Chapter Sixteen of 'Acts of Life'- Satisfying
Chapter Fifteen.
Title: Acts of Life (16/?)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairings: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, eventual Harry/Draco
Rating: R
Warnings: Angst, some violence
Summary: That Harry returned Draco’s wand to him was only one small act in a life, one thing that he might have done or not done. But more acts succeed that one, and Harry and Draco find themselves sharing more and more of them.
Author’s Notes: Despite the angst warning, this story is more fluffy than anything else, and is episodic. It will be updated every Monday.
Chapter One.
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Sixteen-Satisfying
Damn, even the memory of Draco’s hands could make him hard.
And right now, he especially couldn’t afford that, since he was waiting for an urgent summons from Kingsley’s office to be explained to him.
Harry lounged back against the wall of the interrogation room, and tried to look more relaxed than he felt. At least he had loose robes on, and even though there were other people here, standing around the table and talking to each other, no one came close. From the way they peeped and ducked away, Harry thought they might be too much in awe.
Harry sighed, and all memories of pleasure and joy left his mind. The summons had come in the middle of the night. When he got to the Ministry, Auror Peterson, the one who’d taken such great delight in prodding Draco along at his trial, had brought him straight here. Her mouth had been tight. She hadn’t answered one of his questions.
That usually meant a crisis, and probably a political one that the Ministry would try to keep from getting any bigger. Harry smothered a yawn.
This is the sort of thing you asked for, he reminded himself, and straightened up as Kingsley swept into the room and everyone turned or nodded or reached out or ducked their heads as was their wont. The job isn’t all triumphs over goblins and bigoted anti-centaur people, not if you’re really going to make a difference.
Kingsley looked around as though making sure no one was missing, but since Harry still didn’t know what this was about, he wasn’t able to tell himself. Then Kingsley sighed and took the seat at the head of the table. Other people drifted to seats. Harry remained against the wall, but made sure that he looked respectful, which he really did want to feel like.
“I’m afraid that certain-elements of our society are more dissatisfied with their treatment during the war than anyone thought,” Kingsley said, and laid a scroll of parchment down on the table in front of him. A tap of his wand, and it became copies enough for everyone. Harry took a step nearer. He had learned that when Kingsley performed wordless magic quickly and casually like that, things were really serious.
“I don’t see what can be done to keep it quiet, right now, although I’d like to.” Kingsley paused, and Harry had the impression he was counting under his breath. Counting heads, maybe, or heads that were going to roll.
Then he turned and looked at Harry, and Harry realized what the numbers meant. He was trying to put off the moment when he had to call on Harry. “Mr. Potter,” Kingsley said slowly. “I’m afraid this relies on your knowledge of the people in question.”
“Are the goblins being troublesome again?” Harry asked, and ignored the grins as if he couldn’t see them. Kingsley gave him a quick nod as he came up to take his scroll, though. Harry inclined his head a little back. He and Kingsley were learning to work together better and better. Things like lessening the tension a little were the least Harry could do.
“Would that they were,” said Kingsley. “It might be easier to handle than this.”
The tone in his voice was so grim that Harry opened the scroll expecting to see that some Death Eaters had escaped from Azkaban. But when he saw the hastily-written report on the parchment, he groaned a little. A crisis in a different way.
A group had protested outside Hogwarts, apparently, saying that there should be a bigger memorial for the students who had died fighting in the Battle of Hogwarts, and money offered to the families of students who had survived but suffered under the Carrows. And one of the protestors was Ginny.
“I don’t see why we shouldn’t honor them with a memorial,” said Madam Turpin. “Why not, if they want one?’
“It’s not the memorial itself,” said Kingsley, and glanced at Harry. “It’s the injuries they caused, and the injuries taken by them when the Hit Wizards arrested them.”
“Who did they cause injuries to?” Harry asked at once. He seemed to be the only one who was willing to ask the question, from the gapes all around them.
“Slytherin students,” said Kingsley, and winced. “Specifically, students they said either ran away during the Battle of Hogwarts or didn’t help them during the year the Carrows were there.”
Harry sighed. “Even though most of those students would have been-what, fifteen or younger at the time?” Most of the Slytherins who had been in his year or Ginny’s would be out of the school by now, if they’d ever returned at all.
“Yes.”
“And what injuries did they take?” Everyone seemed to have appointed Harry spokesperson. Well, he’d had worse roles.
“One broken arm,” said Kingsley, and looked down at his scroll. “Seamus Finnegan’s right arm, apparently. Scratches, cuts, and bruises caused by resisting arrest.” He hesitated, but Harry had already seen the damning information at the very bottom of the scroll.
Ginny Weasley: cracked ribs due to being caught in a Blasting Curse, concussion due to falling when Stunned.
Harry shook his head in silent dismay. “Who was using a Blasting Curse?” he asked, looking up.
“Some of the Hogwarts professors came out to defend their students, and they used harsher magic than they should have, before realizing who it was.” Kingsley folded his hands on the table and regarded Harry evenly. “The question is, of course, what can we do about this without looking heartless in the eyes of the public?”
They were all looking at him, Harry realized. He wondered if that was only because he had been decisive, or because they knew that he was close friends with the Weasley family.
Harry sighed and turned to Kingsley. “Would you be willing to put up a memorial and dismiss this without charges?”
“The memorial, yes,” Kingsley said. “Although I would have to negotiate with the Headmistress as to whether we could really plant it where they want it. She’s ultimately the one with the last say over the Hogwarts grounds.” He hesitated. “I can dismiss this without charges as far as the resisting arrest part goes.”
“But you can’t guarantee that the Slytherin students’ families won’t press charges,” Harry finished. “Even against war heroes.”
