right, because he lives in a wizarding household, and he can use magic when supervised. Unlike me, who has to wait for Hogwarts and a dozen teachers to hold my hand. Whatever. “How’d you find out where I live?”
He shrugs, making me immediately suspicious. Because, seriously, he shouldn’t be here asking me for anything. He should be here trying to get me killed. Luring me to my doom with those really gorgeous lips and cruel eyes.
“Malfoy, I’m not helping with shit until I know how you got my info.”
Looking at me bored as fuck as he wipes his mouth, he finally answers, “Snape.”
That’s a puzzler. Snape hates me. But he’s also a double agent working for the Order. He could have given up my info because he thinks Malfoy’s going to try to take me out and the potions master wants to see what he’ll do. Or he gave it up because he thinks Malfoy needs my help. Or… “Was this information given willingly?”
“Of course.” Like I’m being a crazy, paranoid person or something.
“Let me see your arm.”
“Potter, are you fucking kidding me? I’m not a fucking Death Eater.” He looks like he’s going to punch me. Good fucking luck. I glare and he eventually relents, turning his inner arm outward. “There’s nothing. Happy?”
Fuck, this kid is seriously pale. I bend closer, holding his wrist as I peer. I don’t trust him. For all I know he’s charmed it away. I rub my hand over where the mark would be, but nothing reveals itself. No feel of magic or evil. He’s chilly. And he smells really nice. I probably should let him go now.
“Where’d you get your shirt?”
“Solstice gift.”
Bastard. It’s a really cool Merlin shirt. The beard and hair have animals hidden in it, and it clings to him, showing off his tight, toned form. Right, time to let his arm go.
I run my palm over his bicep one more time, just to be on the safe side. His skin turns slightly pink from my touch and I do it again. It totally has nothing to do with me wanting to feel his muscles flex under my hand and slowly warm up from my body heat.
“Potter, I’m not a Death Eater.”
Yeah, yet. The thing is, I can’t remember ever touching Malfoy beyond the occasional fistfight. It’s apparently addictive. “Let me see your other arm.”
He growls in exasperation. “Potter, they only put it one place. Part of their fucked up code.”
Yeah, he’d probably know. I hold my hand out and with a loud huff, he turns and shows me his other arm. I wonder if I ask to see his ass, if he’ll let me. I bet he has a fucking perfect ass.
“Are you done, or am I going to have to strip?” He’s pissed. I’m considering it. He’d look good in the morning light. Fuck, he’d look good in anything, anywhere. Does he have tan lines? Like a different shade of pale under all those clothes?
I forcefully take my hands off of him, grabbing my bag of donuts to give me something to do. “Alright, you’re not a Death Eater. What the hell do you want?”
“Your help.”
Duh. “Need a bit more than that, Malfoy. Details.”
I glance over when he doesn’t say anything. He’s biting his lip. It’s wet, and red, and caught between his teeth. God, I want to kiss him.
“I’m in trouble,” he mumbles eventually, releasing a long sigh. “I sort of… Well, you looking for the Dark Mark might have had different results, if you get my drift. But I… I ran.”
“Holy fuck!” Whoops, might have said that out loud, given his expression.
“Snape told me you have some sort of protection from You-Know-Who. That as long as I’m in the same house as you, I’d be safe until getting to school next term. After that… Well, who the fuck knows?” He shrugs, like he’s not scared out of his fucking mind.
But he is. I can see it. He’s shaking.
He could be lying. It’s Malfoy. He lies all the fucking time. Over everything. Just to see if he can.
“Prove it.” There’s no way in fuck the Dursley are going to let me have a houseguest.
Scowling, he straightens from his slump, glaring at me. “How the fuck do you want me to prove it? Would you like a written letter from the Dark Lord himself? Dear Mr. Potter, I’m unhappy to inform you that Draco Malfoy, son to my most loyalest of servants, has pussied out after learning he’s to be my sex toy. Enclosed, I have sent all of his credentials, including a record of his escape, just to set your mind at ease. Fuck you, Potter. I’m not lying.”
I must have heard that wrong. Staring into my bag of donuts, I run the words through my head, slowly sifting through. Nope, pretty sure he said sex toy. Pretty damn sure. I pull out a chocolate frosted pastry of doom and take a bite so I don’t have to look at him right now. Sex toy? Voldemort can actually get it up? What is he, like a hundred now? Draco Malfoy as a sex toy…
I would definitely trade the Merlin shirt for that particular sex toy.
“So, can I stay with you?”
He could be hoping to get into my house to try and tear down the wards. He could be looking to gut me in my sleep, or drag me out into the night with Voldemort waiting outside. He could be crying right now, which I’m pretty sure he is.
Red rimmed eyes. At least he’s not bawling. Fuck. Fuck my life.
“When did this happen?” I hand him my other donut. Sugar’s going to help this. I’m not sure how, but I know it’s true.
“What part?”
I give him a look, then regret it. His eyes are watery and somehow fucking extra beautiful. I look out at the field. “Just tell me everything you can.”
He takes a deep breath that sounds way too shaky. “Um, so let’s see. I went home knowing this was the year. Father’s been hinting, trying to feel me out on it. He knew I didn’t want to do it, but, well, it’s not really a choice thing.”
Pretty sure it is. You either get down on your knees and pledge your loyalty to Voldemort, or you get a wand to the head. Not a great choice, but it’s a choice. I wisely keep my mouth shut.
“I found out just a few days ago…” He trails off, stretching his legs. “Bellatrix started asking me all these questions. Fucked up questions. Something you really don’t want your psychotic bitch aunt to ask you.”
“Get to the point.”
“Fuck you. About sex. About what I like, what I’ve done already. If I can suck cock. I thought she was just fucking with my head—She’s a total bitch.”
Can he suck cock? With a mouth like that…
“Then I find out that my mother’s off to St. Mungo’s. Just that night. The group of them had a little meeting and my mother’s in the hospital, my aunt is suddenly staked out in the mansion asking me questions about cock, and my father is nowhere to be found.”
“Dead?”
He shakes his head sharply. “He came back later that night. Hurt. Scared… Never seen him scared before. He wouldn’t tell me what happened, just said You-Know-Who has an ‘unhealthy interest’ in me.”
Fuck, I really can’t blame Voldemort. The kid’s a sex god.
“My aunt doesn’t leave, and suddenly my father isn’t allowed to be alone with me. She’s like some rabid guard dog or something. But she’s fucking cackling, like all the fucking time. Saying shit like how I’m going to be sucking snake dick until I’m dead, which will be soon because of what my mother did. But I don’t know what my mother did, I just know that she’s in the hospital and not responsive and things are getting fucking bat-shit scary and—”
“Chill. Breathe.” The kid is freaking out. “You’re in a muggle park. No Death Eaters, no bitch aunt, no snake dicks. Take a breath.”
Do snakes have dicks?
He nods frantically, tearing small pieces off his chocolate donut. His fingers are a mess and I can’t stop staring at them. I want to lick them. I really want to lick them. He’s worried about being raped and killed by Voldemort, and I can’t stop thinking about sex whenever I look at him. There’s something fucked up with me. But it’s early. Like morning wood, early.
He takes a huge breath, then another. His knee starts bouncing, shaking the damn merry go round and vibrating through my ass until all I can think about is him fucking me. There is no way he can stay with me. Maybe the Weasleys have a room. I’m going to do something stupid if he’s around me all the time. I know it. No classmates or house fidelity to keep me thinking straight. I get fucked up in the head whenever I’m at the Dursleys as it is. He really shouldn’t be around for that.
He continues, his voice empty, nearly numb. “My dad leaves me a portkey with a note to dress muggle. It dumps me in this back alley. Snape’s there. He’s blunt. My mother fucked up and my family will pay. You-Know-Who is going to ruin me, and it will be public. If I’m as loyal as fuck, he might let me live, but I’m still going to be screaming for years. Running will get me killed once I’m caught, and I’ll probably be caught. But seriously, Potter? Much as I don’t want to die, I don’t want the fucker touching me.”
I wonder if Malfoy’s seen Voldemort recently. I have. The dreams. The torture he inflicts. I’ve yet to see the guy ass rape someone, but I totally believe he’d do it. Even if he can’t get it up, I’m sure he’d have something handy to do the job for him. Voldemort likes to improvise.
“Snape tells me your location. Warns me that… Well, you’re going to be difficult as fuck.” He’s looking at me but I refuse to rise to the bait. “Says you won’t trust me. But that I’m going to have to do whatever I can, because you’re the only one with a house warded against You-Know-Who. I guess it’s a big fucking deal.”
It might be. I hate the Dursleys and I can’t stop the dreams, even at their place, but I don’t have to worry about Voldemort walking through the front door. It’s something.
I look up as he stands. He moves in front of me, replacing my view of the quiet field, back lighting him in that fucking angelic light again. His eyes are still red, despair clear on his beautiful features. Seriously, fuck my life.
“So I’m here. Willing to do whatever the fuck it takes, Potter. I have nowhere else to go. Nowhere safe from him. He’s probably going to kill my parents. Definitely my mother, if she’s not dead already. I promise I won’t be an asshole—Fuck, I won’t say shit to you if that helps. I can, I don’t know, clean or some shit. Whatever the fuck you want. I just really don’t want to die.”
Would he fit in the cupboard? Could I hide Draco Malfoy in the cupboard under the stairs? He’s taller than me now. I have the invisibility cloak. If Petunia gives me shit, I can always just hide him under the cloak… for a month. Huh.
Seriously? I’m actually considering this? I need to get in contact with Ron and find out if Narcissa Malfoy is actually in St. Mungo’s. There’s no way Snape will talk to me; it would jeopardize his spy status and his life. If I get an owl out now, Ron will likely answer it by, oh, ten or eleven, depending on when he wakes up. God I wish wizards would suck it up and get some fucking telephones. I think the Amish have more tech than they do.
He’s still staring at me, hope and fear in his eyes. Crap. “Sit down, Malfoy.” Vernon will be off to work in less than an hour. I’d rather talk to Petunia without the blustering bastard interrupting. And if she says no, well, there’s always the cloak. And the cupboard. Just don’t think he’ll fit.
Mothers do love Malfoy. It’s bizarre as fuck. I walk in the kitchen with him in tow and Petunia, usually frosty eyed and stiff, smiles like the sun. Wow. She doesn’t even say anything about him wearing boots in the house.
My goal is to play the guilt angle. Let her see his hunky face, mention the fact that he’s got nowhere to go but plenty of cash to pay for room and board once we get his galleons switched over to something actually useful to muggles. I won’t mention killer wizards unless things go bad. She’s terrified of Voldemort. She was terrified of Lily and James, and when something bigger and badder killed them, she got even more afraid. I sometimes wonder if she had a nervous breakdown when it all happened. They don’t talk about it, but she seems like the type.
“Aunt Petunia, I’d like you to meet my… friend.” Yeah, that sounds weird. “Drake.” He gives me a look I refuse to acknowledge. His name is way too wizard for the Dursleys.
Petunia actually steps around me to shake his hand. Like he’s a person. I can’t even imagine what the fuck that’s like. Pretty people get everything, I guess. “I didn’t think you had any friends.”
Ouch.
He smiles at me, 100 volts of snickering prat. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Petunia—Do you mind if I call you Petunia? It’s a lovely name.” Gag me.
“Petunia is perfectly acceptable, dear. Have you had breakfast? I was just about to whip something up for my Dudley. I’d be more than happy to make you something as well.”
I stand back and watch the magic of Draco Malfoy charming my aunt. It’s disgusting. He’s amazing.
“Boy, did you want something?” Yup, I’m still ‘boy.’ But hey, a lot less frost than normal.
“I’m fine, Aunt Petunia. Thank you.” She gives me a look when I thank her. She knows something’s up. No point drawing it out. “I have a request. A favor.”
She turns to the stove, pointedly cooking and not looking at me. Off to a great start.
“Drake needs a place to stay for a few weeks. He can pay his way, he’s more than happy to, but it won’t be until right before school. His mother became really ill, and his dad works all day and spends his nights at the hospital by her side.”
She turns at that, sympathy flashing in her eyes as she looks at Draco. He gives her a crooked, hanging in there smile tinged with sorrow. My god, he’s good. I’m feeling totally played right now. If his eyes start watering, I’m going to know he was lying to me. I think.
“I understand it’s short notice. Pot—Harry always said if I ever need a helping hand, he lives with good people with strong values. He even told me how you’ve been trying to help him. Straighten him out a bit. Keep him out of trouble. I daresay you have your work cut out for you.”
I should just go hang myself. My fucking rival of seven years, and angry aunt of forever talking about straightening me out. And they don’t mean the gay. I don’t think they mean the gay. It’s not something that’s really come up in conversation because I don’t converse with these people. Ever.
“I’m afraid we don’t have much room.” Holy hell, she’s considering it.
Malfoy shoots a look my way, raising his brows like I’m supposed to jump in here. We could throw him in the bathroom. He could curl up in the bathtub and pull the shower curtain around for privacy. I’m sure it’ll be fine.
“He’ll bunk with me. I have that old sleeping bag.”
“Oh, but he’s so delicate. He can’t sleep on the floor. There’s hardly any room in there to begin with.”
Seriously? She just spent five minutes with him and she’s already giving him my bed. Talk about chopped liver. “I can take the floor,” I grunt, folding my arms over my chest. He flashes me a surprised look I also choose to ignore. I’m shorter—I’ll be more likely to fit. And fuck, if it gets too weird, I can always try the fucking cupboard.
“Your bed’s so lumpy, though.”
Fucking hell! If she buys him a new bed while I’ve been sleeping on that crap mattress for years—
“I’m sure it will be fine, Petunia. I’m just glad to not have to be home alone at night. I worry, and with my mother off in the hospital…” He gives another sad, surviving in pain expression that brings Aunt Petunia across the room to hug him. He shoots me a smug smile while I flip him off behind her back. Fucking deceitful little prat. Total skill.
“Oh, you’re all skin and bones! How long have you been without a proper home-cooked meal? I’m going to take care of that right away.” Malfoy is not skin and bones. He’s lithe, strong muscle and damn fine bone structure. She’s used to fat as fuck and she better not ruin his perfection. “You go sit out in the living room. Dudley should be down any minute. I’m sure you’ll be great friends.”
Like fuck.
I wait for him to leave, then stay to talk to her so we’re clear on a few things. “He’s underage and won’t be performing any strangeness,” Aka, magic. “He won’t be bringing anyone by, not even his parents. He’s on his own. He doesn’t understand everything, but he’s polite, and he’ll be quiet.”
“He has no bags,” she points out, like that’s all she cares about when letting a wizard into her house. Fuck, he has no bags. No clothes, no things.
“I’ll have to take him shopping. We can take the bus.”
“Don’t be silly. Dudley’s been dying to go out to the new mall. We’ll make a day of it.”
My god, she really likes the prat. “Vernon isn’t going to have any issue with all this?”
She waves her hand at me. “I think he’ll be thrilled to have some culture in the house. It’s good to know you’re not completely a lost cause.”
Fucking hell. I wonder how she’d feel if she knew Malfoy had been days away from getting a tattoo on his arm symbolizing his willingness to hurt, torture, and murder any and all muggles in the name of Voldemort? Hell, she’d probably commend him for wanting to kill me. Whatever. Fucking whatever.
I find him in the living room, looking around the space curiously, only the slightest of sneers on his face. Just wait till he sees where he’s sleeping. “I’ve gotta do some things. Feel free to look around. Television.” I point, then start up the stairs. Thirty seconds later, he’s at my back.
“Potter, don’t just leave me alone in all this… muggleness.”
I stop, turning on him. “Not a word you’re allowed to say here. My aunt knows what you are, and god help me, she likes you enough to let you stay. But my uncle and my cousin—They can’t figure it out or it all goes to shit, got it? No magic, no muggles, no talking about blood in general, or charms, spells, potions…”
“I get it,” he interrupts with a growl. “I’m not stupid.” Better. I prefer him angry to charming any fucking day.
I turn back, going to push into my room, only to pause when I hear the bathroom door open. Dudley comes hulking out, stopping cold when he catches sight of the two of us. I glare, watching his bloodshot eyes assess Malfoy, stupid running across his wide face.
“Whose the poof?”
“Lay a finger on him and I’ll fucking kill you.”
Malfoy looks between the two of us, eyebrow raised inquiringly. I’m not explaining Dudley to him. There are not enough words to explain Dudley. The kid’s mean, brutish, and likes to punch. I give as good as I get, but I’m not letting that shit happen to the Slytherin prince that never even saw an automatic door before. Without magic, Malfoy’s damn vulnerable.
“I’m Drake,” Malfoy says, holding his hand out to Dudley. Fucking ass. Dudley stares at him like he’s got five heads. Considering the kid’s eyes look like he’s already stoned, maybe that’s what he sees.
“You fucking the freak?” Dudley asks, ignoring Malfoy’s hand. “Seriously, you can do better. I could point out any bloke on the street, and they’d be better than my freak cousin.”
“Um…” Malfoy looks a bit lost. He brought it on himself, trying to make friends with Dudley.
“Hell, they don’t even have to be people. I think I saw a cow the other day that would be a better choice than him. Dogs. Plenty of dogs running around the neighborhood. They’re loyal. Probably drool less.”
I step into my room, determined to not get involved in the bullshit that is Dudley Dursley. I pull out some parchment, writing a note to Ron asking about Malfoy’s mother. By the time I’m done and rousing Hedwig, Malfoy’s back, looking at me almost sympathetically.
“Let me know if he hits you. I’ll deal with it.”
“He’s not going to hit me.”
Yeah, he fucking is, but I’m going to deal with it when it happens. If he wants to live in fucking fantasy land, so be it.
“I like your owl.” He steps up, reaching his hand out to gently stroke Hedwig’s breast. The traitorous thing coos at him. Fuck, I am never going to be loved if I have to compete with Malfoy for affection. My bird. My unconditional love. Hedwig hoots and rubs her face into his palm. Fuck my life.
I’m being a selfish ass, and I know it. He’s homeless and running from Voldemort, who has all intentions of fucking him up in more ways than one. If he wants some damn companionship from my owl, it’s not the end of the world.
“We’ll be going out tomorrow to get you some clothes. I’ll spot you the money for now… Or whatever. I have plenty, and who the hell knows what you’re situation is going to be like.”
He just nods silently, gently petting my beautiful snowy bird. They look good together. They could be related.
He looks up, meeting my eyes. “Thank you.”
Sucker punch, right to the gut. That’s what I get for being nice. Genuine appreciation. It’s going to be a long month.
“No problem.”
Ron’s letter is pretty damning. Narcissa’s in some sort of magical coma while also in excruciating pain. She’s dying. Voldemort knows his shit. Malfoy’s totally screwed.
I think a part of me was hoping the kid was lying. Because, really, who wants to consider that as the truth? Fucking sick fuck Voldemort. The kid didn’t even do anything; his mother did. But he’s going to be the one to pay. Voldemort has transference issues. Huge ones.
“Potter, is this all you do all day?” He’s sitting with Hedwig on my bureau, petting her ever since she returned. Traitor.
“Sorry, Malfoy. I didn’t plan an itinerary to entertain you.” I had planned on going down to the arcade today, but I really don’t want to take him along.
“Why don’t you own anything? You have literally three things in this room.”
Four, if I count him. “My uncle locks my trunk up during the summer. He’s scared I’m going to magic them all with my terrifying quills and ink.” I stretch my arms over my head, hitting the wall. My bed is actually really lumpy, but when someone wakes you up before dawn, you make do. I think he’s getting tired of watching me nap. Really don’t know what to tell him.
“Your relatives are kind of messed up.”
“Yup.”
“Where are your glasses?”
God, does he ever shut up? “Specialist spelled my eyesight.”
“Should have done something for your hair while you were being all vain.”
Fucking hell. “It wasn’t vanity, it was survival. You fight enough dark wizards, you start realizing that seeing without a flimsy pair of glasses is really fucking important.”
“Still should have done something about your hair.”
I’m going to kill him. “You ever been to an arcade?”
He looks at me, like he’s not sure if he’s going to sound stupid if he says the wrong thing. “No.”
“How do you feel about crowds?”
He shrugs. “I’ll be fine. Less likely to be spotted.”
“Exactly.” I sit up, running a hand through my perfectly fine hair while taking the time to look him over. “Any way you can pull your jeans down over you boots?”
He looks at his boots, tracing his fingertips over the leather. “But then you won’t see them.”
“That would be the point. You look like money. Fashionable money. You don’t want to stick out.” Last thing I need is him getting mugged or beat up.
Huffing, he fixes his jeans. “So we’re going to be around poor people?”
Fucking prat. “Normal people. People that don’t spend hundreds of dollars on a pair of boots.”
“Poor people,” he insists, giving Hedwig a final ruffle.
“Whatever.” Everyone is poor compared to him. He doesn’t know shit. “Try not to talk too much. I have a feeling you’re going to piss a lot of people off.”
He scowls but doesn’t deny it. He’s an ass. He knows it.
We take the trolley, me once again paying his way. It’s really fucking dumb, but I kind of like being able to buy things for him. I know, really dumb. Like stupid dumb. Even with his boots covered, everyone stares at him. He’s hot. Some chick even tried to pick him up on the trolley. His look of bored disdain was priceless. He wouldn’t be caught dead talking to a muggle.
I walk him into the darkly lit building full of flashing lights, loud noises, and crowds of kids of all ages. His hand keeps gripping my arm like I’m going to disappear. “What do you think?”
“It’s loud as fuck.”
It is. He’s very observant. I get in line for the nearest change machine, watching him glare at everything. He looks a bit like a scared cat, not sure whether to run and hide, or scratch the fuck out of someone. I hand him a cup of quarters. Then, thinking better of it, I cover my hand over the plastic cup before he can drink from it. Fucking wizards; his parents didn’t teach him any life skills.
“They go in the machines. So you can play the games.”
He looks at me like I’m the idiot. He was totally going to drink the fucking quarters. I saw it on his face. Whatever. I pull him towards a game without any lines. Simple fighter game. Boring. Skimming around, I drag him to a racer. He likes brooms; he’ll like cars.
“Come on, sit. Pedal gets you moving, wheel gets you steering, and buttons shoot things.” He is beyond reluctant, but he eventually sits in the overly padded seat. I point to the slots and he keeps popping quarters until the game starts up. He’s a fast learner. Swears like a trucker, but he picks it up damn fast. I watch him for a while. Once I realize I’m staring more at his face as he takes tight turns and races past other players, I figure I should probably look at something else.
“Hey, Harry!” I turn, eyes skimming through the crowd until I find him waving at me. Hello, Paul. Tall, dark, with a surfer’s tan and body. This was the reason I didn’t want Malfoy cramping my style today. Paul’s got his friends with him; Toby and Shawn. They’re not bad, just always in the way.
“Malfoy, I’ll be back in a few.” I don’t know if he hears me; he’s really into the game. I may have started an addiction. Good. He needs something to distract him from his shit life right now.
“Didn’t know if you were showing up today.” Paul slings an arm around my shoulders once I reach him, pulling me up against his side. He’s lean, hard muscle, and smells like sweat. He roofs with his dad, hence the tan and the strength.
“I’m with a friend.” He gives me a surprised look. Fine, I have no muggle friends. Whatever. Paul’s the closest thing, and to be honest, I don’t want him for a friend. He’s to make out with, not talk to. I’m not racist, I just don’t know how to be around normal people and still be me. Magic is a huge part of my existence and muggles aren’t ever going to be able to understand that. Especially when I have crazy evil wizards looking to kill me.
“Feel like ditching him for a bit? We can go play something, just the two of us.” His hand runs over my ass, pulling me closer against his side. Hell.
Paul’s not the subtlest of guys, which is fine by me. I’ve been unbearable horny today, likely because of being stuck in the presence of a sex god. But shit, I can’t just ditch Malfoy in some muggle arcade, even for a hand job… Mmm… Maybe a blow job. Paul’s mouth is on my neck, and he’s doing that thing with his tongue that says he’s totally in the mood to get down on his knees.
“I shouldn’t… He’s new to the area—Ah fuck.” Teeth scrape my throat, the sensation going straight to my dick. Fingers tangle in my hair—my hair is fucking fine, thank you—pulling my head roughly to the side so he can bite more of my neck. It makes me dizzy. Makes me hard, which he really wants to help remedy by grinding his thigh against my erection and squeezing my ass firmly. Hell… okay… maybe just a quick…
There’s a loud cough behind me, and Paul, god only knows why, takes his very nice mouth away from my neck. Groaning, I glare behind me, only to find Malfoy looking pissier than a wet bee. And seriously, why the fuck is he pissed? He’s not the one being cock blocked. “What? Run out of quarters?”
“Are you honestly letting some guy feel you up in a crowd of muggles? Do you not understand the gravity of this situation? Are you taking any of this seriously?”
God, give me strength.
“Paul, give me a sec here.” I don’t actually wait for his reply, untangling myself from his arm and grabbing Malfoy by the shoulder so I can drag him to a secluded area. “What the fuck do you want, Malfoy? I’m sharing my house with you. I’m giving up my bed for you—My fucking bird, apparently too. My goddamn privacy. Can I please have twenty fucking minutes to myself?”
He scowls, glaring pointedly over my shoulder where I can only assume Paul is staring at us wondering why I brought a whiny bitch with me. “You weren’t by yourself, were you? How well do you even know that guy? He’s covered in tattoos and has two holes in his face.”
“Eyebrow rings. Shit, Malfoy, mind your own fucking business. You shouldn’t judge people by how they look.”
“Well, if you want me to judge him by how he acts, I should point out that he looked about ready to shag you in front of everyone.”
Seriously, I do not need a big brother. “Sorry to disappoint you, but that’s a fucking good thing to me. He knows what he wants, and he’s not afraid to go after it. Now seriously, mind your own fucking business.”
Paul’s trying not to laugh in my face by the time I get back. Fuck him. Fuck them both. I’m horny as fuck and I’m not getting any. Cus Malfoy’s hovering over my goddamn shoulder like he needs to protect me from the guy I’ve been grinding on for the last three weeks. It’s bad enough dealing with Shawn and Toby, who seem determined to drag Paul to every damn game there is whenever we’re trying to go at it. What the fuck is it with straight guys? Don’t they like sex? Do I interrupt them when they’re trying to feel up their girls? No.
Paul’s suddenly on my back, hot mouth moving over my ear, hand pressing into my back pocket. “Ditch your pretty-boy guard dog and let’s go somewhere alone.”
I glance over at Malfoy, who’s stone faced and glaring at the nearest video game while trying to ignore the guy grinding his dick against my ass. Yeah, that’s not happening. “Another time.”
“Come on, Harry. You barely come around anymore.”
Another thing I can’t stand; whiny guys. I take his hand out of my pocket and step away. “Sorry, Paul, got plans today. See you around.” I tilt my head at Malfoy, who seems fucking angry and ecstatic all at once to get the fuck out of the place.
“Did you want to play anything else?” I ask, feeling a bit like an ass for ruining his first time in an arcade. We’re even. He ruined any fun I was going to have.
“Fuck no. It’s crowded as fuck and people kept trying to talk to me the second you left.”
I glance at him sideways. “They’re not contagious, Malfoy. Just muggles. Nothing scary.”
“Fuck off, I’m not an idiot. I’m just sick of being looked at.”
Well, good luck to that, hottie. Magical people have this thing where we all kind of know when we’re faced with another witch or wizard. It’s a small world and if you have any proper senses, you can read the magic on another person. Because of that, we tend to not stare blatantly at the very sexy people because we know that sexy person could also hex the fuck out of us. Unfortunately, this rule does not apply to me because I’m the ex-toddler that survived the curse that put Voldemort out of commission for many a happy year. I get stared at all the time in the wizarding world. Malfoy apparently doesn’t.
“We can get you a pair of sunglasses.”
He looks over at me, clearly not knowing what the fuck sunglasses are. Seriously? It’s the same fucking planet. Did his parents lock him up in that manor his whole life? Rolling my eyes, I change direction, walking him to a small line of stores.
Malfoy, surprise, surprise, has an eye for accessories. He finds the hottest, most expensive sunglasses they have, and dumb ass that he is, he manages to look even sexier in them than out. But they’re dark, so he’s happy to not be making eye contact with all the people drooling over him. I, on the other hand, am really starting to feel frustrated as fuck. The kid is at my elbow everywhere. I can’t even take a leak without him hovering. It’s actually starting to make my wonder.
“Have you ever been outside on your own?”
“With muggles? God no.”
Taking in his tense jaw and undoubtedly flighty eyes under those sunglasses, I add. “How about anywhere else? Diagon Alley?”
He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Holy crap. Never? Seriously?”
“My parents are very protective.”
“Right, that’s why you nearly got buggered by their boss and don’t know how to work a fucking cup of coffee. They’re fucking brilliant there.”
“Fuck off.”
Which reminds me that his mom is likely as good as dead and who the fuck knows about Lucius. I shut my mouth.
“Potter?”
“Hmm?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Nice. Really fucking nice. “Care to be more specific? Or would you just prefer to hurl a list of insults at me before we reach the Dursleys?” We’re right down the street. He could probably fill the void.
“That guy was sleazy looking.”
“What guy?”
“The guy with his hand on your ass, moron.”
Again, nice. “He works for a living. Try it before you judge.”
“He looked like a thug.”
“Malfoy, your father is literally a thug. Looks don’t mean shit.”
He falls silent and I breathe a sigh of relief. Finally shut him up. It’s short lived. “It matters when they’re touching you.”
My god, he’s annoying. “Here’s an idea; next time don’t look. If two guys together grosses you out so much, don’t fucking look at them. It’s not people’s fault how they look. How you talk to other people and treat them though; totally on you.”
“I’m not just talking about looks—Shit, you’re dense. What kind of guy just gropes someone in the middle of a crowd? How can you let someone like that just paw you in front of everyone?”
“There you go again: ‘someone like that.’ Paul’s an OK guy. Not a thug, that’s for sure.”
“But you let him touch you. In front of people. Lots of people.”
I’m actually starting to think he’s more than a little naïve. I stop walking, Malfoy nearly crashing into me before he catches himself. “Haven’t you ever wanted someone so much that you don’t care if other people are in the room?”
“No. I’m not some sort of heathen,” he sneers, like I’ve just asked if he’s a muggle.
“Shit.” I’m trying really hard not to laugh here. “How many girls have you kissed?”
“Fuck you.”
Holy fuck. The hunky Slytherin prince hasn’t been kissed. No wonder he has a fucking opinion about everything. “Here’s the deal, Malfoy. I’ll pretend to give a fuck about your opinion on my choice of guys once you’ve actually kissed someone. Till then, bugger off.”
His glare is fucking perfect. I think it’s the first time I’ve won an argument with him. It almost makes up for the Paul fiasco.
Malfoy spoke about five sentences of something I like to refer to as Wall Street mumbo jumbo, and Uncle Vernon became his best fucking friend. It’s disgusting. If I didn’t know the kid wasn’t allowed to do magic, I’d swear he was entrancing them or something. That said, that he can have so many people eating out of the palm of his hand, yet still infuriate the fuck out of me is rather amazing.
Dinner was oddly talkative, Vernon and Malfoy in a heated discussion about numbers that I don’t care to learn a thing about. Stocks, bonds, whatever. Uncle Vernon actually pats me on the shoulder as he leaves for the living room because he’s glad Malfoy’s there. Bizarre. Malfoy watches TV with the family for a bit, and I escape to my room to finally get some fucking alone time.
A whole day stuck with Malfoy and not once did I get a chance to wank. Talk about torture. That he’s apparently naïve as fuck doesn’t help anything. Because maybe he might have been conscientious if he understood just how hot he was. But no, he was practically clinging to me half the day, like Death Eaters were going to jump us or some shit. Or maybe he’s just really afraid of muggles. People seem to scare him. Like overwhelm him to the point of becoming defensive and clingy all at once. Maybe that’s why he always kept Crabbe and Goyle around—A human buffer.
Whatever. I really don’t want to be thinking about him while touching myself. I have to share a fucking room with him. Closet—it’s a really small room. Making things any more awkward is just going to be miserable.
He has a really nice mouth. That crack about cock sucking this morning has been spinning in my head all day. He doesn’t ever shut up once he starts talking, and doesn’t that just solve everything if he’s on his knees full of dick? Hell… Wasn’t supposed to think of that… Oh, but it’s a nice thought. It really is…
Messing up his perfect hair with my hands, holding his head tight and still as he opens those pouty lips of his for my cock. It could be his first kiss… Bad, Potter. Very bad… But yeah, it could be.
I wonder if he’d swallow… Mmm, maybe just let it dribble out those red lips of his, down his chin, onto his throat. The kid is smoking hot.
I buck into my hand, biting my lip to keep from crying out. Fuck. It’s not the first time I’ve come thinking of him. But it is the first time we’re sharing space. Whatever. Whatever gets me through this.
I’m actually really disappointed to discover he hasn’t even kissed anyone. It ruins my fantasy of him losing his shit, throwing me down and fucking me senseless. Oh, I’m sure he’ll ruin plenty of other things for me before he’s back to school, but this one was sort of special to me. Whether he’s gay or straight doesn’t seem to matter, just as long as he knows how to use his equipment. Damn.
I clean myself up with tissues, make the bed so it doesn’t look like I just jerked off on it, and then unroll the worn sleeping bag that’s been tucked under the bed for ages. It smells like dust and barely clears the space between the nightstand and the door. Hopefully he won’t step on me if he tries to get to the bathroom in the middle of the night. It’s seriously cramped.
I’m stripping to my boxer briefs when he knocks, and I have one of those oh shit moments. Am I going to have to wear pajamas? No AC, middle of summer, and I need to cover myself up for his modesty? This is getting annoying.
“Potter?”
Fuck it. I’m not doing it. He’s lived in a dorm for five years. I’m sure he’s seen worse. I unlock the door, turning so I don’t have to see his expression and sit down on the sleeping bag. It does nothing to soften the absolute hardness of the floor. I really wasn’t expecting it to, but I had hoped.
“Oh, you’re seriously going to sleep on the floor? I wasn’t really going to kick you out of your bed.”
Right. “I’m tired, Malfoy. I was up too early. So if you don’t mind…” I lay out, wiggling down into the sleek material and fold my hands under my head. I’ve slept in worse for much longer, and yeah, I do mean the cupboard.
“Oh… Alright.” He carefully steps over me and sits on the bed. Closing my eyes, I hear him pulling off his boots, the sound strangely sensual to my very messed up senses.
I’ve never had anyone else in my room. It’s intimate. Disruptive. His t-shirt is next, the sound of soft fabric moving over firm skin as he shifts on the bed. I almost expect him to sleep with his jeans on, then I hear the zipper and every nerve in my body sparks. So fucking glad I jerked off earlier or I would be standing at attention right now from that one sound. Or any of the ones that follow as he stands and pushes his tight jeans down his hips, thighs, then kicks them off the rest of the way. Then he folds them, and puts them with his shirt before settling on the bed.
“How do I make the light dim?”
And the moment is broken. He has no fucking idea how to work a light switch. Nothing sexy about that. I know he’s smart, I do, but it’s really hard to remember when he can’t figure out simple shit. I sit up, standing to reach the switch by the door.
“Light switch. Two settings. Up is on. Down is off.” I glance at him to make sure he gets it, only to really wish I hadn’t. Black briefs that cling and the rest is all pale, long muscle, eyes gleaming silver and heavy with sleep. He’s sprawled on the bed like he belongs there. My bed. And hell, I really want him to belong there.
“You have to walk in the dark to get to bed? Isn’t that counterproductive?”
“Amazingly enough, I manage the three steps.” I flip the switch so I don’t have to look at him anymore. I regret that as well, but I leave the light off and sink back onto the sleeping bag.
“It’s really dark.”
“Sorry, I’m not the night light type.”
“Night light?”
Sigh. Is he going to talk all night? “It’s a dim light you plug in. Usually for little kids. The Dursleys keep one in the kitchen so you don’t hurt yourself if you get up to grab a snack in the middle of the night.” Dudley had taken a spill once years ago when sneaking food.
“Oh… Think you’d want to get one?”
I know I shouldn’t say it, but I’m feeling really cranky right now, his voice hovering fairly close above my head, just the bed height away. “You afraid of the dark, Malfoy?”
“No. I’m afraid of not seeing whatever is hunting me in the dark.”
Touché. I get up, again, and slip out into the hall, padding to the kitchen. Dudley can manage to work a damn light switch at his age. I unplug the night light, ignoring the burn as I make my way back. I hesitate in the doorway, not sure if I really want to go back in there and feel suffocated in that small space with him, where his breath is right in my ear, every movement he makes on the bed almost on top of me.
I push open the door and close it behind me. There’s only one wall outlet in the room and I run my hands down the side of the wall where I know it is, fingers brushing over the plastic casing. Once it’s plugged in and switched on, I crawl back onto the sleeping bag, trying to ignore the way shadows have now taken over the room, rising tall and intimidating on the walls.
“Thanks.”
I grunt something to acknowledge I heard him, then turn to my side, facing away from the bed. I can still hear him, his breath too loud. Even with my eyes closed, I can see him. Long, glowingly pale, eyes heavy with more than just sleep. Floating just above me, stretched out, releasing soft sighs. It takes forever to fall asleep, and I think even longer for him.
“Shit, what is it? What’s wrong?”
I fight the cold terror clawing up my chest as I watch Voldemort torture the remaining life out of what is no longer anything recognizable as human. The terror unfortunately claws back. I grab the offender, hissing when my wrist is twisted and pinned to the floor.
“Potter, snap the fuck out of it!”
“Shit—What the fuck?” I yelp, very much awake, my shoulder stinging from where Malfoy smacked me.
“You were screaming. I thought you were being murdered.” He releases my wrist to cover his face with his hands. He’s crouched on the floor, feet just brushing my right hip as he sits back and slumps against the side of the bed. “Fuck, you scared the fucking life out of me. Fuck.”
Blinking at his dim features in the warm glow of the night light, I relax back to the floor, letting the fear slowly drain from my body as I try to collect my wits. “Sorry. I don’t sleep much. He… he likes to pump visions into my brain when my guard is down.”
Pushing his bangs back from his face and gripping his hair, Draco sighs another weary sigh. “What the fuck does that even mean?”
“Snakeface. He uses my scar to feed shit into my head.” Once the words are out of my mouth, I immediately wish I could take them back. Malfoy’s spent a lifetime finding out anything he can about me and twisting it to sound the worst among our peers. I really shouldn’t be handing him information where it’s clear I’m fucking crazy.
“You’re telling me You-Know-Who tortures you in your sleep? Every night?”
Fuck, he sounds scared. “Yes. But It’s not me. It’s other people he’s hurting.”
“Real people? Did you see… Did he show you stuff he’s doing this very night?”
God, I’m like the biggest ass. “I don’t know. I didn’t see your mom, if that’s what you’re wondering. Or your dad.”
It is, and he gives another heavy sigh, rubbing his temples, his hair a perfect mess. His legs seem extra long from this angle, his calves strong, thighs muscular.
“Sorry I woke you. I’m used to having silencing spells for when I’m in the dorm.”
“Shit, don’t your relatives say anything?” He fans his fingers out over his face, eyes meeting mine through the opening. “How are they not knocking down the door right now to make sure you’re okay?”
Yeah, he’s more than a little naïve. “They don’t care, Malfoy. They all wear earplugs so they don’t have to hear me. They’re probably hoping one day they’re going to wake up and I’ll really be dead. Go to bed and stop asking so many damn questions.”
“Damn, you’re a surly bastard. Are you going to be pissed off at me the whole time?”
Probably. He’s hot as fuck, in my personal space, and I can’t touch him. Yeah, I’m going to be fucking grumpy as hell. “Go to bed.”
“It’s lumpy.”
Petulant prat. “What, you want to sleep on the floor?”
“Maybe.”
I open my eyes, finding him biting his lip while studying my face. “You freaked?”
He nods, another sigh escaping him. “Will you just… just talk to me for a bit? My heart is racing and the night just feels alive with terrible things right now and I keep wondering about my parents and if they’re…”
I hold up my hand, my arm feeling heavy with sleep. “I get it. But let’s talk about something that’s going to calm you down, not freak you out more.”
“Kay… What do you want to talk about?”
“Nothing, I want to go back to sleep,” I say bluntly. “You pick.”
“Oh. Alright.” He tilts his head back on the side of the bed, closing his eyes, arms resting on his knees. I close my eyes, hoping he’ll talk himself to sleep without needing me to answer. I don’t get much sleep, pretty much ever, and my body fights for it when it’s available.
“Tell me about your boyfriend.”
I snort sleepily. Fucking prat just won’t let it die. “Paul’s not my boyfriend. I don’t think we’ve ever had a full conversation.”
“Oh… So do you do that with a lot of guys? Just, what, casually…”
“If you’re asking if I’m a slut, no. I’m very selective in who I let touch me.”
“Can’t really tell… Unless you like ruffians covered in tats and piercings. You probably do. You have terrible taste in lots of other things as well.”
Probably. Compared to him, I’m always a mess. “Fine. You tell me what kind of guy I should like.”
“Hmm… That’s a good one. Well, for starters, someone you want to actually talk to. A wizard, naturally.”
“Nope.”
“No? You have to date a wizard, Potter, you can’t just date some clueless muggle. What the hell are they going to say when you start sparking in the middle of the night, screaming about all the blood?”
That makes me open my eyes. “I was sparking?”
He nods, blinking at me sleepily. “Green. Scared the shit out of me. You can’t do that to a muggle. It’s plain cruel.”
It’s really difficult to look away from his face. When he’s tired, his guard is down. Nearly sweet looking. “I’ll sleep in a different room. Wouldn’t be right to put anyone through that.”
“That’s dumb. You’d have to walk all the way to the other room just to be cuddled. Or you’d make him have to walk all the way to you through the dark to check up on you.”
Like I want to be cuddled? “Not if I put up a silencing spell. He’ll never know I’m—”
“You’re messed up. Why the hell wouldn’t you want your boyfriend to wake you up and hold you after dreaming fucking terrible things in your sleep? Why the hell do you always want to be alone all the time? I’m always alone when I come home for the summer, and I hate it. People make things better. Alive.”
The sound of his voice is lulling me to sleep, but it’s a question I really can’t ignore. “Life is pain… The less pain at this point, the better.”
He’s quiet. I think I may have fallen asleep because when he does speak, it seems far away. “How long have you been having those nightmares?”
“Long… Three years… Four.”
“That’s fucked up, Potter.”
It sucks, that’s for sure.
My silent reply is completely ignored. “You need to date someone that won’t let you be alone.”
I like being alone.
“Someone that can challenge you. Not just feel you up in some crowded room. You can totally do better,” he mutters.
I don’t want to do better.
“Someone that can appreciate just how much you sacrifice… Really, you give too much. All the time… and you won’t ever accept anything in return… I mean, the world is waiting for you to either win or die at his hands, and you sleep on a lumpy mattress. Tonight the floor, for someone you can’t stand.”
I can stand him… I really can.
“You let me rip on your shitty boyfriend and your stuff and your hair… and pretty much anything that pops in my head at the time cus I just have to fucking talk so I don’t think about shit. And you still sleep on the fucking floor even though you get terrible nightmares and probably can’t sleep even more… You even got me that light that probably keeps you up… Hell, me talking probably keeps you up… You’re fucking amazing. Seriously.”
I’m pretty sure I’m asleep. His hand on my cheek feels cool, fingers brushing lightly over my features. A thumb presses into my scar, running up the length of it and then slowly down, repeating in slow swipes.
“Sweet dreams, Harry.”
Yeah, I’m definitely dreaming.
I’m taken up jogging. Starting this morning and probably lasting until I don’t have to share a room with Malfoy anymore. Waking up rock hard listening to him breathe nearly in my ear, his arm hanging over the side of the bed with fingers brushing my chest is great motivation. This is going to kill me. Being around him all the fucking time is definitely going to kill me. Running is going to be the escape I need.
It’s the same time of morning as yesterday, dawn just deciding to steal the chill from the air as I step out in sweats and a t-shirt. I keep my head down as I go, fairly new sneakers already scuffed by my time spent at the gym. I renewed my membership to the place three blocks away when I returned to the Dursleys this summer. I go there about three times a week. To lift. To convince myself that a couple extra pounds of muscle might make the difference between living and dying if someone manages to hit me with another killing curse. It gives me something to do besides watch my gray hairs grow in from all the fucking stress I live with. Also gives me something to look at—Not a ton of guys go to the gym when I do, but a few are built and worth looking at.
Every time I think of turning back and getting some damn breakfast in me, the image of him sprawled on my bed hits me. I pick up speed, run till my muscles are screaming at me, heat roiling off my thighs, sweat drenching my clothes. Can’t escape it. He’s in my fucking head—In my bed—and I can’t escape him.
I stretch on aunt Petunia’s little white picket fence, trying to get the pain I’ve inflicted out of my tight limbs. The stretch and heat feel good. Too good. Him touching me good. Second day. Second day and I’m already a fucking mess. Sleep was supposed to help, energize me enough to see things proper. But in the same way I woke up yesterday, gasping from those damn sparks hitting my window, today I’m just fucking sparking from his warm fingers curled ever so lightly on my chest. Second day.
“You’re up?” I am, but from out of Vernon’s mouth it’s definitely a question.
“Jogging.” I open the refrigerator, ignoring my sweat and likely funk to get some orange juice. No donuts today. I want a fucking donut but sugar is not going to help this problem. Pain and exhaustion are the only things—And a cold shower. I should go take one of those too. Hopefully he’s awake now and not in my bed.
“Petunia says we’re seeing the new mall today. I hope you’re going to be respectful. It would be a pity to embarrass that proper friend of yours.”
“Yes, Uncle Vernon. I’ll be a perfect saint.” That Vernon doesn’t know my Saint Potter reputation makes it mildly amusing. Because the idea of having to be respectful for the prat sleeping in my bed is just ludicrous. Death Eater. He was going to be a Death Eater.
Sure, they would have killed him if he refused… But I really can’t think like that. Desperate people do desperate fucking things. Like attempt to kill me. Repeatedly. He hasn’t tried it yet, but I’m starting to wonder if this is his plan. Distract me constantly with his hotness until I die of a heart attack… or fall down an open manhole or something while looking at him. I look at him too much. I think about looking at him too much. I really need a shower.
I rinse my glass and place it upside down on the counter, walking past Vernon and his newspaper. The halls empty, but the bathroom isn’t. Aunt Petunia usually doesn’t take long—She’s a no frills sort of woman. Except with the decorating. She likes lace. Curtains, table clothes. No ruffles, thank god.
Naturally, it’s not Petunia. It’s him, nearly jumping a foot when he steps out to find me standing here. Whoops. He’s in yesterday’s clothes. Slightly rumpled, but still damn fine.
“For someone being hunted by You-Know-Who, you sure leave the house a lot.”
Ah. Maybe that’s his plan. Forcing me out of the safety of the wards with his unbearable sexiness until Voldemort just comes up to me on the street and hexes me dead. It could work.
His hair’s different today. Softer looking, messy, like he wasn’t able to charm it perfect. He has the slightest of kinks in one of his locks, the strand falling into his eye, nearly brushing his long lashes. For some reason it makes me hyper aware of my own hair, curling from the run, drops of sweat sliding down my neck. But I’m staring at his mouth, not his hair anymore. Yeah, I should have run more. Like another five miles. Can you run yourself blind? I need to be blind if I’m going to survive this.
I really don’t feel like verbal sparring this early in the morning—hell, talking in general—and I push past him into the bathroom without another word. Then, because I’m an idiot, I turn. “If you need a change of clothes, feel free to go through my bureau. Probably not up to your standards, but…” Whatever. I close the door before he can say anything. Insults or thanks cannot be handled this early in the morning.
God, I want to do things to him. Bad, terrible, nasty things. Voldemort doesn’t have anything on what I want to do to that kid.
It apparently doesn’t matter how tired my legs get; my dick still works. Cold water is not a deterrent. My body makes enough fucking heat to fight it. I jerk off twice in the shower, and I’m pretty sure I can go again in about twenty. I’m totally doomed. I should just walk outside and send up a signal in the sky that looks like my scar. Voldie will know what it means. I give up. Totally losing to Draco Malfoy, and it’s only the second day.
He’s wearing my shirt. I didn’t know my Metallica shirt was my favorite, but I know it now because he’s wearing it and he looks fucking amazing in it. Same jeans as yesterday, pulled down over his boots. Hair’s nearly perfect. He has a little bristle on his jaw, and I’m starting to realize just how much he depends on spells to do fucking everything for him.
It’s not until Dudley’s in the back seat that I realize just what hell I’ve gotten myself into. Dudley’s massive. It’s usually a tight squeeze when it’s just the two of us in the back. Now Malfoy’s going to be back here too. Fuck my life.
“Um, I can sit in the middle.”
“No.” No way in fuck he’s sitting next to Dudley. I get in before he can say another word, glaring warningly at my cousin. “What am I going to do to you if you touch him?”
“Fuck off, freak.”
“Dudley, language! We have a guest.”
“Sorry, Mum.” He punches me in the leg, but I’m used to it. I’ll be black and blue by the time the trip is over, but as long as he doesn’t touch Malfoy, we’re good. Draco slides in beside me and everything goes hazy by the time he shuts the car door. His entire right side is pressed up against my left. Dudley’s on my right just as tight, but believe me when I say, I don’t even notice.
“Do you think you could…?” Malfoy gives me a mildly pained look, wriggling his shoulder against mine. He’s nearly flush against the door and it probably hurts. Dudley won’t be moving, that’s for sure. I pull my shoulder back, extending my arm behind his seat so he’s now in the nook of my embrace and pressed tight to my chest. Fucking hell. Should have sent up that lightning bolt. Voldemort would have been way easier than this.
“Well, this is cozy.” Aunt Petunia. She’s funny. Really. “It shouldn’t take too long, boys. And I was thinking, since it’s a special occasion we might even stop at a restaurant.” There’s a round of halfhearted cheers, Dudley already turning on his handheld video game and turning the noise up obnoxiously loud.
About ten minutes into the ride, I start noticing that things are going to be going from bad to worse. Malfoy’s pale. Sweating, eyes closed shut, face pinched in an expression of pain or nausea—I have a good guess which.
I duck closer to whisper in his ear even though Dudley’s game will probably keep anyone from hearing. “You’ve never been in a car before, have you?”
He shakes his head no, a small whimper escaping him.
“You sick or just scared?”
He cracks an eye open, glaring at me in challenge. “Both.”
Of course. “Lean forward and look at your feet. It helps.” He looks like he wants to argue, but he’s also turning a bit green and does as I say. “Better?”
“A little.” His shoulders are shaking, and every time the car slows down and speeds up again, he groans miserably.
“Oh dear, he’s carsick.” Petunia clucks lightly. “Don’t worry, Drake, it’s not much longer. Harry, rub his back. That always helps.”
Dudley snickers, but I ignore him because I love my aunt and her many brilliant ideas. I’m probably an asshole for using him being sick as an excuse to touch him. Oh well. I press my palm gently to his back, then firmer when he doesn’t bitch at me. I soothe small circles, then larger, trying very hard not to notice just how good his muscles feel flexing under my hand. He sighs, relaxing slowly, leaning towards my leg by the time we get to the next traffic light.
It takes everything in me not to push his shirt up and touch his flesh. Instead I cup the back of his neck, his skin warming under my palm while I rub my fingers in. He makes the softest noise of protest when I drift away from his neck, moving down over his shoulder and breaking up the tension there as well. He has amazing shoulders. Strong, hard, fucking gorgeous. By the time I get to his other shoulder, he’s nearly limp, head lolled to the side, breathing much calmer. God, he’s sexy.
“Can you get my neck again?” He whispers hesitantly when I start moving up and down his back again.
Fuck, yes. I move my hand up his spine, pressing down hard with my palm, feeling him shudder under my touch. Has he ever been massaged before? Touched? Hell. It’s dumb, it’s just a fucking back rub, but I’m going to be the fucking happiest person in the world if I’m his first.
I stroke the back of his neck carefully, kneading the tension away, letting my fingers dig in deeper as he relaxes with every touch. I slowly drift higher, moving up the side to below his ear as I press in firmly with my thumb, reveling in the sensation of his cool hair brushing the back of my hand. He stretches forward, going boneless under my hand with a loud groan. Shit, I’m getting hard.
“Just a little more,” he mumbles when I try to pull away, his body pressing into my hand.
Hell, I can’t say no to that. I should, I really fucking should, but I can’t. What I wouldn’t give for a simple concealing charm right now.
Thankfully we arrive, pulling into the parking lot. Aunt Petunia gazes sympathetically while Vernon shuts the engine off. “Just relax and get used to the world being still for a bit, dear. It can take a little time. We’ll meet back at the entrance by five, then figure out dinner from there.”
I give her a look. I’m getting this growing suspicion that my mother might have gotten carsick, having spent so many years in the wizarding world. It’s not a question Petunia is going to let me ask though. Dudley lumbers out, head still stuck in his game, the car tilting from his absence. Malfoy doesn’t move, just continues to rest his head against the driver’s seat as I rub his neck with my thumb. It’s quiet, the Dursleys’ voices fading away as they walk to the mall. I should stop.
I don’t. I rub down to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, digging my palm in, making him groan again. God. He should really tell me to stop. Cus I’m not going to. I don’t think I can. Definitely don’t want to. I move to the same spot on his other side, digging my fingers in, squeezing until he releases a shattered moan and arches his head back. God, I want him. I grab the back of his neck again, firmer, possessively. When I pull him up, he lets me, his head falling back on the seat while I hold him by the nape and stroke my fingertips slowly over his long throat.
“Any better?” I ask, my voice too low, too rough sounding as I drink in his flushed cheeks and parted lips.
“Potter… do you know wandless magic?”
“What?” I’m not fully with it, but still. Where the hell did that come from?
“Because you have fucking magical hands.” He opens his eyes, glaring at me suspiciously.
I try really hard not to grin like an ass. I fail. “If I knew wandless magic, I could have just cast an anti-nausea charm on you. Sorry. Remus said he’d teach me this year.”
He just continues to glare at me, like he doesn’t believe me. I still have my hand on his neck. I cannot, for the life of me, bring myself to remove it. His lashes flutter on every down stroke of my thumb, his eyes growing darker and heavier as each minute ticks by.
“Let me know when you’re ready to go.”
“Yeah…”
His eyes are drooping, and even though the backseat is devoid of Dudley, he’s half in my lap. “You tired?”
He shakes his head no, bringing his face dangerously close to mine.
“Still feel sick?”
Another shake. His eyes are silver slits trained on my mouth. Dangerous, really fucking dangerous.
“You want to go?”
Another shake. God help me.
“Potter?”
“Hmm?”
“How many people have you kissed?”
Please don’t talk to me about kissing when all I want to do is kiss you. “Er, half a dozen or so.”
“All boys?”
“Nah. Took a bit to figure that out.” He has the prettiest mouth I’ve ever seen.
“How’d you figure it out?”
“Kissed a boy.”
“Oh.” Again he looks at my mouth. “You had to kiss one to know for sure?”
“No, not really. I had to kiss a boy to finally prove to myself that I wasn’t ever going to like girls the way I wanted to.”
“You want to want girls?”
“I want a family.”
“You can adopt.”
“Maybe.”
“Get a surrogate.”
“It’s not something I’m thinking about now. You-Know-Who keeps fucking things up. If I live, years down the line… maybe.”
“There are spells.”
“Hmm?”
“For gay wizards. So they can have kids that are genetic offspring of both. You just need a surrogate.”
“Oh… you just know a bit of everything, don’t you?”
His smile makes my mouth dry and head spin, his lips stretching lazily, eyes sparkling mischief. “About gay wizards? Yeah, I know a lot, actually. I never even had to kiss a boy to figure it out. Sure didn’t waste any kisses on girls.”
Son of a bitch. The goddamn fucking prat with his night light, and cock blocking, and fingers on my arm for nearly a day and then on my chest for the night. Taunting, teasing bastard.
“What’s the matter, Potter? Hit a nerve?”
I really need to get the fuck out of this car. I grip his neck harder, watching his face, watching his lips as they part in a soft groan. “Wasn’t a waste. I learned from it. As long as I learn from my fuck ups, it’s never a waste.”
“Yeah?” His eyes close for a moment, head tilting back into the touch of my hand. “Planning on learning something new?”
Shit. I really need to stop touching him. He really needs to stop saying sexy shit to me. I pull him until he’s resting against my chest, hot puffs of air heating my neck. “Malfoy, what the fuck do you want from me?”
I can feel him smirk, his lips pressing to my skin sending sparks jolting through my body. “Who says I want anything? Just enjoying your magic hands. They feel very, very good, and my head hurts since someone woke me up screaming last night.”
Yeah, I’m probably going to be ash by the end of today. He’s totally fucking with me, and he knows I know it. I’m a weak, weak man when it comes to Draco Malfoy. I trail my hand up, tangling my fingers into his hair, massaging his scalp and temples while he sighs into my skin.
“Better?”
“More.”
God, maybe now. With his lips on my neck, his gasps vibrating in my chest. Burn me alive now.
I’m not sure how I got out of the car unsinged. Not sure how I did it without kissing him or tearing his clothes off and grinding him until he finally relented and admitted he likes me. Not sure how the hell I’m walking with my dick at half staff, trying very hard not to stare at his ass while his fingers again grasp lightly to my sleeve.
He’s put his sunglasses on to block the interested stares sent his way. He likes shopping but the mall is tough on him. Lots of people, lots of noise and crowds. He’s used to having a tailor and going to small, vastly expensive places that schedule him in on appointment so he doesn’t have to fear being interrupted. I know because he keeps talking to me.
He’s chatty when he’s nervous. I don’t mind. His mouth fights his ass for my attention. Neither are really safe options, but I’m trying my best.
“What about here?” He asks, stopping us in front of one of those preppy, overly cologned modern-men clothing stores. The outside is plastered with half dressed, probably not even legal boys with their pants hanging too low on their hips. Hey, if he wants to dress like that, I’m not going to complain. He might have to go somewhere else for a shirt, though, cus I’m not sure they sell any if I go by the pictures.
I let him drag me inside while I breathe determinedly through my mouth. It sounds like a fucking rave in the actual store. I’d hate to work in a place like this—It’s like a war on all the senses. Except for the clothes. There are a lot of neutrals, the only thing really shocking about them being the price tag. Whatever. He’s happy. The sales guy seems ecstatic to meet one of the models out of their own damn advertising.
“Don’t forget shoes,” I remind him. I love his boots but he can’t wear them around muggles. They’re not even cow but some sort of dragon hide. He’s such a spoiled little prat.
“What do you think?” I turn to find him holding up a shirt. They do apparently sell shirts.
“Err… nice?” I’m really not the person to be asking.
“Would you wear it?”
Ha. Button down, white base with blue and white stripes of plaid. “Even if I was able to wash the smell of this place out of it, I still wouldn’t wear a collared shirt.”
He rolls his eyes and suddenly the shirt is being put on me like I didn’t just say that it smells and has a collar, and yeah, it’s white.
“It looks good on you.” Fine, it does when layered over my tee and not buttoned up. Still smells. Before I can say anything, he pulls it off me and throws it at the sales guy. “Three this style, different colors.”
“Malfoy…” He gives me a look like it’s not my money he’s spending on shit I’m never going to wear. Whatever. I’ll return it later.
Fine. I’m lazy, I’ll end up wearing it just to keep from doing laundry.
I slowly edge my way towards the doors of the store, hoping some fresh air might pipe its way in and he’ll stop trying to dress me. I am not a project. I like my clothes. I like my jeans… Oh, but these are really cool jeans…
Malfoy is very good at spending my money. It’s okay, I have plenty; still, it’s impressive. I exchanged half a million to muggle money and put it in a bank because I’ve been thinking about getting a house eventually. Half a mil apparently doesn’t scratch what’s left in my parents’ vault. I really don’t get how rich people make so much money but they do seem good at spending it. I think my debit card smoked when the salesclerk ran it through the machine.
“Where to next?”
“Err, the car to put those packages away.”
“Ha, they’re not going to fit, Potter. I’m having them delivered to your relatives’ house. They’ll be there before eight tonight.”
Hell, he’s good. Can’t work a coffee cup, but if it’s rich enough, he figures it out. I check my watch. Which makes him want to buy a genuine muggle watch. One track mind, this kid. I let him drag me through the mall. He’s never been here before either, but he seems to understand how things work better than I do.
While he’s looking at watches, I stare blankly at the people walking by, letting my senses expand. It’s important in places like this. The arcade, you can spot someone out of place pretty damn quick. In a mall, you get so many people from different walks of life, it’s a lot easier to be surprised by someone magical. Shopping is not exclusive to muggles, as Malfoy’s proven. I’m not expecting Death Eaters, or anything, but you never know when someone is going to recognize the ‘Great Harry Potter,’ say some shit to someone else, and then have it known that I go to a certain place. Now that I have to watch his back too, I’m even more antsy.
There are a few magical signatures floating around. Malfoy’s a beacon to me. I’ve zoomed in on him so many times at school, I can spot him out of a hundred other magical kids. The other two are weak, possibly squibs, they’re that unimpressive. Still, I keep my senses on them, making sure I’m not anywhere they are.
I seek him out, figuring he’ll probably need some cash sooner or later. It’s him, after all. He’s twitchy, some guy chatting him up that he’s trying really hard to ignore as he stares determinedly at the watches. It’s actually kind of funny seeing him around muggles. If he was with his own, he’d have no problem telling the guy to fuck off. But he’s not, he’s out of his element, and he just doesn’t know what’s the right level of bitchy prat.
I walk up to him, hands in my pockets, trying not to smile at his look of relief and annoyance as he sees me. His sunglasses are on his forehead and he looks ridiculously hot. Can’t blame the guy for trying. “Pick one yet?”
He shakes his head, glaring briefly to the right of him where the guy is still hovering, but now looking at me, sizing me up to see if I’m competition. Anyone ballsy enough to talk to a fine piece of ass like Malfoy is usually trouble.
“Why not? Nothing you like?”
Now Malfoy’s glaring at me. I’m not helping him. He wants to be a big baby around the muggles, that’s his problem. People are people and you got to deal with them the way you need to, or they’re just going to make your life hell.
“I had some questions about a few of them. The materials they’re made from. Durability. Apparently no one works in this store.”
Well the bitchy is making an appearance, but it’s not at the right target just yet. “How ’bout you ask your friend? Maybe he knows something about watches.”
If Malfoy was allowed to use magic, he’d hex me for that. As it is, he might still punch me. I just smile as he glares daggers at me. “Let me go find a clerk. I’m sure someone will be able to help.” He growls as I walk away. I feel sorry for the guy that doesn’t have the brains enough to leave.
It’s a department store, so I go to the registers to have them call someone for assistance with the watches. By the time I get back, Malfoy’s shadow is gone and he’s pissed.
“Potter, that was fucking assholic of you! He was badgering me since I got here, asking me for some fucking numbers or something. Don’t you ever abandon me around muggles again. I can’t understand half of what they’re even saying to me.”
Poor prat. It must be hard being hot, rich, and so fucking naïve. “Malfoy, you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself. He was just asking you out. Next time, just tell him to fuck off.”
He pauses, blinking in surprise. “I can do that?”
“Of course you can. You’re not going to be arrested for being an asshole. Everyone’s an asshole around here.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “You’re an asshole.”
Yup, I’m still in trouble. Worth it to see him squirm. A salesclerk finally shows up and Malfoy grills the girl, taking his anger out on her instead. I step back, letting him do his magic. By the time he’s through he’s found the most expensive watch and he’s wearing it out, my debit card threatening to melt.
“Muggles are rude.”
“Some of them are.”
“All they do is stare. It’s damn annoying.”
I shrug. “Everyone stares at me because of my scar. At least here no one looks at me.”
He huffs, glancing at me from beneath his sunglasses. “They’re all staring at you.”
“Only cus they’re trying to figure out what a guy like me is doing walking around with a guy like you, Malfoy. Believe me, I’m glad to not be noticed for a change.”
He just grunts, suddenly standing taller, the fingers once curled on my sleeve now wrapping around my bicep firmly. It’s fantastic feeling, and I turn his way. He’s suddenly broad shouldered and all confidence. I didn’t realize just how tall he was. “What are you doing?”
“Making sure they look at me.”
“Oh.” It must be working because I can’t seem to keep my eyes off of him.
“Potter, you’re going to trip.”
Right. Staring. He’s really hot and in my t-shirt.
“Potter…”
Ha, totally should have kissed him when I had the chance. Shit. How does he manage to get hotter? Is that even possible? Jerk. Really hot jerk.
I force my face forward, hyper focused on his hand on my arm. As my eyes move blindly over the storefronts, crowds of people, and sitting areas, I start imagining what it would be like to have him suddenly push me against a wall… or the side of the escalator, or down on that couch over there, and just snog me senseless. And, well, if we’re already there, why stop at a snog, right? He was definitely packing something impressive in those briefs of his last night… While lying on my bed.
God, I’m losing it. Really should have kissed him. Just to know for sure. Just so I could be certain he wasn’t fucking with my head about being gay. Cus god, I’m losing it.
“Are you okay? You nearly walked into a trash bin… Potter?” He stops, holding me by the arm so that I have to stop as well. His hand is cool against my flushed face, and I can’t help smiling like an idiot as he pushes my hair back to see if my forehead is warm. Seriously, he’s so dumb.
“Why are you all flushed? Did you eat something bad? You look just like…” He pushes his sunglasses up, glaring down at me. “Potter, are you perving out right now?”
“Err…” God, I want to climb him.
“Shit, you have issues. Seriously. Did some guy in tattoos walk by and fuck with your head? Don’t go talking to anyone until you stop being so… weird.”
I bite my lip, staring up into his beautiful gray eyes. They look a little blue in here. I really want to kiss him.
“And stop looking at me like that.”
“Hmm?”
“Like you’re going to eat me alive. It’s weird.”
Heh. He’s really adorable and absolutely frustrating as fuck. I turn and start walking again but his hand is still on my arm, keeping me from moving. “Malfoy…”
He growls, the noise making my toes curl. “Seriously, Potter. Don’t talk to anyone.”
He’s sure possessive for someone that refuses to show any interest in me.
Malfoy managed not to eat or drink anything that wasn’t food while at the restaurant Vernon picked out. I had a brief wonder of if the ornamental fish tank was going to end up being raided by him, but he just walked by with only a curious glance. Running that morning apparently made me starving, and I ate a portion of food that actually rivaled Dudley for a change.
Then it’s back to the car for Malfoy and I to endure our own very different versions of hell while he gets nauseas, and I get hard. At least it’s dark. Less scenery for him to watch whizzing by, less likely anyone is going to notice just what rubbing his back does to me. We don’t linger in the car this time. I seriously consider a night jog, but aunt Petunia wants me to change the sheets because Draco’s a guest and deserves to be treated like one. Whatever.
After that, it’s all about taking his packages in and trying to make space in my little bureau for his new clothes. After a moment of ingenuity, I go out to the tool shed in the backyard and grab a 2×2 and make him a damn clothing rack. He’s happy his shit isn’t wrinkled, and I don’t have to listen about there not being enough space.
“You’re not going to watch the television?”
Malfoy’s become obsessed. Aunt Petunia actually warned me to not let him watch it during the day. I guess she’s seen this before. “I’m tired. You watch.”
“Yeah, but…” He’s fidgeting, like it’s actually important and not just stupid TV.
“You don’t need my fucking permission. Just go.”
“Asshole.”
Whatever. I’m exhausted and incredibly horny. Neither of which he can help me with. I shut the door behind him, my eyes lingering on the clothing rack. I placed it high enough so his things wouldn’t hit the floor and intrude in my sleeping area. Still, my room’s just getting smaller and smaller with him being here. I strip, throwing my clothes in the hamper. I hit the lights, then get down on my knees and start fucking myself on my fingers before I lose my mind.
God, I need it. So bad. Just want it inside me, stretching me, filling me, taking me. Want him. God, I want him to take me. I don’t think he’d even know how. Still want it. So bad. God, why’d he have to be all hunky and possessive in the mall? He keeps fucking with my head. Every time I try and put a wall up, he knocks it down.
Hell, if I straddle him in his sleep, would he fuck me? Just start kissing him, grinding him, stroking his cock until he just has to put it in me. It was just his hand on my arm. That, and seeing his fucking shoulders. But damn, it made me want him. I always want him, but that, that was just unfair. Like he was going to protect me from people staring.
I could blow him. Get him so hard he won’t care where he’s putting it, just as long as he cums. God, I want him to cum in me. Deep inside while I’m on my knees. I want him to dominate me. Push me down and just take me. Not even ask. He doesn’t have to. I’ll let him do anything to me. Except get me killed.
Not even sure about that last one anymore.
My breath is loud in the dark, the sleeping bag under my knees rustling every time I slam down on my fingers. I avoid my prostate because I don’t want to cum too fast. I want to feel it. I want to pretend that every stroke is his cock driving inside me, wanting me as much as I want him.
Just the second day. It’s just the second day and I’m totally losing it.
This time he doesn’t hit me when I wake him screaming. He covers my mouth with his hand. I nearly bite him before I realize what’s happening. Then I melt, because fuck, he has his hand over my mouth.
“Alright there?”
I nod, my eyelids feeling heavy as I look up at him. He’s hanging over the bed, brows scrunched in concern. Finally he pulls his hand away when he sees I’m done screaming.
“Sorry.” I was asleep when he came in. I hope he didn’t stay up all night watching TV.
“No… Shit, Potter. You can’t help it. What did you…?” He trails off, and I wonder if he’s thinking about his parents again. Is that how this is going to go every night? I wake up screaming and he freaks about his parents? He should have gone to the Weasleys; they don’t scream at night.
“It was a muggle man. He got too close to where You-Know-Who is camped out. Kept noticing the lights. Got himself killed… eventually.”
He sighs, his expression draining of a lot of its tension. Because at least it wasn’t his father. “Hell. And you… you saw all of it?”
“Everything he did to that man. Yeah.”
“Hell.”
He shouldn’t ask about things he doesn’t want to know the answers to. “Sorry I woke you. You should try and go back to sleep.”
“What’s the worst thing he’s shown you?”
God. “Malfoy, it’s not something I like to think about.”
“You need to talk about it. You can’t just bottle this stuff inside. It just makes it worse to be the only one who sees it.”
“You really think speaking it aloud is suddenly going to make it less horrible?”
He rolls back over, his head on his arm as he looks down at me. “You ever tell anyone what you’ve dreamed?”
I shake my head. “I tried in the beginning but Ron and Hermione kept freaking out. Then I gave up because I realized the dreams were never going to stop. Why subject others? This is his torture for me. As long as he’s alive, I’m never going to get a night’s rest.”
“Tell me tonight’s dream. All of it.”
“Malfoy…”
“Not a request. You woke me up; you owe me.”
God, this is so much worse. I should have just told him it was his parents or something. That would have shut him up. “Fine.” I fold my arms under my head, studying the shadows on the ceiling so I won’t have to watch him freak out. Because it’s hell. Every dream is the slow, pain wrought dissection of a living human being.
“He doesn’t think they’re people. Muggles. He can’t figure out why they’re even alive. How they talk, how they walk. He thinks they mimic us, something magical hiding inside them that turns flesh puppets into people. So he goes looking. Between the skin and the muscle. Through the brain. He has a process, a procedure. It’s bloodless… in the beginning. When he’s in control like he was tonight. Uses his wand to magic away pieces at a time so he can look at them in the light.” It’s not a bright light, but it’s bright enough.
“Once the voice box is removed, it gets quieter. But I can still see. They get tighter, their muscles tense in pain, shaking, until those are gone too. And slowly, piece by piece, he hollows them out. I can list the order, I’ve seen it so many times. Every piece that ends up beside them instead of inside.” I don’t want to list the order. I don’t want to remember it. But, for some reason, my chest doesn’t feel so tight anymore.
“You see that every night?” His voice is rough, almost weak.
“No. Sometimes it’s bad. Sometimes he’s actually angry. It gets messy. Wet.”
He’s silent except for his breathing. I can feel him staring at me, but I refuse to look. “But not tonight? Just neat and ordered pieces tonight.”
“Right.”
“You ever recognize them?”
I hesitate. His hand drifts down, fingers pressing to my forehead, sifting through my bangs, thumb on my scar. Maybe it hadn’t been a dream. “All the time. But I don’t think I know any of them. They’re just faces… Could have seen them on the street. In a crowd. Maybe at the arcade. Sometimes I’m sure. Sometimes I just realize it’s a rerun.”
“Rerun?”
“Muggle television. Sometimes they’ll show the same episode of a show again at a different time. He sends me the same dreams once in a while. I guess he hasn’t killed enough to fill in every night… but he just can’t let me rest. So I’ll watch the same person die. That’s why I don’t know if it’s really happening or not. For all I know, he’s never killed anyone.”
He snorts humorlessly. “Fat chance.”
“Malfoy… You’re shaking.”
“Yeah, well, I have a very active imagination.”
I sigh, closing my eyes. His thumb keeps moving over my scar, but I can feel the tremor in his hand. “Don’t ask me next time. I don’t want to feel guilty on top of everything else.”
“Shut up. There’s nothing wrong with having a perfectly healthy physical response to some fucked up shit. That you’re not freaking out is more weird than anything.”
“Too tired. Seen it too many times… Hell, I probably wouldn’t freak out if it was happening in front of me at this point—Hey!” He only pulls my hair harder. I open my eyes, meeting his glare.
“Potter, you were screaming your bloody head off. You can pretend all you like that you’re all desensitized or whatnot, but that’s bullshit. Your body sure as fuck still knows how to be afraid, even if your conscious mind blocks it out.”
“If I agree with you, will you let my hair go?”
He smirks cruelly, tugging on my hair again. Something in his eyes makes my toes curl. “Maybe.”
Damn, he’s hot.
“Picking on you helps me not think about the terrible things you just described.”
I nod, my hair slipping through his fingers as he relaxes his hold. “Sorry. Feel free to beat me up if it helps.”
“Heh, don’t tempt me. Your relatives watched an action movie tonight. Everyone was doing martial arts—You know we have spells for that, right? I can’t wait to get back to school and learn some hand to hand combat. Maybe run up a wall. They were flipping all over the place. It was cool.”
“Why? So you can steal lunch money from first years and subdue them with only the use of your thumb?”
He smirks again and suddenly his thumb is back on my scar, pressing in and rubbing. “Oh, I dunno. Seems to work on you.”
Ah, I walked right into that one. “Yeah, well, I’m apparently easy. Got the spot marked out and everything.”
“I keep expecting it to hurt for some reason.” He turns his thumb, the nail suddenly sliding down the edge of my scar. I bite my lip, a shiver moving through my body.
“Oh. That explains it then…” He does it again and I have to close my eyes.
“I mean, you’ve had it forever. I’m sure it’s healed by now… just…” Scraping slowly, he traces down to the very bottom of my scar, then moves over my eyebrow, the flat of his thumb teasing through the short hairs.
“Malfoy…” He really needs to stop.
“It doesn’t hurt… does it?”
I exhale unsteadily as he moves down my nose. “No.” His thumb reaches my lips and I still, my breath hitching. He presses down harder until my lips part and all I can hear is my heart pounding in my ears.
“You bit your tongue.”
“Oh.”
“When you were yelling.”
“Right.”
His thumb moves over my lower lip, smoothing wet, his fingers curling on my cheek. “Does it hurt? Your tongue?”
It’s time to go jogging. Definitely time to get the fuck away from his damn innocent flirting. I should shut him down and put him in his place for trying to mess with me. Because whatever the hell he’s after, it’s not the same thing I am. But that would include him taking his thumb off my lips, and I really don’t want that. Not yet.
I open my eyes to find him staring at my mouth like he wants a kiss. As much as I’d like to give him one, I’m pretty sure it’s a bad idea. He’s going through a lot of shit with his folks, he’s sleep deprived—And I know how much that alone can make bad ideas seem really brilliant.
I think he’s just clinging to me, looking for the closest familiar thing to make the world seem stable now that it’s all gone to shit. I can’t be that, and not just because I’m pretty sure he’s hated me the majority of his life. I’m just more shit, and he’s been saving himself for a fucking kiss.
I close my eyes, blocking out his beautiful face. “Go to sleep, Malfoy.”
He sighs, his thumb moving down my lip, over my chin, across my jaw. He winds his way back to my scar, pushing down firmly like he’s pressing a button. “You’re grumpy at night, Potter.”
“Grumpy all the time.”
“Yeah, that too.”
I hit the gym this time, hoping to wreck my body enough to stop fucking thinking about him. The pain’s good. Something to focus on. Something real, unlike his fucking mind games. I’m not even sure he knows what he’s doing. But he’s doing it. Playing boyfriend. Demanding all my attention. Touching me, looking at me, talking to me. Unsettling as fuck. Because I want him more than anything and I really can’t have him.
He’s pissed when I get back. It’s nearly noon and apparently he thought Death Eaters had gotten me. He really needs to calm the fuck down.
“It’s just the gym, Malfoy.”
“You were alone. Without wards. What if someone had caught you? You have no way to defend yourself!”
“What, like you being there would really make a difference?” I have to argue with him outside because it’s Sunday and Vernon and Petunia are inside getting ready for lunch. “You try to use your wand and every auror will know where you are—Meaning minutes later, so will You-Know-Who.” He’s also making it really difficult to stretch, growling and looking like he’s going to hit me.
“So? Still better to survive and run back to the wards, than just outright die! What the hell is wrong with you? Do you want to die? Are you just waiting for him to find you and finish you off?”
I roll my eyes, stretching my other quad. Third day. Third day and he either thinks he’s my mother or my girlfriend. I say girlfriend cus I feel like a proper boyfriend wouldn’t be quite so naggy about it all. I could be wrong. He’s also ridiculously hot when he’s angry and it’s very, very distracting.
“Are you honestly telling me the Order says it’s okay to just go running about all the time? The werewolf just waves his hands and goes, ‘Sure, go get yourself killed. Have a ball.’ You really don’t care if you live or…”
“So you don’t want to go to the movies today?”
“…die like a—What?” He stops mid-sentence, blinking at me.
“Well, if you’re so concerned about my safety and all, you’ll probably not want to go, right? Too dangerous.” I release my leg, stretching my shoulder. “I mean, it’s just a muggle building with lots of people to hide among. Very dim lighting, a dozen films to choose from. Think they even have a few good action flicks playing.”
“Oh… okay.” He glances away like he’s not sure where he is right now. “Um, so, now? With them?” He nods his head towards the house.
“No, I don’t really feel like bringing them to the fucking movies.”
He brightens, smiling right at me. My stomach plummets somewhere around my shoes and I clutch at my arm, hoping that won’t fall as well. “Alright. Let’s do that then.”
I shake my head, trying not to smile at his 180. “You’re not worried about Death Eaters killing us?”
“Shut up.” He shoves me playfully. “You said it yourself. It’s not like they’re going to be hanging around a bunch of muggles. How far away is the place? Do we have to take the trolley again? Oh, I should get those sunnyglasses.”
God help me, the boy can talk. “I need a shower first. You do whatever the hell you want, just give me twenty minutes of peace.”
He glares, shoving me again. Only a little less playful. “Stop being a surly ass, Potter.”
Yeah, well stop being a teenage girl. I keep my lips firmly sealed, walking into the house after kicking my sneakers off. Don’t care what he does, I just really need some time alone in that shower.
He’s waiting on my bed when I come out of the bathroom. I don’t see him at first, trying not to trip over the sleeping bag. Nearly have my towel off before he finally makes a noise, making me jump in surprise. “Shit!”
He just raises a brow like I’m overreacting. Maybe I am, but I’m not getting naked in front of him. Not when he’s dressed like sex in his perfect fitting new muggle clothes. I gotta say, there is nothing sexy about robes. It’s like everyone is in a damn choir at school. Seeing him dressed in jeans though—that definitely does something for me. Things I thought I had taken care of in the shower until he’s in the same room as me while I’ve got nothing but a towel and drops of water between us.
“Malfoy, get lost. I’ll be down in a couple of minutes.”
“Seriously? You sleep in your underwear.”
God, what the hell does he want from me? Am I supposed to just strip down in front of him because we’re both guys? It doesn’t help that he’s totally checking me out right now. More mind games with him. It’s really staring to piss me off.
“Your cousin’s down there with a friend. He’s creepy. Can I just turn my head or something?”
Ugh. “Piers is here?”
“Yes, and he’s beyond terrible. Was he dropped on his head as a child? Just how do you get that fucked up?”
“Drugs, I think.” I have no interest in leaving Malfoy with Dudley and Piers unsupervised. “Fine, turn around.”
He does, Indian style on the bed while I go rustling through my bureau. He unfortunately feels the need to talk. Like I’m not allowed to think that I could be alone, no, he has to make sure I know he’s there. Pain in the ass.
“So what’s the movies like? I thought maybe it would be like the television but it would be difficult…”
I tune him out because, seriously, he’s going to find out soon enough. It’s a movie theater; nothing fucking special. I only mentioned it because I wanted to shut him up and, well, I think he’ll probably really like it. It’ll be dark, so he won’t have to worry about people staring at him. And he’s totally in love with TV, so better to introduce him to something a bit more quality than whatever the Dursleys consider watching at night. And yeah, he’ll have to be quiet for a good two hours straight.
I’ve just thrown the towel to the floor and am stepping into my underwear when I realize he’s stopped talking. I refuse to look at him although I know damn well he’s looking at me.
This isn’t going to work. I mean, seriously.
“Malfoy.” I hear him jump, the bed squeaking. “You have to stop this.”
“What?”
I ignore his totally innocent sounding response, stepping into my jeans and fastening them closed. “I’m not a gay dress rehearsal. You want to play at chasing boys, go do it with someone else. I’m just trying to live my damn life here, and I don’t like being messed around with.” I pull my shirt over my head, tugging it down roughly.
I go over to the hamper to pull my belt from yesterday’s pants and thread it through the ones I’m wearing.
“Potter, I’m not—”
“Zip it.” I look up, meeting his frown. “Stop fucking with me. Just because I think you’re hot doesn’t mean you get to mess with my head. You can rip on me about my home life, You-Know-Who, my nightmares, my appearance—Whatever. Just don’t fuck with me on this one thing. I need some sort of boundary. We’re going to be stuck in this little room for a month, and I’d like to not be insane by the end of it.”
He’s quiet as I put my socks on, grab my wallet, and give Hedwig a few treats. By the time I’m at the door and he’s finally standing, I turn his way again. He’s got his mask on, all cool confidence. “We good?”
“Fine.” Frosty, but not bitter. He’ll survive. Hopefully, I will too.
“Don’t forget your sunglasses.”
So I’m worried I’ve completely ruined the movies for Malfoy. He’s been quiet ever since I set the one rule down—I don’t think he even understands how many rules I’ve been placing on myself while I just asked this one thing of him.
No more touching him if he gets carsick. No staring at his ass, or any other part of him. No fantasizing about him doing anything to me—very much the hardest one cus he’s been masturbation fodder for years. But I’m sticking to it because he’s fucking naïve, and hot, sleeps in my bed in his underwear, and if I touch him while he’s still crying over his parents, I’m no better than Voldemort.
He doesn’t touch my sleeve on the trolley. He actually stands a few feet away from me, staring out the windows. Hasn’t said much of anything to me since, and I’m wondering if he’s more fucked up about this than I first thought. But I’m a guy so I’m going to ignore it until he gets his shit together again.
Seriously, he’s running from a psycho looking to rape him dead. Does he really want to play house with me? Is that really the solution to his fucking problems? No. He needs a fucking shrink. He needs to hear that his parents aren’t dead—Or even that they are so he can mourn properly and deal with his shit. He needs to feel like he’s not going to be kidnapped and killed every waking moment of the day. That’s why he’s freaking out about me being off alone—because he’s certain that’s his fate. Alone and dead.
It’s Sunday so the theater is bursting. We haven’t hit the late crowd yet, still a bunch of screaming kids running around hopped up on sugar while their parents seek shelter in the air-conditioning. I ask him what he wants to see and he has no opinion. Doesn’t care. Fuck. I try to feel him out on what he might like but he’s completely shutting me out. Fine. Whatever. I pick the one with marital arts, fast cars, and muscular men, and hope he gets over it sooner rather than later.
While I’m in line, he’s looking at the arcade games. I get some quarters from the cashier, just in case he feels like playing. By the time I’m done, he’s gone. I find him eventually, the crowd of people making things difficult. Being chatted up by some guy. Which would be fine—everyone wants to chat him up—but Malfoy’s actually smiling back, pushing his sunglasses up for the full effect of his dazzling eyes. I’ve been seeing that particular smile a lot the last three days directed solely at me. Seeing it turned towards this random punk is decidedly upsetting on more than one level.
I know what he’s doing. He’s pissed I turned him down so he’s trying to make me jealous. It’s childish, petty, and right up his alley. The only problem is, it’s really fucking working.
I take a few deep breaths before I walk over to him. No way in fuck he’s going to see he’s getting to me. It’ll only make it worse. I smile at the fucking loser that thinks he stands an actual chance with Draco Malfoy, and hand the blond his ticket. “Starts in fifteen. I’ll be at the games if you’re looking for me.” And then I walk away without looking back while he glares because there’s no way in fuck he’s going to win this. A month of this shit if he wins today. Not fucking happening.
I’ve apparently underestimated just how fucking angry he is. The next time I send a stealthy look his way, he’s gone again along with his new friend. Fuck. Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with him? Is everything a fucking game? He’s not getting food, he’s not playing games, not in the photo booth, not out on the stairs. Which leaves me with this sinking, fucking sick feeling in the pit of my stomach and I head to the bathroom nearest to where he was standing last.
Fuck my motherfucking life.
The place is almost empty. Almost. Two pairs of shoes, the stall door just about to close. I’m going to fucking kill him. But first, the goddamn loser.
He’s got a whole head on me and some muscle but it’s ornamental at best. I drag him out of the stall by his shirt collar and throw him against the sinks. He gapes at me. Like he couldn’t figure out that Malfoy was trouble the second he let someone as mundane as him speak two words all while glaring at me the whole time? There’s no fixing stupid.
“You can fuck off or I’m going to beat the shit out of you.”
“Potter, you’re—”
“Not a fucking word.” I don’t take my eyes off of the fucktard. The guy’s sizing me up, trying to figure out if I can back up my threat. I can. I’m more than happy to get bloody and bruised to do it. I’m furious and I dying to feel some pain. He must see it in my face because he raises his hands in surrender and walks out quiet as can be.
“Potter, why the fuck did you have to—”
I turn on him, growling. “What the fuck were you thinking? A fucking bathroom? Do you know what people do in these places? You don’t know a fucking thing about that guy and you were going to let him take you to a movie theater bathroom!”
He winces but his jaw’s pointed and he’s trying to stare me down. “It’s no different than what you did in the arcade.”
“Oh, you really fucking think so?” I step forward and he takes one back warily. “You think the guy I’ve been seeing for three weeks is the same as the absolute stranger that thought he could get in your pants after five fucking seconds of talking to you?”
“He wasn’t going to—”
“What? You think he was going to hold your fucking hand and give you your first kiss in here?” The motherfucking idiot.
“Fuck you, Potter! You’re not my fucking mother.” He tries to shove me, but I step into his push and he falls back against the stalls.
I slam my hands down on either side of him, glaring him in the eye. “No, I’m not. But I’ve been trying to fucking think about your mother every goddamn time I deal with you, Malfoy. You are fucked up right now. If you want to ruin your life, don’t do it in front of me. I will stop you at every goddamn turn.”
His face goes red and he’s beyond angry. Mentioning his mother was not the way to go. “Fucking son of a—What the fuck do you care!”
“I don’t. But you’re in my face, under my roof, and I’m not going to let shit happen to you. You don’t think a muggle won’t fuck you up? You don’t think they won’t shoot you up with something or hurt you bad enough to make you do anything they want? You think magic is the only fucking way to get something from someone?”
“Just back the fuck off!” He tries to shove me again, but I grab his arms. “Damn it—I don’t need your fucking Saint Potter bullshit! You’re so much worse than me. So what if I wanted to—”
“What? What the fuck did you really think you were doing in here?” He flinches from my venomous tone. “You were going to let an absolute fucking stranger kiss you. You waited till you had a fight with me to decide you just had to go get your first goddamn kiss with the first loser that showed an interest. You’re fucked up.”
“Not the first—Fucking ass! You could have! You were definitely the only fucking loser I was looking at! I’ve been looking at you for fucking years! But you didn’t want to so why the fuck should I wait? I’m probably going to be dead before the summer is through. God, you’re an arrogant ass—Let me the fuck go!”
I don’t let him go. I slam him back again, watching him growl in frustration. I shouldn’t do this. I’m pissed and he’s pissed, and I really shouldn’t do a goddamn thing but walk away. I release his arms and grab him by the face, pulling him down and kissing him hard. He gasps, tries to shove me again, except his hands cling to my collar, pulling me closer.
Damn it… Damn it to hell, he tastes amazing. Really fucking amazing. I let my fingers tangle into his hair, pulling sharply until he opens to my tongue with a groan. I push him back harder, grinding my body against his, wrapping an arm around his back. His hands are suddenly tearing at my shoulders and before I realize what’s happening, the world spins and I’m crashing through the stall door and he’s throwing me against the wall. Well, fuck.
“Malfoy—”
“Shut up.” He grabs me by the collar again, crushing my lips with his. He’s all hard muscle and angry mouth, and when he pushes flush against me I grab him by the belt and pull him closer, grinding our erections together. He groans into my mouth, grabbing my hip and wrenching me harder against him. God… God, he’s fucking tight.
I bite his lower lip and he hisses and grabs me hard by the neck, holding me still so he can do the same to me. It’s hot, wet, and sends shudders through me every time his teeth scrape my lip. He’s too rough, too angry, but it’s so perfect and I can’t seem to stop moaning.
He presses his leg between my thighs and grabs my ass hard, and the world goes dark for a second. Hell. Holy hell. I tear at his shirt, running my hands up his back the moment I get underneath and reach his skin. He’s hot, flushed with sweat, and when I grip hard enough, he growls and slams me back. Oh fuck. God, yes.
“Oh, harder, just… Yeah, like that.” I cling to him as he kisses down my neck, his teeth sinking in, sucking mean, desperate welts into my skin. It’s maddening, and I don’t think I’m going to be able to stand much longer, my knees trembling under his assault. “Malfoy… God, just… Oh hell…” I trail off with a loud groan, his hand sliding down my ass, squeezing tight, pulling me harder against his strong form.
“That’s it… God you’re fucking sexy—Hell, don’t fall.”
I grin dazedly as he wraps both his hands under my ass and pulls me tight against him. He’s fucking sexy. Everything about him. I kiss him again, slower this time, my lips wet and swollen and aching with every touch of his. When I run my tongue against his lips, he meets it, then plunges into my open mouth, determined to taste and explore every inch of me as we gasp for air. I’m unbearably hard, only getting more so with every rock of his body as he grinds his bulge against my hip. Before I can let my brain think and ruin this perfect fucking moment, I grab for his belt again, working on the buckle as fast as I can.
“Fuck… oh fuck.” He buries his face into my hair, groaning as I wrap my fingers around his cock and stroke. He’s big, feels silky hot, and I wish I was tasting him right now. But I shouldn’t even be doing this, shouldn’t be jerking him off in some dirty bathroom when a dozen men could just walk in the second a movie gets out. But I just want to feel him cum. That’s it. Then I’ll be good. Then I’ll leave him alone. Just so long as I get this one, really fucking perfect moment.
“God, don’t stop… So damn good… Hell.” He kisses my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair and pulling hard. I moan, trying to focus on my hand but so fucking lost in his mouth. He keeps thrusting his hips, keeps fucking my palm while rubbing his hot body against my dick.
“You close?” I ask, feeling so dizzy, so lost as he raises his head and meets my eyes. He cups my face, pressing his forehead to mine while he rubs his thumb over my lip.
“You’re beautiful… Crazy, fucked up beautiful.” He holds my face and kisses me softly, slowly. Small grunts escape him as he draws out his thrusts, his motions heady and growing more tense with every pump. I know he’s going to come, can feel it in every nerve ending, every muffled gasp. He’s going to come for me.
I press harder into his kiss, running my thumb over the head of his cock and feeling the slickness dripping there. He groans, his fingers digging into me as he crushes my lips hard and bucks in my hand. His seed is hot and slick in my palm, every spurt making me dizzy and more wild. For me. For this one heated moment he’s mine. Just mine.
“God, Potter… God, that was…” He’s lost, mouth trailing down my neck. He grabs my hand, pulling it up, growling as he finds his cum still wet there. Then he’s pushes it to my face and I can only whimper dizzily, opening my mouth, licking out when he presses my hand hard against my lips.
“Yeah…” his breath is hot against my cheek as he watches me clean his cum off my hand. “Get it all… Don’t waste it. Just like that.”
God. I can’t look away from his eyes. He’s staring at me like he’s never seen me before. Like he doesn’t know who he is, or where he is, just that he needs to look at me if he’s going to survive. I slide my tongue between my fingers and he groans, dipping close to run his tongue out across my knuckles, touching across my tongue when I lick again.
Kissing my fingertips slowly, he pins me in his gaze again. “Take your pants off.”
My hands are moving before my brain can tell me just what a bad idea this is. It’s a bad idea. Not just because it’s a movie theater bathroom. Not just because he’s definitely fucked up and transferring his issues into thinking he likes me. No, mostly because I really want him to tell me to do things, and the worse the idea sounds, the more I want to do it for him.
I unbuckle my belt, letting it hang loose as I get the button to my jeans. When I unzip, he pulls back, watching me push them down my thighs.
“Underwear too.” He raises his gaze to mine and I’m pretty sure I’m going to cum just from his expression. “Come on, Harry. Take them off.”
Aw, hell. Just hell. This is a bad idea. So bad. I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my boxer briefs and pull them down. He’s on his knees before I can feel the breeze of air on my flushed erection. He grabs me by the hips, holding me back against the stall wall of the bathroom while he looks me over.
I’m not the biggest but I’m thick, flush dark, keep things tidy. He’s not complaining, his fingers digging into my hips, his breath running heat over my length, my balls, between my thighs. One of his hands slides slowly over my ass, squeezing my cheek, feeling my tight muscle and smooth flesh while I gasp and buck.
I should stop this. Already stole his first fucking kiss. Probably ruined it for him, being as angry as I was. Took his first hand job… Pretty sure he liked that though. He looks up at me, his eyes intense and burning fire, and I lose my breath. God. I try to swallow, but my throat’s way too tight. He presses closer, his nose brushing against my heavy dick, breathing me in, sighing into my flesh. God, please.
He’s the hottest, sexiest fucking guy I’ve ever wanted. The rudest, meanest, most annoying ass too. But his parents were Death Eaters and he had to be one too, so it was okay that he was a total prat because nothing was ever going to happen. Except, somehow, his lips are pressing to the tip of my cock and the world just doesn’t make any fucking sense anymore.
I should stop him. He presses harder, his lips parting, tongue tentatively flicking out across my slit. Oh fuck. Staring at his face, I wrap my hands in his silky blond hair and pull him down. He opens to me with a groan, intense wet heat surrounding my cock. I can’t stop, pushing in until I’m grinding his tonsils and he’s trying not to gag. God. God, that’s it. Draco Malfoy, on his knees, choking on my cock.
Fuck yeah.
Both his hands grab my ass, squeezing me hard while I struggle to keep from crying out. I relax my grip on his hair and he pulls back, sucking air in just to quickly swallow me again, his tongue running all over my shaft as he slams me into him. “Fuck.”
I’m starting to get a little aware of the fact that although he says he’s never kissed anyone, he’s very good at not getting his teeth on me, isn’t gagging no matter how deep he takes me—and it’s deep. The boy has a fucking perfect, hot, nasty mouth. He’s lying about something but I really can’t care right at this moment.
He’s wet, loud—Really eager. His cheeks are flushed, and his lips are this fucking perfect swollen mess as he holds tight and drags down to my head, tonging my throbbing tip with a slow, sensual swirl. God. I hold onto his hair, fingers combing weakly, my head falling back against the stall heavily. I sound like a whimpering whore even though I’m trying to stay quiet, but god, he’s so hot, so tight. I can’t last. He’s working hard to make me come and he’s good. Too good. He’s been lying to me and I’m going to figure out why.
A thick finger presses against my hole and my knees give out the same second I shout. He doesn’t miss a beat. Suddenly my leg is over his shoulder and he’s holding me against the wall one handed while he drives into my entrance. I lose it. I’m a fucking slut for something in my hole to begin with, and it’s him, sucking me down, forcing a finger in and out with perfect, rough strokes.
“God, oh god… Malfoy, yes… harder… Oh fuck, yes…” I claw at his neck, tears in my eyes, pretty sure I’m going to die if he doesn’t let me come. He keeps building me up, bringing me to the edge, then letting me down again. He’s going to make me mad, going to make me fucking insane.
He pushes another finger inside me and I see stars, my head slamming back against the wall as my body jerks fitfully. “Fuck! God, do it… Oh… Oh god… I’m gonna…” I should warn him, so close. So fucking close. He drives his fingers deeper inside, stretching me, filling me so good, so right. I come with a cry, clutching his head hard, trying to choke him deep with my cum while he grinds his fingers into me.
Fuck. Holy fuck.
I force my eyes open, finding him with my dick still in his mouth, cum dripping down his wet lips while he tries to swallow around me. God. I press my palm across his bangs, letting my fingers drift down to caress the side of his cheek. He pulls his fingers out of me, my hole clenching at the loss and I moan weakly.
God. I’m not going to recover from this. What the fuck was I thinking? I have to share a fucking room with him.
He carefully extracts my thigh from his shoulder, his palm gripping my muscles and rubbing. God, everything he does is fucking me up. He grabs my ass again, like he doesn’t want to let it go for too long. And fuck, he shouldn’t. He should hold it all the time. Fuck me deep and hold it hard. God, I’m a fucking shaking mess.
While he gets to his feet, I try to get my trembling hands to pull my pants up. I can’t. I’m that fucked up right now, I can’t grip a fucking thing. So I lean against the wall doing my best to stop the world from spinning while my dick hangs out. He doesn’t seem to mind, wrapping his arms around me, holding me close, running his hand down between my thighs while caressing my sac and teasing fingers into my crack. God, he has to stop or I’m going to be begging him to fuck me.
“You lied to me,” I manage to rasp out, feeling damn near boneless in his embrace.
“I did?” He’s smiling into my neck and I have a feeling it’s smug. “I don’t remember lying.”
“Said… you never kissed anyone.”
His smile grows and it’s totally smug. “No. I said I didn’t need to kiss a boy to know I was gay. Didn’t mean I never kissed a boy.”
“Fucking prat.” I push at his gorgeous shoulders, but he doesn’t budge. My arms are still too weak. “You intentionally led me to believe you were some fucking virginal, innocent—Why? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
He stiffens, pushing me back against the wall, his body keeping me trapped as he glares at me. “Why? Because you’re a surly, suspicious fucker, Potter. Bad enough I had to come to you for help on your own territory. But coming in, liking cock when you do too? Snape told me to keep my fucking hands to myself, that showing any interest in you would get me kicked out on my ass faster than anything else. But I honestly don’t give a fuck what he thinks. I like you. A lot. I want to…” He trails off, growling at my expression.
Dread is worming in my gut and this time when I push him back, my arms work. Shit. Fucking shit. I pull my pants up while focusing on my magical senses, trying to take in the entire complex. Anything? Any fucking thing to suggest he set me up to be killed while he had his fingers up my ass minutes ago?
“Potter, you’re overreacting. Again.”
“Fuck off.”
I slam out of the stall, washing my hands quickly, patting my hair down so I don’t look like a complete fucking deviant. He grabs my arm before I can leave.
“Shit, just talk to me.”
“I’m going back. Stay for the movie if you want.” I hand him a crumpled wad of cash from my pocket and slip from his grip and disappear into the crowd.
I knew he was fucking with me. I just hadn’t realized how much he could have been fucking with me. Fuck. Fucking hell!
No magical signatures. No one but him. But now I can’t stop thinking about it. Yesterday in the Dursleys’ car. I didn’t even think to fucking look around, just so caught up in him. I could have been swarmed by every Death Eater out there in the mall parking lot and I wouldn’t have realized what was happening because I was too busy thinking with my dick. Fuck!
Had Snape warned him off me? Or was that just another fucking cover? Maybe Snape was all ‘go fucking get him,’ and Malfoy’s bullshiting even having an interest in me. I could see Snape setting me up to fall. Malfoy came in here talking about being raped by Voldemort, and fuck me, I immediately start thinking about his cock. Intentional? Has everything been some fucking ploy to get me into him? Is it some deal with Voldemort? Bring me Potter and I’ll let your parents live?
I stop cold, my sneakers scraping on the sidewalk. He’s a real-world noob. His parents are everything to him. Of course he’d sell me out if it would save his parents. He would get me killed just to keep Voldemort from killing him. That’s what being a Death Eater is all about.
Shit, I’m so stupid. So fucking stupid.
I need to talk to Remus. Now. If anyone knows how to deal with this bullshit, it’s him. He knows betrayal firsthand.
I look behind me. Malfoy’s not there. I open my senses, seeking him out. He’s out of range. He either stayed at the theater, or he went to grab the trolley. I’m pretty sure he’ll be okay. Especially if he’s playing double agent for Voldemort to get me killed. Yeah, he’ll be fucking fine.
It’s nighttime before Malfoy drags his ass back. I hate that a part of me was worried. He’s so fucking dumb about the world. I don’t say a word to him when he walks up the drive while I wait on the front steps. He eats dinner with the Dursleys. I lock myself in my room and wait for Hedwig to get back. It’s Remus; he’s got a lot of shit to juggle right now but hopefully he’ll be able to pen a damn letter and help me figure this hell out.
I never should have taken the kid in. I’m too nice, too trusting. I just have to save the whole fucking world while opening myself up to getting stabbed in the back. He said it himself that first night; he could see how much I gave while fucking myself over. And who the fuck is Draco Malfoy to not take advantage of such an obvious character flaw?
Stupid. I’m so fucking stupid.
There’s a knock on my door and I freeze, glaring from my bed. I get up slowly, hating him with every bone in my body. But it’s only Aunt Petunia.
“I saved you some dinner if you’re hungry.”
What? When the hell does she ever bother to do that? “Err, thanks. I’m not really in an eating mood right now.”
She doesn’t leave and I really don’t know how to tell her to get lost. So I just kind of stare at her, my eyebrows raise inquiringly.
“The two of you are fighting.”
Ugh. “It’s nothing. Just a…” I don’t know what the fuck it is. Misunderstanding? Is that what you call finding out that you’re being set up to be seduced and thrown into the clutches of the one and only Dark Lord Voldemort?
“You know how you get when you’re upset. You blow things up. The family can’t handle that. Not with two of your kind in the house.”
Fuck my life. “I’m in control, Aunt Petunia, I promise. No shaking the house, no blowing up things or people. I haven’t had a slip like that in years and you know it.”
“He’s very upset.”
“Yeah, well we fight all the time and he’s never exploded anything ever. You don’t have to be afraid of him.”
She gives me a look like I’m an idiot. Maybe I am. “He’s upset. He’s your friend. He’s obviously here for some terrible reason because one of his caliber doesn’t mingle with the muggles. I’m amazed he knows how to get his shoes on without a wand. Your father was just like him—Completely hopeless without magic. Couldn’t work a door handle half the time. Saw him try to eat a toad until he realized it wasn’t candy. The things that man tried to eat…”
“Err… Okay.” Aunt Petunia’s been, well, different lately. I thought it was because I’m getting close to the age where she expects me to move out and finally leave her family alone. But now I’m wondering if she just doesn’t know how to talk to kids and I’m not really a kid anymore. “Was there a point to all this?”
“Yes. His type are complete emotional imbeciles, and if you want to preserve any friendship you have, you need to be the one to repair it. He’s going to be here a while and I don’t want the two of you fighting.”
Petunia doesn’t seem to realize just how much bigger of an emotional imbecile I am. “No offense, Aunt Petunia, but I really don’t get why you care.”
Another look that says I’m an idiot. Whatever. “He’s a good boy. I don’t like to see him upset.”
I have to blink at that. He is? Aunt Petunia thinks the sun shines out of Dudley’s ass and now Draco Malfoy is a ‘good boy?’
She holds the door before I can shut it. “You’re a good boy too, Harry. Especially now that you’re not blowing up my house every five seconds. It’s okay to have a little happiness. He’s clearly smitten with you and it’s sad to see you two fighting.”
Holy fuck. I just stare dumbfounded as she shuts the door and leaves me with that fucking insanity. Either I’m now as bad as Dudley and Malfoy, or she actually doesn’t hate me. And never mind that, she thinks he’s my boyfriend. Aunt Petunia not only knows I’m gay, but let a boy into the house that she’s thinks I’m dating.
Did I hit my head recently?
It’s early but I can’t seem to think of anything better than falling asleep and forgetting this entire fucking day. I strip, tear the stupid night light out of the wall, and lie in my own fucking bed for a change. He knows where the sleeping bag is. I’m done playing nice.
I’m woken quite rudely this time. Confusing because Voldemort was only just warming up, prepping his altar and taunting his muggle when I’m pulled abruptly from sleep by a knee on my hand.
“Shit—Potter! Here I was worried I was going to trip on you, and you’re on the fucking bed!” If the angry hissing wasn’t bad enough, he hits me too. I think. He might have slipped. It’s pitch black and he’s heavy as fuck as he tries not to fall.
He’s also just in his underwear, and as angry and suspicious as I am with him, I can’t help but notice as I try to throw him off the bed. “Fuck off. You can sleep on the floor for a change.”
“You angry, assholic, mistrustful fucking psycho.” He hits me again, this time on purpose, his hands finding my wrists in the dark and pinning them down. I bite back a gasp, not used to being overpowered. It’s doing something to me though, especially in the dark where I don’t have to worry about him seeing me. “So what, you think I’m a Death Eater sent here to kill you but the worst you’re going to do is let me sleep on the fucking floor? Do you even realize how insane you are! Kick me out if you really think I’m here to get you killed. Hurt me—Do something besides freeze me out!”
“Get lost, Malfoy,” I say as calmly and apathetically as possible. He’s got his chest pressing down on mine, his knees on either side of me, and his breath is fucking molten on my cheek while he holds me down. There is no way I’m going to be able to keep my shit together if he doesn’t get the fuck off me. Now.
“No. You’re going to fucking talk to me. You’re going to fucking listen for a goddamn change and stop being so paranoid and stupid.”
“Uh, no, I’m not.” I roll, but he’s got more leverage, stopping me halfway when he realizes what I’m doing and forcing me back. Fuck—That feels way too good. “Seriously, get the fuck off me.”
He’s quiet. It’s too dark to see what the hell he’s thinking. I figure it out quick though when his hips press down against mine and he rubs against my hard dick. “Shit, Potter. Does everything get you hard?”
Fuck him. I try to roll us again, but that only makes him press his entire body down to keep me still. Fuck. Oh fuck, he’s so nearly naked, all long limbs and hard muscle and sweet smelling sweat.
“Leave me alone, Malfoy. I just want to sleep.” God, I want him. Fucking hate him, but god, I want him.
I can feel him hardening against me, feel the change in the tension of his body when he grips my wrists hard and pushes me firmer into the mattress. “I’m not here to kill you.”
“Let go.” I can barely speak, I’m panting so much. He feels so good. Want him so bad.
“I could have stabbed you in your sleep. Could have smothered you with a pillow. Could have hexed you dead. I don’t want to hurt you, Potter.” His lips brush my neck and I shudder. “I need your help.” His mouth is hot, wet as he laps a small swatch of my skin. “You’re the only one that gives a fuck about me enough to help. I’ve always known it. Always wanted it but couldn’t have it. Not until it all went to shit and then the world got small and huge all at once.”
I can’t talk anymore. My throat is tight and I want to listen to every fucking lie he’s saying cus they sound so good in the dark. His lips are wet, trailing over my neck, moving up my throat as he kisses his words into my skin.
“I asked Snape about you. He wanted to send me to Grimmauld Place. Guess the Order took over my cousin’s house and I could be watched by the best of the best. I tried to convince him it was about the wards. He saw right through me. He knows I’m fucked up over you, Potter. Hates me for it. Hates you even more for it because you’re definitely trouble. People die around you, and he doesn’t want me dead.”
“Not my fault,” I whisper, shivering as his lips tickle my convulsing throat.
“I know. You’ve had a really bad run of luck. Everything goes to shit around you and you just keep standing. You’re stubborn.” His teeth sink in, clamping on my jaw, and I gasp, whimpering. His tongue slowly soothes over the bite, my body melting with it. “Well, my luck just got a fuck ton worse overnight and I figured it was time to find the only guy that could possibly have it worse off than me. And kiss him because all I’ve wanted to do since third fucking year is kiss you.”
His nose brushes mine and I tilt my head up to reach him, finding his lips in the dark. He’s slow, languid, his tongue teasing over my lips, drawing mine to touch and taste and tangle. His hands loosen and I raise my arms so I can grab his hair and pull him closer. He groans, pushing me harder into the mattress, sliding a palm down my side, to my hip where he slips beneath my underwear so he can grab my ass. I moan, arching into him, my body so hot where he’s pressed to me, everything so dizzy and wild with the sound of our strained breathing, wet kisses, and the rustle of sheets.
He pulls away, his mouth out of reach, hands sliding up my body before leaving as well. I grab his nearest wrist, tugging him closer, finding his lips.
“I want to see you.” He again tries to pull away, but only after kissing me so deep that I’m dizzy. His words sink in and I hold his wrist tighter. “Potter?”
God, he just fucking ruins everything. “It’s late. Just…” Just let it fucking be and stop trying to make it more. But he’s stupid like that. Stubborn and dumb as fuck, and pulling from the bed to get the light.
Damn.
Damn it.
I keep my eyes shut tight, wincing when the light hits the back of my eyelids. I’m not doing this. Not playing this fucked up game where he wants to make me crazy for him. I’m already fucking crazy for him. I don’t need him knowing it too.
He stumbles and against my better judgment and smarting eyes, I open, glaring at him. It’s a mistake. He’s practically naked, hard, hair mussed like a fucking human being and not even remotely a Malfoy. God, why is he here? Why is he here tormenting me in the middle of fucking summer among a sea of muggles with no magic, no fantasy to wrap myself in to protect me from him? Draco Malfoy does not belong in my cramped little room in this ordinary, boring-ass town in the middle of suburbia. I’m no one here no matter how sexy his is when he looks at me. I can’t defend myself.
“Potter, stop glaring.”
I glare harder, a frustrated sigh escaping him. Because he’s an idiot for thinking a few fucking words in the dark were going to make me trust him. There’s a fucking mountain between us, all centered around his parents and the monster they serve that killed my parents. Nothing is going to make that just disappear. Not even magic,
“I’m not here to fuck up your life.” He stands over the bed, fingers combing through his hair agitatedly.
Malfoy keeps glancing down at me but I refuse to avert my eyes for a second to see what he’s looking at. I know I’m hard, probably a fucking mess. I won’t let myself feel weak with him towering over. Fuck that.
“Damn it, Harry.” Brows furrowing, he actually fucking kneels next to me, eyes wide and full of something I refuse to acknowledge without a fucking school of wizards and witches to hide within. “I like you, you idiot. I just want to be with you—Why do you have to make this so fucking difficult? I know you like me.”
It has been a fucking crazy, shit day and this is the most I can take of it. My anger is stronger than my exhaustion, propelling me from the bed before he’s even back on his feet and stumbling away. “You think this is fucking easy for me, Malfoy? You think it’s easy to ignore every fucking insane thing my body is fucking screaming for with you being in the same fucking room as me?”
“Don’t ignore it—”
I hold my hand up, cutting him off, my teeth grit tight. “Do you understand what it’s like knowing I can have you? Knowing that even if you’re fucking lying, I can still have…” I shake my head, hating how my body is reacting even now to the thought. “I can’t trust you! I’m never going to be able to trust you. I’d have to be an absolute suicidal dumb ass to trust you.”
His eyes narrow. Draco is fucking gorgeous when he’s angry and I just hate him even more for it. “You’re doing this on purpose, Potter. You’re just looking for any reason you can to push me away. What the fuck can I actually do to prove to you that I’m not here to sell you out? Do you want me to tattoo your fucking scar on my arm? Will that finally do it for you?”
It’s a punch to the gut, heat rising over my skin in a sick wave at the thought of me asking that of anyone. Bad enough Voldemort’s in my head. Bad enough he’s trying to fuck me up every night until I’m as lifeless and monstrous as him…
“I didn’t mean it,” Draco whispers, grabbing for my arm when I sway backwards. “You’re nothing like him. Harry, please, I didn’t—”
“Go away,” I croak out, wrenching my arm free and nearly falling on the bed. I never should have let him in here. Never should have let him get to me when I’m defenseless and alone and a goddamn mess.
“No.” He grabs my arm again, trying to get me to turn. His hand is like fire on my flesh and I go to pull away but he won’t give. “I’m not going anywhere. Talk to me. I’m sorry I—”
I duck around him, pulling from his grasp again. “Fine, I’ll go. Whatever—What the fuck does it matter, right? You fit so much better with the Dursleys anyways.” He does. They fucking love him and I’m nothing besides an echo of what Voldemort feeds into my dreams, and I should have fucking left years ago. I step around the sleeping bag and tear at the doorknob, growling when the fucking thing won’t budge.
“Let go!” I hiss, pulling at the door again, his other hand slamming down next to his first and boxing me in.
I’m suddenly hyper-aware of him hot against my back, his bare flesh brushing my shoulders, breath tickling the nape of my neck. I close my eyes, my entire body tensing with want. Hate him. Fucking hate him for being here and doing this to me.
“Why are you doing this?” He sounds confused, maybe even hurt—If a lying bastard like him could ever feel, that is. “Really, Potter. Why the fuck are you doing this to yourself?”
God, he’s so fucking annoying. Hot, sexy, and so annoying. I grab his wrist, pulling it from the door, grasping it tight. Then, because I can’t stop myself no matter how much the voice in my head tells me to, I push his palm against my stomach, holding him against me, making his hand press lower as he growls in my ear.
“For fuck sake—You’re fucked. So fucked.” But he’s touching me, his fingers spreading, teasing lower with each huff of exasperation in my ear. “Potter…”
“Shut up. Just shut the fuck up already.” I push his hand lower until he’s pressing into my erection, gasping as I buck into his palm. Snarling, he slams me forward into the door. “God, yes.” His body covers my back completely, his dick grinding between my cheeks with only our underwear between us. It’s so good, my head spinning as I push back, rubbing up and down on his hard cock and urging him to hump against me.
“Do it… Do me,” I demand huskily, my head dropping back against his shoulder as I grind on his dick. I need him so bad. Don’t want to but I do and I just can’t think straight anymore.
His angry rumble sends fire tingling through me, my body tensing as he slams me forward against the door again. “No way in fuck. If you’re going to hate me, it might as well be on my terms.”
Fucking hell, he just can’t do anything right. Growling, I reach my hands behind and grab his hips, pulling him against me as I push back, wiggling until his dick is digging into my crack. “You want me.”
“So?” He grunts, his hips thrusting forward. I can’t stop my moan and I spread my legs wider as I push back. But he’s not giving in, his arm tight around my waist as he tries to hold me still. “Potter, you think I’m here to seduce you or some fucked up shit like that so I can hand you over to the Dark Lord. I’d have to be a fucking idiot to touch you right now. I have no interest ending up out on the street without your protection.”
“You mean the wards.”
He’s still, his breath steamy puffs against my neck. “Don’t be naïve. You can’t be a crazy, paranoid psycho bastard and also be naïve, Potter. It’s one or the other.”
Hate him. Fucking hate him so much. He knows I want him. Knows I want to be the one he runs to—not the stupid house but to me. He knows it and he’s using it against me so fucking good.
His hands rise to my shoulders and he tries to turn me. I resist, not budging. “Just go to bed, Malfoy.”
“Look at me,” he whispers. “You can’t face the fucking Dark Lord and then be unable to face me.”
“You’re such an asshole!”
“I’m aware. Now stop being a coward.”
Hate him, hate him, hate him… I turn when he pushes at my shoulders, my eyes resolutely closed. “Just let it go.” I feel exposed knowing he’s looking at me, but I can’t bring myself to face him. He shouldn’t be here. It’s summer and I shouldn’t have to be doing this right now.
“If I could, I would have already. I’m not a fan of making an ass of myself in my underwear, Potter.” His lips press to mine and I suppress a sigh, keeping myself still. His lips slide to the corner of my mouth, brushing over my cheek as he talks lowly. “I get it. You don’t trust me. You don’t trust anyone. You can’t even accept a fucking meal from your aunt without wondering if she’s about to stab you in the back. That doesn’t mean I’m not trustworthy, Potter, it just means all you can see is the world the way you built it in your head. Fucked up. A world where someone gets murdered every night while you rest and you can’t do a thing to stop it.”
His lips tease my ear, fingers curling around my biceps. “I get it, Harry.”
He does. He really fucking does and it just makes him all the more dangerous. “Go to bed.”
“Look at me.”
I take a deep breath to brace myself, knowing he won’t back down until he feels like I’ve heard him. I immediately regret it, his face inches from mine, beautiful eyes glaring so intense and full of something I can hardly bear to see. It makes my knees weak, my chest tight and I manage to find a little more hate to build up between us to keep him from getting to me.
His fingers are firm as they thread through my hair, combing slowly while he stares at me like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. Maybe he does. Maybe his father taught him Legilimency. It doesn’t matter; I can’t ever let him close enough to hurt me.
“Take the bed.” He pulls away, his voice a low murmur. “You need to sleep a lot more than I do.”
I shake my head wearily. There’s no way I can stay in here with him tonight. I’m so hard, so wound up, my body and head a fucking mess. “I gotta go. Jog.” I turn to leave but he’s on me in an instant, holding the door shut again, body hot against my back.
“It’s not safe.”
I huff, trying not to laugh at the idea of him worried about me. “I don’t fucking care.”
“You’re in your fucking underwear.”
Damn him. “I can’t do this with you! This room is too small and hearing you breathe is driving me fucking crazy and I need to—Oh.” His arms wrap tight around me, a hand boldly cupping my dick through my underwear. “Fuck.” I sink against the door, his strong body keeping me from falling as he wraps closer, lips kissing up my neck, cock pressing against my ass. God, just once more. Need him to touch me so bad.
I fumble for the light switch, whimpering when his hand catches my wrist. I’m too tired for all this. Just too fucking tired. “Please.”
Sighing in frustration, he unwinds his fingers. I flick the light off, darkness descending, my eyes opening, senses expanding. I’m panting, his breath calm against my neck, lips wet on my ear.
“Not enough tattoos and holes in my head?”
What an idiot. If he only fucking knew. He’s always in the dark with me, behind my eyelids when I touch myself. Somehow this feels more real than him being in the light. Safer.
I turn, his body bumping mine, my back against the door. My hands find his arms and follow them up, over his shoulders, down his chest, past his abs and pausing at the top of his underwear. I pull them down, his breath hitching, body pushing up against mine as he steps out of the last of his clothes. His dick is bare and hot against my stomach, his hands grasping my ass, holding me tight against him.
“You’re fucking infuriating,” he growls against my jaw. I shift my hips, lining his dick up with mine. I try to push my underwear down but he grabs my hands, pulling them back to his body. “Insane. I haven’t been here a week and you’re driving me insane.”
I kiss him if only to shut him up already. I miss, my mouth getting most of his bottom lip and a bit of his chin. He’s got more of that bristle—the idiot still not daring to use a razor—and I rub my face into the rough texture. He growls, pulling me off the door and walking me toward the bed.
“Potter, I’m serious. There is nothing healthy about this—Fuck.” He’s found the bed, hissing when his leg slams into it. I push him down, straddling him with my thighs on either side before he can start bitching, seeking his mouth and kissing him deep. I reach between us, stroking his thick, hard cock, groaning when the silken flesh jumps in my hand. He’s breathing hard, small grunts escaping him with every rock of our hips.
Fuck, I need him inside me. So bad. His hand is on my hip and I grab it, moving it down to my ass. He slides beneath the leg of my briefs and squeezes hard, my hips grinding forward as I gasp.
“Fuck, do it,” I find myself practically begging when he slides a finger down my crack. It’ll stop if he fucks me. It has to. This fucking crazy need in me that makes me want the worst and fucking chase after it against my better judgment will finally stop if I just have this one thing.
I still my hips when I feel his fingertips at my rim, my face tight against his neck. “Come on, Malfoy… God, just fuck me.”
“Why, so you’ll finally have your proof that I’m here to get you killed?” Draco whispers hot against my forehead, his thumb teasing around my entrance, the tip slowly stretching me open. “Give me some fucking credit.”
Whimpering lowly as his thumb breaches me, I can only clutch him desperately. “More,” I gasp, moaning when he pushes into me deeper. I clench around the digit, his breath a low hiss as his other arm wrenches me up against his body, pushing my underwear beneath the swell of my ass, fingers finding my entrance and probing where his thumb is already buried. I half expect him to draw it out but he’s still angry, still determined to make me pay for using him like he’s just a pretty face and hard dick after all our years of dancing around each other.
“Oh… Oh fuck.” My voice is a low rasp when two fingers plunge into me, my flesh sore and slowly opening to him. It’s so good, the right mix of pain and pleasure, the perfect overwhelm as my passage stretches too wide, too fast to take in his driving thrusts. “Yes… Fuck, yes.” I slam back, grinning breathlessly when he growls and pulls me tighter to him, his dick smearing sticky precum against my inner thigh. He feels so good. Draco Malfoy finger fucking me in the dark while kissing down my neck; I might be in some sort of delusional coma right now.
Sweat drips down my face, my gasps so loud with every pump of his fingers inside me. I need his cock—need him to be fucking me. Releasing a groan, I fumble down his body, my hands shaking like crazy as I seek out his dick. “Please… Please. I want you so bad.” It’s dark. I can say it in the dark. “Draco, I want to feel you inside me.”
“Goddammit, Harry,” he hisses, his hips jolting up and rocking me so good. “I refuse to feed your fucked up delusions.” He’s a mix of bitterness, anger, and lust but all I care about is how his fingers are spreading, opening me wider, finding my prostate and stroking.
“Fuck—Yes… Again,” I sob, wrapping my arms tight around his shoulders, hooking my ankles around his back and moaning against his throat. He gives a warning growl when I try to position his dick between my spread cheek. “Come on… Need it,” I grunt back, nipping at the hollow of his throat.
“Not until you trust me,” he says hoarsely.
The fucking stubborn pain. Damn him, I refuse to fucking beg. Just… God, I need him. “Why do you have to be so fucking difficult?”
“Because you’re fucking difficult,” he mutters, his hips rocking up again, our dicks rubbing such perfect friction that I tighten, certain I’m going to come any moment now.
“You want me,” I breathe out, grinding on his fingers, needing it bigger and deeper. “Just fuck me already.”
“Damn, you’re out of your fucking mind.” Ducking his head, he growls in my ear while his fingers rhythmically thrust into me in slow, deep strokes. “You’re worried I’m trying to get you killed but you’re more than willing to let me fuck you raw. Is that what you want, Potter?” He hits my prostate again, my breath lost, thighs and ass tightening, my head spinning with heat. “Do you want me to use you? Take you however I want… get off ruining you… and then just throw you away when I’m done?”
I can’t stop my aching moans. I can’t help it—I want him to ruin me. To give in and fuck me so hard, fill me with his cum. I want him to use me so bad. However he wants just as long as it’s me. After? I don’t fucking care, I just want him inside me now. “Malfoy, just…”
“Not a fucking word, Potter,” he snarls, nipping my ear in punishment. The pain is a jolt of electricity, quickly followed by bruising bites as he moves down my throat angrily. “I’m not that kid of guy… And you, you deserve fucking better, you absolute tosser.” He ignores my whine of protest when he pulls his fingers out of me, my hole clenching on nothing and feeling so empty.
Sweat drips down my chest and our flesh slides together when he rolls me roughly, pushing me back on the bed. I can’t see his face but I’m pretty sure he’s angry as fuck, his fingers gripping painfully tight to my hips after he pulls my underwear down and off my legs and he lowers his body on top of mine. I don’t have it in me to care and I lift a knee up to feel him between my legs, groaning when his dick finally presses hot to mine again. I want him inside me so bad, my hips angling for just that until he pins me down with another angry growl.
There’s a familiar sound of sheets and springs shifting, my eyes flying open when the blunt, cool tip of a dildo pushes between my cheeks. “Oh, fuck.”
“Just so we’re clear, I wasn’t searching your fucking room for ways to get you killed. Your bed is just fucking lumpy and clearly this was part of the reason,” he taunts, pushing my knee up higher until I’m spread wide beneath him. Fuck, please. Please, please, please put it in me.
“Malfoy…”
“Quiet.” I hear his thumb click the cap open on the bottle of lube I keep wedged under my mattress with the dildo and I sink back, gasping beneath him in anticipation. He could do anything to me right now and I wouldn’t complain. Just as long as he puts something in me thick and hard and long. Maybe it is my fault—Maybe I’m a paranoid fuck because I know damn well just how easy it is for me to fall for him. Maybe having him actually inside me would be the stupidest fucking mistake I could ever make.
Fingers slick with oil push beneath my balls and I moan, arching eagerly. Fuck yes. Fuck, fuck, fuck…
“Damn, listen to you moan,” Draco whispers, his mouth fastening to my throat, coated fingers working into me, getting me ready, driving me wild. “You really want it… Like crazy, want it.”
It’s been three days and I’m ready to let him fuck me. Yeah… that seems about right. Usually fight with him the first two days of school because he’s always running me down like a rabid puppy with a mean bark and dull teeth. By the third to fourth day I have to avoid him to keep from jumping him and trying to get his pants off. This feels about on par to that. Considering he’s been in my face the last three days, I’ve done damn well to resist.
My hands are again a fucking uncoordinated mess but I manage to grab his hips and pull him tighter to me. I find his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip harshly and tugging at the firm flesh with my teeth. “Hurry… Want it so bad.”
“You’re still so tight.”
“I can take it… God, just…” My back arches when he brushes my prostate. I grip him harder, moaning lowly on my exhale. “Need you.”
He stiffens in my hold and I immediately regret my stupid, horny mouth. I really shouldn’t be allowed to talk when he’s touching me. Dumb. Really dumb. It’s a relief when he pushes the silicone against my hole, my gasp breaking the growing silence. It doesn’t stop him from biting my shoulder, his teeth digging in punishingly while he slowly penetrates me with the thick dildo.
I’m so close. Unbearably close. He barely gets two inches into my clenching passage when I can’t take any more, my body jerking. Crying out, I throw my head back, coming in a sudden blaze of heat and need.
His free hand runs between us, slicking over the streams of seed wet on my navel. Malfoy groans when he finds it but he doesn’t stop what he’s doing, the dildo wedging in deeper into my sensitive channel. I whimper when he gets as deep as he can, the base stretching me so wide as he fills me.
“Fuck… Fuck, it’s so…”
Leaning down, he wraps one of my legs around his hips, pulling and pushing the thick rod in and out of my aching hole. I can’t stop my cries. He’s relentless, filling me again and again and, by his breathing, he’s so close to losing it.
“Say it again,” he rasps in my ear, teeth nipping on my lobe.
“Fuck… I need you,” I gasp out, sliding an arm to his waist and wrapping fingers around his hard cock. “Just you,” I admit dazedly.
“God, Harry… You’re so fucked.”
I know. It’s the only way I’m ever going to be when it comes to him.
His movements slow, growing more erratic as he thrusts into my hand while trying to fuck me senseless with the dildo at the same time. It’s so good and all I want is for it to be his dick inside me, swelling, getting ready to fill me. I grab him by the shoulders, pushing him back, groaning from how deep the dildo is wedged inside me as I move. Sliding down his body, my gasps break free with every aching jolt to my clenching hole until his dick is hot on my lips. Tongue tracing out hungrily, I lap over his head, my ass high in the air and legs spread for balance as I lean down to take him deep into my mouth.
“Fuck… God, Harry… God.” His fingers grip my hair, twisting tight while he bucks up towards my tonsils and threatens to suffocate me. I relax my jaw, opening as far as I can while being as malleable as possible. He won’t stay still enough for me to properly deep throat him, but I can take his desperate thrusts and let him fuck my mouth how he wants.
He’s close, grunting softly, the underside of his large dick singing on my tongue as I feel him swell. I moan as he comes, holding his hips and dripping saliva down my swollen lips while I try to keep from choking on his sperm. Dizziness hits me, my ass clenching from just how hot it is to have him get off in my mouth.
I barely have a chance to swallow before he’s sitting up and pulling me towards him, his tongue plunging roughly into my mouth while I groan in agony from the dildo. It’s too big to be stretching me for so long without moving, my body clenching in attempt to push it out to no avail. I reach for it while he kisses me but he grabs my wrists, keeping me in place.
“Say it again,” he demands against my lips, holding me so I’m still leaning over the bed, body bent and aching as I rock my hips.
I don’t even consider refusing. “Need you.” My voice is low, rough from the friction of his dick and the absolute need I have for him. When he pulls me down beside him, I barely catch myself, just stopping from jarring on the mattress as I breathe heavily. He slides behind me, his hip pressed against the swell of my ass, fingers probing at the dildo filling me so deep.
“Again,” he growls, his mouth against my ear as he pulls the dildo out only to immediately slam it back in.
I sob, clutching the sheets, pushing back on shaking legs to get it deeper. “N-Need… you…”
“Fuck, Harry.” His voice a raw growl, he starts fucking me hard on the slick rod. My cries only spur him on as he drives into me unceasingly. I bury my face into the bed, gasping until the sheet grows wet under my mouth and teeth. I don’t know if he wants to get me off or just drive me insane for admitting I like him in such a way. All I know is I’m going to lose my mind if he stops.
“That’s it… You’re so close. Get there, beautiful.” Grabbing me by my hair, he kisses me hard, swallowing my cries down greedily while grinding the thick plastic into me so deep, so hard. My eyes squeezed shut, for a dizzying moment it’s like he’s actually inside me, his hot flesh melded with mine, filling me completely. Bucking desperately, I come the instant his hand touches my dick, surge after surge streaming from me as I moan against his lips.
He won’t stop kissing me, even when I collapse forward, groaning weakly when he finally pulls the dildo from my aching hole. Rolling me on my side, his mouth covers mine, tongue determined to memorize every part of my mouth as his large hands move over my sweat drenched, shaking form.
I’m so worn out, it takes forever for me to actually understand what he’s doing when he twists us on the bed, pulling me into his arms and kissing my throat and shoulders. I go to roll away and sleep on the floor, but he just growls and wraps an arm around my waist to keep me in place.
“Stay.”
“Bed’s too small,” I mumble, not actually able to find the strength to move at the moment. But he’s cuddling me like I’m his fucking boyfriend or some shit, so I really need to get away before he gets the wrong…
His knee sliding between my thighs, he pins me down with his hot body before I can break from his hold. Resourceful little prat. Teeth nip my neck and I moan, relaxing back against the mattress. I’ll move when he’s asleep. Totally. Just, right now I’m going to let him keep running his hand over my chest while he kisses and sucks on my neck lazily.
“Say it again,” he whispers, mouth wide and wet as he scrapes his teeth over my flesh.
Fucked up. He’s either luring me to my death or stupid enough to think I’m worth having. Either way, I’m not feeding his psychosis.
Teeth clamp on the side of my neck and I gasp, groaning weakly as fire rushes through my exhausted body. It’s dark. I can say it in the dark. “F-Fine… I need you.”
His tongue immediately soothes over the bite, fingers again tracing my form reverently. He sighs contently and I close my eyes again, trying to ignore just how comforting and secure I feel with him weighing me down and wrapped around me.
Sleep is determined to claim me and I don’t fight it. It’s better than thinking about what the fuck I just did.
He has the most beautiful hands. Long, strong fingers that taper to glowing pink flesh and short manicured nails. Usually perfectly clean and immaculate, but this morning he’s got a bit of dirt under a nail and I can’t stop staring at it. It’s day four and I’m dirtying him. Tarnishing him. He’s more human today than I’ve ever seen him and I hate myself for it.
He doesn’t belong here. He doesn’t belong and once he leaves, he’ll never come back. It is amazing just how cruel Draco Malfoy can be by telling me he likes me.
I think I woke up to jog. My body is ready to run. I slept—I can’t even remember the last time I fucking slept like this—and now I’m awake, and hard, and sweating under his hot flesh and solid, strong form. There’s no darkness to hide away in and he is so fucking beautiful when he sleeps.
I want to touch him. His skin is a pale, golden cream in the morning light bouncing through the window, his hair a glittering gold as it tickles my cheek. I can touch him. God, I am touching him, his slowly moving chest half covering mine, his leg still pressed between my thighs and likely getting sticky with just how fucking hard he makes me. He has amazing shoulders and such a smooth, sculpted ass. Hell, Malfoy nude is fucking art. I’m sleeping with art.
Holy fuck, I’m sleeping with Draco Malfoy.
I have to be losing my mind. Like, full blown hallucinations combined with schizophrenic delusions. How long has he been here? Did I end up spelled by something? Am I in a fucking coma right now? I don’t know if I believe in parallel universes but I’m questioning it now.
Except, he is so quick to point out just how fucked up I am, and I am still just so totally fucked.
I didn’t even really realize just how fucked I was until he said it. Do I not see the world right? Have the nightmares from Voldemort fucked me up that much that I can’t even tell the difference between what’s real and me being a paranoid fuck?
It doesn’t mean I wrong. It doesn’t mean Voldemort wouldn’t kill me in a second. Or Malfoy’s parents. Or even fucking Malfoy.
I lick my lips, trying to glare at his gorgeous face, but I can’t find the anger when he’s asleep. I need him to open his mouth and say something stupid first.
It doesn’t mean I’m wrong.
I don’t live a fucking normal life no matter how mundane it might seem during the summer. It is so fucking insane for me to come back to the Dursley’s every summer break and live in this world. Playing muggle. Playing teenager. It’s all make believe here.
I once thought magic was freedom from this boring place. Whimsical. Really fucking cool. But that all changed when I realized how my parents had died, why I was going to die, and why every fucking person I’m around or dare to care about is going to die. Little Whinging is a fucking illusion and every time something magical strays in, it cracks the facade a little more, breaking me with it.
I am a fucking crazy person. Ask any muggle that wants to know my opinion on magic. Oh, so you think it would be super cool to just do things? Fly or become invisible or turn back time? Sure, except it’s not just you. It would be lots of people doing those same really cool things but they use it to control people like slaves and murder the ones they can’t control. If magic were real, you’d need to learn as much as you could as quickly as you could, otherwise someone with more power might come around and kill you.
Why? Fuck, because they can. They can do magic; what did you think they were going to do with it? Make the world a better place? How many fucking people do you personally know are bothering to put their own selfish needs aside to help a stranger? Why would a person with magic be any different? They can just do all the things they want with no one to stop them or tell them they’re wrong.
Oh, you’re sure that if you had magical powers, you’d be the next Jesus? Pretty sure that guy died in the end. The normal people killed him because he was trying to make their lives better. I know, what a dick. Who’s to even say that guy was real? You know who was definitely real? Hitler. Pol Pot. Kim Jong Il. Stalin. Mussolini. Genghis Khan. The Crusades. Genocides from 100 million Native Americans to the Holocaust to Nigeria—Name a fucking continent and I can name a genocide committed by people that didn’t need magic to do horrible things.
How many times do you hear about people joining together to feed the homeless or welcome them into their country after a natural disaster? Most of the time they’re too busy bitching about not having enough for themselves. You really think magic is going to help this world? People are fucked and there’s no helping them.
They tend to stop talking to me after that. Apparently I’m a depressing asshole. Whatever.
Having magic and knowing Voldemort forces you to think about this shit. Most people are in the middle of the selfish meter. They’ll help a little until it gets to be too much of a hassle for themselves. You get a few that will give up their homes for a stranger but they never outnumber the monsters that would destroy and take everything they can.
Destruction is so easy. So satisfying. Primal. And fuck, when you try to help, it never really solves a problem, it only ever seems to pick away at it for a bit. Destruction succeeds where healing just puts off the inevitable death of the decaying all around us.
Magic is real, I am fucking crazy, and it doesn’t mean I’m wrong in thinking Voldemort would send Draco to kill me.
It doesn’t mean I’m wrong, but god, I really want to be wrong.
I’m never going to be able to have anything I want until Voldemort is dead. This man—No, monster. This monster has decided my life just by existing. He took my parents away and every other good thing I could ever hope for in life by his constant threat to destroy me. I think I finally understand Sirius in some ways. The seemingly arrogant death wish he had walked around with. But it wasn’t arrogance, it was fucking desperation. The last straw in a life stolen from him. He wanted to live the second his life was handed back to him. He wanted to finally have a choice.
Yeah, I fucking get it. But he’s dead and I’m the one that lived to see the lesson of trying to take control of your life. You just end up fucked. It doesn’t matter what you do, you’re just fucked. Nothing matters.
I want to go back to sleep. I am a depressing fucker. That he’s just lying on top of me, completely oblivious to how fucking miserable a person I am is beyond surreal. He’s only going to get worse around me. Cynical, angry, bitter. I’m fucked in the head and he’s a fucking idiot for looking twice at me. Maybe it’s the scar. Maybe he really is just another stupid fanboy underneath it all.
He smells amazing. His lips are gorgeous, and he smells like sex. Looks like sex. I wonder if he’s ever bottomed. He has a fucking smooth, tight ass and I would totally fuck him if I didn’t want him to be inside me every time I think about his dick. But if he wanted to bottom, I would totally do that for him.
His breathing doesn’t change when I slide my arm out from under his body, carefully cupping his ass cheek. My fingers fan out and I give him a small squeeze. He really has a nice ass. Firm. Fit. He is fucking tight all around. Fuck, the things I would do with him. Nasty shit. Really, really nasty shit.
But he’s a naïve idiot. An enemy. His parents could also be dead and I’m a total selfish fuck for bringing him into my shit of a life. Should have pawned him off on the Order the second he showed up. Should have kept my hands to myself and slept on the downstairs couch and just stayed the fuck away. Should have never ever ever fucking told him I need him.
God, I need him.
I give his ass a final squeeze and shift my hips so I’m not humping his leg. Sleep has not helped my head. Nothing is going to fix the life I’m living in. I tilt my head on the pillow, my eyelids heavy as I take in his sleeping face. He really is beautiful. I could get used to waking up beside him in this cramped bed. I could get used to a lot of things when it comes to him. All the more reason he needs to go.
I feel when he wakes, the bed shifting, his breathing changing as he yawns shamelessly right next to my ear. I keep my eyes closed even when his fingers brush my face, his lips quickly following to press against mine.
“You are the lumpiest bed I’ve ever slept on,” he whispers hoarsely against my mouth like he’s afraid to wake me. “Sexiest, too. My god, you are one sexy psycho.” He kisses my jaw, his lips brushing softly over my bristle.
Idiot. He is such a naïve idiot and if I wasn’t pretending to be asleep I’d be kissing his stupid mouth raw.
“Try not to wake up an angry fuck today, scarhead.” He pushes himself out of bed before I can growl at him and reveal I’m very much awake and already angry and fucked up. God, but he fucks me up.
I keep my eyes closed and listen to him grab some clothes and a towel. My bedroom door clicks shut and the bathroom fan goes on a moment later. The tension leaves my body and I sink down into the bed, not having realized how tight I had been.
I don’t want to get up today. I don’t want to see him at breakfast or listen to him bitch about muggle things. I don’t want to see him because if I see him, I’m going to remember all those fucking crazy things he said to me yesterday about him wanting me and my resolve is going to fucking break. I gotta let him go. For my sanity. For his own fucking good.
I roll over onto my side, staring blankly at my dingy bedroom wall. It feels very real today. I think the sleep must have done something to me because I feel a little more solid than I usually do, a little more aware of gravity and just how real the wall looks. I might actually be here today in the Dursley’s house and not in some in between dream before school starts.
My sheets smell like Malfoy and sex. My ass is sore, a dull throb that makes the rest of me feel kind of warm and fuzzy and a whole lot of stupid. God, I already miss him. Miss the feel of his arms, the weight of his body. I never should have let this happen.
It’s not the doorbell but Petunia’s tense voice that catches my attention. It’s after noon. I managed to fall asleep—It’s amazing how much sleep I can get when I’m feeling fucking pathetic about my life. I dressed after a needed shower and was heading for the kitchen to throw a sandwich together when I hear my aunt choke on her words. Warning bells ring in my head and I’m heading for the front door without even pausing.
“Remus!”
“Harry, I got your owl.” Remus looks at Petunia with an exasperated nod as if my beaming smile is proof enough he’s allowed to be here. But I can see her expression now. She’s stiff, her face pale with thin lips set in a flat line.
Aunt Petunia is fucking terrified of wizards. She might have learned to tolerate me but she is freaking out to be faced with a full grown one on her front steps. For the first time, I feel a wave of guilt for not having thought of her when contacting Remus. I hadn’t expected him to come down but still, she’s really freaking and it is her fucking house.
I finish crossing to the door and nod my head in the direction of the street. “Aunt Petunia, Remus and I are going to go for a walk. I’ll let you know when I’m back.” Thank god Vernon isn’t here. The last thing I need is him taking one look at a freaked out Petunia and feeling the need to play angry guard dog against a werewolf.
I close the door behind us, Remus giving me a quizzical look I don’t feel like answering until I’m out of sight of Petunia’s glare through the curtains. I feel like I’m fucking everything up today. She lost her only sister to one of the evilest wizards around and I’m just parading wizards through her front door. Stupid, Potter, really fucking stupid.
Once I’m down the street and out of sight of the house, I relax and finally take a good look at Remus. He’s worn, his hair touched with gray, warm eyes looking tired. Losing Sirius—Fuck, getting Sirius back and then losing him was hard on Remus. The most on him. He’s the last one left of his friends to carry on. I sometimes think he’s putting the whole Wormtail thing on his shoulders, like he needs to set it all right.
“Should I be worried that you’re here?” I finally ask, seeing as he hasn’t offered to tell me yet if we should be checking the street for Death Eaters or shit.
“I had a moment. I just…” He sighs, his arm coming up to rest on my shoulder. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay in person. That’s all. I spoke to Snape and he pretty much backs up Malfoy’s story. He got a message from Lucius after the thing with Narcissa happened. Draco ended up portkeying in to their arranged meet up, confused and afraid. It doesn’t mean someone didn’t get to him before Snape.”
No, it didn’t. “He asked to stay with me?”
“Snape’s still pissed,” Remus says with a wry grin. “He’s been arguing with the Order, demanding Shacklebolt be stationed here until your summer break is over.”
