repost, with fixed coding
Title: When I am King...
By: Venilia
HP, H/D, NC-17 for disturbing imagery
Description: you will be the first against the wall
AU from OotP
notes: Ages ago, circe_tigana and annie_sj were discussing how someone should write a harry/draco fic based on the song When I am King by Radiohead. I got inspired. She later wrote her own fic with the same title, which I recommend.
But don’t go near the water
Hogwarts, Unused classroom, 5th year
When Draco licks the inside of Harry’s thigh or the slope of his hip, just there, Harry remembers nursery rhymes and old songs and something called love that he never had a mother to sing to him about. And when Draco hums, just like that, Harry thinks of death screams.
Breakfast, the next morning, and Draco is smirking slightly at him in a way that only Harry can be aware of, and Harry thinks of sunlight and Hedwig, and darkness and Draco’s colorless hair, and tries to remember which he prefers.
In the self-same repartee
Hogsmead, Near Fortesque’s, 5th year
After sleeping with Draco for four months, Harry thinks, he really ought to stop having to whisper the other boy's name in his own mind. Draco, he says it to himself again, Draco, is sitting at Fortesque’s with a cup of vanilla ice cream and what he's doing to that spoon isn't especially good for Harry's heart rate. Or his peace of mind, for that matter.
Draco eyes Harry out of the corner of his eye as he licks vanilla smears from his upper lip, and almost smirks. He known Harry is watching.
Later, neither of them will even bother to pretend that Harry wasn't. For now Harry does not acknowledge his lover.
And winters now come fairly
Hogwarts, Third floor hallway, 6th year
Confrontation. Hermione has just run in to Pansy Parkinson, and since the houses are more like packs, really, than communities, where one Slytherin is others are sure to be near.
Look up. Yes, there’s his lover and erstwhile nemesis. Don’t color him surprised.
Draco’s eyes gleam with amusement. He is quite enjoying himself, and will enjoy himself even more later on tonight when Harry punishes him for insulting Hermione and antagonizing Ron (though even Harry will admit that it doesn’t take much).
Harry’s hands tighten their grip around Ron’s arms as he struggles to hold the red head back. They really can’t afford any more detentions. From behind his friends he grins back at Draco.
Seven for a secret
Platform 9 ¾, Near luggage, 7th year
When Draco saunters up behind him at the platform Harry can feel every hair on the back of his neck lift and his cock stiffen.
“Potter,” the taller boy drawls, and Harry has to hold back a smirk. He hasn’t missed Draco, per say, so much as he has missed everything about Draco - his drawl, his hair, his smirk, the way he will deep throat Harry tonight.
“Malfoy,” he returns. His gaze is threatening. Draco glares back with delight, and opens his mouth to say something sure to be cruel. Harry will kiss the words from his mouth after curfew this evening, and teach Draco new words, new mantras when he takes the blond on his hands and knees, all blood and sweat and come. He his hands fist in anticipation.
Then Hermione is suddenly there, preaching about maturity and the responsibility of seventh year, and can’t they just call a truce?
Hermione, Harry thinks, for all her genius, will remain blind to the obvious for as long as she possibly can. Harry makes agreeing noises and tries to keep from laughing madly out loud as he holds out one hand like Draco had first year, knowing that the gesture won’t be lost on the other boy.
Later, on the train, Harry will smile as he washes the blood from the nail-shaped cuts on his palm.
Come with a good will or not at all
Hogwarts, Slytherin Dungeons, 7th year
The way Draco moans, Harry thinks to himself, you would think he didn’t adore every lash mark.
The lash is rare - Harry usually prefers to use his own body as a weapon, not accessories. It's soft leather, not a harsh weapon as lashes go. But it makes a lovely sound as he jerks it away from his lover. It reminds him of thunder and of ice cracking and of quidditch robes snapping in the wind and of bones snapping.
