Fic: After Effect, Harry/Draco, NC-17, [Complete]
Title: After Effect
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Summary: No one knew Draco had a daughter, but due to unfortunate circumstances surrounding the end of the War he'll have to bring her to school for his eighth year. Perhaps a bit of innocence can help to open eyes.
This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Chapter Eight
Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting in the Gryffindor common room by the fire with Carina. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil were fawning over her. True to her family name, she was bathing in the attention.
“Do you ever braid your hair?” Lavender asked her as she separated the silky strands into three sections.
“Sometimes! Papa isn’t very good at braiding,” she giggled
.
“Boys can’t do anything,” Parvati teased. Carina laughed. Hermione saw Ron scowl and smiled to herself.
“She really should be going to bed soon, shouldn’t she? Draco said nine o’clock and it’s nearly ten!”
“Oh, hush,” said Lavender. “She can stay up a bit longer.”
Hermione sighed and looked to Harry. He was tense.
“Ten o’clock, wasn’t it?” He nodded. “Are you leaving soon?” Again, he nodded. She looked to Ron, who shrugged. Talk to him, she mouthed. Ron gave her a look that said he had no idea what he was supposed to say. Hermione gestured to Harry with her head, face set, and Ron, grumbling as he did so, finally stood up.
“Harry,” he said. Harry looked at him, eyebrows raised in question. “Got a minute?” Harry looked to the clock, hesitated, and then stood as well.
* * *
Harry had no idea what this was about. He was already anxious to go see Malfoy-he didn’t know what he’d been thinking when he’d agreed to this. Or even when he’d tried to convince Malfoy to … what? Be with him? Snog him out in the open? He’d been so caught up in the moment-in the taste of Malfoy and the blood rapidly filling his erection-that he hadn’t been thinking clearly. And now what? What was he supposed to say to Malfoy when he got there? What was Malfoy planning on saying? Perhaps he’d tell Harry it just wasn’t going to happen… Yes, that would be the best. Harry would simply agree, explain that he hadn’t known what he’d been thinking, and they could maybe become friendly and that would be the end of it. He’d go back to Ginny.
Harry desperately tried to ignore the horrible sinking sensation in his stomach at that thought.
He cleared his mind of these thoughts as he followed Ron up the stairs to his room, which was just a bit messier than Harry’s. Hermione was constantly trying to clean it up.
Ron shut the door behind Harry and turned to face him. He looked extremely uncomfortable.
“Look, Ron, if this about Malfoy you don’t-”
“Hang on, Harry.” Harry closed his mouth and chewed on the inside of his cheek, his palms becoming sweaty. He and Ron were as close as two friends could be, but Ron had never been very good at talking about these kinds of things and Harry thought that discussing not only his possible attraction to blokes, but attraction to Malfoy, might prove a tad awkward.
Except he’d just been telling himself that he was going to stop it with Malfoy, so it didn’t matter!
He resolved to hear Ron out before coming to any conclusions.
“Hermione told me last week some time that she thought you fancied Malfoy,” he began. “I thought she’d gone barmy. But then today you… I guess you really do like him. And that’s okay with me, Harry, it is. As long you’re happy. I don’t … I don’t really know him very well or anything, but-er-if it means that much to you I can try, you know?” Harry could tell Ron was trying to work around directly stating his hatred for Malfoy. He appreciated it, even felt himself smiling, but it also made him uncomfortable. He felt a headache coming on. “And Carina’s great. But-er-anyway, I know you’re going to see him tonight, so, you know, I just wanted to say that, well, you’re my best mate and I’m here for you if you wanted to talk about anything or needed any, you know … support.”
Harry thought he’d never seen Ron look so helpless-while talking to him, at least. It was relieving in an incredible way to know that, no matter what (and he thought developing feelings for Malfoy was quite out there), Ron would stick with him. He’d known it already, what with the Horcrux hunt and all, but still.
“Thanks, Ron,” he said, and moved in to hug him. Ron patted him awkwardly on the back before they pulled apart. “I was thinking, though… I don’t know if… I mean, it’s Malfoy, right? What if this is just some … weird thing and I … I get over it, or something. It doesn’t make sense. Maybe I should just call the whole thing off.” To his surprise, Ron looked sympathetic.
“You snogged his brains out today, Harry,” he said, almost as though Harry hadn’t known and he was breaking some difficult news. Harry burst into laughter.
“I know, but I was thinking about it and maybe I was just caught up in the moment or something!”
