Demons: A Harry/Draco fanfic - 2/3
Title: Demons 2/3
Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: The characters, places and names used in the story are property of JK Rowling and the publishers who contain full rights to monetary gain. No money or fame is garnered from writing this story.
Summary: After a brutal war that no adults let alone children should have to fight, I'm almost happy. Almost. Malfoy isn't. But he won't talk about it.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yes, I'm writing a Harry/Draco fanfic (I'm actually writing three of them). Harry/Draco is what pulled me into the world of fanfics in the first place. I hope you all like it!
A/N: This fic is dedicated to hoshiko_malfoy because I love her.
Part 2:
The eighth years aren’t allowed to play Quidditch this year, since we’re all stronger and more magical than the rest of the school, fair play and all that, but the majority of us go to every match. Our wagers no longer involve money. Blow jobs are the currency of choice. And I’m on my knees a lot for Malfoy.
“I bet he drops the Quaffle before I’m even done talking-oh, look. I win.”
They’re all very stupid bets, but I cherish those times with Malfoy. He laughs and smiles and forgets about his worries during Quidditch matches.
He doesn’t kiss me again until after Halloween. We’ve taken to staying in bed all day on Saturdays, only venturing out to get food. We shuffle under the cloak together, giggling when we should be quiet. Malfoy thinks it’s hilarious to deepen his voice and scare third years walking in the hallway.
The Saturday after Halloween, as we’re huddled under our blankets while a snowstorm turns the windows white, he’s eating warm brownies with his fingers. Licking off the frosting. Moaning. Turning me on like crazy. I want to snap and drop and devour him.
“Tell me something about yourself that I don’t already know and I’ll give you a taste,” he says.
“A taste of what?” I ask, voice low, rumbling.
He smirks. “Of the brownie, you pervert.”
I prop up on an elbow and smile. “I was almost Sorted into Slytherin.”
He chokes on the brownie. “What?”
I nod. “You can’t tell anyone. Not even Ron and Hermione know that.”
He looks at me, face passive and thoughtful. “Explain. Now.”
I watch his face as I say, “You’re the second wizard I ever met, did you know that?”
He shakes his head once. “After Hagrid,” I continue. My throat closes up thinking of Hagrid’s dead body. “I had only known I was a wizard for less than a day. One of the first things you did is insult Hagrid, and to me, Hagrid was my savior because he took me away from my aunt and uncle.”
Malfoy knows about them, about that part of my childhood. It’s an unspoken rule between us. He doesn’t ask about them, I don’t ask about his childhood.
“And then I met Ron on the train. And then of course, you had to go and insult him, too.” I sigh. “I was eleven years old, Malfoy. Eleven and stupid.”
He opens his mouth, but I shove a chunk of brownie into it. “I am aware of my current lack of intelligence, thank you.”
He smiles, licking my fingers as he swallows the brownie.
I shiver. “A- After that, during the Sorting, I was terrified to go to Slytherin once you’d been put there. So while that hat was on my head, I thought ‘not Slytherin’ over and over. I can still hear that damn voice whispering at me that I could do great things in Slytherin, that I was well suited for it. That I had the ambition and the cunning, but I … I didn’t want to. So he put me in Gryffindor.”
“That is the craziest bunch of shit I ever heard. Telling the Sorting Hat where to put you? Harry Potter in Slytherin?”
“Think I would have stayed alive?” I ask.
Our eyes meet. I see that he believes me. “No.” He’s more than serious. “I almost didn’t, if you’ll remember. And with the way mischief follows you around, you wouldn’t have survived your first school year.”
“I still almost didn't."
He looks at me like he wants to ask, and then he doesn't.
"It would have been nice to be friends with you during school, though,” I muse, looking at the shadowed top of the bed. “We spent way too much time fighting with each other.”
He crawls over me. A piece of brownie touches my lip, and I open my mouth to the morsel. His fingers linger. Our eyes lock as I suck one into my mouth. He shivers, eyes widening slightly, breath speeding up. I put my hands on his hips and rock him back and forth gently on my erection.
He moans, hands dropping to my chest, clenching, gripping the thin material of my t-shirt.
We’re interrupted by a knock at the door.
His eyes shut in irritation, and then he demands, “What is it?”
Professor McGonagall’s voice rings through the room telling us to come to the common room. It’s an instant cock-softener. I sigh, and he sighs, but before he climbs off me, he presses his lips to mine. He tastes like chocolate.
“Time out, Mister Potter,” he says with a smile, and then he slides off me. I’m breathless and can barely move. He dresses nicely, in gray trousers and a vibrant green shirt. He snorts at me as I slip ratty jeans over my boxers. He’s stopped declaring my wardrobe impossible, since it no longer gets a reaction from me.
I want to take his hand as we walk out of the room. McGonagall is there, as is Professor Sprout, Professor Vector and the new Potions Master and new Head of Slytherin House Professor Genderat. He isn't nearly as intimidating as Snape was, but he's more effective.
Heads of the Houses. Everything is tense. All the eighth years are there.
Just when I stopped worrying.
“We feel that it is best that you learn of this tonight rather than in the morning," Professor McGonagall says. I am grateful for your sake that it is a Saturday and you will not have classes tomorrow, but if you wish to skip them on Monday, you may.”
I swallow. Malfoy suddenly grabs my hand as McGonagall’s eyes focus on the two of us.
“Mister Malfoy, your father has been found.”
He stills completely, hand tightening around mine. Hermione and a few other girls gasp.
“It will be headline news on the Daily Prophet tomorrow. He’s sentenced to be Kissed Monday morning. His last request was to talk to you.”
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Malfoy so pale.
“You have no obligation to go.”
“I will,” he says, immediately. I want to protest, but I don’t.
Hermione does. Pansy does. Even Ron says, “What the bugger for?” and McGonagall docks ten points from Gryffindor.
She looks at Malfoy’s determined face and then nods. “I will arrange it and have word to you by dinner.” Her next comment is to everyone else. “I am telling all of you this because you have all had someone hurt by Lucius Malfoy. Please do not take this out on the man’s son. We are past petty rivalries and hatreds. Young Malfoy proved himself in battle at my side and by the side of Harry Potter on a daily basis. We expect you, as eighth years, to provide an example to the rest of the school, and to protect Young Malfoy from the worst of the curses that will most likely be sent his way.”
I stop listening and concentrate on Malfoy. I put my face at his neck. A flinch is the only reaction. Lucius Malfoy had disappeared just before I knocked off the raging madman. No one knew where he went. It’d been over eight months.
I am vaguely aware of the teachers leaving. And then all eyes turn to us, but I don’t think Malfoy notices.
A glass is shoved in front of Malfoy’s face. He jerks and looks up at Seamus.
“Here, mate,” Seamus says. “You look like you need it.”
Malfoy swallows and takes the shot glass with a shaking hand. The firewhisky is smoking. He knocks it back. “Th-thanks … thanks, S-sea-Finnigan.”
Seamus grins at the almost slip. “No problem, mate. You want another?”
“N-no.” He is suddenly aware of all eyes on him. “I … I need … alone. For … yeah …”
Malfoy is never at a loss for words. He stands up, but he does not let go of my hand, so I assume I am not included in the “alone” thing. He leads me back to our room, and I look back and see my classmates troubled eyes just before the door shuts behind us.
His back is convulsing, his whole body shaking. I throw up a silencing charm just before he screams and falls to his knees. I’m behind him in a moment, but he throws off my hand on his back with another cry.
