Update in the Training Series! Fluff ahoy!
Title: Training Series: To Have
Pairing: H/D
Rating: Nc-17
Disclaimer: Don’t own, please don’t sue.
Summary: The Auror trainees have to deal with their most grueling test yet... Latest chapter in the ‘Training’ Series. All other chapters on my LJ, let me know your thoughts!
Harry had hoped that dinner with Hermione and Ron would be a simple affair. Which was foolish, because ‘simple’ and ‘making Draco interact with people in a fashion resembling normalcy’ would just never go in the same sentence.
In the days leading up to the dinner, which had to be planned almost a week in advance so all parties could brace themselves accordingly, both Hermione and Draco had seen fit to discuss, insultingly and at great length, how Harry could possibly think it would work. Harry had thought it would be easy- there would be lots of preparations to preoccupy Hermione, lots of food to put in Draco’s mouth to keep him from talking, and lots of wine to keep everyone adequately sedate. Apparently he was alone in this sort of crazed optimism.
“There wouldn’t be enough details in the Queen’s wedding to keep Granger from nagging.”
“There isn’t an object on Earth big enough to sufficiently cork up Malfoy.”
Hermione had immediately demanded to know what to cook, and Draco had immediately demanded to know what to wear. Since the two of them clearly had their priorities sorted, that left Ron and Harry to speculate on the likelihood of anyone surviving the meal.
“It will literally be the last supper,” Ron said wistfully, “I really hope there’s cake.”
They were standing in the middle of the Auror Arena, which Malfoy fondly referred to as the Circle of Death, and they were preparing for...something that involved a lot of padding. Harry had once again become distracted by Draco’s endless chatter. The class had studied suspect identification the day before, which left Malfoy to ponder all the interesting tattoos he could acquire on the more scandalous parts of his body. He had been contemplating how the words “Slytherin Prince” would look draped in cursive across his hipbones, and Harry had gotten distracted by thinking about other words he wanted written on Draco’s hipbones...and then just Draco’s hipbones in general...
And then he’d gotten on to thinking about getting on his knees in front of Draco, and sucking and licking at that particular surface, and marking him with his teeth. Maybe he could make that permanent, maybe he could make it so that Draco thought of Harry’s mouth every time he looked at his hips, or saw them in a mirror......
.....and now he was putting on shin guards for some unknown reason.
He really needed to work on this.
Draco had wandered off to talk to the instructor about something, so Harry was left with Ron, who looked equally baffled by the proper placement of a mouth guard. Ron had been muttering darkly about their dinner that evening since its inception, and seemed to have finally accepted it as an inevitable and fatalistic truth.
“But Harry, I honestly doubt that there is enough whiskey in Ireland to make this dinner go well. I’ve been thinking I may use ear plugs. Hermione says that they’re for when you’re trying to fall asleep when something is too noisy, but I’m of the mind that Malfoy breathing is too noisy, which makes them appropriate dinnertime wear when Malfoy is present.”
Harry was only half-listening anyway, what with the fact that Malfoy had now patently gone missing and the alternative of not knowing what the hell was going on.
Finally, he turned to Ron, “Why are we padding up, again?”
Ron looked at him as though he were crazy, which was funny considering that Ron had just attempted to put a shoulder pad on as footwear.
“Dark spells practical. Harry, they’ve had this on the calendar for months.”
Ah, right. The practical. The test that was legend around incoming Aurors because it pitted classmates against one another, made them use Dark spells, and generally ended in someone getting badly hurt. They were also known for being of a peculiar kind of mind-screw, more often than not you were automatically placed in the ring with the person the trainers thought you would have the most difficult time fighting. Someone you really didn’t want to injure. And for anyone in the class with both a best friend and lover for the trainers to pick from, the test was cause for concern.
This was said to be the ultimate mental and emotional strain, where they tried to use every edge to get under your skin, into your head; they made you play your mind against your heart to see which would win out. It was said that if you were going to break, you broke in the ring. They would press any button they needed to, toy with you before testing you, just to see how you fared
Harry was suddenly filled with trepidation, and the strange niggling hope that he and Ron were thrown in the ring together.