“Harry,” he deadpanned. “People don’t just go around sucking face like that.” Harry raised a brow. “Lavender was sixth year! And besides, that was just, you know, teenage hormones. If you were just messing around or … or experimenting, I hardly think you’d be doing it with Malfoy.”
Harry sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. He supposed Ron was right. Maybe he was just nervous.
Suddenly, unbidden, Ginny popped into his mind and Harry’s stomach churned angrily. He supposed Ron had to have thought of it already. How would he have forgotten? They’d gotten this far, he figured he may as well ask…
“What about… What about Ginny?”
Ron lost a bit of color and looked down.
“Honestly? Hermione said she spoke to her.”
What?
“She… She spoke to her? But … but how? When? I mean… What?”
Ron looked back up at him, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.
“I don’t know much,” he said. “Hermione just said she’d spoken to her when she first told me about her-er-suspicions. Have you talked to her?”
“Who? Ginny?” Ron nodded. “Actually, not for a while, no. Not since… Er-well, not for a while.” He thought he’d spare Ron the details of his and Ginny’s argument. Ron seemed to guess and blushed fiercely.
“Don’t worry about that, Harry,” he said. “Just worry about you. And Malfoy.”
Harry cast his eyes downward and tried to smile his gratitude but it came out as more of a grimace
.
“Something else wrong?”
“I’m just anxious.” He swallowed nervously. “I’ve never … I’ve never fancied a bloke before.” He’d lowered both his voice and his eyes at the end of the sentence.
“Harry.” He looked up, feeling like all his anxieties were clear in his eyes. “It’s just how some people are. It’s not a bad thing. Maybe you still like girls, too. Either way, it doesn't matter. I don’t know about Muggles, but it’s not uncommon in the Wizarding world. Pureblood families are a bit stricter with first-born sons, but that’s just for the sake of the family name. If it feels right, then I say do it. Even if it is with an arrogant ferret.” He smiled good-naturedly. Harry grinned and shook his head, shocked into silence that all that had come out of Ron’s mouth.
“Does Hermione know about this?”
“About what?” Ron looked a bit taken aback. Harry laughed.
“That your emotional range has grown to about the size of three teaspoons.”
Ron punched his shoulder but smiled all the same.
“No way, mate. She loves yelling at me. Best to keep that under your hat.”
“Thanks, Ron.” He sighed again and looked at the door. Ron’s talk had stirred something inside of him-he felt motivated again. He thought back to how he’d felt kissing Malfoy and smiled. Yes, he would do this. He could do this.
“No worries, mate.” He went over to the door and held it open for Harry. As he stepped outside Ron said, “Don’t forget a rubber johnny, eh?” Harry spun around, mouth wide, prepared to kick Ron in the shin, but Ron shut the door before he had a chance. Harry heard him laughing in his room. He could feel the heat crawling up his neck.
And yet he was smiling as he went to his room to grab his cloak.
* * *
It was just before ten when Harry arrived at the wall hiding the Slytherin common room. He carefully tucked the Marauder’s Map into the back pocket of his denims and leaned against the wall, periodically checking to make certain his feet weren’t showing. He briefly marveled at the fact that he, Ron, and Hermione all used to be able to sneak around the castle beneath the cloak. They really had broken a lot of rules. He smiled to himself, remembering so vividly the time he and Hermione had snuck Norbert up to the top of the tallest tower and left the cloak afterward in their haste to return to the dorms.
His smile turned into a quiet laugh when he realized it had been Malfoy to tip off Filch and then cause him, Hermione, and Neville to lose a total of 150 points for Gryffindor. Malfoy had been such a pain the arse when he was little.
Harry was surprised to find that he remembered this fondly-almost like a silly rivalry in a silly past. Of course, the silly rivalry had turned into something much more extreme, but he didn’t like to think of the young Malfoy as the same one who’d been on the Tower the night of Dumbledore’s death. They’d both been influenced by his father, but the young one was so much more innocent-his pranks so much more juvenile. Tipping Filch off in order to get them in trouble didn’t amount to anything when taking into consideration his attempt to cast an Unforgivable on Harry in their sixth year.
Harry sighed, puffed his cheeks and let out a long, slow breath. This whole thing-this thing with Malfoy-was not something he’d have ever expected.
The sound of footsteps could be heard to his right and Harry squinted in the dark, just able to make out Malfoy’s bright blond hair shining in the gloom of the dungeon corridors.