I raise my eyebrows, Remus just shaking his head. Yeah, wasn’t really expecting an armed wizard escort around here. There’s too many people that don’t have wards against Voldemort to worry about.
“Is his mother going to be alright?”
His expression goes grim and I sigh internally. Great, Draco’s mom is as good as dead and I just totally molested him last night. And at the movies. In the bathroom at that. Fucking great. I don’t believe in hell but I’ll probably end up there anyways.
“There are rumors that Lucius is in hiding,” Remus says softly. “He hasn’t shown up at the Ministry since Draco left. They’re talking about him possibly being dead, but Snape is certain he’s just holed up somewhere. Then again, Snape’s been wrong before, so I can’t say for certain.”
Fuck. Dear fuck, how the hell can I tell Draco any of this? “Remus, I need to ask you something and you gotta just answer me flat out, okay? No bullshit.”
Remus’ eyes sharpen and I know he’s wondering if I’m going to ask something secret oriented. But it’s not a secret, it’s just one of those really fucking shitty things that people love to soften the blow of.
“Fine,” he finally says, his face guarded.
“Is Voldemort really looking to rape him?”
His eyes widen before he immediately looks away. “Damn it, Harry.”
“You promised. I need to know.”
“Why? Why the hell do you need to know something like that?” His growl is so low, I’m wondering if the full moon is soon. “The last thing you should be thinking about is the kind of fucked up shit You-Know-Who is into.”
“Remi, fucking tell me!” I grab him by the arm, his eyes flashing warningly at me. I don’t fucking care anymore. “What is Voldemort going to do to him? If I make him leave here with you today and the Order fucks up and he gets captured, what the hell is going to happen to him?”
His jaw is grit so tight, it’s a wonder he can speak. “Harry, it’s not your responsibility to take on every—”
“Fuck that! Fuck! Say it, and stop trying to protect me!” I snarl, going to push him back only to have him grab my fist with impossible speed. “He came to me. Crying, Remus. Fucking crying. Tell me the truth.”
Exhaling angrily, he abruptly lets me go. “I can’t say for certain.”
“Do not bullshit me, Remus Lupin. Do you think I’m so dumb that I don’t know why you’re here?” I hate him for pulling this shit right now, hate him for having to give an actual fuck about me when I just want to know how bad I’m fucking up Draco’s life. “Yes or no? Is Voldemort going to rape the fucking kid until he’s dead?”
Growling loudly, Remus ducks his head and glares right into my eyes. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean it’s your responsibility to save him. This isn’t your fault, Harry. There are plenty of fully grown adults that can watch over him and they don’t have to fear being set up and handed over to Voldemort if it turns out the kid’s a spy. Let me take him to Grimmauld Place.”
I shake my head before the words are fully out of his mouth. God. Dear, god, I am the worst kind of fucking person. Maybe I will be telling people to get my fucking scar tattooed on their arm by the time Voldemort is through fucking with my head. The Dark Lord is going to rape the kid and I keep trying to get into his pants.
“Remus, thanks for answering my owl.”
“Harry…”
I hold my hand up, shaking my head again. “Make sure no one fucking knows he’s here. The Order might not turn on me, but everyone hates the Malfoys. I don’t want to have to worry about someone thinking they’re doing me a fucking favor by getting rid of him.” I give him a hard look, one he readily returns.
“Sirius told me, Harry. I’m not blind.” His gaze moves over the red marks on my neck. “You’re not thinking clearly—”
“I know right from wrong,” I snap back flatly. “Having a fucking crush doesn’t mean I don’t know when bailing on him is as monstrous as it sounds. His mother’s dying.”
Sighing, Remus eventually nods, his expression closed off. “Within the week, very likely. Her life force is draining fast. And no, I wouldn’t recommend him visiting. I wouldn’t tell him at all, just in case he’s the type to run off to try and say goodbye.”
God, I don’t want this. I turn and start walking towards the house, my head stuck on having to hide the condition of his mother from Draco. The kid still has hope while I’m once again crushed by the reality of the world.
Remus makes a sound behind me and I force myself to turn back. He’s got his wand out, ready to disappear and today I’m just feeling all the ‘what if’s’ that could happen. I quickly run back, Remus pulling me into a one-armed hug, my hair ruffled into a flying mess.
“Be careful, Harry. Don’t be reckless like him. You’re too alike. Too much like your father, too, and your mother was nearly as bad.”
Fucking Sirius. Selfish, bullheaded Sirius Black.
“I’ll be fine, Remus. I’m always fine. I live, remember? It’s kinda my thing.” I give him a cheeky smile he doesn’t return, his eyes full of such impossible sorrow. He knows I’m fucked up. Everyone fucking knows. It’s not like I’ve been hiding it.
I give him a small wave, watching as he disappears, the sound dull to my ears.
Left alone, I’m stuck with just my messed up head and the memory of everything I’ve been fucking up the last four days. Damn.
Need him. Never should have fucking told him I need him.
I step reluctantly back inside the house, not sure if I want to face Malfoy right now. Not sure if I can without saying something wrong and having it all spill out. His mother dying, his father missing. But then, unlike him, I don’t need to talk. I’m perfectly fine being silent for hours—sometimes days—without anyone thinking it’s weird. I can do this, and I will to protect his fucking heart from another damn blow.
I just don’t know how I’m going to protect mine.
Petunia’s in the kitchen slamming around pans. When she hears the door shut behind me, she immediately comes walking, her face still drawn. She sees I’m alone, but I feel the need to speak up.
“He’s gone. Won’t be coming back, so… yeah.”
Her shoulders give a slump like all the tension is draining out of her, and I’m again wondering how I missed this before. At every turn, I’m just a selfish fuck. Terrorizing my aunt and uncle, keeping him, wanting him to leave. Nothing I do is right, even when it’s the only right thing available.
“I’m making lunch.” Petunia straightens after a moment and turns back to the kitchen. “Drake’s with the boys in Dudley’s room, if you’re looking for him.”
“What?” I jolt and my eyes go wide. Why the fuck would Malfoy be in Dudley’s room? There is no answer in my brain that doesn’t end with Dudley turning the hot and currently magicless Malfoy into a bruised mess. I take off and run up the stairs two at a time. Not pausing to knock, I slam open the door to Dudley’s room.
The most confusing sight greets me and I stop cold, trying to figure out if I’m hallucinating. Malfoy is sitting at the foot of Dudley’s bed, his face red from the laughter spilling from him in uncontrollable giggles. Piers—obnoxious fuck that he is—is staring at him from his perch on the floor, his eyes rimmed in red, eyelids heavy as he grins creepily at Malfoy. Dudley’s fucking around with the television, but seems too stoned to actually know what he’s doing. The blinds are drawn, and the AC is running. The thick smoke of incense isn’t fooling anyone but my out of touch aunt.
“Are you high?” He’s totally high, but I just can’t get my fucking head around it. Malfoy seems to think I’m fucking hilarious because he takes one look at my face and bursts into more laughter.
Fuck. Fuck, he’s seriously high.
I step into the room and shut the door behind me. I can’t just leave him in here, although I want to. I fucking hate Dudley, and Piers creeps the fuck out of me.
I turn on Piers, the only one who seems coherent at the moment. “What the fuck did you do to him?”
Piers tilts his head, a languid grin stretched wide around his face. “Heh, do? I didn’t do anything, man. Drake here is just flying.”
“Because of whatever the fuck you gave him.” God help the stupid fucks if they gave Malfoy more than just pot. I will fucking break something if I gotta bring that naive as fuck prat to the ER and risk being spotted by Death Eaters in the process. I quickly shut the door behind me and cross Dudley’s messy room, hating how damn helpless I feel when Malfoy looks up with me with glazed eyes and snorts into his hand.
“Potter… Potter, your face. You are sooo pissed off right now.” Malfoy seems to find my anger hilarious, and he nearly falls over sideways on the floor as he cackles.
God damn it. “Malfoy, what did you eat? Was it pills?” I have no fucking clue if someone as damn dumb to the world won’t just have his heart explode if he’s hit with a dose of acid or something. I leave him alone for five fucking seconds, and he has managed to find himself in the mini drug den of Little Whinging. Shit, why is he laughing so much!
“Dudley, what the fuck is wrong with you?” I demand tersely as I crouch beside Malfoy, whose face is bright red as he struggles to breathe around his laughter. “What did you give him? So help me if you fucked him up in a bad way…” It’s like talking to a blinking wall. Dudley is so fucked up, I’m not sure he can even hear me right now. “Hey, fucking listen to me, dickwad! I’m supposed to be taking care of him.”
“Will you chill?” Piers drawls, his voice slowed by whatever is in his system. I whirl on him and glare. “The kid’s fine.”
“He’s not—” I fall silent when Piers reaches over, his fingers smoking from the joint in his hand, and Malfoy quickly grabs it. Son of a bitch. I swoop down to intercept, but I’m too late. Malfoy sucks down a hit like a pro, and I freeze, gaping at him.
Who the fuck is this kid? He doesn’t tell me he’s gay, he’s never been out in the fucking world alone, and he’s a pothead too? Just what else is Malfoy hiding from me?
“Come ‘er.” Malfoy snakes a hand out and grabs me by the wrist. Before I can resist, he pulls me down into his lap.
“Malfoy—watch it!” I nearly tip sideways, and by the time I right myself out of the awkward tangle, he’s got his hand around my waist and me trapped between his thighs. “You’re losing your shit,” I growl and try to push up. He snorts as he grabs me tighter around the waist and pulls me back against him. I gasp and freeze when I feel his erection grind hard against my ass cheek. “Shit,” I breathe out, trying to get my stuttering brain to start working again.
“Much better,” he murmurs against my ear. “Relax. Everything isn’t always life and death, Harry.”
I blink stupidly, trying to understand just what the fuck is going on. His dick grinding against my ass if not helping me process. “Malfoy, have you lost your—?” I turn when his fingers slide along my chin, only to jolt when his lips suddenly cover mine in a deep kiss. Hot air fills my mouth and I jerk away as my throat burns and eyes water.
“What the fuck!” I rasp as I shove him away and break down into coughs from the dry, cottony feeling. It’s like my head is full of the pungent, acrid smoke.
“Shotgun,” Piers calls approvingly, but I don’t have the energy to yell at him. I can only stare in bafflement at Malfoy who is snickering like he just played the biggest fucking joke on me.
“You are such an asshole,” I whisper. My anger feels like a stone in my gut as I push up from the floor. The last thing I want is to be fucked up. Malfoy should know—he’s running for his life just as much as I am, and he just went and put us both at risk with this shit. I realize the extent of how bad it is when I wobble once I get to my feet, and the room tilts unsettling. “Fuck. I am so fucking done with this shit,” I snarl. I push through the too heavy air and head for the door.
“Harry? Damn it, Potter, stop running away from me.”
I blink dumbly when something stops my leg. “What?” I feel hot, fuzzy, and I glare down and try to understand the confusing fingers wrapped around my ankle. It clicks, and I push forward. “Malfoy, let… go!”
The world slows when I tumble forward. I can see it happening, like it’s an eternity anticipating hitting the floor. But my arms refuse to move in time to catch me and when I do hit, I’m not sure if I actually make contact. I stare down into the dark beneath my bangs, feeling my entire body vibrating, waiting for the pain I can’t find. A throb on my chin, the palms of my hands, the leg Draco’s fingers had grabbed, but the feeling is elusive, a phantom tingle that only stings with my heartbeat.
“Shit! Are you okay?” Fingers claw at my back and light floods my vision as I’m rolled. I blink up at Malfoy, trying to understand if the ceiling is spinning, if he’s spinning, or if I’m the one spinning. Everything is dizzy, hot, and I might be sinking through the floor. “Harry? Harry are you hurt?”
“Did you just…?” My mouth is dry as fuck. I lift my hand to touch my face but give up half way, distracted as understanding dawns. “You fucking dropped me!” I accuse. My outrage is deterred by the sudden, unexpected laugh that escapes my chest. I gasp, but I can’t stop it. It’s funny. The whole thing is so funny. “You knocked me on my ass!”
Draco’s eyes are full of mirth as he stares down at me. His fingers brush my chin, and for a moment I feel the memory of a bruise. “I knocked you on your face, actually.”
My eyes go wide, and I howl in laughter. “Same fucking thing!” I choke out.
Draco jolts, and a blast of laughter escapes his lips. “Shit, ha!”
I watch it all, feeling my body shake and eyes blur with laughter. He’s beautiful. A golden glowing angel burning in torch light. The wisps of smoke in the air blend with his hair and edges as if he’s merely a projection of light and fire. I reach up, wanting to be sure, wondering if my hands will pass through him like they would a specter. His neck is hot, firm beneath my finger tips, and damp with sweat. Before I know what my arms are doing, I pull him down and capture his lips with my own.
It is the sweetest kiss, full of his light and laughter and smoke. His mouth melts against mine, yielding until our teeth scrape and his tongue finds mine, each movement full of languor. My fingers tangle into the cool strands of his hair as I explore the planes of his mouth. The hunger that rises up is like a damn breaking, sweeping the both of us away in a wave of wild need. He gasps for air even as he grasps me by the chin and his teeth torment my lips until they’re puffy and numb. I try to chase him when his mouth escapes mine, but he’s persistent, desperate as he sucks the flesh of my cheek, my chin, the spot beneath where my throat vibrates when his mouth wets the skin and his teeth scrape.
The ceiling is definitely spinning. I blink up at it, trying to comprehend the assault of his hot mouth and hands on me along with the buzzing of all my senses. I might be halfway through the floor. I’m not sure I feel my body where it’s touching… or maybe only where it’s not touching… I grasp at his shoulders, seeking something solid, and groan when his teeth sink into me again. It’s as if I can feel his mouth, how wide it must be stretched when his tongue slides over my flesh, how swollen his lips must feel, how firm my flesh feels to him whenever he digs in too hard.
It’s too much. I don’t know where I end, if my edges have blurred into the smoke, into him, into the floor. “Malfoy…” I rasp, my fingers twisting at his nape.
He leans above me at my call, and his hands cup my face, strong fingers curling me close. I’m lost in his eyes, stormy, gray pools awash with torment. His lips are flushed red, and the skin around his mouth a softer pink streaked with saliva. His lips part as his tongue sweeps out to wet the swollen flesh.
It’s like words are welling inside my chest, growing larger and larger the longer he stares down at me. I grasp harder at his skin, trying to see if we fit, if he will melt into me and I won’t have to voice whatever madness is building in me. His lips dip near and I hear his inhale, like his last breath before diving into me for good…
“Fuck, that must be some good fucking shit.” Piers’s caustic laughter tears through the smoke like a saw into bone. “Duds… Shit, Duds, your cousin is fucked. He has no clue where the fuck he is.” Piers’s face floats into the corner of my vision and I furrow my brows in confusion. “You are so stoned, Potter.”
Draco snickers, and I jolt at the puff of hot air against my chin. “You really are. Do you think you can even sit up?”
I don’t want to sit up. I want to melt into the floor with Draco coating me like a blanket, but Piers’s stupid face won’t go away from my view of the spinning ceiling.
***
***
A little place to share your comments and questions on the fanfic, A Wayward Dragon In Little Whinging. Liked it, hated it, interested in seeing a sequel or something similar? Let me know below. I love the feedback.
Harry was certain Sirius was going to break down again. Life had been eventful for his godfather since his escape from Azkaban, what with Voldemort and Harry dying, Wormtail captured and Sirius finally pardoned after all these years. Except now Harry was back and likely not going to survive. After learning his cousin was beast tainted, Sirius felt responsible for Draco. Harry almost regretted asking for his help, except he knew his godfather would eventually pull through, and if not, Remus would. The werewolf was about as strong as it got when it came to helping others.
Harry was happy to see Sirius and Remus looked much stronger and healthier than the last time he he’d seen them before Voldemort attacked. Sirius was no longer gaunt and had color to his skin. Remus’s scruffy appearance was more smooth, as if just being around Sirius tamed all of his rough edges.
“Sorry, Harry,” Sirius muttered as he wiped at his eyes again. “It, ah, well, it reminds me of my own parents, that’s all. Not something anyone should have to deal with. Especially a young guy like him.”
He’ll be fine, Siri. Draco’s a strong sort, he just doesn’t know there are options out there. Harry’s scrawl was more a scraggy tremor at this point but the two men seemed able to read it.
“Yes, well we can definitely help in that,” Remus said evenly. He placed his hand on Sirius’s shoulder. “I know all about packs trying to pick up strays. There are plenty of defenses against it.”
Sirius gave such a teary, beaming smile, Harry wondered if his godfather was once such a stray. Sirius never revealed what sort of beast awakening he went through and it seemed too late to ask now. There was still the will Harry wrote out last night to get into legal condition, and it was nearly time for the spell.
You know I would never put you two out. I was just hoping you might consider.
“It’s fine. I can’t guarantee he’ll be interested in living with us, but we’re more than willing to give him a home. Now stop worrying about it and deal with your own preparations.”
Harry sighed and stared at Remus’s strange, golden eyes. “I love you guys and I’m damn lucky to have you.”
“Harry, you do your best,” Sirius said gruffly. He pushed up from his seat and stood beside Remus. “We’ve got enough room for you, too. I’ve fixed up some property, and…” He was tearing again and unable to continue speaking. “Damn it, Remi.”
Remus wrapped his arm around Sirius’s shoulder and continued. “We have a room for you, Harry. He cleaned it up this week. When you’re back you’re going to want enough room.”
“Aw, hell,” Harry sighed and wiped at his own eyes. That was the danger of being around Sirius when he was in this mood; everyone started crying.
That would be the best damn thing ever. Thank you, guys. I love you and I need you to get out of here because there is no crying during the spell!
“Can’t even hug the kid goodbye.” Sirius shook his head and growled lowly as he let Remus lead him from the room. Jaz, who was tapping his foot impatiently from the doorway for the last five minutes, held a roll of parchment in his grasp. As they left he walked around and placed the roll on the desk. Blotts Esquire seal was crisp in gold wax.
It’s settled?
“It’s as official as it can get. You’re a very generous young man, Mr. Potter, and if you don’t survive this spell, your many friends will certainly have something to remember you by.”
Harry nodded. He didn’t want to go into his so called generous nature. It was his parents’ money; he never earned any of it. Still, it seemed wasteful to let it sit in a vault for all eternity. It could definitely help people, people he cared about. Especially one particular Malfoy who was facing disinheritance.
Harry wasn’t going to tell Draco about it. He would figure it out the hard way if he didn’t survive. If he learned of it early, Draco would probably fight him tooth and nail about it, like it was even fucking important.
“You look as if you need to scream,” Jaz said as he took in the way Harry was hunched with soft magic glowing over his skin.
Just a bit of pain.
Harry was in a lot more than a bit of pain but he wasn’t looking for sympathy. As long as he sat still he could sort of numb out a lot of it.
“We’re starting soon. Dumbledore is bringing down the phoenix now. It will be you and me through most of it, Harry. Severus will be outside the door with the scent nullifying potion if needed. All your loved ones who could make it will be waiting in the potions classroom across the way. Madame Pomfrey has a small team with her, which will get you up to the hospital ward if you aren’t conscious and attacking people. After that, it’s up to the healers. Did you have any questions or concerns you want to go over?”
Harry didn’t want to admit how worrisome it felt to have Jaz drop his playful attitude for one of compassion. How did the barrier spells go on Malfoy’s room?
“Better than I thought they would. I went over them again this morning. I don’t believe even you would be able to get through. Although, those in this dimension can, so if the vesper are visible, they will likely be able to cross.”
But they won’t do that, will they? Being visible among a castle full of wizards and witches would just ask for a beating.
“Likely.” Jaz turned away as Dumbledore pushed into the prepared room with Fawkes on his arm. Harry took in the height of his headmaster along with his squared shoulders and tight jaw. Today Dumbledore was ready for battle.
Harry straightening to his own full height even as his body protested painfully. This spell required all of him. Not the reality of what he was, waiting on the other side of this echo of a world, but his will to be the ideal of what he wanted. He wished to be alive, sane, not maddened by the sight and scent of humans. There was no way to ensure these things, but Harry was a wizard, and he understood will was power.
Harry would will as hard as he could. Reality would just have to bend to him.
Jaz began spelling away all the unnecessary furniture and ran through the room a final time to wipe it of scents. Dumbledore pulled a small vial from his robes full of a soft blue liquid and gently fed it to the phoenix. The bird cooed softly and glowed a bright, golden orange as its body opened and became susceptible to the bonding spell to come.
“We will see you shortly, Harry.” It was all Dumbledore said. He gave Harry a piercing, twinkle-free look before he placed Fawkes on the perch in the middle of the room and strode out the door.
“Drop the glow, Potter. We don’t want anything to interfere,” Jaz ordered from the corner as he went around the room with wand in hand and activated the wards on the walls. Beneath Harry’s feet a large glyph started to glow. It spread out and lit up more ancient writing until the room was ablaze in colorless light.
Harry pulled the magic from his skin until he was invisible again, and focused on the phoenix who went quiet. He stepped up to the bird and gently ruffled Fawkes’s feathery breast. He didn’t want the creature to die. It was a sweet bird and Harry’s only company for many months when he was intangible to everyone else until he stumbled across Draco. It would be cruel to have the bird die with him if he didn’t survive.
Harry closed his eyes and imagined the world he wanted to wake up to. He didn’t see himself in it but he never did. He took his appearance for granted the same way he took his life for granted. He never expected there to ever be anything different. But now, when Harry imagined the future, he saw Draco. When he saw the crystal-eyed, smiling boy, Harry could see himself with hand outstretched and clasped in his.
“No matter how much it hurts, I need you to stay conscious long enough to reach your power to the bird. Remember. Your power must connect at the right time or this has been a waste.”
Harry nodded. He opened his eyes and stepped to the spot opposite Fawkes’s perch. The phoenix roused as well, and sat up straighter as if he knew his part was to begin. With his eyes locked on the bird, Harry listened as Jaz began the incantation.
Draco was running late. He spent a good half hour standing before the shower trying to figure out if he wanted to wash the pen off his skin. It was really too offensive to leave. If anyone saw the words it would be absolutely mortifying. At the same time, Draco didn’t want them to be gone. It felt like there would be nothing left of Harry otherwise. He eventually compromised and washed his face, neck, hands and lower arms. He left the rest while feeling superstitious. He refused to wash Harry from the earth with soap and water.
He slept in and skipped all his classes and no one said a word about it. Draco had a feeling Snape might have a lot to do with it. His head of house was probably protecting him after his very public breakdown yesterday. Draco was lucky no one was there to see besides Snape, Dumbledore, and his terrible mother. Well, and Harry, but he wasn’t going to be spreading rumors anytime soon.
Harry would be coming home today. Hopefully alive. Certainly if he started out alive, Draco wanted to be there to ensure Harry remained as such. Maybe he was crazy and paranoid to think his headmaster would destroy Harry if he found him to be dangerous. Draco would rather be paranoid and wrong, then naive with a dead boyfriend.
Draco bit his lip and fought the laugher that kept popping up at the most inopportune times. Harry was his boyfriend. He said no to his mother and he had a boyfriend. Even if invisible, it totally counted. Seriously, why couldn’t he just have anything bloody normal in his life? Invisible boyfriends; it was so damn pathetic. But also exciting, like the best kept secret ever. Certainly better than stupid beast awakenings.
Draco was buttoning up his shirt when there was a knock on the door. He glanced in the mirror just to make sure no pen marks were peeking out from beneath his collar. He reached for the door and paused with eyelashes lowered. A hot shiver slid down his spine.
“Come on, Draco. You’d be late for your own funeral. Err, forget I said that.”
Draco rolled his eyes and threw the door open. “Blaise, could you kindly get your foot out of your mouth for five…” He snapped his mouth shut as his nostrils flared.
Blaise looked sheepish as he patted his dark hair down. “Sorry. I’m nervous and you know how I get. If something happens to Potter, well, you know.” He gave Draco a confused look when he went unearthly still. “Um, you all ready to go?”
Draco didn’t say anything. He tilted his head and his eyes slipped across the empty corridor while he sniffed the air.
“Draco?”
Draco put his finger to his lips and glared at his friend. The barrier Jaz insisted on installing was flaring strong. Too strong. Below its magical hum Draco was certain he could hear the sound of breathing. From more than one mouth.
There was a growl, low and menacing. Draco’s eyes widened. He grabbed Blaise by the shirt, pulled him into the room and slammed and locked the door behind them.
“What? Shit, what did I do?” Blaise yelped. He pulled from Draco’s grasp and backpedaled away.
Draco huffed at his friend’s stupidity, went to his dresser and pulled the magical glasses from the soft case he made for them. He fingered the lenses gently, then turned his gaze to his confused friend. “Blaise, I need you to put these on and tell me what’s out there.”
Blaise looked at him like he lost his mind. “Out where? Out…?” He noticed what Draco was holding and his voice trailing off as he went as pale as his dark skin would allow. “Oh shit! Tell me you’re joking.”
Draco took a steadying breath. He loved Blaise dearly, but he was going to have to beat him into something calm and not freaking out if he didn’t get a hold of himself. “I’m just asking you to look, that’s all. You won’t even have to open the door. I’d do it myself but it fucks me up in the head to see them. Stop,” Draco growled when he realized admitting the last part only made Blaise more upset.
Draco considered his options. He could send a note out through the school’s floo network. The prefects fireplaces didn’t allow for travel, but did allow for notes to teachers. Likely every teacher in the building was at Harry’s bonding to watch and wait to see if the boy-who-lived managed to survive again.
Draco could wait in the room until the ceremony was over and then see if someone could exterminate the pack of vesper waiting outside his door. At least the barrier worked; the vesper weren’t blowing down the door just yet. Draco glanced at Blaise’s terrified face and had to wonder how many students were in danger. Too many would walk past his room to get to the Slytherin common room. The creatures hadn’t attacked Blaise but maybe it was only because they hoped he would draw Draco out of his warded room.
“Blaise, I understand you’re afraid but I need your help. It’s almost time for dinner. After that every Slytherin we know will be walking down this hallway to get to bed. I need to know what’s out there.”
Blaise’s eyes hardened at the implication. He got his breathing under control and held his hand out silently. Draco gave him the glasses and studied his friend’s face as he slipped them on.
“Shit, Draco. If I wasn’t as straight as they come…”
Draco blushed at the realization he was absolutely nude and feathery under those glasses. He turned away, only to have Blaise laugh. “You have a tail. And wings! You’re fucking adorable!”
“Blaise, there are monsters at the door!” Draco snapped back. He glared over his shoulder at his smirking friend.
“Right, right. Well if they look anything like you.” Blaise hummed, his fear suddenly all but forgotten. “Gah, they don’t. Well, not all of them.”
Draco turned. His eyes jumped from Blaise’s face to the wall he was staring intently at. “How many?”
“Oh, I count five of the dragons. Fucking vicious looking things, by the way. There’s also one who looks somewhat like you. Humanoid, but I wouldn’t be calling it human. He’s looking back at me like he can see me. Bizarre.”
“It must be a shifter,” Draco mused. He paced around the small room.
“They’re watching you. While you’re walking, they’re staring,” Blaise muttered as his voice got lower. “Draco, these things are fucked when they look at you. Like they’re entranced or some shit. They’re just standing there staring.”
Draco shivered as heat rose on his skin he tried to shake off. “Tell me about the shifter. Does it seem intelligent?”
Blaise nodded only to realize Draco wasn’t looking at him. He spoke up. “It’s smart; definitely someone home in his pretty head. Looks a lot like you, but without the wings and long feathers. Older, maybe thirty with long white hair and skin covered in small bright scales. He has a tail, too. The dragons seem to be waiting for him; they keep looking at him.”
“Have they rushed the door at all? Do they look as if they’re about to attack anyone?”
“Nope, they seem pretty chill. Fangs and all.” Blaise blinked and his eyes unfocused and moved to the left of them. “There’s something else further back. Another group. Much bigger.”
“The rest outside?” The dread in Draco’s stomach said otherwise.
Blaise was grim with eyes squinting as he counted. “What did you say Potter looked like? Black and bloodied? There are at least a dozen in a circle around him.”
Rage bubbled up in Draco, white hot as it tickled his stomach with power. He stalked to the door, threw it wide open and stood in the doorway. He glared out at the empty hallway where the buzz of the magical barrier was apparent once outside his room. “What the hell do you want?”
“Shouldn’t they be here by now?” Ron muttered. He stared at the classroom door where Pansy just walked through without Draco and Blaise. Hermione shrugged, her nose buried in a book on magical creatures. “Pansy, did you see them?” he asked when Hermione showed no interest in joining the conversation.
Pansy shook her head and moved over to the duo. “Blaise said he’d be right back with Draco, but that was over ten minutes ago.”
“He’s probably just having one of his ‘moments’ and doesn’t want to be seen crying,” Hermione said as she peeked up from her book. “After yesterday with his mother dropping in like that, and his near jump out the front door into the pack, I’m sure he’s a damn mess.”
Ron quietly agreed. Harry caught them up a little on what happened yesterday. He jotted down what he knew while Draco was talking to Madame Pomfrey about Snape’s condition. Everything was cleaned up before the students were let out of class. Ron and Hermione left the library during their free period and caught Draco as he was walking toward the infirmary. Draco only disclosed a little bit of what his mother told him to Harry and hadn’t wanted to talk about anything afterwards. Ron really couldn’t blame him. Waking up to find you had an unhealthy pull toward invisible, and very much not human, animals would freak anyone out. Learning your entire male ancestral line all gave in to the pull, well, was likely even more horrifying.
Harry was determined to make sure Draco’s friends knew what was going on with him, even if it was embarrassing. If Harry died, Draco might not ask for help and Harry needed to make sure Draco got help. It seemed to be all that was keeping Harry going; his body was bent with pain and his writing so sloppy Ron could barely make it out.
Ron didn’t want to think about Harry dying. Not again and not in such a slow and agonizing way. “I’m going to go check on the prat. Crying or not, he’ll hate himself for missing this.”
Hermione sighed. She pulled her nose from her book and placed a bookmark within the pages. “You’re right. I just really can’t handle anymore crying today.” She glanced toward the corner where Remus was blocking Sirius from view. Harry’s godfather was a mess of nerves and stray tears. She liked Sirius, she truly did, but it was hard to keep herself in check when he was so emotional in his manly way. Girls crying had much less of an effect on Hermione compared to grown men crying.
Pansy smiled in relief and grabbed the two of their hands for strength as they headed for the door. She was having a difficult time and was barely able to talk to Draco since Harry returned. Pansy was definitely one of those overly emotional girls who hid behind so many layers of masks and walls even she couldn’t break free when she needed to. To talk to Draco while worried over him would tumble everything down, so she instead spent superficial time with her friend while her worry built beneath the surface. Hermione was glad she’d never been afraid to talk to Harry about anything. Especially considering how short life seemed to be for wizards.
“Knowing Draco, he’s looking for the right hex to cast on Dumbledore,” Ron whispered as they passed their headmaster who was standing outside the closed door where Harry’s spell was taking place. Dumbledore was rigid, his hands clasped tight as he stared intently at the door. Snape stood beside him, slumped halfway with his face twisted in a grimace of pain. He refused to take any potions for the pain for fear it would slow his response if he needed to rush in.
They edged around the team of seven emergency witches and wizards Madame Pomfrey called in just for Harry’s return and admitted a growing amount of dread as they caught sight of the grim faces. The narrow hallway was full of people. Hermione pulled the three of them through and led the way until the press of bodies thinned.
“Hell, well at least they’re prepared,” Pansy muttered. She was able to relax now they weren’t surround by so many people. “Look at all those healers and just one Dumbledore. Wonder who’s going to win the deciding call.” She was bitter and Draco’s fears were now her own. It wasn’t that Ron and Hermione wanted Harry to die. They just didn’t want him to live the rest of his life as a monster either. Harry would be tormented to know he might hurt others, never mind kill students he spent many years trying to protect.
Ron sighed and shuffled his feet as he met Hermione’s ever attentive eye. “Come on. Before Blaise drives the prat to murder.”
Draco was hyperaware of the unseen barrier dividing him from the vesper. He made sure he didn’t sway too close to it and unexpectedly cross through. He could feel a magical aura as one of the creatures approached closer but they made no move to reach out in a way Draco could tell. He didn’t know if they tested the barrier just yet. Draco hoped the fact it existed was enough to keep them fearful.
“It’s the shifter,” Blaise whispered from behind him as he took on the job of being Draco’s eyes. “He’s staring at you. The others backed away when he stepped forward. Pretty sure they take orders from him.”
Draco nodded to show he heard. His nostrils flared as a new scent filled his senses. It was different but very familiar, like he knew it once a long time ago. “Are you going to speak? Thought speak? I know your kind can.”
A strange, guttural noise bounced off his ears. Draco gasped from the sound as it purred around him.
“What is it?” Blaise placed his hand on Draco’s shoulder to keep him from stepping forward.
“Just nonsense. Nothing I can understand,” Draco muttered. His cheeks flushed as he tried to ignore how his body responded even if his mind was confused.
“But you can hear me?”
Draco glared when the shifter finally started communicating through thought speak. “I can hear you. Through my ears and in my head.”
“Good. That makes things easier. It is so difficult when your kind can’t see.”
“Funny, I think that would be the opposite. Seeing tends to have a very bad effect,” Draco snapped. “What the hell do you want? Why are you in my school and why are you surrounding my boyfriend?”
“Careful, Draco. He seems to like it when you’re angry,” Blaise whispered lowly. “He keeps pulsing some sort of glow. It gets brighter when you’re emotional.”
“Your friend is very correct; I am responding to you, Draco. I am called Matten. That is such an appropriate name you have, young one. It is as if your mother must have known you were to belong to us.”
Draco stiffened. He tried and failing to stop his anger. “Can’t you see the ring I wear? They all fucking knew what I am and hid it from me. Now answer my questions!”
The growl came again, louder and caressing as it pulled fire over Draco’s skin and made his knees weak. “Oh, you’re ardent. So playful. What do you wish to know?”
“Why are you here?” Draco gritted out. He shook his head to clear the red fog trying to steal his mind.
“To take you home, of course. Why else would we invade human territory? You have been calling so loudly, Draco. We could not ignore it any longer. We try, the halflings are so difficult. But no, you were just impossible to resist.”
Draco shivered at the words. He took a step back and nearly bumped into Blaise. “And Potter? Why are you surrounding him? If you hurt him I will fucking kill all of you!”
“Stop yelling,” Blaise hissed and grabbed Draco’s shoulders firmly. “He’s got his claws out and his eyes are fucking glowing. He apparently does have feathers hidden under his hair and they’re rising like some messed up bird looking to fight or mate. You need to calm the fuck down.”
Draco could barely hear his friend. The purr thrummed up again and wrapped all around him. It make him feel tired and hot all at once.
“If you mean the kalistar, we’re just taking the necessary precautions.”
Draco struggled to keep his eyes open. The strange sound tried to pull him from the doorway and far away from Harry. “You’re threatening him.”
“We’ll kill him. He’s injured and laid claim to you. With him dead you’ll come with us.”
Draco shook his head and bared his teeth angrily. “If you harm him, I’ll never go with you. I’d rather destroy myself than see him harmed.”
“Oh, little one, that will not do.”
Matten clucked in his head. He seemed so arrogant Draco found his strength again. “Stop fucking purring at me!” Draco snarled and pushed back another step.
It took a moment, but the noise lowered in intensity. Eventually it was just an echo in Draco’s ears.
“You’re very strong willed. I can’t remember if that is common with your kind. It’s been a long time since we’ve pursued one like you.”
Draco ignored the voice and gasped for air now the roar stopped. He didn’t realize how strong it was until it was gone.
“Draco, we should shut the door and get help. I don’t like this,” Blaise whispered as he helped Draco stand upright while he swayed. “The way they’re all looking at you… The dragons look like they want to kill you.”
“You smell like human. We don’t like humans.”
Draco pushed Blaise away and put his fully human friend further behind him in the room. “I’m human. You called me a halfling; you must know half of me is at least human. Go away. I can never be what you want so just go away and stop bothering me.”
“You’re everything we want. Once your beast form is awakened, the human scent will go and you’ll be completely one of us. We’ll keep you in the center of our village, Draco. You’ll be revered, loved, pampered and adored. Your strength will give our village strength. Your power will give us power. Your sex… You’re beautiful, young one. We will be the happiest, most productive tribe there could ever be with you as our hearth.”
It wasn’t just words this time that flowed into Draco’s head but pictures and emotions. The creatures truly meant well in their own fucked up way, Draco realized. To be a hearth was a place of honor among the vesper. When a halfling didn’t smell so human it was a very enjoyable existence.
Draco shook his head again, and growled lowly. “I don’t want to go with you.”
“You do. I can smell it; we all can. Even now you’re calling for us to take you home. You’re one of us.”
Draco swallowed hard, unable to deny it. His body was fighting him every day since he caught Harry’s scent again. It demanded things from him he didn’t fully understand. Now he scented these creatures so close, even though they still seemed to have malice toward him, Draco could feel his want to be with them. They were familiar, like a recurring dream he couldn’t recall but remembered with fondness every time he woke. He didn’t want to feel this way but it didn’t make it any less true.
“Draco, I think you need to shut the door now.” Blaise half held Draco up as his knees gave out.
“No! They’re going to kill Harry! Fuck.” Draco grabbed his head and stepped forward. He leaned against the doorway with his eyes closed as he tried to keep from falling. “Please, don’t kill him. He’s already sick. Why do you want to hurt him? Just leave him the fuck alone.”
The purr was low and yet close. Draco raised his eyelids, certain the shifter Matten was just inches from him. “The kalistar don’t react to humans as we do. They used to protect the foolish things when we still allowed humans near our borders.”
“They became sick,” Draco whispered. He felt the barrier hum louder as someone pressed close.
“Yes. We decided we didn’t need to speak with humans anymore. All the mortals wanted was our power and our land. Even now, they encroach on us, steal our territory, kill our young.”
More thoughts and emotions flickered through Draco’s head. They weren’t from his own mind but the one hidden before him.
“You could help us, young one. You could speak to them when we can’t stand to even smell them.”
“An ambassador?” Draco let the idea sink in, then scoffed it away. “Matten, you wouldn’t let me out of your village center. You showed me. You’re too afraid I’d want to escape.”
“Come now, we can negotiate such things. Most shifters stay at home, unable to handle the forest wilds. But ones like me still venture out and lead our young packs to keep them from harming stray humans.”
“I’ll become like you. I’ll hate the smell of humans and want to kill them. That’s hardly a compromise.”
“You’re a halfling. That instinct isn’t with your kind. The kalistar sired the manlings all those centuries ago. It’s why they’re so protective and so damn impossible to share with. The arrogant things would strut around the village border letting friends and family safely converse with the halflings instead of going out to hunt and provide like they should have.”
Draco shook his head; Matten’s jealousy was stronger than his anger. “You only feel that way because you don’t like humans. It must get lonely for your halflings. They’re taken away from everyone they know and love. Having friends die because they came to visit would be horrible.”
“Perhaps. Our pack doesn’t have a halfling, not while I’ve lived. The magic here warns us away.”
“Draco, he’s getting too close,” Blaise warned. His eyes were fixed somewhere in front of Draco’s face. Draco didn’t need Blaise to tell him; he felt the hot breath on his cheek and was still unable to pull away.
“You’re very attractive, Draco. My shifters would like you. I like you. We can more than replace your one young kalistar lover. You wouldn’t even miss him.”
Draco released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Matten, what can you read from me when it comes to him? You’re not blind. Certainly, you’re not dumb. You lure me with a sense of duty, community and even sex. Surely you must know I’ll never forgive you if you harm him. Take your pack away from him.”
Matten didn’t answer for a long time. Draco stared out into the empty hall and waited. Blaise was unsteady behind him as he moved from foot to foot in anxiety.
“And what, my beautiful halfling, will I get in return for such generosity?”
Draco knew what the damn things wanted now, but it didn’t mean he was interested in walking in to the dragons’ den if he didn’t have to. “You seem to be a reasonable leader, Matten. What do you think would be fair in exchange?”
“Ah, perhaps you would grace us with your presence for a tour? You could see my village, meet your new family and learn about the people you’re half of.”
His eyes closed, Draco took a moment to answer. It was unlikely he’d ever return from such a tour. “Will I be safe?”
“We shifters have much better control around the scent of human than the dragons alone. We’re adept at keeping the beasts from injuring others.”
“You must give me your word. The kalistar, Potter, will never be harmed by your kind.”
“Never? Draco, that’s hardly equivalent to just a tour.”
“I’m not a fool, Matten. I feel the pull, as have all my ancestors.”
“Yes, but you’re very strong willed. I’m not even sure this ruse will give me what I want from you.”
Draco laughed at his bluntness and straightened. “Those are my terms.”
“Oh, that is a nice sound. You’re full of such nice noises, young one. Very well this tribe will never harm your kalistar. Not that it seems much concern; he’s quite injured.”
Draco licked his lips and nodded slowly.
He couldn’t be certain it wasn’t the soft hum even now purring so lightly from Matten’s lips as the creature breathed so close, or if he truly decided for himself. Did he make the choice to protect the school and protect his love? Or was it the pull, even now addling him until Draco only felt like he made the right decision? Either way, the vesper were getting what they wanted and Draco was… Draco felt the pull.
“Remove the vesper and I’ll go with you,” Draco said. He wished he knew the answer.
The spell wasn’t going well. Jaz strained over the words the same moment a strange weight descended on the room. Harry was so focused on Fawkes and the bird’s presence it took him too long to deduce the problem. They weren’t alone.
He only caught the flicker of light, his vision focused on the three dimensions he shared with the phoenix. As more power built to try to disrupt Jaz and stop the spell, Harry turned his focus outside the room. He opened all his senses and swore loudly when he caught sight of the silent vesper.
Nearly half the pack surrounded his dungeon room and filled the sides where empty classrooms flanked the warded space. As long as the spell was being cast, the dragons couldn’t get inside. Harry was certain the moment Jaz finished his part and it was his turn to reach for Fawkes, the damn beasts would attack.
Harry considered his options only to realize how few he had. If he moved it would ruin the spell, and interrupting things now would set them back for days. Harry didn’t have days to wait while Jaz resupplied the needed elements. If he did nothing, it would leave him an injured, sitting target, along with every person who stepped into the room once the spell was done. Nothing looked hopeful.
Harry focused on the closest dragon and pushed his mind at it. He hoped to get a dialog going that could result in the creatures backing off. He flinched from the scalding, hateful thoughts swirling in the beast’s mind. It was surrounded by humans and although could not smell them in its invisible state, it was full of hate for people and very much agitated as it wished for open space. The dragon was ordered to be where it was and as Harry pushed at its thoughts again, he gave a relieved sigh to see those orders also included not to harm any humans.
At least those outside the room would be safe; Harry didn’t know if the vesper considered Jaz to be human. Hopefully they would leave the specialist be and just focus their attack on him.
Harry had little thought for anything else soon after. The spell changed and silence echoed in the air. Magic rose up, coiled, and funneled toward the center where Harry stood across from Fawkes.
It was time. Harry’s attention remained steady as he focused on connecting with Fawkes and making it home alive.
Every step felt surreal as Draco moved through the castle surrounded by vesper. He was leaving, possibly forever, and no one but Blaise even knew. There was no one in the hallways, no one to ask where he was going, or why, or to even care. A permanent shiver tingled up his spine and flared brighter when Matten’s hand brushed his arm, or feathers tickled his knees and waist as the creatures pushed close. Draco felt almost safe among them, almost comfortable and protected as the dragons clicked nails, breathed, and their body heat radiated warmth he could feel.
Away from Blaise, the vesper no longer growled. They still felt angry in Draco’s head, full of agitation with their surroundings and ill at ease. Matten softly rumbled to sooth the creatures and quench the bubbling laugh that had threatened Draco for days.
Draco reached the castle door when Blaise ran up after him with Pansy, Ron and Hermione panting at his side. The odd spell was broken and the atmosphere less dreamlike with people in the normal realm to remind Draco he appeared alone. Draco blinked a few moments in confusion of the change, then fixed on Blaise as he remembered why he left him behind.
“I told you to tell Dumbledore,” Draco hissed. He glare at the worried faces pointed at him. “So he doesn’t kill Potter once the spell is done. Harry won’t react to the scent and Dumbledore needs to know!” It was hard enough to get out the bedroom door with Blaise shouting the vesper were tricking him and Harry would never agree to Draco sacrificing himself to save the reckless Gryffindor. Two thirds of the stubborn Golden Trio would only make things extra difficult when all Draco wanted was to save Harry.
“I will, right now. But they need to say their peace, Draco,” Blaise insisted as he stared worriedly at the vesper surrounding Draco’s legs. Draco could hear the pack as they scratched impatiently and growled at the sight of humans. Matten was by his shoulder and ever so lightly touched his arm. He had touched Draco once when he stepped outside the barrier around his bedroom and couldn’t seem to resist since. His fingers brushed his flesh lightly every other moment or so.
Hermione plucked the glasses from Blaise’s face, slipped them on and looked around. “Hmm. This is quite the extended family you have there, Malfoy. Too bad they all look like they want to murder you. Blaise, we’ll deal with this. Maybe you should take Pansy?” Pansy looked close to tears in worry and Hermione really had enough of crying for the day.
“They would never hurt you.” Matten assured as he pressed his palm flat to Draco’s arm. It sent a hot shiver through Draco he couldn’t hide. “As long as I am here to control them, no hunter will harm a human.”
“The shifter is controlling them,” Draco said to Hermione while he watched his friends run off to save Harry. Not waiting for a reply, he opened the castle door.
“Malfoy, wait.” Ron strode forward quickly, held the door open and towered over Draco. “Harry wouldn’t want this. He’s been doing everything he can to protect you just in case he doesn’t make it and you’re on your own. You going with them is going to negate all of that.”
Draco sighed and glared up at him. “Weasel, Harry isn’t the fucking boss of my life. No one is. I appreciate your concern but I hardly owe you anything for it. It might seem dumb to you, but walking out this door is the only thing I can do to protect him. I need to do this.”
“Who’s to say they’ll keep their word?” Hermione stepped up and mindfully avoided the dragons Ron was obliviously standing in the middle of. “They’re still in there surrounding his room. There are people in that hallway. Lots of people. Nearly half the staff of teachers is in the other room, plus Madame Pomfrey’s people.”
“Matten?” Draco didn’t bother to turn and see what couldn’t be seen.
“I will withdraw them now, if you insist. You have given your word. I will keep mine.”
“He’s calling them off. Anything else?” Draco asked agitatedly as he raised his hand to his forehead. The two Gryffindors exchanged looks. Ron finally pointed at Hermione and then the door. Hermione gave a shrug, but her eyes were sharp behind the magical glasses.
“I’m going with you.” Hermione abruptly pulled her wand out and summoned her notebook and pen from her room, along with a cloak.
“Like hell you are,” Draco snapped. “You’re human. Without a kalistar the vesper will kill you the moment you approach their village border.”
“That is a possibility,” Hermione mused as she flipped through the book she called. She stopped at a spell written in her precise handwriting. “But I’m also a witch. A brilliant one, at that. I also just learned this spiffy new spell to remove my scent.”
Draco growled and felt a headache coming on. Matten gave a soft purr and he snarled and whirled toward the annoying creature who kept trying to control him. “Stop it. I don’t need to be serenaded every time I have a bloody emotion. Tell me; will they kill her? Can you promise me she’ll be protected?”
“I can’t. You’re at least our kin and dwell with us in the other realm. She is not.”
“Granger, I can’t guarantee you’ll live,” Draco cried, exasperation clear on his face. “Do you understand the pressure you’re putting on me right now?”
Hermione sighed uninterestedly and idly twirled her wand. “Malfoy, I’d prefer to have you bitching at me, than Harry throwing a fit because I let you go wandering off in the Forbidden Forest alone with a pack of vicious vesper. That boy has a temper and it usually involves ripping up my beautiful books. I never find all the pages. I’m going with you and it’s not negotiable. If I die, I take full responsibility.”
That was hardly a comfort for Draco and he let the pushy witch know. “Granger, I’m leaving to prevent deaths. Not cause them.”
“I’m not in a rush to die. They’re still vulnerable to magic; Harry made sure we tested it on him.” She fixed the shifter with a piercing gaze from behind the enchanted frames. “Can your friend talk to me, Malfoy? Or do they only communicate with halflings?”
Draco sighed as he realized he lost a battle he was never going to win. It was very much like dealing with a female Potter, but less fire, more logic, and still absolutely infuriating. “Matten, do you want to talk to her?”
“I do not believe she will take no for an answer.”
Draco realized Hermione was allowed into the conversation when she snorted. “No, she is determinedly stubborn,” he said with a frown.
“Matten, was it? I have no intention of hurting anyone or getting underfoot,” Hermione assured. “Just think of me as a chaperon, here to make sure my friend doesn’t end up mauled or deflowered.”
Draco placed his hand over his eyes and silently wished he could disappear. He hated Gryffindors, especially the chuckling Weasel whose face was turning red from holding in his laughter. “I’m leaving now.”
“I cannot vouch for your safety, human. The entire pack resides at the village and the younger ones are not used to the scent of human. They have been known to lose control. I do not believe Draco would want to see you killed.”
“I should hope not, but it’s hard to say with that one.” Hermione waved her wand around and intoned slowly until she was surrounded in a bright, hot-pink light. Moments later it pulsed and faded. She sniffed her hand where nothing came to scent she could tell. She stared up at the being standing to the right of Draco’s glowing magical form, and carefully raised her hand with a question in her eyes. “Will you harm me even if I don’t smell human?”
“Would you give me reason to harm you?” Matten asked just as warily, his head tilted to the side.
“It’s not just the scent. You don’t trust humans,” Hermione observed. She hesitantly placed her hand next to the shifter’s face. Matten gave her a precursory sniff as he shifted through the dimensions. His white eyebrows rose in surprise when he found Hermione didn’t register at all by his nose.
“That is surprising and very useful. Just another reason why we don’t trust your kind. We were not always so violent to human scent. Humans gave us reason to be over the years. Why breed out such a useful trait when humans still threaten us?”
Hermione didn’t seem interested in arguing as she glanced down at the dragons who came up to her waist. “I have my own issues with some particular humans, mostly the ones who hate my heritage. Wanting to kill them will hardly solve those problems. They want to kill me and well, I won’t let them, now will I?”
“She is surprisingly resilient for a muggleborn,” Draco agreed quietly while they stepped out into the nearing twilight. The sun was just disappearing over the horizon and they would be walking through the forest in the dark.
“When will you be back?” Ron asked from behind.
“That is up to the halfling. She is free to leave whenever she chooses.”
“I have a test next week, so let’s shoot for then.” Hermione and Ron exchanged what Draco was beginning to suspect was a code between the two. He wouldn’t put it past friends of Potter to learn some sort of telepathy just to get around his notorious moods.
“I’ll expect you in a week, at the latest.” Ron held the door for Hermione and stood still when she smiled crookedly and gave a small wave. That they weren’t dating after all these years was odd to Draco, but then again, the two were odd in general and it was none of his business. Ron was clearly head over heals and Hermione was, as usual, blind to anything not a book.
Draco didn’t snap this time when Matten gave a soft purr. The sound floated around his left ear as the shifter brushed his arm. It was a strange sensation reminiscent of Harry, but Draco never heard his boyfriend purr. The vesper pack took up residency around his legs and slowly herded him toward the trees. Hermione silently walked beside them and not on top of the creatures. Draco felt when the rest of the vesper who were waiting around the castle joined them. The pack’s aura grew in strength and two more humanoid shifters brushed Draco’s shoulders with low purrs.
He’d see what the village held. Hopefully it would replace the mental image of Harry lying on the classroom floor dead from the wounds Voldemort had inflicted months ago. The breeze was cool and the night dark. Draco gave himself to the sensation of walking beneath the rising moon surrounded by his pack and tried to block everything else from his thoughts. His heart ached. In the silence, he prayed Harry was alive.
Blaise and Pansy reached the hallway only moments before the headmaster was supposed to step into Harry’s room. Dumbledore’s hand was on the door, fingers clenched and face grim. In his other hand was his wand held at the ready. Snape stood beside him and stared at the door like he could see through it. His expression was just as grim. The hallway was still, and the hushed sounds of breathing made everything seem ominous.
“Sir, please, before you go in there!” Pansy called before she collapsed and gasped for air.
Blaise reached her and then passed. He leaned on the door to block Dumbledore from entering. “He’s not susceptible to scent!”
“Not now, Mr. Zabini,” Severus said sharply. He pulled Blaise away from the door by the arm and winced in pain. “McVicar has collapsed. The status spells will not say why but it suggests outside interference.”
Blaise nodded furiously, his hand held up as he caught his breath. “The vesper. They were here. Could still be here.”
“Where?” Dumbledore eyes grew sharp as he looked around them.
“Here around Harry, and in Draco’s room.” Blaise took a deep breath, and caught Pansy’s warning expression. Blaise didn’t feel any need to hide Draco’s situation even as a friend. No good would come of Draco running off into the woods with the vesper. “They’ve taken Draco. The vesper threatened to kill Harry if he didn’t go.”
Severus said a word that made Pansy giggle in shock when heard from her reserved head of house. “Potter must be taken care of first. It’s the last stage of the spell and it can’t be interrupted.” Both men turned back to the door and their eyes again bored through as if everything within was revealed.
“But he won’t react to scent. Just tell me you understand. The vesper told Draco personally.”
Dumbledore glanced over his shoulder and nodded. “I understand, Mr. Zabini. Now please, we need silence to hear.”
Blaise and Pansy quietly moved to the other side of the hall and watched anxiously as the minutes ticked by. The oppressive silence fell again and Pansy reached for Blaise’s hand after a moment so she wouldn’t have to deal with the terrible feeling alone. Draco was disappearing into the night and Harry was soon to reappear. It wasn’t a fair trade.
The stillness of the hallway was broken the instant Dumbledore tightened his grip on the door handle and pushed it open. Everyone jumped to action. Snape and Dumbledore slipped silently into the room and all the medical personnel followed after in hushed mutters, blocking Blaise and Pansy’s view. They all disappeared inside, leaving the doorway was clear and wide open. Pansy exchanged a meaningful look with Blaise and the two slowly edged across the hall to peer inside.
Behind them the potions classroom door clicked open and Remus and Sirius stepped free while other worried faces leaned out to see. Blaise turned back to the scene inside, his dread a fist in his stomach.
The dimensional specialist was on the ground by the door. Blood pooled from Jaz’s head wound and his dark glasses were cracked on the stone floor. A medi-wizard hovered over him to take his pulse and read his status with a spell. Dumbledore, Snape, and everyone else huddle, crouched over what Blaise could only assume was Harry. The press of bodies hid most from view, but through a set of ankles Pansy could see a bloodied hand blacker than even Blaise’s skin and long wicked talons with broken, jagged tips.
Severus stood shakily and moved to see if Jaz was dead or just injured. As he moved he revealed the fallen phoenix. Fawkes looked nothing more than a pile of dull, grimy feathers on the dusty floor.
“The bird is dead,” Sirius whispered hoarsely. He clutched the door frame at the implications and leaned over Pansy to see clearer. The medical personnel still blocked Harry from view of the door. Spells began to ring out as hushed voices raised and called for healing actions beyond simple student comprehension. It went on for long minutes with one particular witch snapping orders louder than the rest. She told them to stop and silence fell.
“Hold,” Dumbledore demanded as he straightened. He glanced once at those waiting in the doorway, his eyes hard. Dumbledore walked to Fawkes where the bird huddled motionless. He crouched and shifted his long beard aside, and reached his hand out to touch the broken phoenix. Flames began to lick from his fingers as he murmured softly to his old friend in a soothing coo.
Fawkes didn’t respond, his feathers still and lifeless. Dumbledore shimmered more flame and hot red fire danced on his fingers and palm. He heated the bird until it glowed fireside red. “Come now, little one. We need your help.” He passed his hand over repeatedly, stroking from head to tail feathers.
Fawkes burst into flames with a roar. He twisted into a golden glow, crackled and trilled as fire rose up and nearly singed Dumbledore’s eyebrows off. Dumbledore fell back and sat hard with a look of surprise on his face. Pansy glanced at Blaise with furrowed eyebrows, but he was staring intently at the phoenix. Dumbledore looked different. Twinkly.
Behind Dumbledore there was a cough followed by a moan of quiet agony. The sound slowly raised in volume until it bounced off the walls and deafened everyone in the room. Spells started flying again and voices shouted over Harry’s screams of pain as they tried to stabilize him.
Pansy stumbled back from the noise. Remus gently held her shoulders and helped her away from the door and the terrible sounds within. Blaise didn’t follow. He watched, thumb stuck between his teeth, as Dumbledore joined the fray of medical casters. The noise was better; it meant Harry was alive. Surely the dead didn’t scream.
There was a sudden change in fervor to the medics as wands dropped and hands grabbed at Harry when he tried to sit up. Blaise gaped and quickly turning away. Vomit seared his throat. Harry was a giant scab, bloodied and torn, his arms barely attached, knees twisted horribly. Voldemort’s revenge hadn’t been gentle. It was a wonder Harry managed to live long enough to kill the dark wizard. If the two weren’t blown into the other realm, Harry never would have won.
After a few dizzying breaths, Blaise turned back. He was relieved to find Harry stunned and streams of bandages being wrapped around him as he was tied to a stretcher. The medics still yelled, slightly lower in volume but not intensity. Harry needed to get to the waiting infirmary if they were going to save any of his destroyed beast body.
Everyone cleared from the hallway and watched as the group of medics hoisted Harry up and rushed him out the door and down the hall. It was bizarre to see so much black and red on him; the white of the sterile bandages made Harry look more startling dark.
“Right,” Sirius muttered as he tore his gaze from the sight of Harry disappearing around the corner. He fixed wild eyes on Blaise and grabbed him roughly by the collar. “Now where the hell is my cousin?”
“You’re overreacting,” Remus warned. His voice held warmth even as he grabbed his lover by the waist and tackled him to the ground.
Sirius snarled in reply and considered transforming back into Padfoot to make things difficult on Remus. He relented on the idea and merely flipped Remus instead. “I’m going after him, sooner the better. Now either support me or get lost!” Remus was definitely a better wrestler than Sirius, even with his shorter reach. Sirius’s face went red from the effort of fighting the werewolf’s strong grip.
Ron quietly stepped out of the way when Remus grunted and fell back from Sirius’s shove and nearly toppled into the door he was trying to keep Sirius from escaping through.
Sirius was not only a manly crier, but also possessed a terrible temper. He was particularly protective of Draco since Harry asked for his help in caring for him. At his furious insistence, Blaise and Pansy took him to Draco’s room. Sirius promptly transformed into a large, black dog to scent for Draco’s presence which led to the castle exit. Remus had appeared then and tackled Sirius before he could run out the castle into the forest to chase after Draco and Hermione.
“If you would listen to a bloody word… Siri, the numbers are too great!” Remus got Sirius into a brutal headlock, and held him as still as he could. Sirius insisted on thrashing his legs in an attempt to kick him but couldn’t break free. “Twenty. There are possibly more in the woods unseen. They’re enraged by human scent. We need a plan, not a damn sacrifice!”
“The only sacrifice will be those bloody dragons!”
Ron waited patiently as he peered out through the dark windows in the direction Draco and Hermione had left over half an hour ago. If he thought it odd two grown men were fighting like first years, he gave no sign. His own brothers were the same—all of them—and likely weren’t going to change no matter how many years passed.
“You’ll put them both in danger. You need to calm down and take the time to plan.” Remus was always extra persuasive when inflicting pain.
Sirius gritted his teeth, not ready to give up yet. Harry was injured but alive. The only other living soul Sirius swore to protect was now off with a bunch of bloodthirsty dragons who, from what Harry suggested, would enjoy Draco in many carnal ways. Sirius’s guilt for allowing himself to be distracted by Harry’s condition only fueled his determination. Draco need him now.
“I know you’re worried, Siri,” Remus murmured in his ear. He relaxed his hold but didn’t releasing his steel grip. “We’re going to find him. We’ll clean a room out just for Draco.”
“Remi…”
“Harry can sleep right across. We can all go camping like you wanted by the lake. You just have to give us some time to plan.”
Sirius huffed in annoyance. He glanced sideways in the headlock and met Remus’s questioning gaze. “How much time?”
“How much ya got?” Remus smiled his ‘I know I’ve won’ smile. Sirius sighed and relented.
Ron watched cautiously as the two men stood and dusted off. He was careful to make sure he didn’t catch them doing anything too gooey; something he never worried about with his brothers, thankfully. “So, as I was saying, the spell Hermione crafted seemed to work. The creatures don’t like humans in general, but without the scent to trigger them, hopefully they won’t break out into killing rages.”
“Aye. Right, that.” Sirius combed his hair back into order while his eyes blazed. “Clearly they’re on a higher level of intelligence. Enough to manipulate Draco out the door through blackmail and possibly other ways. He was still wearing the ring, right?”
“Yeah. Harry mentioned Mr. McVicar was working on a spell to keep it attached, but I don’t know if he ever succeeded. His barrier sure seemed to work.” Except Draco willing walked outside it when he heard Harry was in danger.
Remus sighed and turned toward the Great Hall. “There is no guarantee by the time we find him Draco will still have the ring in his possession. We must plan for the possibility.”
Ron nodded as he followed to keep up with the men’s long strides. “Hermione understands the importance of the ring. As long as she’s there, I’m sure it will remain on Draco.” They fell silent, no one willing to voice how much danger she was in.
Blaise and Pansy were already in the Great Hall along with McGonagall, Severus and a number of the medical team who helped heal Harry. They were catching a late dinner after the difficult evening events.
Harry was stabilized and medics still worked on him in the hospital wing under Madame Pomfrey’s critical eye. Right now it looked like he would keep his arms, legs and possibly tail. The wings and antlers were still a toss up. Since they were less important for his immediate survival, no one was too concerned about it.
Ron felt strangely lonely as he sat across from Blaise and Pansy. Hermione wasn’t there and Harry, well, Harry hadn’t been there for a very long time. Hermione was Ron’s rock, his inspiration to stay strong if only to help her through the same difficulty he was going through. Without her everything felt empty.
“Has anyone heard about McVicar?” Sirius asked when he sat down and grabbed a plate of food. He was worried but not to the point he couldn’t eat. He saw it as a good sign he believed Harry would live. “He’s spoken to one of those creatures face to face, so I heard.”
“He will recover. Poppy is keeping him under observation.” Severus sipped his tea. His hand still revealed a small tremor. He was sore, but nothing worth going to bed over.
“Did the vesper attack him?” Ron only heard snatches of what happened during Harry’s spell.
“Not that he can remember. McVicar felt an interference in the spell, as if a power were trying to prevent him from continuing. The moment he completed his part, the pressure relented. He passed out from the sudden change.” Severus studied the swirling dark liquid in his cup as his thoughts strayed. “He was lucky; they both were. Zabini saw the creatures surround the room. The dragons had plenty of opportunity to attack. By the time it would take to fight through the protective wards in place for the spell, the beasts could have killed Potter and McVicar with ease. They honored Malfoy’s agreement. It’s something we need to consider when dealing with these vesper.”
They refused to make a deal when it came to Hermione. Ron suppressed a shiver of fear.
Blaise, who was pushing his food around on his plate, spoke up. “It was only because Draco asked. The shifter Matten controlled all the others. He… I think he had a control over Draco, too. It was strange. Matten nearly did everything Draco asked. He would get this look on his face, almost like he was enthralled by him. But every time Draco got upset or started yelling, Matten would move his lips a certain way and Draco would turn weak and complacent.”
“It sounds like how Harry was with him,” Ron pointed out. “We were so worried Harry was going to, um, get a bit too rough with Malfoy,” he said with an awkward cough. “All Draco had to do was ask the ‘right way,’ as they both put it, and Harry was putty in his hands. Hell, and Harry is the only one who could make Malfoy do anything half the time. He couldn’t even talk to him but Malfoy listened.”
“It does sound like the species has some sort of basis in manipulation,” Remus mused. “I’ve heard of techniques being used on prey, especially allure, but never interspecies like this.”
“Knowing Hermione, she’ll have a book written on the subject by the time she gets back,” Pansy joked weakly as she ignored her food.
They all turned when Dumbledore walked in through the Great Hall doors. He looked as exhausted as the rest of them felt.
“He’s well, but things are still unclear as to what will be left of him,” Dumbledore raised his hand before anyone could think to ask questions. “I would like the students to come to my office so we can go over the events which transpired while we were engaged saving Mr. Potter. Remus and Sirius, you are of course welcome to stay the evening. I’m grateful to see you have not ended up in the forest just yet and hope you will help in our efforts. Minerva, if you would join me for a moment?”
Ron’s head of house got up stiffly to speak with Dumbledore about notifying Hermione’s parents of her absence. Blaise and Pansy finished their pumpkin juice before getting up as well and joining Ron on the other side of the table to wait.
“Do we tell him what Potter said? About Draco being his mate?” Pansy’s eyes darted to where Dumbledore was talking.
“Depends if Draco’s mother comes knocking again,” Blaise said. “If she finds out, she’ll kill Potter before he gets a chance to heal. I doubt a school full of teachers will stop that level of hate. She’d rather give Draco to the vesper than to Potter.”
“Is it important?” Ron asked quietly. “Honestly? Pretty sure McVicar knows they’re having sex. What the hell does being a mate have to add to anything?” Harry had mentioned it once in the infirmary the other day while they were pulling information about Draco’s breakdown. Harry seemed almost reluctant to reveal the mating information and Ron didn’t know if it was something he was comfortable sharing.
Pansy bit her lip, and stepped closer to speak under her breath. “Didn’t it ever strike you as odd? I mean, it’s almost obsessive; that’s why we were all worried, after all. What do you think Potter is going to do once he finds out Draco is gone? Not just gone, but gone with the vesper? It was all he talked about before the return spell.”
Ron took a deep breath and tried to think of his friend objectively. Harry had been mad last year in a lovestruck, testosterone riddled, but still sweet intentioned way. Anything concerning Malfoy pulled reactions from Harry so bizarre from his normal behavior. Even compared to normal human behavior. Hermione was the one to suspect Harry might have a beast, if only to explain his weird demeanor, but Ron shrugged it off. Voldemort was increasing his attacks, and Ron assumed Harry was just worrying for the guy he’d fallen for.
Given what the four friends had pulled out of Harry and Draco about the last couple weeks, maybe Pansy did have reason to worry. What exactly would Harry do once he woke up and realized Draco was off with the vesper? Harry had transformed to defeat Voldemort all those many months ago, and he won. The power it took to defeat a monster like Voldemort was again in Harry’s grasp.
Harry’s human personality and body were preserved, held back by the odd time lapse of being thrown into the other realm. He was nearly human while invisible, while now he was fully transformed. Once awake, crazy powerful, and no longer human, Harry would wonder where his mate was. If Draco wasn’t there when Harry finally woke, there was no way to know what might happen.
“That could be dodgy,” Blaise muttered as he came to the same conclusion as Ron and Pansy.
Hermione mentioned the way her books were destroyed when Harry threw around raw magic in a fit. Ron now wondered about the stone bricks used to keep the castle together. It would all be the same to someone as powerful as Harry, especially if he was afraid for his mate.
The vesper made no complaints when Draco and Hermione lit their path with twin lumos. They didn’t follow any walking trails in the beginning. They moved through heavy underbrush until they reached to an old stream bed. Dried up and filled with small stones and soft silt, they followed the winding pathway for what felt like an hour. After such, they crawled up the bank and twisted and whirled through a network of trails and paths deep in the forest. Once they were surrounded by trees, Draco refused to let Hermione stray even though she was far from terrified. After the vesper killed the first of the silent creatures foolish enough to not get out of the invisible pack’s way, Hermione was more willing to take Draco’s arm and walk with him in the sheltered location.
The shifters brought Draco water, which he shared with Hermione. The temperature dropped during the night, and she huddled in her cloak until Hermione found the good sense to use a warming spell. Draco didn’t need one. The three shifters and ten dragons who surrounded him at all times gave off huge amounts of heat. He actually felt too warm; the constant exercise and press of bodies left him to flushed and fiery.
“Are you feeling okay?” Hermione whispered when Draco stumbled again and nearly dropped his wand. Far off to the right were sudden screams as an animal fell victim to the vesper. The noise was just as suddenly muffled and silenced, and the air grew heavy in the stillness. “Malfoy, you’re shaking.” Hermione pulled her eyes from the darkness to glance up at him beside her. Draco was sweating, his eyes dark in the dim light as a strange smile twisted his lips.
“I’m fine,” Draco murmured. His eyes lost focus only to sharpen again when he nearly tripped. The ground was clearer here but roots and decay still littered the ground in places to steal his footing.
“You’re not.” Hermione slipped the glasses resting on her forehead down to her nose. She took them off because of how disconcerting it was to watch herself walk through the vesper. They didn’t move out of the way for her and Draco insisted she stay close and away from the sounds of the dying. She watched and bit her tongue when Draco nearly took a header. The shifter Matten quickly caught him before he fell off the path.
At first she thought the shifters were taking advantage of the situation; their hands moved over Draco’s glowing beast form in lingered caresses every time he stumbled. Perhaps it would’ve been easier to believe. Hermione could see clearly how the shifters withdrew, their fingers brushing ever so lightly on Draco’s shoulders and back in farewell. Without their touch, soon enough Draco’s glow pulsed again. Moments after he became dizzy and the shifters flowed close to catch him.
“Malfoy, are they doing something to you?”
His head tilted and eyes downcast, it took Draco a moment to respond. “Doing?”
“To make you fall. You keep getting dizzy.” He stumbled again before Hermione finished her sentence. This time Matten grabbed Draco boldly around the waist. His strong arms kept him upright as the shifter moved right through Hermione.
“Oh, they’re just humming a little,” Draco admitted. He stopped trying to walk. Matten’s purr thrummed in his ear as he held him still.
“You’re tired, lovely halfling. Has the walk been too much?”
Draco’s body didn’t feel tired, but his head did. His eyes kept insisting they close. He knew he should be wide awake, alert to the dangerous forest around him. He should be protecting Hermione, and make sure she was safe among the sea of invisible vesper. He should be seeking out landmarks in case they took his wand and he needed to walk back instead of apparate. Draco noticed Hermione discretely mark their path as they wandered through the dark. He wanted to do the same, but exhaustion descended on him and he couldn’t seem to fight it.
“Draco, you’re not answering. Don’t tell me you’ve fallen asleep?”
Draco fluttered his eyes open, grasping at the hand moving too familiarly over his waist and touching him. “I’m just a little tired.”
We can rest if you like. I will hold you and you can close your eyes. The pack will protect you even in the deep of the forest.
Draco smirked sleepily. “You’re not my bed.” He didn’t pull away as his eyes fell shut and breathing slowed. Matten held him steady, his body warm and hard behind Draco, strong chin resting on the top of his bowed head. In the dark, the pack was tangible to Draco. They were a strong presence that only ghosted away whenever moonlight broke through the trees. It was probably wrong to feel so safe with the night a blanket around him as he stood in the middle of the most dangerous forest he knew. They walked for hours and Draco didn’t have a clue where they were, or how to get back. A part of him knew the pack was powerful when together, a force that couldn’t be injured. This was their domain and Draco was safe.
“Matten, is he sick?” Hermione worriedly watched Draco fall asleep while Matten held him upright. The other two beautiful shifters brushed Draco’s hair with their fingers before they moved out toward the edges of the pack. They were called back and forth; sometimes to give direction when needed to the dragons, others to return in a somehow just as important ritual to touch Draco’s flesh.
“I do not believe so. He was upset earlier and it can raise much power. It will tire young ones.”
Hermione nodded, unsure whether to believe him. Malfoy was supposedly the first halfling the pack had found in years. Would they even know if something was wrong with him? Draco glowed with a golden light and looked nearly ethereal. Sometimes, Hermione feared, he looked angelic and dead.
“So, we’re just going to stand here until he wakes up?” She asked as she did little to keep the disbelief from her voice.
“He would not like it if I carried him,” Matten replied after a moment. His face lowered so he could press his cheek to the sleeping Draco’s.
“He wouldn’t like that either,” Hermione pointed out.
Matten smirked dismissively and kissed Draco’s cheek. “He is one of us. He likes it.”
Hermione shook her head with a huff. “He doesn’t even know you. You know him even less. If all your kind does is kill the humans you come across, how can you understand any of our customs?”
“Why do you think your customs have anything to do with how we react to one another?” Matten asked in counter. “He is vesper, like us. It is who he is when he is with us. halfling yes, but vesper still. All adore him, and he will adore all.”
“That’s a huge assumption to make. He’s been terrified of your kind since the moment he knew you existed. Let’s face it; you haven’t really done much to prove you’re trustworthy.”
Matten pressed his palm to Draco’s chest with his fingers spread wide. “He knows it in his heart. He cannot ignore his own, just as we cannot ignore him. No one will hurt him, human. It would be an injury to ourselves. His type strengthens us, unites us. We cherish such ability in our kind.”
Hermione wasn’t convinced. She didn’t truly think the vesper wanted to hurt Draco, but she had a strong suspicion what Draco felt were acceptable didn’t even reach the realm of what the vesper wanted from him. The other shifters kept returning to run fingertips and palms over Draco while he slept. The dragons curled possessively at his feet, a blanketing field of scales and feathers.
“You make it sound like he’s some sort of prince,” she mused aloud. Hermione eyes fixed out into the dark forest where the rest of the vesper glowed among the trees. They all faced out into the darkness as they watched for signs of danger.
“That is too human a concept,” Matten replied. His fingers glided down to Draco’s hand and the ring that glittered there. “Think of a mother with many cubs. A gentle treasure who provides warmth and affection. One you wish to see and caress whenever you return home. Fierce when needed to keep the rebellious in line, but usually a powerful soul who pushes the dark and chill away whenever he’s near. He would be our village fire. Our hearth.”
Hermione bit her lip. Half of her wanted to laugh out loud at the idea of Malfoy being anyone’s ‘mother,’ as Matten put it. Draco’s mother was as cold hearted and distant as they came and it was unlikely he knew how to be any different. But Draco was different. He was different in a way that made Hermione worry the vesper might have more power over him than she first thought. It wouldn’t be one shifter, or even the three present calling to Draco. It would be an entire village. It would be the family he never had but probably always dreamed of. Even as strange and bizarre as the vesper were, that sort of promise could be attractive to anyone. Especially someone so alone and unloved for as long as Draco was.
Another shifter, the tallest of the three, approached again. Hermione noticed for the first time how his attention lingered too long on Draco’s hand. It was the one with the ring that kept him human. They could touch it and Draco was fast asleep, unable to prevent anyone from removing it. She flinched as she reached her hand right through the shifter’s arm and threaded her fingers with Draco’s, locking the ring in place.
Matten noticed from where his cheek rested on top of Draco’s head. Each breath he took ruffled his silky strands as he held him upright. Matten traced his hand down Draco’s arm. There was a ripple of movement as something shifted and changed in the shifter. When he reached where Hermione was holding Draco, Matten pressed his fingertips firmly to her knuckles.
She stiffened from the contact, tightened her grip and met Matten’s gaze challengingly. Was it a warning? A reminder the vesper could harm her whenever they chose? She would fight him if she had to. Her magic would hurt them. She’d wake Draco, curse as many as she could, and apparate them as far away as possible if the vesper thought to force this issue.
“You are a fiery thing, like him.” Matten’s eyes searched Hermione’s face. “It will do you and him no good. You will see. He will come to us. He wants to.” Matten released her hand without incident, and wrapped his arm around Draco’s chest.
Hermione’s flesh continued to tingle where Matten touched. They stood in the dark surrounded by the glowing, patient dragons and waited for Draco to awake.
It was another three hours of walking before they finally arrived at the vesper Village. Dawn was just on the horizon when they reached the huge clearing surrounded by a large stone wall. Hermione and Draco exchanged glances. There were huts and clay buildings everywhere. The area was large enough to house hundreds, but the buildings were all human dwellings. Draco wasn’t sure what he was expecting but this wasn’t it.
“Be prepared, little halfling. And you, human. When we cross this border we will be within your realm again. You will see us. Hear us. Smell us. Feel us. We will be the same to you.”
Draco grabbed Hermione’s hand and squeezed tight. At first she wondered if he was afraid for her. This would be the first test to see if her spell was potent enough to keep the vesper from scenting her humanity. She then remembered what Harry warned. Malfoy had reacted intensely the one time he saw the vesper. With just one look, he was completely overwhelmed and Harry barely got him under control.
“It’s going to be okay,” Hermione whispered. The two of them stood feet away from the open archway. “We’re just going to look around. We’ll see what they’re like when not out hunting for halflings.”
Draco wanted to laugh it off. He wanted to hold his head high with confidence and assurance once he walked into the village he would just as surely walk out. Instead he was full of fear and misgiving. “I’m in love with him.”
Hermione raised her eyebrows, and turned her head to face Draco. “Um, I’m sure he’ll be happy to hear.”
“I’m in love with him and he left before I could tell him.” Draco met her gaze. “When I walk through this door, I’m afraid I’m going to forget how much I love him.”
Hermione didn’t really have an answer for that. Draco responded to the creatures and they responded to him. “Do you think you love the vesper?” She asked, honestly curious.
Draco jerked as if hit, He took a step away from Hermione although he still held her hand. “Do you even understand people?” He snapped while glaring at her. “You want to tell me what I feel for Harry is just the same messed up allure I have with the vesper? Are you seriously going to stand there and tear apart my affection just because we have the same magical species DNA!” Draco could hear Matten trying to purr him calm and he whirled toward the noise with a snarl.
“You are upset. I am helping the only way I know how.”
“Well stop it. I’m allowed to be upset!”
Matten carefully placed his hand to Draco’s shoulder. Only the softest of hums fell from his lips. “You will see how that cannot be, beautiful one. When you finally gaze upon us and you are angry, you will understand why it is important to be calm.”
Draco continued to glare but turned it to the witch who suggested something so vile in his mind he wasn’t sure if he could stand to be around her in that moment. His feelings for Harry were real. They were all he had left to keep him from falling into the alien world waiting on the other side of the dividing wall.
Hermione bit her lip in thought and took a long time to answer. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Malfoy. I’m sorry if I upset you. I don’t think the question is invalid. Honestly, I don’t think you’d get this mad if a part of you wasn’t wondering it as well.”
“Shut up, Granger.” Draco grit his teeth harshly. “You’re the last person anyone would go to for relationship advice. You might as be a golem, for the amount of heart you show most of the time. Whatever I may feel for these creatures, it does not effect what I feel for Harry. Ever. That you could compare… Fuck, but you are dim sometimes!”
Hermione shrugged; she didn’t look upset in the least. “Well, I guess you answered your own question then. Are we going in?”
Draco growled. He tried to figure out if he was more upset with what Hermione suggested or the fact she chose to suggest it at such a nerve racking time. “Matten, hum for me. Please.”
Matten, who was ever hovering at Draco’s shoulder, thrummed a gentle pulse around him. Draco shuddered and sighed softly. His eyelids grew heavy and muscles unclenched as waves of sound moved over him, and shivered all the way down to his bones. Matten gently ran his palm over Draco’s back and soothed him in both ways until Draco swayed and nearly fell over.
Hermione quickly yanked him back her way before he could fall, and steadied his shoulders. “Better?” She asked, wary of what might happen if Draco went in there like a drunk man.
“Mmm, yes.” Draco anger was completely forgotten for the moment.
“Come now, little one. The others are waking. They can feel your presence and they wish to meet you.”
Draco nodded. He studied his shoes as he took a step forward, and Hermione moved with him. He took another step and the borders of the walls came into his side view.
Just one more. One more and he would be through.
Draco took a deep breath and stepped inside the village.
From the corner of his eye, Draco could see Matten’s hand. His fingers were curled lightly over his shoulder and the fabric of his shirt, his claws visible but didn’t tear. Hermione stiffened beside him, her hand tense in his, but Draco couldn’t bear to look up just yet. He was afraid of how he was going to respond. He was afraid he wouldn’t be himself.
“Come now, little one. We will not bite.” Draco never heard Matten speak but he knew it was him. His voice was low and a little rough sounding, as if he was unused to speaking, or might have a mouthful of fangs. “What is it? Why are you trembling so?”
Long legs clad in loose, soft fiber pants came into Draco’s view. Wrappings tied tight around Matten’s ankles and calves to keep his pants from rustling. He wore no shoes, his feet bare and dusty with clawed talons at the ends. It shocked Draco Matten wore clothes at all, even though he knew from what Harry told him the glasses showed everyone nude. Draco assumed the vesper in normal form would be, well, the form seen through the glasses.
Matten’s hand looked ordinary enough; it was large, pale, and his palm a warm pink as it pressed gently to Draco’s cheek and guided his gaze upward. He wore no shirt, and his bare flesh was littered with a shimmery cross work of scars. A fresh slash was still pink across his chest. More strips of fabric covered Matten’s forearms. Draco hesitated, and stared at his throat and the white nick there. A part of him was certain any eye contact would be his undoing.
“Where has your courage gone, fiery dragon?” Matten’s voice was warm as he teased. He spoke more with compassion than anything else as he leaned closer and tried to catch Draco’s eye. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of one such as me? You, with all your magic and your nasty temper.”
Draco glowered and snapped his eyes up to glare at the annoying shifter. He froze, his breath caught in his throat.
“Ah, I forgot,” Matten muttered. He turned his face away and his silvery-white hair cut shoulder length fanned out. “Let me find another. Seles does not venture with the pack and still has a pleasant…”
“No,” Draco croaked. He grabbed the arm holding his cheek before Matten could pull away. “Don’t go. I was… I was just surprised. I didn’t realize you were injured.”
Matten turned back slowly, a faint wariness deep in his pale blue eyes. His face was scarred; a terrible slash cut over the bridge of his nose, and part of his right eyebrow was missing. The scar continued on the other side of his face after an inch of unmarred skin, the line thinner as it ran down his jaw toward his neck. “Our other forms don’t become injured as these do. Until you’re awakened, or I gather you wear the headpiece your friend has brought, you will not be able to see our true forms. We see each other mostly on the other plane and forget the wounds these bodies hold.”
“You don’t transform?” Hermione asked.
Matten glanced her way and shook his head curtly. His attention fixed on Draco, a furrow between his uneven eyebrows. “Did I frighten you? I did not intend to. Many of us are as I am, just in different ways.”
Draco felt terrible for his reaction and immediately wanted to assure him it wasn’t the scar he was frightened by. “It wasn’t you. I was afraid I’d react like I had when I saw the other forms. That’s all. You’re… Matten, you’re beautiful. I promise.” Draco meant it. The scar did little to hide Matten’s handsome features. If anything, it made him more unique by adding a wild, appealing fierceness to his face.
Matten smile revealed sharp fangs and straight white teeth. “Coming from one such as you, that is surely the greatest of compliments. Are you ready now?”
“Ready?” Draco echoed in confusion as he raised an eyebrow.
“To look behind me,” Matten reminded kindly. “To see our people. To meet your family.”
Draco blanched and felt Hermione’s hand tighten in support. “Of course. We’re here for a tour, after all.” His smooth tone in the face of fear earned Draco another glimpse of fangs from Matten, who stepped back and to the side so Draco could see the village before him.
A hiss escaped Draco and he wrenched his hand from Hermione’s to cover his mouth. There were at least a hundred people staring back at him, pressed against the edge of the square where the archway opened up. Others moved behind them as they peered out of cloth covered doorways. It was a sea of silvery hair and pale flesh, with small variations in features and coloration to separate one from the other. Draco couldn’t help but notice they all looked male, but he couldn’t be certain with them standing so far away. Many were slender and long haired. They were holding back as if afraid to frighten him, many a tentative smile on lovely, scarred faces.
The dragons were among them, scaled white but not glowing. There was one dragon for every five shifters. Some were missing ears, scales and covered in scars. Draco could not understand it, and he sought out Matten again.
“Why is everyone…? You’re all so injured. Don’t you know how to heal? Why? What is causing all these wounds?”
Matten scratched the back of his head awkwardly. He leaned on one leg as he glanced among the villagers. “It is difficult. I believe your kind is usually awake before stepping into a village.”
“What, so all of your villages are like this?” Anxiety and disbelief made Draco’s voice sound shrill. “You look as if you’ve been through a war!”
“Calm down,” Hermione said lowly. She stepped in and spoke under her breath so the others wouldn’t hear. “They’re reacting to you.”
Draco didn’t have time to notice the way the crowd was stirring. Matten thrummed, stepped up, and placed his hand to Draco’s shoulder. Heat rushed through him from the touch, and the sound vibrated and made him shiver.
“I’m sorry, little one. You are the first halfling in a very long time to come here. I fear we are making many mistakes.”
“Just tell me why everyone is so hurt, Matten,” Draco insisted as he fought the drowsy, heated calm rising through him. Individuals stepped forward, sleek warriors to hardy farmers. Draco was relieved to see no children there; surely they would be just as scarred and broken as the fully grown beautiful creatures. His people. These were Draco’s people and not a single one seemed free of wounds that spoke pain and suffering.
“I thought that was clear, Draco.” Matten gazed down into his eyes. “It is why we stayed away as long as we could.”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed as she took in more of the vesper arriving, and she made a loud exhalation. “Humans? They did this to you?”
Matten nodded and reached his hand out to one of the dragons behind Draco. Draco turned when he realized he missed the party of vesper who brought him there. As if permission was given, the other two shifters stepped forward and brushed fingers against Draco’s skin. The tall one had a burn on his shoulder that reached down his arm. The other, his face particularly beautiful, had only one ear and would tilt the intact ear forward in case Draco spoke again.
“They attack us when we’re still young. Our dragon forms frighten them.” Matten shrugged it away; he seemed more concerned about Draco’s distress than anything else. “By the age we grow to shift we all have wounds on these forms.”
Draco, who was certain he would never ever dare even walk toward one of the vicious looking dragons, suddenly crouched to his knees and reached his hands out to touch the closest one. Matten purred again, this time more for the dragon than Draco. The creature was unsure around the human scent still on him. Draco couldn’t seem to help himself. His fingers gently traced a large scar on the dragon’s neck where scales flaked off from the wound it endured.
“Are these your young, then?” Draco asked as he stared into the fierce looking face. The dragon’s teeth were long and vicious, housed in a sharp, long snout which led up to a delicate forehead where feathers sprouted richly. The eyes were pale violet jewels, just the lightest touch of color in their sparkling depths. Up close its iridescent scales were stunning, each one a miniature rainbow of color shimmering over the dragon’s flesh. When Draco touched the warm scales, the dragon gave a small shake, pressed into his touch and purred similar to the noise Matten made.
“We all start out in that form. Except the kalistar; when they hatch they are gold, horned, and winged,” Matten explained. “We are dragons for many years until we breed. Then we reach our next stage and shift to live as we look now.”
Draco fingers lightly brushed down the dragon’s snout and he marveled at just how soft it felt. “Is it difficult? To be a dragon for so long and then turn into something that… Well, you become the form of a creature who harmed you.”
Matten folded his arms over his chest and paced for a moment. “We have wondered about it. Why we can’t just have one form. Why we shift into something we innately despise. We have no love of human flesh; the taste is detestable. The kalistar used to say… No. It does not matter what that one said anymore. That was a long time ago and it sleeps now.” He reached his hand out, and Draco took it and stood. “Meet us. I promise, we are good people for all our many marks.”
Draco already knew as much. He could feel it in the air. There was a safety to the village. It was a little run down, maybe, a little too quiet as everyone stared at Draco with strange, desiring looks. Some eyes held loss, some lust, but most were filled with curiosity. It was a place he might have been before but had no memory of. The smell was alien and yet familiar. Even Hermione, cautious and alarmed by all the scars around her, didn’t seem frightened even when surround by so many vesper. Her spell was working, and the dragons were soothed by the purr the many shifters made.
They led Draco to the center of the village, to a beautiful dwelling nestled within a large circled clearing. Wide cloth squares spread above to protect from weather and sun. It was a stunning chaos of color and pattern that swirled overhead and bounced off the pale flesh of those shaded beneath the encroaching dawn. There was a large fire pit surrounded by a stone wall in front of the elaborately decorated building. Unlike the other simple structures, this one had a domed roof. Metal the color of copper flashed in the sun where light hit. Beneath the colorful canopy, blankets and pillows were spread out on the packed dirt.
“This is where we gather as a community. Here we eat, rest, and tell stories.” Matten pointed to the stairs that led into the building in front of the fire pit. Satin pillows were sprawled across the limestone porch, the area divided every five feet by a tall pillar. “You would live here by the fire where everyone could find you and gaze upon you. You would never have to seek for food or drink. Companions would always be near for play and learning. And of course, to touch whenever you desire.”
Draco blushed, and Hermione snickered under her breath. He would be on display like some treasured doll on a mantel. Draco let Matten lead him around the fire pit, which was currently filled with ash and remnants of charred wood and bone. The stairs rose above, close enough for heat but designed in a way to keep smoke from flooding the area. Up close, he could see pelts of fur of all kinds, skinned and extremely soft to the touch, littering the stairs and wide porch along with the pillows. It was primitive but luxurious. He would be like a prince sprawled out and expected to be served food by beautiful servants who would then wish to touch him. Draco ducked his head as his cheeks flamed hotter.
“They definitely know how to set up an outdoor bed, huh?” Hermione murmured as she ran her hands across a soft fox pelt.
Draco snapped his head up, his mouth gaping open. “It’s not a…”
“It’s so a bed,” Hermione insisted with a wry smirk. “A bed that extends out around this entire area. Look at the pillows under the canopy. The entire center of the village is a communal bed. Good luck to you, Malfoy. You’re totally going to need it.”
Draco scowled, certain he was red from his head down to his toes at this point. Matten only confirmed it as he chuckled and purred softly under his breath. “You are shy, that was unexpected too.” He brushed Draco’s cheek, whose eyes widened from the touch. “Do not worry, lovely halfling. None of us will gobble you up.”
Matten stepped closer and his thrum grew louder. Draco felt weak in the knees. It was either fall or grab Matten’s wide shoulders, that latter of which he did unsteadily. “Don’t,” Draco whispered when Matten’s head tilted too close. His breath moved over his face and fingers rested on Draco’s chin as he raised his head up.
“We do not take what is not freely given,” Matten promised softly while his fingers dragged over Draco’s jaw in a caress. “Even though you call so loudly, halfling. Even though you don’t understand just how much you belong with us. We will not harm you in any way; I give you my word. Just having you here among us, breathing our air, sharing our laughter, is more than enough.”
Draco really wanted to believe him, but his body told a very different story. “Stop humming. please.”
“You are so beautiful,” Matten mused. His hum softened but didn’t completely cease as he gently brushed Draco’s hair back. Draco tried to feel only friendship in the touch. It wasn’t easy, and a part of him hated the strangeness inside of him that had no boundaries. “It must be a feature of your kind to keep you protected. If we can’t look away from you, young one, we will surely know you are safe.”
Matten reached his hand up, and Draco shivered when he felt his feathers touched, the tips of his ears, and the longer smooth plumes that framed his face. “It is very difficult to look away from you with your pretty feathers and shimmering scales. You glow so much brighter than the rest of us. We could throw you in the pit and I think you would be brighter than the fire.” Matten said it teasingly, but there was something in his eyes akin to pain as he stared down at Draco.
“Maybe you should let go now,” Hermione said when it seemed Matten was going to stand and stare at Draco all day. She carefully pulled Draco back and away from him, and kept her hands on his shoulders so he wouldn’t sway too much. “The building there, is that where he would stay? Inside?”
“Yes.” Matten shook himself and turned to where Hermione pointed. “It has been kept as a place of importance; our council gathers to discuss what must be discussed. It was always meant for a halfling. We didn’t want one, you see. They bring trouble with the humans.” He glanced again at Draco and looked torn. Draco wondered if Matten and the other vesper struggled the way he did with these strange instincts that pulled for things that didn’t fit into the norm of their lives.
The building was cool with shaded clay walls that kept the summer heat away. The vesper seemed to like color, and each room was painted in an inviting bold shade ranging from pomegranate, plum, emerald, gold and periwinkle. Complementary shaded curtains lined each large window with no glass installed to stop the air from flowing in. Incense scented the halls around them, sweet and heady. Draco honestly enjoyed the place. He tried not to think of it as a permanent home to stay, but there was a voice in the back of his mind who didn’t balk at the idea.
“As you can see, it’s designed for your kind. There are bathrooms; the upstairs one holds a large tub and the plumbing works. It’s magical, of course. The same in the kitchen. The downstairs area was our state room. It’s up to you if you wish to continue its existence as that. There was a halfling recently, just some years before you at the castle. We upgraded the building but as a group decided not to pursue him. There was so much unrest then, with your Dark Lords and humans killing each other. It just didn’t seem wise.” Matten trailed off as his eyes meet Draco’s.
“So you pick halflings as a group?” Hermione asked. “What made you decide Draco was the way to go? You braved a castle full of humans, magical at that. You must have had a good reason.”
“He is very strong,” Matten said carefully. “We could feel him even this far away.”
“Feel me?” Draco asked as his skin prickled.
“Yes. The young ones with less control ran to you without our permission. Thankfully, they held back and didn’t approach the castle and put themselves in harm’s way. Still, they lost control and your call was so loud. We had to make a decision. The kalistar halfling was an unexpected complication. The males are so aggressive. Even now, I still wonder if this was the right choice.”
Draco bit his lip and wrapped his arms around his torso. “It’s just a tour, Matten, an introduction. I have no interest in conflict and I can only hope the same of you.” He already felt too much for the vesper with their numerous injuries scarred on very human faces. It might have been easier if they were ethereal and otherworldly like Hermione described seeing through the glasses. He’d be less likely to become attached to a fantasy compared to people who felt so real.
There was a bedroom on the top floor that connected to the bath Matten mentioned. The room took up the entire top floor and opened up onto an expansive balcony with the fire pit right below. Some of the villagers looked up at him but most were going about there day. It was a relief to know he wasn’t the damn center of everyone’s world. The air flowed in even nicer here and Draco stared out at the village with the morning light slanting across. It looked beautiful from up high; the peeling paint on the buildings and cruder styled huts were mysterious and full of character. Maybe he was just romanticizing, or maybe he was finally relaxing.
“Now this is an indoor bed,” Hermione remarked as she sat on the large mattress. “They definitely have their priorities clear.”
It was a poster bed, twice the width of a king size and large enough to take up half the wall. Airy, white curtains spanned between the posts, decorated with ornamental twists of branches and dotted round red berries. “You would not believe how soft this is.” Hermione laid back with a sigh and her eyes closed. Draco couldn’t blame her. The walk was long with rest little, and their nerves were shot from the questions of if they’d ever leave the vesper village. Never mind if they’d live. That one, at least, Draco felt was answered.
“Did you wish to rest?” Matten brushed Draco’s shoulder lightly with his hand. “I can have some food brought to you. Some of that tea you people seem to obsess over.”
Draco couldn’t help his smile. He glanced over at Hermione who looked to be fast asleep already. “She’s safe here, right? If I close my eyes, I won’t have to worry about anyone hurting her?”
“Your presence has been calming us, halfling. You smell far more human than your companion does, yet the young have lost their restlessness,” Matten said with a hint of surprise. “I’m sure she will be fine. I will lock the lower doors, just in case. Shifters will be here if you need anything.”
“Where will you…?” Draco stopped himself and winced at the question. He shouldn’t care where Matten would be. He should just be glad he wasn’t with him.
Matten inhaled sharply, his gaze intense as it raked over Draco. “Ask me to stay and I will.” The hand he rested on Draco’s shoulder wrapped around his waist. He held him close but still loose.
Fire raced through Draco, more concerning now since there was no purr to blame it on. “Ask me to lay with you, beautiful halfling, and I will,” Matten whispered in his ear. His lips brushed ever so lightly, and sparked dangerous tingles across his skin. “Demand me to my knees and I will gladly give you everything of me.”
“Oh, hell,” Draco groaned. His eyes fell shut as the world spun heatedly around him. “I can’t, Matten. I love someone.”
Matten growled softly. His lips brushed ever so softly to Draco’s arched neck and shot sparks with each light touch. “I love someone too, Draco. You have seen him but yet to truly meet him.”
Draco swallowed hard and tried to get control of himself. “The burned one who helped guide us here.”
“Yes, Zyan. He is strong and fierce. He does not glow as you do.”
“I’m sorry,” Draco whispered. He placed his hands to Matten’s broad shoulders and pushed back. “I’m so sorry I’m like this.”
Matten caught one of Draco’s wrists. He brought his hand to his lips and tracing the knuckles slowly. His eyes pierced into Draco, confusion and desire warring in the crystal depths. “It is the way of us vesper. This is our nature, just in taller forms, little one. Your resistance is what is strange to us. Your shyness, your…”
“Humanity.” Draco smiled weakly and took another step away. Matten’s arm fell from his waist as he released him without opposition. “I’m tired.”
“Then you should rest.” Matten held his hand a moment longer. His warm fingers squeezed gently before he let go. “We will have a feast tonight to welcome you and your guest. You will see us in our element and at ease.”
Draco nodded dumbly. He clutched the window until Matten smiled wryly and bowed. Matten left and closed the door behind him. Draco slumped against the wall, his eyes focused out at the building roofs without seeing them.
“I don’t know how the hell you did that,” Hermione said from the bed, her eyes still closed.
Draco shook himself and turned to look at her. “What?”
“You had that man to his knees and then out the door. He’s a leader, you know, one of their strongest willed. That’s why they sent him to collect you. They needed someone who could fight your allure. Instead he’s more a puddle now, definitely in the slush range of things.”
Draco frowned at the observation. He kicked his shoes off and approached the mammoth sized bed. He closed his eyes when he sat lightly and softness enveloped him. It smelled of incense, dark spices and soothing sleep. “I’ve done nothing to break his will.”
Hermione shrugged. She opened an eye to peek at him from her halo of dark curls. “You pulse at him, at all of them. They can’t help but answer.”
“If I do, it’s not intentional. I’m disconnected from that other part of me. Harry told me I was changing, that I grew wings and was changing. I can’t control that side, not with the ring.” Draco looked down at the silver dragon ring. He clenched his hand into a fist and watched his knuckles turn white.
“It doesn’t make it any less true,” Hermione said bluntly. “Don’t get me wrong, these guys are totally pursuing you. I think Matten would have thrown you up against the wall right then and there if he didn’t think you’d leave over it. A part of you, even if you can’t control it or feel it, is calling for attention. Loud enough to reach this village from the castle.”
Draco didn’t know what to say. The vesper heard him from an impossible distance when he didn’t even know he made a noise. Draco was always a quiet person, since the day he realized the consequences of noise when it came to the dangers his parents brought home.
“You were lonely a lot.”
Draco nodded and sank back on the bed. He was very lonely. Even when Harry returned, Draco carried so much fear he would die and leave him alone again. “I didn’t want to get married. I didn’t want to live the life my mother set out for me.”
“This place isn’t so bad,” Hermione offered after the silence stretched. “And that’s from the viewpoint of someone not anticipating a pile of silver haired beauties at my beck and call twenty-four, seven. They seem determined to make sure you have everything you could ever want.”
Draco pursed his lips, folded his hands under his head and stared at the silk and branches above him. “They’re all so wounded. I don’t think a single one of them lacks a terrible scar. These people have capable warriors. They can’t just be letting themselves be hurt. They could be instigating as much as they suffer.”
“I was thinking that,” Hermione agreed. “He kept glossing over the kalistar, as well. Matten said it was sleeping, not dead. I bet it might be here, somewhere in the village or surrounding area. If they bothered to let it live, I bet they protect it as well. They seem very community driven.”
Draco thought back to what Matten said about the kalistar. It was something about why the vesper transformed into creatures they despised. There must be a reason. Maybe it wasn’t always this way.
“Do you think Harry’s alive?” Draco asked. The question sounded loud in the large room. Hermione was already asleep and Draco was left to wonder alone.
Draco struggled to focus. It started around nightfall when he joined the village of shifters around the fire. The feast was amazing. Draco assumed a pack of dragons meant raw meat and not much on vegetables, but the vesper ate like people. People who had taste buds who understood Draco’s taste buds in a way he hadn’t until that meal. The food was flavorful, varied, and he’d be telling his house elves if he ever went back to the manor.
Not that he was thinking of not going back. Fine, not that he would admit to thinking about not going back. He was confused about it all and thinking just didn’t help a thing.
“Do you not like the singing?” Haille asked from around Draco’s shoulder. With only one ear and long straight hair, he took to pressing his hand to Draco’s back and sitting behind him and Hermione so he could chat with her better.
“It’s, uh, it’s good,” Draco whispered. He tried to focus on the young silver-haired man singing divinely and not the heat rising up in him. The vesper moved in two dimensions at every moment and Draco’s clothes were only in one. Every touch was sparking torture.
“I’m sorry, little halfling,” Matten said tightly, his jaw locked and eyes fierce as he kept his gaze straight ahead and not on Draco. “I should have anticipated this. As I said, lots of mistakes.”
Draco nodded, the motion causing him to sway. Matten was honoring his wishes but it was clear the kind of struggle it was for the shifter. Especially when Zyan kept leaning across to run fingers over Draco’s arm. Draco couldn’t be certain, but it seemed Matten’s lover pushed ever so subtly into the tense leader and smirk wickedly each time.
“I wasn’t expecting you to have so many leaders,” Hermione said conversationally to Haille behind her, oblivious to Draco’s torment. “I count about fifteen up here with us.”
Haille’s palm brushed fire over Draco’s shoulder. “Yes, you think it would get confusing but it works for us. It’s important everyone’s needs are represented.”
Draco really wished Haille would stop lingering on his neck when he breathed. It was far too reminiscent of Harry. Another thing he didn’t want to think about at the moment. Thinking about Harry while surrounded by a circle of horny vesper didn’t help anything.
“It’s getting worse,” Draco muttered as he felt the energy grow in the air around them. In some ways it was good the leaders were up on the porch with him to protect Draco from the others as they shifted into their nocturnal phase. In other ways, it added to his frustration. The sex scents of Matten, Haille and Zyan were dizzying enough. Thankfully, most of the leaders remained feet away where they sprawled on pillows and sleek pelts on the porch. The rest of the village was spread out under the canopy where warm firelight and cool moonlight battled for dominance. It was difficult to see what the ones under the dark of the canopy were doing but Draco could guess as the scent of need became stronger and moans shivered in the dark.
“It will only get worse,” Matten said tersely as he glared at Zyan. Zyan smirked back and pressed his lips to the bridge of his scarred nose.
“It’s good to test one’s will once in a while. The halfling has made things challenging.” Zyan ran his hand under Matten’s jaw, then reached over to brush Draco’s shoulder. The touch was a small jolt to Draco’s senses and he bit back a moan.
“You’re tormenting me, my love,” Matten growled warningly.
Zyan wrapped his arms around Matten’s neck and rested his forehead on his. “I have never seen you so close to losing your self control. It is addictive, and I wish to see you crack.”
A hysterical laugh bubbled up in Draco he couldn’t contain. Worse, once it was loose, the shifters on the dais hummed to calm him. A hot wave of heat settled on Draco and pushing him down to the porch with what felt like a tangible weight. “Oh, hell. stop. Please,” he moaned as he fought the ache growing within. It would be so easy to give in when they could make him feel calm with one simple sound.
Hermione glanced down at where Draco was gasping, her eyebrows raised. “Maybe you should, I don’t know, go inside?” She suggested as she watched Draco’s face flush. “Maybe you won’t hear them.”
“Smell,” Draco muttered as he glaring up at Haille, who was moments away from touching his face. Draco was practically in his lap and the beautiful shifter smirking down wasn’t at all disappointed with the situation. “They give off a scent. Like an aphrodisiac.”
“Pheromones?” Hermione looked up and stared at the many silver haired men in a different light. “You’re all designed for sex, aren’t you? How does that even work if your breeding stage is finished once you become shifters?”
“There are some who think we’re meant to couple with the humans,” Matten said carefully while a few of the shifters nearby looked upset by the notion. “Humans aren’t safe; they’re barbaric and hostile. Some think we are enchanters in this form with wicked intentions. There is also the fear any child born in such a union will be destroyed or poorly treated by their human relatives. halflings have powerful magic and stronger appetites, and the humans have been known to hurt them. We have forbade the act of mating with humans because of this.”
“Your kalistar, was that the one who thought you should mate with humans?” Hermione asked over the sound of Draco’s increased gasps for air. Haille was humming softly as his fingers gently drifted over his features.
“We don’t like to speak of the kalistar. They were the ones who created the first race of halflings and insisted we collect them each generation back. As you can see with your friend, it has brought more difficulty than good.” Matten’s hand hovered inches from Draco’s shoulder but he held himself from reaching the last expanse to touch. “We try to avoid human contact. Running through your buildings and stealing your young doesn’t help in that regard.”
Hermione had to agree. “Why, then? Why create a being you must recover. One who calls so loud you can’t help but seek him out?”
“To get along,” Haille interrupted with a secretive smile. “They are all so angry, you see. Our people would lock themselves from the modern world if they could, and snarl and slash whenever change comes along. The world keeps infringing and the forest pushed back every day. The halflings are our link to that world. Not everyone agrees. Some would rather a halfling stay on a soft cushion in the center of the village, a pretty bauble to gaze upon and brighten the day.”
“He is a very pretty bauble, most assured,” Zyan teased. He stretched out on the ground behind Matten, his face next to Draco’s so he could pet his white-blond locks. “We thought perhaps, if we were to go through the bother of collecting him, maybe we should address the human situation which comes along with such an act. He is very human.” Zyan’s head tilted as he ran his fingers through Draco’s hair, and combed slowly.
Draco couldn’t help but stare into Zyan’s dark, gray eyes, the shifter’s face inches from his own. He smelled good and looked more so. The burn scar on the shifter’s arm and the many thin slashes along his chest did little to dull the heat pulsing through Draco. “Oh, don’t do that,” Draco whispered as more purrs rose up and curled around him like a touch. It was the others on the dais behind him, their soft murmurs reaching his ears.
“They can’t help it, halfling. you’re glowing very brightly.” Haille’s fingers also tangled in Draco’s hair and brushed over Zyan’s with each stroke. “We give thanks to the moon at this time and celebrate our many appetites. The desire is very difficult to deny, especially with such bright light from you.”
“But we will,” Matten said gruffly with a pointed look at the two shifters cradling Draco’s head. “We are the strongest of our people, and we will respect his wishes.”
Hermione knew she probably should be very embarrassed by all the blatant sexual activity that was descending upon the porch and was already happening in the large square. She was more curious than anything; it was like being invited into a real life nature documentary than anything offensive. That was until she caught sight of Kore, a heavily battle-scarred and devastatingly handsome leader as he, for lack of a better word, mount the pretty Seles only a few feet away. It seemed to announce the right time to go inside.
Hermione stood, grabbed Draco’s arm and pulled him to his feet. Draco stumbled, his eyelids heavy and face flushed. She went to steady him but didn’t have to; Matten rose sleek and easily to his feet and kept Draco from falling.
“I’m having difficulty,” Draco admitted softly. His eyes strayed to the door past the writhing bodies bordering the path. His limbs were heavy, as if his entire body was demanding he simply fall back to the ground where the two shifters were waiting for him to return.
“Yes, well, I’m not really surprised,” Hermione said cheerfully, laughter bright in her brown eyes. Poor Matten, Zyan and Haille all seemed rather grouchy to have to leave while at the same time looked glad to be in reach of Draco. “Maybe they have board games? Books? There must be some way to pass the time besides, well, what they’re doing now.”
“We will find him something,” Matten muttered as he carefully guided Draco up the stairs. His hands hovered close but didn’t touch. Draco groaned at each step, his silver eyes heavy with fire and need. He landed hard on the door the moment he reached it, his breath coming out in loud pants. It took everything not to rub up against the surface the way his body was begging.
“It is okay, little one.” Haille gently pulled Draco off the door, his eyes kind as he heard him whimpered. “It is a strong urge. Powerful. You are powerful and you are feeding the fire hotter. Take comfort you are helping the village bond, even if you feel uncomfortable.”
Draco didn’t reply, not certain if it was much consolation at the moment. His body burned, ached for touch. The vesper’s scent was all around him and thrums and moans rose up like a cloud in the dark. He wanted to give in and relieve the pressure building inside, except he couldn’t. For every part of him who thought spreading his body out among the sleek piles of flesh on the ground was a good idea, there was another part who reminded him he was human, proper, and completely bound by certain rules and expectations. Giving in was not an option no matter how much he ached.
It was a little better inside the building. The sounds of the vesper were muffled and the scent as well. There was no glass on the windows to keep anything outside fully out, and Draco was hyper aware of what was going on just on the other side of the door. “I need to, um, be alone for a bit. Upstairs,” Draco added with a blush when Hermione gave him a knowing look.
“You go rest. I’m sure Matten can find something to entertain us all once you get back.” Hermione did her best to not snicker. She knew it was difficult on Malfoy but he was just so funny about it all. Probably because he was so embarrassed. There was an entire village outside who thought group sex was completely normal and in that context, Hermione had to agree with them. For the vesper it was normal, and with Draco being half vesper, it should be normal to him too. Draco clearly didn’t agree. He was flushed pink and jolted at every touch that came his way.
“Uh, the thing is I need help on the stairs.” Draco blushed brighter and Hermione sighed internally. He really just made things more difficult on himself by getting so worked up.
“Come, lovely halfling.” Haille reached his arm out and offered it to Draco. “I can lift you if need be.”
“I will take him,” Matten interrupted with a suspicious glare at Haille.
Haille only smirked and stepped between Draco and Matten. “You can not touch him anymore, Matten. You are far too overwhelmed to be a safe option right now, as you are well aware. I will not harm him.”
Matten relented after a long silent moment and stared at the doorway after the two left.
“Why was he angry?” Draco asked Haille. His eyes were fixed on his feet as he worked his way slowly up the stairs.
“We don’t always get along,” Haille admitted. “We both try to keep an open mind with the humans, but we don’t always agree on how to deal with things.”
Draco stumbled and braced himself on the wall. Haille threaded an arm around his chest and tugged lightly. “Let me carry you. The stairs are steep and you’re weak with lust.”
Draco blushed to hear it put so bluntly. It really was like his body was trying to force him to give in. He didn’t resist when Haille turned him. Haille easily lifted him up, his strong arms braced beneath his thighs while Draco held onto his neck. He was particularly beautiful, and Draco quickly ducked his gaze when Haille’s violet eyes met his.
“So how do you differ with Matten, then?” Draco asked as he tried to distract from the feel of Haille’s powerful form moving against him as he climbed the flights of stairs with ease.
“Matten thinks it’s important to let you make your own decisions with as little interference as possible. He wishes you to observe us from afar, and keep you guarded and buffered from our many ways. He wishes for you to be like your friend; a human guest visiting.”
“And you disagree?” Draco shivered as Haille lowered him to the ground when they reached the door to his bedroom.
“You are not a human; you are a halfling.” Haille opened the door and stepped aside so Draco could walk in. He went to close it and leave but Draco stopped him with a look.
“That’s not really an answer, is it? Are you saying you think I shouldn’t be guarded?”
Haille pulled his fingers through his long hair, and a frown tugged the corner of his mouth. “There is nothing to guard you from. No one will harm you here. We do not have locks on our doors because we do not fear from each other. We have a wall on our village to keep the predators and humans away. You have nothing to fear from the vesper, ever, and separating you is just confusing the fact.”
“Oh.” Draco stepped back into the room, his eyes downcast as he thought.
“What do you fear the most?” Haille followed him as he read Draco’s expression. “Our dragon forms? They are our fiercest warriors, as well as our most precious young. They make mistakes just like the rest of us. Sometimes on a grander scale as the young are apt to do. They learn, grow, and become better for it.”
Draco shook his head. He bit the side of his thumb and glanced up at him. “I’ve gotten used to them. They’re actually quite nice, even with their angry expressions.”
“But you’re still afraid,” Haille insisted with a hint of exasperated. “What can we do to put you at ease? Matten is ready to dig a moat around this building just to keep you calm.”
It was a funny visual but Draco didn’t feel like laughing. He shrugged uncomfortably, not really having an answer. “Did you go into the castle at all when you came to find me?”
“Briefly, yes. I pulled some of the weaker-willed hunters from the place.”
“It was different there, right? Different smells, different sounds, lots of people who don’t look the same as you’re used to. Maybe even frightening?”
Haille bowed his head in agreement. “The humans in the castle have dangerous magic. We avoid them because of it, and thankfully they have never sought to battle us.”
“Well, consider being back in the castle surrounded by all those different things.” Draco looked away and stared awkwardly at the floor as he tried to explain. “And you’re absolutely, unbearably aching for those strange, dangerous beings to touch you. More than touch you.”
Haille edged closer and slipped his hand into his. “I would be afraid.”
Draco bit his lip and tried to ignore the spark of energy he felt from the simple touch. “It doesn’t really matter if they seem nice because you just don’t know. They could be different than what they seem.”
“Dangerous, yes.” Haille tilted his head and studied Draco’s face intently. “Maybe exciting.”
Draco swallowed and his cheeks flushed. “A little.”
“There is a very easy solution, halfling.” Haille’s fingers traced over Draco’s knuckles and lighted on his wrist.
Draco’s breath caught in his throat. “I don’t think…”
“It is night and you are full of need. You are surrounded by your pack who needs as well. You could bond with us.” Haille’s fingers spread wide, and his palm touched down on Draco’s arm. “Each touch is a meeting, a reminder we are similar, even for all our many differences. Matten will touch me soon and I him to repair our disagreements. It is how we learn to know each other. This is how we accept and celebrate.”
Draco exhaled noisily. His body absolutely sang with want. “The touch is the frightening part.”
“Now I know I am confounded.” Haille pressed his hand to Draco’s shoulder, his fingers curled and braced lightly. “It feels good.”
“Yes.” Draco struggled to remember his train of thought. “That is the difficulty.”
“I fear you are a bit backwards, little one,” Matten teased. His free hand came up to rest on Draco’s waist.
“Oh, hell,” Draco whispered. Haille was so close he could feel his body heat radiating centimeters from his own. Draco didn’t know what would happen if his taller torso were to touch his but he suspected it would spiral into something else very quickly. “I… I don’t wish to lose myself.”
“Where exactly would you go? We all wake up together.”
“You’re mocking me,” Draco muttered, hyper-focused on the heat coming off of Haille’s body.
Haille nodded with a gentle smile. He ran his thumb ever so lightly over the hollow of Draco’s throat, who whimpered and swayed in response. “I rather you be afraid of the obvious, halfling. We have sharp teeth and terrible claws. We are covered in many wounds you must find disturbing. Instead you fear something inside you. It hurts you and I do not know how to alleviate it.”
“I’m not afraid of myself,” Draco said tightly. “Just the crazy, strong pull I keep feeling around all of you.”
Haille sighed quietly. He dipped his head and forced Draco to meet his eyes. “You are the one pulling us. Loudly. Brightly. You are very much a being in distress begging for connection. You call us and you are still afraid to connect.”
Draco went to look away but Haille’s fingers grasped his chin and pulled him back. “Even now your skin is flushed with sweat and chemical communication. You came up here to be alone. Your body needs us, little one, and you keep denying it. Starving it.” Fingertips brushed Draco’s lips. “What will you think of up here all alone? You will touch yourself and try to soothe the madness as if you have found a secret trick to stop needing others. You still need and you keep calling us.”
Draco closed his eyes as his mind whirled with so many thoughts. Was that all it was? Just communication? Connecting? Was that what his body was calling for and not the shameful, degenerate sex he saw it as?
“Leave him be,” Matten growled from the doorway. His eyes blazed as he glared at Haille. “You are making him worse, confusing him.”
Haille glanced his way and shrugged unconcernedly. “He is already confused. He ran away up here like he was slashed and clawed. He ignores his own call for comfort and want. How long will he be able to continue like this?”
“It is not your decision to make.” Matten held his hand outstretched and urged Haille away from Draco. “If that is how he wishes to be, that is his choice. We are foreign to him.”
Haille didn’t move even when Matten growled in warning. Draco watched the beautiful shifter silently, his eyes fixed on his scarred hand as Haille gently pressed to his jaw and cheek to caress. “Then let me rephrase my earlier question, Matten. How long will we be able to continue like this?”
“As long as it takes,” Matten snapped.
“His call is only getting worse, and now it is right in front of us. You are nearly overcome in the matter of a day. The other shifters have much fewer defenses against him. Some leaders have already begun to succumb.”
“We decided this as a group, Haille. Now he is here they will not change their mind, even if it is difficult.” Matten took a cautious step closer. Draco wondered for the first time if he was afraid of Haille or of him.
“They are no longer objective,” Haille said with a faint snort. “He has completely addled them. Even Zyan is swaying and he was completely against the idea of collecting a halfling. It might be better to send him back to his castle. That, or take his silly little ring and be done with this.”
“We will not!” Matten was definitely afraid of Draco. He snarled and grabbed Haille by the back of the neck and wrenched the violet eyed shifter away until they were on the opposite side of the room. “He is afraid, alone, confused. What will removing the ring do, except give him something truly to distrust, if not hate us for?”
“He has nothing to fear,” Haille growled back even though he didn’t fight Matten’s grip. “We, on the other hand, have far more to worry if something isn’t done soon.”
Matten stilled and hissed lowly. “You will not speak of it. halfling, I’m sorry for his behavior. We will leave you to your rest.”
Draco wanted to stop them from leaving and find out just what the hell was so dangerous about him being in their village. Something in Matten’s eyes gave him pause. He looked frenzied with a madness sparking deep within his pale blue depths. Draco remained where he was and watched Matten pull Haille away and shut the door soundly as they left.
Draco was unbearably hard and felt more than a little crazy as he made his way to the connecting bathroom. It was much larger than his one at school and included a clawed tub that could likely fit three silvery haired beauties if squished just right. Four, if he chose a lap to sit on. Draco shook his head with a groan as fire heated through him. He was losing himself.
He felt strangely meek while in the village, lost, and on the verge of losing control. He didn’t know if it was the constant horniness or the humming… Or maybe he was giving up on his old life and giving in to this place.
There was a mirror that reached from the floor to ceiling in length. Draco stripped his shirt off and sought out the blue pen lines scrawled over his skin. Seeing them brought comfort in a way he didn’t expected. It was grounding when he barely knew what was up and down.
Shit, Harry wrote some nasty stuff on him. He had to be alive. He had to be.
Draco slowly traced the words written on his flesh and frowned when he saw some were already fading. His sweat had smeared away the ink in some places until it was barely legible. He needed Harry desperately. It felt just as bad as that first night Harry touched him in the bathroom. He kissed and rubbed and ground against him until he was impossibly hard, built his passions until he was nothing more than an aching, trembling puddle of need, and then left him to suffer alone.
Draco groaned at the memory and quickly kicked his pants and underwear off. He needed Harry. The ‘MINE’ was still clear on Draco’s erection but he had a feeling that was going to quickly change. Draco closed his eyes, wrapped his hand around his aching cock and tried to pretend Harry was standing in the room watching him.
If he concentrated just right, Draco could almost feel heat on his neck moving over him in slow, teasing, hungry breaths. Draco raised his hand and brushed lightly over his throat and his body vibrated with desire. It was a crazed need, one he knew wouldn’t be satisfied with just a quick wank. He bit his lip at the realization. Draco braced himself on the porcelain sink, spread his legs and thought of Harry’s touch.
Other thoughts were trying to break in to Draco’s fantasy. Dangerous thoughts that involved Matten, Haille and Zyan. Even some of the others. Fine, a lot of the others. They all looked similar, sleek, powerful men eager to please him. Draco tried to push the thoughts away but it was a struggle. He loved Harry; he wanted Harry. He didn’t need anyone else.
Draco gasped under his breath as he breached his hole with a finger slick with summoned lube. He wasn’t good at being quiet but he felt like he needed to be. Hell, he felt like he was hiding from the entire village just to masturbate. It was crazy. Extra crazy after what Haille said. Hell, that parting look in Matten’s eyes. If he called him back, what would he have done? Matten wanted him; they all did. They could all be his if he just asked. Went downstairs and let them do whatever they wanted to him.
“Stop,” Draco hissed fiercely. He wasn’t some animal who just fucked whoever he pleased. He was just a ridiculously horny teenager fucking himself in the bathroom while a village of gorgeous men waited for him to come back down. Draco groaned at his stupidity and tried to think of something else.
It was difficult to remember what Harry looked like. He was missing for half a year and when Draco finally saw him again, he was wounded and odd with his skin black, form taller, and eyes wild. His hands were big, rough and strong on his flesh. His breath and skin impossibly hot. His mouth… Hell, his tongue. That obscene, rude tongue of his Harry used to lick all over his body, outside and in. He wanted Harry and his tongue right now. Potter was such a damn pervert, not like him at all.
“Fuck. Oh, god.” Draco pushed another finger inside his aching hole. He wishing it was even remotely the same girth and reach of Harry’s perfect hands. He needed it so bad. Needed Harry so bad. He better still be alive, the damn ass, because Draco had no idea how he was going to live without him. Harry practically trained Draco’s body to respond to his every touch.
There was a soft knock on the door and Draco froze, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he stared down at the faucet blankly.
“Right. Sorry to interrupt, Malfoy, but I think you have to stop. Um, or be really quick with what your doing.” Hermione sounded more concerned than embarrassed. Draco wished he felt the same way and growled internally. He was so fucking hard!
“What, Granger? What the fuck could be that important…?”
“They’re fighting,” Hermione said quickly. “The humming isn’t working. Matten says your call is too strong when you’re like this and the young, the dragons, are fighting.”
Draco did growl this time, the noise full of frustration as it echoed off the walls. Fucking vesper dragging him through the goddamn Forbidden Forest, getting him hard as fuck, and then refusing to let him have five fucking minutes to deal with it in peace. Fuck. Mother fucking whore!
“So, um, they also had a solution,” Hermione continued quieter, her embarrassment starting to win over her anxiety. “I told them you probably wouldn’t go for it but they insisted I ask.”
Draco very carefully extracted his cramped fingers from his clenching body and muttered a cleaning spell. He put his pants on, ignored his underwear for the time being, and threw the door open to glare at the annoying Gryffindor. “What?” he snarled.
Surprised by his abrupt entrance, Hermione took a step back and blinked at Draco. She covered her hand over her mouth but it didn’t stop her laughter from breaking free. Draco narrowed his eyes in warning; he was so close to slugging her, girl or not.
“Property of Harry James Potter,” Hermione read breathlessly. Her eyes widened as she continued reading down Draco’s bare torso silently.
“Fuck,” Draco snapped. He went to turn and then remembered there was much worse on his back. Harry was a total perv. Draco had no interest in sharing just what was written on his back with Hermione and was forced to glare her down. His expression promised pain if she didn’t get her shit together. “Why are you here?” he demanded angrily.
“Sorry,” Hermione apologized weakly, her eyes full of bright laughter. It took her a moment to pull herself together. “Just, um, Haille had an idea. Matten is very much against it… Shit, it just keeps going under your pants, doesn’t it? He wrote all over you.”
“For the love of… Focus, Granger!” There was a very tired part of Draco who wanted to sit down and cry about his very exhausting week.
Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing and made herself look away. She came up there for a very important reason and was blindsided to find out Harry was just so, well, possessive seemed to fit, in this case. It was a bit much to mix with her memories of her friend. Except for right before the end of school last year; Harry had shown a lot of aggressiveness then that would fit the possessive words marking Draco’s flesh.
“Haille wants to ground you,” Hermione was finally able to get out. “Your power is all over the place. I guess it’s kind of like a spell without a target. You’re constantly looping and raising power up, and the poor vesper can’t handle it.”
Draco frowned and clasped the back of his neck. “I assume ‘grounding’ isn’t as innocent as it sounds.”
Hermione grinned wryly. “Oh, I’m sure it’s not. They mentioned something about touch, but it’s all sex with these guys. Matten is dead set against it so it makes me worry even more. He’s been doing everything to protect you.”
It was true; Draco felt extra nervous if Matten didn’t agree. At some point he grew to trust the shifter, as foolish as that probably was. “Did they say what would happen if I didn’t?”
“Ah, yes. Something along the lines of shagging to death. Although, they may be exaggerating. They say you have a very strong mating call and just don’t know how to control… What? What’s wrong?” Hermione asked when Draco slumped forward with his hand covering his face.
“Mating call. It’s a fucking mating call! How did I not put that together?” Draco was doing to the vesper what Harry did to him. It was the same as that insane night when Harry convinced him with one simple touch to give him a blow job in the middle of the damn hallway. Draco thought he was going to die that night, he so overwhelmed with his need for sex. Especially when Harry ran off and left him to fend for himself. It was agony. Hours of agony and madness.
“Where are they? I need to fix this.” Draco couldn’t leave the vesper like that. He remembered all too well how terrible it felt and that was just directed at him. There was an entire village of people suffering because he didn’t know how to control himself. It was inexcusable.
“They’re outside the door, but you’re not going to do it, Malfoy. For all you know, they’re going to tell you to take your ring off and trick you into staying. You’d have to be out of your mind to…”
“Get them and get the hell out of here, Granger,” Draco snapped, his chin raised defiantly. “Go lock yourself in one of the other rooms or something. Don’t come fucking knocking at the door, that’s for damn sure.”
“Malfoy, no way! I promised Harry I’d protect you.”
Draco snarled and stepped forward until Hermione stepped back. “Potter isn’t fucking here. I can make my own goddamn decisions. I will not let these people suffer just because I’m some fucking ignorant half human who doesn’t know shit about the vesper.”
“Listen to yourself; you don’t owe them! They were going to kill Harry just to steal you away. They can call you family all they damn like, but family doesn’t do that.”
“You clearly haven’t met my father,” Draco said without a trace of humor. “I know what they’re struggling with now. If Matten told me earlier, I would’ve tried to fix it then. I didn’t come here to drive these people mad.”
Hermione didn’t look particularly impressed. “That’s their problem for dragging you out here in the first place. They went up against a castle full of wizards. They had to know there would be consequences.”
“Yes,” Draco agreed and shoved her gently by the shoulders toward the door. “They felt the fucking mating call all the way from their village and it was too powerful for them to resist. Do you get it, Granger? Not all magic can be fought. Even an intelligent, decidedly nomadic village of warriors can be lured into their enemy’s lair by one ignorant halfling. This was my fault from the very beginning and they’ve been too polite to tell me.”
Hermione clicked her mouth shut. She didn’t have a logical argument, but it didn’t mean she agreed with him. “You don’t owe them just because you were ignorant.”
“I owe them because I’m no longer ignorant,” Draco replied just as evenly. “Send them in and go away. I don’t need your help.”
Hermione hesitated for a long moment and eventually bowed her head. “Don’t forget why you’re here, Malfoy. You saved Harry; don’t forget him among your harem of injured pets.”
Hermione was out the bedroom door before Draco could respond to her dig. Two said injured pets peered at him from the doorway, each with their own version of wary on their faces. Draco huffed and tried not to feel awkward.
“Where’s Matten?” Draco asked when he saw the familiar shifter not there with Zyan and Haille.
“He is beyond controllable at the moment.” Zyan’s anxious eyes strayed to the doorway as if Matten were right outside. “I didn’t expect him to actually crack but he has. Your call is very strong.”
“I warned him,” Haille muttered, not sounding pleased. “He insisted on bearing the responsibility alone and now he is suffering for it.”
Draco felt uneasy as he shifted from foot to foot. “Is he alright? Will he be?”
“If you can shut down your call, he will be perfectly fine.” Zyan took a step toward Draco. He was looking at him like he was a wild animal instead of a very confused halfling. “Hermione told you as much, correct? That is why you have let us in?”
Draco nodded and forced himself to stand still. “I hadn’t realized. I didn’t understand what I was doing fully. I don’t know how to stop it but I want to.”
“Well, at least there is that,” Haille said while still frowning. “You are the first halfling of our generation. We were warned the call could be dangerous, but Matten thought addressing it would be too awkward for you. You are very skittish.”
Jumpy. Draco was jumpy and he damn well knew it. “What do I have to do?” The two shifters exchanged glances and Draco felt a flutter of unease.
“We will try to ground you,” Haille said, speaking carefully.
“Try? You don’t know if you can?”
“It is usually the kalistar who deals with the halflings. That has been the way.”
As Draco stared at Haille and Zyan, his expression turned pained when things started to click together once again. “That’s why you’ve avoided the halflings so long. Your kalistar is sleeping.”
“Yes.” Zyan’s dark eyes were stormy. “You were too strong; you gave us little choice in the matter. It was either collect you or lose all our children to your castle. There would have been bloodshed, war, and absolute devastation. Matten thought to tell you would be to influence you unjustly.”
It would have. Maybe not while he was still at Hogwarts, a lifetime away from the vesper, but here in their village seeing these people interact, talk and laugh, share and try to welcome him in. He would have been influenced. Draco didn’t want to hurt these people. His one life was hardly comparable to the generations growing up around him in this sheltered den.
“Matten has succumb from being too close to you. He took on the call to help shield the village,” Haille said sharply. “His need for morality has made him vulnerable along with the rest of us.”
“What’s happened to him?” Draco asked, his mouth dry.
Again the shifters exchanged looks and Draco wondered for the first time if they were communicating telepathically. Haille ran fingers through his long locks and eventually nodded as if answering a voice within. “Come with us, halfling. Perhaps if you see what you do to us, you will understand why you can’t leave here.”
Draco bit his lower lip as he hesitantly stepped forward and followed them out the room and into the hallway. They didn’t have far to go. Matten was in a room on the floor beneath his. Draco stood in the doorway while Zyan knelt feet away from his lover. The shackles on Matten’s scarred arms and legs were thick and heavy, and the dull metal clinked against the floor when the shifter snarled and jerked weakly.
“No, halfling,” Haille said when Draco went to step in the room. “Do not approach him. He can’t control himself. His mind is nothing more than a beast right now.”
Draco hesitated on the threshold and watched as Matten’s pale blue eyes locked on him. The orbs glared intensely with a spark of madness. It was familiar. Not the look. Draco never actually had a chance to see what this looked like. When he closed his eyes and felt the energy roiling around him, Draco recognized the feeling. It was the madness of Harry, aggressive, desperate, and needy. A terrible, terrible power that caressed over his skin, sparked energy and desire. It was the need to be needed.
Draco kept his eyes firmly shut and slipped into the room. His bare feet sought a path on the warm stone floor. There was a scuffle when Haille attempted to pull Draco away but Zyan caught the shifter. “You cannot touch him; the glow is blinding. You will just become as Matten is.”
“He can’t touch Matten! The halfling is still tied to that dying kalistar. If Matten’s beast wins and harms him, the kalistar will kill us all.”
“He won’t harm me,” Draco assured softly. His focus was elsewhere and he carefully pressed against the wall of coiled power Matten was surrounded by.
“You think that but you do not understand us. Matten is lost, halfling. He is nothing more than instinct, violent instinct. He has lost himself and you are not safe.”
“I appreciate your concern.” Draco took another step closer with only darkness to greet his vision. “But I’m trying to concentrate, and I need silence.” That seemed to do the trick, and the two shifters fell quiet. It left only the sound of Matten’s heavy breathing broken by guttural snarls. Draco didn’t focus on the noise. He was keyed in to the flow of hot energy even now rising up and lapping at his skin.
Draco carefully crouched when he became aware he reached Matten’s legs. He edged closer and felt his body heat. Matten’s behavior changed and his snarls stopped. Draco reached his face and a low growl brushed air across his cheek.
“Hi, Matten.” Draco smirked when all he got was a louder growl in reply. “I can feel you’re trying to stay in control and I appreciate that. But I think you can relax.” Draco inched closer and his knees scraped on the floor uncomfortably.
“halfling,” Matten growled. It was a quiet, tormented plea and Draco’s heart broke. It wasn’t right Matten was so hurt because of him.
“It’s okay, I promise. I understand what I did. I’m not sure how, but I know what it is now. You’re full of need, right Matten? Terrible, unbearable need, and it makes you feel like your soul is being torn from you.”
“Yes,” Matten hissed and jerked his head back as if afraid to be so close to Draco.
“But it’s not your need, and I’m very sorry for that,” Draco continued as tears stung the corners of his closed eyes. “When I get angry, you vesper get extra angry. When I get aroused, you all get ridiculously horny. And I didn’t realize—not really—what it might mean for this other feeling I so inconsiderately filled you with. I’ve been ignoring this emotion for a long time, Matten and I know it doesn’t mean what I did to you was right. But I just wanted you to know it’s why this happened. I was blind to it.”
“Touch,” Matten whispered even as he tried to push away.
“Yes. I’ve been very lonely and I wanted to be touched.” Draco nodded in agreement. “Potter understood. He and I are very alike in that regard. I never had to say a word to him about it, or maybe he just felt it the way you do. It’s been very loud, that small, little voice inside me.” Everything else in Draco was quiet for such a long time but somewhere deep within, where he thought he was numb and already dead, something still called. The final muffled death cries of his childhood begging for human connection. For the love his parents withheld. For touch Draco feared would collapse what little was left of him.
“I’m going to touch you, Matten,” Draco whispered. “When I do that, it’s going to be okay.”
“No,” Matten choked out. He struggled against his bonds to get away.
“I know you’re scared. I know. I’m always scared too.” Draco reached his hand up and felt over the heat of his skin until he was at Matten’s chest. Slowly, tentatively, he pressed his hand forward. His fingers flinched when he made contact. Matten stiffened under his touch, breath caught in his throat. Draco could feel the frantic, wild beating of the heart beneath his hand. It made him want to cry to know this sad, broken part within him lived a life in this man’s body for short moments and this was what its heartbeat felt like.
Draco leaned his head down and rested it to Matten’s neck and shoulder. Slowly he curled his arms around the unnaturally still man and held the strong, battle-scarred body as if Matten were a child. Even more slowly, more carefully, Matten slipped his arms around Draco and returned the hug.
Draco wasn’t sure when it changed. He found himself crying while Matten hummed ever so softly in his ear. He was pulled closer and wrapped tight as the shifter held him. Haille at some point thought Draco was safe enough to touch again, and his fingers gently stroked in his hair while he and Zyan hummed and released Matten from his chains. Draco only felt mildly embarrassed to be hugged by three complete strangers who didn’t feel remotely strange to him. The vesper felt his pain fully while Draco worked hard to block it out. They understood why he was pouring out the last lonely years of his life along with his fear his future was destined to be as bleak as his past.
It was a groundless fear. Draco had an entire village of vesper. His cold mother, vapid fiance, imprisoned father; they were gray, faded memories. Harry, who still burned bright and hot in Draco’s body, was like him. Harry would come find him when he was well enough. They would have a family, a very large family. One with scales, feathers, and glowing pale skin. Harry would just have to understand.
A little place to share your comments and questions on the fanfic, Intangible . Liked it, hated it, interested in seeing a sequel or something similar? Let me know below. I love the feedback.
He was late for breakfast and Draco was surprised to find Blaise and Pansy waiting for him. Chatting with his friends were Weasley and Granger who were sitting across at the Slytherin table. The Great Hall was nearly empty, but still, it was a bizarre sight.
“Are you two lost?” Draco sat down between his friends and stared pointedly at the Gryffindors.
“Nope, just wanted to say hi to Harry,” Ron replied cheerfully.
Draco glanced at Blaise and Pansy, who did not seem remotely surprised at the news. “And you just assume Potter’s following me around everywhere I go?”
“Duh. Given the chance, I can’t imagine he wouldn’t.”
Draco sighed. He was getting somewhat annoyed with everyone insinuating Harry had a thing for him. Then again, he was late because he ended up having to heal all the fucking bites Potter left on his neck from the night before, so maybe there was a damn point to it. “I haven’t eaten yet, and I would prefer to enjoy my breakfast without having to write at the same time.”
Hermione waved her hand airily. “No really, just to say hi. I doubt he wants to write all the time either. Oh, and to let you know Dumbledore’s specialist has arrived and is waiting down in Snape’s office when you’re done.”
“Okay.” Draco started eating, only to realize the Gryffindors were content to stay where they were, talking to Pansy about something. “Am I missing something here?”
“Just catching up on the feathers and scale thing.” Blaise grinned wickedly.
“Ah… crap.” Scowling, Draco began to shovel food into his mouth to prevent anyone from asking questions. Harry hovered behind him by his shoulder, not touching him for a change. Draco couldn’t tell if he was upset, or what. Harry hadn’t touched him the entire morning, except for a brief moment when Draco held his hand out to make sure the invisible boy was out the bedroom door.
Draco wasn’t oblivious to the relationship Pansy and Blaise had with Potter’s old tag-a-longs, but this was the first time it was blatantly flaunted in front of him. It was a bit odd, but then, so were his friends and he didn’t have an interest in losing them over something as trivial as lions.
“You told them to keep it hush about Potter, right?” Draco asked. “The wrong people could hurt him.”
“Yes, although I still don’t see how that can happen,” Ron said, looking around as if he expected to see Harry. “You’re the only one he can touch.”
“And magic,” Blaise added. “Magic can do a lot of things, even if it’s as simple as caging him and squashing him flat.”
Draco was momentarily stunned. He hadn’t even thought of that, fixated on his fear of someone taking over his body to attack Harry. Without thinking, he reached up behind him until hesitantly Harry touched his hand.
Seeing Draco’s distressed look, not to mention how pale Harry’s friends had gotten, Blaise added quickly, “If anyone could even see him to find him. He did defeat the Dark Lord, after all.”
“No, you’re right,” Draco muttered. “We should be testing him to see if he is effected by our magic.” Draco let go of his hand, only to have Harry wrap around his shoulders and lean on him. His hot breath ruffled Draco’s hair. Apparently he’d given the paw me and hover signal.
Pansy gave Draco a long glance and eventually pointed to his hair. “Bit clingy, huh?”
“Something like that.” He ignored her amused smirk and went back to eating. Granger and Weasley started talking to Harry as if he could answer back. They went over all the things that went on at school that year, what he missed, and how they kept his things in storage at the Burrow. It all blurred in Draco’s mind, especially when Harry shifted. Heat suddenly was on his neck as Harry leaned onto his shoulder for support.
“Potter, are you alright?” he asked quietly. Harry’s face was now pressed against his throat. Draco suddenly groaned and grabbed the idiot by his messy hair as Harry licked up the side of his neck. “Fucking ass! Last time I worry about you!” He shoved Harry backward and tried to ignore how his neck was tingling, his cheeks were flushed, and everyone was staring at him.
Ron burst out laughing and Hermione shook her head in a cross between amusement and reprimand. “Harry, that’s not very polite.”
Draco realized they must have seen his hair move. He covered his face with his hand as Pansy cackled in his ear. “You know, I don’t have to take this. I don’t have to help that stupid wanker, and I don’t have to hang around and let you lot make fun of me.”
“No—No one is making fun, I swear!” Ron choked out between laughs. “It’s him… laughing at him… He used to say something about… making you untidy.”
Draco scowled and moved his hand up to find Potter had ruffled his hair into a mess before being thrown back. “For fuck sake.” He combed his hair back into place, and met Blaise’s twinkling eye.
“I’m sure he’ll stop if you stop reacting to him. He seems like a five year old.”
As if to prove his point, Harry suddenly wrapped arms around Draco, pulled him back on the bench and held him tight against his chest as he whispered something into his ear he could not hear.
Draco twitched, the air very ticklish and skin very warm. He watched as Harry lifted his writing hand and held it out for a pen. Hermione was ready, quill and parchment placed before them. Draco was only just getting the suspicion whatever Potter was going to say would likely be just as bloody annoying as his current behavior, when Harry moved his hand across the paper.
Three year old. I’m very much in need of attention.
Pansy frowned and looked at Draco. “You sure you didn’t write that?”
Please, he’s pretty sure I’m just a dog humping his leg. Right Malfoy?
“Bitter and true.” Draco glared in the direction of Harry’s face.
“Oh Harry, what have you done?” Hermione asked woefully as she read the words upside down.
Well, you’re bloody wrong. And my friends will be happy to tell you.
“I don’t need your friends to tell me you’re a fucked up perv, Potter.”
Ron held the quill still before Harry could respond. “He’s in love with you and let’s leave it at that,” Ron said sternly. His eyes went to Draco’s very wide ones, then to where Harry was pressed into his hair again. “Harry, stop pestering him. He thought you were dead. We all thought it. Have some damn consideration.”
Draco wasn’t sure if he was more shocked the Weasel just said Harry was in love with him, or for berating Harry to protect him. He blinked down when Harry used his hand to write again.
Consideration? Try existing like a fucking ghost for nearly a year, all because some sick fuck didn’t have enough power to kill me.
It was Hermione’s turn. Her hands thumped flat on the table as she stood and glared at Draco’s shoulder as well. “You want a damn pity party? Think we’re going to all sit around and cry because you’re stuck and falling apart in that dimension? Not bloody likely, Harry. Buck the hell up and remember you’re coming back home. Start acting like it.”
Harry tightened around Draco, anger clear in his tense muscles. There was the echo of another spark, as if something jolted Harry around his back. Just as quickly, he was gone; Harry released Draco and stepped away. Draco grabbed the table in surprise to keep from falling backward.
“He’s pissed,” Draco muttered to no one in particular.
“He’ll get over it,” Ron said flatly. “He’s been alone for a long time and he needs to realize you’re a person, not just some fantasy. He probably thought you were dead, too.” He pushed himself up from the table and held his hand out to Hermione. “Come on. We have our whole Sunday still. You know he’ll sulk the day away.”
“Probably.” Hermione turned to Draco with an apologetic look. “Don’t let him bully you around. He’ll hate himself later for it. Whether he’s back and healthy or dies in that place.” She looked up and glanced around the room. “You know I’m right, Harry. Try and get your head on straight.”
Draco stared after their retreating backs. His eyes narrowed as he turned to his remaining friends. “Why would he think I was dead?”
Blaise looked away, but Pansy didn’t back down. “He heard us that night trying to convince you to keep living. Told them. They approached us around Christmas after he died. They didn’t want to talk to you about it but they were worried about you. We were all worried.” She stopped and stood as well. “They helped make it easier for us while we watched you fall apart. It’s been a damn difficult year.”
Draco didn’t say anything, studying his hands instead. He was barely passing his classes, barely eating, barely playing quidditch… barely living. Did he have to feel guilty for his friends’ suffering too?
Pansy didn’t leave right away. Her hand grazed Draco’s chin until he met her eye. “Not blaming you, just explaining how it’s been. We’re all very glad that you made it through.”
Draco nodded and let her kiss his forehead. “Sorry.” He pushed his plate away, not even remotely hungry anymore.
“Did you want me to come along with you?” Blaise was very still as he sat next to Draco.
Draco shook his head. He watched as Blaise got up and left the Great Hall to catch up with Pansy. “Shit. Don’t I feel like a fucking ass?”