Wait. He would rather hurt Ron?
Draco came back then, fully padded, which gave Harry an odd idea of how Draco would look if he was slightly more built and a little less on the thin side. He sidled up to Harry’s right, pressing his palm slightly against Harry’s lower back. The gesture was encouraging, supportive, a small sign of trust and acceptance, and Harry knew that Draco was trying to give Harry permission to hurt him if they were paired.
Fear dropped into Harry’s stomach. He couldn’t. He simply would not be able to hurt Draco intentionally like that; he would hesitate, and hold back, and even if he tried to throw a curse it would be completely half-hearted, and with the Dark Arts you really had to mean it to get it to work....
They were calling the first pair. There wasn’t any time to think, Harry didn’t know what to do..
“Draco Malfoy.” The trainer’s voice boomed over the Arena. Draco suddenly seemed terribly small and fragile next to Harry, even with all the padding, even with the fact that his eyes were confident and his shoulders flexed. He would look intimidating to any onlooker, anyone who didn’t know him, really know him, anyone who didn’t know that Draco was never physically violent unless absolutely cornered, unless there were no other choices or resources. Anyone else would think that Draco would hedge every advantage, take every shot he could get, would bring them down in a second unless they got him first.
But Harry knew Draco, and knew that when they called his name next, because they would, because they would know that Harry would never want to hurt him, he knew that he would rather fight Ron.
“Ronald Weasley.”
The shock was numbing, it froze Harry completely, as he realized he was already half-moving toward the Circle. He felt Ron tense to his left, watched Draco’s eyes from a distance as they widened with surprise.
There was an outbreak of intense murmurs from all the students as Ron looked frantically from Draco to Harry, and then back at Draco. The steely grey eyes were still holding that arrogant air that Draco always had when he was unsure, as if by giving the impression of success he could succeed without actually doing anything.
He must have looked defiant, to anyone else. Must have looked like he welcomed the fight, like he wanted it. To anyone else, he must have looked like he was planning his victory lap in his head.
Ron was walking into the ring, and Harry couldn’t decide if this was better or worse than having to fight Draco himself.
The two of them were tense and concentrated, Ron the clear physical dominator between them, and Draco’s eyes were sharp and calculating, looking for weakness-
Someone tapped Harry on the shoulder. Harry turned quickly, eager to get his attention back on the ring as soon as possible.
Ginny Weasley was standing behind him.
“Harry,” she whispered urgently, “I need to talk to you outside.”
Confusion clouded Harry’s eyes; he was shocked, why was Ginny here, what was happening..
“Harry,” she said again, “please.” And guilt tore at him, did she know about Draco, wouldn’t that hurt, what could he possibly say....
When he glanced back towards the ring he saw that Ron and Draco were circling each other, Ron tall and high off the ground, Draco bending lower, crouching like a snake ready to attack...
Ginny tugged at his wrist insistently. He was forced away from the Arena by Ginny’s voice again.
“Harry you don’t really know him. I can’t talk about this here but...there’s evidence, there’s proof...he isn’t who he says he is.” She had his attention then, and there was outrage and anger, and he was pulling her out into the hallway before she could say anything else and he thought, just before the Arena doors shut behind them, he heard a distant violent sound, a voice in pain...
“Explain.” He said, keeping his voice low to keep himself under control. “Do it fast, I have to get back in there.”
“Harry you have to know that you can’t trust him, you never could, no one ever did, not even during the war. The Aurors are keeping them here so they can watch him, so they can wait for him to make his move..”
“What... what are you talking about? He’s in there, he could be getting hurt right now and you think he’s....spying.... or something..”
“Not spying, Harry...but, he isn’t on our side, he isn’t going to get this job and then go around hunting his father’s old friends with you, Harry, you have to know that! You have to see that he...he’ll never stop being one of them.”
Harry stared at her, completely at a loss...why was this....why now....what did this mean...
“Harry,” she said, “you’ve said it yourself: he’s just like his father.”
