Subterranean Homesick Alien

FIC: Life Through the Same Lens, Will/Bran, R

Thu, 24 Jan 2008 13:59:39 GMT

[Title] Life Through the Same Lens
[Author] charlotteschaos
[Pairing] Will/Bran
[Fandom] Dark is Rising
[Rating] R
[Warnings] Slash
[Disclaimer] Characters belong to Susan Cooper
[Genre] Drama
[Summary] At the time, Bran had no idea what a rentboy was, but he cottoned on rather quickly. Men buggered him, or he let them suck his cock, and he got money.
[Word Count] 4500
[Beta] anthimaeria

The ice crunched when Bran shifted. His arm was long and pale, spotted with livid purple marks from where he'd been injecting. Finally, he'd found a vein and the sweet, sweet flow of sensation was taking him to another place.

He'd been living in London since his father died. In London, they didn't think that you might be fey, they assumed you were punk or Goth or emo or whatever they wanted to call it.

Some wanted to know where you went to school, who your parents were.

"Sheep farmers?" a chav selling coffee screeched. "Nuffin' ta do wit' dem bouts here. Better ta rent yaself ou!"

At the time, Bran had no idea what a rentboy was, but he cottoned on rather quickly. Men buggered him, or he let them suck his cock, and he got money. Getting money that way was something many--especially Christian-raised farmers from Wales-- believed was degrading and immoral. To deal with his shame and the other, pettier emotions, Bran turned to heroin.

He hadn't thought much of it at first. It gave him a break from the world that he wasn't sure had need of him anymore.

Bran thought he might fall asleep here in this alleyway. It was dirty with dumped-over bins scattering Christmas paper and shit in rather equal amounts over the walkway, but there were scarier places to be. Here he had the paper for warmth and the fact that it was mostly empty.

Mostly.

Greensleeves was all my joy
Greensleeves was my delight,
Greensleeves was my heart of gold,
And who but my lady greensleeves.

Someone was singing down the street. The voice sounded alone, so it couldn't be one of those annoying choirs. It sounded like a familiar voice, a boyish voice that turned to man without someone getting the message between On top of it, it sounded familiar.

That had to be a hallucination.

Still the music and the man crept closer. His grey eyes were unfocused as if he were somewhere else, hearing a choir that Bran could not hear.

A name bubbled up to the surface of Bran's brain, but the man spoke before he caught it.

"What has the world done to you, my Bran?" the man said softly.

He tossed the needle from Bran's arm and untied the tourniquet.

Now the man Bran thought he knew was on his knees just in front of him. Bran tilted his head. "You said my name right."

It hadn't even occurred to Bran that he hadn't given his name. Bran looked into the man's eyes, blinking slowly. If the man thought the utterance odd, he didn't say. Instead, he just continued speaking.

"I was never going to let them hurt you again. I let you down."

"You didn't let me down," said Bran. He felt like he was in a dream. Thoughts of dark hair, grey eyes; a dog he hadn't thought of in years, running off into the sun, shaggy tail catching the breeze. "Eyes that see the wind."

The man smiled at him. "Cafall."

"He's dead," said Bran glumly, his stomach lurching at the thought.

"I know, Bran. I know," said the man tenderly. His fingers were so soft under Bran's chin and Bran looked up into the serene round face. "I'm taking you home with me."

"All right," said Bran, pushing up off of the frozen ground with rough, bare palms. "But if you want me for the whole night, it'll be extra."

His face pained, the man nodded and reached out for Bran's hand.

Bran looked at the open hand and folded his arms and said, "Lead the way."

The man frowned, brows furrowing. He looked like he was going to apologize again, but then seemed to think better of it and closed his mouth. He stared at Bran for a long, unsettling moment. Cold fingers of memory prickled the back of Bran's skull. He remembered a queer boy who would stare at him. The only boy he'd ever felt truly comfortable around. A boy that never thought he was a changeling or seemed to find anything strange about him at all. With that boy, he'd felt special, not ashamed.

It depressed him that he couldn't remember the boy's name, and he felt embarrassed by it and looked down at his feet.

Bran let the man take his arm and lead him to the street and into a warm black cab.

--

It must've been Christmas.

Bran had had no idea.

He sat uncomfortably on the plush couch in the cozy flat, jonesing and fidgety. A brightly-lit tree warmed the corner of the small living area with gaily wrapped presents sitting beneath, all tagged with names that were so common as to be familiar. Jane. Simon. Max.

Bran's skull tingled again and his sight went fuzzy, but he caught himself and turned in time to take the large mug of cocoa from the young man he'd come home with. The man looked tired and sad and Bran couldn't help feeling like he'd disappointed him somehow, but he hadn't been asked to do anything yet.

Bringing the cup to his mouth, Bran noticed his hand was shaking; the man noticed it too and reached out to steady Bran's hand. His skin was warm and soft and he smelled so familiar. Bran remembered his father, remembered how stern he could be, bordering on cruel and how shocked he'd looked when his heart exploded inside of his chest.