Kingsley gave him a small, grim smile. “The fact that it was war heroes-at least in part-means this might actually gain more traction. Some people would feel that war heroes ought to have controlled themselves better.”
It was on the tip of Harry’s tongue to say, But they’re still only eighteen or nineteen, but he didn’t say it. It would only sound like he was making excuses, and he didn’t want to do that.
“Can I talk to them?” he asked.
“Of course.” Kingsley stood. “I’ll escort you down to the cells.”
*
Draco jerked out of sleep. For a second, he lay there, not knowing what had awakened him. It seemed like years ago, instead of only eighteen months, that a pounding on the headboard or an actual pounding with a torture curse would have brought him out of slumber, terrified because the Dark Lord or Aunt Bellatrix had an insane whim they wanted him to fulfill.
Then he realized it was the Floo, and he stood, dread warming him. He thought it must be word from Azkaban.
He decided that word from the Aurors would probably come by letter an instant before Harry’s face appeared in the fire. He looked devastated. Draco stretched out a hand automatically before remembering that it wouldn’t touch Harry.
“Can I come over?” Harry whispered.
“Of course,” Draco said, without hesitation.
Harry closed his eyes and nodded. Draco moved out of the way, a sharp tingling flooding him. This wasn’t the Floo in his bedroom. He had fallen asleep on the couch in the study, so it was only luck that Draco was the one who had answered Harry’s call at all, instead of a house-elf.
But from the way Harry looked when he came out of the Floo, staggering and catching his foot on the hearth with a soft swearing noise, Draco was glad that he had been the one to receive Harry.
“You look as though someone died,” Draco blurted out, and then tensed. He had heard some disturbing things about the living Weasley twin, some from newspaper articles and some from hints Harry had dropped. It really could be suicide or something like that, and then Draco would feel like an awful arse for having spoken out of turn.
But Harry didn’t start and glare at him in offense. “Just a difficult situation,” he muttered. “Involving politics and personal friends and-” He turned and stared at Draco desperately. “I’ll tell you all about it in the morning. I can’t do anything else about it right now, anyway. Can I-can I hold you?”
Draco studied Harry for a moment, and then grinned. If this had been the first time they would be together, he might have hesitated, but he had that memory of Harry’s pure desire in Diagon Alley. He thought he could also give Harry what he needed now.
“Is that all you want to do?” he asked.
Harry’s face lit up in a way Draco hadn’t known it could do, this late at night, and then he shoved Draco back onto the couch. Draco thought Harry would fall on top of him and tried to open his legs and arrange himself provocatively at the same time.
Harry did put a hand on his groin, but not in the way Draco had expected. Instead, he simply drew out Draco’s cock, bold as you please.
And then he dropped to his knees and grabbed Draco in his mouth so fast that Draco yelped.
Harry paused and looked up at him. Draco could feel the message there as if it had been words. Did I hurt you?
Draco pressed hastily downwards with his hands and upwards with his hips. Reassured, Harry went back to licking and slopping around his cock. Draco fell back on the couch and tried not to hope for more political crises that would make Harry want to do this, in the moments before the pleasure swept him away.
*
Harry hadn’t exactly thought he would be doing this when he came over to Draco’s house, but the futility and helplessness that had pounded in him like a drum most of the night disappeared as he watched Draco strain his neck backwards and then bang his head against the pillow as if he wanted to go still further.
At least I can make someone happy. At least I know that I’m not disappointing everyone.
The expression on Draco’s face removed any thoughts of interrogation rooms and holding cells after that, and Harry bent his head and attacked his task with a will. Draco tasted differently than Harry had thought he would. Less sour, more like just plain skin. Well, and heat. And maybe there was a hint of scent.
But Harry didn’t have to think about it. He just had to think about sucking, and using his tongue in long, slow laps, and making sure his teeth didn’t touch. Draco cried out and screwed a hand into his hair, but didn’t actually press down with it, the way Harry had thought would happen. He just twisted his hips and cried out again and again, soft whispery sounds that made Harry feel as though someone was jerking a hot wire through his chest and down to his groin.
He had to reach down and grip himself after a few minutes. This was so good, the sounds and the scent that was rising from Draco and-
Harry didn’t know where he got the impulse. It just, there was his mouth working Draco and his hand on his own cock and it seemed like pure common sense to slip his other hand up and into the gap of Draco’s robe, seeking his balls, then further back along the skin there, softer than even the skin on Draco’s wrist.
Draco gave what sounded like a desperate scream and came. Harry choked, fumbled, coughed, and ended up getting a lot of it on his robes. That didn’t bother him, though. All he had to do was think about what it would have been like to show up in these robes in front of disappointed Wizengamot members and he started grinning like a mad thing.
He swallowed a little, decided the taste wasn’t too bad but could be better, and sat back on his heels to watch Draco recover while he wanked himself. Draco had opened his eyes just before Harry leaned back and gave himself over to his own orgasm. Draco watched in silence, then looked at Harry’s face and licked his lips.
Harry cast several Cleaning Charms, then held out his hand. Draco rose as softly and obediently as though he was the guest and Harry was the host leading him to bed.
Harry didn’t let go of his hand as he led Draco out of the study and up to his bedroom. There were lots of candles and shadows there, and a house-elf who appeared, looked at them, squeaked, and laid out two sets of pyjamas. Harry helped Draco, bone-languid, into one and ended up using only the shirt of the other set; Draco’s clothes were too small in the legs for him.
Then they did a sort of slow-motion fall into bed together, and Draco wrapped himself indiscriminately around his pillow and Harry and went to sleep at once. Harry stayed awake a few minutes longer. He had thought he’d look in interest around Draco’s bedroom, but instead, he found it hard to glance away from Draco’s face.
I like him a lot.
Then he accepted his fate as a pillow, and went rather happily to sleep himself.
Chapter Seventeen.
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