Fic: 'Happily Ever After' HP/DM NC17
Title - Happily Ever After
Author - softly_sweetly
Beta - nolagal
Rating - NC17
Word Count - ~6500
Characters/Pairings - Harry/Draco
Warnings - Slash, Fluff, Sex
Disclaimer - I own nothing but the plot lines. I make no money from this, and mean no offence by any scene depicted within this story. All characters depicted in sexual situations herein are above the age of consent.
Summary - Draco has been rescued from a life of hardship by a mystery man, and soon finds himself developing feelings. But the man remains hidden, and it takes all of Draco's Slytherin cunning to reveal his hero's face
Author's Notes - Written for the 2009 bottom_draco fairytale fest, and counts to prompt #1 Cupid & Psyche of my mission_insane Inspired By Table: Fairytales
"Come on, Malfoy, you're leaving."
No five words had ever sounded so sweet, and Draco tripped over his own feet in his haste to get up off the uncomfortable bunk and across to the open door. He'd almost forgotten how painful Azkaban could be.
Right after the war, the Ministry had brought in legislation that required each and every witch and wizard accused of crimes in the war to have a sponsor, someone who would vouch for their good behaviour. If they didn't have a sponsor, then they were kept in Azkaban. His mother had been cleared of all charges and had immediately signed herself as the sponsor for both Draco and his father. It wasn't an ideal life, confined to always be within a hundred miles of his mother's home due to wards placed on him, but it was better than Azkaban and had worked for Draco for many years.
But then, on the eve of the fifth anniversary of the end of the war, a small group of drunk, bitter wizards had decided that someone should be slain, the blood of a Death Eater should spill to mark the occasion.
It was ironic that, for once, Lucius had insisted Narcissa stay at home and he would venture out for the potions refills they had needed. His wand snapped in two for his high-level position in Voldemort's order, Lucius had no way to defend himself.
Three weeks later, his mother had died of a broken heart. Draco was twenty-three years old.
The ground had only just smoothed out over her freshly-dug grave when the Aurors slipped a pair of magical bracelets onto his wrists, binding his hands and preventing any kind of Apparition - difficult to do considering his wand was in two halves somewhere in the Department of Mysteries' evidence hall. The tears were still wet on his cheeks as he was Side-Along Apparated back to Azkaban. With his mother dead, he no longer had a sponsor. His suspended sentence was no longer suspended.
Draco had resigned himself to rotting in the place, slowly going mad in the hellhole, following in his Aunt Bella's footsteps and ending up a deranged loony pledging allegiance and his body to the first psychopath he came across. And yet, it had only been six short days, six long nights, and they were letting him out again. Unless, of course, this was some cruel trick, some sport for the guards; raise his hopes and then dash them.
"I don't understand, who would sponsor me?"
"Dunno, Malfoy. But someone has, so unless you want to stay here..."
The guard didn't need to trail off menacingly; Draco was out the door like a hex, shooting into the hallway and wheeling right, where he knew the exit lay. Sixteen long strides - he'd counted thirty two short steps when he shuffled reluctantly back into Azkaban the week before - and Draco was out of the dingy hallways, out into the clean, pleasant room where the guards' station was, and a man in a smart set of dress robes was waiting for him. "Thank you, I..."
"I am acting on behalf of a client, who wishes to remain anonymous. The same conditions apply to this sponsorship as did your last one; do you accept these conditions?"
"Yes, but who is..."
"As I said, they wish to remain anonymous. If you'll sign here, here, print here, date here, and sign again here, here and here, we can be on our way."
The man's brisk efficiency was cold and clinical, his fingers jabbing at the places on the long roll of parchment where Draco needed to sign. Picking up a quill from the table, Draco signed, dated and printed as he had been told, all the while suspecting that this was an elaborate hoax. Because who would go to all the trouble of making their sponsorship anonymous, just for him?
The man held out a box to him, and Draco took it. Flipping it open, his breath caught in his throat. "This... it's a wand."
"Most observant of you. My client has pulled the required strings, to give you a measure of freedom. Use it wisely. Guard, thank you for your time."
The man turned to leave, and Draco panicked. "Wait, where do I go?"
Sneering at him, the man tossed a small piece of parchment at Draco. Without another word, the man turned around and walked out of the room, leaving Draco all alone. Drawing his new wand Draco unfurled the parchment and read the address. Hope House. The irony in the name wasn't lost on him as he felt a subtle realisation wash over him, the result of a Fidelius charm letting him in on the secret. Screwing up his courage, Draco walked towards the door. No one stopped him. As he reached out for the door, the bracelet on his arm glowed bright, heating up against his skin before it dissolved away into the air. That, more than anything, proved to him that this was no hoax; he was free.
Draco focussed on the address, desperate to meet his mystery benefactor. But when he opened his eyes again, swallowing against the Apparition-induced nausea, Draco found himself alone in a sweeping entrance hall. The surfaces were black marble, the fixtures solid silver, and for a few moments Draco was speechless as he took in the beauty of his new home.
"Do you like it?"
The voice startled him, and Draco spun around, staring at the large front doors in confusion. He spun around on the spot, but there was no one there. Yet, he hadn't imagined that voice, nor did he imagine the small chuckle, and the hand on his arm.
"Don't be afraid. You're perfectly safe here."
"Show yourself." Draco drew the wand, pointing it in the vague direction of the voice, his heart beating a bruise against his ribcage.
"I can't do that." The voice sounded genuinely apologetic, male, and yet not-quite human. Draco focussed on it, and recognised a Voice Charm. Even if he knew this person, the charm would mask the voice and prevent Draco recognising it.
Holding his wand higher, Draco opened his mouth to speak again, but the invisible voice cut him off. "Please, don't be scared. I have my reasons for staying hidden."
"If you're so ashamed to be associated with me, why free me in the first place?" Draco tried to sound confident, but it was hard to sneer when you didn't have a target to fix on.
"I could never be ashamed of you, Draco. I've been watching over you for so long now, trying to find an excuse to save you from the constant abuse, from the bastard in the Apothecary who took advantage of your talents for that pittance of a wage, and I..."
"And you what?" Draco cut in, lowering his wand a little, but still keeping a tight grip on it. "You thought you'd save me? Merlin, you must be Potter's long lost twin, with this pathological need to fly in and save people who were coping perfectly well on their own."
There was silence for a few minutes, and Draco was almost worried that he'd pushed too hard. Then, speech. "Being imprisoned in Azkaban was coping?"
The words were delivered like a slap in the face; cold and hard, and more than enough to make Draco realise whoever this person was, they were powerful and they had a temper. Which, when it was taken into consideration he was a Malfoy with a wand he hadn't chosen himself, meant it could be anyone in the Wizarding World.
"Perhaps not. But I... I was coping as well as I could have hoped for, after the war."
"Why do you say that?"
Draco laughed dryly, finally letting his wand hand fall to his side. "Perhaps you're new around here. My father was a Death Eater, and the entire world thinks my mother and I were, too. That I even got a job was a miracle."
"Do you have the Dark Mark?"
"No, but I..."
"I know you weren't a Death Eater. Neither was your mother. And your father... the Ministry took everything from your family; I know that. No one had any right to take his life, too and your mother's by default."
Draco sighed, bringing his free hand up to his eyes and rubbing softly. "I didn't say they had the right. But you must have realised I'm one of the most hated people in the world when you signed on for this, so why put yourself in this position to begin with?"
Silence, and Draco imagined the person shrugging. Finally, an answer came. "I've always wanted to save you."
Except, that wasn't an answer at all, and Draco found his wand arm rising again as irritation coursed through his veins. "Why can't I see who you are?"