He'd breathed, gasped, tried to hold onto life. Bran had called for help; he'd done everything he could think to do to save him, but to no avail. The others in the little town had called it witchcraft, that Owen Davies had no call to die of a heart attack. He was a healthy, god-fearing man.

Bran was a curse.

"You don't remember me, do you?" asked the man, his voice tender.

Bran blinked, suddenly realizing how wet his eyes had grown. "I'm sorry. I've just… done this a lot. A man forgets…"

"It's Will, Bran. Will Stanton."

"What?" Bran tried to move away from the cocoa, tried to scoot away from the man. If he really was Will, then Bran couldn't stand to have him see him this way.

And he knew that it really was Will.

The voice.

The hair.

The smell.

The feeling.

Bran shivered violently and knocked the cup away from him, hearing it splash over the carved oak coffee table.

"Bran! Bran, stop!"

He shoved Will away, launching him into the tree as he scrambled up, only to slip on the spilled cocoa that had splattered onto the hardwood floor.

Everything went in slow motion, the way things do when you're falling. He scrambled for something to grab, some means to keep himself upright, but he was lost and collapsed between the table and the couch. Bran's head hit the floor with a sick, dead thud and the world dimmed until it was black.

--

Bran woke to a warm quality of light that was either daybreak or the golden moments before the blue hour. The ceiling was decorated with dark and light slats from the shades and for the first time in as long as Bran could remember, he smelled good. The scent of a fry up came wafting in from the other room, but as Bran tried to sit up, he found his body leaden, rigid.

For a second, he feared he might've been paralyzed somehow in the fall, and yet… he could wiggle his fingers and his toes. He simply couldn't get up. Some invisible force kept him prone on the bed.

That was when he started to sweat.

It started as a cold trickle down his back, rolling down his spine, parallel to the roiling in his belly. He opened his mouth to cry out, but erupted instead in a long, loud belch. In a dark flash, Will was by Bran's side holding a bin. Bran couldn't say how or when he was able to move, only that he was sitting up when he vomited into the bin.

Will pushed his hair back, smoothing it tenderly and caressing his face.

It was soothing, but Bran's stomach wasn't done with them. He puked until he was left heaving. He knew what he needed, what would make him feel safe and normal and sane, but he couldn't ask Will go score for him. He reached down to his pocket to see if he even had cash to only to find that he was not wearing trousers. Or pants. Or anything.

Bran sat bolt upright, yet another mistake in a series of them and he quickly crumpled forward to rest his forehead on the lip of the bin, heaving again.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Bran whimpered between convulsions.

Will moved closer to Bran on the bed, wrapping warm, strong arms around his frail body. "I'm the one who's sorry. I should've come back. I should've known. Just… mum and… and then Stephen…"

"What happened to Stephen?" Bran asked. As the drugs were punishing his system, it seemed like memories were coming back. Will didn't return to Wales when his mum was diagnosed with cancer. After a few years, he was no longer expected.

These things happened.

He remembered the taunts; boys and girls alike asking him why his boyfriend wasn't coming to see him. His father asked him about the nature of his relationship with Will and even called it unnaturally close. Bran denied it. He had no idea why anyone would think that.

Now he wondered what his father would say about him sucking cock to get high.

"The Navy… there was an accident at sea," said Will. His voice was thick and Bran slipped his arms around him. Holding onto Will like this made him feel steady, less dizzy. He made the world stop spinning.

Bran buried his neck against Will's neck, hating how sticky his mouth was and how bad he must smell now. He couldn't remember anyone ever holding him like this. Owen certainly hadn't. No one in the town trusted him enough to want to get this close to him.

"What do you boys get up to?" Owen had asked.

"We just…." Bran had been at a loss to explain t heir game, the light and dark forces, the magic that he knew Owen would call witchcraft. Owen was never a cruel man, but he was both strict and devout. "We just hiked and rode bikes," he said, defeated.

Owen didn't look like he quite believed it, but he accepted it for an answer. "When he comes next, maybe you shouldn't… ride bikes alone so much."

Bran hadn't known what he would say to Will about that when he came the next summer. When Will hadn't shown up, it was a disappointment and a relief.

Will was moving again and Bran realized he must've dozed off into his reverie.

"At sea?" asked Bran.

It was dark now. Will wore a wry grin on his face as he switched on a light. "I told you that a couple of hours ago," he said as he pressed Bran back to lie on the bed.

"Guess I was tired," said Bran. He tried to sit up, but felt that same strange force keeping him down. He reached for Will's arm.

"Guess so," said Will. He looked down at Bran's pale arm.

Noticing that Will was looking at the dark spots on his inner arm, Bran reached for a sleeve that wasn't there and then huffed in irritation that his track marks were out there for him to see.

Will sat on the bed again and traced his fingertips over the marks. "You're not going to do this again."

Bran had told himself that a thousand times before, but Will said it with such conviction, Bran believed it.

Suddenly Bran was filled with the urge to kiss him. With a junkie's swiftness, thought became action and he'd curled his fingers around Will's elbow to yank him forward.