A few years ago I would have relished in the sight of Draco Malfoy broken.
He crawls toward the bathroom, but his back arches and I know he’s not going to make it. I move to him quickly and Transfigure one of my trainers into a trash can. He grips it and throws up. I wince at the sound. He throws up again, and then again, until he’s shivering, arms wrapped tightly around the garbage can. I draw my wand and with a quick swish, Banish the mess. He looks up at me, eyes full of fear/
“Please, don’t, please, I’m sorry, I … can’t … won’t be weak. I won’t be …”
His eyes are wide, panicked and trained on my wand.
I frown down at him.
“I’ll be better, please, I promise. I’ll, please don’t, please-”
I hastily put my wand away and fall to my knees next to him. “Draco.”
He shies away from me with a whimper as I reach for him.
“Draco, it’s Harry. Come on,” I say, whispering. I touch his knee. He tries to jerk away. I move closer. “Draco, it’s okay. I won’t hurt you. I won’t-I could never hurt you.”
He snorts in disdain, and then shivers with another whimper, curling up more tightly. He’s muttering again, but it’s muffled against his legs. He doesn’t jerk away when I touch him. I keep whispering and telling him where we are, who I am, that I won’t hurt him. It takes a few minutes, and then he lets me hold him. He cries into my shirt, gripping me so tightly that I’m sure there will be bruises on my legs.
“I was free of him. Free! Why, why did he … fuck him!”
I try to soothe his hair as he mutters.
I whisper a levitation spell and his weight lightens. I pick him up and carry him to the bed. He’s shaking so hard. I put him to bed, and then very carefully pull out my wand. I Accio a Calming Draught from the bathroom. It takes lots of coaxing for Draco to trust me that it’s not poison and he should drink it.
The effect is not instantaneous, but it works. His breathing slows. His tears cease. His body relaxes. With puffy eyes, he looks up at me. "H-harry?”
I nuzzle the side of his face and kiss a tear from his cheek.
“I don’t want to go,” he whispers. “I don’t ever want to see him again.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No, you-“
“Come with me.”
I agree without thinking; it won’t be the first time I’ve stood by Draco when he was falling apart.
---
“We want to come with,” Hermione says the next morning.
Malfoy and I are ready to go, but Hermione stands by the door, arms crossed. Ron sulks next to her. He looks like he was roped into volunteering to go. He definitely doesn’t want to.
Malfoy’s eyebrow rises and he looks at me.
“Don’t look at me,” I say.
“Look, Granger,” Malfoy says, making sure to drawl the name as much as he can. “It’ll be a quick visit. A quick, hello Father, thank you for fucking me over. And then we’ll be gone.”
“You need all the friends-“
Malfoy snorts.
Ron finally speaks, “Forget about it, ‘Mione. He’s a bastard, just like his-“
I draw my wand and point it at him.
Hermione and Ron are stunned.
“Just like what, Ron?” I ask, voice low.
Ron swallows. “Just like … just like … he’s always been.”
I narrow my eyes.
Malfoy touches my arm, and I lower my wand. “You Gryffindorks are always so dramatic. Please, Granger, I do appreciate the sentiment, but Potter and I will be fine. Surrounded by Aurors, and he’ll be in an enclosed room with wards. And it’s not like you’ll be able to hurt him.”
Hermione takes a deep breath.
“I know that he killed Longbottom, and the Parvati twins. And not to mention the curse he threw at Charlie Weasley, but you won’t be able to hurt him. McGonagall doesn’t even think Potter will be allowed in the room with me.”
That is a total lie. The Headmistress said he would not be allowed to go in alone.
“Why are you going with him, Harry?” Ron asks.
I meet Malfoy’s eyes. There are lots of reasons, but I don’t want to give him the real one, because it scares the shite out of me.
“He asked me to,” I finally say.
Malfoy tilts his head, and then smiles. “Well played, Potter.”
I’m not sure what that means, but I’m learning that it’s hard to hide anything from Malfoy. There is heat on my cheeks as I turn to Hermione. “We’ll be all right, guys.”
Hermione wants to protest again. I can tell. But she bites her lip and nods. She nudges Ron, and Ron shuts his eyes, then says, “Sorry, Malfoy about … yeah.” He turns around and heads across the common room to the room he shares with Dean and Seamus.
To my surprise, Hermione kisses my cheek, and then hugs Malfoy.
Malfoy freezes.
“Do be careful, Draco, please.”
Awkwardly, he pats her shoulder. “I will.”
It’s like she suddenly remembers that it’s Malfoy she’s hugging. She jerks away, blushes and then hurries away from us.
Malfoy’s face scrunches in a snarl. I’m trying not to laugh.
“I just … may have to change my clothes … Gryffindor … “
“Malfoy,” I say in warning.
“I … ew.” His whole body shivers, and then he strides by me. “Gryffindors. Seriously.”
I laugh and bounce after him, walking around him, next to him, smiling and pointing, “A Gryffindor hugged you. Your friends are Gryffindors.”
“Do be mature, Potter,” he snaps at me.
“How the mighty have fallen.”
He snarls at me, and then in the next moment, my breath is gone as he slams me up against a wall, wand under my chin.
“Don’t say that,” he snarls, and it’s five years ago, and we’re thirteen again. His eyes flash with hatred and vileness. Then he blinks, shakes his head and puts his head on my shoulder. His wand arm drops to his side. I cautiously put my arm around his body.
“Sorry, Harry,” he whispers.
I know better than to ask.
Malfoy presses a kiss to my neck, and then pulls away. I watch him walk, statue straight, perfectly Slytherin again. I smile as a couple of second years flatten themselves to the wall as he strides past.
“Arrogant snake,” I say.
“Randy lion,” he shoots back.
---
Lucius Malfoy is being held in the dungeons of the Ministry. Four Aurors, plus Headmistress McGonagall, escort us down. Malfoy becomes more withdrawn, more Lucius Malfoy’s son with every step.
Part of me wishes I had been trained in Slytherin for this one trait: complete and utter boredom when your insides are raging. I jump like every step I take is the one that will cause the ground to crack and we’ll fall to our deaths.
We are stopped at a door. The Aurors go in. There are security spells already on the door, and the Aurors cast extra ones, and then we are ushered in.
Lucius is standing. He wears gray prison robes. His hair is long, past his shoulders. It’s dirty, but tamed, slicked back. The only difference between this Malfoy and the one I faced on the battle field is the gauntness to his face. He’s lost a lot of weight over his months in hiding.
Malfoy’s presence is cold next to me.
“Son.”
“Malfoy.”
Lucius scowls. “You will address me properly.”
I can’t believe my ears. The man is in prison and about to die, and he’s still being an arrogant prick.
Draco smiles. “Fine then. Death Eater. Or do you prefer convict, murderer, rapist--”
“That is enough, young man.”
“You wished to see me. I am here. What do you want?”
“I thought you would beg my case, but seeing who you came in with, I’d rather curry favor from the Dementors.”
“You deserve worse than a Dementor’s Kiss,” Draco says. “My only regret in life is that I am not going to be the one to kill you.”
Draco’s hand is shaking. I fight the urge to take it.
“How the mighty have fallen.”
I stiffen and shoot a gaze at Draco. I will never, ever say that to him again.
“Says the man who stands in prison.”
“Yes, I am here, but I have not forgotten Malfoy pride, boy.”
“Pride? Malfoy pride did nothing more than beat, rape and shame me.”