Remus Lupin had been killed that summer. A trap. Every bone snapped and then left for the full moon. He'd survived the night, but been shot - silver bullets, three of them to the heart - two weeks later. He'd died trying to rescue Sirius from beyond the Veil. He died for love.
Draco doesn’t love him, Harry knows, in the way that Ron or Hermione or Dumbledore would define love. His own love for Draco is dubious.
What they have, he decides, is an understanding. Draco worships him, and Harry, in his own dark, malicious way, dotes on Draco.
Harry licks the marks he has placed upon Draco while his lover shudders in ecstasy and pain. Draco doesn’t taste like cinnamon, or dark chocolate or honey or musk. He certainly doesn’t have that omniscient fruit flavor women have, nor, thankfully, does he taste flowery. Draco tastes like brackish salt water and sweet boy-sweat and myrrh.
And he grins at Harry as Harry raises the lash again.
And this the burden of his song
Hogwarts, Great Hall, Graduation
Because it is expected, Dumbledore is talking about the future to Harry. They both know that it is futile, pointless, hopeless. With Ron’s death Harry’s allegiance to the Light has disappeared. Hermione is now a caricature of herself - all facts and duty and war tactics and no heart. Harry has no loyalties now.
Of course Harry is still their only hope against Voldemort, so no one will challenge him. And Harry plans to kill Voldemort. Not for the muggles’ sake, not for muggle-borns, not even for his dead family.
Harry will kill Voldemort because he is in the way.
Draco would like the power, he thinks, and though he wouldn’t like responsibility for it himself, Harry will not mind all that power being devoted to him.
Dumbledore, the old, manipulating fool, is still dithering on about marriage and careers and war, and Harry stops listening to him because Draco has come up beside him and placed something discreetly in his hand. Harry nods and smiles and wishes a thousand deaths on his old Headmaster as he fingers the tiny vial. It is a potion, the one he had requested Draco to procure. A poison, of sorts, it will drain away magic like a leech, like a parasite, undetectable and unstoppable. Just possessing this potion could send him to Azkaban for twelve years.
Harry will have to ask Draco later how many lives it cost.
For now he ignores Dumbledore’s nattering in favor of pulling his lover into a heavy kiss. Draco melts against him, and Dumbledore’s speech peters off, awkwardly. Harry smiles as their teeth clack against each other’s and wonders if he wouldn’t rather use the potion against Dumbledore instead of Voldemort. Well, he has the rest of the feast to decide.
If there be none, never mind it
Malfoy Manor, Sun room, One year later
Harry is not a Dark Lord. But he is, he supposes, by the strictest definition, the consort to one.
He doesn’t think it’s an accurate description. Strict definitions usually aren’t. For one thing, Draco really isn’t the alpha in the relationship. But he is certainly allowed to top because Harry loves how insidious it feels to have Draco’s seed deep inside him, in a place no one else has the opportunity to reach.
The title of Dark Lord doesn’t really fit Draco either. He is a Malfoy, and that means cunningness and subtleties. Genocide wouldn’t suit him.
Harry smiles and sips his tea. Certain people Harry has placed off limits. They've written a list, actually. Snape is first on that list although Draco has no compulsion to kill his former professor and head of house. Harry, though he despises the man, has some miniscule modicum of respect for the bastard. As he’s the only one left to have any respect at all, Harry thinks it would be bad form to murder him.
Fred and George Weasley are also on the list, in a rather prominent position. Harry still holds some offhand affection for the humorous duo, and they have made no move against Draco.
Florian Fortesque, Madam Rosemerta, and Madam Malkin are also listed, because really, what’s the point of terrorizing the wizarding world if there’s no world to terrorize?
Hermione is not on the list. Neither are Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.
Cho Chang is long dead, as are the Creevy brothers and Neville Longbottom. They’ve had great fun hunting down and killing all the Parkinsons except Pansy, whom they are saving for last. Harry doesn’t like his ownership of Draco contested.
