Chapter Twelve of 'Reap the Hurricane'- Flare Like Fire
Chapter Eleven.
Title: Reap the Hurricane (12/19)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters; I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairings: Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, other canon pairings
Warnings: Angst, violence, sex
Rating: R
Summary: After the war, a number of people who despair of fixing the wizarding world seek to emigrate to new, magical, but uninhabited worlds where they can live in peace. On the eve of his journey to a world called Hurricane, accompanied by his friends and godson, Harry discovers that Draco Malfoy’s name is also on the list of immigrants.
Author’s Notes: This is planned as a fairly short novel of 19 chapters, focusing on angst and drama. The title is, as is probably obvious, a variant of the saying, “Sow the wind, reap the whirlwind.”
Chapter One.
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Twelve-Flare Like Fire
Harry found himself on the grass, not knowing how he’d got there, winds blowing all around him, tossing up the grass, making him gasp and scramble for purchase on the ground. Or Malfoy, because it was Malfoy kneeling above him, his head bowed, his eyes the color of shadows, his magic scraping and cutting and snapping playfully just above Harry’s skin.
Malfoy.
Harry had never done anything like this before, none of it. But the magic was there, and the connection between them was exploding, and Harry could have given up his power over the wind more easily than he could have stopped himself from reaching up and ripping Malfoy’s shirt off his shoulders.
Malfoy laughed, and gasped as wind ruffled the hair on his chest, and then flung himself on top of Harry and kissed him at close quarters. Harry winced as their teeth banged. Malfoy’s hips hurt, too, jabbing down and slamming his. He rolled them over so it wouldn’t hurt so much.
Malfoy had the same idea, it seemed, and they wrestled ineffectively in the grass for long seconds before Malfoy pushed Harry back and squirmed violently away from him, down his body. His hands yanked Harry’s legs apart. Harry writhed and hissed. Even through the cloth he wore, he could feel the claws that sprang from Malfoy’s nails.
There was a bite on his hip that might have been an apology, and then Malfoy rent Harry’s pants and trousers apart in turn, with one smooth snap and flex of his knuckles. Harry was hard, and that hurt, too. He jabbed his hips down before Malfoy could get a grip on them again.
“Wait a fucking minute,” Malfoy said, settling his shoulders and head in such a way that it was hard for Harry to resist, and opened his mouth. Breath and wetness. Harry turned towards him, unable not to.
Malfoy’s mouth opened further, and his tongue licked out, sudden and fast, hot and welcome. Harry whimpered as the heat flowed around him. This was the first time, too, something that he couldn’t back away from or get out of. From the way Malfoy snapped his teeth at him, he wouldn’t allow Harry to forget that whimper.
Malfoy rolled, and teeth and tongue settled into the obvious place. Harry let his eyes shut as Malfoy sucked him, but couldn’t persuade himself to go limp. It was too tense, too rushed, too hard. He heard Malfoy’s weapons closing and clicking again and again around him, and his own wind circled outside that, ready to rush Malfoy and bowl him over if he did something that gave Harry pain.
Well. More pain than it would give him to be without this, anyway.
He was surrounded. Cradled. Circled. Everywhere. Wind on his skin, claws on his hips, a mouth around his cock. Harry grunted and surged up, and magic slammed him back into the grass. Harry found himself gasping in satisfaction when a tiny, hidden stone cut into his back, and thrashed his head from side to side, as much to enjoy the dizzy feeling as to feel the way that Malfoy held him down, held him back, pinned him.
“Be still,” Malfoy said in a muffled voice.
Harry let his legs sprawl further open, and laughed.
*
Draco couldn’t breathe, or think, or do anything but lick and suck and swallow.
Never like this, of course not, wheeling on grass in the middle of a dizzy new world, surges of blood in his hands and surges of magic in his fingers and surges of anger and lust and wonder in his mind. Potter wouldn’t stop squirming, and he was so hard that Draco felt the erection jab him more than once in the gums. His jaw ached simply trying to get a grip. Draco pinned him down, and Potter writhed free again.
