Fic: Haunted [Harry/Draco]
Title: Haunted
Author: icicle33
Prompt: # O60 It's raining the day of the funeral. Thick, heavy drops that make his cloak cling to his frame. Draco can't help but think Severus would've liked it.
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Word Count: ~1200
Rating: R-ish
Warning(s): established H/D, some inappropriate groping in a graveyard
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes:Thanks so much to the mods for putting on this fest and giving me more time. Also, a huge thanks to ashiiblack for being the best beta ever and helping me make sense of my thoughts. Not an easy task.
Summary: Draco always has a follower when he visits Snape's grave.
Draco bows his head, no longer able to stare at Severus's gravestone, at the hideous bouquets that adorn it. Fat water droplets begin soaking his hair, running down his face. He tumbles onto his knees, not caring about muddying his trousers or messing up his hair.
He closes his eyes and tries not to cry for what feels like the hundredth time that day. He takes a deep breath and tries to compose himself. It shouldn’t still hurt so much, feel so fucking real.
All he wants to do is curl up and die. Of course, he can’t be granted that one simple courtesy.
Behind him, Draco hears a loud shuffling. He gives a heavy sigh, shaking his head. Sodding Potter. Even in the rain, he sounds like an uncouth elephant.
"Potter, I know you’re there." Draco wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. He attempts to hide behind his long fringe, hoping Potter doesn’t notice his tears, mistaking them for the rain.
When Potter doesn’t respond, Draco clears his throat and forces himself to stand. "Please," Draco urges, and he can’t believe he’s actually pleading with Potter. Oh, how low the mighty have fallen. "I can’t do this again. Not today. Take off that infernal cloak."
Draco cringes at how small his voice is, how high pitched and desperate he sounds. At least Potter has always had a thing for lost causes and kicked puppy dogs. Perhaps Draco’s patheticness will get him to finally see reason, to finally leave him alone. But that isn’t what you want, a grating voice taunts in the back of his mind.
Apparently, it works since Potter shows himself just as lightning strikes nearby. He takes his Invisibility Cloak off and smiles sheepishly at Draco as if it were normal for the two of them to meet up in the middle of a thunderstorm. "Hi, Malfoy."
"Don’t you dare, 'hi Malfoy' me, Potter!" Draco narrows his eyes as a loud clap of thunder booms around them. He pokes Potter in the shoulder, harder than necessary. "You followed me. Again."
Potter shrugs. He avoids Draco’s gaze. "Sorry. I was just…"
Draco takes a step closer to Potter. The idiot didn’t have enough sense to wear a waterproof cloak. He’s completely soaked, a trail of water dripping down his glasses and nose. At least he seems to have charmed his glasses against the rain, yet Draco almost wishes he hadn’t. Potter’s eyes look nearly as haunted as Draco's, and he can’t pretend not to be affected.
The pain in the back of Draco’s throat begins to subside, replacing itself with something akin to desire. "Why are you here, Potter? I thought we decided this wouldn’t happen again. You can't keep spying on me like this."
He wets his lips with his tongue and stares at Potter’s stupid green eyes. Swallowing loudly, Potter blinks at him, and Draco grabs him by the collar of his robe, pulling him closer.
"What are you doing?" Potter’s voice squeaks; his pale cheeks flush, his ridiculous hair drenched with rain and sticking up in all directions.
Draco smirks. "I asked you first."
"I--I came to pay my respects." Potter stutters through his words like the idiot he is, and not for the first time Draco wonders how he ever managed to defeat the Dark Lord. Potter’s a terrible liar, but Draco doesn’t care. He needs this-the distraction, to push Potter over the edge, to feel something besides pain and misery.
As if it sensed his mood, the rainfall grows heavier. Droplets weigh down Draco's eyelashes, but he can't stop staring at Potter.
"Bullshit," Draco tells him. "You hated Severus." He flashes Potter a devious smile, and the knot that’s been constricting his chest all day starts to uncoil. Potter has always found a way to push his buttons. Even here, soaking wet and standing in front of Severus's grave, Draco can’t help but hate Potter’s stupid face.
But Potter doesn’t back away. He allows Draco to continue holding the collar of his robe, to slowly rub his fingers against his collarbone.
"That’s not true. You know that Snape and I made our peace." Potter shifts his weight between his legs. "And, I’m here to see you."
Draco licks his lips again and closes the distance between them, his lips barely a breath away from Potter’s. "You hate me."
Potter doesn’t respond; instead, he kisses Draco, hard. His teeth nip at Draco’s bottom lip; his tongue envelops Draco’s. Potter has never been good with words. For once, Draco doesn’t mind. Against his better judgment, Draco loses himself in Potter’s kiss, allowing Potter to tangle his fingers in Draco’s hair, to press their hips together. Potter’s hard cock rubs against his thigh and Draco feels his own cock respond.