“I love him. And I know him.” Harry said, because it was all he could think to say, it was the only thing he had left and that goddamned war had taken so much...it was not going to take this, nothing was taking this away.
He tore away from her, back into the Arena, back because the only way his body knew was back towards Draco, and if he could just reach him then this could all get sorted out.
Neither Ron nor Draco remained in the ring. The door shut behind him as that voice came over the loudspeaker again.
“Harry Potter.”
Harry felt disoriented and hollow, unsure of where to go but forward, Draco had been there minutes ago, what had happened, where were they now....
“Hannah Abbott.”
Harry watched Hannah approach the ring, and felt such a distance from himself, felt so far from his own body.
He was so confused, Ginny’s words racing in his mind, and Draco had said..when Hannah confronted him, ‘You’re just like your father,’ why did people keep saying that....
Hannah raised her wand, looking scared and small, and Harry realized that he didn’t want to hurt her.
He didn’t. For all he had been jealous, he had Draco, had the upper hand, and she had only said all those things because she was in pain, and Harry knew what pain felt like when poured from Draco Malfoy’s lips.
He knew how it felt to love Draco, and maybe she did, too. Maybe she knew the awful perfection of it, maybe she knew how tragic and exquisite Draco was, maybe she saw what Harry did....
But....but then....
Clarity descended on Harry, like water flowing over loose gravel; Hannah did not know Draco, could not love him. Just like Ginny couldn’t possibly know, and even if she did she wouldn’t understand...no one who knew Draco would ever put him up to his father’s image and say they were the same.
Hannah was raising her wand, a single word crossing the arch of her lips, he could see in her eyes that she meant it...
And that was the game. They were meant to use Dark spells, they were supposed to fight with everything they had, and the trainers were going to try to break them. They were straining him, pushing him mentally, testing him with Ginny and Ron and Draco, using his emotions against him, trying to disarm and throw him, just like they used him to throw Hannah. Harry’s mind was calm, because he knew what he had, he was sure of it, and it was something that Hannah most certainly did not.
He had Draco.
And then everything went black.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry woke in his bed at his apartment feeling a little harassed. It had been a really long day.
Draco’s face was peering over his face, looking like he was making an effort of appearing clinically discerning. He seemed to decide that Harry’s eyes being open and his breathing being regular meant that he was up for snuggling, and climbed into bed next to him.
“You were moaning something.” Draco said.
“Yes, well, I keep having these awful dreams where I have no idea what’s going on and people throw my best friends and lovers into situations where they battle to the death. All of which makes for a lot of moaning.”
Draco snuggled in closer to Harry’s side, confirming in Harry’s mind the pleasurable notion that he would never get out of bed again.
“So,” Draco prompted, “aren’t you going to ask what happened when Weasley and I came to fisticuffs?” His nose was close against Harry’s throat, and Harry’s arm went automatically around Draco’s shoulders, thinner now without any padding.
“No,” Harry answered, “because I already know what happened.” His hand rested on Draco’s lower back, the comforting gesture familiar and wonderful.
Draco made a small sound of indignant disbelief.
“I do,” Harry said, grinning a bit even though Draco couldn’t see, “I know you too well.”
“Impossible!” Draco protested, “I have only just moved in here and you have not even begun to scratch the infinite depth of my character.”
“You would never hurt someone who was throwing you a dinner party later in the week. That’s just bad manners.”
Draco was suspiciously silent for a moment. Harry’s grip went tight around his shoulders.
“Yes, well,” Draco muttered, “there had better be cake.”
Harry looked down, used his other hand to tilt Draco’s chin upward, kissed his lips soundly with that newfound calm that he had felt in the Arena; he had this, this was his.
“And I know,” Harry said against Draco’s open mouth, “that Ginny was a trick.”
Draco paused, either thinking for a moment or just enjoying the kiss. “They told me they were pulling that. That was part of my test. Whether or not I thought you’d believe it.” Draco was slowly moving over and on top of Harry, still pressed tight against him, both hands coming up to cradle his face.
“I didn’t.” Harry whispered, “I never would.”
“I know.” Draco said, hips moving in a slow and sensual rhythm, pressing against Harry, rubbing him in that way that was so perfect, that only Draco could do.