He didn’t get an answer for a long time. Harry was off doing whatever it was he did to let off steam. Draco waited patiently. The rest of his day was going to be dedicated to figuring out how to get Harry back. He wasn’t resentful. A part of him wanted to be. A part of him wanted to want more than to spend time with Potter and try to save him. But he wasn’t. Draco was near happy he could help him, even with how annoying and frustrating things were between them.
Was that why Potter stared so much the end of last year? Harry discovered he was going to protect himself against Voldemort the only way he had available. By taking his life. For someone with a severe hero complex, Harry hadn’t said a goddamn word, or tried to do a damn thing. Draco appreciated it. It was his life, and his choice on what to do with it. That Harry loved him…
Well, that was a lot of food for thought.
Maybe Potter wasn’t a groping, pawing dog trying to get into his pants once he realized he liked guys. Maybe Harry didn’t even think he had some right to him because he killed Voldemort. Maybe he was just fucking lonely, and lost, and very much wanted to share feeling alive with another warm body. A warm body he apparently had feelings for since last year.
Harry was again across the table, Draco noticed with a start when a hand pushed into his aura of awareness. Draco slowly ran his hand over the table and stopped when his fingertips found Harry’s. “Let me know when you’re ready to go.”
Harry’s fingers brushed over his hand but Draco resolved to stay and not react angrily like he kept doing. He wasn’t angry Harry insisted on touching him, he realized. He was more angry he wouldn’t be able to have it always. Every touch was intense, hot and wild, and it made Draco jump. It was hard enough dealing with the madness it drove him towards and it would soon be taken away. Harry would be brought back and go on with his life as the savior of everything. While Draco would continue on his path of numbness with no more wild sparks to make him feel alive.
Harry’s hand stilled and rested lightly on his. With wicked impulse Draco pulled and smacked his hand over Harry’s. “How the hell did you beat snakehead with reflexes like that, hmm? I can’t even see you.”
He felt Harry’s hand twitch as he got ready to strike. Draco pulled his hand away with a smile. “Too slow—Hey!” Harry grabbed his wrist in his surprisingly strong grip and slowly pulled his hand closer.
“Don’t be a poor loser, Potter. Ah…” His lashes lowered as breath warmed his fingers. He felt words mumbled into his hand. Draco used his other hand to push the parchment and quill towards Harry but he didn’t seem interested. Lips pressed to his fingertips next. Draco took a shaky breath. His eyes flitted around the Great Hall, which was now empty of anyone else.
When Harry started to nip at one of his fingers, Draco wasn’t too concerned with being seen gasping and hand hanging in the air like a weirdo. He wondered what Harry’s expression looked like. Was it was intent on the fingers he was gently biting, or on his face to see him react. It was frustrating not to know, not to see him at all.
“Oh… oh, okay. I don’t know if…” Draco trailed off as Harry’s tongue slipped around his fingers. Two were pulled into his hot mouth and sucked down and Harry’s tongue lapped further to reach his palm. Maybe Potter was just a fucking dog trying to hump his leg every moment. Draco could feel his teeth, the brush of the roof of his mouth and then the flat of his tongue with absolutely nothing in front of him. He was torn between the damn delicious sensation and the bizarreness of it all.
Swallowing, he closed his eyes and carefully pulling his trapped finger out of Harry’s mouth. He lingered on the warm swell of flesh when he pressed into his lips. He couldn’t see the saliva but could feel it clinging to his flesh. It was such an odd thing; to be at the cusp of a window with no way to see the other side, but still, just so close. With his eyes closed it was far more real. Harry was just on the other side of his eyelids licking his hand like some perverted deviant.
That it was turning him on was more Draco’s problem than anything to do with the continued fact that Potter was totally messed up. He slowly extracted his hand from Harry’s and let it fall to the table again. When he opened his eyes, all their information revealed he was completely alone in the room. “Come on, Potter. Let’s get you fixed up already.”
Colin Jaz McVicar was the highest authority on dimensional planes and the creatures who exist and crossed between those planes. Unsurprising, the strange man was one of said beings. He existed in another realm simultaneously to the one everyone was currently inhabiting. He appeared to be in his late thirties. His white wavy hair was cut shoulder length and was stark contrast against his golden skin. He wore dark framed, narrow glasses, black lipstick and had the odd habit of nerding out in rants of information while humming obscure muggle music.
Severus, who just spent the last forty-five minutes with Jaz in his office explaining the situation, looked ready to throw him through a window. Preferably one connected to a tall tower. They were all currently standing around Snape’s desk. Harry watched from a corner while Jaz tried to explain what they needed to do next.
Harry didn’t exist with Jaz on any of the planes he was on but he didn’t doubt the man was within more than one. He could see a golden glow coming off Jaz, especially when viewed through the fifth plane where magic and Malfoy were easily recognized. Considering where the light flowed, Jaz probably had a tail and was much taller than his average height seen.
Although Harry was certain Jaz couldn’t see him, at the same time, he seemed to have Draco’s odd ability to know when he was near. His stare would point in Harry’s direction whenever he stood close enough. Harry had walked through Jaz a few times and startled the both of them from the odd sensation. Eventually Jaz insisted he stop and started babbling about energy switching while flipping through his never ending notebook.
“Now, Mr. Malfoy, you claim you have actual physical contact with Mr. Potter through the sharing of one plane. And this has been demonstrated, along with Mr. Potter’s interaction with a phoenix. Now, given that there are at least ten, and not the previously thought seven planes phoenixes dwell in, I feel focusing on Mr. Malfoy’s plane would be the fastest way to connect with Mr. Potter and then pull him back.”
“Is it that simple?” Draco asked, doubtful. “He said he ended up scattered from a huge explosion of magic and strewn across dimensions.”
Jaz nodded and riffled through his notes again. “Yes. Yes, but I have a suspicion Mr. Potter has always dwelled in at least one other plane besides ours. I know for a fact Tom Riddle, the fallen Dark Lord, did. I saw the spell first hand he used to cross the dimensions. Considering how Riddle fell and Potter didn’t suggests to me Potter may have always been in these five planes. Deeply embedded like yourself and I in our own, just never viewed from his current location… Which suggests he may be something a bit different than what we first thought… But what that could be, who is to say as long as…” Jaz looked up and met the confused expressions with his own confusion.
“You are rambling,” Severus snapped, his eyebrows knitted darkly. “Again. What must we do?”
Jaz pushed his glasses up his nose with a practiced move and tossed his notes aside on Snape’s desk. “Right. We must locate the dimension he’s in. First thing’s first. If you’re correct and he’s unraveling, specifically on the plane he shares with Mr. Malfoy, then that is the most important dimension to find. Again, it is just speculation at this point, but I believe his loss of connection with our world has ungrounded him. He’s in a limbo of sorts and although likely quite belonging where he is, without an anchor here he cannot sustain for too long. I’ve seen this actually with…”
Severus raised his hand to cut him off. “How do we find the dimension?”
Jaz waved his hand at Draco, his black talons glinting in the light. It was if he already explained it and was waiting for everyone to catch up. Confusion again flashed across his face when no one seemed to understand and Jaz went again for his notes.
Severus reached over and firmly took the book from his hands. “Mr. McVicar.”
“Jaz,” he corrected. He pushed his glasses again into place and stared up bemusedly at Severus’s stern expression.
Severus sighed in annoyance and his frown grew. “Mr. McVicar, what must we do with Draco’s help to find the dimension?”
“I will need his blood. A lot.” Jaz smiled and revealed sharp, pointed teeth. Draco shivered in response. “Also, a complete intake of his genetic history might alleviate a bit of that, depending if the dimension is already known. They’re like fingerprints, dimensions. Very similar, side by side and infinite in amount. It takes a lot to actually pin point exact ones, and even more difficult to entrench yourself once you do find it. But with the right spells, the right anchors…”
Harry stepped up to Draco while Jaz started another tangent. He placed a hand on his shoulder in show of support. Draco, naturally, threw him off. Malfoy was far less accommodating when other people were around, Harry was figuring out. He suspected it had to do with all the teasing tickling he inflicted in McGonagall’s class. Harry couldn’t feel the least bit sorry for it considering the results of said teasing afterwards.
He considered a moment and held Draco’s hand instead. Draco stiffened for a moment and then relaxed when Harry did nothing else. Maybe Ron and Hermione had something to it by not being so aggressive. It seemed stupid they didn’t think he was treating Draco like a person… but then, he couldn’t really remember how people were around each other.
Touching Draco because he could actually touch him seemed totally natural, if not obvious. That he hadn’t cared much if Draco wanted to be touched probably was a problem. Probably. He wasn’t certain Draco didn’t want to be touched no matter all his loud complaints. Actually, he was pretty certain he did and Harry was a lot of difficulty discerning the difference.
Jaz was saying something again after he finally and calmly wrested his notebook back from an irate Severus. “I understand your beast inheritance has not been awoken, Mr. Malfoy. Was that something you were considering to help in this process?”
“No,” Severus spoke up before Draco could answer. “Let him stay human.”
“Severus, I do believe you do not like what I am,” Jaz mused, looking him over as he peered up from his notes. Severus just raised an eyebrow brow, not denying or confirming. “Mr. Malfoy is no more human than myself; he just looks it. I look it, when I choose to. I’m sure Mr. Potter could be quite descriptive in just how non-human our glowing friend here is,” he said as he waved at Draco again.
“I can see some, such as the glow because my eyes and other senses are connected to my other dimension. Magic is a very visual experience there. From what I can gather, Mr. Malfoy’s sense of physical self through touch is in his dimension, along with his sense of smell and taste. Sight and hearing seem to be missing but that could change if he’s woken up. Having someone actually able to see Mr. Potter might be useful, wouldn’t you agree?”
“No,” Severus repeated. His was voice flat and left little room for discussion. “We will do without seeing Mr. Potter. Draco is not an experiment; he is someone caught up in all this. As his Head of House, it is my responsibility to make sure he is not exploited.”
“Exploited? You really don’t like me.” Jaz started flipping through his notes. He idly hummed to himself and completely ignored the glower sent his way. “Mr. Potter, do you have anything to add to our discussion, seeing as Mr. Malfoy has been spoken for?”
Harry raised his brows. No one bothered to get a quill and paper for him. “Er. You can’t hear me, can you?” he asked hesitantly. Given the silence, that was a no. He pulled at Draco’s hand when no one seemed willing to actually assist in him talking.
Draco blinked in his general direction, his brows furrowed for a moment. Harry rolled his eyes. He placed Draco’s hand to his head and nodded emphatically until he understood he wanted to talk.
“Ah, I need a quill.” Draco looked at his professor expectantly. Severus seemed relieved for something to do besides glare at the man infringing in his office. Odd to Harry, considering although a bit talkative, Jaz was fairly fun, not to mention helpful.
Draco sat at Harry’s urging and picked up a quill. Staring a moment at Draco’s bowed head, Harry bent down and wrapped an arm around his chest. He was getting used to the way Draco gasped and grew warm in response. Because Draco wanted him to touch him. Harry reached out his hand, grasped Draco’s, and stole a moment to stare at him from the side while Draco’s eyes fixed on the paper before him. Except silver quickly turned his way when Draco felt his breath so close. He really needed to stop breathing so much.
You mentioned waking Malfoy’s genetics up could help him sense more. What about me? If I’m in multiple dimensions like you think, would waking up my genetics help the situation?
Jaz hummed and notes again flipped. He sat on the side of Severus’s desk and missed the glare sent his way. “I was considering something like that, Mr. Potter, but the reality is, I can’t reach you to wake you up. Mr. Malfoy could through appropriate spells, but it would certainly require him to be woken for it, which is not an option.”
“Would it fix him?” Draco asked quietly. “I’d be willing, if it saved him.” Harry peered around so he could see his expression but Draco ducked his head.
This time Jaz held his hand up to interrupt Severus’s oncoming rant. “There is no guarantee. It’s never been done before, to my knowledge. Mr. Potter’s situation is unique because usually one does not cross dimensions unless one is made for it to begin with. Most in his situation ended up there from their own neglect in spellwork and…”
Severus cleared his throat, his long fingers tapping to keep the man from rambling again. “What would the likelihood be, Mr. McVicar, of Potter being saved by transforming?”
“Ah. I don’t honestly know.” Jaz turned and casually leaned his hip on the desk. He placed his notebook flat on the surface to page through and stopped to read a line. “We don’t know what Potter is, do we? No… Really, do we?” he asked as he blinked up at Severus.
“No. He said he is dark to see, with light cracking through his skin.”
“And that could just be signs of his poor condition, not even his actual form,” Jaz hummed. “Waking him up while still in limbo could possibly do harm. Or good. Like I said, it’s a unique case. It would be best to approach in the most known way and find the dimension.”
“So, how much blood are we talking about here?” Draco asked nervously.
“Oh, a few pints or so. Maybe more. No more than half of what you have.”
“Mr. McVicar!” Snape snarled as his hands slammed on his desk. “That would kill him!”
Still riffling through notes, Jaz didn’t bother to look up. “Severus, I have been clear. I prefer to be called Jaz.”
Harry was fairly certain Snape reached his hexing point. He’d never seen Snape attempt to bodily harm someone, but apparently Jaz was just too much for his quiet sensibilities of potions and solitude.
“I was wondering when it was going to come to this,” Jaz mused lightly. His eyes raised from his notes as Severus grabbed him by his collar. “Is it my glasses? Too hipster for you? No, you wouldn’t know that term.”
It was not helping. Severus dragged him up and pulled Jaz towards his door. “You will not drain my student of his blood.”
“The lipstick, I think. You know, I get a lot of crap for the lipstick, but it’s really just the natural color of my lips.” Severus opened the door and Jaz stared out into the hallway. He raised his white eyebrows, and his blue eyes met very black, very angry eyes. “Well? Think you have it in you?”
Harry burst out laughing. Draco sighed in dismay when Snape gave a ferocious growl and shoved Jaz toward the hall. It didn’t work. Jaz planted in place and was suddenly very tall as the potions master leaned over in attempt to push him out.
In what could only be described as graceful, Jaz fluidly spun Severus, set him in his chair, and shut the door to the classroom where he leaned against it. Transformed, he was tall and narrow with a long, cat like tail that flicked languidly against the door. Jaz studied his claws and let Snape calm down. “Mr. Malfoy, the blood would not be all at once, of course. Ideally, we would find Mr. Potter before reaching such a volume, but I do not like to mince words when it comes to the things needed to sacrifice.”
Draco didn’t reply. He was too busy staring at Severus’s confused, dazed face. Severus was holding his head in both hands while hunched forward in his chair like he was going to be sick.
“Don’t mind him. It happens from time to time. He should be okay in about fifteen minutes.” Jaz reached for his notebook once again. “The energy creatures like us give off just rattles some people. It makes them a bit irrational at times. Volatile. Likely why your Mr. Potter was always getting into so many fights.”
Harry raised his brows at that. How he remembered thing, most of those fights were with Malfoy, who was apparently another creature.
Do unwoken creatures tend to react to each other?
“Oh my, yes. It’s usually how they wake up. Bit too much energy… mix some bloodlust in there. We’re all just animals at the end of the day.”
Draco slid his gaze toward Harry, his silver eyes a bit hazy. “Always violent, or maybe sometimes just, um, lust?”
Jaz grinned wickedly, his sharp teeth again making an appearance as he flipped through pages. “I would avoid sex with another creature, if that is your concern. Many wake up that way.”
“So there might be a drive, then?” Draco gnawed on his lip and looked determinedly away from Harry’s direction.
“Mmm, most assuredly. Usually initiated by scent, sometimes blood, too.” As if he just heard himself, Jaz glanced up and met Draco’s gaze. “You may not want to be so close that you can smell him. Scent can be a rather dangerous game.”
Draco swallowed and shifted forward from Harry’s embrace. The back of his neck turned red. “But, they’re not all the same. Not everyone is going to, uh, respond, right? He might not even be anything like me.”
“Oh, he’s something. Same dimension, with intense power and strength. Tell me, would you say he’s possessive at all?”
I’m right bloody here, you know. Harry scrawled. Jaz and Draco’s eyes drifted to the page but neither bothered to address him.
“Definitely relentless,” Draco said with lashes lowered. “Entitled, like he just expects agreement. Bold, with no sense of personal boundaries at all.”
“That does sound like the type. Jealous?”
“Yes. He seems to be intent to make sure other’s know just how bloody close he can get to me.”
It’s the only way to show I’m here.
“Bullshit. You grabbed me in the Great Hall just to show them you could,” Draco snapped. “Licked me right up my neck. Who the hell does that?”
Harry glared and then shrugged. He nuzzled into Draco’s neck and fanned hot breath on his skin. “Yeah, so who the fuck cares? Not like you don’t like it.” He was fairly certain Draco fucking loved it, given the way his pulse increased and body tightened and then relaxed into him.
“It sounds like he’s chasing you,” Jaz spoke slowly, his eyes tight to where Draco’s hair was shifting. “Might be, he even thinks he’s caught you, which would explain his lack of the more competitive, aggressive behaviors. There’s no competition on his particular plane.”
“Oh, we used to fight all the goddamn time when he was visible,” Draco said shakily. He tried to throw Harry off his shoulder and failed. “Competed in quidditch to the point of a lot of bloody fist fights—Potter, I am fucking warning you,” Draco growled.
Harry just smirked and kissed his neck again. He let his teeth slide over the sensitive flesh. “Hey, you’re the one ignoring me.”
Jaz raised a brow, his notes discarded on the table. “Has he ever fought over you, not just with you?”
Draco went to shake his head and then stopped. “Once, I think.”
“Mr. Potter? Have you?” Jaz asked as he looked in Harry’s general direction.
“Oh, so now everyone cares what I think.” Anthony Holt called him a death eater in training and I beat his face in. Harry wrote out.
“I was thinking about Boyle, actually,” Draco muttered.
Ah. I could see how you might think that.
“Because he tried to kiss me…”
Shouldn’t have done it in front of me.
“It was just a fucking game,” Draco snapped.
So is quidditch and I fucking own in that too.
“You arrogant, bullheaded piece of shit…”
Jaz snorted loudly. “Well it doesn’t get much clearer than that. I would recommend some space if you’re serious about staying human. You two are a damn powder keg.”
“I’ve been trying to get space but the bloody bastard won’t give it!” Draco snarled and attempted to pull himself from Harry’s arms when both suddenly wrapped around him tight.
Harry pushed forward and trapped Draco against his chest instead of the chair back. “Maybe if you would stop moaning every time I breathe on you, I’d be more willing to give you space.” Although, even then he probably wouldn’t. He’d try pull said noises from Draco in other ways.
“I think the first thing we need to do is make you a proper pen. This,” Jaz indicated Draco’s flustered form as he tried to free himself, “Is not helping matters.”
Draco nodded quickly, then yelped as Harry bit his neck. “He can touch things that hold enough magic.”
“Maybe we could wrap you in some sort of barrier? So that he can’t… He does not seem happy about that idea, does he?” Jaz hummed as Harry began to scrawl furiously with Draco’s hand.
Are you fucking serious? I haven’t had physical contact with another human being in nearly a year and you want to—
“Malfoy!” Harry growled when Draco slammed his free hand down on the quill.
“Potter, you will compromise and acknowledge some fucking boundaries, or I’m putting a barrier up and keeping it up.”
Glaring at the very determined look in Draco’s eyes, Harry slowly relaxed his hold around his torso.
“More,” Draco insisted.
I won’t be able to write if I let go.
“Do I look like I give a fuck?”
You look like you want to be fucked, you sexy prat.
“Son of a—You are so fucking dead!” Harry realized very quickly although Draco couldn’t punch through the chair to get at him, he was more than willing to grab him by the hair and shove him to the ground.
Jaz waited patiently. He seemed unperturbed Draco was fighting an invisible force and kicking the ground ferociously. “Careful, Mr. Malfoy. He won’t fight you back and he’s already damaged.”
“It’s Potter; of course he’ll fight back,” Draco snarled.
“Not anymore. Considering your description, he’s going to be clingy, aggressive, and absolutely yielding to anything you want. Except space, because he likely can’t help himself.”
Draco stopped his vindictive kicking when he realized although Harry was blocking his feet very well, he wasn’t actually lashing back. “I thought you didn’t know what he was?” he asked, his face flushed as he sat back down.
“Still don’t. This is more identifying common behavioral traits in beasts. The same way you’re showing the common signs of pursuit through hot and cold behavior, luring attention and then pushing away…”
“Bloody am not!”
Jaz tilted his head. “And likely making things very interesting, if not confusing for our invisible friend here.”
Harry sat up and licked his bloodied hand. “Fucking knew it, Malfoy. You’re a bloody fucking tease.”
“Ridiculous. Luring… I didn’t even know he was here until yesterday!”
Harry grabbed Draco’s hand and waited for him to grudgingly pick up the quill.
Scent, remember?
Draco scowled and refused to speak.
You Want Me.
“Potter I will wake up Snape so fucking fast, you won’t even understand how strong his protection spell will be!”
Jaz looked over at Severus, who had slipped from dazed into sleep at some point during the commotion. “That can’t be good. He must be particularly sensitive. Troubling, considering all the help I’m going to need from his potion work.” He pushed his glasses back from their slipped location and went to his bag across the room. “Alright gentlemen, I think it’s time we wrap this up. Mr. Potter, I will be taking some of Mr. Malfoy’s blood and I ask you be calm about it.”
Harry glanced up from where he was watching Draco’s emotions swiftly shift across his face while he kept reading the last line left on the page. He seriously doubted he was going to flip out over Draco getting a damn needle in the arm… Harry saw the wicked blade in Jaz’s hand and without any thought, pulled Draco up over the chair backward and across the room.
“It only looks gruesome, I promise,” Jaz said lightly. “The spell does the slicing and collecting. I just enchanted a weapon so no one would confuse it for something else.”
“Potter, you’re being ridiculous,” Draco muttered but Harry could see his was pale in fear.
“If you want, you can hold him steady. But it’s not going to hurt.” With a swift, fluid motion, Jaz crossed the room and pressed the blade to Draco’s inner arm.
Harry and Draco both stared. Draco went stiff in fear but not in pain. A container in Jaz’s hand swiftly filled with dark, deoxygenated blood and the blade was removed. Draco was left to stare blankly at the small drops of red left on his arm. Harry ran his finger over the fluid as he sought the wound, only to have the blood stick to his fingertips.
“Look at that.” Jaz hummed when he could see some shape to one of Harry’s fingers as the blood wrapped around his flesh. “Hardly a longterm solution, but you could just cover him in some of your blood.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so.” Draco wasn’t about to split his veins open just so he could see Harry.
“Alright, off with you. I need to fix your grumpy professor here and get this potion going. We should have some answers within the week. Hopefully.” Jaz waved them away and his eyes again strayed to his notebook. He left blood and blade on Snape’s desk as he looked something up. Harry had to wonder how long the strange man was going to let Severus sleep before he remembered to wake him.
Alone with Harry back in his bedroom, Draco found himself uncomfortable. Although Harry didn’t make another attempt to touch him beyond his hand to show he made it in the door, Draco felt edgy and flustered. He was expecting him to at any moment.
Partly, Draco wanted to ask Harry a million damn questions, many of them concerning just what the fuck he wanted from him. But that would involve the quill and the extreme closeness. Draco didn’t think he could handle that in his current state while alone with no other people to interrupt.
He missed lunch, barely ate breakfast and was not really in the mood for dinner even though it was the right time for it. Draco decided to catch up on some homework since he was extremely behind in most of his classes. He tried for as long as he could as his eyelids grew heavy and revealed just how difficult it was for him to concentrate. He kept trying to feel Harry’s presence but he was tucked away somewhere and wasn’t making himself known.
He dozed. Draco nodded awake to a dimly lit room and a full bladder. There was a spell in place to lower the lights during sleeping hours. He stumbled around his desk, careful not to knock his books from the surface as he made his way to the bathroom. Blearily he stripped and swayed in the tiled room after he dried his hands. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to shower or just go straight to bed. He’d have to wake up early to shower in the morning and that sounded miserable too.
Hands touched his shoulders in the dim light, warm compared to the chill dungeon air on his skin. With a shiver, Draco didn’t resist when Harry pressed his hot body up against his back and held him lightly. “Thought I told you to stay out of my loo,” Draco murmured sleepily. Harry’s hands moved around his waist and with palms flat, pushed up his sides. “Oh.”
Harry bent his head against Draco’s neck, speaking something he couldn’t make out beside it being tickly. Draco’s gaze drifted down with nothing to focus on. He could feel Harry tremble behind him; his chest heaved as if he just ran and his pulse fluttered in the fingers digging in to his sides. “Potter, are you…? Oh, hell.” Draco’s eyes fluttered shut. He shifted so Harry had better access to his neck as hot, open mouthed kisses rained down.
This was very much a bad idea. Draco remembered the words Harry wrote while in Snape’s office. They were very true words, which made them dangerous. He wanted Harry. He wanted Harry to want him, take him, fill him. Right now, half asleep with Harry rubbing strong, unsteady hands over him, he couldn’t remember why it was a bad idea.
Draco arched back with a loud gasp when Harry’s hands moved up his flat stomach and chest. His hands slid down and fingers dragged wonderful friction with every inch. Harry stopped right above his boxers, his fingertips just brushing to prove if he went lower, there would be no fabric to stop him. His fingers splayed wider, Harry hands moved slightly to the sides and he palmed up his body again. His touch was slow and so heated, Draco could only moan. Fingers teased around his nipples and squeezed, fire tingling all the way down to his toes.
It was quiet. Draco’s uneven pants were broken by soft, aching cries that echoed in the dim bathroom. There was the light scrape of flesh on flesh as Harry rubbed his palms down and dared lower. Draco watched unseeing as fingers ran over the front of his hips and caressed his soft flesh stretched over hard bone. Harry moved lower to the tops of his trembling thighs. His large hands wrapped possessively as Harry stopped and again bit fingers in to indent Draco’s flesh.
“Harry.” Draco exhaled as the world spun. He could feel the unmistakable press of Harry’s erection against his ass when he bent over him. His eyes closed and Draco’s head fell back to land on the wide shoulder behind him. Soft hair tickled against his ear. Harry turned his face and kissed him slowly, deeply, until Draco couldn’t stand anymore and his knees grew weak. Harry’s hands moved to his hips again and held him up. He rubbed small circles on his flesh while Draco quaked.
“Oh god… hell. Potter, please stop. I-I can’t stop.” Harry pressed up against him and ground his hard length between his ass cheeks. Draco was certain if he just moved a small inch or so, it would be up against his hole, stretch into him, claim him. It would be, god, so good. It would be so, so fucking good. “Please… have to stop,” he moaned even as he pressed back into the delicious sensation.
A low rumble tore through Harry’s chest. Cold suddenly hit his back when Harry stepped away, his large hands holding his shoulders hard to keep Draco from falling. Draco swayed with head bowed forward and gasps shaking him.
Harry’s hands felt like steel and his breath scalding as it hit the back of his neck in harsh pants. Harry pushed him forward, step after step. Draco raised his hands to catch the cool tile before his head fell against it. “Stop,” he whispered. He closed his eyes and rested his face on the wall. His hard cock jolted from the cold feel of the tile through his fabric barrier.
Rough, forceful hands pressed to Draco’s back, moved over his shoulders and shoulder blades, grasped and massaged and rubbed into him as if trying to ingrain his touch into his muscles. Down, over his back and lower back, the curve of his spine and up his sides again, fingers dragged, and short nails scratched. “Oh, fuck… fuck, Harry.” Lower still, they grabbed Draco’s hips, fingers splayed over his ass, thumbs dug in and pressed firm as Harry cupped his cheeks and pushed him forward. “Oh, god. Please.”
The hand found his thighs, grabbed the thick, tense muscles and spread them wide. Harry kicked Draco’s feet as the side of a hand pressed against his crack and pushed in and brushed his hole. Draco jerked forward into the cool tile and cried out. His entire body was tense as Harry turned his hand and touched fingertips ever so lightly against his tight entrance. Draco sobbed from the soft touch. Sweat dripped down his face and he spread his legs wider in anticipation.
Harry roughly turned him, pushed him back against the tile and kissed him hard and demanding. Draco did everything he could to not beg for more, to not turn and bend and beg Harry to finish what he started. Instead he threw his arms around his neck and clung on the best he could while Harry kissed and nipped down his throat, his hot breath exploding in fast bursts. Harry’s hands moved over his sides possessively, his hips rubbing his hard burning cock into Draco’s. Draco spread again and lifted his knee up the side of Harry’s strong thigh. Harry grabbed his leg, pulled it up higher with a wrench and ground against Draco’s tight body. Shakily, he pushed away.
Harry was gone. His body heat and presence disappeared and left Draco cold and confused. Trembling, Draco moaned. His legs were unable to stand and he slipped down the wall onto the floor in a heap.
“Damn it… fucking damn it.” His head bowed down, Draco gaped. Sweat dripped down his face and his body was so fucking tight and aching he didn’t know how he wasn’t on fire. Just char left on the floor. He buried his face in his hands, felt the saliva drip down his chin. He followed with his hands, over his jaw, down his throat with hard, dragging fingers as he groaned. “Fuck!”
Fucking Potter. God, how the fuck was he supposed to ever touch that mean bitch after this? Bear a child with her? Fuck. A turkey baster had a better fucking chance.
Draco’s hands were on his thighs and through his boxers before he even realized it. One moved down to grasp his painfully hard dick and the other pushed fingers and roughly probed into the heat inside his aching hole. He didn’t care he was loud. His moans echoed as he bucked on the floor and wished it could be Harry fucking him instead of his narrow fingers.
He came with something near a scream. His head slammed back against the tile, body tingled, blood roared in his ears as red flashed behind his eyes.
He was so fucked. So impossibly begging for it, on his knees, fucked. God damn fucking Potter for ruining his fucking life.
Draco didn’t say a word when he woke up. He dragged himself from bed, collected his school things and got ready for class. He ignored Harry at the door by holding it open long enough but without reaching his hand out to make sure he followed. He didn’t acknowledge him in the Great Hall no matter how curious glances Blaise and Pansy cast. It was a full table and it wasn’t safe to talk about him anyways.
Harry was relieved. He almost stayed behind in the room. To see Malfoy was to want him every fucking moment. Harry had fought with himself repeatedly while Draco slept. He went so far as to hide in the bathroom so he wouldn’t be constantly faced with his beautiful, sleep filled face and long, pale limbs… hard, tight torso…
He couldn’t remember wanting anything so badly in his life than to touch Draco Malfoy. It was insane to think he once thought he could sit back and look and just breathe hot air. He once stood mere feet away while Draco shoved fingers deep inside, cried his release with his name on his lips and he hadn’t taken him. Pure madness.
He hadn’t planned on touching him last night. He was just checking up on him. Draco looked so tired when he stumbled into the bathroom, he just wanted to make sure he didn’t fall asleep. Draco was just standing there, staring at the shower with his slender, nearly nude body shivering in the cool air. All Harry could think about was the first time he saw him shower. It played out vividly in his mind until he was left shaking, staring at Draco and needing.
The dangerous feeling was all around him when he slipped hands on Draco’s bare back. Draco’s sleepy sigh only made it worse. He was going to need to find somewhere else to stay at night. He nearly had him twice. Twice he could have been buried deep inside him that very night. Fuck, even a third when Draco’s cries rang out as he masturbated. Harry forced himself to stay in the bedroom to keep from taking what he so readily wanted. He almost went back in. He knew if he did, Draco’s wouldn’t have resisted and he wouldn’t have been able to stop.
It was the worst part, what stole the last of his damn restraint. He felt Draco give in and it broke something inside him. His self control crumbled when Draco pushed back and tried to get his unstretched hole against Harry’s hard cock while at the very same fucking time begged him to stop. Harry wanted to scream. He had screamed in the bedroom when he finally gained some control. When he finally pried his hands from the gorgeous guy who fucking wanted him, needed him, and still refused to have him. After Harry shouted and yelled the unfairness of it all into the ether and Draco went to bed, he hid in the bathroom. He jerked off where he wouldn’t have a sleeping Draco to look at and imagine covering with his hot, claiming fluids like a deranged pervert.
He never thought he was a pervert until Draco Malfoy. He never wanted to dirty someone so thoroughly until he saw the immaculate prat. After watching Draco fight his own very human needs for a lie of breeding and family, Harry wanted to do fucking terrible, degenerate things. A part of Harry hoped if he soiled him dark and deep enough, it would make Malfoy realize there was no going back.
The beast inheritance would let him do exactly that. He could wake up Draco’s beast with enough filthy, dirty sex until he was nothing more than a panting, begging animal. That version of Malfoy would never choose a fake marriage over him. No, he would bend to him whenever he wanted, stay at his heel, under his thumb, and ride his cock whenever he demanded it. Fuck, and he would demand it.
A shift happened in Harry as he paced the Great Hall. His thoughts grew darker and his body and energy changed to reflect his very needy, possessive thoughts. He felt strong again even with the bursts of energy warning him he wasn’t stable. He felt like he was facing down Voldemort again and he was powerful and unmatched against his enemy. But it wasn’t an enemy, it was Draco. It wasn’t fighting but fucking his body was consumed with.
Harry wasn’t certain if he did fuck Draco the feeling would disappear this time.
Draco got up from the breakfast table to go to class. Harry hung back and followed far behind. He waited outside the classroom door. He didn’t want to see Malfoy, didn’t want to be tempted with his glowing pallor and crystal clear gaze that looked right through him. Harry knew he couldn’t stop himself. The same way he couldn’t stop himself from kissing Draco the other night, he couldn’t stop now. And this time he wanted far more than kisses.
Draco was called to Dumbledore’s office after a tasteless lunch. His morning was a blur of slow, mundane classes and wild, tilting thoughts of sex, Potter and his farce of a future. Almost as if his state of mind beckoned her, Narcissa Malfoy was waiting for him, elegant and stiff in Dumbledore’s office.
His mother was not alone. Snape, Jaz McVicar and Dumbledore stood across from her like they were facing off in a duel Draco interrupted with his presence. With sinking dread, he realized she must know about Potter. Otherwise why include the men working on the solution? He could be wrong and he made sure to not make any movements which could attract Harry to his side. Although he hadn’t spoken with Harry all morning, he was certain he was still there, even though he could not scent or sense him at the moment.
“Hello, Mother. Is everything all right?” Draco asked blandly as he stepped into the room and watched all eyes turn to him. His head of house was looking murderous, Dumbledore’s twinkle was lost from his eyes and Jaz was showing his teeth. The sharp fangs peek out in quiet threat to the woman before them. Narcissa was still, her face a perfect mask of docility and properness. It was very much her battle mask and Draco braced himself.
“I’ve arranged for you to come home, Draco,” Narcissa said softly, her hands stiff before her. “I have hired a tutor to help you with the NEWT finals and catch you up with the rest of your classes. It’s all been organized. We’re just in need of you and your things.”
“I see.” Draco stepped further into the room and walked up to his mother. In a practiced move, they embraced briefly; Narcissa managed to be hugged without actual contact. It was a skill Draco never quite learned or wanted for himself. “Mother, may I ask why you feel such drastic measures are needed? I’m only months away from the end of my school term.”
Narcissa pulled away and glanced at the men on the other side of the room. “It’s come to my attention your grades have been slipping. I am concerned, Draco. Your wedding is coming up and I want you to be focused.”
Draco could sense the lie and decided to unwind it. “Mother, removing me from school would only make things more difficult right now. I have goals here and connections to forge for my career at the Ministry. Skipping out on my graduation will undermine that, as I’m sure you’re aware. I cannot accept leaving early. I can always retake the NEWTs at a later time, if needed.”
Narcissa’s eyes flashed, a small crack in her well worn mask. Lucius being away had made her tired, troubled. Her own short time in prison didn’t do well for her either. “Draco, I will not allow you to participate in what is happening here.”
“I don’t see how you can think to stop me.” Draco stepped around her and joined his teachers on the other side of his mother. “I’ll do as I please in this.”
“You are jeopardizing everything,” she said louder as she turned to face the four of them. “For—for that boy. It will be safe at home and without such distractions. You don’t want to be known as the one who saved him.”
Draco raised a brow, inwardly shocked she would be so outright. “Mother, that is exactly what I want. Nothing has been jeopardized. I will marry Miss Vellamorn in a few weeks time. I will return home from school after graduating. When I join the Ministry to start my apprenticeship, I will be known as the man who helped bring Harry Potter back.”
“Madness, Draco!”
“No, Mother. Madness would be to try and stop me. Or would you prefer I rot in jail with father. You would be left alone to run a failing household with no male heir and no political power. You cannot remarry unless Father is dead, and who would have you with our name so disgraced?” He squared his shoulders and let his anger reach his voice to match her flashing eyes. “Voldemort lost. He will never rise again. You picked the losing side and I did not. You won’t sway me now, the same as you could not sway me when the Dark Lord still lived.”
Narcissa put a hand to her face, a lace handkerchief in her grasp to appear to dab dry eyes. Slowly, she gave a small curtsy, assenting to Draco’s stance. “My son, I am in need of you and your strong will even more with your father away. Forgive me for assuming you would have need of my counsel when still you are strong in your beliefs. I have a gift for you to help keep our name pure as you pursue this endeavor. If you will accept?”
Draco was suspicious. He didn’t expect his mother to cave so readily. It could be because of their audience, Dumbledore specifically. Or Mother was even more tired than she first let on. Azkaban might have drained the fight out of her. He approached warily, and watched as Narcissa took out a small box.
“What is it? Jewelry?”
Narcissa nodded and opened the box to reveal a silver ring. “Your father’s ring. We didn’t think you would need it, Draco. You showed no signs of the spoiled blood. This will contain the beast and keep it from awakening.”
Draco reached for the silver circle; a feathered dragon stared back at him. “Then father has one as well? Still asleep?”
Narcissa lowered her head and took a moment to speak. “The ring kept him from disgracing his name, as it has for all the Malfoy heirs. He will not be returning from that place. Better now to be a beast, than a man among beasts.”
Draco glared, his anger rising at her words. “You have both disgraced us far more than any beast could. I’ll wear it because that is what I must do. Not because I fear to be known for what I am.”
“I know that well of you. Thank you, my son, for ensuring the name and safety of your family even now.” Narcissa reached her hand forward and Draco kissed it stiffly. His mother refused to meet his eye.
This would have gone much differently if Potter was dead and Voldemort alive. His father would have come to him to chain his beast and there would be no question who was the disgrace. It was a gamble to choose Potter, one not made out of cunning and plotting, but desperate, foolish hope a life without Voldemort could one day exist. No one, not even Draco, actually thought it to ever be possible. It didn’t mean he was above exploiting it now.
“It was good to see you, Mother. I expect you before next month to finalize the rest of the wedding plans.”
“Yes, Draco. Very little is left and Serene is enraptured in anticipation. She will be relieved to know you wear the ring.”
Draco sighed inwardly and slipped the bloody thing on. It didn’t seem to hold much magic but now on his finger he could feel the power of it stealing his senses away. All of a sudden Snape was there. His hands held Draco’s shoulders to keep him upright.
Narcissa held her hand up soothingly. “It was the same with your father, and with his. The sensation passes and then it is as if it never was. I will see you shortly, Draco. I hope to see an improvement in your focus.”
Draco ignored her departure and scowled as the world continued to spin around him. He tore the ring from his finger and threw it to the ground. “Pureblood nonsense,” he muttered angrily. He turned unsteadily to his silent companions. “She knew everything, not just the blood inheritance. How has Potter’s condition gotten out?”
Dumbledore stepped to his desk. He summoned tea and chairs, the closest of which Draco dizzily sank into. “I have to assume it was a breach off the floo network. It was the only transport of questionable information and we’ve been having problems with it lately. It makes the most sense. That your mother has connections to whoever is spying is concerning.”
“Oh, you think?” Draco continued to scowl as he took the offered tea. He nearly scalded himself as he drank it down. Jaz was holding the ring he threw and was studying it carefully. “I will eventually need that. If you wish to look it over you may.”
“I would. This has been crafted specifically for your family’s beast inheritance. This, with your blood, could pinpoint exactly what we need.”
Draco shook his head wearily. Of course it could. Of course his mother would give him a chain to bind his power instead of using it as a gift to save.
“Mr. Malfoy, I would ask that you reconsider this plan of yours,” Severus drawled cautiously, pulling Draco from his thoughts.
“Plan?”
“The wedding. There is some truth to what your mother has said. You lack focus. Your grades are failing, as is your health. Postponing until after school has ended would be more than understanding given the situation.”
Draco waved his hand dismissively. “It’s a ceremony, that’s all. A day away and then back to school. I haven’t had to lift a finger, never mind spare it a thought.”
“Yes, but a day away while you hold the key to Mr. Potter’s safe return could be far more insidious than first thought. If you are kidnapped or ensnared to hurt Mr. Potter while outside the safety of the school’s wards, there can be little to stop it.”
Draco paused and placed his empty tea cup and saucer down onto Dumbledore’s desk. He stood. “I’ll consider it. Hopefully he’ll be back before then and it won’t be an issue.”
“Mr. Malfoy, before you go. I’d like to experiment with the ring, if you would be so willing?” Draco pursed his lips and stared warily at the ring in Jaz’s hand. He eventually nodded.
“I will need Mr. Potter’s insight as well.” Jaz turned to his right and faced the corner of the office. “I want to see how it effects the beast on the dimension it dwells on.”
Draco nostril’s flared in warning but he took the quill handed to him. He was in a fighting mood since facing his mother down and wasn’t sure being close to Harry was the best idea. Especially after last night’s heated encounter and now Harry knew his wedding was so soon. Draco sat back down in his chair with hand poised over the parchment Dumbledore unfurled.
Harry didn’t approach him or, if he did, not close enough for Draco to sense. Draco kept his gaze lowered with his brow’s furrowed. He would be damned before he actually called Harry over in invitation.
“Mr. Potter, I just need to know what you saw when he placed the ring on. That’s all.” Jaz looked toward the center of the room, then exchanged glances with Severus and Dumbledore.
“Harry, are you feeling well?” Dumbledore called, concern clear in his expression.
Draco felt him then. Harry hovered at the edge of his awareness, hot energy curling toward him. Harry’s scent was different… heady and dark. It was full of lust and power and still, very much him. Dizzy… so hot and dizzy…
Draco shot to his feet and turned to sit on Dumbledore’s desk to give himself space. “The ring. Now,” he gasped. Jaz tossed it to him. Draco placed it on immediately after he caught it and the world spun again. It was a relief even as nausea threatened from the rocking tilting of it all.
“What’s happened?” Dumbledore asked as he steadied Draco from behind.
Draco couldn’t answer immediately as he tried to gain his bearings. “I think… No, I’m certain. He’s transformed.”
There was a collective sharp intake of breath in the room. Harry was not only intangible, but he was also no longer fully human. Jaz broke the silence. “His awakening hasn’t repaired the problem. That theory is out. Mr. Potter, I would ask you give Mr. Malfoy and I space to study the ring. We don’t want to trigger the same state in Mr. Malfoy. Can you agree to that?”
Again Draco felt Harry hover at the edge of his awareness. Draco hesitantly reached his hand out and brushed fingertips to Harry’s. The spark of contact was intense. Draco’s eyes widened from the feel of power and heat and reacted. A shiver started in the pit of his stomach and traveled simultaneously to his head and toes to fill Draco with heat and addle his senses even more.
“This… this is going to be a problem,” Draco whispered roughly. He pulled his hand away and stared at it unseeing. He forced himself back to reality with a shake of his head. He grabbed the quill and turned to the desk so Harry could write out a response to Jaz. The moment he did, his senses warned how dangerous it was to turn his back to Harry in that moment with his scent hot around him.
Harry didn’t touch his back. His body heat was extremely close but didn’t connect. Strong fingers wrapped around Draco’s hand. Draco couldn’t stop the way he gasped from the touch. Harry wrote with quick, jerking movements.
I will stay outside the room, all rooms, from now on.
“Potter, is your magic working again?” Draco asked. He tried to ignore the confusing disappointment in his stomach to know Harry would no longer be lurking in his room watching him.
Yes. It’s changed. I’m relearning it.
“I can feel it now,” Draco murmured. The energy was so enticing and powerful around him. “I can feel how you destroyed Voldemort.”
Harry’s free hand pressed to the back of his neck. He wrapped long fingers and gripped firmly. Breath puffed over his cheek and drew Draco’s eyes. This time when he felt Harry’s stare, it was as if a predator was looking back. He knew green eyes were drinking him in, waiting for him to slip and signal the end of the hunt.
“Shit.” Draco closed his eyes but it was no good. The unsettling feeling grew in the vulnerable darkness behind his eyelids.
Are there anymore questions? Harry wrote. Draco felt the tremor in the hand holding his.
“Quickly,” Draco rasped when Jaz hummed thoughtfully over Harry’s magic returning.
“I want to know how the ring has affected Mr. Malfoy’s creature on its plane. Just to ensure it’s not harming him.”
I’ll look.
Harry pulled away. Draco slumped and sat in the seat again with a heavy sigh. It was a long time before Harry returned. Draco wondered if he saw something terrible or maybe Harry couldn’t bear to be so close to him. Draco wasn’t sure how long he could be near Harry like this.
At his approach, Draco poised the quill again. Harry was swift to grab his hand. This time he pushed forward and pressed his wide shoulders to Draco’s back. His head hovered at the crook of his sensitive neck and Harry shakily breathed fire over him.
Draco didn’t bother looking at the words scratched out messily. He was fixated on every hot spot where his body touched Harry’s. He liked his new scent, a lot. He liked the way Harry’s energy was licking at him and trembling over his skin in hot caresses. He very much liked the way Harry kept shaking, as if at any moment he would lose it, his self control would break and he’d just have to take him. Draco didn’t know what it was like to be wanted in such a way but he was finding he really enjoyed it.
Harry’s hand stopped writing and started to move up his arm. His palm contoured to his form, fingers dragged heavily up to his forearm, bicep, shoulder, and then landed again on the back of his neck. Harry continued to hover. He pushed his body away from Draco’s but left his hand. His fingers kneading into the muscles of his neck while Draco read.
The ring has changed his color. The glow is weaker like his magic in that form is bound and has no outlet. He doesn’t look ill. No wounds or physical deformities. Just quieter. He’s still solid to me, and he seems to sense me just as well. Whatever the ring does, it’s happening on the other dimensions and is keeping his glow from reaching through the other planes.
“You’re right,” Jaz said as he blinked at Draco. “It’s cut his glow from my eyes. Interesting… I would like to test the ring right away.”
“I, uh, have class still,” Draco pointed out. Harry’s hand slipped down. It kneaded at his shoulders and broke up the tension there, only to replace it with a fiery tension of a different kind.
“Would you permit me to borrow it until this evening, when I can then return it?”
Draco bit his lip and glanced in Harry’s direction. In understanding, Harry pulled away and his presence disappeared from Draco’s senses. “Alright. For now.” Draco pulled the ring from his finger. He blinked repeatedly as the world roared back into focus. It didn’t seem different once he got used to the dizziness. Without the ring, everything was somehow a bit brighter, color more vibrant, smells and sensations more intense.
Harry had spent the entire morning not touching him. Draco was fairly certain he could go the rest of the day the same way.
Draco enjoyed a good two hours with Jaz after his classes where they studied the ring and Jaz asked questions about his beast. Later, he joined him for dinner. Severus stopped in from time to time to discuss the blood-based potion they were working on and ate as well.
The two men were comforting personalities after seeing his mother. Snape was a long time quiet protector once Draco realized the professor’s loyalty to Dumbledore. Severus offered support to see Draco safe when he refused the dark mark last year. When his parents were jailed and the Ministry was tearing through Malfoy Manor, Draco couldn’t even think of a place to turn. Severus contacted the Zabinis who opened up their home to Draco and gave him a decent summer.
Jaz was different, more distracted and less known. But he was easy to talk to about the fucking mess who was sitting outside the door waiting for him. The specialist showed no embarrassment or even misgiving in any of it, as if the wild, hot need roiling off of Potter was everyday as breathing.
He acted as if the way Draco felt maddened and out of control at the slightest scent of it was to be expected and accepted. Hell, Draco was pretty sure Jaz thought it was a desirable thing to have in one’s life to feel crazed at even the the though of a particularly hot body—no matter it wasn’t in the conventional shape Draco grew up being told to expect these feeling to manifest for. Magic was in a lot of ways a great anomaly and yet he readily accepted it into his life. He could only hope this too may one day be accepted.
Draco hesitated at first when Severus walked through again to ask another question of Jaz. Jaz was still talking quite blatantly about how natural it was for him to react to Potter’s animalistic energy. Severus didn’t seem disturbed or repulsed by it. He didn’t even seem surprised. He went so far as to fluidly add something into the conversation before he disappeared again. Draco thought maybe, just maybe Snape wouldn’t think he was a terrible person for being gay and wanting to be fucked by Potter beyond any reasonable restraint.
“I don’t know how to break it to you, Draco. The feeling isn’t going to go away.” Jaz hummed softly as he sipped his cocoa. “It’s not something you can just wrangle into a ball, lock away inside and ignore. The mating urge is designed in magical creatures so it can’t be ignored. They’re so rare, the only way they have existed so long is to ensure their survival through companionship and mating.”
Draco wrinkled his nose as a rather terrible thought came to mind. “It’s not mating, Jaz. Not like breeding. We’re both males. It’s sex, if anything.”
Jaz quirked a brow behind his dark frames. “No, but you are still a magical animal. I’m one and when the mating urge hits with someone compatible, its not just sex. It’s companionship. It’s the want to raise a family and to strengthen in the community to protect your territory. How your family may come to be will vary, either through breeding, adoption or magical manipulation of DNA, but the underlying base urges are still there. You might not notice them right now, seeing as you’re focused on some very hot, overwhelming feeling whenever around him, but believe me, it is there driving things beneath the surface.”
Draco shrugged at the notion and scowled down at the table. “I don’t even want that with the one my mother picked for me. I’m pretty damn terrified I’ll raise a magical child and having him or her turn out to be like my parents or my many deranged relatives. Let’s face it, I have no experience for loving someone. I barely had it for myself. A child would just suffer around someone like me.”
“That is some heavy shit, kid.” Jaz tapped his nails lightly on the table. “I think you’re just a bit too deep in your situation to see things clearly. I don’t know you well, but I know you’re not that. You’re still in your selfish years like most kids your age, yet you keep sacrificing for others every chance you get. You’re not so fucked you need to worry about becoming that empty thing who claimed to be your mother.”
“But she is my mother. That deranged, manipulative, self-serving woman would rather I follow my father into a jail cell than let me be happy and do what I feel is right. She’s my flesh and blood. What chance do I have to be a decent human being?” Draco sipped at his hot chocolate and watched the melted marshmallow foam float in soothing patterns.
“You can’t blame the boy, McVicar,” Severus muttered. He smoothly took a seat next to Draco with a fresh cup of tea steaming in hand. The potion was in the next stage and needed little attention for a good seven hours still. “You were muggleborn. You likely had a completely different experience since you’re also part magical creature. The Malfoys and every pureblood out there shame anyone with the traits even though their ancestors sought to mate with the creatures to begin with to gain the amazing power they bestowed. The lines are damn twisted and full of the deranged, power-hungry and plain soulless. It’s almost as if somehow feeling was just bred out.”
Jaz shrugged. He didn’t have much experience with purebloods beyond the few who pretended to not be when they sought his help. “Is this a first hand thing, Severus? Do you deny children because of your family history as well? I have a feeling all you purebloods are going to die out pretty damn soon.”
“No, my reasons are a bit more complicated.” Severus tilted his head a moment. “Reasons which may change now the Dark Lord is dead. I have less fear of needing to protect a child of my own, never mind so many of the children in this castle.”
“And would these potential offspring be of your genetic making?” Jaz pressed as his eyes flickered to Severus’s dark form.
Severus raised his cup and blew lightly on his tea. He blatantly ignored the question of his sexuality. “I am concerned my nonhuman genetics might end with me, if that is what you’re asking.”
“I knew it.” Jaz smiled lazily and stretched his arms on the table. He looked like a cat intently staring at prey.
Draco blinked up at his professor. “So you’re like me?”
Severus nodded and met his eyes. “Not on the same level. Not the same creature or intensity. But yes, I have some traits in my blood. The Snapes have a sordid history of the beasts, one difficult to hide. It was what allowed me to fight the dark mark and His influence on me all those many years. Also why I have some sensitivity…” He trailed off and glanced to the content looking white-haired man before them.
“Sensitivity,” Jaz echoed. His dark lips split into a vicious grin as he ran his eyes down and then up Severus.
“McVicar here clearly has little care of propriety. He was raised by muggles and is practically an outcast anyways,” Severus continued, his eyes narrowed on the annoying man. “He can get away with being who he is. He’s made a name for himself in his field, not to mention a pretty knut or two and doesn’t have to keep up appearances. Potter will be okay in that department as well, if we can get him back alive.”
Severus turned his gaze to Draco, who was trying not to smile at Jaz’s blatant interest. He was pretty sure the strange man just really liked to irritate his head of house. “For you, Draco, well, things will be different. Your parents and your name are already shamed after Voldemort’s fall. Even if you could separate yourself from their failure by helping restore Potter, it’s difficult to say it would be enough to keep you from being completely outcast from society if it were revealed you’re a beast.”
Draco frowned silently. He wasn’t sure if he really gave a crap anymore. He was young still and the ring prevented him from having to worry about his beast waking up and tarnishing the Malfoy name any further. It didn’t help a small, wicked voice inside insisted on pointing out just how life could be if he were just a beast.
A beast wouldn’t give in to expectations. He wouldn’t fucking care about his family name and the need to redeem it after his parents soaked it in blood and hate. He could pursue whatever life he wanted. He could even have a life with Potter as long as he was around, seen or unseen depending on the circumstances. And as a beast, maybe his eyes and ears would wake up. Maybe he’d see and hear Potter so every fucking delicious touch wasn’t unseen…
Wouldn’t that be a surprise? One day he might just find Harry, touch him, tease and taunt him until he couldn’t hold back anymore and he’d take him.
Heated thoughts swirled in his head. Draco watched Jaz stretch and his tongue slowly licked over his sharp teeth as he stared his scowling potions professor down. Could he ever be like that? So fucking confident not only in his inner beast and power but also in what his body so readily wanted every time around Harry?
Draco sighed and rested his head on his hands. Harry might be dead in weeks. Waking the beast up only to spend a lifetime as an outcast would probably be less fun alone.
He wasn’t a beast, he was a boy. One who gave in to pressure and only held his ground on the few really important things that mattered. His life as his own… for some reason it wasn’t one of the important things. Maybe because he couldn’t envision wanting anything for himself. He spent months ready to die instead of joining Voldemort. During that time he might have given away his will to live.
Draco had enough for the night. The ring wasn’t need for testing at the moment, and he slipped it back on. He sat still and let his stomach lurch around his dinner until he grew used to it.
“Thank you for dinner, Sirs. And for helping me to understand some things.” Draco stood unsteadily and gripped the chair as dizziness swayed him. It didn’t seem to want to let up, the blackness edged his vision, but he pushed through. Eventually the ring would relent. He nodded to the two men before he left.
Draco shut the door behind him. His eyes scanned the hallway for Harry even though he knew he wouldn’t make himself known. If just the touch of Harry’s energy had such an effect on him even while he was wearing the ring, what did seeing him do to Harry? He might never know. He might never get to see Harry and his reactions. He might never know his reactions to seeing Harry.
He was still really dizzy. Draco slowed his walk back to his room and leaned his hand on the wall.
It was the first time he tried to walk so soon after putting the ring on and Draco was quickly realizing it was a bad idea. Darkness tickled at his vision and his balance was off. It was a weird sensation where he didn’t notice until halfway through a step and felt confident. He kept lurching drunkenly as a result.
Draco licked his lips. He could feel Harry. He was hovering like he wanted to help him stand but was holding back. Draco was managing awkwardly on his own.
“It’s just the ring, Potter. I put it on right before I left and I’m dizzy,” Draco assured quietly as he tried with difficulty to keep his eyes open. He could feel Harry’s energy licking at him. His scent surrounded him and threatened to overwhelm even without Harry touching him. Draco took another step and nearly smacked his head into the wall when he slipped. Harry firmly grabbed him by the back of his neck. His large hand clamped down and fingers curved tight. He held Draco up steady in the simple, hot touch.
Draco swallowed hard. He couldn’t walk; his legs felt weak from his touch even when Harry was holding him upright. “I know you’re trying to help,” he whispered. His lips parted to release sharp pants of air. His chest heaved and heart pounded in his ears as Harry continued to hold him level. Harry was using such careless, perfect strength. It made him feel defenseless, breathless. Sparks of danger shot through him all the way down to his toes just thinking about it.
“Potter, I really need you to let me go.” Draco’s knees gave way at the admission of just how far gone he was from just a touch. He grabbed the wall but didn’t need to. Harry’s hold was firm. He compensated indiscernibly so Draco was exactly how he was moment ago even though his legs no longer supported him.
“My god, you are powerful,” Draco moaned. He wasn’t sure just when that became such an appealing trait to him but it absolutely was.
Harry’s breath touched his face and burned hot against his mouth. He knew he couldn’t see him but Draco opened his eyes. He wanted Harry to see him. He wanted those predatory eyes to see everything he did to him just by holding his neck.
“Is this why you’ve been avoiding me?” Draco’s voice was barely a rasp. “You knew one fucking touch from your hand could completely devastate me?”
The fingers tightened on his neck. Draco moaned, low and keening, as Harry’s flat tongue licked up the side of his mouth and found and tasted the saliva already dripping from him. Harry’s touch made him salivate, made his knees break, his body burn. He made him so unbearably hard. Made him ache inside at the mere thought of Harry taking him. Harry licked him again, slow, rough from chin to the top of his gasping lips. His tongue dipped inside and found Draco’s. Harry covered his lips and stroked inside to thoroughly taste him.
“God… Holy fuck.” Harry’s hand forcefully lowered him down to his knees. Draco’s face slid down Harry’s hot body. He ran his tongue out and flicked to taste his chest, navel, fuck and then fuck…! Short, wiry hair brushed his lips and Harry’s hard, hot length bobbed against Draco’s chin and jaw as he was pushed down further.
Draco couldn’t stop the noise as it tore through him; it was something loud, needy and fucking desperate for everything he was certain was about to happen as he knelt in the damn hallway with his mouth hanging wide open, and looking for all the world like he was alone.
Fuck, Potter could soak him in cum and no one would fucking know.
Harry scent was a warm, heavy musk. His pubic hair was rough, damp as Draco nosed lower, his mouth wide and tongue rubbing hot trails everywhere he could reach. He could feel Harry’s dick twitch under his breath. He opened his eyes and lapped his tongue out, soaking with his saliva so he could fucking see what he was going to be choking on. “Shit. Holy shit.”
Draco panted roughly as he followed Harry’s thick cock up with his tongue, smoothed over hot flesh and spread as much of his fluid as he could. He stared in growing, awful wonder at just how big his cock was. “Holy fuck, you’re huge.”
Either Harry was shy about how incredibly hung he was, or Draco was too irresistible with his tongue hanging out while he gaped wide mouth at the sight. The pressure on his neck increased moments before his lips parted to Harry’s dick when he shoved inside. Draco whimpered, opened wide, his tongue flattened and then pressed up to meet the thick column of flesh. Harry’s hand on his nape held him in place as he stroked deep inside. Draco reached out and grabbed his thighs to clutch to the damp flesh and tight muscle as he gave in completely.
His cock dominated his mouth. It stole his breath and his senses until Draco was a mess of heat and craze want. He tried not to choke as his tip ground against the back of his throat with every long stroke. Draco’s eyes were slit open, fixed on what he could see. He was nearly cross-eyed as he watched his saliva coat and reveal Harry’s dick as it slowly thrust in and out of his mouth with shallow pumps.
It was his first time sucking cock. Draco was probably missing some of the experience since Harry was forcing his head to stay still. The feel of his mammoth size split his lips wide and made his jaw sore. The real intensity was in how Harry was taking him. God, he didn’t even fucking ask. Didn’t even fucking kiss him properly. He just licked him like an indecent animal, pushed him to his knees and started fucking his mouth. He was so overcome, so turned on, he was going to come, probably before Harry. There was just something maddening how things went from tripping down the school hall to on his knees sucking huge, invisible cock.
Draco’s brow furrowed, a groan stuck in his throat when he realized Harry was already there. His cock swelled in his mouth and the underside of his thick shaft pulsed on his tongue. He gasped when Harry suddenly pulled out, and quickly shut his eyes to keep from being blinded. He moaned as hot streams of cum hit his face, cheeks, nose and forehead. Harry rubbed his dick all over him, obscenely smearing the fluid into his skin, slicking it around his face. Draco couldn’t stop his cries, his moans sounded again and again around Harry’s cock and sticky cum. He was moments from fainting, or cumming, or bending over and begging Harry to fuck him. God, if he didn’t die from lust first.
Draco was hauled up on unsteady feet. Harry pushed him back against the stone wall, crushed him with his body, and ground him in place. He licked up the side of Draco’s face, tasting his cum, cock, spit and sweat with one long swipe. Harry was saying something against his skin. Draco couldn’t hear but he had a feeling it was dirty and wrong and sexy as all fuck.
Oh, it was definitely fucking dirty. Harry’s free hand reached between then, he grabbed Draco’s straining cock and wrapped his fingers around his shaft. “Oh god, fuck. Fuck, not out here.” Draco moaned and his head fell back. “Not where anyone can… oh fuck.” Harry kissed him. His damn tongue choked his protests as the perverted fuck jerked him off. Draco’s clothing revealed nothing except how hard he was, his tented pants shifting with each stroke to his dick. Draco bucked, his body impossibly taut. He came against Harry’s hard, strong body which ground him back roughly against the wall.
“Fuck… holy fuck.” Draco couldn’t stop whimpering. His body was on fire, his hole ached, and somehow he was fucking hornier after his orgasm than before. “Stop, Potter. Oh fuck, come on… No more.” Draco groaned as the beast turned him and pushed him face up against the wall. He felt Harry kneel behind him. A cry spilled from his lips when he felt Harry’s tongue boldly lick up his ass crack. How he could know he was aching there… Draco groaned and rocked back. Fuck, was he aching there because Harry wanted him to be?
He’d believe anything at this point. It was so easy to believe his body was nothing more than a puppet to the beastly Potter. There was no soft touch this time, no suspenseful tease and then sudden absence. Harry grabbed his hips hard and drove his hot tongue into his tight hole while Draco bit his hand to keep from shouting. Harry tongued him wildly, pushed at the sides of his hole, teased and thrust, pushed and sucked until Draco didn’t know who he was anymore. Harry didn’t stop until he was satisfied with his new width and deep taste. Draco was left quivering, gasping, a whimpering creature of want and need sobbing on the wall where anyone could happen to walk by and see.
Harry finally relented. He stood and grabbed Draco by the chin. Draco moaned as his face was turned and Harry shoved two fingers into his mouth. He slicked them wet, Draco able to see where his saliva dripped down. Draco watched, eyelids heavy, when the fingers moved behind him. He turned his upper body to watch, Harry’s breath hot on his neck. A wet stain appeared on Draco’s trousers where Harry’s fingers passed right through and the material collected the spit. Harry probed between his cheeks and slid fingers deep into his hole.
Draco shouted and bucked forward from the feel of Harry plunging roughly into him. He was pushed forward by the force, his head knocking against the wall. Harry licked up his throat in long frantic swipe. He bit, Draco yelping as sharp teeth sank into his neck. Draco was lost, his moans growing with every thrust of Harry’s fingers. He spread his legs wider, clutching the wall as he pushed back against Harry’s solid form. He knew what was coming next and needed it so bad. Harry’s fingers withdrew from his sore hole, leaving him unbearably empty. Draco exhaled unsteadily. It was okay. Now there was room for Harry’s huge dick to fuck him and take him just like he needed.
Harry’s strong hand once again gripped his neck. Draco gasped as the world spun. His sneakers scuffed the floor as Harry dragged him down the hall toward his room. The door opened in front of him and Draco was pushed forward. Harry’s presence remained on the other side of the door when it slammed shut behind him. Draco fell to the ground.
When the room finally stopped spinning, Draco wrenched at his pants, tore his fly open and pulled the material off his heated skin. He kicked his underwear off. He pushed up to his shaking hands and knees. Sweat dripped down his face he barely felt as he lined two of his fingers behind him. His lashes fluttered shut as he plunged in and began to desperately fuck his hole.
“Fucking… Fucking need you, Harry. My god… I need you to finish what you started.” He was completely overcome. Tears and sweat streamed down his face to mix with the cum Harry left there. Draco begged between his moans while he roughly rode his fingers. “Fuck me, Potter. Come on… Fuck. What a fucking dick. Put it in me… and fuck me.”
Draco grunted hoarsely and his eyes rolled back when he came. His dick streamed cum on his floor. The feel of his fingers inside his tight channel was all he needed, he was that far gone.
His orgasm left him spinning and before he realized it, he was breaking down. He wasn’t even sure why he was breaking down, just he was so full of impossible need. He was absolutely aching, every inch of him needed Harry, and he couldn’t find any relief. He knew it wouldn’t relent until he went to him. He needed Harry to fuck him. He need to go to him, spread, and be fucked or this ache would never fucking stop.
With that thought in his mind, he wiped the cooling seed from his face, unseen but easily felt. Back on his knees, Draco thrust Harry’s cum into his hole. He pushed it in deep even as he moaned with just how lost and depraved he was to be doing something so messed up. He needed it too much and couldn’t stop. He ran fingers hastily over his face to collect any fluid he may have missed, and shoved his fingers in deep again.
Four days ago he’d never even touched his ass and was still confused on just how much he might really like guys. Now? Fuck, now he was forcing cum up there just to coll the insane ache inside begging to be filled with cock. He was so fucked.
Draco collapsed on the floor, panting, two fingers twisted deep inside his passage. He gasped for air and tried to calm his burning body and racing mind. He could see his other hand where the ring was still in place, determined to remind him he wasn’t a beast. No, he was just a really fucked up guy in absolute, unbearably need. A need which was slowly calming as Harry’s scented faded.
Harry’s cum all over his face hadn’t helped the madness. Now he wasn’t breathing it in so thickly, Draco started to come back to himself. Understanding dawned and he untangled his shaking body and pushed to his feet. He stumbled to the shower in the hopes if he washed the scent away, the ache would stop.
It was working. Slowly, so fucking slowly, Draco stopped throbbing for sex as whatever chemicals Harry produced to drive him wild were washed down the drain.
Fuck. Fuck, except the cum still inside him.
Draco swallowed hard. He leaned against the shower tile, spread his legs wide, and ran wet fingers around his sore hole. He massaged in and slid soap slick fingers in and out to clean Harry’s cum out. It felt so good with the soap to make things move much easier. They got deeper like this with no resistance.
He wasn’t cleaning himself anymore, Draco realized after tight, sweaty minutes of his slick fingers slapping in his aching hole. He was definitely fucking himself again. With a moan, he added a third digit slick with soap. He loved how it stung when he twisted the mess of fingers, the way he stretched to take it. They didn’t reach far but they were thick and he needed thick so bad right now.
Fuck, even without the scent. Fuck… fuck…
Draco squeezed his eyes shut, his body tense, channel clenched tight around his fingers moments before he came all over the slippery tile. He looked down at his pearly cum dripping down the wall as he gasped for air. It wasn’t normal. Three fucking orgasms within half an hour wasn’t right.
“Fuck, Harry. What have you done to me?”
Harry needed to leave. There was no other option besides staying and taking what he wanted from Draco. Once Harry threw Draco in his room, he started walking and kept going. He jumped out the nearest window, stepped out into the night and walked away from the castle.
While he walked, he yelled. He roared first into the hallways and then to the night sky. “I was fine—fucking fine! I sat hours in that hallway, fucking fine! My god, what the fuck is wrong with me! How does he fuck me up like this!”
One look was all it took. Draco had stepped out Snape’s door, his eyes fixed on the floor, fingers gripped lightly to the door handle as he pulled it shut. Harry watched, unable to look away, even with Draco’s glow dim and his beast confined by the ring. Moments later Draco looked up, straight ahead, his silver eyes fixed right where Harry was resting across the door. Draco’s expression was open and completely unguarded for one short, frozen moment.
It was the look of prey. Just feet away and completely blind to the peril before him, Draco slipped out the door like he didn’t know he was waiting for him. Something hot shuddered through Harry, dangerous. It flared when Draco stumbled and struggled to walk, and had to lean against the wall just to move. Weak prey so easy to chase. So oblivious…
Harry found himself stalking forward. He followed and watched while Draco wavered down corridors. He pressed into Draco’s space just so he could know he was there, sense him, fear like he was supposed to. But Draco wasn’t afraid. He tried to be reassuring like it was concern to bring Harry behind him inching closer, breathe deep of his scent and wait for him to slip.
With just one hand to pin him, Draco finally—finally—understood what strength was before him. His felt Draco’s heart race, the way sweat dripped down his chin, his crystal eyes so wide. Harry drank it in and was nearly lost. His pretty, pale Draco was so eager, so wanton and easy. All Harry had to do was take him, have him and nothing would ever come between them again. Not Narcissa and fiancees, not meddling professors and specialists. Not even jewelry or barrier magic or fucking doors or clothes. Nothing would keep Draco from him after that.
Except, when he bit Draco in his initial quest to taste the blood of his very soon to be mate the flavor was wrong. Draco’s blood was bland, nearly unappetizing, and hardly tasted like him. It was the ring. He remembered Draco’s blood tasted perfectly delicious just the other day when he tasted off his arm.
Harry’s confusion by the lack of connection was enough to pull him from his haze, and let him hide Draco away.
“Fuck, will it matter? I could just go back. Take the fucking ring off of him. It’s not like he’d fight me… Stop. Stop thinking like that! Bad. That’s fucking bad, shit thoughts!”
Harry crouched and touched the soft ground with nothing to slam his fists into. “Not a toy. He is not a toy. He’s a fucking full human being with god damn thoughts and emotions and the right to choose things. I need to stop this fucking thing inside of me who doesn’t care.”
His power bubbled up and roared around him as it frothed in wrathful waves. Harry looked up and watched the bright, dark energy lick the air, jolting with his anger and need. That was the problem, wasn’t it? All those god damn perfectly good reasons for not touching Draco Malfoy did not take into consideration the one intense, undeniable, aching need he had to touch him.
He needed Draco.
Harry took a deep breath and then another, and slowly his body began to relax. Somehow naming it calmed the rage inside. Not the need—that still burned like an inferno—but he didn’t have to rage against himself and the world over it. As long as he could identify and accept he needed Draco and not act on it, perhaps he could continue on. He was already existing without so many things he once thought he needed; air, food, water, sleep, conversation, affection. Hell, some things he’d gone without for much longer than people were meant to, such as love from a family and parents, security from deranged murderous wizards, companionship with someone who truly understood him.
Touch. How long truly had he gone without touching another human being? There were the rare quick embrace from Hermione or a Weasley spaced far between. Before Hogwarts was just his parents. No Dursley had a touch for him besides a punishing one. He survived without these things.
Touching Draco was the only life spark he ever felt and his body kept seeking it out. Even when his mind fought to keep some sort of propriety. He knew he could still survive even without fulfilling this new need.
As if his body was in disagreement, power sparked painfully through Harry’s chest. It was so intense, it was like being stabbed. He clutched his chest and gasped in pain. His eyes fell on movement in the trees up ahead at the edge of the forest.
It was glowing and white, like Draco. But it wasn’t him, not human at all. Sleek and sinewy, it looked like some sort of cross between a deer and a dragon. Its scaled body was dotted with feathers, legs elegant but not as long as an actual deer. The ends were tipped with claws instead of hooves. It was almost dog-like but not quite that either, its body longer. It had a serpentine tail and feathered head. When it noticed Harry staring back, it revealed sharp, deadly teeth and growled menacingly.
Something in him bristled up and Harry growled back. The sound was low, angry and spoke of how much fucking bigger and meaner he was. At the noise, the creature backed away and disappeared into the forest.
It had to be what Malfoy spoke of. Creatures who lived in the Forbidden Forest only he could sense but couldn’t see. Dangerous creatures who could hurt Harry while in his condition and could hurt Draco anytime they pleased. Draco would be blind to them until they were right upon him.
He stared out into the dark for the next hour and waited to see if the thing would return. It didn’t. Harry couldn’t leave, not with creatures like that around as a possible threat to Draco. He would have to find a way to control himself. If not, he’d avoid Draco completely. Maybe… maybe the barrier was the right thing after all.
Harry turned back to the castle and walked slowly and with intent. Was he so weak he couldn’t protect Draco from himself? He was staying to protect him from potential threats when Harry was certainly the most dangerous thing with access to Draco. He would have to figure out something, a resistance to the need. Things couldn’t continue like this.
Draco was nearly asleep as he waited for Harry. He sat sideways in the open doorway of his room, his quill and parchment spilled out on the ground in the hallway. Sleep called but was elusive. His body was still a goddamn mess of want and his brain was quickly spiraling toward mad.
Harry remained sitting across the hall from Draco. He hadn’t moved since Draco stood in his doorway hours too early for breakfast in rumpled school clothes and with hair in disarray. He found if he stared at his bare feet peeking out from the bottom of his jeans, and tapped them on the stone floor to remind him to pay attention, he wasn’t overwhelmed by the urge to run across the hall and molest Malfoy. It was more a need to take a leisurely walk before fucking him senseless. It seemed some sort of improvement after all these hours.
“Damn it, Potter. Fucking talk to me,” Draco growled wearily. He’d been sitting there a good twenty minutes now. As much as Harry pretended not to be there, Draco could tell how his invisible aura was much stronger than before. Harry’s power flickered and disturbed the magic in the area.
“What, exactly, am I supposed to say to you, Malfoy?” Harry growled right back even though Draco couldn’t hear him. “I’m sorry? I don’t even fucking know if I’m sorry. And if I am sorry, I’m not sure for which part. Is it what I couldn’t seem to stop, or what I didn’t get to fucking finish.”
“I need your goddamn help. Please, just fucking try. Please.” Draco sighed dejectedly, his head lowered to meet his hands. “Just talk to me.”
“I can’t, you stupid prat!” Harry yelled in frustration. “I can’t fucking touch you. Didn’t you used to be smart? I’m pretty sure Hermione said you were competing with her for top scores last year. How are you so fucking dumb?”
Somehow, Harry’s one sided argument was only pissing Draco off more. “I know you’re there, you pain in the ass. I can feel your fucking power. Potter, get over here. I’m not afraid of you, so get the fuck over here!”
Harry moved from his sitting position into a crouch. He kept his eyes on the ground, determined to look anywhere but at Draco. “You ever think I might be afraid, you idiot? There is something fucked in my head right not. You fuck me up, Malfoy. Shit… it’s really good. Really fucking good.” He carefully raised his gaze when Draco huffed loudly.
“I can wait just as long as you can. Where the fuck are you going to go, Potter? Who the fuck are you going to talk to? Just… Just come over here, okay? Take my hand and stop being a child about all this.” Draco held his hand out in Harry’s direction. His gray eyes peeked out at the seemingly empty corridor. “Come on,” he called softly and wiggled his fingers in invitation.
It was the damn stupidest thing ever for the situation, but Harry couldn’t help and slowly sidle over to Draco. He reached his hand out and carefully brushed his fingers to the pale, outstretched ones before him. Draco felt the soft touch. He suddenly wrapped his hand around Harry’s and pulled sharply. Harry’s eyes went wide and he swore loudly when he lost his balance and crashed into Draco’s prone form. “Fuck! Malfoy!”
“Caught you, you stupid ass.” Draco used his free hand to figure out the tangle of invisible limbs before him. He found a messy pile of hair, released Harry’s hand and pulled him up by his head. “Do I strike you as the forgiving type, Potter?” He asked silkily while wrenching Harry’s thick locks hard.
“You’re out of your fucking mind. Shit!” Harry gasped when Draco pulled his harder. If he was trying to hurt him, he was fucking failing. Harry was pretty sure he never experienced anything quite so amazing as Draco hissing in his ear while he twisted fistfuls of his hair.
“Do you even understand how you left me? I went through hours of torment just because you ran away.” Draco found Harry’s mouth, his warm breath puffing over his face. “It was fucking rude of you. Do you understand, Potter. I do the teasing in this relationship, not you.” Draco closed his eyes and moved to the source of Harry’s gasping breaths and kissed him soundly.
Certain Draco had lost his mind, Harry kissed him back. He groaned when Draco insisted on wrenching his hair whenever he put too much force into the kiss.
“I needed you, you ass. Fucking needed you,” Draco whispered between hot kisses. He held Harry in place the best he could when Harry grabbed him by the waist and pulled him closer. “The ache… Harry, it’s going to kill me. Even now…”
“Sorry. Really sorry, Draco.” Harry was full of need for him but he hadn’t expected Draco to need him back just as much. The idea made him hot, fire roaring inside of him. Hell, maybe Draco even more than needed him. He was shaking so much just from his touch. “Fuck… fuck, tell me you feel it too,” Harry demanded against his lips. He pulled from the kiss so he could lick and bite down Draco’s neck. “Need you to fucking need me…”
Draco moaned as Harry’s mouth moved over his skin. He twisted Harry’s hair again and pulled his face back up. “Keep your hands above my waist and that fucking tongue off of me, you perv,” Draco insisted heatedly. He kissed Harry again, deep and hungrily. Draco was either very compelling, or Harry really liked it when the annoying prat told him to do things. Harry obeyed and moved his hands up from where he was squeezing Draco’s firm ass, and refrained from licking him in all the lubricious ways he really wanted to.
When Draco was satisfied he was behaving enough, he released Harry’s hair. He leaned back on the ground and grabbed quill and paper. With his feet, he pushed into his bedroom, hampered slightly when Harry crawled up his body and continued to kiss him. “Slowly. Gotta talk to you.”
“Later,” Harry grumbled. He bit at Draco’s bottom lip; his teeth clamped and then released while Draco whimpered.
Draco refused to be deterred. He grabbed Harry by the hair and pulled hard until he stilled his movements. “I fire called Jaz. He said you’re confused. Out of control, like me.” Draco kicked at the door to his room and managed to shut it once Harry moved his legs out of the way. “Said… said I could fix it.”
Harry closed his eyes and thought of all the many ways Draco could fix the ache burning through him. It made him burn hotter, the need pulse ever stronger. Harry slid a hand down Draco’s thigh. He massaged the tense muscle and dragged fingers up.
Draco growled and grabbed the straying hand and placed it back at his waist. “Focus, Potter. I need to tell you what I want. And then you… you need to give it to me.” Draco smiled wickedly. His head fell back on the floor and he peered up through heavy lidded eyes and loose strands of hair.
He licked his lips, his gaze focused on where he could feel Harry’s breath puff against his shoulder. “As long as I don’t ask for, god, for that fucking delicious thing you were doing to me in the hallway—which is why your tongue really needs to stay in your mouth,” Draco said shakily. “As long as we keep tame, but with you still fulfilling my needs, Jaz thinks it will satisfy the mating drive.”
Harry grasped Draco’s hand and pulled it to the discarded quill. Once Draco picked it up, Harry scrawled out just how flawed the plan was.
I already know what you want. What you need.
Draco raised himself up onto his arm to read. “Fuck, I’m pretty sure you’re an arrogant sod who doesn’t know shit. So you better start listening to what I say,” he said sternly. “Right now I want you to kiss me and keep your hands at a fucking respectable level. Got it?”
Harry stared at Draco’s flashing silver eyes and swollen pink lips. He slipped his vision into the fifth dimension so he could see the pretty feather and shiny scales on Draco’s bare flesh. He loved the variations of hues on his bright skin, glowing and otherworldly. He really wanted to kiss him. If he could prove just how good a kiss could be, he might convince Draco to stay with him. Hell, he might convince him he wanted so much more.
Yeah, he could do that. He’d kiss Draco until he begged for more.
Draco felt the shit almost immediately when the ache in his body changed to reflect Harry’s intent. Jaz called Harry a master when it came to the mating call. He was able to manipulate his chosen into just about anything by amplifying the ache associate with mating. During courting, the aggressor would look for challenges and respond to what he perceived his mate’s needs were to make sure he fed them properly. Since Harry had caught him in the shower, he must have become fixated on just how much Draco would enjoy anal sex. To remain intact, Draco needed to get Harry to focus on something else.
At the moment Draco no longer felt the unbearable ache to be filled by Harry. Instead now he just felt an impossible need to be kissed by him. It was still overwhelming but at least it could be remedied much easier and didn’t involve him bending and begging for Harry to fuck him.
“Come on, Potter. Fucking kiss me… fuck, please. Get over here.” Draco closed his eyes a moment. Well, he wasn’t bending at least; begging seemed just a little beyond his control at the moment. He pulled Harry’s hair and growled when Harry insisted on hovering. His hot breath was lined with Draco’s mouth but he refused to descend and cross the distance. “Oh, you just love to draw this out, don’t you?” Draco murmured and tilted his head invitingly. “What happens when you give me what I want?”
“Then I fucking own you.” Harry ran fingers through his hair and gently twisted the silky strands. He flicked his tongue out and lapped over Draco’s lips. Draco moaned and tried to get closer, but Harry held him still. “I already do, Malfoy. You’re mine. You just need to figure it out still.”
“Come on,” Draco whispered. His breath caught when Harry slowly pressed his lips to his. He opened readily, his lips parting to Harry’s questing tongue which me met with his own. A shudder took Draco’s entire body and he fell back flat on the floor. Harry kissed him deeply, slowly, his lips sliding hot over his. Draco’s head felt too heavy to lift. “Stop,” he moaned. He arched, his body grinding against Harry’s. His hard flesh felt too hot to touch everywhere they met.
Harry kissed his cheek and let Draco breathe and pant, and make all the desperate noises he liked. “I can make you come like this, beautiful. I can make you scream like this, beg like this. All I have to do is ask and you’ll give me that stupid fucking ring and be mine.” His mouth plundered Draco’s again, swallowing down his gasps. Draco whimpered hungrily. His fingers grasped at the back of Harry’s neck and pulled him closer.
Harry slid his hands down Draco’s sides. He reached down his long legs and pulled them up so he was settled between his raised knees where scales were even larger on Draco’s bright skin. “You want me. You want to be mine, Draco. Even before when I didn’t have enough sense to tell, you were begging for me. You lured me in with your fucked up, erratic behavior and then cut me to pieces with that cruel tongue of yours.” He licked up Draco’s chin, then plunged into his moaning mouth to taste him thoroughly.
“Harry… I think. Oh, fuck. I’m gonna…” Draco shuddered and his hips bucked up against Harry’s body. Harry continued to lick and suck his swollen lips while Draco rocked against him and rode out his orgasm.
Draco moaned weakly with his eyes squeezed shut as he realized what happened. Just a kiss. A kiss had got him off. “Oh, fuck.”
“Fucking told you, you bloody tease,” Harry rasped out. He bit Draco’s lower lip and held it between his teeth. Draco jerked and groaned as teeth broke his skin blood filled their senses.
“Yes… fuck, I could have you right now and you wouldn’t fight me.” To prove his point, Harry grabbed Draco by the thighs and spread his legs wider so he could press his throbbing erection against his entrance. Draco cried out, his fingers digging into Harry’s shoulders. “You lured me over here just to do it to you, Malfoy. You held your hand out so I’d come back and fuck you. All you have to do is admit it, beautiful.”
“Oh god… oh fuck… Get your hands above my waist, you fucking opportunistic pervert,” Draco growled out. His protests were lost with the way he rocked his hips down and rubbed against the searing flesh pressed against his hole.
Harry chuckled. With one hand he grasped Draco’s narrow waist, and with the other, twisted his nipple. He rocked his hips forward with a groan. His lips sealed to Draco’s and muffled the rude swears being cursed at him.
“Potter, you sick fuck… stop,” Draco growled. His eyes closed when Harry rubbed his cock against him, this time with enough force his entrance yielded ever so slightly to the pressure. “Oh fuck, that’s good. So fucking good… I’m going to fucking kill you,” he mumbled heatedly.
“You want it, you gorgeous prat.” He bit Draco’s ear, then licked to the soft flesh right below. His thumb rubbed over Draco’s other nipple he was twisting a fetching shade of red. “Beg me, and I might stop. Fuck, beg me and I’ll fuck you so hard, Draco. I’ll give you everything your body needs.” He bit Draco’s bottom lip again and licked the blood beading there.
Draco’s entire body was trembling with want. He reached up and grabbed two fistfuls of Harry’s hair. With a twist, he pulled himself up and pushed Harry down so he wasn’t moments from being fucked senseless. “You will fucking kiss me and that’s it. If you don’t fucking listen to me, you don’t get to fucking kiss me!”
Draco lost his train of thought with a moan when Harry’s mouth pressed to his tender nipple. His hot tongue flicked out, tickling and tormenting all at once. “Damn it.” Draco shook himself and tightened his hold on Harry’s hair. He twisted until Harry’s mouth stopped its torture. “Listen and fucking do as I say!”
Harry moaned shakily. Something about Draco being so forceful and commanding made him dizzy. “Alright, you fucking pain in the ass. Fine. Kiss, fine.”
Draco sighed in relief when Harry kissed him once again and soothed the fiery ache that built whenever he wasn’t being kissed. Between the long, delicious wrestling of tongues and nibbling of lips, Draco tugged and Harry’s hair and demanded softly until Harry found some sort of control in his mating call. Eventually, he was able to extinguish the madness burning between them.
“Oh, thank god,” Draco panted as the intense ache finally left him. He grabbed Harry more forcefully and pushed his larger form off of him. He grabbed the quill, which was now bent and leaking black ink on the ground, and the crumpled piece of parchment. “How do you feel? Better? Saner?” Draco pulled at Harry’s hand until he responded.
Yes. I still want to fuck you, but just in a normal way. Not a deranged, dying if I don’t way.
Draco nodded and pushed his blond hair from his face. “Alright… okay. We can make this work, Harry. All I have to do…”
Harry interrupted him by gripping Draco’s hand tight as he wrote. No, we can’t. The beast is too powerful and I can’t depend on you to stop it. And I can’t seem to stop myself.
“Fuck you,” Draco snapped. “Get some fucking self control and stop making shit difficult.”
I’m trying but it’s too hard. I need to stay away from you.
“What, and take away the one fucking amazing thing in my life right now? Fuck you, Harry. No! It’s just fucking sex and there’s no reason to go running for the hills every time you want me.”
It is not just sex, you gorgeous idiot. It is me making you mine. Stealing that stupid ring, fucking you, biting you and keeping you. Harry stopped and glared at Draco while he read. Fuck. And stop moaning like that. This is not going to work. I can’t keep holding back.
Draco’s eyes were hazy and his lips parted to pant. He didn’t answer right away. “But I miss you. All day today. Yesterday when you practically ignored me. And now, now you’re not even in the same room but hiding outside the door.”
Harry pressed his palm to the side of Draco’s glowing face. Draco leaned in and let his eyes close. He kissed him softly, then pulled back to write. It will only feel worse when I die.
Draco scowled, his eyebrows furrowed in sorrow. “You fucking ass, you’re not going to die. We’re going to figure this out.”
It’s getting worse. My heart stopped earlier. I can’t have you just to leave you. I won’t do that to you. The best I can do is avoid spending
“No!” Draco hissed. He smacked his free hand over the quill and ink sprayed everywhere. He pulled his hand from Harry’s grasp and with clear intent, pulled the silver dragon ring off his finger. “I don’t fucking care if you’ve given up. I haven’t. I fucking refuse. It was months of you being lost and suddenly you find me when you need the most help. I’m not fucking playing, Harry. I’m going to right you and get you back, no matter what.”
Harry licked his lips and watched Draco’s eyes flash in a familiar, enticing way. “You’re being irrational, you stupid prat. Fucking crazy and throwing your life away for someone already dead.”
“I know how this works now.” Draco eyes were downcast as he stared at the ring. “All I have to do is tell you what I want. Pull your hair or pinch your side. It just takes a little pain mixed with a command. You won’t be able to stop yourself.”
“You’re fucking out of your mind.” Harry groaned and got to his knees to escape the crazy idiot. “I’m dying. You can’t fucking compel me to live. All mating will do is fucking hurt you when I die.”
“Get over here, Potter.” Draco held his hand out. “It’ll be quick. Fuck, it’ll be good, too.”
Harry glowered. It was a threat, even if Draco didn’t understand. He wouldn’t do something that would hurt him in the long run. Harry’s power rose up. “I won’t do it, Malfoy. You can’t make me; I’m not that weak yet.” His magical aura flooded the room, whipped papers around and Draco’s hair into his face. Harry surged forward and grabbed the magic imbued ring and placed it on Draco’s finger. He kissed him once, and lingered, staring into the sadness Draco did nothing to hide.
It would hurt more if he stayed. He knew it. They both knew it.
Harry whirled. He used his power to open the door and refused to look back when he shut it behind him. This was the only way.
Draco stared at the closed door. A numbness settled over him without Harry’s hot presence to keep him feeling alive. “Fuck.”
It was clearly the wrong move given Potter was once again running. “Damn it.” Draco sighed heavily and buried his head into his hands. He just kept fucking it up.
Without the damn insufferable mating ache, he found something underneath, something empty and yawning inside of Draco beyond anything he ever felt. It was a hidden pain no longer hidden, now exposed and raw and fucking terrible as he bled inside.
Was it hope? Was it what was left of those flashes of potential growing inside when he heard Voldemort died trying to kill Harry? Was it that fucking pathetic, childish dream of when he came back to school Harry would be there with nothing left to separate them, now torn to shreds after months of him being dead? God, he was such an idiot.
Draco groaned and curled up on the floor. He stared blindly at the pattern of stone blocks as he waited for the hour to tick by when it would be time to go to breakfast and class. He didn’t want to be alone anymore. He didn’t want to marry Serene, raise a family of monsters and once again be surrounded by people and still be so fucking alone. He wanted Harry. He wanted to fight and kiss, and maybe one day fuck as long as he felt so amazingly alive with the one he missed.
This feeling now, without Harry, was certainly more dead than the morning Draco woke many months ago. He was determined that day, full of anger and pride for a life still his. But Lucius caught him. Draco was nude, blade in hand, blood already flowing scarlet across his skin and to the floor.
There was understanding in his father’s eyes with his anger and Draco wondered now if he knew because of the beast chained inside. Lucius didn’t try to convince him to take the dark mark. He offered a solution to keep him alive. Draco still didn’t fully know why he took it, except… except he failed. So many months of planning and he failed in his one chance to own his life. And maybe being reborn as some family puppet wouldn’t be so terrible, as long as he wasn’t Voldemort’s puppet.
“What can you do if you’re dead?” Lucius asked when he twisted the blade out of Draco’s hand. He grabbed his arm and pulled him up to stand. Draco bled out around the healing spells struggling to keep up with his spraying wounds.
In that moment, Draco was certain the answer was ‘live.’ Now it was clear all he could have done once dead. He just wasn’t alive anymore. It was backwards and crazy, but Draco knew being dead would be more alive than how he spent the last of his life since after that moment when he sliced his arteries with determined precision.
Draco got up shakily and stared at the ring once again on his finger. If Harry was so afraid of him becoming a beast, then he would have to leave it on. Harry might never touch him again otherwise.
He went to the bathroom to clean himself off. He tried not to look like he stayed up all night unbearably horny wondering if he was going to die without relief. For those moments he felt alive, when he feared he was going to die. Draco got his school things together, then cleaned up the mess of ink and threw out the parchment on the floor.
He stopped at the door, leaned his head against the wood and breathed deeply. He made a fist, stepped back and punched the door as hard as he could. Draco grimaced from the pain, his knuckles bleeding and sore. He took another deep breath. When he punched the door again, a laugh exploded out with his gasp of pain.
Better. It was better.
Jaz had two new instruments waiting for them when Draco and Harry returned a week later. The potion master was off doing other things. Harry begrudgingly came into Snape’s office while warily watching Draco the entire time. Draco was quiet in a way that unsettled him. He wasn’t sure if Draco was plotting, or if he gave up. Neither option was gratifying. Harry wavered many a time as he followed Draco around and watched while trying to understand.
Something was changed in Draco. It was an odd stillness that quieted every level of him until Harry wondered if Draco wasn’t the one out of phase with the world. Blaise had nearly broken down on seeing him the first morning in the Great Hall. Pansy, normally restrained, started swearing up a storm. They both haunted Draco along with Harry now and followed him class to class. They tried to get him to talk late into the night with games or whatnot; Harry never saw what they did. He refused to stay in the same room as Draco as much as possible.
Draco being fucked up did nothing to stop the fire inside Harry and that was probably the worst of it all. He wanted Draco even when he was broken. Harry didn’t know if coming back to reality was the answer no it was clear he was completely deranged and would fuck the walking dead just so long as they looked and smelled as good as Malfoy did. Draco seemed dead, his eyes empty, muscles loose with body refusing to eat.
“Mr. Potter, let’s start with the pen.” Jaz picked up a muggle style ballpoint pen and held it out to where Harry was standing. Draco was between them. Harry chose to walk around the edge of the room and come around the other side of Jaz to pluck the pen from his clawed fingers.
It felt like a regular pen, solid to his hand and lacking all the blushes and quick breaths he grew to love from his favorite quill. “Alright, a pen. And now you can know where I am.” Harry watched Draco’s eyes slide away from where the pen was floating in mid air to his perspective.
“And the second instrument. This one still needs a little tweaking.” Jaz pulled out a pair of gold rimmed round glasses. “With the help of Mr. Malfoy’s ring and his blood, I’ve determined where you are. Hopefully. The glasses are keyed to the potential dimension and now it’s just up to us to see if you’re there.” Jaz took off his own dark frames, his face oddly predatory without the rectangles to obscure his sharp, cat-like eyes. He slipped on the new glasses and hummed as he turned in Harry’s direction.
Jaz’s expression stilled and grew serious. He snapped his fingers and his notebook flew into his hands. He quickly turned through the pages and sometimes scribbled in the margins all while he kept glancing up at Harry. “You’re in a lot of trouble here, Mr. Potter. I assumed you were just ungrounded but seeing you now, it’s clear this situation has occurred from your battle with the Dark Lord. You’re wounded and unraveling. The results of the attack are slowed by the nature of being outside of the normal flow of time. You are reaching the end of your life and there isn’t much time left.”
Harry wanted to be surprised but he wasn’t. The sparks had increased in intensity and frequency until he felt more a walking electric socket than anything else. He moved to Snape’s desk, clicked the pen and wrote out his questions on a waiting piece of blank paper.
Will you bury me, even if you can’t bring me back?
“I’ll do it,” Draco whispered. They were his first words to Harry since they argued days ago.
Thank you. There really didn’t seem much else to say about it. Harry walked back to the wall to put as much space as he could between him and Draco’s scent.
“Mr. Potter, normally in a situation like this I would find the dimension, key a portal in and physically reach in and get you. But that spell will take too long,” Jaz said evenly. He turned to follow as Harry leaned on the wall. “I’m going to speak with Dumbledore about lending the phoenix to help. If the beast is willing, we can bond the two of you and it should be enough to tip you into reality once again. Once here, you’re wounds will be extensive and require immediate healing. I cannot guarantee you will survive.”
Harry shrugged and waved his hand in an assenting manner just to end the conversation. Jaz didn’t take offense. He switched his glasses and left the new frames on the desk. “I’ll be back shortly. We’ll know soon if we have a working plan or not.” Jaz left with long strides that revealed the urgency his tone of voice refused to show.
Harry watched, his dread building as Draco inched fingers toward the discarded glasses on the desk. The idiot just fucking loved to punish himself. Harry regretted it all; when he touched Draco’s hand in the Great Hall, followed him, kissed him, wanted him. Made Draco want him back. Whatever happened to him, Draco shouldn’t have to see it.
Draco slipped the glasses on and settled them on his face before he slowly turned to where Harry was standing. He inhaled sharply as his eyes widened. “Shit, Harry. You’re not black, you’re fucking burned.” He stepped closer and ignored how Harry flinched away. “The glowing light is your normal color.” He reached a hand up and probed the top of Harry’s head where his hair was tousled. “You had some sort of horns once but they’ve snapped off. And your energy keeps fluctuating like mini explosions.”
Harry turned his face away, unable to meet the intensity of Draco’s stare. Draco pulled him back. He wrenched Harry’s hair and glared up at him challengingly. “They’re the same… the same damn green.”
“Just take the fucking things off and go away, Malfoy,” Harry growled. He put his hand on Draco’s shoulder to keep him from moving closer. “I’m dead. Burned, like you said. What the fuck is the point of doing this to yourself?”
Draco’s eyes strayed to where Harry’s lips moved like he was trying to read them. Moment later, he pulled Harry down and kissed him hard, desperate. He held him by the hair when Harry tried to pull away.
“Idiot. Malfoy!” Harry grabbed both of Draco’s shoulders and pushed him away to arms length.
“What? Am I supposed to bury you now, Potter?” Draco scowled, his cheeks flushed. “Now that I can fucking see you, and know where the fuck you are, and what it looks like when you look at me? Why the fuck should I?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Because I’m a goddamn dying monster on this plane, apparently. I don’t want you to see me like this.”
Draco ignored him, not able to understand what Harry was saying anyways. “You’re likely dead. Fine. I’m getting married. Fine. Do you need to hurt me more by pulling away as well?”
“You ass, it’s to keep you from hurting more!” Harry was frustrated and consumed with the need to kiss Draco again. Instead he pulled from his hands and crossed to Snape’s desk so there would be a barrier between them. He used his new pen to write out his thoughts while Draco glared.
It hurts. Seeing you hurting, hurts me.
Draco huffed. He crossed his arms over his chest and bowed his head. “Who the fuck cares? You’re dead anyways. Suck it up and hurt. It’s going to be worse for me anyways and you don’t hear me bitching about it.
Harry shook his head in exasperation. You’re out of your fucking mind. Rational people don’t think like that.
“So?” Draco scoffed. “Who the fuck are you to judge? You’ve never been rational a fucking day in your life. You’re walking around in a lost dimension for months, hanging on to life while half dead and you want to judge me for being irrational?” Draco slammed his hands down on the desk and glared into the wild green eyes he missed so much. “Com on, you hotheaded, Gryffindor imbecile. Where the hell did your love for doing the impossible go? Be impossible with me.”
Harry swallowed hard, lost in the glaring silver eyes behind round glasses. He slowly reached across and touched the side of Draco’s face. Draco’s gaze stayed on him instead of straying like he used to. He was fucking beautiful.
They were interrupted by the door opening. Dumbledore, Severus and Jaz stepped in. Fawkes was on Dumbledore’s shoulder, the phoenix resting with ease while while Dumbledore stood next to Draco. Draco flinched when Severus walked right through Harry to sit at his desk but Harry didn’t seem effected by it at all.
“May I, Draco?” Dumbldore held his hand outstretched. With a sigh, Draco relinquished the glasses but only after a final glance at Harry. Dumbledore slipped the golden framed on. His expression grew grim and a frown deepened his normally cheerful expression. “Hello, Harry.”
Harry met the twinkle free gaze and nodded. Sir, he wrote out on the paper before him.
“Jaz has caught us up on your condition. Unfortunately, nothing can be done for you while you’re split between dimensions. I’ve asked Fawkes to help and he has agreed.” Dumbledore didn’t look happy about it and instead his frown grew. “Harry, whether it was right after the attack or now, how you appear once back will be the same. You will be injured. Possibly dead. There may be little we can do to help you. We might be killing Fawkes by making the attempt.”
Then it’s not worth it. I don’t want anyone else to die.
“Bullshit!” Draco snarled, uncaring to the fact he was swearing in front of his professors. “The bird wants to do it. They come back to life, anyways. At least try!”
“I have to agree with Malfoy, Potter,” Severus spoke up, his long fingers arched on his desk. “You’ve given up enough. Let us at least attempt to help you.”
Harry met Albus’s ever watching gaze. He couldn’t remember ever seeing him this serious. What aren’t you telling me?
“We’ve figure out what you are. McVicar recognized you immediately even with the damage to your body.”
Is it bad?
“It is difficult,” Dumbledore answered tentatively as his fingers fell into his beard. “Creatures like you don’t exist, Harry. They can’t handle the modern world, and the world can’t handle them.”
“You’re a kalistar, Mr. Potter. It’s a demon with antlers and large wings. They’re aggressive, dangerous and down right murderous toward humans.” Jaz turned to Draco with a raised eyebrow. “That means you are most likely their kin, the vesper.”
Draco shook his head, his eyes narrowed. “He’s burnt, not black.”
“He’s damaged. The black pigment comes up with the excessive blood flow. They turn color when enraged, in love, in hot temperature and injured,” Jaz explained as he ignored the anger in Draco’s voice. “That it is patchy suggest it’s from damage more than anything else. Likely Voldemort knew what Harry was and made to attack him on his own plane to make sure he was destroyed. His wings are torn off, along with his horns. His body is a bruise of wounds and if the removal of his wings doesn’t drain him of all his blood, it has likely put him into shock.”
“They’ve died out. My father told me,” Draco insisted. He couldn’t seem to handle hearing about Harry’s condition and instead fixated on what he was supposed to be. “They were good, kind creatures who kept the others safe and in line.”
Dumbledore held his hand up while still looking at Harry. “All we know of the kalistar is they exist with the vesper, they are gone, and any time one has been sighted a human was torn to pieces. Sometimes many humans.”
Draco scoffed. “It’s fucking Potter! If they were so hateful, no human would have survived to mate with the damn things. If my father is a vesper then he would bloody well know more about it.”
“Your father is beyond communication.” Dumbledore finally turned his piercing gaze from Harry. He blinked and removed the glasses when Draco’s glowing form came into view. “Lucius has been separated from the rest and put into isolation. His transformation left him maddened and violent among humans. He’s already killed two of the other prisoners.”
Draco bit his lip and exhaled slowly from the news. “It doesn’t mean Harry is going to start killing people if you bring him back. You’re assuming because you don’t know enough about his kind. You’re going to let him die because you’re scared of what he is. I’m telling you, he’s not how you think.”
Jaz took the offered glasses from Dumbledore and exchanged them for his own. “Mr. Potter, you have been extremely aggressive concerning Mr. Malfoy.”
“You’re fucking shitting me,” Draco muttered and glared at Dumbledore. “You can’t compare the mating urge to…”
“Please, this is something I need to present to Harry,” Jaz said sternly. “Harry, your reaction to scent has been uncontrollable, wouldn’t you say? Have you smelled any humans since being in that realm?”
Harry slowly shook his head once he understood what Jaz was getting at. If I can’t control my reaction to Draco’s scent, who is to say I won’t go into a murderous rage around human scent. Right?
“That is our concern,” Dumbledore said tightly.
“Their concern,” Severus broke in. “I have no question you will be anything but yourself if you survive the return, Potter.”
Harry looked down at Snape’s bowed head in surprise. Severus was not one for defending him, seeing as they were hardly friends. Sighing, Harry reached past his potions professor to write.
It is your decision. The risk is all on your shoulders, from the other students to Fawkes. I will not ask you to do anything you aren’t comfortable with.
“Damn it, stop being so fucking selfless!” Draco snarled and threw his hands up in exasperation. “He killed Voldemort—You all have no right to not even try!”
Draco, it’s more than that and you know it. Surviving doesn’t justify putting others in danger.
“Bloody bullshit. You didn’t just survive. You saved.”
It doesn’t matter.
Severus spoke up before Draco could start shouting. “As I have already told Albus and McVicar, I’m willing to create a space free of all scents for your potential return, Mr. Potter. We could even go so far as to eliminate your ability to smell altogether, if we find that you are as driven as they fear. I would need your consent, with you understanding if the madness does take you I will administer the potion against your will.”
Harry considered long minutes while he watched Draco twitch in irritation. A lifetime without smell. Would it effect his sense of his beast body when it came to Draco? Did it matter in the long run when he considered Dumbledore wouldn’t allow him to return if he refused? He saw it in his headmaster’s eye, the steel determination to ensure the students of Hogwarts were protected from monsters. One monster had been Tom Riddle. Today it was him.
I give you my consent.
“And if it doesn’t work?” Draco asked, already knowing the answer given his glower. “Are you going to let them kill you, Potter?”
Harry shrugged and met Jaz’s gaze. They have my consent for that as well. Although, if I am as they say, I likely will not make it easy for them.
“Thank you, Harry,” Dumbledore said and bowed his head. “I will leave Fawkes in the hands of these good gentlemen. We will do the best we can to return you safe and sound.”
Draco hissed and glared at everyone. “Right, until they bloody stab you in the back.”
Harry didn’t have anything to say. Draco would never understand and he didn’t really care. Draco was Draco, and he was Harry. Draco would have to accept his decision the same way he accepted when Draco decided to kill himself.
Dumbledore left quietly. Jaz and Snape started going over the spell that would be done and the preparation needed.
Harry would need to practice controlling his magic so that he could affect the normal realm. The last part of the spell would require his focus to reach to Fawkes since it was unlikely the phoenix would have enough power to connect to him alone. He had three days. Hopefully all the necessary preparations and instruments would be taken care of by then.
Draco waited for a bit while pacing agitatedly. Finally he gave a great sigh and sought out the pen Harry was using to get an idea of where he was. “Potter, you don’t need me for this anymore. I’m going back.”
“He says goodbye,” Jaz said. Draco shrugging unconcernedly as he left. Harry stared at the closed door and his frown grew.
“Potter, you’re a bloody idiot when it comes to that boy,” Severus drawled while he shook his head slowly. “He’s the only one really fighting for you. He’s asking for nothing in return except you stand up for yourself as well.”
He’s wrong.
Severus snorted. He held his hands out for the glasses Jaz was stubbornly wearing. Severus placed them on his nose and took a long look at Harry’s form. “You look like some wild, terrible beast, broken and scarred. Your back is an absolute mess, the skin torn to shreds. You do look burnt, every wound a damn ripple on the char black skin. But to see the way Draco looks at you, I thought you must be some damn Adonis hero.”
Severus stood and folded his arms over his chest. He looked oddly owl like in the round glasses. “Life is not given, Potter, it’s fought for. Every day we battle; predators, the elements, other human beings and our own twisted nature. Here, at the cusp of death, you should be screaming a warrior’s call for life. You shouldn’t be letting someone already as broken as Draco have to raise the energy for you. That he does it at all is amazing enough.”
Harry’s nostrils flared and hands tightened into fists as anger slowly curled around him. Severus noticed, the energy visible with the glasses.
It is not his battle, nor is it yours. I will do what I must, because that is how the situation has made me. I don’t want to hurt anyone.
Severus wasn’t impressed. “Sometimes you have to hurt to survive. You did it with Voldemort. You do it every day when you kill to eat, whether it is ever by your own hands or not. The natural order demands lesser beings fall to stronger ones. Like it or not, you are the stronger, Potter. Not acting it will kill off what is left of your bloodline.”
Harry didn’t care about his bloodline. His parents were dead, as were the Dursleys. If another Potter existed out there, he didn’t know about it. He didn’t owe anyone for the life he struggled with his short years and he wasn’t going to start now.
It’s better if this creature doesn’t continue on. Clearly the kalistar aren’t good.
“McVicar, I blame you for this,” Severus growled and turned on Jaz who was flipping through notes. “Demonizing him. You of all people should be more accepting.”
Jaz’s tongue twitched over his sharp fang as he nodded thoughtfully. “I accept Mr. Potter for how he is; a potentially dangerous, berserker creature with more power than he will ever know what to do with. I don’t hold it against him but I certainly don’t want to be the one carrying him back into this realm either.”
Snape glared and turned back to Harry. “They’re cowards, Potter. Selfish cowards who fear power they can’t control. You should not let them sway you. If someone like Draco can see, surely you must know it’s true.”
Harry sighed and looked away from his professor’s stinging gaze. What the hell do you want from me, Snape? I’m tired of all this. What say do I have? My life is in their hands.
“That doesn’t mean you don’t speak up for yourself. It’s not an excuse to let Draco think you’re not fighting to stay. He’s falling apart. He needs you to be strong right now.” Severus was quiet in his plea, intent and soft spoken. It very much reminded Harry Draco cared for him.
Harry grumbled to himself and then nodded at Snape. He turned on his heel and out the door to find Draco.
He didn’t pass many in the hall. The hour was late and Harry nothing more than a floating pen to most. He clicked it unconsciously as he twitched with pent up energy.
There was no good news today, just layer after layer of shit problems to pile on his shoulders. He survived Voldemort but apparently not by much and god knew for how much longer. He didn’t remember being injured while battling the stain of a man, but then, Harry didn’t feel much of anything beyond the roar of power singing in his ears as he destroyed Voldemort. There was nothing else but power and light and victory.
Somehow, Voldemort still took his revenge. Harry was on the precipice of death, waiting to see if he would fall in this echo of life or be brought back to his own realm where the pain would be felt. He wasn’t really rushing for either.
Except, he had to, didn’t he? Time was ticking down and Draco, the glorious bastard, was waiting for him. It didn’t matter he was tired, drained and powerless in the face of so much he had no control over. Draco was depending on him to be strong.
Harry stopped in the hallway. He tapped his hand on the wall to remind himself he was real as power shot through him in painful bursts. It was a chain reaction lately, not one spark but many.
Somehow Draco found a way to control him. He took the wild mating call and wrapped it around his elegant pale fingers to turn it into something bearable. Harry had no excuse in it anymore, no way to justify giving in to the urges without the drive pounding in him to push him forward.
Stupid Malfoy, wanting him to be impossible with him. Right now that would mean to be back in their realm, alive and not a wild beast. Somehow it seemed a damn fucking lot to ask for, even for Draco’s standards.
Harry stared at the pen. He began to click it repeatedly again as he continued walking to Draco’s room.
Draco awoke slowly as a strange tickle pulled him from his sleep. Something ran up his leg. Harry’s warm hand gripped him in place while he slid something cool and thin across his skin. Draco sat up slowly. The lights raised in his windowless room let him know it was morning.
Blearily he followed down his leg which was exposed to the cold castle air since he fell asleep in just boxers that night on his warm sheets. His flesh was peppered with light blue pen lines and Draco blinked, and watched as more appeared under the pen Jaz made for Harry.
Harry stopped what he was doing now Draco was awake. He finished with a final flourish and clicked the pen shut. Draco closed his eyes as Harry’s hands moved up his body. He traced words with his fingers and lingered over patches of flesh to breathe hot breath. Draco opened his eyes when Harry lifted his left palm and held it in front of his face so he could read.
“This is the hand you hold yourself back with,” Draco read aloud. He followed down to his wrist and tilted his head to read. “This is your less dominant arms but is strong for all the ways you control yourself. You’re subtle, steady and don’t need to prove anything. You’re just happy to be.”
Harry kissed his fingertips one by one. Draco’s eyes strayed to the sensation and then slipped to his right hand. “You create and destroy with this hand. Build, flow magic and make impossible things happen. This arm strives to be and do, defend and attack and change what can’t always be changed.” Draco bit his lip and his eyelashes lowered when Harry’s breath brushed over his cheek. He caught the sight of writing on his torso down the center of his chest.
“You’re beautiful, strong, full of fire and emotion. You’re able to handle any obstacle with brilliance and grace…” Draco trailed off and shook his head weakly. “I can’t, Harry. I’m not so fucking strong that I can just accept you dying.”
Harry kissed his cheek and pulled away to trace Draco’s hand down to his navel. Draco followed and read. “You’re convincing, alluring, terribly persuasive in such a selfless way. You’re a hypocrite by marrying away your life while demanding I fight for mine.” Draco stopped again and looked away.
Harry pulled his head back gently. He kissed Draco’s other cheek and moved his hand down to his thigh.
“This is the leg you used to run away. This leg too you from You-Know-Who and brought you to an empty world because you were too afraid to live. It took you out the door tonight because you were afraid to see me die.” Draco’s voice hushed to something close to a sigh. He finished with the last line Harry stopped at when he woke up. “This leg is not your dominant leg but it might be your strongest support—Potter, that is a fucking shit thing to say.”
Harry clicked the pen open. He moved to Draco’s bare right leg and slowly wrote over his thigh. Draco read it aloud as it appeared on his skin. “This is the leg that leads you into battle… It brought you from your parents’ house into a new world of magic. It brought you to me full of fire, flight and a whole lot of prat.” Draco snorted and shoved Harry lightly. Harry wasn’t done and moved down his leg and slowly covered Draco’s skin with words.
“This leg will lead you next because you always move forward. You’re compelled as who you are no matter your fear. You survive even if it’s in quiet compromise. When you’re loud, this is the leg you stomp down and demand to be heard and known… and answered.” Draco frowned as Harry stopped. He dug the pen lightly as if not sure whether to continue or not.”
“Finish it,” Draco implored quietly.
Hesitantly, Harry continued and the pen swirled sensation over his skin. I’ll fight to live if you fight to live.
Draco took a slow breath. His brows furrowed as the words sank in. “What are you saying. Do you want me to not marry?”
Yes.
Draco closed his eyes and sank back down on the bed and his pillow. It would be so easy to say yes while alone with Harry. The real world was so far away while they hid in his room together. He wouldn’t be able to keep such a promise. Not when the first one was made the way it was with his blood and on the brink of death.
“Potter, you make it back here in one piece and we’ll talk about it.”
Harry scribbled on the back of Draco’s left hand. He raised it to read.
Coward.
“Yeah, well, there you have it,” Draco said with a shrug. Harry grabbed his other hand and wrote slower over the back of it.
Warrior.
Draco blinked. “Hmm. I think you’re a little confused here.”
You are both. Impossible. Beautiful. And very GAY.
“Shut up,” Draco grumbled. He wasn’t sure if he was more annoyed by the pretty words or the gay remark.
Harry just added another ‘very’ on top of the first, then surround the whole thing in a heart. I love all of you.
Draco blushed and tried to look away but Harry kept lifting his hand up. “Fine. Quit it, you pain. You love me; I get it. Thank you—or whatever the hell you’re supposed to say to an idiot who doesn’t know how to be proper and just writes all over a person while they’re sleeping.”
You love me.
Draco scowled. His gaze slipped away again only to jolt back when Harry bit his hand. “Hey! Fine, I might… uh, I might kinda love you.” Harry nipped him again, this time on his arm. “Potter, this is not the way to get me to say things, you bloody git.” If Harry cared, he gave no sign and instead nipped Draco’s arm repeatedly. It was having a queer effect and Draco’s yelps quickly turned into heated moans as he gasped for air. Stop that… oh, seriously. Git.”
Harry licked up his arm next. The flat of his tongue did nothing to smear the ink in its proper realm but it did manage to tickle at Draco’s arm hair. Draco grasped weakly at Harry’s hair but lost his intent to stop him moments into the movement. He tangled fingers into Harry’s locks and puled him up for a very needed kiss.
“How are you being so behaved?” Draco asked distractedly when Harry’s hands ghosted up his sides. It took Harry a moment to answer for the pen was lost in the sheet and there was very little left of Draco to write on.
Need. Yours is different right now.
“Oh?” Draco felt flushed and vulnerable as Harry wrote a final word on his knee.
Love.
The pen was once again tossed aside. Harry cupped Draco’s face and his fingers gently traced his jaw and up to his ear. Draco breathed deeply in the hold as he felt a warmth slowly bloom over his skin and made him feel stronger than he had in days. He didn’t understand how Harry could do it but was starting to as he thought of the little his father once told him of the kalistar.
It was before his first year of Hogwarts when his father went through a list of dos and don’ts. One big don’t was the Forbidden Forest. If Draco ever came across a white dragon with scales and feathers, he was to run no matter what. But a gold one, the kalistar, with long spraying horns and feathered wings was very much a protector. Draco was to trust and love such a being and it would turn black and keep him safe. But Draco never saw either. The beings which stalked him at the edge of the forest were always invisible to him, like his pet Karia.
Draco was convinced he would become the murderous beast if his ring was removed and he was allowed to transform, just as his father while in prison. It was the only logical thing given how Lucius feared the vesper and was also one himself. His father never sensed Karia and called him frivolous for even suggesting she existed. Lucius must have even less senses in the other realm than he did.
“Harry, could you just…?” Draco trailed off when Harry sank down against him and pushed him into the mattress with arms wrapped tight. Except the long swipes with his tongue over Draco’s neck, Harry was a perfect gentleman.
Draco closed his eyes and tried not to think of the sad thoughts of his father becoming a murderous animal to protect him. Instead he drifted as he felt Harry’s weight and heat and slow thump of heart. Each random spark of Harry’s energy was a flash of reminder to pull Draco back from fantasy, back from allowing himself to be fully content.
The clock chimed softly and reminded Draco he only had ten minutes to get to breakfast before class. He moved his hands over Harry’s back and shoulders, not really in a rush to get up while enjoying the comforting weight and press of flesh. Although Harry looked torn, especially on his back, when wearing the glasses, his skin felt smooth and strong. Draco wondered if it was the way of things in that particular realm; Harry’s beast body was injured, but Harry himself wasn’t yet. He supposed as long as Harry continued to feel so comforting and caring, it really didn’t matter much.
Eating was important after not eating for so long; at least it’s what Draco’s stomach was insisting. Draco gently pushed at Harry’s shoulders until he obliged and got up.
“I’m going to have to wash it off, you know,” Draco said softly as he indicated all the pen on him. Harry took his hand and nodded his messy hair into Draco’s palm. With a sigh, Draco turned and walked wearily to the bathroom, still tired and weak from his difficult week.
He started, eyes wide as he caught his face in the mirror. Harry had wrote across his forehead. The words reflected backward and it took a moment for Draco to discern them. “Be my boyfriend? Potter, you fucking idiot. Where are you?” He stormed toward the bathroom door, only to knock into Harry as he was stepping through, the bloody perv.
“You’re invisible! How the hell can I date someone I can’t even see? I have to have some fucking standards!” Draco wasn’t quite sure why he was so angry about it all. He suspected as Harry wrapped arms around him and moved his hands over his back and raised fire in him, Harry’s argument might have some validity. Touching was certainly enjoyable. And hell, they argued much less since Harry couldn’t say as many stupid things. Or at least, Draco couldn’t hear them.
“Hands, you,” Draco snapped warningly when Harry once again grabbed his ass and squeezed firmly. “Have you conveniently forgotten I’m getting married?”
In rebuttal, Harry lifted Draco’s hand and traced the heart which pointed out Draco was very, very gay.
Draco sighed. “I have responsibilities. People are depending on me, and… and I made a promise, Harry. I can’t just go back on my word.”
Harry went further down his arm and traced over how Draco could try to change what couldn’t be changed. After, Harry began tapping words on his flesh while Draco softly repeated them aloud. “Love… changes… impossible…” He stared as Harry stopped and lingered at Harry’s final promise to fight to live if Draco did too.
Draco huffed but didn’t resist the arms that pulled him close as Harry nuzzled into his neck. “I can’t be so easily persuaded, Potter. But… but if you want a boyfriend who is going to be married in less that two weeks, I can agree to that.” It was hardly an ideal situation, and it made Draco’s heart twist even to think.
He hoped Harry wouldn’t be satisfied with such a small part of him. Draco didn’t want to lose his heart to him—a heart if he were in a proper state of mind he could admit was already very much lost and given to Harry—and then have to walk into a loveless, sexless marriage for the rest of his life. Wizards didn’t divorce, not if they were pureblood. One had to look infallible in everything, including matters of the heart when you held so much power.
Harry tapped him once again and Draco glanced down at the text. Impossible.
“I know, but it’s all I can give you. It’s all I have to give right now.” Draco sighed heavily.
Harry seemed to disagree but the words written weren’t enough. Gently he took Draco’s hands and led him to the shower. He reached Draco’s long fingers to turn the spray on. Draco pulled away and charmed the temperature to something agreeable. He kept his eyes downcast and bottom lip worried between his teeth as he Draco slowly pulled his boxers down and stepped out of them. He didn’t look fully in Harry’s direction. His silver eyes slid toward the area Harry’s powerful aura flickered and then returned to the loofah he was soaping up.
Harry wanted to be his boyfriend. Harry loved him. It was a strange feeling. A nearly impossible feeling; Harry had been gone for so long and Draco once dreamed of having a boyfriend just like him. He’d been waiting for someone who got very annoyed with the mean things he said until he had to be a nicer person. Someone who demanded with flashing green eyes until Draco would do the things his body really, really wanted to do and finally shut his stupid, logical mind up that always did as his parents said.
His skin tingled under Harry’s gaze as Draco began to wash the ink from his skin. He watched intently as the words faded along with Harry’s thoughts. “Harry, just… oh. Just behave, please,” he asked huskily as Harry’s hand wrapped around his smaller one and the loofah sopped white bubbles as he tightened his grip. Harry obliged somewhat by just using his hand to help Draco in an unneeded task of washing every spot he could reach. With Harry leaning against him and Draco wet and soapy with much hot breath moving down his throat, it was difficult not to want.
The crazed mating urge was not there but it didn’t mean there was no lust. Even before Harry transformed and even before Draco fully understood what just a whiff of his sex scent could do to him, Draco wanted. He wanted to feel Harry’s hands on him, his strong body pressed close while his mouth rained kisses down. He wanted to be worshiped with demanding eyes until he couldn’t say no. In a lot of ways, it was a more dangerous ache than the mating drive. This one was soft and warm, insidious in its quiet but unyielding power.
Very compelling, Draco thought dizzily when Harry’s free hand moved down his outer thigh. His fingers rubbed into his muscles and dragged up his hip and side.
Draco inhaled through his nose sharply, his eyes wide, body tense as Harry found his nipple and twisted it gently. He rolled it back and forth between fingers and turned the nub red, while he blew soft streams of air over his neck. Draco gasped as he was pulled back tighter against his body and water sprayed down over him. “This is dangerous,” Draco whispered breathlessly.
Harry’s tongue flicked out, touched his flesh, and was followed swiftly by nipping teeth over his long neck. Harry didn’t seem to care how dangerous things were. He was still the reckless Gryffindor who didn’t give a fuck about consequences; exactly how Draco needed him to be. Harry pulled him even closer, unbalancing him until Draco was forced to rest all his weight on his sturdy form.
Draco closed his eyes and leaned back into Harry’s touch, his wet hair resting on a dry shoulder. Harry ghosted fingers up his torso, over his ribcage, down his stomach to dip fingertips into his belly button. Harry’s touch grew firmer, bolder. He avoided Draco’s straining erection to move down the front of his pale thighs. It was loving and maddening all at once. Draco whimpered when the shower spray touched his twitching cock and for a moment he thought it was Harry.
Draco wasn’t going to wait for Harry to lose his shit and run away again. He reached down his body, grabbed his leaking dick and gave it a few well needed tugs. Breath tickled Draco’s ear in a sudden burst and he imagined Harry must have liked the sight. Harry’s hand covered his to assist readily. “Oh fuck… Oh.”
No, this was far more dangerous. He wasn’t quite sure when it happened but Harry managed to get his hand with the loofah to Draco’s back and was soaping his ass and thighs with slow circles. Bubbles tingled over Draco’s balls and crack and dripped between his cheeks in a slippery heat he couldn’t deny moaning over.
“Please, god, please. Don’t leave this time, Harry. Don’t leave me alone with this again,” Draco begged softly when Harry released both his hands and the loofah fell to the ground. Draco stilled all movement and waited to see if he was going to pull away. Harry was just as still, barely breathing as his chest moved against Draco’s back.
Slowly, so slow Draco wondered if he were imagining it, Harry traced his fingers back to his entrance. Draco licked his lips and unconsciously spread his legs a little wider and bent forward. Harry was tentative as he probed the tight pucker of Draco’s hole, almost like he was afraid he was going to run if pushed too fast. His fingers were too dry and unaffected by the soap until Harry coated them in his mouth and tried again. Draco didn’t resist, his eyes squeezed shut and mouth gasping loud pants as Harry carefully stretched him.
Harry’s other arm wrapped securely around his waist to keep him from falling as Draco swayed and whimpered. Draco couldn’t understand how strong Harry could be. He was both holding him upright with invisible arms and body, and yet could touch him so achingly soft. Each push of fingers, tight and hot inside him, burned Draco’s fire brighter and his entire body shook from the touch. In that moment Draco was certain he would do anything, give anything, be anything, just to have Harry be his.
He glared at the ring on his hand. He hated it, hated what he knew would be a far more terrible existence than he could have ever guessed if he chose to be a beast with Harry. He might be the type of creature who would be a murderous, wild thing all year round, and could possibly craved human flesh. That it didn’t totally repulse him was even more terrifying because he knew it was the answer to all his fucking problems. As a beast he couldn’t marry, couldn’t be expected to be anything but mindless and wild. He could be with Harry always and never be afraid again.
Fuck, he could feel alive again. For the rest of his life Harry would touch him, taste him, fill him. Just as long as he lived, Harry would be his. They could be feral together. Wild, mindless creatures out in the woods who hunted and rutted and never gave another thought to what the world wanted. They had both given enough to earn that. Hadn’t they?
Draco closed his eyes to the view of the silver ring and let Harry push him up against the wall and bury his thick fingers deeper inside his clenching flesh. “Hell. Harry, I need you.”
Harry’s mouth moved to his neck and nipped harder until he drew blood. He lapped his tongue over the red fluid in long swipes, breath hot and strained. He grabbed Draco’s hand, the one with the ring, and carefully twirled the silver band on his finger. Draco opened his eyes to watch, his breath caught in his throat.
So much of him wanted to. Almost all of him wanted to give in. Life as it was just wasn’t fucking living.
It would be so easy.
Draco closed his hand into a fist and trapped the ring in place. “I need to make sure you’re brought back,” he said unsteadily. There was a different, dangerous rush of fire running through him at the realization he was moments from taking the ring off and giving in. “I can’t trust them to do it, to not kill you. So I need to be whole until that moment. Until then, okay?”
Harry breathed hot fire over him. His tongue licked over his skin and hard body pushed Draco’s slender form up against the cool tile of the shower wall and trapped him in place. Draco wasn’t certain, but he might have just promised—Harry and himself—if Harry lived, he would live too. He would continue not as he was, but as a beast so they could remain together.
Laughter, hot and bright, bubbled up in Draco at the very thought. God, he wanted to be with Harry. No matter what. He wanted Harry to live and stay and be with him forever. “Ah, fuck, Harry. Be my boyfriend. I wanna be—oh, hell.” Draco moaned and inched his feet wider on the floor to push back onto Harry’s fingers.
Harry’s movements were relentless. Three fingers filled Draco’s passage, stretched him wide, and Harry’s hips thrust against his persistent hand in eagerness. Draco released small, soft chokes of breath. The shower spray spluttered water into his mouth as he shuddered around the feel of Harry’s forceful, eager thrusts of fingers. “Come on… come on,” Draco groaned. He tried to push back but Harry’s body wouldn’t budge. “God, I need you, Harry. Needed you for so long. Stop drawing it out and fuck me—oh, hell!”
Draco’s growl was cut off with a gasp. Harry removed his fingers swiftly, grabbed Draco by the hips and pressed his large cock against his ass. Draco forgot just how big Harry was, and he wasn’t sure if spit was really going to be enough to ease onto such a thick cock without being injured. He closed his eyes and held back a hysterical laugh when he realized he really didn’t give a fuck. He would rather it hurt than not finally have Harry inside him.
He was apparently very, very fucking gay.
Draco let the tension leave his body and turned his head. He found Harry’s face and kissed what turned out to be his jaw. Harry dipped his head down further and kissed Draco deeply while he slowly pushed weight forward into his hips and against the ring of muscles of Draco’s entrance. He was going to be late for class, Draco realized dimly in the back of his mind, the thought disappearing as quickly as it came.
“Harry… oh… oh, god. Fuck.” One of Harry’s hands came out to rub his back and side, and his breath puffed over Draco’s cheek. Draco barely noticed, all his focus on the mix of agony, pain, and pleasure as Harry pushed the head of his cock slowly past the tight ring of muscles guarding Draco’s hole. He felt Harry hesitate when fire shot through his body. Draco tried to fight the urge to push back, push out the huge intrusion filling him so completely and then some. Both of Harry’s hands rubbed Draco’s arms and back soothingly. Harry kissed his neck and nipped, as if he could somehow distract from the unbearable fullness Draco’s body was consumed with.
Somehow, it was working, and Draco’s broken cries receded after long, despairing moments of red fire. The overwhelming became a whelming, and then eventually an ache. Draco shuddered and pushed his hips back, needing movement. Only to stop and gasp, the nerve endings within him waking up as if Harry just sank into him again and skin dragged across skin in almost dry friction. Harry noticed, and licked-wet fingers probed around his stretched entrance again while Draco jerked and moaned against the wall.
In moments everything else slipped away. Harry sank in deeper, the saliva still not quite enough but they were both sweating so much things were getting slicker. Draco couldn’t really care, his mind and body spinning. With eyes squeezed shut, Draco pushed back and welcomed Harry in as deep as he could go. He met each small thrust with gasped cries and quivering knees. Harry mumbled something in his ear and Draco didn’t care that Potter still couldn’t figure out he couldn’t hear him. Harry rubbed his sides, massaged Draco’s ass and thighs while he rested buried deep inside and around him. It was an unbearable throbbing fire that filled Draco, and made him feel so vulnerable and connected all at once.
What a fucking terrible, intimate feeling to have Harry so deep inside and surrounding around him and still he couldn’t fucking see him!
Would it have been better without the ring or with the wild mating ache to steal the pain away? Draco didn’t know. With some slippery soap that actually affected Harry’s realm? Very fucking likely. But it wasn’t bad, not bad, just so much. Not just in his body, but in the emptiness he only recently named. It was empty since he nearly killed himself, and now, somehow, that void too was unbearably full.
Harry again murmured into his shoulder and throat and Draco smiled through the tears streaking down his face at what a fucking idiot he was. The two of them; him for being fucked by an invisible and near dead savior, and Harry for still fucking talking like he could hear him. “Do it, Harry. You’re my boyfriend and you have to do as I say.”
Harry bit him hard on the neck and Draco’s body tensed and tightened somehow around the impossible thickness splitting him in two. He glanced down at where Harry was licking his new wound, knowing what he wanted by it. To claim him. Harry would have him like a beast, like some fucking animal who could be overpowered and brought to knees by teeth and cock. Once the ring was off, Harry would claim him and he would be his. Draco loved the idea of it.
Harry moved and pulled partially out of his tightness. Draco cried out, his hand clamped over his mouth to stop the loud noise from echoing off the bathroom walls. But he couldn’t stop the sounds, not when Harry thrust back in and Draco’s arms went weak and he was unable to lift them any longer. Draco’s legs were next, but Harry was so damn strong it didn’t matter. Draco was held up, pinned to the wall as Harry fucked him as slowly and thoroughly as his cock would allow.
Draco could feel him everywhere, could almost hear Harry’s grunts with each thrust, and soft murmurs between as he licked up his throat and ear and cheek. It was so bizarre and fucking sexy. Draco was wrapped in his scent, warm and near suffocating, along with his flesh and sweat and teeth that kept nipping little sharp jolts of pleasure and pain. Even the annoying sparks over Harry’s skin were suddenly damn good and welcome. They were electric bursts while Harry built a slow rhythm and Draco felt everything.
“Harry… fuck. Harder, come on,” he begged. Sweat mixed with the shower to drip into his eyes and sting and changed the flavor as it flowed into his mouth and he tasted. Harry only moved slower, with long drawn out thrusts that made Draco cry out each time. He gripped blindly at the wall as Harry found a place inside him that burst color and pleasure with each hit. After only a dozen of these amazing, shocking thrusts, Harry pushed into Draco unrelenting and pinned him. One hand came up to wrap firmly, yet gently around Draco’s throat and the other to slowly push fingers into his moaning mouth. Draco’s tongue met the long, hot digits. He pressed to the flat of them, lured them deeper and sucked them down almost desperate as his skin danced with unrestrained energy.
He didn’t know why it felt so damn good to have Harry fill his mouth so saliva dripped down his jaw like some frothing animal. Never mind the thrilling, yet comforting sensation of his throat being gripped the way it was, as if Harry could break him or nuzzle him on a whim. It felt so good, the same way it felt so wild to know Harry was just so much stronger than him, able to take whatever he wanted so easily, yet willing to stop if only asked. God, and he was taking him, so thick inside, so intent to be slow and make sure he felt every inch as his body stretched and opened to his Harry.
Draco struggled to breathe around the fingers dipping down his tongue and felt when Harry changed. His thickness somehow swelled inside even more and Harry’s hot breath broke into small, desperate puffs as his hips jolted forward with shallow, quick pumps, as if he could bury just a little deeper and they would be joined and one. Draco spread his legs as wide as he could and pushed back into the jolting thrusts. His eyes closed as his body tensed and tightened and clenched so fucking good. Harry murmured something into his neck before he suddenly bit down and drew more blood. Draco shouted and jerked from the pain and pleasure. Harry dug nails into his throat and Draco bit down on the fingers in his mouth as he came. Their hips bucked and slammed in rhythm and then in discord, Draco so tight and breathless and lost.
They started to shake as their orgasms faded, almost as if what was left of their fire and strength was drained with their seed. Harry held him tight, still buried deep within, holding him up and breathing him in deep. Draco had no complaints as he caught his breath and moaned unintelligibly against the wall. Harry’s fingers slowly withdrew from between his lips, the digits smooth trailing wet down his lips. Harry panted with him as his chest heaved. His hands slowly moved over his form and pulled tired, hungry sounds from Draco as they rested.
Harry finally pulled away. He carefully extracted from Draco’s sore passage and turned him around to face him. Draco couldn’t see him, which made things once again awkward when Harry just wanted to stare at him and be seen as well. Harry settled for kneeling and licking up Draco’s cum from his tight stomach. His tongue greedily ate up every drop while Draco whimpered and watched the white fluid disappear from view.
Harry moved lower and nuzzled into Draco’s spent cock, not wanting to irritate the likely sensitive flesh. Draco gave no sign of protest, so he lapped at the softening flesh and cleaned more thoroughly than the shower alone. He moved to his balls and pushed Draco back against the wall to rest and lift his thigh over Harry’s shoulder so he could reach his sack and entrance with greater ease. He tasted his new mate and the way Draco’s natural scent and his now pervasive one mixed in his tightness and slowly dribbled out.
Draco gave a low whine when he realized what Harry was doing. He grabbed blindly at his messy, sweaty hair and clutched while Harry continue his deranged, long tongued assault on his sore hole. Harry seemed determined to recollect his seed and suddenly turned Draco and pushed him face first into the wall so he could have better admittance to his entrance and passage.
Harry licked at him with zest; Draco wasn’t certain what it did for Harry, but he imagined it might be just as maddening as when Draco sucked him off and gotten all of Harry’s sex scent on him. Maybe the smell of Draco made Harry fucking mad for him too. Hell, maybe it was the smell of them together, hole and cum joined and feeling so right.
Draco went to reach behind him so he could see for himself. Harry caught his straying hand and bit firmly and licked. He stood and invisible fingers pushed into Draco’s mouth without warning. They were warm, bitter and musky tasting. Draco groaned and his eyes rolled back from the flavor of exactly what Harry was seeking, but now mixed with his saliva. It filled Draco’s senses and made him impossibly dizzy. Still, it wasn’t as overwhelming as when Harry caught him in the hallway. Without Harry to amplify the mating call it didn’t ache the same unbearable way even if it did ache.
Harry turned him again and picked Draco up. He lifted him with ease while Draco wrapped long, shaking legs around his waist. Harry nearly tried to take them through the bathroom door until Draco convinced him to wait a damn moment so he could work the handle. Once in the bedroom Harry threw Draco down on the bed. His shower wet skin prickled cold now out of the steam of the bathroom but he was quickly warmed when Harry climbed up his form. His kisses were desperate as they pressed their bodies together.
With a groan, Draco suddenly pushed him off. Bleary eyed, he stared around his room in confusion. Another loud knock, repeated and worried, sounded from the door leading out to the hallway. Draco glanced at the clock, swore and then smacked at Harry’s returning hands that were trying to keep him bed-bound and beneath him.
Sure, Harry had quieted the fucking mating urge a lot more. Either that, or Harry just wasn’t as dependent on it now he knew Draco would give in without it. It didn’t mean the git wasn’t still determined.
“Quit it. Harry!” Draco snapped. Only to laugh when Harry lifted him off the bed and dropped him down again with a bounce. “Oh fuck, you are so god damn powerful,” he murmured appreciatively as he stared up in Harry’s general direction, his eyes heavy lidded and full of wonder.
The door again pounded, making Draco nearly jump at the sound. “Crap.” He scrambled up and eluded hands he couldn’t see coming but could sense well enough to avoid. He grabbed a bathrobe from behind the bathroom door, slipped it on and cinched the belt securely. He carefully unlocked his door and peered out into the hall.
It was Blaise, his hand raised as if to knock again and eyes wild in fear. “Draco? Are you? Did you?” He pushed the door open without finishing his thought and walked into Draco’s room and looking him over like he didn’t believe he was real.
Draco flushed when he realized he was covered in bites all over his neck. Potter had a damn problem keeping him blemish free. And well, he certainly didn’t mind how the marks were created at the time. “What?”
“You’re late,” Blaise said finally. He seemed to deflate as Draco showed no signs of serious damage. “I was knocking for ages and you didn’t answer. I thought… I don’t know what I thought.” Blaise ran a shaky hand through his hair and his fingers tangled in his magically straightened black locks he let flow free that day.
Draco shrugged. He was starting to understand what Blaise must have thought and he didn’t know how to handle it. He shut the door to his room; he didn’t need passersby to gawk while he got ready for class and tried to explain to Blaise he wasn’t going to kill himself. No matter how upset he might seem. He wasn’t that person anymore and there would never be another Voldemort to run from quite so aggressively. Which was all well and good, but Harry didn’t seem to be done with him just yet. Draco groaned as he was pulled from his bureau and clothes and up against Harry’s chest.
“Harry, you’ve had your turn. Now I have to deal with the rest of the world,” Draco grumbled. He wasn’t angry at Harry but more at the daily mundane life which insisted on interrupting them. “We’ll finish this later…” Harry’s mouth trailed over his jaw, hot and compelling. “Damn it, you pain.”
“Shit, Potter, keep it in your pants for five seconds,” Blaise muttered as he turned his head to give his poor pink friend some privacy. “I was worried about Draco. Before Pansy and I left last night, he agreed to have breakfast with us.”
A dark laugh burst out of Draco as Harry’s hands caressed through his robe, between his thighs, over his tightening balls and pressed against his entrance. Draco grabbed Harry’s hair and twisted harshly. His smile was wicked as Harry continued to press fingers right against his hole and wiggled ever so gently to remind him what they could so easily do, audience or not.
“You know what, Blaise? Get the fuck out. We’re in the middle of something and your shit concerns can wait until I’m fucking satisfied for a change.”
“Satisfied? What, are you two shagging now?” Blaise asked darkly. He glared over his shoulder and then quickly looked away. Draco’s expression was a cross between ferocious and lusty. It wasn’t a look Blaise had ever seen on his well-controlled friend and not necessarily a bad look on him either.
“Yes, as a matter of fact we are.” Another odd laugh bubbling out of Draco, followed by a slow exhalation as Harry’s fingers pressed more insistent against his hole.
Blaise whirled, hand covering his eyes with just enough to peek through and find Draco’s flushed face. Once he realized there really was nothing to see, Blaise dropped his hand completely. “I thought you weren’t going to? He’s a kalistar and dangerous! What has he done? Has he used his allure to snare you, Draco? Do I need to get Snape or Dumbledore down here?”
Harry’s power raised up. With one hand hot between Draco’s ass cheeks, he used the other to push raw magic toward the annoying interruption. Draco snorted and tightened his grip on Harry’s hair. “Stop, Potter. He’s my domain, not yours.”
Blaise watched with brow furrowed as Draco reached his tongue out and seemed to licking Harry from chin to forehead. The sudden pressure and whirl of power in the air stopped and papers settled back again as Harry relented. “What the fuck is wrong with you two?”
“Nothing,” Draco drawled. He pulled his attention from Harry to glare at Blaise’s judgmental expression. “As long as no one fucking interferes, we are perfectly fucking fine. Go on to class and I’ll catch up later.”
Blaise shook his head, his eyes narrowed at Draco’s surprisingly harsh tone. “Draco, if he’s really a kalistar, you shouldn’t be alone with him. Definitely not doing what you two are doing. He could be manipulating you.”
Draco laughed again, the sound less hysterical and more angry. “Funny how everyone seems to know how dangerous the kalistar are but no one has bothered to say what the fucking vesper do. I’ve got the fucking ring on, Blaise. And Potter here does whatever I ask, as long as I ask just the right way. Now get the fuck out and mind your own business.”
“So what, I’m supposed to believe you’re manipulating him now? Don’t you see how fucking messed up that is, Draco?” Blaise insisted.
Draco growled when he realized Blaise wasn’t going to let the fucking thing go anytime soon. Shit, he just wanted more sex; it wasn’t some fucking crime. Sure, he was skipping class for it but who the fuck cared? Draco scowled when he felt Harry move away. He thought the sexy beast was giving up, only to realize Harry was seeking out his pen so he could communicate properly with Blaise.
Blaise watched warily as Harry clicked the pen open and floated it toward the nearest piece of scattered blank paper on the floor.
Zabini, I’m trying to have sex with my boyfriend. You’re not invited, so go fuck off.
Blaise glowered and put his hands on his hips. “Fuck you, Potter. Until I know he’s not killing himself and you’re not raping him, I’m not fucking leaving.”
“For fuck sake, Blaise!” Draco yelled and threw his hands up in the air. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”
“I’m out of my mind? For the last goddamn week Pans and I’ve been trying to pry out what the fuck has gotten you all quiet and dead inside like the last time. All you told us was Potter transformed and has been aggressive with the damn mating call. What exactly do you want from me? All we could assume was that he forced you. Especially since you told us what he was last night, and then kicked us out so we had to research on our own. The kalistar are dangerous—Like, top level, don’t fuck around with, run away as fast as you can if ever seen! If you don’t fucking communicate, how are we going to be able to help you?”
Draco was about to snarl an angry retort about how he didn’t need anyone’s nosy fucking help, when Harry started writing, the pen drawing Blaise’s eye.
You’re right, Zabini. I should have come to you after Malfoy raped me. It was wrong and I was just so ashamed and hurt. It felt so damn good and—
“You’re a fucking sod, you dickweed,” Blaise hissed. He stamped on the parchment but avoided the pen in case he damaged it. “This isn’t some fucking joke. We’ve been worried. Hermione said you were obsessed over Draco before you left school last year. That the beast was just starting to show and it was messed up in the head. You’ve both been avoiding talking to us about it. The whole situation is fucked up and you’re spending too much time alone together.”