“It is better to receive a Kiss, than grovel at their feet.”
“I never groveled, Malfoy. I have never kneeled and kissed the hems of their robes. I have never called them Master.”
“My last duty as the head of Malfoy Estate is to strike your name from its records.”
A cruel smile curls Draco’s lips. “You will find, that the Malfoy Estate has been properly cared for. You have been gone for eight months. Legal authority was transferred to me after six. The Manor now houses children whose parents were killed in the war. They are funded by the Malfoy Family Vault at Gringotts, with substantial contributions from Harry Potter. You will die a poor man with nothing more than your name and your vicious pride.”
Lucius is beyond angry, but he does not retort in anyway.
Draco turns his back on him and gestures to the Aurors to escort them out. He smiles, glances at me, and then says, “Oh, one more thing.” He smirks at his father. “The name you so arrogantly call in the name of pride will die with me. I will have no sons and bear no children. I will not curse another generation to live as a Malfoy. The punishment of sharing your name will go with me, and I will bear it because of what I did before I saw how foolish you were.”
He looks at me, I look back. His gaze flicks to my lips. He’s asking permission. We didn’t discuss this. And then I realize it is the ultimate insult to Lucius Malfoy. I smirk at Draco.
“When I was eleven,” Draco said, voice whispering, but filling the chamber, “you wanted me to be friends with Harry Potter.”
He holds out his hand. I take it and then he steps into me. I feel the tight control running through his body. Our lips touch. Lucius runs at the barrier, hurling curses at us. The barrier hisses and throws him back.
Draco pulls away from my lips slowly. His eyes open. Sad, close to tears, but so strong. I touch his cheek. Neither of us looks at the raging madman as we turn and leave the room.
--
Malfoy--no, Draco. He no longer wishes to be a Malfoy. Draco says nothing to me. He’s in a moment. Hands clasp behind his back. Swishing through witches and wizards who scramble to get out of his way.
McGonagall seems to understand and follows after him. I trail after her. It’s a quick trip to the Ministry atrium, a quick Floo, and then we’re back in the Headmistress’s office.
Draco heads right to the door.
“Draco,” McGonagall says.
Draco stops. Surprised. I smile because McGonagall came up with the same conclusion I did.
“It is all right if you wish to take a day off from classes tomorrow.”
Draco turns his head, just a fraction. “Thank you, Headmistress, but that will not be necessary.”
He leaves, and as I go after him, she says, “Please take care of him, Harry.”
“I will,” I reply. I catch up to him in the middle of a staircase. He bypasses the hallway that leads to our dorms. I follow him as we climb more staircases, and more, all the way up to the Astronomy Tower. I think back on the day we released Norbert, and then the night Draco and I served detention with Hagrid in the forest. It felt like lifetimes ago.
Draco pushes open the door. The wind blows cold around us, throwing our clocks up and away from our bodies for a moment. He barely stops to fasten the buttons, and then walks across the stones covered in blowing snow. Neither of us have scarves or hats. I grit my teeth and go after him. His head is lowered, hands clenched around the edge of the railing.
There is a worse memory here, for both of us. Draco’s chance at being saved sooner. Squandered by a meddling old man, and a delusional mother.
He is crying again. It’s too cold not to hold him, but when I lift my arm, he growls, “Don’t touch me.” I put my arm down.
“I-I just …” He shivers and cries out, swiping gathered snow with his bare hands. He turns, puts his face in his hands and drops to the ground. I sit next to him. The outer-wall provides some protection from the wind.
He lowers his hands to his knees. He’s trembling. “When … when I left that night, with Snape … it, it wasn’t the worst they ever did to me, but it was close. He … he’d almost kill me, then heal me and use me all over again, for days and days as a punishment for failing. I-“ He breaks off and pushes snow off the tower with an angry noise. “Why… why are you …?” He meets my eyes for a moment and then looks away.
“Why am I what? Perfect?” I ask. “Why am I gorgeous? Talented? So well-endowed?”
He smiles and leans toward me, and this time lets me put my arm around him. “Why are you with me?” he whispers into my neck. “My life is an utter mess.”
I laugh. “Your life is a mess? Shall we compare?”
He snorts and then says, “I guess we’re both pretty fucked up.”
After a few minutes, I decide to tell him one of the reasons why I understand him. “I know it’s not the same, but when I was eight, one of my uncle’s friends molested me. It wasn’t much, touching, kissing, it wasn’t penetration or anything. But it made me feel sick and dirty, and for a long time, I believed my aunt and uncle’s shite about me being a piece of filth.”
“It’s not the same,” Draco says, “but thank you for telling me.” His arms snake around my waist. We hold each other in the snow, his head tucked under my chin. “Can I tell you my deepest secret, Harry?”
“Yes.”
“I liked it.”
I don’t need to ask what ‘it’ is.
“It felt so good, so, so good. The pain can be more exquisite than the pleasure. But to be told you’re beautiful one minute, and then an ungrateful slut the next, it-it’s hard for me, to do anything.” He takes a very deep breath. “O-our first night, I-I fell back into that place. I don’t want to be there, Harry. Ever again. But it’s right there, all the time, and I don’t know how to stop it from being right there all the time. I want you, Merlin, I do. You must be so frustrated with me.”
I push him away only far enough to meet his eyes. Fat snowflakes fall around us. I press a kiss to his cold lips. “Frustrated, yes, but not for what you think. There are times when you’re so open, and laughing and touching me, and then a moment later, your face is closed, and hard and smirking. I hate the Malfoy mask, Draco. I hate it. You pull away, but then you don’t explain. I need you to explain so I won’t make the same mistake again.” I brush a mix of melting snow and tears from his cheeks. “I will … help you, I guess. Merlin, that sounds weird.”
He laughs. “So noble, Potter.”
I press a kiss to his mouth. “Harry. If I am no longer going to call you Malfoy, you have to call me Harry.”
His smile is wide and genuine. We kiss again, and then shiver from the cold.
“Let’s go take a very long, very hot shower,” I suggest.
He smirks at me before standing up. He offers me his hand, and I’m transported eight years in the past. I wonder what would have happened if I had taken his hand then.
I take his hand now, and end up with a face full of snow, compliments of his other hand. I shout and sputter and jolt after him, grabbing his robes. He laughs as we topple to the stone, grappling and shoving snow into each others clothes.
When we finally arrive back in the common room, everyone is waiting for us. Hermione smiles when she sees Draco smiling.
“Draco, what have you done to your clothes?” Pansy demands.
Draco leers at me. “Harry made me wet.”
There’s a collective groan around the room. I shove Draco in the arm. “Prat tackled me in the snow,” I say. “We’re going to go get warm and then we’ll be right down.”
Seamus, Dean, Justin and Ernie all wolf whistle at us as we go into our room.
Draco makes a face at his silk shirt. “It’s ruined.”
“You have more.”
He slips it from his shoulders and shivers. I watch him strip.
“You’ll flood the place from drooling, Scarhead.”
“Your fault for being bloody gorgeous, Ferret.”
He throws a smirk over his shoulder and saunters into the bathroom, pale ass teasing me. I rub my hands on my face and then hurry and strip to join him. He’s quiet in the shower, but strangely attentive, running fingertips down my spine, or kissing my neck and shoulders. I return the light touches and wash his hair. I want it long, but seeing Lucius, I understand why Draco keeps it short. He looks less like his father with it short.
His arms slink around my waist, pulling me close. Our kiss is long, but light, a brush of lips, a look. He smiles, almost shy and then smirks, covering the emotion in his face.