Draco can fuck whomever he wants. Blaise Zabini is ample proof of that. But only Harry is allowed to fuck Draco, and only Harry is allowed to make him bleed, and in the end only Harry will be the one to make him die, by whatever means. Draco both accepts this. Draco revels in it.
They are either perfect for each other because they’re both fucked up and half insane, or half insane and fucked up because they are perfect for each other. And it’s exactly the way they want it. Harry finishes his tea and walks up the stairs whistling to himself. He enters their bedroom and watches the flash of fear and lust sweep across Draco’s face before it settles on adoration. He is Draco’s obsession and Draco’s god, his beloved and his nightmare all rolled into one. And Harry basks in it.
...you will be the first against the wall.
and here's all the nursery rhymes I used
1.
"Mother, may I go out to swim?"
"Yes, my darling daughter.
Fold your clothes up neat and trim,
But don't go near the water."
2.
As I walked by myself,
And talked to myself,
Myself said unto me,
"Look to thyself,
Take care of thyself,
For nobody cares for thee."
I answered myself,
And said to myself,
In the self-same repartee,
"Look to thyself,
Or not to thyself,
The self-same thing will be."
3.
Cold and raw the north wind doth blow
Bleak in the morning early,
All the hills are covered with snow,
And winters now come fairly.
4.
One for sorrow,
Two for joy,
Three for a girl,
Four for a boy,
Five for silver,
Six for gold,
Seven for a secret
Never to be told.
5.
Boys and girls come out to play
The moon doth shine as bright as day.
Leave your supper and leave your sleep
And join your playfellows in the street.
Come with a whoop and come with a call
Come with a good will or not at all.
Up the ladder and down the wall
A ha’ penny loaf will serve us all;
You find milk and I’ll find flour
And we’ll have pudding in half an hour.
6.
There was a jolly miller once
Lived on the river Dee
He worked and sang
From morn ‘til night
No lark more blithe than he
And this the burden of his song
Forever used to be
I care for nobody, no, not I
And nobody cares for me!
By: Venilia
HP, H/D, NC-17 for disturbing imagery
Description: you will be the first against the wall
AU from OotP
notes: Ages ago, circe_tigana and annie_sj were discussing how someone should write a harry/draco fic based on the song When I am King by Radiohead. I got inspired. She later wrote her own fic with the same title, which I recommend.
But don’t go near the water
Hogwarts, Unused classroom, 5th year
When Draco licks the inside of Harry’s thigh or the slope of his hip, just there, Harry remembers nursery rhymes and old songs and something called love that he never had a mother to sing to him about. And when Draco hums, just like that, Harry thinks of death screams.
Breakfast, the next morning, and Draco is smirking slightly at him in a way that only Harry can be aware of, and Harry thinks of sunlight and Hedwig, and darkness and Draco’s colorless hair, and tries to remember which he prefers.
In the self-same repartee
Hogsmead, Near Fortesque’s, 5th year
After sleeping with Draco for four months, Harry thinks, he really ought to stop having to whisper the other boy's name in his own mind. Draco, he says it to himself again, Draco, is sitting at Fortesque’s with a cup of vanilla ice cream and what he's doing to that spoon isn't especially good for Harry's heart rate. Or his peace of mind, for that matter.
Draco eyes Harry out of the corner of his eye as he licks vanilla smears from his upper lip, and almost smirks. He known Harry is watching.
Later, neither of them will even bother to pretend that Harry wasn't. For now Harry does not acknowledge his lover.
And winters now come fairly
Hogwarts, Third floor hallway, 6th year
Confrontation. Hermione has just run in to Pansy Parkinson, and since the houses are more like packs, really, than communities, where one Slytherin is others are sure to be near.
Look up. Yes, there’s his lover and erstwhile nemesis. Don’t color him surprised.
Draco’s eyes gleam with amusement. He is quite enjoying himself, and will enjoy himself even more later on tonight when Harry punishes him for insulting Hermione and antagonizing Ron (though even Harry will admit that it doesn’t take much).