Draco had heard enough. He was the one miserable the fucking week because Harry hadn’t been spending time with him but hiding outside the door. “You know what’s fucking messed up? I find some fucking happiness and you’re suddenly worried over me. If you’re so worried, then realize just how much better I am today for having Harry, and leave it at that.”
Blaise paused and gave his friend of the last six years a thoughtful look. “Honestly? If it weren’t for the ring, I wouldn’t even be sure you were human anymore.”
Draco stared at Blaise’s very serious brown eyes, and couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled out of him again. Fine, he sounded fucking crazy. And he felt… god he felt so fucking good and crazy and he really, really, really wanted to finish what he was doing with Harry before his friend decided to take it upon himself to dictate his goddamn life.
Zabini, you say it like it’s a bad thing. Fucking look at him. He’s gorgeous and wild and not putting up with anyone’s shit, including mine. Do you really want him back to before, all gray, quiet and sad?
Blaise’s nostril’s flared as he glared at Harry’s scrawl and bent down slightly to read it all. “Yeah, and what happens when you bite it, Potter? You just going to leave him here, some crazy, out of control version of himself because you couldn’t keep your hands off him?”
Draco snapped his hand up. The lights flickered ominously and everything went very still. His face was stone, just like when he nearly hexed Nott in the Great Hall.
You really might want to rephrase that, Harry wrote. Draco is who he is and I haven’t changed him. I just happened to be around to enjoy as he woke up.
Blaise was only angrier; Draco seemed even more irrational when Potter was blamed. “He shouldn’t be waking if he’s wearing the ring. Why is he getting more like, like some wild beast?”
Blaise was staring at the paper as he waited for Harry to answer but it was Draco who spoke. “Because that is who I’ve always been, before my parents trained it out of me with so much fear and sense of duty that there was nothing left. I am a fucking beast who cries, bleeds, fights and fucks. I feel! And I have been denying it a long fucking time because I was too afraid.”
That’s my dragon. Harry wrote, the words larger and flowing in beautiful script instead of his normal scrawl.
The laughter was bubbling up again, nearly impossible to contain but it wasn’t dark. As Draco let it go he could see, truly, just how joyful it was, this feeling inside. “My control has just been another prison. I’m done playing the fucking good son, good heir, good child, so I wouldn’t be another victim to Voldemort. He’s dead and I’m done. If I need your help, I’ll ask for it. Otherwise, worry about your own damn problems and leave me be.”
A war seemed to wage in Blaise as anger and confusion swirled in his dark eyes while he stared at his old friend.
“You’re not weak, Draco, I never thought that. If it was weakness, I don’t think I ever would have feared you would go through with it. You’re too strong. You go against the natural order of things to do horrible things to yourself, like what you did last summer.” Blaise looked away and took a deep breath. “Maybe it’s that beast inside you who is the source of it, who can let you do so much wrong out of pure determination.”
Draco’s lips curled into a snarl. “Still, you judge what I do as right or wrong instead of just accepting it was my fucking choice to make. What is right and wrong when you live in a world run by a monstrous dictator who could have killed us all with ease? Your opinion never mattered. No one’s did but mine. What is anyone to say of the value of my life, when it’s my life? I didn’t go against the natural order; I went with my natural order. I’m sorry you still think you have some say in that, but you don’t. I’ll accept you as a friend but not the ruler of my life.”
Draco’s words only made Blaise angry. He couldn’t handle his concern being turned, in Draco’s mind, into manipulation instead of just being the love he had for his friend. So what if he was trying to control Draco by keeping him alive? At least he would be alive! “You’re fucked, Draco. Fine, fight to die. What the hell do I care? You just gave it all away to your mother anyways. Go play beasts with Potter and pretend you’re not getting married and tied in a couple of weeks. I was concerned. We all were.”
“Your concern does not give you the right to run my fucking life,” Draco said steadily. His anger drained with the more conviction he felt. “I’ll deal with my mother when the time comes. In my way because it’s my right to do that as well. I’ll interact with Harry as I see fit and I don’t need your fucking opinions on the matter. And if you insist on continuing with your bloody prying shit, no matter what your intentions are, I’m going to cut you out of my life. Another choice I get to make where you get no say. Do you fucking understand yet?”
Blaise nodded curtly. Anger blazed even brighter in his eyes. “Well I get some fucking choices in this as well, Draco. One of them being whether I want to be around someone who doesn’t give a fuck about my opinions. At the moment, it’s definitely a no.” With a final glare, Blaise left and snapped the door shut behind him.
Draco stared at the door a moment but didn’t feel regretful at all. His fucking friends wasted their goddamn year thinking he was going to kill himself. They had tried to get him to be something alive when they really had no say in the fucking thing. Draco loved them but not enough to bow to them and their wants over his own. He needed to mourn and numb and be as miserable as he did. He was fucking sad; and there was nothing wrong with it. Draco glanced over when the pen clicked and began to write.
You are fucking sexy when you stand up for yourself.
Draco smirked, and ran his hand through his half dried hair. “I’m sure it’s nothing like the way you used to be, fucking burning from the eyes every time I pissed on one of your mudblood friends just to rile you up.”
So that was on purpose?
“Oh yeah, you have very demanding eyes.” Draco wanted to ask then, why Harry hadn’t tried to interfere when he went home to kill himself last year. But he imagined it was the same reason the infuriating Gryffindor pushed back when Draco was fighting Dumbledore and Jaz for Harry to be allowed to come back. Harry understood his own reasons for doing the things he did. Even if he didn’t understand Draco’s, he at least respected them. Draco would have to do the same.
Draco walked over to the papers on the floor and crouched down next to Harry’s body heat. “Here’s my dilemma. If I give up on the whole marriage thing and you die, I’ve got nothing to fall back on. I don’t think she’d do it, mother needs me too much. But being disowned, homeless and with my name run through the mud is really not some fairytale way to live. She’s promised that as the only option to Vellamorn. I need time to figure out how to get around it.”
Harry took a long moment to reply. His left hand moving out to flow over Draco’s bent leg while he tapped the pen on the floor. And what about if I really am fucked around humans? Is that how you want to live, outcast by your mother, tied to a pariah and forced to live in absolute seclusion? Yeah, I’ve got money and shit but is that enough to put up with never being around people again?
Draco shrugged and bit his lower lip. “As long as you’re alive, I really don’t give a fuck. Just, um, maybe we should also consider the possibility that I may be the fucking crazy one around the scent of human flesh,” he added nervously.
I have. I wanted to talk to you about keeping the ring on.
Draco rolled his eyes. “If you live, it’s coming off. I’ll break up with the bitch first thing, maybe get a place in order where we’ll be safe, but then the bloody thing is off and you are all mine.”
Harry tossed the pen aside, wrapped his arms around Draco and kissed him deeply. Draco tried not to think about how moot it all was; Harry was likely dead, and if not, Dumbledore might just finish him off just to be on the safe side. Right now it all felt fucking fantastic and he didn’t want to ruin it with reality.
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The final battle was not fought at Hogwarts among a sea of children. There had been no glorious clash of armies in front of the Ministry of Magic, waging a war between good and evil for all the wizarding world to see. No, not even Dumbledore could have expected that the calm summer night was different from any other until the wards at Privet Drive had fallen.
Two masked figures had raised their wands at the powerless muggles, murdering parents and son in a sickly flash of green. The scent of death had been strong in the air when Voldemort crept into the small second bedroom only to have a sleepy, messy haired teen with a telltale scar instinctively block the killing curse from his dusty, cramped bed.
The battling wizards’ wands had clashed and disintegrated in a blinding glow that illuminated the night sky for miles. In an instant, the Dark Lord’s twisted body had collapsed in upon itself, the life deflating from the scaled flesh. He had inhaled once, a shuddering, desperate breath, and then nothing. The Boy Who Lived, the Savior of the Wizarding World, had been consumed by the light, body and all. As he had disappeared, his expression was neither of acceptance nor fear. His jaw had been set, his eyes ablaze with power and determinations as he stared above the fallen flesh of He Who Must Not Be Named.
The final battle had no witnesses, not in this realm.
Those who bore the dark mark heard His final screams. The Death Eaters had felt the pull, the pain, when their lord reached for them in his final death throes. Voldemort had grasped the connection as an anchor to life. Instead, he had almost drawn them all into the abyss with him before the link had been severed. The marks had burned once again on the servants arms before fading into a mass of scar tissue, leaving a permanent reminder of past sins.
None had seen the final clash but all knew the result. Voldemort had been destroyed, never to return to torment, slaughter, or corrupt. As for the fate of Harry Potter, things were less clear. The Death Eaters had heard him curse the Dark Lord. Even as Severus Snape had stood over Voldemort’s stiffening corpse, he had heard Harry’s voice when he delivered the final killing blow. He had heard his heavy breathing and righteous words up until the connection had failed and Voldemort was no more. Still, Severus believed Harry to be alive even after months of fruitless searching.
Others were not convinced. During the Christmas break, a monument had been unveiled at the Ministry of Magic in a community wide ceremony. A statue of Harry defeating the Dark Lord had been erected to replace the ruined fountain that had once stood there. In effigy, Harry had become an eight foot tall, strapping man with the trademark lightning bolt scar covering half his face, posed to deliver the finishing blow to a crippled and weak Dark Lord. ‘The Boy Who Lived To Save Us All’ had been engraved at the feet of the memorial.
Harry’s friends had broken down at the sight while the Hogwarts teachers and the Order looked grim faced. No more searching would be done; the Ministry was content to let Harry Potter die as a martyr. Surprisingly, it had been an icy eyed Draco Malfoy, father and aunt freshly incarcerated for killing the Dursleys, who had spoken what all those close to Harry were thinking. “Potter would have hated this.”
Still, as the winter turned to spring and things at Hogwarts began to settle down once again, a certain Gringotts’s vault remained locked to the Ministry’s prying hands. Somewhere, a Potter still lived.
“Seriously, Draco, try to eat,” Blaise muttered under his breath as he lightly elbowed his pale and lately too thin friend.
“Fuck off,” Draco grumbled back. He rested his chin on his hand and pushed his food around on his plate with a fork.
Blaise sighed heavily and turned to glare. “I’m not joking. I think you have a problem.”
“You’re going to have a fucking problem if you start spouting shit again, Zabini.” Draco silky blond hair fell across his face and he swiftly pushed it back with a vicious motion of his hand.
Narrowing his eyes, Blaise leaned in closer so the surrounding Slytherins couldn’t hear him. The Great Hall was full of students eating lunch, most of them loudly chatting about the upcoming quidditch match. They were a colorful contrast to his morose friend who was only growing more somber as the months went by. “Bullshit, Malfoy. I’m not falling for your fucking empty threats. I want you to see Pomfrey—How are you going to fly tomorrow if you haven’t eaten in a fucking week, huh? You’re going to get yourself bloody killed and right now, I think that’s exactly what you want.”
Draco’s hand tightened on his fork and he bent the silver utensil. “Back. The Fuck. Off.”
“Or what? You’ll faint on me?” Blaise’s angry brown eyes dared him to disagree. “You’re a mess, Malfoy. You have a team of people depending on you tomorrow and you can’t even bring yourself to eat. Its time to get some help.”
Pansy reached a hand out, grabbed Blaise by his sleek ponytail and pulled the black boy back away from Draco’s silver glare. “This is not helpful. We’re in the Great Hall.”
“I don’t care anymore,” Blaise hissed under his breath. “I can’t just keep watching this.”
Glaring challengingly, Draco cut a piece of chicken with his knife and fork and put it in his mouth. Only to promptly turn green and spit it back out onto his plate. “Fuck. Fucking hell.” He pushed his food away, and turned on his friend. “You know what? Fuck you, Zabini. Spending one fucking summer with you because my parents were in jail doesn’t mean you get to be my fucking mother, okay? She’s still around and she’s shitty enough as it is.”
“Yeah, well, maybe if you told her to fuck off with that arranged marriage shit, instead of letting her run your goddamn life, you’d be eating right now,” Blaise shot back. “You’ve been a damn wreck since she messaged you. Why are you even doing this? Your dad is in jail, your mom is under suspicion—Why are you letting them fuck you over like this?”
Draco looked about moments away from punching his friend in the teeth. He fisted his hands, knuckles white in restraint as he slowly and calmly replied, “Its none of your bloody business, you nosy shit.”
“It’s your goddamn life, Draco. Stop throwing it away!” Blaise yelled. Pansy’s restraining hand did nothing to curb him.
Draco looked up to find nearly everyone at his table, never mind the Great Hall, turn their heads towards him. He took a deep breath and coolly and deliberately stood. “I’ll see you in class,” he said with a false sense of calm while extracting himself from the bench.
Harry Potter watched from his perch on the Gryffindor table between magically enchanted plates of food. He couldn’t pull his gaze away as Draco tried to escape whatever heated conversation he was having with his dormmates. “Holy fuck, Malfoy. You’re actually alive.”
When Harry stood, no one noticed. His legs passed through student and bench alike. The floor was solid beneath his feet but not much else in Hogwarts was. Passing through people was disconcerting usually, but he barely noticed at the moment, his gazed fixed on Draco Malfoy.
Alive. He was alive. Alive, angry, and damn beautiful.
Harry’s gaze roamed intently, taking in Draco’s slim form and tired expression. He paused when Ron and his quidditch teammates stepped up and blocked Malfoy from the Great Hall doors. Gryffindor was having a match against Slytherin tomorrow and everyone was wondering if Malfoy was going to choke. Draco’s teammates were also getting up, whatever being said enough to think the Slytherin captain needed defense.
Harry doubted Draco needed any defending. He never had a problem taking care of himself. Still, he stepped closer. There was something almost mesmerizing about Draco… Actually, was he glowing?
“You look like shit, Ferret. Can’t handle the pressure?” Ron asked while he casually folded his arms across his chest and blocked the doorway.
Draco stopped short and glanced up, not intimidated even though Ron was over a head taller than him. “What pressure, Weasel? You haven’t won a game since.” He blew his hair from of his face with a bored expression.
“Neither have you. I figure our odds are looking damn good.”
Draco rolled his eyes then fixing Ron with a sardonic sneer. “If you go in for empty victories, by all means. I sure as fuck don’t. Playing you tomorrow is a goddamn joke.”
Ron couldn’t disagree; their new seeker was shit and everyone’s morale down with Harry dead. “Well, it’s a fucking joke that we gotta see to the end. And I would appreciate it if you would actually put some energy into it, Ferret.”
“Oh, I’m not backing down,” Draco assured him grimly. “Even with him gone, I’m kicking the field with you stupid lions.”
Ron smirked at that and nudged Seamus, who was standing next to him. “Fucking told ya. Malfoy’s not going to make it easy.”
Seamus shrugged and glared at the Slytherins gathered behind their captain. “We’ll see.”
“Getting tired of all the charity matches already, Weasel?” Draco looked unimpressed. “I swear, they keep trying to hand you the fucking winning cup and your new seeker still refuses to catch the snitch. Must be a goddamn shame.”
“It sure fucking is.” Ron chose to ignore the scorn in his voice. “Tell your team to start sharpening their beater bats. I want to see some blood tomorrow.”
Draco laughed and glanced back at his currently muttering quidditch team. “As long as you don’t mind that it’s yours. I’m sure Potter would appreciate a blood sacrifice in his honor, even from his own house mates.”
Ron couldn’t help but chuckle back. “Just looking for a proper game. No more of this pity shit. I figured you’d be the last one to have any of that.”
Draco nodded only to distractedly turn his head when Blaise pushed past to whisper in his ear. “Draco, let’s go to Pomfrey’s. It’ll be just a second.”
“Let it the fuck go, Blaise,” Draco said with a scowl. He pulled away. “Weasley, move the hell out of my way already.” He shoved lightly at Ron’s towering form when he continued to lean on the only exit out.
“Whatever.” Ron raised himself off the door and tilted his head at his team. “Come on, clear out. We should go practice anyways.”
“I don’t know why you bloody lions think you’d have a chance if Potty was alive,” Theodore Nott called loudly as the group of players started to clear.
Stilling, Ron straightened to his full height and glared down at Theodore. “Watch your mouth.” Seamus and Dean were suddenly at his side with matching frowns.
“Why? Some fucking holy being going to strike me down for tarnishing Saint Potter’s name?” Theodore scoffed and met Ron’s glare head on. “All he did was get himself killed by You-Know-Who. The stupid fuck was a shit martyr, never mind terrible seeker.”
Ron took a step to swing at Theodore, only to fall back when Draco whirled from the doorway and brutally grabbed his teammate by the face. Draco pushed Theodore backward and down to the floor, the force strong enough to smack his head against the tile.
“You have got to be some kind of fucking idiot,” Ron said as he used his tall form to block the view from the teachers’ table across the room. Draco knelt on Theodore’s chest, grabbed him by the throat, and stuck his wand in his face. Theodore didn’t dare speak, his stare cross-eyed at the wand burning red centimeters from his flesh.
“Theo, I will only say this once,” Draco growled as his hand tightened on his throat. “If you ever say anything bad about Potter in my presence again, I will kill you.”
“Draco, I didn’t mean—!”
“Shut. Up.” Dark anger curled into his voice. Draco reached over and tore the sleeve of Theodore’s robe up to reveal his scarred arm. “You can pretend all you want that you weren’t crying like a bitch when they beat the shit out of you and burned the mark on your arm. I fucking remember, Theo. I watched as each one was forced to kneel and scream. The monster is dead and you will not call his memory. You sure as hell will not belittle the name of the guy that killed him and freed us. I will not stand for it!”
Theodore didn’t speak, didn’t move. He stared at the power sparking off of Draco, who was trying to control his wrath.
His eyes tight on the scene, Harry stepped through classmates and friends to kneel in front of the glowing Draco. “You idiot, Malfoy, getting all worked up over nothing. People are going to start thinking you give a shit.”
It didn’t matter Draco was too thin and exhausted looking; he was beautiful, especially when death was blazing in his silver eyes. There was a time when Harry thought Draco wanted to be a Death Eater just like his father and aunt. But that was before last year when he heard Malfoy admit to his friends he was planning to kill himself over summer break. Draco thought death was better than life as a slave to Voldemort.
That was the moment he fell in love with the crazy prat.
“Mr. Malfoy, I think it would be wise to come with me.” Severus Snape stalked over and stood behind Draco, and placed a careful, restraining hand on his shoulder.
Draco took a slow breath, and then another. He closed his eyes to block out the current object of his anger. It wasn’t Theo’s fault. They all talked shit—It was what they did for years. It was how it was supposed to be. Except Voldemort died and killed another child in the process, and now you didn’t talk shit about Potter anymore. Not if you wanted to be in the same room with Draco or Ron and not be hexed into oblivion.
Draco’s hair fell across his eye and he automatically brushed it away. He froze mid swipe as something touched his hand. A familiar scent filtered in and he swayed dizzily as his blood roared in his ears. The memory of green eyes flashed in his mind’s eye. “What?”
Harry gaped, and held his hand to his chest where Draco had knocked into it. “Malfoy, can you—?”
“Come along, Mr. Malfoy.” Snape guided Draco up and helped him stand. All Harry could do was stare when his potions professor stepped through him unseeing.
Draco looked around in confusion as he tried to figure out what just happened. He noticed Theodore again, looking relieved and not as terrified as he should be. Draco shook back to reality and glared at Vince and Greg. His intention was clear as he tilted his head toward the fucker on the floor who was in desperate need of a bloody beating once the teachers were gone.
Draco caught Ron’s eye, his eyebrow raised as he pocketed his wand. “Weasel, I’ll see you tomorrow when I’m kicking your ass on the field.”
“Looking forward to it, Ferret,” Ron said gruffly. He deliberately stepped on Theodore’s hand as he turned. “Wear the pointy boots; those are always fun.”
Harry stared up from his sprawl on the floor while students walked through him oblivious. Draco followed his head of house out the Great Hall doors and down to the dungeons.
He imagined it. Glowing—But it felt so real. He held his hand tighter and relished the contact even as another student stepped right through him. It had to be real.
God, he needed it to be real.
Harry got up to follow Draco, then stopped when Blaise and Ron start arguing furiously under their breath at each other. Pansy came over and then Ron and her both rounded on Blaise to say something about not pushing Draco. It was only going to make him pull away. Hermione apparently agreed. She stepped around Theodore, who was finally pulling himself to his feet. Then everyone started yelling at Theodore, and demanded to know what the fuck he was thinking.
Theodore held his hands up, still very shaken from what he was certain was nearly a painful death. “What? How the fuck was I to know? His father and aunt helped get Potter killed!”
“You’re a waste of brain matter, Nott,” Ron growled. “Don’t you think Malfoy might be feeling a little fucking guilty about that?”
They separated. Blaise and Pansy walked with Ron and Hermione back to the Gryffindor table to whisper more, and Crabbe and Goyle hauled Nott by his arms and lugged him out the door.
Harry blinked a few times in disbelief. Maybe he hadn’t been thrown out of his dimension. Maybe he was just viewing an absolutely different reality instead because things were fucking bizarre.
He twitched uncontrollably and grabbed his side as power sparked painfully. “Fuck.”
It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Decided, Harry headed for the dungeons. If he could find Snape and Malfoy, he might be able to test if he could sense him.
Harry ended up sitting outside Snape’s office door. He was unwilling to barge in while the two were inside talking about whatever the hell was wrong with Malfoy. And clearly there was something very wrong with the prat. Draco used to be the epitome of self control. He’d play the part of the perfect bad boy while secretly plot ways to be free of the monster waiting for him at Malfoy Manor. Now, well, now he was attacking his own house mates, fighting in the Great Hall, and apparently being friendly with Gryffindors. Or at least, Malfoy’s friends were being friendly.
Guilty. Why the fuck would Draco feel guilty about what his father and aunt did? It’s not like he had any control in anything. Not like he could have stopped them, or warned anyone with enough power to stop Voldemort. It was ridiculous to waste so much energy on something one couldn’t control. Harry knew firsthand.
He spent the last months feeling guilty the Dursleys died. They weren’t perfect but they sure as fuck didn’t deserved a wand to the head. They did nothing to deserve their untimely death except take an orphaned wizard in under the protections of the wards. They paid with their lives.
With a sigh, he stretched his legs out. His head thumped back on the door in a way he could only hear.
He was probably still alive. Sure, he had no hunger, no need to sleep, or breathe, but still, he knew he was alive. He could feel. Hogwarts existed in more than one dimension and the magic infused into the stone castle made it solid to his touch. Harry constantly brushed his hands and feet on anything with a hint of magic just to remind himself he was alive. Especially during those small, terrifying moments when his magic flared and snorted as if what was holding him together was slowly unraveling.
He needed even more to feel alive because in those moments, he was certain he was dying.
The spasms occurred more often now, as well as he could tell with his limited ability to keep track of time. He lost hours, maybe even days for all he knew. Not sleeping, but not existing. He was starting to slip away and it scared him.
Ironic, when he considered how he got in the situation to begin with. He survived. Voldemort stalked him down and surprised him in the house at 4 Privet Drive during his summer before seventh year. He woke to feel the Dursleys die. The Death Eaters killed them while Voldemort cast the killing curse on him. Harry blocked it, raised his wand, and when Voldemort cast another spell, a terrible light exploded from their energies meeting.
Voldemort died. He made sure. Even though the twisted body fell when their wands met, something dark and stained filled the space where Voldemort stood. It was almost as if evil found a form, corrupting the air around it, shimmering in terrible magic. Harry’s body didn’t fall. He was encased in light and his magic was somehow stronger in the new realm. With an ease he still couldn’t fathom, he wandlessly cleaned the stain that was Voldemort from all the realms with a few powerful explosions of raw magic.
He was stuck after that. Whatever the explosion did to send them out of reality, it hadn’t reversed with Voldemort’s death. Harry watched the Aurors arrive and arrest Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange, the two Death Eaters who came with Voldemort that evening. Severus Snape, who was working for the Order of the Phoenix, looked everywhere while muttering and holding his searing arm, saying he was certain Harry was still alive.
For a while, Harry had hope he might figure something out. But Snape was waylaid by the group of gawkers and authorities sifting through the Dursleys’ house who were wrapping bodies and taking evidence. Harry stayed at Privet Drive once everyone left. He thought maybe there was something he was missing. A portal, a path—something to find his way back out of the strange echo of life he found himself in. But there was nothing.
Time moved differently where he was. He slipped, lost days without realizing it and missed the train to Hogwarts. He found the station and followed the tracks. He walked for months in nothing but the jeans he was wearing when Voldemort attacked. Not that it mattered; his feet felt no pain and he never got tired. The ground held enough life energy in it to keep him from slipping through, but not enough to hold solid.
Hogwarts was solid to him. Anything with a magical ward strong enough to keep people out, could stop him from crossing through. But there were plenty of doors that weren’t warded and he slipped through those easy enough. After observing Fawkes, Dumbledore’s phoenix, Harry learned to get through the passworded and locked doors as well.
Fawkes revealed to him exactly what happened, even if no solution was available to fix it. He read phoenixes existed on seven planes of reality. Harry now existed on five. Which would be fine, but none of them were of the realm he belonged in. Since he shared three of these same realms with Fawkes, he could interact with the phoenix even if not with anyone else.
“What if I imagined it?”
Malfoy was all weird and glowing and Harry sort of assumed he might be able to sense him. Magic was solid to him, so if Draco was cursed—or whatever made him seem full to the brim with power—it stood to reason he would be tangible. But things kept tricking him for a while now.
He thought Dumbledore could see him at first, had assumed because he was such a powerful wizard. But even weeks following him around in his office, shouting at the top of his lungs, Dumbledore didn’t noticed him at all. Maybe this was the same and he was just getting his hopes up. Maybe he just imagined touching Malfoy’s hand.
He was alive. It was still difficult for Harry to get his mind around it. He went back to the Dursley’s last summer certain Draco would be dead within days and knowing there was nothing he could do about it but pray he would find a better answer. He might have become a bit obsessed with Malfoy then, as if hoping that if he thought about him enough, Draco wouldn’t really die. He didn’t want him to die.
A year ago when hiding under his cloak and wandering the halls he stumbled across Draco, Pansy and Blaise arguing in an empty classroom. Draco was terrified his father was going to force the dark mark on him and was threatening to kill himself. It was about the clearest he ever understood Malfoy in that moment while Draco’s friend’s argued dying really wasn’t going to solve a fucking thing. Draco insisted death was better than being a slave any fucking day, no matter how fucking terrified he was. In this he at least had a choice.
Blaise and Pansy convinced Draco to wait it out, to wait until he was certain. Voldemort made his attack only a few weeks into vacation, apparently before Draco did himself in. Harry had no clue. As each day dawned, he faced the possibility it was Draco’s last.
He shared what he saw of that night at Hogwarts with Hermione and Ron. He asked them not to give him shit for liking Draco. Maybe that was why everyone seemed so buddy buddy? Draco never showed any inclination in him—beyond whatever fucked up yelling thing they always found themselves doing. Harry was pretty sure the prat was straight and had a fiance ever since third year. But maybe Hermione and Ron were afraid Draco was unstable and going to off himself and took it on themselves to watch over him?
Draco sure as fuck was acting unstable. Too thin, too tired looking, fighting. Somehow Harry felt guilty about that too, even though he didn’t have any control in the matter. He fought damn hard to keep going and find a way back. Time was just running out.
He drifted in a place where he didn’t sleep but didn’t really exist fully. He felt depressed and hopeless. In his unconscious state, Harry was unaware of when Snape’s door flew open but he did notice the pain in his foot. He could not remember the last time he felt pain but it was not enjoyable to rediscover after so long.
Harry cracked his eye open and was privileged to the sight of a very flustered Malfoy strewn across the floor in front of him. The git was really cute since he changed his hairstyle to let it flow loose. Or maybe it was the embarrassed pout on his flushed face.
“Are you all right, Mr. Malfoy?” Severus looked down at Draco with a raised eyebrow.
Draco gave a long-suffering sigh and pulled himself to his feet. “Yes, Professor. I think I tripped over my shoe or something.”
“Not bloody likely,” Harry muttered and rubbed his sore ankle. He stood and crossed into Snape’s body, then passed through.
Snape gave Draco a dubious look, then nodded. “If you like, I can give you a pass for the rest of the day.”
“I’m fine, really, Professor. It was just, you know, stress from the quidditch match tomorrow.” Draco didn’t want to make a big deal out of anything. He was tripping a lot lately, losing his strength and his balance. It was likely from not being able to keep his food down. “If I skip out of class now, they’ll all think I’m unbalanced or something. It’s my last period of the day, anyways.”
He finished dusting off his pants and finally met his Head of House’s gaze. “Thank you, Professor. For um, listening.” His smile was unsteady at best, but Draco was proud he could manage that much.
“You know my door is always open, Mr. Malfoy. Better to come to me, than to go cursing students left and right.” Snape spoke in his normal manner but the affection was not unnoticed. With a quick bow and stronger smile, Draco slipped down the hall.
Harry followed after while limping slightly. He glanced at Severus’s expression as the man watched Draco leave. Snape looked downright concerned and Harry had to wonder what he knew about Malfoy he didn’t.
Malfoy’s last class of the day was Transfigurations and he happened to share it with the Gryffindors. When Draco came in late, he actually received a small round of cheers from everyone but Theodore, who now had a black eye, bloodied lip, and was scowling at his desk. Draco just frowned at them all and took his seat, clearly not proud with how anything happened that day.
Harry wandered the rows of the class and watched as the students chatted and cast their spells. He started switching his view. When he moved through the other four dimensions he existed in, he could see how their magic looked. He hoped to find some sort of clue on how to get free. He knew magic was part of the answer. It was how he ended up in the damn place, was the only thing he could touch, and was also something he lost a lot of his control over now he was without a wand.
It was while peering through the five different planes of existence Harry found out how Malfoy could trip over him and he could be hurt. It was the last plane, the fifth where the world fuzzed out and all he could see were shifting colors and the magic in the castle walls. Even Fawkes wasn’t present on this plane but he found Malfoy there, bright and glowing with luminous light. He looked like some otherworldly being. Absolutely nude, too.
Harry exhaled slowly, and slipped closer to take in the soft feathers and sleek scales peppering Draco’s ears and skin. Long, wicked talons ended from his fingers as he tapped the desk lightly. Harry grinned at the sight and walked around him to stare at the long curve of his back and his lithe tail slinking down. Either Malfoy was cursed or he was part magical creature. Which magical creature, he didn’t have a clue, but it was certainly long, taut and fucking sexy.
Harry’s appearance on this plane was more an absence of. He was still, dark, and the color around him faded as if he were stealing it away. This was where he could see the cracks forming; gold light dazzled out of his skin where his body slowly broke apart. He quickly switched back to the first plane. He didn’t want to see. He didn’t want to see his quickly approaching death.
He leaned over Draco, who looked beyond bored, and gazed intently at his creamy skin. “Hey, Malfoy?” Draco turned another page of his textbook unhearing. Harry took a deep breath and continued at the top of his lungs, “Malfoy, you crazy son of a bitch! Fucking answer me, and if we’re lucky, I’ll be back in time to wipe the quidditch field with your ass tomorrow!”
By the time he was done, he was breathing heavily. Harry whooped in triumph when Draco shifted and raising a hand to his ear. That was, until he realized his breath only tickled Draco’s neck where he was shouting furiously. He gave a sigh of defeat and quirked a smile when Draco swatted at the spot. He was fucking adorable.
Harry blew a steady stream of air into Draco’s twitching ear while he tried to think of his next course of action. Obviously Malfoy couldn’t see him or he’d be screaming bloody murder by now. How exactly could he communicate without sound or sight? There was no way Malfoy was going to recognize him by touch.
Harry shifted backwards and looked again at who he was idly tormenting. Draco growled softly and viciously rubbed at the side of his face in an endearing fashion. Harry couldn’t help but snicker at the dangerous glare Draco sent his fellow classmates. He waited a few minutes for him to settle back down before picking a new target. His eyes were drawn to the delicate dip where Draco’s neck connected to his shoulder. With a wicked smirk, Harry blew. The reaction was instantaneous and priceless. Draco yelped loudly and jumped to his feet while grabbing his neck. He snarled as he whirled around to find the culprit.
“Is there a problem, Mr. Malfoy?” Professor McGonagall asked while Draco twitched and glared. Her tone was less stern than usual; she’d been there in the Great Hall when Draco defended Harry’s name.
“Uh… no, Professor. Just a bug, or draft, or something,” Draco muttered. He sat obediently but his glare remained steady as he searched the students around him.
“Damn, you’re always good for a laugh, Malfoy.” Harry beamed while Draco glowered. Even if he couldn’t find a way back, he could spend the rest of his short life annoying the shit out of his gorgeous rival. He blew idly at the white blond strands of Draco’s hair, and watched as Draco became increasingly tense.
It probably wasn’t the best way to start off their relationship, seeing as Draco was the only other human to be able to sense him. Harry couldn’t seem to stop himself. He missed just how interesting Draco looked when absolutely pissed off. And now, well now he could see it very close up. Every time Malfoy whimpered softly and scrubbed the ticklish spots he kept seeking, Harry admitted to a delicious tightening in his stomach.
When he happened to lean very close to fan heat over his neck and Draco’s eyes glazed slightly while he squirmed in his seat, well, that was rather interesting as well. It would be nothing to flick his tongue out and lick up the side of Draco’s neck.
Fuck, would Malfoy even know if he did?
Harry stepped back, ran his hand through his messy hair and breathed deep. He was playing with fire and he fucking knew it. Being able to be this close and not have anyone know a fucking thing, even Malfoy… It was dangerous. Very damn dangerous when he considered how long he wanted to touch the prat. Harry was used to not being noticed and maybe, maybe he stopped caring about all the rules of being proper and respectful.
He leaned back in again and shifted until he was face to face with Draco. He watched his startling white eyelashes flutter as he read. “Malfoy, what if I kissed you right now? Would you even know? You’d feel it, but would you know?”
Draco’s lashes flickered and his silver eyes raised slightly. Harry ducked down to see clearer, his breath puffing over his cheek. Crystal eyes turned right at him and followed the heat of his breath. Harry held perfectly still and stared intently. He could make out the very light hair on Draco’s cheek, slight variations to his skin tone and even some fine stubble on his jaw. He was very real like this. Not some glowing lie, or fantasy. Draco Malfoy was real, alive, and could feel his touch.
Harry felt Draco’s breath brush over his chin, soft and warm when he sighed in annoyance. “Fucking hell,” Draco huffed quietly. He scratched at his neck where Harry was blowing earlier. His fingers lingered and slowly traced down to the dip in his throat with a soft noise of flesh brushing flesh. Harry followed with his face, moved down until he was right in front of where Draco’s muscles connected to his collarbone. He breathed hot breath, and listened as Draco gasped and touched the spot again, his fingers caressing his flesh slowly.
Harry sank to the ground and sat. He was on the verge of doing something very dangerous. Possibly immoral.
This was much better than the invisibility cloak, he realized dizzily. He could get so close and never worry about getting caught. Even if Draco bumped into him, he would never know it was him. He could never get angry for staring. Maybe even touching a little…
Harry groaned and buried his head in his hands. It was a very dangerous tangent. He should just try and talk Malfoy, not… fuck… Well, yeah, not get into his pants.
Could he get into his pants like this?
Harry groaned again and bit his palm sharply to keep from doing something stupid. He was feeling like a fucking raving lunatic. Draco Malfoy was at his fingertips if he just had the nerve to take him.
A spasm of energy hit Harry all of a sudden, painful and alarming. It pulled him from his heated thoughts and reminded him how little time he had.
He stood and took in how beautiful Draco was as he leaned in again. This time he chose the ear he first assaulted. He trailed a soft stream of air while Draco twitch, and told himself this was all he was going to do. Annoy the prat. Look and annoy.
By the time class was finished, Harry was doing his best not to laugh at how pissed Malfoy was. Draco collected his school things while muttering about fleas under his breath the entire time. Harry’s stomach was tight with lust and anxiety from the many fucked up thoughts he really shouldn’t be considering. He felt a bit woozy from the many emotions but did his best to follow the scowling Draco down into the dungeons.
“Bloody… fucking… unicorns.” Draco scrubbed at the back of his neck while he juggled books and parchments to get his wand free. “Lice. It has to be fucking lice… or fleas. The oaf probably has both—Shit, fuck… Oh, fuck.” Another wave of air hit the side of his neck and reduced him to broken gasps as he tried to open his damn door. As a prefect and an upperclassman, he had his own set of small rooms. Right now he needed the bathroom to shower the fucking bugs off and wank desperately.
Draco had this thing with his neck. He was very sensitive there, ridiculously so. Not to mention, lately he kept thinking he smelled Potter, and to mix thoughts of the wild, green-eyed Harry and his neck was just fucking explosive. Finally, he managed to get the door open. He pushed it wide, threw his school things on the bed and then spelled the door locked.
Wand in hand, Draco pushed his robes off his shoulders and examined the fine fabric for crawlies. He couldn’t find anything damning but spelled some pest control over it just in case. He then unbuttoned his shirt, pulled it off and glared at the collar closely. Nothing… Fucking nothing. He moved to the mirror in his room and examined where he itched. His neck was pink in spots from his scratching and rubbing. Draco ran tentative fingers over the area and tried to see if there were any bumps to indicate a rash.
His eyes half closed and he released a broken breath from the sensation. He fanned his fingers wide and watched his hand move down his throat. He thought someone was breathing on him. He could have sworn it was hot breath moving over his neck, teasing him, tempting him… smelling like Harry Potter.
“Fuck. I’m losing my fucking mind.” He was particularly dizzy that day. Usually he could keep some juice down, but Blaise arguing with him turned his stomach too much for even that. Clearly he was just losing it.
Draco kicked off his shoes and arranged them by the foot of his bookcase before he scooped up his clothes to throw in the laundry in the adjoining bathroom. He finished stripping in the small room, turned on the water and charmed it to a near hot temperature. He quickly leaned under the spray with head raised to let water caress down his neck. “I’m losing my fucking mind,” he muttered as water slipped in and dripped out between his parted lips.
Draco’s eyes closed and the water sluicing down his face. He tried not to think about what he used to think of whenever he would argue with Harry. It always left him hot afterwards and sometimes—most times—hard. There was just something about Potter’s eyes, especially when flashing in anger, that was so fucking intense as they tried to bend him to his will. Be it to speak nicely or care about the things he cared about. Harry’s righteous anger was infuriating and damn sexy in its need to change him. Draco was always happy to bait him with things to piss Potter off.
He wasn’t supposed to think about that anymore and not just because Potter was dead. Draco’s body experienced difficulties with the responsibilities placed on it as it was. Reminding himself he got hard over guys was going to make raising a family with a girl very difficult. Having Harry’s memory of scent around him today was a challenging reminder. He was aching inside. He hadn’t felt this ache in a long time, not since his last day of school before summer.
Potter was staring at him on the train. He went so far as to strike up a conversation with him while alone in the narrow hallway, and asked him what he was going to be doing that summer. Harry’s wild eyes demanded something of him—what, he had no idea—but he stared so intently, so demandingly while Draco blathered something about summer reading. He ached so much once Potter left. Draco ended up in the small bathroom of the locomotive where he jerked off desperately while biting his wrist to keep from making any noise.
When he came, he wished for something else, something inside him to fill the ache. Then he quashed the feeling down, told himself just how fucking wrong it was to want that. He was a guy, and guys weren’t supposed to want other guys. Even if it might be okay to want another guy, there was no way he could want to be filled—stretched open wide and stuffed full by a guy—could be redeemable. To do the fucking maybe, but wanting to be fucked was definitely wrong.
Only girls wanted that and he had no interest in being a girl. Draco didn’t like how girls looked. He didn’t like how soft and waif like and wide eyed they were always trying to be, as if guys were supposed to see their weakness and save them. He didn’t need saving, and he didn’t want just any guy to come around thinking he could have a shot at doing such a thing. He was strong and he liked strong things. He liked wild things that were even stronger than he was. Fuck, he liked wild things that could make him feel weak in comparison.
Potter made him feel weak sometimes. He was a damn combustion of hot power most of the time, especially when angry. Faced with that power, Draco thought maybe it could be enough to shut up the voice in his head which told him wanting guys was wrong. If Harry was just a little more demanding of him, he might have let him kiss him… maybe even touch him. And one day, if Harry was stronger, and wild, and very demanding, Draco might even let him fuck him.
But Harry was dead and he was getting married soon.
Today Draco ached and needed something inside to fill the empty feeling. Maybe today, just today, he would think of Potter and give in to those demanding eyes in his mind. Just once. Just because tomorrow was the quidditch match Harry should have fought him in. His eyes would have demanded from him, and now never would again.
“Right.” Harry stood on the other side of the bathroom door and stared at the wide crack where Draco failed to shut the door completely. “Okay.” Draco just stripped, right in front of him, and touched his neck like some—Hell, like someone who really liked his neck being touched.
Harry let out a shaky breath and moved towards the door. He wasn’t sure what the fuck he was thinking, just that it was very important he make sure Malfoy was still on the other side. The shower was filling up with white steam and he could barely make anything out. Hand raised, he pressed at the wood of the door. It was unwarded and allowed him to pass through without resistance. Harry licked his lips and stepped slowly through. Steam engulfed his vision even as it failed to wet his skin.
Draco was touching his neck, his long fingers tracing up and down in teasing strokes. His eyes were closed, brows furrowed and lips parted as he panted quietly. In his other hand was a loofah which currently scrubbed mindlessly as it trailed soap and small bubbles over his slick torso.
“Shit, Malfoy, fucking look at you.” Harry took a step closer with hands determinedly at his sides. Draco was drop dead gorgeous. His long toned body, pale, strong and lithe. He was compact and nearly deceptively delicate, even though clearly muscled over his narrow hips, tight torso and flared shoulders. He was a damn fine athlete, which Harry recalled well from quidditch.
His white blond hair was nearly transparent under the water as it dripped down his body. Harry stepped closer and the water moved through him as if he wasn’t there at all. The element clung to Draco, moved over his flesh possessively, slid down the curve of his ass, the flat planes of his stomach, and slipped between his muscular thighs. It was currently being directed over his throat as he bent his head back even further, pressed his pale flesh into the spray and gasped as water streamed out of his mouth.
Harry couldn’t seem to stop himself. His hand was suddenly inches from Draco’s throat. His fingertips outstretched and brushed ever so gently where the water spray hit his flesh. That very dangerous feeling was rising in him again with his eyes caught on Draco’s mouth. Harry pulled his hand away, dipped his head, and blew on the back of Draco’s wet neck.
Draco groaned. The hand touching his neck reached forward to brace on the tile before him. The sponge was clutched soapy in his tight grasp, his movements stilled to feel the return of the strange torment very much like someone breathing on him. Harry shifted. His eyes moved to the curve of Draco’s neck and his hot breath followed. He watched Draco turn his body to direct the sensation until Harry was blowing across the center dip by his collarbone again. He raised up slowly and fanned breath over Draco’s throat, jaw, and gasping lips.
“Losing my fucking mind,” Draco mumbled dizzily with eyes shut tight under the water. Harry’s own breath was strained and he forced himself to step back while holding his hands flat against his sides to keep from reaching out. After a moment, Draco’s hand returned to his neck and his fingers brushed the trail Harry just took. “Fucking mad.”
Draco’s other hand dropped the loofah on the floor so his shaking fingers could curl around his erection. He was long, flesh flushed red as his cock rose up from his body. Draco pulled with slow, long tugs and used the water to smooth his motions. After a moment he let go. His fingers moved down, palm cupped his balls and caressed. Further still, his tense thighs spread to make room as his fingertips danced across his entrance.
Harry dragged his eyes up to his face, and found Draco’s ripe bottom lip worried between his teeth as he hesitated. Was this the first time? Harry groaned and bit his palm even though Draco couldn’t hear him. He assumed he liked to bottom. Probably because, well, fuck, because he wanted to fuck Draco’s, round, tight bottom. Had he never even touched himself there?
“Fuck, Malfoy, fucking do it,” Harry commanded hoarsely as he watched the struggle of embarrassment and want flicker over Draco’s face. “I think you’re going to like it. Pretty fucking sure you’re going to be begging for it.”
He stared intently when Draco’s expression slowly changed. Draco released his trapped red lip to pant, his brows furrowed tight as he suddenly gasped and body jerked. Harry’s gaze jumped down to watch as Draco stroked a finger inside his entrance, twisted and thrust to stretch his tight, virgin hole.
Harry leaned back against the shower tile a couple of feet away from Draco’s softly moaning form. He blindly fumbled for the zip on his jeans. He couldn’t pull his attention from where Draco’s long finger disappeared inside him, and then up to his face where his pink mouth was wide in gasping pleasure.
Malfoy would fucking stop if he touched him. He would stop, and freak, and never again shove fingers deep inside with hips bucking to bury them even further. And it was very, fucking, important Draco do this again. Preferably every time he touched himself, especially if he happened to be watching.
Oh hell, and he was begging for it. With hand fisted around his straining dick, Harry listened as Draco leaned his face against the cool tile and murmured while he pressed two fingers into his tight hole.
“Please. Oh, please. Fuck deeper. Just a bit deeper… uhn.” Draco whimpered when he withdrew his fingers. He moving around his outer thigh in the hopes to reaching deeper. He sheathed two fingers into his tight flesh again. His mouth gaped and air shattered out of him as he thrust his hips back onto his hand. “Oh, god. Oh… my… god. Fuck me. Yes.”
“Fucking told you, you fucking hot… sexy… prat.” Harry felt his resolve crumble as Draco continued a stream of very nasty, very desperate pleas for more. More length, more thickness, more force.
He would stop. There was no way Malfoy would continue if suddenly touched, and licked, and bit all over. No matter if Draco was currently aching for more and Harry had plenty more he would happily fucking give him.
“How do you like it, Malfoy? Shit, do you even know how you like it?” Harry turned his face so he was eye to eye with Draco’s moaning face resting on the tile wall. “Do you like it soft, slow, sweet? Or hard, and rough, and god damn savage? How do you like to be fucked, you gorgeous, beautiful bastard.” He watched as Draco’s white eyelashes fluttered. Draco peeked his tongue out and pressed it to the tile to lap in a firm, hard motion.
“Fucking hell. Holy fucking hell,” Harry whispered. He swallowed thickly, eyes caught on Draco’s very red tongue as he continued to lick the tile with abandon. Draco’s moans and gasps muffled into the unyielding wall while he pumped fingers inside his passage. “You like something in your mouth. Deep in your mouth. And someone touching your throat. Maybe a collar, so you can… can always feel something there. Mmm… something big, and long shoved up your tight ass. Pumping into you. Taking you. Filling you.”
Harry groaned and flicked his tongue out and ran it over the wall. It tingled from the feel of magic in the surface. “I would really like to be that big, long cock shoved in your hole.” He fought the urge to shut his eyes and give in to the feel of his palm running over his length in quick, desperate motions. Draco kept pushing back on his fingers, his knees shaking, tongue dancing over the tile, and he didn’t want to miss a thing.
With a desperate whimper, Draco turned and leaned his shoulder against the wall, unknowingly showing Harry his hard, smooth lines. Harry’s gaze was drawn down his pale form to linger on his belly button and the soft white hair dusting his navel and thicker at his groin. He watched as Draco took his free hand and wrapped red fingers around his flushed dick. He spread his legs wider as he began to rock, first pushing back onto his fingers and then thrusting into his fist. He looked like he’d done this a million times and knew how much he loved it.
“Fucking slutty, little tease,” Harry gritted out. His own hand sped up. Draco threw his head back and sobbed, rocking on his fingers, and swayed so fucking close he could feel the heat of his body. “That’s it, Draco, that’s it. Fucking take it. Fucking want it. You’re so close, aren’t you? So fucking close.”
“Oh god… Oh, fuck, yes. Fuck… fuck.” Draco gave a choked sob. His back arched when he added another finger roughly. Three now stretched his passage wide and made his entire body ache. It was so hot inside him, so slick and tight. His fingers squeezed together as his channel clenched around him in a desperate need to be full. “Oh fuck… need more… need. So good but not enough.”
“That’s it. Fuck, I could give you more.” Harry pressed closer. He made sure his fisted hand would be clear of his fisted hand as Draco’s hips continued to buck. He just really couldn’t stop himself. Harry leaned his head forward and blew softly over Draco’s throat and chin. “Come on, you fucking tease. You’re begging for it, and you’re so ready to come.” He watched Draco’s face; silver eyes blinked open to reveal such absolute want and confusion.
“Fucking… fucking can’t be,” Draco whimpered even as the familiar scent filled his senses once again. “Oh fuck… Oh, Harry.” He came with a gasp, his body tensed so tight he bowed backward and his cum splattered his stomach in long streams.
Harry watched, green eyes wide in shock as he jerked his release. His own orgasm ripped through his body and was nearly lost in the roar of his blood in his ears from when Draco said his name. How could he have…? Did he…?
What?
Draco swayed. With both hands he grabbed the wall behind him. He sank down to sit in the spray, his eyes fixed at the floor blindly as he caught his breath. “Holy fuck. Going crazy… Going fucking crazy.”
Harry had to fucking agree because there was no way Malfoy could know he was there. Not from a little air on his neck and just once, very soft fingers on his throat lost in the sensation of the shower. There was no fucking way.
He stared down at Draco, his eyes following his smooth neck which led to toned shoulders as he leaned forward. Draco’s knees were bent up and his long hands ran over his feet as he held his legs. Harry crouched down beside him and watched his ripe lips pant while he took in every healthy, fit inch of him. “You are fucking beautiful, Malfoy. Fucking magnificent. And you would never waste a fucking thought on me.”
Harry stood, fixed his jeans and sat all the way on the other side of the room. He was unwilling to leave, but also unwilling to stay so close to the one he desperately wanted to touch.
Draco let the warm water wash over him. He sat on the tiled floor, studying his hands and feet as they turned pink and pruned from being too long in the water.
If fucking himself with his fingers while thinking of Harry fucking Potter didn’t prove he was gay, he really didn’t know what the fuck would.
His mother wanted him to marry, have children, run the Ministry. Stupid, trivial shit he had little interest in but his mother was very determined about. Like it did so much good for his father. All the money he made and hours away from the house, just to end up a damn psycho, who murdered innocent defenseless muggles while secretly hoping to kill a boy the same age as his own son. A boy who did nothing wrong except live the first time some other psycho tried to kill him.
After taking a look at his family bloodlines, Draco was pretty certain kids were not the way to go. Very few of his relatives weren’t insane, murderous, or just fucking terrible people in general. There was Sirius Black… Nymphadora Tonks… and him. Since he was fairly certain he could smell someone who was dead for nearly a year, and not in a rotting way, he wasn’t so damn sure about himself anymore.
Serene Vellamorn, the pureblood Narcissa researched, pursued, and managed to contract into engagement with her gay son, did not have much of a better family history. Oh, sure, the occurrence of squibs and human hearted likely made their way in only to be struck out of record, but it had little effect on the young lady herself. She was wealth oriented and hateful. So hateful that on meeting her for the first time at thirteen, Draco decided he needed to change. Because talking so much shit about mudbloods and muggles just left you looking awfully dim and ugly.
Not that Serene wasn’t beautiful. His mother managed to find a girl as waif like and delicate as possible, almost as if she was hoping to make him look much more manly next to her. Draco feared they’d probably spend too much time fighting over the mirror, not to mention he’d likely cut out her tongue a week into the relationship just to prevent the horrible creature from speaking the things she spoke. How someone so lovely and privileged could hate the world so much was beyond him. Serene’s parents weren’t Death Eaters.
It didn’t matter. His fate was sealed. Draco made a promise to his father when the man was towering in rage. His strong fingers wrapped around his arm in a painful death lock were moments away from dragging him down the hall to his Dark Lord. He would stop insisting he was gay and continue the Malfoy bloodline if Lucius would not force the dark mark on him. It was one slavery for another.
Blaise and Pansy could speak all they liked about being under duress and in extenuating circumstances, but he made a promise. A promise which allowed him to stay free from the sick fuck, Voldemort, and alive for the final week before the Dark Lord died. Draco was not broken, corrupted, maimed, or harmed—unlike the other’s who received the mark while Lucius made him watch.
With Lucius jailed permanently, Draco was responsible for restoring the Malfoy name and making sure their bloodline continued. That was okay, even when his intended was hateful and dim, because he wasn’t marked by the Dark Lord and not tied to his power. Voldemort didn’t take his magic and strength into his battle. That one promise ensured Draco hadn’t assisted in the murder of Potter.
Still, it seemed Harry was determined to haunt him.
“Fucking hell. Fucking quidditch. Fucking Potter.” Muttering, Draco got to his feet, turned off the water spray and nearly fell. Darkness edged his vision and he swayed. “Fuck. I can’t eat, can’t sleep. Losing my motherfucking mind.” He grabbed a towel from the bar and wrapped himself in the fluffy black material to dry off.
“Over a fucking Quidditch game. Shit. I am losing my fucking shit. Haunted by a scent—Who the fuck does that? Who the fuck hexes someone’s dead scent everywhere?” Shaking his head in disbelief, Draco tossed his towel in the laundry and padded to his bureau in the other room to throw a pair of pajama pants on. He didn’t feel like eating. His stomach was still queasy at the slightest mention of food. He was tired and didn’t care how early it still was.
He crawled under his magically charmed sheets, enchanted to keep him warm in the chill dungeon air. It was his own fault, really. He paid too much attention to Potter, loving his fucking eyes, wanting his damn rude mouth. Even liking his messy hair. It was the color of chocolate, and always rumpled, and so very different from the people around him. Potter was wild, passionate, and not afraid to speak up for what he wanted in the face of every fucking terrible thing going on in the world. He was fearless.
Draco didn’t even know the meaning of the word. His parents didn’t know the meaning. They struck so much fear in him and yet, were filled with it themselves, afraid to be killed by the lord they served. All he had was fear. Fear and hope that he could escape one day. Potter was a big part of that hope. Fuck, Potter changed his entire world.
Then he disappeared. Each day Draco waited, waited for news he would be found—Alive, full of arrogance and triumph. Fuck, just alive would be enough. But they didn’t find him. Over half a year later, they weren’t going to find him because surely he was dead. And as that thought seeped into him, his hope left as well.
Potter changed his world but Draco couldn’t. He wasn’t fearless. He barely knew how to live.
Sleep clung. Draco felt breath move across his face and tickle his cheek. He reached up to rub the spot, sighed and let his hand rest and fingers curl. He had the nightmare again, the one where he was being chased by an unseen force. He didn’t have to see to know it was Voldemort. The monster’s presence was always the same mixture of terror and hopelessness in his mind. It was the dream where he was running but no matter how hard he tried, he was moving so slowly, just out of reach of the grasping claws…
He must have woken himself up crying out. It wouldn’t be the first time… No. Something woke him. A faint brush to his forehead, a warm weight on his lips… That’s what woke him.
Draco opened his eyes and blinked sleepily as he tried to see where the figure must surely be. Again, soft breath fanned so close and he peered in the direction. The dark didn’t revealing anything. He touched his lips and felt them tingle. When he breathed deep, Harry’s scent was very strong in his senses, like he was all around him.
“You must think it’s funny,” he whispered. “Some sort of fucking joke to drive me crazy. Haunting me.”
His eyelids drooped as sleep pulled him again. Draco turned his face towards the warm puffs of air, moved closer to where he could sense someone resting only inches away. “Jokes on you, Potter. I was already fucking crazy when it came to you.” His eyes fell shut and sleep washed back over him.
He was pulled again from sleep. Warm breath ghosted over his cheek, fanned across his mouth. Draco gasped softly when lips brushed his and fingertips gently touched his face. There was a soft exhalation next to his nose and warm lips pressed persistent until his own parted and a wet tongue met his.
Just as suddenly it pulled away. The heat left his mouth although fingers still gently stroked the side of his face. Draco breathed out unsteadily and eyelashes fluttered. The hand pulled away and he frowned and huffed. “S’alright… don’t leave.” Sleep again was calling him down. Lost moments slipped by and then the hand returned. Fingers traced his features as he drifted off to sleep.
This time he dreamed of summer and laughter.
Harry watched Draco sleep while he rested on the magic imbued sheets and wondered if he was losing his mind as well. He stayed in the bathroom for the longest time until he couldn’t bear it anymore. A part of him feared Draco left and he would again be alone with the strange bursts of energy tearing his body apart.
How the fuck did Malfoy know it was him? He said something about his scent. But how could Malfoy know what he smelled like? People smelled like people, not like individual people, just enough to recognize flesh and know another of the same species.
He bent close to Draco’s ear and intentionally breathed in his scent for the first time. Harry hadn’t smelled another living being besides Fawkes in months. Draco didn’t smell like the slightly dusty, fire-soaked bird. But he didn’t quite smell like what Harry remembered other people to smell like either. What he did smell like was amazing, that was for certain.
Could this have to do with Malfoy’s glowing white form of feathers and scales? Did maybe that part of Draco sense him in a different way than how normal people sensed each other? It was the only place they actually touched, on that fifth plane of existence. Maybe it was there that Malfoy could recognize him. Maybe Draco could even recognize him before when he wasn’t trapped out of sync with the world.
Draco sat in at least two different planes of existence every moment of his life, one of them very much being the dimension Harry needed to get back to. Surely, somehow, Malfoy was the key to getting him whole again. Harry breathed up his neck and tried to absorb. He wanted remember his scent the same way Draco knew his. Without his consent, his tongue flicked out and caught on his skin. If Draco smelled amazing, he tasted even more so.
Harry wasn’t sure why he was having such a difficult time controlling himself. He touched Draco in the shower and was licking him now. Even as he stared at Draco’s sleeping face and told himself not to, he knew he was going to lick him again. He bent his head, his tongue wide and flat as he ran from Draco’s collar up the long column of his pale throat until he reached his jaw. Draco shifted in his sleep, murmuring softly. Still, he couldn’t stop himself. Harry licked him again while breathing in his sweet scent and trailing saliva over Draco’s sensitive neck.
He could bite him right on the side of his warm flesh. He could sink his teeth in, clamp his jaws tight and… And something. Harry wasn’t exactly sure what biting Draco was supposed to do but the dangerous spark bubbling in him since he realized Draco was alive seemed to have a voice. That voice knew biting Malfoy would be a very, very good thing to do. Shaking his head, Harry licked Draco instead. He trailing another long swipe to soothe the neck he tormented so readily just earlier that day.
He gazed at Draco’s face, who was finally calm now free of nightmares and deep in sleep. Was it worth going back? Did he want to live like before, where he never had a chance to be this close to Draco Malfoy?
Maybe he really was going mad.
Blaise was waiting for Draco at the breakfast table. The entire Slytherin quidditch team was surrounding him, dressed in their uniforms in preparation for the game. Blaise had a fortifying draught in hand and an apology.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made it about me.” Blaise pushed the vial towards Draco when he sat.
Draco nodded distractedly. His eyes scanned around him as he sought something out. He was so certain last night in the dark with Potter’s scent and breath on his face. But when he woke, nothing. Just a faint linger of scent and fucking nothing else.
Looking at the draught, Draco decided it was better to try and focus on the game than deal with his swirling, desperate thoughts of insanity. He pulled the stopper out and sipped the warming fluid. He closed his eyes as warmth flowed through him, the potion strengthening his weak limbs and pushing the dark buzz out from his mind. After a few moments his stomach settled, the warmth calming him even there.
Draco slowly took the plate Blaise offered, cut a piece of pancake off and touched it to his tongue. There was no revulsion from the flavor, no churning in his stomach. He bit down and slowly chewed. It felt strange after so long of not eating. His teammates started perking up as he continued to eat with steady bites. The warmth filled him more and strengthened his resolve to make it through the day and the bloody match to come.
Blaise was glancing at him worriedly again, which was odd seeing as he was finally eating. Draco raised an inquiring brow and sipped some juice.
“Sorry,” Blaise mumbled. “Just, you seem very still today. Like that other time last year.”
Draco turned to his plate silently and chewed on a piece of bacon. The last time Blaise called him still was right before he admitted to wanting to kill himself to escape being a Death Eater. “I’m fine… sort of. It’s not that, I promise. It will never be that again, Blaise. I’m just a little confused lately.”
Blaise nodded. Relief was clear on his dark features. “Today is just one day. It’ll be done by tomorrow and then it won’t ever be this day again.”
Draco nodded and swallowed down another bite of food. “And I won’t have to think about him again.”
“If that’s what you want.” Blaise drank down his pumpkin juice and let the conversation drop.
Draco wasn’t sure if it was what he wanted but it wasn’t not like he had many options when it came to Potter. He could continue to allow himself to go insane, hallucinating scents, and breaths, and invisible kisses. Or he could finally let the memory of him go.
Just, starting tomorrow.
“Alright, men. This is a particularly important game today,” Draco said. His face raised to meet the gazes of his quidditch teammates. the green and silver uniforms distracted him a moment as he thought of Harry’s eyes looking into his. “I have never asked this of you, and I will likely never ask it again. I want a clean game. No matter what those bloody lions throw at us, I want it clean in his honor. Because of the fucking life he gave us while he gave up his own. Agreed?”
They agreed, even Theodore. The fire in his eyes burned in understanding today instead of confusion at being so very wrong yesterday.
“We’re going to give it our all, like we always do. And so are they. So expect a damn good fight and a damn good game.” Draco stood and smacked Goyle on the back with a grim smile. The group got up and filed out of the Great Hall to get the rest of their gear from the locker room.
Harry watched from the teacher’s table where he was sitting between plates in front of Hagrid’s large form. Malfoy seemed more himself, if not very solemn. Stronger since the potion Blaise gave him. A potion he watched Hermione hand to Blaise before Draco got to the table. Harry was grateful his friends were so amazing even now. Even with him not there to ask of them, they were still the good-hearted, best friends he loved.
It was relieving to know they would help watch over Draco if he never… well. It was good to not have to worry about the prat being alone and without friends. People cared about Malfoy, even if he seemed to be shutting them out at the moment.
Harry had kept his distance the instant Draco started to wake up that morning, standing far out of reach as he got up. He watched the change, the way Draco’s tired silver eyes slowly focused. A small furrow took his brow and then a pout to his mouth as he ran fingers softly to his lips and then down his throat. He snapped right after, eyes clear, head jerking up. His hands immediately touched beside him on the bed where Harry was sitting minutes ago.
Draco knew; Harry was certain after that. Somehow Malfoy could sense when he was near. Enough, that to be close to him would be to reveal he still existed. Maybe it was body heat Draco picked up through the nerves of his sensitive skin. Touch went both ways; if Draco could sense when he touched him, he’d be able to sense the small prickling of hair as heat and air brushed by his skin. Especially now he knew enough to look.
Draco was looking for him. With hands wide, he moved around the room, his frown growing with each step revealed nothing. Harry backed through the closed bathroom door and then slipped around and into the bedroom when Draco thought to check there for him as well.
Why did he run? Harry still wasn’t a hundred percent certain. It seemed like the right thing at the time when Draco was glaring and hunting him down, his nostrils twitching and head tilted just waiting for him to slip up and reveal himself. Maybe because another flare just occurred, like Harry’s body was reminding him he was falling apart. Did he want to tempt the both of them with the possibility of saving him when it was probably too late already?
Harry didn’t really know. He watched Draco crumple and sit back on the bed when no sign of him was found. He almost went to him then but thought again better of it. What was the fucking point, really? What would Malfoy be able to do everyone else hadn’t, except feel him slip further away until there was nothing left? It would be wrong to put him through that. It would too hard on Harry to know he dealt another blow to someone surprisingly sensitive.
So Harry just watched Draco get ready for the game. Eyes stormy and lost, Draco barely glanced in the mirror, so confident of his appearance. He washed his face, spelled his teeth clean, stripped his beautiful pale body and dressed for battle. Harry stayed very still as he leaned against the bedroom wall and waited for Draco to step through the door to the hall. He slipped out behind him and Draco’s hair nearly, so nearly brushed his face as it hung loose around his shoulders. Draco kept walking after locking his door, oblivious, and Harry stepped ahead.
He thought to go somewhere else—Dumbledore’s office, the library to look up Malfoy’s ancestry—anywhere but another trip of following Draco around. But still, Harry couldn’t seem to stop himself. He ended up following him to the Great Hall and watched the curious looks Draco gained from walking in tired and weak.
Harry would sit with his house and watch the match from the sidelines. Hell, he might even steal the teachers’ seats. It wasn’t like anyone would care. After that he would have to decide what the fuck he was doing following around Draco Malfoy, standing far too close while watching him wank, and sleep, and dream.
The air was just starting to get a hint of spring to push back the frozen wind of winter. The students and teachers below were in their seats dressed in colorful scarfs. They cheered and waved with shining eyes and red noses as they gazed up at the Quidditch match. Draco spent most of his time above his fellow teammates, only swooping in once in a while to distract, and lure, and all around annoy.
Somehow the normal thrill of flying was gone that day. The fortifying draught warmed him but still he was numb. He was playing for a ghost, a ghost currently haunting him in a terribly tormenting fashion. That it started now seemed less a coincidence and more cruel. Right before this stupid match against a seeker who just couldn’t compare. Beneath it all, Draco felt bone-wearily tired.
Asking for a clean game was difficult on his house even though they were keeping to the promise. The less the Slytherins cheated, the more they took to fighting. They were unsure without their natural cunning. Usually when they felt cornered, they could rely on a stray bludger at the keeper or a swift elbow to the more competitive chasers to raise morale. Now all they could do was shoot their mouths off. Dull to play but the crowd loved it.
As did the Gryffindors. Ron Weasley was a strange cross between ferocious and solemn, with odd moments of laughter hitting his eyes, only to shut down and be replaced with a fierce scowl. Their team was completely unsettled with the Slytherins playing fair. The lions were ready for blood, but no one was willing to spill it first. For the best. Fighting now would be fucking brutal. Even if they all needed the pain to feel alive.
Draco watched the vicious battle between the four beaters. Vince was nearly cracked on the skull before he got himself righted. They weren’t doing poorly, they were almost even at the moment just trailing behind Gryffindor. But no one was feeling right and Draco supposed he needed to stir things up again.
He dropped down and ignored the foolish girl trailing behind. If she bothered looking for the snitch on her own, he didn’t know about it. She had been on his ass since the start of the game. Weasley probably sent her on a simple mission given her very green nature to the sport. Pathetic.
With a swift swoop, Draco descended in a nose dive and laughed inwardly when the Gryffindor seeker tried to keep up. He stopped mid dive, flipped back and met the wide-eyed girl face to face. He gifted her his more well-known superior smirk as she went flying by, unable to stop in time. Her eyes were blue—Nothing like the brilliant green he was unconsciously expecting, and he scowled. She ended up in a pile with one of her teammates and he cursed himself for hating her. It wasn’t her fault she wasn’t Potter. No one was Harry Potter. Not anymore.
He flew up above the pitch again, away from the noise and dullness of it all and waited patiently for the flicker of gold to finally reveal so they could finish the mockery of a match.
Was it a dream? Was it just a hallucination brought on by not enough food and a whole lot of stress? He never once thought he was woken up by a kiss, or ti someone sitting very close, next to him yet unseen.
Draco swooped and barrel-rolled idly as his mind whirred. That wasn’t quite true, was it? There was Karia, his sweet pet. His protector for his younger years before he started Hogwarts and left his parents’ house. Soft furred, winged, with four long delicate legs and antlers that rose up. Draco never saw Karia. He could only guess her from how she felt to his touch. His parents sneered and told him there was no such thing as imaginary animals. Draco agreed; there was no such thing as imaginary anything but Karia was real, not some sort of fantasy.
He let his eyes stray to the Forbidden Forest stretched out to the right of him. There were things in there similar to Karia but much more dangerous. Creatures who stalked him once when he was foolish enough to get too close to the forest. Unseen creatures who could communicate just like Karia through thought speak. He could sense them, although never see…
A shout broke Draco back to the game. The Gryffindor seeker wove furiously through the Slytherin side of the pitch where a glint of gold hovered. As if sensing her approach, the snitch took off and whizzed in the opposite direction. Draco was behind it like a shot, his body so in tune with his broom it was effortless to fly and direct.
He spun around blurs of reds and greens, a garish Christmas crashing around him. Players tried to stop anyone from aiding and prevent him at the same time. He effortlessly slipped through, past players and furious bludgers, and left the poor rival seeker far behind where she was caught up in awkward turns and sudden dips. It was over in mere moments.
The snitch fluttered in his hand as Draco descended slowly to the ground. A numbness settled in once again. How many times did he reach out, gold just brushing his fingertips, to have Potter snatch the snitch right from his grasp with brilliant eyes blazing in triumph? He would never have that again. This was just like any other match against any other team. It didn’t fucking mean anything.
Draco blinked up and was surprised to find Madame Hooch next to him and the crowd cheering all around as they gathered on the field.
“The snitch, Mr. Malfoy,” Madame Hooch asked politely. Draco handed it over stiffly. A shout quickly went up when Slytherin was announced victorious. Staring blindly at the joyful faces, Draco slowly turned and began to walk towards the school.
The Slytherin team ran after to try to congratulate him. “Draco, great bloody catch!” Greg cheered, but Draco slipped away before he could be hugged.
“What did you say? Draco, are you all right?” Vince pulled on his sleeve.
It woke something up in Draco. The numbness pushed aside for hot anger as he tore his robe from his friend’s grasp. “I’m not fucking alright—I fucking quit! Now get the hell out of my way,” he snarled and pushed through the crush of taller players threatening to trap him on the field. He marched through the locker room and back into the school, his only hope everyone would stay the fuck away.
Draco pushed into his room, threw his broom across the small space and watched it smash into the stone wall. Bristles fluffed out and rained down in every direction. “Fuck. Fuck!” He whirled, slammed the door behind him and then screamed into the warded space. “You just had to fucking die, you fucking ass! What’s the fucking point! What is the goddamn fucking point of trying so fucking hard if you’re not there to compete! You fucking ruined everything!”
He turned and punched the door, his knuckles splitting and blood dripping. “Fucking Voldemort! Fucking piece of shit stealing every fucking thing from me! My home. My father. My mother. My fucking life! And then Him. You fucking stole the last fucking hope left! Wasn’t it enough, all those other things? Why did you have to take him too? Fuck… Fucking hell.”
He was crying, Draco realized dully. He touched his face with his bloodied hand. Turning, he leaned heavily against the door with head down, his good hand holding his throbbing one. “You fucking reckless asshole. You never had a sensible bone in your body. Kept looking for fucking trouble until your luck ran out. And fuck, you died! You fucking died! Even though—No. No don’t!”
Draco threw his hands up to ward off the sudden weight of arms as Harry’s scent surrounded him. “No. Stop doing this to me! You’re a lie! A fucking insane hallucination. Because you’re dead, Potter. Fucking dead!” He fought against the surprisingly strong, solid arms that pressed him back into the door and wrapped tight. His tear fell and stuck in the air before him and Draco froze. He watched as the droplet dripped down something, someone who smelled just like Harry.
“God… why are you doing this to me?” Draco whimpered as he felt fingers brush his face to wipe his tears away. Hair, soft and tickling, feathered against his cheek when Harry’s face pressed against his neck and he was wrapped tighter. Pulled down to the ground, he was crushed by arms and chest, and a strong jaw rested against the top of his head. Draco sobbed into a warm, invisible collar, his moist breath hitting his face as it bounced off flesh.
He was not a crier, not since small and aware crying could get a child killed by men as terrible as his father. Draco didn’t cry for anything beyond a few stray tears swiftly hidden before they flowed. But now, in this insanity he cried because it was all just too fucking crazy and he didn’t know what else to do.
He cried until he ached and was empty, his throat raw and eyes burning. Through it all, Harry rocked him. His breath ruffled his hair, arms held him tight, and large hands rubbed up and down his shaking arms and shoulders. Eventually, Draco could slow the irrational gasps for air and after, could stop gulping and trembling like a crazy person who had no fucking control left. He closed his eyes and panted softly while resting his head against an invisible, muscular shoulder. He couldn’t help but wonder dimly why Potter wasn’t wearing a shirt.
“You’re a fucking ass,” Draco mumbled as fingers brushed through his hair and combed and soothed with each touch. Suddenly something sparked next to his face from the surface he was resting on. Draco flinched away with a yelp. “Ow.” he touched his cheek and felt the remaining sting. “What the fuck was that?”
A hand lifted his and pressed it to the top of thick messy head of hair. Beneath his palm, the head turned; first left to right, and then up and down. Draco sighed in understanding. “You can’t speak.” The head shook and Draco’s hand was moved again. Lips brushed his flesh as Harry spoke into his palm. Draco gasped and quickly pulled away from the sensation. “Fine, I can’t hear you,” he mumbled. His eyes looked downcast as he was hit with a wave of self consciousness.
Draco’s hand was grabbed again and pressed flat against the hair-strewn forehead. Draco looked up to stare at the room behind where his hand rested. He closed his eyes and focused on his hand and the strands of hair. He ran fingers through, seeking out the ripple of flesh he never touched but was certain he would recognize. Sure enough, a small lightning-bolt shaped dip with ragged edges was discovered beneath the silky fringe. Draco pressed his thumb against it and brushed gently.
“Scarhead.” He smiled shakily. “It’s really fucking you. You’re really alive.” He continued exploring. His fingers brushed over eyebrows, fanned wide, and found the edge of Harry’s face. He traced down to his cheekbone. “You’ve lost your glasses. Half blind and invisible. You’re damn useless, Potter.”
Harry smiled in the flat of his palm and Draco tried very hard to not gasp. He went to pull his hand away but Harry’s grip was strong on his wrist. Lips brushed over his fingertips and Draco was certain he was going a bit mad again. He swallowed, opened his eyes and blinked at his hand as soft, warm flesh ghosted his skin. It was the one he punched the door with and his blood was everywhere.
“Hold on, you’ve got blood.” Draco grabbed his sleeve and tried to wipe the red stain off of Harry’s face, only to have the fabric go right through. “What the…?” Peering closer, Draco deliberately tried his quidditch robe sleeve. Again the material slipped right through. “Potter, I think this is a problem. It’s almost like only I can touch you.”
He ran his thumb over one of the red spots and the blood slipped away onto his own flesh. Draco stared at the pad of his thumb and then again the spot in the air. He slowly realized hot breath was puffing against his cheek and he was actually very close to Harry’s face. A warm shiver moved down his spine at the thought and his eyes slid from where he could feel Harry’s stare. He took a steadying breath and carefully began to brush all the little spots of blood away on Harry’s lips and nose. He could feel his skin firm and warm under this thumb.
“Potter, we should, uh, take you to see Dumbledore. Get you righted.”
Harry’s face again pressed into his palm. Draco felt the bridge of his nose, touch of lips against his wrist and then a nod. “Alright, let’s—Hey!” Harry suddenly stood and hauled Draco up, then held him tight. He spoke something against his skin Draco couldn’t understand, but likely something to do with relief of being found. Flustered, Draco could only focus on the fact every part of his body felt like it was touching bare skin. Harry’s bare skin.
“Let me go. Right now,” Draco whispered breathlessly as he pushed at the unseen arms. He felt Harry still, his hold relaxing but not fully releasing him. Draco was feeling very hot, his head swimming dizzily to realize just how close Harry was. Draco grabbed his arms—for balance or pushing away he couldn’t decide—and noticed Harry’s biceps flexing beneath his fingers were thick, powerful and bare. As was the hard chest pressed against his and the strong abs flush against his own flat stomach and then lower, where things started to get very hot and confusing when he dared to think about it. “Potter, please. You’re not, um… Clothing isn’t working properly.”
Harry slowly untangled his arms from around him. Draco was far too busy squeezing his eyes shut and willing his body’s reaction down to fully notice. He did notice when Harry’s hands suddenly touched down on his waist—his seemingly bare waist. His palms were large, hot and a bit scratchy against his smooth flesh. Draco bit his lip hard and hissed softly. He felt like the biggest damn fool but was unable to stop just how wild and very hot he felt.
“Let go. All the way.” Draco whispered. He shuddered when Harry eventually complied; Harry’s hands ran up his sides, palms pressed in firmly, fingers dragging slowly until he reached his arms and finally relented. Draco stood, rooted and swaying for long, dizzying moments while his fast breaths panted free. Harry’s hands seemed very large compared to his stomach. It was an odd thought to focus on, but the one he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about.
“You’re taller,” Draco muttered, then shook his head. He ran a hand over his face and realized he must be a fucking sight after crying and flying all day. “Uh, let me just wash my face. I’ll be quick.” He strode into the bathroom before he could think of a reason not to. In the quiet of the small room he splashed cool water over his face repeatedly and tried to restore some intelligence to his lust addled mind. Potter was fucking invisible. Hardly a goddamn sight to be aroused by. Yet Draco felt like some stupid, sex-crazed idiot all of a sudden.
He sighed heavily down at the sink. He ran his hands under the faucet and slicked his hair back into some kind of order. His eyes were red rimmed and face a little splotchy, but otherwise nothing was glaringly wrong with him.
Draco returned to the other room and looked around in confusion. “Potter—Shit!” He jumped when Harry’s arm suddenly touched his hip. Not his robes, or his pants, but his bare side. It was very much flesh touching warm flesh and it left him heart-poundingly dizzy. “We need to get you a fucking bell.” Draco licked his lips and started towards the door.
As if realizing his mistake, Harry’s hand moved up and stayed at the center of his back, blessfully away from his hip. His touch was a solid, hot reminder as Draco opened the door, shut it behind and made his way down the corridor towards the Headmaster’s office.
Harry didn’t know what to feel while Dumbledore sat and peered twinkly eyes at where he was standing behind Draco. The headmaster couldn’t see him at all. Harry wasn’t even sure he should be doing this. He planned to not bothering Malfoy, to not reveal he was still alive because of just how short a time it might be.
Of course, once again he followed the prat, concerned with how listless Draco seemed when he landed after catching the snitch. Then Draco was yelling—and fuck, the crying. The fucking crying over him dying was a damn nightmare and Harry couldn’t help but reach out to him. Who the hell would have guessed Draco Malfoy was hiding so much depth beneath his perfect hair and creamy skin? But he was and it just poured out on the floor as he sobbed and Harry held him tight.
And well, he sounded a bit more than sad, hadn’t he? Like maybe Malfoy missed him as more than just some classmate. Like he was someone he might have a crush on. Like Draco might just say his name in the shower while touching himself.
It felt good to hold another human being again, to feel such warmth again against his skin. It was easy to sink into the smell of flesh, the feel of soft rhythm of breath and pulse of Draco’s heart. It was extra good because it was Malfoy. With his soft hair, and such smooth skin, Harry didn’t want to move. He wanted to stay there forever with Draco’s breath warming his skin and his tears drying between them.
There was a problem when it came to touching Draco, one Harry noticed the other night when he licked him. It was difficult to stop once he started. He kept wanting to touch Draco again, to press against him, run his tongue over him. It was a problem Harry was still struggling with while Draco and Dumbledore talked.
While talking, Malfoy sipped a cup of tea now his hands finally stopped their incessant shaking. The two of them were already through the preliminary stages of, ‘Yes, Harry is alive. No, I can’t hear him. Yes, I can touch him, but no, it doesn’t seem anyone else can.’ It was a lot and they were throwing around theories of why Draco could be tangible to Harry but no one else.
Draco was biting his lip and Harry couldn’t help but press his hand to the side of his pale, beautiful face. Draco’s gaze looked up and through him. “Ever since I was young, strange creatures have… I guess you could say they’re drawn to me.” Draco’s eyes were full of anxiety when he looked to Dumbledore. “They aren’t always friendly. Sometimes they’re plain frightening. I had a pet when I was young. My parents said she was imaginary but she was real. That sounds crazy, I know.” Draco stopped and smacked his hand to his forehead. Harry was quick to pry it free. Instead of releasing him, he twined their fingers together.
Draco lost his train of thought and stared at here his hand was caught. Harry wasn’t sure why he kept grabbing him so boldly but Malfoy hadn’t told him to stop. Eyes blinking, Draco continued talking. “I know it sounds crazy. But I wouldn’t be here, putting my sanity in questions, if I wasn’t certain that Potter was alive.”
“I don’t think you’re insane, Draco,” Dumbledore assured even as Draco looked doubtful. “I’ll have to speak with an old acquaintance of mine, then we can start from there. Do you know if this gift runs in your family? It would be a great help if you could give me as much information you have on it. I believe it’s the only clue we to have to what has happened to Harry.”
Harry watched as Draco’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared. Malfoy jumped to his feet and pulled from Harry’s hand. “You’re going to call my mother, aren’t you? Oh hell, she’ll kill me. Shit, don’t tell her it’s for Potter! Please, just don’t mention him.”
Harry stepped around Draco’s pacing form, and rested on Dumbledore’s magic infused desk. He wasn’t sure just why Draco was so worried. Dumbledore spoke behind him, just as confused. “Mr. Malfoy, your mother has been clear with her loyalty for you. I don’t believe she’ll be upset.”
Draco snorted. His hand pulled mindlessly at his shining locks. “Right, because the woman who married my psycho father is totally not going to finish the job once she discovers Potter’s alive.” Draco snarled it with such conviction, Harry gaped at a loss for words. Draco’s parents were clearly fucked up.
“Are you suggesting she would be a danger to Harry?” Dumbledore asked slowly, his fingers bridged as he sat forward at his desk.
Draco rolled his eyes in exasperation. “That’s a nice way to put it. I doubt she’d do anything outright, but I’m sure she’ll tell anyone who can and find a way to take him out while he’s weak.”
“I hardly think that’s a concern. You’re the only one who can even touch him,” Dumbledore pointed out.
Draco took a deep breath and slowed his pacing. He came to a stop in front of Dumbledore’s desk and right next to Harry. He looked genuinely worried at the idea of protecting Harry from another fucked up relative. It was kind of sad.
“Listen, I know this won’t make sense,” Draco said solemnly, eyes full of concern. “There’s something wrong with him. Something unstable in his life force is sparking. I sensed it earlier and I’ve seen it once, in another of those creatures… right before it died.” Draco looked around suddenly and turned back to his chair.
Harry realized he was looking for him and reached his hand out. Draco was damn jumpy, he noticed as he took in his flushed face. He stepped up and grabbed Draco’s other hand.
“Potter, stay out of the Forbidden Forest while you’re like this, okay? There are creatures out there. Dangerous. I don’t know what they want, but they’ve stalked me before. In your condition, well, I think you should be careful.”
He wanted to ask how Draco knew so much; knew it was him, knew he was sick, knew the creatures were foe and not friends. But he couldn’t. All he could do was raise Draco’s hand to his head and nod to let him know he would comply.
Draco gave a sigh of relief and relaxed. “Sir, my parents never believed me about my pet or the creatures. I seriously doubt it would be worth risking Potter to ask.”
Dumbledore seemed more interested in Draco’s hand resting in mid air on Harry’s head. “Harry, can you show me just how tangible you are with him?”
Harry smirked while Draco looked confused. “Like what—Damn it!” Draco yelped when Harry lifted him. His hands flew to his invisible shoulders for stability. “Potter, you could have warned me. Put me down.”
Harry refused, too busy staring into Draco’s stunning eyes as he blinked down in his general direction. With a smirk, Harry lifted him higher.
“Shit. When did you get so strong?” Draco asked breathlessly.
Harry couldn’t say. He knew his magic and strength were monstrous when he fought Voldemort in this realm. It was difficulty to focus when Draco’s waist was just so warm where his hands gripped. This time Harry was very careful to not press against him and wreck havoc on the both of them. He glanced over to Dumbledore, who passed his hands through him and was staring at where it appeared Draco was hovering in the air.
“Very interesting. It really does seem all he can touch is you. Your robes aren’t even bunched. Harry can you put him down and touch a spot we can see?”
Harry gently lowered Draco to the floor. He wasn’t blind to the haze in Draco’s beautiful silver eyes. He moved closer and felt Draco stiffen in response, gaze following to where his breath hit his cheek. Harry carefully ruffled his blond hair, threading fingers in and raising the strands up. He didn’t have to stand so close for this but couldn’t seem not to. It helped Draco looked ridiculously cute with his hair a mess.
“Amazing. Yes, we have something here…” Dumbledore mussed. His hands carefully touched Draco’s hair. He noted how it resisted being moved but he could still press his hand through where Harry’s hand should be. “I’ll send note to McVicar today; he has experience with other realities. I suspect it’s what we’re dealing with here, some sort of dimensional drift.”
Harry quickly moved Draco’s head in a nodding motion and Draco smacked his hand in response. “Potter seems to agree, Sir—Stop dragging me around!” Harry would have apologized but couldn’t, so instead picked the now extremely irritated Malfoy up by his arms and placed him in front of Fawkes. He moved Draco’s hand to then point at the bird.
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled again as he stepped towards his phoenix. “Yes, I think I’m beginning to understand. Can you touch Fawkes as well, Harry?”
Harry gently ruffled the sleeping bird’s feathers across it’s fluffy breast so they could all see. Draco peered very close, oblivious to where Harry was in relation. Harry felt a spark of danger again, one he was sure wouldn’t go over well at all considering the situation.
“Harry, I know that the circumstances are a bit odd but I can’t help but recall seeing a lot of your friends out watching the game today,” Dumbledore said. “If Draco would be willing, I’d like to invite them up to see you. Well, not see. But to know that you are well. Would that be okay with the two of you?”
Harry wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but Draco, reluctant as he seemed, said yes. Harry pressed Draco’s hand to his forehead and nodded as well. As Dumbledore called owls, Harry watched Draco, who sat again and looked exhausted. With Dumbledore around, Draco practically ignored Harry and he was finding it annoying. He didn’t know if it was personal, or if Malfoy just didn’t want to look like he was talking to himself.
He knelt next to Draco and peered at the side of his face. He remained until Draco scowled from the feel of his breath curling around his ear and turned toward him. “Potter, don’t you fucking dare start. I figured out it was you in class yesterday. If you can torment me, I can bloody well punch you. Got it?”
Maybe he was just tired and cranky. Harry carefully reached up and brushed fingers to his frown. Draco gasped and caught his wrist. “Seriously, you need to stop that,” Draco hissed softly, although his anger had curbed.
Maybe Draco didn’t really understand he wanted to shag him into the nearest sturdy surface. How many ways did he have to get this damn close before Malfoy figured out that he wasn’t being weird and oblivious, but intentionally seductive? “Malfoy… you’re a bit dim. Like dense even.”
Harry cupped his face in his hands. He watched Draco’s eyes blink crystal, then gaze lower when Harry’s breath teased over his mouth. “Potter…?”
“You really are fucking dense. Wow.” The mumbled words did something to Draco; his eyelids grew heavy and lips parted slightly as his breathing sped up. Draco jerked back the moment Dumbledore stepped back into the room and kept his gaze fixed anywhere but near Harry.
Harry gave an annoyed sigh and stood. He was restless but Draco’s stubbornness rarely had limits. He walked to the back of his chair and rested his hands on Draco’s shoulders while they waited.
Draco could not remember seeing so many Weasleys in one place ever. It seemed when they were together, their numbers somehow increased exponentially. Nearly all six siblings came to watch Ron play, Percy the only one off doing Ministry related things. Along with Granger, the werewolf Remus, and Draco’s cousin Sirius, it was a packed house in Dumbledore’s office. Sofas and chairs of all shapes and sizes were spelled up to house the lot of them. The Headmaster stepped out with Snape to converse by floo with the specialist he hoped could help with Harry.
An hour in, Draco was pretty sure he was going to lose his shit. It was already a difficult day, what with the quidditch match, and his breakdown and all. Now he had to deal with countless gropings. Bill noticed you could actually feel where Harry touched Draco’s skin. And of course, they all had needed to try it. Repeatedly. Not to mention fucking Potter kept touching his neck, like a god damn ass, until Draco promised he was going to curse every single one of them if they didn’t keep it to the back of his hand.
Granger came up with the bloody brilliant—and it was actually brilliant—idea to have Harry move his hand around while Draco held a quill so he could finally communicate. It would have been fine, except to do it, Harry wrapped himself up tight around Draco’s back. His head leaned on his shoulder to see while he held Draco’s chest for balance. It was a lot of skin on bare skin with things lining up in ways which made Draco remember a particular ache. It was all very maddening. Especially now Harry was permanently breathing down his neck. Much longer, and Draco was fairly certain he was going to melt into a puddle of goo.
Ha, see them try to converse with Potter then.
Everyone leaned in to focus once again on whatever Draco’s hand spewed next.
My magic doesn’t work properly here. My wand was destroyed and I’ve been having difficulty keeping in control.
They already went over the big things like making sure Voldemort was really, really dead. And Harry wasn’t actually dead. Apparently Potter was concerned about his condition and well, feeling each spark as Harry pressed up against him, Draco was getting concerned as well. There were the pleasantries. The apologies for having never found Harry or realizing what happened. Also many please don’t annoy Malfoy moments, which seemed to be increasing the longer Draco was forced to be a living quill while fighting an erection.
Thankfully, all the crying finally stopped. Ginny was just down to sniffs and Sirius ceased his loud bawling only moments before her. Draco didn’t know if Sirius gave him hope for his bloodline or more concern of insanity dwelling. Considering how the man was sprawled over the werewolf, he had to imagine Sirius wouldn’t be siring children anytime soon to find out.
Dumbledore came in and interrupted the flow of conversation for more information. He handed Draco a new roll of parchment. “Harry, I need as much information about the dimension you share with Draco as you can think of. Please, every minuscule thing. It could be the defining factor in figuring out how to bring you back.”
Draco sighed and cricked his neck to the side. “Must you? My hand is cramping up.” He shuddered as air fell in snickering bursts over his neck. “Potter! What did I tell you about tickling me? Get away from my neck,” Draco growled. He twisted his shoulders back and forth, hoping to throw Harry off as the room went silent.
Draco raised his eyes to find everyone staring at him. “What? Read the bloody paper and leave me alone already.” He huffed and rolled his eyes, then caught sight of what Harry just wrote.
You know you like it.
“Bloody—You are so dead, scarhead!” Draco snarled. He stood so he could beat the crap out of the annoying git. He was hampered by Harry’s arms when he grabbed him expectantly by the shoulders like he knew he was going to get angry. This revelation naturally made Draco angrier. “Let go, you bloody wanker!”
“Well, I’m definitely convinced now,” Sirius said with a grin. His eyebrows wagged.
“Indeed,” Bill agreed while whistling low. “I think you’ve been hiding something from us, Harry.”
Fred and Ron both shrugged. “Not really. He was kind of clear about it last year,” Fred said and threw a whizzer at his twin. “You weren’t home at the time.”
Hermione kindly reached forward and crossed the line off the page with the dropped quill. “Ignore him, Malfoy. Harry hasn’t talked to anyone in months. He’s probably feeling a bit silly. I’m sorry this has been so difficult on you but we really appreciate all your help.” She gave her most agreeable smile and Draco, damn him, found himself nodding back as his anger drained.
Glaring at everyone in the room, Draco sat. “Potter, you have half an hour, then I’m through playing quill for the day. I suggest you get writing while my hand is still attached.” He bowed his head and stared determinedly at the table. Harry once again settled behind him, far too close and hot in his strong arms. Draco swallowed hard.
I’ll make it up to you.
“Not bloody likely,” Draco grumbled. His lashes lowered as heat fanned over his neck. He stilled, his eyes closed when Harry kissed the back of his neck for a slow moment. Draco went to snap again, but thought better of it with so many people staring at him curiously. Instead he shrugged his shoulders and tried to move Harry away from his odd display.
Seriously, was Potter trying to piss him off so much he’d start kissing at him?
“So, Harry, how come you haven’t fallen through the floor yet?” Hermione stared down at the paper expectantly.
The castle is full of magic. The earth too but not as solid. I can stand and hold anything with enough magic in it.
“That could be useful,” Remus mussed. “We might be able to make you your own pen, at the very least.”
“Ah, and now I’m listening,” Draco perked. He watched his hand move across the page. Potter’s handwriting wasn’t too bad, now they’d gotten the hang of things.
I would really appreciate it. So would Malfoy.
“I am not a fan of being a puppet,” Draco agreed.
“So… is that why you can touch Malfoy, then?” Ron asked. “He’s full of magic?”
Draco raised his brows, actually wondering as well. “Do you know why, Potter? I always wondered why those strange creatures would seek me out.”
I can see why. But I don’t want to alarm you. Harry wrote hesitantly.
“Well, now you really have to say, don’t you?” Sirius said flatly. “Talk about suspense.”
Draco took his free hand and buried his face in it for a moment. He massaged his eyebrows. “Just tell me, Potter. Whatever it is, it’s not new. It’s hardly life or death.”
Okay. You might be part… something. I don’t know what. But you have a tail and claws and feathers. And you glow very bright.
Draco pursed his lips as everyone once again turned their intent gaze to him. He met Sirius’s very startled eyes and narrowed silver back at his cousin. “Potter, what about Black? Or the werewolf? If it’s just about magical creature ancestry, why can’t you touch them?”
“Hey, no one said I have…”
“Bullshit, Black, I can smell it a mile away,” Draco snapped. “If Potter is outing me, then you’re outed too. Considering you were disinherited already, hardly a damn loss.”
Sirius growled but didn’t disagree. He looked around the room, and glared at the many Weasleys watching interestedly. “No one tells a soul, understand? Especially about Malfoy. You know what this kind of information can do if leaked. He’ll lose all chance of getting a job and having a damn life. He’ll certainly lose his pretty little fiance. I’ll spell you to secrecy if I have to.”
Draco was trying very hard to ignore just how still Harry became behind him. The arm around his chest suddenly felt more like a steel trap than anything else. Instead he looked at the words he wrote in answer to the earlier question.
Malfoy shares one specific dimension with me. No one else does. Fawkes shares three different ones, which is why I can touch him as well. It may be less about magic and more about sharing space—
He ended the last word with a scratch and Draco imagined it was about when Sirius mentioned Serene. Now really wasn’t the time to talk about it and Draco did his best to divert his attention. “Cousin, you don’t have to worry. I have yet to meet a more upstanding family than the Weasleys. And Granger is, well, Granger. Hardly someone to go blabbing secrets. And Remus is a werewolf, so no one will listen to him anyways,” he added with a playful smirk.
“Geez, had me worried you were complimenting us,” Ron said with a chuckle. “You have not been well lately.”
“Guess it’s just part of having feathers and a tail on a different plane of existence.” Draco turned his head to where Harry was again resting on his shoulder. He felt calmer. “So Potter, what do you look like? Since I’m apparently feathery.”
Scales too. You have both. I look like I’m breaking apart on that plane.
It was Draco’s turn to still. His hand mindlessly went to the arm wrapped around him and held. “How so?”
Cracks of light, like my energy is breaking out of my skin.
“The energy sparks?”
Yes.
Draco nodded blindly and his mouth twisted into a frown. “Hopefully the specialist will be able to figure it all out.”
They started their goodbyes after that when everyone realized Harry needed to get his information to Dumbledore sooner rather than later. Ron and Hermione lingered while everyone else gave Harry farewell pats on Draco’s hand. They chatted for a while. Harry would interrupt his descriptive text to jot conversation on a different page to join in with his friends. The day caught up to Draco and he drifted in the peaceful droning of their voices and the scratching of the quill.
Draco opened his eyes and looked around from where his cheek was pressed flat against the desk. His hand was moving, the sound of the quill quiet in the room. There didn’t seem to be anyone there besides the cooing phoenix and Potter, who was currently tracing his other fingers through Draco’s hair.
“God, it’s dark out. How are you still writing?” Draco sat up slowly.
Don’t sleep. Don’t get tired.
“Ah. That must get boring.” Draco looked around blearily, only to start when Harry leaned forward and rested his body on him heavily. Breath was suddenly on Draco’s cheek and he glanced to where Harry was likely staring back. “What?”
You’re mad cute when you’re asleep.
Draco stared intently at the words but they didn’t reveal themselves to be an illusion. He tilted his head and wondered if he was just very, very tired. “Potter, I really don’t know what you’re thinking here.”
Seriously, still? You’re Hot. Sexy. Very fucking sexy. How blunt do I need to be?
Everything sort of went red. Draco blinking dumbly at the page as heat rushed to his face.
I can’t stop thinking of you. Yesterday in the shower when you—
He used his free hand to slam down the quill and cut off Harry’s words. “Don’t. Not that,” he whispered hollowly.
Harry pulled the quill away and wrote quickly. Why? You were beautiful.
Draco shook his head and breathed out unsteadily. “It’s not funny, Potter. Just because I’m the only one you can talk to doesn’t mean you get to fucking tease me about this. Just stop it.”
I’m not teasing!
“Fucking are, you bloody—” Draco stopped. He quickly crumpled up the spare piece of parchment right before Dumbledore walked into the room. “Sir, if I could go already, that would be great.” He rose and pulled away from the extremely warm, and now motionless body behind him.
“Of course, Draco. I wanted to thank you for all your help today in bringing Harry back to us. And with the writing.” Dumbledore picked up the pages of text Harry wrote while Draco slept and glanced through them quickly. “Hopefully there will be something here to give us a clue on how to get Harry back.”
Draco nodded but he was distracted and irritable. All he really wanted was to get out of there already. “Not a problem. And if you would just not mention any of this to my mother?”
Dumbledore looked grave and Draco stopped his fidgeting. “What? You spoke with her?”
“No, but I have a feeling she will be owling you.” Dumbledore combed his long beard a moment, then sighed. “We made some inquiries into your ancestry once it was revealed you weren’t fully human. Nothing that could harm your standing in the society, but I’m certain your father has a network to catch these sorts of things. It was definitely from his side, Draco. As his only heir, they will want to protect you from word getting out.”
Fucking hell. What did that mean, exactly? Was he going to end up as fucking crazy as his father now? Harry’s hand touched his shoulder and Draco started from his thoughts. He ran a hand through his hair as he pulled away and edged towards the door. “Fine, whatever, it’s done. I really need to get going.”
Dumbledore held his hand up. “Draco, we’re going to need your help once McVicar gets here. We will try to work around your class schedule, but I’m sure you can understand the urgency of this. Given Harry’s condition—”
“It’s fine. I’ll do whatever I can to help,” Draco interrupted. “Just ask. But now I really need to eat, sir.”
“Of course; my apologies. I’ll have the house elves send something to your room. Harry, it is such a relief to have you back with us.” Dumbledore led them to the door and Draco was finally free. He pulled again out of Harry’s hand when he tried to hold his back while they walked down the hallway.
Harry wasn’t sure exactly why Malfoy was pissed but he was clearly angry. After about five minutes of pretending to eat, Draco gave up to stalk around his room and pace. Harry kept trying to grab him and get him to write but that only seemed to make Malfoy more upset. Instead Harry stood in a corner out of the way while he watched him fume.
He loved the flash in Draco’s eyes and the way his hair flowed around him as he whirled and muttered. He was still in his quidditch uniform, not having thought to change even now. With him pacing, snarling, and being over all hot, Harry was realizing he might have a problem when it came to the prat.
“Potter, where are you?” Draco called as he stopped in the middle of the room. Seeing the quill in hand, Harry stepped forward and brushed fingers over his arm. Draco jumped and he had to wonder why, seeing as he knew he was right there.
Draco pulled him over to the desk and threw a piece of parchment down. “Promise me, Potter. You won’t tell a goddamn soul about yesterday.”
Harry curled fingers around Draco’s and carefully moved his hand.
What about yesterday?
“Potter!” Harry stumbled back when Draco shoved him.
“Fuck, Malfoy. What the fuck is your problem?” He quickly grabbed the hand trying to punch him.
“Damn it!” Draco struggled in his grasp and Harry only held on harder. He stepped closer to look down at the annoying, beautiful prat. “I have responsibilities, you dolt. People can’t know that I… that I like that sort of thing. It… it’s not really accepted with purebloods, or, well, most normal society in general,” Draco finally muttered.
With a start, Harry realized he was talking about the shower. Malfoy actually looked distressed. Harry never had any issues with his own sexuality, but then, he was able to talk to Remus and Sirius about it. Who the hell did Malfoy have to talk to, besides his fucked up family?
Harry tugged Draco’s hand back down to the table and wrote again, the letters lopsided from the angle.
I wasn’t planning on telling anyone.
Draco visibly relaxed. He sat and slumped down in the chair. “Thanks.”
Why does it matter?
Harry watched as Draco scowled and his free hand covered half his face.
You’re fucking beautiful.
“Stop!” Draco tried to wrest his arm away. Harry used his other hand to hold him still and scrawled quickly.
Why would I joke about this? Who the fuck would find it funny?
“I don’t bloody know, but its all you fucking lions joke about. Everything is a fucking broom ride with you lot, and this is my god damn life!”
Draco managed to pull his arm free and tried to get past him. He nearly knocked his head right into Harry’s bowed one. Because he could, and he fucking wanted to, and he was sick of this very frustrating feeling, Harry grabbed Draco around his waist and lifted him up.
“Potter! Stop being so annoying!” Draco was hazy eyed again, face flushed across his pale cheeks and Harry really just couldn’t stop himself. He tilted his head up and pressed his lips to Draco’s.
It was very much the wrong move. Draco’s hands quickly found his hair and pulled hard until Harry placed him back on the ground.
“I’m fucking serious. I am not some fucking toy, you asshole!” Draco snarled somewhere around his shoulder since he still couldn’t seem to remember Harry was taller than him.
“You’re out of your fucking mind, Malfoy! Who the fuck kisses someone they don’t like? You’re fucking intentionally oblivious!” Harry growled loudly. The prat couldn’t hear him and the damn writing only seemed to be so easy for Draco to misinterpret. He apparently he just couldn’t fucking let it go, even with Malfoy looking like he was going to murder him. Before he even knew what he was doing, Harry cupped his face and kissed him again.
Again, very much the wrong move. Draco grabbed his fingers and tried to bend them backwards. It was beyond confusing given how Draco also moaned, his lips parting to Harry’s tongue. Harry sacrificed one of his hands to Draco’s malicious retaliation, and used the other to thread through the hair at the back of Draco’s head and keep their mouth’s sealed together.
God, he really was just fucking divine. Fiery and wet and damn fucking perfect.
“Fuck, Potter… stop,” Draco gasped into his mouth. His hand finally stopped the painful finger bending and came to rest on Harry’s chest. Free, Harry wrapped his arm around Draco’s slim waist, pressed their bodies together and earned a wonderful, shaky cry. Bare hot flesh pressed against bare hot flesh. Draco started to tremble and Harry felt a strange, wild heat rise in him.
“I don’t want to stop, you prat. I don’t ever want to let you go. Why can’t you understand that?” Harry murmured between deep kisses. He pulled gasps and moans and even one very adorable squeak from Draco’s red mouth.
Just as suddenly, Draco hit him again. The little ferret went so far as to bite in a less sexy and just plain painful way until Harry finally pulled his mouth away.
“I’m getting fucking married!”
“To some fucking bird when you are clearly gay and hot for me, you idiot.” Somehow, once again his argument was lost on Draco because when Harry went to kiss him again, his ear was twisted. “Shit… shit… owww.”
“I am getting married,” Draco continued determinedly, his eyes alight with anger and a fair bit of torment. “In less than a month. It is difficult enough, without you… you fucking reminding me I very much don’t like women. You are a very good kisser, by the way, so please fucking stop it.” Draco shoved him. Harry stumbled back in surprise and crouched to keep from falling.
Fuck. Fucking Malfoy. Harry stood, and paced around Draco’s stiff form, who looked like he didn’t know whether to start yelling or hitting. “Don’t fucking marry her!”
“And you know what else, Potter? What the fuck are you kissing me for, anyways? When did seeing me in the shower make you think you could just fucking kiss me? I never said a goddamn thing about that being okay! Like you have some fucking right, just because no one can see you?”
Alright, Harry knew at this point he definitely had a problem. The prat was just too fucking gorgeous when he was angry. It was a problem a year ago. Now he really just couldn’t stop himself after having spent hours pressed up against Draco while writing, stealing long licks when he slept, kissing him repeatedly. He saw him naked, and fuck… He knew just how much Draco would enjoy getting his ass shagged. Once again Harry stalked forward, pulled Draco’s slender form toward him, and kissed him deeply.
Draco must of had a similar problem. At the first press of lips to his, he grabbed Harry’s shoulders and kissed back just as hard. He readily gave in to Harry’s demanding tongue, his lips swollen and hot juice dripping from the corner of his panting mouth. Only to again push him back, silver eyes so hazy Harry was certain he would cave if he just kissed him once more.
“Potter, I can’t even fucking see you!” Draco shouted and threw his hands up in frustration. “It’s like kissing thin air. It’s weird!”
Ah, maybe not so much. “Crap. Close your eyes or something.” Harry gently pressed his hand down over Draco’s eyes. It seemed to do the trick. Draco no longer resisted when Harry pressed lips to his, the kiss softer this time. They didn’t stop until Draco was gasping and his short nails scraped at the back of Harry’s neck. With a groan, Draco pulled away and sat in a heap on his bed.
“Fuck, Potter… What the fuck are you doing to me?” Draco ran a shaky hand through his hair. “I’m getting married. Soon. There is no way around it… And you, you’re not even here, are you? You’re off in some other fucking plane of existence which just happens to have a bit of me in it. Hell, you wouldn’t even be in the building if not for the magic keeping you from falling through. What the fuck is kissing going to do except drive me mad?”
Harry wasn’t sure and didn’t really care. He really wanted to keep kissing the gorgeous prat whenever the urge hit him. He reached his hand for Draco’s right one and touched his fingertips.
“No. I don’t want to talk with you. You’ll find some fucking way to convince me and I can’t do this, Potter. I can’t.” Draco threw his arm over his face to block his eyes from the sight of absolutely nothing. “I can’t tell if you’re having me on. I can’t tell if you’re happy, or sad, or angry. I can’t tell a goddamn thing, except you seem to enjoy pissing me off and kissing me. In that order, at that.”
Harry pulled harder on his hand but Draco resisted. “Come on, Malfoy. How the fuck can I make you understand if you won’t let me?”
“We need some fucking boundaries, Potter. I need you to not go in my loo while I’m in there. And you should stop kissing me and touching me all the fucking time too. Especially… especially when I’m sleeping.”
There was no way Harry was about to agree to any of that. Fuck boundaries. He spent the last months drifting aimlessly while waiting to die. He had no interest in wasting the little time left not enjoying it with the most stunning creature on the planet, who just happened to be able to touch him back. Harry raised Draco’s hand to head and shook a clear no.
Scowling, Draco pushed Harry back by the forehead. “You’re a fucking pain, Potter. What, you think just because you killed You-Know-Who that you can bloody have whatever you want from me? Arrogant ass.”
Harry snorted at the very notion and sat next to Draco on his magically charmed sheets. “Malfoy, if I thought for a bloody second you didn’t want me, I would not be pawing at you. Although I would still be looking, believe you me.” Of course, Draco couldn’t hear him because he refused to get the quill. He did seem to be able to sense him though, his eyes flickering to where Harry was sitting now.
“Potter, I’m fucking tired. Today’s been shit. Let me sleep and stop bloody staring at me.”
Harry wrapped his fingers around Draco chin, leaned forward and watched his silver eyes widen as Draco’s breath sped up. “I am going to stare all I fucking like, Draco. You are beautiful and deserve to be stared at. That no one stares—hell, that no one touches you is a goddamn crime and one I am not willing to commit.” He brushed his lips to Draco’s and listened as he gasped.
That dangerous feeling was rising in him again and with hot intent, he slid his tongue out and slowly licked up the side of Draco’s face. Draco made a noise between a shout and a moan and brought a hand up to shove him away. Harry quickly caught it and dipped his head lower to lick up Draco’s neck.
“Potter, you’re a fucking dog… Oh god… Get the fuck off me and stop licking me.” It would be easier to stop if Draco’s free hand wasn’t stuck in Harry’s thick hair, holding him down while he continue to lick and suck at Draco’s neck. For all his words of protest, Draco was enjoying himself, his head lolled to the side, eyes half closed while Harry held him up and continued marking his neck with red, mouth sized spots.
Suddenly Draco’s hand pried at his face. When Harry pulled away he could see the agony in his silver eyes. “Stop. Please. I’m getting married, and it’s not… it’s not right, Potter. Stop making things so difficult.”
Harry sighed heavily as his words sank in. He got up reluctantly and moved to the corner of the room to put space between them. Draco was exhausted, he could see that. And yes, as determined as he was, Harry could see he wasn’t helping Draco with anything at the moment, just infuriating and exasperating him.
“Malfoy, why the fuck are you getting married? You’re only seventeen. You’re clearly gay. Marrying some oblivious girl is just going to hurt her more than anything.” Just speaking the atrocity out loud was frustrating and Harry crouched with hands flat on the floor so he could feel something solid. “Shit, Malfoy, even if it wasn’t me you’re with, it sure as fuck shouldn’t be a girl. I would prefer it to be me. But don’t live the rest of your life pretending to be straight. It’s fucking stupid.”
Draco didn’t answer. He stripped the majority of his quidditch uniform off in the perceived silence and curled under the blankets and closed his eyes.
Harry stood. He didn’t approach the bed but watched from where he was. “Why the hell are you doing this?”
Naturally, he got no answer. Another spark tore through Harry’s form, this one right across his stomach and extremely painful. Cursing, he began to pace. He was in no mood to sit and drift.
Draco awoke late Sunday morning with yesterday just a very dull memory in the back of his mind. He could smell Harry, his scent all around him, but couldn’t feel his breath. Maybe that would be the compromise to their situation. Harry would hover, but not in a way he could obviously discern where he was.
Currently, all Draco could think about was how fucking hard he was. He had a fine dream with green eyes, tanned skin, and messy chocolate hair, likely inspired by the scent of who was lurking in his room. Draco was in his own bed, in his own room, where he could very easily, and usually did, take care of this problem. He did not want to have to kick Potter the fuck out, especially when he’d likely sneak back in anyways.
Shit, when did Potter become such a damn voyeur?
With eyes firmly closed, Draco slipped his hand down beneath the waistband of his boxers and tried to be quiet as he wrapped fingers around his erection. Another thing he resented. He never had to be quiet before, not since earning a room of his own. “Oh.”
He was also not very good at being quiet anymore.
Harry’s breath appeared, hot and scalding at the juncture where Draco’s neck met his shoulder. He did everything not to react to it, instead trying to focus on his hand and his dick and nothing about hovering Potter always watching him with those glowing green eyes he could no longer see. “Oh fuck.” He bit his lip to stifle a moan. Harry’s breath moved down his chest as if there was no material between them at all.
He could feel Harry’s body heat as he moved and floated very close above him. He had to be centimeters from touching him, maybe less. Before he could fully even process just how close Harry had to be hovering, he felt him move, the heat of his breath very much on his hand and fisted cock. Draco fought back a cry from the sudden rush of sensation. He threw his head back and bucked as he came into his hand.
Draco lay there panting on the bed, eyes resolutely closed. He waited for Harry to move the fuck away so he could get up and pretend he wasn’t there properly. Eventually he felt Harry move. His body heat disappeared and breath no longer lingered around his thighs.
Fucking Potter… fuck… Draco waited a few more minutes and spent the time wondering if Harry was touching himself, if he might come back over and try to touch him. How that might be a damn good idea.
Draco snapped his eyes open and got up. He was losing his fucking mind, needed to pee and shower and Potter better give him some fucking privacy.
Harry watched from his spot in the corner, his fingers curled on his face while he sank teeth into his hand. The prat hadn’t said a fucking word. Draco touched himself like he wasn’t there even though he damn well knew being a foot away was about the closest he could get before Draco noticed him.
What if he touched him? What would Draco have done then? Yell? Punch? Moan?
Fucking hell… just fuck.
His hand still firmly between his teeth, Harry walked to the bathroom door and peeked his head through the wood. Draco was showering. He looked nearly efficient like Draco was expecting him to be watching and didn’t want to give him any ideas. He had no idea how to deal with this.
All last night Harry decided he would talk to the prat in the morning. He’d convince Draco being gay was so much better than marrying for money, or prestige, or whatever the fuck Malfoy was throwing his life away for. Harry hadn’t prepared for this. Draco just gave him the coldest shoulder ever, pretended he wasn’t even there. He didn’t react to his presence at all to the point of jerking off right in front of him.
Hell, he might not mind too fucking much, either.
Harry stepped into the bathroom, and made sure he was far enough away so Draco wouldn’t be alerted to him. He watched as Draco washed yesterday’s match off his skin and the morning’s cum from his hand.
Was he supposed to pretend too? Ignore Draco Malfoy in the bloody room, nude with pale skin slick with soap and water. He didn’t want to ignore him. He wanted to touch him and show him how fucking good it could be if Draco just stopped fighting what he wanted. He wanted to take that soap, fill Draco’s tight hole with it, and fuck him against the shower until he wailed in delirious agony.
He settled for watching Draco shower while he stroked his cock and his mind swirled with all the many dirty, wonderful things he wanted to do with Draco. Right now they had a strange truce and he was grateful for at least that. If he pushed Draco, he might lose everything. Draco was definitely skittish enough, explosive enough to put him in his place if he pushed too far.
That wasn’t a bad thought either.
“Fuck, Malfoy. You’re such a fucking tease.” Harry grunted, his strokes slowing as he came, and his cum dribbled down. “Hell, I like it when you tease.”
There was no answer and he was left to rest against the wall, eyes trained on Draco as he finished his shower. Once he stepped back into the bedroom, Harry waited in the corner to give Draco whatever perceived sense of space and privacy he needed as he stared unceasingly at the beautiful blond.
A little place to share your comments and questions on the fanfic, Intangible . Liked it, hated it, interested in seeing a sequel or something similar? Let me know below. I love the feedback.
I’ve never really been one to talk shit about dick size. You’re born with what you got, and you make do. Being a wizard, you even get a little leeway, and I know there are more than a few blokes that stuff an extra inch or two to make things interesting. I am not one of those guys. I really wish Theodore Nott was.
Malfoy’s looking at Nott’s dick like he’s internally berating it for just how fucking small it is. It’s not a sweet expression, but few of Malfoy’s are. It also doesn’t help that I’m polyjuiced as Nott, because hell, I have never felt inadequate before, but I sure do under that withering stare. I’m not hung like a horse—no matter what all my diehard Potter fans would have you believe. But I’m not Nott. Fucked up thing? Malfoy sucks this kid off all the time. How the hell does Nott put up with that glare every time he’s being blown?
Determined to make the most of things before the potion wears off, I grab Draco’s very silky shoulder length hair, and push him down to his knees. Heh, he is not happy about that. Nott is also a fucking sappy, romantic gasbag that likes to whisper sweet nothings in the blond’s ear while he’s rubbing up against him. I know better and wrench Draco’s hair hard, the boy’s lips parting in a surprised moan.
“That’s it.” I cup my other hand down his cheek, fingers running over his lips, touching the edge of his teeth, his trembling tongue. He’s not glaring now. No, he’s into it, eyelids heavy with want, soft puffs of air hitting my hip. “Suck me, Malfoy.” I pull his hair again. “Now.”
“Fuck,” he gasps, all he can get out before I’m pushing between his gorgeous lips, holding his face firm to keep him from trying to pull off.
Shit. I really shouldn’t be doing this.
He groans, opening wider as I sit as deep as I can inside the scalding heat of his mouth. God, I wish it was deeper. Part of me wants to suffocate him, take his throat so hard he’ll always be raspy from what I do to him. That he’ll never know it’s me just makes me more desperate to mark him in some way. “God, that’s it, baby… Let me fuck you.”
I can’t stop staring at his face, his cheeks flushed, brows furrowed as he tries not to choke every time I push into him. He’s tight inside, and so wet. The noises he makes are obscene, loud, and crazy desperate. It’s nearly impossible to hold back. He’s so hot and sexy, and I’ve been dreaming of fucking him for years now.
He grabs my hips, and I wonder if he’s finally going to push me back, put me in my place for being too rough, but it never comes. No, he just moans again, opens wider, his fingers clawing at the back of my thighs and digging into the muscles of my ass as he helps me slam into his mouth. “Fuck, Malfoy.” God, he likes it. I tighten my grip in his hair, pulling him back so I can see his face. Fuck, he really likes it.
“You going to cum like this? Just from my cock bruising your tonsils?” I can’t stop myself, can’t stop from saying shit to him. His mouth is full of dick, dripping wet, and he loves it. It doesn’t help that he’s on his knees in a back hallway of the dungeons, like he does this all the time. Like he’s been looking for someone to come along and use him.
I slowly pull out, his lips clinging tight suction to my head, trying to keep my dick inside. He finally releases me with a wet pop, his tongue caressing over the tip of my cock for a toe curling instant. Fuck. I force his face further back, tilting him up by his chin until he meets my eyes. I watch, surprise jolting through me when he actually blushes.
Okay, maybe he doesn’t do this all the time. But he should. Because he’s really fucking good at it.
He opens his mouth to my thumb, his lips swollen and bright red. I push hard against his soft flesh, watching him gasp, knowing his teeth are biting in on the other side of his lip. His tongue is suddenly drifting out, licking at my knuckle. I take two fingers and push them into his widening mouth. “You have a really sick… oral fixation.” His tongue comes up to wrap around my digits, coating me in his clear fluids, sucking me down, teeth scraping as he runs his hands up my hips and stomach, nails digging in and pulling down.
Oh shit. My eyes close, his hands doing something crazy to me, his mouth sucking my fingers like they’re directly connected to my dick, and making me dizzy and so painfully hard. I knew he’d be good—Fuck, he could stick his tongue out and tell me to fuck off, and I’d be coming for him. But that he’s into it makes it so much better. I can almost pretend it’s for me.
Fucking Nott. Fucking douche bag, Theodore Nott and his bite-sized prick for dating Malfoy.
Opening my eyes, I pull my fingers free of his tongue, grab him by the back of the neck, and grind my too small cock up against his bottom lip. He looks up at me, cruel grey eyes intense with fire and sex, and fuck, I want to ruin him. And I’m pretty sure, seeing how his tongue is sneaking out to lick my slit, he would really enjoy it.
But although Draco Malfoy might get on his knees in a hallway, he does not, under any circumstances, spread his fucking legs in a hallway. I’m actually not even sure he bottoms. Every time I’ve seen him with his boyfriend, he has never once shown an interest in letting anything between those tight cheeks of his. Then again, when you have some sap whimpering how much they’re meant to be together while also refusing to plump his cock up with a simple spell, it really fucking kills the mood. Least, it sure did for me, watching Nott put his soggy kisses and limp wristed hands all over the wild blond. A hot piece of ass like Malfoy deserves fucking better.
Too bad I’m not the one to give it to him.
My fingers bite into the back of his neck, pulling him down again. I watch his face, his lashes fluttering shut, mouth dropping open in anticipation, tongue reaching out to meet my cock when I push into him again. I cup my other hand to his cheek, fingers tangling in his hair and gripping hard as I pull him down to meet every relentless thrust I give into his tight heat. My god, he’s beautiful. His mouth is wide open, dripping wet down his chin and my length, whimpering, hot suction noises and choked sobs escaping as he surrenders to me. He gasps around my dick, struggling to draw air in, his hands grasping weakly to my thighs as he lets out a string of desperate, low moans.
“God… god, that’s it… want it… fucking take it…” He’s going to cum. I can see it on his face. He’s so fucking gone, he’s going to cum with my cock in his mouth. “You’re doing so good, baby… so… fucking… tight…” He makes this beautiful, wet cry when I pull him down a final time, his throat opening to me, so hot and dripping tight as I shoot stream after stream of my seed into him. And fuck, he swallows down every nasty drop, milking me for more while fighting to breathe.
Fuck. I pull out of him, my dick growing cold in the air. I don’t care. I have to touch him, or I’m going to lose my fucking mind. I drag him up to his feet, his body swaying, arms heavy as he wraps around me and opens to my kiss. Before he can think to stop me, I shove my hand down the front of his pants, groaning when I find him slick with cum already. God—the gorgeous prat came without even touching himself. Both his hands were on my thighs the whole time, pretty fucking sure.
“Theo, fuck, that was so good. Didn’t know it could—Fuck. Fuck.” He pulls me down into another kiss, crushing me back against the wall, grinding against me so hard I think he’s trying to fuck me with his pants on. It’s hot, really hot, but him calling me his boyfriend’s name is a punch to the gut.
Fuck, I’m such an idiot.
I kiss him—I’m never going to get another chance—and reach down to tuck myself back in while he sucks on my neck. Malfoy does really nice things with that mouth of his.
“I gotta go.” I push him back, watching the confusion and hurt flash in his beautiful grey eyes. God, I’m the biggest fucking asshole ever.
I yank him by the arm, his eyes widening as he crashes against my chest. “Baby, you were incredible,” I whisper against his lips, cupping his face firmly, tilting him a little closer so I can kiss him the way I’ve always wanted to kiss him. He melts into me, moaning, tongue tentatively tangling with mine. I pull him closer, unable to stop as I wrap him in my arms, kissing him so consumingly, so thoroughly, all he can do is whimper once I finally release him and leave him leaning weakly on the wall.
I walk away before I can think of a reason not to, glancing back as I round the corner, finding him staring at me, his eyes blazing as they meet mine.
Shit, I am such a fuck up.
I have once again ruined my own life.
Not the first time, likely not the last time. Definitely not the first or last where Draco Malfoy is concerned.
I made myself not follow him around like a psycho stalker after crossing the line a week ago. God, what the fuck was I thinking? Polyjuicing myself into his sappy boyfriend—Voldemort must have done some fucking permanent damage to my head, because if I were sane, I would have known just how bad an idea that was. Yeah, I am definitely fucked in the head, because all I can think of is doing it again.
There’s something wrong with me when it comes to Malfoy.
“Whatever, Granger. Not like you have a chance at actually winning. Mudbloods are excluded from Perceptional Scholarships.”
Something seriously wrong with me.
“Fuck off, Malfoy,” Ron snaps, saying what I should be saying. But I’m not, I’m looking at the git’s hands, remembering how they felt moving over me. I’m trying very hard not to look at his face, because his mouth is fucking heaven, and if I look, I’m going to touch. I’m handsy and I know it, so best to avoid it all together.
“Actually, the Perceptional Scholarships just started offering two new opportunities that include muggleborns,” Hermione says tightly, flipping open her Potions text. “Considering you’re already rolling in your father’s money, I’m sure you’re not interested.”
“On the contrary…” I look up because I know that tone, and I know that smirk, and I want to see his face when he says whatever shit thing he’s going to say. I want to see it almost just as much as I want to see his face when he comes. Issues, I know. “If I can ensure every mudblood, poverty stricken weasel, and pathetic orphan never get a knut of scholarship money, I’m happy to try.”
He’s such a bastard.
“What’s the matter, Potter? Not up for playing hero today?” He rests his manicured hand on my desk, hip cocked to the side and drawing my eyes down his long legs. I’m up for something, but he’s not interested. He’d rather go blow his soggy toothpick of a boyfriend.
I’m pretty sure I didn’t hate Nott a month ago.
Feeling spiteful, I rip a sheet of parchment paper off and scribble down the words to the dick enlarging spell every fucking guy knows in the castle. “Here, Malfoy, give this to Nott. Maybe he can dislodge that stick out of your ass for you.”
Scowling at the spell, he crumples the piece of paper, lobbing it at my head. Fucking score one for me.
Malfoy huffs away to his seat, glaring at me like I’m the one that stuck that stick up his ass in the first place. Maybe I am. Who the fuck knows at this point. We’ve been fighting forever.
Ron bends over, unwrapping the paper and snickering loudly. “Little too close to home there, huh, Har?”
I growl, summoning the paper to me and incinerating it. I told Ron about the polyjuice thing because at this point I’m sure I’m losing my mind over the Slytherin prat, and I need some fucking help. Ron, naturally, was not helpful. Oh, he was quick to point out I was fucked in the head, but his advice consisted of teasing the shit out of me since. I can’t tell Hermione—She’d either call me out for rape, or blackmail me into killing the kid. She hates Malfoy, hardcore.
Course, Malfoy’s now practically in Nott’s lap, the lucky shit. Given the whispering and twin glares in my direction, Nott didn’t like my suggestion either. Well fuck him.
Ron gives me a look, one I’ve grown to anticipate, and he starts conjuring under the table. Two minutes later, a stick covered in what looks a lot like shit but’s probably just mud, ends up on Nott and Malfoy’s desk. It’s three feet long, and it takes every bit of self control I have not to burst out laughing.
For the best, because Malfoy starts hexing the fuck out of me ten seconds later, Ron whooping in laughter as I duck for cover.
Snape gives me detention. I laugh my ass to the hospital ward to reattach my finger.
Worth it.
While cleaning the sludge off of Snape’s classroom and storeroom walls, I happen to notice he has a premade polyjuice potion just waiting for a hair. I don’t believe in fate, or signs—Hell, I barely believe in magic half the time. It feels more like science with instruction manuals directing energy. That said, I do believe in opportunity. The vial ends up in my pocket when I hightail it back to my room to use the second of three hairs I grabbed from Nott’s hairbrush over a month ago.
I’m not really thinking at this point. I try not to think when I’m in the middle of fucking up my life. Because if I wasn’t head over heels for Malfoy already, fucking his sexy, nasty mouth raw is going to do it.
I check the Marauder’s Map before I down the potion. Nott’s in bed, fast asleep. Malfoy’s wandering the halls, probably getting in from his own detention in Transfigurations. He’s been twitchy lately, and not just bitching at me for a change. I throw my invisibility cloak on after transfiguring my clothes, so no one in the dorm thinks the Slytherins are attacking, and slip out of the common room.
He’s pacing. Pissed off, grumbling under his breath, pacing. Malfoy is also not happy to see me. Well, to see Nott, anyways. I’m pretty sure he’d be even less happy to see me.
“Thought you were going to bed?” He accuses, eyes flashing as he paces right past me, turns, and makes another round.
Malfoy is fucking hot when he’s angry. But the pacing is hard to follow, so I grab his arm, pulling him close. He glares at me, then pushes me back, and fuck, I just want him more.
“I don’t want to talk, Theo. That fucking Potter—Can’t fucking stand him!”
Seriously, he’s still pissed off about that stupid stick? That was hours ago. He holds onto shit way too long.
He pushes at my shoulders again, like that’s going to make me let him go. I grab his arms, holding him tight against me. His eyes darken, nostrils flare, breath catches, and all my senses tell me the switch that turns him on is flipped, just like that.
I step him back, three, four, until he’s flush against the wall. I pull his arms to the sides so they’re no longer trapped between us, pinning him in place.
He arches, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “God… I thought… I thought you didn’t want to.”
“What don’t I want?” I ask, eyes drawn to his long throat and the way he swallows.
“You, uh, said you didn’t want to hurt me,” Draco whispers, his body pushing forward against mine.
I nuzzle into his neck, breathing him in, needing to remember everything I can about him. Because I can’t do this again. Nott touches him differently, and eventually they’re going to figure it out. Just not tonight. “Did I hurt you, baby?”
“No,” he sighs, hands relaxing in my hold, body losing all its tension. “It was amazing, and I don’t know why you’re afraid to do it again. I want you to do it… So bad.”
I look him in the eye, his crystal clear gaze full of fire and trust. I hate that he can’t see me in here. I look at him like I always look at him, but these aren’t my eyes, and he just doesn’t know me. Another reason I shouldn’t be doing this, and am just fucking up my head.
But my crazy isn’t going to go away just because I know better. I do plenty of fucking wrong, especially when it comes to Malfoy, and I’m not stopping now. Fucking Nott. If the prick had a set of balls, I could have gotten away with a lot more.
“I’ll make a deal with you.” I pull his arms higher, his breath hitching from the motion. “You tell me what you want, anything you want, and I’ll give it to you right here, right now.”
“Oh, fuck,” he moans, eyes closing, body shuddering against me.
Oh fuck, indeed. “But, once we’re done, baby, we don’t talk about it again, okay?” I cover him with my body, nudging a leg between his thighs. He’s hard already, only getting harder as I grind against him. “Think of it as a secret meet up. Just two strangers in a hallway. It can be anything you want, but only as long as it’s now. How’s that sound?”
He leans in to nip my ear, his tongue teasing over my skin and making me dizzy. “It sounds hot.”
His voice is pure sex, but he seems a little scared. I have to wonder just what he’s thinking about, and if he’s ever done it before. He keeps kissing my neck, teeth nipping, tongue lapping languidly while he chooses. Hell, maybe this is a bad idea. What if it’s something super intimate? Has he been with Nott like that yet? Do I seriously want to interfere in something that could be emotional for him?
“I know you said it grosses you out—”
“Fuck what I said. Tell me.” I pull back so I can see his face. Damn, he is adorable, flushed and biting his lip nervously. I’m digging myself a damn big hole here. “Whatever it is, I want to do it to you. I want you to feel fucking amazing, and I want to be the one to make you feel that way.” It’s all true, and I hate that he thinks its his boyfriend saying it to him. But god, he does crazy things to me, and even when he pisses me off like the prat he is, I want him to feel so fucking good.
“God, okay… okay…” He’s looking everywhere but at me. Suddenly he leans forward, mouth on my ear to whisper. “I want you to… hell… I want…”
God, I’m going to die if he doesn’t tell me. It’s important. Something Nott’s too boring to do for him.
“…Rim me.”
Holy fuck, yes.
I let go of his hands and slam him back by the shoulders. He stares at me wide eyed, like I’ve lost my mind. Fine, I’m fucked in the head. I’m aware. “Take your pants off, right fucking now.”
“Uh… okay.” Biting his lip, he hesitantly reaches down, pulling at his belt clasp. I want to ask him a million questions, the main one being if he’s ever had a tongue up his ass. Or anything up his ass, for that matter. But I feel like he might have had this conversation with the boyfriend who thinks tongue fucking is gross, so I can’t ask anything without making him suspicious.
“Should I… Do you want me to do the cleaning spell?”
Damn, he’s really nervous. “Let me do everything.” I hold his face, bending down to kiss him. He tastes just like last time, except without the tang of cum on his tongue. It’s so hard to hold back, and he groans when I crush him against the wall, his trousers sliding down and hitting the floor. I run my palms over his flesh, pulling him against me while devouring every gasp he makes. He’s smooth. Cool marble. Strong, toned, compact muscle, and his ass is fucking perfect, firm and tight, and goddamn perky. I give him a small pinch and he gasps, smacking me on the arm halfheartedly. Fuck, he’s sexy.
I cast a silencing spell first, because I have every intention of making him scream. He shudders from the cleaning spell, his mouth dropping open to pant. It’s a good sign that he at least enjoys sensation back there. I pull his underwear down, still holding him tight against me, wanting to feel his hard cock and smooth flesh for as long as I can.
“How do you want it?” I ask, smiling when his head falls back against the wall. He looks damn near drunk with anticipation, his eyes bright, lips wet and parted.
“Put your tongue in me like you fucked my mouth the last time in this hallway,” he demands lowly, cocky smirk firmly in place.
I glance around, realizing for the first time that, fuck, this is where I found him that last time.
Oh… Oh fuck.
Either Nott really sucks at getting head, or I left a bit of an impression on Malfoy. And hell, isn’t that just the sexiest fucking thought ever, to know he wants it the way only I give it to him.
I spin him around, pushing him chest first against the wall. He groans and pushes back against me, rubbing his bare ass against my erection. Damn. Maybe he’s not completely against bottoming after all. “You’re going to get really weak in the knees, baby. I can spell you something to hold onto.” I lick his neck, reminding myself that leaving marks on him is a bad idea.
Eyes downcast, his next words are so quiet I have to lean in to hear. “Can you… tie me up?”
“Shit, Malfoy—Yes.”
God, this is going to kill me. I never should have come back here. The first time fucked me up so bad, I’ve been dreaming of him crawling into my bed and sucking me off, waking up thinking he was lying right next to me, spooned in tight. No good will come of this. But he’s a drug. Designed to get me so high and fucking good, while making me feel like shit the second he leaves my sight. Fuck, or says two words to me.
He pushes back against me again and the world goes dark. All those fucked up thoughts of heartbreak and impossible relationships drain away, replaced with the feel of his smooth, firm ass rubbing against my jeans and cock. Fuck yeah. I hold his hips, surging forward, grinding him hard until he can’t stop moaning.
I have to stop or I’m going to do something he didn’t agree to, no matter how much I’m sure he’ll like it. I pull his right arm up over his head, extending it high. I follow with his left, holding them together, his body stretched out, shirt hanging loose, pants around his ankles to reveal his creamy smooth ass and legs. He whimpers when my spell encases his forearms in a supple, yet sturdy leather wrap, keeping the strain off of his wrists when I secure his arms overhead.
“How does it feel?” I run my hands up over his arms, his body trembling.
“Crazy good,” he whispers hoarsely, his eyes looking above at his bound arms.
“Too tight? Any numbness? Pins and needles?” I press, wanting him to enjoy himself instead of thinking about his arms hurting like fuck.
“No, it’s good. God, it looks good, doesn’t it?” He can’t seem to keep his eyes off his arms, and I can’t blame him. Draco Malfoy looks fucking amazing in leather and chains.
“You look sexy as sin.” I wrap my arms around him, stealing this moment to breathe him in again. I run my hands up, unclasping button by button until his shirt peels away and I can move my hands unobstructed over his chest. He exhales sharply when I find his nipples, his head falling back against my shoulder, body arching into my touch.
“Harder… Fuck, yeah.” Moaning when I twist one of his nipples, he slams back against me, snickering while he looks up at me nearly upside down. “I like it when you do that.”
Sexy. So damn sexy. “I know, baby. You’re going to like what I do next even better.” I give his red bud a final, lip biting twist, and sink down to my knees, dragging my palms over his body as I go. He bucks his hips into my hands, but I don’t touch his perfect, flushed cock. He came the first time from just my dick in his mouth. I want to see if he’ll do the same with my tongue buried in his ass.
His thighs tremble when I spread his legs. I pull him back from the wall, pushing his shoulders forward so he can rest his head and give me better access. Not to mention, he gets a fine view of his dripping cock. My view is just as nice of his alabaster skin, the muscles of his ass flexing, legs long, strong and tense. His flesh is cool against my flushed face. I know he wants it like that blowjob, hard and wild, but he keeps jumping under my hand, gasping from just the feel of my breath, the brush of my nose against his ass cheek. God, he’s sensitive. I run my thumbs along his crack, spreading him wide, opening him up.
“Oh hell… god, do it… please…”
Nearly naked, bound and begging in a hallway—Thank you, Merlin. Pressing my face between the swell of his flesh, I reach my tongue deep into his crevis, running up and teasing a slow circle around his hot pucker. And fuck, he yells. Damn. I feel giddy knowing how much he’s going to love this. That I can do this for him when his boyfriend won’t. I lick him again, my breath bouncing heat back at me, his hips jerking from the wet touch. He’s strung so tight, his muscles flexing under my hands, pucker fluttering and squeezing against the tip of my tongue as I slowly torment him with small pushes and harder dragging laps.
“Fucking… god,” he sobs when I finally wiggle into him, driving forward, keeping him wide and pulling him back onto my tongue and lips. I take him slow, plunging into his hot, tight flesh with deep strokes, caressing long, aching cries from him. He gets wet, slick from my saliva and his own sweet juices, shudders racking his taut body when my thumbs slip and press into his hole. His knees start shaking, and I’m not surprised when he slams forward, chains holding him overhead, shoulders and head heavy on the wall. I ease off, catching my breath and cooling my face, and let him regain some composure.
Hell, I forgot just how much of a tongue workout this is. My knees are screaming at me, the cold castle floors not made for kneeling. It’s totally worth it. I wipe away the saliva slick on my chin before placing a line of kisses over his trembling ass. I caress down with my hand, massaging his inner thigh, so careful to avoid touching his tight sac and bobbing cock. I want to torture him. He drives me crazy, and I’m going to do the same to him. And hell, given his unceasing moans, it’s working.
“Please… more… just need it…” Draco’s hips rock, and I steady him before he can suffocate me on his pretty pink hole. “Oh god… god… deeper… Stop being so fucking nice about it!”
Fuck. That’s my fucking boy.
“Quit your goddamn bitching, spread your legs wider, and fucking take what I give you,” I order roughly, smacking him hard on the ass.
“Fuck!” He yelps, “You fucking bastard.”
It hurt. I know because my hand is still stinging. He also fucking loves it, precum now pouring from his dick like a faucet. Before he can regroup enough to get too upset, I lick over the quickly appearing red mark, coating wet, scraping my teeth on his flesh. He hisses, pushing back into my touch, mumbling something incoherent.
“What was that?” I ask, smiling as I trail my tongue in a heart over his burning ass cheek. Sexy, sexy prat.
He groans, and I can hear his absolute need. “Don’t stop. Please.”
“Oh, beautiful, there’s nothing you can say or do to make me stop.” His legs widen to my kisses. I know, fucking know, leaving marks is the stupidest fucking thing I can do. Nott’s going to wonder who’s touching his boyfriend. But apparently I’m an idiot. I suck a welt on his silky inner thigh, his soft leg hair tickling my lips. I suck another, then another, loving every gasp, every cry for more he makes. God, I want him to be mine.
“Yes… god, yes…”
He’s not going to last much longer like this. Just breathing against his ass has him bucking. I never knew he was so sensitive. It’s crazy—And damn perfect. Spreading his cheeks wide again, I press my thumb just at the ring of his entrance. He stills, his body tense, breathing strained. He pushes back, whimpering, trying to get me inside him, and fuck, I can’t refuse him anything.
“Ask me.” I press both thumbs against his hole, his hips shifting, trying to push onto me.
“Hell—Do it.” His voice is nothing more than a dark rasp of need. I wish I could see his face right now. Fuck, I wish he could see my face right now. I surge forward, plunging my tongue deep inside him while I spread his hole wide. He sobs, arching, his entire body taut. I know when he cums, hear it in his moan, feel it in his hips. But I’m not done. I’ve got at least a good fifteen minutes left with this polyjuice potion, and I’m going to make sure I use them all.
All I can hear are his weak, aching cries as I continue plunging my tongue into him, sucking on his hole, pushing my thumbs in deeper while stretching him. He sounds so lost, so consumed; I’m maddened from it. I love how he tastes, how hot he is inside, how every fucking thing I do makes him move, or cry, or want. He wanted it like last time, and fuck, I’m done holding back, done being nice and proper, because he is fucking there, on the brink, knowing exactly what I feel like wanting him and never fucking having him.
“God, I can’t… please… god, it’s so… so… good… Can’t… just can’t…”
But he can. I know he can. He can for me, and I’m going to show him. I give him a final, deep lick, rubbing my aching jaw as I force my cramped legs to stand and pull him back against my chest. He’s boneless, hanging and swaying from his arms, legs shaking. I tip his chin back, finding his face. God—My god, he’s beautiful. White blond hair nearly transparent, plastered to his face with sweat. Eyes hazy and dark, pupils blown wide. Cheeks flushed, lips blood red and dripping saliva.
“Baby.” I don’t recognize myself, and not just because it’s Nott’s voice. My throat feels so tight, my heart pounding in my ears. He focuses weakly on me, staring me right in the eye, so much fucking emotion I can’t bear it. Because he’s not looking at me, he’s looking at Nott, and fuck—I just fucking ruin myself every time when it comes to him.
I pull him harder against me, looking down his lithe, sweat soaked body. I find his seed slick on his flat stomach. I drag my fingers through his cum and pull it to my lips. He tastes fine, really fine. Everything about Draco is fucking perfect. I find him watching me, his tongue flicking out to wet his already wet lips. God, he makes me want to do fucked up shit. I push my fingers still sticky with his cum against those red, swollen lips, and he opens, moaning, hips rocking as he licks me clean.
I glance at my watch, trying to estimate just how long it’s going to take to get him off again. If I do and it takes too long, than he’s stuck weak and wobbling in a hallway. Fuck… Fuck, I’m not stopping.
“Oh hell… Oh, wait, just… oh god…”
“Hush, baby… You’re going to like this.” My fingers slippery with summoned lube, I continue stroking a digit inside him, finding and caressing his prostate with each sure push. He writhes in my arms, head thrown back on my shoulder, mouth wide as he babbles fucking brilliant nonsense at me. Yeah, and he’s already hard again. Fuck, this boy is fucking perfect.
And my god, I hate Nott.
“Oh—oh fuck!” He sobs, tears spilling down his face when I plunge two fingers deep inside his tight, slick flesh, hitting that spot that makes him crazy.
I can’t stop. He’s so beautiful, undone, quaking in my arms, my body the only thing keeping him from the ground right now. Fragile, yet wild. Vulnerable, but so fucking trusting that I’ll do right by him. I’m fucking up. This is the biggest fuck up I have ever done. But I can’t stop. All I can do is watch his face twist in the sexiest expressions I’ve ever seen while he thrashes and rides my fingers.
“God, you’re made for this, Malfoy.” I push his hair from his face. His eyes open and find mine again. God, this is the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever done, and I am so glad I’m doing it. “One more, baby?”
At his weak nod, I pull my fingers out and press three against his hole. He exhales noisily, eyes rolling back as I slowly stretch into him, scissoring, twisting his unbearable tightness, and grinding his prostate once I find it. He comes hard, loud, shouting before he collapses boneless against me. Holy hell.
I quickly dispell his bonds, pulling him down to the ground and into my lap. “Baby, you okay? You—Oh.”
He’s found my watch, his fingers twitching over it curiously. I try to read his face, but he’s so out of it, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s looking at. “Come on, Malfoy. Let’s get you cleaned up and to bed.”
He’s definitely in a sex high, body just starting to cool down and stop shaking. I throw a few cleaning spells on him, hoping to distract myself from just how hot he is, his skin so goddamn beautiful. It’s almost otherworldly, the way he looks. I’ve never seen anyone as pale and as ethereal. Maybe that makes it okay. Maybe he’s just that fucking special, it’s okay I’m crazy because of him.
I eventually get his pants back on and zipped up, his shirt now with all the buttons in place. Realizing I’m cuddling him at this point and definitely running out of time, I make myself stand, hauling him up in my arms. Still, I can’t stop smiling like an idiot when he wraps an arm around my neck and kisses me soundly, if not a bit woozily.
“Thank you… thank you… thank you…” He murmurs, kissing me between each very sincere phrase of gratitude. “It was… God, it was heaven… amazing… perfect…”
“Once,” I remind, hating how his expression falls, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Just a secret, crazy hookup, baby. Where we can do something wild we wouldn’t otherwise do, and not talk about it later.”
“…Shit.” He turns, ducking his head, upset and something else I really can’t tell. But maybe this is the better way to do things. If I walk him back to his common room, he’s going to find Nott inside. Leaving now, upset enough to not talk to his boyfriend for the night, will give me longer to cover my tracks. Either that, or stun Malfoy, knock him out and leave him in front of his dorm. Meaner, but less likely he’ll ever realize that what he did tonight wasn’t with Nott.
