Chapter Thirty-Nine of 'The Dust of Water'- The First Strand of the Web
Chapter Thirty-Eight.
Title: The Dust of Water (39/?)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Warnings: Heavy angst, some violence, amnesia
Pairings: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, eventual Harry/Draco
Rating: R
Summary: As far as Harry’s concerned, he’s woken from a weirdly deep sleep the day after the Battle of Hogwarts. It’s his friends who tell him that it’s ten years later, that he’s an Auror who got cursed while chasing a Dark wizard-and that his memory isn’t going to come back.
Author’s Notes: This is going to be a heavily angsty fic, as you can see from the summary and warnings. There isn’t going to be a cure for Harry’s amnesia, either. Keep that in mind before you read.
Chapter One.
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Thirty-Nine-The First Strand of the Web
Harry watched Fleur with a frown. She had asked him to come to Shell Cottage alone, saying she had something to tell him about the ritual that Draco didn’t need to know. Draco had accepted it, although he’d grumbled. He knew something about the delicacy of magical rituals, he’d told Harry.
But Harry had been here almost an hour now, and Fleur still hadn’t shared what she had to share with him. She fluttered around getting cups of tea, and then redrawing part of the design on the parchment, and then talking about how excited Victoire was about Hogwarts, even though she wouldn’t be going for another two years.
Now she was sitting on the couch in front of Harry, her hands locked together and her lips so compressed that it looked painful. Harry put down his own cup of tea as an experiment and asked, “Do you want me to go?”
“No, no!” Fleur looked at him and then away. “This is delicate,” she murmured, with a strong return of her accent.
Harry waited, and waited some more. Then he sighed. “Fleur-”
“The pattern is coming together,” Fleur interrupted. “But it requires-knowledge of you and Draco.” She had her eyes locked on her hands. “You-have slept together, yes?”
Oh. Harry could feel his own cheeks heating up. No wonder Fleur had been embarrassed. “I-sort of? We had a duel, and then we-most people wouldn’t call it full sex, but we-you know.”
“I do not want to know,” Fleur said with a delicate little moan. “But I must.”
Harry decided he could only get through this if he wasn’t looking directly at Fleur. He studied the floor instead and said firmly, “Fine. Then. This is the way it was. I-we touched-each other with our hands and mouths. No more.”
Fleur sagged against the back of her chair. “That makes sense of the pattern,” she said. “If anything else changes before then, you must let me know.” She stood briskly and walked over to the parchment covered with lines that lay on the table.
“Why would that make a difference?” Harry asked blankly.
Fleur glanced over her shoulder. Already the pink was leaving her cheeks. Harry supposed it was different when she could think about it as part of the magical theory she was investigating instead of something involving a friend. “Because it tells me something about the requirements of the ritual,” she said crisply. “You know there are rituals that involve different degrees of sex, yes? This ritual would be different if you were enemies with Draco, if you had already slept with him, if you had been friends before this began.” She shook her head, and her hair slid out of its complicated knot on the back of her neck. With a sigh, Fleur jabbed her wand into it and worked a spell that put it back into place more tightly. “That is a reason many people do not follow this field of study. It is too complicated.”
Harry nodded, and watched for a minute while Fleur worked to alter some lines near the middle and draw a curve near the top of the picture. Then he cleared his throat. “Should we be thinking about how we’ll get my enemies here?”
“When we begin,” Fleur said calmly, “they will be drawn by the properties of the ritual. They will not be able to help themselves.”
Harry shivered. “But you said they would also be free to act during a certain part of the ritual.”
“Yes. The ritual could not draw them if it did not work with their free will.”
“So we have to be careful?”
Fleur cast him a glance, but Harry didn’t think she really saw him. Her eyes were still blurred with calculations and the small, thin lines she was carefully drawing across the parchment. “Yes. We will need to set up complex traps that still fit with the needs of the ritual if we are to prevent them from acting against us.”
Harry tucked his hands hard into the corners of his armpits and bowed his head. “This doesn’t sound simple,” he muttered.
“No, it is not,” said Fleur, and smiled at him a little. “Why do you think so few people study the art of the magical theory?”
*
“What was it Delacour wanted to talk to you about?”
Harry started. Draco had once again appeared in the library without any warning, and now that Harry’s mind was successfully distracted from Arithmancy equations and he was thinking again of what Fleur had told him, he could feel his cheeks growing red.
Draco, who’d flopped down in a plush chair on the other side of the table, blinked a little and sat up. “Isn’t that an interesting reaction,” he muttered. “Much more interesting than I anticipated.”
“You realize I couldn’t discuss it with you if it was something that changed the nature of the ritual?”
“But that means it’s not.” Draco leaned forwards with a decisive nod. “Which makes it something you can talk about with me.”
Harry sighed. “Well, it was something that could have changed the nature of the ritual.” He touched his hot face and grimaced once. He supposed he couldn’t be blamed for it giving him away. “Fleur could never have said it in front of you, anyway. She would have been too embarrassed.”