“Come on, Golden Boy,” he says and shuts the water off. “Your subjects await.”
I roll my eyes. He doesn’t bother with a towel, and a gust of wind hits me from his drying charm. I’m cold again.
“Prick,” I say, teeth chattering.
His smirk is devilish. “Oh, are you cold again? Poor Potter.”
I open my mouth to tell him not to call me that, and it dies as he kisses me, harshly. It’s more demanding than any kiss he’s ever given me. My cock is hard in only a moment, pressed against his body. He hums in appreciation and then wraps his hand around it. So light, so gentle. I want him to take all his built up emotion and abuse my cock with his mouth.
I think only for a moment of not saying that, and then whisper, breathy and unsteady as his hand slowly moves over me. “You know, Draco. If you need-“
His hand grips and I see his eyes darken, so I talk faster. “-a way to deal with this, you can take it out on my cock.”
He smirks, and then laughs. “At least you didn’t say I had to talk about it.”
“Talking about it never fixes anything,” I reply.
He sobers suddenly and nods. “No. Sometimes it makes it worse.”
I’ve said something wrong again, but he’s still next to me, still touching me. He leans in and presses a kiss to my pliant mouth. “Come on. We should get out there.”
I whimper in need and disbelief.
He smirks. “Okay. I bet Finnigan will make a comment about your lack of longevity. Granger will frown at him, and the Weasel will make a disgusted face when Thomas says something about how if anyone knows about you in bed, it’s Finnigan. Pansy will titter at me and try to groom me in some way or another, and MacMillian is going to look at you like you’re Christmas come early because all you’re going to wear out there is a pair of sweatpants and a tank-top. If all of that does not happen, then I will most definitely take my frustrations out on your cock.”
“If it does happen?”
Draco smirks. “You mean, when it does happen?”
“Fine. When it does happen, then what?”
“Oh, you’ll still get a blow job, but we’ll do it in the common room. Under your cloak.”
I swallow, eyes wide. “W-what? You’re crazy.”
“Are you conceding the bet?”
I stare at him. The thought of getting sucked on surrounded by everyone else is … oh, fuck. It’s exhilarating. He smirks when my cock twitches.
He turns from me and leaves the bathroom. Slightly shaking, I follow him. He bends over his trunk. I lick my lips. He takes a piece of parchment, and then his wand and repeats the bet. It appears on the parchment as soon as he’s done saying it. He shoots the parchment at me, but I’m looking at his body and it hits me in the face.
He laughs. “Oh, god. I wish you had wanted me when we were playing Quidditch. I would have won every match.”
I smirk. “Can’t win just from talent,” I say and he sticks his tongue out at me.
I read through the bet and see the loophole immediately. I have to wear sweatpants and a tank top. If I don’t, he loses. When I meet his eyes, he’s smirking. He knows I see it. I move past him, making sure my hand grazes his half hard cock. He shivers. I put the parchment on my bed and then dress in sweatpants and a tank top.
His eyes flash with a victory, and then he spins away from me. He dresses in nice jeans and polo shirt. He whispers a customary grooming spell that spikes his hair and glamours the circles under his eyes.
“You’re beautiful without that spell,” I say. It’s not the first I’ve said it.
“Why settle for beautiful when you can be perfect?”
“Why settle for me when you can have-“ I break off when he smiles.
“Your cock is perfect, Potter.”
“And rest of me?”
His eyes rove over my bare body. “Not bad for a Griffyndork. Shall we?”
“No. Let’s stay here and fuck.”
“Then you lose, Potter.”
“I don’t think getting to spend the day in bed with you would be losing, Draco.” I emphasize his first name.
His smile falters just a small amount, and then he turns and heads for the door. I reach it the same time he does and put my arm around his waist, and press a kiss to his neck as he opens the door. I know he’s smiling when the others catch sight of us, and I’m glad, because they need to see that Draco is okay.
“That was quick, Harry,” Seamus says. “Even for you.”
Hermione frowns at him, and then at a laughing Dean.
“Well, you’re the expert on Harry’s abilities of longevity,” Dean says.
“Shut up,” Ron almost shouts, face red. “I do not need that image in my brain.”
Pansy shuffles to us and starts tugging at Draco’s shirt. “Really, Potter. Let him go.”
I smile, and then roll my eyes at Draco. I kiss his cheek, ignore Pansy’s prattling and turn to the rest of the room. Ernie MacMillian is leering at me.
I smile at Draco. He smiles back, and says, “Griffyndorks, the lot of you.”
Ron looks like he’s going to take offense, but Hermione gives him a look, and I sit on the couch next to Seamus. He’s immediately straddling my lap.
“I think we have time for a go before Parkinson is done grooming your snake,” he says, and runs his hands over my bare shoulders.
“Finnigan don’t make me curse your snake to impotency,” Draco says.
Seamus laughs, kisses my cheek and then falls over into Dean’s lap.
“Pansy, seriously, I don’t need to be immaculate for the present gaggle of lions.”
“It’s a pride, Draco,” Hermione says. “A gaggle of geese, and a pride of li-”
“Of Griffyndorks, yes. I know. My apologies.”
Hermione smiles and then frowns. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
Draco meets her eyes, sighs and then joins us on the couch that is definitely too small for four eighteen-year-olds. He curls up in my lap.
“No,” he says, startling more than just me. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Of course not,” Hermione says. “But we’re here for you, all right?”
“Well, I’m going to talk about it,” I say. Draco stiffens, but I don’t remove my arms from around his waist. The others turn their attention to me. “What was said isn’t as important as what happens now. First, we stop calling him Malfoy.” I see Ron’s mouth open in protest.
Draco must sense it because he says, “I don’t care if you call me Ferret instead, just …” He shivers.
“Not going to say no to that invitation, Ferret,” Ron says.
“Still going to call you a Weasel,” he retorts.
“And second, well, you heard McGonagall, right? People are going to Hex him.”
“I can take care of-”
I jerk my leg up and he breaks off with a gasp. “And third, someone decided to kiss me in front of four Aurors, a former Death-Eater, and the Headmistress of this school.”
“Draco,” Pansy says in admonishment.
“There are going to be a lot of rumors about that.”
Draco suddenly sits up in my lap and smiles.
“What?”
“How much do you want to bet that tomorrow’s paper will have a headline of the Boy Who Lived to Be Gay and in Love with a Death Eater’s Son?” he asks.
Seamus whistles and nods. “Sure thing, mate. That’s bigger news than just some Death Eater being found.”
I shut my eyes and say, “Fine. Terms?”
“You two and your betting,” Hermione says.
“We already have one bet to fulfill,” Draco says with an evil glint in his eyes, “but I say … loser is strapped down and covered in chocolate frogs until they melt.”
“And the winner gets to lick the loser clean?” I ask.
Draco nods. “Of course, he’s the winner after all.”
The other boys laugh and Dean slaps Draco on the shoulder. “Crazy, you two are. But that sounds like a great idea. Seamus, you got some chocolate frogs?” The two of them roll away and laugh as they run for the room.
“Not on my bed, perverts,” Ron shouts. “And put up a silencing charm.”
The couch now clear, I lower us down until he’s lying on top of me, curled up and no longer shaking. His hand runs over my arm.
“Thank you, Harry,” Draco whispers into the fabric of my tank top. I kiss the top of his head, and once again have to swallow an ill-advised love confession.