"That's just the way it is. You get your freedom, a wand, and anything you want. You get my companionship and my friendship. But you can't see my face. Ever. If you can't live like this, Draco, speak now."
There was a finality in the words that gave Draco pause, made him hold back any number of curses his subconscious had been throwing up, that would cause this man to reveal himself. Looking around the entrance hall again, Draco's eyes rested on the wand in his hand. Nothing that had happened had made Draco feel threatened or unsafe. And this was a battle he could always pick up later.
"I don't want to go back to Azkaban."
"I'm glad. You have the run of the house, and in your room there are details of a Gringotts account and my tab numbers at most stores. You can buy anything you want; money is no object. Your room is in the east wing of the house. All I ask is that you don't go into the west wing, or try and force me to reveal myself. This is for the best, believe me."
Draco nodded, staring at the space where the words were coming from. "How will I know when you're here?"
"I'll make myself known."
Sighing, Draco shook his head softly. "Fine, whatever. I need a bath." Without waiting for a response, Draco turned and started climbing the stairs, hearing a door close somewhere on the ground floor. After a good night's sleep, he'd be better able to deal with this new set of conditions.
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
But the next morning, Draco was no wiser as to how to deal with his new situation. He woke up to the smell of coffee, and drank the mug full on his bedside table down greedily, until he realised it meant his mystery benefactor had been in his room.
Exploring his room the night before, Draco had found all his own belongings from his former home with his parents - the things the Ministry hadn't taken as reparation - and twice as many new things. Throwing on his own dressing gown, even though the new one looked much warmer, Draco stormed down the stairs, following the smell of coffee into the dining room. He was about to start yelling when a little house elf appeared, and smiled at him.
"Master sent Lucy up with coffee, and said to find out what Mister Draco liked for breakfast?"
"I..." Draco paused, studying the house elf carefully. She looked well-cared for, so whoever owned this house was well-thought of by the Ministry - only those who could prove they would treat them well were allowed to employ House Elves. "What's your name, elf?"
"Lucy."
"That's a very pretty name." Draco slid onto one of the chairs around the large dining table. "And Master... oh, I'm so bad with names. Could you remind me?"
"Master said you would be tricksy, but Lucy is a good elf. Would you like breakfast?"
Draco may not have liked House Elves much, but he knew them well, and he knew the steely determination in Lucy's eyes was her loyalty to her master. He wouldn't get anything out of her. "Bacon and eggs, and some more coffee. Has the man of the house left already?"
"Oh yes. He keeps another house for his business life, and will stay there most of the time, he said to tell you. He said to tell you also that you are free to do what you want, and that your wards are keyed into this house, and not Master, so you can be no more than one hundred miles from the house. But he doesn't think you should leave the house much. Lucy will fetch your breakfast now."
Pulling the morning Prophettowards him, Draco read the front page, some large bust the Aurors had effected, with Potter skulking at the edge of the picture, trying not to be in the frame. Draco smiled tightly, and opened the paper. Until this mystery man returned, he had nothing to do but wait. But the smile melted off his face when he saw the inside headlines. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised, that Potter had pipped him to the front page.
Murdering Malfoy released from Azkaban
Families of his victims ask who could take in a killer?
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
Draco had attempted to leave the house twice in the past few weeks, but it had ended badly. He'd found himself resorting to the open tabs that his benefactor had left him to order anything he needed, and regularly had the Floo Call hung up on him as soon as he'd placed the order. Whatever his benefactor had on the shopkeepers, to make them serve Draco in the first place, must be huge.
Three days after the article had appeared, the Prophet had printed a half-page retraction of their claims about him, acknowledging that he had never killed anyone, and as he had been vouched for by an upstanding citizen, should be treated as a free man. Draco had tossed that paper into the fire along with all the others, somehow comforted by the fact that things never changed, and the Prophet was still a rag dressed up as a newspaper.
Every time the wind caught a door, or the House Elf came to see if he wanted a coffee, Draco hoped it would be his mystery man. He didn't have any more questions since he'd first set foot in the house, but those questions he did have still burned bright. He couldn't figure out why anyone would vouch for him - none of his school friends would have been able to, thanks to the Ministry regulations on who counted as an upstanding citizen - and Draco just couldn't think of anyone else who would take the chance. Further, he couldn't get his head around why this person would want to keep their identity hidden, and why they wouldn't be treating him as the hired help to make it worth their while. Draco had tentatively applied for jobs, and been rejected across the board. He couldn't bring any money into the house, couldn't really do anything but skulk around and admire a home that wasn't his.
"It is your home."
Draco jolted, putting down the vase he'd been admiring and turning around. There was no one there. "What?"
"You think very loudly. It is your home, Draco, and I don't expect you to bring any money in."
"You need to wear a bell around your neck. Can you blame me for questioning this peculiar set-up?"
"Have I not given you enough answers?"
"Well, that depends. Last time I check, you were still refusing to tell me your name." There was silence, and Draco folded his arms. He wasn't going to give in on this. There was no reason to hide identities, unless Draco was such a burden. Or if the man was somehow horribly disfigured and...
"I'm not disfigured. And I'm not ashamed. I'm just not ready for you to know who I am. Surely that shouldn't impede our friendship?"
"Impede our... no, because making me talk to thin air is entirely rational and conducive to my own good mental health."
A small jewellery box floated up from the table, bouncing up and down in the air. It was clearly being tossed. "I'm not thin air. See?"
Draco caught the box reflexively, tossing it back automatically and smirking when the mystery man let out an oof. "You expect me to just address the air and hope that I'll get a response?"
"Call me Harry."
"Very funny." Draco rolled his eyes, folding his arms again and shaking his head. "Everyone wants to be the hero. He'd have left me to rot in Azkaban, you know."
"If you say so."
"I do. But fine, you want to be called Harry, good for you. So, Harry, why don't you explain what I'm supposed to do with the rest of my life, trapped inside this house?"
Draco could almost hear the shrug, and he quirked an eyebrow. He had a pretty good idea where this man was standing, and was fully prepared to throw a sneer or two if he had to.
"Take up a hobby. You like to paint, don't you?"
"Says who?"
"Says the books on art and technique that I rescued from your house before the Ministry levelled the place. You can't tell me that this house and the surrounding countryside, doesn't provide you with plenty of inspiration."
"I could draw you."
"Or we could have dinner."
Listening to the finality in the words, Draco shrugged softly. "Whatever."
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
Though he'd had no idea how he would fill his time, Draco had managed to occupy six months of his life in the house and even felt at home now. His mystery man spent most evenings and weekends at the house, and Draco had almost worked out a pattern in the times when the man wasn't here, and the times that there were reports of Auror raids in the papers. It wasn't that Draco didn't respect this man's wish to remain anonymous, but his curiosity was killing him. He wanted to know who he was talking to when they listened to the Quidditch on the wireless, or played chess, or did any of the other hundred things they'd done over the months. Draco wanted to know who else could be as happy as he was to draw a line under the past and think only about the future.
Draco wanted to know who he was developing feelings for.
But his mystery man - and Draco did think of the man as his - remained silent, leaving Draco to wonder and guess. But Draco thought he was closer to guessing, and was so engrossed in his notes that he didn't hear the door open.
"What are you doing?"
Jolting, Draco knocked the ink all over the table, ruining his parchment but luckily obscuring the numbers and lists, and the crossed out names of men he'd suspected and then dismissed. He tried to subtly cover that morning's Prophet with his arm. "Nothing."
"Does it really matter that much, what I look like? Are you that shallow that all of the friendship, and the gifts, and the safe home, become irrelevant if I don't meet your standards of attractiveness?"