He makes the decision for me, glancing my way once, something fiery flashing in his eyes before he starts walking down the hall. I watch him go, running a hand through Nott’s too neat, too short hair, still rock hard, yet now feeling ridiculously lonely instead of frustrated. Fuck.
Biggest fuck up ever. I don’t think I can tell Ron about this one. And not just because of all the anal. I really must hate myself.
I can’t sleep since that night. I close my eyes and Malfoy’s waiting for me. Beautiful, aching, and telling me how good Nott does him. It’s hell.
I’ve been trying to avoid him this week. It’s surprisingly difficult. Even when I’m no longer dogging him, watching him under the cloak, seeing his steps on the map, I’m still, apparently, always in his fucking vicinity.
“You look like shit,” Ron chirps at me as he sits and starts piling breakfast on his plate. I make a noncommittal groan and rub my face with my hands. Glasses replaced with contacts, nose not too big, eyebrows just a little bushy, scar still firmly ingrained on my forehead. I pull my fingers through my hair, feeling the silky strands spray in an exaggeration of my normal mess. I want to be an exaggeration today. As me as I can fucking be, so that I won’t ever want to be small dicked and grinding on Malfoy.
“Ferret face?”
I grunt, refusing to speak of it. Ron glances my way and doesn’t say another word. I didn’t tell him everything about the second polyjuice fiasco, but what I did reveal was enough to earn a hint of pity in his eyes now. Crap.
Hermione eventually joins us, her nose buried in a book. Seamus is trying to choke Dean and Neville on waffles with obscene jokes. I keep my head down, pushing my eggs around on my plate, trying to pretend I can’t hear Malfoy bitching at his boyfriend.
Nott’s really not a good match for Malfoy. Not because of the many spiteful reasons I can list, but because the boy just doesn’t know how to stand his own against the blond. Once Malfoy starts ranting, you can either get lost and let him cool off, or shout right back until he finally shuts the fuck up. Nott just sits there in silence, fucking easy prey for the many mean things the blond spews as he gets out his frustrations about his dad.
Lucius Malfoy was recently accused of being head honcho for some sort of pyramid scheme. Bad enough, but apparently he was bankrupting wizards, not muggles, which crossed the line of sick fuck, straight into jail time and frozen assets. Draco might be needing those scholarships after all, given his ever increasing pissed off state. Nott, sweet hearted and dull headed, seems content to be the kid’s emotional punching bag. Actually, he seems fucking thrilled that Malfoy is even looking at him.
Whatever. Like I fucking care.
Fuck.
It’s time to get the fuck away from Malfoy. He’s everywhere lately, meals, classes, wandering the halls at night when I want to wander. Fucking obnoxious bullshit that I can’t get a moment’s peace from. I get up, determined to take a quick shower before heading to Care of Magical Creatures.
I make it to the Great Hall doors when a loud crack snaps through the air. I whirl, just in time to see Malfoy sparking, snarling at three Ravenclaws who are all up in his face. Because apparently Lucius fucking up means Draco is now on the shit end of every pissed off family that was fleeced by his father. I should leave. I should really mind my own fucking business.
But I’m fucked in the head, and my feet are already crossing the distance, my blood boiling in my ears, body tight with anger. I see Ron out of the corner of my eye, and he’s jumping the table before I even make it to Corner’s back. The kid is pissed, and I gotta say, Crabbe and Goyle are looking a little pale right now. Boring as fuck Nott is just sitting there, watching Draco verbally tear into the three like it’s his favorite soap opera.
Michael Corner’s not taking any of it. “You piece of shit, manipulative bastard. My sister is ruined because of your family! She just had a kid! She and her husband lost their new home! That you can sit there, like some fucking prince, lording over—”
Malfoy looks like he’s going to stab the kid with his wand.
“Corner, c’mere a sec.” Terry and Artie both jump a foot at the sound of my voice—And yeah, maybe, just maybe I’m taking things a little personally. Because Draco might be about to stab Corner with his wand, but it’s only because the idiot Ravenclaw has my boy by the collar like he’s about to punch his face in. Ron’s suddenly on my arm, trying to pull me away. Not fucking happening.
“Mind your own business, Potter,” Malfoy says tightly, which I readily ignore to instead grab Corner into a headlock. Corner drops Malfoy to punch me in the eye with his fist—He does a damn fine job of it. But I’m not here to beat the fuck out of the kid, just keep him from hurting Malfoy. Twisting him around, I wrench Corner’s arm until he’s yells in pain and falls to his knees in my hold.
“You done?” Ron asks, looking like he’s not sure if he wants to stop me, or keep the other Ravenclaws from coming at me.
“Almost.” I give another sharp pull to Corner’s arms, feeling his shoulder blades give as I push my shoe into his back. I do a quick binding spell. The fucker is totally the type to keep swinging even when against a stronger opponent. Not to mention, I just really enjoy tying people up, especially angry boys that look good in knots. I leave him snarling on the floor, hands tied behind his back in a ladder pattern. I spare Malfoy a glance, the blond looking extra pissed that he has to see my face.
“I didn’t ask for your fucking help, scarhead.”
Fuck, he’s pretty. And makes me hate every nice fucking thing I want to do to him. I ignore him—it pisses him off extra—and instead turn to the other two Ravenclaws that haven’t realized it’s time to leave. “Fuck off. Now.”
They do, glaring more at me than Malfoy at this point as they drag their idiot friend away. I turn to go, stopping when I catch Nott looking at me from the bench. Fucking Nott. Does he get that I just saved his boyfriend from a beating while he sat on his fucking ass and watched? Fuck, I hate this kid.
Before I can get a proper thought in my head, I reach over and grab the last piece of bacon off his plate. He stares at me in surprise, eyes narrowing, something clicking in that fucking slow head of his as I glare him down and chew his food. What a goddamn waste.
“Come on, Harry.”
I give Nott a mean smile, letting Ron pull me away. Malfoy’s red, but he’s always like that when he’s about to kill me. I wink—’cus I can’t leave well enough alone—and he flips me off in farewell.
Yeah, he’s fucking pretty. God, I hate my life.
Ron, best mate that he is, comes with me to blow off steam. Well, I’m really the one blowing shit up. He’s just watching and shaking his head at my expense for being such an idiot. I know. I fucked up big, and can’t seem to get myself out of this fucking hole I dug.
“Maybe you should start dating again.”
“No.”
He gives me a look—I think he’s been learning from Hermione. “You’re going all caveman, Harry. You can’t just bash Nott’s head in and win the git’s rodent sized heart. He can’t fucking stand you.”
“I’m aware.” Growling, I set fire to the nearest bush, watching as green flames quickly encase the brambles and burn out. The Forbidden Forest is always a great place to beat the shit out of inanimate objects with little fear of retaliation.
“And seriously, you can’t fucking stand him.” Another look I choose to ignore. “Harry—Shit, it’s Malfoy, for Merlin sake. You can do better. Fuck, anyone is better. A damn venomous snake is better.”
I glare, but don’t disagree. I don’t like Malfoy because he’s good for me. Hell, I don’t like him by choice at all. But I do, really fucking do, like him. And it’s killing me.
“Listen, we can go out this weekend. Sneak down to Hogsmeade. Find you something to distract—It doesn’t even have to be someone ‘right.’ Just shit, you need to get over him. You damn near made an ass of yourself today. He might be too egotistical to figure it out, but people are going to start talking.”
“I don’t fucking care what people say.” Huge slashes appear on the large rock I’ve targeted. I raise my wand again, the stone exploding outwards. Ron ducks, scowling from the rain of dust and sand.
“He will haunt you for a fucking lifetime if he figures out you like him. You know him, Har. He will crush you. Repeatedly. Just because you feel. Just because he can.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I turn, razing down three trees in one swipe. Of course Ron’s right. Malfoy’s a fucking monster. He’s hated me forever, and nothing is going to change that.
“God, I’m so fucked.”
Ron slaps a hand on my shoulder, sighing heavily. “Yeah, you are.” He points to another rock. I explode it. “I can call the twins down. We can go to that club. Even if you don’t find anyone, you can get yourself properly piss drunk.”
Ron really is the best fucking mate a bloke can have. Not many straight guys would forcefully drag their gay friend to a gay club to get them laid. You don’t get more loyal than a Weasley.
“Yeah, fine.”
Drinking is definitely the answer. At least, it feels like the answer right now, so drunk I don’t care that my feet don’t dance or my clothes are way too tight and revealing. It’s dark, hot, loud, and I’m buzzed and quickly spiraling towards soused with every drop I suck down of the array of beverages the Weasely twins keep pushing into my hand while we’re laughing up a storm. And fuck, they are just the fucking funniest.
Ron’s got my back, pointing blokes out like I’m actually going to look at anyone when all I can think about is Malfoy. But hell, I came here for a reason. It’s impossible—Anything with Draco Malfoy is fucking impossible. I can’t even have a simple conversation with the kid without it ending in hexes.
I’ve been hearing a lot about fish tonight. And climbing horses—Alright, I might be plastered.
“Woah there, on your feet, Potter.” George, or Fred—Forge. Gonna go with Forge, pulls me up by my arm. “You cannot hold your liquor.”
I laugh—he’s really fucking funny. I’m pretty sure they’ve been trying to get me drunk. It’s okay, drunk is good. Drunk is really, really good. Especially when someone runs their hand up my ass, like many a person has been doing as they pass me in these fucking amazing pants one of the twins insisted I wear.
“Okay, handsome. I think it’s time we throw you to the wolves.”
I just blink at the three of them, snickering as another animal reference reaches my addled mind. Wolves. Shit. Fucking wolves, and fish in the sea, and getting on horses. I’m not sure exactly where they’re leading me, everything dark, the air heavy with heat and moisture. There are more guys here, and they’re moving, swaying to the deep beat together in a way that’s totally catching my dizzy eye.
“Nice.” Arms wrap around me, a warm, hard body pressing up against my back. “Hey, pretty thing. You look fucking hot in these pants.” His voice is low and completely unfamiliar, breath curling around my ear.
I chuckle—I’m sweating in these leather pants. Hands move down my abs, and my eyes close, heat quickly pooling in my gut. We start to sway, his hips rocking, lips on my neck, fingers tangling with mine. And for a few minutes, it’s fucking fine. Then my mind decides it needs more booze because Malfoy’s flashing before my eyes, on his knees, mouth wide open, lips fucking red and swollen and full of dick. Now all I can think of is how the stranger holding me is too tall, too broad chested, and scruffy bearded. Hell, I really need a drink.
Something cold presses to my cheek, and there’s freckly Forge, shot in hand. Fuck, I love Weasleys. I open and he pours it down my throat, and the burn is so much better than the damn pain in my heart.
“You looking to party, handsome?” Warm arms asks, and hell, okay, everyone is just fucking hilarious tonight.
“Show me how to dance.” It comes out way more slurred than I mean it to. Warm arms doesn’t seem to care. I didn’t know dancing was just grinding on some guy’s rod in the dark, surrounded by a sea of faceless fish. But warm arms likes it, and hell, he feels nice, even if too tall, and too broad, and not nearly as angry as he’s supposed to be.
I’m not sure when I got back to Hogwarts. Warm arms was replaced by too much cologne, toothpaste breath, and fucking amazing hands by the time the twins dragged me from the club. I’m also not sure how I managed to turn an excursion to the bathroom into a lost stumble around the school. The moving staircases fucked me up, and Ron was so tired, he fell asleep the second he hit his bed. I can’t sleep. I can still hear the low pulse from the club in the back of my head, and I need to move, or drift, or spin, which I’m doing now. Spinning. Not sure if my feet are moving, but the walls are.
I lean against the nearest tilting wall, chuckling to myself. My hand is covered in glitter, and I can’t stop laughing about it. I think it was from fucking amazing hands. The glitter wasn’t what made his hands so amazing, but the guy was sparkling a whole lot.
I don’t hear footsteps, but he’s not interested in being sneaky, which I realize pretty fucking quick when he slams my shoulder into the wall. I blink blearily, my vision full of pale, smug prat.
“Huh, would have thought you’d fall like a sack of bricks. You’re totally shitfaced.” Draco looks me up and down, his eyes lingering for a frozen eternity on my leather pants. “You’re sparkling like a fucktard.”
“Fucking amazing hands,” I explain, the words still too slow and slurred. I laugh at his confused expression.
“What about amazing hands?”
“The guy with his hands down my pants was covered in glitter.” I push away from the wall, arms half windmilling when I fall back. I furrow my brows, the muscles of my face feeling strangely numb and slow. I find his hand on my chest, pushing me against the wall. A smile breaks crookedly across my lips. The world is a goddamn joke, as are his fucking beautiful eyes.
“Where’d you go?”
“Flesh? Err… Club? Fish?” For the life of me, I can’t remember the name of the place.
“Grind?”
I hold my finger up when he says the name. “You should never, ever go there,” I add emphatically. “Ever.”
“Oh? Do I have a glitter allergy?”
He’s funny tonight. He’s smiling at me, like he’s thinking of leaving me stripped in the middle of the Quidditch pitch. I’d get naked for him. Totally.
“They’re handsy there. Very handsy. Fucking amazing handsy.” I nearly fall, I’m laughing so hard.
“What, afraid I’m going to get handsy with you?”
I’m not, the notion never crossing my mind. I’m terrified he’s going to wind up getting pawed at by an entire room full of hot, faceless men. “Malfoy, you wouldn’t know what to fucking do with someone like me.”
It should piss him off, shut him up, and send him ranting. It doesn’t. “What, get you drunk and molest you?” He scoffs, his hand pushing me harder against the wall. “You don’t seem particularly complicated, Potter.”
I shrug. I’m really not complicated, in any sense of the word. “Just fucked in the head.” He has very nice hands. Pretty sure they’d trump fucking amazing hands if they were in my pants. My eyes blurring in and out of focus, I notice his knuckles are split and bleeding.
My poor, beautiful baby.
“Potter, let go of my fucking hand.”
“What happened? Was it that pissant, Corner?” I pull his hand up to my face, trapping his fingers between mine. He’s glaring, but it’s halfhearted at best. Apparently I’m less annoying when drunk. Go figure.
“I dealt with it,” he huffs. I know, my boy’s a badass, and I really shouldn’t worry about him. But I do. He’s got a mean, nasty mouth, and everyone wants to kick his head in.
God, he has really nice hands. I rub my cheek over the back of his fingers. Really nice. He tries to pull away, but I hold tight, kissing his bruised knuckles tenderly. I’m expecting him to ruin his hand beating my face in anyways. Might as well enjoy.
“Potter…”
“Just shut up for five seconds.” Glaring at him, I lick his fingers, slowly tasting his blood and sweat, and the faintest hint of dirt. And Merlin loves me, because he snaps his mouth shut and keeps it shut. I lick him again, nipping his fingertips, holding him by the wrist so I can tease his palm and bite the flesh of his thumb. He groans, again trying to pull his hand away.
“You’re drunk.”
“So?” I pull him closer, and he smells exactly like I remember. I’m a little shorter than Nott, and a fucking lot stronger. When Malfoy hits my chest, he fits perfectly in the crook of my neck. I continue to torment his hand, watching him as I do. When I pull his finger into my mouth, he starts to pant.
“I… I have a boyfriend.”
“So?” Fucking Nott. I use my other hand to snag him by the belt and pull his hips up against mine. God, he is perfect, and already half hard. “Your boyfriend’s a poof.”
He furrows his brows, looking terribly cute. “Potter, I’m gay.”
“I know, baby. But your boyfriend’s a fucking fairy.” I deep throat two of his fingers and he gapes at me, a half laugh, half moan escaping him.
“Potter, you’re gay.”
He really is fucking adorable, smiling at me like that. I pull his fingers out until I’m biting on the tips again. I suck and he whimpers. God, I want to do so much stuff to him. Bad, nasty, sweaty stuff. Stuff there is no way I can get hard enough for with so much alcohol in my system.
“How well does he blow you?” I ask while wrapping my arm around his waist. He doesn’t push away, but he’s tense, like he’s about to. “Does he get down on his knees every night to worship your fucking gorgeous cock?”
“You’re really drunk,” he whispers, cheeks flushing the loveliest shade of red.
I keep his hand between us, my tongue teasing over his fingers to keep from kissing him the way I really, really want to. “Not an answer. Does he take care of you? Make sure you’re happy? Make sure you’re satisfied?”
He blinks, eyes slipping to stare at the collar of my tee. “He, uh… he’s really sweet… Says he cares about me, and stuff. He thinks we should take things slow.”
Gag me. “That must be frustrating as fuck.”
He looks at me, his grey eyes oddly sober, one eyebrow raised in his patented ‘I don’t give a fuck about anything’ expression. I really love his many expressions. Usually I’m faced with the angriest, meanest ones, but sometimes he throws me false apathy, and that’s just as hot. He’s too cool for me. We both know it. Doesn’t mean I’m giving up.
“When was the last time he blew you?”
“Shit, what the fuck do you care?”
I smirk, biting his palm hard. He groans deep in his throat, his entire body jerking against mine. “Just trying to figure out how hard up you’d have to be to let me grope you in a hallway.”
Malfoy has a very sexy scowl. “A while, you asshole. Like, fuck, weeks.”
“Huh?” There’s no way I heard that right. “Weeks? You’re so full of shit.”
Not the response he was expecting, apparently. “Fuck you. He’s, like, saving himself or some shit. I don’t know. I have to jump him half the time just to get his pants off. And he’s so fucking shy to touch me—Shit. You’re goddamn annoying, Potter. Not everyone is so frustrated they start humping people when they’re drunk. He’s romantic. It’s nice.”
Like fuck it is. I bite his hand again. He gasps, his eyelashes fluttering shut. “There’s nothing romantic about having to convince your boyfriend to touch you. That’s just fucked up.”
“Shut up, scarhead. You haven’t had a boyfriend in… fuck… ever. You don’t know shit.” His eyes are still closed, lips parted in a loud pant. God, if he only knew how he looked. That he could be with someone that could ignore just how fucking sexy he is… Maybe Malfoy hates himself too.
I wrap his arm around my neck, freeing my hands so I can reach down and unclasp his belt.
He swears when my fingers slide into his underwear, then buries his head into my neck, gasping loudly. “Potter, what are you…?”
“Drunk, baby… Really fucking drunk.”
I slide to my knees, his eyes fixed on mine. There’s a storm going on, a million thoughts and emotions flickering faster than I can read on his handsome face. I tug his pants down his thighs and he gasps, lust replacing all other expressions. Sex is easy. Desire, attraction, hot, sweaty need. It’s that other shit—the many things that keep us from facing the fact that he can’t stop obsessing over me, and I can’t get him out of my mind—that fucks everything up.
He’s hot against my cheek. Smells like him, like sex and sweat. I nuzzle into his hard cock, loving how smooth he feels, how heavy he is against my face. He trims tight and I run my fingers through his white-blond hairs, amazed with just how goddamn pale he is everywhere. When I glance up, he’s already lost, his fingers threading through my hair, his tongue flicking out across his lips. I watch him as I open my mouth, moving slowly over his dick, wetting him, coating him with me. His hair is a soft halo around his head as he stares down, his eyebrows twisting, mouth nearly as wide as mine.
I take him slow, teasing the head of his cock, feeling the swell of his flesh between my lips, sliding my tongue gently into every thin ripple of flesh. His nails scrape my skull, and I don’t fight him when he rocks his hips forward, pushing into my tongue with slow, heady thrusts.
“Fuck… Holy fuck, Potter.”
God, he’s sexy when he’s begging for more. I open wider, trapping the head of his cock against my tonsils while rubbing my tongue along his smooth underside. He’s thicker than I thought he’d be. I knew he was long because I’ve seen him in the shower, but I didn’t know he’d feel so fucking thick in my mouth, in my throat. I swallow him down as far as he can go, and his moans are divine in my ears.
Grabbing him hard by the hips, I pull him until he’s falling forward, bruising my throat deep while he clutches the wall for balance. His sac brushes my bottom lip, hair bristly against my face. I run a hand down, feeling him tense in anticipation, his thighs hard, ass tight. I drag a gurgling breath in—fuck, he’s really damn perfect in my mouth—then press a cool finger to his very hot hole.
“Oh god… oh… oh hell…” He’s torn, hips moving as if trying to figure out whether to fuck me deeper, or push onto my finger. I plunge into his tight ring of muscles while pushing him tighter to my face. His short hairs tickle my nose, and fuck, he smells amazing—All boy. Hot, sexy boy.
It’s getting really hard to breathe, my mouth wetter than it’s ever been, and full of Malfoy’s dick. I want to choke on him so bad. He should always come like this. In me. On me. Fucked by me. I slowly thrust a finger in and out of him, seeking the spot inside that’s going to make him scream. I know when I find it, one of his hands suddenly pulling my hair painfully as he shouts and nearly falls.
I press his prostate steadily, holding his hip with one hand while he tries to fuck a hole in my throat. He’s so close, swelling in my mouth, the underside of his cock singing against my tongue. I’m salivating just thinking of his cum when he suddenly pushes my head back, giving me less than an instant to close my eyes before he’s coming all over my face. Hot fluid splashes over my skin in streams, cheeks, lips, and fuck, I forgot just how hot and dirty it feels. But still, fucking prat took my prize.
I can’t be angry, not when I crack my eyes open to find him moaning as he stares at me, his expression crazy intense, eyes burning into me. I stab his prostate one more time before pulling my finger out, and he growls—fucking growls—and grabs me by the neck.
“You look fucking good like that.”
He really shouldn’t be allowed to talk to me right now. I mean, fuck. “You like me in cum? Or is it your cum that does it for you?”
He has the sexiest, meanest smirk. I pull him down and he glares, nearly sprawled out over my shoulders. I grab him by the hair, pulling him into a hard kiss, making sure I wipe as much of his wet jizz on his face as possible. I know I’m too brutal, biting his bottom lip too hard, crushing his mouth beneath mine. But god, I need him so bad right now. Need to know he can feel everything he fucking does to me.
“Shit, Potter… damn, ease up…” He clings to me, fingers digging into my back as I frantically bite down his neck, tearing at his shirt. I need to stop… I really need to stop… I’m fucking drunk, and need to stop undressing him, and grinding on him, and trying to get his milky thighs around my hips. I push him down to the floor, his body rocking under me, our breath so loud in the air. Still, he doesn’t push me away, his eyelids heavy, lips swollen as he drags me down for another kiss.
It takes everything I have, every scrap of strength and sanity left, to pull away from his beautiful body. Fuck, he’s a mess. Lying on the ground, propped on his elbows, eyes a silver daze, legs parted shamelessly. He’s covered in red and purple welts from my mouth, his hair a golden haystack, clothes fucking every which way. Hard again. God, my boy gets hard so easy. Everything about him is fucking tight.
I can’t help it. My hand is suddenly on his cock, cupping him in my palm, stroking him firmly. “You have a great dick, Malfoy.”
He doesn’t say anything, his eyebrow twitching something I’m way too fuzzy headed to read right now. I have to stop. Seriously. I force myself to sit back, my eyes still roaming over him, even though my hands are now safely on my thighs.
Staring at me with that same intense glare, he finally speaks. “Let me see yours.”
I blink. I’m really not doing well here. “What, my dick?”
“Yes, you idiot. I want to see, so fucking show me.”
Damn. I’m in love with a bossy little bitch. I take a quick look at his hands just to make sure he’s not getting ready to curse me the second my pants are down. No wand in sight. Shrugging, I sit up on my knees, only swaying slightly as I unzip my ridiculously tight leather pants. I’m careful, because there’s no place for underwear in these things, and I don’t want to cut myself up on the metal teeth.
“Fucking glitter,” I mutter, my sparkling dick looking like it went a round with a disco ball and lost. I try to brush it off, but it’s not happening. My sweat seems to have melted the twinkle into my skin. I’ll probably be picking glitter off of my junk for days. Not cool, fucking amazing hands.
“That with the spell?”
I look up, trying to figure out what spell he’s talking about. He’s not looking at me, well, not at my face, anyways. He’s very much staring at my half hard cock, my poor guy desperately hanging in there, even with the booze. “Glitter?”
“The extending spell.”
I snort. “I don’t fucking stuff.”
“Like fuck you don’t. You wrote the fucking spell out, Potter. I know you know it.”
“Still don’t use it. Dispell me. Go for it. See what happens.”
Glaring at me challengingly, he sits up, looking sexy as fucking hell as he rummages around for his wand. His legs are to die for. His calves are strong, thighs hard—And that ass. Can’t forget that ass.
“Finite Incantatem. Finite… Finite Incantatem!”
“Shit—Don’t peel my skin off.” I grab his wrist before he can try to dispell my dick to the other side of the hall. For some reason he’s really fucking pissed off at me right now, and I can’t figure out why. “What’s your problem, Malfoy?”
“You, you jackass. You, and your fucking mouth, and fucking pants, and fucking big prick. Why the fuck do you have to kiss like that? Why the fuck do you have to be so—Fuck! Fuck, I hate you.”
I let his wrist go, scowling as I tuck myself in and try not to zip my dick. Whatever. He always hates me. He’s always going to hate me. Even if I blow him to fucking heaven, Malfoy is always going to hate me. God, my life fucking sucks. I’m not nearly drunk enough to deal with this shit.
I get to my feet, the hall tilting around me. Holding onto the wall, I find him glaring—’Cus that’s what he does whenever he looks at me. Glares. “Go cry about it to your limp dicked boyfriend. I’m sure he’ll pretend to give a fuck. I sure won’t.” I can’t storm off, but with a hand on the wall, I at least don’t fall on my face as I stumble away.
“Fuck you!”
I look back, completely confused. I’ve made it to the end of the hall, and he’s yelling like we’ve been arguing the entire time I was walking away. Were we? I didn’t think we were. “What?”
Malfoy does a great stomping storm. He manages to look pissed without exaggerating his movements. Graceful. Sexy. Furious. He’s dressed, but his hair is still a mess, and I can see the remains of his cum still streaking his face. Fucking, fucking sexy.
“I said fuck you.” He shoves me against the wall, snarling in my face.
Yeah, really sexy. “I’m kinda out of it right now, and totally tired, but maybe next time.”
“You fucking arrogant, condescending, audacious—”
I’ve heard this one before, and start walking again. Apparently he’s not done, and he barrels into me, slamming me up against the wall again. “Shit, I’m dizzy, baby.” I try to steady on his shoulders, but he seems determined to shove me again.
“Stop calling me that. I’m not your fucking baby.”
He’s not, but it really hurts to hear him say it. “Sorry, baby. Don’t know what I was thinking, baby. Won’t happen again… baby. Can I go now?”
“I fucking hate you!”
And I fucking love you. Life just ain’t fair.
I grab him by the back of the neck, pulling him into a deep kiss before he can try and bite my face off. He puts up a good fight, but he’s damn easy to turn on, and soon enough he’s melting, moaning, pulling at my arms like he wants to climb inside me. God, I want him to be mine so bad.
He whimpers when I slow my movements, his fingers twisting in my sleeves. I give him a final, languid, wet kiss, and rest my forehead on his. I snag him by the chin, rubbing my thumb over his swollen bottom lip. His eyes are wild this close, crystal sky and angry clouds. “I’m really sorry you hate me, Drake.”
Desperately.
I pull away and slip around the corner so I don’t have to see his expression. I feel suddenly extremely tired of whatever the fuck it is we’re doing.
It’s the same corridor. I blearily realize while winding my way back to the common room. I ended up in the same corridor and he was there, almost like he was waiting. But I didn’t look like Nott, and apparently Nott doesn’t touch him much anyways. So I don’t really get it. But I’m fucked in the head, in love with a boy that hates me, and currently sloshed out of my mind. Which is good. Because I don’t want to get it. I don’t want to think about him anymore, and just how fucked up he makes me feel.
Today is hell. And not just because I’m hung over—but a lot of it is definitely because I’m hung over. It’s Sunday, so I sleep in as late as I can, then stumble to get something in my stomach to help clear the taste of death from my mouth.
I dreamed of him. All night. Like some sort of love crazed moron. Fuck love. Fuck him. Fucking hate everything.
I don’t realize I’m wearing last night’s clothes until I’m at the lunch table and Ron is trying, and failing not to laugh at me. “You are covered in glitter. Covered. You look like some idiotic vampire wannabe. I think I might stake you, just to make sure.”
I glare because he thinks he’s funny, and he’s totally not. Fucking hate Weasleys today too. “Vampires don’t sparkle.”
“The gay ones do.”
“No, gay ones suck cock and blood. Vampires don’t sparkle. They’re bloodthirsty predators. That’s it. Shut up, my head hurts.”
He does, but he’s staring at me with that look on his face, and I brace myself when he raises his brows.
“You didn’t.”
I take a swig of pumpkin juice, trying not to gag on the flavor when it mixes with whatever crawled in my mouth and died last night. “Fuck off.”
“How? Shit—It’s like a month to make that potion!”
Damn it. How does he figure this shit out? It’s not like I’m covered in Malfoy—I washed my fucking face. “No potion. No… No. Not talking about this.” I duck my head, determined to choke down some toast without vomiting.
“Oh my god. Did he? Did you?” He’s suddenly in my lap, whispering in my ear like every tween girl that isn’t Hermione. “Does he like you? I mean, he can’t fucking stand you, so if he’s—Gah, this glitter is fucking everywhere.” He musses up his flaming red hair while glaring at me. “Why would he bone you, if he doesn’t like you?”
“Because his boyfriend’s a cock tease.” I try to say it as emotionlessly as possible, but he winces anyways. I’m bitter. Angry, lovelorn, and bitter. Fuck my life.
“Harry, babe, bring some of that my way!” Seamus has arrived, and he can tell I’m hungover. Bastard. “Fuck, those are some hot pants. C’mere. Do a twirl.”
I look up to find him looming over me, grinning from ear to ear. “Finnigan, you’re going to be twirling on my fist if you don’t shut the fuck up.”
“Ooh, cheeky. Just like your ass in those pants.” He’s snickering like a prat, and I can’t help but smirk back. Then he slaps my ass, hard, and I seriously consider throwing him across the room.
“Fuck, how much glitter do you have on your butt? There has to be some sort of legal limit.” Seamus holds his hand up, scowling at his glittering palm.
Considering it for a moment, I smack his hand at his nose. Seamus ends up with a nice glittery handprint emblazoned right in the middle of his face. Maybe nice enough to not wrestle him to the ground for being intentionally loud when he knows my head hurts. Maybe.
“That’s a good look, Seamus. Very modern.” Dean pushes his friend into the seat next to Ron before I can decide if I’m done with the annoying bastard. I must be. I grab a sandwich, pulling all the filling out so I can tear pieces of the bread apart and nibble. My stomach doesn’t really want food, but I’m always hungry, even now.
Ron suddenly grabs my arm, and I glance over at him, meeting his wide eyed gaze. I look to where he’s tilting his head, along with everyone else at my table. I then immediately look away. It’s just Malfoy. I know what Malfoy looks like. I don’t need Ron fucking pointing him out to me. I am not a thirteen year old girl that needs to look at my fucking crush ever second he walks in the room.
“What, did Malfoy and you get into a glitter fight?” Seamus asks, his hands beating a drum solo on the table.
Oh dear fuck.
My face feels like a damn volcano, but I try to keep my tone flat while I duck my head. “When are we not fighting?” I chance a peek at Malfoy to see just how bad it is. It’s bad. He looks exhausted, like he just rolled out of bed. He’s rumpled, scowling tiredly, scabs on his knuckles, and there’s glitter all over his hair, hands, and—Holy fuck, his lips and chin. I hate glitter, I really, honestly do. But he makes it look sexy. Especially since I know how he got it.
I can’t help but wonder if his cock is sparkling right now.
I need to get the fuck out and take a shower, pronto. Ron once again has my back, this time cracking jokes with Seamus and Dean while hauling me off the bench because I’m frozen like a naughty kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. This is bad. Really bad. And Malfoy’s totally oblivious to the stares he’s getting, those same eyes immediately zooming in on me right after. I haven’t gotten to a mirror, but I imagine I must be sparkling like a huge pile of galleons.
“How bad is this right now?” I ask Ron as we start towards the door, knowing he’ll be straight with me.
“You’re fucked. Absolutely reamed.”
My head pounds at the answer, somehow managing to magnify in pain at the simple words. Crap. I think he’s reading my mind, because Ron lets me go the second I make my decision, his hands up like he doesn’t want to have any part in it. I can’t blame him. This is going to be hard enough on me.
The Slytherin table is thankfully sparse of occupants. I really don’t want to be hexed into oblivious for what I’m about to do. I catch McGonagall eyeing me from the head table, but I’m hoping I’ll be fast enough before she thinks to stop me.
“Malfoy!”
He turns in his seat, glaring like I’m the last person he wants to see right now. He has no fucking idea. I grab him by the shirt and haul him up, pushing him forcefully back on the table while he snarls. Plates and glasses go rolling, silverware clattering to the floor.
“Get the fuck off me!” He punches me in the gut, and I, being a fucking idiot, don’t defend myself because for some reason I’m pretty sure I deserve it. I slam his shoulder’s down, but I can’t bring myself to actually punch him. Fuck, I suck at this. He’s goddamn pretty, and I just can’t—
“Fuck!” The sodding ferret bit me! I tighten my grip on his biceps, growling inches from him as I debate if I can bear to headbutt his gorgeous face. The urge is definitely growing.
“Potter, I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doing, but if you don’t get your fucking hands off of me in five fucking seconds, I’m going to tear you limb from fucking limb.”
My god, he is sexy.
I have to bite my lip to keep from smiling like a fucking idiot. He’s not smiling, which only makes it even better. Because he is just so fucking sexy when he’s angry, his eyes flashing, his cheeks flushed, his teeth ready to sink into me.
“I’m going to fucking count to—”
“Sorry. Glitter emergency.” I let him go before he can fully comprehend what I’ve said, pushing away like I’m angry as fuck, and not just wishing I could crawl up the table and grind him into lunch. Ron grabs my arm like he’s pulling me away, and thank god for Ron, because Nott’s standing in the doorway to the Great Hall, glaring at me suspiciously.
Dread hits my stomach and I nearly stop cold. But Ron’s pulling me, keeping me going, even though he can see just as clearly as I that Nott has one single sparkle of glitter shinning on his upper lip. Which means he’s kissed Malfoy. Malfoy, who has my glitter all over his mouth and chin—And seriously, my fuck, how can anyone have an opportunity to kiss Draco and not get every fucking inch of their lips saturated in that glitter? What the fuck is wrong with Nott? Is he straight? He has to be straight. There is nothing healthy about whatever the fuck he’s doing with Malfoy.
My thoughts must be clear on my face because Nott seems angry enough to actually say something to me. “Potter, keep your hands off my boyfriend.”
“Or what, Nott? You gonna save him?” Someone has to touch Malfoy, and clearly it’s not him.
Ron glares at me, and yes, I’m apparently a fucking caveman. Whatever.
“I’m warning you. If you so much as—” Nott doesn’t have anything on Draco’s style and finesse, nevermind pure passion for verbal threats. He also doesn’t have the fucking guts to back his words up.
“Hey, you might let him bitch you out, but I don’t put up with his fucking mouth, Nott. You have a problem with me fighting with him, take it up with your boyfriend.” But you can’t, because you’re a fucking bitch boy that’s probably straight and leading Malfoy along like one day you’re going to grow a pair and actually get into the gorgeous prat sexually. God, I fucking hate Nott. Hate Malfoy for liking the kid, and hate Nott for being Nott.
Ron, thank god, shoves me out the door before I can do something even more stupid, like beat the crap out of the Slytherin in a battle for primitive male dominance. He drags me up to our dorm, my head pounding with each step I take. Then he dumps me on my bed—the bedspread covered in glitter as well—and gives me the telling off I’m sorely in need of.
“What the fuck happened last night? You were supposed to get over him! Why the hell did we bring you to that club and liquor you up beyond all recognition, if not to get this done with?”
I groan, pathetic and dejected. He doesn’t care.
“Harry! It was all over his mouth! Everyone could see. Nott could see! What the hell were you thinking?”
“Stop yelling.” My head feels like shit, and he fucking knows it. “I wasn’t thinking—I was fucked up. And shit, he let me. He more than let me. What I do with Malfoy is my own damn business.”
“Like fuck it is. You don’t get to touch him, Harry. You sure as hell don’t get to kiss him. He’s in a relationship with a really likeable bloke.” He glares when I scoff. “And you have no right to interfere. This isn’t like you. The polyjuice thing was fucked up enough. This—You might as well have written your name all over him.”
“It was an accident.” The glitter hadn’t looked that bad until the light of day. “And seriously, all he had to do was wash up. Sure, I did a shit thing, but it’s not like he’s going out of his way to hide it. And, for real, he wasn’t screaming rape or anything. Everything he screamed was fucking positive. Very positive.” I’m pretty sure. I don’t remember everything about last night, but I know Malfoy enjoyed himself. A lot.
Ron starts pacing, arms folded over his chest while he glowers. “So what, you’re going to just let him use you when he’s horny?”
“No.” Maybe.
Would it be that fucking bad?
“You want to be some sort of dog, chasing after Nott’s table scraps? Come on, Harry, you’re better than this!”
God, I’m really not. I just want him so bad, it hurts. I lie back on my bed, curling up in a ball on my side. I hate my life so much right now.
Apparently I’m too pathetic to yell at. Win. Ron takes off to see if anyone believes Malfoy’s covered in my glitter because we’re fighting. I remain to brood like the whiny bitch I’ve turned into since I first touched the hot blond.
There’s been this rumor going around, being spread by a particular pale Slytherin and his cronies for years now, insinuating that I get everything I want. The thing is, it’s bullshit. It’s always been bullshit. While my peers can look at my large inheritance, my flying skills that got me onto the Quidditch team early, my all encompassing fame, and just see the good I’ve gotten over the years, I can’t. If I really got what I wanted, my parents wouldn’t be dead. I wouldn’t have a fucking scar covering half my forehead. No one would cheer my fucking name for bouncing a killing curse off my skull. I wouldn’t live with relatives that fear me so much, they tell their coworkers and neighbors that I’m a criminal. Draco Malfoy wouldn’t hate me.
No, I don’t get a goddamn thing I want. And I’ve got godlike powers. Reality sucks.
It is apparently much easier to believe that Malfoy and I were beating the shit out of each other, instead of beating off on each other. Whoop dee fucking doo. I am painfully bitter about everything. And I mean everything. The girls asked me to help them with their dueling skills, and I blew them off. Same with Ron when he tried to get me to fly tonight. Everyone can go suck it for all I care.
It’s been two weeks, and Malfoy keeps hanging out in that corridor at night. I watch him on the map, hating everything. Nott never meets up with him. He’s waiting for me. Fuck, maybe he’s waiting for me, juiced as Nott. I really don’t know. The kid has brains—Malfoy’s always been smarter than me.
Probably why he hates me so much when good shit falls into my lap. It also tries to get me killed, but it’s easy to ignore that part when you’re jealous. I know. I ignored his bastard of a father because I hated his privilege and connections, and just plain luck to have parents.
I’m restless tonight, feeling ready to fuck up my life again. Just… I’m hesitating. Whatever the hell he wants, it’s going to cost me. I can’t imagine any scenario where I’m going to come out unscathed. This time, I’m not rushing to my doom, and that freaks me out big time. It hurts. It hurts more than anything has ever hurt before, and I don’t want to know what it feels like when he hurts me again.
I throw my invisibility cloak over my shoulder, pausing as I pass the mirror Seamus stuck to the wall. I’m told I look pretty hot, but I just seem tired. And ruffled. And a little fucked in the head. I sigh, pushing out the dormroom door and making my way down the spiral staircase. The common room is empty, and so are the hallways as I slowly find my way through the maze of corridors into the dungeons.
Malfoy doesn’t look up when I reach him. He’s sitting on the floor against the wall, knees raised, eyes closed. He’s awake though, I can tell. I wait, wondering when he’ll say something. He doesn’t. I sit in the middle of the hall and look at the ceiling.
His knuckles are a mess again. Nearly everyday now. They’ve just started the trial for his dad, and everyone’s talking about it. There have been pages in the paper just on the victims and how they’re hurting. Draco won’t be getting a page for how his dad fucked up his life.
“I like your jeans.” He looks damn near rugged and relaxed for a change, like maybe that stick was finally dislodged.
“Theo got them for me.”
“Crap. I hate your jeans. Fuck, don’t tell me that shit.”
He finally opens his eyes, fixing me with an unreadable stare. Yeah, he’s way too cool for me. I nudge his foot with mine, because I’m antsy and he’s there, and I want to touch him, but really can’t seem to get up the nerve when he’s being so cold.
“Corner again?” I ask, nodding at his hands.
“Atticus.”
I whistle. The kid is a bruiser, through and through. He has to be with a name like that. “He mess you up?” ‘Cus I’m going to fuck the kid up the first chance I see him.
He doesn’t answer, just stares at me some more, like he’s waiting for me to spring some big revelation on him or something. I’ve got nothing. I’m bored. I like him. I can’t have him. Not much more to me at the moment.
“I need to know something, Potter. A couple of things.” His voice is ice, and I’m immediately on guard. His jaw is set, the way he gets when he’s eating something big emotionally. I’m going to assume it’s anger. He has a lot of reasons to be angry at me. Like millions, probably.
I go back to staring at the ceiling, not sure if I can handle seeing him hate me like I deserve. “Shoot.”
“Your watch. Were did you get it?”
He really is brilliant. And I am so boned.
“It was my dad’s, actually. Or, at least, that’s what Sirius told me.”
“One of a kind. Wizard style, pure platinum with black mother of pearl face.”
“Err…” I actually bother to look at my watch, because I’ve never really paid it much attention, even though I look at it every single day to get the time. “Yeah. I guess so.” Okay, he’s extra brilliant. No wonder I always feel like an idiot when we’re sharing classes.
The floor feels like it’s rushing towards me, my blood loud in my ears. My stomach is in a huge knot, and I’m getting ready for whatever comes next. I start tapping my foot nervously, again staring up at the dark, stone ceiling, the torchlight making every crevis look like pure night. It’ll be over soon, and maybe I’ll finally be able to get on with my life.
“How many times?”
He doesn’t have to elaborate. I know what he’s asking. “Twice. This hallway.”
He’s quiet for a long time. So long, I can feel the sweat trickling down my neck and spine as I wait. But I can’t look at him. No way in fuck I can look at him right now. Hell, maybe not ever.
“Do you… do that sort of thing a lot?”
I sputter, completely caught off guard. “Fuck no! Holy shit—Never.” And I have to look at him, because it’s really fucking important that he understands I have never, ever tried to get into anyone’s pants by polyjuicing. His expression isn’t cool anymore. There’s definitely something dark and intense, likely deadly lurking in his eyes. But I stare him down because this is everything to me. “You’re the only one. I swear.”
There’s that anger, just sparking, just flaring beneath his facade. I consider looking away, pretty sure I’m pissing him off, but he’s already snapping another question at me. “Why?”
Aw, fuck.
Every fucking plausible excuse I can think of runs through my mind at once. I can’t tell him. I can’t. It must be on my face, because he starts yelling.
“Why, Potter? You violated my fucking relationship. My body. My fucking security. Why the fuck would you do something so fucked up? What the hell did I do to you—Nothing I have done has ever fucking compared to this, this madness! Nothing!”
God. Can it get worse than this? Seriously? Well, besides the fucking thing he wants me to tell him?
“Explain it to me—For fuck sake!” He runs his hands over his face, and I notice for the first time just how tired he is. He’s going through shit because of his father, and I just fucked up his life while ruining my own. Fuck it. I have to tell him. I have to. I owe him at least that.
My mouth is dry, and my voice comes out like sandpaper. “First, I just want to say that my reasons don’t justify what I did, okay? I… I know how fucked up it is. I didn’t even really intend… No. Ignore that. I’m fucked up.” I try to wet my lips, but everything is so dry right now. I can’t look at him while I say this, so I focus on the floor between us. “I fell for you.”
“Fucking horseshit!”
God, he’s just not going to make this even remotely easy. I force myself to meet his eyes, and he’s ready to kill me now. “I’m in love with you.” Yup, that is definitely his killing glare. “And although that doesn’t justify shit, it made a lot of very bad ideas seem really fucking brilliant at the time. I told myself it was harmless. Because, god, I would never hurt you.” I hold my hand up before he can yell. “Physically—Crap, sexually? I know we used to fight, but hell, it kills me to hurt you. That’s why I stopped fighting with you. I just couldn’t touch you like that. It was wrong. It felt like I was hurting myself.”
“Then what the hell was that glitter thing? You fucking slammed me against the damn table!”
I do everything to keep my voice level, trying not to feed his very justifiable anger. “You were covered in the glitter that was all over me. It was on your mouth. My friends were starting to put two and two together. I thought you’d rather think I was trying to beat you, than have to explain to your boyfriend why your lips were covered in my glitter. I… Shit, I knew I had fucked things up for you, and I just wanted to fix it any way I could.”
I shake my head, a harsh laugh tearing from my throat. “You are always going to fucking hate me, Malfoy. I know it. You know it. Everyone in the damn school knows it. So I did something really fucked up because I would never, ever get a chance with you otherwise.” His eyes say it all, but I don’t look away. I’m never going to have another chance to tell him the truth, as terrible as it is.
“I’m sorry for all the many fucking terrible ways I hurt you, betrayed you, and used you. And I’m sorry for how much this whole thing has just fucked me up worse, because being with you was amazing, and it’s never going to happen. Especially after this. But I still can’t regret it. And yeah, I’m sure you will work the rest of your life trying to make sure I do. But you’ll fail. When I held you in my arms, my life finally meant something. And even if it never means anything again, at least for those moments it did.”
I am probably the biggest fucking fool out there, baring my soul to Draco Malfoy. Because I know better than anyone else just how good he is at destroying the defenseless. I’m expecting it. Anticipating it. If he does it well enough, maybe, finally, these feelings can rest. A truly broken heart won’t ever feel again, and that’s what I want. Need.
He gets up, his eyes blazing anger, and I patiently wait for him to scream, or punch, or draw his wand and hex me into oblivion. Instead he walks away, not saying a single word to me.
The bastard.
God, the fucking bastard.
The morning looms, rainy, dreary, miserable. This is my life. The life I made. The life I can’t blame on fucked up dark wizards that kill parents and toddlers alike. And hell, maybe I can start to understand how a bloke can go so fucking wrong and start murdering people in the name of something. Because I went crazy wrong the moment Malfoy started dating Nott. In the name of love.
I dress slowly, not really paying much attention to my clothes. My body feels heavy. My arms don’t want to lift, my head permanently stuck at a downwards slope. The guys are already off to breakfast, and the common room is gratefully empty. My bookbag feels like a ball and chain today. I float it, but still, I can’t seem to do much but drag my steps.
I’m not hungry, and I don’t want to see him in the Great Hall, sitting with his boyfriend to begin the ignoring of a lifetime he started last night. God, he is fucking brilliant. He was so beyond angry, but he knew how to hurt me, and he put that first. Just ignore me. Because I am nothing to him. I will always be nothing to him.
I deserve worse. I deserve to be bleeding. Fine, I just want to be bleeding. Physical pain is so much easier to bear than this rotting, festering feeling inside, empty and full all at once, and all monstrous. Fucked up. I am so fucked up.
“Harry! Hurry!”
I turn sluggishly, confused as to why Hermione is running down the hall leading to our transfiguration class and heading straight for me. I’m early. I’m really early for class. Does she have like a twenty minutes early or it doesn’t count clause I don’t know about?
She stops, her hair a fluffy mess while she pants for air. I wish I can raise some enthusiasm, but I have nothing left to give. I can barely keep my head up to look at her. Good thing she’s shorter than me. “Okay, Mione?”
She nods wildly, grabs my hand, and starts pulling me back the way she came. I stare at her back as I stumble, unease trickling through the fog of misery in my head. “Mione?”
“New article,” she snaps out, her breath still strained. “Gotta hurry.”
I love Hermione, I really do, but sometimes she’s from another planet. Not the same planet the rest of the girls are from, with their smelly perfume and hours of vapid giggling, but one all by herself, with different rules, and different priorities. If the fucking paper was that important, she could have summoned it to me. And knowing her, it’s not even something I’m going to give a fuck about. Yet, she’s pulling me down the damn hall anyways.
I realize Hermione’s personal planet is actually a lot closer to mine than previously thought when she pulls me into the Great Hall. Holy fuck. It’s a mess, half the kids on their asses pulling themselves from the floor, and the rest, well, gone. Tables are sideways, plates and food everywhere. The Slytherin table is literally cracked in half. That feeling of dread is growing, faster and faster when I can’t find Ron or Draco in the crazy mess. Hermione’s saying something to me, but I can’t hear her over the blood roaring in my ears.
Gotta find them. Now. Every single article this month has been about how Lucius Malfoy has fucked over muggleborns and purebloods alike, and I’m in this room because of the latest article. Where is he?
I look around quickly, my magic snapping like electricity in the air. There’s a path. Slytherin table, outward blast that took out the Ravenclaw table. Head table relatively fine, so we’re moving in the opposite direction, back to the Great Hall doors, scorch marks on the floor, broken stone to the right, fallen painting to the left, down, down… Castle doors.
I slam outside, Hermione hot on my heels. I’m not thinking anymore, and I can only hope she doesn’t try to stop me. There’s a crowd out in the drear and mud, a circle of about fifty students. Two thirds of them are pointing inwards, looking to murder, the other third pointing outwards, looking to not be murdered. Guess who’s in the fucking center?
My boy. His boyfriend. Ron.
If you ever need a truly fucking loyal friend, you find yourself a Weasley. There is no substitution.
I try to stuff down the cold ice skating through my entire core as I catch site of Draco. He’s bleeding. A lot. Nott’s holding him upright, because my boy’s eyes aren’t open, and his legs aren’t working anymore.
I’m moving, but I don’t feel it. Everything is slowing down. The smoke as spells ring out. The twisted expressions of anger and hate. The voices, echoing from far away as heat rises up in me in a wave beyond anything I have ever felt before.
I have a frozen moment of eternity to acknowledge the whispering of terror over what I’m going to do. Then I’m here, touching their backs, and they’re just falling to the ground under my fingertips. Five, nine, thirteen, twenty-three…
“Snap the fuck out of it!”
Ron slugs me across the face. Lights flash behind my eyelids, pain exploding red from my cheek. The noise of the real world roars into focus. Everyone is screaming, mostly the kids on the ground. I can’t seem to get my brain to turn back on. The world is glassy, the noise tin, the light too bright and tinted green.
God, where is Draco?
“No!” Ron wrestles me by the shoulders before I can turn, and I know it’s bad. Because he’s protecting me, not Malfoy now. Oh god.
I can’t breathe.
I clutch uselessly at the slippery grass, the world spinning around me while Ron holds me down in a lock.
“Alive, I promise you. He’s alive.”
Okay. Okay. But Ron’s not letting me up, so I don’t fully believe him.
I don’t know how long he holds me down. Long enough for the professors and Madame Pomfrey to get there. One by one, the screams fade out to silence. I stare at the ground, tasting dirt, and copper, and salt. The voices are all muddled in my head, low, concerned rumbles that don’t mean a damn thing to me. None of them are his voice. That’s all I know for certain.
I can’t feel anything. I know Ron is still there, sitting on my back. There are vibrations as feet step past my bubble of awareness. None of it’s real. I’m a million miles away, next to Hermione’s planet, so glad I don’t have to feel. My body would never be able to contain the emotions. I need a planet for them. A big one. A lonely one. Out in the dark, in the vacuum, where no one else can be harmed by this madness inside me.
Scholarships. They tried to kill him over the fucking scholarships. Somehow Lucius Malfoy had managed to bankrupt four different prestigious educational programs. Probably doesn’t sound like a big deal—sure as fuck doesn’t to me—but the wizarding world is small, and the wealth is never really spread here. While the majority fight for every knut, the rich purebloods hoard their treasure like dragons. The only way to get at the gold is to gut the guard.
I don’t fucking know. I don’t fucking know much of anything right now. Thinking leads to feeling, and I can’t endure that at all.
McGonagall and Dumbledore had a long talk with me, where I told them the very little I actually understood of what happened. After, Madame Pomfrey pulled me into the hospital ward with Ron’s help, and drugged me asleep. I really wish she was here now with more of that blue potion, because I don’t want to be awake. Probably not ever again.
My victims have all recovered. Don’t know the spell I used, but Dumbledore thinks it’s a new version of the Cruciatus Curse. He had a look in his eye, like he was wondering just how fucked up I’ve become since he tore me from my loveless, miserable life in the cupboard, and put a wand in my hand nearly seven years ago. A lot. I’m fucked up big time.
I close my eyes when I hear voices. Nott again. He was drugged up after going into shock. They won’t let him see Malfoy. At least he’s no longer covered in blood; he was looking damn gory for a while there.
“I just want to see him. I won’t bother him—I just need to see that he’s okay.”
“Mr. Nott, do not make me tell you again.” Madame Pomfrey doesn’t bend to anyone, even perfect boyfriends. “I dare say you’re well enough to go back to class. Dinner is just finishing up.”
“Please, Madame Pomfrey. I won’t say a word. I won’t do anything to wake him up. Please. He’s all alone, and… please.”
God, I hate him so much.
She lets him in. A good five minutes. He comes out crying. I really want to fall back asleep.
I keep seeing Malfoy’s face. Not like before, not yelling at me, or moaning, or sneering. No, with his eyes closed, deathly pale, scarlet streaming down. There’s a shadow where no shadow should be on his cheek because someone took a blunt object to his perfect face and caved it in. I wish I had killed them. All of them.
I wish I had gotten up and gone to breakfast on time.
I wish I could see him, and hold him, and not have him hate me.
Godlike powers don’t mean shit in this world. Magic? Fuck magic. Magic doesn’t get you shit. People are still poor, evil still wins, and we die. All of us. He hates me, and no magic will ever change it.
I’m thinking of becoming an accountant. I suck at math, but hey, calculators. No magic. No expectation that things should have been different. God, they should have.
I’m going to be the rich prat he was supposed to be. And he—Well, his dad fucked him up. He’s going to have to work for a living now. With fifteen less scholarships available when it comes time to apprentice. I’m sure when he’s back on his feet, he’ll appreciate the irony.
If he lives.
Nott sent him flowers. Roses. Three bouquets. I want to vomit. Perfect fucking prince charming. I even saw a stuffed animal in there. A dragon. Fucktard. I hate my life so much.
Madame Pomfrey won’t let me leave. I’m surprised I’m not in some padded cell right now. Two days since the incident, and she keeps mumbling something about magical exhaustion, and severe fatigue and dehydration. I guess I broke myself when losing my mind cursing my classmates. Wouldn’t be the first time.
The room reeks of roses. Pomfrey won’t let anything in the critical ward with Malfoy, so I have to look at his fucking flowers. Fuck.
Ron’s been by, giving me shit for the mess I made, patting my shoulder for the way my heart’s numb. Hermione dropped off homework and a book on the Cruciatus Curse. That’s my girl—Sees me go crazy with power and gives me a thumbs up for having the ability. Whole other planet. She found me, not the professors, when things went to shit. Apparently Ron’s been telling her just how much I’m fucked over Malfoy. She hasn’t thrown a hissy yet, even though I know she hates the Slytherin.
Hermione was kind enough to incinerate my flowers for me. News has gotten out that the great Harry Potter saved the fucking day once again, and all the fans want to send me ‘get well, thanks for saving a worthless rich prat’ gifts. I won’t let her burn the roses—although god, I hate those roses—but she’s been awesome to get the other shit out.
I’m not sure why I’m awake now. Probably just between potions. I wonder if Madame Pomfrey is trying to inadvertantly heal my broken heart. I should tell her it’s a lost cause, and drag my ass back to my dorm. But I’m tired. And I really don’t want to talk to anyone.
Malfoy’s door opens, and Nott walks out. I sigh internally, totally remembering what woke me up this time. He looks my way, and I immediately look at the ceiling.
Crap, here he comes.
“I wanted to thank you.”
For fuck sake. I’m going to burn in Hell. I really am. I don’t know if Hell is real, but when I die, I’m going straight to it.
“They say if he was brought in any later, he wouldn’t have, well, survived. You… you saved his life.”
Somehow this only makes me feel even more miserable, and I fix my glare on him. His eyes are rimmed in red, like he’s been crying while sitting with Malfoy. I really, truly, hate him. “I’m sure you holding off that crowd of crazies singlehandedly had a greater impact than me, Nott. You definitely win in the hero department.”
He snorts—fucking snorts—in my face. “Shut up, Potter. God, I hate you so much.”
For the first time, I wonder if Malfoy actually told Nott about what I did. Prince charming doesn’t really seem angry enough for that though. “Funny, I thought you didn’t really give a fuck about all that Golden Boy shit.”
His laugh is pure self deprecating. “Oh, I didn’t. Not until I realized my boyfriend can’t stop ranting about you day and night, even over shit that has nothing to do with him. And then I fucking wake up one Sunday to find you dressed like some wet dream, and him covered in fucking glitter and hickies. I’m not an idiot.”
Fuck, guess he’s not. Looks like I’m the only dumbass in the goddamn place. Crap.
“He hates me, Nott. You have nothing to worry about.”
He laughs again, sounding almost as bitter as I am. “Fuck you, Potter. Thanks for saving his life. Fuck you for ever being born.”
Nice. Malfoy’s been rubbing off on the kid. He walks away, swearing under his breath. Part of me feels just the slightest bit satisfied that at least he’s miserable too. Yeah, I’m a fucking monster.
I really need to get the fuck out of the hospital ward. I don’t even know what day it is now… Or night. Pretty sure it’s night. Pomfrey keeps spiking my juice, knocking me out, and seriously, it’s getting really fucking annoying. I’m thirsty as fuck again, but I just finally woke up.
God, but I’m thirsty. There has to be laws against this. But, magic, so if it involves pushing your will on others without their consent, the law tends to accept it as part of the consequence. I reach for the glass on the bedside table, groaning from the pain in my heavy arms. Why am I in pain?
I remember the heaviness. Side effect from the exhaustion and dehydration. Not sure about pain. Actually, I look to be covered in slashes.
I pull my arm close, licking mindlessly at the nearest slash. It’s fairly fresh, blood still wet. Not life threatening, but a mean sting. There’s a rustle of movement by the foot of my bed, and there’s Malfoy, glaring, face perfect, if not a bit gaunt.
“Bleeding me in my sleep?”
“Yes. Should have stabbed you through the fucking chest.”
Probably. He still has his wand out, and given the look on his face, he’s not done with me just yet. I lie back, holding my heavy arms out in surrender. “Well, have at it then.”
He snarls, probably pissed I’m not putting up a fight. Whatever. I just don’t have it in me anymore. A part of me is just so relieved he’s really alive and well enough to be slashing the shit out of me. Angry people don’t die. They live on, making the world a shitty place for everyone else. He’ll live a damn long time.
“You ruined everything, Potter. Fucked everything up.”
I open my eyes again, finding him glaring down only a foot away. “Sorry. I’m a fuck up. It’s what I do.”
He presses his wand to my shoulder, daring me to say anything. I don’t. The pain is quick, intense, and makes me gasp. I have to close my eyes because his expression is pure torment.
“You ruined my fucking life.”
“Did I? Didn’t notice with all the people trying to kill you.”
“Fuck you!” The next slash is deeper, over my chest, delicious agony I can’t even begin to describe. “You think playing hero is going to make up for what you did?”
“Shit, you think I went in there to make you like me? They were going to kill you. They nearly—Fuck.” He really makes me crazy. “Just get lost, Malfoy. I can’t bear to see your goddamn face anymore. Go take your fucking roses too. They stink.”
“You ruined. My fucking. Life.”
Why the fuck does he keep saying that? “I didn’t fuck up your dad, Malfoy. I didn’t write those goddamn articles, or arrest him. I shoved my tongue up your ass, and made you blow me. It’s not the fucking end of the world.”
I really need to learn to keep my big mouth shut. He slashes down my stomach so quick, I only just turn my hips in time to keep him from cutting my bits off. The fucking prat. I grab his wrist, twisting until he hisses, his wand dropping from his hand. He goes to punch me, and I grab that hand as well, growling when he tries to headbutt me. He’s fucking pissed, and weak as a damn kitten.
“Go back to bed, you idiot. You’re just going to tire yourself out.”
He struggles, trying to wrench his arms from my grasp. “Shut the fuck up! I can’t fucking stand you!”
“Yeah? Then maybe you shouldn’t be in here talking to me.” Shit, but he is so damn pretty.
He suddenly stills, glaring at me in warning. “Don’t fucking do it, Potter. I will tear you limb from fucking limb if you so much as touch me with—”
I know. How the hell can I resist? I pull him down while he’s still cursing my name. He falls against my chest, snarling. But his mouth is hot when I kiss him, yielding and hungry. I hold onto his arms, but he’s practically climbing up me, gasping into every hard kiss, groaning loudly when I suck on his tongue and pull him closer. God, he drives me crazy. Fucking crazy.
Suddenly he slams his hands down, breaking his arms free and smacking my shoulders at the same time. Ouch.
His eyes are molten metal. “If you ever fucking do that again, I’m going to castrate you. Slowly.”
“With your teeth?” I grasp his face before he can pull away, crushing his lips to mine, drinking down every angry moan and growl he makes. I’m never going to learn my lesson. Kissing Draco Malfoy is worth every fucking nasty name, and painful wound he gives me. And when he walks away to his perfect fucking boyfriend, this is all I’ll have to remember. Furious kisses.
He grabs my neck, and I’m pretty sure he’s going to strangle me, but instead his fingernails dig in, dragging down, scratching over my collarbone and chest. I groan, tugging on his silky locks, wrapping one of my arms around his waist and pulling him down on top of me to tangle in the blanket between my raised knees. “I got you, baby.”
“Shut up, you fucking pain.” He pushes my head back, his mouth hot and teeth sharp as he moves down my throat, biting and licking. I shudder under his slick tongue, hips thrusting up, fire racing over my skin in erratic waves. I run my palm down his back, cupping his ass, pulling him against my body with heady, perfect motions. He moans every time his hard cock grinds into my hip. I squeeze his ass tight, wanting to build that rhythm, needing to feel his body move against my aching dick until he’s gasping for mercy.
“I really… can’t stand you,” he whimpers into my neck, holding me painfully hard around the shoulders while he pants heavily.
“I know, baby. But I like you enough for the both of us.” I grab his chin, pulling him up so I can kiss him. It’s sloppy, uncoordinated, but so good, his tongue shivering, lips dripping wet. He keeps moaning, soft, desperate pleas as we rock together. For the longest minutes we breathe the same air, share the same words and cries of intense heat and need. I watch him when he finally lets go, and it’s the most beautiful expression I’ve ever seen on him. Especially since he’s looking at me, knowing it’s me. Fire moves through me so great, I have to hold him tight, ground myself in his perfect smelling flesh and weight of his body, my hips bucking against his in maddened, wild jolts as I come.
God, he’s everything. Fucking everything. I wrap around him, breathing him in, listening to his strained breathing as he tries to get his wits back.
“Let go.”
“Make me.” I hold him tighter, moving a palm down his side, kissing into his neck. He’s sweaty, growing warmer in my arms, and full of beautiful, soft sighs. “You’re so beautiful.”
“You’re an idiot.”
He lets me hold him for a good ten minutes, grumbling the entire time even as he nuzzles into my chest, his hands wrapping around my sides. Nothing can compare to having him breathe with me, pressing his weight down on my body, filling my senses, making my crazy fade for just this moment. It’s perfect. Right. Fleeting.
“I need to go.” He pushes up, and I let him, releasing my arms from around his waist. He picks up his wand, looking me over, staring at all the slashes he’s left on my skin. He smirks, meets my eyes for a second, then turns away.
I stare at the closed door to his room for long minutes, the heat of his body slowly draining from me. Finally I grab the glass still waiting on the table beside me, and down it with one long gulp. I don’t want to think. I don’t want to feel. I want to sleep this all away, and pray I’ll eventually wake up where it doesn’t all hurt.
The next time I wake up, I get up. No thinking, no plan. It’s time to get the fuck out. My body fights me, but I ignore it. I change, the morning dawn just breaking through the narrow windows. I don’t say goodbye to Madame Pomfrey, just incase she wants to try and convince me I need another drink. I make it to my dorm, to my bed, and collapse. He won’t find me here, even if I want him to.
It’s time to grow the fuck up and let him go. I just really, really don’t want to.
Ron finds me eventually, cussing me out for being an idiot. I can’t explain. Fine, I’m an idiot. But I’m done watching Nott visit him, done smelling his roses and wondering what he’s doing on the other side of the door. I can’t do this anymore. Ron gets me water that doesn’t put me to sleep, and I stare blearily at the pile of homework that’s built up, hoping to do something useful, something constructive beyond pining for the impossible.
The next day, I make myself go to class. It’s tough. People are talking about me, but not about Malfoy. No, I’m a dark wizard again. It seems to happen every time I reveal my power, usually when someone’s trying to kill me. I think if I could remember being attacked as a baby, I might have been prepared for the lifetime of wizards following in the trend. But I don’t remember Voldemort. I’ve had quite the opportunity to meet his many remaining followers though, and let me say, it’s been a fucking blast.
I get the stink eye for the next week. It won’t blow over for a while—I attacked my fellow students, blah fucking blah. They nearly killed one of their own, but I’m the evil one. I know. Godlike powers are nothing when faced with the idiocy of humans.
Nott seems about ready to throttle me, Malfoy still in the hospital ward. I’ve never seen the boy so pissed off. Which is strange, because I don’t look at Nott. I don’t say shit to him. I don’t say shit about him. I’ve decided to leave well enough alone and stop fucking up everyone’s lives, if only to stop fucking up my own.
Still seriously considering going muggle. Not an accountant, but there must be something I’m qualified for out there that won’t bore the shit out of me. The longer I stay around magic, the more I feel the pull to use it. That sort of power, it twists inside after a while. Makes me think it’s okay to do all the many things my power can let me do. And believe me, I can do a lot. A whole fucking lot of terrible. Easy.
“Come flying after class. I can get the team out.” Ron is determined to get me living again.
I sigh, adjusting my bookbag on my shoulder. Potions is next, and I’m full of dread. The Slytherins are giving me shit lately, more so than usual. I have a feeling Nott’s talking me down, stirring up trouble. That, plus the return of the dark wizard label, and Snape in general, just sucks the joy out of the otherwise interesting class. “Maybe. Let’s see how tired I am.”
“You sound like an old man.”
I feel like an old man. An old, defeated man that’s done fighting. It’s pathetic, but it’s honest.
I keep my head down when approaching the Potions classroom. I can already hear them talking shit. Perfect Potter’s going to donate money to reinstate the bankrupt scholarships. Hero boy just can’t stop demanding all the attention. Nearly killed his classmates, and now he thinks he can buy his way into doing whatever he wants.
I did make a large donation to the scholarship fund. It’s shit what happened, and no one deserves to suffer just because Lucius Malfoy is an unscrupulous asshole. But I donated anonymously, so I don’t know who the fuck leaked it. But I’ll find out, because I really don’t want to get shit or praise every time I throw money at things. I plan on throwing my parents’ money at a lot of things in the future. It’s doing no good sitting in that dank vault, that’s for sure.
“Hey, Potter, feel like lending me a couple hundred galleons? There’s this new broom I want to get. Hey, I’d even give you a spin on it. You do enjoy a good broom ride, so I hear.”
And so it begins. “Fuck off and get a job, Zabini.” Blaise doesn’t actually need a job, his parents not dumb enough to go into business with Lucius Malfoy. Most of the purebloods were too smart to fall for Malfoy’s scheme. Which only made all the other wizarding families so very bitter when they weren’t spared. But it does mean at least the majority of Draco’s house has his back, Slytherins mostly comprised of arrogant purebloods.
I duck through the door before I can get anymore shit. Only to stumble back when someone smacks into my shoulder. Holding my arm, I look up to find Nott there, glaring with a very spiteful expression on his face. I’m pretty sure he hit me on purpose, actually, which is just bizarre for the kid. I take a step forward to get into the room, but he immediately steps in front of me, chest puffed up like some angry bird.
“Problem, Nott?”
“Yeah, you, Potter.” He shoves me, hard, the world tilting for a second before I catch my balance, my bag jarring against my back. Okay.
“I don’t know what you’re deal is, but I need to get to class.” He’s got his hands in fists like he wants to take a swing at me. Considering Snape is on the other side of the door, I really can’t imagine what’s going through his head right now. “Whatever the hell this is, can you speed it up?”
He can, and he does, throwing a punch right at my face. I reflexively duck, dropping my bag and grabbing him low—because fuck, I’m short. I push him back, and angry as he is, he’s not coordinated enough for this. I don’t actually think I’ve ever seen Nott in a proper fight. For good reason; he sucks.
It’s rather amazing that no matter how much magic we can raise up, we really just love a good fistfight. It’s got to be a guy thing. I’ve seen girls hex the nail polish of a rival’s fingers, just to be a bitch.
Nott picks himself up off the floor, growling as he touches his bleeding lip. But I can see it in his eyes. He’s not done. “Come on, Nott. Don’t make me mess you up. Your boyfriend will be very pissed to see you bloodied and bruised.”
Mentioning Draco was apparently the wrong thing to do, and he practically roars when he lunges at me. Fuck. Fucking psycho Slytherin perfect boyfriend bastard. I let him hit me head on even though I could have dodged, his fists wailing on my back. I duck down, wrap my arms around his thighs, tip sideways, and half throw, half roll him the fuck away. The floors are pure stone, and he slams his shoulder and side hard, ending up on his back and groaning in pain. I think he bit his tongue, but I’m not getting close enough to see. He managed to wrench my arm when he tried to hold on, but nothing life threatening.
I exchange a questioning look with Ron, but he seems just as clueless as to why Nott has suddenly lost his shit. As does Snape, who immediately docks points from Gryffindor—the vindictive jackass—for fighting. Believe me, if Nott had won, he still would have docked points. Hell, Snape would have given Slytherin twenty just for someone kicking my ass.
Zabini drags Nott’s pathetic self up to the hospital ward, patting the boy companionably on his bruised shoulder while Nott gives me the evil eye until he turns the corner.
Seriously, what the hell did I do? The last time I actually talked to Nott was that bizarre conversation where he thanked me for saving Draco’s life, while in the same breath admitted he hated my guts. It really doesn’t make sense that he wants to beat my skull in now. The kid won. He’s got himself a beautiful, vicious, Slytherin prat that will happily verbally tear him to pieces while sucking his tiny cock. What more could the boy ask for?
“You okay?” Hermione frets, running her wand over my shoulder and arm when I walk in the room. I let her, ‘cus she’ll hound me until I do, flinching under Snape’s glare from the front of the class. Right. I’m the disruption, once again. Not the bastard swinging at me. Yeah, it’s always so damn good to be me. Get shit for donating to charity, and defending myself. I must have been a real right bastard in a past life.
“Miss Granger, if you would kindly stop fawning over Mr. Potter, I would like to start my class.” Every eye is suddenly on the two of us, even though I’m gay, and Hermione and Ron have been a thing for, like, ever. It’s actually kind of funny, and she giggles when I throw an arm around her and kiss her cheek. Ron doesn’t, huffing weakly until she sits down and takes his hand.
“Gag me,” Parkinson mutters, making a vomiting noise I have a feeling she perfected on her journey from a dress size of 18 to 0. Fuck her. Hermione’s beautiful, with a hell of a lot more brains and power than the jealous bitch. Parkinson just wishes she had her own planet as cool as my girl’s.
Then I see him, and the world swims for the longest, loudest moment when I meet his eyes. He’s out of the hospital. He’s okay. He’s… Well, he’s glaring at me.
I sit. Nearly miss my chair. Get my ass aligned properly, and manage not to fall over. God, he fucks me up.
Ron’s seen Malfoy too, and he leans over to whisper in my ear. “Think he sicced his boyfriend on you? Like a welcome back present?”
I have no idea, but it seems like something Malfoy might do. But not really something Nott would normally agree to. Nott was genuinely pissed… Fuck. Had Malfoy finally told him about the polyjuicing? If I were Nott, I would have totally flipped over that. Actually, I would have flipped a fuck ton more. Maybe it’s not that—Or maybe Nott’s just a better person than I am.
Pretty sure he is.
I try to push it out of my mind. I shouldn’t be thinking about Malfoy anymore. I told myself I was going to stop this crazy thing. Just, it’s really hard when he’s actually in the same room as me again. I feel like I haven’t seen him in forever, and god, now I can’t stop thinking about that night in the hospital. How the hell am I going to do this? How the hell can I pretend he’s not the fucking reason my heart is racing, my palms sweating, my god damn brain running circles around my dick, and totally losing.
And he keeps glaring at me!
Ah, I’m so fucked. I mean, really. I’m never going to get over this. I’m going to have to move to Siberia or something. A place where Draco Malfoy would never dare grace. Huh, I could just go back to the Dursleys. Damn. That kind of bummed me out. I really need to stop thinking about him.
God, he felt so good in my arms. Warm. Damn near sweet, even for all his grumbling. I bet he was a cat in a former life. One that demanded to be petted, all the while scratching the shit out of anyone that dared. A white cat. Pristine and haughty. I should get myself a cat.
I can’t have Malfoy but I can, pretty sure, get a damn cat.
“Don’t look now, but I think someone’s here to kill you.” Ron doesn’t bother whispering. We’ve just finished our half hour flight around the quidditch pitch. My face is numb from the cool wind, my hair feeling beyond windswept as I quickly try to pat it down when I catch sight of Malfoy.
“Get lost, Weasel.”
“Nice to see you too, Ferret. Glad you’re face filled in after I pulled you from Ripper’s boot.”
Malfoy pauses at that, uncertainty flickering across his features. I wonder just how much he remembers of the incident that put him in the hospital ward for nearly two weeks. Apparently not a lot, and Ron and I both gape when Draco suddenly holds his hand out to the redhead. “Thanks for that.”
Ron looks like Malfoy’s hand is about to bite him. Unperturbed, Malfoy grabs his boldly and gives him a proper shake. The world, amazingly enough, continues to turn. The sun even starts to set.
“I’m… going to go now,” Ron mutters, glaring at Draco suspiciously, then at his hand. I’m pretty sure the blond didn’t curse him. I could be wrong. It is Malfoy.
“Potter.”
I jump, eyes flying to his. “Er, hey, Malfoy.” I really don’t feel like fighting right now. The flying has done me some good, and I’m so sure he’s going to just mess me up again. I’m already dazed and feeling self conscious as all fuck. I pull my bangs down again, just to be on the safe side. Damn it. I hate this shit.
“You’re not going to shake my hand, are you?” I ask when he continues to stand there. He’s glaring, but it’s not as mean as normal. There’s heat to it, but it’s not crazy, I want to beat the fuck out of you anger. Yet.
“Do you want me to shake your hand?”
What? Shit, I really need to get away from him. He just fucks up my head. “Malfoy, what do you want?”
He tilts his head at me, raising an eyebrow the longer I glare back. “Potter, you stare. A lot.”
What? “You came out here to tell me that?” I think he’s fucking with me. “How about you tell me why Nott’s trying to kill me. Do I have to watch for him trying to polyjuice one of my friends to gut me in my sleep?”
Draco scoffs, glancing to the side, looking too cool for the world in general. “He doesn’t have the imagination. Fuck, then again, didn’t think you had the fucking imagination either, and look where that got me.”
I stare at him—He’s there, he’s hot, and he’s talking weird shit. I’m going to stare. “What that got you?”
“Yes, fucktard. Got me.” He glares at me, like I’m really supposed to know what he’s talking about. Do I know what he’s talking about? Fucked up? Is that what he’s implying? I know it fucked me up, but he seems, as usual, fine as a cool drink on a hot day. Wait, is he saying he didn’t tell Nott, or he did? God, he really makes me crazy.
“I don’t mean to sound like an ass, Potter, but could you like pay the fuck attention for two minutes here?”
“I’m seriously trying, Malfoy. If you could just make sense with what the hell you’re saying to me. Single syllables. You might have to spell out some of the big words.”
He gives me a look, like he can’t tell if I’m joking or not. I’m not sure if I fully am. He fucks with my head, and it’s really hard to see things up and down around him.
“I need a bodyguard. Probably until my father’s trial is over.”
Okay, I understand it. Just not sure what the hell he means. “You want me to be your muscle? Seriously?”
He looks at my biceps, smirking that fucking sexy way of his. “Let’s go with idiot on retainer. Doorstop. Human shield. My personal, expendable orphan.”
He’s a prat. A sexy, sexy prat. I cross my arms over my chest, for some reason feeling the need to puff myself up and look as strong as possible. “And why, exactly, would I subject myself to your particular brand of torture while also saving your ass from the many angry people that hate you?”
“Ah, well that would be because you’re an idiot. A lovestruck, demented, idiot.”
He really has the most adorable smile, the little fucker. I run my tongue over my teeth, already knowing I’m going to say yes. But I really shouldn’t. It’s a bad idea for many reasons I can’t seem to remember at the moment. “Won’t your boyfriend just want to beat my face in even more?”
“What boyfriend?”
“Nott, you…” I stop, taking in his extremely bored expression, his eyebrow looking just a little too cocky to be believable. Oh.
Ohhh.
But… What?
“Are you paying attention, or will you be spacing out for the rest of this conversation?”
“Did you break up with Nott? Have you seriously been talking to me about fucking bodyguard bullshit instead of telling me you don’t have a boyfriend anymore?”
He shrugs, his fingers twisting into his hair as he pushes a white-blond strand back. “It’s not bullshit. People have been getting, well, crazy around here.” He looks at me, something flashing in his eyes that I really wish wasn’t fear, but it is. “And you, well, you don’t seem to mind that I’m not the nicest fucking person on the planet. So, yeah. I’d really like you to help me out.”
“Why did you break up with Nott?”
“Focus, Potter!”
“I am. I am very fucking focused. Now tell me or I won’t help.”
He gives me a calculating look, then glances away. All cool again. “He kisses for shit.”
“Like fuck you broke up with him over—”
“What the fuck do you know, hmm? How many boyfriends have you had?”
Fine, I don’t date well. But he’s so full of shit. “He was sweet to you. Brought you those roses. Cried at your bedside. Tried to save your ass, even though he’s not strong for shit. You didn’t dump him over his kissing skills. Kissing skills can be improved.”
He sighs, clearly annoyed that I’m not letting this go. Too fucking bad. “You sure he didn’t dump you, Malfoy? Got a little sick and tired of you talking shit to him?”
“Fuck off, Potter. He was practically crying when I kicked him to the curb. Stop being a dick.”
I shut up. I can’t promise what comes out of my mouth won’t be shit, but I can choose not to open it.
“I didn’t feel anything when he kissed me.” He glances my way a second, then quickly looks down, hands shoving into his front pockets. “So, bodyguard. My dormmates are pretty chill about the whole thing, but sometimes I get people cornering me in the halls. Especially around meal times, and right before bed. I’d need you to walk with me. I’m sure it’s a hassle, but let’s face it, they won’t fuck with you. After what happened when I was knocked out, everyone’s pretty sure you’re going to murder the next one you touch.”
I scowl, sick of this particular theory floating around. “Don’t believe everything you hear, Malfoy.”
“Oh, so you didn’t tap twenty-seven people and send them to the ground in excruciating, debilitating pain, singlehandedly saving my life, and likely the lives of the people trying to protect me?”
Well, when he puts it that way. “Why didn’t you feel anything when he kissed you?”
“Focus.”
“No, I want to know. How do you know? What if he suddenly got really good at kissing? Would you feel something then?”
“For the love of—What is wrong with you? Seriously?”
“Malfoy, unless you fucking tell me that you like when I kiss you, I’m not going to stop asking.”
He snaps his mouth shut, glaring. Chin tilting up, he huffs. “Fuck off.”
“I can wait all fucking night. And hey, as your bodyguard, you’ll catch yourself a nice cold out here with me.”
“You’re such a fucking pain.”
I just stare at him. His cheeks are pink, and I don’t think it’s from the chill air. It’s starting to get dark, the forest creating a long shadow across the field.
“I can’t pay you anything, just so we’re clear.”
“Malfoy…”
He barrels on, glaring at me defiantly. “But I thought I could help you with your homework because you’re a fucking lout and all. I won’t do it for you—I don’t cheat. But I’ll help you learn, and, um… stuff.”
Right. So now I’m going to be walking him through the halls in my free time, and when not doing that, spending it studying with him. He’s probably going to be dressing me too, by the time the week is out. “Malfoy, you’re going to tell me you like when I kiss you, or you’re going to find yourself another bodyguard. One that doesn’t have my reputation for putting up with your shit.”
He smiles, all pearly white teeth and flushed cheeks. My stomach drops somewhere below my knees, everything going dizzy. “Nope. You’re going to put up with my shit, Potter. So too fucking bad.”
God, he makes me so crazy.
I grab him by the elbow, pulling him close, watching as he blushes even more. “Don’t play with me, Drake. It’s really not nice. You know I’m messed up over you.”
“I believe I already said ‘too fucking bad,’” he whispers, biting his lip while he stares at my mouth.
I dip forward, brushing the lightest of pressure to his lips, his mouth opening, body pushing against me as he tries to get me to kiss him hard. “Tell me. I know you, baby. Tell me what you like.”
“Fuck. Off.” He surges forward, sealing our lips together, dragging me down by the neck. I wrap around him, pulling him close, running my hands over his chill form. He gives an indignant cry when I pull away, his fingers tangling in my hair, trying to force me to come back to his very perfect lips. But I insist, standing taller until I’m just out of reach.
He glares challengingly, some sort of scheme flickering in his eyes. I ignore him, grabbing my wand from my back pocket. He has a moment to sneer when I draw it, only to then blink when I cast a warming spell on him. “You should have worn a coat. You’re freezing.”
He gives me the longest, strangest look he’s ever given me—And Malfoy has given me some funny looks. Then he wraps his fingers back in my hair and stands on tiptoes to whisper against my mouth. “I fucking love how you kiss me. Every time. It’s like a jolt of magic, and nothing compares. When you kissed me that first time, looking like Nott, I fucking knew, Potter. He doesn’t do that to me. No one has ever done that for me. You do. Every single time. Now shut the fuck up about it.”
God.
I crush his lips to mine, wrapping my arms tight around his waist, feeling him fuse into me. He gasps, his hands tearing into my hair, clawing at my neck. Each kiss is a hot loss of air and thought, his teeth scraping my lower lip over and over, tongue laving mine in desperate strokes.
“Don’t stop… just…” He grabs my shoulder, pulling my sweater by the collar so tight it makes a ripping sound. I cup the back of his head, nuzzling into his ear.
“What do you mean by ‘you knew?’ There’s no way you knew.”
“God, just stop talking and kiss me.”
“You didn’t know.”
He huffs, biting my ear, tongue hot and wet as he nips my neck. “I didn’t know it was you the first time. But I knew it wasn’t him. Eventually.”
“Before the second time?”
He growls, his fingers scratching the back of my neck again. He’s lucky I really like that. I’m lucky. “Sort of.”
“So, no.”
“Potter, is this really important?”
I pull back so I can see his face. He looks rather serious, even though his cheeks are flushed, lips swollen a beautiful red. “I… I want to know. You were… The second time, you were so open to me. So completely trusting. I just…” I can’t explain it. I had fallen beyond in love with him in that moment, had ruined everything, and found the fucking universe in his eyes. It shouldn’t matter, but it does.
Draco gives me a hard look, then relents. “He never called me baby. Never swore at me. Never, ever offered to do anything sexual without stuttering. He’s very shy.” He shrugs, biting his bottom lip. “After the first time, and he never mentioned it, never seemed into doing something like that, I was pretty sure something was up. Right before the second time, I was yelling about you, pissed beyond belief about that fucking stick joke—You’re a total douche, by the way. We had a huge fight. He thought I had some sort of unhealthy obsession. I have a fucking amazing memory, Potter, but he thought I was, like, totally fixated on everything about you. Whatever.” He gives me a look I refuse to respond to. He’s totally fixated. I’m totally fixated. If he doesn’t want to admit it, fine.
“So, you show up as him, but it’s not his shoes. Or his jeans. I don’t notice right away, just pissed about life and shit. But he pushes me back…” His eyes darken, a small grin forming on his lush lips. “And he’s got that very handsome watch I remember you owning. And not soaked in that cologne he always insists on wearing. And the shoes, and the wrong jeans that have that hole in the left knee where I stabbed you with a pen that time. And the way he looks at me… like he wants to fucking kill me, or just fuck me. How you look at me. And I think, I’m totally out of my mind to even consider it’s someone else, nevermind you. But I start mentioning things he should know. Like, he’s never worried about hurting me. He’d have to fucking actually try to do something to me first to worry. And when he asks me to think of something to try, I pick something he’d never agree to because he’s so shy. And well, when I said a rim job, and he reacted like, well… Let’s just say, I was certain by then.”
I really don’t know what to say. At all. My boy is fucking brilliant. And more, I’m also really damn oblivious. I probably should have observed them more together, but that would have meant having to see Nott all over him. “So you knew it was me… or at least, not him, and yet you still let someone rim you in the hallway? Drake, that’s kind of—”
“Fuck off, Potter. I knew it was you. Not some fucking stranger. You’re the only one fucked in the head enough.” He smacks my arm, then wraps his hand around it, holding tight and squeezing my bicep. “I thought you’d freak out when I suggested that. Thought you were just looking to get a fucking blow job out of me, and I wanted to make you do the most degrading goddamn thing I could think of at the time. But fuck, you messed me up so bad. I mean really, really, it was crazy good. You really seemed to want to do it, and when you tied my arms—You’re really fucked up, Potter. But god, it’s in a good way.”
He’s panting as he looks at me, his eyes sparkling in the dim light. I brush my thumb across his lips, and he licks me. “So you knew. Let me walk around thinking I had gotten away with something, when you knew the whole time.”
“I wanted to fucking kill you,” he whispers, his eyes caught in mine. “For fucking me up so bad. For making me feel so goddamn good, while doing something so fucking wrong. I liked Theo. He was a good guy. A really good boyfriend. But he couldn’t make me feel like that. I kept waiting, hoping you’d come back, not sure if I was going to confront you, beat you… Make you do it again. Then you fought Corner off, like you actually gave a fuck, which just made me fucking crazy trying to figure out what the hell you were up to. Everything was just going to shit around me, and you were fucking with my head every turn. Then you showed up, drunk off your fucking ass, covered in that damn glitter, and looking like you’d been shagging all night.”
“Just dancing. To get over you,” I say, pulling his chin back when he looks away. “To stop doing bad, messed up things because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Wanting you. Dreaming of you. I was supposed to go drink it all away. But I couldn’t.”
“No. You had to come and fuck me up again. With your fucking face, and intense eyes. Your damn strong hands, and wild hair, and stupid, sexy smile.” He glares, accusing with every word. “You had to kiss my hand like you gave a fuck, and suck me so good I thought I was going to die. And damn, you looked so fucking sad when you left. Like you weren’t just fucking around with me—Fuck, Potter, that was the worst damn part. Because maybe I could have been able to handle that, if you were just being a fucking terrible person to me. But you had to go and tell me you fucking loved me, like some idiot, and you just… God. You just ruined everything.”
He turns away, pulling from my arms, and the night suddenly feels dark and freezing. “I thought we were good, Malfoy? I thought, shit—You like me.” I run my hand through my hair, feeling desperate and hopeless. “Just like me, and be okay with it. Don’t make some big deal about it all. You dumped your boyfriend.”
He whirls, glaring at me, and I shut my mouth. “I dumped Theo because he couldn’t make me feel the way I knew it could feel. It doesn’t mean I want you for a boyfriend, Potter. Doesn’t mean you get a fucking shot with me, just because he’s not good enough.”
Like fuck it doesn’t. “Malfoy, you like me. You just admitted you knew I was the one with you that second night. That was the night I was certain you must really love Nott, because of how you looked at me in his skin. But you were looking at me. That was for me.”
“Whatever, scarhead. Build some fucking fantasy in your head that just because I let you touch me means I love you. I had planned on hexing the fucking shit out of you. You were supposed to back out. I would have confronted you, and then fucking destroyed you for thinking you could get away with laying a damn finger on me.”
“Yeah, well you didn’t!” Shit, why is everything a fucking argument with him? “You let me touch you. You fucking begged me not to stop. No hexing, no yelling, no beating.”
He sticks his chin out, totally defensive. “I was curious.”
“Malfoy.” He’s seriously going to drive me to murder. “You let me tie you up. I could have done anything to you. I could have left you there, hanging from the goddamn ceiling. You fucking trusted me.”
“God, just shut the fuck up!”
“I will when you get your fucking head out of your ass! You like me. Admit it!”
“Like fuck I do! I can’t stand you!”
He really can’t. Shit. This is the worst fucking love confession ever. I need to fix this. But really, he makes me so goddamn crazy, I can barely breathe.
“What do you need me to do?”
He looks at me like I’ve sprouted a horn. “What?”
“To make you stop yelling at me. What?”
“Uh, go fuck yourself?”
I know, he’s so classy. He’s going to be mine. It will be a cold fucking day in hell when I let him walk away from all this. He fucked me up and he’s going to see it through. I get down on my knees and take his hands in mine. He, thankfully, doesn’t punch me, but he’s totally thinking of it.
“Will you be my boyfriend?”
“No.”
Fuck. He’s such an ass. But he’s smirking, so he’s also loving it. I pull him closer, ignoring just how cold the ground is, and press my face to the front of his shirt while I look up at him. “Let me take you out? Date me?”
His smile falters and he wraps fingers into my hair, pulling my head back roughly. It feels good. Everything he does either feels like hell or heaven to me. “Yeah. We can try that… If you can learn to keep your fucking foot out of your mouth.”
Definitely a heaven moment.
“Potter—Damn it!” I ignore his squawk, pulling him down, kissing him hard. He shudders under my hands, pushing back into me, kissing me ferociously. Because the little git likes me, is fucking crazy about me, and I’m done letting him pretend otherwise.
“Wait, just… slow down a sec…” He buries his face into my hair, breathing deep. “I just broke up with him the other day. I don’t want to… He’s really sad about it. Pissed, and sad.”
Draco Malfoy giving a fuck about anyone; it’s a sight to see. “Whatever you want, baby.” Although, if he keeps pulling at my shirt like that, it’s going to be hard to actually mean it. “You hungry?”
“Starving.”
I pull him up, doing my best to keep my hands off him. I’d walk with him with my arms sewn to his shoulders, if I could. Or waist. Or ass. He has a really nice ass.
“Stop staring at me, Potter.”
“Sorry, Drake. Gotta know what I’m guarding.” I slap his very sexy ass, and he slugs me in the shoulder. It’s completely worth it.
It’s a good month before he even considers letting me be his boyfriend, and he sure as fuck won’t let me call him it. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I totally already am. He knows it. I know it. Every single student and professor in the school knows it. But Malfoy’s fucked in the head, and stubborn as hell. It’s two of his many sexy qualities that I can’t live without.
His friends hate me. Passionately. It’s awesome. Because now Malfoy’s nicer to me to make up for it. I know, it’s bizarre, but fucking adorable. They all feel like I fucked Nott over, and well, I sort of did. But I won, so tough shit.
“Potter, do you have to be here all the time? You’re getting your fucking stupid everywhere.” Blaise Zabini gives me a scathing glare, burrowing down in his leather armchair and hiding behind his book when I walk into the Slytherin common room. Malfoy’s in his dorm, taking a lifetime to get dressed, as usual.
If I didn’t know Zabini was straight, I’d consider the possibility that he might have a crush on me. Slytherins bitching at me make me wonder now. Malfoy might have fucked up my head permanently. I sit down on the arm of Zabini’s chair, making sure to be as annoying as possible. It works. His book is tossed aside, and he starts talking to me about Quidditch. Slytherins pretend to be complicated, but they’re really not. Well, except the ones plotting to murder and take over the world. But that’s any house, even Hufflepuff.
My boy finally shows up, looking amazing in his tailored slacks and creamy cashmere pullover. He’s also glaring such an obvious warning at Zabini, I’m seriously wondering again about that bitchy Slytherin thing. Doesn’t matter. No one’s got anything on Drake. I get up, snagging him around the waist, pulling him in tight before he can make a fuss. He smells good, and I bury my face into his neck, loving the feel of his silky locks on my skin.
“Stop pawing.” He looks up at me through his lashes, that damn smirk of his in place as he rubs up against me. Fucking tease. “I just got my hair right.”
“Stop being a girl.”
He smacks me, hard. He is not a girl. He is a very sexy boy that likes to inflict pain.
“Could you guys go, like, jump off the astronomy tower or something?” Parkinson snarls, snapping gum as she walks past us. Malfoy glares her way, then pulls me down for a deep kiss. He’s fucking sweet when his friends are giving us shit. Probably why I love picking him up at his dorm.
The noises of protest from the rest of the room are loud and exaggerated. Fuck them. “C’mon, baby. Before I start hexing people.”
He gives me a look as he pulls away, his lips a perfect swollen red. I want to kiss him again, but he ducks away. “Granger’s going to kill me.”
“Nope, she’s going to be rude, bossy, and ultimately leave you alone.” I wrap my fingers with his, his hand cool and firm in mine. It’s Sunday, and he’s agreed to hang out with Ron and Hermione for as long as it takes for them to want to beat the prat out of him. It’ll be a short meet up, but after that, I’m taking him to Hogsmeade. He likes looking at stuff, sometimes buying stuff, usually just talking mean shit about things while we laugh. It’s all good.
We’re twenty feet from the Great Hall when they come at us. It’s a daily thing now, and Drake just steps behind me so he doesn’t get in the way. Except, today goes a little different, Corner and Ripper determined to take me out to get to my boy, instead of trying to get around me. It throws me, because I really don’t want to hurt these idiots. They’re angry, fucked up kids whose families got the raw end of a very bad deal. But that’s not Draco’s fault, and it sure as fuck isn’t mine.
I’m bleeding pretty bad by the time I get them under control. Drake’s extra quiet, giving me these quick side glances that just beg apology. He’s being an idiot. I’d protect him even if he didn’t ask. Fuck, I’d protect him even if he hexed me to stay the fuck away. This is so much better than finding him half dead, or worse.
“Get over here, Potter.” He pulls me down a side corridor and into a small room. While he heals my hands, he swears, hating on just about everyone he can name at the moment. It’s damn cute, so I stay quiet.
“Let me see your face.”
“You’re mothering.”
He glares, grabs me by the hair, and pulls me down. “Shut up.” The burn from my cheek soon fades, along with the raw sting on my lip, the numbness relieving, the swelling gone. He hesitates as he presses his wand to the wound next to my eye, his cool fingers lightly running over my mouth. “You can really take a punch or twenty.”
He’s damn beautiful. “You want to punch me, Drake?”
He considers it, my toes curling from that vicious smile of his. “I think you’ve had enough for today. Not even ten a.m., and you’re already a mess.” He finishes healing me, slips his wand away, and waits expectantly.
“Want something?”
“Yes. To be very late.”
Raising my brows, I look around the room barely large enough to fit five people. I spell the door shut and cast a silencing spell. He gives me his extra sexy smirk, pulling me to him by the collar of my hood. I press him back against the wall, kissing him slow, thoroughly. There’s no rush anymore. He’s mine. He’s not going anywhere. Just, when he wraps his arms around me, moaning into my mouth, all my senses go nuts. Heat fills me. Crazy descends. He makes me a mad man.
I tear at his belt, pushing his shirt up, needing to feel every hard, smooth inch of him under my hands, against my skin.
“God, Harry… god.” He wrenches my hips against him, groaning from the contact of our hard dicks grinding together. He’s just as crazed, pulling my hoodie off over my head, tearing my tee right after. He runs his hands through my hair, cupping my face, staring at me in his intense way that’s as true to him saying he loves me as it’s probably ever going to get.
I slide the hem of his sweater and undershirt up, careful not to stretch his clothes out, moving my palms over his sides and arms as I strip him. He’s pure moonlight, pink tinting his cheeks, his nipples beaded and drawing my tongue.
“No,” he whispers when I move down his body, all ready to drink that beautiful cock of his down. “I want something else today. Different.”
I stare up at him, kissing his flat stomach, following the rise and fall of his chest. “What do you want, baby?” I bite my lip when he blushes, his eyes sliding away from mine. He’s nervous, which could be a really good thing, or a yelling thing if I embarrass him about it. I stand, dipping my head and pulling his chin up so I can brush my lips to his. “Curious about something?”
“God, yes.” His fingers bite into the flesh of my back, holding me flush against him. He talks into my ear, hiding his face from mine. He’s surprisingly shy sometimes, for all the many nasty things that come out of his mouth. “I want to know what it, uh, feels like.”
I smile against his cheek. He’s as vague as fuck. “Is this something you do to me? Or something I do to you?”
“Um… You do to me.” His hands grab mine, pulling me to his zipper. I cup him through his trousers, his erection heavy and warm against my palm.
“And what, exactly, am I doing to you?” I murmur in his ear when he doesn’t seem interested in furthering the conversation, his head thrown back as he pushes into my hand.
He gives a low growl in the back of his throat. Apparently I’m supposed to read his mind. “You know. That thing we’ve yet to actually do.” He sighs when I don’t answer.
Yeah, I’m going to make him say it, because hell, I want to hear him say it. And I’m still not a hundred percent certain we’re on the same page here. He asked me a week ago if I’d ever gotten a blood test, which makes me think he’s got something very specific on his mind. I felt the need to prove I was clean, just in case. But I’ve been thinking about sex a lot, and he hasn’t mentioned it yet, so who the fuck knows.
Pursing his lips, he leads my hands to his ass this time, down to the back of his thighs. He’s tense, but damn hard muscle and perky butt. “Fuck me. I want to know what it’s like.”
I have to close my eyes, because the room tilts at his answer, fire moving over my skin in a shudder of heat. Fuck yes. I spread my fingers wide, gripping his thighs through his pants, running up to caress the bottom of his ass. “Right now? In a closet? I can find you a nice bed, beautiful. A couch. Someplace warm. Candlelight. Fireplace. Sheets.”
He gives me a small smile, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “You keep me warm enough.”
“Drake, it’s just… Do you really want your first time in some little dingy room? We can wait a couple of hours. I can take you to dinner and stuff. Steal one of the lounges for an hour.”
“Potter, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were stalling.” He fixes me with a hard glare, one that usually means I’ve said the wrong thing big time. “If you don’t want to fuck me, I’m not going to force you to. I’m sure there are plenty of blokes out there that—”
God, he’s a prat. “Did I say I didn’t want to fuck you?” I pull him close, grinding his hips to mine. He feels amazing, and I have to stop myself from pushing his pants down. As snarky as he can be, he fucking deserves the best. I don’t want him regretting that he let me shag him in a dank little closet for his first time. Mostly because I plan on being with him forever, and he’s really good at dragging up old shit and ranting about it. “Drake, this can be a big deal.”
“Potter, I’m not a fucking chick. I let you rim me in a goddamn hallway for the first time. At least now we have four walls and a lock.”
He’s probably going to punch me. Hell, I want to punch me right now. “But maybe, just maybe, I might want to lie you down on a bed? Be able to hold you after? Not worry about you falling to the dusty floor if it’s too much for you?”
“Damn it!” He hits my shoulder. Ouch, but not full out ‘kill you’ ouch. “Just tie me up again so I won’t fall. Why are you making this so fucking complicated? It’s just sex.”
Tie him up? Is he trying to kill me?
“Drake, god, just give me a second to think about this.” I pull away, mind racing. I haven’t actually done this much, and the idea that I’m going to be his first, and might really fuck it up, feels like this terrible weight on my chest. I love him and I really don’t want to mess this up. A bed would help, at the very least.
“No.” He’s pissed. “What the fuck’s to think about? Either you fuck me or I go find someone that will.”
I turn my head back his way, glowering. Whatever he was going to say next, he doesn’t, his mouth clicking shut as he meets my eyes. He’s so full of shit and we both know it.
“You gonna call me your boyfriend?” I growl out, because I don’t want him to think he’s winning. Of course I’m going to fuck him. I’d be a goddamn idiot not to fuck him. That I’m not buried inside him already just shows how fucked in the head I am around him.
He smiles, knowing he’s won. God, he’s so fucking sexy when he’s smug. “Depends how good a job you do.”
The little bastard.
I start shooting spells out, warming the room, padding the walls with something a shit ton softer than stone, and throwing a fluffy carpet on the floor so his feet don’t freeze. The space is way too small to lie down in, but I can probably fit a chair if he wants.
“You want to sit or stand?” I turn back to him, finding that nervous expression on his face again before he immediately scoffs and looks away.
“Stand, of course.”
Of course. Like he even fucking knows. He yelps when I grab him and pull him hard against my chest. I find his eyes, and he’s all defense. I keep my voice gentle, even though he infuriates the hell out of me. “’Cus I was thinking, if you want to sit, it would be really hot to have you ride me.” I hold his face, moving my thumb over his lips until his expression softens. “You could straddle me, and hold onto my shoulders. I could see your face, see how much you like it. And if it’s too much, you can decide what to do. That way you only take as much as you like. You can have absolute control for how you want to do it.”
Licking his lips, he presses his cheek into my hand, his lids half closed as he sighs. He keeps his crystal clear eyes trained on me, his anger and anxiety drained away. “Harry, I want you to fuck me into the wall. If you want to do it the other way next time, fine. But this is what I want, I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and you need to stop arguing.”
My entire body jerks, air exploding out of me in a blast. Fucking hell. He’s been thinking about this. Decided about this. Wants this.
Fine, I’m the biggest idiot ever.
The luckiest, stupidest idiot ever.
“Tell me what you want, and I’ll give you it.” Because I’d be a goddamn fool to not give my boy everything he fucking wants.
He beams, pressing a kiss into my palm. “I want you to push me up against the wall. Hard. Really hard.”
“Now?”
He shakes his head, his smile widening. “Not yet. I still have clothes on. And someone ruined my perfectly good wall.”
I glance at the soft foam I had charmed to cover the wall. I immediately dispell it, then unzip his fly and tug his pants down his hips.
“Harder.” He’s got a look in his eye, the one right before he’s about to lose his mind. It’s hot, and if I didn’t know he’d kill me for making him come right now, I’d be sucking his dick. I yank his pants roughly the rest of the way down his long legs, tearing his shoes and socks off as he lifts each foot. The next time I stand, he gives me his arms, wrists together and facing inwards.
“Drake…” He’s really going to kill me here.
“Don’t argue. You can’t even understand how hot it makes me.” He blushes, but he doesn’t look away this time. “I like knowing you can do anything to me. That you set the pace, and make it so good, and… and when you’re in control, I don’t have to worry about anything.” He bites his lip. “I just feel.”
But he should worry, because I really haven’t fucked a lot of guys, and never while they were tied up and—Shut up, Potter. Keep your mouth shut, and just give him what he wants. This is about him, not you, and just keep your mouth shut before you fuck everything up with your insecure bullshit.
I kiss him so he can’t see the shit storm going on in my head. “You want to face me, or the wall?”
“Wall.” When he raises his arms again, I spell the leather wrap on them. His eyes go wide, as does his mouth. He’s mentioned repeatedly just how fucking crazy he felt that second time, tied up and completely at my mercy. Half afraid I was going to do something terrible to him, half so fucking aroused by what I did do. But he hasn’t asked me to do it again, and I think he’s been waiting for this. Another moment where he’s wondering if I’m going to do right by him, or go very, very wrong.
“You tell me if you feel any discomfort. The instant anything hurts or goes numb.”
“What if I don’t want to stop?”
So fucking beautiful. “We won’t, I’ll just fix it so you’re comfortable. You tell me if you want to stop, and we can stop that instant too.”
He nods, his eyes going sober again. He looks me up and down for a moment. “Keep the jeans on. I like how they feel.”
My god, he’s going to be the death of me. Probably really soon. Probably before he cums. “Alright.”
He’s nervous again, and when he says “Now,” I just want to reassure him I’m going to make it good for him, that I won’t hurt him, or disgrace him, or use him. But he doesn’t want to hear me talk, he wants me to move. So I slam him back against the wall, his bound arms between us.
“God.”
And he’s gone, just like that. My baby is really easy to please.
I push his arms up over his head. He arches into me, moaning, head back against the wall. I secure his arms above with something that will let him turn when I want to turn him. Which isn’t now. No, right now I want to watch his face, because he is fucking gone, and beautiful. I run my palms over his sides, feeling every lithe muscle twitch under my hands. When I dig my fingers in, he groans, trying to push into me, his cock dripping and soon to be really sore if he keeps rubbing against my jeans.
“Harry… please.” He tries to reach me again, but I keep my hips back. He might be able to come three times in an hour, but I can’t. I’m a slow burn kind of guy that can go long, but takes time to recharge, and he sets me off way too fucking easy.
He lifts his leg like he’s going to try and wrap around me—He just can’t take no for an answer. But he’s tied up, and he really gets no say in the matter. I grab his leg, stroking my palm up the inside of his thigh. He bucks, whimpering when I avoid his dick. I sink down to my knees, his eyes opening to watch me. My boy is also, apparently, really fucking naïve if he thinks I’m about to suck him right now.
I hold his hips steady, take his knee and hook it over my shoulder. It gives me access to run my tongue over his creamy smooth thigh, not to mention, opens him up to me. I suck a large, beautiful bruise on the inside of his leg, listening to every hitch of breath he makes. His hips keep moving as he tries to grind his cock into my cheek. I glance up at him, smirking when I catch sight of his dazed expression. While watching him, I give a light lick to the throbbing head of his cock, and he nearly cums then and there.
God, he makes me want to be fucking terrible to him. He’s panting up a storm by the time I finish spelling him clean and slick. I got a spell that can stretch him, let me fuck him in a perfect instant, but now is not the time for that. I want to stretch him. Slowly. I want to torture him until he’s begging me to fuck him all better. And he will. I know him. He’ll beg me before I’m done.
“Oh god… oh fuck!” He jerks at the touch of my finger against his pucker. Pretty sure he’s going to be coming in under a minute. I brush my lips to the head of his dick, parting ever so slightly. He gasps, trying to hump me deeper. He really is so wonderfully helpless right now. I flick my tongue across his slit, tasting his precum, and at the same time I slowly work the edges of his hole, small little pushes that start to loosen him up. I give the slightest of suction, my wet lips contouring to the tip of his cock, suckling him until he cries out. His hot seed streams into my mouth, over my lips and chin with every jerk of his dick.
I find him staring at me, his stormy eyes drinking down every inch of my face and his cum. He likes me messy, and fuck, I like how he messes me up. I push my slick finger deeper into him and he moans, his head falling back against the wall. He’s so tight inside, his muscles clamping down around my finger, offering resistance to every push in and every pull out. Crooking deep, I find his prostate, his body jolting when I give the spongy flesh a stroke. He clamps down on me, groaning, and the world gets dizzy. God, he’s going to be fucking tight.
I’m suddenly considering that stretching spell, because I want to be in him right this instant. When I look up, finding his face twisted in absolute need, his arms far above him keeping him from arguing over the matter, the feeling becomes damn unbearable. I’m so hard, and he’ll be fucking hot, and tight, and maybe even a little angry.
I plunge another finger in him before I completely lose my mind. I doesn’t help things. He gets loud, frantic, rocking on my fingers with each push into his tightness. I try to focus on what I’m doing, and not the aching throb in my too tight pants and the heat moving over my body. He’s slick inside, my fingers held painfully tight as I move in and out of his heat. I scissor him open carefully, my digits struggling against the strength of his inner muscles. I rest my face on his raised thigh, my breath bouncing back and making his drying cum itch on my skin.
God… Just fucking god… He wants me to fuck him. How long was he planning this? Did he choose the fucking room and everything? I’m so damn oblivious sometimes.
“Harry, please… God, I’m going to lose it…” He chokes on his next words, and I nearly stand, but his mouth is just wet, saliva dripping down his chin. I slow down though, because his legs are shaking pretty bad, and I don’t want him fainting on me. I want him tormented, but fucking happy about it. He’s already hard again, pressing hot and sticky against my neck with each sway of his body.
“Need you.”
I’m on my feet before I realize it, something primitive and wild sparking in me from those two rasping words. “I got you, baby.” His hair’s sweaty under my fingers, his lips clumsy and eager for my kisses. I crush him back against the wall, careful not to rub my jeans too hard against him. Everything about him is so sensitive. He’s this wild contrast of fragile and strong that gets me crazy.
“Now, Harry… Fuck… I want you inside me,” he pleads roughly into my mouth, the world spinning with every word.
I need to keep it together. I need to not lose my shit because I might hurt him, or end up using him just to get off. He deserves fucking everything, and I need to keep it together.
God, but he wants it up against a wall. Tied up. Completely vulnerable and in my control. Fuck. It’s true. He’s trying to fucking kill me.
It’s my boy; of course he’s trying to kill me.
I summon more lube, pressing three fingers against his crack while making sure my hips only touch the side of him so I don’t make his dick raw. He howls when I plunge into him, the chains rattling overhead, his body arching away and into my touch all at once. God.
“That’s it, baby, loosen up for me. I want you to relax, and let me do all the work.”
“Please, I just… please, Harry… please…”
I really should have gagged him. He might as well be sucking my dick with that mouth of his. He’s sweat and loud breath against me as I hold him still, driving my fingers into him to stretch, because god help me if I hurt him. He still feels so tight, so slick and hot, but I don’t think he’s going to get any looser.
“Give me a kiss, Drake,” I whisper, and he does, his tongue rubbing against mine, his lips raw and hungry. I let him go with a final wet smack, and he sees it in my eyes, feels it in the tension of my body, because he gives me the sexiest fucking grin ever.
“Come on, scarhead. Make me yours.”
Fucking hell. Right through the heart. Bullet to the brain. Dead as a doornail. My boy.
I turn him, too rough, but he whimpers for more. He gasps when his nipples hit the cool wall, but I can barely notice, my fingers a drunk fucking mess that have forgotten how to work a damn button and fly. I finally wrench my jeans down my thighs and pull him back against me, groaning from the feel of his smooth flesh against my burning hot cock.
“Yes, fuck, yes. Do it.”
“Baby, you need to shut the fuck up.” He really does, or I’m going to be inside him with no fucking kindness, no restraint, no control. I wrap my arms tight around his body, pushing flush against his back, resting my head on his raised, strong shoulder while I try to keep from losing my mind. He smells amazing, his skin damp, his breathing a damn serenade of desperation. “I’m gonna be gentle.”
“I don’t care—Do it, and stop stalling.”
I know, such a fucking romantic. But once again, he’s tied up and gets no say in the matter. I run a hand down his ass, squeezing, feeling him jump and grind back into me. Yeah, he’s ready. Fucking dying for it, ready. I bite back a hiss as I lube my cock up, trying not to linger on my aching length. God, I want him. “You want this, baby?” I push my thumb between his tight cheeks, settling my dick into that deep, warm crevis. “You ready?”
“Hurry the fuck—Oh. Harry… god…” He trails off with a cry when I press the head of my cock to his hole.
Everything gets really dark. Hot, and dark, and fucking dizzy when he pushes back, urging me in. I bury my face into his damp hair, groaning, feeling the slightest yielding of firm flesh against my tip. Gotta go slow… Gotta be something more than the fucking crazy he makes me. For him… Gotta keep it together for him.
“Please… please… It’s big… god, yes.”
He’s tight. Slick, and unimaginably hot. With all the oil, I know I can just slide right in, but I hold back because he can’t handle that. Gotta… go… slow… His muscles flex around my head, and I can feel his pulse with mine where we’re joined, his flesh slowly opening to me, encasing me in scalding, clenching agony that’s threatening to undo me.
He’s sobbing, soft, frantic noises that pull me from the absolute consuming feel of his tightness. “Baby? Drake, what do you need?” I scrape my fingernails into his hair and down his neck, trying to ground him. His head is bent forward, and he won’t let me see him when I try to turn his face.
“God… just, don’t stop,” he begs, his hips pushing against my restraining arm, again trying to drive me in deep.
I never should have let him talk me into it this way, with his face hidden from me. When I finally do get a peek at his profile, he’s completely undone, closed eyes steaming tears, bruised lips dripping clear fluid from his gasping mouth. Should have gotten him a bed. Satin sheets and lots of pillows. I run my hand over his throat, down his chest, soothing circles while he tries to adjust to his passage being stretched so wide by me. His thighs shake when I run my palms over them, and I tighten my other arm around his waist to keep him from falling.
He’s bucking by the time I’m satisfied he’s not going to collapse, his hips desperately trying to grind back. And fuck, he keeps clenching on me, squeeze, after mind shocking squeeze. I’m starting to worry I’m going to cum before I’m even in him all the way. I consider myself to have some fucking restraint and stamina, but he just fucks me up, makes me crazy. And I’m actually in him. My beautiful boy. My Drake.
Mine. Finally fucking mine.
“Oh god… oh god… oh… fuck.”
He’s clenching, hips jerking in my grip, but I can’t stop. I need to feel him, all of him, around every damn inch of me. I try to go slow. All I can feel is just how tight he is, the way he opens up, just to me… Only for me. He’s making those noises again, broken cries, but he’s still trying to drive me deeper at the same time. He’s lost, just like I’m lost, but at least we’re lost together.
I’m as deep as I can get, bottoming out, feeling his tight cheeks flush against balls. “I got you, Drake… You feel good… really, fucking good.”
“More—Move.” He sounds like I’m killing him, but I do as he says because I can’t actually stop. His passage grips me when I start to pull out, clenching around me, trying to keep me inside. I exhale loudly, my balls feeling fucking tight. God, I’m not going to last. I reach down, tugging carefully on my sac, trying to slow the crazy need to pound into him and fill him so good. He pushes his ass back, and with a growl I surge forward, sheathing into his tight heat and making him scream.
It goes fuzzy after that, the dark heat stealing my brain again, stealing my senses until all I can hear are his cries and my gasps, feel his hot, tight passage around my aching length as he squeezes me, opens to me, surrenders to my every demanding thrust. The wall is cool and rough against my arm, his body a furnace of wet heat everywhere else I touch, and pull, and hold. I drive into him, and he begs for more, each time, each maddening time. Again. Harder. Harder. He howls when I slip, jarring into his prostate, his entire body jerking and clenching. I aim for it next time, and he gets louder, tighter.
God, I hope he’s close, because I’m so fucking there. I fumble down his sleek body, finding his bobbing cock, pressing my palm to the hot flesh and wrapping my fingers loosely. He moves in my hand, all hard silken flesh, beautiful ridges and smooth thickness.
“Harry… God, I—Harry!”
I know, baby. Fuck, I know.
Every muscle in my body is screaming, hard, sweat soaked, and burning for him. He clenches so tight around me, and I slam forward a final time, wanting him to feel me filling him when he orgasms. God, so fucking tight. So fucking hot, and perfect, and my beautiful Drake.
He sobs when he comes, his cock twitching in my palm, his body bucking and writhing against mine. God, he came with me inside him. His passage clenches in pulse to his spurting streams of cum, and I let go, exploding inside him, coating his walls with my seed, making him mine the only way I know how.
God. My god.
The room is spinning, but I can’t be arsed to care. I hold him tight, listening as his cries slowly fade. I remain buried deep inside him as we breath erratic together, feeling him clench, loving how wet he is now that he’s dripping with my cum. He’s perfect, fucking perfect, outside and in. And he’s mine.
“Harry… my arms?” He sounds weak, exhausted, fucking ruined.
I dispell his bounds, catching his arms and pulling him back so all his weight is on me. He groans when my softened cock moves inside him, but doesn’t pull away. He belongs like this, filled with me, boneless and content. My Drake. I run my hands over his torso, rubbing his flesh, slicking his cum into his skin with his cooling sweat, soothing any lasting pain from his muscles.
I want to tell him I love him, but having him scoff at me will totally ruin the moment. Should have done it when he was still tied up. Next time, when I can gag him from saying stupid shit. God, I love him.
“How do you feel?” I ask, wishing he’d look at me.
“Crazy.”
Not quite the raving praise I was hoping for. “You okay, Drake?” I duck my head, rubbing my cheek over his ear and cheek. “Was it… I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
He shakes his head no, leaving me to wonder which question he’s answering. My brilliant, fucking vague boy. I don’t want to worry, don’t want to be one of those clingy, insecure guys, but he’s suddenly so quiet, and he still won’t look at me.
I’m halfway to figuring out if I’m going to let him leave until he at least tells me he’s okay, when he finally turns his head, his lip caught between his teeth.
I hold my breath, finding tears sparkling in his eyes. Fuck, how bad was it? “Baby?”
“I, uh… I… I think I, um…”
Is he breaking up with me? He hasn’t even admitted we’re officially together, but why the fuck is he near tears and stuttering at me, if he’s not breaking up with me?
“Harry, can you kiss me?”
What?
“Harry?” His eyes move over me, a tear slipping free. “I really want a kiss.”
I kiss him, my mind a whirl of confusing thoughts and emotions. He turns in my grasp, my dick slipping from his wet heat. He wraps his arms around my neck, sighing into my mouth, fingers tangling into my hair.
Lips teasing over mine, he pulls back to whisper softly. “I love you.”
I freeze, my brain stuttering to a slamming hault. Suddenly I have this terrible, insane thought that this isn’t my boy at all. That I’m kissing someone polyjuiced as Draco, and unlike my brilliant boyfriend, I’m too fucking dense to notice.
Something must have gotten through on my face because he glares at me, and smacks me on the shoulder. Hard. Nope, this is Draco. Mean, nasty, beautiful Draco that just told me he loves me after mind blowing sex while nearly in tears, and I just stared at him like a slack-jawed idiot. Fucking up, Potter, once again.
“Sorry, Drake, just—Shit, I love you. I love you so much.” I hold him close before he can take another swing at me, pulling him up, his legs wrapping around my hips. “You can’t understand how crazy it makes me to hear you say you love me back.” It does. The more I think about it, the fucking stranger and more amazing it gets. He loves me. He actually said it.
Draco Malfoy loves me.
Holy fuck.
“Yes… well… yes,” he grumbles into my neck, then sighs again, tightening around me, kissing my jaw while I run my palms over him and hold him by his thighs. “You’re not the only one dealing with some fucking crazy. But god… god, can we do that again?”
I pull back to look at him, finding his eyes shining with desire. He’s stunning. “Baby, I’m going to need, like, at least a half hour, but then—”
“You fucking—Stop being so dense!” He hits me again, but he’s laughing at me. Apparently, I’m being funny. “Later. Shit, I’m sore, my legs feel like jelly, and my arms ache. And, well, I don’t think I’ll be sitting for a while, if you get my drift.”
I do, and it’s fucking sexy to think about. “You don’t need to sit. I think we’ve proven standing is a damn fine way for you to spend your time with me.”
“Harry.” He’s giving me that warning look, but I don’t care. ‘Cus he’s hot, he loves me, and he really takes my cock amazingly well.
“We can spend the rest of the day in the castle. I can find us a bed. Maybe something—”
“I want to go to Hogsmeade,” he says with a growl. “Stop being a dog. We can fuck whenever, but all the stores are going to be closed if we don’t leave soon.”
I blink. We can fuck whenever? “Tonight?”
I’m pretty sure he’s about to hit me again. It’s okay, I can take a punch. He wiggles until I release his legs and he can stand on the floor. He gets dressed in silence, shooting me grumpy side glances. I watch him, because he’s worth watching, and I’m not sure if I’m in trouble right now.
I’m probably in trouble. It’s me, after all.
I pull my pants up, realizing I’m half dressed and hanging out. A cleaning spell takes care of the most of it, and my t shirt doesn’t even stick once I pull it over my head. I throw my hoodie over my shoulder, still feeling sweaty and overheated. He’s waiting for me once I’m done, his eyebrow arched in a too cool for life expression. Yup, I’m in trouble.
But my baby loves me, and I’m not letting anything get me down. I grab him by the arm, pulling him in tight, ignoring his scowl to kiss him deep. He’s putty after a few minutes, groaning into my mouth, clinging to my shirt. “You were fucking heaven, Drake. Sorry I’m an idiot. It was fucking amazing—You are fucking amazing. Don’t get angry. I don’t want to ever let you go. I want you to be in my arms forever, even if you’re just holding me.”
“Fucking sap,” he mutters against my cheek, and I roll my eyes. He loves it. He talks shit about it, but he fucking loves it. And me. He loves me. Which is why he’s smiling, and no longer pissed off at me. I know my boy.
I strip the rest of the spells from the room, my arm around his waist and a beaming smile on my face when we leave.
Once we finally meet up with my friends, Ron giving me a mildly disgusted look after realizing why we’re late, Draco calls me his boyfriend when answering a question of Hermione’s. I grin like a fool for the rest of the day, no matter how many times he glares at me when he sees. I also manage to convince him to let me take him to a nice restaurant in Hogsmeade, even though I’m not dressed for it. Sure, I’m not the most romantic guy out there, but I’m determined to treat him right. That treating him right happens to be romantic is pure coincidence.
Mostly.
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Harry slipped into Remus’s classroom after the last student filed out for the day, hands tapping mindlessly on each desk as he passed them and approached his professor. Remus had his head down, fiddling with some paperwork to finish, so Harry waited patiently, staring out the window at the snow covering the ground outside. Sirius was hidden away somewhere out there, although the man came by, time to time, to visit in the Shrieking Shack and spend nights with them.
“What did you want, pup?” Remus asked gruffly. Beaming, Harry turned to reveal his bloodied face and bruised cheekbone, eyes falling onto Remus’s exasperated expression. “Tell me he at least looks worse?”
Harry nodded, wincing slightly as it pulled at a sore cut. He licked his lips, tasting blood, eyes taking in Remus’s mussed hair and rumpled shirt, as if the man just couldn’t go the day without lounging and stretching, and doing things to Harry that made him even more rumpled looking. Which Harry was really hoping for because he was aching after fighting with Draco Malfoy, and since Remus had not approved of anyone to touch Harry, the werewolf was currently his only option with Sirius out.
Remus had also been very resistant lately, somewhat uncomfortable with Sirius not around to join in. It had been way too long and Harry was taking greater risks, trying to get what he needed. Sirius had warned him that Remus might slip into halfblood, muggle, backwards nonsense, but Harry hadn’t really understood what that meant until Remus had stopped filling him.
“Tell me what happened,” Remus ordered in his quiet way, waiting for Harry to step up to his desk across from him so he could view the damage.
“Oh, you know, he was cracking something about mudbloods again… Fuck, Remus, he really has such a nasty mouth,” Harry said hungrily, leaning in to let large fingers touch the cut on his lip, and then the bruise on his cheek.
“That may be extremely accurate, Harry, but until you can prove to me that you can keep him in his place, you know I can’t let you near him. You are of my pack, and even the way you are, you need to reflect the right level of intimidation to those outside the pack.”
Harry whined, eyes closing into the touch. “It’s so fucking hard, Remus, so fucking hard to not want him to say such fucked up things to me. I want him to do things to me… oh, the things you and Siri do… but with his nasty mouth.”
Remus sighed, caressing the boy’s cheek, watching his dark eyelashes sweep over his pale skin. Harry had gotten stronger since joining Remus’s pack and magic. Stronger physically and emotionally. He could transform now, nearly with pure ease into the young, spitfire of a chocolate dog that happily chased Padfoot around in the forest, cheering and grounding the older dog so much that Sirius seemed himself again. Harry was waking them both up, erasing a lot of the damp and ice from the last years. But the boy was still a handful, all said and done.
They were glad that Harry was better, seemingly happy to have the two men in his life, and learning to accept the ache that had consumed his existence since it woke up. Remus suspected something was still wrong with the boy, Harry prone to dark, angry moods, and spending a lot of time alone. He had stopped talking to his old friends all together and seemed to have little interest in making new ones.
Harry was just too different now, had always been, but now he couldn’t deny it anymore. It was too difficult to be around others that expected him to be something he was not, instead of accepting him for how he was. Which was likely why Harry had become drawn to the the obnoxious, rabid toothed Malfoy who had never seen Harry the way everyone else did.
Sirius was just as pissed as Remus was that Harry had fixated on the Slytherin menace. Of all the people to have a crush on, Draco Malfoy was not the boy. He was an arrogant, conniving, piece of shit death eater in training with parents, amazingly enough, even worse. The only good thing about him was his absolute terror of Remus. Terror Remus had started to treasure after realizing the way Harry was fucking determined to get the vicious prat into his hole.
Harry suspected that Malfoy had a canine in there under it all, and Remus thought Harry was probably right, if only because his ache had yet to be wrong. It still didn’t mean he wanted the arrogant sod touching Harry, never mind had any interest in him as a packmate.
“Remus, he fucking touched me today,” Harry whispered breathlessly, eyes half open to stare at the brooding man. “Right after I finally let him up—I think I might have broken his finger.”
Remus smiled at that, pulling out his wand to heal the wounds on Harry’s face, leaving the cut on his lip because the boy loved how those hurt so good. “How did he touch you?”
“Pushed me up against the wall with his hands and body… called me a filthy whore halfblood mutt…” Harry was trembling, lips parted to pant. “Said… fuck… said someone should show me how purebloods took care of things proper… And I… I couldn’t help myself, Remus—I tried, I really, really did,” Harry whimpered anxiously, eyes sliding away as Remus growled and pulled his face up to meet him again.
“What did you do, pup?” So help Draco Malfoy if he touched Harry—even if Harry could convince a damn stone to fuck him raw on its own accord. Harry bit his lip, tongue flicking out to lick over the cut there. “Harry, tell me.”
“God… okay… I’m sorry, I… I made that noise you told me not to make around other people,” Harry whispered, scratching his messy locks worriedly.
“The moaning one?” Remus asked, voice gone flat, eyes hard with rage. “Which one?”
Harry bit his lip harder, eyes staring at the desk. “The loud one… the long loud one when you’re usually, oh, pushing in so hard…”
“Fuck,” Remus snapped, grabbing Harry by the back of his neck and holding him still as the boy insisted on swaying. “What did he do? Was there anyone else there? Did anyone figure out what you wanted?”
Harry smiled again, panting heavier. “No one else… just him… and me…”
“I told you not to be alone with him, Potter,” Remus growled, infuriated when Harry continued his secret smile.
“No, he followed me.” Harry said. “And I beat him up, again, like you said. And he pushed me up against the wall and said terrible, nasty things to me. Fuck… and then I made the noise… that noise you and Siri like so much. And he—he kissed me!” Triumphant, Harry beamed again while Remus snarled.
Sirius was going to murder the little Slytherin prick, and Remus was going to fucking help.
Glaring, he pulled Harry across the large desk, pushing his head down into the hard wood and grinding his face. He bent down, listening to Harry gasp with head turning so he could breathe easier. “How did he kiss you?”
Harry pouted, eyes meeting Remus’s angry ones. “He was… rather dull about it, actually,” Harry admitted with a sigh, thinking back to the incident.
“Dull?”
“Sweet… too soft… Like I was a girl, or something.”
Remus blinked, letting Harry up and sitting down in his chair. Harry didn’t move for a moment, then turned his head so he could watch Remus from his prone position on the desk, tongue again licking out to run across the cut on his lip. The boy really was getting better, more in control, although still hornier than sin.
“Pup… do you think the little git might like you?”
Harry shrugged awkwardly, not having given it much thought. He knew what he wanted from Malfoy, but hadn’t thought much what the boy might want from him beyond stopping the ache. “I dunno… Does it really matter?”
Remus shook his head, forever shocked by just how messed up the little pup was when it came to emotions. Sirius had his many excuses, but hell, Harry was still so young. His muggle family had really messed the boy up. “You tell me.”
Harry groaned, head thudding back down on the desk. “I don’t care… Just fucking need, and not in a soft, sweet way. It’s been so long… Remi, are you going to—?”
“No,” Remus growled, meeting the frustrated face turned his way again. “I told you to stay away from him. I told you to never be alone with him.”
Harry groaned again, his hands coming to his face, pulling at his hair, and licking at his fingers and palms in a desperate way. “Fuck… damn it… why do I tell you the truth if you’re just going to punish me for it every time?” He whimpered in anguish. “It’s been way too long… fucking need it…”
“Because you need to remind me of all the fucking bad things you do, Harry, or I might think you’re a good boy,” Remus said softly, watching the boy moan and arch at the answer.
Raising his hand, Remus summoned an owl, scrawling a note and sending it off while Harry sulked agitatedly, lying half on the desk, knees hovering off the floor while his sneakers curled toes on the ground. Remus tangled fingers in the boy’s dark brown hair, combing soothingly, bringing Harry back to some sort of calm semblance beyond just pure ache, like he had been teaching him.
There was a knock at the classroom door and Harry jerked alert, having spaced out long moments under Remus’s soothing touch. Remus held him down with his hand, waving the door unlocked with another. “Enter.”
“You wanted to see me… sir?” There really was no better term for Malfoy but pale. Well, except slimy git, but that went without saying in Remus’s eyes. The boy was white blond hair, silver gray eyes, and pale moonlight skin. A little taller than Harry, bulked more, but both boys ridiculous thin still. Currently covered in cuts and bruises, looking half healed, as if Remus had interrupted him.
The boy was fearful as well, a body half strewn across Remus’s desk likely not helping matters in that area. Internally smirking at the thought, Remus waved Malfoy in, locking the door behind him.
“Potter here told me you two were brawling again,” Remus began, watching as Harry focused at Draco’s approach, green eyes following intently as the boy came into his range of vision from the desktop.
Draco was staring at Harry, confusion and something else flitting across his face. Then he looked up, flinching as he met Remus’s golden glare. “Er… is this a detention thing?”
Remus raised his brows, meeting Harry’s interested look. “Do you have many teachers giving you detention over their desk, Malfoy?” Harry asked nonchalantly, head firmly stuck under Remus’s heavy palm.
Draco didn’t answer, instead slowly biting his lip as he looked Harry over. Then, once again, silver eyes were back to Remus’s, less flinching this time and more curious.
“Hands,” Remus said simply, waiting patiently for Draco to place his pale, graceful ones before him, fingers bruised, knuckles scraped bloody. “You did break his finger… two of them…” Remus glanced up at the pale boy’s face, grabbing the broken digits and twisting hard.
Draco gasped, but didn’t yell out, instead glaring at Remus as the man twisted his hand backwards.
The bones were already healing, and Draco showed amazing resilience to pain. Suspicious, Remus pulled the hand towards him, growling when the boy made to resist. Then, letting his claws grow, he cut Draco until scarlet pooled into his pale palm. Remus didn’t need to taste to know, but he did anyways, because Harry was staring with such interest it seemed rude to waste it.
Remus let Malfoy go, pulled Harry up by his hair and snatched his glasses off, and then slammed him back down into the desk.
“What is he?” Harry asked, panting softly.
“Wolf—He’s a fucking wolf, and you didn’t even notice,” Remus growled, pulling Harry up again and dragging him across the desk until they were face to face. “How long have you been fighting with him? This whole god damn time, and you couldn’t tell?”
“You didn’t fucking notice,” Harry shot back, groaning as Remus snarled and shoved his head back down on the desk, splattering the papers he had been grading with spots of blood. “Fuck… fucking tease…” Harry moaned, green eyes hazing, mouth gaping loud pants.
“Cry about it, bitch,” Remus muttered, fixing his glare on the very still, very silent Slytherin pain in the ass that had a wolf animagus form. What the fuck was he supposed to tell Sirius now? That their reckless, fiery pup had fallen for some nasty mouthed, noble hearted, god damn wolf? That would go over well, Siri already so ridiculously protective when it came to the pup.
It explained the kid’s absolute fear of him, werewolves pretty much being the goddamn monster under the bed for any self respecting wolf. Didn’t explain the overall fucking prat in him though, but maybe that was just Lucius and Voldemort’s doing. Hell, maybe it was just kids these days, and Remus had forgotten what it was like to not give a shit about how cutting one could be when the opportunity arose.
Remus hauled Harry up to him again by his hair, turning the boy’s gasping face to look at the very confused wolf currently licking his palm to heal the cut there. “Come on, Potter, he fucking let you break two of his fingers instead of defending himself. Never ever hurt you the way he could easily have, for all your years of fighting. You can’t want something so fucking reserved and refined. He wouldn’t even know what to do with you. He’s a pup, and a damn sweet one at that, nasty mouth aside.”
Harry glared, eyes directed to Remus beside him. “You gonna fuck me, Lupin? I’m tiring you out, and we both fucking know it.”
Remus snarled, wrenching Harry’s hair and exposing his throat as he pulled him back, flipping the boy to his back and nearly into his lap. “You think some prissy little wolf can compare to a god damn werewolf? Look at him—he’s fucking pristine. How the fuck can he dirty you like you need? How can he fucking appreciate it, pup? You’d be better off with a common canine mutt, than some pretty animagus.”
“Stop being… so fucking… jealous…” Harry gasped out, body arching back, hands clawing at the desk to keep from falling off as Remus pulled him further back to the edge.
Draco quietly cleared his throat, eyebrow raised coolly at the very odd display of Harry grabbing at the strong hand holding his hair, whimpering and gasping, face flushed while his teacher growled heatedly at him. “Professor, I think there has been some sort of confusion. I have no interest in challenging you for Potter… And I apologize for hurting one of your own. I did not realize he was… pack.” He said the word with a small growl, Remus stilling from the sound of it.
Remus released Harry abruptly, the boy yelping and toppling back into the man’s lap, blinking up at Remus’s golden gaze. “Remi…” he whined beseechingly, red mouth pouting.
“He fucking apologized, Potter. What if something were to happen to you while around him? How the fuck could he protect you? Would he even, considering his family? He’s fucking domestic!” Remus spat the word, glaring again at Draco’s calm form.
Draco sighed, turned away and took a few steps, and then turned back, annoyance twisting his haughty, aristocratic features. “Why the fuck am I here? I’m sorry I kissed your dog, Lupin. He reeked of sex—not of werewolf, that’s for fucking sure, because I wouldn’t have fucking messed with that shit. Do you need me to write you a god damn essay on not touching an alpha’s slut? What the fuck is going to get me out of this room and away from his fucking sex scent? He’s fucking overwhelming and I have been trying to be respectful. If you saw to him properly, this wouldn’t have even been an issue.”
Harry whined louder, eyes fluttering shut with the realization that Malfoy had been able to discern his ache and had been effected by it. “Fuck… see to me, Remi… make this fucking better…”
Remus ignored him, pushing Harry forward to sway on the desk while he stood. “Fucking listen to just how prim you are. He doesn’t want fucking respect; he wants cock. Why you would fight that damn irresistible scent doesn’t make much sense in the face of that.”
“I have my reasons.” Draco shrugged irritatedly, eyes straying again to where Harry was now sliding down to lie back on the desk, the boy’s dark head lolling to gaze hazy green eyes at him. “Probably the same reason you haven’t dealt with it yourself. He’s god damn needy and I don’t know how I feel about sharing. Better to avoid it all together.”
Remus scowled, pissed with how the little prat had damn near guessed the problem. Filling Harry was not a one time job, but a many time, exhausting fucking marathon. Remus had tried training the boy to wait longer between sessions, but had been finding that the longer the wait, the more Harry wanted to make up for it once he finally got some much needed filling. Sirius had been an important element in this filthy dynamic, but the man was holed up in hiding indefinitely, and Harry was growing very fucking impatient, training only curbing so much.
“Damn it!” Remus growled, hands slamming to each side of Harry’s prone form, green eyes looking up at him hopefully while Remus snarled back. “It’s not like there’s a god damn abundance of fucking choices out here, Malfoy. What the fuck is he supposed to do, a pack bitch without a proper sized pack?”
Draco sneered, glaring at the two of them. “What the fuck do I care? Go throw him on some city street. I’m sure he’ll attract himself a nice pack of wild dogs to fucking take care of him. Clearly he’d enjoy it, the fucking slut mutt.”
Harry gaped, aching moan slipping out, body arching on the hard desk. “Nasty… fucking nasty mouth…” he panted, head falling side to side.
“I’m actually surprised you haven’t already,” Draco continued, nostrils flaring, silver eyes sharpening as Harry gave another needy moan. “Just thrown him out in the Forbidden Forest where whatever weird shit could come along and ruin him. I doubt he cares what it is at this point—probably never fucking cared to begin with. Hell, I’m sure the giant has some beast that will ride him. He always seemed taken with those savage hippogriffs.”
He stepped over, glaring down at Harry and smirking viciously. “What do you say, Potter? Want to spread for some fucking half eagle and just utterly all horse dick? Could it even be enough for a fucking gaping hole like you? Maybe you’d need two in there? Think the oaf could do it for you finally, wedged in there with the beast?”
“Holy fuck…” Harry choked out, writhing uncontrollably on the desk, hips bucking until he was pressed up against Remus’s hot torso, neck crunched forward, back of head pressing into the man’s awakening erection. “Think… I’m… dying…”
Remus rolled his eyes, secretly impressed with the creative shit talk coming out of the little wolf bastard’s mouth. “Thanks a lot, Malfoy, now the little bitch is overcome. Do you fucking know how difficult it is to keep him from breaking down like this? It’s been months of training and he’s still a fucking mess.”
“I would have shoved something in him, and left it in him,” Draco said with a shrug, watching Harry jerk and moan again. “Don’t you fucking werewolves know how to use a dildo?”
Remus glared, grabbing Harry’s chin and turning his head when the boy seemed about ready to swallow his tongue. “Is that what you wolves use, instead of getting hard and dirty in a tight hole? You fucking prissy little princes.”
Draco barked a harsh laugh, hand smacking at Harry’s questing fingers as they reached for him. “I don’t fucking care how dirty a hole is, as long as it’s not a shit werewolf cum trap. You have to draw the line somewhere on the level of skank filth—although Potter sure as fuck can’t be arsed to. He’s too busy being double teamed by the half-giant and hippogriff.”
Harry’s hands were tearing at his own t-shirt, pulling at the material to expose his flat stomach, biting at the fabric with his mouth, wet tongue lapping as he gagged himself on the softness. He was so fucking hard, and for whatever fucking idiotic reason, no one was touching him, and he was pretty sure he was going to lose his fucking mind. He began kicking off his shoes, pressing back against Remus with his head, hoping the fucking man would cave already and put that big cock of his to proper use.
Remus seemed more interested in growling at Draco, slamming Harry’s head down, cheek bruised into the table when the boy kept trying to rub on him. “Potter, don’t you dare fucking touch yourself in front of this prissy prince wolf, or so help me, it will be a fucking month of ache, you little slut—and stop whining! Listen, Malfoy, I don’t know what the bitch sees in you, besides the fact that you’re species related. But as his fucking alpha, I have to make sure he’s not taken advantage of—”
“He’d fucking ride a house elf’s nose; everything is going to be up his hole. It’s hardly taking advantage,” Draco growled back, twisting Harry’s hand backwards and pinning it when the boy again reached for him.
“I’m talking about that sick fuck Dark Lord looking to kill the boy. The one your parents are fucking in league with. I’d have to be out of my fucking mind to let Harry anywhere near you.”
“Listen Lupin, I’m not my fucking parents. They don’t know what the hell I am, nor does their master. I have gotten very damn good at hiding it, which is why you couldn’t even tell. I am a fucking wolf, and I will not kneel to some halfblood, snake faced, crazy maniac that can only think of so much blood hate that he can’t pause to wonder why the fuck he was nearly killed by a god damn infant. A fucking infant could very literally beat him up—and did!”
Draco raked his free hand through his long, white-blond hair, glaring down at Harry’s rocking form with something more than anger. “Give me some fucking credit. When not begging for it, Potter is a powerful fucking force, and I’m betting on him and not the loser that couldn’t kill a baby. You know, if he’d ever fucking stop begging for it for five seconds.”
“He can’t help it,” Remus growled softer, surprised by Malfoy’s answer. “We’re working on it.”
Draco tore his eyes away from Harry’s gasping mouth, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t say there was anything bloody wrong about it. Fucking look at him. But he is a damn distraction… And I really need to get the fuck out of here.” He released Harry’s hand, turning to go, only to have Harry grab the back of his shirt and hold tightly.
“Come on, Malfoy… fucking do me…”
Draco half turned, wresting with the fingers gripping his crisp shirt. “No one likes a pushy bottom, Potter. You take all the fun out of it, you damn slut,” he snapped, bending Harry’s fingers back enough to release himself, but not hurt the boy. Harry looked back at him, eyes so wide and needy, he almost felt bad. Almost.
This time when he went to leave, Remus snarled and grabbed Draco by the back of the neck, holding the pale boy in place as he clawed at the heavy hand. “What? I didn’t fucking hurt him!”
“I am well the fuck aware, now shut up and hear me out.” Glaring at the Slytherin warningly, Remus turned down to Harry, snapping his fingers until the boy focused on him. “Where’s your collar?”
“Bag… there…” Harry pointed in the direction of where he had left his school things, head a red haze of want and nothing else. Remus accio’d it over and rummaged through while Draco scowled from beneath the unbreakable hold. Triumphant, he tossed the leather at Harry, who blinked at it a few times, before getting enough sense to wrap it around his neck and fasten it, the metal glinting dark black in the light.
Only to have the boy gasp a moment later, eyes wide, the scent of fear slowly rolling off Harry as he looked around confused. Sirius had designed it, the creatively deranged fuck, the collar imprinted with personality traits of right when Harry was first waking up as a bitch dog, and still full of shame and confusion, and lots of fight.
They had returned Harry’s memories slowly of the events that had woken him up, first having the boy see them from a pensieve to desensitize him a bit. His body fully awake, the memories seemed only to arouse Harry, and at the suggestion of the collar, he had readily agreed to try it, knowing this time he would not forget what happened once the collar was removed. It had made things very riveting for the two men, and Harry too, who remembered the incidences in his normal state of mind quite heatedly.
Draco stopped struggling, watching with interest as Harry groaned and rolled off the desk, crouching on the floor as he tried to get his shirt in some sort of order. “Sorry Professor… I don’t know what… I…” He appeared, standing slowly, hand tangled in his messy hair, face flushed with embarrassment. “Shit, and Malfoy too… I am so never living this down…” he covered his face with both hands, breathing out shakily.
“You werewolves are fucked up…” Draco whispered incredulously, just as Remus let him go so he could stalk forward and grab Harry around the waist, curving up the back of the dark haired boy and leaving Harry’s expression exposed to Draco’s blazing stare.
“Professor, what are you… oh god… stop…” Harry gasped, his wrists suddenly pinned in Remus’s large hand and pulled above his head, while Remus snaked his other hand down the front of Harry’s jeans, grabbing his straining erection.
“It’s okay, Harry… I just want to touch you a little,” Remus murmured in the boy’s ear, grinning when Harry shuddered and tried to throw him off.
“Get the fuck off me… you sick shit… oh god… oh…”
“Oh, come on… you know you want it…”
“N-no… fucking stop…”
“But you’re so hard, Harry… You can’t be so hard, unless you really want it… fucking slut…”
“No—oh hell.” Harry groaned in anguish, eyes squeezed shut as the hand moved from his cock to his fly, wrenching his pants and underwear down his legs. He was completely exposed to Draco’s very heated gaze as the gray eyed boy bit his thumb hard and continued to watch in silence.