He’s never had anyone to do this to him.
Good guess or silent communication from him to Potter again, Draco didn’t know, but it made his belly swell with smugness. He sucked and then drew back, tongue lingering around Potter, holding him, until Potter seemed to notice the loss of sensation and drew his shoulders and head back and up to look down.
Draco held his eyes, glaring, forcing Potter to see what he was doing.
Potter threw his head back with a loud moan, and his hips squirmed again, a long buck with the full force of his body in it.
Satisfied, Draco licked another sharp stripe up the side of Potter’s erection and lay back down, trying to find what would be comfortable for him and pleasurable for Potter at the same time. A few twists of his neck and bobs of his head, and he had it. Potter was moaning continuously now, and Draco wanted other people to hear the noise, wanted other people to watch the sharp nod of his throat, Potter’s anxiety, his red cheeks, his open trousers, his nakedness, his shame.
Wanted them to look so that they would understand the red scratches and white scars that Draco intended to leave on Potter.
I’m the one who did this to him.
It wasn’t long, given Potter’s inexperience, before he tensed up in that final, permanent way, and Draco made himself relax in response: lightly clenched hands, long and empty belly, loose and open throat.
Potter shrieked, and emptied himself.
Draco coughed, surprised after all, his hands opening and closing and more of Potter’s clothes shredding before he could stop himself. Then he finished his gulping and rolled back and around, coming up on his knees. He didn’t move his hands, yet, even though he was in desperate need of being touched. He watched Potter, watched him come back to earth with desperate slowness and realize what had happened.
A deeper flush took Potter from groin to face, but he sat up and turned around to look at Draco, and didn’t even try to hide the sated expression in his eyes. That was good enough for Draco-right now. He lay back on the grass and spread his legs, spread his arms, made himself totally vulnerable to Potter, to all appearances.
Except both of them could feel the magic that boiled around Draco, growing knives and whips at a moment’s notice, and knew that he would never be vulnerable to anyone or anything on Hurricane unless he wanted to be.
“Come on, then,” Draco said. “Or can your virgin mouth not do things that your virgin cock can?”
*
Harry hissed at Malfoy, and crawled forwards to yank at his trousers. Useless wondering how he knew. How had Malfoy known what Harry planned, high in the air, when they didn’t have time to exchange the subtleties of Harry’s plan to kill the bird?
He made himself stop thinking about that. He pulled the trousers down and aside, but Malfoy’s pants were stuck under the arse he refused to lift, and wouldn’t come. Harry slashed a hand down, and his winds whistled under Malfoy, lifting him up and shooting down his pants so that they practically floated off.
Malfoy laughed, a brief, startled sound, probably just because the winds tickled his skin as they slid along it. But he fell silent after that, and it was the kind of silence that made Harry look up from the contemplation of Malfoy’s wet red cock.
He was watching Harry with his eyes gone the color of shadows again and his jaw hanging slightly open, and if Harry had no clue about what he was doing, at least he knew that Malfoy didn’t want anyone else doing it. He nodded stiffly back and bent his head. Then he had to wriggle further down, because it turned out that crouching beside Malfoy’s hip and trying to use his mouth from there wasn’t the best idea, after all.
He stuck out his tongue, and he was still too far away. He scooted closer, and Malfoy gave a quiet huff of laughter. Harry gestured without thinking about it; the air shut around Malfoy in a tight, warm glove, and made him raise his hips and hump. Harry gave him a smile that felt as if it cut his face. “I can bring you off like this,” he murmured. “If you would prefer. I’m far more experienced at wanking.”
“I want your mouth,” Malfoy said, and then looked as if he would have liked to cut his own tongue out.
But it reassured Harry that at least he shouldn’t give up now. He released the wind and knelt again, and this time, he seemed to have the right angle. His mouth closed around Malfoy, and Malfoy reached out with a quiet, pained motion and laid his hand on Harry’s head, pressing down.
The pressure was incredible. Harry had never known it would be.