Draco felt like he'd been slapped, and he stood up quickly, shaking the spilled ink off his sleeve as he tried to figure out where the man was stood, so he knew where to aim his apology. "It isn't that, at all. I just want to know who would be this generous and kind and..."
"Don't suck up to me, it doesn't suit you."
Reeling, Draco looked around the conservatory hopelessly, searching for something in the airy room that would help him get out of this mess. There was nothing, and Draco was left with only his wit to right the situation. He couldn't even remember why he wanted to know anymore, just that he did. He doubted that there was anyone who could reveal themselves and startle him, or stop the way his chest got tight every time he heard that voice.
Reaching his hand out, Draco groped around in the air until his fingers brushed against something soft. Hair.
"What are you doing?"
"I just wanted to know," Draco answered, tightening his grip on the hair so that he had some vague idea where to aim at. He probably looked unbelievably stupid, but when Draco hadn't been trying to work out who had taken him home, or lost in his art, he'd been imagining this. Using his hand as a guide, Draco leaned forwards until his lips hit a stubbly chin. It was hardly the most dignified kiss he'd ever given, but when he finally found a pair of lips, Draco made it worthwhile, closing his eyes and not thinking about how this would look to an observer, just focusing on moving his lips over his mystery man's and coaxing the tension out of the body that he'd somehow wound his arms around.
Stepping back, Draco opened his eyes and smiled at the point in space where the man's face was. "I just wanted to know what I was getting myself in to."
"Oh." The silence stretched out, yawning between them until it snapped closed with a little cough from the other man. "I'll go and make some tea."
Draco watched a coffee table and a chair jolt out of the way, and the door swing open and closed. Left alone in the conservatory, Draco's mind went into overdrive as he stroked his thumb over his lips. Clumsiness, likely an Auror, immediately assuming Draco was shallow. Draco had kept his promise and kept out of the west wing of the house, but he reckoned that if he went searching, he'd find a wardrobe full of red and gold Quidditch uniforms. But clearly this man had grown up since they were childhood rivals, and it was almost Slytherin the way in which he had told Draco his name, and successfully kept Draco from realising who he was for six months.
The door creaked open again, teacups clattering on a tray that floated over towards the coffee table. As the sofa dipped next to him, Draco smiled. "Hello, Harry. Can we start again?"
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
Draco kept quiet about knowing it was Harry behind the Invisibility Spell. And once he stopped searching for answers, Draco was free to spend all of his time getting to know his "mystery" man. Harry seemed to be spending more time at the house, sharing cups of tea and meals with Draco, sometimes letting Lucy cook, and sometimes showing off with his own cooking skills. They were surprisingly good, and watching ingredients appear to fling themselves towards imminent death in hot pans was highly amusing. Draco taught Harry to play poker, and proceeded to win everything but the Invisibility Charm from his back. Harry taught Draco how to play Cricket, and Draco discovered an unknown talent for bowling, running full pelt across the home pitch in the grounds, flinging the red ball at the bat that appeared to be floating in mid-air, and then watching Harry send the ball flying through the sky.
It was after one such game that Draco, sweaty and tired, took things further than the one kiss they'd shared weeks ago. As Harry made noises about cooking dinner, Draco excused himself to go and have a bath. He needed to be clean, but he also needed to do something about the arousal that had been bubbling in the back of his mind all afternoon. Unable to see Harry, Draco had to use his imagination, piece together how Harry must look from the pictures that were regularly in The Prophet, picturing him in cricket whites and flushed with exertion. Draco was rapidly discovering that his own imagination was far more stimulating than the flesh magazines he had in the drawer next to his bed.
Stripping off and tossing his whites onto the floor, Draco started the bath running as he hopped out of his socks and ran a brush through his hair. He was so caught up in trying to do both of those tasks at once that he almost missed the creaking at the opening of his bedroom door. Falling still, Draco listened but didn't hear any more footsteps. Clearly, Harry had stopped moving.
Turning the taps off, Draco smirked as he picked up a jar of bath salts. Very carefully, he poured a little line next to the door, putting the jar back on the shelf before he opened the door halfway. Imagining he could feel Harry's eyes on his back as he turned around, Draco sank into the huge bath and relaxed back against the edge of the bath. It was huge - almost as big as the one in the Prefects' bathroom at Hogwarts - and was sunk into the ground. So, although the door stayed perfectly in place, Draco was at eye level to the ground and could see when the little line of bath salts was disturbed. Draco bit back another smirk, resting his head against the tiles as he waited for Harry to find the perfect vantage point. Along with his Slytherin streak, Harry apparently also had a healthy kinky side.
Draco moved one of his hands from the edge of the bath, swishing it through the water as he weighed up his options. He could put on a display for Harry, show Harry exactly what he was missing. Or, he could turn this from a spectator sport to audience participation. "I know you're there, Harry."
Though he kept silent, Harry gave away his position by knocking the jar of bath salts off the shelf. Draco smirked, and opened his eyes, looking up at roughly where he thought Harry's eyes would be. "You can do more than just look, if you want?"
Working as an Auror had been good to Harry. Instead of the bumbling teenager that Draco had spoken to last - or, at least, had last been able to see and speak to at the same time - a pile of cricket whites appeared on the floor, and then the water was being displaced as something unseen worked its way towards Draco. It showed a quiet confidence that Draco admired greatly. And was more than a little aroused by. Even though he couldn't see Harry, Draco could feel Harry's breath on his cheek, and he waited. He'd taken the initiative last time; it was Harry's turn now. And Harry didn't disappoint, his hands coming up to cup Draco's face before running through his hair. The water on Harry's hands was warm, and made the hairs on the back of Draco's neck stand up as it trickled over his skin.
He couldn't see Harry anyway, so it didn't matter when Draco closed his eyes. Harry kissed him soon after, locking their lips together as Draco melted back against the side of the bath. Draco could kiss Harry forever, the embrace soft and firm at the same time, Harry taking control of the kiss but not making Draco feel out of control. Draco's hands had found Harry's back out of instinct, running up and down Harry's damp skin for a few moments before Draco worked up the courage to dip lower. Squeezing his hands around Harry's buttocks, Draco smiled when Harry broke the kiss, groaning softly. "Nice arse."
Hands squeezed firmly around his own arse, a finger ghosting down the cleft and making Draco shiver. "I could say the same."
Draco preened at the compliment, wishing he could hear it said in Harry's real voice, and not in the distorted sound of a voice charm. But he could wait, for now. Pulling Harry closer, Draco pushed their lips together again as he rocked his hips against Harry's. Harry had clearly been playing in a similar state of arousal to Draco, and Draco reluctantly let one hand fall from Harry's arse, bringing it between their bodies to grab Harry's shaft gently. Harry tensed, and Draco pulled back from the kiss. "Do you not want to?"
There was a long pause before teeth nipped gently at Draco's chin. "No, I do. Here?"
Draco nodded, holding out his hand and summoning a little jar of oil over. It was that long since he'd been with anyone like this that Draco had forgotten where the boundaries on what was acceptable and what was too forward lay. But if Harry thought this was too forward, he wasn't mentioning it. In fact, from the way he was sucking on Draco's neck, leaving a pattern of love bites that Draco would have for days, Harry was all for moving forwards as quickly as was possible.
Pushing the little jar into Harry's hand, Draco walked them through the water and towards the side of the bath which had the steps on. Sitting on the edge of one of the steps, Draco pulled Harry against him and got himself comfortable leaning along the steps.
"Turn around." The command was accompanied by Harry's hands on his waist, and Draco let himself be moved into a new position, kneeling on one of the lower steps with his forearms rested on the top step. "You'd hurt your back the other way."