When he came close to the entrance (Harry still found it mildly impressive that the Slytherins managed to memorize its location) he slowed his pace, peering around cautiously in the dark. Harry saved him the trouble of searching by reaching out and gently touching his arm. Malfoy gasped and jumped but quickly regained his composure. Harry could just make out a soft blush on his cheeks at having been startled like that.
“Merlin, Potter, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“Stop complaining and get inside,” said Harry, humor in his voice. Malfoy scowled, though there was no real conviction in it, and quickly muttered the password, allowing Harry to clamber inside before him. Harry followed him through the semi-familiar common room, past the hordes of Slytherins talking and doing homework (none of whom paid Malfoy any attention), and down a hallway that Harry didn’t remember from last time. He supposed the Slytherin eighth years, too, had gotten their own rooms.
He pressed his lips together in utter embarrassment at himself when he felt his cock stir at the thought.
Malfoy’s was on the right side of the end of the hallway. He let Harry in and then closed the door behind them, making sure to lock it.
Harry noticed two beds: one that looked like his own and another, smaller one which he presumed was for Carina. The quilt on hers was not decorated with Slytherin colors like Malfoy’s, but with pink and white plaid. Harry was pleased to note that it matched the broom he’d gotten her quite well.
He dropped his cloak on the floor and turned to Malfoy’s bed where he found Malfoy sitting, watching him curiously.
“Did McGonagall give you the quilt?”
“I ordered it. Carina hated the standard set.” He seemed both annoyed and amused by this. “Just watch, she’ll be a Hufflepuff. Or worse, a Gryffindor.” He smirked at Harry, who rolled his eyes.
“Not with that stunt she pulled today, she won’t.” Malfoy’s smirk dropped in the space of a millisecond. Harry felt the atmosphere change; the temperature seemed to shift until Harry could have sworn it was well past forty degrees. His hands were sweating and his face felt hot.
He moved closer to Malfoy’s bed and when the blond made no sign of protest tentatively sat down next to him.
“Guess we’re not beating around the bush, eh?” Malfoy said quietly.
“Seems pointless, doesn’t it? We both know why we’re here.”
Malfoy nodded his agreement but said nothing. Harry waited a few moments, but when it became clear Malfoy wasn’t going to speak first he gathered all of his Gryffindor courage and took the initiative.
“I meant what I said today.” Silence. “That you make everything hurt a little bit less.” Malfoy’s eyes were trained somewhere on the ground in front of him, no hint of expression on his face. Harry cracked his knuckles idly and let them flop down on his legs. “Ron and Hermione … they’re there for me. They’ve always been there for me. They’re my best friends. But that’s just it, you know? It’s only half the picture. I need someone else, too. Like they have each other.” He could sense that Malfoy was uncomfortable by the way he tensed up. His body was frigid. Harry swallowed thickly, hoping he wasn’t digging himself into a hole. “Ginny, she … she was then. My adolescence. She was part of a past life. She was there for me during the War. Being with her was … it was part of the War.”
“And I’m not?” Harry looked over, startled by Malfoy’s voice, so quiet even in the otherwise silent room. “I’m not part of the War, Potter?” He looked hurt. As though there really could only be one answer to that question.
But he wasn’t part of the War. He was, of course, but not this Malfoy. Harry didn’t know how to explain it.
“You were, just … just not you now.” Malfoy raised a brow. Harry huffed, frustrated. He stared at the floor, trying to think of a way to explain it. It was almost like this wasn’t Malfoy anymore. It was Malfoy, just not … Malfoy. This was more…
“Draco,” he whispered, and Malfoy’s head snapped in his direction, like Harry’d cursed loudly. Harry smiled, knowing he’d figured it out. He looked at Malfoy-Draco-and grinned softly. “You were Malfoy. You were my enemy. By default. But that’s not what you are now, don’t you get it? This is Draco.” He poked him gently in the chest and Draco’s eyes followed. He looked slowly back up at Harry, his eyes once again in danger of becoming wet with tears. Harry dropped his hand but continued to look straight into Draco’s eyes. “You’re like a needle in the haystack or something.” He laughed, shaking his head. “I know it sounds cheesy, but it’s true. So much misery and death and … and horror came out of the War. But then something good came out of it, too. Even if it was just one little thing surrounded by everything else.” Draco looked like he knew what Harry was about to say, but he couldn't believe he was really going to say it. He was breathing only a bit more heavily than normal. It spurred Harry onward. “I lost so much. So much family, so many friends… But I gained things, too. I just didn’t realize it before. I was so busy focusing on what I’d lost and enjoying what I had left.” Harry brought a hand up to Draco’s cheek, who didn’t move a muscle, and slowly, carefully, slid it around until he gripped the back of his neck.