Then again, it wasn’t as if he had exactly dreamed of doing this. He had dreamed of tending Teddy and raising houses and planting crops. Not-
Not hunting birds, and arguing with people, and sucking Malfoy.
Harry’s tongue lashed down. He started to use his teeth, remembered, and held them back. He choked. He pulled his head away, gasped breath, and brought it down again, this time prepared for the full sensation of Malfoy nudging him in the back of the throat. Malfoy’s hand twisted and tightened, and Harry let his mouth sprawl open and his tongue dangle, touching and cradling and kissing.
Malfoy grunted above him, and twisted in response. Harry didn’t meet his eyes, because he knew he would collapse, in one way or another, if he did. Instead, he sucked and sucked and sucked, and that seemed to be enough, because Malfoy’s thrusts became small and pointed, and more convulsive the longer he went on.
Then Malfoy’s muscles trembled in a way that Harry had already learned to recognize. He let his mouth fall further open and sucked in a noisy breath before he sucked in Malfoy’s cock.
Malfoy came fighting against his orgasm, as if doing otherwise would give Harry something to hold over him. Harry, who was less interested in holding something over him than in simply finishing this, surprised himself with a little twist in his stomach as he swallowed. And not the kind he would have expected, either, from finding the taste disgusting.
He lifted his hand, and swiped it across his mouth, while he still watched Malfoy. Malfoy licked his lips back and forth as if what he had done reminded him of Harry’s taste, and they stared at each other.
And it was too much, even if they were on the grass in the darkness and no one else had come along. Harry surged to his feet and made his way further from the door of Teddy’s house, swallowing the night air so that he could get rid of the taste. At least he no longer felt as if he would crumble when he strayed a few steps from Malfoy’s side.
Behind him, he heard Malfoy rising, pulling his trousers back up and searching for his shirt. Harry had never taken his own shirt off, so it was simpler for him to rebutton and refasten. He did it with his eyes shut, trying to deal with the fierce feeling that surged through him, so hard, so fast, that he didn’t know how to name it.
Malfoy reached out and took his wrist.
Harry would have liked to snap his arm away and tell him that they’d given each other enough for the evening. But that would cause trouble with someone who his people still needed to survive. He made himself turn around and nod, keeping his face smooth, his expression as untroubled, as it possibly could be considering what they had done.
“Good night, Malfoy,” he said.
Malfoy didn’t release him, and didn’t move, and didn’t say anything. He just went on staring until Harry squirmed, and then he nodded. “Come with me,” he said, and turned away, pulling Harry along by the wrist.
Harry pulled his hand free, but walked with him, because it seemed like less trouble than rebelling. He wondered whether they were going to tend the egg. Malfoy seemed like the type to turn immediately from fucking to business.
“I’m sure it would be easier for you if I did,” Malfoy murmured.
Harry snapped his head around and stared. Malfoy’s lips tugged up in a faint smile. “Yes, I can sense your thoughts,” he said. “How else did I know what to do so instinctively when you flew up to drive the bird down into my net? And you can stop gaping and thinking of this as an invasion of privacy. It’s happening.”
“Why, I don’t know,” Harry said. “I know that we both have violent wild magic, but we’re not linked to Teddy in the same way-”
Malfoy whirled to face him, spinning lightly on his heels. Harry danced back at once, and his vision of Malfoy’s face blurred a little as wind came up defensively in front of him. But at least it was nothing like it had been when he left Teddy sleeping, the tight, jangling tension that had demanded some return from him, some response.
“I think we could be, someday,” Malfoy whispered. “But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that we both have it, and the others don’t.”
“Yet.”
Malfoy smiled. “Say it’s that,” he agreed. “That doesn’t mean that what they gain will be anything like what we have.”
“No,” Harry had to concede. He wondered for a moment what gifts or powers the Weasleys might develop, and then reminded himself that Ginny had fallen through a windstorm and still hadn’t manifested any of them.
“Exactly.”