Draco smiled, glancing over his shoulder as he heard the jar clinking open. "So considerate."
"You know it." The oil dribbled out of the jar, falling through the air before it seemed to pause of its own accord. Draco straightened his neck, resting his forehead on his arms as one of Harry's hands settled on his arse, spreading him open. The oil was warm and slick as Harry's finger ringed around Draco's entrance, teasing him before it dipped in slowly. Draco pushed back, too aroused to be satisfied by a single finger. He wanted Harry in him right now, and ground his teeth to stop from begging like a Knockturn faithful.
The second slick finger broke Draco's resolve, and as he pushed his hips back into Harry's hand, he bit out, "More, Harry."
Harry groaned, whether from the act itself, or from hearing Draco moan his name, still thinking Draco didn't know exactly who he was about to fuck. The third finger came much quicker than the second had, and Draco dropped his head back onto his arms as Harry flexed him open. When Harry's fingers withdrew, Draco knew this was the edge. He'd let Harry have this one time; next time, they would both be able to see each other.
The oil jar clinked again, the wet slapping sound of Harry's slick hand on his shaft echoing around the hot bathroom. Draco looked ahead, watched the condensation beading down the tiled walls as he felt Harry getting into position behind him. The head of Harry's cock felt warm and firm as it pressed against his arse, and Draco focused on relaxing his body, breathing deeply as Harry began to inch forwards. When Harry's hips were pressing into his arse, Draco finally let himself moan in satisfaction, rolling his hips slowly to grind down against Harry.
"God, you look incredible."
Draco kept his witty retort to himself, reaching underneath his body to stroke his shaft firmly. He didn't want to ruin the moment by pressing Harry to reveal himself, but Draco would return to that point later. Right now, he just wanted Harry to move.
Over the months, either Draco had got better at shielding his thoughts or Harry had stopped trying to hear them. But that one thought had been broadcast long and loud, because almost as soon as Draco had wished it, Harry drew his hips back and thrust in firmly. Draco jolted forwards, sliding across the wet tiles and scrabbling for purchase. He finally found it, flattening his hand against some of the rough tiles and arching his back. Harry took the hint, thrusting in earnest as Draco worked to keep his balance with one hand, and wank himself in rhythm with Harry's thrusts with the other hand.
Apart from self-love, Draco hadn't had sex in years, and he could already feel himself approaching the edge. He held out as long as he could but Harry was good. Long, deep strokes, a steady stream of whispered praise and filth, and his hand skating up and down Draco's back; the sensations all added together to push Draco higher and higher. Dropping his arm down onto the tiles, and resting his head on it, Draco cried out as his orgasm washed over him. His stomach cramped and his limbs trembled, his hand aching from the curled position it had been in for a prolonged period, but none of that could detract from the pleasure that sparked from the base of his spine and radiated outwards.
Sagging against the tiles, Draco focused on catching his breath as Harry kept thrusting, lasting out for an impressive length of time before his thrusts faltered, and he curled over Draco's back, breathing heavily.
Raising his head slightly, Draco turned his head to the side and invited, "Are you coming to bed?"
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
Draco wouldn't have known he wasn't alone in bed if it wasn't for the steady snoring, and the rumpled bed sheets where Harry was lay. Nursing the cup in his hand, Draco weighed up his options again. He felt safe in this house, felt at peace with Harry, and Draco didn't want to upset that. It didn't even bother him that if he ruined things with Harry, he ran the risk of being sent back to Azkaban - the only thing that made him pause was the desire not to hurt Harry. But Draco couldn't live like this; he needed to see Harry's face, to focus on lips when they were talking, eyes when they were kissing. And he'd seen pictures of Harry in The Prophet - Harry wasn't deformed, or anything approaching unattractive. Draco couldn't fathom out why Harry would want to stay invisible, but he knew he couldn't spend the rest of his life staring at the walls. At what point Draco had begun to factor Harry into his plans for the rest of his life he didn't know, but it felt like the most natural thing in the world now.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Draco reached out and groped around until his fingers closed around Harry's shoulder. Shaking him awake softly, Draco smiled when Harry mumbled, and held the mug of coffee out. "Morning."
"Morning." The cup was pulled away from his hands, and Draco watched as it was raised up, and tipped. When the cup was put back on the bedside table, Draco stayed and waited. It only took a few minutes for Harry to shimmer into view, sprawled out against the pillows with a smile on his face. He looked incredible, his hair mussed and his neck and chest littered with love bites, even some teeth marks from where Draco had got ahead of himself.
Draco just stared, and after a few moments, Harry opened his eyes. "What?"
"Nothing." Draco shook his head, but Harry's eyes had widened, and Draco was almost knocked off the bed by Harry's arm as it swung up into the air.
"Draco!"
Fear crossed Harry's face, and Draco reached out, pressing his hands against Harry's chest and using his weight to keep Harry pinned down. "Please, Harry, listen to me-"
"How could you trick me? After everything I-"
Draco leaned down, pressing his lips against Harry's. The kiss seemed to still Harry, stop him from struggling against Draco, and Draco took his chance. "Look, I worked out it was you ages ago. I didn't say because it doesn't matter. But I couldn't work out why you would keep it hidden?"
Harry stayed silent for a long time, his eyes closed and his head back against the pillows. When he did open his eyes, there was a steeliness there that made Draco worry that he had pushed too far.
"Harry?"
"I didn't think you'd come, if you knew it was me."
Draco laughed, more out of disbelief than mirth. "You thought I'd stay in Azkaban over coming with you?"
"Well, we were hardly friends, were we?"
Draco shook his head softly. "No, I suppose we weren't. But in that case, why do any of this to begin with?"
Harry shrugged. "I couldn't bear to see you hurting. I always thought it was just a stupid childhood crush, but then I didn't grow out of it. And even though we weren't at school anymore, and we didn't have to see each other every day, I still thought about you all the time. I just never thought you'd want me, if you knew it was me."
Draco let his hand slide up from Harry's chest, relieved when Harry didn't immediately try and get away from him. "Harry, I worked it out weeks ago. It was a stroke of genius, you giving me your name and making me sure it was anyone else but you. But then I put it all together, and I knew exactly what I was getting myself into. And Harry, who wouldn't want you?"
Harry coloured up at the compliment, hauling himself into a sitting position. "What was in the coffee?"
"Liquid Anti-Incantation. My job may have been crap, but it gave me opportunity to practice my brewing. I made it this morning."
"Why now?"
Draco shrugged. "Because I knew it was you. And because it was crushingly disappointing, to wake up with you and not be able to see you. Why keep hidden for so long?"
Harry stared down at the quilt, his thumbs twisting nervously. Draco reached out and closed his hand over Harry's, stilling his fidgeting. Harry met his eyes. "I wanted to get to know you, without all of our history. The War has been over for years, and yet it's still in everyone's eyes when they talk to me. I just wanted one thing, one place... one person, where the only thing that mattered was the present moment."
Draco nodded, squeezing his hand tighter and leaning closer to Harry. "Believe me, I understand all about not wanting to see your own past reflected in everyone else's eyes."
"Will you stay?"
The question made no sense to Draco, but he could see it mattered to Harry. He nodded slowly. "If you'll still have me?"
"Of course. I want a happily ever after, Draco. I've got the house and the money. All I need now is my own dashing prince."
Laughing, Draco stretched out on the bed, pushing Harry back into the mattress and smirking. "I can fill that role. And now that the dashing hero has been revealed, we can get on to the bit of the story that Beedle always left out of his books."
Harry looked confused until Draco leered, and then his face stretched into a smile, It was the single greatest thing Draco had ever seen. Reaching out for the little jar of oil, Draco smirked. "Let's get started on the happily ever after, then!"