He glanced down at Draco’s lips and back up at his eyes, moving back and forth between them as he inched closer, heart pounding at the thought of kissing him again, trying to detect any signs of reluctance. But when he got close enough to feel Draco’s breath on his lips and still he hadn’t pulled away, Harry shut his eyes and closed the rest of the space between them.
Like last time, it was a tentative kiss at first. But unlike last time, they didn’t pull away before it began to heat up. Draco was breathing heavily, making his kisses choppy and short but frantic. The desperation made Harry hot. He could feel his pulse in his fingers and in his ears as he brought another hand up to grip the side of Draco’s face. He was very quickly losing control, his previously flaccid cock filling with blood alarmingly fast. Before he could think much about what he was doing, and without detaching their lips for too long at once, he climbed on top of Draco, straddling his waist, and moved him backwards on the bed.
When he had Draco on his back, panting and whimpering quietly on every other breath, he latched his mouth instead onto Draco’s neck. He could taste the sweat and the cologne and, somehow, the arousal, which was thick in the air around them. He lapped at Draco’s neck and his throat like a starving man being offered food. Draco’s hands clutched at his hair, tugging arbitrarily when Harry bit down on a sensitive spot. His pulse fluttered frenetically under Harry’s tongue.
Beneath him, he could feel Draco parting his legs, unconsciously it seemed, allowing more direct contact between their equally straining cocks. Harry found Draco’s hands with his own and entwined their fingers at the same time that he closed his eyes and pushed his hips forward. Draco gasped at the friction and arched up. Harry was breathing heavily onto Draco’s sweat- and spit-soaked neck as he began to grind mindlessly against him.
The only sounds in the room were that of Harry’s heavy panting and Draco’s occasional, quiet whimpers, along with the soft sound of denim against fabric.
Harry could so clearly feel Draco’s cock through his trousers, against his own erection, and he squeezed his eyes shut ever more tightly as the pressure built in his groin. Never before had this kind of thing occurred to him. Rubbing frantically against another man. But it felt so good. And the fact that it was Draco-Harry bit his lip harshly as his world shrunk and continued shrinking until it centered on the places where their bodies molded together.
“Draco,” he whispered, and he heard Draco moan softly in response. He felt like he couldn’t breathe but continued to rock against the warm, responsive body.
He wasn’t ready for it when his vision went white.
He buried his face once more in Draco’s neck, muffling the low groan that accompanied his orgasm. He vaguely registered the feel of Draco’s body shuddering beneath him. He continued to move against him until the waves of pleasure began to subside.
Harry opened his eyes and swallowed. He smelled Draco. Sweat, sex, and Draco. Their fingers were still twisted together, though loosely now, and Harry felt his hands throbbing from having been squeezed so tightly.
He breathed out and sat up, his back meeting Draco’s legs, which were propped up behind him. Draco was staring at the ceiling, though he didn’t look focused, and he was breathing heavily. Harry couldn’t help thinking he looked rather captivating this way: strands of his blond hair stuck to his forehead, his face and his neck glistening, and the front of his nice white shirt damp with sweat.
With a small, satisfied smile Harry leaned down and captured Draco’s lips in a slow kiss. When he pulled away Draco was staring at him.
Harry pulled his wand out of his denims and cast a Cleaning Charm on both of them, spelling away the mess inside their trousers. He then crawled off of Draco and offered a hand to help him up. They sat before each other, both feeling a little awkward, and yet Harry could sense somehow that everything was okay.
What happened now, though? He looked at Draco, so far from perfect, and yet he felt a strong attraction to him. He wanted to make him happy. To make him feel pleasure like that again. To help him with his daughter.
To be with him, essentially, he supposed.
“Draco,” he said quietly. Draco looked at him. “What would you say if I told you I wanted to be with you?”
Draco bit his lip and looked down.
“…Be with me how?”
Harry lifted his chin and studied his eyes. He knew Draco was fully aware of what he meant.
“In every sense of the word.”
“I’d think you were lying.”
Harry leaned in and kissed him. “And if I wasn’t?”
“I’d think you were a stupid Gryffindor.”
Harry laughed lightly, shaking his head. He tried again.
“But what would you say?”
Draco took a moment to respond. Harry didn’t think he was contemplating his answer, but building the courage to say it. He took a deep breath and finally spoke.
“I would ask you if that was a proposition.”
Harry smiled. “It is.”
Draco shook his head, a small, happy grin pulling his lips upward.