“So,” Harry said, hands sliding down Draco’s smooth back, feeling the muscles move under his touch, “does this mean that you trust me?”
“Of course.” Draco answered, and when Harry’s hands slid over his ass and spread his legs, he moved obligingly to straddle Harry, rubbing with more purposeful pacing over Harry’s hardness.
“What...what if..” Harry lost his train of thought when Draco started disrobing on top off him, shirt peeled off and jeans removed. “What if it was us?”
“What do you mean?” Draco replied, calmly sucking Harry’s neck while pulling at his belt.
“If we had to fight. Today, or ever. What then?” Harry managed, though Draco had taken hold of his cock and was rubbing in that slow, maddening pace.
Draco stilled above him, and Harry wanted to keep rubbing against Draco’s hand, wanted to come and wanted Draco to come with him, but this was important...
Draco let out a long breath, and moved off him completely. He rested on his back, laying next to Harry with a hand at his eyes, like it was painful.
But Harry had never known when to stop pressing. “What then, Draco?”
Draco sighed, “I don’t know.”
“I would never hurt you.” Harry blurted, unsure where this conversation was going but knowing he needed to say it.
“I thought about this,” Draco gestured to the scar across his chest, “when I was out there. I thought I would be fighting you again, I thought it would be like that.”
Harry moved closer to Draco’s pale profile, put his hand up to Draco’s jaw to tilt it again, this time so their eyes met.
“I couldn’t do it, Harry.” Draco said, his voice wispy and thin. “I couldn’t do it then, and I couldn’t do it now.”
Harry lifted himself above Draco, who looked small and vulnerable again, and maybe the only thing that could make him look like that was the idea of not being able to fulfill expectations. Harry knew that Draco would always give everything he had if someone was depending on him, if someone really wanted him to do something. A personality like Draco’s would be absolutely devastated by the inability to follow through, to complete a task, no matter how difficult or how impossible the odds. And here was something that he had thought he would need to do, a job he would need to complete, something he was absolutely sure he couldn’t even attempt.
Draco must have been terrified.
Harry leaned over, took Draco’s mouth with his again. He lifted himself completely over Draco, feeling broader and stronger than usual, feeling the desire to protect and defend and possess.
Harry did all the work that night; preparing Draco with adoring slowness, watching for even the most minor sign of discomfort. This promise between them, the mutual protection, was lovely and new for Harry, who had always felt the need to be the savior, to always been on the lookout for his loved ones. Draco could devastate Harry with a simple look, but there was the belief, as simple and as crazy as it was, that he would never take advantage of that power, and it surged through Harry like adrenaline every time he thought about it. This was safety, this was home, this was trust and a solid life without strings or worry or vigilance.
He murmured love onto Draco’s lips over and over, moved inside that tight heat with careful precision, feeling Draco all around him like a safe haven, a home and a sanctuary.
Draco was voiceless that night; none of the heated cries or begging or demands, the verbal communication gone. His arms locked around Harry’s neck, fingers tangling in his hair. His legs, too, came around Harry’s waist, pressing them closer, and every time Harry drew out of Draco’s hot channel he could feel the strength of Draco’s calves against him, wanting him closer.
Everything was physical; Harry could feel Draco wanting him in the tension between his legs, in the hardness pressing into his stomach, the wet slide of precome on every downward thrust.
As Harry moved closer, sweaty and panting above Draco’s moving form, he felt the blond’s fingertips grow tight in his hair. He opened his eyes to look down at Draco, only to find grey orbs watching him already, blinking slowly.
Draco whispered, “Harry,” only once, and that was all it took. As he came, unable to stop himself, unable to deny those gorgeous eyes anything they wanted from him, he felt some part of him collapse, felt it peel away to leave something different, something that was only part of a greater whole.
It was strange, and disorienting, and he shook in Draco’s arms as he tried to take long, shaken breaths. He felt Draco’s hands smoothing his hair. Eventually he could make out words, that Draco was saying something low under his voice, smaller than a whisper.