Harry’s hands tighten their grip around Ron’s arms as he struggles to hold the red head back. They really can’t afford any more detentions. From behind his friends he grins back at Draco.
Seven for a secret
Platform 9 ¾, Near luggage, 7th year
When Draco saunters up behind him at the platform Harry can feel every hair on the back of his neck lift and his cock stiffen.
“Potter,” the taller boy drawls, and Harry has to hold back a smirk. He hasn’t missed Draco, per say, so much as he has missed everything about Draco - his drawl, his hair, his smirk, the way he will deep throat Harry tonight.
“Malfoy,” he returns. His gaze is threatening. Draco glares back with delight, and opens his mouth to say something sure to be cruel. Harry will kiss the words from his mouth after curfew this evening, and teach Draco new words, new mantras when he takes the blond on his hands and knees, all blood and sweat and come. He his hands fist in anticipation.
Then Hermione is suddenly there, preaching about maturity and the responsibility of seventh year, and can’t they just call a truce?
Hermione, Harry thinks, for all her genius, will remain blind to the obvious for as long as she possibly can. Harry makes agreeing noises and tries to keep from laughing madly out loud as he holds out one hand like Draco had first year, knowing that the gesture won’t be lost on the other boy.
Later, on the train, Harry will smile as he washes the blood from the nail-shaped cuts on his palm.
Come with a good will or not at all
Hogwarts, Slytherin Dungeons, 7th year
The way Draco moans, Harry thinks to himself, you would think he didn’t adore every lash mark.
The lash is rare - Harry usually prefers to use his own body as a weapon, not accessories. It's soft leather, not a harsh weapon as lashes go. But it makes a lovely sound as he jerks it away from his lover. It reminds him of thunder and of ice cracking and of quidditch robes snapping in the wind and of bones snapping.
Remus Lupin had been killed that summer. A trap. Every bone snapped and then left for the full moon. He'd survived the night, but been shot - silver bullets, three of them to the heart - two weeks later. He'd died trying to rescue Sirius from beyond the Veil. He died for love.
Draco doesn’t love him, Harry knows, in the way that Ron or Hermione or Dumbledore would define love. His own love for Draco is dubious.
What they have, he decides, is an understanding. Draco worships him, and Harry, in his own dark, malicious way, dotes on Draco.
Harry licks the marks he has placed upon Draco while his lover shudders in ecstasy and pain. Draco doesn’t taste like cinnamon, or dark chocolate or honey or musk. He certainly doesn’t have that omniscient fruit flavor women have, nor, thankfully, does he taste flowery. Draco tastes like brackish salt water and sweet boy-sweat and myrrh.
And he grins at Harry as Harry raises the lash again.
And this the burden of his song
Hogwarts, Great Hall, Graduation
Because it is expected, Dumbledore is talking about the future to Harry. They both know that it is futile, pointless, hopeless. With Ron’s death Harry’s allegiance to the Light has disappeared. Hermione is now a caricature of herself - all facts and duty and war tactics and no heart. Harry has no loyalties now.
Of course Harry is still their only hope against Voldemort, so no one will challenge him. And Harry plans to kill Voldemort. Not for the muggles’ sake, not for muggle-borns, not even for his dead family.
Harry will kill Voldemort because he is in the way.
Draco would like the power, he thinks, and though he wouldn’t like responsibility for it himself, Harry will not mind all that power being devoted to him.
Dumbledore, the old, manipulating fool, is still dithering on about marriage and careers and war, and Harry stops listening to him because Draco has come up beside him and placed something discreetly in his hand. Harry nods and smiles and wishes a thousand deaths on his old Headmaster as he fingers the tiny vial. It is a potion, the one he had requested Draco to procure. A poison, of sorts, it will drain away magic like a leech, like a parasite, undetectable and unstoppable. Just possessing this potion could send him to Azkaban for twelve years.