Author - softly_sweetly
Beta - nolagal
Rating - NC17
Word Count - ~6500
Characters/Pairings - Harry/Draco
Warnings - Slash, Fluff, Sex
Disclaimer - I own nothing but the plot lines. I make no money from this, and mean no offence by any scene depicted within this story. All characters depicted in sexual situations herein are above the age of consent.
Summary - Draco has been rescued from a life of hardship by a mystery man, and soon finds himself developing feelings. But the man remains hidden, and it takes all of Draco's Slytherin cunning to reveal his hero's face
Author's Notes - Written for the 2009 bottom_draco fairytale fest, and counts to prompt #1 Cupid & Psyche of my mission_insane Inspired By Table: Fairytales
"Come on, Malfoy, you're leaving."
No five words had ever sounded so sweet, and Draco tripped over his own feet in his haste to get up off the uncomfortable bunk and across to the open door. He'd almost forgotten how painful Azkaban could be.
Right after the war, the Ministry had brought in legislation that required each and every witch and wizard accused of crimes in the war to have a sponsor, someone who would vouch for their good behaviour. If they didn't have a sponsor, then they were kept in Azkaban. His mother had been cleared of all charges and had immediately signed herself as the sponsor for both Draco and his father. It wasn't an ideal life, confined to always be within a hundred miles of his mother's home due to wards placed on him, but it was better than Azkaban and had worked for Draco for many years.
But then, on the eve of the fifth anniversary of the end of the war, a small group of drunk, bitter wizards had decided that someone should be slain, the blood of a Death Eater should spill to mark the occasion.
It was ironic that, for once, Lucius had insisted Narcissa stay at home and he would venture out for the potions refills they had needed. His wand snapped in two for his high-level position in Voldemort's order, Lucius had no way to defend himself.
Three weeks later, his mother had died of a broken heart. Draco was twenty-three years old.
The ground had only just smoothed out over her freshly-dug grave when the Aurors slipped a pair of magical bracelets onto his wrists, binding his hands and preventing any kind of Apparition - difficult to do considering his wand was in two halves somewhere in the Department of Mysteries' evidence hall. The tears were still wet on his cheeks as he was Side-Along Apparated back to Azkaban. With his mother dead, he no longer had a sponsor. His suspended sentence was no longer suspended.
Draco had resigned himself to rotting in the place, slowly going mad in the hellhole, following in his Aunt Bella's footsteps and ending up a deranged loony pledging allegiance and his body to the first psychopath he came across. And yet, it had only been six short days, six long nights, and they were letting him out again. Unless, of course, this was some cruel trick, some sport for the guards; raise his hopes and then dash them.
"I don't understand, who would sponsor me?"
"Dunno, Malfoy. But someone has, so unless you want to stay here..."
The guard didn't need to trail off menacingly; Draco was out the door like a hex, shooting into the hallway and wheeling right, where he knew the exit lay. Sixteen long strides - he'd counted thirty two short steps when he shuffled reluctantly back into Azkaban the week before - and Draco was out of the dingy hallways, out into the clean, pleasant room where the guards' station was, and a man in a smart set of dress robes was waiting for him. "Thank you, I..."
"I am acting on behalf of a client, who wishes to remain anonymous. The same conditions apply to this sponsorship as did your last one; do you accept these conditions?"
"Yes, but who is..."
"As I said, they wish to remain anonymous. If you'll sign here, here, print here, date here, and sign again here, here and here, we can be on our way."
The man's brisk efficiency was cold and clinical, his fingers jabbing at the places on the long roll of parchment where Draco needed to sign. Picking up a quill from the table, Draco signed, dated and printed as he had been told, all the while suspecting that this was an elaborate hoax. Because who would go to all the trouble of making their sponsorship anonymous, just for him?
The man held out a box to him, and Draco took it. Flipping it open, his breath caught in his throat. "This... it's a wand."
"Most observant of you. My client has pulled the required strings, to give you a measure of freedom. Use it wisely. Guard, thank you for your time."
The man turned to leave, and Draco panicked. "Wait, where do I go?"
Sneering at him, the man tossed a small piece of parchment at Draco. Without another word, the man turned around and walked out of the room, leaving Draco all alone. Drawing his new wand Draco unfurled the parchment and read the address. Hope House. The irony in the name wasn't lost on him as he felt a subtle realisation wash over him, the result of a Fidelius charm letting him in on the secret. Screwing up his courage, Draco walked towards the door. No one stopped him. As he reached out for the door, the bracelet on his arm glowed bright, heating up against his skin before it dissolved away into the air. That, more than anything, proved to him that this was no hoax; he was free.
Draco focussed on the address, desperate to meet his mystery benefactor. But when he opened his eyes again, swallowing against the Apparition-induced nausea, Draco found himself alone in a sweeping entrance hall. The surfaces were black marble, the fixtures solid silver, and for a few moments Draco was speechless as he took in the beauty of his new home.
"Do you like it?"
The voice startled him, and Draco spun around, staring at the large front doors in confusion. He spun around on the spot, but there was no one there. Yet, he hadn't imagined that voice, nor did he imagine the small chuckle, and the hand on his arm.
"Don't be afraid. You're perfectly safe here."
"Show yourself." Draco drew the wand, pointing it in the vague direction of the voice, his heart beating a bruise against his ribcage.
"I can't do that." The voice sounded genuinely apologetic, male, and yet not-quite human. Draco focussed on it, and recognised a Voice Charm. Even if he knew this person, the charm would mask the voice and prevent Draco recognising it.
Holding his wand higher, Draco opened his mouth to speak again, but the invisible voice cut him off. "Please, don't be scared. I have my reasons for staying hidden."
"If you're so ashamed to be associated with me, why free me in the first place?" Draco tried to sound confident, but it was hard to sneer when you didn't have a target to fix on.
"I could never be ashamed of you, Draco. I've been watching over you for so long now, trying to find an excuse to save you from the constant abuse, from the bastard in the Apothecary who took advantage of your talents for that pittance of a wage, and I..."
"And you what?" Draco cut in, lowering his wand a little, but still keeping a tight grip on it. "You thought you'd save me? Merlin, you must be Potter's long lost twin, with this pathological need to fly in and save people who were coping perfectly well on their own."
There was silence for a few minutes, and Draco was almost worried that he'd pushed too hard. Then, speech. "Being imprisoned in Azkaban was coping?"
The words were delivered like a slap in the face; cold and hard, and more than enough to make Draco realise whoever this person was, they were powerful and they had a temper. Which, when it was taken into consideration he was a Malfoy with a wand he hadn't chosen himself, meant it could be anyone in the Wizarding World.
"Perhaps not. But I... I was coping as well as I could have hoped for, after the war."
"Why do you say that?"
Draco laughed dryly, finally letting his wand hand fall to his side. "Perhaps you're new around here. My father was a Death Eater, and the entire world thinks my mother and I were, too. That I even got a job was a miracle."
"Do you have the Dark Mark?"
"No, but I..."
"I know you weren't a Death Eater. Neither was your mother. And your father... the Ministry took everything from your family; I know that. No one had any right to take his life, too and your mother's by default."
Draco sighed, bringing his free hand up to his eyes and rubbing softly. "I didn't say they had the right. But you must have realised I'm one of the most hated people in the world when you signed on for this, so why put yourself in this position to begin with?"
Silence, and Draco imagined the person shrugging. Finally, an answer came. "I've always wanted to save you."
Except, that wasn't an answer at all, and Draco found his wand arm rising again as irritation coursed through his veins. "Why can't I see who you are?"