Almost immediately, Draco’s head clears. The racing thoughts that have been haunting him since Severus's death are momentarily forgotten. Instead, he focuses on the feel of Potter’s hard body against his, on the overwhelming sense of desire that numbs his pain.
He grinds his hips against Potter’s, rubbing their crotches together. When Potter lets out a low moan, Draco feels smug. He knows this is wrong. It’s bloody Potter, who maybe he doesn’t hate anymore, but he certainly doesn’t like him. And-even for a Slytherin, allowing Potter to molest him on top of Severus's grave is in poor taste. Severus's ghost would probably haunt him for all eternity if he knew how he was defiling his resting place, but Draco can’t control himself.
He doesn’t want to.
For once, he can’t worry about doing the proper thing, the Malfoy thing. The old Draco is dead. He died with Crabbe that day in the Room of Requirement. Or perhaps even as early as on the Astronomy Tower with Dumbledore. The old Draco cared about bloodlines and honouring his parents. This Draco doesn’t give a shit about propriety, blood status, or the Malfoy name. He only cares about surviving. Or most importantly forgetting.
"Potter," Draco rasps, when they finally break apart. They press their foreheads together, both out of breath. Potter’s chest heaves against his; a mixture of rain and saliva runs down Potter’s face. He’s never looked stupider. Or more kissable. "Do you want to get out of here?" Draco asks.
Potter frowns, knitting his eyebrows. “Are you sure? I don’t want to-”
“Don’t want to what, Potter?” Draco rolls his eyes. “Intrude? A little late for that.”
Potter flushes. “I didn’t mean...I could leave you alone. I thought-”
Smiling, Draco shakes his head. He crosses his legs, trying to hide his uncomfortable erection. “Just answer the question, Potter. Do you want to get out of here or not?”
“Yes,” Potter breathes, “I’d like that very much.”
Draco’s smile widens. “Okay, let’s go to your place then. I don’t want to explain to Mother why Harry Potter is molesting her only child.”
“On one condition.” Potter flashes his own smile. “You let me dry you off first.”
Draco rolls his eyes again but agrees. When Potter offers his arm, Draco takes it without hesitation. He still doesn’t exactly understand what this thing with Potter is, or if it’s even a thing at all. All Draco knows is that right now Potter is exactly what he needs, exactly what the old Draco would have hated the most.
Author: icicle33
Prompt: # O60 It's raining the day of the funeral. Thick, heavy drops that make his cloak cling to his frame. Draco can't help but think Severus would've liked it.
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Word Count: ~1200
Rating: R-ish
Warning(s): established H/D, some inappropriate groping in a graveyard
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes:Thanks so much to the mods for putting on this fest and giving me more time. Also, a huge thanks to ashiiblack for being the best beta ever and helping me make sense of my thoughts. Not an easy task.
Summary: Draco always has a follower when he visits Snape's grave.
Draco bows his head, no longer able to stare at Severus's gravestone, at the hideous bouquets that adorn it. Fat water droplets begin soaking his hair, running down his face. He tumbles onto his knees, not caring about muddying his trousers or messing up his hair.
He closes his eyes and tries not to cry for what feels like the hundredth time that day. He takes a deep breath and tries to compose himself. It shouldn’t still hurt so much, feel so fucking real.
All he wants to do is curl up and die. Of course, he can’t be granted that one simple courtesy.
Behind him, Draco hears a loud shuffling. He gives a heavy sigh, shaking his head. Sodding Potter. Even in the rain, he sounds like an uncouth elephant.
"Potter, I know you’re there." Draco wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. He attempts to hide behind his long fringe, hoping Potter doesn’t notice his tears, mistaking them for the rain.
When Potter doesn’t respond, Draco clears his throat and forces himself to stand. "Please," Draco urges, and he can’t believe he’s actually pleading with Potter. Oh, how low the mighty have fallen. "I can’t do this again. Not today. Take off that infernal cloak."
Draco cringes at how small his voice is, how high pitched and desperate he sounds. At least Potter has always had a thing for lost causes and kicked puppy dogs. Perhaps Draco’s patheticness will get him to finally see reason, to finally leave him alone. But that isn’t what you want, a grating voice taunts in the back of his mind.
Apparently, it works since Potter shows himself just as lightning strikes nearby. He takes his Invisibility Cloak off and smiles sheepishly at Draco as if it were normal for the two of them to meet up in the middle of a thunderstorm. "Hi, Malfoy."
"Don’t you dare, 'hi Malfoy' me, Potter!" Draco narrows his eyes as a loud clap of thunder booms around them. He pokes Potter in the shoulder, harder than necessary. "You followed me. Again."