Harry will have to ask Draco later how many lives it cost.
For now he ignores Dumbledore’s nattering in favor of pulling his lover into a heavy kiss. Draco melts against him, and Dumbledore’s speech peters off, awkwardly. Harry smiles as their teeth clack against each other’s and wonders if he wouldn’t rather use the potion against Dumbledore instead of Voldemort. Well, he has the rest of the feast to decide.
If there be none, never mind it
Malfoy Manor, Sun room, One year later
Harry is not a Dark Lord. But he is, he supposes, by the strictest definition, the consort to one.
He doesn’t think it’s an accurate description. Strict definitions usually aren’t. For one thing, Draco really isn’t the alpha in the relationship. But he is certainly allowed to top because Harry loves how insidious it feels to have Draco’s seed deep inside him, in a place no one else has the opportunity to reach.
The title of Dark Lord doesn’t really fit Draco either. He is a Malfoy, and that means cunningness and subtleties. Genocide wouldn’t suit him.
Harry smiles and sips his tea. Certain people Harry has placed off limits. They've written a list, actually. Snape is first on that list although Draco has no compulsion to kill his former professor and head of house. Harry, though he despises the man, has some miniscule modicum of respect for the bastard. As he’s the only one left to have any respect at all, Harry thinks it would be bad form to murder him.
Fred and George Weasley are also on the list, in a rather prominent position. Harry still holds some offhand affection for the humorous duo, and they have made no move against Draco.
Florian Fortesque, Madam Rosemerta, and Madam Malkin are also listed, because really, what’s the point of terrorizing the wizarding world if there’s no world to terrorize?
Hermione is not on the list. Neither are Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.
Cho Chang is long dead, as are the Creevy brothers and Neville Longbottom. They’ve had great fun hunting down and killing all the Parkinsons except Pansy, whom they are saving for last. Harry doesn’t like his ownership of Draco contested.
Draco can fuck whomever he wants. Blaise Zabini is ample proof of that. But only Harry is allowed to fuck Draco, and only Harry is allowed to make him bleed, and in the end only Harry will be the one to make him die, by whatever means. Draco both accepts this. Draco revels in it.
They are either perfect for each other because they’re both fucked up and half insane, or half insane and fucked up because they are perfect for each other. And it’s exactly the way they want it. Harry finishes his tea and walks up the stairs whistling to himself. He enters their bedroom and watches the flash of fear and lust sweep across Draco’s face before it settles on adoration. He is Draco’s obsession and Draco’s god, his beloved and his nightmare all rolled into one. And Harry basks in it.
...you will be the first against the wall.
and here's all the nursery rhymes I used
1.
"Mother, may I go out to swim?"
"Yes, my darling daughter.
Fold your clothes up neat and trim,
But don't go near the water."
2.
As I walked by myself,
And talked to myself,
Myself said unto me,
"Look to thyself,
Take care of thyself,
For nobody cares for thee."
I answered myself,
And said to myself,
In the self-same repartee,
"Look to thyself,
Or not to thyself,
The self-same thing will be."
3.
Cold and raw the north wind doth blow
Bleak in the morning early,
All the hills are covered with snow,
And winters now come fairly.
4.
One for sorrow,
Two for joy,
Three for a girl,
Four for a boy,
Five for silver,
Six for gold,
Seven for a secret
Never to be told.
5.
Boys and girls come out to play
The moon doth shine as bright as day.
Leave your supper and leave your sleep
And join your playfellows in the street.
Come with a whoop and come with a call
Come with a good will or not at all.
Up the ladder and down the wall
A ha’ penny loaf will serve us all;
You find milk and I’ll find flour
And we’ll have pudding in half an hour.
6.
There was a jolly miller once
Lived on the river Dee
He worked and sang
From morn ‘til night
No lark more blithe than he
And this the burden of his song
Forever used to be
I care for nobody, no, not I
And nobody cares for me!