“I have you,” he was saying, over and over. “I have you.”
Pairing: H/D
Rating: Nc-17
Disclaimer: Don’t own, please don’t sue.
Summary: The Auror trainees have to deal with their most grueling test yet... Latest chapter in the ‘Training’ Series. All other chapters on my LJ, let me know your thoughts!
Harry had hoped that dinner with Hermione and Ron would be a simple affair. Which was foolish, because ‘simple’ and ‘making Draco interact with people in a fashion resembling normalcy’ would just never go in the same sentence.
In the days leading up to the dinner, which had to be planned almost a week in advance so all parties could brace themselves accordingly, both Hermione and Draco had seen fit to discuss, insultingly and at great length, how Harry could possibly think it would work. Harry had thought it would be easy- there would be lots of preparations to preoccupy Hermione, lots of food to put in Draco’s mouth to keep him from talking, and lots of wine to keep everyone adequately sedate. Apparently he was alone in this sort of crazed optimism.
“There wouldn’t be enough details in the Queen’s wedding to keep Granger from nagging.”
“There isn’t an object on Earth big enough to sufficiently cork up Malfoy.”
Hermione had immediately demanded to know what to cook, and Draco had immediately demanded to know what to wear. Since the two of them clearly had their priorities sorted, that left Ron and Harry to speculate on the likelihood of anyone surviving the meal.
“It will literally be the last supper,” Ron said wistfully, “I really hope there’s cake.”
They were standing in the middle of the Auror Arena, which Malfoy fondly referred to as the Circle of Death, and they were preparing for...something that involved a lot of padding. Harry had once again become distracted by Draco’s endless chatter. The class had studied suspect identification the day before, which left Malfoy to ponder all the interesting tattoos he could acquire on the more scandalous parts of his body. He had been contemplating how the words “Slytherin Prince” would look draped in cursive across his hipbones, and Harry had gotten distracted by thinking about other words he wanted written on Draco’s hipbones...and then just Draco’s hipbones in general...
And then he’d gotten on to thinking about getting on his knees in front of Draco, and sucking and licking at that particular surface, and marking him with his teeth. Maybe he could make that permanent, maybe he could make it so that Draco thought of Harry’s mouth every time he looked at his hips, or saw them in a mirror......
.....and now he was putting on shin guards for some unknown reason.
He really needed to work on this.
Draco had wandered off to talk to the instructor about something, so Harry was left with Ron, who looked equally baffled by the proper placement of a mouth guard. Ron had been muttering darkly about their dinner that evening since its inception, and seemed to have finally accepted it as an inevitable and fatalistic truth.
“But Harry, I honestly doubt that there is enough whiskey in Ireland to make this dinner go well. I’ve been thinking I may use ear plugs. Hermione says that they’re for when you’re trying to fall asleep when something is too noisy, but I’m of the mind that Malfoy breathing is too noisy, which makes them appropriate dinnertime wear when Malfoy is present.”
Harry was only half-listening anyway, what with the fact that Malfoy had now patently gone missing and the alternative of not knowing what the hell was going on.
Finally, he turned to Ron, “Why are we padding up, again?”
Ron looked at him as though he were crazy, which was funny considering that Ron had just attempted to put a shoulder pad on as footwear.
“Dark spells practical. Harry, they’ve had this on the calendar for months.”
Ah, right. The practical. The test that was legend around incoming Aurors because it pitted classmates against one another, made them use Dark spells, and generally ended in someone getting badly hurt. They were also known for being of a peculiar kind of mind-screw, more often than not you were automatically placed in the ring with the person the trainers thought you would have the most difficult time fighting. Someone you really didn’t want to injure. And for anyone in the class with both a best friend and lover for the trainers to pick from, the test was cause for concern.
This was said to be the ultimate mental and emotional strain, where they tried to use every edge to get under your skin, into your head; they made you play your mind against your heart to see which would win out. It was said that if you were going to break, you broke in the ring. They would press any button they needed to, toy with you before testing you, just to see how you fared
Harry was suddenly filled with trepidation, and the strange niggling hope that he and Ron were thrown in the ring together.