He'd kissed people before. He'd kissed body parts—just about any that a mouth could go on. But never in his life had he really wanted to. Not like he wanted this. A kiss for its own sake. A kiss because he cared, because he wanted to taste him, to feel Will's warmth, to touch whatever it was inside of him that made him feel like they could see life through the same lens.

Only after a few seconds did it occur to Bran what an utter horror his mouth must be and he yanked himself back, blushing furiously and muttering apologies.

Will's head was still tilted to the side, lips still parted and eyelashes fluttering on his soft pale cheeks.

"Sorry… I must… taste a fright," said Bran, if only to break the silence.

Opening his eyes, Will looked at Bran for a moment, then blushed and cleared his throat. "Well. Um. I should… let me get you some tea," he said, standing stiffly. Will bloused his jumper over his trousers and Bran grinned cheekily at him.

"If you need to make a stop at the loo, I could help you with that. I am a professional, you know."

If it was at all possible, Will blushed more. He opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, and turned on his toe towards the kitchen.

--

Bran didn't even know how many days it had been since he'd come home with Will. The vomiting was over, but the insomnia had started, and the shakes. When it all got too severe, and Bran started looking for ways to leave the flat, Will would stretch out his hand, crooking his fingers in a peculiar way. He'd speak, calling it some sort of prayer

Bran didn't have time for prayer or religion. It had never brought him comfort in particular. He didn't expect it to now.

However, he felt better after those prayers-- good and whole. At least for a little while. Sometimes those prayers would let him sleep and other times they settled his stomach enough that he could eat.

He'd heard of an NHS service where they'd begun weaning addicts off of heroin with methadone or mild injections of diamorphine, but it seemed as if these prayers were getting the job done. Bran asked what religion it was, but Will was cagey about the answer, saying you had to be born into it.

Bran found it quite amusing that his old mate Will belonged to some secret brotherhood and that was part of why Will was so odd.

The oddness was comforting to Bran. The way that Will looked at him was fierce and thrilling and it aroused Bran.

As Will brought him tea, Bran wondered what it would be like to suck his cock. Would he moan? Would his eyes roll back in his head? Would he grab Bran's hair and pull him in or would he be polite and let Bran dictate the speed and the depth? When he leaned in to tuck Bran into bed, Bran wondered if Will would kiss him.

Again.

He made sure to have his teeth brushed whenever he knew Will would be home. Will had a job as a researcher that took him away for a few hours a day. Bran wasn't allowed to leave. He was locked in.

"You can come shopping with me if you feel up to it," Will said, after what had to have been at least a week of him living there.

Bran watched Will's lips moving, thinking about kissing him again. He couldn't remember the last time he slept. Bran couldn't even be sure he was awake now. His stomach twisted and lurched but then he felt well enough to stand up and agree to go with him.

The air was cool and brisk. Will had made sure to bundle Bran up with a warm green fleece cap and a black wool scarf. Bran was swimming in Will's winter coat while Will made do with his car coat. In spite of the gloves and boots, Bran still couldn't help but shiver as the win cut through to his frame.

Being outside made Bran edgy. In spite of the surprise of afternoon sunshine, he felt cold and exposed. They were headed to the greengrocer and the street was alive with activity. Bran couldn't help but peer in to the dark recesses between businesses, the alleyways, the boards people slept under, the vagabonds leaning against stone walls, hands out, eyes vacant.

That had been him.

Seeming to notice Bran's hesitance, Will took Bran's hand and gave it a quick squeeze. His smile crinkled up to his eyes and flashed his teeth and Bran found himself smiling back, easing into the comfortable rhythm of walking and breathing.

At the grocer's, Bran felt eyes on him the whole time, and not the warm interest of Will's gaze. He was being followed and watched. Every time he reached for a piece of fruit or a head of cabbage, he could feel the breath of the grocer on his neck. He could only imagine what a wreck he looked—wraith-like from detox and in a coat several sizes too big for him. He moved back to Will's side. Will always had a smile for him and patted his back reassuringly. He gave Bran's arm a soft tug when he was ready to move on from a section so he wouldn't just vanish while Bran lost himself in thought.

Such a small, simple action, and yet it was a kindness Bran hadn't eve really known, and tears welled up at each easy consideration.

He'd never been a very touchy-feely boy, but as they walked back to Will's flat, each with a bag of groceries in their arms, Bran had to keep at least one hand on Will, to be sure he was there, to be sure he wouldn't disappear.

Back in the flat, he helped Will put away the groceries and sat on the counter next to the stove, watching Will cook. The smell of the hearty sausages frying up had to be one of the most blissful scents he'd ever smelled. He wasn't sure if he could hold them down or not if he tried one, but the scent was making his body ache and his mouth water.

Grinning, Will cut off a cooked end and offered it to Bran from the end of his fork.

"Never one to stand on manners," said Will at Bran's questioning look.

There had been a time when the breech of etiquette would've made Bran a little nervous, but his life had changed so much since the days when he knew Will before. Most nights he would've savored a banger from the bin. This was fresh and made just for him.