Harry started, then shook his head. “Say that we have this association, then,” he said, because that was the most formal word he could come up with for it. “It’s already making other people uneasy, like Bill. Don’t you think that means we need to regulate or explain it somehow? We can’t survive on our own. We’re responsible to other people if we make them uncomfortable.”
“We could live on our own,” Malfoy whispered, drifting closer. “Not the others.”
And Harry saw the truth in his answer, or what felt like truth. He could hunt with Malfoy, and they would have more than enough magic to defend themselves, to bring food down, to make shelters that would sustain them when the storms came. They could do anything they wanted, and there was no reason to let the others hold them back-
Harry snapped his head to the side and shook it, so that the last bits of the distracting vision had to leave. “That was all you, I know,” he said, staring off to the side, so he wouldn’t touch Malfoy again. “And I don’t agree with it. I don’t want to leave the others. I don’t want to leave Teddy.”
Malfoy shrugged. Harry knew that along the same channels by which it seemed Malfoy was picking up his thoughts. “I want you to know that the difference exists between us, that the possibility is there,” he said.
“Why is it so important?” Harry turned his head back part of the way. The urge to touch Malfoy, to punch him or hurt him, was subsiding, and since he could feel what Malfoy was doing anyway, it seemed weird to look away just to make a point.
“Because we’re better than they are.”
Harry controlled his violent response to that, and his response to the response, knowing all the while that Malfoy could feel both. Then he opened his mouth to actually answer, only to feel Malfoy’s hand descend over it and pinch his lips back together.
“You know,” Malfoy whispered. “You feel the same. You’re impatient with all the things they ask you to do and all the questions they demand you answer, when they can’t understand the answers.”
“I’m weary of the way they depend on me, yes,” Harry said, choosing his words carefully. No matter what Malfoy thought, words were still important, simply because they were chosen, and feelings weren’t. “But the answer to that is to stay and teach them to be independent, not abandon them.”
“They won’t grow up,” Malfoy said, while his hand on Harry’s arm grew claws. “They won’t like me. They’ll never want me to be part of anything, and that includes a simple hunting partnership with you.”
Harry touched the quicksilver current flowing back and forth between them, and knew that Malfoy would never let it be something as simple as that, not with the way that he felt about the Weasleys and even Teddy. He caught his breath, scrubbed at his face, and said, “Then we’ll work to change their minds.”
Malfoy snorted.
“No, it won’t take too long,” Harry said. “We have the rest of our lives here. We’re not going back to the wizarding world. And this is all part of survival. What else do we have to do? Why would we be wasting our time with it?”
Malfoy shifted.
“That’s not the way I think,” Harry said. “And since it seems that we have to put up with each other, what you think should matter to me, and what I think should matter to you.”
Malfoy hesitated, then said, “All right. But I still want you to come with me tonight.”
“Flying?” Harry leaned back a minute, and shook his head. “I don’t think I have the strength to take a broom up right now, never mind saving myself if I actually fell.”
“No,” Malfoy said. “To sleep.” And he walked away from Harry, boots pressing down like iron pistons into the grass. Harry hesitated, and then followed, because why not? Malfoy would be gentler this way.
And he might not be able to leave that easily, not without the tension between them sparking back to life. Since they’d sucked each other, the tension had calmed, and Harry no longer felt as if he were bound to Malfoy with stretched piano wires, trembling whenever either of them breathed. That sensation was worth preserving.
*
Draco woke to a snarl.
He turned his head. He and Potter had fallen asleep in a nest of trampled grass near the egg, in the sure knowledge that Potter would feel a storm coming and wake in time to do something about it, even if they weren’t sleeping under shelter. Draco lay with his own legs folded and his arms cradled on Potter’s curved and folded legs, Potter’s flank beneath Draco’s cheek, and moving up and down with his breath.
The one who had snarled was the werewolf, of course. Draco watched with distant eyes as he came closer and closer, his head lowered and his nostrils flaring as though he needed his nose to confirm what his eyes would already have told him. And perhaps he did, Draco thought. There was rarely a limit to the stupidity of Weasleys.