Wait. He would rather hurt Ron?
Draco came back then, fully padded, which gave Harry an odd idea of how Draco would look if he was slightly more built and a little less on the thin side. He sidled up to Harry’s right, pressing his palm slightly against Harry’s lower back. The gesture was encouraging, supportive, a small sign of trust and acceptance, and Harry knew that Draco was trying to give Harry permission to hurt him if they were paired.
Fear dropped into Harry’s stomach. He couldn’t. He simply would not be able to hurt Draco intentionally like that; he would hesitate, and hold back, and even if he tried to throw a curse it would be completely half-hearted, and with the Dark Arts you really had to mean it to get it to work....
They were calling the first pair. There wasn’t any time to think, Harry didn’t know what to do..
“Draco Malfoy.” The trainer’s voice boomed over the Arena. Draco suddenly seemed terribly small and fragile next to Harry, even with all the padding, even with the fact that his eyes were confident and his shoulders flexed. He would look intimidating to any onlooker, anyone who didn’t know him, really know him, anyone who didn’t know that Draco was never physically violent unless absolutely cornered, unless there were no other choices or resources. Anyone else would think that Draco would hedge every advantage, take every shot he could get, would bring them down in a second unless they got him first.
But Harry knew Draco, and knew that when they called his name next, because they would, because they would know that Harry would never want to hurt him, he knew that he would rather fight Ron.
“Ronald Weasley.”
The shock was numbing, it froze Harry completely, as he realized he was already half-moving toward the Circle. He felt Ron tense to his left, watched Draco’s eyes from a distance as they widened with surprise.
There was an outbreak of intense murmurs from all the students as Ron looked frantically from Draco to Harry, and then back at Draco. The steely grey eyes were still holding that arrogant air that Draco always had when he was unsure, as if by giving the impression of success he could succeed without actually doing anything.
He must have looked defiant, to anyone else. Must have looked like he welcomed the fight, like he wanted it. To anyone else, he must have looked like he was planning his victory lap in his head.
Ron was walking into the ring, and Harry couldn’t decide if this was better or worse than having to fight Draco himself.
The two of them were tense and concentrated, Ron the clear physical dominator between them, and Draco’s eyes were sharp and calculating, looking for weakness-
Someone tapped Harry on the shoulder. Harry turned quickly, eager to get his attention back on the ring as soon as possible.
Ginny Weasley was standing behind him.
“Harry,” she whispered urgently, “I need to talk to you outside.”
Confusion clouded Harry’s eyes; he was shocked, why was Ginny here, what was happening..
“Harry,” she said again, “please.” And guilt tore at him, did she know about Draco, wouldn’t that hurt, what could he possibly say....
When he glanced back towards the ring he saw that Ron and Draco were circling each other, Ron tall and high off the ground, Draco bending lower, crouching like a snake ready to attack...
Ginny tugged at his wrist insistently. He was forced away from the Arena by Ginny’s voice again.
“Harry you don’t really know him. I can’t talk about this here but...there’s evidence, there’s proof...he isn’t who he says he is.” She had his attention then, and there was outrage and anger, and he was pulling her out into the hallway before she could say anything else and he thought, just before the Arena doors shut behind them, he heard a distant violent sound, a voice in pain...
“Explain.” He said, keeping his voice low to keep himself under control. “Do it fast, I have to get back in there.”
“Harry you have to know that you can’t trust him, you never could, no one ever did, not even during the war. The Aurors are keeping them here so they can watch him, so they can wait for him to make his move..”
“What... what are you talking about? He’s in there, he could be getting hurt right now and you think he’s....spying.... or something..”
“Not spying, Harry...but, he isn’t on our side, he isn’t going to get this job and then go around hunting his father’s old friends with you, Harry, you have to know that! You have to see that he...he’ll never stop being one of them.”
Harry stared at her, completely at a loss...why was this....why now....what did this mean...
“Harry,” she said, “you’ve said it yourself: he’s just like his father.”
“I love him. And I know him.” Harry said, because it was all he could think to say, it was the only thing he had left and that goddamned war had taken so much...it was not going to take this, nothing was taking this away.