He leaned in and blew on it, relishing that it was still so warm. His fingers closed around Will's and rubbed lightly over his hand. Lips parted, he pulled the sausage from the fork daintily with his teeth, exhaling to blow more of the heat off until it was cooled enough to chew.

Bran sat back, moaning a little as he chewed it. It was pork and fatty and had to be the best he'd ever tasted. He was about to comment on that when he felt the quality of sound change as Will moved closer.

Holding his breath, Bran remained still, almost too scared to swallow. Will was close enough to kiss him and he didn't want to mess this up, didn't want to lose this opportunity.

It felt like forever. Will's breath warmed his cheek and he seemed to be faltering, like he'd lost his nerve. Bran dropped the fork and slid his arms around Will's back, tilting his head to the side to brush their lips together as he swallowed his meat.

This kiss tasted of sausage and Prince of Wales tea. Will's hair was soft in his fingers, his body taut and nervous. Bran knew the pantomime of the inexperienced and treasured this all the more for it.

Bran toyed with Will's hair, taking things slowly, dragging his tongue languidly inside of Will's mouth, tasting him and testing him, wanting to feel every tooth, every moment of slick tongue and slippery lip. Sucking his bottom lip, he curled his fingers under Will's stubbled chin, wrapping his legs around him to draw him closer.

He almost expected Will to pull away, but he was sweetly compliant, pressing them together, feeling his arousal through his trousers, lining it up with his own.

He snogged him softly and sweetly and ran his hands up and down Will's back until he smelled the bangers burning in the pan. Will rested his forehead against Bran's and laughed a little as he reached over to turn off the stove.

"I think I ruined dinner," said Will, his face burning crimson.

Bran wanted to throw him to the floor and see how far the blush went down. But he would behave. For now. "I think I was the one who ruined dinner."

"You didn't ruin anything," said Will breathlessly. "But we should… um… maybe eat… and then…"

"And then?" asked Bran, glowing.

Will smiled mysteriously and blushed and nodded as he portioned out their dinner. "Yes."

The "yes" held a lot of promise, more than Bran was certain Will could provide. They left the flat for a kebab shop around the corner. Bran cheekily mouthed the meat on the stick while Will blushed and giggled, making him look terribly young, indeed.

Bran thought he could just eat him up.

He'd never given loads of thought to his sexuality. It had been a means to an end for as long as he could remember.

Now he had choices he could make, at least for the time being. It seemed silly not to offer himself to Will, and yet, he wondered if that was special enough, all things considered.

Will walked them through the streets, shyly taking his hand, twining their fingers together. It was freezing, but Bran felt aglow with the warmth of companionship.

Absently he wondered what Will might really want of him, hating himself for his suspicious mind, but then, life on the streets could be difficult at the best of times.

He was about to ask Will what he wanted from him when he felt the soft warmth of Will's lips again, shutting down his thoughts. He'd never been held so gently and just held like this. Maybe someone had tried, but he couldn't remember it.

Bran couldn't get enough of the simplest of touches, and he tilted his head against Will's hand when he caressed his cheek.

"Do you forgive me, Bran?"

"For what?"

"I should've… watched. I should've kept track of you," said Will.

"You're not in charge of my life, or my choices," said Bran. He had no idea why Will would feel so guilty for it, but it was obvious that he was bothered.

Sometimes Will looked so old, so distant. There was something about the way his eyes held the light, how his gaze seemed to read into the past and the future all at once. It made Bran feel scared and hollow, like he was missing something that he should be seeing.

There were times when Bran felt panicked, strange, like he'd left something behind. He would search his pockets, try to remember his day and hate his drug-addled mind. Yet he knew it wasn't anything so simple as that. It was like a piece of him was missing.

Whatever it was, he felt closer to it than he ever had now that he was so close to Will. He wondered if it was something with his inner child. Maybe something happened to him when Cafall died. He didn't know what it was, only that this felt right, complete and perfect.

When he looked at Will, he fancied that he saw him the same way.

"I think I'm in love with you."

Bran felt the blood drain from his face, hating himself from having said it out loud. He'd been thinking it, but the words came out, and…

"I know it probably sounds strange to hear me say that," said Will.

Bran blinked and furrowed his brows. He was so sure that he'd said it, but now all he could hear was Will's soft voice, mellow and low.

"But you're the only thing that feels right. The only thing that ever has," said Will. He caressed Bran's face as Bran stared at him in shock.

"I'm a… but… why would you want a…" asked Bran.

"A what?"

"A whore. A drug addict, a…" Bran whispered, averting his eyes.

"That's not who you are. That's what you did. You don't have to keep doing that. Do you want to keep doing it?"

Bran shook his head and looked down, frowning. Will tilted his head up and kissed him again tenderly.

"Then don't. Just… stay with me. You don't have to do anything; you don't have to give me anything. Just… just stay with me. I couldn't sleep if I knew you were out there another night. I've found you now. I mean to keep you." Will squeezed him tightly and then released him, but Bran held tight.