“You,” the werewolf said, and nothing else. He straightened up and called, “Fleur!” without taking his eyes off Draco and Potter.
Draco just looked back. He felt Potter stir to wakefulness beneath him with a snort and then stillness, and laid his hand on Potter’s hip, holding him. Potter stretched and bowed his head, and Draco felt the shifting of a breath beneath him, as though Potter was going to stand up, walk away from him, and try to excuse himself that way.
Draco found a handful of flesh and pinched. Potter winced, but said nothing. Perhaps he had never intended to, Draco thought. Potter knew they had to work with what the wild magic was doing to them, not ignore it the way that the Weasleys probably wanted them to and not surrender to it completely the way that Potter already would have without Draco’s help.
“What did you do to ‘arry?” That was Delacour-Weasley, standing there with her arms full of little girl and her eyes full of sadness.
Draco smiled and answered, since he was the one the question had been directed to. “Nothing that he didn’t want to do. Nothing that the wild magic wasn’t urging us to do.” He had to admit he was glad they had clothed themselves before lying down together. That made one less thing for the Weasels to be appalled at. “Nothing that you and your husband don’t do night after night.”
The surviving twin and Johnson had arrived in time to hear that. Johnson gave Draco a look of intense dislike, and drew her wand. Draco spread his hands with a snick sound that ought to warn them.
Johnson stood still, then said, “I only want to check for influences on your minds that might have made you do this. That’s all. You can’t deny that it’s unusual, and that maybe there’s magic on Hurricane that affects the human mating process in new ways. This is something we all have to be concerned about.” She spoke slowly, and looked back and forth between Draco and Potter as though approaching wild animals.
Perhaps she thinks of us that way, at that, Draco decided, and folded his hands down again. Some of the things the bond urged him to do with Potter were wild enough. Johnson swept her wand up and down, and frowned at the numbers and symbols that danced in the air. Draco was convinced that the Healers had devised spells that read like that, rather than in easy words, because they wanted to keep some things secret from “ordinary” wizards.
Here, I’m the one who has the advantage and the power, no matter what her diagnostic charms tell her.
The thought was as dizzying as the perfume from a rare flower. Draco licked his lips and smiled at Johnson, who stepped backwards and averted her face, but said, “I can’t sense anything on either of them. I reckon they’re just doing what they-want to do.” She made a little spitting sound at the end of that.
Granger stepped to the front of the crowd forming around them. For a moment, she looked at Potter, but Potter only sat up and shrugged. Draco supposed that Potter didn’t have explanations that would satisfy his friends any more than Draco did, and had decided silence was the best option.
Granger sighed hard and said, “Does it really matter, as long as they don’t have a fight and destroy each other, or us? I have seeds growing. Coming up already. The ones that you took up into the windstorm, Harry.” She nodded at Potter.
Potter relaxed behind Draco, and Draco had to fight to keep from showing his teeth. He wanted to create that reaction-
And perhaps you will, if you and Potter ever become friends. You’re not that yet.
Potter flowed to his feet. “Good. Did you bring the meat back, then? Did you find all of it? How is Primrose doing?”
Granger answered yes to the first question, and she and Potter moved away, talking, like the leaders they doubtless still considered themselves to be. Draco shook his head. Potter would have to learn the answers, but Draco hoped he would consider extricating himself soon.
A glance showed that Delacour-Weasley was talking to her husband, and he had his head bowed enough to listen to her, which didn’t stop him from staring at Draco. Draco shrugged in response to the question in that gaze and faced the dragon-keeper as he came walking up, in turn.
“How is the egg this morning?” Charlie asked, running his hands over the shell.
Draco moved to join him, conscious of the stares on him, and Potter a good distance away in the camp, and the danger that was possible. But he reminded himself, again, that he had nothing to fear, not in terms of sheer power. It was best to remain wary, always, of what their companions might do, and of what Hurricane might do to them. But he wasn’t in the same powerless position he had been in the wizarding world.
That alone is reason enough to have come here.
Chapter Thirteen.
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