He tore away from her, back into the Arena, back because the only way his body knew was back towards Draco, and if he could just reach him then this could all get sorted out.
Neither Ron nor Draco remained in the ring. The door shut behind him as that voice came over the loudspeaker again.
“Harry Potter.”
Harry felt disoriented and hollow, unsure of where to go but forward, Draco had been there minutes ago, what had happened, where were they now....
“Hannah Abbott.”
Harry watched Hannah approach the ring, and felt such a distance from himself, felt so far from his own body.
He was so confused, Ginny’s words racing in his mind, and Draco had said..when Hannah confronted him, ‘You’re just like your father,’ why did people keep saying that....
Hannah raised her wand, looking scared and small, and Harry realized that he didn’t want to hurt her.
He didn’t. For all he had been jealous, he had Draco, had the upper hand, and she had only said all those things because she was in pain, and Harry knew what pain felt like when poured from Draco Malfoy’s lips.
He knew how it felt to love Draco, and maybe she did, too. Maybe she knew the awful perfection of it, maybe she knew how tragic and exquisite Draco was, maybe she saw what Harry did....
But....but then....
Clarity descended on Harry, like water flowing over loose gravel; Hannah did not know Draco, could not love him. Just like Ginny couldn’t possibly know, and even if she did she wouldn’t understand...no one who knew Draco would ever put him up to his father’s image and say they were the same.
Hannah was raising her wand, a single word crossing the arch of her lips, he could see in her eyes that she meant it...
And that was the game. They were meant to use Dark spells, they were supposed to fight with everything they had, and the trainers were going to try to break them. They were straining him, pushing him mentally, testing him with Ginny and Ron and Draco, using his emotions against him, trying to disarm and throw him, just like they used him to throw Hannah. Harry’s mind was calm, because he knew what he had, he was sure of it, and it was something that Hannah most certainly did not.
He had Draco.
And then everything went black.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry woke in his bed at his apartment feeling a little harassed. It had been a really long day.
Draco’s face was peering over his face, looking like he was making an effort of appearing clinically discerning. He seemed to decide that Harry’s eyes being open and his breathing being regular meant that he was up for snuggling, and climbed into bed next to him.
“You were moaning something.” Draco said.
“Yes, well, I keep having these awful dreams where I have no idea what’s going on and people throw my best friends and lovers into situations where they battle to the death. All of which makes for a lot of moaning.”
Draco snuggled in closer to Harry’s side, confirming in Harry’s mind the pleasurable notion that he would never get out of bed again.
“So,” Draco prompted, “aren’t you going to ask what happened when Weasley and I came to fisticuffs?” His nose was close against Harry’s throat, and Harry’s arm went automatically around Draco’s shoulders, thinner now without any padding.
“No,” Harry answered, “because I already know what happened.” His hand rested on Draco’s lower back, the comforting gesture familiar and wonderful.
Draco made a small sound of indignant disbelief.
“I do,” Harry said, grinning a bit even though Draco couldn’t see, “I know you too well.”
“Impossible!” Draco protested, “I have only just moved in here and you have not even begun to scratch the infinite depth of my character.”
“You would never hurt someone who was throwing you a dinner party later in the week. That’s just bad manners.”
Draco was suspiciously silent for a moment. Harry’s grip went tight around his shoulders.
“Yes, well,” Draco muttered, “there had better be cake.”
Harry looked down, used his other hand to tilt Draco’s chin upward, kissed his lips soundly with that newfound calm that he had felt in the Arena; he had this, this was his.
“And I know,” Harry said against Draco’s open mouth, “that Ginny was a trick.”
Draco paused, either thinking for a moment or just enjoying the kiss. “They told me they were pulling that. That was part of my test. Whether or not I thought you’d believe it.” Draco was slowly moving over and on top of Harry, still pressed tight against him, both hands coming up to cradle his face.
“I didn’t.” Harry whispered, “I never would.”
“I know.” Draco said, hips moving in a slow and sensual rhythm, pressing against Harry, rubbing him in that way that was so perfect, that only Draco could do.