"What if I want to?" asked Bran.

"Want to…"

"Want to do things?" he asked, blushing. He hadn't known he could blush like this anymore. It was a relief to feel human again and not just a mechanism for drugs or a hole to fill.

Will blushed and cleared his throat. "That would be all right. But you don't… I just don't want you to feel like you owe it to me."

He did feel like he owed him something, but he could tell that this meant something to Will, so he promised and kissed him again, shivering in the cold.

"I should get you back inside," said Will. Bran nodded, but held Will's arm around him.

He didn't care how people looked at them on the street. It was better than how they'd looked at him before. If it bothered Will, he didn't show it. He kept his eyes on Bran, smiling and squeezing his waist with his fingers, pulling him close now and then.

Bran wondered if maybe he wasn't the missing piece of Will. Perhaps Will hadn't gone to the depths or the extremes that Bran did, but his face was careworn and sad. He'd been no happier than Bran had.

He had a strange feeling that they saw life the same, that they were two souls, brought together and blown apart like a dandelion, scattered to careless breezes and life's whims.

Somehow now they'd found each other again and somehow everything would be all right.

FIC: Montalivet, Snape/Draco, NC-17

Tue, 22 Jan 2008 01:20:36 GMT

Title: Montalivet
Author: charlotteschaos
Recipient: nishizono
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Snape/Draco
Word Count: 4000
Disclaimer: All characters belong to JK Rowling. I just play with them.
Summary: Draco will find a way to slip past Snape's defenses, even if it takes years.
Author's notes: Thanks to themostepotente and spiffinghat for the beta. Written for IJ's Partisan Green exchange for nishizono

For a moment, Draco just lost himself in the kneading of their lips, soft wet tongues and the slick hair in his fingers. If he'd given himself even a moment to consider what it was he was doing, if he'd even thought this far ahead, he wouldn't have expected it. Yet, here he was, and here Snape was, and the older man's hands were wrapped around his waist, melting into him. Draco moaned into the kiss, getting greedy for more, so hungry for the affection, the acceptance that he didn't notice that Snape's posture had straightened until he was being pushed back to arm's length.

Looking at him in shock, Draco whinged, staring at Snape's sallow face, the bewildered expression that was rapidly shutting down, shutting him back out. Tears sprang to Draco's eyes.

"You don't know what you're doing. You are a scared boy," said Snape. He didn't even have the simple grace to look away, but kept Draco's eyes with a piercing glare.

Draco knew that trick, knew what Snape was doing, knew that he was trying to skim the surface of his mind for the truth behind it. He shut Snape out, keeping his eyes locked. "I am not scared," he said, his voice cracking to betray that he was both scared and a young man.

"There is nothing you could've done for Babbage," said Snape, tilting his head up to clear the curtain of black hair from his face.

Shuddering, Draco recalled the momentary surprise on her face, forever locked in death's grip now. It had happened right in front of him, just moments ago. He shivered again at the memory and wrapped his arms around himself. "I don't care about that Muggle-lover."

Snape looked sympathetic, but again his expression hardened. "You'll have to toughen up. You have to be stronger than this."

"But if he's killing Professors…" said Draco, feeling his heart pounding far too hard in his chest. He felt like it might burst as he spoke the truth of his fears, knowing that Snape would probably laugh at him.

To his great surprise, that did not happen. In a surprisingly tender move roughly executed, Snape grabbed Draco's arm and pulled him close, wrapping his arms tightly around him. Draco leaned in against him, burying his head in his chest. He refused to cry, refused to let everything out. Snape saw him as a boy, not a man, and sobbing like a girl wouldn't help his image. Still, he was terrified for him, terrified that he was going back to the school and the pitfalls of dealing with the other Professors who knew he'd murdered Dumbledore.

Murdered Dumbledore for Draco. His heart expanded, the feeling of exceptional warmth and gratitude engulfing him as he tightened his hands in the back of Snape's tunic.

"I want to go back to Hogwarts with you. You need someone who can watch your back," said Draco against his chest.

"Oh, Draco," said Snape. His voice was muffled and thick and he shook his head. "The Carrows siblings will be attending to me."

"They're fools; you've said so," said Draco. He tightened his arms around Snape, clinging, he knew, but he couldn't bear the thought of Snape leaving and never coming back again. He had a sudden vision of Snape, dark eyes cloudy, expression slack, skin waxy and bloodless and he had to force down a sob. Snape would think he was being a baby, and Draco wasn't a baby.

Snape pushed Draco away again, holding him by the shoulders. He glared deep into his eyes. "You've seen the way the men look at your mother. You must stay here for her. You must protect her. She needs you and she needs you to be strong for her."

Draco blushed and looked down, realising he had forgotten his mum in the shuffle. Not that she was any more defenceless than Snape was, but she was his blood and he loved her dearly. He loved his father, too, but part of him wondered if his father wouldn't sell out his mum to save his own skin if it came to it. He hated himself for that thought; his father had never done anything to earn it, and yet it stuck there in his mind.