"That's just the way it is. You get your freedom, a wand, and anything you want. You get my companionship and my friendship. But you can't see my face. Ever. If you can't live like this, Draco, speak now."
There was a finality in the words that gave Draco pause, made him hold back any number of curses his subconscious had been throwing up, that would cause this man to reveal himself. Looking around the entrance hall again, Draco's eyes rested on the wand in his hand. Nothing that had happened had made Draco feel threatened or unsafe. And this was a battle he could always pick up later.
"I don't want to go back to Azkaban."
"I'm glad. You have the run of the house, and in your room there are details of a Gringotts account and my tab numbers at most stores. You can buy anything you want; money is no object. Your room is in the east wing of the house. All I ask is that you don't go into the west wing, or try and force me to reveal myself. This is for the best, believe me."
Draco nodded, staring at the space where the words were coming from. "How will I know when you're here?"
"I'll make myself known."
Sighing, Draco shook his head softly. "Fine, whatever. I need a bath." Without waiting for a response, Draco turned and started climbing the stairs, hearing a door close somewhere on the ground floor. After a good night's sleep, he'd be better able to deal with this new set of conditions.
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
But the next morning, Draco was no wiser as to how to deal with his new situation. He woke up to the smell of coffee, and drank the mug full on his bedside table down greedily, until he realised it meant his mystery benefactor had been in his room.
Exploring his room the night before, Draco had found all his own belongings from his former home with his parents - the things the Ministry hadn't taken as reparation - and twice as many new things. Throwing on his own dressing gown, even though the new one looked much warmer, Draco stormed down the stairs, following the smell of coffee into the dining room. He was about to start yelling when a little house elf appeared, and smiled at him.
"Master sent Lucy up with coffee, and said to find out what Mister Draco liked for breakfast?"
"I..." Draco paused, studying the house elf carefully. She looked well-cared for, so whoever owned this house was well-thought of by the Ministry - only those who could prove they would treat them well were allowed to employ House Elves. "What's your name, elf?"
"Lucy."
"That's a very pretty name." Draco slid onto one of the chairs around the large dining table. "And Master... oh, I'm so bad with names. Could you remind me?"
"Master said you would be tricksy, but Lucy is a good elf. Would you like breakfast?"
Draco may not have liked House Elves much, but he knew them well, and he knew the steely determination in Lucy's eyes was her loyalty to her master. He wouldn't get anything out of her. "Bacon and eggs, and some more coffee. Has the man of the house left already?"
"Oh yes. He keeps another house for his business life, and will stay there most of the time, he said to tell you. He said to tell you also that you are free to do what you want, and that your wards are keyed into this house, and not Master, so you can be no more than one hundred miles from the house. But he doesn't think you should leave the house much. Lucy will fetch your breakfast now."
Pulling the morning Prophettowards him, Draco read the front page, some large bust the Aurors had effected, with Potter skulking at the edge of the picture, trying not to be in the frame. Draco smiled tightly, and opened the paper. Until this mystery man returned, he had nothing to do but wait. But the smile melted off his face when he saw the inside headlines. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised, that Potter had pipped him to the front page.
Murdering Malfoy released from Azkaban
Families of his victims ask who could take in a killer?
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
Draco had attempted to leave the house twice in the past few weeks, but it had ended badly. He'd found himself resorting to the open tabs that his benefactor had left him to order anything he needed, and regularly had the Floo Call hung up on him as soon as he'd placed the order. Whatever his benefactor had on the shopkeepers, to make them serve Draco in the first place, must be huge.
Three days after the article had appeared, the Prophet had printed a half-page retraction of their claims about him, acknowledging that he had never killed anyone, and as he had been vouched for by an upstanding citizen, should be treated as a free man. Draco had tossed that paper into the fire along with all the others, somehow comforted by the fact that things never changed, and the Prophet was still a rag dressed up as a newspaper.
Every time the wind caught a door, or the House Elf came to see if he wanted a coffee, Draco hoped it would be his mystery man. He didn't have any more questions since he'd first set foot in the house, but those questions he did have still burned bright. He couldn't figure out why anyone would vouch for him - none of his school friends would have been able to, thanks to the Ministry regulations on who counted as an upstanding citizen - and Draco just couldn't think of anyone else who would take the chance. Further, he couldn't get his head around why this person would want to keep their identity hidden, and why they wouldn't be treating him as the hired help to make it worth their while. Draco had tentatively applied for jobs, and been rejected across the board. He couldn't bring any money into the house, couldn't really do anything but skulk around and admire a home that wasn't his.
"It is your home."
Draco jolted, putting down the vase he'd been admiring and turning around. There was no one there. "What?"
"You think very loudly. It is your home, Draco, and I don't expect you to bring any money in."
"You need to wear a bell around your neck. Can you blame me for questioning this peculiar set-up?"
"Have I not given you enough answers?"
"Well, that depends. Last time I check, you were still refusing to tell me your name." There was silence, and Draco folded his arms. He wasn't going to give in on this. There was no reason to hide identities, unless Draco was such a burden. Or if the man was somehow horribly disfigured and...
"I'm not disfigured. And I'm not ashamed. I'm just not ready for you to know who I am. Surely that shouldn't impede our friendship?"
"Impede our... no, because making me talk to thin air is entirely rational and conducive to my own good mental health."
A small jewellery box floated up from the table, bouncing up and down in the air. It was clearly being tossed. "I'm not thin air. See?"
Draco caught the box reflexively, tossing it back automatically and smirking when the mystery man let out an oof. "You expect me to just address the air and hope that I'll get a response?"
"Call me Harry."
"Very funny." Draco rolled his eyes, folding his arms again and shaking his head. "Everyone wants to be the hero. He'd have left me to rot in Azkaban, you know."
"If you say so."
"I do. But fine, you want to be called Harry, good for you. So, Harry, why don't you explain what I'm supposed to do with the rest of my life, trapped inside this house?"
Draco could almost hear the shrug, and he quirked an eyebrow. He had a pretty good idea where this man was standing, and was fully prepared to throw a sneer or two if he had to.
"Take up a hobby. You like to paint, don't you?"
"Says who?"
"Says the books on art and technique that I rescued from your house before the Ministry levelled the place. You can't tell me that this house and the surrounding countryside, doesn't provide you with plenty of inspiration."
"I could draw you."
"Or we could have dinner."
Listening to the finality in the words, Draco shrugged softly. "Whatever."
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
Though he'd had no idea how he would fill his time, Draco had managed to occupy six months of his life in the house and even felt at home now. His mystery man spent most evenings and weekends at the house, and Draco had almost worked out a pattern in the times when the man wasn't here, and the times that there were reports of Auror raids in the papers. It wasn't that Draco didn't respect this man's wish to remain anonymous, but his curiosity was killing him. He wanted to know who he was talking to when they listened to the Quidditch on the wireless, or played chess, or did any of the other hundred things they'd done over the months. Draco wanted to know who else could be as happy as he was to draw a line under the past and think only about the future.
Draco wanted to know who he was developing feelings for.
But his mystery man - and Draco did think of the man as his - remained silent, leaving Draco to wonder and guess. But Draco thought he was closer to guessing, and was so engrossed in his notes that he didn't hear the door open.
"What are you doing?"
Jolting, Draco knocked the ink all over the table, ruining his parchment but luckily obscuring the numbers and lists, and the crossed out names of men he'd suspected and then dismissed. He tried to subtly cover that morning's Prophet with his arm. "Nothing."
"Does it really matter that much, what I look like? Are you that shallow that all of the friendship, and the gifts, and the safe home, become irrelevant if I don't meet your standards of attractiveness?"