“You know what else I think you want, slut?” Remus took his hand and ran it over Harry’s ass cheek, the boy jerking away from the touch. “I think you want a long, hard ride…”
“Please, no… don’t… it’s so wrong…” Harry shook his head fitfully while Remus pushed him over the desk, slamming his chest down into the hard wood.
“Wrong?” Remus breathed into his ear, pushing his bulge against the boy’s bare ass. “But you’re so hard, you little slut. Didn’t you know, this is how you like it?”
“No… stop… damn it—I’m going to fucking kill you!” Harry snarled beneath the hand on his head, eyes glaring even as his mouth opened wide and he moaned, fingers pushing into his tight hole. “Oh fuck… stop… that’s fucking dirty…”
“You’re fucking dirty, you filthy little slut. Look how hard you are with my fingers up your dirty little asshole. You want this… you want to be a filthy wide slut, opening whenever anyone asks…”
“No… god no… stop, Professor, please… whatever I did, I won’t do it again… promise… oh—oh fuck…”
“You seduced a wolf, little slut… You went begging to a wolf your own age, trying to get it into your hungry hole…”
“No… that’s fucking sick… Oh god… is that…?” Harry moaned, hips jerking forward as he opened his eyes to find Malfoy gone and a white wolf in the boy’s place, sleek and majestic, and currently licking his face. The long pink tongue kept whipping over his gasping lips, sliding into his mouth and tasting his tongue and roof of his mouth. Eyes closing slowly, Harry let it, his own tongue reaching hesitantly forward to meet the slippery intruder.
“That’s it, you fucking slut. You won’t just open for your teacher, but a fucking wild animal too. Talk about issues, Potter.”
Harry groaned, the tongue now moving over his face, down his throat, teeth tearing at his shirt and pulling it off him. “Oh fuck… I need help… there is something so… fucking… wrong with me…”
“I’m going to help you, Harry,” Remus murmured, biting the boy’s shoulder as he thrust his fingers in a final time. “And so is that prissy little wolf… Would you like that?”
Harry shook his head no, sweat dripping down his face as he struggled with the hands holding him down. “Stop… fucking stop… this is wrong…”
“You like it wrong, you little slut. This is the only way you like it… violated.. and forced… and begging for me to stop…” Remus slowly pulled down his zipper, watching Harry tense at the sound.
“Oh fuck… please don’t… please stop…” But Remus was over him now, the man’s deceptive form hiding steel strength as he grabbed Harry’s hips and pressed the head of his large cock to the boy’s twitching hole.
The white wolf gave a whine, biting at Harry’s ear, the boy crying out and inadvertently pushing back onto Remus’s thick dick. “N-no… stop… it hurts…”
“You fucking like it, you bitch slut… You fucking need it…” Remus growled, pushing forward, Harry’s cries only making him want to hurt him more. “Fuck, you get so fucking tight, pup… so fucking tight when you’re like this… still afraid… still ashamed of how fucking filthy you are… And you are filthy… so fucking filthy…”
Harry didn’t answer, gasping loud sobs and moans as Remus began to fuck him hard, driving him into the desk. “Noo… nooo…” he groaned, and then shuddered, the hot, long tongue back, finding his face, finding his mouth and tasting him so intimately, Harry couldn’t help but press towards it, even as his body was being torn apart and filled so good. God, he was so fucked up… so fucking wrong inside…
Harry stopped fighting, letting his body relax and give in to the searing, hard jolts of his teacher pounding into him. His head resting on the desk, he kept his eyes half open to stare through tears at the mouth and wicked teeth of the white creature before him. Harry reached a hand out, brushing fingers down the narrow jaw, curling slightly, pulling it closer so he could kiss it. He slid his tongue over the long, sharp teeth, tasting the wolf the way it had tasted him, sliding his tongue to reach and flutter against the roof of its mouth, and then the flat of its wide tongue.
“I’m so… fucking… sick…” Harry groaned again, and then kissed its nose, lapping across the black, wet point. Silver eyes regarded him intently, another soft, hungry whine meeting his ear. And then the tongue, sliding over Harry’s face, slower, languid, catching his sweat, tasting his tears, meeting his reaching tongue and tasting his mouth again. So slow… so sweetly… Harry wasn’t sure he had every known such sweetness.
“I think I preferred you… with dick in your mouth…” Remus grunted, glaring at the wolf kissing Harry, who intentionally ignored him. It was not going the way he had planned when getting Harry in the collar, having hoped to shock the damn prissy thing into something appropriately wild and unleashed. Growling, he grabbed the collar around Harry’s neck, undoing the clasp and throwing it aside. “Come on, pup, remind him how a fucking slut dog wants it.”
Harry moaned heatedly, pushing back against Remus’s hard body, trying to get some fucking leverage so he wasn’t flat on the desk. “Fuck, Remi… fucking do it hard… break me, you fucking monster…”
“That’s it, you fucking slut,” Remus growled approvingly, glaring down at the white wolf as he pulled Harry back and up, letting the boy rest his palms on the desk as he slammed into him, nearly toppling the pup forward. “I’m going to make you so fucking raw, every time you go to get your hole filled you’re going to fucking scream in pain.”
“Yes… oh fuck… do it…” Harry gasped, hands reaching above to grab onto Remus’s neck and head as the boy bent backwards, body stretched out long and taut. “You know… how I need it…”
“I do, you little bitch slut… hard… until you can’t stand it anymore…”
“Fuck… fucking fill me… need the wet so bad…”
Remus grunted, pulling Harry back and lifting the boy so his feet were no longer touching the ground. He pushed the boy’s knees to the desk and bent him over, Harry’s thighs wide to get the perfect height. Snarling possessively, he buried himself in deep a final time, giving hard, shallow thrusts as he filled Harry with some much needed filth. The boy howled in aching joy, forehead heavy on the desk, sweat covering his face as he gasped.
Remus ran his hand shakily over Harry’s stomach and groin, finding at some point during the hard reaming the boy had cum, his climax lost in the whirlwind of it all. “That’s it, love… that’s how you fucking like it… Nice and wet inside… full of cum and filth…”
“Yes…” Harry agreed softly, rubbing his face into the table, sweat making his movements slick. “Thank you, alpha… it was… so fucking good… what I needed…”
Remus stayed buried inside, filling Harry as long as the boy wanted it, while his golden eyes glared again to the silent pain in the ass watching from his furry seat.
As a wolf, Malfoy was a little less annoying, body nearly as large as Padfoot’s heavy form, but more narrow, its muscles compact, and silky bright fur much better cared for. The eyes were an intense silver instead of the beautiful manic blue of Remus’s lovely mate. But the eyes weren’t looking at Remus, they were staring at the panting boy crushed beneath his larger body, and there was definitely more than just lust in the creature’s gaze.
Fucking pups… fucking sweet pups, falling for things they shouldn’t even want… Harry was a damn wild mutt, and the wolf just talked shit and couldn’t follow through, too sweet and domestic to take what he wanted properly. He just wasn’t fucking good enough for his Harry.
Harry gave a whine when Remus withdrew, trying to push back and impale himself again. “Fuck… don’t stop yet… need it…”
Remus sighed, reaching down and picking up the collar he had thrown on the floor, slamming it down next to Harry. “You are fucking exhausting, pup. Let the wolf have a go so I can rest.”
Harry looked back, beautiful green eyes wide in surprise. “For real?”
“This one fucking time,” Remus cautioned, growling at the both of them. “I don’t know when Siri will be back, and fuck, Harry, I’m not twenty anymore… If the prissy thing can bear to be second to my foul scent.” He turned his glare to the wolf, stalking over intimidatingly.
“Don’t get too full of yourself. The boy just really needs filling. And the collar is his choice. Anyone ever forces it on him, I will kill them, understand? It’s not something to be abused, ever.”
“He gets it Remus. Stop mothering,” Harry muttered, grabbing the collar and wrapping it around his neck. He paused before clasping it and activating the spell, eyes glancing carefully to Draco’s wolf form and assessing him long moments.
Harry bit his lip, smiling shyly, so shyly Remus wanted to break something. “So, uh, Malfoy… would you… um, stay like that? Just for this… I uh… fuck… I like it… a lot…” He was mumbling, cheeks red, and Remus wondered if the collar was a damn good idea when Harry was already so syrupy in mood.
Swearing under his breath, Remus stepped up to Harry, pecking the boy lightly on the lips. “I’ll be right outside. I’ll be listening if you need—”
“You’re henning,” Harry growled, lightly pushing him away with a small smile.
Remus growled back. So what if he was henning? Harry was his pup, and he would fucking protect him all he liked. Glaring a final time at the white wolf nuisance, Remus gave himself a once over to make sure he was presentable and left the room, locking the door behind him.
Eyes fluttering open slowly, Harry softly hummed, something warm and wet licking down his neck around the leather dog collar he was wearing. Fur tickled lightly against his shoulders, and then his arm, and he became aware of warm heat very close to his skin next to the softness. He stretched, brow furrowed, trying to figure out why he was lying on what appeared to be Professor Lupin’s desk… without any clothes on.
Shifting, he groaned, his body revealing aches and pains everywhere, especially, oh no… oh… not there again. Harry whimpered, lips parting to pant, his hole sore and dripping again. God, how did he keep waking up, full of so much dirtiness and couldn’t remember how it happened? It had to happened, he knew it did, but he just could never remember.
“Hey… what are you…?” Harry blinked to the side, white fluff greeting his vision. He pushed himself up on his elbows, meeting beautiful silver eyes and a regal face of a white wolf. “Wow… you’re something…” Harry murmured, hand drifting in offering to the lovely creature, wondering how it could have come to be in Lupin’s classroom. It was too pretty to be a werewolf. Maybe the Professor was teaching a class on how they differed from real wolves.
The wolf gave a soft whine, licking Harry’s hand and making him giggle at the feel of tongue between his fingers. The pretty thing didn’t stop, licking at his digits while Harry beamed. Then suddenly it nipped lightly at his fingertip and Harry gave a small gasp, eyes half closing, a familiar, terrible ache rising up in him again. “Oh… oh no… not again…” He whispered softly, fingers curling around the narrow snout lightly, his entire body suddenly feeling hot and very much in need.
As if sensing Harry wasn’t well, the wolf leaned its upper body on the desk, licking the boy’s face comfortingly, as if trying to cool him off. But it wasn’t the right effect, Harry moaning at the feel of hot, wet tongue moving over his skin, small shudders starting to rock his body.
“Sorry… sorry… I get like this sometimes… there’s, oh god, there’s something wrong inside me…” The tongue was in his mouth now, and Harry couldn’t find the power to pull away, allowing the beautiful thing to lap at his lips and tongue while Harry sank back down to the desk, face towards the ceiling.
“You shouldn’t… oh, you shouldn’t do that, boy… It’s not right…” Harry whispered, body tingling all over as the wolf moved forward, leaning past his mouth to lick down his throat and chest, his vision filled with soft white fur. “Oh fuck—wait… that’s… that’s not right…” Harry groaned, but the tongue persisted, licking at his nipple while he squirmed. It moved further down, long tongue lapping across his navel, heavy body pressing against Harry’s head and shoulders and filling Harry with heat.
“Wait, oh god… stop…” Harry whimpered, his bellybutton abandoned by the wolf for his quickly rising prick. Harry was unable to see past the blur of white but still very able to feel when the hot tongue lapped slow, long strokes over him.
With a small growl, the wolf was suddenly on the desk, claws clicking while he crouched over him as he licked down Harry’s aching cock and balls. Harry was certain now that it was a male, because beyond the heavy smell of musk, Harry could see its arousal, shiny red rising from it’s furry sheath above him. So close, bobbing next to Harry’s face, he could smell it… could feel splatters of wet dripping precum falling on his face and neck.
Harry closed his eyes, tried to block out the sight of the large, shiny dick. It looked so god damn needy, almost as needy as Harry felt all the time, the ache in him growing. He just couldn’t help himself, Harry consoled his twisting stomach and the persistent voice that kept insisting that this was very fucking wrong, and he shouldn’t ever even think such terrible, sick things.
The tongue felt so good moving over him, licking him slowly, thoroughly, as if trying to clean all the dirtiness off that Harry felt. But the dirt was deep inside and that tongue would never be able to reach.
When Harry opened his eyes back up, it was still there, still swollen, dripping and wet, still calling him to be fucking sick and depraved, and give in to the ache. “Oh god… oh my god, I am so fucked…” Harry whimpered, watching his hand seem to move on its own accord, reaching for the red, hard head of the wolf’s dick, and brushing his fingertip against it.
The wolf made a whining noise, nose burrowing down between Harry’s thighs and lapping at the slick that was dripping out of him. It hadn’t growled in warning, hadn’t snapped in violence, and Harry, eyes half closed, moved his head closer to the bobbing rod, reaching his tongue out and pressing it to the hot flesh while fur brushed his cheeks.
“Shit… holy shit…” he murmured excitedly, pressing his lips to the flesh and then opening up, running his tongue up and down, and wherever he could reach. He wrapped his arms around the strong waist of the soft wolf, feeling muscles tense under his fingers, and pulled himself up, tilting his head as far back as he could reach, just enough so he could get the tip past his nose and into his mouth. Flavor and scent flooded his senses, and Harry groaned, mouth widening as the hard flesh spasmed and dripped more precum onto his tongue. He wrapped his lips tight, careful of his teeth, and just savored the feel of the hot thick flesh as it moved in his mouth.
“I am so fucked up…” Harry whispered after releasing his hot prize and sinking back down to the desk, troubled thoughts swirling in his mind. He didn’t let go of the pretty wolf, hands threading through its fur and combing as the creature insisted on licking and cleaning him.
It was an animal… a fucking wild wolf animal… It was already licking Harry in places you weren’t supposed to lick people. Maybe if Harry was just an animal it wouldn’t feel so fucked up to want what he wanted. God, because he wanted it. He wanted the shiny red flesh inside him, filling him, and he wanted it so bad. Animals didn’t care if things were fucking dirty and wrong. Nothing was wrong to a wolf, it was just fucking nature.
If Harry spread his thighs, bent himself over the desk, and let the pretty wolf take him, the wolf wasn’t going to judge him for it. It understood, and that’s why it was just as hard as him. God, and if Harry decided he really, really liked what that wolf was doing to him, and begged him to keep doing it, to keep fucking taking him, for as long as he needed it, maybe the wolf wouldn’t mind that either.
Feeling braver, body tingling and hot with want, Harry wiggled around the persistent tongue, turning himself carefully, elbows biting into the desk, knees scraping as he flipped from his back to his stomach while still between the large wolf’s legs. Hands again reaching around the strong waist, he raised his head, opening his mouth and eagerly swallowing the hard, thick flesh of the wolf down.
The wolf made a grunting noise, probably as surprised as Harry was at his daring. But no growling, no snapping or bitting, so Harry let it fade from his mind, his only thoughts on the hot thick flesh spurting wet, bitter precum into his mouth. “You like that…?” Harry asked, letting the tip fall from his mouth, rubbing his face against it, and then his lips, his eyes closing to feel another hot splatter hit his face.
From what Harry had seen of dogs, they were always humping frantically, but this wolf was nearly still, moving almost deliberately in slow pushes as Harry again wrapped lips around its length and sucked.
Harry moaned around the thick dick, nearly dropping it as a persistent nose pressed against his ass crack, tongue sliding out to lick the flesh revealed. Panting, his own tongue lapping in rhythm to the wolf’s, Harry tried to spread his legs wider to get more of the hot tongue that was trying to press against his hole. Oh, in his hole, definitely inside him. Harry fell back to the table, moaning loudly, hips bucking as he pushed back, trying to get more. “Oh fuck… oh please… oh that’s fucking messed up… and so good…”
Harry just couldn’t seem to stop the heat rising up inside, or the terrible, desperate thought the heat demanded from him. Shaking, he raised his head, glancing behind him to watch the beast lick at his hole. He really wanted that swollen, red cock inside him, not just the slippery tongue.
“Hey boy… hey pretty, pretty wolfie,” Harry called softly, dark lashes lowered as he rocked his hips slowly back into the press of tongue and fur. “God… can you just… oh, help me a bit? I… I don’t think you’ll mind… Fuck, maybe you would… what the fuck is wrong with me…?” Whimpering, he hid his face into his hands. “I’m so fucked in the head.”
The hot tongue was suddenly at his face, licking at his forehead, nose brushing his hair and puffing warm breath. Sighing, Harry lifted his head, eyes opening to find silver staring him down. There seemed to be such intelligence there, not to mention compassion… “Hi, pretty wolf… You really are very pretty… I don’t know how one could be quite like you, but maybe that’s what magic does to things… makes everything seem special…”
The wolf tilted its head, and then licked its pink tongue out across Harry’s parted lips. Harry gasped, eyes wide. The tongue flicked out again, Harry stilling as it moved up his top lip. “Are you… oh… that’s like a kiss…” Harry murmured, mouth widening when the tongue swiped again and pressed bristling maw to his lips. “I’m a little… messed up,” Harry confided. “But… but I really like that… Maybe…” Harry let out a shattered breath as his mouth was licked again. “Oh, maybe you like that too?”
The wolf certainly seemed to, tongue driving into Harry’s parted lips with obvious intent, tasting him slow and thoroughly. Harry closed his eyes, trying not to think where the creature had just been licking, and how hot and dirty that made him feel. He pressed back, mouth opening wider, licking up the wolf’s maw, tongue touching short bristle and slick gums. He pressed his tongue flat against the sharp, white teeth, hard enamel and then scalding heat as he reached the other side of the barrier.
“Oh… I hope you like that too…” Harry whispered, trembling at the mad, dangerous feeling running through him, tasting teeth and tongue of something wild and crazed, just how he felt inside. Harry sat up, eyes never leaving the face of the noble looking wolf panting at him. He held his arms open, the wolf stepping forward, pressing into his chest with soft fur and hard muscle, licking up the side of Harry’s neck while the boy held the warm body to him.
“That’s nice…” Harry sighed, rubbing slowly against the silky fur. “Almost like… fuck… like you want me back…” Teeth nipped him lightly and Harry groaned, fire sparking through him. He gripped the shoulders he was holding harder, another nip jerking his entire body with fire and surprise. “Oh fuck… again, pretty wolf… hell yes…”
Harry had to accept the fact the wolf was definitely responding to him, and in a blatantly sexual manner, or keep wondering if he was losing his mind. He had never thought a wolf, or any animal for that matter, was understanding of something quite on this level, but Harry was pretty sure the beautiful thing wanted to make love to him, as bizarre a thought as that was.
As much as Harry ached inside, he really didn’t mind the softness, the gentle yet persistent way the wolf pushed him down with its large bulk onto the desk. He rather liked the long, wet laps over his face, and throat, mixed with sharp little nips that sent him gasping and whimpering, begging for the next one to come. “Oh… oh please… yes…” Harry mumbled, head rolling on the desk as the wolf laid across him, hot and silky against Harry’s entire body, hard length rubbing next to the boy’s in small rocking thrusts.
Harry wrapped his arms tight around the wolf’s neck, burying his face into the white fur as more hot, wet slickness collected around where the hard cock was slowly humping him. It felt so good, so good against his exposed flesh, fur brushing and tickling and driving him mad, while teeth kept nipping into his neck, and then long tongue soothing.
“Oh… oh god…” Harry spread his legs, raising his knees and welcoming the harder pushes from the furry hips rocking into him. It was good, so good… but Harry needed more, his hole aching intensely at the idea of that hard red tip and its wetness buried inside him. He wrapped his legs around the beast’s waist, reveling in the feel of its fur on his long limbs and thighs, and wiggled up its body until Harry was better positioned for that hot dick to bury into him.
“Come on, Wolfie…” Harry murmured, pulling the angular face down and kissing across its long snout, the slippery pink tongue moving over Harry’s chin and throat. “Need you… need you now… it’s so empty inside…”
The wolf made a low growl, Harry’s eyes widening at the sound. But its licks were still gentle, nips still light and not vicious, and Harry imagined maybe that was more of a noise of need than of threat. Harry shifted his hips, reaching his hand down to grasp the hard wolf cock and guide it to his entrance, eyes closing as it pressed against his hole and held there.
“Please… fuck, please…” Harry whimpered, unable to move himself the way he needed to drive it in him. The wolf gave another soft growl, and then suddenly surged forward, burying itself in deep.
Harry shouted, the world bursting white and red behind his eyes, the creature’s self control gone, now deep inside his dripping, and battered hole. The wolf raised itself up and began to hammer into him. Harry’s thighs and knees gripped tightly for purchase, head and shoulders falling back onto the desk heavily as his weak arms grasped uselessly at the strong neck above him.
“Oh god… oh god… it’s big… so fucking big…” he moaned, mouth gasping wide and unable to block the tongue suddenly dipping into it, nearly choking with its intensity. “Oh please… god, it’s huge… oh—!” He sobbed, the feeling just too intense, too fucking much, forcing inside him, moving across his tightening passage as his body clenched, trying to pull the thickness in deeper.
The wolf started licking at his tears, even as it drove harder into him, pushing Harry up the desk with the force of its thrusts, until Harry was half hanging over the edge, head slack and bent backwards while papers strewn and fell around him.
Harry pushed at the wolf’s shoulders, unable to raise his head. “Wolfie… gonna fall…” The wolf gave a desperate whine, licking up Harry’s throat, then stilled its mad thrusts with a show of amazing restraint. Limbs shaking, Harry unwrapped from the beautiful wolf, moaning at the feel of its thick dick leaving his hole, and the wet that was already building there.
Harry lowered himself to the ground, bracing himself against the side of the desk while on his knees. “Come on, you pretty thing… you know what to do… you know how to fill me…” Harry called heatedly, eyes hazy as he pressed his cheek to the cool wood and waited for his furry new friend.
The wolf jumped down like a white shadow, moving behind Harry, and lapping long, deep swipes into his dripping hole, until Harry was moaning and spreading wider, trying to get even more. The wolf raised itself up Harry’s back, wrapping front legs around the boy’s narrow chest, surrounding him in silky white fur and hard heat. “Oh god… do it, beautiful… fucking take me… want you so bad…”
Teeth nipped into Harry’s shoulder, sharper than before, causing him to cry out, and then the wolf was thrusting in, pushing in roughly, able to reach so much deeper, each thrust so much more powerful now that Harry was braced and offering resistance. “Oh fuck—bigger… it’s bigger…” He gaped, his hole being forced wider as something large swelled at the base of the wolf’s dick. Each thrust pushed it deeper, opened him wider, and Harry was fairly certain he was not going to survive the sheer size.
“Oh god… oh god…” He gasped, gripping the desk, nose crunched against the side with sweat pouring down his face and fur tickling his back and chest as he tried so hard not to scream in agony. The knot slipped past his last tight muscle and settled into his ass, still fucking swelling wider. It was stuck inside, each jolt of the wolf’s hips moving Harry’s hips, the knot keeping them tied tight, and secure, and so full of the feeling of delicious agony that came with such fullness.
Eyes squeezed shut, Harry rocked with the thrusts, moaning lowly with every breath released. “So good… so tight… god… it feels so right… so fucking right, deep inside me… oh Wolfie… you need to stay… need to stay in me… fuck yes… so full, so right… Wolfie, you make me feel… so right…”
Huffing hot air on his neck, the wolf licked over Harry’s collared throat and face as it continued to pump hard into the small boy.
Harry moaned louder, eyes flying open as hot, slick streams of cum began to fill him inside. “Yes… yes… so wet… god… god… like you’re washing inside… Oh god…” It didn’t stop, each hard thrust filling Harry more, giving him more wet heat until he wasn’t sure that he wasn’t filled head to toe with the wolf’s hot cum. Head spinning from the very idea, Harry bucked, clutching around the thickness inside, grinding down on it and coming hard, all over the desk and floor as it dripped down.
God, and he didn’t fucking care that it was so dirty to do that, to get his cum on things and furniture. It didn’t feel dirty, not with the beautiful white wolf inside him, wanting him so much, somehow so gentle… like maybe it really fucking cared about him.
Harry leaned his head forward on the desk, tears streaming silently down his face as he embraced every sensation of soft fur and hard dick. He didn’t care that it was fucked up to like it, or that it was fucked up to want a damn beast to care for him the way a person should. Right now, in that moment, it felt so fucking right.
“Wolfie… oh, you’re good at this… so fucking good… make me feel good, you pretty thing… Ah, stay in a long time… I want you inside a really long time…”
Harry pushed back, the wolf still tight inside, moving the two of them carefully so that Harry could fold forward and rest his head on his arms, ass high in the air. He moaned softly with each thrust, body feeling so good, and long and tight as the beast fucked him, and filled him, and claimed him. “God… you feel so good inside…” Harry murmured, eyes closing.
The wolf began to lick at Harry as he quieted, and then gave soft little nips, until Harry roused again and began to pant, legs spreading wider. “Oh, Wolfie… you can’t have anything left to put in me,” Harry whispered, even as the wolf continued to pound into him more insistently, Harry’s hole tightening and clenching with renewed attention.
“Oh hell… oh wow, how are you… wow…” Harry’s eyes widened, more nips and tongue and sharp thrusts slowly building the fire inside him back up. He raised himself up on his arms, pushing back into each quick thrust, channel clenching again and again as the lovely creature brought him closer to agony and ecstasy all at once. This was a damn good wolf… fucking amazing wolf…
Harry was pretty sure he wanted to keep the pretty white thing forever.
It was a good two hours before Remus returned, finding Harry passed out, absolutely sated on the floor, Malfoy wrapped around him, human and just as nude. Remus had stopped by the door from time to time, checking with his status spells to make sure Harry was okay, seeing and hearing quite clearly that he was enjoying himself, if in a different, quieter way than normal.
Draco had only taken Harry as a wolf, and hadn’t been till the last moment, when Harry was having god only knew up to which orgasm the boy was capable of reaching when in such crazed heat, when the wolf had accidentally gotten its paw stuck in the leather, and the collar had released before it could hurt Harry. Harry had decided to pass out for good shortly after that, and Draco had decided he didn’t need to be furry any longer, and curled up next to the dark haired boy.
Draco snapped awake the moment Remus stepped into the room, suppressing the growl he very much wanted to release at the scent of a werewolf. Especially the werewolf associated with the beautiful green eyed boy Draco just couldn’t seem to stop thinking about. Instead he sat up, combing his hair in place with his fingers, and started reaching for the clothes he had stripped after transforming back. Pressing skin to skin with Harry had been worth the mild embarrassment of being nude in front of his professor.
For the moment, all Remus could feel was relieved that Harry was actually asleep and exhausted. That Malfoy didn’t seem too worn for wear was also a bit interesting, but then, he was still a young wolf, and hadn’t allowed himself to grow soft yet living a human’s life. Ignoring the pale Slytherin for now, Remus went to the sleeping Harry, checking him over carefully for any sign of problems. He raised a brow, Harry cleaner after hours of sex than before, the wolf having licked him thoroughly as he slept.
“You should have left him some of the bruises,” Remus said with a sigh, straightening to watch Draco button his shirt up. “He likes the reminder of it. Helps him hold over until he can be filled again.”
Draco shrugged, eyes pensive and mouth set in a thin frown. “Your bitch has issues, Lupin. You should burn that fucking collar and get him some help.”
Remus snorted, glaring at the arrogant sod. “What, because he likes dog dick?”
Draco shook his head, eyes darkening. “No, because he kept fucking crying every time I was sweet to him. I thought maybe you were just a brutal fuck for taking him the way you do, but now I just wonder if you were just avoiding him getting sad.”
“The only time that pup cries is when it’s forced on him, Malfoy,” Remus growled, not appreciating the insinuation that Harry was broken in such a way. “And believe me, he fucking enjoys every moment of it. You’re just some bleeding heart wolf that doesn’t know shit yet. He’s fine, and getting better each day.”
“Whatever, Lupin, it’s not my fucking problem. You’re his alpha, and if you want to ignore his huge fucking emotional scars, then who the fuck am I to stop you? I just thought he was a human that turned into a dog, not the other way around like you treat him.” Shirt tucked back in place, and shoes and socks back on feet, Draco went to leave, his eyes flashing unspoken anger.
Remus refused to unlock the door, waiting for the pale boy to turn back in irritation. “Are you willing, if he’s in need again?” The man asked, thinking of Harry at the moment and not his own damn annoyance with the Slytherin pain.
Draco looked torn, eyes swirling clouds, mouth twitching into a deeper frown. “Probably… If he’s still interested after today,” he finally answered, turning and waiting until Remus spelled the door open so he could leave.
Glaring at the now empty doorway, Remus brooded. The stupid white pup was clearly in love with Harry, or damn near on his way, and likely more god damn trouble than worth it. And Harry… well Harry was just so fucking soft about the Malfoy boy, wasn’t he? All syrup and blushes, it was damn near disgraceful. But he was asleep, and sated, and Remus didn’t even have to clean the boy—although he would do some, just to get the fucking white wolf’s scent off his pup.
The prat had been respectful, likely out of a lack of balls than a desire to be kind, but still, Remus was less worried about Harry spending time with the boy… except for all that blushing softness. He needed Harry to be tough and less open to such vulnerabilities. The domestic little white wolf couldn’t protect Harry if they were alone, so Harry needed to be able to protect himself. Which meant toughening up still.
Shaking his head, Remus scooped Harry up, tucking long thin limbs and messy dark hair into some sort of order. Remus would take Harry for a hunt that weekend, and see if that helped get the boy on track.
Harry had avoided Draco Malfoy for days after having woken up without the collar and remembering how the white wolf was really the pale boy in animagus form. He wasn’t quite sure why he was avoiding Draco, especially since Remus had finally given Harry the go ahead to approach him when in need. Every time Harry caught sight of the boy, be it during a meal in the Great Hall, or while trying to not stare at him in potions, Harry’s stomach twisted up and he felt unbearably uncomfortable.
He didn’t want to be embarrassed by how he had behaved with the white wolf, and Harry knew, fucked up as it was, it was not the very sick and depraved things he had so readily done that he was embarrassed about when he caught sight of Draco. No, it was the way it had been so different, so fucking gentle, and caring, and every time Harry let himself think of that, a part of him just felt like it was breaking.
Harry did not enjoy the feeling. He had been happy to finally get ahead of a lot of the confusing, sick feelings that used to plague him about his sexuality. He did not want to add silent tears and strange, delicious softness to the list of things that fucked him up with the sex his body so eagerly craved and desperately needed. Harry decided that the only way around this problem was to get Malfoy to be just as rough and careless as Sirius and Remus always were when filling him. The sweetness was just too difficult to bear.
Harry started stalking the pale boy down. He would catch Draco in corridors and drag him into empty classrooms, pull the boy’s pants down and suck him off in desperate, dirty ways until the Slytherin would use his own nasty mouth to encourage his efforts. Harry kept stalking the boy, kept catching him, until Draco was waiting for him, slamming him into the classroom door instead, pushing Harry down to his knees and fucking his mouth the way he had showed the boy. And then, Harry wasn’t stalking Draco anymore at all, it was the wolf following him around, the pale boy growling lowly before he struck, until Harry found he spent most of his days looking around, wondering when Draco would hunt him down and take his mouth and hopefully, the rest of him.
Malfoy kept hesitating, as if it was a line just too messed up to cross. Harry couldn’t understand it, having crossed far worse lines with much less trepidation. But Malfoy wouldn’t fuck him no matter how much Harry needed it. It wasn’t until a quiet Friday night, when Harry decided he’d had enough and was going to trick the boy, that he found out why.
Draco was walking back from dinner, dressed casually for a change, hands in his pockets as he kicked a small rock down the hall. He caught Harry’s scent before he saw the boy, green eyes peering up through messy fringe, the damn bother waiting in the doorway of an empty room. Potter had that fucked up smile on his face, mildly deranged and all god damn anticipation.
Draco knew he should have just kept walking, should have ignored the slut and gone back to his dorm and finished his homework. Potter made him crazy, plain and simple. He was gorgeous and sexy and so fucked in the head that Draco just lost himself, even when he always felt like shit for it later. Potter wanted weird, fucked up shit, and Draco didn’t, and he knew he never would.
Glancing around to see if they were alone, Harry pushed himself from the doorway, looking Draco over heatedly as he approached. “Hey Malfoy,” Harry whispered, mouth moving over Draco’s earlobe. “You feel like reminding me what that pack of street dogs should do to me? You say it just so nicely…”
Draco glared; the boy was seriously fucked and made Draco regret every god damn mean thing that ever came out of his mouth. Yet, it also seemed to make him damn meaner about it at the same time. “Why don’t you go ask your alpha? I’m sure he and the dog would be happy to show you first hand.”
“Oh, don’t be that way.” Harry licked up the side of Draco’s throat, slipping a hand down the front of the pale boy’s body until reaching his jeans waistband. “I was hoping you might want to show me… and then, maybe the pretty wolf, too…”
Draco inwardly cringed. The wolf was not exactly pleased at the idea. Harry gave off all the right scents and noises that screamed ‘fuck me’ to the simple creature, but other things about Harry, specifically the very deranged, fucked up behavior when he wasn’t wearing the collar, made the wolf think that avoiding the boy all together was the best course of action. Something Draco had been thinking as well, even if he had been having a lot of difficulty following through.
“I don’t have time for the wolf tonight, Potter. I need to study, and once it knots it’s at least an hour,” Draco muttered, trying to extract from the hands currently pulling him towards the empty classroom.
“Mmm… I remember…” Harry said with a lazy smile, managing to get Draco to the other side of the door and closing it behind them. He pulled Draco’s shirt up, running hands over the boy’s back and sides. “How about… just you then? I have been swallowing that long cock of yours for days now, and I would really like to see what you do with it.”
Draco inhaled sharply, one of Harry’s hands somehow past his fly already and wrapping fingers around his hardening length. “Potter… you won’t like how I fuck.”
“Sure I will,” Harry said, eyes alight as he watched Draco’s face and slowly jerked the boy through his pants. “As long as it’s in my ass, you really can’t go wrong.” Harry stepped back, pulling his t-shirt up over his head and throwing it to the ground, followed quickly with his glasses.
As certain as he was that Harry thought that was true, Draco knew that it wasn’t. He had seen Remus go very fucking wrong with the boy while wearing that damn collar, and seeing how Harry really seemed to be looking for similar, Draco had little interest in it. “I’m not a werewolf, or some hardened criminal that spent years in jail. I’m not going to fuck you like them, Potter. I just don’t want to.”
“Then fuck me how you want to,” Harry said with an unconcerned shrug, kicking his shoes off. “Promise, I won’t complain.”
Harry’s jeans were off and Draco was having some difficulty concentrating with the slender, nearly nude boy standing shamelessly in front of him. Was Potter ever not achingly hard? He watched Harry pull his underwear down, impish green eyes catching his as he straightened, that damn deranged grin back. Then Harry was walking around him, hands brushing over Draco’s bulging jeans, before the boy settled on the closed classroom door. Bracing his arms and resting his forehead on the wood, Harry spread his legs wide in offering.
Draco would quite literally have to go through Potter if he wanted to leave, and looking at him, it didn’t seem like a bad compromise at the moment.
Eyes locked on the light toned muscles and soft pale skin of Harry’s form, Draco pulled his own clothes off distractedly.
He could hear Potter panting, see his fingers flex in anticipation, and see sweat just starting to gather at the base of his neck. He reeked of sex, more so with his pants off and loins and glands exposed to spread the scent further. He was also surprisingly free of the foul werewolf scent, something Draco was relieved for. Harry currently had no bruises, and Draco would like to keep it that way.
Harry jerked at the first touch as if expecting it to hurt, Draco’s hand moving over the boy’s shoulder blades softly, and then down, caressing his lower back firmly. Draco wrapped his other arm around Harry’s waist, curling up against the smaller boy’s back with his body, sinking in to the feel of skin on skin. He kissed Harry’s neck, the other shifting away from the soft touch, green eyes peering back at him.
“Come on, Malfoy, put it in me first. I’m fucking dying here.” Groaning, Harry rocked his hips back, trying to impale himself on Draco. Rolling his eyes, Draco slid his hand over Harry’s ass, seeking out his entrance with his fingers.
Harry growled, glaring back at Draco this time. “Don’t fucking bother. Can’t you smell how much I need this? Fuck me.”
“Damn it,” Draco cursed softly, grabbing Harry’s sharp hips, and pushing forward. He tried to go slow, tried to give the boy time to fucking adjust, and not have his damn hot tightness snap Draco in two. But Harry was pushing back desperately, making needy, aching noises of pleasure as Draco plunged into his unstretched hole.
“Oh god… oh god, Malfoy… That’s it… fuck… take me hard…”
“Potter, you said I could fuck you how I wanted to.” Draco growled, opening his eyes to glare at the bowed neck before him. A familiar leather collar was hanging off of Harry’s neck, the boy moments away from clasping it shut. “You fucking—Potter, don’t you dare!”
Harry laughed, demented and taunting, clicking the clasp in place and activating the spell.
The fucking sick ass, deranged mutt, needing another god damn rape fantasy and dragging Draco along for the nightmare. Draco had only a moment to get a huff of ‘I told you so’ from his inner wolf, before Harry swayed, confusion, pain, and fear taking the boy’s body.
Stilling, Draco listened to Harry’s breath change, the small pants of desire turning into quick, terrified gasps for air.
“It’s okay… hush… it’s okay…” Draco murmured into the boy’s neck, having no fucking interest in feeding Harry’s god damn psychosis. “Did you forget again, Harry? Forget where you are… what you’re doing?”
“Oh god, it hurts… please… please take it out…” Harry whimpered, tears slipping down his face. Draco snarled inwardly, so fucking angry at the other version of Harry for ever putting him in this situation—for ever fucking thinking that he would even be into raping the boy. It was the fucking werewolf’s fault, and Black’s too, and Draco was very much ready to make everyone pay for it.
Focusing on the gasping boy in front of him, Draco ran his hands comfortingly up and down his arms. “I’m going to pull it out… tell me if it hurts and I’ll go slower, okay?”
Harry nodded dumbly, then squeaked when Draco started to withdraw. “No—stop—don’t move… I was wrong, don’t move—it’s so much worse…” he choked out, eyes squeezed shut.
“It’s okay… focus on my voice, okay? Just listen to what I’m saying and what my hands are doing, and let your body relax.” Draco kissed the back of the boy’s neck again, running palms over his arms and sides soothingly and doing everything he could to not move and jolt the boy.
Harry’s breathing started to slow, teary green eyes peeking back at him hesitantly. “Malfoy? What… are we…?”
“It’s Draco, Harry. You forget sometimes.” Draco gently wiped the boy’s wet cheeks, his heart breaking at the lost expression on his beautiful face. “But that’s okay. I don’t mind… just relax… and we can stop…”
Harry stared at him, licking his lips thoughtfully. “So you… you like me?”
Wincing inwardly at the absolute vulnerable rawness of the statement, Draco gave a slow nod. “Of course I like you. You don’t do this with someone you don’t like. I like you a lot, Harry.”
“Oh…” A small shudder went through the boy, and suddenly Harry was calmer, head leaning back against Draco’s shoulder, green eyes peering up curiously. “So… I just forgot…?”
“Yes. It happens sometimes,” Draco assured him, watching the boy’s face carefully.
“So… when I wake up sometimes, all bruised…”
Draco shook his head, biting his lip. “No, Harry. I don’t bruise you… I would never hurt you that way…” Harry’s eyes lost focus, dark thoughts swirling in the green depths. “But that’s okay, too. You… uh, you like those friends… and you ask them to do that sometimes…”
Harry blinked back to him, brows furrowed. “I do?”
“That’s what you told me,” Draco said, as truthful as he was willing to be in the situation. “How do you feel right now? Does it still hurt?”
Eyes drifting away, Harry paused. “It feels… it feels…” He trailed off, swallowing hard as he clenched around Draco. “Draco, you’re inside me.” Harry breathed out shakily, making small gasps.
Draco ran fingers down the side of Harry’s sweating face, waiting for the boy to glance back at him. “Is that okay?” He asked, watching Harry closely.
“I… I think it is…” Harry whispered, dark lashes sweeping down. “My uncle told me that it was wrong, unnatural… two men together… But… but it doesn’t feel wrong. Not with you.”
Not sure what to say to that, besides how much he hated his uncle and any man that would make this feel wrong to Harry, Draco leaned forward and kissed the boy’s cheek. “Are you ready to try again?”
“Um, you mean…?”
“To pull out,” Draco added, a small smile forming at Harry’s disappointed look. “You said it hurt a lot.”
“I know… but it feels better now… kind of.” Harry shut his eyes, another shaky breath escaping him and another hard clench. “You feel good inside, even if it hurts a little.”
Breathing deeply, Draco secured his arms around Harry’s chest, holding the boy tight to him and burying his face into his neck. “How about you move the way you want? That way you can tell if it’s too much.”
“Okay…” Eyes falling shut, Harry slowly rocked his hips forward, gasping at the feel of Draco receding slightly within him. “Oh… oh hell…”
“You okay?” Draco asked, slipping his eyes open to watch Harry gape.
“It’s intense… so much…”
“Sorry.” Draco kissed the boy’s neck again, sighing as Harry pushed back into his hips, burying him deep inside again.
“God… no, it’s good… very good…” He said with a whimper, hips again rocking forward, and causing Harry to moan lowly.
Draco breathed deep, trying to keep himself in control. The small gasps and murmurs, so sweet and earnest from Harry lips, were driving him wild. He held himself as still as possible while Harry slowly rode him. Draco was losing though, finding his hips pressing forward when Harry pushed back, which made Harry groan excitedly and only undo Draco’s control more.
“Draco… please… I need… I need…” Mumbling, Harry leaned his head against the door, face turned to the side as he panted. Draco bent forward, running fingers through the boy’s sweaty tangle of hair and kissing his shoulder.
“What do you need, Harry?” He asked, fairly certain he knew the answer already.
“Need you… please…” Harry whispered, eyes seeking his.
“Okay… you tell me if you want me to stop…” Lips brushing against the boy’s ear for a lingering moment, Draco shifted, grasping Harry’s hips and slowly thrusting into the aching boy.
Harry moaned, loudly gasping each time Draco settled inside and brushed the spot that made him tense in agonizing pleasure. Body arching backwards, hands on the door, Harry braced his legs and hips, pushing back into each firm thrust while softly begging for more.
Draco was nearly there when he realized Harry was crying again, tears quietly streaming down the boy’s face. It was very much a mood killer for Draco, even though he was well aware the damn werewolf, and likely his mate, got off on the smaller boy crying.
“Harry… what is it? What’s wrong?” He asked, stilling his movements even though Harry moaned in protest. “Harry, why are you crying?”
Harry blinked back at him, slowly raising his hand to his face and feeling the wetness there. He shook his head, confused. “I don’t know… It was feeling so good… I didn’t think I was sad…” He licked his lips, meeting Draco’s gaze. “I’m not sad. I’m happy… Sometimes I guess I just… cry happy…”
“You’re sure?” Draco wasn’t sure he believed the boy, but Harry was nodding at him in a way that made him think that Harry at least believed it.
Harry pressed back against him, urging him to continue. Eyes downcast, Draco did, kissing up the boy’s neck and trying to distract them both from Harry’s tears. He ran his hands down the front of Harry’s chest, plucking dusky nipples lightly while Harry moaned. Draco reached down further, palm flat over Harry’s navel, reaching to brush fingers against the boy’s aching length.
“Oh fuck… oh, touch it…” Harry begged, hips pushing back, and then forward, into Draco’s hand. “Yes… just like that…” Draco wrapped his fingers tight around Harry’s cock, letting the boy fuck his hand while he thrust into his tightness. Harry was clenching around him, pushing back and moaning softly with each thrust, helping to build the rhythm.
“Please… oh please…” Harry murmured, pushing back determinedly, trying to get Draco in deeper and to stay. “That’s it… yes… oh yes…” He clenched tight around Draco’s thickness, Draco just catching the boy’s expression before Harry cried out a final time, coming all over Draco’s hand.
Harry had gotten unbelievably tight inside, and Draco groaned, holding himself in the hot clench, grinding forward, listening to Harry gasp encouragingly, until he finally gave in, fire exploding through him as he filled Harry.
They lay collapsed on the door, the two a sweaty tangle of thin limbs and pale flesh. Harry was murmuring softly, nearly sweet nothings as Draco panted against his shoulder. Then, eyes catching sight of the collar, Draco spoke. “Harry, I need you to understand something.”
“Hmm?” Harry asked, turning his head slightly, resting it heavily on the door.
“This might not make much sense to you right now, but it will later. As long as you’re wearing that collar, that is the only way I’m ever going to touch you. Ever. And that’s the same for the wolf.”
Blinking, Harry nodded, biting his lip. “Wolf?” He asked, raising his eyebrows.
“You probably don’t remember him. A white wolf that you thought was pretty.” Draco ran fingers up and down the side of Harry’s face, studying him closely. “He likes you just as much, and neither of us want to hurt you, ever. Even if you might want us to. So, as long as you’re wearing that collar, I promise, this is how its going to be. Understand?”
Harry nodded, seemingly more confused but unwilling to voice it. It didn’t matter, since this wasn’t the Harry Draco was talking to, but the broken, demented thing that was outside of the collar and remembered everything that happened.
Because he could, and he wanted to, Draco held Harry close, kissing his neck and resting, waiting for the other boy to decide when it was time to go.
When Harry was like this, the way Draco had known him for the longest time, before Black and Remus and whatever fucked up shit had gotten to the small boy, it was difficult for Draco to let go. He knew it was a problem. Falling for Potter was about the damnedest stupidest thing he could every fucking do, especially now, when the boy would rather be raped than loved.
So Draco prepared himself. Because if Harry didn’t self destruct soon, then Draco likely would, and neither were pleasant options.
Draco was ready for Remus when the werewolf approached, only hours after Draco had finally left Harry in the empty classroom, collar still around his neck. The man was furious, standing outside the Slytherin common room, pacing in the narrow dungeon hallway while he waited for Draco to answer the portrait’s call.
“You wanted to see me, professor?” Draco asked, shutting the door behind him so no one would listen in. His politeness seemed to offend Remus more than anything, the man glaring daggers and clenching his fists.
“What did you do to him?” Remus snarled, taking a stalking step towards Draco. Draco held his ground, ignoring the way his heart raced at the smell of werewolf and anger.
“Nothing that would have hurt him,” Draco answered evenly, meeting the angry glare with one of his own. “Which is a fuck more than you can say.”
“Bullshit, you stupid pup! He was fucking crying. He doesn’t do that.” Remus took another step to tower over him, Draco trapped with the wall half a foot behind him.
“Oh, so now you suddenly care that he cries? Some human sensibility get its way into your damn deranged animal head of yours?” Draco snapped back. “He wanted me to force him. I refused. That he’s crying about it suggest something a lot more fucked up than either of you seem to realize.”
“Fucking hell—well its not a god damn problem now, is it?” Remus growled, throwing something at Draco’s chest. Draco caught it reflexively, raising it to his face and glancing so as not to let his guard drop around the enraged werewolf. It was the leather collar, chewed and bitten to pieces.
“The pup chewed it—took it off, seemed okay for a while and then suddenly started crying all quiet at me. When I asked him what was wrong, he turned into the dog and chewed the collar, and now won’t turn back. He won’t talk to me, just fucking sulking—I don’t know what to do!”
Draco fisted the scraps of collar, shoving them in his pocket before Remus could think to take them back and try to repair the blasted thing. “Here’s a thought; try not to fuck him while he’s like this,” Draco snarled, pushing the man out of his face and walking past so he wasn’t trapped. Remus made as if to swing at him, but Draco slipped around, pulling a necklace free from his shirt.
The silver chain glinted in the low torchlight, and Remus stayed where he was, his glare intensifying.
“I did not come here to fight. Just to understand,” the werewolf said more calmly, his rage kept in check.
“Can you even, Lupin? Are you even fucking capable?” Draco asked, running a hand through his hair in agitation.
“I know he’s broken, boy!” Remus yelled. “That’s not new news. His muggles fucked him up and he had no one to protect him. I’m trying the best that I can to give him some affection and stability. But I’m—”
“Fucked in the head, like all of your god damn kind. You think what you’re doing with him is affection? What Black does to him? That collar, was that fucking affection?” Draco sneered, his silver eyes piercing.
Remus took a long breath, looking away. “That’s different. If you weren’t such a prissy thing, you would understand. He needs it, begs for it, and this is how we enjoy it. It’s just wild nature, something you know little about.”
“I know about nature, Lupin, real nature and not that fucking evil beast in your head. That’s why you can’t fucking stand me—I’m not abnormal like you and it pisses you off.” Draco said knowingly, staring the man down. “You like to hurt him—you get off on it. He might be designed in a way to get off on it too, but don’t kid yourself into thinking it’s actually good for him. He has the body of your pack bitch, but he still has the mind of a god damn human boy. You might have understood that, before you got sucked into his heat and let the twisted wolf rule you.”
Remus snarled and began to pace, heavy hand slamming against the wall as he walked. “You arrogant, self righteous pain in the ass pup. I never should have let him near you—fucking knew it was trouble the moment he started making eyes at you.”
“Oh, believe me, I fucking avoided it as long as possible,” Draco growled back.
“Well, it’s bloody done. And you’re going to help me,” Remus said, turning on his foot and stalking back. “Help me get him to talk. Fix the damn boy.”
Draco snorted, about ready to hit the fucking imbecile across the castle. “You don’t just fucking fix people. And if he wants to talk, he has to actually choose to do it. You can’t force that, just the same fucking way you shouldn’t have forced him.” He ignored the warning growl, narrowing his eyes back.
“Let him sulk. Let him bitch and cry and do whatever it is he needs to do. And if you earned any trust from him, and he goes to talk to you, don’t fucking make him regret it. Just listen, and agree, and let him be.”
“Damn it, Malfoy, just talk to the boy!”
“Lupin, people don’t fix other people’s problems. They can only fix their own. If he wants to talk to me, I’ll gladly listen. But I’m not sticking my nose where its not wanted. I’ve got homework to do, so if you’ll excuse me, get the fuck out of my hallway.”
It was clearly not the answer Remus had been looking for when he had come down there, but it was the only one Draco was willing to give, considering the circumstances. The man eventually left, and Draco returned to his room, to brood and not finish his homework.
It was nearly a week before Remus approached Draco again, the man drained of anger and full of plain worry. He caught Draco outside of the Great Hall doors, right after dinner.
“Please.”
“Pardon?” Draco stopped short, not expecting to find the man there, never mind looking so desperate. He frowned, glancing towards the windows. “Shouldn’t you be… not near people right now?” Draco asked, referring to the oncoming full moon.
“I have to go, and I need someone to watch him. Not much time left…” Remus bent over, panting heavily. There was a sheen of sweat on the man’s face to go with his sudden pallor.
Frowning, Draco took a look around, trying to think of any excuse that could get him out of babysitting for the werewolf. “I thought I smelled Black return. Can’t he do it?”
Remus shook his head, looking like he was about to throw up. “He’s helping me tonight. Harry—he hasn’t eaten… can’t be alone…” Remus waved him down the hall, walking unsteadily while Draco huffed and followed. “I’ve been trying to give him space… just, he’s not coming out of it.”
Draco shrugged, biting his lip and trying not to worry about the boy. “Only because of the moon. I don’t want to be your excuse for infecting or murdering the entire student body.”
“How generous,” Remus muttered, but any edge in his voice was lightened by his grunt of pain.
Harry was hiding under Remus’s bed, Padfoot pointed towards the gap with his face, whining softly at the darkness beneath. When Remus and Draco stepped in, the large dog jumped up, Sirius appearing and standing fluidly. “Finally. You never should have waited this long, Remi.”
Remus waved at him dismissively. “Harry, love, the wolf is here. We’ll be back in the morning, don’t worry. I have—damn!” Remus clutched his side, nearly falling to his knees.
Sirius quickly grabbed his mate, glaring at Draco briefly before hauling Remus’s arm over his shoulder. “Harry, we’re leaving. Food, juice, bed—you know the drill. Try and keep your chin up, pup.” They didn’t say goodbye to Draco, shutting the door behind them as Sirius dragged Remus out the door.
Scratching his head in annoyance, Draco looked slowly around the dingy room that reeked of werewolf and dog. It was cluttered with books and papers, and very much worn and as rumpled as the werewolf appeared. Somewhat cozy, but not by much, feeling more run down and tired at the moment with half eaten dinner on the table and Black’s boots muddied by the door. Actually, it was down right domestic.
He could smell Harry under the bed, in dog form, and having been there a long time. Draco didn’t know if it was true the boy wasn’t eating, but it seemed he wasn’t moving much, if anything. “Sorry to intrude, Potter. I’ll be out of your fur soon enough, so don’t mind me.” Focusing on a rather dusty armchair, Draco decided it was safe enough, smelling more of Harry than of Remus. He settled down, huffing and burying his head in his hands.
Harry was whining softly, small little thumps sounding as the dog whipped its tail against the floor. Draco sighed, lowering his hands to look towards the sound. A narrow chocolate colored face with bright green eyes peered out from under the bed, whining inquiringly. Potter looked nearly a wolf, Alsatian with sharp dark features. His fur was ruffled, creating fluffy points to the sides of his face. Licking his tongue out and wetting his nose, Harry gave another whine, tail thumping again.
“What?” Draco asked, raising a brow. More whining and tail thumping retorted back, and with a sigh, Draco got down to the floor and knelt in front of the fluffy, dark dog. He reached his hand out, Harry licking him in greeting. “You hungry, Potter?”
Harry whimpered, wiggling a little further out from under the bed, pushing his head into Draco’s hand. Rolling his eyes, Draco settled on the floor, petting the smooth head, tangling in the silky chocolate fur and combing. The dog was too thin, and maybe dehydrated by the look of it. “I can’t imagine you want to see me… Pretty sure I’m the last person you would want to see after everything that happened.”
Feeling somewhat stupid for talking to a dog that was very likely not going to answer back, Draco stopped, instead scratching Harry behind the ear while the dog sighed contently and closed its eyes. Watching him long moments, Draco decided being furry was much easier than being human at that moment, and with a shrug of bones and skin, melted into his wolf form.
Harry gave a happy yip to see the white wolf, tail again thumping on the floor. Sniffing the dog’s face politely, Draco gave a small lick to the dark snout and curled up beside the smaller dog, More wiggling later, and Harry’s head was sprawled back and up against Draco’s tall side, the dog giving a soft whine before closing his eyes again in rest.
Life as a wolf was much simpler. Draco had never realized just how still he was inside until finishing his animagus training in secret. The wolf gave him confidence and a deep understanding he had never had as just a confused young man trying to understand the war his parents were fighting.
Humans complicated things unnecessarily. They hurt others because they hurt, wanted things they had no right to have, and spent a lot of needless time thinking of themselves and figuring out their value. The wolf knew its value, because it understood the order of nature. He lived because thats what living things did, and he would one day die, because that was also what living things did. He would kill to live, and play to enjoy the life he already was living. And when the wolf mated, the way it wished to with the bizarre chocolate mess next to him, it was also a simple thing, because love was simple when humans weren’t involved.
But the chocolate dog was a mess, half starved and in need of water and comfort. And worse, the creature had done it to itself, for some reason refusing to enjoy the life it had. As a human it was very easy for Draco to say the foolish thing needed to figure things out on its own, but as a wolf, the creature wanted to add its companionship and help remind the young dog that life was not a lonely existence. So, after a few friendly licks to Harry’s furry face, Draco closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift, just enjoying the company.
When the wolf awoke again, Harry was human, half hidden in his white fur as the boy sipped a glass of juice and hugged him. Huffing air in greeting, Draco closed his eyes while Harry petted his face and leaned into him and called him pretty names.
“I’m glad you came by, Malfoy… I thought maybe you didn’t like me anymore…” Harry whispered into the fur around his neck. Draco licked at the hand petting him, reassuring that he very much still liked Harry, even if the boy was rather messed up. “Good boy, you lovely, gorgeous thing…” Harry murmured, running fingers over Draco’s brows and snout gently.
“Just… don’t hate me… I shouldn’t have done what I did… it was wrong… I just… I needed it to not be wrong to be able to keep going… I’m sorry… I’m really, really sorry…”
Whining, Draco turned his head, lapping at Harry’s face to reassure the boy that he was worrying over nothing. He wasn’t angry, not anymore, just really concerned. Harry smiled crookedly and thankfully not deranged, glasses going astray. He fixed them in place, his smile disappearing as he looked into Draco’s watching eyes. “It was… it was actually nice that you did what you did… I… I didn’t know how, I guess… Didn’t know how to say okay to one thing, but no to another, when my body just acted like it was all the same thing.”
Harry looked away, petting the soft fur he was leaning against absentmindedly. “And… you showed me that part of why it felt the way it had been was because I was scared a lot still… even without the collar… I had a lot of terror every time with Remus and Sirius… It made things very intense, but… wrong. And I didn’t understand that…” Sighing heavily, Harry buried his face into Draco’s side and stayed there, breathing deep.
“Don’t know what to do… Don’t know how to tell them… Hell—I don’t even know if they’ll care.”
Nuzzling into him, Draco managed to get the boy out from his fluff enough to lick his face reassuringly, rewarded by Harry’s quiet chuckles. Harry wrapped his arms tight around his neck, eyes closing again.
“It’s easier as a dog… Not so complicated… not so many fucked up feelings inside…” Harry breathed hot air, pressing closer and muffling his words into the thick fur. “You’re very pretty as a wolf, Draco… and as a person, handsome that is… I really want you to like me, and I hope I didn’t ruin everything with that collar thing…”
When the boy seemed intent to stay lost in his fur again, Draco gave him a gentle nip and knowing look once green eyes met his. “Fine, I’m being stupid… I’m entitled…” Harry muttered, then smirked as he was licked again.
Draco got to his feet, half dragging Harry until the boy let go of his neck. Moving to the small table, Draco pointed his head towards the dinner plates and whined. Harry got up, swaying unsteadily, grabbing onto Draco’s form when close enough. There was a covered dish, a warming spell placed on it waiting for him just in case Harry finally decided to eat. The boy picked the plate up along with a fork and sat back down on the floor, the wolf lying beside him and nosing curiously at the food.
Harry took small bites, sharing with Draco, who found very little but the chocolate pudding of much interest. And then Harry hunkered down in his fur again, twirling the fluff between his fingers as he sighed soft sighs and smiled sleepily.
The wolf awoke when the two men returned, Remus healed by Sirius but still exhausted from the moon as the taller man dragged him in, removed his clothing and put him to bed, dawn just rising outside. Harry was still cuddled up against Draco’s side, the boy’s light upper body cradled by his fur and likely to fall flat to the floor if Draco moved. Which was the only reason why he stayed still when Sirius, finished with Remus, loomed over him and started glaring.
“Look at you, you bloody pure white thing. Don’t you just scream arrogant. I don’t know what you did to him, but you left him in a damn mess, and then you didn’t bother to come back to clean it up. You’re lucky Remus has final say, otherwise I would have castrated you, you damn self important wolf.”
Draco raised his head, glaring back and growling lowly. It was hardly his fault what had happened to Harry, but the foolish, abnormal werewolf and its mate’s standing before him. Harry shifted, murmuring something and wrapping an arm tighter around Draco’s neck. Draco stopped growling, turning his head to lick at the boy’s face before settling down again. Fuck Black, no one cared what he thought anyways.
Eyes drawn to Harry’s human and resting face, Sirius’s anger faded a bit, the man raking his dark hair as he crouched to make sure Harry was okay. He glared at Draco when the wolf opened his eyes and huffed, but then turned his attention to making sure Harry was well. He had been hiding under the bed for nearly a week, so Remus had told him. Sirius had come back for the moon, knowing his mate would need his companionship during such a difficult time. Finding Harry sulking and apparently fucking the damn annoying Slytherin prat had been two very nasty surprises waiting at his return.
Harry was too thin again, but breathing evenly, clothes a mess and in need of changing. Satisfied the boy wasn’t going to die anytime soon, Sirius stood again and began cleaning up the plates from last evening, tidying the small place so Remus wouldn’t wake to a mess. Satisfied things were in a fair enough order, he gave in to his own exhaustion, stripping and slipping into bed beside Remus with a tired sigh.
It was around noon when Harry roused, using the small connecting bathroom and having a glass of water to take the fuzz out of his head. He gave the pretty white wolf a pet, and then went to the bed where Remus and Sirius were sleeping, staring contemplatively at the two men. They were much softer in sleep, although Sirius had gotten better since being around them, and Remus was always calmer after the moon when the werewolf had the weakest influence.
A blue eye peeked out at him, and Sirius’s gruff voice followed as he beckoned with his hand. “Come on, pup. Tell me what happened.”
Crawling up the bed between the two, Harry settled, sighing from the warmth, familiar scents, and press of flesh. He turned so he could face Sirius, biting his lip as he tried to explain the feelings he was still having difficulty fully understanding himself.
Sirius waited patiently, running fingers through Harry’s hair while carefully setting the boy’s glasses aside on the small nightstand so they wouldn’t get mangled. “Remi told me you didn’t like the collar anymore.”
Harry nodded slowly, trying to read the man’s face to see if he was angry. His wild blue eyes were much less wild lately, now just stunning and currently concerned. “I… Every time, I’ve been afraid that you were going to hurt me. The collar… the collar made it so I didn’t have to wonder anymore.”
Sirius sighed, a long exhalation of breath through his nose that ruffled Harry’s hair while the man thought. “Part of why we like to hurt you, Harry, is because we thought you really, actually enjoyed it. Except for the first times—That was something I shouldn’t have done. The prison twisted me and Paddy, and I hurt you, and I’m very sorry. Erasing your memory didn’t mean it was okay to do that. You smelling the way you did, didn’t mean it was okay either. I’m not like that anymore, so you don’t have to be afraid, love.”
“I know…” Harry bit his lip harder, feeling stupid and confused that Sirius had thought it had been about how he had first woken up.
“Siri, it wasn’t just your and Remi’s fault that I had so much fear… I had the fear for so long whenever I even thought of sex. It was my uncle and my aunt, and everyone that ever made it as if not being like them meant I was nothing…” Harry sighed, eyes blinking down at the sheets. “So, the collar helped me feel like something… Like… as long as someone was forcing me to feel those feelings—punishing me for them—instead of me admitting they were from inside, I was still an okay person for being the way I was.
“I had liked boys for a while… and had thought about… thought about dogs… and thought there was something very wrong with me,” Harry mumbled lowly.
“But pup, there is nothing wrong with you. You’re a wonderful, brilliant person, and those idiot muggles didn’t know a god damn thing about anything so wonderful as you.” Voice full of rough compassion, Sirius wrapped his hand around the back of Harry’s neck, letting his fingers curl comfortingly.
Harry just shrugged at the thought of him being anything wonderful. “Draco showed me that… that it was okay to feel those feelings when I was wearing the collar. That it was okay to like those things… He showed me that I wanted someone to care about me when touching me… And… it was really sad, Siri.” Harry whispered, eyes welling with tears.
“Because I realized I had kept putting the collar on when you and Remus were being nice to me. That I had kept trying to block out just how much the two of you cared and thought I was okay. That was why I had tried to do the same with Draco. Because it was just easier to be scared and think I was a freak…
“And… and even now, I’m scared that anyone cares about me, and that I might not just be nothing. I’m scared to be something. It’s really fucked up.”
Sirius sighed, bowing his forehead to Harry’s, letting the boy cry silently. “It’s okay, pup… I promise… it’s gonna be okay…”
Remus stirred behind him, having been listening quietly, running his hand over Harry’s back and shoulders comfortingly. “We’re all a little fucked up, pup. And we care about you greatly, even if we don’t always show it proper. As long as you’re willing to share these things, we can help you.”
Remus rested his chin on Harry’s shoulder, meeting Sirius’s eyes. “Granted, I blame myself for not having figured it out… You kept wearing the thing, more and more. Even when alone.”
Harry nodded, eyes downcast. “It uh… I needed to remember just how bad it was… I was… for liking it… I was forgetting, enjoying myself, and I needed to be able to remember it was wrong.”
Remus winced while Sirius growled at him. “Yes, well… complexes like that can be cleaned up after a bit, Harry. We’ll just all have to work on it. What you are, and what you like is perfectly fine. It might not be ‘normal,’ but hell, you’re a god damn wizard, pup. You were never going to be normal anyways. Always, always you had to be spectacular on some level,” Remus murmured into Harry’s shoulder.
Spectacular also seemed like too good of a word to Harry. Sighing, he wiggled back into Remus’s embrace, pulling at his t-shirt until the man removed it and held him tight while the three of them rested long moments.
Sirius plucked at the boy’s fringe, Harry’s eyes finally dry, face less pulled down in its frown. He rubbed at the boy’s cheek with his thumb until finally a small smile began to appear, tugging at the corner of Harry’s red mouth.
Harry had never shared something so personal before with them. Small things, yes, like some of the things the Dursleys had done to the boy, locking him away when he wasn’t ‘right,’ making him feel like his existence had been a burden on them—that to clothe and feed him was just too much of an expense that they had barely bothered the attempt. If the boy owned a thing of his own, it was magical, because the Dursleys hardly thought a moment of him for muggle things.
Who had Harry gone to before Sirius and Remus to talk about such things? There had been no one. No one to listen, and certainly no one to accept him how he was. When Sirius was young, there had been James, and Remus, and even Peter. Harry hadn’t even opened up to his friends, his problems somehow seeming too big for children to handle.
Which brought him to the Malfoy boy… and the annoying realization that the little prat had been good for Harry.
Somehow the pale boy and his wolf had been able to behave human while dealing with the damn powerful heat that Harry created in anything remotely canine. Maybe it was because Remus and Sirius had been used to giving in to the base urges concerning sex, and had ignored how young Harry still was emotionally. Or maybe the damn Slytherin was more objective because of the other feelings Remus had mentioned the boy having for Harry.
“So, the white thing really helped you with all this?” Sirius asked, fighting the frown twisting the corners of his lips down.
“Yeah…” Harry smiled secretively, then met Sirius’s gaze. “I really like him, Siri. And… and I think he might really like me.”
Sirius’s frown deepened, and the man sighed heavily. “It’s always going to be your choice, love. He’s less annoying all furry, anyways.”
“Oh he is… very good furry…” Harry agreed, flush rising up his face at the memory.
Breathing in sharply, Sirius peeked over Remus’s shoulder, meeting his mate’s golden gaze. “As a wolf?”
Remus licked his lips, and then licked the back of Harry’s neck. “He wouldn’t shut up about it for days after. Right Harry? He was big, and—”
“Slow with me… really slow, and gentle, and big.” Harry said, lips parting to pant. “It was so good, Siri. So fucking good inside me… He got me so wet, and full…”
“You like that, don’t you?” Sirius whispered hoarsely, leaning forward to kiss Harry’s lips, tongue dipping in and tasting as the boy groaned and opened for him. “You like furry cock, all silky and swelling the way it does.”
“Yes… I really do…” Harry admitted hesitantly, eyes bright and full of want. “Especially when I’m human, and I can feel how the fur is against me… and how big it gets inside… oh fuck… how long… how long he fucks me… over and over again… won’t let me go until he’s had all he wants from me…”
Remus growled behind him, large hands suddenly pulling at Harry’s jeans, tearing at his fly and pushing pants and underwear down the boy’s thighs. “Harry… I want to fill you…” He bit Harry’s ear, hands moving up the boy’s sides and pulling him back against him even more.
“Please… please do…” Harry moaned, pushing back. “Need to feel it again… to feel good…”
Sirius stopped him, hands over Remus’s. “Is it going to be good, Harry? After everything we’ve been talking about?”
Harry nodded, leaning forward to kiss the man. “It’s going to finally be good, Siri.”
“Even though we’re not slow, love?’ Sirius insisted, trying not to give in to the teeth nipping at his jaw. “We can’t be gentle, pup… just don’t have it in us…”
“I don’t want you to be gentle. I want him to be gentle, because that’s the way he is… And you two, you need to be the way you are with me, so that I can be the many ways I am, and learn to feel okay about it,” Harry finished barely above a whisper, biting Sirius’s lower lip, until the man relented and let go of Remus’s hands, quickly helping to get Harry’s pants all the way off.
Sirius kissed down Harry’s throat and chest while Remus stretched the boy, Harry whimpering in absolute bliss from the feel of teeth on his nipples and his hole being roughly loosened with thick fingers.
“Siri—oh… oh!” Harry gasped, the man biting him sharply at the thin skin at the base of his throat, and then again, finding the muscle connecting to his shoulder and clamping teeth. Remus joined, biting Harry’s other shoulder, firmly dragging teeth in and massaging the muscle with their strong jaws while Harry wailed and shook.
There was a concerned whine, and Harry managed to pry his eyes open, waving in a reassuring manner as the white wolf peeked up over the bed at him, silver eyes regarding him heatedly. Harry gaped, Sirius readjusting to bite him again, and Remus shoving another finger into him, three filling his clenching hole thickly. Right now, Harry was pretty sure nothing had ever felt so good than to have two strong, hot and loving bodies pressing to him and doing such terrible, wonderful things. Not to mention, the sweet white wolf watching, seeing Harry so thoroughly debauched.
“Need you, Harry…” Remus growled, reaching up beneath the boy’s thighs to pull his thin leg up, raising his knee as he pushed the head of his cock to Harry’s ass. “Was so worried… and now… now I need to show it…”
Harry murmured something agreeable, Sirius currently licking down his chest again, heavy hands roughly helping to push Harry back into Remus’s hips. “Oh… oh god, Remus…” Head thrown back, Harry moaned loudly, the large man pushing into him in short, hard thrusts until fully buried inside, Harry’s channel clenching possessively around his cock.
“That’s it, Harry… take him in,” Sirius murmured hoarsely, moving down Harry’s body to lick the boy’s sweaty navel with his wide tongue, and press hands over his spread thighs. He brushed fingers closer, teasing at where Remus was stretching Harry wide, Remus grunting from the feel as Harry moaned again.
“Siri, quiet the boy up, hmm?” Remus muttered, waiting for Sirius to withdraw and kiss Harry bruisingly. Harry sufficiently gagged, Remus began to pump into the small boy, the angle forcing him to be slower than normal, but still allowing him to reach deep, pulling Harry’s hips back with each long push.
Sirius swallowed most of the gasping cries, the man very much in love with Harry’s sweet tasting mouth and all the many things it could do. Currently it was dripping, saliva streaming down while Sirius twisted the boy’s tongue with his own. He bit Harry’s lip, pulling firmly, letting it pop from his teeth just to nip it again until it was sore and swollen. “Fucking tasty, little slut…” Sirius groaned, pulling away to give Remus enough room to roll, and pin Harry into the mattress
Head lost in the pillows, Harry turned his face best he could against the softness, until Sirius grabbed the damn thing so the boy could breathe. He then shoved it under Harry’s hips, giving the boy a bit more leverage and something yielding for his aching cock to rub into while Remus rode him hard and demandingly.
“Oh god… oh fuck… oh—” Harry was cut off, Sirius’s thick fingers clamping over his mouth, keeping him from the very loud cries the boy was well known for at this point. It wasn’t a problem in a properly warded room, but Remus didn’t usually fuck the boy in his quarters, saving that for the Shrieking Shack, and sometimes his classroom, where they were less likely to have teachers stopping by to talk.
Harry didn’t mind, tongue pressing into the taste of Sirius’s fingers and the texture of the rough hand, letting his cries loose inside, and having his hot breath bounce back across his face. He listened instead to Remus’s loud grunts in his ear, and the way their flesh was slapping each time he slammed in. And then Harry didn’t hear anything at all, fire rushing through his entire body as Remus reached the right angle and began hitting his prostate with each blow.
Remus came with a strangled cry, Harry clenching so tight around him when he orgasmed that he had no choice but to slam in and stay in while the boy bucked and writhed. Body heaving and sweat soaked, he rolled off, collapsing on the bed to pant while Sirius took his spot behind Harry.
Biting up the boy’s neck while he positioned himself, Sirius removed his hand from Harry’s mouth, seeing if he was in a less loud state. Harry groaned softly, pushing back against him, trying to get Sirius to continue as the boy rose to his hands and knees. “Come on, Siri… fucking need you in me…” he whimpered, loving the way Remus’s cum was dripping out of him and down his thighs.
“I know you do, Harry… I know what you need, when you need it…” Sirius assured him roughly, holding the boy still so he couldn’t push onto him just yet. He slid his fingers down Harry’s thighs, scooping up the white slick and bringing it to Harry’s mouth. The boy moaned, opening to the fingers to taste Remus and his insides and feel filthy in an amazingly good way.
Then Sirius wiped it on the boy’s face, over his cheeks and chin, scooping more to get Harry’s neck and leaving spots on his nipples while Harry jerked from each touch. “Almost ready, little slut… almost dirty enough for me to fill you…”
“Oh god… fuck, Siri, just do me…” Harry gasped, but Sirius wasn’t done, fingers digging into Harry’s hole to get more of Remus’s cum, just to rub it over his pert ass and tight cheeks. Harry shuddered, another loud moan just starting to break free when Sirius clamped his hand over his mouth again.
“That’s it… that’s the right noise, bitch… Now spread those legs wide and let’s see how you feel, hmm?”
Harry did as he asked, knees sliding on the mattress while Sirius curved over his back, the large man holding Harry steady with a hand on his hip. Sirius pushed in slowly, nipping at Harry’s neck, urging the boy to clench around him, his channel tightening for him. “Good boy… good little slut… Make it nice and tight for me…”
Harry whimpered in the constricting hand, feeling maddened at this point, trying to push back into Sirius’s body but to no avail. He needed fucking, moving—needed it moving inside him, and Sirius was deliberately being resistant, teasing him like he always did, drawing it out for Remus to watch, and now the pretty white wolf who had yet to stop its intent gaze.
Oh, Harry hoped the wolf would have him too. Hoped Draco would want to join in after his pack was tired of him, which the men usually were for at least a good hour after the first round, leaving Harry in agonizing need during that time.
Sighing in his ear, Sirius pulled out and then thrust hard into Harry, Harry crying out into the hand around his mouth. Sirius liked to make sure Harry felt it sometimes, liked to ream in hard between moments of quiet, just to make sure Harry didn’t miss any movement of the hard dick inside him. It was delicious agony, and Harry gave in to it, eyes closing while sweat dripped down his face, each thrust wonderful torment.
“So fucking tight, pup… how the fuck do you do that?” Sirius muttered, hips slamming forward faster, unable to hold back as he built up speed.
“He sure fucking is,” Remus agreed, having caught his breath enough to turn over and watch, his hand cupping Sirius’s ass, and then slapping hard.
“Fuck, Remi!” Sirius gasped, eyes closing from the pain, hips jolting forward.
“You know you like it, Black,” Remus growled, moving to grab the man’s strong hips and lick a line up his ass crack.
“Didn’t… say… I didn’t…” Sirius moaned, his motions slowing to accommodate what Remus was doing with his tongue, much to Harry’s distress. Then Remus was pushing fingers into him, unrelenting, Sirius jolting forward with each thrust, trying to figure out if it would be better to gag Harry or himself right now as he groaned loudly.
“Come for me, baby, I know you want to. Fucking fill that tight, slutty hole with your hot cum and show me who you belong to,” Remus growled, mounting Sirius with his half hard erection and pushing in, Sirius bending forward over Harry, grabbing the mattress with both hands, and releasing Harry’s and his moans at the same time.
“Fuck Remi… my god… yes…”
“Hurry Siri… fucking listen to your alpha,” Remus taunted, smacking the man again on his ass, and damn him, Sirius fucking did as he was told, body tensing as he came in Harry’s clenching hole, grinding the boy forward while they both yelled in release.
Grinning wickedly, Remus extracted himself from his beautiful mate, giving a farewell lick to his hole. Stretching his arms over his head, he walked nude around the fluffy white beast watching hungrily, and went to make breakfast while Harry and Sirius collapsed on the bed.
“Siri… you’re heavy…” Harry complained, wiggling beneath the man’s sweaty, hard body.
“I know pup, and you’re going to have to deal with it,” Sirius said gruffly, unable to move just yet. “My god… that man of mine…”
Harry sighed, not the first time he had been stuck underneath one of the two men. Once, under both of them, but they had been kind to move quick enough, the combined weight unbearable. “Siri… I’m not done…”
“Mmm… fine, fine, you inexhaustible slut. Go ride the wolf,” Sirius grumbled, rolling slowly and laying out spent as he caught his breath.
Harry sat up dizzily, crawling down the bed to where the pretty white wolf was staring at him. Draco gave a soft whine, and Harry smiled, leaning down to let him lick his face. And then he gasped, remembering just what was on his face as the slippery tongue began cleaning him intently.
Harry moved down to the floor, not wanting to deal with the wolf’s legs and the soft mattress. He giggled, Draco licking everywhere he could reach, cleaning intently all the hard work the two men had left to dirty Harry with. “Oh… oh that’s nice, Draco… oh yeah…” Harry murmured, eyes half closed, Draco licking up his stomach where Harry had left his own release to sit and cool.
Harry wrapped his arms around the wolf’s neck, kissing him on the nose, opening to the persistent tongue and licking back. If Remus tasted like chocolate, and Sirius like peppermint, Draco definitely tasted like honey, warm and sweet and very addictive. And still, very intent on cleaning Harry, moving to the bruises on his shoulder, swiping down his chest and nipples, stomach and cock and then between his dripping thighs and balls.
Moaning shakily, Harry spread his legs and raised his knees, helping the nosing wolf get closer and deeper with its pink tongue. Harry bent forward, petting the lovely face, tangling fingers into its fur and holding Draco there as he licked around his hole with short swipes. It was a ritual Harry was definitely enjoying, but he wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to handle much more of it.
Gently pushing the wolf away, tongue again swiping over Harry’s face a moment, Harry turned, trying to get to his knees while leaning on the bed. The wolf started licking up his back and Harry whimpered, falling heavily to sit while Draco continued cleaning him, his skin feeling very hot all over with each swipe. “Draco… hell… I can barely move…” Harry groaned, feeling very dizzy as soft fur pressed to his skin and Draco licked down his throat.
“Juice, pup.” Sirius appeared beside him, pressing the cool glass against his sweating face until Harry drank it down. “Don’t wear yourself out too much. You’ve been upset, remember.”
Harry nodded gratefully, the pumpkin juice doing much to restore some energy too him. Sirius took the glass back, returning to his soft conversation with Remus across the room. Harry turned his face over his shoulder, catching silver eyes and smiling, kissing Draco’s nose again. The slippery tongue was instantly on his mouth, stealing away the taste of pumpkin and replacing with Draco’s honey flavor. “Oh… okay… yeah…” Harry moaned, sinking against the bed and giving in to the determined tongue once again.
Harry started to stretch, pushing up the side of the bed, tensing his thighs and enjoying how good it felt. Draco moved down his back again, tongue following his spine, licking over Harry’s ass cheeks and nipping one lightly. At his yelp, Harry heard Remus mutter a silencing spell in the background, and then he didn’t notice much of anything, besides Draco’s tongue deep in his hole, hot and slippery and so damn determined to clean him.
“Draco… please… please…” Harry moaned, grasping the sheets in front of him and pushing back into the scalding breath moving over and in him. “God, it aches—fucking aching for you…” The wolf gave a soft whine, and just continued his licking, tormenting Harry with each slippery swipe of tongue, and hard nudge of nose.
“I need you… oh god… please, Wolfie… please, give it to me…” Harry begged, rocking his hips back and forth in invitation.
Draco gave a particularly loud grunt, swiping goodbye to Harry’s thighs and slowly climbing up the boy’s back. Harry whimpered in anticipation, soft fur encompassing his body and flesh, the smell of wolf, and sex, and Draco so strong in the air until Harry felt completely lost in the wolf.
Harry began to gasp softly, feeling just how ready Draco was for him, shots of fluid already splattering where ever the wolf’s dick pointed as it tried to line itself to Harry’s entrance. “Oh god… oh my god…” And then it was pressing at his hole, rocking just at the entrance, pushing in somehow slow as Draco managed to hold back even now, even while splattering him with little jolts of hot precum. Harry couldn’t remember having felt so much suspense for anything in his life, his hips twitching as he waited, fucking waited for the wolf to do what wolves did, and fuck him senseless.
The white wolf licked Harry once, around his throat and shoulder, and then surged forward, Harry howling in surprise and relief as finally Draco began to thrust into him, wild, jerking thrusts that shook his entire body. Panting, mouth hanging open as loud moans escaped him, Harry grabbed tighter to the sheets, pushing back, trying to get the already swollen knot to fit into him and fill him like he so desperately craved.
“Fuck… fuck… too big… damn it… damn…” Harry gave a soft sob, the fucking knot already so large, and his hole again having done its tightening trick, not wanting to let it in. He kept pushing back, meeting each hard thrust, body sweating at the exertion, but to no avail. Draco whined in his ear, trying to reassure him, but Harry was aching so bad for more. “Please… please, I need it… fuck… please…”
Sirius was suddenly beside him, pulling Harry’s face up while he groaned in desperation. “Calm down, love… You’re only going to get tighter doing that.” He stroked the boy’s face reassuringly, glancing at the wolf glaring at him. “Calm down, and give Malfoy a chance to transform. If he’s good enough, he can slide home and be back to furry, all in a moment. I’ve had the problem myself, and it works.” Stepping away again, Sirius nodded his head at the wolf, showing he was done interrupting.
“Draco… can you?” Harry whimpered, trying to slow his desperate movements to some form of calm. And Draco was good enough, because Harry had barely gotten the words out when everything shifted, feeling like the world was spinning, and then Harry was full, so fucking full inside. All he could do was gape, small choked noises breaking free. And then moans, pushing his body back into the renewed thrusts, eyes closed as he shuddered around the delicious, hot cum streaming inside him.
Sirius exchanged glances with Remus, the dark man biting his lip until it bled. Remus grabbed him around the waist, letting Sirius watch while he touched his mate and watched as well. Harry was a fucking fine sight spreading for the wolf, and so god damn enjoying it, head thrown back, fingers clawing against the mattress, eyes shut and mouth wide as he moaned in agony, riding the huge cock tied inside him. And maybe they didn’t dislike Malfoy just so much at that moment, because anyone that could make Harry look like that, and so clearly happy in it, couldn’t be all that bad.
“Oh fuck… oh fuck… gonna… fuck…” A slippery tongue ran across Harry’s mouth in sympathy, Harry gasping around it, his entire body tightening as he came hard. Harry clung desperately to the sheets, trying not to black out, the room spinning as his body shuddered again and again, quaking from the intensity of it all. “Don’t stop…” he insisted to the worried nose nuzzling at him. “Don’t you dare… fucking… stop…”
Huffing, Draco continued his thrusts, licking the boy in long swipes while he did, filling Harry as much as he demanded, and as long as he demanded. Even though the boy was spent, he was clenching around Draco, milking him for more, spurring him on as Harry rested and enjoyed the amazing feeling.
“They can go like that for hours,” Remus murmured into Sirius’s ear, the taller man nodding dumbly. “Did, the last time he knotted. You know how tight the boy can get… probably never lets up the whole fucking time.”
“I remember… fuck…” Sirius whined a very Padfoot whine.
“Keeps him busy… keeps him tired, for a fucking change…”
Sirius nodded again, turning his face to kiss his mate, but didn’t take his eyes from the sight. Harry had started pushing back again, started moaning agreeably and hungrily, and the wolf was nipping in anticipation. “We need to keep him, Remi… I know, he’s a fucking pain, but we need to keep him… This needs to happen all. the fucking. time.”
Remus snorted, but didn’t disagree. “He won’t join a werewolf pack, Siri. He’s a proper wolf.”
“Then we will convince him that being proper isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Fuck, Remi… just fuck… look at them…” Harry was howling again, head turned back to let the wolf lick his mouth ravenously while Draco continued to pound into him.
“I don’t know… The boy doesn’t want to be chained. Well, except to the pup, clearly.”
And even that thought, the idea of Harry mating permanently with the annoying Slytherin prat, was suddenly not rage inducing to Sirius, having seen just how good the two were together physically and emotionally. “Well… we’ll see. I’m sure they’ll know what they want eventually.”
Remus nodded, biting Sirius’s neck sharply and pushing him up against the kitchen table. “Think you can handle another round, Black?”
“With the pup, no,” Sirius said bluntly. “But with you, fuck yes.” Smirking wickedly, Remus pressed up against his lovely, crazy mate, not at all upset when Sirius chose to watch Harry being reamed by the white wolf while Remus reamed him.
Draco had once again run across Harry, the boy relentless in stalking him down, this time waiting till after dinner to find him. Draco knew why, and he wasn’t by any means pleased by it, having avoided Harry twice that day and now caught.
“I already told them both no, Potter.”
“Come on…” Harry whined, green eyes wide and pleading, even thought his smile was bordering on dodgy.
“You know why,” Draco snarled, glaring at the gorgeous nuisance.
“It’s just one time, Malfoy,” Harry insisted, smile widening to full out deranged.
“Yeah, like that’s ever going to fucking happen.” Draco stopped from where he was walking towards the Slytherin common room, Harry blocking his path. “Do I strike you as some sort of bitch, Potter?”
“Oh… I dunno… you are very pretty, Draco,” Harry lowered his lashes, smile changing to sweet as he stepped up to the boy and tried to kiss him.
Draco was having none of it, grabbing Harry by the shirt front and keeping him at arm’s length. “I am not spreading for your fucking alpha to join your pack. It’s a deal breaker and that’s final.”
The deranged look was back in Harry’s eye, and Draco knew he should listen to his wolf and fucking leave before the boy did something terrible and potentially convincing.
“You sure? Even if you could be my mate?”
Draco narrowed his eyes, looking Harry over slowly, his wolf whining in his ear in warning. “What does that even mean, Potter? You’re a fucking pack bitch. I’d have better luck choosing a bag of crisps for a mate—it would be shared less.”
Harry licked his lips, a familiar blush rising on the boy’s face. Draco cursed inwardly and reminded himself that talking mean never worked the right way with Harry anymore. It was also a terrible habit he just couldn’t seem to break himself out of since Harry looked just so sexy like that.
“I could mate with a fucking hat collecting money for charity, and it would pass through fewer hands than you do…” Harry’s eyes widened, and Draco couldn’t help himself. He stepped forward, pushing the boy towards the wall.
“A god damn pack of cigarettes would have less lip sucking action than your fucking hole, Potter,” he muttered, Harry’s heels hitting the wall and forcing the brunette to stop suddenly, hands pressing against the stone behind him as he stared at Draco in wonder. “Every plate in the Great fucking Hall has been eaten off of less than your tight ass has been eaten out of.”
“Whoa… I’m totally writing that one down,” Harry said breathlessly, face tilted up as Draco brushed his nose to his. “Come on, Wolfie… you know you want me…”
“Everyone wants you,” Draco growled lowly, seemingly not able to break away from Harry’s hazy gaze. “Fucking look at you.”
Harry shrugged unconcernedly. “I want you. And sometimes, some other warm, hard bodies that are damn friendly enough to me. But mostly, just you. And, if you were my mate, you could decide if those other hard bodies I was considering are even available.”
Draco huffed, his breath bouncing back at him since he had yet to move from his close proximity to Harry’s mouth. “Except your alpha.”
“Except Remus, yes… and Sirius,” Harry added, his deranged smile returning. “They’re usually a package deal trying to keep me satisfied. And I fucking like it, so too bad.”
“I’m nobody’s bitch, Potter,” Draco stated, remembering again why he was not in any way, shape, or form interested in joining Remus’s pack—or any werewolf pack, for that matter, that insisted on fucking every member that joined.
“Its just one time, Wolfie,” Harry murmured, tongue reaching out to lick Draco’s lips. “And I could wear him out real good beforehand. He’d be lucky if he could lift his finger, never mind his dick once I’m done with him.”
“Not fucking happening,” Draco gritted out, Harry’s tongue trying to slip in and taste him. He grabbed the boy by the face, holding him firm against the wall. Harry started panting in the hold, eyes intent, mouth somehow redder when particularly horny.
“Potter, once I was in your little pack, that sick fuck would have me anytime he fucking wanted—just because he knew he could as my alpha, and because it would fucking piss me off. I’m not falling for it.”
“No he wouldn’t… not if you wore your silver necklace. He can barely stand you as it is—and Siri would be pissed if Remi wasted his energy on anyone besides him, anyways.” Draco did not look convinced and Harry whined, biting his lower lip in a ridiculously adorable plea.
“I don’t like things up my ass, mutt.”
“Hmm… I don’t think you’ve ever actually had anything up your ass, Mr. Prissy,” Harry shot back, smiling widely when Draco blinked and glared, having guessed correctly. “That’s what I thought. All big talk, and very little walk… Although, who’s to say anything could fit around the stick you have permanently lodged up there?” Harry added, his eyebrows wagging lewdly.
Not liking where this was suddenly going, Draco pushed Harry’s face harder into the wall, then rolled his eyes when the boy moaned. It really was impossible to deal with the mutt. Fighting was sex. Talking shit was sex. Fuck, breathing quietly while reading a book was probably sex to Potter. The boy was a goddamn slut, and the idea of being his mate was damn fucking appealing.
“You know, Wolfie, I could always go find that pack of wild dogs you keep talking about, and let one of them pick me for a mate,” Harry taunted silkily. “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind a quick ride with Remi.”
“First of all, Potter, I mentioned the fucking pack of street dogs once—once! And you can’t fucking let it go,” Draco grumbled, licking between his fingers that were currently keeping Harry’s face in place and catching the boy’s lips. “Secondly, if you’re that fucking hard up for dog dick, then by all means. You’ll likely need the whole pack to replace me though, seeing how my pretty white wolf fills you just the fuck enough, and then a fucking couple hours more, for good measure.”
Harry gave a soft whimper at the reminder, tongue reaching out, catching on Draco’s palm and moving between the fingers spread by his mouth. “I didn’t say that, Wolfie. I just said if you didn’t want to be my mate…”
“Did I say I didn’t want to be your mate?” Draco asked lowly, tongue slipping out again and touching the tip of Harry’s lightly.
Harry blinked, eyelashes fluttering as he tried to think back to their conversation, his mind a little addled by the sudden tongues and hand to his face… not to mention Draco’s words of earlier… “I remember something about plates being eaten off of… less than my ass…”
Draco smirked, his hand leaving the boy’s face and moving down to brush Harry’s neck instead, fingers curling lightly as he stroked his throat. “The giant squid doesn’t have enough tentacles to fill the fucking gaping hole in your ass…”
Deranged smile very firmly back in place, Harry snickered, chin tilting up to give Draco more access to his throat as the boy dipped down and licked him.
“The fucking school snitch has been caught less times in its history than you’ve been jerked off… or jerked on, for that matter…”
Harry groaned, eyes closing. “Fuck… okay…”
“Actually, I bet if I were to check your pretty pink hole, I might find that the whole goddamn Gryffindor quidditch team has had a ride in there.”
“Ha… ah… funny, dickhead…”
Draco raised an eyebrow, leaning up again to meet Harry’s eye. “Wasn’t joking. They’re so far up your ass as it is, I can only imagine they know it personally.”
Harry panted softly, eyes gleaming wickedly. “The only one up my ass on the field is you, mostly because you’re behind me when I’m winning.”
“Could just really like the view…” Draco murmured, kissing the boy slowly.
Harry pulled away. “Nope, pretty sure I’m just awesome.” He gave Draco an assessing look, biting his lip as he thought. “Wolfie… lets go somewhere. And I can show you some stuff… and you can decide if you might be willing to try it once—just once, to join the pack and be my mate.”
Draco’s wolf was whining in his ear again, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember why.
“And you know… if you happen to like it…” Harry smirked, face flushed as he tugged on Draco’s arms, pulling the boy down the corridor. “Well, I’m sure you could think of some creative ways to deal with that. Maybe even with my mutt…”
The boy was full out blushing, and Draco had to wonder if Harry had been thinking about this for a while now. “I don’t know how to break it to you, but my wolf is really not into—”
Harry turned, eyes a bit wide and kissed him quickly. “Didn’t mean the wolf.”
Ah. Eyebrows permanently stuck somewhere in his hairline, Draco stared at the now completely red Harry, face, neck, and likely chest flushed as well. “And why would you think…?”
“Um… so I had asked Siri how he had learned that trick,” Harry mumbled softly, staring at Draco’s chin. “And it seemed, although in every other way a total alpha, manly wolf, uh, Remi lets Padfoot…” He trailed off, waving his hand.
That the boy could do so many nasty things with the four legged creatures and yet still not say something as simple as ‘fuck’ unless halfway in the act of said fucking or cursing rudely, was beyond Draco. It was damn endearing, though. “You’re telling me the werewolf spreads for the dog, but not for Black?”
Harry nodded, eyes bright, lips parted again. “Yeah… Remi told me he likes it a lot… that I shouldn’t feel bad for liking it, because it’s just that fucking good…” Harry swallowed, open mouth pressing to Draco’s cheek. “So I thought, maybe you might…?”
Draco really had no idea if he ever might ever consider that as something to do, no matter how much Harry blushed. “I think you better focus on trying to convince me of the one time problem first, Mutt,” he said, his voice sounding a bit too hoarse in his ears.
Harry smirked, once again that crazy look glinting in his eye. “’Cus you want to be my mate,” he taunted, licking his lips.
“No, I want to make sure you don’t go off to live on the fucking city streets with that pack you’re obsessed with, you hopeless slut,” Draco growled.
“Oh, I think you want to be my mate…”
“Yeah, well I think you want to ride hippogriff dick.”
Harry laughed breathlessly, eyes hazy as Draco once again pushed him up against the wall. “Fuck… well you make it sound so fucking appealing…”
“You’ve got problems, Potter,” Draco murmured, biting the boy’s jaw lightly.
Harry shook his head, a soft moan escaping his panting lips. “My only problem is not having you inside me right this fucking second, Malfoy. Everything else about me is fucking fine.”
“Fine… tight… begging for it…” Draco agreed, nipping Harry’s neck sharply.
“Oh, I can beg, Wolfie. If that’s what you want…” Harry whispered, wetting his lips when Draco turned his way again.
Staring at the flushed boy, Draco was fairly certain he was making the wrong move here, and could not, for the life of him, remember why that was. “Beg me, Harry. Let me fucking hear it.”
“On my knees?” Harry asked, slowly sliding down his body before Draco could answer. Breathing in sharply, Draco braced his arms on the wall as he stared down at the incredibly sexy boy.
“Please, Draco. Please be my mate. Please join my pack, and have me every day, every time you want to, anyway you want to, any form you want to. I need you—all of you—to make me feel right.”
It was the stillness that did it, Harry’s wicked glint long gone from him as he looked up at Draco in genuine vulnerability. He really should have listened to his wolf, Draco realized weakly, even as he fell to his knees and kissed Harry as deeply and demandingly as he needed.
“Okay, Harry, I’ll do it,” Draco whispered hoarsely, nearly knocked to the ground by the force of Harry’s returning hug. “So you’ll be my mate. Always.”
“Thank you, Draco,” Harry beamed, mouth buried around his ear.
Draco nodded, pulling back to stare at the tears brimming in the boy’s eyes. “Because I love you.” Before Harry could start bawling, which he was very prone to do when hearing those particular words from Draco, he surged forward and kissed the brunette swiftly.
There would probably be some issues at home with mating with Harry, likely Draco being disowned or just threatened with death. But Draco figured having a pack meant having a place to stay if that happened. And hell, having a mate meant having far larger concerns than caring what his parents thought about things. It meant taking care of Harry, keeping him from his fucked up relatives, and any stray beast that might think to hurt or have his scrappy little mutt.
Those were problems Draco was more than happy to deal with, just to see Harry smile like he was right then.
Draco was far less interested in facing the trouble of having to join the pack. But Harry had a particularly heated look in his eye, and Draco imagined the boy might just know a thing or two about how a hole might enjoy being filled. Actually, Draco was fairly certain Harry had a damn many good ideas on it, and decided to think up some clever lines to go along with what Harry had to have been up to get such experience—likely starting with the hippogriff.
A little place to share your comments and questions on the fanfic, Sleeping Dogs. Liked it, hated it, interested in seeing a sequel or something similar? Let me know below. I love the feedback.
ENJOY! <3
THE PARANORMAL ACADEMY FOR TROUBLED BOYS #1 (ORIGINAL VERSION)
Just dodging jail, dragon shifter Wylie ends up in the Academy, an institution for out of control paranormals. He falls for a sexy, troubled sorcerer whose magical infliction makes him too deadly to touch. Convincing Dorian to be his might just get them all killed.
X 101,000+ wrds, paranormal, dragon shifter, sorcery, first time, NA. Published: April 1, 2016
A BLACKMAILING STEPBROTHER ROMANCE
PC Version ♥♥♥ Mobile Version ♥♥♥ Audio Version
Jayce has been doing everything to get his now official younger brother settled in to his new home, all while fighting some very unbrotherly feelings for the angry, isolated brat. After things get weird, Declan decides to turn the tables, blackmailing his older brother into greater heights of depravity. Can Jayce keep from getting sucked into Declan’s twisted games?
XX56,000+ wrds, contemporary, stepbrother psi, new adult, blackmail. Published: January 23, 2016
AN INTENSE PARANORMAL SHORT FICTION
A sexy thank you for joining the Newsletter. <3
This is a rather intense, dripping wet, XX–XXX rated MM fic featuring a naïve main character, his manipulative best friend, a very sexually aggressive incubus that finds his victims through the Internet, and his big monster cock covered in ridges. Like many of my erotic stories, it features dubcon and is intended for 18+ readers.
NEW ADULT PARANORMAL MM ACTION ADVENTURE ROMANCE WITH SHIFTERS, SORCERERS, WEREWOLVES, DEMONS AND GANGSTERSWylie's bio & reference last updated 1/27/20A section in progress where you can find character bios, fun facts, reference for magic, tech, and lore of the PATB world, quizzes and Q&As. Will be added to as the series is written.
NEW ADULT PARANORMAL MM EPIC FANTASY ROMANCE WITH FAE, GODS, AND ANGSTScene #25 last updated 2/16/19
Everything found here will have been funded by supporters on Patreon. This includes the Demon Bonded serial where you can get updates before it publishes.
Demon Bonded: Coven Saga ep 12: Scene 2 last updated 8/10/20
This is an experiment with Patreon to find a way around the rabid censorship and discrimination of certain erotic subject matter. I’ve had books banned without explanation or direct proof of Content Guidelines being broken while straight books with the same ‘taboo’ content is allowed to sell on Amazon and other platforms. This shame based censorship not only tries to suppress the creation of certain books, but also punishes authors, and sometimes readers who seek to read these subjects. I’m calling bullshit on these discriminatory practices, and I’m looking to find a way to fund taboo reads outside of mainstream platforms.
If you’re interested in supporting me and the Demon Bonded serial, please donated to my Patreon. Thank you!
REMOVED BECAUSE JK ROWLING IS A HATEFUL TRANSPHOBE
So… I thought I could compromise with these Harry Potter fanfics. They were supposed to be fun, but they can’t be anymore. They can’t be anything more but a show of support of hate.
I think I was naive when it started, hopeful it was another out of touch celebrity who was bumbling through a complex topic. You know how those billionaires get, just saying things without research, thinking they must be right because their echo chamber insists they’re right. Don’t we all just hate to point out to the powerful how they’re abusing their power — surely it’s a mistake, surely they don’t mean it that way? Surely conflict avoidance is the answer, and the monster they have become will go away if we don’t acknowledge it? Just hide under the covers and Voldemort will go away.
JK Rowling has created an army of transphobes. She is the leader of a hate movement. She is emboldened as companies continue to profit off of her intellectual property and enrich her. She is not going away.
I first truly realized this shopping around the holiday season after I was starting to feel better, only to stop in front of a display with Potter merch and feel the sickening twist in my stomach as I watched people browse the contents. Were they fans before JK Rowling went full out TERF? Or were they “new” fans, people who bought the merch because they wanted an easily recognized symbol of hate to display but they could play dumb if anyone called them out on it? Was the store itself even safe when everyone knew JK Rowling was spreading misinformation and lies that were leading to violence against transgendered people? Did it matter anymore when anything connected to JK Rowling was a symbol of hate?
I can’t claim this is the first time I had to let go of an author, but it was never to this extreme. I didn’t really get into Orson Scott Card until right before he revealed his bigotry against LGBTQs. I never wrote fanfiction for his characters. Instead, as an adult, I was able to look at his work and see his struggle, see in his books how he was losing to the twisted memes his religious community instilled in him until he couldn’t see beyond it. But I also acknowledged that he was an adult making choices, choices that were spreading hate and bigotry against a marginalized community, and I, as an adult, had to make a choice in response.
It was a learning experience for me. I didn’t want to learn from what was happening to JK Rowling, which is why I fought it as long as I could. I wanted to stay a child and play make-believe.
It doesn’t matter what I want it to be; JK Rowling is a celebrated transphobe in 2023. She is making money off her intellectual properties to fund the hateful bigotry she puts out into the world. And her transphobic followers use her work to fund her hate, and they use her work to terrorize transgender people. It doesn’t matter the intentions of when those books were first written. It doesn’t matter the intentions of the fans who are not transphobes, who just want to be entertained by a story of an orphan boy who discovered he was “special”, deserving. Harry Potter and all other works created by JK Rowling and her other pen names fund hate.
The nazi symbol once represented peace until Hitler got a hold of it. It doesn’t mean it’s no longer only the nazi symbol of hate today. Things change, and I’m not so stuck in my ways that I’m going to pretend that it doesn’t demand I change as well.
There are better stories out there. There are far better writers out there. And the ultimate majority don’t have their works symbolize hate. I’m letting go of Harry Potter because I don’t support hate, and there is no compromising with a transphobe. JK Rowling is an adult making adult choices. Choices to say and do things things that exclude and outright harm transgendered people. She is not intellectually impaired. The color of her skin, perceived sex, and the gender she identifies with does not provide a justification for what she’s doing. She is not a victim, but a protected harasser who self justifies by hiding behind a story of victimhood to prevent facing the repercussions of her actions. Her class — her billionaire status — does not mean she is magically smarter and more correct than anyone else. She is capable enough to write a story, one that understands what is good and what was bad. She is not ignorant to these things. She is making a choice to target, harass, and create an atmosphere of violence against one of the most marginalized, at risk communities in the history of humanity. And she does it while claiming she cares about women, just so long as woman is defined by her limited, bigoted viewpoint.
JK Rowling doesn’t care about women. She doesn’t even know what a woman is.
For those who looked to Harry Potter as a hero, as someone you wanted to be when you grew up, to be such a hero you need to fight against the evil JK Rowling is spreading in the world. The hardest thing children must do when they grow is to become individuals separate from their parents’ and society’s antiquated and biased views, but it is the only way to bring needed change in a broken world.
JK Rowling doesn’t know what it’s like to be an orphan, to be an outsider to the accepted class — that’s the irony I have always felt when I see so many of these 2 dimensional stories of child abandonment when I grew up in foster care and was later adopted. It’s a trope; few writers understand how complex abandonment is. How complex and devastating growing up on the outside of society is, having to negotiate with a world that will never fully see you as belonging just because you don’t have parents.
And if you think that sort of discrimination doesn’t exist, you have never lived it. Humanity doesn’t need a good reason to trigger their xenophobia; just like some see a spot on an apple and assume it’s bad, some see a child without parents and assume the same. Some see a presentation of a gender role that doesn’t match their expectation and are triggered. A tic of a hand or a stutter and some people are triggered. Some see tattoos or a style of clothing and are triggered because they don’t feel surrounded by the familiar, and therefore justify lashing out. Humanity is innately broken, and it is up to us to fight the rationalization of xenophobia if we ever want a better world.
And beware those who are already safe, are already protected by the world we are in, because as much as they might say they want “better”, human nature promises they will fight equality if it feels like they lose their privilege. We are flawed, a mashup of what evolution spat out of a species that conquered a globe and claimed ownership while causing mass extinction. Within us is understanding, but not without these deeply rooted instincts to hoard, to control and kill what we can’t control. And we’ll say it’s to be safe, to be organized and to have things make sense. But it’s because we are cowards who don’t want to be uncomfortable in an uncertain world.
When JK Rowling wrote a book about fighting against a system of injustice, she wrote a single villain and his henchpeople to defeat, instead of demanding change of an unequal system, because she has never lived being in a marginalized community. Instead she writes what she knows, protected, superior in her community, with special powers to control and harm others, in a secret world in the shadows where normal humans will never hold these special people accountable, only ever be victims. She doesn’t have the experience — the basic human empathy — to write a true hero of the people, never mind to be one, because she is too insulated by her class. She can’t even see the darkness in her own cowardly self.
And those who support her hate — for the fame, for the memes, because they like to hate and to feel sheltered by a righteous fandom that will protect them from the repercussions — they are very content to never grow as well. A society perpetuating the weakest of human character, insulating from change, attacking anyone who would demand they grow up and be better. That’s what the Harry Potter fandom has become. Pretending otherwise is just a fantasy. All you have to do is go online and see how this fandom harasses and attacks anyone who stands up against their bigotry.
This is who they are now. This is who JK Rowling is, and this is her fandom, comprised of tranphobes and bullies.
Yeah, it’s a shitty feeling being asked to grow up, to be a better version of yourself. Especially when most of the Harry Potter fans are of an older generation who is so certain they are grown. A generation catered to with all the toys, nostalgia, and petty, pretty little things consumerism can spoil them with. I’m of a generation so defined by marketing that we can’t even get a new movie out that isn’t full of some 40 something’s childhood fantasy to be a superhero.
Do you even understand how infantalizing that is? How pathetic that we are stuck playing childhood games pretending we have no power because these companies control us best this way? The world doesn’t ask us to be better because there are entire economies thriving on keeping us childlike and docile. So when a villain shows up — when someone in the real world is causing real, actual harm — it becomes about how to keep having the toys and childhood fantasies we love instead of telling that person to fuck off and stop causing harm. It becomes a negotiation of how to compromise with violence and bigotry, and I’m done playing this sick game.
Fuck off, JK Rowling. You don’t understand the bullshit you’re claiming to be science because you’re not a scientist. You aren’t qualified to talk on the human experiences you talk about because you have not experienced them. You don’t have the life experience to know anything about complex social situations because you never face the consequences of complex social situation, but instead fuck off to whatever castle you’re living in at the moment and have brunch with leaders of hate groups while you let your fans bully and harass anyone who calls you out. Your input is not wanted in regards to transgenderism. You are an outsider here, thinking you’re an insider because that’s the privilege you have lived your entire life with as a wealthy, white, cis AFAB, and no, that will never change. You don’t get to be the center of this conversation, no matter how much you think you should because “special”. The transgender community is not here to coddle you the way everyone else does. We don’t negotiate with terrorists, not even the ones holding our childhoods’ hostage. Fuck off; humanity has some growing to do.
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Lucius had never been a fan of ill fitting clothes. The human body, in all its many shapes and sizes, could always be wrapped just right to flatter. A dart here, a long line there—It didn’t take much, but it was the type of magic that had to be achieved perfectly each time through a skilled eye and unwavering hand, or disaster could befall. Some bodies could get away with more. Lucius knew because he had such a body; tall, muscular, with impeccable grace and posture.
Other bodies… Well, Lucius did not truly understand what it was about Harry Potter’s body that defied the laws of magic when it came to clothing, just that it seemed to happen every day, and in his own manor.
How the boy had come to be there, sleeping in a room off of Draco’s during the summer months, was less of a mystery. Apparently Potter’s relatives were a bit imbecilic. They had gone so far as to label the boy a Satanist, and bar him from ever entering the house again. This had been during the beginning of that particular summer, and in the middle of the night. Lucius had begrudgingly apparated down with Draco, his ever persistent son who had finally managed to get a handshake from Potter and grow a friendship.
Potter had been dressed atrociously. Lucius knew he should have cared more about the fact that the young man was sitting in the driveway on his trunk, looking as if he might have been near tears at one point. He had admitted a tendril of warmth when the boy had glanced up from his morose perch, caught sight of the two Malfoys, and beamed so brightly the night had cleared for a small moment. But then Lucius had noticed the billowing, ratty t-shirt, oversized, baggy jeans cuffed at the ankles to keep Potter from tripping, and plainly disgusting sneakers with holes likely larger than the boy’s feet. The warmth had left Lucius as had, apparently, his sanity.
The Dursleys’ car would not work from that day forward. They were not complex machines, but that particular automobile became a lemon the night Lucius had to bare witness to such a terrifying outfit, and how it somehow managed to make the owner of such hideous garb appear delectable. Lucius should have seen it as the omen that it was and left the little hell-spawn there in the driveway, glowing green eyes, lush red mouth, and hideous, atrocious clothes and all. But Draco was unrelenting; they were already there, Draco had been lonely with his mother living at her sister’s, and the manor certainly held enough space.
Potter had also been extremely polite, in an annoying, roguish sort of way. He had clasped Lucius’s hand, lips curled up in a crooked smile as he said thank you. Lucius knew though, as wide eyed and genuine as he had seemed, the boy was inwardly taunting him. One did not wear clothing like that, the way Potter managed to wear them, while not taunting the hell out of him.
Lucius was also certain of this fact today as he sat at the small kitchen table reading his morning paper. It was six in the morning, the time when Lucius enjoyed the quiet of the approaching day, warmth radiating through the windows to steal away the cold of the night. He was used to being alone during this time, Narcissa and Draco always sleeping in late. Lucius enjoyed the silence, where he could think, and feel, and not be distracted by the bustle of others.
Apparently their new house guest was prone to nightmares. A former associate of Lucius’s, back from when he had been young, desperate, and still his father’s son, had tried to kill the boy. Riddle had managed to kill both of Potter’s parents, but the toddler had proven a match too great, and Lucius had gotten the opportunity to seek better associates as a result. That said boy was gracing his kitchen niche, tartan plaid pajama pants hanging too low below a t-shirt that had to be two sizes too small, was an irony not lost on the man.
The colors were very much wrong, calamitous to Lucius’s senses, and to the senses of any respectable being that could sense in the first place. It did not matter that the boy was unusually quiet—Well, not unusual. Potter barely seemed to speak a word unless spoken to, green eyes always skirting around, crooked smile twisting his lush lips as he took in the many differences of Malfoy Manor to his former abode. The boy was nearly companionable compared to the constant chatter of Lucius’s family. That said, the outfit was loud enough. A marching band leading a circus would have been quieter than the cacophonous mix of red and gold plaid pants, and bright—Lucius stressed the word bright—orange t-shirt.
It was burning a hole through his newspaper, the shirt was that luminous. Lucius could not focus on anything else, the horrible neon color drawing his eye and keeping it as Harry padded barefoot around the kitchen island, steaming cup of tea in hand while he peered out the window at the garden. That such a color existed was tragedy enough, but to put it on a shirt? Lucius had done some terrible things in his time, including torturing a family of muggles in the name of some antiquated idea of pureblood supremacy. This shirt was a hate crime. Against life.
That is was too small, had a large hole in the back where the collar had come apart from the rest of the material to gap golden skin, only revealed that Potter was also a lunatic. Because he was holding onto the damn atrocity. It was falling apart, no longer fit him, and the boy still insisted on wearing it to bed. Maybe the boy was colorblind?
Maybe the boy was just blind?
Lucius put his paper down, debating if leaving and showering was the answer to this hideous shirt. Green eyes glanced his way from the sound of the folded paper, then quickly returned to the window. Instantly Lucius knew the boy had to have been doing it on purpose. The shirt was too terrible to not be an accident. Such alarming things did not happen by accident.
“Potter, if you are going to grace my kitchen with your presence, I would kindly ask that you dress appropriately,” Lucius said evenly, trying to keep the exhaustion out of his voice that such a shirt had wrought him.
Blinking, Harry turned, head crooked sideways. “Sorry, Mr. Malfoy, but what do you mean?” He looked down at himself, fingering the hem of his soft t-shirt, palm ghosting lightly over the gap of flesh revealed beneath the neon color. “The Dursleys would get pissed if I walked around in boxers, but they never seemed upset by my pajamas.”
Something in the words caught Lucius’s attention, and a vision of Harry walking around his kitchen in nothing but boxers flashed in his mind. He wasn’t certain if the idea was appealing only because Lucius could see that the boy had hard, long lines of blossoming muscle underneath smooth, tanned skin, or because it meant the hideous shirt would be gone. He did not have a conclusive answer, but Lucius was certain he hated the shirt.
“If I see that shirt again, I am going to burn it,” Lucius promised, meeting the boy’s wide eyes. “Whether you are wearing it at the time or not.”
Biting his lip, Harry placed his mug down on the counter beside the widow. “Er… I don’t really have a lot of clothes, Sir. I’m sorry I’m not as fancy as you guys, but I really can’t go around naked just because you don’t like my hand-me-downs…”
Lucius was distractedly now envisioning Harry naked, the boxers discarded somewhere at the foot of the table. It was a very appealing thought, especially since the little table would likely fit the boy just so between the plate of bacon and the eggs…
Fire rushing through Lucius, his mouth went dry, and stomach twisted in lust. He tightened his hands into fists, praying he would not do something extremely foolish over this horribly dressed urchin. “Potter, go away.”
“Oh… okay…” Hand tangled in his mess of hair, Harry turned, slowly padding from the kitchen, eyes skittering towards Lucius as he passed.
“Potter,” Lucius growled, the boy jumping in response even though nearly out the door.
“Y-Yes, Mr. Malfoy?” Harry asked, eyes again wide and stunningly green against the flush on his cheeks.
Lucius pointed to the counter where Harry had left his tea. “Ah… right… that. Sorry,” Harry mumbled, slowly walking back to retrieve his forgotten drink. He brought the mug to his lips, dark lashes downcast as he sipped the steaming brew.
Lucius could feel Harry glancing, stolen little touches with his intense gaze while the boy lingered in the kitchen for as long as he could get away with. He did his best to focus on his newspaper, having already read the same paragraph countless times—The happenings of the Ministry just really couldn’t compete with that damn day glow orange, never mind the unearthly green that kept gliding over him. Lucius was just about to get up and go to escape said unbearable colors when the boy gave a soft sigh, placed his drained mug into the sink, and began to rinse it.
“So… do you think you could tell me what it is about the shirt that makes you want to burn it?” Harry asked quietly, hand lingering on the counter top as he turned back to Lucius.
Lucius glared, his jaw tightening. “What, so you’ll go out and buy another one? I think not.”
“Er… that wasn’t why… Mr. Malfoy, I really don’t understand you,” Harry muttered, holding the back of his neck, which had turned a lovely shade of red to match the boy’s cheeks.
“You have been warned, Potter. Now take your abysmal shirt and get out of my sight.”
Huffing, Harry nodded and turned. “Okaaaay…”
Harry pulled at the hem of his shirt as he walked, staring at the faded white letters on the front while the hem rode up on his back, revealing a gap that would have fit both of Lucius’s hands if he had been close enough to touch. Lucius almost got up just to see if his measurements were accurate. Surely it was important to know how many times his hands would fit the length of the boy’s slender waist and back. And then he shook himself, glaring at his paper and wishing he had never allowed Draco to convince him to let the boy stay.
“Your clothes are really terrible,” Draco offered unhelpfully while peering in through a shop window where the latest broom models were hovering. “And you know Father. He has very refined tastes.”
Harry scratched his head, sighing softly. “Yeah… but he seemed really… I dunno… Like I was doing it on purpose, you know?” Harry was fairly certain Lucius had been about to drag him out the door by his pajama top and lock him out in the yard. And although the idea of the breathtakingly handsome man grabbing him by the collar had been appealing, the being left out on the lawn had been less so, and Harry was concerned he was going to have to find another place to stay if he could not figure out this problem.
“Just ignore him. Father has been on edge since the separation. Mother has been… difficult, what with taking up with Aunt Bella and going all blood hate crazy again. Hell, it’s hard on me. I’m sure it’s even harder on Father.”
Frowning, Harry put a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder. He was being selfish, focusing on his own pointless fears when Draco was dealing with so much crap. Waking up to your mother going mad and wanting to kill muggles was just a bit much. It was hardly the typical midlife crisis Harry had heard about. Harry would just make a point not to wear the orange shirt around Lucius and hopefully things would work themselves out.
“Did you want to go check out the joke shop?” Harry asked, tilting his head enticingly until Draco’s eyes lost their far away look and the pale boy smirked.
“Lorna still working there?” Draco asked, perking up at the thought of seeing the pretty witch.
“I do believe she is…” Harry hummed.
“You know, that is one of the bigger perks of having a poof for a best friend,” Draco drawled, smirking wider at Harry’s eye roll. “No competition. Hell, I think you even help me lure them in with your boy-who-lived crap.”
“Well, I’m glad I can be of service,” Harry said with a snort. “Gotta do something to make up for your generosity.”
Draco shrugged, eyes losing focus again. “He really said he would burn it… while you were wearing it?”
Harry nodded, his good spirits fading. Yes, Draco was a generous person, but it was Lucius that had made everything possible. Getting on the man’s bad side was not ideal to Harry’s living situation. “Maybe I should be looking into renting an apartment? You know, be a grown up about things and all. I have the funds.”
“That’s no fun,” Draco declared loudly, pushing into Harry with his shoulder. “I like having you around—And there’s no way Father is going to let me go off and move out while mother is threatening to steal me away and raise me crazy. I’m sure he was just in one of his moods. I’ll talk to him, okay?”
“Er, don’t do that… I feel like making a big deal out of it will only make it worse,” Harry muttered.
Draco nodded, eyes lighting over the store fronts. “Maybe we should get you some new clothes?”
Harry glowered, shoving his hands into his pockets and following Draco’s gaze. “I don’t like… Shopping for clothes is difficult for me.”
“Come on, Harry, you need a damn bathing suit—What’s the point of having a huge swimming pool if you’re not going to swim in it?” It had been a sore topic since Harry had moved in, one that Harry had refused to explain.
Meeting Draco’s very determined expression, Harry huffed. “If I can get a bathing suit without having to try it on, then fine. And I want a shirt.”
“Is this about your stupid scars? For fuck sake, Potter, you can barely see the damn things.”
Harry bit his lip, glaring silently until Draco backed down.
“Fine, but I get to pick out the one you get.” Draco finally relented, pointing across the street to the clothing store he felt best for this particular endeavor. Harry followed reluctantly behind, ignoring Draco’s haughty expression when the boy waited a good twenty seconds holding the door before Harry finally stepped into the store.
“Stop looking like you’re about to get hexed,” Draco growled, pulling Harry by the arm towards the racks of summer wear. The store was charmed to be a cool relief to the summer heat outside, the air smelling of sandalwood and incense. It probably would have been soothing, but Harry’s heart felt like it was going to pound out of his chest. Draco had said he wouldn’t have to try the clothes on, still Harry’s palms were sweating, eyes jumping around as if expecting some monster to jump out from the racks of clothing.
Other than Madam Malkin’s, Harry had never gotten clothes for himself. He had tried once, last year when getting his new school robes. He had thought maybe it was time to start wearing clothes that weren’t remnants of Dudley’s slimmer days. But once getting into the fitting room for the first time, a small closet with mirrors and door, Harry had experienced his first panic attack, and quickly decided he was never going to go through that again.
He wasn’t sure exactly what had panicked him about the situation. Harry had been in smaller, darker rooms—He had lived under the stairs for years, after all. And mirrors had never really frightened Harry, except maybe when he was little and he had wondered if another world was staring back at him. When he had taken off his shirt and seen for the first time up close the many white scars littering his back from Vernon’s favorite belt, Harry had stared. And then he had found he couldn’t breath. And then he had known he would not be buying clothes ever again.
That feeling was rising in him now, the difficulty to draw air into his lungs, his breathing too shallow no matter how hard he tried.
“What do you think about this style?” Draco asked, holding up a white pair of shorts.
Harry shrugged, finding it difficult to concentrate. “Whatever—just not white.”
“Well, what colors do you like?” Draco grumbled, Harry sounding too snappish for comfort.
“Anything—Here, this.” Harry pulled the closest bathing suit he could find out and held it up.
“That’s a triple extra large and covered in palm trees… Are you sure you’re gay, Potter? I’m pretty sure there is some prerequisite where you have to be at least this fashionable before you can bone another bloke.” He held his fingers together, the amount of fashion needed not much at all, but apparently Harry lacked it.
“Guess I’ll have to pass my gay card to you, Malfoy. I could never compete with so much style.” Harry put the monstrosity back on the rack and pulled another one out. It was black, it was a large, it was fine. “Here. Let’s pay and get the hell out.”
“Nope, still got to find you a shirt,” Draco said, turning and moving towards the other side of the store.
Harry whined internally, jumping from one foot to the other. He didn’t want to be there. He wanted to leave, leave, leave! He flinched away, Draco suddenly in front of him holding a shirt.
“Quit wiggling—Gah! You bloody bastard, you nearly bit me!” Draco grabbed Harry by the shoulder, snarling his patented ‘do as I fucking say’ snarl. “I’m trying to figure out if you’re a medium or a large. Everything you wear is so damn big I can’t remember. Stop being a child!”
Harry stuck his tongue out, but let Draco pat his enormous shirt down and then hold the shirt up to him. “Alright… this is the best we’re going to get without taking you to a proper tailor. Give me your wallet and get lost. I’m buying you more than you want, and you’re only getting in my way.”
“Draco, this is stupid…” Harry did whine this time, then quickly stepped back before his friend could smack him.
“Shut up and give me your money.” Growling, Harry handed his wallet over. Then, remembering what Draco had said, smiled brightly. “So, I’ll be outside then, if you need me.”
Draco just waved his hand absentmindedly, rooting through racks and pulling clothes out.
Harry stumbled to the kitchen in what he thought was a more appropriate outfit the next morning. There were no holes in his pajamas and he was not wearing the orange shirt Lucius had vehemently told him he would burn if seen again. But his head was bothering him, having woken from another nightmare, so he was not surprised when Draco’s father began to glare at him the moment he walked into the kitchen for a soothing cup of tea. Clearly he had messed something up again.
Harry tried to make the best of it, taking in the beautiful view of the gardens Malfoy Manor was famous for. He sipped his tea, hoping to shake his nightmare from him. It was the one from the cupboard—The cupboard ones all blurred together. They were all dark and full of hopelessness and the inability to escape. Harry wasn’t sure why he was dreaming them more now, once free of the Dursleys. But maybe that’s when you were supposed to think of the bad times? When you were finally free of them.
Lucius was rustling his paper heatedly and Harry found himself again glancing towards the man. Although he had very little to say to Lucius, Harry enjoyed looking at him. He was very much a work of art, like one of those old Greek statues, alabaster skin and aristocratic features. Except Lucius’s eyes were a piercing pale, pale blue, like a wolf ready to strike. The man sent shivers down Harry’s spine just looking at him. But that was all Harry thought to do with the man, Lucius very much hating him and, of course, Draco’s father.
Harry heard the slight growl and then inhale before Lucius finally broke down and said his name. “Potter.”
Harry turned halfway from the window, raising his brows in question. The man was glaring, penetrating, and Harry felt that familiar tremor go up his spine from the look. Lucius totally purred when he talked, especially in the morning, voice still raspy from sleep. He hadn’t shaved yet and Harry took in the bristle on the man’s jaw, wondering what it would feel like against the sensitive skin of his stomach, or better yet, his thighs.
Sipping his tea to hide his blush, Harry waited patiently for whatever insult was due to make its way from Lucius’s entrancing mouth.
“You’ve finished off the orange cinnamon. I would appreciate if you would inform me of when we are running low,” Lucius muttered, throwing the empty box of tea bags across the table.
Harry blinked, staring down at his tea woefully. Crap. “Sorry, Mr. Malfoy. I can go pick some up today, if you’d like…”
“No, that’s hardly appropriate of a house guest,” Lucius snapped. Harry flinched from the obvious insult, because clearly he was not the right sort of house guest in any sense, even when trying to fix things.
Harry froze, eyes widening as Lucius suddenly stood, empty mug of tea in hand. He was heading straight for Harry and the sink next to him, and Harry had only a moment to decide if he should move or continue to freeze. His body seemed content to stand there like a slack jawed idiot, so he went with his first instinct, watching as Lucius stalked around him with a sniff.
“Potter, that shirt is nearly as bad as the last one.”
Harry glanced down at his old band t-shirt. He preferred the softer, smaller ones for bed, less likely to tangle and get lost in the extra folds of materials when thrashing from nightmares. It was a light pistachio green with blue lettering and white line art. It didn’t seem anything like the orange one he had been wearing the other night.
“What’s wrong with it? It doesn’t have any holes,” he said a little defensively, glancing at the man who had turned from the sink to glare at his shirt.
“It most certainly does—Are you blind? Wait, don’t answer that. It might actual justify some of your wardrobe choices and I don’t think I could live with that.”
Lucius was an ass. Glaring back at the man, Harry looked down, one hand pulling at the hem of his shirt to find this so called hole. “There’s no hole.”
“There are many holes—Here.” Lucius grabbed the front of Harry’s shirt, Harry gasping and nearly spilling his tea. Staring down at the man’s large hand, Harry tried to see where Lucius was pointing. But it was very difficult, the room spinning and the man exuding heat like a furnace that Harry just wanted to press against.
“I… uh, I don’t see any holes…” Harry whispered, refusing to look up at the eyes he could feel burning into him. Lucius shifted his hand ever so slightly and then Harry saw them, three small pin pricks of darkness against the pattern of green, blue and white. “Oh…”
“Eloquent as always, I see,” Lucius drawled, smoothing Harry’s shirt back down, fingers lingering on the planes of his stomach and drawing a small gasp from Harry.
Eyes stuck on the floor, Harry took another swig of his tea, nearly choking when Lucius suddenly touched the center of his back, finger touching his bare skin and sending a jolt of electricity through him. “You also have a hole right here and much easier to see, if you ever bothered to look behind you.”
Harry nodded, very much wishing the man would go away so he could stop feeling like a puddle of heat and mush. “I wear it to bed, so it doesn’t matter.”
Lucius was leaning near his neck, Harry swallowing as he felt the man’s breath brush against his skin. Lucius was about half a head taller than Harry normally, and was currently leaning down to glare at his shirt. “You don’t think what you wear to bed is important? I feel sorry for any lover you may have—Hopefully they’re as colorblind as you are.”
“I’ve yet to have that problem,” Harry mumbled, eyes glancing to where he could see the man’s hand hovering, as if about to touch his shoulder and another hole that was apparently in his shirt.
“They all have perfect vision?” Lucius queried, his finger slowly pressing down and slipping through the ripple of fabric to touch Harry’s skin.
Harry choked back a cough, feeling extremely hot all of a sudden. Why the man kept insisting on touching him while insulting him was just extra infuriating. “No… I just haven’t had… a l-lover…”
“I find that hard to believe, Potter.” Yeah, Lucius definitely purred in the morning. Sipping his drink again, the last of his favorite tea, Harry just shrugged, the move brushing his shoulder up against Lucius’s chest. Why the hell was he so close, anyways?
Harry didn’t really care if Lucius believed him or not. It really wasn’t a topic of conversation he felt like having with the man. He blinked, Lucius suddenly reaching around him to grab his mug. “Hey… I’m not done with that.”
“You took the last of my favorite tea,” Lucius growled, plucking the cup from his grasp. Harry did turn his head this time, meeting the challenging gray eyes. Lucius looked particularly nice in the morning up close, beard just hinting at his jaw, long white blond hair a little rumpled and loose, clear eyes just a tad hazy with sleep. If the man didn’t look like he was going to kill him, Harry would have liked to have seen just how soft his hair really was.
“This is because of my shirt, isn’t it?”
“The orange one, yes.” Lucius agreed. “This one isn’t as bad… but it’s still hideous.”
Harry glared, watching the man leave while drinking the rest of his tea. Lucius was a total ass. Harry turned his glare to the window, wishing he didn’t feel so flushed. His heart was racing again, nearly as fast as when he had freaked out in the dressing room. His clothing and Lucius Malfoy just did not mix.
Fingers rising to the bridge of his nose, Lucius exhaled slowly. There was a sopping wet Harry Potter dripping on his grandmother’s antique, oriental rug. Right in the center of it, as if the little drowned cat was making sure to soak as much as he could in as little time as possible. That Lucius hated the rug was immaterial. It was most definitely the spirit of the act that was so annoying.
“Potter, is there a particular reason you are flooding my house?” Lucius asked darkly, stalking into the room the boy was waiting in. Harry whirled, ridiculously wide eyes somehow wider without their normal veil of glasses and red mouth much redder since blood was pouring down his chin.
“S-Sorry, Mr. Malfoy. Draco wasss just getting me sssomething for the cut…”
Lucius closed his eyes for a moment, trying to block out the way Harry was sweetly lisping. Of course the boy was injured. It was all he seemed to do since arriving—Eat food, wear offensive clothing, and bleed. Today’s offensive clothing wasn’t as bad as normal, black and nearly fitting the boy as it clung to his body, drenched. Actually, it was almost decent and Lucius paused, eyes skirting past said clothing to notice the form it so greedily clung to.
“Harry, I can’t find the—Oh, Father. Great, could you heal him?” Draco asked, wand twirling in his hands. “You know how bad I am with restorative magic and we’re out of the charms we keep for emergencies.”
Harry blushed, shivering in the cool manor air as he remembered all of the emergency charms that had been used on him over the last month. He could not see Lucius’s glare without his glasses, but he could certainly feel it pricking over his skin.
Lucius was glaring, but it was at his son this time. Draco was smirking in a very cocky way, and he was not sure why but it seemed like trouble.
“Do you approve of Harry’s clothes, Father? I imagine you’ll be less incited to burn these.” Draco smirked, watching his father stiffen.
“Draco, get your friend a towel… Make that many towels,” Lucius said warningly. His son was nearly as annoying as Harry was, and he was glad to get the menace out of the room. “Potter, let me see the wound.”
Harry stepped over unsteadily, bare feet sloshing on the carpet—Literally sloshing, he had managed to get that much pool water in it. Biting his tongue to keep from yelling, Lucius grabbed the boy too roughly by the jaw, bending down to look at the damage.
“Where is the—Of course…” Lucius drawled in exasperation. He could not find the source of the blood until Harry smiled unsteadily, revealing a broken front tooth and bloodied inner lip. “That you have managed to not murder yourself in your sleep is amazing enough, Potter.”
“Hey—It’s not like it was on purpossse!” Harry snapped, fresh blood dripping down his chin. “I dived too deep and hit my tooth on the bottom of the pool.”
“Yes, you managed not to drown yourself and instead drenched my carpet, bled all over the floors, and begrimed my pool in one go. You are definitely the victim in all this,” Lucius muttered, holding the boy’s jaw tighter.
Harry gave a soft hiss from the firm hold, eyes fluttering shut. Lucius, who had been reaching for his wand, froze, gaze caught on the unguarded face. Even soaking wet, Potter’s hair was a mess, sticking up in sharp points from his head, brushing over his forehead and in a way that seemed intentional to hide his scar. His skin was clear, olive and dripping crystal drops of water. Heavy brows framed his seemingly heavier dark lashes, which fluttered with each small breath the boy took. If Lucius didn’t know better, he would think Potter was trying very hard not to panic, his breathing very shallow and quick.
Bringing his wand up, Lucius relaxed his grip on the boy’s jaw, using his hand to probe fingers over the bloodied flesh of Harry’s lip. The cut had swollen the lush bottom lip even more, and Lucius pressed his thumb to the swell, watching as the boy’s breath caught. Maybe the little drowned cat was afraid of him? He certainly had reason to be. Lucius had hardly been nice… Well, besides opening up his entire house to the pain in the ass.
Or maybe the little troublemaker just enjoyed fingers touching his lips… Gently thumbing Harry’s red lip down, Lucius caught sight of the cut it revealed. It did not look too serious, for all the blood it had released. “You shouldn’t need stitches.”
“Oh… okay…” Harry breathed out, eyes half opening. Only to widen, finding Lucius very close as the man examined his lip. He swallowed hard, tasting blood and… Oh hell… Tongue flicking forward, Harry gasped, tasting Lucius’s fingertip.
Lucius took a deep breath, nostrils flaring from the ghosting of a touch. The boy was turning red; face, neck, and likely everywhere else. Did the boy flush completely when embarrassed? Would he if aroused?
“Stay still, Potter.”
Harry stiffened, his breathing increasing in speed as he tried to keep from moving. His entire body was tingling, especially his lips where Lucius was touching. It took everything in him not to lick his tongue forward again. There was no way Lucius would approve of such a thing, and Harry was already in trouble with the man. Of course, the more he thought how he shouldn’t, the more compelled he felt to actually do it, and Harry whined internally as he tried to control himself.
Lucius carefully placed his wand to Harry’s lip, wondering idly if the boy would lick that as well while casting the healing spell. Noticing for the first time that Harry had managed to also soak him with water while in the process of healing the brat, Lucius took the hem of Harry’s wet shirt and began wiping up the blood on the boy’s chin. Coincidentally giving Lucius a clear view of Harry’s flat stomach—The boy had just the beginning of hard muscle on his abs, not over done, but certainly revealing strength.
No new blood appeared, but Lucius checked the cut again because Harry wasn’t complaining and his lips were very much delicious to touch. Harry gave another gasp, eyes downcast, and Lucius couldn’t help but smirk. “Well, that was the more pressing one.”
Harry swayed, feeling light headed and very stupid for reacting to the man that clearly hated him so much. Lucius had a wife—Even if they were separated. The man had a son, and you didn’t get one of those without liking women. And yes, Lucius totally hated him.
Lucius straightened, glaring down at his wet clothes. “Now that you’re done bleeding on everything, go dry yourself off. I’ll repair your tooth once I’ve cleaned up the mess in here.”
“S-Sorry, Mr. Malfoy. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to make a mess,” Harry mumbled, looking around at the wet floor.
“And yet…” Lucius turned from the vexing thing, trying to get the boy’s scent out of his mind.
Just then, Blaise and Pansy burst in, laughing and having the decency to not be soaking wet in the house. “Harry, are you ready—Oh, hi, Mr. Malfoy.” Pansy gave a seductive grin, pulling away from her friend to wave coyly at the man. Harry rolled his eyes, exchanging glances with Blaise. Hopefully Draco would get there soon enough to stop the train-wreck that was Pansy whenever around the elder Malfoy.
“You alright, then?” Blaise asked, peering at Harry’s chin.
“Yeah, Draco’s dad took care of it. I gotta go change, and then he’ll fix my too—th!” Harry flinched on the last word, a shrill whistle escaping from around the broken tooth.
“Ha, you should leave it. Maybe you’ll find some special guy that likes the waif, lisping boy thing.”
“Gross,” Harry grumbled, playfully shoving Blaise away. Blaise squawked, his entire side now soaked by Harry.
“I just dried off!” He swatted at the spot, debating if it was worth going to get his wand over. “Harry, give me your shirt. You have half the pool in that thing, and the rest on the floor.”
Harry stiffened, grabbing the hem of his wet shirt and pulling it down his body tightly, managing to spray more water at the same time. “I’m just going to go change, that’s all…”
Pansy, who was being ignored by Lucius while the man spelled the rug dry, walked over to them, tugging at Harry’s shirt. “What’s the big deal? It’s not like we haven’t seen it all before. You’re acting like some self conscious fat girl. And I would know, seeing as I used to be fat.”
“And now you’re fabulous, and we’re all happy for you, Pans. But I really don’t want to take my shirt off, and I’m going now,” Harry said as cheerfully as he could, backing away from his two well intentioned friends.
“Leave him alone,” Draco snapped, walking into the room and throwing a towel at Harry.
“Hey, we’re just trying to help.” Pansy held her hands up apologetically. “He’s never going to catch himself a nice boyfriend and move out of your house if he’s afraid to show off what Merlin gave him.”
Harry scowled, ruffling his hair with the soft, white towel and turning from the group. “I’m not trying to catch anyone. I am perfectly fine on my own, so mind your bloody business.”
“Potter.”
Harry jumped, eyes widening when Lucius suddenly grabbed him by the arm. “S-Sir?”
Giving Harry a calculating look, Lucius raised his wand and cast a no drip spell on the boy. “Stop destroying my house.”
“Er… yes, Sir.” Blushing, Harry turned and shuffled out the door.
“Could you at least attempt to be nice to him?”
“Draco, I am doing the best that I can. The boy is a menace.”
“Father, he is going through hell right now, and you are not helping matters. I brought him here because I wanted him to feel safe. He’s terrified of you.”
“Hmph, likely just the side effect of a guilty conscience.”
“That’s not fair. Harry has done nothing wrong. That he has put up with your uncalled for rudeness is amazing enough. What’s your problem with him, anyways? Did he piss in your tea or something? How can you be so normal and nice to everyone else, but an absolute jerk to him?”
Pansy and Blaise exchanged looks while Harry hung his head, stooped over in his pool chair. The two Malfoys had been arguing for the last five minutes, specifically about Harry. That the study window was wide open was only making things much more awkward—If that were possible. Harry had come down, dry and ready to get his tooth fixed, only to find father and son had locked themselves away to have a proper family spat.
“Shit, so I was totally jealous of you being able to live here with that freaking gorgeous hunk of Malfoy man-meat in there,” Pansy admitted to Harry. “But seeing how he totally seems to want to kill you… Not so sure anymore. Lucius is, well, wow—Freaking handsome, and strong, and totally knows how to treat a lady. But when he’s angry, he’s scary.”
Harry shrugged noncommittally. Yeah, Lucius was fucking hot, but he was also an ass whenever Harry was around, and that should probably make him less appealing. It didn’t, Lucius very much extra sexy when his gray-blue eyes were flashing and glaring Harry down. And that Draco thought Harry was afraid was just, well, a relief. He had no interest in his friend, or his friend’s father, ever finding out that Harry was totally just frozen in lust every time Lucius did or said something particularly mean.
That the two were arguing about Harry was more concerning, and he wondered again if maybe it was time to go rent an apartment. Harry hadn’t really thought much about what he was going to do after the Dursleys had kicked him out. He still had one more year of Hogwarts, and he figured he’d know by graduation. But having Draco fight with his father because the man couldn’t get along with Harry seemed more trouble than it was worth. Harry didn’t want the boy to ruin his friendship with his dad—Especially since his mother had become unavailable.
Huffing, Harry stood, walking towards the house and the arguing voices.
“Threatening to burn him in his clothes is not acceptable, Father! I don’t understand how this can be so confusing for you.”
“If you had seen the shirt you would have understood.”
“That is not an excuse to burn our house guest alive!”
Harry rapped on the door, the voices inside falling silent. After a moment, Draco answered, sighing in frustration when he saw it was Harry. “Harry, don’t do anything stupid.”
Harry pushed the door open the entire way, walking around Draco to the middle of the room.
“See, this is what I’m talking about,” Lucius muttered before Harry could even open his mouth. “Look at those pants—Hideous! No one should be caught dead wearing something like that.” Harry was wearing his only pair of jeans, all the other ones Dudley had handed down far too big to even consider wearing.
“Father, stop being such a snob. He can’t help it.”
Harry held his hand up, afraid the two of them were just going to start arguing again, but with him actually in the room. “Alright… so clearly me living here is a problem.”
“No!” Draco snapped, while Lucius answered with a resounding, “Clearly!”
Harry just nodded, not at all surprised. “Mr. Malfoy, is there a way I could persuade you to give me another chance? I could pay rent, if that’s the underlying problem. Maybe do some chores around the house?”
“Harry, that’s ridiculous,” Draco said, glaring at his father. “This isn’t about money or housework. This is about Father taking all his problems out on you.”
Harry met Lucius’s eye, the man not confirming or denying such a statement. “Listen, I don’t want to get between you two. With Narcissa gone, Draco needs you more than ever, and I don’t want to be the jerk that keeps getting everyone angry, whatever the reason. I can find sssome—” The three of them flinched as Harry whistled around his broken tooth again. “I can find a motel to crash in for now, and I can probably get an apartment within the month.”
Lucius growled, avoiding Draco’s angry glare as his son stomped up to him with hands on his hips. “He’s not going to be able to get an apartment, Father. He’s not of age, and you know it. It’ll be some terrible hole in the wall, and likely condemned by the Ministry. Or worse, muggle. The two of you are going to fix this because I will make the rest of our time together a living hell for you. I promise, and you know I keep my promises.”
“Do not threaten me…” Eyes narrowed, Lucius trailed off, knowing his pain in the ass son would very well follow through with such a promise. He instead turned his glare to the green-eyed, bewitching boy that was looking surprisingly calm and collected, given the situation. Harry’s shoulders were squared, as was his jaw, as if waiting for a devastating blow. But he was resolved, unafraid in the face of it all.
“Potter, let me see that tooth. We will figure out the rest later,” Lucius grumbled.
Draco beamed, knowing he had won. “Thank you, Father!” He exclaimed, nearly bowling Lucius over with a hug that he begrudgingly returned.
Harry did not look so relieved. “Wait, I didn’t say I was staying. I mean—You’re just going to fight again.”
“Potter, sit down and let me heal you,” Lucius snapped, waving Draco away to go tell his friends the good news.
“Er… I think I’d rather wait until you weren’t so angry before I let you anywhere near me with a wand,” Harry mumbled, taking a step back when Lucius got up from his desk.
Lucius smirked wickedly, admitting a secret thrill to the boy backing away from him in fear. “That would be a very long wait. Get over here. Now.”
Harry bristled at the order, glaring at the man. Then he swallowed, heat pooling in his stomach and turning his knees to jelly. God, why did he always get like this around Lucius? It was absolutely crazy. Being inches from the man’s disdainful, gorgeous face while getting his tooth fixed was not a good idea right now, and Harry back away another step.
Lucius only strode closer, looking all the world like a predator about to pounce. “Mr. Malfoy… I would really rather wait…” Harry whispered even as the man wrapped strong fingers around his jaw and held him still.
“I have other things to do today, Potter,” Lucius drawled smoothly, tilting Harry’s face up and pressing fingers to his red lips. Harry parted them hesitantly, certain he was somehow getting himself in a lot of trouble when Lucius leaned closer, thumb caressing his bottom lip slowly.
What would Lucius taste like? That tea he drank every morning? Or maybe the wine he had at night with his meals…? Maybe he tasted like he smelled, warm and spicy, with an underlying tang of citrus…
“There isn’t enough light. Move over to the window. Sit.”
Harry pulled away with a small gasp, closing his eyes a moment to keep the room from spinning. He had not wanted to kiss the man just then. That would be insane. He was Draco’s father, and a right bastard, and god… really fucking sexy…
“The chair,” Lucius growled when Harry insisted on staring at the floor. Jumping, Harry sat in the luxurious roller chair, eyes closing as the smell of leather and Lucius encased him. No, this was very much a bad idea.