Part 3: Grateful Moments
Part 1: Awkward Moments
.
Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: The characters, places and names used in the story are property of JK Rowling and the publishers who contain full rights to monetary gain. No money or fame is garnered from writing this story.
Summary: After a brutal war that no adults let alone children should have to fight, I'm almost happy. Almost. Malfoy isn't. But he won't talk about it.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yes, I'm writing a Harry/Draco fanfic (I'm actually writing three of them). Harry/Draco is what pulled me into the world of fanfics in the first place. I hope you all like it!
A/N: This fic is dedicated to hoshiko_malfoy because I love her.
Part 2:
The eighth years aren’t allowed to play Quidditch this year, since we’re all stronger and more magical than the rest of the school, fair play and all that, but the majority of us go to every match. Our wagers no longer involve money. Blow jobs are the currency of choice. And I’m on my knees a lot for Malfoy.
“I bet he drops the Quaffle before I’m even done talking-oh, look. I win.”
They’re all very stupid bets, but I cherish those times with Malfoy. He laughs and smiles and forgets about his worries during Quidditch matches.
He doesn’t kiss me again until after Halloween. We’ve taken to staying in bed all day on Saturdays, only venturing out to get food. We shuffle under the cloak together, giggling when we should be quiet. Malfoy thinks it’s hilarious to deepen his voice and scare third years walking in the hallway.
The Saturday after Halloween, as we’re huddled under our blankets while a snowstorm turns the windows white, he’s eating warm brownies with his fingers. Licking off the frosting. Moaning. Turning me on like crazy. I want to snap and drop and devour him.
“Tell me something about yourself that I don’t already know and I’ll give you a taste,” he says.
“A taste of what?” I ask, voice low, rumbling.
He smirks. “Of the brownie, you pervert.”
I prop up on an elbow and smile. “I was almost Sorted into Slytherin.”
He chokes on the brownie. “What?”
I nod. “You can’t tell anyone. Not even Ron and Hermione know that.”
He looks at me, face passive and thoughtful. “Explain. Now.”
I watch his face as I say, “You’re the second wizard I ever met, did you know that?”
He shakes his head once. “After Hagrid,” I continue. My throat closes up thinking of Hagrid’s dead body. “I had only known I was a wizard for less than a day. One of the first things you did is insult Hagrid, and to me, Hagrid was my savior because he took me away from my aunt and uncle.”
Malfoy knows about them, about that part of my childhood. It’s an unspoken rule between us. He doesn’t ask about them, I don’t ask about his childhood.
“And then I met Ron on the train. And then of course, you had to go and insult him, too.” I sigh. “I was eleven years old, Malfoy. Eleven and stupid.”
He opens his mouth, but I shove a chunk of brownie into it. “I am aware of my current lack of intelligence, thank you.”
He smiles, licking my fingers as he swallows the brownie.
I shiver. “A- After that, during the Sorting, I was terrified to go to Slytherin once you’d been put there. So while that hat was on my head, I thought ‘not Slytherin’ over and over. I can still hear that damn voice whispering at me that I could do great things in Slytherin, that I was well suited for it. That I had the ambition and the cunning, but I … I didn’t want to. So he put me in Gryffindor.”
“That is the craziest bunch of shit I ever heard. Telling the Sorting Hat where to put you? Harry Potter in Slytherin?”
“Think I would have stayed alive?” I ask.
Our eyes meet. I see that he believes me. “No.” He’s more than serious. “I almost didn’t, if you’ll remember. And with the way mischief follows you around, you wouldn’t have survived your first school year.”
“I still almost didn't."
He looks at me like he wants to ask, and then he doesn't.
"It would have been nice to be friends with you during school, though,” I muse, looking at the shadowed top of the bed. “We spent way too much time fighting with each other.”
He crawls over me. A piece of brownie touches my lip, and I open my mouth to the morsel. His fingers linger. Our eyes lock as I suck one into my mouth. He shivers, eyes widening slightly, breath speeding up. I put my hands on his hips and rock him back and forth gently on my erection.
He moans, hands dropping to my chest, clenching, gripping the thin material of my t-shirt.
We’re interrupted by a knock at the door.
His eyes shut in irritation, and then he demands, “What is it?”
Professor McGonagall’s voice rings through the room telling us to come to the common room. It’s an instant cock-softener. I sigh, and he sighs, but before he climbs off me, he presses his lips to mine. He tastes like chocolate.
“Time out, Mister Potter,” he says with a smile, and then he slides off me. I’m breathless and can barely move. He dresses nicely, in gray trousers and a vibrant green shirt. He snorts at me as I slip ratty jeans over my boxers. He’s stopped declaring my wardrobe impossible, since it no longer gets a reaction from me.
I want to take his hand as we walk out of the room. McGonagall is there, as is Professor Sprout, Professor Vector and the new Potions Master and new Head of Slytherin House Professor Genderat. He isn't nearly as intimidating as Snape was, but he's more effective.
Heads of the Houses. Everything is tense. All the eighth years are there.
Just when I stopped worrying.
“We feel that it is best that you learn of this tonight rather than in the morning," Professor McGonagall says. I am grateful for your sake that it is a Saturday and you will not have classes tomorrow, but if you wish to skip them on Monday, you may.”
I swallow. Malfoy suddenly grabs my hand as McGonagall’s eyes focus on the two of us.
“Mister Malfoy, your father has been found.”
He stills completely, hand tightening around mine. Hermione and a few other girls gasp.
“It will be headline news on the Daily Prophet tomorrow. He’s sentenced to be Kissed Monday morning. His last request was to talk to you.”
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Malfoy so pale.
“You have no obligation to go.”
“I will,” he says, immediately. I want to protest, but I don’t.
Hermione does. Pansy does. Even Ron says, “What the bugger for?” and McGonagall docks ten points from Gryffindor.
She looks at Malfoy’s determined face and then nods. “I will arrange it and have word to you by dinner.” Her next comment is to everyone else. “I am telling all of you this because you have all had someone hurt by Lucius Malfoy. Please do not take this out on the man’s son. We are past petty rivalries and hatreds. Young Malfoy proved himself in battle at my side and by the side of Harry Potter on a daily basis. We expect you, as eighth years, to provide an example to the rest of the school, and to protect Young Malfoy from the worst of the curses that will most likely be sent his way.”
I stop listening and concentrate on Malfoy. I put my face at his neck. A flinch is the only reaction. Lucius Malfoy had disappeared just before I knocked off the raging madman. No one knew where he went. It’d been over eight months.
I am vaguely aware of the teachers leaving. And then all eyes turn to us, but I don’t think Malfoy notices.
A glass is shoved in front of Malfoy’s face. He jerks and looks up at Seamus.
“Here, mate,” Seamus says. “You look like you need it.”
Malfoy swallows and takes the shot glass with a shaking hand. The firewhisky is smoking. He knocks it back. “Th-thanks … thanks, S-sea-Finnigan.”
Seamus grins at the almost slip. “No problem, mate. You want another?”
“N-no.” He is suddenly aware of all eyes on him. “I … I need … alone. For … yeah …”
Malfoy is never at a loss for words. He stands up, but he does not let go of my hand, so I assume I am not included in the “alone” thing. He leads me back to our room, and I look back and see my classmates troubled eyes just before the door shuts behind us.
His back is convulsing, his whole body shaking. I throw up a silencing charm just before he screams and falls to his knees. I’m behind him in a moment, but he throws off my hand on his back with another cry.