"That is a man's decision, Draco. To stay here with your family, to stay where you are needed. You remember what I told you. Do not cross him, keep your head down. Do not try to impress the Dark Lord, he won't be impressed. The less his eyes are on you, the better it is for you. Do nothing to distinguish yourself and you will keep out of trouble."

Nodding, Draco swallowed hard. He'd argued with Snape before about glory and setting his family back into the Dark Lord's good graces, but he realised that it was impossible until someone cocked up worse. Dumbledore was dead and by Snape's grace, they were all still alive. Draco wasn't going to test it.

"All right," he said, shoulders slumping in defeat.

Snape stepped in and kissed Draco's forehead, surprising him with the sudden affection. "You've grown up so much. It makes me proud."

Draco looked up, but in a flash, Snape had turned to leave his room. Draco watched the way the light outlined Snape's lanky frame in his doorway. Snape paused and looked back at him, searching Draco up and down as if memorising him or saying goodbye, and then he turned and walked back, each step light as if it were a secret.

Holding up his hand, he showed Draco a small silver filigree ring, ornate and dainty. Somehow, Draco had never noticed it before, but now that he could see it, he couldn't take his eyes off of it. It looked like a tiny tiara made of snakes. Snape pulled it over his finger, having to twist it over his thick knuckle and then slipped it easily onto Draco's pinkie. Draco moved it up to his middle finger, finding the ring big enough to fit there comfortably on his spindly hand.

"It belonged to my mother," said Snape. He stared at it on Draco's hand for a long, uncomfortable moment. Draco thought for certain Snape was going to snatch it back. "I must trust you to keep it safe. If ever it goes cold, you will know I am done."

Gasping, Draco made to remove the ring as if it were a threat to Snape's life.

"No," said Snape. He closed his cold hands over Draco's for a moment and then pulled something from his pocket, a small phial of an impossibly yellow glowing potion. "Should that happen, provided I have not been… ended with the Killing Curse… you must feed this to me, and I will come back to claim this ring from you."

The knots in Draco's stomach loosened and he felt warm all over, awash in relief. Snape trusted him, wanted him to do this for him, and best yet, he wouldn't die. Not by ordinary means, anyway. It was incredibly reassuring to him and he couldn't help but smile and nod.

"You must not tell anyone of this, Draco." Snape looked wary and serious, but not threatening as he often did when he ordered Draco to do something.

"No one will know. I swear it. I owe you a life debt, don't I?" he asked, closing his free hand over Snape's as if he could warm him.

"I do not hold life debts. Those are too costly. Do it because I am your friend," said Snape. He slowly withdrew his hand and looked as if he were going to touch Draco's face, but instead put his hands in his pockets.

"I'll do it because I love you." Draco's voice was small and quiet, but no less sincere.

Snape looked at him in shock and for once, he looked away. "As you say."

He looked up again one last time before wheeling around and leaving Draco's room.

--

Tears sprang to Draco's eyes, and he fell to his knees in front of Snape's corpse. He was sprawled on the dusty wooden floor of the Shrieking Shack, mouth coated in black dried blood speckled with the odd silver splatter of tangible memories. Sitting next to Snape, Draco slid his finger over the crusted blood on Snape's bottom lip, wincing at the toughness of scabs. He broke off a chunk that was holding a fair bit of silver and slipped it into his pocket.

The ring on his finger was ice cold; it was how he knew that Snape was dead. Though seeing Snape's throat torn open was upsetting, Draco was comforted that it meant he hadn't died via the Killing Curse and that the carefully prepared potion would revive him. The problem became healing Snape and the pain he'd have to endure. It would feel like dying again, but Draco couldn't heal dead flesh.

What he did know was the singing spell that Snape had used to cauterise and then sew Draco's chest back together when Potter had split him open in the boys' loo. Draco had made Snape teach it to him, thinking that since they were going to war, it would be a valuable thing to know. Now he was glad he had bothered.

Holding his wand at the ready in his right hand, he pushed the cork from the phial with his thumb, hoping that Snape's potion would work as well as he hoped it would. Part of him was sad that he would no longer be responsible for Snape's life once he'd used this, but the hope that he'd be able to speak to him again overwhelmed any residual sadness.

The potion went through Snape's body in an amber glow, dribbling down his lips, warming blue-grey skin to a pinker shade. When the potion reached Snape's throat, and Draco could feel radiant heat from his wound, Draco started to sing. He kept his eyes locked on Snape's dead eyes, watching him blink, cold grey eyes moistening, darkening back to their proper colour.

Draco smiled at him when Snape was able to look at him. He wasn't sure if Snape could really see him, but he wanted to be smiling if he could see him, wanted him to think it wasn't as bad as it was. Snape twitched; his body started to shake and his eyes rolled back in his head. Draco sang faster, watching the skin spike like tiny threads and knit back together. Warm blood gushed from his neck, pushing out the last of the bad, the dead blood and venom and silver, purifying him and sliding over Draco's pale hand.