Harry jolted, the chair moving suddenly as Lucius pulled him towards the window and the daylight glowing in. He watched silently as the man knelt to his level, eyes widening when those icy, predatory eyes fixed on his and refused to look away. Harry wanted to close his eyes, afraid every heated feeling he had could be read if Lucius just kept staring long enough. But he couldn’t look away. He felt like a small animal trapped in the eyes of the creature about to devour him, and it wasn’t a completely unpleasant feeling.
Locking the wheels in place so that Harry wouldn’t roll away and ruin the intricate spellwork, Lucius leaned forward, pressing both his thumbs to the boy’s mouth until he opened with a gasp. “You need to stay very still. Regrowing teeth can be tricky work.”
Harry didn’t say anything, certain he would babble if he did and end up messing up his tooth. But at least now he could close his eyes, and he did so with relief.
Hell, he could feel Lucius’s breath, moving over his chin, touching ever so lightly across his mouth while the man studied the tooth that needed repair. He could feel the heat of Lucius’s skin, the scent of him overpowering, leather yielding on his back and Lucius’s body very much unyielding at his front. God… this was a really fucking bad idea…
Lucius’s hand was moving over Harry’s jaw, holding him still again, pulling forward a little bit, as if maybe the man was going to kiss him. Harry kept his eyes shut, telling himself he was an absolute fool and should not want such a thing from his best friend’s father. He suppressed a sigh, the hand moving again, spreading heat as it contoured to the bottom of Harry’s chin, and then kept sliding down his throat, pausing at his Adam’s apple to feel when he swallowed.
He had to be losing his shit. Lucius was just being careless as he concentrated on his tooth… Right? Harry’s mind whirled, then froze again, Lucius’s hand moving, fingers spreading and slowly dragging around to the back of his neck. The man cupped his spine with his large hand, fingertips digging in firmly, and Harry could not suppress a shudder.
Everything had gotten very quiet, Lucius no longer whispering the words to the spell. And if he wasn’t doing that, then what the hell, exactly, was he doing with his hand on Harry’s neck while he pressed his tingling wand against his lips? Harry could feel his heart accelerating at the very thought, heat rising to his face.
Lucius didn’t have an answer for the unspoken question, having healed Harry rather easily, and now unable to pull away. He had to, there was no question about that—Not because Harry was Draco’s friend, or the same age as his son, or even the cursed destroyer of Voldemort—No, because the boy was wearing the most hideous jeans Lucius had ever had the misfortune to come across, and still managed to look fuckable in them.
“Potter.”
“Y-yeah?”
“Open your eyes.”
“Er… I’d rather not, Sir,” Harry whispered, keeping his eyes closed tight. He swallowed, Lucius’s wand moving against his lips. First, because Harry had spoken against it, and now… Well now, because Lucius was tracing his gaping mouth with it. The tingling tip moved first up, over the bow of Harry’s lips and then slowly down, pressing into the swell of his bottom lip. Harry could not stop the hitch of breath from the sensation. Or the moan that followed when the wand was suddenly pressing forward and into his mouth, tingling against his tongue and moving towards the back of his throat. “Oh fuck…”
“That is… aspiring…” Lucius purred lowly, gripping tighter on Harry’s neck. Watching the boy’s face intently, Lucius drew his wand from Harry’s mouth, running saliva down over his bottom lip, the red wetting, and beckoning, and dripping. Harry licked his tongue out slowly, cleaning the wet away, drawing Lucius in until he was pressing his fingers to his mouth again.
Feeling the rough texture of Lucius’s fingertips brushing over his lips, pressing forward, dipping ever so slightly into his mouth, Harry wondered blearily if maybe the man was so angry all the time because he really might just want to shag him. That was an amazing, dangerous thought. It was such a crazy, wild idea, Harry slowly opened his eyes, wanting to see if the answer might be there on Lucius’s face.
Opening his eyes broke whatever spell Lucius was under, Harry just catching the man shake his head before pulling his hands away. And then Lucius was standing, growling under his breath and leaving, Harry staring blankly after. “What the fuck?”
He touched his front tooth, whole and at its proper size. “Seriously… What the fuck?” Harry leaned forward, running his hand through his tousled hair and pulling sharply. Then he blinked, head jerking up to look through the window where his three friends were sitting at the pool, very much staring back at him looking just as confused.
“Aw hell.”
Harry wasn’t sure what Draco was going to do to him, but it was going to hurt and would likely be loud. Draco was definitely a yeller. Not to Vernon’s level, but in its own way spectacular and just as impressive for someone so small. The boy was also a hitter—Also not to Vernon’s level. Harry tried not to compare anyone to Vernon in that regard.
The three of them were standing right outside the door to the house, as if waiting for Harry to come outside but not willing to go in and get him. Harry deliberately kept his hands down, just in case Draco was in a punching mood and saw defense as means to attack. Pushing the door open slowly, Harry stepped out, using it partially as a shield.
“Potter!” Draco shouted, wand in hand.
Harry flinched, keeping his hands down and open, and stepping out onto the patio, the door swinging shut behind. “I didn’t do a thing. I didn’t even know.”
“Bullshit! You—you… He’s my father!” Draco snarled, not really sure what Harry had done, but knowing somehow it had to be the boy’s fault.
“I am well aware,” Harry replied evenly. “That is why I’m just as confused. He’s straight. We all know he’s straight.”
Blaise whistled softly. “Is he? I mean, consider his generation. They were all in the closet back then… Hell, he could be Bi, and it just never came up before our pretty Harry here. I’m straight and things still come up for Harry,” Blaise added with a wicked smile and wink.
Harry rolled his eyes, Blaise’s theory that Harry could turn any straight man gay not helping. Especially with the way Draco was glaring at him. “I did not turn him gay. I’ve barely said two words to him since I got here. And all he’s bothered to say to me was to complain about my clothes, and how I get hurt, oh, and messing up the house, and eating everything—Shit, Draco, he fucking hates me.”
Pansy huffed, arms crossed over her chest. “Geez, I wish he’d hate me like that. I thought he was going to make you deep throat his wand—”
“That is not helping, Pans!” Harry snapped, stepping back when Draco snarled and brandished his wand again. “I was just sitting there—You saw me! I had my eyes closed. I didn’t even know the spell was done until… until…”
“Until you were sucking on his fucking wand,” Draco growled, and Harry knew that this was definitely a hitting mood.
Sighing, Harry held his hands out wide. “Fine, whatever, blame me for everything. I wanted to leave and go move into a motel, but the two of you insisted I stay. I was just minding my own business—”
“Oh, don’t pretend you didn’t love it,” Pansy interrupted with a wide grin. “Your face was bloody red.”
Harry glanced worriedly at Draco, shrugging helplessly. Harry was a terrible liar and they all knew it. “He’s… Damn it, just because he’s hot doesn’t mean I was chasing him, Draco. Stop pointing your wand at me.”
“Or he might suck it,” Blaise snickered, Pansy cackling with him.
Harry hated them both at that moment. “You aren’t helping!”
“There is no helping this, so might as well just sit back and enjoy,” Pansy said simply.
“Alright, the two of you go away. I need to talk to him without your weird shit.” Harry waved his hands at Blaise and Pansy, but Draco stopped them before they could go.
“What the hell is there to say?” Draco threw his arms up in exasperation. “He… Gah, he likes you? This is fucking gay—Damn it, literally. This is messed up. Did you—Shit, is this why mother left?”
Harry held his hands up, eyes wide. “Whoa, don’t blame that on me, Draco. I never came over here before then. You said it yourself—Your mom started hanging with your Aunt and got sucked up in her shit.”
“Yeah, but maybe she was going out more because Father was, well, gay?” Draco didn’t look sure about anything, his face pinched with worry.
“Don’t… You shouldn’t just assume, okay? Relationships are complicated, especially the longer they go. Just talk to your dad and, you know, please leave me out of it.”
Draco shook his head. “There is no way I’m talking to my father about this. He was totally going to… Right, kiss my best friend, and that’s fucked up and I’m not talking to him about any of it.”
“It’s not fucked up,” Pansy disagreed sharply. “He’s not ancient. He’s not dead, and your mom is out of the picture.”
“Pansy…” Harry warned, but the girl would not be silenced.
“I’m tired of it. He’s a damn person, not just your dad. You shouldn’t judge him like that.”
“Listen, I’ve ignored your crush on him for ages, ‘cus seriously, you never stood a damn chance,” Draco growled, Harry sighing and shaking his head with Blaise frowning worriedly. “You don’t know a damn thing about my father, and you never will, so mind your own bloody business.”
Pansy did not start crying like Blaise and Harry had feared. Instead the girl stood taller and laughed. “You really don’t know a thing about people, Draco. Maybe once you reach his age you’ll understand. Being happy is damn difficult sometimes, and why should you fight against the things that make you happy? Even your mother, as messed up and sad as it is, went off and did something she found fulfilling. Do you expect your dad to wait around for her to change her mind, like everything is just going to go back to how it was?”
Harry wasn’t sure if Draco was going to yell or breakdown, neither option desired. “Draco, I’ll leave. Right now. No anger, no bitterness—It’s fine. I don’t want to mess up your situation anymore than it already is.”
Draco pulled his glare away from Pansy for a second to turn to Harry. “Shut up, you’re not going anywhere. Pansy, I’m not waiting for my mom to come back, but god, have a little fucking respect. Shit, at least Harry isn’t following him around the house trying to get him alone.”
Pansy shrugged, not sorry for any of it. “Hey, not like you get a lot of opportunities with Lucius Malfoy.”
This was all just getting way too awkward for Harry. “Listen, I’m going to go throw some of my things together and get lost for a bit. I need to think, and this—” He waved his hand at the the world around him, “Isn’t helping.” Before Draco could turn and try and convince Harry otherwise, Harry slipped into the house and shut the door behind him.
Lucius had tried to calm himself by pacing his room, but to no success. The little brat was haunting him, glowing green eyes stuck in his memory as if he were right there in the room with him. That Lucius desired the boy be there was even worse. Surely Potter would clash with everything he owned.
Not the boy, but his wardrobe. Lucius was starting to make the distinction. Every time he was repulsed by the terror of clashing colors, torn worn fabric, and ill fitted sizes, he was being drawn to what was underneath it all. The glimpses of golden skin, toned, lithe form and those ever tantalizing red lips would go with anything. The attributes had even made the cacophony of mess that Potter called clothing bearable. Lucius was certain that without said clothing, the boy would be well suited for his house, never mind bedroom.
Harry had made the barest of noises, soft, uninhibited gasps of pleasure when Lucius had pressed his fingers to those firm, ripe lips. For all Potter’s skittering looks and mumbled apologies, underneath was a fire raging, just needing the right touch to release it. Lucius knew he could do it—The idea of even attempting was exhilarating.
But Lucius had stopped himself. Harry’s eyes blinking open, just ready to go wide and innocent like they always seemed to do, had reminded Lucius that the boy had no one. No parent, no relative, no caretaker. Lucius had too much power, owning the house and deciding if the boy could dwell within it. It was not the right balance, even for something as delicious and tawdry as a fuck in his study.
A walk was in order. Something to get him out of the house and far away from the wild boy and his many annoying quirks. Perhaps an outing by the lake… Decided, Lucius threw his bedroom door open, stepping into the hall and tripping over the bloody nuisance of a boy he had been hoping to avoid.
“Damn it—Sorry, Mr. Malfoy.” Blinking owlishly at the man who had just knocked him halfway across the hall, Harry got to his feet, muttering as he checked his glasses. They were broken, and he growled softly. Nothing was going right that day. He glanced warily at Lucius, the man looking at him as if Harry had intentionally placed himself in his path instead of having been on his way out the door. Harry would fix the glasses later, when not being glared at.
Harry picked up the duffel bag he had dropped, slinging it back over his shoulder. Glasses clutched carefully in his hand, he continued his walk towards the stairs.
“Glasses, Potter,” Lucius ordered, Harry stiffening and stopping mid step.
He really should just go. The man was probably just looking to insult him. “What about them?” Harry asked, shaking his head at his own stupidity. He just couldn’t let it go, could he?
“I was offering to repair them,” Lucius said, stepping forward with his hand outstretched.
“Oh… Fine, if you want.” Harry shrugged, dropping his bag and turning to hand his glasses over. Lucius’s fingers brushed his and Harry stared down, feeling a jolt from the contact. It really was ridiculous just how mad Lucius made him feel.
To think Draco was downstairs certain Lucius was lusting over Harry, when up here it just seemed like the man could still barely stand to be near him. Harry knew it hadn’t been a dream, very well remembering Lucius and his wand… and fingers… But it seemed very far away, Lucius now ordered and proper, and nothing like what Harry remembered in the study.
“Er… Sir, I’m going to need those back,” Harry called when Lucius suddenly turned, walking through the door he had just exited with Harry’s glasses in hand. Sighing, Harry waited a moment but Lucius didn’t return. Tapping his foot, he decided being rude and intruding was likely better than never getting his glasses back.
Being nearsighted, Harry got more of an impression of Lucius’s bedroom than anything of much detail. The smell was the most impacting, very much full of the expensive cologne the man wore. He could make out dark rich woods mixed with white linens, light blinding in from the open drapes. And Lucius, standing in front of a large mirrored dresser, chanting steadily as he spelled Harry’s glasses back together.
Harry stepped closer than he normally would, wishing to make sure the man was repairing his glasses and not cursing them in some fit of revenge for Harry’s many terrible clothes. Harry would not put it past Lucius. “If you’re done, I really need to get going,” he said impatiently, trying to ignore the funny way his stomach was tripping to be in Lucius’s bedroom. It was the man’s inner sanctum, very much seductive and sensual. A dangerous place to be after the confusing incident of early.
“Oh, and where are you going in such a hurry?” Lucius asked, pulling a soft cloth out from one of his drawers to carefully clean Harry’s glasses.
Harry shrugged, really not wanting to get into it. “Out.”
“With a bag full of clothes.”
“Yeah, so? It’s not like I live here or anything. I figured things were getting too weird, and I should start looking elsewhere.”
Lucius raised a perfectly manicured brow, humming softly. “I thought you liked weird things, Potter. You don’t seem to know much of normal.”
Harry gritted his teeth, not sure exactly what the insult was, but knowing it was another damn insult on top of a really fucked up day. Hadn’t Lucius just been sticking his wand down Harry’s throat? Now the man was going to call him weird? “You know what, Lucius? You are a bloody neurotic, rude, absolute pain in my ass. I have done everything to be pleasant to you from the very beginning—Hell, I wanted to be pleasant. You did a really nice thing for me, letting me stay here. It should have been really easy to like you. But you managed to make it impossible.”
“Potter, you have been wearing the most atrocious clothes since the day I picked you up from your relatives,” Lucius said, as if that explained everything.
“So? Who the hell cares? Why does it matter what I wear? More importantly, why does it matter to you?” Harry was almost shouting and he didn’t care. The man was infuriating and messed up, and shouting was much easier than thinking of the other things he’d very much rather be doing with his mouth in that moment.
“Potter,” Lucius growled, wrapping Harry’s glasses in the soft cloth and placing them on the bureau. “You have been taunting me since the very first moment. Wearing such terrible clothes, holes all over the place, one pair of pants I was certain were see through, they had been worn so much. Do you think I’m naïve?”
Harry had no idea what Lucius was talking about. “Naïve? Lucius, I have told you, those are the only clothes I own.”
“I am aware.” Lucius flicked his wand, Harry’s duffel bag soaring in from the hallway and landing at their feet, the door snapping shut behind it. “May I?”
“What, go through all my things and tell me how terrible they look? Knock yourself out, you bloody psycho,” Harry grumbled angrily. And naturally, Lucius did exactly that. The man pulled nearly every article of clothing Harry owned out of the bag—surprisingly not that many, for all the horror Lucius remembered of the clothing—and verbally described each piece in such scathing detail Harry was actually impressed with the man’s extensive vocabulary.
“Are you done?”
Eyes narrowing as the bag was found to be empty, Lucius turned his piercing glare to Harry. “No. Those jeans you’re wearing. Those enormous, disgusting, hideous, thread worn, low-class, shapeless…” Harry tuned the man out, watching as Lucius gasped for air while continuing his rant on the pants Harry was wearing. “…Potter, give them to me.”
“Huh?” Harry blinked, something changing enough in the long chain of insults for Harry to realize Lucius had said something different.
“Give me your jeans,” Lucius demanded, his hand held out expectantly.
Harry took a step back, grinning crookedly as heat rushed to his face. “Er… No. That would definitely be a no.” Lucius was out of his mind if he thought Harry would be handing over his pants.
Lucius ignored the answer, striding forward and grabbing Harry by the hem of his shirt. “This too. This oversized, ugly thing. Look at the holes in it—This is not the way to dress.”
“Malfoy—I don’t care. It’s mine and I’ll wear what I want!” Harry yelled, struggling against the hands trying to pull his shirt up and over his head. Pausing, Lucius gave Harry an assessing look. Then, with an elegant shrug of his wide shoulders, Lucius grabbed Harry’s shirt by the collar and tore the material in half with one harsh wrench.
“Holy crap… You’re a crazy person… Out of your fucking mind crazy…” Harry mumbled, staring down at the rip in his shirt and the flesh it revealed.
Lucius had been considering this, seeing as he couldn’t stop thinking about the hideously dressed brat. But he was also staring at the long patch of revealed skin, and was already understanding that he had been very right. Slowly and gently he pushed the scraps of fabrics off of Harry’s shoulders, watching in relief and anticipation as more of the boy’s golden skin was revealed. “This is better… Much better…”
Harry blinked up, blushing when he found the man leaning very close and staring at his body. “Mr. Malfoy…”
“Lucius.”
“Er… Lucius… Are you feeling okay?” Harry asked, genuinely concerned for the man’s sanity. Draco’s mom had gone crazy and it looked like his dad was on his way. His breath caught, Lucius close enough that even without his glasses Harry could see his sharp gray eyes as they rose to meet his. And as Harry’s shirt fell away, so did a lot of the anger in Lucius’s expression. Apparently the man really hated his clothes.
“You have been taunting me, Harry,” Lucius murmured, hands lighting down Harry’s sides.
“I-I have?” Harry did not remember taunting the man. He had been as polite as humanly possible while living with the jerk.
Lucius just nodded, mouth descending to Harry’s collarbone and pressing a long, open-mouth kiss. “Every day… covering yourself in horrible…”
“Oh hell… They’re all I have…”
“Atrocious… hideous clothing… not worthy of your beautiful flesh.”
“I am not—Oh god, why are you kneeling?”
“You are extremely beautiful,” Lucius muffled into Harry’s stomach, tongue reaching out to lick a wet path. “Even with those terrible clothes… It is mind-boggling just how beautiful you are… Because these are horrible, horrible clothes…”
Harry just nodded dumbly, holding onto the man’s shoulders to keep from falling. His knees were shaking and heat had completely flooded him, and Lucius was really close to finding out just how much Harry was enjoying the man’s mouth moving over his skin.
“Oh, please don’t,” Harry moaned, Lucius’s hands now on his waistband and seeking out the front to his belt. Draco was going to kill him.
Lucius skillfully unclasped Harry’s belt, slipping the leather from the loops and throwing it to the floor. He took his mouth from the boy’s flat stomach, resting his forehead while staring down at Harry’s fly as he slowly pulled it down.
“Stop—Shit, your son is going to kill me!” Harry tried to push Lucius away, shoving at his shoulders, but the man was like a damn mountain and didn’t budge.
“Draco doesn’t care,” Lucius said simply, glancing up at the very red-faced, absolutely stunning boy. Eyes catching, Lucius moved a hand up, pressing his thumb to Harry’s nipple and then twisted slowly.
“Oh god… oh… oh…” Harry, eyes squeezed shut and mouth gaping, completely forgot what he was saying.
“It’s not like he’s in competition,” Lucius continued, gently pulling the little bud and watching as Harry jerked from each touch. “And really, it wouldn’t be much of a competition, Harry. The things I can do to you… The depths of ecstasy I can bring you to… Hell, just the extra reach I have to twist you into any position…” He smiled into Harry’s stomach, both hands again at the boy’s hips as he began to pull the hideous jeans off.
There were too many thoughts swirling in Harry’s mind from what Lucius had just said, many of them very hot and full of inappropriate ways to test those theories out. But… didn’t Lucius have a wife…? “Mr. Malfoy—L-Lucius, he does care… He’s angry… acting like I’ve been… Oh god, seducing you…”
“Seducing… that does seem like what you’ve been doing…” Lucius snagged his fingers under the waist of the boy’s boxers, pulling the band forward as well, careful to move around Harry’s prominent erection. And then the ugly clothes were at the boy’s ankles and Lucius could finally see all of Harry, smooth skin, hard muscle and red flush. “You are beautiful.”
Harry refused to open his eyes, panting loudly and trying to will himself into some state of invisible camouflage like a lizard. This was insane—He was naked in front of Lucius Malfoy. He was naked, and the man wasn’t insulting every inch of him. No, he had saved that for all of Harry’s clothes. Harry himself was apparently beautiful to the man—Which only made Lucius that more crazy.
Lucius’s hands were at his ankles and Harry mindlessly lifted each foot when urged, the man pulling off his shoes and socks, sneakers clattering on the floor some ways off. Then Lucius shifted, shirt ruffling as he stood and pulled Harry to his hot—Lucius was very fucking hot—body and began rubbing his palms over Harry’s back.
“Open your eyes, Harry. I want to see you.”
Harry whimpered, turning his head and refusing. There was no way in hell he was going to face whatever disdain was on Lucius’s face, no matter how pretty his words were at the moment.
Lucius sighed into his hair, moving his lips down and kissing Harry’s ear, cheek and jaw. He gently caught the boy, fingers wrapped around his chin, and turned his face so Lucius could kiss him, slowly, headily, until Harry couldn’t help but part his lips and let the man’s questing tongue in.
Dear god, he was naked… and kissing Lucius Malfoy… while in his bedroom. Harry shuddered hotly, Lucius making an approving noise right before moving his hands lower and squeezing Harry’s bare ass. “Oh god—Oh!” Harry gaped, Lucius pulling him even closer, his sensitive flesh assaulted by Lucius’s clothing, his hard cock jolting into the man’s thigh. He was naked and hard in Lucius’s bedroom… And Lucius was… woah… He was big.
Harry hesitantly opened his eyes, gaze drifting down to the hot, hard bulge pressing into his lower stomach. He moved his shoulder’s back while Lucius nipped at his jaw, squinted down, wishing he had his damn glasses. But he didn’t, so Harry did the next—or maybe just better—thing, and slipped his hand down between the press of their bodies. His fingers cautiously traced the man’s length through his pants, eyes widening as he realized just what Lucius was working with.
“Do you approve?” Lucius rumbled into Harry’s ear, Harry nodding dumbly, blushing, if possible, even more. Harry could not seem to stop himself, and he pressed his palm firmly into Lucius’s hard dick, gasping when the man growled and nipped his neck in response. Suddenly Lucius was lifting him, large hands on his thighs, pulling him up against his body and bringing them face to face as if he weighed nothing at all.
Harry stared, breathing shallowly, thighs stinging raw against the man’s pants as he gripped Lucius’s hips with his legs. Lucius was looking particularly predatory as he ran his startling pale eyes over his face. It was not five o’clock just yet, but Lucius was already stubbly with bristle, and Harry ran fingers cautiously over the rough flesh. It felt particularly nice, and Harry found himself leaning forward, tongue flicking out to taste the bristle like he had been wanting to since he had first stumbled across Lucius in the kitchen after a particularly bad nightmare.
Lucius hissed lowly from the touch. The sound made Harry dizzy, and he twisted his hand into Lucius’s very silky hair, holding the man tight so that he could run his tongue flat over his jaw in long swipes. Harry soon followed with his teeth, moving to the sharp edge to nip, and then down, rough bristle scraping his smooth cheek as he bit and sucked down Lucius’s throat. He was vaguely aware that they were moving, Lucius’s hands holding him more securely, and then bright light flooded his eyes when Harry’s head fell back against soft sheets, Lucius sitting back to stare and work at the buttons of his shirt.
Harry watched, biting his lip. He stared fuzzily at the dusting of blond hair on the man’s broad chest, pale, smooth muscles and tight hard abs. He swallowed hard, Lucius tossing his shirt aside and moving forward, palms caressing over Harry’s legs, squeezing the muscles of his calves and rubbing his knees. Then he was moving up, dragging rough fingers across Harry’s flesh and digging into his outer thighs, pulling a surprised groan from Harry.
Piercing eyes caught him again, a question in them that Harry could not quite decipher. Harry was lying in Lucius’s bed, naked, the man very much breathing on his knee without even a shirt between them. Harry was having a difficult time thinking in general.
“Holy shit!” Harry yelped in surprise, Lucius suddenly gripping his hips and pulling him down the bed with a smooth motion, forcing his knees up and thighs spread wide. Harry had the amazing privilege of feeling the man’s bristle against his inner thigh, prickling him into small, choked gasps as Lucius ran wet, hot kisses down one thigh and then up the next. Harry let his head fall back, eyes squeezed shut, not sure if he was going to die from embarrassment that Lucius’s mouth was inches from his hard dick, or just die if the man didn’t at least show an interest in sucking him off.
Breathing heavily into Harry’s soft, firm flesh, Lucius gently sunk his teeth into his thigh, feeling the boy jerk and cry out. Harry was exquisite—Definitely made to be nude all the time. Even if Lucius dressed him in the finest clothes, nothing would enhance Harry better than fresh air, light, and Lucius’s hands touching the boy. Lucius moved himself up slowly, pressing a chaste kiss to where Harry’s thigh met his groin. And then ran his tongue out, moving through tight curls of hair to find the boys nestled, straining cock.
“Oh god… Oh my god…” Harry mumbled incoherently, hands flying to Lucius’s head, fingers twisting in the man’s long hair that kept brushing over his thighs and hips. Lucius continued to move his wet lips and tongue over Harry’s length, teasing, taunting, and absolutely maddening. Harry whimpered, thrusting his hips up when Lucius breathed hot air right at the tip of his cock, but the man held him in place, keeping Harry from getting the contact he desperately needed.
“Slowly, Harry… I want to savor someone as beautiful as you,” Lucius purred, tongue swiping a path from his balls all the way to his tip.
Harry just gave an exasperated bark of laughter, fairly certain that he was losing his mind. “Savor me later… Suck me now,” Harry pleaded, groaning when Lucius chuckled and ran another wet trail, deliberately scraping teeth ever so lightly against his sensitive length. Harry threw his head back, body arching as Lucius again breathed scalding heat on his tip and then slipped his tongue out, lapping at his slit. “Hell!”
Stretching, Lucius pulled himself from between the boy’s strong thighs, moving up Harry’s body and finding the flushed face and near frantic eyes of the enchanting brat. Tipping the boy’s chin, Lucius kissed him again, Harry giving a soft moan and relenting. “I’m going to burn all of your clothes,” Lucius murmured between long, deep kisses.
“Mister—Damn it… Lucius… that is not… Oh god… Oh, please…”
“I’m going to burn them… and you are going to have nothing to wear,” Lucius promised, settling his knees on either side of the boy’s long, slender legs.
“You’re… crazy,” Harry gasped, head falling back, only to be followed by Lucius’s persistent mouth and tongue.
Lucius shrugged. He figured after all these years he could afford himself some eccentricities. “If you could see just how stunning you are… How fucking sexy…” Harry gave a little gasp, eyes widening when Lucius swore, the sound very foreign and arousing on the man’s lips. “Clothing just hides you away… and that, Harry, is a crime.”
Lucius was a very convincing man, even if he was clearly out of his mind. Harry stared into the demanding gaze, a thrill tingling down his spine. “What… you uh, expect me to walk around naked?”
“Oh, you’re going to be too tired for walking, I think,” Lucius growled, hands moving up Harry’s sides possessively.
Eyes widening at the implication, Harry gaped silently. The man was… well… hot. Crazy and fucking hot. “So… er… Why would I, um, be so tired?” Harry whispered, gulping at the wicked grin Lucius gave in reply.
Hands moving down to Harry’s hips, Lucius pressed his thumbs into the sharp protrusion of bone and rubbed slowly. “Because when you look as you do, especially without clothes, you have to expect that I am going to fuck you. Repeatedly. Until you can no longer walk.” Lucius tilted his head, eyes teasing. “It’s only to be expected.”
“I see…” Harry’s arms began to shake and he lowered them to the mattress. Repeatedly… He had said repeatedly. “And, uh, do I get any say in this?”
“Oh, I suppose.” Lucius let his hands move down, cupping Harry’s ass and running his fingertips down his crack. “You get to say how hard… Oh, and how long.” Lucius bent forward, nipping Harry’s lips while the boy whimpered. “How much more.”
“More,” Harry echoed, eyes fluttering shut and hips rocking up towards the man above him.
“Yes, just like that,” Lucius agreed, pressing a finger against Harry’s tight hole. “Whatever you want…”
“Oh fuck,” Harry gasped, pressing down, urging the finger inside.
Lucius hissed, nipping Harry’s bottom red lip again, holding it between his teeth and releasing it with a wet pop. “That was the plan.”
Since finding Harry sitting on his trunk, next to the ugly metal car and wearing clothing a troll would have discarded, Lucius had been planning on having the boy. He just hadn’t fully realized it, very much distracted by foolish things like morals, propriety, and hideous clothes. Just as much as the boy was made to be nude, he was also made to be spread beneath Lucius, gasping those sweet, desperate cries in his ear.
Lucius called his wand from his bureau, flipping the surprised boy with a quick roll. He paused, hissing softly, noticing when Harry stiffened and did not relax this time.
The boy’s back was littered with scars, long white lines and shorter bright flecks of pain highlighted even brighter with the way Harry’s skin was quickly turning red. Eyes transfixed on the bizarre crosshatch that had no right to be there on the boy’s beautiful skin, it took Lucius a moment to realize Harry was gasping for air.
Moving off Harry and to the side of the bed, Lucius turned the boy onto his side, raising Harry’s face so he could breathe and Lucius could read whatever the hell was going on in his mind.
Having caught sight of those piercing eyes, Harry shut his own quickly, trying very hard to focus on breathing and not the terror and all encompassing shame that was filling him. Lucius was tracing his jaw, almost gentle, and had yet to say anything horrible or otherwise. Harry wanted to disappear into the mattress, wishing he hadn’t forgotten why he always wore a shirt, the heat Lucius had filled him with completely stealing his sanity.
“I sh-should—”
“Be quiet,” Lucius ordered, his voice low and soft. “I want you to breathe deep, calm down, and be very quiet.”
Swallowing, Harry nodded, keeping his eyes closed and focusing on breathing.
Lucius bent over Harry’s gasping form, fingers resting on the boy’s arm. Carefully, as if they were raw wounds and not old scars, he began to trace the lines on Harry’s back. Most were from a belt, a distinct buckle that’s edge had hit the boy’s back repeatedly. The bright flecks were from the sharp pin that kept the belt in place, having dug into his smooth skin on numerous occasions.
Lucius knew it was none of his business, but that wasn’t knowledge enough to stop him from asking. “When?”
Harry jolted as if struck, taking a moment to answer. “S-Summers… Mostly last…”
Last summer Draco had asked his parents if he could have a friend over for a few weeks before school started. Narcissa had become enraged when realizing the friend had been muggle raised and only halfblood. Harry’s name had never even made it into the graceless conversation.
Brooding silently, Lucius spread his fingers, pressing his palms into the boy’s back and slowly massaging his tight shoulders and muscles. Harry stiffened under his touch but slowly, bit by bit, minute by minute, the boy unwound, relaxing and turning onto his stomach to give Lucius more room to work.
His breathing was slower, nearly normal, and Lucius pressed his face to Harry’s neck so he would hear his quiet replies. “Do you have many panic attacks?”
“Only the last year…” Harry sighed under Lucius’s strong hands, lashes fluttering. “The nightmares, and now… I can’t be without a shirt…”
“You choose not to charm them hidden.”
Harry shrugged uncomfortably. “I know there are spells, just… I’ll always know that they’re there. I don’t know if I want to pretend otherwise.”
Lucius sighed into Harry’s neck, sending a shiver down the boy’s spine. “I would like to show you something.”
Harry sat up hesitantly after Lucius pulled away. It was hard to meet the man’s eyes, but he made an effort. There was no pity in the sharp gaze, no cruelty or taunts. Harry relaxed, idly combing his messy hair into some sort of order. He froze, watching as Lucius picked up his wand and waved it over the front of his broad, bare chest.
“Holy crap…” Harry swallowed, eyes caught on the deep long scars that ran across the man’s ribs. There were two and Harry was fairly certain, although having never seen the end result before, that they were done by a whip. Lucius turned slowly, and there were many more on his back, varying degrees of intensity, some so deep looking it was a wonder that bone wasn’t peeking through. “Who…wh-why?” Harry stuttered, hand inadvertently reaching out to touch the small of Lucius’s back where a particularly deep pit slashed white.
Lucius turned, grasping Harry’s hand and staring down at his fingers. “I was young. Younger than you are now… My father did not approve of my choice of lovers. He caught me… I was able to protect the young man I was with, but I was not so lucky.”
“Your own father did this to you?” Harry shook his head in disbelief. “That’s insane.”
Lucius smirked without warmth. “Yes, well that describes my father well. He never let me out of his sight after that. Took me out of school, arranged for Narcissa to marry me and then, some years later, introduced me to You-Know-Who. My father was very determined that I make something proper of myself.”
Eyes moving over Harry’s face, Lucius bent down to where he was sitting on the bed and kissed the boy softly. Pulling away, he reached across the sheets, wrapping his dress shirt over Harry’s shoulders and covering his back. “Perhaps you should go for now. I’ve put myself in a mood, and don’t wish to upset you further.”
Pulling the soft shirt securely around him, Harry’s eyes kept glancing to Lucius’s scared chest. “Oh… if that’s what you want…” He stood, fingers again brushing lightly over the white puckered marks. Lucius gently trapped his hand, raising it to his mouth and kissing his fingertips. Harry swayed, blushing and feeling very hot. Only to gasp, eyes flying to behind the man where Lucius was pointing his wand.
“You’re bloody mad!” Harry yelped, watching his clothes become consumed by purple flames.
“I told you I was going to burn them,” Lucius said simply, cupping Harry’s face and kissing him again.
Harry moaned, trying to pull away from the hot mouth plundering him. “Yes… and you were mad then, too… Now I have nothing… to wear…”
“Such a shame,” Lucius purred, pulling from Harry’s mouth to kiss his forehead firmly. “Looks like you’re going to have to stay a while longer.”
Harry gaped disbelieving at the man. He continued to gape as Lucius returned from the dresser to hand Harry his glasses and then disappear out the bedroom door.
The… the fucker had burned all his clothes!
“Do you smell something burning?”
Harry was dragging his empty duffel bag behind him, hastily buttoned up in Lucius’s shirt that came down to his thighs, when he heard Draco walking up behind him.
“Yeah, all my fucking clothes,” Harry snapped, whirling to glare at the boy.
Draco stopped sniffing the air to look at his angry friend. “What?”
“Your father! He burned all my clothes,” Harry shouted, throwing his empty bag at the blond’s feet.
“That’s insane. Shit, what the hell is wrong with him?” Draco grumbled, kicking the bag to see it was indeed empty.
“I have like one pair of pants left—Pajamas! And those shirts you picked out that I don’t know what you did with. I’m getting the hell out of here. This is crazy. Your father is fucking crazy, and I’m not putting up with this shit anymore!” Harry started stomping towards the room Draco had let him reside in, muttering loudly.
Draco followed after, grabbing his arm. “Don’t go! I’ll buy you some new clothes. Where the hell are you going to go? I’ll talk to… Hold on. What are you wearing?” Draco suddenly asked, his fingers digging into Harry’s arm. “Is that…? You’re wearing my father’s shirt.”
Eyes widening, Harry coughed awkwardly, his anger fizzling in the face of Draco’s quiet rage. “I, er… that is… I needed something to wear?” Harry looked down innocently at his friend, praying for once in his life he could lie like a proper person. Unfortunately, he could not.
“What are these marks all over your neck? Why—Why are your lips all swollen? Holy fuck! Potter, I’m going to kill you!”
“It’s not what you think—Shit!” Harry ducked, pulling out of Draco’s grasp when the boy took an angry swing at him. “I didn’t—”
“You most certainly did! I know a thoroughly shagged look when I see it! For fuck sake, in my own goddamn home!”
“I didn’t—We didn’t! Almost did,” Harry added, a grin suddenly breaking across his face. “I mean, hell, your dad is really—”
“Potter!” Draco swung again, Harry quickly stepping back and nearly tripping. He caught the next swing thrown his way, Draco growling as he leaned his weight against Harry’s unyielding guard. “My father is not some sort of teenage heartthrob! It’s obscene!”
Harry couldn’t help it, he was grinning like a fool and could not stop. “Heartthrob? That man is an Adonis. When he kisses, it’s like—Oh my god, and his tongue—What the hell am I saying? I can’t tell you this. Where’s Pansy? I can tell Pansy this.” Harry let Draco go, turning to find his friend so he could talk inappropriately about Draco’s father properly.
Draco stared after him, his mouth hanging open. “Get back here!”
Harry snorted, turning and walking backwards. “You really want to hear about what your dad can do with his tongue on particular parts of my anatomy?”
Hissing, Draco grabbed for his wand, only to be reminded that Blaise still had it in his possession. Draco was supposed to be up here making things right with Harry, because clearly his father was losing his shit. Now Draco was pretty sure he was about to kill his best friend.
“Potter, you’re not wearing any pants.”
Blinking, Harry looked down at his state of half undress and stopped walking. His manic grin faded back into his frown of earlier. “Fuck, Draco, he burned all my clothes!”
“Well, you’ll excuse me if I don’t feel sorry for you!” Draco yelled back.
Harry stared at his furious friend, scratching the back of his head while he sighed. “Draco… your dad is messed up.”
Draco took a warning step towards him, hands fisted at his sides. “Seriously? Except for your clothes, I really don’t believe you’re complaining, you randy bastard.”
Harry laughed, holding his hands up. “Come on, that’s not fair! If you liked blokes you would totally understand. Your father is just, hell, fucking something. When a guy like that comes on to you there really is no way to say no. I mean—Look at him. I’m lucky I can be in the same room with him and not fall to my knees every time he says hello. That’s half the reason I’ve been avoiding him… The other half being he’s an absolute prick to me,” Harry added with a growl.
Draco had already heard this particular argument from Pansy and even, for some odd reason, Blaise for all his insistences on being straight. Which reminded Draco again that he had come up here to not fight with Harry, but to apologize for blaming him for enticing his father.
Given time to see things clearly, Draco knew Harry didn’t have a damn seductive bone in his body. The boy was an absolute mess, more terrified that anyone might get a peek at his back or find out about his messed up home life, than to ever chase after anyone sexually. It had actually been something Draco wanted to help Harry work on once they got back to school. The kid totally needed a boyfriend. Just, preferably, not Draco’s father.
“Listen, I’m going to let this slide this one time,” Draco said with a growl, his hands on his hips. “But I don’t want you fucking, well, fucking! He’s my father and you’re my friend. It’s creepy. I’m going to talk to him about it, and this is going to not bloody happen. Okay?”
Harry bit his lip, his eyes skittering away from Draco’s demanding glare. “’Kay.”
“Potter, I’m serious,” Draco snarled, knowing that look. “I don’t want you going near him again.”
Harry growled back, his face turning red. “What, like I want anything to do with the asshole that just burned my entire wardrobe? You know how difficult it is for me to get new clothes. I’m going to kill him the next time I see him!”
Draco didn’t fully believe Harry, but was not a hundred percent certain why. Maybe because he had completely missed the boy’s attraction to his father the whole time Harry had been there. Even though Harry couldn’t lie to others for shit, he could lie to himself, and Draco suspected that was what was happening now. “We’re getting you more emergency healing charms so there will be no excuse for you two to be that bloody close. And I’m never leaving you alone with him again.”
Harry shrugged, ruffling up the back of his hair. “Shit, like I care. Although, you act like being in the same room is all it takes to start jumping each other.”
Draco rolled his eyes before pinning his friend with a glare. “What exactly happened when you came up here?”
Blushing even more, Harry glared back. “Shut up.”
“Yeah, so I’m going to be a goddamn chaperone for the two of you. Now lets find you some pants already.”
Harry cautiously walked back over to Draco, the two of them sizing each other up warily. “Sorry I think your dad is hot,” Harry muttered.
“Me fucking too,” Draco said flatly. “None of my clothes are going to fit you. You’re too tall.”
“I know…” Harry sighed, pulling at the open cuffs of Lucius’s shirt. “I could always wear—”
“No, you cannot. And you’re giving the bloody shirt back to him the second he gets back.” Draco grabbed Harry by the shoulder and pulled him into his room to find something the boy could wear.
“What foul hell is this?” Lucius grunted, stepping into his dinning room to find his son and Harry eating dinner, Blaise and Pansy gone for the evening. Draco and Harry exchanged confused glances, Harry eventually looking down at his mismatch of clothing when the man continued to glare at him.
“Come on—You have no right to complain,” Harry grumbled, shoveling broccoli into his mouth and pointedly not meeting Lucius’s gaze.
“Father, I want to talk to you about—”
“Not now, Draco. Potter, I’ve arranged for someone to be down here at eight o’clock sharp tomorrow morning. You will be awake, pleasant and accommodating. He is a personal friend, and I will not tolerate rudeness towards him.”
Harry furrowed his brow, forced to look at the man just to figure out what the hell he was talking about. “What?”
“Eight o’clock. He will be understanding of your… condition.” Lucius paused a moment, eyes lingering on Harry’s face too long, only to fall to the pair of hideous pajama pants. Garish banana yellow with blue and red cartoons billowed around Harry’s legs in cosmic mockery of decency itself. Scowling, Lucius whirled and left the room, hands tight in fists.
“Father!” Draco stood up, giving Harry an apologetic look before running after Lucius.
Lucius had made it to his study before Draco caught up. Glancing agitatedly as his son stalked into the room, Lucius reached for the scotch, pouring himself two fingers and sitting in his chair. Harry had been in that chair only hours ago, the memory still hot in Lucius’s mind, along with the one from the bedroom, and the damn scars on the boy’s back.
“So, what is this? Some sort of revenge for telling you I didn’t want to join the Ministry when I got out of school?” Draco asked, shutting the door behind him.
“Pardon?” Pulling his mind to the here and now, Lucius fixed his son with a skeptical look. “Revenge… Have I harmed you in some way?”
“As much as my father snogging my best friend can harm a person,” Draco snapped. “What the hell is going on with you? I preferred when you were just being an ass to him. This is a bit much, Father!”
Lucius raised his brow, surprised. Draco was genuinely upset. “So you do not find snogging preferable to hexing. I’m somewhat confused about that.”
“Father!” Draco stopped himself, taking a deep breath. He went to Lucius’s desk, resting his palms lightly on the dark wood buffed to sheen brightly. “What do you want with him? How can some teenage boy be of interest to you? And why a boy? Pansy has been chasing after you since she first met you. Why him and why the hell now?”
Giving his son an accessing look, Lucius placed his glass down on his blotter. “If I tell you, will you stop taking things so personally?”
Draco sighed, blowing a loose hair from his face. “I don’t know… I guess it depends on the answer.”
It was a fair enough response, Lucius feeling compelled to be open. “Your mother and I have been sleeping with men for a long time. Nearly as long as we have been married.”
Draco flinched, bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Oh.”
“Arranged marriages, the good ones, allow for certain accommodations that we chose to indulge. It made life reasonably pleasant,” Lucius continued, watching his son’s face carefully. “With your mother being so erratic and filing for separation, I abstained from any pleasantries, concerned she would… retaliate in unreasonable levels. Bellatrix gleefully informed me at the beginning of summer that your mother has been ‘courting,’ as a polite way to put it, and I no longer felt the need to hold back.”
Staring down at his hands, Draco spread his fingers, making patterns idly as he thought. “So… you’ve been dating this summer?”
Lucius snorted softly. “If that is what you would like to call it, far be it for me to disillusion you. I will not be bringing anyone home, if that is your concern.”
It had been and Draco released a sigh of relief. “And Harry? What is he… just some pretty thing you saw lying around the house you decided to play with?”
Lucius didn’t answer, instead swallowing down the contents of his glass in a long gulp. “Tell me about the scars on his back. The name of the culprit.”
Draco stared at his father disbelieving and slowly shook his head. “No way. Not until I know what the hell you want from him.”
“I don’t want anything from him,” Lucius said evenly.
Draco raised his hands so he could then slam them on the desk. “Bullshit! You burned all his clothes!”
“So? They were repulsive and battered. I intend to replace them with something less offensive to my senses. There is no reason the boy should dress like that, now that he is free from those careless muggles…” He trailed off, eyes sharpening on his son. “It was the muggles, wasn’t it? His guardians?”
“Stop changing the subject!” Draco snarled. “Father, you are the most reserved, cunning, underhanded man I know, potentially matched only by my Head of House who lived his life as a double agent. You do not go into fits of rage and start burning things.”
Lucius smiled slowly, folding his hands on his desk and leaning forward. “Draco, you just found out today that I enjoy the company of men, and have had an open relationship with your mother of many years. You cannot honestly know if I’m not out setting things on fire all the time.”
Draco blinked, paling at his father’s queer expression. “Father… Now I’m even more worried for him. Is… is that what you want? Me freaking out that you’re losing your mind and going to hurt my friend?”
“I am not losing my mind.”
“You sure? Because Mother did, and you’re sure acting like a crazy person.”
Lucius sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at his melodramatic son. “Draco, I am a wizard. A powerful one. I am also a powerful man, wealthy and influential. If I want something, I get it through whatever means suit me at the time. I did not like his clothing. He no longer has said clothing—Although I will destroy those pants and I have yet to find that hideous orange thing. My actions are hardly out of proportion to my abilities. Now can we let this drop?”
Draco straightened, staring down at his father silently. Lucius, unlike Harry, was a very good liar, and had never had any qualms about lying to Draco. But Draco had to ask because Harry was not only his friend, but his guest, and he was responsible for the boy’s safety. “Father, what do you want from him?”
“Nothing.”
“Sex?” Draco pressed, daring his father to deny it.
Lucius took a moment to respond. “I desire that. But I do not want it.”
Understanding slowly dawning, Draco nodded. “So the things you want, you have no problem going after. But the things you desire…?”
“Are frivolous, and do not merit my effort.” He said it so smoothly, Draco almost wondered if his father was choosing to lie, but it seemed too much like Lucius’s philosophies in life that he couldn’t be certain.
“To be clear. You do not want Harry, but you do…” Draco raised his brows expectantly.
Lucius graced his son with a thin smile. “I desire him.”
It was an odd thing to even consider, Draco having seen his father only one way for, well, his entire life. Recently, Lucius had to be seen different, no longer with Mother there to do the majority of the household upkeep. His father had even gone so far as to start working shorter hours during the summer months, just to make sure Draco wasn’t home alone. Lucius had even indulged the allowance of Harry to stay, and his friends to come over whenever Draco called. Draco hoped that he could allow his father this new definition without too much struggle. Maybe if it hadn’t been his friend it would have been easier. Surely, if it hadn’t been a boy his own age…
Draco raised his eyes to his father’s, not quite sure he wanted to ask the next question. “This isn’t some weird transference thing for me…?”
Eyebrows seeking his hairline, Lucius held his hand up. “Draco, son, I mean this with all the kindness in the world as your father, protector and provider. You are not my type, and let’s leave it at that.”
Draco nodded hastily, his stomach unclenching from the knot it had found itself in. “Very good,” he said stiffly. “So I’m going to let you be, and finish my dinner, and pretend we did not talk about any of this.”
“That sounds like a wonderful plan,” Lucius drawled, mirth reflected in his eyes. “And that name I was inquiring about?”
Draco turned from where he was leaving, a scowl growing. “His uncle. Some fat, blustery, red-faced prick that kept going on and on about his job. I met him once last year while trying to convince Harry to run away. Still don’t know why Harry didn’t just put the creep in his place.” Shaking his head, Draco left, the door clicking behind him.
Getting up to pour himself another glass of amber Macallan, Lucius considered his options. He would prefer no information to get back to the green-eyed demon in the other room. Troublesome as the boy was, he seemed a bit delicate. Or maybe that was Lucius, transferring a little of his fatherly protectiveness… Death of Potter’s relatives would certainly warrant investigation. But there were so many diverting things one could do that did not lead to death—Not right away, anyways.
Lucius ruminated, images of twisted, repentant muggles slowly evolving to scarred, flushed skin, and swollen, red lips. Lucius had not been lying to his son; he very much desired Harry. But he may have skimmed over the facts of what that meant.
Lucius did not bother to put effort into obtaining the things he desired. He had spent a lifetime desiring many things he had been told he could and could not have. In the end, all of them had been his. Wanting was just the will. Desiring… It was a power that could not be contained or denied. His son would understand eventually, likely long after Lucius had ravished the scarred beauty beyond salvation.
The scars had been a terrible revelation, and the source of Lucius’s current mood. He had not felt this particular dark mood in a long time, but it was as familiar as seeing those pale thin slashes on one as young and as beautiful as Harry. Lucius had never been as innocent as the boy feigned, but he had admitted to some naivety to the consequences of his actions at his father’s hands. He wondered what Harry had done to warrant the many marks on his back… They were likely chronically inflicted. Not like the three distinct fits of rage that had possessed Lucius’s father in face of his disobedience, until Lucius had realized there truly was no hiding things from the man.
Then again, Lucius had killed the elder Malfoy and his father hadn’t seen that coming. Hardly all knowing and all powerful, no matter how he had tried to convince Lucius otherwise.
His father had been successful in one front. Lucius was the epitome of perfection at everything he did, be it torturing the weak, to hunting down and slashing dead the powerful. That he still felt… Well, Lucius wasn’t sure if that was his weakness or strength. It depended on the situation, and currently feeling was not desired.
“You’re pissed.”
“Hardly.”
“You’re wasted—Totally shitfaced.”
“Tipsy, tops.”
“Yeah, well you just tipsy’d yourself into the bathroom, and I would like to brush my teeth in peace, you drunk-ass, fire happy jerk.” Harry fixed Lucius with a glare through the bathroom mirror. He had his toothbrush halfway sticking out of his mouth, white foam just peeking across his lips in a way that Lucius could not seem to stop staring at.
“You know we have spells for that, correct?”
Harry huffed and returned to what he was doing, determined to ignore the plastered man. There were like fifteen bathrooms on the damn floor. Why couldn’t Lucius go annoy one of those?
Lucius stepped further into the sleekly tiled room, eyes caught on Harry’s pants. “You’re wearing those hideous pajama pants again. I thought I made myself clear that you were not to wear anymore ugly, unnatural color combinations while in my presence?”
“I wasn’t in your presence, you neurotic psycho. I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth.” Harry spat into the sink, filled his cupped hands with water and rinsed his mouth. He nearly choked on the way back up, glasses going askew and head just missing the mirror when Lucius ran his hand over his ass.
“You have a hole,” Lucius grumbled with a soft slur, finger poking into an apparent rip around Harry’s right ass cheek. “I swear you put them there yourself, just so I have to stare.”
“That’s crazy talk—Oh!” Harry closed his eyes, Lucius’s hands slipping to his hips, the man pressing the front of his body to Harry’s back and rubbing against him. Lucius was half hard, his large length slowly coming to life as he ground against Harry’s firm ass. Harry let out a shaky breath, his mouth refusing to close all the way.
“You do, don’t you?” Lucius murmured roughly, teeth biting at Harry’s ear while he breathed the boy’s scent in.
“W-what?” Harry croaked, eyes glancing to the mirror where he could see Lucius hovering. The man’s sharp eyes were hazy, and he smelled of cologne and the smooth scent of rich liquor.
“Put holes in your clothes… How anyone could have so many by accident is just impossible.” Hand moving to the side of Harry’s thigh, Lucius pressed his finger through another small hole, jolting Harry with the feeling of skin touching skin. “It’s either that, or you’re infested with moths. Have you trained moths to put holes in your clothes?”
“You are so totally sloshed right now,” Harry groaned lowly. Lucius pushed him forward with a hard thrust and held him there, Harry’s waist biting into the sink while he grabbed for purchase.
“Buzzed, if anything,” Lucius corrected, fingers moving over Harry’s thighs as he sought out more hidden holes. “Only two? That can’t be right…” He continued his search, fingers biting at Harry’s flesh beneath the thin material of his pajama bottoms. “Ah, ha… I knew it…” He hissed triumphantly.
“Oh fuck…” There had been a good reason Harry had not taken these particular pajama pants with him when packing his bags. They had torn at the inner thigh along the seam, very much not okay to wear around a busy-bodied, pain in the ass, obsessive compulsive, groping Malfoy. He could feel Lucius’s fingers slipping through the fabric, not even pretending to be coy as he went straight for Harry’s rising cock.
“Let’s go to my bedroom,” Lucius growled heatedly, teeth nipping at his neck while he tugged rhythmically on Harry’s dick. “We can finish what we started earlier.”
Harry moaned, falling back against the hard body behind him. That sounded like a really good idea…. But he was already in a lot of trouble over the whole ‘wanting to shag your father’ thing. “Er… Draco said I’m… not allowed in your bedroom anymore,” Harry whispered, fighting the urge to grind back into Lucius’s erection.
Lucius ran his tongue slowly up Harry’s neck. “My son does not dictate whom my bedroom is open to.”
Harry nodded quickly, his eyes squeezed shut. “R-right.. but, oh hell… He’s my friend.”
Lucius sighed, removing his hand from the boy’s length and the tear in his pants. Harry made a small whimper of disappointment, so soft Lucius almost wondered if he had imagined it. “Take your shirt off.”
Harry choked back an incredulous laugh, then gasped as Lucius thrust against his ass again. “Th-that’s only going to get me in trouble.”
“You are already in so much trouble, young man, you don’t even know it,” Lucius purred, wrenching at the boy’s hips. “Do you think I need a bed to fuck you? Do you think I need permission from my son? Harry, I could have you right here… hideous pants around your ankles… your tight, delicious ass clenching around my cock.”
“Oh. My. God.” Harry was pretty sure he was going to black out. His blood was no longer reaching his head, and his vision was totally dark at the edges, body very much taut and tense as Lucius continued to rub his large cock against his ass.
“Do you want that? Do you want to spread your legs wide and have me fuck you?” Lucius asked lowly, fingers pinching at Harry’s waistband, pulling at the elastic material and sending gusts of cool air across Harry’s erection. “You’ll drip with my cum, Harry. That tight, pink hole of yours will trickle white with my seed… down your thighs… the back of your legs… all over your balls.”
Harry really had no proper answer. He opened his mouth, certain he should tell the man he was absolutely crazy, and more than a little tipsy, but all that came out was a long, needy moan.
“You do… You want me to fuck you.” Lucius sunk his teeth into the junction of shoulder and neck, Harry jerking fitfully and moaning louder. “I should have known the instant I saw you in those damnable jeans…”
“Leave… my clothes… out of this,” Harry panted dizzily. He slit his eyes open, finding Lucius staring at him intently through the mirror. The man’s gaze blazing, he raised fingers to Harry’s mouth, touching his red lips until Harry parted them.
Harry watched, vision caught as Lucius began to explore his mouth with his long fingers. Surely it was some other boy, some green-eyed creature living in the mirror that was just pure wanton and wild, wrapping his tongue so boldly around Lucius’s two fingers, pulling them down, sucking them deep. The heavy lidded boy in the mirror looked confident, mouth wide, white teeth flashing as he nipped firmly. He had no shame, tightening his red lips to the thick fingers, creating suction as Lucius thrust rhythmically in and out of his mouth. It must have been some other boy, even though Harry could feel them in his mouth, warm flesh, rough pads of Lucius’s fingertips that tasted of booze, and salt, and a hint of floral soap.
Harry could see now what it looked like when Lucius trailed wet saliva over his red lips, crystal liquid coating and dripping, pulling down further, over his chin, down his throat to the collar of his new black tee. “Come on, Harry… Let’s see what it looks like when your nipples are wet.”
Lucius pulled at the material of his shirt and Harry didn’t stop him. Instead he watched, transfixed as the man pulled the fabric up, bunching it and pulling it tight under Harry’s armpits, twisting the fabric to expose the boy’s chest and stomach to the mirror. “I want to watch you come. I have been dreaming of seeing those pouting lips of yours parted wide when you jet your seed all over your stomach.” Lucius moved slower against Harry’s back, rubbing in a way that Harry was pretty sure meant the man was so goddamn hard he was going to burst if he kept up at the pace. But Harry was just standing there with some liquid on his face—It wasn’t like they were doing anything crazy wild.
Then again, Harry was pretty sure he was going to come too, especially if Lucius kept panting in his ear like that, just with a low, rough undertone of breaking control that was making Harry so hot every time the man did it. Was that the alcohol, or was that just Lucius when he looked at Harry? Did the man want him that much that he would tremor and growl?
Lucius placed his fingers back to Harry’s mouth, and the boy in the mirror was quick to respond, licking hungrily, biting and sucking, and moaning around them.
“Delectable,” Lucius growled, pulling his fingers free and moving them down to Harry’s chest. Face bent over his shoulder, Harry watched Lucius watch his nipple harden and flush under his slick, tight grasp. Harry closed his eyes, gasps turning into groans, his nipple growing sore and aching under the twisting grip. Lucius’s other hand moved down, cupping Harry’s erection through his pants as the man rocked against him.
“Open your eyes… You should see how beautiful you are.”
Harry snorted in disbelief, but slowly slit his eyes open because Lucius had paused what he was doing. The man was staring at him through the mirror, like Harry was some treasured dessert he just couldn’t help but devour.
Harry trembled, wishing he could stop. Wishing he wanted to stop. Nothing good was going to come of this. Lucius was just looking for some fun. Harry didn’t know what the hell he wanted, rarely the type to seek out fun, just avoid pain. All he did know was that the man was fucking sexy, and wasn’t treating his scars like he was a hideous freak—And really, really seemed interested in getting Harry’s pants off.
“Give them up, Potter,” Lucius demanded with more lust than anger. “I want to see that tight, little ass of yours.”
Harry shook his head, grabbing Lucius’s persistent hands wrapped around his waistband. “You’re going to burn them, and then I’ll literally have no pants to wear. You know you burned all my underwear, right?”
Lucius smiled wickedly, tongue licking up the side of Harry’s face and lingering on the stem of his glasses. “Oh, I know.”
Harry glared half-heartedly, his stomach flipping at the answer. “You’re a fucking ass.”
“Maybe… But me fucking your ass just seems so much better.” Since Harry had his wrists, Lucius spread his fingers, digging in to the boy’s hips. He pushed his erection harder against Harry, burrowing between his cheeks. Harry gave a weak moan and relaxed his grip unconsciously. Grinning in triumph, Lucius nipped down the boy’s neck while finally pushing the hideous pants down to Harry’s thighs. “That’s it… Very tight, Harry… Let’s get a better look.”
Harry gasped, Lucius suddenly lifting him back from the sink, his slender torso stretching before him in the mirror. The shirt was still bunched up by his arms and pulled back, flashes of yellow fabric by his thighs. In between, Harry was exposed, warm flesh and very, very hard, his erection bobbing and flushed red. He tried to close his eyes, look away, but Lucius snared his chin and held his face forward. “The eyes are definitely the icing. You can’t shut them,” he murmured into Harry’s ear.
Harry nodded dumbly, swallowing hard and opening his lids slowly. “Oh god,” he gasped, watching as Lucius’s hands began to move over him. It felt amazing, that had never been in question, but it also looked amazing too. The boy in the mirror kept arching into Lucius’s palms, lips parted, head thrown back. “Lucius—hell!” Harry cried out, one of those large hands fisting around his cock, thumb moving up to spread the precum beading from Harry’s tip.
“Yes… yes, much better than I had even imagined,” Lucius growled lowly, his other hand slipping behind Harry so he could undo his fly and push his underwear down. He pressed his heated erection between the boy’s bare, taut thighs, nudging Harry’s balls.
“Oh my god… y-you’re…” Harry couldn’t say it, feeling the hard flesh on his flesh and shuddering in absolute, agonizing want.
Lucius smirked down at the sight of Harry’s dick twitching in his palm. He thrust in slow, languid pushes against the boy, each movement making Harry moan again. “Just want to feel you… Feel you cum… Cover you in mine.”
“Please… Oh please.” Harry tried to keep his eyes open, but his face kept insisting on twisting in lusty ways that was making it very difficult to do much of anything proper. Lucius’s breathing was ragged in his ear, not as loud as Harry’s own desperate pants for air. And his hand—Oh, so hot, fingers tight and slick with sweat and something Harry thought was lube, although he hadn’t noticed Lucius use any. He cried out, Lucius’s thumb again sliding over the head of his straining dick, the short, manicured nail pressing a little too hard against his slit, jolting him with a mix of pleasure and pain. Harry managed to look again, the boy in the mirror completely undone, hands reaching up and back to grasp at Lucius’s wide shoulders and tear at his shirt.
“You’re shaking,” Lucius said teasingly, his free hand gripping Harry’s hip to hold the boy steady. “Are you close?”
“Y-Yes… God yes,” Harry choked out, eyes again squeezed shut.
Lucius purred approvingly, his hips jolting hard against Harry in response. “I’m going to cum on you. You’re going to wish it was inside you, filling you so deep. But you… decided… to wear these damnable pants.”
Harry moaned in agony. He wasn’t going around nude just because… Oh hell… maybe being nude would be okay.
“Potter?” Lucius suddenly stilled, body leaning over Harry to reach for something.
Harry whimpered, pressing back into the man. But Lucius ignored him, growling under his breath and pushing Harry forward.
“Are you—Potter, you’ve been using my toothpaste!”
“I can’t believe you, you neurotic, psychotic, mother fucking tease!” Harry snarled even while Lucius held his rolled up tube of toothpaste and shoved it under Harry’s nose like it was the crime of the century. Harry pulled his shirt down fitfully, reaching then for his pants and carefully pulling them up around his aching hard on. Being exposed in front of a pissed off Lucius did not do anything for Harry. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“What is wrong, you rude, ill-mannered, uncoordinated little hell-spawn, is that guests do not go into a person’s house and use their things without permission!” Lucius said lowly and with barely controlled anger.
“You don’t even use toothpaste! That tube is in the same place I leave it every freaking time! No one else has used it the entire month I have been here—Nor any of the toothpaste in the other bathrooms!”
Lucius narrowed his eyes, nostrils flaring. “You’ve used all of them? You systematically went through every bathroom in this house and used my favorite brand of toothpaste? You inconsiderate—Do you even understand how germs spread?”
Harry spluttered, fairly certain he was going to do something extremely painful to Lucius if the idiot didn’t stop saying such stupid shit. Instead, Harry grabbed the man by the sides of the face, roughly licked him from chin to forehead, and then shoved him away. “How’s that for germs, you goddamn psycho?”
Lucius, apparently, did not like that. Sneering like a wet cat, he grabbed Harry by the collar of his shirt and pulled him in tight. He then stepped forward, forcing Harry back until he was trapped between Lucius and the sink. Harry probably should have been frightened, but it was Lucius and for some reason he just couldn’t imagine the man hurting him. As if to prove the bizarre thought running through Harry’s mind in that moment with the blond towering over him, Lucius growled and returned the offensive gesture. He used so much force, Harry’s glasses went clattering to the ground when the man’s tongue reached them. Harry fought the urge to laugh, still upset with the ass.
“You damn obnoxious, tormenting demon,” Lucius rasped hoarsely, grinding his cock into Harry’s hip.
“Don’t you dare start, you bastard,” Harry panted, head falling back to rest against the mirror while he clung to the sink behind him. “There’s no way I’m letting you—Oh… Oh hell.” Lucius licked up his neck next, his hands tearing under Harry’s shirt. He quickly pulled the boy’s pants back down and off, wrenching Harry’s narrow hips and crashing the two of them together.
“You are going to pay, Potter. On your knees. Bent over every surface I can think of.”
“Oh hell… Shut up, you son of a bitch,” Harry groaned, his hands coming forward to clutch at Lucius’s shirt. “You are so… fucked in the head.”
“I am going to fuck you in the head,” Lucius hissed against Harry’s neck, hands clenching his ass tightly and lifting the boy up on tiptoes so that Harry was moving with every aching thrust as their cocks rubbed together.
Harry snorted. “Who says that… Oh god… oh… Okay.” Hands falling down, Harry gripped at Lucius’s hips. Fingers trembling only a little, Harry reached between them, touching Lucius’s silken length and pressing his palm to the hot, hard flesh so that it would rub against his own even more. He had never felt another’s dick, certainly not a grown man’s and in a state where it was ready to come. He’d always assumed he’d like it, seeing as he liked guys in general. Harry didn’t expect just how much he would want to suck that hard flesh, now that Lucius had put the idea in his head.
Harry did not get an opportunity, Lucius growling fiercely and lifting him up so that Harry was sitting on the sink, cold porcelain against his heated flesh making him gasp. Then Lucius was pressing the head of his cock between Harry’s spread thighs. He groaned softly in the boy’s ear as he wrapped his hand around Harry’s exploring fingers. Then he jerked them together over his large length with long, firm strokes. Harry stared down, transfixed, knowing what was going to happen and full of anticipation to see.
“Yes,” Lucius hissed through gritted teeth, hips jolting with his release, covering Harry with wet streams of cum. Each touch of hot fluid felt like electricity to Harry, moans falling uncontrollably from his lips while he watched his red length, tight sack and trembling thighs become coated with Lucius’s seed. “Come on, Potter… you’re there.”
Lucius grabbed Harry’s face, holding him still and forcing him to meet his blazing silver gaze. And then the man’s hand was wrapping around Harry’s cum covered cock, every muscle in the boy’s body tight and shaking with raw need. Lucius was staring, fixated on Harry’s mouth. Vaguely Harry remembered what Lucius had said about wanting to see his mouth when he came. That Lucius had meant it was just too much on top of everything else. Harry gaped nearly silent, a small, choked cry slipping free from his red lips when his orgasm hit, feeling the intense fire tear through him and then out.
Harry blearily felt his cum scald his stomach, Lucius even then guiding to ensure he got everything he wanted from the boy’s body. Shudder after shudder rocketed Harry, his eyes closing as he realized he had just cum, with Lucius Malfoy, in the bathroom. He had never done… Had never even thought to do something like that…
Holy fuck. Lucius had covered him with cum and then… and then…
“Oh… wow,” Harry whimpered, his body collapsing from the magnitude of it all. Lucius held him steady, pulling Harry’s face closer so he could kiss him. It was a hard kiss, sloppy and scented with sex, alcohol, and toothpaste that the man never ever used, but Harry did, every day and night. Lucius kissed him deep, tongue stealing each of Harry’s gasps. The man didn’t seem tired the way Harry felt, but wilder, more desperate to touch him, as if something had been unleashed with their mutual completion.
The mirror gave a sudden creak behind Harry and then fell, shattering on the tiled floor around them. Lucius growled lowly into Harry’s mouth.
Harry groaned, turning his head slightly so he could drag air in from around Lucius’s lips, saliva running from the corners of his mouth. “Potter, stop destroying my house,” Lucius panted against his cheek, fingers tangling into his dark hair so he could pull Harry in for another needy kiss.
Moaning, Harry opened his mouth wider, tongue tasting tongue and delving deep, before finally freeing his lips. Exhausted, sated, and very much confused as to just how safe he felt with Lucius resting against him, holding him tight in the goddamn bathroom of all places, Harry glared at the infuriating ass that kept assuming everything he did was fully intended to piss Lucius Malfoy off. “Make me.”
Mr. Adler was an older gentleman, just starting to stoop with age. His immaculately groomed form was topped with a salting of gray through dark hair. He merely tutted once when seeing Harry’s scars for the first time, and they didn’t speak a word of them afterwards. Although they were indicated vaguely when discussing what style of shirts Harry would like to wear. Mr. Adler was a tailor, Lucius’s preferred choice for casual wear when the older wizard bothered to be casual.
“I know, but I would really just like some jeans, underwear and a few shirt,” Harry grumbled after Adler listed off another supposed fifty things required of a ‘proper’ wardrobe. Harry was not a proper person, and didn’t care about owning a million things. “Do you guys have t-shirts? Like with pictures on them and stuff? I don’t want to be wearing collars for the rest of the school year.” And probably eternity, seeing as Harry could not bring himself to walk into a clothing store and buy things for himself. Shit, when had things gotten so out of hand?
“Mr. Potter, I understand some eccentricities are to be expected with someone of your fame and standing—”
“What!” Harry squawked, his face going bright red. “I’m not being crazy here.”
“You need a proper wardrobe, not just muggle styled rebellion,” Mr. Adler continued smoothly, his dark eyes steely but not unkind. “You’re coming into your graduating year, and it is important to look the part when seeking employment.”
Harry shrugged, not really concerned about any of that. Maybe he should be. Maybe there was something wrong with him for not caring about what every other person was supposedly caring about. But he couldn’t force himself to. He could only compromise.
“How about you put whatever you want in there—as long as it’s not white—and just add a good dozen jeans and twice as many t-shirts, so I don’t feel like a complete prat?” Harry asked, his tone of annoyance kept back to a minimum. Stripping had been difficult, even with Adler a professional and uncaring of his scars. Harry was grouchy, not having slept well and agitated by the idea of Lucius buying him clothing. The bastard should after burning all of his. But Harry was not happy about anything at the moment.
“I think that is a reasonable solution.” Mr. Adler began jotting down in his notebook. “The layered look is very popular these days with young people. I think it would suit you fine.”
“Whatever,” Harry muttered, sitting with a sigh while the man continued to write away. Draco wouldn’t be up for at least another hour, the boy a complete wreck in the mornings until around ten and full of caffeine. Harry really wondered how his friend thought he was doing any chaperoning at all, considering Harry usually ran across Lucius during the early hours of the day before the man went to work. Draco sure as hell had been useless last night.
Last night had been… Harry suppressed a shudder, his body tingling all over just thinking about it. He had never thought he would want something like that. Harry had known he had liked guys for a long time, but he had never really thought he would want them. Harry hardly considered himself sexual. His body seemed to not be connected to the rest of him, even less so since last summer. Since Vernon. But Lucius, a taller, stronger, and by all accounts, more powerful man, could slam Harry up against a sink and Harry wasn’t afraid. Not even for a moment. With his shirt off and scars exposed. Even when Lucius had smelled of alcohol. No, Harry had been so turned on, he had wondered if he was going to faint.
That boy in the mirror—Hell, he had been a sexual creature. When Harry got lost in Lucius, he was that boy. Unafraid. Wanton. Beautiful. There was something about the man that made Harry feel safe. And when Harry was safe, he was something so much more than what he had ever been before. Harry wanted to be that boy more. Maybe always.
Harry groaned, burying his face in his hands. Nothing good could come of any of this. Lucius was married—To a crazy woman, at that. He had a son—Harry’s freaking best friend. And the man was an arrogant jerk that thought buying him a wardrobe made it okay to completely ruin everything he owned. Yes, it had all been ugly and full of holes, but it had belonged to Harry as much as anything ever had. When you owned so little, not even a room to truly call your own, the things that were yours suddenly became extra important.
“Alright, Mr. Potter. You should expect the first of your clothing within three days, the rest by the end of two weeks.” Mr. Adler summoned up a duplicate of his list of articles, handing the sheet of parchment to Harry. “I will speak with your benefactor on the settling of the bill. If you have any questions, my shop’s floo coordinates are listed, along with my assistants’ names.”
Harry’s mind reeled, staring dumbly at the page while Mr. Adler bid farewell. Benefactor? Why would the man have phrased it like that? Was Harry some sort of charity case that Lucius was taking pity on because of his homelessness and scars? Or was it more insidious than that?
Did Adler think Lucius was buying clothes for Harry in some fucked up trade for sex?
Did Lucius think that?
Harry got unsteadily to his feet, the paper crumpling loudly as he crushed it without thinking. Harry was not a prostitute. He did not need Lucius Malfoy to buy him clothes like some whoring boy toy that chased older men to be taken care of. Harry didn’t need anything from anyone, especially not from an arrogant ass like Lucius.
So what if the man was hot? So what if Harry got weak in the knees and goddamn hard every time the bastard walked in the room? That didn’t give Lucius the right to anything. Not to being rude, not to burning his clothes, and not to touching him. And so what if that had felt goddamn amazing beyond belief? Fuck Lucius Malfoy, the neurotic piece of shit.
This was just another way for the man to piss him off, and control him at the same time. Dressing him like some child’s doll—Ridiculous! Growling, Harry took off for the bedrooms, stomping up the stairs, striding down the hall, and throwing Draco’s door open.
“Draco, wake up!” Harry growled, moving through the door and pulling the curtains open wide. Draco gave a grumble from the bed, face quickly hidden beneath covers.
“Go away… Sleeping,” Draco said with a yawn, only to snarl, Harry pulling the blankets off of him in one move. “Potter! What the hell!”
“Did your dad mention any of this to you?” Harry asked, ignoring Draco’s indignant glare.
“What?” Draco blinked at the paper Harry was crinkling at him, his eyes catching the company name at the top. “Ooh, I love these guys. They once made me—What? Why are you growling like that?” Draco asked, shimmying up the bed to get away from Harry’s angry expression.
“Is he buying me off?” Harry said ferociously. “Is he trying to get into my pants by buying me fucking pants!”
“What… Father? You think he’s…?” Draco trailed off, Harry watching his friend calculate like the Slytherin he was. “He could be. I wouldn’t put it past him,” Draco said finally, Harry scowling at the answer.
“Do I have slut written on my forehead or something? Why would he think I’d—?”
Draco raised his hand in a pacifying gesture. “Harry, not in that way. He’s just used to being able to do pretty much anything. That he bought you clothes to replace the old ones was just selfishness on his part. Likely because he wants to… Well, you know…” Draco trailed off with a frown. “He’s probably motivated by wanting in your pants, but I doubt he just assumes you’re going to feel obligated to screw him for the clothes. He knows you have your own money.”
Something tense and sick feeling inside of Harry loosened at the words and he sat heavily on Draco’s bed. It had hurt. Not just embarrassment, but outright hurt to think Lucius would think of him in such a way. “You’re sure?”
“Pretty sure. I mean, he’s been very different lately… but Father just has too much class to extort you for sex.” Draco gave Harry a long side glance, Harry catching it and blushing while looking away. He really didn’t need to be extorted for Lucius to get into his pants.
Clearing his throat, Draco sat up fully, handing the paper back to Harry. “So, there was one thing he did say to me that I thought you should know. Just so you don’t… I dunno, get your hopes up, or something.”
Again that flutter in Harry’s stomach, twisting painful in a way he just couldn’t fully understand. “Yeah?” He asked, his mouth feeling dry.
Draco tilted his head side to side for a moment, trying to think of a delicate way to phrase things. “He’s been seeing someone… Maybe more than one… He said it wasn’t ‘dating’ per se, so…”
“Ah.” Harry fell quiet, that uncomfortable feeling in his stomach growing to unbearable as the silence stretched between them. Of course Lucius was off having sex whenever he could. Why wouldn’t he? He was a grown man, extremely attractive, and no longer tied to his wife. What had Harry honestly thought? That Lucius actually had a thing for him? That the man might actually care? Lucius had proven time and time again that he could barely stand Harry’s presence.
“I, uh, didn’t know if I should tell you,” Draco said softly, hesitantly touching Harry’s shoulder. “You kept saying you didn’t like him and—”
“I don’t,” Harry said abruptly, jerking away. “He’s an arrogant ass that thinks he can manipulate me into different clothes just by burning mine and buying me new ones. He’s been mean and vindictive from the beginning, and I can’t stand him.” Harry wished his voice didn’t sound so hollow in his ears. “Fuck him,” he snapped, getting up and walking out of Draco’s room.
The next time Harry saw Lucius, he’d refuse the clothes. Whatever Lucius’s intentions, Harry could not handle the idea that the man might think he could win control over him in this way. Lucius was his host, and had been a damn terrible one, just maliciously assuming Harry knew all the rules while never explaining them. Harry should not want Lucius to care about him. That was just insane. There was already enough crazy going around Malfoy Manor without Harry succumbing to lunacy as well.
Lucius did not come back that evening, called away to a conference. Or so Draco said, looking at Harry with something akin to sympathy. Harry wondered if the man was off getting laid, fucking someone closer to his own age, or maybe closer to Harry’s instead. He hated every thought, and Lucius for making him think it at all. The bastard. Driving him crazy, poking at him, taunting him—Hell, touching him until Harry felt on fire. And then just walking away. Just to prove that he could. Because Lucius didn’t give a fuck about him.
The next morning Lucius still wasn’t home. In a fit of childish revenge, Harry went through the cupboards in the kitchen and took down all the boxes of tea. He carefully opened up every single packet of Lucius’s favorite tea, slipping the teabags out and replacing them with the mint that Harry had bought weeks ago before he had found the other tea to taste so good. And then he hid Lucius’s away in Harry’s box, knowing the man would never dare touch a brand so low class.
If Lucius thought what Harry did by accident was so terrible, just wait till the man had to deal with what Harry did on purpose.
By the afternoon, Harry was trailing mud through the kitchen. Blaise and Pansy were over again to swim, but Harry was stuck in pajama pants and unhappily dry. Draco raised a brow at Harry’s deliberate attempts to wipe his bare feet off on the inside of the kitchen door, but didn’t say a word. It wasn’t like it would be difficult for Lucius to clean. But difficulty didn’t seem to equate to the level of annoyance Lucius always seemed to reach when faced with Harry’s messes.
By dinner, Harry had ignored a healthy, deliciously cooked meal prepared by the house elves, for a bowl of cereal. He put the empty box next to the rest of the full ones, left the milk out on the table missing its top—which he had honestly accidentally lost—and left his dirty bowl and spoon in the place setting Lucius always sat. It remained there a day, accumulating two orange peels, three empty mugs of tea and a stack of three more bowls that had once contained cereal and ice cream, depending on Harry’s mood at the time.
The third morning when Harry woke up from a nightmare, he cast a sleeping spell so that he wouldn’t feel compelled to see if Lucius was back yet. His anger had left him feeling gritty inside, raw and bitter with the world. Harry didn’t want to feel that way anymore. He didn’t want to feel a goddamn thing at all when he thought about Lucius, and sleep was much easier than anything else.
Lucius had spent a miserable three days battling with the Ministry to stop the rezoning of residential homes for magic users. There had to be some protection. They couldn’t just expect that wizards and muggles could live side by side without proper defenses against prying eyes and twitchy fingers. Just think if a family like the Dursleys lived side by side with Malfoy Manor? They would have called the police countless times over trivial, pointless things they didn’t understand. They were ignorant and powerless, and would always be afraid of those who were not. And what did they do to those they were afraid of? Apparently they beat them and locked them under stairs in cupboards.
Lucius had done some digging, disguising himself and getting the Hogwarts’ groundskeeper so drunk that Hagrid had ended up bawling out Harry’s unfortunate tale. Lucius had spent the rest of the evening in the dark pub, drinking cheap ale and asking himself what the hell he was doing. Potter wasn’t some child in need of rescue anymore. If he wanted to take revenge on his abusive muggles that was completely up to him.
But Lucius also knew the boy wouldn’t. Wouldn’t want to. Might even have forgiven the wretched creatures. It didn’t sit well with Lucius, and he wasn’t certain why.
The Ministry was pushing for some ‘reasonable’ equality lately, and Lucius and his peers had to push back before the neighborhood went to trash. The Dursleys had taken a little boy into their home and had seen him, not for what he was, but as a monster. If such people could be so blind, so cruel to what was right under their noses, what would happen once a fence and lawn was there to make things look even more exaggerated and frightening? It would be torches and burnings all over again.
“Father, you look like shit,” Draco remarked, drinking down his mug of coffee like a fish in need of caffeinated water. Lucius was momentarily surprised to find his son in the kitchen so early, only to remember it was no longer early. Lucius had stayed out too late with Hagrid, the half-giant’s stories rather interesting once the blond had gotten enough pints in his bloodstream. It was Friday, and he could afford to be late for work after the last three days of torture.
“The Ministry was being difficult,” Lucius disclosed, his eyes slowly moving around his kitchen. It showed the remains of hurricane Harry all over it; mud, dishes—Damn it, the milk! “For some reason they think muggles can be trained to be civilized and domestic. I have living proof to the contrary.”
Pulling out his wand, Lucius began spelling everything clean, grabbing the now cottage cheese that had used to be milk and dumping it down the garbage disposal.
“I told you to leave him alone,” Draco said, his voice carrying a hard edge. “He’s not some plaything. He’s pissed you’re playing dress up with him.”
Pausing in front of his boiling water, Lucius pursed his lips. “So he didn’t like the clothes?”
“Don’t know. A rack of them just arrived but he’s still sleeping.” Draco shrugged, watching his father carefully. “It doesn’t matter if they’re everything he’s ever wanted. He won’t except a gift like that. He sees strings, and let’s face it, you’re not really known for your generosity.”
Lucius sighed heavily, feeling his exhausting week sink deep into his bones. “Do you have any suggestions?” He asked his son, knowing Draco was pushing at something.
“Yeah, stay away from him.”
Lucius did roll his eyes this time. “Drink another cup of coffee and then answer me. He needs clothes. He has practically nothing now.”
“All thanks to you,” Draco reminded, drinking down the rest of his cup with a gulp.
Lucius snapped his head up, glaring. “If you think me remorseful, you are very wrong. Those clothes were unfit for anyone. That he’s Harry Potter, and a guest in my house, is just coincidence.”
“Sure,” the boy drawled, hiding his smirk behind his cup.
“Draco,” Lucius said warningly, tearing a packet of tea open and throwing the teabag into his cup. “If you care anything for your friend, you will help me so that he won’t be walking around in the same disgusting outfit for the rest of the summer.”
Draco shrugged, pretending he didn’t care in the least. Lucius scowled, pouring scalding water into his mug and letting it sit. He then turned to his obnoxious son, arms folded over his chest. It was a silent standoff, Draco fixing his father with a long side glance that eventually broke.
“Fine, whatever,” Draco muttered. “But nothing you do is going to work. Maybe a week ago, but not anymore.”
“Why?” Lucius stared at the handprint he had missed on the wall, looking suspiciously of crushed fruity pebbles. Muggle nonsense junk food…
“Because he’s jealous,” Draco sneered just saying the words, slamming his mug down too roughly on the kitchen island. “The bloody idiot is hurt over you. All you’ve done is treat him like shit, and he’s throwing a damn tantrum that you left. You should have seen him when I told him you’re out with other men—I don’t like any of this, Father. He’s more a mess now than when he left those muggles. I never should have brought him here.”
Lucius stiffened at the implication, his mind stuttering to a halt. Drinking last night had been a mistake because surely that was why he was feeling slightly giddy. Harry was jealous… The little, tormenting, green-eyed demon didn’t want Lucius out, screwing other men. It was interesting. Very interesting.
Lucius snagged his mug from behind him, sipping his tea as he thought. He then paused, scowl spreading across his face while he glared down at the green tinted mixture. Head jerking to the side, he picked up the box of tea, flipping the lid open and glaring at the contents. They looked perfectly normal. He pulled out another packet, tearing it open and sniffing hesitantly.
The goddamn hellion.
Draco silently watched his father dump his tea down the sink and begin tearing through the tea packets one by one, until a pile of torn paper and rejected teabags scattered the counter. Harry had suddenly started drinking his own tea recently, avoiding Lucius’s like the plague. Draco had assumed his friend just didn’t want to have anything to do with his father, including his tea. Apparently not the case. Draco had no interest in telling his father where he thought his tea was hiding, Lucius’s angry muttering extremely satisfying after all the trouble he had caused.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Draco asked innocently, holding up the glass carafe to Lucius.
Glaring at his son threateningly, Lucius swept the pile of dreadful mint tea into the dumpster. He had to get to work. He had to get himself together, face his day with the right foot forward, and do what needed to be done. Lucius had done it everyday, even when his father had beaten him near death the night before, even when his son had been born, even when his wife decided that family and duty just wasn’t enough and had packed up and left. Lucius had moved resilient during every instance in his life, letting go of the irrelevant and forging forward as he knew he must.
Today, Lucius had to get to work.
“I’m going to shave,” he muttered to his smirking son, turning on his heel and leaving the kitchen. Once in the upstairs hallway, Lucius ignored the many things he had to do, and instead stalked towards the room Harry was still sleeping in. Work be damned.
“My tea, Potter? Every drop of my tea?” Lucius stood in the doorway, glaring into the dim lighting of the room, drapes still closed tight. Harry didn’t stir. Odd, because he knew the boy was a light sleeper, always jumping awake at the sound of people walking by his door. Realizing the brat was playing possum, Lucius shut the door behind him and glided to the bed to loom menacingly.
Harry continued to lie still, chest rising peacefully in rhythm to his quiet breaths of air. He was beautiful, unassuming and taunting at the same time. “Potter, you’re not fooling me. I’ve seen enough people pretending…” Lucius stopped, frowning at just how still the air seemed to be around Harry’s bed.
Maybe the little brat wasn’t pretending.
Glancing around the room to the nightstand, bureau, and even trunk when very little of any items could be found, Lucius sought out Harry’s wand. Surely he wouldn’t… But no, it was in his hand, fingers curled lightly around it, power still active as it drew energy from Harry’s unconscious form. Judging the situation carefully for a few long moments, Lucius eventually reached his hand out, knocking Harry’s elbow so that the wand went flying out of the boy’s grasp and clattered safely on the ground.
“Potter?” Lucius asked, bending over as the stillness began to fade, the spell slipping away without power to drain. When Harry didn’t answer, Lucius gently touched his cheek.
Harry gasped, hands flying out in front of him, eyes snapping open to reveal pure terror. Lucius remained perfectly still, allowing Harry to adjust to reality and release whatever nightmare he had been caught in.
“L-Lucius?” Harry finally asked, his body slowly relaxing. “Why are you…?” He squinted, reaching for his glasses on the nightstand. Lucius grabbed his hand before he could, pinning Harry’s wrists to the mattress.
“What did you do? Was that… intentional?” Lucius asked cautiously, trying to read the boy’s face. All he could discern was confusion and the beginnings of a flush on Harry’s cheeks.
“I don’t understand. I haven’t done anything,” Harry self-consciously muttered, wishing Lucius wasn’t leaning so close. He was supposed to be angry at the man, not pleased to find him in his bedroom. Lucius always disoriented him.
“You cast a sleeping charm on yourself,” Lucius said tightly, Harry blinking back.
“S-So? Ron used to do it all the time, whenever I woke up with nightmares at school and couldn’t sleep. I just… I just wanted to sleep, that’s all,” Harry whispered, looking away from the intense silver gaze boring into him.
Lucius’s frown deepened to severe. “The next time you wake up from a nightmare, you will either wake Draco or me. We will cast you asleep. One must never cast themselves asleep, Potter. Never.”
“W-Why?” Harry asked, gaze jumping back at the almost desperate note in Lucius’s voice.
“Because if you are not discovered, you will sleep to death. That is why we have sleeping draughts and even disposable charms. By Merlin—Do you know nothing!” Lucius pushed himself away with a frustrated growl, Harry rubbing his wrists from the dull pain he had left.
Harry sat up unsteadily, his heart pounding in his chest. He slipped his glasses on, tracking Lucius’s movements as the man paced haltingly in his bedroom. Harry opened his mouth to speak, to explain he hadn’t realized, when Lucius turned and fixed him with a glare. Harry clicked his mouth shut, silent.
“I’m sorry about your clothes,” Lucius said roughly, his teeth possibly cracking for how tight his jaw was clenched.
“W-What?” Harry asked, completely flabbergasted.
“I am sorry I burned your clothes. It was wrong of me. I was behaving rudely. Please accept the new clothing as my apology.” He knew he sounded disingenuous, but Lucius could not think straight, could not smooth himself as needed to say whatever was required to fix this maddening boy. He wanted to yell and roar, and possibly break things—Nothing that was of use at the moment.
Eyes wide as saucers, Harry nodded his acceptance, unable to speak at the moment. Lucius Malfoy did not apologize. Harry knew because Draco never apologized, and the boy was a pale echo of his father’s stubbornness. Lucius went to leave, and Harry snapped to reality. “Wait!”
Lucius froze, glaring over his shoulder. Harry stilled at the molten gaze, but forced himself to continue. “Don’t leave here thinking I tried to hurt myself. I would never—Not intentionally. I’m j-just, well, muggle raised. I don’t always know what everyone else knows.”
Lucius gave a curt nod and was out the door before Harry had finished his sentence. He was down the stairs moments later, growling loudly, the noise growing as he passed the kitchen and garbage full of tea.
“Father, you’re not ready—What’s wrong?” Draco asked, leaning around the corner, coffee mug still in hand.
“I’m going out,” Lucius said tersely, watching his son cringe at his murderous tone.
“But work…” Draco blinked at Lucius, looking all the world like a wide eyed snowy owl fallen from its perch. “Father, you’re only in a t-shirt. At least put on a proper shirt before—” Draco yelped, falling backwards as Lucius sent a vase smashing across the hallway in the opposite direction.
“Watch Potter!” Was all Lucius managed to spit out before rounding out the back door and apparating with a thunderous crack.
Harry was just pulling himself free of the bedspread when Draco came rushing in, a mix of fear and confusion on his face. “What happened! Did you fight! Was it the clothes!”
Harry stumbled backwards from the assault of questions, nearly braining himself on the nightstand. Situating his glasses back on his face, Harry blanched to find Draco right in his personal space. “W-what?”
“What happened?” Draco repeated, grabbing Harry by the shoulders and shaking him. It would have been comical if Harry didn’t feel so bloody dizzy and light headed since waking. Sleep charms always left him groggy.
Harry lightly shoved his friend away, falling back to sit on the bed. “I’m not sure,” he said weakly, eyes focusing on his wand. For some reason it was on the floor where anyone could step on it. Harry quickly picked it up and placed it safely on the nightstand.
“My father just mauled a vase while running out of here. Something happened!” Draco hissed, looking Harry up and down. The boy didn’t look particularly ravished, just the same old mess of hair as always. Which just left fighting. But whatever they were fighting about had to be beyond anything normal. Lucius was not the type to have fits of rages. Especially around his family. The man held a steel trap on his anger, Draco suspected because Lucius’s father had been reputed to be brutal with his fury.
Harry shrugged uncomfortably, looking up at Draco. “I think he thought I had done something.”
“The tea? He got worked up over the damn tea!”
“Stop yelling,” Harry urged, wincing when Draco hit one of his particularly screeching notes. “It wasn’t the tea. I woke up after a nightmare and charmed myself asleep. He seemed to think that it was a bad thing to do.”
Draco blinked, trying to process the information. “So? I use charms all the time when I can’t sleep. We all do…”
“No,” Harry amended, realizing he had phrased things wrong. “I used my wand. I cast a sleep charm on myself.”
Draco gaped. Without warning, he reached over and punched Harry in the arm. “Are you out of your mind? You could have killed yourself! If I had tried to wake you and didn’t know it, I could have ended up dead too! Everyone knows—!”
Harry grabbed Draco’s fists before the boy could swing again. “I didn’t. Muggle raised. I never even cast one before. Ron usually did it for me. I didn’t know there was a problem with a simple spell like that.”
Draco snapped his mouth shut, relaxing his grip so Harry would let him go. Draco then punched his friend again, Harry swearing at the obvious sham. “Potter, if this had happened three days ago, Father could have walked in on both of us starved while asleep. You need to think before you act. Ignorance is no fucking excuse.”
Harry knew from experience that three days was not long enough to starve, but it didn’t seem the right time to bring up the fact. “I will never do it again, I promise. I didn’t know. Now I do. I’m more concerned your father is calling to have me admitted for trying to off myself like a nutter.”
Draco shook his head at the words. “He knows you’re an idiot—At least, that’s what he’s always telling me. I doubt he thinks that it was on purpose.”
Harry was not so certain. “He thinks everything I do is on purpose. Like it’s my life’s goal to bother him. I’m sure this is just another in the long list. Get this—He apologized to me about burning my clothes.”
“No he didn’t,” Draco said flatly, wondering if maybe Harry was losing his mind.
“Yeah, he did. Told me the new clothes were to be taken as an apology. He must think I’m off my rocker, saying something like that to me.”
Draco blinked wearily a few times and then sprawled back on Harry’s bed. His life was going to shit. All he wanted to do was have his friend over for the summer so Harry would be safe and he could have company. How did it get so complicated?
Draco knew it was the drawbacks of being friends with Harry; it always had been. The boy was a Gryffindor—The worst offense. He was also an absolute troublemaker, always dragging Draco into so much danger at school just to get them out of it almost as quickly. And of course, he was such a mental headcase, like crazy emotional mess when it came to anything more complicated than holding hands. That Lucius had gotten sucked in was just one more casualty to the wild war that was Harry Potter.
Lucius had apologized. Draco wasn’t certain exactly what it meant, but it was bad. Very fucking bad. Life changing, earth shattering, his father was losing his shit bad. And then he had gotten angry and broken something. Draco was going to be an orphan. Worse, he was going to be Longbottom, having two parents that were so out of their minds they couldn’t do a damn thing. He was turning into Neville.
Harry watched his friend sigh with deep angst and emotion, not sure what to do. “I swear, Draco. I wouldn’t put you at risk like that. I really didn’t know.”
Draco sighed again, covering his eyes with his hands. “Potter, shut up for a second.”
Harry did, scratching the back of his head.
After a few minutes Draco sat up, resolved to face the day. “He’s a grown man. He can take care of himself. Let’s get you into some clothes already and get out of the house. I’ll leave a note, just in case Father comes back.” Draco said it all very deliberately, as if they were planning a military strategy, and not an outing for fun. Harry nodded, not about to disagree.
Lucius was feeling like a rabid wolf, foaming and confused, and wanting to strike out. So it was no surprise to him when he found himself in the Silver Forest of Zasu, quite literally his old hunting grounds. He used to come out here when he was in his twenties to hone his accuracy and release his frustrations. The sleek and beautiful Basial, no larger than a bobcat with their speed and dangerous claws, had been Lucius’s favorite prey, to the point that he would not kill them for he respected the creatures too much. He would, however, stalk them down and stun the hell out of them.
He was not prepared. No water or weapons beyond his wand. As a wizard, his magic was everything. It could sustain him with summoning liquid, striking down enemies, and even apparating far away if he came across a foe too dangerous. But the intense focus needed for such actions was beyond Lucius right now. He was angry. He wanted to fight something. And he wanted to get hurt doing it.
Beneath his anger was a feeling. It burned his veins. Twisted his stomach. Stole the moisture from his mouth. It compelled him to do crazy, irrational things—Like apologize. Lucius did not want to have this feeling. It had left him after his third lashing, along with the boy he had protected, and Lucius had promised he would never let it in again. He was not some flighty child that could afford such emotion. Even as a young man his father had proven to Lucius he could not afford such weakness.
He stilled, the forest strange around him, different than moments ago. He was not being quiet enough. All small prey had fled with each ill-controlled step he took. There was a thin, soft carpet of leaves beneath his feet, hard packed earth of the old trail peeking through. Trees rose up tall around him, their canopy so thick that the mid day light left dark shadows on the ground, dazzling spots of blinding sun bouncing up at Lucius’s eyes. In one of those large shadows was something… Something too big to be a Basial.
That giddy feeling in his kitchen should have warned him away but he had been foolish. After so many years, he had been confident that nothing could rouse his heart again. Mostly because he had half wondered if it had been damaged the way his body had. For every scar Lucius hid on his body, his heart echoed.
The dragon was small, not fully grown. It was not sleeping, but may have been moments ago. Its tail, slithering over the texture of the underbrush, had caught Lucius’s attention. The stillness of the forest, warning him away from the pile of scrubby brush and broken twigs that on closer inspection were bones, kept Lucius from making the wrong move. His anger drained, to replace with adrenaline. He had come looking for a fight, but a massacre was less of interest.
Lucius knew Harry was powerful. Draco used to come home summers, raving with clear jealousy that the boy-who-lived had exploded another thing, sometimes another person. But he was also so fragile. Something right beneath the surface, fluttering desperate for attention, while at the same time begging to never be exposed. Lucius recognized it. The desperate, helpless cry for affection, even while brusquely telling himself that it was a weakness. The want for protection, even though as a wizard nothing should ever physically hurt again.
Lucius stopped his edging steps away. The dragon swished in its dwelling, puffing dark smoke, warning him that to continue to stand there was to risk more than just claw and fang. Lucius stood his ground.
What was the worst that could happen? The boy could find him too old? Too dull? Perhaps he wouldn’t, not right away. Maybe it would be the rest of summer, only to have Harry go back to school and never think of him again. While something inside Lucius might hurt… Might even break and never heal again. Was that the very worst thing?
The brush gave a shudder as the hiding beast roared, more smoke rising, roiling a dark cloud of scalding steam around them. Lucius cast a spell over his eyes, allowing him to see through the ash. It was lumbering up, long neck twisting, leathery wings unfurling as they cracked through the brambles and thorns of its nest.
Was a burn worth the dazzle of fire up close? Wasn’t that always the consequence? Everyone knew that to stand before a dragon was the surest way to get burned. What about hellfire? The demonic, green-eyed trickster, likely tearing up his house at that very moment, was full of hellfire. What would that burn like if Lucius stayed to find out?
Harry had never worn clothes that felt as good as the ones Mr. Adler produced. Even if some of them made him look like a preppy, stuck up poof, they all felt amazing on his skin. He had never expected that with expensive clothes. He had assumed they would be so formal and uncomfortable that all he would do was itch—Like church clothing. It was a new experience, one purely thanks to Lucius and his messed up behavior.
Harry was wearing a pair of silky dark green pajamas, not made to look particularly spectacular, but somehow managing to look just that, while also whispering over his skin like a caress with every movement. It made Harry think of Lucius’s hands moving over him, firm and warm, sometimes just brushing gently when seeking out holes. But then he started wondering where Lucius’s hands were at that very moment and on whose body. Likely on someone with clothing that had never been owned long enough to see a hole. It was a terrible feeling and Harry ducked his head and huffed.
Harry had been sitting in the kitchen for an hour and forty-five minutes after his latest nightmare. Lucius had not come back again and Harry had been left ruminating on where the man went when not at home or at work. And then he had been stuck brooding on why he had to care so much. Lucius was a bother, a total pain, and he couldn’t stop thinking about him.
Had he fallen for Lucius like some idiotic, love-crazed, hormonal teenager? Shit, Pansy wasn’t even this bad and she’d been obsessed with the man for years.
How the hell had Lucius gotten to him? Harry had so many defenses in place to avoid ever getting close—Or even desiring to get close. People hurt him. Especially people that got under his guard. Harry knew the ways Draco would hurt him, and had accepted that as part of their friendship, the same with Ron and Hermione. Lucius had somehow gotten closer, digging in with his cruel comments and offhanded compliments, making Harry so confused, he had lost his mind and dropped all his barriers without even knowing it.
There was a thud down the hall, Harry listening intently. It was the arrival chamber, the sound of bags banging through the floo. Harry was not surprised when Lucius appeared minutes later, slipping through the kitchen door since the man hated floo travel.
Harry observed Lucius silently as he stepped in, wishing he wasn’t so damn happy and angry to see the man. Then he sat up straight, jumping to his feet in a hurry. “You’re bleeding!”
Lucius grunted, eyes narrowing when he caught sight of Harry. The shoulder of his white undershirt was burnt black and torn, revealing bloodied flesh beneath it. “Potter, why are you always haunting my kitchen?”
Concern lodging in his throat, Harry glared instead. He reached across the table, picking up a still sealed cannister of Floral Delights orange and cinnamon passionflower blend tea. He dropped it into Lucius’s grasp. “I’m sorry I messed with your tea. This has a sealing charm on it, so it’s always fresh.”
Lucius glanced at the canister, a strange smirk twisting his lips for a moment. “It’s looseleaf.”
“Yeah. The saleslady said it’s more potent when you can… What?” Harry sighed at the bemused expression pointed his way.
“I don’t have anything to brew looseleaf tea with.”
“Oh, well, sorry. I can go buy something to—”
“You can’t seem to get anything right.” Lucius cut him off, placing the tea down on the counter and hissing as his shoulder pulled.
Jolting as if struck, Harry really hoped Lucius’s shoulder hurt more than it looked. “Right, so I’m going to go anywhere else but here right now,” Harry grumbled, turning away to leave.
“Everyone else in the house always hated tea,” Lucius continued, hand falling on Harry’s shoulder and holding him still. “It’s very difficult to indulge oneself when you have people nattering about just how dreary your enjoyments are. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Harry glanced to the side. Lucius sounded conversational instead of how he had initially thought insulting. “I enjoy the tea,” he said after a moment, still wary.
“Even though it’s herbal and doesn’t give you a jump in the morning.”
“After my nightmares, the last thing I need is a swig of caffeine. And really, who wants to have to rely on a drug just to be able to wake up?” Harry turned halfway, resting his hip on the counter.
“Exactly. They can’t even get themselves moving without their addiction. I can’t imagine dragging myself out of bed every morning… just hoping for what might be waiting in my kitchen.” Lucius was staring at Harry very peculiarly, his tongue running over his teeth. Harry met the man’s gaze, taking a step back when Lucius grinned wickedly.
“How do you like the new clothes?” Lucius asked, predatory eyes running up and down Harry’s pajama clad form.
Harry blushed and shrugged, biting his lip and taking another step back. He had told himself he wasn’t going to get caught up with Lucius again. That he didn’t want the man to touch him, no matter how nice an idea it might seem at the time. “They’re, uh, soft. Nice on my skin.” Harry flinched internally, hating his brain from bringing up the most superficial aspect of the clothes when Lucius was looking at him that way.
“Are they?” Lucius didn’t step, so much as glide forward until he was trapping Harry into the corner of the counter. He slipped his hand up, running his fingertips over the buttons of Harry’s top.
Harry raised his head, telling himself he wasn’t falling for any of it. “What happened to your shoulder? It looks… Did you get scorched by a dragon?” He carefully touched Lucius’s arm, pulling at the singed fabric, which crumbled beneath his fingertips. “What were you doing?”
“Letting off some steam,” Lucius said simply, unbuttoning the top button of Harry’s shirt.
“You need a healer. I’d do it but with my luck lately you’d end up with another burn.”
“I’m fine.” Lucius pulled another button free, eyes glancing up to the boy’s blushing face. “So you’re keeping the clothes?”
Harry turned his head slightly away, Lucius breathing too close and making him feel hot all over. He was standing only an inch away and Harry could feel the man’s body heat radiating. It was strange having Lucius in short sleeves with his muscles exposed and bulging. Almost indecent after always seeing him in a dress shirt. But Lucius had asked him something… about keeping the clothes…
Harry blushed as the silence stretched. “Yes,” he said awkwardly. “It beats the alternative.”
“Walking around my kitchen nude, right?” Lucius smirked again, lips brushing over Harry’s ear and making his knees shake.
Come on! How did the man do that? Harry ducked away, managing to get under Lucius’s arm and free from the corner. He breathed out shakily, running a hand through his dark locks. “Listen, Lucius. I just need you to know I wasn’t intentionally trying to kill myself… or Draco for that matter, or anything like that.”
“I know,” Lucius said, turning and leaning against the counter and tracking Harry with his gaze. The man was strangely calm. No anger bubbling beneath the surface. Harry actually found it unnerving. At least when Lucius was angry, he knew what to expect. Well, not really—But at least he knew the man was angry. Now he didn’t even know that much.
“I’m serious. I need to make sure you don’t think I was trying to, you know…”
“I do know.” Lucius held his hand out and Harry, for reasons absolutely unknown to him, took it. Lucius pulled him close, wrapping his arms loosely around Harry’s hips, leaving inches again between them. He ran his eyes down the front of the boy’s shirt, a small crease appearing between his eyebrows. “It is the most damnedest thing, you know.”
Harry shook his head, not knowing a thing at the moment, Lucius feeling warm and comforting. This was the feeling he had told himself to avoid. This fuzzy thing that seemed to have less to do with sexual attraction and more with those awful emotions he couldn’t handle.
“You don’t have any holes.”
“I better not. I just got the damn things,” Harry muttered, raising his arm to make sure he hadn’t already torn his new clothes.
“It’s odd,” Lucius said, dipping his head lower, breathing in the scent of Harry’s skin and soft hair. “I think I miss them.”
Harry shivered, fire spreading over his skin. He had suspected as much, Lucius such a neurotic pain that he probably had some secret—or in this case just blatant—kink for his horrible clothes. Maybe now Lucius would leave him alone… Go off and chase his line of wealthy pretty people that would know how to be proper around a man like him. Harry internally scowled at the thought.
Gently pushing at Lucius’s biceps, careful to not harm his injured shoulder, Harry stepped back. “Right, so I just wanted to be clear about that sleeping charm. I won’t ever do anything like that again. And you don’t need to worry.”
“I know.” Lucius kept looking at him, so calm, so intently, and Harry felt like some stupid frozen idiot. He didn’t want to go. He wasn’t angry enough to leave, or angry enough to kiss the man, for that matter. So he was just kind of stuck, resting his back on the kitchen table and holding onto the lip behind him. Lucius mirrored his posture on the counter, eyebrows raised with a small smile quirking his lips.
“Did you want some tea?” Lucius eventually asked.
“Err… looseleaf, remember?” Harry reminded quietly.
“Right, but I also bought some.” Lucius moved, Harry’s eyes following the man’s feet as he stepped around and left the kitchen to grab the bags he had sent through the floo. Harry heard them rustling behind him, Lucius placing bundles on the table. Harry wondered briefly if this was when Lucius would start giving him crap about the tea, and he turned expectantly. His eyes widened, counting quickly while Lucius carefully arranged the boxes in front of him.
“Didn’t want to take any chances,” Lucius murmured when Harry continued to gape. “Anything you take a shine to tends to need quick replacement or you become… lets say, messy,” Lucius drawled, pointing to the cereal coated handprint he had forgotten to clean.
Harry blushed, finding his voice. “I’m not going to drink all of that! You’ve got at least twenty boxes there.”
“Well, that is the hope. That you might be willing to share.”
Harry snapped his eyes up, watching Lucius fight a smile. The prat was mocking him. But not in a mean way… more playful. “What the hell did that dragon do to you?”
“Pardon?” Lucius asked, his smile breaking free.
Harry swore quietly under his breath—Lucius should not be allowed to smile. Not with the morning light turning his gray eyes pale blue, his blond hair fanning soft around his face, and with two days stubble on his jaw. It was very much unfair to his senses. “Do you have a concussion? Fever? Why are you smiling?”
Lucius tried to fight his smile back, but it only worked for a moment, now his perfectly white teeth coming into play. Harry bit his thumb, crushing it against his lips while narrowing his eyes warily. This was a different game from Lucius, and one Harry was not certain he could win.
“I was thinking of something,” Lucius admitted quietly, stepping around the table and snagging Harry’s free wrist. He pulled it up, running his other hand over Harry’s palm, fingers tripping and teasing lightly.
“And what would that be?” Harry asked around his thumb, eyes jumping from his hand to Lucius’s thankfully diminished smile. The full wattage had been nearly blinding.
“Something Draco had said the other morning. About why you were so upset.” Lucius pulled Harry’s wrist up to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to the narrow flesh.
There couldn’t be any way to turn redder, but he managed. Even though they had a chair between them, Harry felt completely exposed and vulnerable all of a sudden. “Upset?”
“Yes. He had thought you were jealous.” Lucius was smiling again, now against Harry’s wrist. “It was a nice thought, Harry.”
Harry was pretty sure he was going to bite right through his own thumb. Why was it nice? Why was Lucius smiling like that, like someone sweet and caring, and thinking him being jealous was nice? And the way he had just said his name, ‘Harry,’ like it was the best sounding word out there. Like maybe Lucius liked him? Like maybe he might even more than like him… Harry suddenly became aware of his heart racing in his ears, pounding in his chest.
Lucius’s grip on Harry’s wrist tightened, his head tilting slightly, eyes watching as the boy’s breath quickened. “It’s okay.”
Harry shook his head, his lungs feeling tight. “Not… not even.” Fuck, he was having a panic attack. Lucius might actually like him, and his response was to freak out like some weak, crazy idiot, and have a panic attack. Fuck. What the hell was wrong with him?
“Calm down… just focus on breathing.” Lucius stepped around the chair, his smile replaced with concern. Harry stepped back, eyes wide, but Lucius didn’t seem to notice. He pulled Harry’s thumb from the death grip his teeth had on it, and held the boy firmly by the shoulders. “Just breathe. Close your eyes.”
That seemed even more impossible than breathing at the moment, the man’s intense gaze snaring Harry so completely while he struggled to get air in. As if understanding, Lucius gently placed his palm over Harry’s brow and pressed his eyelids down.
“Good. Now just focus on your breathing. Think of how you want to breathe, nice and slow. Try and pull in as much air as you can… Hold it in your lungs as long as you can… And then release it, as slow as possible, making a soft hissing noise.”
Harry wondered how Lucius knew this. Draco had never known anyone to have panic attacks before Harry. He had never told anyone besides Draco, afraid to be made fun of. Afraid if others knew his weakness it would somehow make him even weaker.
“You’re doing fine. I know it’s frightening to not have your breath but it’s right there. It just feels out of reach.”
Lucius was right; it was right there, just hovering out of reach. Harry’s lungs kept moving, spasming like some flopping fish, but he was surrounded by air. He just had to reach for it.
“H-How… do you… know?” Harry gasped.
“My mother. She couldn’t handle my father well… Not many of us could.” Lucius ran his palm over Harry’s back in small, soothing circles. His voice was low, lulling and reassuring. “But when I reminded her she wasn’t alone in those moments, she would eventually calm and breathe again.”
Harry focused on the feeling of warmth moving over his back. The even breaths from Lucius puffing over his cheek, ruffling his hair. The scent of the man, currently charred and tinged with sweat. And the tea, the smell of tea was below it all as the boxes rested on the table.
“There you go.” Lucius didn’t stop rubbing Harry’s back, even as his breathing leveled to something calm and normal. “How do you feel?” He asked, fingers gently pressing to Harry’s cheek until the boy opened his eyes.
“Embarrassed,” Harry admitted, his voice barely a whisper.
Lucius nodded as if it were perfectly okay. “Sometimes our body wants to tell us something so much, it stops everything else until you have to pay attention. Once you realize what yours is trying to say to you, it should stop sending such a loud message.”
Harry looked away, not wanting to think about why he had panicked. “I, um, can smell the tea.”
“Then let’s have some tea.” Lucius turned to put the kettle on, again flinching when he lifted his shoulder too high.
Harry watched him, his mind somehow quiet in the man’s ritual movements. “Tell me what happened to your shoulder.”
“Afraid I burned someone’s luggage?” Lucius teased, glancing behind him to catch Harry’s blush.
“No.” Harry bit his lip, thinking if Lucius had, he’d be really jealous about it. Which was just stupid and crazy. His eyes followed down the muscles of Lucius’s back, catching on the hem of his shirt stained with dirt, belt peeking out below. There was dust and drops of blood, black blood, staining his trousers, the amount increasing the closer to Lucius’s mud covered shoes. This was probably the messiest Harry had ever seen Lucius and he had to admit, he liked it.
Lucius turned, a steaming mug in hand that he handed to Harry to let steep. Harry tried to hold it but still felt weak, and placed it on the table for the moment. There was little room with all the boxes, but he managed.
“Have you ever been hunting?”
Harry shook his head. “I don’t really like guns.”
“No guns, just wands. It’s much easier to catch and release. Although, that is not always the common ideology,” Lucius added with a purse to his lips.
“Was that what you were doing?” Harry scratched the back of his head, taking in the rip on Lucius’s right knee and the tear in the seam of his shirt under his left elbow. Had Lucius been hunting and only managed to get a couple spots of dirt on him? It figured.
“Sometimes you really need to move.” Lucius tried a sip of his tea, blowing lightly while he poked at the teabag bobbing at the top. “Otherwise, you just go mad.”
Nodding, Harry observed the man through lowered lashes. Lucius did seem less mad. “So hunting is good for that? Moving enough to stop being crazy.”
“Sometimes. You’ll find yourself hard pressed to find many sports among wizards that don’t involve a huge team and overly complicated rules. Although flying can help too,” Lucius added, remembering Harry was a seeker in that moment. His eyes lingered on the boy, but still he made no move to do anything but talk. “You haven’t had your tea.”
Harry blinked down, reaching for the mug, his hand unsteady. He could feel Lucius watching him, but the man didn’t comment on his weakness after his panic attack.
“Maybe you’d like to try hunting?” Lucius suggested while Harry fumbled with his cup and finally managed to get a sip of the hot liquid. “It’s much safer with more than one person.”
“Maybe.” The tea was soothing and Harry continued to take long sips from it even though it burned.
“Maybe you’d prefer something indoors?” Lucius continued, his gaze intent on Harry’s face. “With less chance of hazards?”
Harry rolled his eyes, fire rising to his cheeks again. “I’m not going to hurt myself hunting. I’m very good at shooting things that don’t move. I do it all the time, and no one is hurt.”
Lucius smirked, placing his tea down. Harry watched him warily over the top of his mug, but that was also removed by the man’s very steady hands. The boxes were going to get crushed. All that tea smooshed. Harry was having a difficult time caring, anticipation thrumming in him. Lucius pushed Harry back, boxes tumbling to the floor with a dull clatter. Harry gazed up, wondering where his mug had gone even as Lucius pressed ever closer to his face.
“Actually, I was thinking dinner.”
“W-what?” Harry asked, certain he had misheard things. Lucius was inches from his ear, but it was very difficult to hear over the blood rushing in his veins.
“I’d like to take you to dinner. Just the two of us.”
Harry’s mouth felt dry. “Um…”
Lucius was asking him out on a date. The man had gone mad. All this calm was just the beginning of the end because there was no way Lucius could want to date him.
“We could go out or stay in. Whatever you like, Harry.” Lucius had found the buttons to the boy’s shirt again but was ignoring them for the way the material gaped in between. He slipped a finger through the slit of smooth fabric, brushing against Harry’s chest.
“Uh… that is… if you want,” Harry mumbled, eyes fluttering shut at the soft touch.
Lucius pressed his lips to the boy’s ear, then parted them, nipping lightly on the outer curl. Harry breathed out noisily, his shoulders jerking suddenly. “I want to know what you want.”
“Oh.” Eyes blinking open, Harry’s gaze fell to the collar of Lucius’s t-shirt stained with a touch of char and sweat. He reached his hand up, tugging at it lightly, watching with interest when the man swallowed, the hollow of his throat fluttering in response. “What about Draco?”
“He’s not invited.”
“That’s not what—”
“I could send him to live with his mother,” Lucius offered dryly before nipping Harry’s throat.
Harry gasped, then moaned as Lucius’s tongue soothed over the heated mark. “G-Going out might be nice.” So what if Lucius was mad as a hatter? Harry really wanted to go on a date with him.
“Tonight?” Lucius asked, mouth suddenly below Harry’s ear, lightly sucking on the sensitive flesh. “I can reserve us something.”
“Okay… just nothing too stuffy,” Harry added, panting softly. “I get nervous around fancy things.”
“And then you break them. I am well aware,” Lucius purred.
Harry’s eyes widened, hands suddenly clinging to the man’s back when Lucius wrapped an arm around his hips and pushed their lower bodies together. “Hell—Not on purpose.”
“Of course,” Lucius agreed unconvincingly, his mouth opening wider, tongue laving Harry’s neck in a long swipe. “You are extremely well behaved.”
Harry groaned, his head falling back to crush a box of tea. “I am,” he insisted weakly.
Lucius found another spot to suck on Harry’s throat, pulling a heated moan from the boy. “I’m not disagreeing.”
“You are… you jerk.” Harry knew sarcasm, especially Lucius’s special brand of it even when kissed into his flesh. More boxes suddenly thumped to the ground, along with the metallic ring of a spoon, Harry’s retort lost when Lucius pushed him further towards the center of the table.
Hips holding Harry in place, Lucius raised himself enough to finally get the rest of the boy’s buttons. He carefully spread the dark green fabric aside, revealing Harry’s warm honey flesh flushed with want. Harry watched, feeling almost in a dream when Lucius bent his head and ran his tongue over one of his dusky nipples, pulling the nub into his mouth and sucking.
“Oh… oh god,” Harry gasped, his brows furrowed, breathing strained. He wrapped his hands in Lucius’s hair, running fingers through. The table gave a warning groan and Harry whimpered, pulling to get the man’s attention. “Lucius.”
“I know.” Lucius didn’t stop what he was doing, gently biting and tugging at Harry’s sore bud.
“The table’s going to…” Harry tried again, another moan stealing his train of thought.
“You just can’t help yourself,” Lucius said with a sigh, moving to give the other nipple the same treatment.
Harry gaped, his hips jolting up to rub against the man’s hard body. “Damn—Oh hell… oh… You’re heavier than me.”
Lucius hummed into Harry’s chest, tongue moving in languid trails. “I’ve had this table for ten years. Now, all of a sudden, it’s breaking. I’m pretty sure this is your doing, Potter.”
Harry gave an indignant growl, only to cry out, clutching Lucius tight as the table shuddered, the last of the boxes tumbling to the floor as one of the legs snapped. Lucius kept Harry from following, his arm still wrapped around the boy’s hips. He pulled Harry to his feet, Harry feeling dizzy, face full of heat from the change in position.
“You are a troublesome thing,” Lucius murmured, mouth attached to the brunette’s neck once again, bristle tingling and prickling Harry’s smooth flesh. “I’m going to have to ward the entire house against you.”
Eyes closing and body moving into the touch, Harry gave a small shrug. “It couldn’t hurt.”
Lucius growled, pulling Harry closer, hands moving more heatedly as they found the small of the boy’s back beneath his open shirt. “If I kiss you, will you panic?” He asked, Harry noticing it wasn’t quite a joke this time.
“I don’t know.”
Lucius ran his lips over Harry’s face, touching down ever so softly against his cheeks, bridge of his nose, chin, and pausing to hover above his mouth. “You’re still shaking.”
“So? I’m not afraid,” Harry whispered. “You don’t frighten me.” It was true. Even when yelling, Lucius didn’t frighten him.
“But you still panicked,” Lucius reminded gently, hand reaching up to touch Harry’s cheek.
Harry still wasn’t sure why he had done that, not wanting to think about it. Lucius smelled so good, and was warm and close to him. He was also being extraordinarily nice, having gone completely mental, and Harry aimed to enjoy it. “Yeah… but I still want a kiss… A lot of kisses.”
It was convincing enough for a kiss, Lucius only hesitating a moment before descending the last inch to Harry’s lips. Harry felt himself melt, Lucius’s mouth that hot, lips sinking against his, tongue slowly flicking against the boy’s parted moan. The world spun again, refrigerator magnets digging into Harry’s back, something thumping to the ground that could have been a pile of potholders from the counter. Then Harry’s shirt was being pulled from him, Lucius’s warm hands possessively running over every bare inch of him.
“Lucius, I…” Harry trailed off with a groan, the man’s leg pushing between his thighs and rubbing against his hard, silk covered bulge. Harry was certain he was going to be suffocated by Lucius, by his heat and clothing, and strong, firm flesh pressing into him at every spot it could. But Harry could breathe damn fine through it, and had no complaints.
“I want to taste you. Will you let me do that?” Lucius asked, tongue and teeth moving over Harry’s neck until the brunette’s head lolled to the side to give more access. “I want to feel you on my lips, dripping down my tongue.” He rocked against Harry, his hardness tight against the boy’s hip.
Harry smirked uncontrollably, his eyes mere slits of emerald beneath his heavy lashes. “Like I’m going to say no to that?”
Lucius caught the heated look, his hand grabbing the back of Harry’s neck and holding tightly. He kissed the boy hard, demanding until Harry began to grab at his shirt and tried to tear it from him. Only to accidentally hit the man’s burn, both of them flinching at the same time from it.
“We need to heal that,” Harry insisted but Lucius only grunted and surged forward to kiss him again.
Harry resisted, not so much for the wound, but because the magnets were sticking painfully in his back, and he had caught sight of the clock. “It’s almost ten. He’ll be up.”
“Then I’ll have to be content with not savoring,” Lucius said with a lascivious smile that made Harry turn completely red, and if imaginable, grow harder.
“But what if we get caught—Oh… And you’re on your knees again,” Harry groaned weakly, Lucius’s hands already pulling down his waistband while the man licked across his flat stomach. How did he always end up without clothes on in the strangest places of Malfoy Manor?
Lucius’s breath felt unimaginably hot as the blond teased lower, dragging across the thin trail of hair from Harry’s belly button down to where it thickened over taut muscle and parted for Harry’s straining cock. Breath moved teasingly over Harry’s flushed tip while Lucius pinned the boy’s hips in place with his large hands. Harry forced his head forward, refusing to miss anything even if his eyes kept wanting to shut.
Silver eyes blazed up at Harry. His breath caught in his throat, Harry watched transfixed as Lucius parted his swollen lips and licked a firm path up the underside of his dick. “Oh hell,” Harry yelped, hands flying to the top of Lucius’s head and tangling in his hair.
“Quiet now… You don’t want to wake anyone,” Lucius reminded, his voice already a little hoarse, as if just thinking about sucking Harry off could do that to him. He kissed up the side of Harry’s swaying length, tongue flicking out, drawing small wet circles as he went. Harry did his best to be quiet, swallowing down the whine threatening to break free. It wasn’t working and he gave into quiet swears, hoping it wouldn’t draw too much notice if Draco was awake and walking around already.
“Shit… oh shit… Lucius, that’s… oh hell.” Harry, eyes wide, could only stare dumbfounded when Lucius suddenly opened his mouth wide and swallowed him down deep. Harry knew he was pulling too tight on the man’s silky hair, but couldn’t stop himself, feeling almost paralyzed by the intense wet heat wrapping his length. Lucius was dripping saliva, groaning softly, trying to take him even deeper in while bobbing his head. Harry’s knees felt weak from the very sight, never mind feel. “Fucking beautiful…” he rasped out, not sure how long he could last with Lucius looking like that.
Suddenly Harry couldn’t see at all, a finger pressing against his hole making him jolt, the back of his head slamming into the refrigerator. “Oh fuck… Lucius, please… Please.” Lucius must have known what he needed because that finger was working its way deeper in, twisting through Harry’s tight, clenching muscles, seeking something. All Harry could do was squirm while Lucius plunged in and out of him while also sucking him down. His head thrashed fitfully, fire rushing over his skin, and leaving him feeling crazed and demented.
Lucius gave a particularly strong pull of suction, then engulfed Harry down again, deep into his throat. Harry fought back a scream when that taunting finger found something inside him and touched. His entire body tensed, back arching, Lucius’s hand barely keeping him from choking the man with his spurting cock. Harry moaned loudly, able to feel Lucius’s throat swallow around him, over and over again with each jerk his body made of release.
“God… I can’t believe… Oh hell.” Harry really had nothing proper to say at all, not with Lucius still thrusting his finger inside him a few final times, making sure he drank down every drop of cum he might still have inside. The man was amazing… Freaking amazing.
Lucius slowly pulled away, licking his red lips, cheeks flushed with arousal, normally sharp eyes a hazy pale blue. Harry stared down at him in awe, his hands gently soothing over Lucius’s cheeks, brushing bristle and silky strands of bright hair. God, he had liked that… He had liked that, and Lucius had known he would… Had touched him in a way that—Harry closed his eyes, his body shivering.
He had liked it, a lot. And he wanted to know what more would feel like.
“Harry, you are delicious… fresh and wild… The things you do to me.” Lucius pressed the side of his head against Harry’s stomach, eyes closing slowly. “The things I want to do to you.” His voice was a dark, deep purr, hoarse and strained, and absolutely devastating to Harry’s senses.
Harry swallowed hard, slowly sinking down so that he was sitting before the kneeling man. “What do you want to do to me?”
Lucius smirked, reaching down to find the band to Harry’s pajama pants and pull them up the boy’s legs and over his narrow hips. “Everything. Every sinful thing one can do with a young man as beautiful as you.” He found the green shirt, helping to fold Harry’s shaking arms into the sleeves. He then began to button him up, leaving the top two open to peek flesh. “Now come on. Off to your room.”
Confused, Harry made a more than obvious stare at the tent in Lucius’s pants. “I thought you wanted to do things to me?” Harry was only a little nervous at the idea of what those things might be, hand reaching out to tentatively brush across the hard flesh hidden beneath the man’s slacks. Lucius had yet to do anything to him that hurt or frightened him, and even that… Even doing that with the man would probably be nice.
“I do,” Lucius said a little breathlessly, eyes widening as he pushed his straining cock against Harry’s hand for a moment. “But we’ve run out of time.”
As if to prove his point, Draco cursed outside the door, muttering about boxes.
“Crap,” Harry hissed, scrambling to his feet and looking around in dismay. The kitchen was a disaster, boxes of tea all over the floor joined with silverware, paper bags, and Harry’s mug, which had been placed out of the way by the sink but still managed to be knocked over. The puddle had reached the potholders, turning everything a soggy brown. Not to mention the kitchen table was severely lopsided, one placemat still managing to hang on the surface but nothing else. The broken leg had splintered off, the fallen piece dejected and crooked on the floor.
Maybe Harry did destroy the house a lot.
Lucius had gotten to his feet and was reaching for a towel to clean up the spilled tea when Draco stumbled in bleary eyed. He walked past the two of them and straight to the coffee maker, accidentally kicking the mug on the floor across into the wall. He began pulling out canisters and whatever magic was needed to brew a cup of coffee, all of it foreign to Harry since he had never bothered to learn.
“He’s like the living dead in the morning,” Lucius commented dryly. He gave his son an amused look and then made a shooing motion at Harry.
Harry felt very bad for leaving Lucius with such a mess to clean on his own, but he also didn’t want to get caught by an angry Draco once the boy finally woke up. He exited swiftly, but not before Lucius followed, kissed him hard against the hallway wall a final heated time, and let him escape on wobbling knees.
Draco was the one to answer the door, waiting for Harry at the foot of the stairs while his friend found the Frisbee he had insisted on showing off. It was right after lunch, Lucius joining for a few moments to steal all the potato chips with a taunting look towards Harry that had made Draco shake his head and bite his cheek to stop from smiling. His father seemed more like himself, if not much more relaxed than Draco had seen him in a long while. He didn’t bother asking why, just glad Lucius didn’t seem to be going the way of Narcissa at the moment.
“Sir?” Draco blinked, staring up in confusion. The light was bright outside, backlighting Albus Dumbledore and making it difficult to see his headmaster’s expression. “Is this about school?”
“Good afternoon, Draco. I was hoping to speak with your father.” If Dumbledore was twinkling, Draco couldn’t tell. Feeling nervous, he stepped back, welcoming the older man in. He was in full robes, ignoring the summer heat for whatever formalities Dumbledore felt must be needed when speaking with Lucius. Draco’s unease grew and he turned, spotting his father down the hall.
Lucius greeted Dumbledore politely, but Draco could see that he was also confused as to what the headmaster was doing there. “Albus, we weren’t expecting you. Is this concerning the upcoming year for Draco?”
Dumbledore held his hand up. “This is something of importance, Lucius. It took some time, but I was able to trace your magical signature. Is he well? Unharmed? I must see him.”
Draco and Lucius exchanged looks. Harry had said he had owled Dumbledore. It must have been another one of those tricky little lies that Harry had twisted in his mind just right to get past them.
“He’s coming down soon,” Draco said. “Just looking for something.”
“Can I offer you anything, Albus? Drink? Chair? The weather is sweltering and you look as though you’ve been in the sun awhile.”
“Thank you, no. There can be no delay. Time is—There he is.” Piercing blue eyes lit at the top of the stairs. Lucius and Draco both turned. Harry was oblivious, staring at a round plastic disk in his hand, flipping it lightly on his fingertips while he descended the staircase. Only to stop cold, head snapping up when he caught sight of Dumbledore in the hall.
Draco inhaled sharply, watching as Harry took a step back as if considering to flee. What had he done? Some prank gone wrong?
“S-Sir,” Harry croaked out, refusing to cross the distance to the group. “He threw me out.”
“I’ve spoken with your Aunt. You are still family to her. It is still your home.”
Harry shook his head weakly, his shoulders slumping forward. “It’s not… Not ever.”
Dumbledore stood taller, reaching his hand out. “Come now, Harry. It’s time to get you back to the Dursleys.”
“Albus, I must have misheard you.” Lucius stepped between Harry and Dumbledore, voice unnaturally calm. “You can’t possibly be considering sending him back to those muggles. They threw him out in the middle of the night. Abandon him on the side of the road like a bag of trash with little more than rags on his back.”
Dumbledore ignored Lucius, his gaze fixed on Harry. “You know what will happen if you leave those wards. They need to recharge. There is no other place that can protect you from the Dark Lord.”
Harry felt frozen, numbing bursts of fear sucking him down, darkness closing in and tightening his stomach until he thought he might throw up. He had to go back to the wards. He had to be around Aunt Petunia so the blood wards would renew and keep Voldemort from breaking down the door. No one had seen the Dark Lord in years, had assumed him dead forever. Except Dumbledore, that was. He had set up protections for Harry to make sure he would be safe from the crazed wizard and his followers that had tried to kill the boy so many years ago. What his headmaster didn’t understand was that Harry had yet to be harmed by a wizard, only by a muggle. One muggle. The one living at Privet Drive.
“The Dark Lord? Albus, you’re out of your mind.”
Dumbledore finally turned from Harry. “Am I, Lucius? You, of all people, should know better than to underestimate him.” Harry was taut with fear but he fought it down. Maybe there was still hope? Maybe Lucius could convince the man to let him stay?
Nostrils flaring, Lucius glanced at Harry, his expression unreadable. Lucius began unbuttoning his dress shirt, pulling the material away from his t-shirt with a crisp rustle. His shoulder was bandaged, but that was not where he directed Dumbledore to look. Instead, the blond turned the inside of his arm outwards and held the muscle there to reveal an almost completely faded tattoo. “I would know, Albus. It would be impossible for me not to know if Riddle had returned.”
Harry stepped forward hesitantly, wanting to see the dark mark. Lucius shifted at his approach, holding his arm out to Harry, his expression blank. It was very faded, almost as pale as Lucius’s skin, like a dark bruise that refused to fully heal. Harry touched it hesitantly, wondering somehow if it would burn. But it was just a tattoo, old and without magic anymore.
“That it exists at all is reason to be cautious,” Dumbledore said sternly. “You represent the demented number of men and women that would see Harry dead, just because You-Know-Who failed.”
Lucius stiffened, Draco gaping like he had been struck. Harry met Lucius’s gaze, his fingers slowly curling from the man’s warm skin. Face still otherwise a mask, Lucius raised an eyebrow. Harry nearly burst out laughing.
“It’s okay, Sir. Lucius doesn’t think I have enough fashion sense for murdering.”
Harrumphing, Dumbledore combed fingers through his beard. “You have been too long from the house. The wards are weakened and will not sustain the school year. We must keep them strong as long as possible.”
Draco, still angry at his father being accused of wanting to harm Harry when everyone knew his mother was the mad one, refused to be silent any longer. “So Harry is supposed to live there after he’s done with school? Like, for the rest of his life?”
Dumbledore nodded. “I see your point, but while he has no protection away from Hogwarts, he must have something. Nothing is stronger than those wards. That home is a complete safe house from Voldemort, and will continue to be as long as Harry is welcome there.”
“But he’s not welcome! Don’t you understand what that man does—!”
“Don’t,” Harry snapped, stepping away and glaring at his friend. “There’s no point.”
“Harry, he’ll have to let you stay if he knows,” Draco pleaded quietly, his eyes frantic and slightly watery. “You can’t go back there. You can’t.”
Harry shook his head even as Lucius placed a hand on his shoulder. “Albus, you are running from ghosts. The boy is old enough to make his own decisions.”
“Actually, I’m not,” Harry said flatly, meeting Dumbledore’s heavy gaze. “My Aunt has legal guardianship over me until I turn eighteen.”
“Still,” Draco insisted. “Still, you can’t be expected to go back to a place where you’re hurt like that. Just tell him, and he’ll—”
“He already knows!” Harry hissed. He had told Dumbledore last year. Had written and begged the man to let him come to school early—Anything, just so long as he didn’t have to stay with Vernon. Harry had never gotten a reply. Dumbledore had completely ignored him, even when he returned to school. That was when Harry realized he had to deal with everything on his own. That he had to endure in silence because no one fucking cared.
“You should collect your things,” Dumbledore said but Harry shook his head.
“I don’t want any of my things there with them. Draco, will you take care of Hedwig? Just throw everything else in my trunk and I’ll grab it on the train.”
Draco was gaping at him, very much at a loss of what to do. “Why didn’t you tell me? You always tell me everything.”
Harry shrugged, purposely ignoring Lucius’s searing gaze as well. It had hurt too much and he hadn’t wanted it to be real. Harry didn’t tell many of those things to Draco because speaking them aloud only made everything so much worse. “What good would it have done? It was bad enough I bothered you as long as I did. Sorry for that—Sorry, Lucius.” Harry backed away, hand reaching behind him for the door. There would be no date that night. Probably none ever. It wasn’t like Lucius would wait around for someone like him.
“Wait. This is ridiculous,” Lucius spoke up, his voice full of barely restrained anger. “Albus, you cannot knowingly send him into danger because you want to feed your obsession over a wizard long gone. The muggles gave the boy up and we took him in. No harm will come to him here. Certainly the same cannot be said of that place.”
“If it were that simple, Lucius, I would not be here,” Dumbledore said, sounding almost tired, but still full of conviction. “She is his guardian, and he must stay with her. There are only a few more weeks left. Heaven help if the boy has to stay extra, just to make up for his absence already.”
Harry paled at that, Lucius seeing and stiffening. Before the man could say something else, Harry held his hand up, waving slightly. “I’ll see you at the train station, right? Both of you. There’s nothing to worry about, so… yeah. Just a few weeks.” Harry slipped the door open and escaped out into the burning sun before the two Malfoys could think to follow him.
He could hear them arguing with Dumbledore, trying to make the wizard see reason. Harry knew better. The possibility of Voldemort had always taken precedence over the reality of his situation. Harry sometimes wondered if Dumbledore wasn’t disappointed that Voldemort hadn’t returned and tried to kill him. Maybe it would have justified each year of leaving him with the Dursleys.
Wizards just couldn’t see that muggles could do damage, even when it was right in front of their noses. Harry knew muggles and wizards were all the same, just people. Some people used power responsibly. Some people used it to hurt others. Vernon never needed magic. He was larger, stronger and owned the house, the food and the clothes Harry needed. That was all the power someone needed over another to hurt them.
“Harry, don’t go with him! Don’t go back there!” Draco had run around the house while Dumbledore and his father argued, pulling at Harry’s arm as if to whisk him away. “We can run. Father will understand. He might even help once he realizes what we’ve done.”
“You’ll only get in trouble,” Harry whispered, staring at the front door of the manor, his mind racing. Could he run away? He had been considering living on his own when afraid he had worn out his welcome at the manor. Maybe he could run and just… What?
“Where would we even go? Dumbledore would find us eventually. He was able to trace your father’s magic all the way from the Dursleys,” Harry reminded Draco with a sigh.
“Who cares? It’s a huge world, and you’ve got plenty of money.”
“Not muggle money, though. Everyone knows me in the wizarding world. Once word gets out that Dumbledore is looking for me…” Harry trailed off, biting his lip. “I’d never be allowed back in school. I’d miss my last year. He might expel you too, for helping me.”
“Fuck it!” Draco snapped, his eyes flashing angrily as he pulled more persistent on Harry’s arm. “We’ll make up the NEWTs—Hell, Father might be able to get us in somewhere else. Or a personal tutor. You have options, Harry. He’s not the damn boss of you.”
But that was where Draco was wrong. Dumbledore was the boss of him. He had been from the very beginning, when the headmaster had dangled a new life in front of him with the contingency that Harry would be the Golden Boy he was expected to be. Harry owed Dumbledore too much even if what the man was doing now was terrible. Dumbledore had the right intentions, Harry was fairly certain. It was just the execution that was all messed up.
He carefully untangled his arm from his friend’s grasp. “Draco, I couldn’t bear if I messed up your future over something like this. Or Lucius’s. Going against Dumbledore will only get you both hurt and your family has been through enough already. Considering your dad’s an ex-Death Eater, I think we’re both lucky Dumbledore didn’t come in here hexing. It’s only a couple of weeks.”
Draco growled, clutching his fists at his side. “That was when he hurt you the most last summer,” he hissed lowly. “That was when I healed you on the damn train, and had to find you fucking food, you were that dizzy, and made sure you got your trunk because you couldn’t lift your bloody arms.”
Harry stepped back but Draco grabbed both his hands, eyes pleading for him to listen to reason. “He threw you out. What the hell is going to happen when you walk back in!”
“Just stop,” Harry whispered hollowly. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m a wizard and I’ll be fine.” The door slammed open, Draco and Harry jumping at the noise. Dumbledore walked out stiffly but it was Lucius, looking like fury incarnate, that had opened the door. Harry had never seen Lucius so angry, not even when bitching about messes in the house and him nearly sleeping to death.
“Harry, it’s time to go,” Dumbledore said, holding up a portkey.
Draco looked near tears again and Harry felt sorry for his friend. “Harry, I’ll write. You should take the owl, so you can get messages out—Damn it! Don’t do this. Please.”
Harry smiled halfheartedly for Draco’s benefit, taking a step back. “I’ll see you soon. It’ll be a breeze, that’s how fast time will fly. Say hi to Blaise and Pansy for me, ‘kay?”
“Potter, I’ll be by to check up on you,” Lucius practically boomed from the top of the stairs, anger radiating off of him in waves.
Harry pursed his lips, his heart beating wildly once caught in that searing gaze. He wanted to run to Lucius. Let the man tell Dumbledore to fuck off. They could all go somewhere far away and never care about any of this. But that was a child’s dream and Harry had to face reality. “You shouldn’t visit. If you come around, it will just make him angrier. Same with letters. He doesn’t like reminders… Don’t make it worse.”
Harry didn’t say goodbye. He reached out and touched the portkey, letting the illusion of safety jerk away in a whirl of color and plummet of stomach.
Aunt Petunia was afraid. Harry noticed it the moment she opened the door, Dumbledore ushering Harry into 4 Privet Drive before she could think to shut it. The thing was, she wasn’t afraid of Harry or Dumbledore, so much as the presence of the man currently missing.
The house on Privet Drive felt so much smaller and darker than the last time he had been there. It had only been weeks, but the manor had done something to him. Everything seemed so ugly in the cramped space, especially the people.
Dudley was watching TV even though it was the middle of the day, turning his head to glare at Harry with beady eyes hidden within rolls of fat. The boy had gotten even larger, as if the meager scraps Harry had used to eat had somehow fueled Dudley to greater grotesque girths and rolls. His fingers were sausages now, of an almost purple color, and Harry wondered if the boy might be at risk of a heart attack.
Dumbledore and Petunia had a terse conversation where the headmaster promised Harry would behave himself and keep from using magic at all times. Harry tucked his wand into the inside band of his new jeans, knowing if Vernon were to ever find it, the man would destroy it. Ignoring Dudley’s sneer, he walked upstairs to see what had happened to the second bedroom.
It was full of Dudley’s things again. Not even in order, just full to the brim with toys, electronics and boxes of Dudley’s winter attire and gym equipment. Harry’s room had barely been larger than a closet—although bigger than a cupboard—and it was now being used as a closet. Harry heard Dudley come up the stairs. He couldn’t help but notice with the way the boy was wheezing, the stairs creaking warnings under his heavy weight.
“Hey, ya freak. Don’t think you’re getting my room back.” Dudley smelled of Slim Jims and Fritos, and something sour with a sickly sweet undertone like rotting teeth and soda. “Just wait till dad comes home. He’s going to fucking flip when he finds out.”
Harry turned to face Dudley, glaring up. Anxiety was twisting in the pit of his stomach. “What do you mean? Doesn’t he know I’m back?”
“Do you think you’d be in the fucking door? He’d have been on the steps with a shot gun.” Sneering, Dudley went to punch Harry in the arm, only to stop, inches away, uncertainty flickering on his too wide face. “Don’t touch my things, you shit eating freak.”
Harry stepped away, Dudley pushing into the small cluttered room and sitting his bulk in the middle like a territorial, blob shaped dog. For all Harry knew, the boy would start pissing on everything just to mark his space. Harry wouldn’t put it past his crude cousin. He walked back to the kitchen but Dumbledore had already left without saying goodbye. Petunia was hunched, grabbing the back of a kitchen chair as if holding it to keep from falling. She snapped upright when she caught sight of Harry, her eyes narrowing in on him.
“You shouldn’t have come back!” She hissed viciously, knuckles turning white. “Disrupting everything again. He had the priests over—It was finally getting quiet! You’ve ruined everything.”
Harry glared, trying not to flinch at the unfair words. “I didn’t want to come back. You’re the one that agreed. You should have told Dumbledore no.”
“What, and have him kill me stone dead? Do you think we’re allowed to say no to creatures like them? Like you?” Her eyes tore into Harry and he took a step back. “Anyone that is touched by that evilness ends up dead or ruined. Even my own sister. I will do what I can to keep my family safe even if it means taking you in. You will leave for school and never come back here again, boy. Never.”
Harry didn’t want to come back. He didn’t want to be there now. “Why haven’t you told Vernon yet?”
“Because I don’t know how,” Petunia snapped, releasing the chair to have it clatter against the floor. She had been holding it so tightly she had lifted it.
“Well, you better figure it out. Him walking in here with me sitting at the dinner table is not going to work.” Harry wished it was anger compelling him then, but it was the cold pit of terror ever growing in his stomach. He could feel his breath threatening to slip away and leave him gasping. He held control of himself, knowing it would do no good to panic now. He was in the middle of it and had to deal moment to moment if he was going to make it through.
“It’s Saturday,” Petunia said grimly, her eyes glancing once to Harry and then away. She went to the stove, arranging items idly, her hands in constant motion to hide the shaking.
Harry gaped. He had forgotten. He hadn’t had to worry about the days of the week for a month. Had been so blown over by suddenly being torn from the beautiful fantasy of Malfoy Manor and dumped into the horrors of the Privet Drive so abruptly, he had forgotten how things worked. Harry had woken up without a bed again, without clothing, or food, or a space of his own. On a fucking Saturday.
“Maybe he won’t come home,” Harry whispered, wrapping his arms around his body.
Petunia shook her head sharply, sponging down the counter top with brisk, cutting movements. “He doesn’t know you’re here and I can’t reach him on the cell. He’ll be home. He’ll be drunk.”
Hissing under his breath, Harry stepped around her, heading out the kitchen door into the backyard. He never should have come back here. Never should have listened to Dumbledore. But what choice did he have? Really? He was underage. Wasn’t even allowed to use magic outside of school or without the supervision of a wizarding household. Harry had no rights for another year and Dumbledore had been happy to exploit it.