“So,” Harry said, hands sliding down Draco’s smooth back, feeling the muscles move under his touch, “does this mean that you trust me?”
“Of course.” Draco answered, and when Harry’s hands slid over his ass and spread his legs, he moved obligingly to straddle Harry, rubbing with more purposeful pacing over Harry’s hardness.
“What...what if..” Harry lost his train of thought when Draco started disrobing on top off him, shirt peeled off and jeans removed. “What if it was us?”
“What do you mean?” Draco replied, calmly sucking Harry’s neck while pulling at his belt.
“If we had to fight. Today, or ever. What then?” Harry managed, though Draco had taken hold of his cock and was rubbing in that slow, maddening pace.
Draco stilled above him, and Harry wanted to keep rubbing against Draco’s hand, wanted to come and wanted Draco to come with him, but this was important...
Draco let out a long breath, and moved off him completely. He rested on his back, laying next to Harry with a hand at his eyes, like it was painful.
But Harry had never known when to stop pressing. “What then, Draco?”
Draco sighed, “I don’t know.”
“I would never hurt you.” Harry blurted, unsure where this conversation was going but knowing he needed to say it.
“I thought about this,” Draco gestured to the scar across his chest, “when I was out there. I thought I would be fighting you again, I thought it would be like that.”
Harry moved closer to Draco’s pale profile, put his hand up to Draco’s jaw to tilt it again, this time so their eyes met.
“I couldn’t do it, Harry.” Draco said, his voice wispy and thin. “I couldn’t do it then, and I couldn’t do it now.”
Harry lifted himself above Draco, who looked small and vulnerable again, and maybe the only thing that could make him look like that was the idea of not being able to fulfill expectations. Harry knew that Draco would always give everything he had if someone was depending on him, if someone really wanted him to do something. A personality like Draco’s would be absolutely devastated by the inability to follow through, to complete a task, no matter how difficult or how impossible the odds. And here was something that he had thought he would need to do, a job he would need to complete, something he was absolutely sure he couldn’t even attempt.
Draco must have been terrified.
Harry leaned over, took Draco’s mouth with his again. He lifted himself completely over Draco, feeling broader and stronger than usual, feeling the desire to protect and defend and possess.
Harry did all the work that night; preparing Draco with adoring slowness, watching for even the most minor sign of discomfort. This promise between them, the mutual protection, was lovely and new for Harry, who had always felt the need to be the savior, to always been on the lookout for his loved ones. Draco could devastate Harry with a simple look, but there was the belief, as simple and as crazy as it was, that he would never take advantage of that power, and it surged through Harry like adrenaline every time he thought about it. This was safety, this was home, this was trust and a solid life without strings or worry or vigilance.
He murmured love onto Draco’s lips over and over, moved inside that tight heat with careful precision, feeling Draco all around him like a safe haven, a home and a sanctuary.
Draco was voiceless that night; none of the heated cries or begging or demands, the verbal communication gone. His arms locked around Harry’s neck, fingers tangling in his hair. His legs, too, came around Harry’s waist, pressing them closer, and every time Harry drew out of Draco’s hot channel he could feel the strength of Draco’s calves against him, wanting him closer.
Everything was physical; Harry could feel Draco wanting him in the tension between his legs, in the hardness pressing into his stomach, the wet slide of precome on every downward thrust.
As Harry moved closer, sweaty and panting above Draco’s moving form, he felt the blond’s fingertips grow tight in his hair. He opened his eyes to look down at Draco, only to find grey orbs watching him already, blinking slowly.
Draco whispered, “Harry,” only once, and that was all it took. As he came, unable to stop himself, unable to deny those gorgeous eyes anything they wanted from him, he felt some part of him collapse, felt it peel away to leave something different, something that was only part of a greater whole.
It was strange, and disorienting, and he shook in Draco’s arms as he tried to take long, shaken breaths. He felt Draco’s hands smoothing his hair. Eventually he could make out words, that Draco was saying something low under his voice, smaller than a whisper.
“I have you,” he was saying, over and over. “I have you.”