“Then yes.”
Link to Chapter Nine
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Summary: No one knew Draco had a daughter, but due to unfortunate circumstances surrounding the end of the War he'll have to bring her to school for his eighth year. Perhaps a bit of innocence can help to open eyes.
This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Chapter Eight
Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting in the Gryffindor common room by the fire with Carina. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil were fawning over her. True to her family name, she was bathing in the attention.
“Do you ever braid your hair?” Lavender asked her as she separated the silky strands into three sections.
“Sometimes! Papa isn’t very good at braiding,” she giggled
.
“Boys can’t do anything,” Parvati teased. Carina laughed. Hermione saw Ron scowl and smiled to herself.
“She really should be going to bed soon, shouldn’t she? Draco said nine o’clock and it’s nearly ten!”
“Oh, hush,” said Lavender. “She can stay up a bit longer.”
Hermione sighed and looked to Harry. He was tense.
“Ten o’clock, wasn’t it?” He nodded. “Are you leaving soon?” Again, he nodded. She looked to Ron, who shrugged. Talk to him, she mouthed. Ron gave her a look that said he had no idea what he was supposed to say. Hermione gestured to Harry with her head, face set, and Ron, grumbling as he did so, finally stood up.
“Harry,” he said. Harry looked at him, eyebrows raised in question. “Got a minute?” Harry looked to the clock, hesitated, and then stood as well.
* * *
Harry had no idea what this was about. He was already anxious to go see Malfoy-he didn’t know what he’d been thinking when he’d agreed to this. Or even when he’d tried to convince Malfoy to … what? Be with him? Snog him out in the open? He’d been so caught up in the moment-in the taste of Malfoy and the blood rapidly filling his erection-that he hadn’t been thinking clearly. And now what? What was he supposed to say to Malfoy when he got there? What was Malfoy planning on saying? Perhaps he’d tell Harry it just wasn’t going to happen… Yes, that would be the best. Harry would simply agree, explain that he hadn’t known what he’d been thinking, and they could maybe become friendly and that would be the end of it. He’d go back to Ginny.
Harry desperately tried to ignore the horrible sinking sensation in his stomach at that thought.
He cleared his mind of these thoughts as he followed Ron up the stairs to his room, which was just a bit messier than Harry’s. Hermione was constantly trying to clean it up.
Ron shut the door behind Harry and turned to face him. He looked extremely uncomfortable.
“Look, Ron, if this about Malfoy you don’t-”
“Hang on, Harry.” Harry closed his mouth and chewed on the inside of his cheek, his palms becoming sweaty. He and Ron were as close as two friends could be, but Ron had never been very good at talking about these kinds of things and Harry thought that discussing not only his possible attraction to blokes, but attraction to Malfoy, might prove a tad awkward.
Except he’d just been telling himself that he was going to stop it with Malfoy, so it didn’t matter!
He resolved to hear Ron out before coming to any conclusions.
“Hermione told me last week some time that she thought you fancied Malfoy,” he began. “I thought she’d gone barmy. But then today you… I guess you really do like him. And that’s okay with me, Harry, it is. As long you’re happy. I don’t … I don’t really know him very well or anything, but-er-if it means that much to you I can try, you know?” Harry could tell Ron was trying to work around directly stating his hatred for Malfoy. He appreciated it, even felt himself smiling, but it also made him uncomfortable. He felt a headache coming on. “And Carina’s great. But-er-anyway, I know you’re going to see him tonight, so, you know, I just wanted to say that, well, you’re my best mate and I’m here for you if you wanted to talk about anything or needed any, you know … support.”
Harry thought he’d never seen Ron look so helpless-while talking to him, at least. It was relieving in an incredible way to know that, no matter what (and he thought developing feelings for Malfoy was quite out there), Ron would stick with him. He’d known it already, what with the Horcrux hunt and all, but still.
“Thanks, Ron,” he said, and moved in to hug him. Ron patted him awkwardly on the back before they pulled apart. “I was thinking, though… I don’t know if… I mean, it’s Malfoy, right? What if this is just some … weird thing and I … I get over it, or something. It doesn’t make sense. Maybe I should just call the whole thing off.” To his surprise, Ron looked sympathetic.
“You snogged his brains out today, Harry,” he said, almost as though Harry hadn’t known and he was breaking some difficult news. Harry burst into laughter.
“I know, but I was thinking about it and maybe I was just caught up in the moment or something!”