“It’s about whether we had sex, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Harry was glad he could get that word out, too. He wasn’t that embarrassed when he thought of having sex with Draco, but he was embarrassed at the thought that Fleur knew.
“And what did you tell her?”
Harry waved his hand wildly, feeling the way he had when he was trying to find the words to express it to Fleur. “That we’d touched each other, but not in the full way that she thought we had.”
“Well.” Draco was quiet for a few minutes, and Harry kept expecting him to either leave the library or start talking about how he should have been there to hold the discussion with Fleur anyway. But instead, he turned to Harry and said with a completely straight face, “Do you want to change that?”
Harry coughed even though he had no food or air in his mouth. “Correct what?”
“The fact that we haven’t done it ‘in the full way.’” Draco spoke the words as fastidiously as though he was trying to pick up mouse shit with his bare hands.
“I-don’t think we should. That means we would change the ritual again. Or we might. And then Fleur would have to repaint it or redraw it again.”
“That isn’t the same as a refusal because I’m ugly or you’re nervous or you want to wait.” Draco sounded delighted. He leaned forwards, and even though he hadn’t actually got up from his chair, Harry had the impression that he was stalking Harry like a great cat ready to pounce. “So. What’s it going to be?”
“Why does it have to be anything?” Harry closed his eyes and kept them closed. “Why don’t we wait until after the ritual?”
“Because I want to do it now.”
Harry snorted and opened his eyes. “But you said you would accept my refusal if I wanted to wait. Why is this different?”
Draco shrugged. His eyes were luminous; Harry didn’t think he ever remembered seeing him look so delighted before. “Because I thought you would refuse for a lot of reasons-you didn’t know me well, you thought I would turn on you, you were uncertain about how much you could put up with me after what I confessed to. Or your own emotions frightened you.”
“My own emotions do not frighten me-”
“Then we can make love, right?”
“The ritual-”
“It’s not the important kind of excuse.” Draco paused and leaned back a little in his chair as if he thought that Harry would need some space. “The kind of excuse that you would make if it was really you doing it. You’re just afraid of upsetting the Weasleys. I think you should make the decision because it’s you who want to. You know?”
“Not really,” Harry said dryly. “And I’m not afraid of upsetting my friends. Ron and Hermione took the fact that I was with you well, and they were the ones who knew me best.”
“Then why do you want to wait?”
“The ritual.”
“And I want to know if you’re going to come up with another excuse when the ritual’s done with.” Draco moved his head, and Harry thought he could see the light glittering off his cheekbones for a moment, they were that sharp. “Well? Will you? You’ll decide that I’m too angular and need feeding up, or something.”
It was close enough to his thoughts to make Harry chuckle in surprise, and Draco looked at him narrowly. Harry held up his hands. “I promise I won’t do that, Draco. You-I do want to be with you. I know it’s not just a friendship that will proceed along the same lines as my friendships with the Weasleys. I know what’s coming.”
“And you sound like you dread it.” Draco put his hands on the table as if he was going to push away from it and back towards the library door.
Harry sighed and put his head in his hands. “Not dread it,” he muttered around the edges of his fingers. “Just that I don’t understand it as well as I need to. And I’m afraid of doing something unforgivable.”
“You’re nervous because you’re a virgin?”
“Not even that.” Harry dropped his hands and faced Draco, the way Harry thought he deserved to be faced. “I’m not really a virgin. Even if you know more about that than I do,” he added. The potion that had let Draco live through Harry’s experiences had never really stopped troubling him.
Draco watched him carefully, with shuttered eyes.
“I want things to go right, and I don’t know if they will,” Harry finally managed to say. “I worry about driving you away because I’m too clumsy, or horrible, or don’t do things right. That’s all.”
“As if you could,” Draco said, and shook his head when Harry looked at him. “My father was right to be disappointed in me, in one way. I’m never going to be able to let go of you. I’ll live out the obsession, and the woman he wanted me to marry will never materialize. And that’s going to be true no matter what he says when he comes back to himself,” he added, and reached out to clasp Harry’s hand.
“I-well, thank you,” said Harry. He supposed that Draco’s obsession should bother him. It had let him do some awful things with Old Harry in the past.
But it didn’t. Harry didn’t think he would ever be able to be much upset about it again. Draco had also been there to support him in his new life, even if it was partially for the wrong reasons.
“Good,” said Draco, and beamed at him for a second, the way he had when Harry had kissed him in Shell Cottage. Then he leaned forwards with an excessive pout. “Can we go make love now?”
Harry hushed him with a kiss, and then stood up with him. He saw Royal through the window, but the owl only gave him a look of pure disdain and sped off. Harry assumed that seeing Draco had interrupted whatever plans Royal had for a visit.
“Yes,” Harry said, eyes locked on Draco’s. He would explain about the change in the ritual to Fleur the next time he saw her. He couldn’t bring himself to put off Draco’s request any longer. “Let’s go.”