A few years ago I would have relished in the sight of Draco Malfoy broken.
He crawls toward the bathroom, but his back arches and I know he’s not going to make it. I move to him quickly and Transfigure one of my trainers into a trash can. He grips it and throws up. I wince at the sound. He throws up again, and then again, until he’s shivering, arms wrapped tightly around the garbage can. I draw my wand and with a quick swish, Banish the mess. He looks up at me, eyes full of fear/
“Please, don’t, please, I’m sorry, I … can’t … won’t be weak. I won’t be …”
His eyes are wide, panicked and trained on my wand.
I frown down at him.
“I’ll be better, please, I promise. I’ll, please don’t, please-”
I hastily put my wand away and fall to my knees next to him. “Draco.”
He shies away from me with a whimper as I reach for him.
“Draco, it’s Harry. Come on,” I say, whispering. I touch his knee. He tries to jerk away. I move closer. “Draco, it’s okay. I won’t hurt you. I won’t-I could never hurt you.”
He snorts in disdain, and then shivers with another whimper, curling up more tightly. He’s muttering again, but it’s muffled against his legs. He doesn’t jerk away when I touch him. I keep whispering and telling him where we are, who I am, that I won’t hurt him. It takes a few minutes, and then he lets me hold him. He cries into my shirt, gripping me so tightly that I’m sure there will be bruises on my legs.
“I was free of him. Free! Why, why did he … fuck him!”
I try to soothe his hair as he mutters.
I whisper a levitation spell and his weight lightens. I pick him up and carry him to the bed. He’s shaking so hard. I put him to bed, and then very carefully pull out my wand. I Accio a Calming Draught from the bathroom. It takes lots of coaxing for Draco to trust me that it’s not poison and he should drink it.
The effect is not instantaneous, but it works. His breathing slows. His tears cease. His body relaxes. With puffy eyes, he looks up at me. "H-harry?”
I nuzzle the side of his face and kiss a tear from his cheek.
“I don’t want to go,” he whispers. “I don’t ever want to see him again.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No, you-“
“Come with me.”
I agree without thinking; it won’t be the first time I’ve stood by Draco when he was falling apart.
---
“We want to come with,” Hermione says the next morning.
Malfoy and I are ready to go, but Hermione stands by the door, arms crossed. Ron sulks next to her. He looks like he was roped into volunteering to go. He definitely doesn’t want to.
Malfoy’s eyebrow rises and he looks at me.
“Don’t look at me,” I say.
“Look, Granger,” Malfoy says, making sure to drawl the name as much as he can. “It’ll be a quick visit. A quick, hello Father, thank you for fucking me over. And then we’ll be gone.”
“You need all the friends-“
Malfoy snorts.
Ron finally speaks, “Forget about it, ‘Mione. He’s a bastard, just like his-“
I draw my wand and point it at him.
Hermione and Ron are stunned.
“Just like what, Ron?” I ask, voice low.
Ron swallows. “Just like … just like … he’s always been.”
I narrow my eyes.
Malfoy touches my arm, and I lower my wand. “You Gryffindorks are always so dramatic. Please, Granger, I do appreciate the sentiment, but Potter and I will be fine. Surrounded by Aurors, and he’ll be in an enclosed room with wards. And it’s not like you’ll be able to hurt him.”
Hermione takes a deep breath.
“I know that he killed Longbottom, and the Parvati twins. And not to mention the curse he threw at Charlie Weasley, but you won’t be able to hurt him. McGonagall doesn’t even think Potter will be allowed in the room with me.”
That is a total lie. The Headmistress said he would not be allowed to go in alone.
“Why are you going with him, Harry?” Ron asks.
I meet Malfoy’s eyes. There are lots of reasons, but I don’t want to give him the real one, because it scares the shite out of me.
“He asked me to,” I finally say.
Malfoy tilts his head, and then smiles. “Well played, Potter.”
I’m not sure what that means, but I’m learning that it’s hard to hide anything from Malfoy. There is heat on my cheeks as I turn to Hermione. “We’ll be all right, guys.”
Hermione wants to protest again. I can tell. But she bites her lip and nods. She nudges Ron, and Ron shuts his eyes, then says, “Sorry, Malfoy about … yeah.” He turns around and heads across the common room to the room he shares with Dean and Seamus.
To my surprise, Hermione kisses my cheek, and then hugs Malfoy.
Malfoy freezes.
“Do be careful, Draco, please.”
Awkwardly, he pats her shoulder. “I will.”
It’s like she suddenly remembers that it’s Malfoy she’s hugging. She jerks away, blushes and then hurries away from us.
Malfoy’s face scrunches in a snarl. I’m trying not to laugh.
“I just … may have to change my clothes … Gryffindor … “
“Malfoy,” I say in warning.
“I … ew.” His whole body shivers, and then he strides by me. “Gryffindors. Seriously.”
I laugh and bounce after him, walking around him, next to him, smiling and pointing, “A Gryffindor hugged you. Your friends are Gryffindors.”
“Do be mature, Potter,” he snaps at me.
“How the mighty have fallen.”
He snarls at me, and then in the next moment, my breath is gone as he slams me up against a wall, wand under my chin.
“Don’t say that,” he snarls, and it’s five years ago, and we’re thirteen again. His eyes flash with hatred and vileness. Then he blinks, shakes his head and puts his head on my shoulder. His wand arm drops to his side. I cautiously put my arm around his body.
“Sorry, Harry,” he whispers.
I know better than to ask.
Malfoy presses a kiss to my neck, and then pulls away. I watch him walk, statue straight, perfectly Slytherin again. I smile as a couple of second years flatten themselves to the wall as he strides past.
“Arrogant snake,” I say.
“Randy lion,” he shoots back.
---
Lucius Malfoy is being held in the dungeons of the Ministry. Four Aurors, plus Headmistress McGonagall, escort us down. Malfoy becomes more withdrawn, more Lucius Malfoy’s son with every step.
Part of me wishes I had been trained in Slytherin for this one trait: complete and utter boredom when your insides are raging. I jump like every step I take is the one that will cause the ground to crack and we’ll fall to our deaths.
We are stopped at a door. The Aurors go in. There are security spells already on the door, and the Aurors cast extra ones, and then we are ushered in.
Lucius is standing. He wears gray prison robes. His hair is long, past his shoulders. It’s dirty, but tamed, slicked back. The only difference between this Malfoy and the one I faced on the battle field is the gauntness to his face. He’s lost a lot of weight over his months in hiding.
Malfoy’s presence is cold next to me.
“Son.”
“Malfoy.”
Lucius scowls. “You will address me properly.”
I can’t believe my ears. The man is in prison and about to die, and he’s still being an arrogant prick.
Draco smiles. “Fine then. Death Eater. Or do you prefer convict, murderer, rapist--”
“That is enough, young man.”
“You wished to see me. I am here. What do you want?”
“I thought you would beg my case, but seeing who you came in with, I’d rather curry favor from the Dementors.”
“You deserve worse than a Dementor’s Kiss,” Draco says. “My only regret in life is that I am not going to be the one to kill you.”
Draco’s hand is shaking. I fight the urge to take it.
“How the mighty have fallen.”
I stiffen and shoot a gaze at Draco. I will never, ever say that to him again.
“Says the man who stands in prison.”
“Yes, I am here, but I have not forgotten Malfoy pride, boy.”
“Pride? Malfoy pride did nothing more than beat, rape and shame me.”
“It is better to receive a Kiss, than grovel at their feet.”