“Harry,” he deadpanned. “People don’t just go around sucking face like that.” Harry raised a brow. “Lavender was sixth year! And besides, that was just, you know, teenage hormones. If you were just messing around or … or experimenting, I hardly think you’d be doing it with Malfoy.”
Harry sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. He supposed Ron was right. Maybe he was just nervous.
Suddenly, unbidden, Ginny popped into his mind and Harry’s stomach churned angrily. He supposed Ron had to have thought of it already. How would he have forgotten? They’d gotten this far, he figured he may as well ask…
“What about… What about Ginny?”
Ron lost a bit of color and looked down.
“Honestly? Hermione said she spoke to her.”
What?
“She… She spoke to her? But … but how? When? I mean… What?”
Ron looked back up at him, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.
“I don’t know much,” he said. “Hermione just said she’d spoken to her when she first told me about her-er-suspicions. Have you talked to her?”
“Who? Ginny?” Ron nodded. “Actually, not for a while, no. Not since… Er-well, not for a while.” He thought he’d spare Ron the details of his and Ginny’s argument. Ron seemed to guess and blushed fiercely.
“Don’t worry about that, Harry,” he said. “Just worry about you. And Malfoy.”
Harry cast his eyes downward and tried to smile his gratitude but it came out as more of a grimace
.
“Something else wrong?”
“I’m just anxious.” He swallowed nervously. “I’ve never … I’ve never fancied a bloke before.” He’d lowered both his voice and his eyes at the end of the sentence.
“Harry.” He looked up, feeling like all his anxieties were clear in his eyes. “It’s just how some people are. It’s not a bad thing. Maybe you still like girls, too. Either way, it doesn't matter. I don’t know about Muggles, but it’s not uncommon in the Wizarding world. Pureblood families are a bit stricter with first-born sons, but that’s just for the sake of the family name. If it feels right, then I say do it. Even if it is with an arrogant ferret.” He smiled good-naturedly. Harry grinned and shook his head, shocked into silence that all that had come out of Ron’s mouth.
“Does Hermione know about this?”
“About what?” Ron looked a bit taken aback. Harry laughed.
“That your emotional range has grown to about the size of three teaspoons.”
Ron punched his shoulder but smiled all the same.
“No way, mate. She loves yelling at me. Best to keep that under your hat.”
“Thanks, Ron.” He sighed again and looked at the door. Ron’s talk had stirred something inside of him-he felt motivated again. He thought back to how he’d felt kissing Malfoy and smiled. Yes, he would do this. He could do this.
“No worries, mate.” He went over to the door and held it open for Harry. As he stepped outside Ron said, “Don’t forget a rubber johnny, eh?” Harry spun around, mouth wide, prepared to kick Ron in the shin, but Ron shut the door before he had a chance. Harry heard him laughing in his room. He could feel the heat crawling up his neck.
And yet he was smiling as he went to his room to grab his cloak.
* * *
It was just before ten when Harry arrived at the wall hiding the Slytherin common room. He carefully tucked the Marauder’s Map into the back pocket of his denims and leaned against the wall, periodically checking to make certain his feet weren’t showing. He briefly marveled at the fact that he, Ron, and Hermione all used to be able to sneak around the castle beneath the cloak. They really had broken a lot of rules. He smiled to himself, remembering so vividly the time he and Hermione had snuck Norbert up to the top of the tallest tower and left the cloak afterward in their haste to return to the dorms.
His smile turned into a quiet laugh when he realized it had been Malfoy to tip off Filch and then cause him, Hermione, and Neville to lose a total of 150 points for Gryffindor. Malfoy had been such a pain the arse when he was little.
Harry was surprised to find that he remembered this fondly-almost like a silly rivalry in a silly past. Of course, the silly rivalry had turned into something much more extreme, but he didn’t like to think of the young Malfoy as the same one who’d been on the Tower the night of Dumbledore’s death. They’d both been influenced by his father, but the young one was so much more innocent-his pranks so much more juvenile. Tipping Filch off in order to get them in trouble didn’t amount to anything when taking into consideration his attempt to cast an Unforgivable on Harry in their sixth year.
Harry sighed, puffed his cheeks and let out a long, slow breath. This whole thing-this thing with Malfoy-was not something he’d have ever expected.
The sound of footsteps could be heard to his right and Harry squinted in the dark, just able to make out Malfoy’s bright blond hair shining in the gloom of the dungeon corridors.
When he came close to the entrance (Harry still found it mildly impressive that the Slytherins managed to memorize its location) he slowed his pace, peering around cautiously in the dark. Harry saved him the trouble of searching by reaching out and gently touching his arm. Malfoy gasped and jumped but quickly regained his composure. Harry could just make out a soft blush on his cheeks at having been startled like that.