The skin seamed back together, leaving nothing but faint marks where Nagini's fangs had punctured him and lines where his skin had torn. Draco stopped singing and started casting light cleaning spells to try and neaten Snape's clothes. Snape grabbed Draco's wand and rolled his eyes at him as he sat up on one elbow with great effort. His chest was heaving for breath, and when he tried to speak, it came out in a strained wheeze.

"Don't," said Draco, holding a bloodied hand up as he wrangled his wand from Snape, giving it an odd glance and remembering the weird things Potter was saying about master wands and elder…whatever. "You don't have to speak. The Dark Lord is dead."

Snape looked relieved and exhaled slowly. Then he looked up at Draco again with trepidation.

"Regrettably, Potter survived," said Draco.

Much to Draco's surprise (and a little annoyance) Snape smiled genuinely and nodded. He'd never expected to see Snape happy that Potter was drawing breath.

Reaching out, Snape tipped Draco's chin up and he gave him a serious look. At first, Draco thought it might be a rebuke, but then he understood the look better as pride and he took advantage of their faces being so close and leaned in to press his lips to Snape's.

Snape recoiled and shook his head violently, pointing to the empty phial Draco had dropped to the floor. Draco nodded and frowned. Snape pressed his hand on top of Draco's and squeezed it. He managed to croak, "You're a good boy, Draco."

Draco bridled at being called a boy, but an argument now was pointless and cruel, so he simply stood, offering a hand to Snape to help him stand. "Potter believes you to be dead and the Ministry will believe that as well. We have an Unplottable vacation home in France that you may use for as long as you wish. Mum says we owe you at least that much."

Nodding soberly, Snape looked like he wanted to say something, but instead, he folded his arms and eyed Draco.

Not knowing what to do or to say after that, Draco said, "Great, well, there's a Portkey for you at the Manor, so we'll just… head back there and you'll be on your way."

At that, Snape nodded sharply and Draco sighed softly, still stinging from being seen as a boy. He'd just saved Snape's life, he'd risked even the good graces of Potter and the Ministry to come out there to fetch him, but to Snape, he was still just a boy.

Bitterly, Draco stepped in closer to Snape, wrapped his arms around him and concentrated on getting them both to the Manor.

--

"I'm not sure it's entirely proper for one who is running for a governorship to be sunbathing on a beach in the nude," said Snape, his voice curt as it ever had been.

Draco knew he looked smashing. He was lathered up in coconut oil, porcelain skin lightly golden by the sun's rays. His prick was pink and shiny and he tilted his hips up, sucking in his breath so that he would look even more waspish than he already did.

Whatever Snape may have thought about him as being a boy, a young lad not well-formed in years or in shape, there was no denying his broad shoulders, his willowy height, or his impressive political resume that was leading him down the path his father had previously trod.

"I know it's not at all proper to be in Montalivet in a burkha," said Draco. He lifted his hips up slightly from the lounger. He could hear that Snape was behind him, likely just out of the large, Muggle-repellent Wizard tent they'd erected for the occasion.

"It is not a burkha, it is a proper Wizard's robe--something you would do well to look into wearing. If the press got wind of..."

The sun's rays buffeted Draco's skin like the feel of a warm chenille towel. The breeze was just chilly enough to make his nipples stand on end. He knew he looked good. If Snape wouldn't have him now, then he would truly have no hope.

Being a future Minister of Magic wasn't his goal. He'd just wanted to show Snape that he wasn't a child-- that he'd grown up. The lecture continued and Draco looked out onto the waves, sliding his hands over his thighs.

"PUT SOME BLOODY CLOTHES ON, DRACO!" Snape shouted. Birds flew and girls walking along the beach stared blandly in their direction. Somehow Snape's magic was strong enough to make the repelling charms tremble. Fortunately, he didn't puncture the magic.

Let down, Draco sat up on the lounger and swung his legs out to one side, placing his feet in the sand. "God you're cranky. You need to get laid," he said in exasperation.

"What?" Snape snapped.

Draco had never seen Snape quite so agitated, and he'd been around Snape when he'd been chatting with Potter, so that was saying something. Still, he couldn't back down from it now. He'd said it, it was out there, and if Snape was ever going to see him as an adult, he couldn't charm his way out of it.

Standing, Draco took the few steps closer to Snape, finding that now he was eye-to-eye with the man, if not slightly taller. He was naked, oiled and glowing pale tinged with gold. With his nose practically against Snape's, he spoke. "I said. You. Need. To. Get. Laid."

Like a snake striking, Snape's hand closed around Draco's wrist. He felt like a disobedient child as he was dragged into the tent, feet not as sure as he'd liked. Then all at once he was slammed against a surprisingly solid tent wall, Snape's long body taut against him, mouth all teeth and tongue demanding entrance.

Draco's heart thundered in his chest as he felt the hardness pressing against his. Reaching for it, he cupped his fingers around Snape's prick through the thick fabric of his tunic and trousers with his other hand sliding around the back of Snape's neck. He wasn't getting away if Draco could help it.