Potter shrugs. He avoids Draco’s gaze. "Sorry. I was just…"
Draco takes a step closer to Potter. The idiot didn’t have enough sense to wear a waterproof cloak. He’s completely soaked, a trail of water dripping down his glasses and nose. At least he seems to have charmed his glasses against the rain, yet Draco almost wishes he hadn’t. Potter’s eyes look nearly as haunted as Draco's, and he can’t pretend not to be affected.
The pain in the back of Draco’s throat begins to subside, replacing itself with something akin to desire. "Why are you here, Potter? I thought we decided this wouldn’t happen again. You can't keep spying on me like this."
He wets his lips with his tongue and stares at Potter’s stupid green eyes. Swallowing loudly, Potter blinks at him, and Draco grabs him by the collar of his robe, pulling him closer.
"What are you doing?" Potter’s voice squeaks; his pale cheeks flush, his ridiculous hair drenched with rain and sticking up in all directions.
Draco smirks. "I asked you first."
"I--I came to pay my respects." Potter stutters through his words like the idiot he is, and not for the first time Draco wonders how he ever managed to defeat the Dark Lord. Potter’s a terrible liar, but Draco doesn’t care. He needs this-the distraction, to push Potter over the edge, to feel something besides pain and misery.
As if it sensed his mood, the rainfall grows heavier. Droplets weigh down Draco's eyelashes, but he can't stop staring at Potter.
"Bullshit," Draco tells him. "You hated Severus." He flashes Potter a devious smile, and the knot that’s been constricting his chest all day starts to uncoil. Potter has always found a way to push his buttons. Even here, soaking wet and standing in front of Severus's grave, Draco can’t help but hate Potter’s stupid face.
But Potter doesn’t back away. He allows Draco to continue holding the collar of his robe, to slowly rub his fingers against his collarbone.
"That’s not true. You know that Snape and I made our peace." Potter shifts his weight between his legs. "And, I’m here to see you."
Draco licks his lips again and closes the distance between them, his lips barely a breath away from Potter’s. "You hate me."
Potter doesn’t respond; instead, he kisses Draco, hard. His teeth nip at Draco’s bottom lip; his tongue envelops Draco’s. Potter has never been good with words. For once, Draco doesn’t mind. Against his better judgment, Draco loses himself in Potter’s kiss, allowing Potter to tangle his fingers in Draco’s hair, to press their hips together. Potter’s hard cock rubs against his thigh and Draco feels his own cock respond.
Almost immediately, Draco’s head clears. The racing thoughts that have been haunting him since Severus's death are momentarily forgotten. Instead, he focuses on the feel of Potter’s hard body against his, on the overwhelming sense of desire that numbs his pain.
He grinds his hips against Potter’s, rubbing their crotches together. When Potter lets out a low moan, Draco feels smug. He knows this is wrong. It’s bloody Potter, who maybe he doesn’t hate anymore, but he certainly doesn’t like him. And-even for a Slytherin, allowing Potter to molest him on top of Severus's grave is in poor taste. Severus's ghost would probably haunt him for all eternity if he knew how he was defiling his resting place, but Draco can’t control himself.
He doesn’t want to.
For once, he can’t worry about doing the proper thing, the Malfoy thing. The old Draco is dead. He died with Crabbe that day in the Room of Requirement. Or perhaps even as early as on the Astronomy Tower with Dumbledore. The old Draco cared about bloodlines and honouring his parents. This Draco doesn’t give a shit about propriety, blood status, or the Malfoy name. He only cares about surviving. Or most importantly forgetting.
"Potter," Draco rasps, when they finally break apart. They press their foreheads together, both out of breath. Potter’s chest heaves against his; a mixture of rain and saliva runs down Potter’s face. He’s never looked stupider. Or more kissable. "Do you want to get out of here?" Draco asks.
Potter frowns, knitting his eyebrows. “Are you sure? I don’t want to-”
“Don’t want to what, Potter?” Draco rolls his eyes. “Intrude? A little late for that.”
Potter flushes. “I didn’t mean...I could leave you alone. I thought-”
Smiling, Draco shakes his head. He crosses his legs, trying to hide his uncomfortable erection. “Just answer the question, Potter. Do you want to get out of here or not?”
“Yes,” Potter breathes, “I’d like that very much.”
Draco’s smile widens. “Okay, let’s go to your place then. I don’t want to explain to Mother why Harry Potter is molesting her only child.”
“On one condition.” Potter flashes his own smile. “You let me dry you off first.”
Draco rolls his eyes again but agrees. When Potter offers his arm, Draco takes it without hesitation. He still doesn’t exactly understand what this thing with Potter is, or if it’s even a thing at all. All Draco knows is that right now Potter is exactly what he needs, exactly what the old Draco would have hated the most.