“Merlin, Potter, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“Stop complaining and get inside,” said Harry, humor in his voice. Malfoy scowled, though there was no real conviction in it, and quickly muttered the password, allowing Harry to clamber inside before him. Harry followed him through the semi-familiar common room, past the hordes of Slytherins talking and doing homework (none of whom paid Malfoy any attention), and down a hallway that Harry didn’t remember from last time. He supposed the Slytherin eighth years, too, had gotten their own rooms.
He pressed his lips together in utter embarrassment at himself when he felt his cock stir at the thought.
Malfoy’s was on the right side of the end of the hallway. He let Harry in and then closed the door behind them, making sure to lock it.
Harry noticed two beds: one that looked like his own and another, smaller one which he presumed was for Carina. The quilt on hers was not decorated with Slytherin colors like Malfoy’s, but with pink and white plaid. Harry was pleased to note that it matched the broom he’d gotten her quite well.
He dropped his cloak on the floor and turned to Malfoy’s bed where he found Malfoy sitting, watching him curiously.
“Did McGonagall give you the quilt?”
“I ordered it. Carina hated the standard set.” He seemed both annoyed and amused by this. “Just watch, she’ll be a Hufflepuff. Or worse, a Gryffindor.” He smirked at Harry, who rolled his eyes.
“Not with that stunt she pulled today, she won’t.” Malfoy’s smirk dropped in the space of a millisecond. Harry felt the atmosphere change; the temperature seemed to shift until Harry could have sworn it was well past forty degrees. His hands were sweating and his face felt hot.
He moved closer to Malfoy’s bed and when the blond made no sign of protest tentatively sat down next to him.
“Guess we’re not beating around the bush, eh?” Malfoy said quietly.
“Seems pointless, doesn’t it? We both know why we’re here.”
Malfoy nodded his agreement but said nothing. Harry waited a few moments, but when it became clear Malfoy wasn’t going to speak first he gathered all of his Gryffindor courage and took the initiative.
“I meant what I said today.” Silence. “That you make everything hurt a little bit less.” Malfoy’s eyes were trained somewhere on the ground in front of him, no hint of expression on his face. Harry cracked his knuckles idly and let them flop down on his legs. “Ron and Hermione … they’re there for me. They’ve always been there for me. They’re my best friends. But that’s just it, you know? It’s only half the picture. I need someone else, too. Like they have each other.” He could sense that Malfoy was uncomfortable by the way he tensed up. His body was frigid. Harry swallowed thickly, hoping he wasn’t digging himself into a hole. “Ginny, she … she was then. My adolescence. She was part of a past life. She was there for me during the War. Being with her was … it was part of the War.”
“And I’m not?” Harry looked over, startled by Malfoy’s voice, so quiet even in the otherwise silent room. “I’m not part of the War, Potter?” He looked hurt. As though there really could only be one answer to that question.
But he wasn’t part of the War. He was, of course, but not this Malfoy. Harry didn’t know how to explain it.
“You were, just … just not you now.” Malfoy raised a brow. Harry huffed, frustrated. He stared at the floor, trying to think of a way to explain it. It was almost like this wasn’t Malfoy anymore. It was Malfoy, just not … Malfoy. This was more…
“Draco,” he whispered, and Malfoy’s head snapped in his direction, like Harry’d cursed loudly. Harry smiled, knowing he’d figured it out. He looked at Malfoy-Draco-and grinned softly. “You were Malfoy. You were my enemy. By default. But that’s not what you are now, don’t you get it? This is Draco.” He poked him gently in the chest and Draco’s eyes followed. He looked slowly back up at Harry, his eyes once again in danger of becoming wet with tears. Harry dropped his hand but continued to look straight into Draco’s eyes. “You’re like a needle in the haystack or something.” He laughed, shaking his head. “I know it sounds cheesy, but it’s true. So much misery and death and … and horror came out of the War. But then something good came out of it, too. Even if it was just one little thing surrounded by everything else.” Draco looked like he knew what Harry was about to say, but he couldn't believe he was really going to say it. He was breathing only a bit more heavily than normal. It spurred Harry onward. “I lost so much. So much family, so many friends… But I gained things, too. I just didn’t realize it before. I was so busy focusing on what I’d lost and enjoying what I had left.” Harry brought a hand up to Draco’s cheek, who didn’t move a muscle, and slowly, carefully, slid it around until he gripped the back of his neck.
