Haunted - Harry Potter, H/D
Title: Haunted
Author: an_sceal
Challenge: Non-song Songfic, 90 minutes
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: R
Pairing:Harry/Draco
Disclaimer: All characters owned by J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This is a not-for-profit fan created work.
A/N: This is another fic in the same universe as A Grave Matter, and Dirty. I've had it in my WIP file for over a year (or is that over two years? Good gods.) and when this challenge came up I had a lyric stuck in my head. I finished it in about 20 minutes once I got started, and I don't think I spent more than 90 minutes of actual writing time on it. Here's hoping that counts.
Haunted
He no longer had access to an owl, but after a good deal of effort and breadcrumbs, he was able to coax a blackbird into carrying the scrap of parchment for him. It was a simple message that he’d printed neatly and tied up before he could change his mind.
“He won’t come you know. You sent him away once before.”
Harry stabbed the trowel into the earth with rather more force than necessary, the sun adding a dusky glow to his skin as he studied the wisp of form that stood before him. In life he’d been terrifying to the last, full of harsh words and contradictions no matter the occasion, and he privately felt that death had done very little to soften the soul of Severus Snape.
“Then I suppose it’s just you and I tonight. Whist at 5? Shall I find some music and dance for you?” It must have been the prospect of company that was making him such an easy mark, as he’d long since grown accustomed to the snapping of this particular shade.
“Don’t be foolish, Potter. You know I prefer bridge.”
“I know what you prefer, Severus.” The name sounded like a punchline, and maybe it was. Maybe it was better for them both to leave the implication hanging there, between them as Draco had been once, a living treaty written out for them in moans and begging.
“Then you should know as well as I do that he’ll be here simply because you asked him to be. Go bathe.” He didn’t imagine for a moment that he’d really flustered Snape, but it was gratifying to hear some edge of annoyance in the tone, rather than the cool indifference of their normal verbal sparring. He rose up slowly as always, leaving the empty clearing and turning back to his house.
-=-=-=-=-=-
It was really too cold to be outdoors in the evening, and he was just lighting a fire when the sound of footsteps coming up the path made his heart beat faster than it had any right to.
“I brought wine,” Draco said, setting the bottle on the table. His smile fell away, and his cloak, and Harry longed for the return of one but couldn’t be certain which. He almost thought it might be the cloak, because the next bit of this was going to be terrifying. He wasn’t certain that he wanted an audience.
He’d been a long time with only himself for company, and since he knew how he looked, it hardly crossed his mind anymore, the business of being clothed or not. It seemed now that he should have been paying more attention all this time, because his t-shirt was stuck somewhere in the vicinity of his elbow, and his pants were maintaining a seeming death grip around his knees. He was thankful enough that it was almost dark now, with just the glow of the rising embers and the last lick of sun to illuminate his ridiculous lack of nudity.
“What are you doing?” Draco said, and it was a demand. His adam’s apple moved quickly in the confines of his throat, all the shadows of his face thrown against one another as Harry tried to watch him and strip at the same time. Eventually the clothes were gone, and he moved to the window and waited.
It wasn’t much darker when the sun finally guttered out, buried under the hills to the west, but it was dark enough. Dark enough that when the names that scrawled so hastily over his skin in a never ending marquee gathered together, bunched at his hands and feet and glowed, it was immediately evident. One letter at a time the fallen dripped from his skin, until only his own pain was left to him.
Draco made no sound as he watched, until a choked sigh escaped him and settled uneasily into the room. Harry barely waited for it to be done, the ghosts of his guilt still a memory on him as he slid through the air and wrapped himself around the other man.
He’d gone beyond hunger, afraid that after all this time he no longer knew how to touch. He was afraid to leave the kiss, afraid to waste a second of his freedom, more afraid that if he let go Draco would step away and leave him. His fingers curled deep into the fabric of the shirt between them, and the surprising strength in them pulled a button loose.
“How,” asked Draco unsteadily, and then denied Harry a chance to answer by kissing him again.
“We only have till dawn,” he said, because he didn’t know how, or why, or even if it was supposed to be this way or it was another example of his famous luck-that-wasn’t. He didn’t care. He didn’t want to know, he just wanted to feel someone touch him, feel the drag and occasional bite of fingernails down his back, and the wet hiccoughs of damp breath against his cheek. He wanted to drown in someone else for as long as he could.
The bed held them both, but barely so. He had built it himself, thankful that for once he’d been paying attention in his Transfiguration classes and could turn a leaf into a feather. A down mattress was a wonder for his leg, and now for his back as Draco pressed him down onto it and devoured his skin inch by inch. He had just tipped his head back up when the first of them appeared, and he turned a howl of frustration into a moan only because he hadn’t had a blowjob in 3 years, and he didn’t want Draco to stop just then.
Not all of them would visit, of course, just those with a score to settle, or a fond look to bestow. Rom smiled and went away quickly, while Severus smirked and lingered in the corner for far longer than he should have. Draco looked up occasionally, when his mouth could be spared from laving at Harry’s body, but he didn’t stop.