Draco felt like he'd been slapped, and he stood up quickly, shaking the spilled ink off his sleeve as he tried to figure out where the man was stood, so he knew where to aim his apology. "It isn't that, at all. I just want to know who would be this generous and kind and..."
"Don't suck up to me, it doesn't suit you."
Reeling, Draco looked around the conservatory hopelessly, searching for something in the airy room that would help him get out of this mess. There was nothing, and Draco was left with only his wit to right the situation. He couldn't even remember why he wanted to know anymore, just that he did. He doubted that there was anyone who could reveal themselves and startle him, or stop the way his chest got tight every time he heard that voice.
Reaching his hand out, Draco groped around in the air until his fingers brushed against something soft. Hair.
"What are you doing?"
"I just wanted to know," Draco answered, tightening his grip on the hair so that he had some vague idea where to aim at. He probably looked unbelievably stupid, but when Draco hadn't been trying to work out who had taken him home, or lost in his art, he'd been imagining this. Using his hand as a guide, Draco leaned forwards until his lips hit a stubbly chin. It was hardly the most dignified kiss he'd ever given, but when he finally found a pair of lips, Draco made it worthwhile, closing his eyes and not thinking about how this would look to an observer, just focusing on moving his lips over his mystery man's and coaxing the tension out of the body that he'd somehow wound his arms around.
Stepping back, Draco opened his eyes and smiled at the point in space where the man's face was. "I just wanted to know what I was getting myself in to."
"Oh." The silence stretched out, yawning between them until it snapped closed with a little cough from the other man. "I'll go and make some tea."
Draco watched a coffee table and a chair jolt out of the way, and the door swing open and closed. Left alone in the conservatory, Draco's mind went into overdrive as he stroked his thumb over his lips. Clumsiness, likely an Auror, immediately assuming Draco was shallow. Draco had kept his promise and kept out of the west wing of the house, but he reckoned that if he went searching, he'd find a wardrobe full of red and gold Quidditch uniforms. But clearly this man had grown up since they were childhood rivals, and it was almost Slytherin the way in which he had told Draco his name, and successfully kept Draco from realising who he was for six months.
The door creaked open again, teacups clattering on a tray that floated over towards the coffee table. As the sofa dipped next to him, Draco smiled. "Hello, Harry. Can we start again?"
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
Draco kept quiet about knowing it was Harry behind the Invisibility Spell. And once he stopped searching for answers, Draco was free to spend all of his time getting to know his "mystery" man. Harry seemed to be spending more time at the house, sharing cups of tea and meals with Draco, sometimes letting Lucy cook, and sometimes showing off with his own cooking skills. They were surprisingly good, and watching ingredients appear to fling themselves towards imminent death in hot pans was highly amusing. Draco taught Harry to play poker, and proceeded to win everything but the Invisibility Charm from his back. Harry taught Draco how to play Cricket, and Draco discovered an unknown talent for bowling, running full pelt across the home pitch in the grounds, flinging the red ball at the bat that appeared to be floating in mid-air, and then watching Harry send the ball flying through the sky.
It was after one such game that Draco, sweaty and tired, took things further than the one kiss they'd shared weeks ago. As Harry made noises about cooking dinner, Draco excused himself to go and have a bath. He needed to be clean, but he also needed to do something about the arousal that had been bubbling in the back of his mind all afternoon. Unable to see Harry, Draco had to use his imagination, piece together how Harry must look from the pictures that were regularly in The Prophet, picturing him in cricket whites and flushed with exertion. Draco was rapidly discovering that his own imagination was far more stimulating than the flesh magazines he had in the drawer next to his bed.
Stripping off and tossing his whites onto the floor, Draco started the bath running as he hopped out of his socks and ran a brush through his hair. He was so caught up in trying to do both of those tasks at once that he almost missed the creaking at the opening of his bedroom door. Falling still, Draco listened but didn't hear any more footsteps. Clearly, Harry had stopped moving.
Turning the taps off, Draco smirked as he picked up a jar of bath salts. Very carefully, he poured a little line next to the door, putting the jar back on the shelf before he opened the door halfway. Imagining he could feel Harry's eyes on his back as he turned around, Draco sank into the huge bath and relaxed back against the edge of the bath. It was huge - almost as big as the one in the Prefects' bathroom at Hogwarts - and was sunk into the ground. So, although the door stayed perfectly in place, Draco was at eye level to the ground and could see when the little line of bath salts was disturbed. Draco bit back another smirk, resting his head against the tiles as he waited for Harry to find the perfect vantage point. Along with his Slytherin streak, Harry apparently also had a healthy kinky side.
Draco moved one of his hands from the edge of the bath, swishing it through the water as he weighed up his options. He could put on a display for Harry, show Harry exactly what he was missing. Or, he could turn this from a spectator sport to audience participation. "I know you're there, Harry."
Though he kept silent, Harry gave away his position by knocking the jar of bath salts off the shelf. Draco smirked, and opened his eyes, looking up at roughly where he thought Harry's eyes would be. "You can do more than just look, if you want?"
Working as an Auror had been good to Harry. Instead of the bumbling teenager that Draco had spoken to last - or, at least, had last been able to see and speak to at the same time - a pile of cricket whites appeared on the floor, and then the water was being displaced as something unseen worked its way towards Draco. It showed a quiet confidence that Draco admired greatly. And was more than a little aroused by. Even though he couldn't see Harry, Draco could feel Harry's breath on his cheek, and he waited. He'd taken the initiative last time; it was Harry's turn now. And Harry didn't disappoint, his hands coming up to cup Draco's face before running through his hair. The water on Harry's hands was warm, and made the hairs on the back of Draco's neck stand up as it trickled over his skin.
He couldn't see Harry anyway, so it didn't matter when Draco closed his eyes. Harry kissed him soon after, locking their lips together as Draco melted back against the side of the bath. Draco could kiss Harry forever, the embrace soft and firm at the same time, Harry taking control of the kiss but not making Draco feel out of control. Draco's hands had found Harry's back out of instinct, running up and down Harry's damp skin for a few moments before Draco worked up the courage to dip lower. Squeezing his hands around Harry's buttocks, Draco smiled when Harry broke the kiss, groaning softly. "Nice arse."
Hands squeezed firmly around his own arse, a finger ghosting down the cleft and making Draco shiver. "I could say the same."
Draco preened at the compliment, wishing he could hear it said in Harry's real voice, and not in the distorted sound of a voice charm. But he could wait, for now. Pulling Harry closer, Draco pushed their lips together again as he rocked his hips against Harry's. Harry had clearly been playing in a similar state of arousal to Draco, and Draco reluctantly let one hand fall from Harry's arse, bringing it between their bodies to grab Harry's shaft gently. Harry tensed, and Draco pulled back from the kiss. "Do you not want to?"
There was a long pause before teeth nipped gently at Draco's chin. "No, I do. Here?"
Draco nodded, holding out his hand and summoning a little jar of oil over. It was that long since he'd been with anyone like this that Draco had forgotten where the boundaries on what was acceptable and what was too forward lay. But if Harry thought this was too forward, he wasn't mentioning it. In fact, from the way he was sucking on Draco's neck, leaving a pattern of love bites that Draco would have for days, Harry was all for moving forwards as quickly as was possible.
Pushing the little jar into Harry's hand, Draco walked them through the water and towards the side of the bath which had the steps on. Sitting on the edge of one of the steps, Draco pulled Harry against him and got himself comfortable leaning along the steps.
"Turn around." The command was accompanied by Harry's hands on his waist, and Draco let himself be moved into a new position, kneeling on one of the lower steps with his forearms rested on the top step. "You'd hurt your back the other way."
Draco smiled, glancing over his shoulder as he heard the jar clinking open. "So considerate."