“I never groveled, Malfoy. I have never kneeled and kissed the hems of their robes. I have never called them Master.”
“My last duty as the head of Malfoy Estate is to strike your name from its records.”
A cruel smile curls Draco’s lips. “You will find, that the Malfoy Estate has been properly cared for. You have been gone for eight months. Legal authority was transferred to me after six. The Manor now houses children whose parents were killed in the war. They are funded by the Malfoy Family Vault at Gringotts, with substantial contributions from Harry Potter. You will die a poor man with nothing more than your name and your vicious pride.”
Lucius is beyond angry, but he does not retort in anyway.
Draco turns his back on him and gestures to the Aurors to escort them out. He smiles, glances at me, and then says, “Oh, one more thing.” He smirks at his father. “The name you so arrogantly call in the name of pride will die with me. I will have no sons and bear no children. I will not curse another generation to live as a Malfoy. The punishment of sharing your name will go with me, and I will bear it because of what I did before I saw how foolish you were.”
He looks at me, I look back. His gaze flicks to my lips. He’s asking permission. We didn’t discuss this. And then I realize it is the ultimate insult to Lucius Malfoy. I smirk at Draco.
“When I was eleven,” Draco said, voice whispering, but filling the chamber, “you wanted me to be friends with Harry Potter.”
He holds out his hand. I take it and then he steps into me. I feel the tight control running through his body. Our lips touch. Lucius runs at the barrier, hurling curses at us. The barrier hisses and throws him back.
Draco pulls away from my lips slowly. His eyes open. Sad, close to tears, but so strong. I touch his cheek. Neither of us looks at the raging madman as we turn and leave the room.
--
Malfoy--no, Draco. He no longer wishes to be a Malfoy. Draco says nothing to me. He’s in a moment. Hands clasp behind his back. Swishing through witches and wizards who scramble to get out of his way.
McGonagall seems to understand and follows after him. I trail after her. It’s a quick trip to the Ministry atrium, a quick Floo, and then we’re back in the Headmistress’s office.
Draco heads right to the door.
“Draco,” McGonagall says.
Draco stops. Surprised. I smile because McGonagall came up with the same conclusion I did.
“It is all right if you wish to take a day off from classes tomorrow.”
Draco turns his head, just a fraction. “Thank you, Headmistress, but that will not be necessary.”
He leaves, and as I go after him, she says, “Please take care of him, Harry.”
“I will,” I reply. I catch up to him in the middle of a staircase. He bypasses the hallway that leads to our dorms. I follow him as we climb more staircases, and more, all the way up to the Astronomy Tower. I think back on the day we released Norbert, and then the night Draco and I served detention with Hagrid in the forest. It felt like lifetimes ago.
Draco pushes open the door. The wind blows cold around us, throwing our clocks up and away from our bodies for a moment. He barely stops to fasten the buttons, and then walks across the stones covered in blowing snow. Neither of us have scarves or hats. I grit my teeth and go after him. His head is lowered, hands clenched around the edge of the railing.
There is a worse memory here, for both of us. Draco’s chance at being saved sooner. Squandered by a meddling old man, and a delusional mother.
He is crying again. It’s too cold not to hold him, but when I lift my arm, he growls, “Don’t touch me.” I put my arm down.
“I-I just …” He shivers and cries out, swiping gathered snow with his bare hands. He turns, puts his face in his hands and drops to the ground. I sit next to him. The outer-wall provides some protection from the wind.
He lowers his hands to his knees. He’s trembling. “When … when I left that night, with Snape … it, it wasn’t the worst they ever did to me, but it was close. He … he’d almost kill me, then heal me and use me all over again, for days and days as a punishment for failing. I-“ He breaks off and pushes snow off the tower with an angry noise. “Why… why are you …?” He meets my eyes for a moment and then looks away.
“Why am I what? Perfect?” I ask. “Why am I gorgeous? Talented? So well-endowed?”
He smiles and leans toward me, and this time lets me put my arm around him. “Why are you with me?” he whispers into my neck. “My life is an utter mess.”
I laugh. “Your life is a mess? Shall we compare?”
He snorts and then says, “I guess we’re both pretty fucked up.”
After a few minutes, I decide to tell him one of the reasons why I understand him. “I know it’s not the same, but when I was eight, one of my uncle’s friends molested me. It wasn’t much, touching, kissing, it wasn’t penetration or anything. But it made me feel sick and dirty, and for a long time, I believed my aunt and uncle’s shite about me being a piece of filth.”
“It’s not the same,” Draco says, “but thank you for telling me.” His arms snake around my waist. We hold each other in the snow, his head tucked under my chin. “Can I tell you my deepest secret, Harry?”
“Yes.”
“I liked it.”
I don’t need to ask what ‘it’ is.
“It felt so good, so, so good. The pain can be more exquisite than the pleasure. But to be told you’re beautiful one minute, and then an ungrateful slut the next, it-it’s hard for me, to do anything.” He takes a very deep breath. “O-our first night, I-I fell back into that place. I don’t want to be there, Harry. Ever again. But it’s right there, all the time, and I don’t know how to stop it from being right there all the time. I want you, Merlin, I do. You must be so frustrated with me.”
I push him away only far enough to meet his eyes. Fat snowflakes fall around us. I press a kiss to his cold lips. “Frustrated, yes, but not for what you think. There are times when you’re so open, and laughing and touching me, and then a moment later, your face is closed, and hard and smirking. I hate the Malfoy mask, Draco. I hate it. You pull away, but then you don’t explain. I need you to explain so I won’t make the same mistake again.” I brush a mix of melting snow and tears from his cheeks. “I will … help you, I guess. Merlin, that sounds weird.”
He laughs. “So noble, Potter.”
I press a kiss to his mouth. “Harry. If I am no longer going to call you Malfoy, you have to call me Harry.”
His smile is wide and genuine. We kiss again, and then shiver from the cold.
“Let’s go take a very long, very hot shower,” I suggest.
He smirks at me before standing up. He offers me his hand, and I’m transported eight years in the past. I wonder what would have happened if I had taken his hand then.
I take his hand now, and end up with a face full of snow, compliments of his other hand. I shout and sputter and jolt after him, grabbing his robes. He laughs as we topple to the stone, grappling and shoving snow into each others clothes.
When we finally arrive back in the common room, everyone is waiting for us. Hermione smiles when she sees Draco smiling.
“Draco, what have you done to your clothes?” Pansy demands.
Draco leers at me. “Harry made me wet.”
There’s a collective groan around the room. I shove Draco in the arm. “Prat tackled me in the snow,” I say. “We’re going to go get warm and then we’ll be right down.”
Seamus, Dean, Justin and Ernie all wolf whistle at us as we go into our room.
Draco makes a face at his silk shirt. “It’s ruined.”
“You have more.”
He slips it from his shoulders and shivers. I watch him strip.
“You’ll flood the place from drooling, Scarhead.”
“Your fault for being bloody gorgeous, Ferret.”
He throws a smirk over his shoulder and saunters into the bathroom, pale ass teasing me. I rub my hands on my face and then hurry and strip to join him. He’s quiet in the shower, but strangely attentive, running fingertips down my spine, or kissing my neck and shoulders. I return the light touches and wash his hair. I want it long, but seeing Lucius, I understand why Draco keeps it short. He looks less like his father with it short.
His arms slink around my waist, pulling me close. Our kiss is long, but light, a brush of lips, a look. He smiles, almost shy and then smirks, covering the emotion in his face.