After some time, when the moonlight had cooled them off a little and Harry had remembered what it was like to be human, they lay back on the bed and held tightly to whatever part of the other was closest. Harry’s Mum did them the courtesy of looking away when her son urged Draco over onto his stomach, and for his part he ignored the houseguests entirely until Draco’s soft cry made him open eyes that he didn’t recall closing.
Lucius stared, and Draco stared back, his cheek resting on his arm as he looked off the side of the bed at the parade of ghouls. Crabbe and Goyle faded away almost at once, but Lucius stayed, and his eyes took in so much of the room that Harry thought for a second that he couldn’t breathe. The touch of Draco’s hand on his hip brought him round, pulling him in close and tight, and the only sound they let themselves hear was the creak of the bed and the ragged cry of each other’s names as they fucked.
When they were done and Lucius in all his bloody, deadly haunting was gone, Harry pulled Draco to him and wondered what to say. He started to apologize, but he hadn’t told Draco to kill his father, and when he fumbled for the words he was silenced with a kiss. He understood then, as clearly as if Draco had said it out loud. I only want sympathy in the form of you falling into bed with me.
They were young, but not so young as they had once been, and eventually even their desperation failed them and they could do nothing more than lie together and wish away the dawn. They didn’t speak, because they could do that all year, but they touched in small ways, and when the horizon turned pink Harry closed his eyes against it and held Draco when he would have gotten up.
“Don’t let go yet,” he said fiercely as the names collected near the window and swarmed across the floor like ants. Up the leg of the bed they came, and the first touched his toe, a sliver of pain, but for a second he hoped that he’d be able to withstand it. His grip on Draco’s hand went from tight to painful, and finally he let go with a stifled scream as they all rushed back into him.
Their eyes met, Draco awash in the rose-gold sunlight at the window and Harry shivering as the silver mist melted slowly around him.
“I’ll find a way to break the spell,” Draco said softly, and Harry nodded without feeling anything like hope. He’d thought the span of years before now had left him feeling alone, but it was nothing compared to the meter between them now.
“Next year,” Harry said softly, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes. “Every Halloween.” Draco nodded his understanding and then he was gone out the front door, leaving the wine and his cloak.
He took the wine and drew the cloak around himself, and if there were apples to be picked or trees to bed down against the death of the sun, he found that he didn’t care. When he closed his eyes, a new year stretched out behind them, empty and long.
Author: an_sceal
Challenge: Non-song Songfic, 90 minutes
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: R
Pairing:Harry/Draco
Disclaimer: All characters owned by J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This is a not-for-profit fan created work.
A/N: This is another fic in the same universe as A Grave Matter, and Dirty. I've had it in my WIP file for over a year (or is that over two years? Good gods.) and when this challenge came up I had a lyric stuck in my head. I finished it in about 20 minutes once I got started, and I don't think I spent more than 90 minutes of actual writing time on it. Here's hoping that counts.
Haunted
He no longer had access to an owl, but after a good deal of effort and breadcrumbs, he was able to coax a blackbird into carrying the scrap of parchment for him. It was a simple message that he’d printed neatly and tied up before he could change his mind.
“He won’t come you know. You sent him away once before.”
Harry stabbed the trowel into the earth with rather more force than necessary, the sun adding a dusky glow to his skin as he studied the wisp of form that stood before him. In life he’d been terrifying to the last, full of harsh words and contradictions no matter the occasion, and he privately felt that death had done very little to soften the soul of Severus Snape.
“Then I suppose it’s just you and I tonight. Whist at 5? Shall I find some music and dance for you?” It must have been the prospect of company that was making him such an easy mark, as he’d long since grown accustomed to the snapping of this particular shade.
“Don’t be foolish, Potter. You know I prefer bridge.”
“I know what you prefer, Severus.” The name sounded like a punchline, and maybe it was. Maybe it was better for them both to leave the implication hanging there, between them as Draco had been once, a living treaty written out for them in moans and begging.
“Then you should know as well as I do that he’ll be here simply because you asked him to be. Go bathe.” He didn’t imagine for a moment that he’d really flustered Snape, but it was gratifying to hear some edge of annoyance in the tone, rather than the cool indifference of their normal verbal sparring. He rose up slowly as always, leaving the empty clearing and turning back to his house.
-=-=-=-=-=-
It was really too cold to be outdoors in the evening, and he was just lighting a fire when the sound of footsteps coming up the path made his heart beat faster than it had any right to.
“I brought wine,” Draco said, setting the bottle on the table. His smile fell away, and his cloak, and Harry longed for the return of one but couldn’t be certain which. He almost thought it might be the cloak, because the next bit of this was going to be terrifying. He wasn’t certain that he wanted an audience.