"You know it." The oil dribbled out of the jar, falling through the air before it seemed to pause of its own accord. Draco straightened his neck, resting his forehead on his arms as one of Harry's hands settled on his arse, spreading him open. The oil was warm and slick as Harry's finger ringed around Draco's entrance, teasing him before it dipped in slowly. Draco pushed back, too aroused to be satisfied by a single finger. He wanted Harry in him right now, and ground his teeth to stop from begging like a Knockturn faithful.
The second slick finger broke Draco's resolve, and as he pushed his hips back into Harry's hand, he bit out, "More, Harry."
Harry groaned, whether from the act itself, or from hearing Draco moan his name, still thinking Draco didn't know exactly who he was about to fuck. The third finger came much quicker than the second had, and Draco dropped his head back onto his arms as Harry flexed him open. When Harry's fingers withdrew, Draco knew this was the edge. He'd let Harry have this one time; next time, they would both be able to see each other.
The oil jar clinked again, the wet slapping sound of Harry's slick hand on his shaft echoing around the hot bathroom. Draco looked ahead, watched the condensation beading down the tiled walls as he felt Harry getting into position behind him. The head of Harry's cock felt warm and firm as it pressed against his arse, and Draco focused on relaxing his body, breathing deeply as Harry began to inch forwards. When Harry's hips were pressing into his arse, Draco finally let himself moan in satisfaction, rolling his hips slowly to grind down against Harry.
"God, you look incredible."
Draco kept his witty retort to himself, reaching underneath his body to stroke his shaft firmly. He didn't want to ruin the moment by pressing Harry to reveal himself, but Draco would return to that point later. Right now, he just wanted Harry to move.
Over the months, either Draco had got better at shielding his thoughts or Harry had stopped trying to hear them. But that one thought had been broadcast long and loud, because almost as soon as Draco had wished it, Harry drew his hips back and thrust in firmly. Draco jolted forwards, sliding across the wet tiles and scrabbling for purchase. He finally found it, flattening his hand against some of the rough tiles and arching his back. Harry took the hint, thrusting in earnest as Draco worked to keep his balance with one hand, and wank himself in rhythm with Harry's thrusts with the other hand.
Apart from self-love, Draco hadn't had sex in years, and he could already feel himself approaching the edge. He held out as long as he could but Harry was good. Long, deep strokes, a steady stream of whispered praise and filth, and his hand skating up and down Draco's back; the sensations all added together to push Draco higher and higher. Dropping his arm down onto the tiles, and resting his head on it, Draco cried out as his orgasm washed over him. His stomach cramped and his limbs trembled, his hand aching from the curled position it had been in for a prolonged period, but none of that could detract from the pleasure that sparked from the base of his spine and radiated outwards.
Sagging against the tiles, Draco focused on catching his breath as Harry kept thrusting, lasting out for an impressive length of time before his thrusts faltered, and he curled over Draco's back, breathing heavily.
Raising his head slightly, Draco turned his head to the side and invited, "Are you coming to bed?"
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
Draco wouldn't have known he wasn't alone in bed if it wasn't for the steady snoring, and the rumpled bed sheets where Harry was lay. Nursing the cup in his hand, Draco weighed up his options again. He felt safe in this house, felt at peace with Harry, and Draco didn't want to upset that. It didn't even bother him that if he ruined things with Harry, he ran the risk of being sent back to Azkaban - the only thing that made him pause was the desire not to hurt Harry. But Draco couldn't live like this; he needed to see Harry's face, to focus on lips when they were talking, eyes when they were kissing. And he'd seen pictures of Harry in The Prophet - Harry wasn't deformed, or anything approaching unattractive. Draco couldn't fathom out why Harry would want to stay invisible, but he knew he couldn't spend the rest of his life staring at the walls. At what point Draco had begun to factor Harry into his plans for the rest of his life he didn't know, but it felt like the most natural thing in the world now.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Draco reached out and groped around until his fingers closed around Harry's shoulder. Shaking him awake softly, Draco smiled when Harry mumbled, and held the mug of coffee out. "Morning."
"Morning." The cup was pulled away from his hands, and Draco watched as it was raised up, and tipped. When the cup was put back on the bedside table, Draco stayed and waited. It only took a few minutes for Harry to shimmer into view, sprawled out against the pillows with a smile on his face. He looked incredible, his hair mussed and his neck and chest littered with love bites, even some teeth marks from where Draco had got ahead of himself.
Draco just stared, and after a few moments, Harry opened his eyes. "What?"
"Nothing." Draco shook his head, but Harry's eyes had widened, and Draco was almost knocked off the bed by Harry's arm as it swung up into the air.
"Draco!"
Fear crossed Harry's face, and Draco reached out, pressing his hands against Harry's chest and using his weight to keep Harry pinned down. "Please, Harry, listen to me-"
"How could you trick me? After everything I-"
Draco leaned down, pressing his lips against Harry's. The kiss seemed to still Harry, stop him from struggling against Draco, and Draco took his chance. "Look, I worked out it was you ages ago. I didn't say because it doesn't matter. But I couldn't work out why you would keep it hidden?"
Harry stayed silent for a long time, his eyes closed and his head back against the pillows. When he did open his eyes, there was a steeliness there that made Draco worry that he had pushed too far.
"Harry?"
"I didn't think you'd come, if you knew it was me."
Draco laughed, more out of disbelief than mirth. "You thought I'd stay in Azkaban over coming with you?"
"Well, we were hardly friends, were we?"
Draco shook his head softly. "No, I suppose we weren't. But in that case, why do any of this to begin with?"
Harry shrugged. "I couldn't bear to see you hurting. I always thought it was just a stupid childhood crush, but then I didn't grow out of it. And even though we weren't at school anymore, and we didn't have to see each other every day, I still thought about you all the time. I just never thought you'd want me, if you knew it was me."
Draco let his hand slide up from Harry's chest, relieved when Harry didn't immediately try and get away from him. "Harry, I worked it out weeks ago. It was a stroke of genius, you giving me your name and making me sure it was anyone else but you. But then I put it all together, and I knew exactly what I was getting myself into. And Harry, who wouldn't want you?"
Harry coloured up at the compliment, hauling himself into a sitting position. "What was in the coffee?"
"Liquid Anti-Incantation. My job may have been crap, but it gave me opportunity to practice my brewing. I made it this morning."
"Why now?"
Draco shrugged. "Because I knew it was you. And because it was crushingly disappointing, to wake up with you and not be able to see you. Why keep hidden for so long?"
Harry stared down at the quilt, his thumbs twisting nervously. Draco reached out and closed his hand over Harry's, stilling his fidgeting. Harry met his eyes. "I wanted to get to know you, without all of our history. The War has been over for years, and yet it's still in everyone's eyes when they talk to me. I just wanted one thing, one place... one person, where the only thing that mattered was the present moment."
Draco nodded, squeezing his hand tighter and leaning closer to Harry. "Believe me, I understand all about not wanting to see your own past reflected in everyone else's eyes."
"Will you stay?"
The question made no sense to Draco, but he could see it mattered to Harry. He nodded slowly. "If you'll still have me?"
"Of course. I want a happily ever after, Draco. I've got the house and the money. All I need now is my own dashing prince."
Laughing, Draco stretched out on the bed, pushing Harry back into the mattress and smirking. "I can fill that role. And now that the dashing hero has been revealed, we can get on to the bit of the story that Beedle always left out of his books."
Harry looked confused until Draco leered, and then his face stretched into a smile, It was the single greatest thing Draco had ever seen. Reaching out for the little jar of oil, Draco smirked. "Let's get started on the happily ever after, then!"