*
“You have to push it deeper.”
“But I’ll hurt you.” Harry looked between his fingers and Draco’s hole in doubt. He was already skeptical that he was actually going to fit into an opening that Draco had to hold his legs that high to show off.
“You’ll hurt me a lot more if you don’t push your fingers deeper,” Draco snapped. “And cover them with more of that lube. Come on, Harry.” He rolled his eyes and let his head flop back on the pillow. But his hands remained steady on his legs, holding them up and angled, even as his hips began to tremble.
Harry eased his finger inside. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until Draco said dryly, “That role of tense discomfort is usually reserved for the one bottoming, you know.”
Harry breathed out, then, and made sure to exhale and inhale smoothly as he bent down to slide his fingers into Draco.
“Looking at it doesn’t make it bigger.”
That, though, Harry felt good about ignoring. Draco had tensed up when Harry’s finger got inside him, even if he was going to swear that he didn’t. And he was staring at the ceiling with enough concentration that Harry could tell how intently he was trying to find something else to think about. Harry added a second finger only slowly, and moved them back and forth only when Draco commanded him to.
But it seemed he had finally managed to do something right when Draco’s demands abruptly broke off, and the expression on his face when Harry looked was a red, open-mouth stare of bliss. Harry blinked. Then he said, “I found your prostate already?”
“It’s not like it’s buried treasure.” But Draco’s voice was softer than it had been, and all Harry had to do to make him shut up was move his fingers a little more, and then jab harder with the one on the left. Draco’s neck made a smooth curve as he suddenly stared more at the headboard than the ceiling. “Yes. Yes.”
“Well, good, that answers my question,” said Harry cheerfully, and slicked himself up, trying to hide his own trembling hands. He didn’t think Draco could actually see them from this angle, though.
“Get on with it.”
Draco was right back to being bossy and annoying, then. Harry narrowed his eyes with determination as he slid into place. He would just have to hit Draco’s prostate again, and again, and again, until Draco had something to think about besides his complaints.
Then Harry got lucky and hit the prostate on the first thrust, and the warmth around him was so incredible that he couldn’t even think on his own about Draco’s complaints. God, it was good. Harry thrust and thrust and thrust, and wondered why he’d waited this long.
Well, he knew. He hadn’t. And this was the first thing that Harry thought he could understand and sympathize with Old Harry about, that he would have wanted to experience this with a man and not just date Ginny.
It’s all the other things he did in pursuit of that goal that are horrible, Harry thought, and reflexively opened his eyes when Draco reached up and touched his cheek. Draco was staring up at him almost with awe, his lips parted a little.
“You’re-you look as if you’re drunk,” Draco said.
“Drunk on you, maybe,” Harry said, and had to thrust harder again after that, because Draco was somehow gloating just lying there and without even moving his muscles.
Draco had his own intoxicated expression now, and seemed less prone to tease Harry. His mouth was falling open, his legs spasming, his muscles trembling. Harry thrust again and thought, I’m causing all that. Me. Because I wanted to, and because he wanted me to.
The last nervousness flew away. Because Harry might not know, consciously, what this was like, but Draco did, and he even knew how Harry made love to other people, and he was still willing to let Harry inside him.
After that, it was almost pure magic, with Harry watching the flushes that rose and died in Draco’s cheeks, and Draco’s hands were opening and closing with such regularity that it looked like a pattern, and Harry’s pleasure ebbed and flowed back and forth in response to Draco’s. Draco’s cock was a brilliant purple and standing straight up by the time Harry reached for it.
Draco bucked and shouted when he touched it, but didn’t come yet. He opened his eyes, though, and said, “You can’t do that.”
“Ooh, look, I just did it,” Harry said, and brushed the head with the tip of his finger. That provoked an angry snarl at him. “Ooh, look, I did it again.”
“Fucker-”
“Yes, I think we’ve established that,” Harry said, and brought his hips sharply enough forwards that he bruised himself and surprised a grunt out of Draco.
Draco gave up on speaking, it seemed, and just humped himself against Harry harder and harder, trying to get the pleasure that Harry was spreading around for himself. Harry laughed as hard as he could in the meantime, but that didn’t stop Draco.
And it didn’t stop their bodies, either.
Harry felt as if he was soaring for a moment before he crashed down again and realized he was coming, instead. And so was Draco. It was a long, drawn-out moment of wetness and heat and goodness, and then Harry had to angle himself carefully so he wouldn’t get covered with that wetness by crashing on Draco’s stomach.
Draco turned and wrapped himself around Harry so fiercely that Harry choked.
“Are you sorry that we did this and Weasley will have to redraw the ritual again?” Draco demanded.
Harry blinked and realized something. “I wasn’t thinking about Fleur or the ritual at all.”
Draco’s eyes closed, and he held on even tighter.
“Good,” he said fiercely. “Good.”
Chapter Forty.
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