He’d been a long time with only himself for company, and since he knew how he looked, it hardly crossed his mind anymore, the business of being clothed or not. It seemed now that he should have been paying more attention all this time, because his t-shirt was stuck somewhere in the vicinity of his elbow, and his pants were maintaining a seeming death grip around his knees. He was thankful enough that it was almost dark now, with just the glow of the rising embers and the last lick of sun to illuminate his ridiculous lack of nudity.
“What are you doing?” Draco said, and it was a demand. His adam’s apple moved quickly in the confines of his throat, all the shadows of his face thrown against one another as Harry tried to watch him and strip at the same time. Eventually the clothes were gone, and he moved to the window and waited.
It wasn’t much darker when the sun finally guttered out, buried under the hills to the west, but it was dark enough. Dark enough that when the names that scrawled so hastily over his skin in a never ending marquee gathered together, bunched at his hands and feet and glowed, it was immediately evident. One letter at a time the fallen dripped from his skin, until only his own pain was left to him.
Draco made no sound as he watched, until a choked sigh escaped him and settled uneasily into the room. Harry barely waited for it to be done, the ghosts of his guilt still a memory on him as he slid through the air and wrapped himself around the other man.
He’d gone beyond hunger, afraid that after all this time he no longer knew how to touch. He was afraid to leave the kiss, afraid to waste a second of his freedom, more afraid that if he let go Draco would step away and leave him. His fingers curled deep into the fabric of the shirt between them, and the surprising strength in them pulled a button loose.
“How,” asked Draco unsteadily, and then denied Harry a chance to answer by kissing him again.
“We only have till dawn,” he said, because he didn’t know how, or why, or even if it was supposed to be this way or it was another example of his famous luck-that-wasn’t. He didn’t care. He didn’t want to know, he just wanted to feel someone touch him, feel the drag and occasional bite of fingernails down his back, and the wet hiccoughs of damp breath against his cheek. He wanted to drown in someone else for as long as he could.
The bed held them both, but barely so. He had built it himself, thankful that for once he’d been paying attention in his Transfiguration classes and could turn a leaf into a feather. A down mattress was a wonder for his leg, and now for his back as Draco pressed him down onto it and devoured his skin inch by inch. He had just tipped his head back up when the first of them appeared, and he turned a howl of frustration into a moan only because he hadn’t had a blowjob in 3 years, and he didn’t want Draco to stop just then.
Not all of them would visit, of course, just those with a score to settle, or a fond look to bestow. Rom smiled and went away quickly, while Severus smirked and lingered in the corner for far longer than he should have. Draco looked up occasionally, when his mouth could be spared from laving at Harry’s body, but he didn’t stop.
After some time, when the moonlight had cooled them off a little and Harry had remembered what it was like to be human, they lay back on the bed and held tightly to whatever part of the other was closest. Harry’s Mum did them the courtesy of looking away when her son urged Draco over onto his stomach, and for his part he ignored the houseguests entirely until Draco’s soft cry made him open eyes that he didn’t recall closing.
Lucius stared, and Draco stared back, his cheek resting on his arm as he looked off the side of the bed at the parade of ghouls. Crabbe and Goyle faded away almost at once, but Lucius stayed, and his eyes took in so much of the room that Harry thought for a second that he couldn’t breathe. The touch of Draco’s hand on his hip brought him round, pulling him in close and tight, and the only sound they let themselves hear was the creak of the bed and the ragged cry of each other’s names as they fucked.
When they were done and Lucius in all his bloody, deadly haunting was gone, Harry pulled Draco to him and wondered what to say. He started to apologize, but he hadn’t told Draco to kill his father, and when he fumbled for the words he was silenced with a kiss. He understood then, as clearly as if Draco had said it out loud. I only want sympathy in the form of you falling into bed with me.
They were young, but not so young as they had once been, and eventually even their desperation failed them and they could do nothing more than lie together and wish away the dawn. They didn’t speak, because they could do that all year, but they touched in small ways, and when the horizon turned pink Harry closed his eyes against it and held Draco when he would have gotten up.
“Don’t let go yet,” he said fiercely as the names collected near the window and swarmed across the floor like ants. Up the leg of the bed they came, and the first touched his toe, a sliver of pain, but for a second he hoped that he’d be able to withstand it. His grip on Draco’s hand went from tight to painful, and finally he let go with a stifled scream as they all rushed back into him.
Their eyes met, Draco awash in the rose-gold sunlight at the window and Harry shivering as the silver mist melted slowly around him.
“I’ll find a way to break the spell,” Draco said softly, and Harry nodded without feeling anything like hope. He’d thought the span of years before now had left him feeling alone, but it was nothing compared to the meter between them now.
“Next year,” Harry said softly, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes. “Every Halloween.” Draco nodded his understanding and then he was gone out the front door, leaving the wine and his cloak.
He took the wine and drew the cloak around himself, and if there were apples to be picked or trees to bed down against the death of the sun, he found that he didn’t care. When he closed his eyes, a new year stretched out behind them, empty and long.