He glanced down at Draco’s lips and back up at his eyes, moving back and forth between them as he inched closer, heart pounding at the thought of kissing him again, trying to detect any signs of reluctance. But when he got close enough to feel Draco’s breath on his lips and still he hadn’t pulled away, Harry shut his eyes and closed the rest of the space between them.
Like last time, it was a tentative kiss at first. But unlike last time, they didn’t pull away before it began to heat up. Draco was breathing heavily, making his kisses choppy and short but frantic. The desperation made Harry hot. He could feel his pulse in his fingers and in his ears as he brought another hand up to grip the side of Draco’s face. He was very quickly losing control, his previously flaccid cock filling with blood alarmingly fast. Before he could think much about what he was doing, and without detaching their lips for too long at once, he climbed on top of Draco, straddling his waist, and moved him backwards on the bed.
When he had Draco on his back, panting and whimpering quietly on every other breath, he latched his mouth instead onto Draco’s neck. He could taste the sweat and the cologne and, somehow, the arousal, which was thick in the air around them. He lapped at Draco’s neck and his throat like a starving man being offered food. Draco’s hands clutched at his hair, tugging arbitrarily when Harry bit down on a sensitive spot. His pulse fluttered frenetically under Harry’s tongue.
Beneath him, he could feel Draco parting his legs, unconsciously it seemed, allowing more direct contact between their equally straining cocks. Harry found Draco’s hands with his own and entwined their fingers at the same time that he closed his eyes and pushed his hips forward. Draco gasped at the friction and arched up. Harry was breathing heavily onto Draco’s sweat- and spit-soaked neck as he began to grind mindlessly against him.
The only sounds in the room were that of Harry’s heavy panting and Draco’s occasional, quiet whimpers, along with the soft sound of denim against fabric.
Harry could so clearly feel Draco’s cock through his trousers, against his own erection, and he squeezed his eyes shut ever more tightly as the pressure built in his groin. Never before had this kind of thing occurred to him. Rubbing frantically against another man. But it felt so good. And the fact that it was Draco-Harry bit his lip harshly as his world shrunk and continued shrinking until it centered on the places where their bodies molded together.
“Draco,” he whispered, and he heard Draco moan softly in response. He felt like he couldn’t breathe but continued to rock against the warm, responsive body.
He wasn’t ready for it when his vision went white.
He buried his face once more in Draco’s neck, muffling the low groan that accompanied his orgasm. He vaguely registered the feel of Draco’s body shuddering beneath him. He continued to move against him until the waves of pleasure began to subside.
Harry opened his eyes and swallowed. He smelled Draco. Sweat, sex, and Draco. Their fingers were still twisted together, though loosely now, and Harry felt his hands throbbing from having been squeezed so tightly.
He breathed out and sat up, his back meeting Draco’s legs, which were propped up behind him. Draco was staring at the ceiling, though he didn’t look focused, and he was breathing heavily. Harry couldn’t help thinking he looked rather captivating this way: strands of his blond hair stuck to his forehead, his face and his neck glistening, and the front of his nice white shirt damp with sweat.
With a small, satisfied smile Harry leaned down and captured Draco’s lips in a slow kiss. When he pulled away Draco was staring at him.
Harry pulled his wand out of his denims and cast a Cleaning Charm on both of them, spelling away the mess inside their trousers. He then crawled off of Draco and offered a hand to help him up. They sat before each other, both feeling a little awkward, and yet Harry could sense somehow that everything was okay.
What happened now, though? He looked at Draco, so far from perfect, and yet he felt a strong attraction to him. He wanted to make him happy. To make him feel pleasure like that again. To help him with his daughter.
To be with him, essentially, he supposed.
“Draco,” he said quietly. Draco looked at him. “What would you say if I told you I wanted to be with you?”
Draco bit his lip and looked down.
“…Be with me how?”
Harry lifted his chin and studied his eyes. He knew Draco was fully aware of what he meant.
“In every sense of the word.”
“I’d think you were lying.”
Harry leaned in and kissed him. “And if I wasn’t?”
“I’d think you were a stupid Gryffindor.”
Harry laughed lightly, shaking his head. He tried again.
“But what would you say?”
Draco took a moment to respond. Harry didn’t think he was contemplating his answer, but building the courage to say it. He took a deep breath and finally spoke.
“I would ask you if that was a proposition.”
Harry smiled. “It is.”
Draco shook his head, a small, happy grin pulling his lips upward.
“Then yes.”
Link to Chapter Nine