“Come on, Golden Boy,” he says and shuts the water off. “Your subjects await.”
I roll my eyes. He doesn’t bother with a towel, and a gust of wind hits me from his drying charm. I’m cold again.
“Prick,” I say, teeth chattering.
His smirk is devilish. “Oh, are you cold again? Poor Potter.”
I open my mouth to tell him not to call me that, and it dies as he kisses me, harshly. It’s more demanding than any kiss he’s ever given me. My cock is hard in only a moment, pressed against his body. He hums in appreciation and then wraps his hand around it. So light, so gentle. I want him to take all his built up emotion and abuse my cock with his mouth.
I think only for a moment of not saying that, and then whisper, breathy and unsteady as his hand slowly moves over me. “You know, Draco. If you need-“
His hand grips and I see his eyes darken, so I talk faster. “-a way to deal with this, you can take it out on my cock.”
He smirks, and then laughs. “At least you didn’t say I had to talk about it.”
“Talking about it never fixes anything,” I reply.
He sobers suddenly and nods. “No. Sometimes it makes it worse.”
I’ve said something wrong again, but he’s still next to me, still touching me. He leans in and presses a kiss to my pliant mouth. “Come on. We should get out there.”
I whimper in need and disbelief.
He smirks. “Okay. I bet Finnigan will make a comment about your lack of longevity. Granger will frown at him, and the Weasel will make a disgusted face when Thomas says something about how if anyone knows about you in bed, it’s Finnigan. Pansy will titter at me and try to groom me in some way or another, and MacMillian is going to look at you like you’re Christmas come early because all you’re going to wear out there is a pair of sweatpants and a tank-top. If all of that does not happen, then I will most definitely take my frustrations out on your cock.”
“If it does happen?”
Draco smirks. “You mean, when it does happen?”
“Fine. When it does happen, then what?”
“Oh, you’ll still get a blow job, but we’ll do it in the common room. Under your cloak.”
I swallow, eyes wide. “W-what? You’re crazy.”
“Are you conceding the bet?”
I stare at him. The thought of getting sucked on surrounded by everyone else is … oh, fuck. It’s exhilarating. He smirks when my cock twitches.
He turns from me and leaves the bathroom. Slightly shaking, I follow him. He bends over his trunk. I lick my lips. He takes a piece of parchment, and then his wand and repeats the bet. It appears on the parchment as soon as he’s done saying it. He shoots the parchment at me, but I’m looking at his body and it hits me in the face.
He laughs. “Oh, god. I wish you had wanted me when we were playing Quidditch. I would have won every match.”
I smirk. “Can’t win just from talent,” I say and he sticks his tongue out at me.
I read through the bet and see the loophole immediately. I have to wear sweatpants and a tank top. If I don’t, he loses. When I meet his eyes, he’s smirking. He knows I see it. I move past him, making sure my hand grazes his half hard cock. He shivers. I put the parchment on my bed and then dress in sweatpants and a tank top.
His eyes flash with a victory, and then he spins away from me. He dresses in nice jeans and polo shirt. He whispers a customary grooming spell that spikes his hair and glamours the circles under his eyes.
“You’re beautiful without that spell,” I say. It’s not the first I’ve said it.
“Why settle for beautiful when you can be perfect?”
“Why settle for me when you can have-“ I break off when he smiles.
“Your cock is perfect, Potter.”
“And rest of me?”
His eyes rove over my bare body. “Not bad for a Griffyndork. Shall we?”
“No. Let’s stay here and fuck.”
“Then you lose, Potter.”
“I don’t think getting to spend the day in bed with you would be losing, Draco.” I emphasize his first name.
His smile falters just a small amount, and then he turns and heads for the door. I reach it the same time he does and put my arm around his waist, and press a kiss to his neck as he opens the door. I know he’s smiling when the others catch sight of us, and I’m glad, because they need to see that Draco is okay.
“That was quick, Harry,” Seamus says. “Even for you.”
Hermione frowns at him, and then at a laughing Dean.
“Well, you’re the expert on Harry’s abilities of longevity,” Dean says.
“Shut up,” Ron almost shouts, face red. “I do not need that image in my brain.”
Pansy shuffles to us and starts tugging at Draco’s shirt. “Really, Potter. Let him go.”
I smile, and then roll my eyes at Draco. I kiss his cheek, ignore Pansy’s prattling and turn to the rest of the room. Ernie MacMillian is leering at me.
I smile at Draco. He smiles back, and says, “Griffyndorks, the lot of you.”
Ron looks like he’s going to take offense, but Hermione gives him a look, and I sit on the couch next to Seamus. He’s immediately straddling my lap.
“I think we have time for a go before Parkinson is done grooming your snake,” he says, and runs his hands over my bare shoulders.
“Finnigan don’t make me curse your snake to impotency,” Draco says.
Seamus laughs, kisses my cheek and then falls over into Dean’s lap.
“Pansy, seriously, I don’t need to be immaculate for the present gaggle of lions.”
“It’s a pride, Draco,” Hermione says. “A gaggle of geese, and a pride of li-”
“Of Griffyndorks, yes. I know. My apologies.”
Hermione smiles and then frowns. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
Draco meets her eyes, sighs and then joins us on the couch that is definitely too small for four eighteen-year-olds. He curls up in my lap.
“No,” he says, startling more than just me. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Of course not,” Hermione says. “But we’re here for you, all right?”
“Well, I’m going to talk about it,” I say. Draco stiffens, but I don’t remove my arms from around his waist. The others turn their attention to me. “What was said isn’t as important as what happens now. First, we stop calling him Malfoy.” I see Ron’s mouth open in protest.
Draco must sense it because he says, “I don’t care if you call me Ferret instead, just …” He shivers.
“Not going to say no to that invitation, Ferret,” Ron says.
“Still going to call you a Weasel,” he retorts.
“And second, well, you heard McGonagall, right? People are going to Hex him.”
“I can take care of-”
I jerk my leg up and he breaks off with a gasp. “And third, someone decided to kiss me in front of four Aurors, a former Death-Eater, and the Headmistress of this school.”
“Draco,” Pansy says in admonishment.
“There are going to be a lot of rumors about that.”
Draco suddenly sits up in my lap and smiles.
“What?”
“How much do you want to bet that tomorrow’s paper will have a headline of the Boy Who Lived to Be Gay and in Love with a Death Eater’s Son?” he asks.
Seamus whistles and nods. “Sure thing, mate. That’s bigger news than just some Death Eater being found.”
I shut my eyes and say, “Fine. Terms?”
“You two and your betting,” Hermione says.
“We already have one bet to fulfill,” Draco says with an evil glint in his eyes, “but I say … loser is strapped down and covered in chocolate frogs until they melt.”
“And the winner gets to lick the loser clean?” I ask.
Draco nods. “Of course, he’s the winner after all.”
The other boys laugh and Dean slaps Draco on the shoulder. “Crazy, you two are. But that sounds like a great idea. Seamus, you got some chocolate frogs?” The two of them roll away and laugh as they run for the room.
“Not on my bed, perverts,” Ron shouts. “And put up a silencing charm.”
The couch now clear, I lower us down until he’s lying on top of me, curled up and no longer shaking. His hand runs over my arm.
“Thank you, Harry,” Draco whispers into the fabric of my tank top. I kiss the top of his head, and once again have to swallow an ill-advised love confession.
Part 3: Grateful Moments
Part 1: Awkward Moments
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