Maybe Lucius would come anyways? Maybe he would ignore his very reasonable request to stay away and come and save him before everything went to shit? Harry shook his head even as the thought hit him, immediately dismissing it. He was such a child. Such a weak, damn child waiting for someone to fix it all for him. God—He wanted someone to fix it!
It was easier, still in the shadow of the manor, to tell Draco he didn’t need help. Harry had felt stronger there, protected by magic he was allowed to use and the support of two amazing men. Harry had felt like a real person there, allowed to speak his mind and for the worst receive an annoying snark back. God help him, he had thought maybe he had even felt love there, as maddening a delusion as that must have been. Because he was not to be loved. The Dursleys reminded him of that every day.
Here, Harry was not a full person. He lost his voice in the house on Privet Drive. He lost his power. He lost his rights to exist as he was made to be, angry voices insisting he be something else. And whatever it was they wanted, Harry was never even allowed to be that either. He had tried to twist and change into whatever it was they wanted, and still, he was a freak to them.
Harry sat in the yard until it got dark and then he continued to sit. Aunt Petunia didn’t offer him dinner, and he wouldn’t have wanted it anyways. His stomach was in knots. His breath kept slipping, lungs giving random spasms while he fought to keep the panic at bay. The later it got, the more drink Vernon had a chance to get down. The darker it was, the more money Vernon would piss away, Petunia counting the hours in twenties and fifties, the paycheck for the week. That too was Harry’s fault. Vernon never would have turned to booze if the freak had never graced his doorstep all those years ago.
Harry could hear the television, Dudley watching something violent and loud and laughing in discord. Harry began to pace, unable to sit still any longer. He shouldn’t have come here. Nothing could be worse than this. His lungs gave another gasping squeeze and he whimpered and prayed Vernon would not return.
Of course, he did. Eleven thirty, dull and stumbling up the drive. The taxi barely glowed as it slipped away with a hum. Harry froze beneath the shadow of the maple tree hanging over from the neighbor’s yard. He listened. He waited.
Harry counted his breaths and told himself to stay calm.
He lost his breath before Vernon even touched him. Dudley was laughing from the couch, no longer at the television but at the show of Harry gasping for air while Vernon lumbered down the hall and threw him into the living room. Harry blinked up dizzily from the floor, black spots floating and fuzzing his already blurred vision, his glasses lost somewhere. Dudley sneered down, poking a fat finger painfully into Harry’s chest.
“Fucking told ya, freak.” Beady eyes glinting in the dim light, Dudley grimaced down and ran his thumb across his bloated throat menacingly. Harry would have rolled his eyes at the theatrics but was too busy trying to breathe.
“Vernon, please calm down. It’s only for a few weeks. I was assured this was the last—”
“No! I want him OUT OF HERE!” Vernon roared, his voice thickly slurred and dripping spittle and hate. “I kicked him out—I WARNED HIM what would happen if he came back here! That fucking freak, ruining everything. Ruining good people and good families and just…”
Harry tried to push himself off the ground, chest heaving painfully. Vernon was getting into his ‘Harry was the devil’ tirade. It was the worst one and he needed to get the fuck out if he wanted to ever breathe again. He grabbed at the couch weakly, his body swaying. Vernon turned from where he was arguing with Petunia, red face snarling purple once he caught sight of the boy.
“What did I fucking tell you? You were never to come back here! NEVER! Or I’d make you suffer!” He pushed Harry back, thick, ham-sized hands bright red as they slammed into the boy’s chest and forced what little air he had managed to get into his lungs out. Harry’s hand clawed at the couch but only wretched his fingers painfully as he went flying back, tripping over the ledge by the fireplace and smashing his head against the wall.
Shit… He could barely see… Darkness was encroaching on his vision, either from the fall or lack of oxygen. He couldn’t tell. What was wrong with him? Had the softness of Malfoy Manor taken away his ability to endure what he had always endured before? Wouldn’t resting have made him more resistant and not just so pathetically weak? Harry’s lungs burned for air and he grabbed at his throat, trying with all his might to fight the strange haze and breathe.
“Rotting us away until there was nothing good left—YOU DID THIS, BOY! You SICK, twisted hell-spawn, RUINING everything from the inside out! You ruined us! RUINED!” Vernon was stumbling, the overwhelming smell of beer, sweat, and piss abating for a moment.
“D-dad, what are you doing with that?”
Harry struggled to sit up from his sideways sprawl on the brick wall, eyes seeking out Dudley’s frightened face. He could barely find him feet away, everything caustic bright and shadows in the blue light flashing from the television.
Petunia was backlit in the kitchen entrance, turned away. “Vernon, please. Please, not in front of our son.”
Harry’s lungs had stopped fighting for air, his body now just shaking as everything grew darker and more fuzzy. He was going to suffocate to death. Whatever it was that Vernon had holding in his fist was not going to kill him. His fucking panic attack was.
Harry smiled weakly, head dropping forward against his shuddering chest. He felt like he was sparking, each gasp of broken breath a jolt of sputtering electricity. What had Lucius called it…? A message his body was trying to send his brain… He was afraid. That was the fucking message. What other fucking message was there to say?
Harry could barely hear them now, his Uncle sounding far away. “You’re not right… You’re not right and you need to be stopped… For my family, you see… Set you right…”
“Vernon, stop!”
Harry could see it now, swinging at the man’s hip as he approached. A frying pan. Like Harry had woken up in a poorly lit cartoon, and his face would leave an imprint and he’d bounce away. Maybe he would? He was a wizard, after all.
Harry sparked again, a sudden breath hiccuping through him. The darkness faded for a small instant and again he wondered what his body was trying to tell him.
Vernon saw the spark, his face twisting in a rage. “DON’T DO THAT! Don’t bring that fucking sickness in my house!”
Harry had no idea what he was doing but Vernon seemed afraid to test out his frying pan, so it must be good. Another bigger spark, green this time, and the darkness cleared again, Harry almost getting a half of breath in. He wheezed, his chest contracting and pushing air out as quickly as it had come. He tried to raise himself to his feet, hoping if Vernon would just be scared of him a little longer he might make it out the door.
It was the wrong action, Vernon perceiving Harry moving to be more dangerous than sitting. Bellowing in rage, Vernon raised the fist clutching the frying pan and swung it down as hard as he could. All Harry could do was spark back in defense.
“I don’t care! We can’t just leave him there!” Draco had stopped his silent crying minutes ago, bursting free of the room Harry had been sleeping in to seek his father out and argue all over again.
Lucius let him, knowing it was all his son had at the moment.
“His uncle hurt him. Bad! Things that didn’t scar. Things that broke inside and made it so Harry couldn’t fucking walk straight afterwards. Even now, he keeps knocking into shit, misjudging things around him. It’s because of that terrible man!”
Sitting in his study, Lucius poured two small drinks, pushing one over to Draco when the boy ran out of steam for a moment and looked about ready to cry again. Draco took the glass with trembling hands, sipping slowly and screwing his face up from the taste. “You didn’t see him last year, Father. Didn’t see him on the train, fucking broken. He wouldn’t tell me what happened. Said it was an accident—And he refused to go to the medi witch. Like it had been something shameful, instead of just a terrible act of violence inflicted upon him. That man made him think he deserved it, and that’s why he never fought back.”
Draco gulped the rest of his drink in one swallow, leaving the glass on the desk. “What’s going to happen to him? He has no one there… No one cares about him there.”
“I do not know.”
“He has no right!” Draco suddenly shouted, fist slamming down on the desk. “Fucking Dumbledore—That he knew! Fucking knew! And still made Harry go back. He’s not Harry’s guardian. He’s fucking nobody. I don’t know why Harry listens to him. He lets that man manipulate him.”
Lucius nodded in agreement. “Albus is the closest thing to a father that boy has. Harry wants the man to be proud of him even if it’s just by staying quiet about how he was hurt.”
“It’s wrong. Bloody wrong and I want to do something!” The tears again, just glinting at the edge of the boy’s eyes. Draco had not been one for crying, not for years now. It had always confused Lucius to see young people cry, but then, he had created an environment where his son would not be punished for such displays.
“He asked us to stay away,” Lucius reminded stiffly, his heart still clenching at the memory.
“That’s because he doesn’t want us hurt!” Draco snarled, scrubbing his eyes with the back of his hand furiously. “That’s how he always fucking is—He’ll take every goddamn pain in the world, just as long as no one else has to ever feel bad. He’s a fucking martyr, through and through, the idiot.”
It made Harry feel stronger to protect people when he was so helpless. Lucius knew because he had been the same way. Then he had learned how strong it felt to hurt people when feeling helpless, and that had been even better.
“Please, Father. Please fix this,” Draco whispered, eyes large and red rimmed. “You always fix everything. Use all that power and influence and fix this.”
Lucius considered his options idly, having already gone down this road a million times in his head. “I have no leverage against Albus except the situation at hand. Harry would never turn on him, Draco. He would never tell an inquiry that his mentor left him in such danger. He didn’t even tell you. It would mean dozens of aurors and wizards walking through that house, upsetting his uncle for hours on end. And then Harry would still be forced to stay.”
“Then we take him away! We can run away!”
Lucius shook his head. “Remember who he is. No one might think twice about the boy-who-lived ending up with a few bruises, but when he doesn’t show up for school because of an ex-Death Eater—And Albus will surely let that slip. We will be hunted down. Our name ruined. Our assets frozen.”
“I don’t care! Just kill them, Father!” Draco shouted, both hands now slamming on Lucius’s desk.
Lucius finally reached for his drink, swallowing it down with a quick motion. If he was shocked that his son had so little value for life, it was only because he knew how much Draco cared for his friend.
“Dumbledore knows that I’ve been there. The wards might actually work in a way to keep me out. And then what? Harry still can’t run. Eventually someone will notice that his relatives aren’t showing up for work and the authorities will be called. Harry might be arrested by the muggles. Incarcerated.”
Draco made a whining noise in the back of throat, frustration and anxiety warring on his face. “You’re doing this on purpose!”
“Draco…”
“No! He never meant anything to you!” Draco hissed vindictively, pulling away before Lucius’s hand could reach his wrist. “You just wanted to fuck him. And now that you’ve had your fill, you’re going to leave him to be beaten by those terrible monsters! If you cared about him at all—”
“I do care,” Lucius said softly.
Draco shook his head, unbelieving. “Then fix it!” He slammed the door as he left, Lucius raising a brow as a picture fell off the mantel from the force.
Lucius sat in his study till dawn, listening to the clock tick while ruminating. He should mind his own bloody business. He had no legal stock in anything to do with Potter. Maybe Sirius, being godfather to the boy. But Black had escaped when Bellatrix had, and Black had not stayed around to tempt the aurors. Even then, the convict’s parental rights would be a question, given he was supposed to be in jail.
Potter had told him to stay away. He didn’t want things to be worse than they already were.
Lucius had told a young man that once, a lifetime ago. He had glared, and spat, and cruelly spurned his lover away after the third and final lashing of his flesh. It was much easier to blame his heart—his weak, pathetic heart—than face his father, a man so powerful Lucius used to tremble just to think of him. There had been a time when he had been grateful to be under the protective arm of Voldemort. There had been power to gain there, knowledge to learn so that he could finally break free of his father permanently. Lucius had gloried in the horrors he had committed because, for once, they were not being inflicted on him.
But Riddle had been even more demented than Lucius’s father. It wasn’t pride and the need to control that had driven Riddle. It had been a sick hurt, worse than anything Lucius had allowed to fester in his own still living heart. While he had finally faced his demons, Riddle had become one, tearing through anyone and thing that reminded him of what had been done to him. He had been pure hate, maddened and desperate for more. And of all the lines Voldemort had crossed, injuring Harry Potter had been the one the apathetic gods had finally struck him down for.
The boy. The maddening, beautiful boy. Alone. Surrounded by those that saw him as nothing more than a monster. Monsters begot monsters. Lucius knew. He had done everything to grow a soul before Draco was born. He had promised to never do what his father had done.
But he was allowing it by the hands of another, lesser man than he. On a boy so beautiful, so pure, the angels must weep at every blow.
Silence was what allowed the Vernon Dursleys of the world the power they had. The uncle was not a strong man, by any means. He had no great wealth. No amazing talent that set him above the rest. He had bred, like most animals did, and worked to provide—From what Lucius had heard that had not been a success. Vernon had been given an amazing gift. A child of unimaginable power with the ability to love had been placed on his doorstep. And Vernon had detested him. He had thrown so much hate upon him, the boy had become quiet and small. And when that wasn’t enough, when still Harry had insisted on existing, the man had raised his fist.
Maybe he would write a letter… Something to the Minister of Magic. Did Fudge know what was happening to his Golden Boy? Fudge hated Dumbledore with a passion. Lucius had no leverage but maybe the Minister did.
Decided, Lucius opened the top drawer to his desk. He froze, eyes catching on something inside. Fingers twitching, he carefully picked up the teabag sitting innocently on the top of his papers. Harry had drawn a little cartoon of a tooth… or maybe a blob. The boy was a terrible artist. Lucius sighed deeply, flicking the paper tag over, again and again, the string curling tighter and tighter in mirror to his nerves.
Need was a terrible feeling. While want could be pursued, and desire would always find its way, need… need was merciless. Need demanded sacrifice, if not in action, than in spirit. When you thought you had given all it would ask—as Lucius had hoped while sitting in his study, giving up the pretty young man that would only bring chaos to his life—that was when need demanded again. Lucius would not survive this need. It was too deep, too integral, too reminiscent of his past and revealing of just how stagnant his current existence was. If he did not give in to this need, he would fade away, dull and dusty, without anything left inside.
Harry needed someone. Someone powerful. Compassionate. Brave. Lucius was a coward. He had always done everything in his power to preserve himself. Even his acts of courage had been to stay alive, stay whole.
It was good that Lucius needed so deeply. He knew he would not be able to sacrifice otherwise.
He stood abruptly, going to the hallway to pull out his black cloak from the closet. Draco was in the kitchen, hunched over the repaired table, holding something in his hand. It was Lucius’s mask. Huffing in annoyance, he plucked it from the boy’s grasp. “This is not a toy. Nothing you should ever wear.”
“It wasn’t for me,” Draco muttered, glancing up at his father, his eyes still rimmed in red.
Lucius sighed, banishing the skull away. “This is not something one does in the shadows. It is not a crime to help him. But I will be punished for it still.”
“But you are going to help?” Draco asked with a sniff, sitting up straighter.
Lucius nodded once, his eyes moving over the kitchen idly. It was strange to be up so early without Harry there, terrible colors and sipping tea. He had not realized how familiar it had become until fearing it would be gone forever.
“Your mother is ill, Draco. She didn’t want me to tell you until you had finished school. But now…” Lucius looked down at his son, Draco blinking back in surprise. “Don’t get me wrong, she’s still very much hateful when it comes to the classes, and I fear she has been out hurting people. But she left because she did not want you to watch her die. She loves you very much. As much as she is capable of, with her being so confused.”
Draco licked his lips, studying his hands quietly. He thought maybe the boy wanted to say something, but Draco never did, and Lucius eventually left.
Narcissa had been allowed her insanity. She had paid her dues as society had demanded of her. She had married a wealthy, albeit gay, man, produced an heir, and had even contributed to the strengthening of her community in the only way she had been taught. By torturing muggles. She had stayed with her gay husband, raising their son and accepted Lucius’s new, if be it backwards, desire to allow muggles within their society as long as the right precautions were placed. And then she had been diagnosed with cancer and had decided it was time to take her life for herself. Lucius had not fought her once.
Lucius did not desire to be insane. But he did need one impossible thing. Hopefully, he would be allowed it.
Lucius camped outside the Dursleys around seven a.m. Sunday morning, waiting for the family to go to church before approaching and checking on Harry. It wasn’t until ten that he started to suspect that something was wrong, dread growing in terrible weight on his shoulders.
Privet Drive was a strange experiment in ordered lives. It wasn’t one neighbor going out to jog, it was all neighbors. If at eight o’clock you hadn’t watered the flowers in front of the picket fences and around the mailboxes, than you mustn’t have flowers at all. Every family, in every shining car, left at nine forty-five to get to their ten o’clock mass at the parish down the lane.
Petunia Dursley did not join in the joggers passing on the street. There was no child Dursley going out to water the neglected flowers by their mailbox. The man Lucius intended to kill if things did not go his way did not lead his family out the door and into his new car. The curtains were pulled tight on all the windows of 4 Privet Drive and Lucius felt dread.
The house was deathly still compared to the neighbors. Children let out from school for the summer were running around, jumping rope, shrieking as they sprayed each other with squirt guns, and went slamming into their houses demanding first lunch, and then dinner as the hours crawled by. Lucius would not approach the house until the Dursleys were out or darkness had settled thick enough that he would not be noticed.
He wondered if the house was empty. Had the Dursleys up and left in the middle of the night? Dragging an unwilling Harry behind… Or leaving him here, hurt… maybe worse? Maybe dead? The anxiety within grew and Lucius knew he did not approach because of this fear. It was not the light and the muggles surrounding him. It was the fear of what he would find if he dared to enter the house.
Lucius growled inwardly, shaking his head at the absurd notion. Harry was a powerful young man. He might be weak in knowledge and confidence, but surely no muggle could get the better of him. The boy had survived Voldemort. Lucius was just being paranoid, having grown frightened by Draco’s stories and reminded of his own past. Vernon was a muggle, nothing more. Harry was so much more.
The streetlights came on but still Lucius hesitated. Why wasn’t anyone moving? The neighbors bustled in their houses, dinner dishes being washed, soft laughing chatter coming out the windows while televisions flashed and radios hummed. But number four was still. Silent. Nothing moving, no curtain twitch, no dinner dish. Nothing.
Around ten p.m. a light went on. It was upstairs at the back of the house. The bathroom, the curtains drawn but lacy enough for light to be seen. Lucius took a deep breath, counting slowly. The light went out. The house went still.
Lucius unfurled from his crouch, his legs stiff, muscles protesting. He let the blood return to his limbs, listening, alert. Most of the neighbors had slipped away to bed, only a few televisions left to hum. Lucius walked up the front walk, keeping to the shadows, his wand in hand. He stood at the door, listening for sounds of activity inside. Nothing. Hesitating a long, frozen moment, he pressed the doorbell.
When Harry had left he had been wearing new clothes, possibly for the first time ever. His jeans had been a dark navy blue, fitting well with enough room in his legs that he didn’t feel uncomfortable. His shirt had been a soothing tan color t-shirt, a swirling design of skulls and artistic flourishes teenagers were drawn to in the current style. His socks were even new along with the sneakers, black and white puma’s. It had only been a day but Harry had managed to destroy them.
There weren’t many holes, but there was one large tear, slicing down the front of Harry’s chest as if someone had grabbed him there and pulled too hard. The blood was the worst of it, splatters on the back of his neck and all over his jeans, the white of his shoes now a black rust. Lucius stood a good five minutes staring at those jeans. Harry, broken glasses taped and situated on his face, leaned on the door frame heavily and let him.
“I asked you to stay away,” Harry finally whispered, a cut splitting his bottom lip and running down his chin.
“I tried. Are you okay?” Lucius reached for his face but Harry jerked away the same time as something flared across the door. It was the wards, repelling non-permitted visitors away.
Harry sighed, staring where the ripple had occurred. “You wouldn’t have been able to help… What a fucking sick joke.” Harry looked behind him, revealing the back of his head matted with blood. “I have to go.”
“No, you don’t.” Lucius said quickly. “Come with me. Right now.”
Harry glanced back, his eyes not glowing the way they used to when in the manor. “I’m tired. I’ve been… cleaning,” he said with a curl of his upper lip. “I just want to sleep.”
Lucius fell silent, afraid what that might mean. There was no way the boy had sleeping charms in that muggle house. “You promised…”
It took Harry a moment to understand, but he only shrugged once he did. “Was any of that even real? It had felt so… perfect. Like a dream.”
“I burned all your clothes and you managed to break your mouth on my pool. You almost killed yourself just trying to take a nap. It was hardly perfect,” Lucius muttered. It had not been some flimsy fantasy. It had been real. It had been their life and Harry needed to come back to it.
Harry slumped. “I’m going to go sleep, Lucius.”
“Let me in.”
“No.”
Harry shut the door in his face, Lucius left standing alone in the dark.
Lucius knocked on the back door. It was hours later, dawn threatening. The bathroom light had popped on, then off. When Lucius listened, he could hear the sound of a kettle. Harry took a long time to answer. Lucius almost knocked again but then the door swung open.
Harry did not invite him in, instead holding an empty mug up questioningly. The boy’s eyes were a bit sharper than before, but he was still drawn looking, face too pale, eyes too lifeless. Lucius fished through the pocket of his cloak, holding up his prize and letting it spin by the tag. Harry bit his lip when seeing the familiar teabag but didn’t take it. Instead he walked back into the kitchen and poured water into a mug, which he then handed to Lucius. While Lucius floated the bag into the chipped mug—apparently everything Harry came in contact with became dilapidated—Harry went and poured his own tea, something sharp and foul smelling.
Harry sat, folding himself in the doorway so he was resting his mug on his raised knees. Watching him, Lucius sank to the concrete patio, legs bent Indian style. Their tea steeped in silence, the warm kitchen light bathing them in yellow and turning the shadows inky.
Harry had washed his hands, the black rust no longer staining under his fingernails. His glasses had gained another layer of tape, the edge curling up and wavering whenever the boy blew on his tea. Harry grimaced at every sip he took but did not complain.
“Harry, you don’t—”
“How many people have you killed?” Harry asked, effectively cutting Lucius off.
Lucius exhaled slowly, watching Harry’s eyes skitter over him and then back to his tea. “Twelve… possibly thirteen.” One individual had been hit by so many spells, no one could claim to truly have been the deciding blow.
Harry nodded at the number, resting his cut lip on the side of his mug and breathing the steam in. “Were they all on purpose?”
“I do not consider accidents to be murder, nor does the law,” Lucius said carefully. “I am too controlled to have such accidents.”
“Which one… What’s the worst thing you’ve done? Were you… Was it for Voldemort?” Harry asked haltingly, his eyes again glancing dull green his way.
Lucius had a sip of his tea, the familiar taste doing nothing to change the fact that they were in the middle of some suburban muggle town, dawn peeking on the horizon, and Harry covered in blood and broken inside. “It is difficult to say… There are acts that I did that were certainly terrible in and of themselves to the individuals I inflicted them on. And then there were acts that were that, and also tore the humanity I was trying to preserve into a million shredded pieces. The second type hurt me the most, but were likely not the worst that I had done. The ones that wounded me were things I had done as a Death Eater.”
“Because you did them on purpose?” Harry asked, fingers drifting down to the bloodstains on his jeans, running over the dried splotches that flaked at his touch.
“No. Because only half of me wanted to do them.” Lucius shrugged. “I thought that was reason enough, but the other half, that part that didn’t want to, kept breaking, kept fighting. For some reason, that part eventually won and I stopped.”
Harry flaked more blood and then brushed it brusquely away. “Tell me about the worst one you did. That you wanted to do. All of you. Without hesitation.”
There had been a few, but one always burned the brightest, the angriest, and at the same time sweetest. “My father.”
Harry held his mug in two hands, tilting and staring at the liquid as if debating whether to drink more or spill it on the ground. “Tell me how you killed your father.”
Giving himself a moment, Lucius relaxed into the memory. He smiled faintly, meeting Harry’s curious glance. He had never told anyone this. Rarely spoke of murder at all, except in hushed tones with those that had helped. But this one had been very much secret, never owned to except in his heart. There was something intimate about being able to speak the words. Maybe the demonic glow, still flickering deep, just hidden in Harry’s eyes.
“It happened too fast. I was still very much afraid, you see. Actually, I don’t think I ever stopped being afraid until he was finally dead.” Lucius’s smile grew. “I rushed it. I had planned for months—Years, if I’m really honest about it. All the mental trappings I learned, just to make sure he would never know I aimed to kill him. In some ways, it was all I was those many years. Just the desire for revenge and freedom.”
Harry placed his mug on the kitchen floor, reaching for Lucius’s barely touched tea. To Lucius it was more, the urge to be closer, to let him in a little more. Lucius handed his cup over after another sip, watching the boy’s hands carefully. One was bruised and swollen, the fingers darker than they should be.
“Did you feel bad after?” Harry asked, sighing into the mug and then drinking deep.
“No, not really. Afraid for a moment. That he might get back up and prove just what a fool I was for thinking I could ever be free. Afraid someone might find out and then I’d be locked away in a different prison. Afraid my mother, already dead by his scourge, would somehow haunt me for not making amends,” Lucius mused softly, feeling Harry’s gaze slip over him again. “But I never felt bad about it. And I never felt bad that I didn’t feel bad. I had felt bad over other deaths, many I had done, and far more that I had seen done. But not him.” Lucius smirked again. He had felt alive. Empowered. Free.
“How did you—”
“Killing curse. Short and sweet. Too short… But still, very sweet. There were so many things I wanted to tell that bastard. But I rushed it. Better to rush in and live.” Lucius paused and frowned. He had forgotten that. Had nearly lost Harry because he had forgotten to act with certainty at a time when it was most needed.
“You had said something. About my body trying to tell me something.” Harry struggled to his feet, grabbing the door to keep from falling. Lucius got up slower, just in case Harry fell outside and he could grab him. Steal him away. Keep him from disappearing back into whatever was in that house.
Harry swayed unsteadily, then slipped two fingers down the front of his jeans and wiggled the slender wand loose he had hidden there. He tapped the magical ward over the door and the barrier glowed bright and welcoming.
“Come on, then,” the brunette beckoned, walking further into the kitchen and into the hall. Lucius, glancing briefly outside into the beginning of dawn, hesitantly stepped in and closed the door behind him.
The kitchen was spotless. Harry had cleaned up the shattered glassware and plates of leftovers that had been left for his uncle’s return. He had washed up the fallen food from the floor, cleaned up what Aunt Petunia had left on the stove in her agitation, and then scrubbed the floor and cabinet surfaces multiple times until they no longer had an orange tinge. He watched Lucius from the hallway door, the man’s eyes skimming through, trying to read a story Harry had yet to tell. Maybe a story Lucius had seen before in his own bloodied past.
Harry waited, stepping to the side when Lucius crossed the distance, letting the man into the hall but blocking him from the living room. Harry had cleaned as best he could in there, but without magic he was limited. Lucius sniffed quietly, Harry knowing the air smelled of ozone and bleach.
“It couldn’t be helped,” Harry said after a moment when Lucius turned his piercing gaze to him.
“How so?”
Harry shifted from foot to foot, glancing away again. “I couldn’t be set right.”
Lucius reached for him but Harry flinched back, eyes wide. He didn’t want Lucius to touch him. Didn’t want the man to feel just how wrong he was on the inside. Harry knew now. He knew what his body had been very loudly trying to tell him.
He stepped back into the living room, eyes glancing unseeingly over his relatives as they sat around the broken television. Harry had arranged them the best he could, given the damage. His power had exploded out when Vernon had gone to strike him. The force had torn the defenseless muggles apart, broken and twisted their bones, shredded their clothing, destroyed the furniture. Harry, knocked out from the power, had woken up too late to save anyone. He had cleaned up as best as he could, but there was no question what had happened.
It was too difficult to look at them, so Harry looked at Lucius. The man was probably the most beautiful thing that had ever stepped into that horrible house. He didn’t even look shocked. He didn’t even look disgusted. But Harry knew how well Lucius could hide himself and the truth of his emotions. There would be no kindness from the man again. Not when Lucius finally saw what he was.
Still, Harry had to show him.
“Something inside me didn’t want to be hurt anymore,” Harry said softly, Lucius walking carefully around the swept floors and furniture chunks. The blond looked up when Harry spoke but then went back to his inspection of the broken family. “I was having a panic attack and I kept thinking; what is my body trying to say? And then I figured it out. Really fucking quick.”
He pointed next to Lucius, where Harry had been when it happened. The carpet had pulled up and the floor boards torn apart where he had stood. He had put the frying pan back, the massive dent still in it where it had been thrown away by his magic.
Lucius remained silent, looking at him expectantly. Harry pursed his lips and then raised his shoulders. “My body said to kill them. All of them. And then I’ll never have to worry again.”
“You lost control,” Lucius finally spoke, taking a step around the twisted legs of Petunia Dursley.
“No.” Harry shook his head, turning towards the stairs. “I found my control.”
“Harry, this type of magical outburst doesn’t work that way.”
He paused, glancing back. Lucius had sounded kind. Almost caring. “Maybe for normal people. But believe me, Lucius, I’m a fucking freak.”
Lucius growled, tripping over half a chair in his haste to get to Harry. “You’re not—”
“He used to think I did things on purpose too. Little things to piss him off. Big things to ruin his life. He thought I had come into his home to destroy the goodness in his very world. It was just the way I was. I couldn’t be anything else… It’s just who I am, and no matter how many times I said sorry, it was still him thinking I was trying to hurt him. Well this time… this time it was on purpose. And I’m not sorry. Not for him. Not for him or her either.”
Lucius caught his arm and Harry flinched, trying to pull away. Lucius wouldn’t let him, turning the boy harshly, glaring molten silver down at him. “You are.”
“I’m not!” Harry raised his chin defiantly. “I’m glad they’re dead. Glad I was able to finally stand up for myself. Glad that I didn’t need anyone to—Damn it, stop looking at me like that!”
“You are lying to me, Potter,” Lucius snarled, grabbing Harry around the waist when he tried to break free.
“Fuck you! You don’t know a god fucking damn thing about me!” Harry shouted, pushing harder on Lucius’s shoulders and chest.
“What was the message?” Lucius demanded, grabbing the hand that was about to slam into the bandaged wound on his shoulder.
“I told you—To kill them!”
“You’re lying.” Harry must have been very weak because it took nothing for Lucius to grab the back of his neck and hold him still. His head hurt, especially the back of his skull. Dully, he remembered he had been hurt last night.
“Tell me, Potter. Tell me, and I’ll leave you alone.”
Harry stilled, licking his dry lips. “I told you.”
“No, you didn’t. You told me what you wanted the message to be,” Lucius said with a low growl. “Tell me what it actually was.”
“How do you know that? How can you even know that?” Harry hissed back, again trying to push the man away. Lucius was too strong or he was too weak. The result was the same.
“I know,” Lucius said softly. “Now tell me. Please.”
Harry broke away from the piercing gaze, studying the dim stairway instead. “There was no message. Just… just nothing.”
“There is always a message.”
Harry snapped his gaze back, anger and agony glowing bright in his eyes. “Not for me! Just fear. Just telling me I was afraid. My body was afraid and didn’t want to be anymore!” He glared at Lucius, at the bastard that had managed to make him feel weak and strong at the same time. Even in this. Harry hated it. Hated these feelings burning and tumbling inside.
“Good.” Lucius said after a moment, loosening his unyielding grip on the boy.
“Good?” Harry gaped at him in disbelief. “My body knew I was weak—So pathetic I couldn’t even defend myself from a damn powerless muggle. It had to do it for me. How crazy is that? My body had to do what I refused, and in doing so, killed them all!”
“You will learn control now,” Lucius said, hand coming up to touch the wound on Harry’s lips. Harry stumbled back from the gentleness, shaking his head.
“I’m going to jail. I’m going to sit in this house until Dumbledore shows up, or the neighbors’ smell them rotting and call the cops.” Harry took a step up the stairs. “Get the hell out of here, Lucius. No point me ruining your life too.”
Harry had taken everything in Dudley’s second bedroom and thrown it in his cousin’s first, piling stuff on the floor. The bed was still small and cramped, more so since Harry kept growing, but it was better than the carpet, or sleeping in the beds of the deceased. Harry lay in a ball, arms around his knees, fighting back the emptiness inside and the sting of tears. A gasping feeling kept rising up his throat. Not panic, but sorrow. He wanted to sleep. Wanted the numbness to settle fully and let him drift away.
But Harry couldn’t sleep. His mind still whirled with what had happened. Vernon. The explosion. The terrible, terrible cleaning. He had to clean. It was wrong to leave Petunia’s spotless home a mess like that. The woman had been obsessed with things being orderly and Harry had ruined it all with one defensive action.
Lucius hadn’t left. Harry could hear him moving around downstairs. Maybe cleaning. Maybe collecting evidence to prove his guilt. Harry had no idea at this point. Why hadn’t Lucius just let him lie? Why had he needed him to tell him he had been so scared? It didn’t make what he did any better. It made it worse. His fear had won and people had died. Harry never had to fear from Vernon again, but he now had a lifetime left to fear himself.
He never should have opened the door. Hope had flared so strong for an instant, seeing Lucius through the curtain out front. Why, he didn’t know, because Lucius couldn’t turn back time. There was no way to erase what he had done. And really, it shouldn’t be erased. Three lives had been snuffed out. Needlessly. Because he hadn’t walked out the backyard and run far away when Petunia had called him in last night. No, he had done as he was told. He had gone in to greet Vernon. And then everyone had died.
Harry glanced up, the floorboards outside the open door squeaking. Lucius stared in at him, again unreadable. As if having an expression would break whatever was left of Harry’s tenuous control. Maybe it would. Maybe a blank Lucius was safer than what he had last met in the manor kitchen, smiling so bright and caring that Harry had panicked.
“It’s time to go.”
Harry couldn’t help but snort. God, Lucius just thought he could walk in here and sweep him away. “I can’t sleep. Cast me asleep so I don’t have to be awake anymore.”
Lucius stepped into the dusty bedroom, kneeling beside Harry’s bed. He smoothed down the ragged bedspread, holding back from actually touching the brunette’s tense form. “Come home with me, Harry.”
Harry’s breath caught. The man couldn’t still want him. Not after all this. Harry didn’t deserve that. He shook his head slowly, another sob clutching at his throat. “I did something bad, Lucius. I don’t get to be around people after that.”
Lucius reached his hand up, Harry cringing slightly. The man waited and then carefully touched Harry’s cheek, fingers spreading and contouring to his flesh. It was warm. Grounding. “Some mistakes are worse than others. You committed an action. But you did not create the situation where the action was demanded of you.”
“I am responsible for my actions,” Harry said tightly, wanting it not to be true. Wanting it to be easy to blame everyone but his terrible self. “I have to be. We all have to be.”
Lucius nodded, his thumb caressing over Harry’s lip. “Yes. But there are also consequences to actions, Harry. What you did was a consequence to the actions of a long line of people that hurt you and ignored your pain. Your uncle’s brutal actions. Your headmaster’s selfish actions. My cowardly actions.”
“You weren’t—”
“I was,” Lucius said evenly. “I didn’t want to upset my life by facing down Dumbledore and bodily keeping you safe with me. And because of that, I left you defenseless. It was very wrong of me and now you are hurting because of it.”
“You’re not responsible for me. I’m not… I’m not anything…” Harry trailed off, hating that this too was true.
“If things had gone another way, you could have died. And even though your uncle and headmaster would have held blame, so too would have I. We are all to blame in this, Harry. Not just you.” Lucius ran his fingers carefully to the back of Harry’s neck, finding the blood that had dried. “I am here because you are everything to me. I know that is difficult for you to hear, never mind understand. But that is how it is, and how it shall remain. Now kindly sit up so that I can heal your head.”
Harry sat up slowly, eyes widening slightly while he bit his lip. “You don’t mean that…” Lucius might like him a little, but there was no way he could mean so much to the man. He ran his eyes over the blond’s face but Lucius’s expression was still shuttered even if his voice held warmth.
“Oh, have you become the great authority on what I mean?” Lucius asked with a raised brow. “You who can’t even get through a day without destroying your clothes?”
Harry blinked, looking down and seeing himself truly for the first time. “Oh… oh crap. Gross. How can you even sit so close right now?”
“Turn your head,” Lucius ordered lightly. Harry did so after a moment, sitting up straighter so that he could turn on the bed. The man’s fingers gently probed at the painful gash on Harry’s skull, the boy hissing softly each time.
Harry closed his eyes, wondering if this was the last time Lucius would ever touch him. The man was very good at lying. Had always been… but… Harry wasn’t sure if Lucius had ever lied to him. Lucius told him stuff, personal stuff, and he listened when he dared to share the same. He made sure that what Harry shared was honest too.
“How does it feel?” Lucius asked somewhere around his ear.
“Er…” Harry blinked his eyes open, glancing to the side where Lucius was peering with eyebrow raised expectantly and expression still blank. “My headache is gone. No more… no more dull, red pain.” He wondered how the man could look so lovely while inside the Dursleys’ ugly, mundane house. It was almost like Lucius brought the manor with him, just around wherever he was. Just enough to feel safe again.
“Good. Now let me see your hand.” Harry was surprised when Lucius reached for his fingers, not realizing until touched that he was in pain and hurting. He watched as Lucius healed him, the darkness fading from his hand and the digits thinning back to their normal, slender size. Lucius noticed things about him that he didn’t. Maybe he had missed something that still made him okay inside…
Lucius ran his hand over Harry’s, covering his and sliding fingers between to hold him.
Harry clasped around the warm digits, grasping tight and staring at their entwined hands. “How do I learn control? How can I ever stop from doing something like this again?” Harry asked, his voice so quiet he wasn’t sure if Lucius could even hear him.
“You need to acknowledge what your body is trying to tell you. When you hide from yourself, that’s when your body takes over. You can’t hide.” Lucius’s voice was a soft rumble in Harry’s ear, warm and comforting as the man rested against his back.
“Oh.” Harry had spent a lot of time pretending he wasn’t as frightened as he truly was. Not just with Vernon. With the future. With who he was… If he was anything at all. Afraid of the things he really wanted. The happy things that made him feel like he was something and nothing, all at once.
“I think… I think I could sleep now.” Harry wiggled his fingers, waiting for Lucius to let go.
Lucius didn’t, instead wrapping his other arm around Harry’s waist and holding him tight. “Sleep when we’re home.”
“I can’t—”
“You can,” Lucius purred into Harry’s ear, warm and compelling, lips brushing lightly against his sticky neck. “Ask your body what it really wants. Clear away that busy, tangled mind of yours, and just ask your body.”
Harry closed his eyes, sighing softly. And then again, a heavier sigh as he leaned back against Lucius’s sturdy form. He felt so safe like this… Maybe even loved. Harry swallowed another rising sob at the thought. He liked this feeling. Didn’t want it to ever stop. If he could sink into Lucius and stay in his arms forever, maybe things would finally be okay.
“What does it say?” Lucius asked, his bristle rasping ever so lightly against Harry’s cheek.
Harry waited, fighting tears, not sure if he could speak it. If he should. Surely, somehow, he would be punished for voicing what he truly wanted.
“I… I want to go to the manor.”
Lucius kissed the side of Harry’s face gently and released him, standing fluidly. “Then let’s go home.”
Harry turned, shoes catching on the sheets. He got his legs over the bed and stood as well, his vision swimming strangely. Lucius caught him, giving him a concerned look that Harry tried to dismiss. “What about…?” He tilted his head towards the door and terrible things waiting downstairs.
“I’ve dealt with it,” Lucius said simply. He held his arm out and Harry took it hesitantly, feeling a bit ridiculous to be hanging off of Lucius Malfoy’s arm like some silly girl. But he was injured after all, and Lucius was very handsome.
“People will wonder where they’ve gone.” Harry hoped people would wonder. It was wrong for people to disappear and not have anyone care. Harry had almost disappeared and if it hadn’t been for the Malfoys, maybe no one would have noticed.
“That will also be taken care of once I’ve dealt with Dumbledore.”
“Oh.” Harry felt the niggling of fear again in the pit of his stomach. Dumbledore had high expectation for him. He had not, well, reached many, if any of them.
“It’s nothing to concern yourself with,” Lucius said, pausing on the stairs to catch his eye. “He will understand his guilt in the events that transpired here and he will relent. You will be safe.”
Harry nodded because there really wasn’t much else to do. Dumbledore had yet to see reason and he wasn’t sure he would, even in this. If it was reason and not Harry wanting something more than what he deserved. But at least he could admit to wanting it now. A life away from the Dursleys. Away from Dumbledore. A life for him with people that cared.
The living room was empty, the curtains pulled back to let in the morning light. The floor had been repaired, the drywall fixed, no blood, or grim, or dust, or broken anything. No Dursleys. Harry held Lucius’s arm tighter, the two of them walking through the spotless kitchen.
The frying pan still had a dent. Harry bit his lip and let Lucius pull him outside. He shut the door behind them and then together they popped away.
Draco was waiting, exhausted as he sat on the bottom step of the main staircase. When Harry and Lucius finally stepped through the front door, he got to his feet and practically ran, crashing into Harry with a huge hug. “Thank god, you’re okay! It was ages… I didn’t know…” Draco pulled back, waving his stray tears away and looking Harry over. “Is this…?”
“It’s not his,” Lucius supplied, Harry’s eyes wide with worry that he would have to explain all the blood.
“Fine, that’s fine then,” Draco said with relief, hugging Harry again, much to Harry’s chagrin and happiness. Harry patted his friend’s back only with a little awkwardness but Draco didn’t care. He never did. “Harry, did you need anything? Uh, maybe a bath?” Draco added, scrunching his nose once realizing the brunette was actually quite filthy.
“Yeah, I’ll uh, go.” Harry gave Lucius a questioning look, the man dispelling him away with a smooth gesture.
Lucius turned to his son, Draco staring after Harry worriedly once seeing the blood in his hair. “It he okay? Really?”
“Physically, yes. Emotionally… Well, we’ll see.”
“So did you…?” Draco raised his eyebrows, tilting his head questioningly.
Lucius cleared his throat. He knew Draco would respect Harry’s privacy better than anyone else. “There was an… accident. Harry killed his relatives the other night. Considering the arrangement of the blast and the damage done, the uncle was right on top of him when his magic exploded out in defense. The other two didn’t survive the force. As you can imagine, he blames himself.”
Draco, who had gone silent at the news of Harry having hurt anyone, scowled. “It serves the damn monsters right. Dumbledore never should have brought Harry back there. There were only two ways that was going to end. I was sitting here all night worried you were burying him!”
“I waited too long. I was afraid… I don’t know. I shouldn’t have waited,” Lucius admitted with a mutter. “What’s done is done. I’m going to see that he hasn’t fallen. He’s been unsteady at best.”
Draco nodded, yawning deeply. “I’m going to bed. Thanks for…” Draco stopped, throwing his arms around Lucius and hugging him tight. “Thanks for bringing him back home.”
Lucius smiled down, hugging Draco back until the boy was finally willing to let go. “I think we all need some sleep. I’m going to call out from work for tomorrow and deal with what needs to be dealt with a little later.”
Draco stepped away, clasping his hands anxiously. “Is he… Is he in trouble? Normally, kids that are known for magical explosions are watched all the time. Never allowed near muggles either. He didn’t have anyone with power to help keep him from having accidents.”
Lucius nodded, shrugging his cloak from his shoulders. “It will be fine. I’m going to disclose the right information to a few key people, and nothing will be said of it again. Go along now. You look exhausted.”
Draco did, beaming relief at his father before shuffling up the stairs and into bed.
Lucius lingered downstairs, pacing his study. He wanted to go upstairs—Every fiber of his being needed to be upstairs with Harry. He was fighting it as hard as he could.
His worry had built the entire day. He had been consumed by fear of Harry’s death. The relief to find the boy alive and having merely killed his relatives had been short lived. Lucius had a new worry. He had finally seen the boy through all his little holes, Harry’s scraps of guarded defenses pulled away completely in that ugly house. Harry was fragile. The boy had nearly broken—That was how magic exploded. The user had to be on the verge of breaking. And seeing Harry fragile made Lucius feel.
Madness. The boy brought madness out in him. Burning, smoldering madness. Lucius wanted to go upstairs, wrap Harry in his arms, and swear his life to him.
The muggles had been a twisted char of flesh and bone. Divine sacrifice Lucius had not seen in many years. It brought the darkness back to the forefront of his being, the damn moods that haunted him still. Such perfect destruction. Elegant and beautiful in its utterly wild, remorseless execution. That the boy had done it—Still pure, somehow. Harry was fragile and tender, yet full of such terrible power. Lucius felt lost in its heady pull.
He remembered the last time he had come across such power. His father had forced him down, Riddle’s dark eyes absorbing all light in the room until there was nowhere else to look but into the yawning abyss. But Harry’s eyes glowed out of the darkness. They pulled and lit sparks that made Lucius burn. There was no one pushing him down, yet he was always on his knees when he touched the boy. Paying worship like some ravenous supplicant.
Could the little demon even understand? He had gained so much power over Lucius. Harry had learned his secrets, compelled them so easily from the man by just asking. When had he ever given something away of his past? Why had he? For a connection? Understanding? How had he become so twisted around this creature’s shaking, unsteady fingers?
Delicate, sweet, pure… Lucius wanted to be a monster so Harry would never fear it in himself again. He wanted to destroy any enemy that might think to step into his home and steal the boy away. He wanted to hunt down all before they even thought to cross him. There should be no one alive to think Harry belonged anywhere else. Lucius wanted to burn things, and people, and lay them at the demon’s feet in offering.
And still, he needed.
He was walking up the stairs before he fully realized what he was doing. Lucius had to make sure the boy was well, even now, even with Harry mere rooms away and in complete safety. He had to see. Had to touch, and taste, and know. The boy was fragile. Powerful and fragile. Broken and breaking everything in Lucius’s quiet life.
Harry was patting his hair off with one of the many fluffy white towels that littered the manor’s many bathrooms when Lucius strode in without knocking. Harry didn’t have the strength to bitch about the lack of privacy, actually happy to see the man. Alone, he thought too much. About what had happened. About how he didn’t deserve to feel good and live somewhere nice after what he had done. About how a part of him hadn’t fully been untruthful, and he was glad the Dursleys were dead and that he had killed them.
Lucius helped Harry to stop thinking, especially when the man gave a disdainful sniff at his pile of discarded clothes and immediately set them on fire.
“Hey! I was wearing those!” Harry yelped, stumbling back before the purple flames could catch on the towel he was holding.
“I know. This was to prevent you from trying to wear them again,” Lucius said with a drawl, pulling a towel off from the counter and wrapping it around Harry in a quick movement. Harry gaped, going red while Lucius looked down at him, the man’s handsome face expressionless.
“I wouldn’t have… They were covered in blood.”
“Yes, you would have,” Lucius said with such conviction that Harry had to believe him. He would wear pretty much anything as long as it wasn’t white.
“How do you feel?” Lucius asked, pulling Harry closer with the towel until they were pressed together, Harry’s body nude where it touched Lucius’s clothed front.
“B-better… The shaking has stopped.” Of course, the moment Lucius started touching him, a different shaking started in Harry and it seemed a moot point.
“Good.” Lucius suddenly stepped back, wrapping the towel all the way around the boy. “I fixed your glasses and I forgot to bring them.”
Harry trailed after the man, peeking towards Draco’s closed door down the hall. Lucius caught him, eyebrow raised in question. “Do you think you’ll be doing something my son will not approve of? We’re just getting your glasses.” Lucius pushed his bedroom door open, Harry blushing further.
“Whatever. If he yells, it’s your fault,” Harry mumbled, stepping in the room. Lucius closed the door slowly behind him and then stood absolutely still. Harry raised his eyes, wondering what was wrong, only to find the man looking him over, silver eyes raking his towel wrapped form heatedly. Feeling like he had just stumbled into a trap, Harry took a step back, Lucius smirking when his shoulders hit the door behind him.
“Lock the door,” Lucius said hoarsely, his hand reaching up to work the buttons of his collar.
Fire tingled down Harry’s spine at the words. Everything Lucius did was sensual, even when saying three simple, somehow naughty words. Harry searched for the handle behind him, eventually getting the bolt to click. “I thought we were just getting my glasses,” Harry said weakly, Lucius having finished his buttons to throw his dress shirt on the floor. The man then pulled off his t-shirt, stretching the white fabric over his head to reveal toned alabaster flesh and hard muscle.
“How do we know they work, unless you have something to look at?” Lucius asked, making no move to get Harry’s glasses anytime soon. Instead he stepped forward, Harry gulping as the man pushed him firmly against the door.
“Er… that is…” Damn it, sentences! How did Lucius do this to him, every time? A shirtless Lucius was even more distracting than a fully dressed one. Pale smooth skin with golden tufts of fur, muscles rippling easily, with only the small square of bandage on his shoulder to mar the sight. Harry furrowed his brow, hand brushing where he knew a scar was hidden underneath.
“I want to see them… All of you,” Harry said, fingers brushing slowly up where he knew one line wrapped perfectly around the man’s torso. “Please. You see mine.” Lucius gently caught his fingers, then used his wand to remove the glamours concealing his scars. Harry smirked lightly; he had remembered the exact location. He pulled his hand from the man’s grasp so he could touch the white mark again, thumb tracing slowly.
“I was worried about you,” Lucius confessed into Harry’s ear, his hands carefully unwrapping the towel from the boy and pulling it free. Harry gasped, once again naked and exposed in front of the immaculate man. His skin tingled, the blond’s heat warm against him. Lucius ran his mouth gently over Harry’s, lips slowly pulling a moan from the brunette. “I had thought they might have killed you… Was certain I had waited too long.”
Harry shrugged uncomfortably, a shiver running through him from the emotion in Lucius’s voice. “Well… he almost did, actually. He had this frying pan, and he… Okay… We really don’t have to talk about that right now,” Harry mumbled, the blond pulling him closer, arms moving down his body and cupping his ass tight.
Lucius kissed Harry harder than before, so demanding and desperate that it took the younger man’s breath away. He held Harry by the back of the neck, keeping him from escaping while he tasted every hot, wet plane of his mouth. Harry groaned, head and shoulders falling back against the door, Lucius pressing down against him so that he could barely move. Lucius’s tongue ravaged Harry’s, his teeth pulling at the boy’s firm lip and drawing blood from the cut still swollen there.
Harry cried out, Lucius grabbing his wrists and pinning them to either side of his head while lapping slowly down his chin. Then back up to plunge through his lips again, nipping and sucking the red pout.
“Lucius… you’re… oh hell.” Harry shuddered, the man rubbing his powerful body against him, showing just how hard he was and ready to have him. They shouldn’t be doing this. Harry had done a terrible thing and Lucius should not want to touch him after that.
“You’re never leaving my sight again,” Lucius hissed between kisses, moving down Harry’s throat to suck a red and violet welt. “I will kill anyone that tries to take you out of here. Aurors… Dumbledore… muggles… You will never be hurt like that again.”
“Oh fuck,” Harry gasped, Lucius’s erection moving down to find his, the cloth covered bulge rocking with slow, hard thrusts against his bare, silken flesh. “Lucius, you’re losing it.”
“I need you,” Lucius growled, sinking his teeth into Harry’s shoulder, the boy crying out, entire body jerking from the burning, delicious agony. Harry panted for air, Lucius releasing his teeth to move his head up and meet his gaze. What Harry saw left him speechless, something akin to emptiness and fullness clenching at his heart and making it race. Lucius had apparently lost it a while ago.
Lucius Malfoy was more naked than Harry at the moment. There was a wildness in the pale blue-gray eyes, an overwhelming of emotion when Lucius traced over the boy’s features. He was afraid, so afraid that Harry was about to disappear again, fearing someone with just a little more power and cunning would be able to steal him away. And Lucius was afraid because he helplessly needed him. Why, Harry could not understand. Just that Lucius needed him so badly that he was either going to weep, or bolt and chain the doors to keep the world away.
Harry felt sluggish, drugged by so much emotion directed at him. He had a feeling Lucius must have understood—Had even tried to hide it at the Dursleys, afraid he would run. Harry could barely handle his own emotions. But this… It was riveting to see the man like this. For him. Just for him.
Swallowing the lump that had risen in his throat, Harry pulled at one of his hands until Lucius reluctantly released his grip. Harry ran his fingers carefully over the man’s cheek, sliding up to press his thumb across his eyebrow. Lucius closed his eyes at the touch, breathing out harshly, trying to hold himself back from something Harry wasn’t sure needed to be held back. He continued his exploration, moving down Lucius’s nose, feeling the strong edge and then tripping slowly over the swell of the man’s mouth and lingering. Lucius’s lips parted, teeth gently catching Harry’s finger, holding him still.
There was a tension in the bite, Lucius’s muscles tight, the man’s breath rough and uneven. Lucius opened his eyes, the same madness burning in them revealed again. It sent strange flutters through Harry as if he was sparking again, but just on the inside. Just from the emotion in the man’s eyes. The desire for Harry to never leave.
“I’m safe now,” Harry said softly, his other fingers touching down around his trapped one, brushing the man’s lips, thumb moving over the coarse skin of the blond’s chin in short swipes.
“You’re home,” Lucius rasped, his voice almost inhuman, the emotion was so thick in it, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.
Harry nodded, feeling the sting in his own eyes from the revelation of Lucius, raw and vulnerable. This man was not unafraid. No, he was just very well masked to appear so. As much as Lucius dressed in layers, poised and immaculate, so too did he hide himself. But he had stripped that away for Harry and it was very much a terribly beautiful gift.
Lucius was not weak, but he still held fear. And maybe, one day, Harry would not feel weak with his fear either.
“Lucius, I need you to do something,” Harry said suddenly, not sure if he was quite right. He felt so crazed inside all of a sudden. He pulled the blond’s face closer, resting the man’s forehead to his. “Just one thing. Promise.”
“Ask it.” Lucius’s eyes blazed.
“I-I know I don’t really have the right to… but… but could you not see anyone else? Just for a while?” Harry asked, worrying at his bottom lip. “I can’t bear the idea… I just can’t. I… I don’t like sharing.”
“I will never touch another soul as long as you want me,” Lucius promised swiftly, the palm of his hand cupping the side of Harry’s face.
“You don’t need to—That is…” Harry trailed off, really wishing he could shut up and let himself have this. He didn’t want to share Lucius. Ever. Even though they were probably far too different and a strange match in age and many other reasons Harry couldn’t be arsed to care about. He wanted to keep the man.
“Whether you had asked it of me or not, Harry, that was how it was going to be,” Lucius explained, lips brushing carefully over the side of the boy’s face. The tension was growing in the man, a restrained force revealed in every word, every halting breath, every twitch of finger.
Harry closed his eyes a moment, relief pooling through him. “Thank you. I just really… oh.” Lucius kissed him hard, fingertips digging ever so slightly into his cheekbone. Harry opened readily, releasing a heated moan when Lucius’s other hand suddenly grabbed his waist and moved over his side, touching him in a way he had not expected. Possessively, desperately, but still holding back, as if Harry was too fragile, too important to risk breaking. It made him burn inside to have Lucius want him this way.
Harry turned his head the next time Lucius gave him a moment to breathe, his mouth seeking out the palm resting on his cheek. He kissed the man’s hand, tongue flicking out, mouth widening so that he could scrape teeth against the flesh. Lucius hissed, watching intently, the hand on Harry’s waist tightening until he knew if he were to look the knuckles would be white. Harry shuddered, gasping as he licked between Lucius’s fingers, his tongue trembling to taste the man’s skin, to have his scent engulfing him so completely.
“Harry.” It was half a warning, half a plea. Lucius had lost all his pretty words. He could barely seem to move anymore except to twitch his fingers and tense his muscles while he watched Harry with pure need in his blazing eyes.
Harry met the man’s gaze and continued what he was doing, tongue and teeth moving up the man’s fingers. He felt very hot, feverish with those eyes on him, daring him to do terrible, teasing things. When Harry opened his mouth to take two fingers in, Lucius gave a low growl, moving his other hand down to Harry’s hip and slamming him hard against the door. Harry gaped, his eyes fluttering shut, tongue reaching out and brushing softly against the pads of Lucius’s fingertips.
The next time Harry opened his eyes, Lucius was sinking to his knees. The man was beautiful on his knees, staring up at him with such intensity. The hand Harry had been devouring was slowly pulled down his throat, tweaking his nipples in passing, brushing wet heat over his taut stomach and landing on Harry’s hip. The blond kissed Harry’s bobbing cock softly, teasing pressure on the beading tip and licking away his precum. Lucius looked up at him hungrily, Harry’s heart hammering in his chest. And then it all went white, Lucius whirling him, pushing him face first against the door and holding him in place.
It took Harry a moment to understand. Once he felt scalding breath moving down his crack, over his cheeks and lower, it was a revealing of desire so strong Harry’s legs began to tremble in anticipation. The first touch of tongue swiping, delving between his cheeks, and he knew he would only think of this whenever the man was on his knees again. “Oh god… Lucius.”
Lucius pushed Harry harder against the door, pulling his hips back, running his palms over Harry’s firm, tight globes. Lucius’s thumbs moved slowly, pressing into his yielding flesh and then firmly prying his cheeks apart, exposing him to the man’s gaze. Harry whimpered, his hands clenching into fists on the door, face resting heavily, eyes blankly staring at the painted woodgrain. Warm breath teased towards Harry’s twitching hole and he groaned, gritting his teeth. His body felt so tight, muscles clenched rock hard as he waited expectant, sweat dripping down his neck and back.
Slick, hot, Lucius’s tongue traced tentative over Harry’s hole. He howled, Harry’s entire body jerking fitfully. He heard Lucius growl loudly, reverberating through his thighs, and then the man was plunging into him, tasting him, tormenting. Each fiery thrust jolted Harry, his hole opening to the wet, thick assault and urging more. Harry spread his legs wider, tilting his hips down, whining low in his throat, needing more—Needing just more, and not knowing how to ask. Lucius’s tongue dripped saliva into him, hot fluids spilling over his balls, trickling down his thighs to cool in streaks.
“Lucius… I’m falling,” Harry warned, his voice breathless and everything hazy. One of his quivering knees had knocked forward suddenly and thudded into the door. His other began to shake harder while he struggle to remain upright. Lucius steadied Harry by the hips, slowly rubbing his body up the boy’s back as he stood. He pulled Harry tight against him, his still covered erection pressing against the brunette’s ass. Harry listened as the man kicked his shoes off and then he was being turned, Lucius’s stunning, flushed face coming into view. He looked even more wild than before, silver eyes hazy, long hair tousled and sexy, wet streaks at the corner of his mouth and down his chin. Debauched and hungry.
“I need you,” Lucius growled, tangling a hand in Harry’s hair and kissing him. He traced over the boy’s open lips with the tip of his tongue, Harry feeling weak and dizzy, and certain he was going to burst into flames at any moment. “I need to be inside you, Harry. Will you let me? I need to feel you around me, taking my cock, sucking in my seed.” Lucius shuddered, Harry’s body responding by thrusting forward.
“Yes,” Harry said desperately, too loud and not caring. “I want to, so bad… God, I can imagine it.”
“Yes.” Lucius leaned Harry on the door again, his fingers sliding down to the boy’s crack and seeking out his entrance. “How do you imagine it?”
Harry breathed out in a hard blast, a thick finger breaching him, worming its way inside, pushing boldly at his muscles. “It’s this ache inside… this ache that finally stops… When you push inside me, the craziness—Oh, oh god… oh,” Harry gave a sudden sob, his mouth latching onto Lucius’s shoulder as fire lanced through him.
Lucius groaned, not stopping his stretching, his hips giving an answering thrust as he tried to control himself. “Don’t stop, Harry. Tell me… Tell me everything… I want to know everything.”
Harry nodded, swallowing down another cry, his legs useless for anything but leaning as they trembled sweat. “It.. it burns, for a short while… But you’re big… so big… When you push inside me, it’s going to be like… like you belong there,” Harry whispered hoarsely, his face flushing at the thought. When he allowed himself to imagine Lucius inside him, the man very much belonged.
Suddenly Lucius was lifting Harry, pulling him roughly from the door and carrying him to the bed with sure steps. Harry blinked up from the comforter, panting while Lucius tore at his belt, the man’s hands surprisingly unsteady as they fought with his trousers. Harry gulped, Lucius winning against the material and pushing the slacks down his long, strong legs and stepping out. He wore briefs clinging to every hard muscle of hip, ass, and top of thigh, his large erection tenting almost obscenely. Harry had been right with his first assessment; Lucius was an Adonis.
“L-let me,” Harry asked haltingly, pushing himself up on the bed. Lucius made a low, dark sound in the back of his throat when the brunette touched fingers to his hips. Harry’s eyes widened, glancing up at the man’s face. Lucius looked strained with his jaw tense, pupils wide as he stared down, lips panting loud breaths. “I think you’re going to start burning things again,” Harry remarked breathlessly, licking his lips and slipping his fingers into the band of the man’s underwear.
Lucius made another broken noise when the boy’s thumbs brushed lightly over his swaying erection while pulling his briefs down. Harry realized it was the sound of his restraint cracking. He was suddenly thrown backwards, Lucius pinning him to the bed while kissing him ferociously. A laugh bubbled out of Harry, a hand grazing just the right spot on his stomach. Lucius only growled louder in response, biting down Harry’s neck repeatedly while the boy moaned and squirmed against his heavier form.
“You’re beautiful,” Lucius whispered fiercely, getting his arm around Harry enough to press two fingers slick with lube against his hole. Harry gasped in response, a groan escaping him when Lucius sunk the digits in, filling him and stretching. “Maddening… You are very much a demon… My demon.”
Harry shook his head, only to cry out, Lucius plunging his fingers in and out in a smooth rhythm. Harry raised his knees, wrapping his legs around the man’s hips, head thrown back as he gave in to the sensation.
“Sent to torment me… Drive me insane with want of you… I need you, Harry. I need you so much.”
Harry didn’t know how Lucius could say things similar to the terrible accusations Vernon had made, and yet make him feel so good, powerful and desired. Harry held the man’s silky blond hair, petting hands over the hard feel of his skull and down to his muscular neck. Lucius groaned, mouth sucking welts over his narrow collarbone.
“Have you ever put anything inside yourself?” Lucius asked, tongue moving up Harry’s neck while he plunged a third finger into the boy.
Harry could not answer right away, his entire body tensing from the feel of the thick knot of flesh moving into him, growing larger as it pushed deep. “Oh god… oh… N-never…”
Lucius groaned again, hot in Harry’s ear, tongue laving slowly. “It will hurt a little… You will be… so tight.” Lucius kissed Harry’s cheek hard and then licked him again. “But you must stay calm… The more you can relax… the sooner you will be in rapture.”
Harry wanted to nod, do something to explain he understood, but he kept moaning, the fingers inside him jolting again and again. He wanted more. Wanted to feel Lucius stretching him wide, making the ache stop like he was certain it would, if only the man would push into him.
“I can have you like this…” Lucius growled in his ear, Harry shuddering at the implication. “Or the other way… You won’t see me, but it will be easier the first time.”
“Want to see you,” Harry chose, turning his head to meet Lucius’s gaze. The man’s jaw was likely going to break, a vein throbbing in his neck while he looked Harry over savagely. Lucius carefully pressed his lips to his, almost chastely, tension so tight in his body, Harry wondered if he was just going to snap in half. Trembles began to run through Harry in earnest, saliva rising in his mouth that he swallowed down as Lucius glared hot desire at him.
Lucius removed his fingers, unhooking Harry’s ankles from around his waist and kneeling. He pulled him up his inclined thighs, palms spreading the boy’s knees wide. Holding Harry’s gaze, Lucius slid his hands down over his slender legs. He caressed the muscles there with summoned oil, paying special attention to Harry’s inner thighs and how tense they were, downy hair shimmering under the man’s massaging touch. Harry took a slow breath in, feeling Lucius’s cock settle between his thighs, the length brushing against his flesh, hot and slick with oil and sweat.
He was going to fuck him. Lucius was going to push into him, sink deep, and fuck him. Harry bit his lip, feeling a momentary flutter of anxiety. Lucius would be so close. Inside. Harry would be completely exposed and it made his stomach tighten in fear and anticipation all at once. Lucius wanted to do this with him. Needed to. And he… Harry really wanted to be needed.
Lucius ran his hand over Harry’s sack, tugging lightly, Harry mumbling a moan in response. His knees were spread wider, pushed higher. Harry forced his eyes back open, mouth going dry at Lucius’s expression. This man was going to eat him alive. Devour him whole. Burn him so hot, for so long, there would be nothing left of him but ash. Just like his clothes.
“Relax,” Lucius rasped. Harry choked on a laugh—Like hell! Hand gripping Harry’s hip, Lucius’s other guided his cock to the boy’s aching entrance. Lucius pressed against his hole, Harry jerking at the feel of it.
His cock was hot. So much firmer and wide than the fingers had been. Oh, and it was pressing in… so slowly… So impossibly wide… Filling… “Oh… oh no… s-stop,” Harry pleaded, his body tight, and hot, and too full.
Lucius panted in Harry’s ear, his restraining grip painful on the boy’s bony hip. Harry knew he was holding back, knew that this could have been even more overwhelming—God, it was so much. Too much… “You’re big… It’s really…”
“I know… I’m going to go slow… I promise, Harry… Just relax.” Lucius’s neck had flushed, Harry staring at it unseeing. His body had stopped trying to push the man out, now just clenching once in a while, agonizing, tight pulls that had them both groaning. Harry relaxed enough to allow his head to fall back, not realizing how tight he had been holding himself. And then he relaxed the muscles of his abdomen and then his thighs, his knees shaking and feeling too heavy for his legs while bent up in the air.
Lucius began to sink further into the boy, Harry gaping silent, feet pushing into the mattress and tangling the sheets, toes flexing. It was so big, stretching his flesh wide each burning inch Lucius lodged into him. Deeper with each breath. Slowly, surging thrusts, deep, until Harry was filled completely and Lucius was growling in his ear.
“Oh god… oh hell… Lucius—I can’t… I can’t,” Harry moaned, barely coherent, his head thrashing back, legs moving with jerks. The ache had not lessened. No, it was definitely worse, filled so tight, body burning from the inside out with Lucius’s deep inside. Belonging—But fuck, aching.
Lucius cupped Harry’s ass, holding his shaking body. As deep as he could already go, he pushed in harder, groaning at the feel of Harry clenching so tight around him. “You’re doing… fine… So fine… Just hold on.” He breathed over Harry’s mouth, the boy’s eyes squeezed tight, face bright red. “Harry… Harry, open your eyes.”
Harry shook his head, somehow more afraid to meet the man’s gaze at that moment than ever before. Surely Lucius would see him then, in that instant truly, and the man would be disgusted at every level.
“Harry, I want to see you… I need to see that you’re okay,” Lucius murmured soothingly, a hand rising up to rub the boy’s neck in smooth strokes. “It’s okay… Just for a moment.”
Harry whined, biting his lip. The burning was changing, more a warm, dripping ache inside that flared each time Lucius moved too much. “J-Just a moment,” he agreed, but still did not open his eyes.
“Come on, beautiful. Do not deny me your eyes.” Lucius pressed a kiss to Harry’s trembling lips, his tongue reaching out, teasing within and delving softly. “I could die in those eyes… That exact shade of green… I’m sure I’ve seen many die in that green.”
Harry gasped. Without consent, his lashes flew open, having to know if the man was joking. “That’s not—Oh! Oh… that’s terrible, Lucius,” Harry said breathlessly.
The blond was very serious, his pale eyes searing into Harry’s and reading everything he could find within him. There was no disgust. Lucius thought his eyes looked like the killing curse. And he liked it. A shiver worked its way down Harry’s spine but it wasn’t of fear. Instead he ached to realize that Lucius could think something so fucked up about him and worship him for it at the same time.
“I don’t care,” Lucius said huskily, his hand reaching up to tangle at the back of Harry’s skull, twisting his dark locks and holding his gaze. “I am a terrible man that has done horrible things. And I am never going to let you go.” He rocked his hips forward, Harry groaning, breath catching, eyes wide. “I know what you’ve done to me, Potter… With your pretty, red pout… and deadly, green eyes.”
“Lucius,” Harry whimpered, feeling the man shift inside him, pull slowly back and then surge forward hard. “Hell!” He cried out, white flashing in his vision for an instant, fire bursting through his veins.
Lucius hissed, hands moving over the boy while Harry moaned. “Yes… hell… you tormenting, delicious hell-spawn… Spread your legs wider… Open up to me.”
“You’re fucking… crazy,” Harry groaned, pulling at Lucius’s hair until the man kissed him.
“You’re going to scream now, little demon,” Lucius promised into Harry’s mouth. He held the boy’s hips, pushing Harry’s back flat to the bed again. Then he pulled nearly out all the way, Harry whimpering from the feel of the fullness receding. This time when Lucius slammed back in, he hit the spot inside him that made him scream, fire and color bursting behind his eyes.
Harry sobbed at the next thrusts, head back, arms nearly slack as each hit of Lucius’s large cock found his prostate. He grabbed at the sheets weakly, back arching, hips moving up every time Lucius slammed down. “Oh fuck… holy fuck.”
“You’re close.” Lucius sunk his teeth into Harry’s shoulder, biting hard, the boy’s entire body spasming uncontrollably from the pain. The man surged forward again, air escaping him in a blast. Harry clenched down when Lucius settled deep inside him, holding the man there as long and tight as he could. Where he belonged. Lucius gave an approving groan, hips rocking, grinding deep within Harry’s tight heat.
He was so close, could feel it—Oh, and Lucius! He was swelling inside, if that were even possible, somehow bigger… Or Harry was just growing tighter, caressing the thick length inside him, clenching again and again, urging it to jet deep within.
“My god,” Lucius groaned, his fingers digging into Harry’s flesh, knuckles turning white. He found the boy’s mouth again, kissing him hard, sloppy, his tongue demanding. Harry moaned and leaked saliva down his chin, sweat slipping over his torso, and precum dripping onto his tense stomach. He dug his feet into the mattress, pulling himself further onto Lucius, the man grinding, shallow thrusts slowing in fury for one imperceptibly long, agonizing eternity of bliss.
Harry shouted, his cry swallowed by Lucius’s devouring mouth, hips jolting forward uncontrollably when he came. And then he cried again, Lucius suddenly slamming into him, seed searing deep inside his tight passage, long spurts matching Harry’s as the boy’s cum shot over his stomach.
Harry couldn’t stop the moans. With each gasping breath he released another low, aching sound of disbelief and release. Lucius, sweating and shaking, began to kiss across his face, soothing, hoarse sounds to calm the boy’s heated senses.
“Hush… it’s okay… My god, you’re beautiful… so divine.”
“No, don’t—Stay inside,” Harry pleaded, grasping the man’s shoulder’s when it seemed he would withdraw. Lucius grunted, his chest heaving as he pulled Harry to him closer, rolling them together so that the brunette lay across him on the bed. The man remained buried deep inside, Harry held tight in Lucius’s muscular arms. The air was cool on his heated flesh, sweat prickling and drying on his trembling skin. Lucius ran his hands languidly over him, seeking trails of scars and soothing each with soft pads of his fingers.
Harry, face resting against the man’s throat, breathed in his scent, white blond hair tickling his nose, salty sweat tingling his lips. Everything tingled. His whole body. His skin was some sort of entity all its own, each cell moving with new energy. Lucius had filled him. With cum. With energy. With terrible, terrible need and emotion Harry did not know how to bear fully. But the madness that followed, the insanity that made them tear at each other’s flesh, drink each other’s noises and juices, and join their bodies as one—He was willing to face such emotion for that madness.
“Are you alright?” Lucius asked, his breathing back to something normal. He ran his mouth against Harry’s tips of hair, ruffling the dark locks lightly.
Harry nodded slowly, pulling his heavy head up so he could see the man. Lucius was beautiful, serene with a smile in his eyes, if not quite on his lips. “I… I like this. Feeling you inside me. Knowing that you n-need me…” He stumbled on the word need, not sure if it wasn’t something Lucius had said in the heat of it all.
Hands reached up to cup Harry’s face and Lucius’s thumb ran over his bottom lip. “I need you. I dare not think what my days would be like without you. My house would be clean, my senses hardly offended—”
“Lucius,” Harry groaned, rolling his eyes even as he smiled.
“I would not feel much of anything, Harry,” Lucius added, his expression growing serious. “I had not realized just how little I was feeling these last years until you started needling and burrowing your way under my skin. I am glad you are a hellion. Anything less would have escaped my attention completely.”
Harry bit his lips, not sure if he was being insulted or complimented. It still sounded pretty enough when falling from Lucius’s swollen lips, so he would take it as positive for now. He yawned suddenly, blushing as it rocked the softened flesh still buried deep inside him.
Lucius pulled Harry down against him, arms wrapping around him tight. He continued his languid exploration of his back while the boy closed his eyes, sleep eventually pulling him down. Safe and engulfed, Harry’s dreams were peaceful.
Lucius had spent a lifetime making terrible things disappear. They were only muggles. No one of importance would have even known of their existence if not for Albus Dumbledore seeking them out and using them for his personal means. That was usually how muggles were discovered if ever. As victims.
Lucius suggested an automobile crash. The Dursleys were mangled and there was little point assembling them. A car connecting with the ground after a tumble off a cliff would be appropriate enough. Muggles put themselves in such danger every day when they got into their racing vehicles, thinking they were immortal when they had no power to even protect themselves from a collision.
He brought the bodies to Dumbledore’s domain, gracing the great castle nearly empty while students rejoined families for the summer. Albus was quiet. The headmaster had also spent a lifetime making terrible things disappear. The men understood each other well in that regard. The question was, of course, the terms.
Lucius had been clear what he would do if his demands weren’t met.
Dumbledore had created the blood wards that protected number four on Privet Drive. It was not something one could hide; magic was a signature. He had placed himself as a power of authority for a boy that could not control himself, allowed that boy to be abused, and then left him with the abuser. The math was stark. Dumbledore had not monitored Harry’s condition to make sure his explosive magic was contained. And he had not monitored the boy to prevent him being harmed—A crime to Lucius, but not so much to the rest of the wizarding world.
He would go after the school. Full charges would be pressed, questions asked as to why Harry’s condition wasn’t noticed. And then Lucius would use Harry’s memories against the headmaster, showing the letter he had written for help, the time he had gone to Dumbledore and had been turned away because ‘protection from Voldemort was top priority.’ Muggles and muggleborns would become villains once again, the great Savior of the Wizarding World attacked by simple common folk. Even if the school could distance from Dumbledore, they would not be able to distance from that.
Lucius would make sure. He would destroy the equality the school tried to foster just to break the man that had allowed Harry to be hurt. Or Dumbledore could bend to his will.
Albus had acquiesced. Harry was no longer his responsibility in any sense. No longer his tool to manipulate. No longer welcome at Hogwarts.
The Dursleys would be forgotten in the pages of a newspaper and Harry would never be questioned. The muggles barely knew he existed. His relatives had spoken about him as if the boy had been a hardened criminal, distancing themselves at every turn. Harry slipping away, far from Privet Drive to be soothed between Lucius’s sheets, would go completely unnoticed.
Lucius hadn’t even had to raise his voice.
“I was a pleasure to see you again, Albus.” Lucius lifted his cane and dipped his head graciously.
Dumbledore nodded in reply, his back particularly stiff as he walked around the prone forms of what was left of the Dursleys and got the door for Lucius. “As it was you, Lucius. Draco will be looking forward to the upcoming year. The seventh year spells are always the most exciting for the students.”
“I remember,” Lucius agreed, pausing in the doorway. “I expect Harry’s records will be available within the week. I want everything in order before the school year.”
“I will see to it,” Dumbledore said with only a slight tension to his mouth. The man did not like to lose, Lucius knew that well. But he had and would not make a fuss over it.
“Good day, Albus,” Lucius said, stepping out into the stone hallway.
Dumbledore gave him a final piercing glare. “Of course.”
Lucius had left once Draco was up and rested well enough to watch over Harry. He did not fully trust that Harry was balanced about what had happened. It would not be wise to leave him alone for long. Certainly not among a school full of students. Especially a school where the teachers had well proven they could not be trusted to protect the boy.
Lucius did not go straight home. He returned to Privet Drive, the wards still open to him. With intent, he went through the tiny muggle house, seeking out the adults’ bedroom and riffling for anything related to Harry. He found the boy’s record of birth, as well as photos of his parents and letters in a bundle hidden in a shoe box in the closet. It was so cliché he wanted to groan. Such ordinary people. They probably hid their valuables in the underwear drawer.
There was no greatness here. It was amazing Harry had grown as much as he had, stifled in such mundane organization. Lucius would have to think of something to challenge the young man. A tutor, most definitely. But also something to get him out of the manor and seeing the world more. The boy seemed content to be confined in dark, cramped spaces. Seeing Privet Drive and the cupboard, he felt it was time to change that.
It would be good for Lucius too. He had grown complacent in his routines. Work, home, work again. Even when Narcissa had been living there, the routine had been the same for years. Summers were actually a relief, Draco home to brighten things and interrupt a bit.
Harry… The boy had his routines, but in a different, more energizing way. He did not wake up, but jumped up, usually shouting from nightmares. Even the simple act of wearing clothing had been caustic to the senses. He ate as if he had never truly known a meal and expected to lose it if he looked away. The boy appreciated things, more things than Lucius took notice of everyday. It would be good to see the world like that while around him.
Lucius gave a final look around the dim, squalid house that Harry had called home for almost seventeen years. There were no traces left of the incident that happened here. Except the magical aura, but little could be done of that. Anyone with magical sensitivity would always find the place ‘wrong’ or ‘creepy.’ Not just from the explosion Harry had wrought, but the violence that had occurred for many years. Houses held onto their humans’ emotions. They rotted, twisted and decayed just like the beings that went about their day, filling their home with their own negativity.
Vernon could blame Harry all he liked for ‘ruining’ his family, but without the Dursleys, Harry was a positive, bright being. The Dursleys, on the other hand, had been twisted even with Harry gone each school term.
Harry woke with a gasp, his heart racing, pounding in his chest. Vernon had been… No…
No, Vernon was dead. He had killed him.
Harry sat up slowly, staring at his hands while waiting for his heart to calm. God, were the nightmares just going to be worse now? How much more final could you get beyond stone cold dead?
“Pipsqueak made you something to eat.”
Harry yelped, jolting at the sound of Draco’s voice.
“Shit, you’re jumpier than a cat.” Draco handed Harry his glasses, Harry slipping them on in time to see his friend glare calculatingly. “So I can’t help but notice you’re naked and in my father’s bed.”
“Oh, crap…” Harry flinched, eying his friend as he hid himself further under the sheets and tried to come up with a plausible excuse. “Er… I got lost?”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Relax. I’m not going to kill you… Yet.” He pushed a tray of food next to Harry and sat down on the side of the bed. “I need to wait until you get your strength back.”
Harry bit his lip, avoiding Draco’s gaze. “I didn’t… that is… I didn’t do it to upset you.”
“Geez, I hope not. That would just be super weird. And it’s already super weird.” Draco huffed, folding his arms over his chest. Harry hesitantly grabbed half a sandwich off the plate, seeing as Draco didn’t seem to be in a hexing mood. The moment it hit his tongue he was salivating, wolfing the food down with less chewing than was probably required. Harry kept eating, pulling the tray over and drinking down a large glass of juice.
“So, which one are you?”
Harry glanced up, in the middle of biting a large chunk out of an apple.
“Top or bottom?”
Harry choked, coughing loudly as his face turned red. Draco watched with a satisfied smirk, grabbing Harry’s glass before it could fall and spill the last drops of liquid.
“Don’t actually tell me. It’s just funny to watch you squirm. And don’t ever show me, at that. I may be able to handle this as long as I never have to see or hear any of it.”
Trying not to die, Harry wiped at the tears that had come to his eyes, his face flushed red. He eventually got his coughing under control. “Shit… So you’re not going to kill me?”
Draco shrugged, giving Harry a long side glance as he stole a bite of the remaining sandwich. “You’d be surprised what I’m willing to put up with. As long as you’re not suffering with those muggles and Father isn’t burning the house down. He… he likes you, Harry. A lot. More than I thought he could like anyone, actually… Hence the burning, breaking, yelling and stuff,” Draco added thoughtfully. “I’m not going to fuck that up for him.”
Bitting his lip, Harry felt extremely uncomfortable when Draco suddenly glared at him and continued, saying, “So you better not be just messing around with him. Got it?”
“I’m not,” Harry said a little hoarsely, not a hundred percent certain what he was doing with Lucius, but knowing it wasn’t messing around. Not after earlier and seeing the man so raw and open like that. It had wounded him in a way, and he was having difficulty handling even the memory of it.
Draco nodded at his answer, looking satisfied for the moment. “Alright, so how about a swim? Something to get you out of the house. Maybe distract a bit?”
“Yeah, okay. That would be nice.” Harry went to get out of bed, then stopped, realizing he had nothing on and no clothes in sight.
“You know, I could leave you here to suffer, but I’d only be hurting myself having to see your scrawny ass running through the house,” Draco muttered, getting up to get Harry his bathing suit. Harry just smirked, fairly certain his ass wasn’t scrawny at all.
He looked around idly, wondering where Lucius had gone to. He hadn’t felt the man leave. And considering how they had fallen asleep, that was a task all its own. Harry flushed, eyes closing involuntarily as he felt an ache between his cheeks, his body wonderfully sore and intent on reminding him just what he had done with Lucius.
Was it wrong of him, enjoying himself so much? Harry was only hours away from the destruction of the muggle family he had grown up with. Lucius hardly seemed to care… But he wasn’t Lucius and was never going to be. Lucius had done things, intentionally, to gain his existence. Harry had just reacted to things being done to him, and was still reacting. He sighed, running his hands over the sheets thoughtlessly.
He was going to have to make a decision soon. About how he was going to feel about it all. He couldn’t just keep reacting forever. One of these days, he was going to have to own his feelings, not just perceive them as independent entities that clung to him. Just… not today.
“Father, finally.”
Lucius paused as he walked in the door, Draco waiting for him with worry on his face. “What?”
“He’s cleaning. With his hands.” Draco said sharply, pacing two steps in agitation. “I told him I could just spell it away, but he wouldn’t listen.”
Lucius sighed internally. “Where is he?”
Draco pointed down the hall, grabbing the door before Lucius could shut it. “Call me if you need me. Otherwise, just keep it down.” Raising his brows at Draco’s turn around on his relationship with Harry, Lucius watched his son escape into the warmth outside.
Harry was in the kitchen, crouched on the floor in a damp bathing suit and no top, scars exposed to the late afternoon light. He was bleeding, naturally, a gash on his ankle from where he had tripped and cut himself on the vintage brass table in the hallway. From what Lucius could tell, he was desperately trying to clean up the spots of blood with his hands, following the trail back, only to drip more in the process.
“Did you lose something?” Lucius asked dryly, Harry only glancing towards his legs briefly in acknowledgement.
“Is this when you say my mind?” Harry grumbled, rubbing his palm roughly on the kitchen tile, streaking red that quickly turned orange and then faded gone.
Realizing he was at least lucid and not as mad as Draco had made Harry out to be, Lucius relaxed and leaned against the counter. “Oh, I was going to say your wand, or healing charm, or a bandage… Even a towel would be preferable to this.”
“I’m having trouble doing things,” Harry said tightly, eyes again glancing towards Lucius’s leather boots. “Tripping. Vision keeps getting dark.”
“You’ve been through a shock. It sounds like your blood pressure is low.” Lucius raised a brow at the boy, eyes running over the curve of his back and the muscles moving there. “When was the last time you ate?”
Harry paused, slowly raking his teeth over his bottom lip. “Couple of hours ago.”
“Time enough for a meal.”
Nodding silently, Harry stared at what his hands were doing, eventually sitting back on the floor, head bowed forward. He pressed at the cut on his ankle, fingers trying to stop the flow of blood with little success.
Lucius couldn’t help but notice that the boy had started to skitter again in his presence, stunning green eyes touching his way tentatively only to run and hide beneath his dark lashes. He wasn’t sure what one was supposed to do in a situation like this. Lucius knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to shake the little brat until Harry finally realized there was nothing to worry about, he did truly care, and no one was ever, ever, ever going to hurt him again.
Eyes raking over the boy, Lucius amended his previous thought, changing shaking to something more delectable, such as kissing, and tasting, and all around pawing. But he wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to do in this situation either. He had lost his control earlier that day, just so relieved to have Harry back and in one piece. That he could have actually been damaged—No, dead. Nearly dead.
But that was done. A blip of less than a weekend. Harry was back, bleeding on his floor, skittering and uncertain. Why wasn’t he certain? Had he pushed too fast? Read the signals wrong? Was he supposed to be… paternal or something? Lucius did not want to be Harry’s parent.
“Potter, stop bleeding on my floor,” Lucius said heavily, his head spinning with all his annoying thoughts.
Harry glanced up at him, brows furrowed. “You were just angry I was cleaning it.”
Lucius ran his tongue over his teeth, relishing the sensation as those very green eyes lingered a little too long on him, sliding down his form instead of immediately glancing away. “I wonder sometimes… Is this your way of marking your space?”
“What?” Harry asked, forced again to look up at Lucius.
“Getting your blood everywhere,” Lucius said silkily. “Do you think if you get enough on my floor—not to mention what you did to the bathroom wall the other week when you failed at shaving—that you’ll stake your claim?”
Harry blushed, pulling his ankle towards his body, blood dripping out between his fingers where he held the wound. “That’s crazy talk,” he muttered, refusing to look up. Lucius watched him, eyebrow twitching when the little hellion slowly lifted his hand from his ankle and looked at it questioningly. Harry then proceeded to wipe his hand on the kitchen floor, deliberately streaking the white tile with his blood. “You, Sir, are a crazy person.”
Lucius was pretty certain whatever Harry needed from him, it was never going to be paternal. A father—at least a proper one—would not wish to fuck the prat out of such a devilish young man. Inhaling sharply, Lucius walked over and crouched behind Harry, looking down at the boy’s bowed head and shoulders. “You’re going to clean that, correct?”
Harry shrugged noncommittally, rubbing the side of his finger onto the tile and adding another blob of red. “Don’t have anything to clean with.”
Lucius grabbed Harry’s hand, the boy stilling his motions. Was he afraid? Upset about something?
Wondering why Harry was still flinching and skittering around him, Lucius slowly licked one of the red fingers, tasting copper and flesh. Harry made a strained, choking noise, trying to pull his hand away. Lucius wouldn’t let him, lapping in slow, thorough movements until his hand was completely clean.
“W-Where did you go?” Harry asked, voice higher than normal. “I woke up and you… you weren’t…”
Realization dawning, Lucius rested his other hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I was dealing with the Albus situation. Did you think I wasn’t coming back?”
Harry didn’t say anything for a long moment, rocking his sticky ankle back and forth on the floor. “When I’m alone… I forget who I am. In a day, just one day, my life flipped crazy and I lost myself. Now, it feels like whenever I’m alone, I’m going to get sucked right back there. Even though it’s gone. Even though he’s dead. Somehow I feel it’s waiting for me when there is no one around to remind me otherwise.”
Lucius kneaded Harry’s neck, the boy giving a sigh and relaxing. “Draco was here. He wants to help you.”
“I can’t… He wouldn’t understand this.” Harry glanced over his shoulder, uncertainty on his face. “It’s good he doesn’t understand. No one has ever hurt him. He’s never hurt anyone. But I can’t talk to him.”
“I told him what happened. He’s not ignorant, Harry. He knows some of the dark deeds his mother and I have committed. He won’t reject you—If I hadn’t gone for you, I know he would have eventually.”
Harry rolled his shoulders, Lucius wondering if the boy was trying to push him away. He stilled his hand but Harry didn’t repeat the motion. “It would have been too late, anyways.”
“You didn’t tell us how bad it was,” Lucius pointed out. “Draco had suspicions, but not enough to come to me before you were first kicked out. Silence is not the answer in these sorts of situations even when it feels like the only thing.”
“What, like you would have done anything a year ago?” Harry asked, disbelief and anger mixing in his voice. “Dumbledore didn’t. You didn’t even know me then—Hell, do you even know me now?”
Frowning, Lucius sat fully, pulling the huffing boy back into his arms. He rested his chin on the top of Harry’s head, hands following down his narrow arms to clasp lightly. “How well, exactly, does anyone know another? At what point can you just relent and accept that I enjoy your company? Must I crawl inside your head, learn everything there could ever be to know? There are millions that enjoy time together that don’t have such requirements. Why do you demand it for someone to like you?”
“I dunno.” Harry ducked his head further, his hair tickling across Lucius’s chin. “I just… I don’t understand why anyone would like me.”
Lucius sighed, not sure if verbalizing just what made Harry so appealing to him would actually be good for the boy to hear. Compliments seemed to have the opposite effect when Harry was in this mood. “Because you are there. You do not need to be special, or morale, or perfect—Or fashionable and neat, in your case,” he teased softly. “Shall you try to put into words why you like me beyond the superficial things one always thinks of when with a lover?”
Harry huffed again, resting heavier against Lucius. “I like you because… well, because. You listen. And you understand me… sometimes. And you’re strong. Powerful… I feel safe around you… And you’re a crazy person—I mean, you did burn all my clothes.”
“And you like me.”
“Yes,” Harry nodded, twining his fingers with Lucius’s.
“Even though you know very well I have done terrible things for flimsy justifications at best.”
Harry shifted, tilting his head until he was rubbing his cheek against the man’s raspy jaw. “I probably shouldn’t, huh? I mean, a proper person would think that was horrible and not want to be around you.”
Lucius raised a brow, smirking slightly. “You are anything but proper. Terror, comes to mind. Hellion. Demon.”
Harry scoffed, turning and nearly smacking his head into Lucius’s nose. “I am a very nice person. I am polite, and respectful, and bloody nice!”
“That’s not what my son tells me.” Lucius watched Harry blush, the boy’s annoyance fizzled by his embarrassment.
“You can’t count what I do at school. I’m talking about here, at the manor, where I’m a perfect guest and you have a vendetta against me.” He paused, glaring slightly. “Wasn’t I brooding about something?”
“Not that I recall. I’m pretty sure you’ve been sitting here the entire time, trying to stain my kitchen floor with your blood in the hopes that I will relent and give you the room permanently.”
“You know, instead of complaining, you could have healed me ages ago,” Harry shot back, a small grin crossing his face.
“I could have, but then I would have missed you becoming woozy from blood loss and susceptible to my many charms.” Lucius moved his warm hands up Harry’s bare arms, the boy shivering in response. “I believe this is the first time I’ve seen you without a shirt intentionally.”
Harry turned forward again, one of his hands running over Lucius’s raised knee and then down, pulling up his pant leg to examine his expensive boot. “I was swimming and it was just Draco. I thought maybe you would have come back…”
“And then you broke yourself and decided to paint my floor.” Harry’s neck flushed and Lucius smirked. Turning Harry red was becoming his favorite hobby. “What did you want now that you’ve found me?”
If possible, Harry turned redder, now his shoulders coming in to play. Lucius couldn’t hear his answer, leaning forward when the boy ducked his head and mumbled something. “What was that?” Lucius asked, running his hand down the center of Harry’s stomach, feeling the muscles twitch in response.
“N-nothing,” Harry gasped.
“Oh, it was something, you little hell-spawn.” He flicked his tongue out, teasing a trail down below Harry’s ear. “Something rude and inappropriate that you just can’t help yourself to say.”
“Was not,” Harry insisted weakly. “I had… I had missed you.” He peeked to the side, catching Lucius’s eye. “By your account, enough to bleed all over your floor to lure you back.”
Lucius gave a hungry growl, running his hands down the boy’s sides and slipping fingers beneath his waistband. “Did you enjoy yourself earlier? Spread wide… full.”
“God, yes,” Harry whispered heatedly and Lucius had no doubt now that the brunette had been waiting for him to come back to do it again. Maybe he had even grown insecure when Lucius had taken as long as he had to return.
“Tell me what you liked about it,” Lucius asked with a purr, fingers moving teasing, taunting beneath the boy’s bathing suit, brushing soft touches of fire.
Harry gave a choked laugh, hips jolting, foot nearly smacking into the refrigerator. “All of it. Every freaking thing.”
“Oh, I think something must have stood out as better… Tell me the things you like best,” Lucius insisted, wanting to know. He kissed Harry’s neck, pulling the boy’s hips closer.
Harry gave a weak moan as he thought, head rolling to the side. “That thing… when you knelt… That was amazing.”
“Yes, you did seem to enjoy that. Which works out, since I really enjoy doing that. What else do you really like?”
“Damn… okay, the other day. In the bathroom,” Harry said hesitantly, bottom lip caught between his teeth.
“Yes?” Lucius prodded when Harry seemed unable to finish the thought.
That it was easy to turn the boy scarlet did not make it any less delicious to see. Lucius smirked as Harry gave a shiver, voice raising in pitch. “You had… okay… all over me,” Harry muttered barely above a whisper, swaying when Lucius suddenly nipped at his neck.
“You liked it when I covered you in my cum,” Lucius said lowly, watching Harry react to the words as if they were a touch. The boy arched back, head falling on the man’s shoulder heavily as he panted up. “What about today? When I came inside you?” He ran one of his hands up, thumb moving over Harry’s nipple and squeezing.
Harry groaned, his hips jolting, legs stretching out and then bending back up. “I could feel it… god, dripping out… Inside me… That was really good.”
Lucius growled at the answer, knowing he was losing control and having a hard time caring at the moment. “Yes, it was… You were so tight… What else, Harry? What else do you like?”
Wiggling back against the bulge growing in Lucius’s pants, Harry answered readily, his embarrassment slipping away as he grew more aroused. “I want to suck you. I want to know… god, what it’s like to feel you in my mouth.”
Lucius could really not think of any good reason Harry’s beautiful red pout should not be stretched around his hard cock. He had imagined it so many times before, in so many different way. “Upstairs, Potter,” he ordered roughly, his hands already helping to push Harry to his feet.
Harry hesitated, watching Lucius rise, eyes hooded in lust. “Or maybe… down the hall? Your study?” He asked, wagging his eyebrows slightly. “You know… because I’m pretty sure I’ve only been in there with clothes on.”
Lucius inhaled sharply, his eyes narrowing as he thought. “I like my study.”
Harry smirked, stepping back towards the door. “I do too. It smells nice in there. And it’s always cool and quiet.”
“You’re still bleeding. Actually the last time you were in my study…”
“Wasn’t bleeding. You had fixed that in the other room.” Harry reminded, his grin growing. “You think I’m going to ruin your office.”
Lucius took a step forward, Harry gulping and sliding his foot backwards. “I know you’re going to ruin my study. That’s what you do.”
Harry shrugged, his cheeks flushed. “But the last time we were in there together—”
“Because you’ve been in there without me,” Lucius growled, remembering the teabag in a completely different light all of a sudden.
“Ha… ah… It’s nice and quiet in there… and it smells like you… and leather.” Harry had managed to find and nearly knock over a large vase of fresh flowers sitting in the hall as he backed away from the growling man. “I’m trying to remind you of the last time—Actually, kind of first time. When you were fixing my tooth…”
“I am very protective of my study.” Lucius watched as Harry barely dodged around another narrow table in the hall, eyes falling to his foot. “And you’re still bleeding.”
Biting his lip, Harry stopped, holding his ankle up and trying not to sway. “Well, fix it already. And then we can… you know…” He blushed, fidgeting as he stared at Lucius expectantly.
“What? Ruin my study? I think not.” Lucius took another step and when Harry realized the man was not going to heal him, he stumbled back, eyes wide.
“You know what? I know how to fix this,” Harry said, his voice full of breath as he watched Lucius cautiously from beneath lowered lashes. “It’s going to be my study.”
Lucius froze, trying to figure out what the boy was getting at. “What?”
“Well, if the bathroom is mine, and the kitchen—And you had not problem doing stuff there with me…” Harry’s grin turned wicked right before he turned and ran down the hall. Lucius stared after him, trying to figure out what the boy was implying. Then he noticed the blood on the hardwood floor and it all clicked.
The damn terror was going to bleed all over his study.
“Oh god, I’m sorry… Hell, promise… fuck… please, Lucius… Please.”
“Not until you’ve cleaned it all,” Lucius growled.
Harry moaned, Lucius pushing him down into the leather chair that felt like butter, head falling back. “But I’m so hard!”
“That is the point,” Lucius said with a purr, “Otherwise it’s not a punishment.”
“But it’s not a punishment—”
“Oh, it is, you little brat. Give it some time and you’ll see what kind of suffering you’re in for.” Lucius had taken the initiative to close the curtains and silence the room just in case his poor son had decided to swim to distract from the torture he was going to be inflicting on Harry. His little lover had managed to bleed out on most of his study floor and had just been raising his ankle to smear his desk when he had finally gotten into the room. He had promptly bound the boy’s wrists with a spell, something the two of them had quickly discovered Harry liked. A lot.
Green eyes hazy, red lips panting loud gasps of air, Harry stared up at Lucius with his hands tied behind his back, his thin bathing suit tenting from his needy erection. Lucius found himself kneeling between the boy’s spread legs, fingers lighting ever so softly on Harry’s knees. “I am going to heal you, so that you will stop bleeding on my things,” Lucius murmured, watching Harry’s eyes widen with each word. “Then you are going to clean up your mess.”
“H-How? I don’t… my hands…” Harry whimpered, pulling at his bonds again, his back arching and nipples peaking under Lucius’s gaze. “Oh god, you keep looking at me like… ha…” He trailed off, eyelids lowering as he fell silent under the man’s intense stare.
Lucius pulled the boy’s leg up, gripping him by the ankle and tugging it roughly to his broad shoulder. “You will have to make do,” he said huskily, attention straying to the streams of crimson decorating the boy’s olive toned flesh, paler where his ankle flared to his foot. “You are a very resourceful young man.” He reached his tongue out, hovering above the heat of Harry’s skin.
“Please,” Harry whispered when Lucius hesitated. Silver eyes snapped to his and he gasped, very much staring at a predator about to eat him alive. “Please,” he repeated more insistent, trying not to squirm. Lucius touched his tongue to his foot and Harry moaned, hips jerking, body slipping down the chair.
“This is how you’re going to clean my floor,” Lucius breathed out slowly, lapping another long swipe over Harry’s foot. “All of it. Every drop. On your knees with your hands bound.” He reached up, tugging at the hem of Harry’s bathing suit. “Naked.”
Making a noise between a laugh and a gasp, Harry let his head sink deeper against the chair, eyes fixed on Lucius’s red tongue. “Okay… That seems, er… fair,” he whispered weakly, his cheeks turning red. Lucius continued to lick up his ankle, looking like some pale, beautiful vampire. “I still get to… that is…” Harry licked his lips, waiting for the man to look at him again. “I still want to suck you.”
“After,” Lucius promised, smiling wickedly. “Once your jaw is aching and your tongue raw. After your senses are full of blood and dust. Maybe your lips will be splintered… maybe chapped and bleeding. Only then can you have a taste of me, you little hellion.”
Eyes wide, Harry gaped at the man, his hips jolting forward. “Holy crap… you’re crazy—Hell!” He yelped, Lucius tugging him closer by his foot, bending his leg and letting it slip over his shoulder. Harry didn’t dare tell the man he was getting blood on his shirt. He did not want to give Lucius another excuse to be crazy.
Harry bit back a wild smile, trying to draw his eyes away from where a flash of red was now on Lucius’s neck. Maybe if he bled on the man a little, Lucius would be his, just like the kitchen, bathroom, and undoubtedly study. “Uh, hey, Lucius?”
“What?” Lucius ran his lips lightly over Harry’s, hands now free to find the waist of his bathing suit.
“What if I just said I was really sorry?” Harry asked, pressing forward and trying to get a proper kiss. Lucius skirted away, keeping the pressure barely there. “Come on… I’m really, really sorry,” Harry said sincerely.
“You are not even remotely sorry,” Lucius replied gruffly, hands caressing down Harry’s smooth ass and thighs as he pulled his bathing suit down. He lifted the boy’s hips up, freeing the material from the chair. “You’re a destructive little hell-spawn that is intent on destroying everything I own.”
Harry couldn’t help but smirk. “You’re a wizard. You can just fix it all.”
Lucius growled, pulling away with a glare. He released Harry’s legs and removed the boy’s shorts in a quick motion. “Get on the floor, you brat. Put that rude mouth of yours to something useful for a change.”
Harry stared at the man disbelieving. He was serious. Lucius actually expected him to lick the damn floor. Harry let his gaze stray to the gleaming hardwood. A dozen small red spots sprinkled foot length apart and one rather large spot splotched by Lucius’s desk where he had dug his fingernail in, trying to get enough to—Alright, maybe he deserved this, just a little. But only a little.
Harry wiggled down off the chair, bracing himself on his feet while trying not to fall without his arms for balance. His shoulder blades pulled back deliciously, his nipples hardening each time, along with his already hard length. He glared at Lucius, the man just raising a brow, lips pursed. “Hey, heal me already!” Harry held up his ankle, nearly falling over when he lost his balance.
Lucius caught him, the man’s clothing making Harry’s skin jolt with fire. Blushing, Harry watched as Lucius bent down his leg, wand pointing to his ankle to heal him. The man was nearly on his knees and it made him think of all the good things that happened whenever Lucius was on his knees. As if reading his mind, Lucius licked a small patch over Harry’s sharp hipbone, free hand coming up to cup his ass and squeeze. Harry moaned, pressing his hips forward, hoping the man would get the hint and just suck him.
“Hurry up, Potter. Before it starts staining my floor.” Lucius pulled away from Harry and stood once again. Harry let out a disappointed moan, feeling very unsteady without the man to hold him upright.
“Fine,” he huffed, bare feet slapping on the floor. He glared back, but Lucius did not look sorry in the least to be doing this to him. Harry deliberately turned his back to the man, growling as he carefully sunk to his knees and tried not to fall on his face. It was just a stupid spot of blood—He was hardly going to freak out over it. He was halfway bending towards the floor, tongue outreached, when he began to have an inkling of ulterior motive in this particular punishment.
Bending forward with his arms tied back made his stomach muscles clench, keeping him from breathing deep. Harry’s shoulders pulled back, neck tight and heavy, nipples tingling. His thighs spread wider for balance, muscles tight, hard cock bobbing with each movement, knees digging painful into the hard floor. Through the heat suddenly rising in him, Harry realized Lucius had a good view of his ass. Very good, if the man’s approving hum had anything to say about it.
Face flushing with just how aroused he was suddenly feeling, Harry bent forward as far as he could, sinking down between his spread knees. Sweat began to trickle down his back and neck, his breath coming out in harsh pants. Had Lucius known this was going to happen? Or was there just something very wrong with him, liking to be tied up and forced to lick the floor? Groaning at the very idea, Harry reached his tongue out, eyes half closed as he managed to finally touch his tongue to the ground.
“Slowly… go slow,” Lucius said, his voice sounding low and rough in the quiet room.
Harry exhaled sharply, eyes closing, body clenching with need. He lapped his tongue out again, the floor polished smooth against his skin, feeling hard and only a little dusty. Harry went slow, tracing his tongue over the bumps and nooks, small drinks of tangy sweet red filling his senses. Lucius watched him the entire time, hissing softly, eventually crouching down to make sure Harry got every bit.
“Right here,” Lucius whispered, pressing Harry’s face to the side by his chin. Harry tried to lick the man’s fingers but Lucius pulled away, tsking softly. “Bad… Don’t make me put something else there for you to clean.”
Harry whimpered, having a fair idea what that something else might be. God, he was so hard. He let Lucius lead him by the chin, lapping slow, long swats along the floor, moaning at each soft touch of fingers and hard feel of floor. Harry was gasping by the time he had gotten it all, sweat slicking his hair to his face and dripping down his stomach. He was so hard he was certain he was going to come any second. Neck aching from holding it at the awkward angle, he rested his head on the floor, cheek sticking slightly from his own saliva.
“You’re not done, brat,” Lucius said huskily, running his hand through Harry’s wet hair. “Do you see all those spots you missed? I want you to get them all. Slowly. Moving on your knees.”
Hell. Lucius made everything sound fucking sexy. Harry nodded weakly, licking his swollen lips. His jaw was aching but no splinters just yet. Whimpering, he struggled to get himself back onto his knees, rocking on his shoulder, his legs sore, thighs tight and cramped from the position. Damn, why was this so hot? Lucius was inches from him, watching everything he did, fingers brushing the softest of touches to his back and legs. Every little whisper of contact startled Harry and made him want so much more.
Harry tried to make his way over to the nearest cluster of red, his knees slipping on the floor from all his sweat. He tipped forward, nearly smacking his forehead on the ground, but Lucius caught him by the shoulder. “Oh, fuck,” Harry gasped, Lucius suddenly settling behind him, body heat and fabric ghosting over his entire back, trapped arms, ass and thighs, hovering but not pressing. Lucius’s long hair brushed silkily down his neck and shoulders, the man whispering in his ear lowly.
“Shall I show mercy, my little hellion?”
Harry shuddered, wondering if it was possible to come just from someone purring in your ear. It would be so easy for Lucius to fuck him like this. Bent over. Tied up. “Lucius… My god, I’m aching… I’m so hard.”
Breathing deeply, the man pressed a slow, chaste kiss to Harry’s neck. “I told you, didn’t I? Suffering.”
Harry groaned loudly, arching his head back, willing Lucius to nip, and suck, and lick like he was good at. The man didn’t, stubbornly pressing another soft kiss to his flesh. “Please… please touch me,” Harry begged, his entire body trembling at the very thought.
“That sounds like a reward,” Lucius drawled, his voice strained. “I don’t think you’ve earned a reward.”
“Okay… Shit, okay… How do I—Hell, how are you doing this to me?” Harry whimpered, trying to figure out how the man had switched things around so quickly. Less than twenty minutes ago Lucius was giving him shit for cleaning the kitchen floor with his hands. Now Harry was doing his best not to cum all over the study floor because he was certain he’d be forced to lick that up too. Harry groaned, putting his weight on his forehead, hips jerking forward. God, he’d probably like it.
“Sit up straight,” Lucius ordered, sitting back. “Turn around.”
Anticipation building, Harry sat up unsteadily, his legs burning from holding the cramped position. He bit down on his lip hard when Lucius finally came into view, the man’s expression intense and consuming. “How do I earn a reward?” Harry asked, wanting it so badly he didn’t care what he said as long as Lucius touched him.
“I’ve been watching you,” Lucius said, eyes moving over Harry hungrily. “Licking my floor like some degenerate. You’re not sorry at all for what you’ve done.”
Harry couldn’t help it; he was grinning like a loon and he knew it. “Oh, I’m totally sorry.”
Lucius shook his head, lips parting, tongue wetting slowly. “I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson, Potter.”
Harry shuddered, his entire body rocketing. Lucius was fucked. Harry had a feeling he’d be bleeding all over this study every goddamn day if it got Lucius to say sexy, messed up things like that to him. He wiggled closer on the floor, his bare knees just touching against Lucius’s clothed ones. “Tell me what I have to do,” he rasped out, not sure he’d refuse anything at that moment.
Ghosting his fingers ever so lightly over Harry’s face, Lucius suddenly gripped his jaw firmly. Eyes widening, Harry did not fight when he was forcefully pulled down, body bent forward, knees sliding further apart until the top of his head was pressing into Lucius’s crisp white shirt and hard stomach. The sound of the man’s zipper was the loudest thing Harry had ever heard in his entire life.
“Oh my god…” Harry whispered breathlessly.
Lucius pushed aside the fabric of his slacks and then underwear. Harry groaned when his erection came into view; large, thick and inches from his face. There was just the faintest of beading of precum on the dusky red tip. Harry stretched his tongue, whimpering when he realized he couldn’t quite reach.
“Go slow,” Lucius ordered, fingers lighting ever so gently on the back of Harry’s neck.
Harry rubbed his head against Lucius’s flat stomach, bracing himself as best he could while sinking lower, shoulders and chest resting on the man’s strong thighs. The divided zipper was sharp against Harry’s chin, fabric rough on his neck and face. The silken flesh of Lucius’s cock was hot and slightly damp as it brushed against his lips. Lucius made a soft rumble when Harry began to kiss the hard flesh and taste lightly with his tongue. “Yes… Just like that.”
Letting his cheek rest on the pant clad thigh, Harry began to trace his tongue out, trembling up over the smooth column of flesh, seeking out every flowing contour, rough ridge. He was drawn up, seeking the tasty little bead of wet in the center of Lucius’s slit. Rising up, Harry fixated on the tight indent, wiggling his tongue, pulling the flushed head up against his swollen lips and sucking, urging more leaking drops of precum to flow. Lucius suddenly grabbed him by the hair, pulling him back and hissing lowly. Harry moaned, watching the man’s cock twitch, wondering just how close Lucius was to coming all over him.
“I said slow, you little demon.” Lucius relaxed his grip, Harry looking up and meeting the man’s gaze. Lucius had a familiar, near breaking look in his burning eyes that made Harry weak. It made him want to do nasty, naughty things just to get Lucius to lose all control and fuck him. Harry reached his tongue out, Lucius growling with molten eyes still fixed on his. Slowly he connected with Lucius’s swaying length, lapping a long line up to the very tip, tongue immediately dipping into the sensitive slit and seeking the fluid leaking there. “Harry.” Lucius groaned, expression pained, breath suddenly coming out in harsh pants.
Harry had to close his eyes, afraid seeing Lucius so undone was going to keep him from his goal of tormenting the man. He opened his sore jaw wide and took his thick cock into his mouth. He felt the weight of it, the ridges on his slick lips, the thrum of blood running through the underside when he pressed his tongue in caressing strokes. His neck ached from having to hold himself up but Harry didn’t stop, opening wider, feeling the hard flesh touch the roof of his mouth, then back against his tonsils. Saliva was building, gravity pulling it down to glisten and stream clear fluid around Lucius’s hard dick and disappear into his blond pubic hair and briefs pulled only inches below.
Harry rocked, bobbing the straining head against his tonsils in rhythmic jolts, gasping for breath around the thick length. His nipples were raw, zapping from the friction of fabric as he braced himself on Lucius’s lap and took more of the man’s length into his mouth, daring to swallow further. Harry felt so hot, so wild knowing Lucius was hard just because of him. He wanted to make the man come, wanted to feel the large flesh swell and spurt into his hot mouth.
It was getting too hard to breathe and Harry had to pull away before he choked on his own saliva. Groaning, he tried to push himself up, breathing heavily, his muscles shaking from the exertion of not having his arms to help. Lucius’s large hands were suddenly pulling him up and forward, dragging Harry into a wild, forceful kiss. There was a snap and Harry’s wrists were loose, aching and tingling. Feeling heavy limbed and sore, Harry didn’t resist when Lucius pulled him into his lap, wrapping him around the man like a limp rag-doll while suffocating his already overwhelmed form with persistent, hot kisses over his face and neck.
Harry whimpered, feeling a rush of magic zipping through his entrance and deep into his passage. Lucius’s fingers quickly followed, plunging in mercilessly, stretching his lubricated hole with two wide digits. Gaping silent, Harry clung to the man, his body jerking with need. “Oh hell…” God, Lucius was going to fuck him again. Sink into him and fill him so deep.
Harry grasped shaking fingers into the man’s shirt, tearing at it, wanting the connection of sweaty skin. The buttons flew off, a loud ripping sound tearing that Lucius echoed with a growl in his ear. Harry quickly pushed Lucius’s undershirt up, hands pulling roughly at the man’s pale flesh, catching on scars that hadn’t been hidden away this time. He bit Lucius’s neck, growling when the blond hissed and jerked from the pain, fingers stopping their torment of Harry’s entrance to hold him steady. Harry clung tighter, wrapping his thighs around the twitching muscles of Lucius’s waist, wanting to climb the powerful man and press together until there was no space left between the two of them.
Lucius fell backwards with a snarl. Elbows knocking on the floor, he turned them both and pinned Harry flat on his back beneath his larger body, Harry’s slender wrists caught between his strong fingers. Dazed, Harry gaped up at him. “Fuck.” Death, destruction and absolute need glared down at him. All for him. Harry wet his lips slowly, watching Lucius’s eyes follow the movement like a white tiger watching a teasing mouse. Breathing deep, he ran his leg higher, catching Lucius’s slacks by the pocket with his foot and pushing them down the man’s muscular thighs.
“Come on, you fucking crazy, sexy man.” Harry whispered, swallowing hard. “Punish me.”
Burning silver eyes narrowing, Harry was given no other warning, suddenly twisted face first on the floor, ass and thighs pushed up and eclipsed by Lucius’s hot, hard body. “Oh fuck—Lucius!” He cried out, the man plunging the head of his cock into his entrance, holding there while Harry gaped and heaved for air. “Oh my god… oh god, don’t stop,” Harry pleaded when Lucius continued to hold still. “It’s good—Really, really good!”
Lucius, muscles tight with restraint, shifted forward achingly slow, mouth finding Harry’s ear. “Do you regret it yet?”
Harry, eyes squeezed shut, breath coming out in blasts, had no idea what the man was asking. “W-What?”
“Bleeding… on my study floor,” Lucius prompted breathlessly, jolting forward while holding Harry’s hips and sinking in another agonizing inch.
It took everything Harry had not to laugh. The man was out of his mind. “Punish me some more… and I’ll tell you,” he promised, pushing back against Lucius’s hot weight. Lucius growled, surging forward the rest of the way inside Harry’s clenching flesh, burying himself in deep and pulling a loud cry from the boy.
Moaning lowly, Harry relaxed against the hard floor, Lucius’s weight grounding and electric all at the same time. He was stretched so wide, his hole feeling warm, like he was dripping with honey on the inside. “Oh god… yes… do it,” he pleaded, feeling Lucius shift, getting ready to move. Tongue licking over Harry’s neck, teeth nipping sharply, Lucius teased him with slow, gentle pumps of his hips. He rocked aching, smooth thrusts into Harry’s hot flesh, filling the boy deep, pulling back and doing it again. It was maddeningly slow, gentleness tempered only by the pain in Harry’s forearms, hips and knees as he was fucked hot and sweaty into the unyielding hardwood floor of the study.
“Suffering… remember?” Lucius panted roughly in Harry’s ear, nipping him again and leaving the brunette’s skin tingling. Harry would have laughed between his cries, but he was suffering. His entire body was aching for completion, feeling no more than a puddle of want, he was that completely overwhelmed by Lucius’s heavy form and thick cock. Lucius’s powerful body moved over him, muscles rippling against Harry’s sweat-soak back and thighs as he delved into him with sure, long strokes. Pinned beneath the man and unbearably full, Harry released aching moans, all his focus given to the hot friction on his channel walls and between his tight cheeks as Lucius’s thick flesh moved relentlessly inside him.
“Please… god, Lucius… please,” Harry mumbled, barely able to form thoughts, never mind sentences anymore.
“What do you want, brat?” Lucius asked, mouth pressed to Harry’s ear while he breathed. “Harder?”
“Yes,” Harry begged, moaning again, Lucius burying deep.
“Faster?” Lucius continued, as if Harry hadn’t answered desperately already.
“God, yes… Lucius please,” Harry groaned, mouth falling open, head slumping forward on the floor.
Lucius pumped slower. “More, little hellion? Did you want more?” Lucius taunted, teeth again nipping into Harry’s throat. “Do you deserve more… after bleeding on my floor?”
Moaning loudly, Harry realized the man’s game too late. “Oh hell… have some fucking mercy.”
Lucius chuckled, a low dark rumbled against Harry’s shoulders and back. “No.”
Harry whined low in his throat, his entire body tingling with the realization that Lucius was more than happy to let him suffer. The man was a monster… A fucking tormenting, delicious monster that made him so hard he couldn’t think straight… “Oh fuck… Fine… I’m sorry,” he muttered between gasping cries. “S-Sorry.”
“Oh, I can tell… I just don’t know if I care,” Lucius whispered, lips pressing lightly to Harry’s shoulder, tongue flicking out to lap the salty flavor of his flesh. He thrust into the boy again, grunting at how tight Harry clenched around him. “You beg so nicely… Cries so sweet… I love to hear you suffer… I should tie you back up… and have you beg me to fuck you harder.”
Harry gaped, his vision going dim for a moment. “My god, that’s hot… You are… a very bad man.”
Lucius smirked into Harry’s skin, teeth sinking in soon after. “Beg me, demon. Beg me to let you come.”
Harry half laughed, half moaned, his body shaking uncontrollably. “Please, Lucius… Fucking please let me come.”
Lucius hummed softly, sucking a small welt into Harry’s neck. “I’ll think about it.”
“Fucking… damn!” Harry cried in frustration. God, he was so close. So fucking hard for too long, and close, and he just needed that last aching bit to get there. “Oh… oh god… okay… you just do that,” he mumbled, Lucius suddenly pulling them both up, Harry forced onto his knees, head still firmly on the floor. Lucius drove forward hard, Harry sobbing as his prostate was slammed into. “Fuck!”
Lucius growled in agreement, repeating the motion and burying in as deep as he could go. He curled around the boy’s back, Harry clenching, trying to keep him in, trying to hold him still. “Hell, Harry,” he groaned, pushing forward while Harry pressed back, the boy making whimpering, desperate cries, so close he was quivering inside and out. Taking mercy on the hellion, Lucius wrapped his hand around the boy’s achingly hard length and pumped firmly.
Harry came with an explosion of breath, his orgasm tearing through him so powerfully it was almost painful. He shuddered as spasm after spasm rocked his body, his cum splattering the floor in long, white streams. “Hell… oh hell.” He closed his eyes, Lucius grunting in his ear, the man releasing into his clenching passage almost silently.
Insane… Lucius was going to drive him insane.
Harry collapsed back on the floor, face tilted to the side, eyes open and unseeing while he panted. Lucius settled carefully on top of him, rubbing in slow thrusts against his tight rear, placing soft kisses to his shaking flesh while they both calmed and cooled their heated flesh.
The blood was still spotting the floor but Lucius didn’t seem very interested in it. He had sprawled out next to Harry on the hardwood floor, arm over the boy’s back, leg hooking over his knees. ‘Punishing’ Harry had knocked the man out, not that Harry had faired much better. Half dressed, a complete mess, and utterly satisfied, Harry was certain the man had never been more attractive.
He glanced up when Lucius kissed his cheek, meeting the slightly hazy gray eyes. “Did I do okay?” Harry asked weakly, eyebrows wagging in question. Lucius gave him a look that suggested he was going to start ranting about his study floor again, so Harry added quickly, “The blowjob. Was I any good?”
Blinking, Lucius suddenly broke out into a eye-blindingly bright smile and kissed Harry’s cheek again. Heart pounding in his ears, Harry did his best not to blush to death. “You were amazing,” Lucius murmured, tongue tickling down Harry’s jaw. “Eager… shameless… extremely sexy… You have a wonderful mouth.” He licked Harry’s lips, anxious to show him how wonderful it was.
“Oh good,” Harry said breathlessly, rocking his hips back and enjoying how his muscles ached. “I want to be good at that… I want you to… you know… not grow tired of me.”
Lucius raised a brow, resting his head on the floor so that they were eye to eye. “You might tire me out, Harry, but I doubt I’ll grow tired of you.”
Harry blushed, shrugging self-consciously. “I dunno… I’m sure you’ve had plenty of experienced lovers and all.”
“I do believe you think I’m a rogue,” Lucius teased, running his thumb over the boy’s lips. “Just some caddish knave that would be under the next hideous, hole riddled shirt I see. Apparently I have not made any sort of honorable impression on you at all.” Lucius gave another beautiful smile, Harry forced to gape and stare, face turning completely red now.
“You’re a funny guy, Lucius. Crazy,” Harry whispered, “but pretty damn funny at times.”
Lucius tilted his head in mild agreement, eyes running over Harry’s face thoughtfully. Harry couldn’t help but return the gaze, trying to memorize the man in that moment, normally soft hair slick with sweat, pale eyes tinted slightly blue, lips just on the edge of another searing, stomach tightening smile. Lucius was gorgeous. And Harry felt safe to be himself around him, even when he didn’t always feel safe to be himself alone.
“I wanted to tell you something,” Lucius said suddenly, his voice low. “Or, at least, offer you something. An option.”
Harry waited, rocking his shoulder for a better position on the floor.
“I was hoping you’d stay with me at the manor… But if not, I was going to offer to help you find a place…” Lucius trailed off, looking uncertain.
Brows furrowed, Harry continued to wait. He had never seen Lucius skitter before, eyes glancing over to him and then down, but it was decidedly interesting to watch.
“You’re going to need a tutor. Because Albus has…”
Ah. “Kicked out?” Harry asked quietly.
Lucius nodded, trying to read Harry’s expression. “But there are plenty of superb, private educators, and I thought I might take some initiative in your education. If you agreed.”
“Yeah, okay,” Harry said after a moment, stretching and trying not to feel disappointed that he would never see Hogwarts again. “I mean, it could have been a lot worse, right? Jail… maybe even Azkaban… A tutor seems, well, a bit too good for what I’ve done.”
“It’s not,” Lucius said sincerely. “I know you don’t agree, but you deserve every good thing that comes your way. After today, you are exempt from everything that has happened at your relatives, with the only consequence being that Dumbledore will no longer allow you to complete your education at Hogwarts. Most assuredly from my interference and demand that he relent his hold on you, than anything you have done. No one knows what happened but the few of us, and it will remain so. To reveal this secret would be to destroy Albus. It will not be done.”
Biting his lip, Harry eventually nodded. He didn’t believe he should be so easily released from the consequences of his actions. But he also knew Lucius was a powerful force, one that seemed very determined to make sure he had some sort of life. Even though he had done an unspeakable thing.
“And I was hoping… Hoping you would stay here. With me. For as long as you wanted.” Harry blinked, focusing back on the man that had apparently still been talking.
“Really?” Harry asked, his throat feeling tight all of a sudden.
“Yes. There’s plenty of room.” Lucius leaned closer, fingers tangling in Harry’s hair. “I still have work, of course, but your days would be full anyways with studies… But we could share our mornings together, and our evenings… Share our days… And there is always the weekends… I would really enjoy taking you on that date we had planned, and many more.”
Harry let his eyes close, Lucius’s voice washing over him like a calming purr. This was very much a dream. A perfect dream following a terrible nightmare. Harry would wait to see if he woke up, gasping in the dark, possibly back in the cupboard once again. But for now he was determined to enjoy this very amazing dream.
“I’d like that, Lucius. I’d like to stay here with you.” Harry opened his eyes just in time for another breathtaking smile from the handsome blond. His heart tripped dangerously but it was nothing Harry couldn’t handle. Instead he returned Lucius’s broad smile with one of his own, leaned the rest of the way forward and kissed the man. The kiss was sweet and full of promise. It was very solid in that moment, giving Harry hope that he was actually awake and would remain so.
“Tell them my headaches have just gotten worse.”
“I’m not telling them that. They’ll think you’re hearing voices or something,” Draco snapped.
Harry shrugged. “They already think I’m nuts. It would be more believable than me living at your place the school term.”
“Owl them! They’re your friends,” Draco said with a frustrated growl. “I don’t want to be hounded all year with questions.”
“No one is going to care,” Harry said flatly, leaning back on Draco’s bed, propped on his arms. “I don’t care what you tell them. Hell—Tell them I killed my relatives. Why the hell not?”
Glaring, Draco considered shoving his stubborn friend, then thought better of it. “You should come to the station. They’ll want to see you. Blaise and Pansy have been asking about you, and I’m sure all your Gryffindor idiots have missed you too.”
Harry shook his head. “I don’t have anything to say to anyone. Just go already.”
Draco sighed, folding his arms. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I won’t be seeing you till winter break and I’m not leaving you here to mope the whole damn time.”
Harry rolled his eyes but didn’t interrupt.
“Your relatives brought it on themselves—Quiet!” Draco glared warningly when Harry opened his mouth to loudly disagree. “No, they didn’t deserve to die, especially in such a terrible way. But they brought it on themselves. When you disrespect the basic laws of power, you get burned. First damn thing we learned in school.”
“They were muggles,” Harry muttered. “They would have never learned anything like that.”
Draco wasn’t impressed. “This isn’t a magic rule, this is a life rule. You don’t play with fire. Don’t go swimming with sharks. Don’t go walking out in the dark when you know monsters are hunting. They knew enough about what you are to be terrified, but they didn’t listen to that fear. They attacked you and lost. They ignored the laws of power and didn’t survive the consequences. Not the first and not the last fools to do it, but it’s always the same end result. Stop holding onto it.”
Harry didn’t say anything, staring up at the ceiling instead. He didn’t want to feel better about what he had done. Somehow it belittled the Dursley’s lives. Weeks later, he had decided that he would try to move forward as best he could after the Dursleys’ deaths. That involved throwing himself into his studies and figuring out what he wanted to do once he graduated. Part of that agreement with himself was that he could never forget the Dursleys and what he had done. So he would never do it again. So the family lived still, if only in his memory.
“Tell them I got expelled for turning Snape’s hair pink,” Harry said eventually.
Draco huffed. He had said what he wanted to say and Harry, as usual, had ignored him. “Write me. All the bloody time. You have no excuse, seeing as there’s no one here to bother… Quiet.” Draco grumbled when Harry gave him a rakish grin. “Gross. Freak’n hate you. Do not write me about my father, understand?”
“Not a problem. Now go before you miss the train,” Harry said, getting up and letting Draco hug him goodbye.
“You’re going to miss me,” Draco said knowingly. Harry shrugged. He probably would. Studying all day alone would likely be boring, tutor or not.
“Hot pink. Neon hot pink hair. Don’t forget.” If Harry wasn’t going back, it should be for something infamous.
Smirking, Draco nodded, turning to go. He paused, eyes narrowing as he looked back over his shoulder. “What’s with the baseball bat?”
Harry looked down, staring at the wooden bat he was holding loosely in his hand. He raised a brow, his wicked grin returning. “Pretty sure you don’t want to know.”
Draco scrunched his nose, shaking his head in disgust. “You two are depraved.” He escaped, Harry snickering behind him.
The platform for the Hogwarts Express was just starting to clear of the roaming students and clinging parents when Lucius, Draco saying his final farewells, noticed Narcissa. She was standing just out of sight, waiting expectantly as if she hadn’t off and disappeared one afternoon with a succinct note and all her things. Lucius felt Draco stiffen, knowing the boy had found her as well.
“She hasn’t seen you in months,” Lucius said calmly, Draco rocking on his heels in indecision. “You must have something to say to each other.”
Biting his lip, Draco nodded, making his way over to his mother to talk. Lucius watched, eyes straying through the train station, making sure Bellatrix wasn’t hiding around some dark corner looking to make his life a living hell. Everything looked innocent enough, Narcissa a bit stiff as she talked with her son—Not completely new. She had struggled to bond with her only child. Likely the side effect of an arranged marriage and her own detached parents.
Draco gave Lucius a brief parting wave before getting on the train, his white blond hair disappearing from view. Narcissa remained, petite and stiff, looking the same as ever, if not a bit tired. Lucius waited, wondering how long it would take her to get up the nerve. A good four minutes, it turned out, Narcissa eventually sighing and walking up, standing at his side as if she had just been off with friends for a moment and not months away.
“I thought it would be good to see him off. It’s his last year and I’ve never missed a turn seeing him away to school.” Narcissa spoke softly, her voice lighter than Lucius remembered.
Lucius nodded, remaining silent. He was hardly going to argue her rights in seeing Draco off to school. As for more extended contact, Lucius had a lot to say, but he did not think Narcissa was interested in gaining custody of their son.
“You look nice, Lucius. Almost… informal,” Narcissa said carefully, her thin eyebrow raised as she took in Lucius’s casual attire. Leather boots, formfitting pants, collarless shirt, hair loose; Lucius was probably the most under-dressed he had ever been walking outside his manor. Harry had been insistent, wanting the man to be relaxed at home and not always in work mode. The mix of envious and lustful looks sent his way that day had only confirmed that his young lover’s tastes were shared. Poor Pansy had nearly fainted when seeing him.
“I thought a change was in order,” Lucius finally said. “That’s why you left, correct? Things just never changed.”
“Yes.” Narcissa sighed, turning to face him, her stance more relaxed. “Here I was worried I had… Oh, I don’t know. My father never would have made it a week without my mother. He was so dependent on her. You were never like him though, were you? Always quick to adapt and come out on top. You shouldered the things that crippled him with ease.”
“We all have our strengths.” Narcissa’s father had been weak through and through, and Lucius had held little respect for the man. “How has your muggle hunting been?” He asked, watching her flinch.
“Eventful… Not as satisfying as I remembered it to be.” Narcissa gave a terse smile. “Bella still has such passion, but it’s difficult to keep up with her. I had thought… I had thought maybe she was hiding him away. Like she knew something the rest of us didn’t and he would rise again.” She shrugged, lips pursed. “Still, it keeps me busy.”
Voldemort was truly gone then, never to bother Harry again. Lucius kept his face schooled, not willing to show his relief. She could be lying but he knew Narcissa wasn’t. They had confided in each other from the very beginning. No boundaries, no lies, less suffering. They had both grown up as pawns to powerful parents. Even if there was no physical love, there had been a level of camaraderie. Narcissa had liked the structure Riddle offered the world. Lucius had seen it as a lie, just the ravings of a madman that could not face his past.
“You look well,” Lucius said, not having much else to say.
Narcissa waved her hand dismissively. “I look ill. Hardly brimming with the healthy glow you’re exuding. I’m glad to see my leaving has helped you, if it has done anything.” Narcissa gave him a calculating look, lips quirking in a small smile. “I do believe you have a laugh line. That was not there when I left.”
Lucius glared at her, completely scandalized. “I do not.”
“Yes, you do. You’ve been smiling.” She frowned, looking away as if the very idea was upsetting. “I wish to send Draco a gift this Christmas. I thought it would be best to ask you first.”
“Nothing questionable, I trust?” Lucius asked, not trusting Narcissa at all that she would be careful with her own son. She had run off without saying a word to him.
“No, of course not. Just some things of my father’s.” She looked sad again and Lucius wondered if she was bothering to fight her illness or had just relented, like Narcissa had done with so many things in her life. “I should be off,” she said softly, stepping away. “It was good to see you, Lucius… Even with your laugh line.”
Lucius scowled as she walked away, running fingers absentmindedly over his face. Smiling… How absurd. He did not smile. Smirk, at most. Laugh? Never.
Mind caught on his brief conversation with Narcissa, Lucius did not notice immediately what was wrong when he stepped into his manor. At first glance everything seemed normal, well except for Harry. The boy was sitting on the main stairs, hunched over, something long laid out at his bare feet. Lucius blinked, covering his eyes with his hands. “What the hell are you wearing?”
“You’re back,” Harry said, standing smoothly.
“Potter… I burned that monstrosity. I know I did.” Lucius dared a glance, quickly squinting as the neon orange shirt from hell filled his vision.
“Actually, you didn’t,” Harry said cheerfully, walking down the steps. “I had lost it, mixed up with a sheet under the bed. Only found it a couple of days ago, and was just waiting for the right moment…”
“To blind me?” Lucius growled. “Drive me insane with the damn glow of it?”
Harry smirked, stopping a few feet from Lucius’s form. “Maybe. You really do dislike this shirt.”
“It’s hideous. It barely fits you, covered in holes—the color is atrocious—”
“Yup. So what are you going to do about it?” Harry asked, smiling brightly while swinging left and right as he stood.
“Do about it?” Lucius asked, wishing the boy would stand still because the bloody shirt was distractingly dizzying while in motion.
Harry smiled wider, tongue running over his teeth for an instant. “Let me rephrase that. What are you going to do to me?” He asked, voice low and suggestive.
Lucius was baffled that the little fool thought he was somehow going to get anything good out of that shirt. He could barely see, the damn thing burning so. Harry had to be mad to think he would want to even look at him while wearing the terrible thing.
Watching Lucius’s thoughts flicker around his pained expression, Harry brought the hand he had been hiding behind his back now in front of him. “This is a baseball bat. Muggle. Simple, dull, basically a slab of wood.”
Lucius glared between his fingers. “I know what a baseball bat is.”
“Good. Then you know what it can do,” Harry said brightly. And with that he walked away, dragging the bat on the floor behind him.
Lucius sighed, Harry’s departure relief for his addled senses. That damn shirt. He needed to burn the thing. That Harry could wear it, the clearly blind, daft pain in the ass, was beyond him. Lucius could barely look at it, especially after having weeks of respite from the horrible—
There was a loud crash, Lucius snapping his head up to glare down the hall. He snarled, Harry and his damn shirt peeking out from the kitchen. “Potter! Stop destroying my house.”
And give up that fucking shirt so I can burn it into a million specks of ash and bury it in the rosebush. No, the backyard—The remains would surely kill the roses.
Harry smirked, wagging his eyebrows. “Make me!” He ducked back into the kitchen, the sound of something heavy slamming into the sound of something delicate and china ringing out.
Harry looked around the kitchen critically, swinging the bat in his careless grip. He knocked over the ceramic canisters—Usually cutesy and animal shaped, but Lucius had managed to find elegant and now very broken ones. He smashed in the faucet next, snickering when it bent downwards and dented into the basin. Eyes bright, Harry turned towards Draco’s coffeemaker. It was shiny, high tech, and had no right being in a damn wizard’s kitchen anyways. He wound the bat to his shoulder, smiling gleefully as he swung. Only to yelp, pulled backwards by his grip, Lucius glaring down at him.
“Calamitous, destructive hell-spawn!” Lucius snarled, taking the bat from Harry’s hand and whipping it across the room. Harry’s gaze followed, watching as the baseball bat took out the glass faced cupboard Lucius kept him more expensive flatware in. Harry hadn’t even thought of that and was very impressed.
“Problem, Mr. Malfoy?” Harry asked innocently while Lucius went through what could only be called his ‘murderous’ expressions. The man had more than a few, all of them quite spectacular on his aristocratic features. “I was looking for the tea. Couldn’t seem to find it. Tea calms you down, right?”
“Nothing is going to—Tea? Tea? You lying, maddening, damn lunatic! I’m going to—”
Harry whirled in Lucius’s arms, pushing the spluttering man up against the wall. “What?” Harry asked breathlessly, eyes gleaming with fire. “Punish me?”
Lucius paused, taking in Harry’s flushed face and hungry eyes. The boy licked his lips, drawing the man’s silver gaze down to the very red pout that absolutely deserved punishment. But then Lucius’s eyes fell lower and he squinted, the damn orange t-shirt blaring at him. “I’m going to burn that monstrous shirt. Possibly you, if you insist on wearing it while I’m burning it.”
Harry reached his hand down to Lucius’s pants, wiggling his fingers until he found the concealed pocket most wizarding clothing had to hold their wand. He slipped Lucius’s wand free, staring the man in the eye while placing the slender instrument in his grasp. “Do it.”
“Do you think I’m bluffing?” Lucius asked, his heart faltering and then beating faster, something in the boy’s expression making him feel wild. Crazy. He tightened his grip on his wand, watching Harry’s eyes follow the tip of it.
“Come on,” Harry whispered, the wand now inches from his shoulder. “Burn my clothes off.”
Hissing, Lucius grabbed the back of Harry’s neck with his free hand, forcing the boy to meet his gaze again. Harry’s brilliant green eyes were glowing, full of lust, anticipation, and consuming hellfire. It was like staring into the abyss, Lucius’s stomach plummeting, mouth going dry, cock hardening. “You’re a maniac,” Lucius rasped, his voice full of awe.
“You’re a crazy person. It works out well.” Harry wrapped his hand around Lucius’s wrist, pulling the wand closer until it was touching his collar. “I bet you could put a hole in my shirt without even burning me.”
Lucius swallowed, not a hundred percent certain he could. The control it would take, the absolute precision to burn fabric but not the flesh it was resting on… “Harry, this is—”
“You know you want to try,” Harry interrupted, lips brushing lightly to the stubble on Lucius’s jaw. “Do I have to beg? Beg you to burn me? Beg you to punish me?”
Lucius wondered dimly if he had damaged the gorgeous young man weeks ago when forcing Harry to lick his floor. He carefully pushed Harry back, the boy staring but making no move to resist. Doing his best to ignore the migraine that was threatening when being faced with the day glow orange nightmare of a shirt, Lucius placed Harry’s arms behind his back and then bound them together with a spell. Harry almost immediately began to pant, back arching, eyelids lowering. The boy was beautiful.
“Do not move,” Lucius warned, Harry whimpering in reply. “Do not breathe. Stay absolutely still.” Giving the boy a moment to get himself under control, Lucius brought his wand up to the center of Harry’s chest. Breathing deeply, he picked a different spot, the shoulder, just in case he ended up burning the little hellion. They both watched, fascinated, as a small tendril of smoke appeared, followed by an ember only slightly brighter than the burning orange material. Black char suddenly circled out, racing over Harry’s shoulder in a smooth ripple, revealing perfect tanned flesh beneath.
Lucius pulled his wand back, touching down to the other sleeve, listening to the boy gasp. “Be still,” he murmured, surprised by the sound of his own voice, his mouth dry, jaw tense. He repeated the spell on Harry’s other shoulder, the short sleeve hanging loose afterwards. The next hole disconnected the collar from the destroyed sleeve. The two holes after that he flowed down the seam on Harry’s side, the hem finally breaking way.
Silently tucking his wand away, Lucius met Harry’s wide eyed gaze. With a brusque motion he tore the shirt from the boy’s form, the shreds hanging off the first shoulder breaking free with a rip. He threw the damn thing to the floor, vowing to destroy it later once he had dealt with the now shirtless, gasping thing in front of him. Just what the hell was he going to do to the damn brat?
“L-Lucius?” Harry whispered, breathless, lips swollen and wet from his constant, nervous gnawing.
“What, demon?” Lucius asked, fingers ghosting ever so softly over the boy’s mouth.
Harry’s eyes drifted down, staring at his hand. “If I… um… got on the floor right now… bent over… w-would you take me?”
Inhaling sharply, Lucius let his gaze wander to the glass and ceramic riddled kitchen floor. He spelled the mess clean, then pulled Harry forward by his chin. “Is that what you want? While you’re still tied up?”
Green eyes searing into him, Harry nodded, pressing closer until his face was resting against Lucius’s neck. “Please.”
Shuddering from the feel of Harry’s breathing such a sweet, yet naughty word into his flesh, Lucius smiled, bright, happy and completely unaware. “I’ll think about it,” he murmured, hands seeking out the boy’s jeans and unbuttoning them.
Lying in bed, Harry peered over to the man breathing evenly beside him. Dawn was filtering in through the windows, tinting everything a cool yellow. He had woken up early, but not from a nightmare. No, Harry woke up early now because he liked to be able to wrap around Lucius while the man still slept, enjoying the warmth of his skin, the comfort of his presence while waiting for the eventuality of the blond’s arms to tighten and hold him closer.
Harry hadn’t had a panic attack since the Dursleys. There had been a moment, once, Lucius smiling ever so brightly at him while they were strolling together the night of their first date. Harry had been certain that his breathing was going off kilter, just on the verge of lost completely. But he had stopped, shut his eyes, and very calmly asked himself what the hell was wrong with him. Apparently liking someone that liked him back was very difficult on his body. Especially when he kept thinking he might more than like Lucius. Maybe actually love. It seemed worth the risk and Harry had been able to calm down and enjoy the rest of their evening, smiles and all.
Wiggling underneath Lucius’s arm, Harry pressed his back to the man’s side, eyes lingering on the dark mark barely visible. The tutors were very good. Harry was probably learning more now than at Hogwarts, no longer competing with a room full of students for attention and focus. He was lonely at times, but he had always been good at entertaining himself. Hermione and Ron had written, and he had given them a very bland and edited account of where he was and less of why. Harry planned to visit the Weasleys Christmas Eve and explain thing properly then.
He was less ashamed of what he had done that night at the Dursleys the more he learned control. The less he feared he might do it again, the more he could accept how he had needed to do it the first time.
Harry didn’t think much of the Dursleys either. He felt safe in Malfoy Manor, safer than he had ever felt anywhere before. Even Hogwarts had held the promise of returning to the Dursleys. But here… Harry was certain Lucius would hex anyone that even suggested he had to leave, if not outright kill. And until Harry was of age, he was more than happy for it. Afterwards, he hoped he wouldn’t depend on the man to be quite so ruthless in his safekeeping. There was something very sexy about it, though, and Harry felt he might not complain.
Burrowing further, eyes still alight on the strange, faded mark on Lucius’s arm, Harry pressed his face into it, smelling the man’s familiar scent. He lapped his tongue out, then latched on, sucking onto Lucius’s flesh until a lovely purple welt formed.
“Biting… little… hellion.”
Harry had not been biting but did so now just so Lucius would not be a liar as well as a crazy person. He smiled when he was suddenly pulled back, wrapped tight and warm in the man’s strong arms, Lucius’s chest pressing against his back. It was Saturday and Lucius was taking him hunting for the first time. Lucius had taunted that Harry would have to take a pack full just of healing charms, but Harry had a feeling he’d be fine. Especially with the blond there.
Eyebrow twitching, Lucius raised his arm up, looking at the hickey Harry had made right on top of the faded tattoo. Glancing Harry’s way, the boy shrugged, fingers touching his fine work.
“Means you’re mine now,” Harry whispered, feeling a little shy under that piercing silver gaze. Especially when the gaze became a familiar glare, Lucius’s nostrils flaring and jaw tightening slightly.
“Oh, really?” Lucius purred, still full of sleep and wonderful raspy goodness. Harry shivered from the sound, turning in the man’s arms so that they were facing each other.
“Well, I did bleed on you,” Harry reminded. He had actually bled on the man a lot of times since then, rarely on purpose. “We both know what it means when I bleed on—” Lucius cut him off with a hard kiss, crushing Harry into the mattress with his weight. Snickering, Harry let him, mouth quick to open to every tongue lashing the man wished to give.
“It seems I own the blue sitting room,” Lucius drawled between kisses to Harry’s neck, “And the west living room—Which I despise for all of my grandmother’s teacups… Oh, and the patio. I still own a patio in my own home.”
“I could probably take care of those teacups for you,” Harry offered, eyebrows wagging playfully.
Smiling brightly, Lucius suddenly got up, leaving Harry to follow with his eyes in dismay, panting heavily on the bed.
“Well?” Lucius said, riffling through his bureau for a pair of pants.
“Well, what?” Harry asked grumpily as he watched the man’s perfectly pale skin become covered in clothes. Yes the clothes were nicer than his work clothes but he had been hoping for sex.
“You’re not going to have enough time if you lie about.”
Sighing at Lucius being a crazy person, Harry sat up, hair sticking up on end. “It’s the weekend. There’s no reason to rush for…” He blinked, Lucius handing him his wand.
“Target practice. I believe you told me you were quite a good shot when things weren’t moving.” Lucius was smiling very brightly and Harry’s heart kept flipping from the sight. “Come on, Potter,” Lucius prodded, pulling the boy up by his arms. “Those teacups won’t break themselves.”
Oh. Harry grinned up at Lucius, taking in the man’s playful smirk. Ohhh…
Wand whirling deftly between his fingers, Harry didn’t bother looking for clothes. Lucius had a thing for him out of clothes just as much as in hideous ones. Harry was sure if he worked things right, he wouldn’t need them anyways.
END
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