Snape's groan was loud and sounded surprised. Draco tightened his hand on the back of his neck, determined not to let him pull away. Scrambling for his fastenings, Draco tore away tunic buttons and yanked impatiently on Snape's belt.

He felt Snape stiffen, his tongue going lax as if he wanted to say something. Draco tilted his head to the side, sucking desperately on Snape's tongue, pulling and sucking as his deft fingers plucked through the fastenings so that he could wrap his hand completely around Snape's prick.

Again, Snape moaned in surprise, but this time his hands slid down to Draco's bare, slick arse; his fingers sunk into his skin with bruising force, pushing nails into the tender skin. This time, Draco groaned. His head fell back against the wall in a dizzying thud as Snape hoisted him up against the rough fabric wall.

All Draco could do was wrap his legs around Snape's waist as he wrapped his arms around his neck. He opened his mouth to speak, to warn Snape that he'd never done this before, but Snape was too quick. Snape's prick lined up with his opening after sliding against his oiled cheeks a couple of times and with a decisive thrust, Snape breeched him.

It was only the tip, but Draco felt raw, split open. He shrieked, his fingers gathering in the back of Snape's torn tunic, body tense and coated in sweat. He tried to relax to let him in further, but Snape's hips snapped back and pushed in again and Draco sobbed, clinging and shuddering.

His body was wracked with the forceful pain of it, but his psyche was soothed by the grateful fiercely aroused moans in his ear. Tears streamed down Draco's face at the stabbing sensation and he bit Snape's neck to bear the pain. Snape gasped and hissed and drove harder and faster into him, nails scraping Draco's cheeks as he tried to keep his grip on him.

Draco shuddered, bearing it, pushing back as his body numbed to it, slowly relaxing into the rhythm. He was sore, like he was being ripped apart with each thrust. Yet incredibly, it was a pain that he was growing to love. The sensations mixed in his head, brutal and arousing, vicious claiming grunts and sighs of surrender. Still clinging, Draco pulled back to lean against the wall to look at Snape's face. The lines had smoothed out, his body given over to the harsh need.

In spite of the pain, it felt right. It felt perfect and he reached down to stroke himself. His erection had waned with the pain, but was returning as the realisation of what he was doing and with whom, hit him. He kissed him again, desperate and sweaty and Snape kissed back, moaning Draco's name into his mouth.

It only took a few more thrusts after that before Snape huffed and grunted his last, holding Draco's hips on his pulsing prick. He was deep, so far into him that Draco could barely breathe. Then Snape pushed Draco up and slipped out of him and bundled him into his arms and carried him to the soft pillows in the back of the tent.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, voice tender and face concerned.

Draco shook his head even though the absence of Snape inside of him was painful as his body tried to adjust to what felt like a gaping hole left in him. Snape stroked his cheek with the back of his hand, spreading Draco out. He had the grace to blush. "That was not… I should not have…"

Reaching for his face, Draco cupped it and gazed into his eyes and said, "You should have. I wanted you to. I've always wanted you to—"

His sentence broke as Snape kissed him again. His kisses were like an assault, almost cruel and his hand gripped Draco's prick roughly, pulling it. Draco arched his back at the force, toes curling in as much arousal as pain.

He whimpered and opened his eyes and Snape's touch softened and slowed. Draco rocked against him then, breathing through his mouth, watching Snape's face.

"I haven't… I'm sorry if I'm…" Snape started.

Draco kissed him, wanting to leave it unsaid. "I haven't either," he whispered against Snape's lips. "Not with a man. I just… you…"

Snape nodded and looked down. Draco also looked at Snape's hand around the greased, red-purple prick in his hand, the way that it bobbed in and out of view. The sight coupled with who was doing it was too much for him and he convulsed as the orgasm hit him. His body tightened, feeling the gathering of nerves like a fist that suddenly exploded through his prick, wetting Snape's hand and his belly in long, wet, warm ropes of come.

Remaining rigid until the last of it was expelled, Draco flopped against the pillows and pulled Snape down on top of him, kissing him again. He wanted to tell him that he loved him, that he always had, but he was sure that Snape reaslised that by now.

He smoothed his fingers through his long, ragged black hair, listening to the crashing of the waves outside and the occasional blurb of conversation as Muggles passed the tent unaware of their presence. In that moment, the world was perfect. In that moment, all of his longing had been crystallised and distilled into this. Draco didn't want to move, couldn't move. It seemed that Snape felt the same; as he didn't stir or speak, even as the light faded from the sky, casting them into the eerie darkness of night surrounded by Muggle lights.

"We should go home," said Snape finally. He pushed off of Draco, his tunics a wreck of come, sand and sweat, torn at the front. He neatened it with a quick spell, leaving Draco to see to himself.

"We?" asked Draco as he sat up, feeling like he was going to break in two with how raw his insides were.

Snape straightened up and then smirked slyly. "Yes. We. I think that you should come home with me. I should, at the very least, tend to you. And you should probably be around in case I… how did you put it? 'Need to get laid' again."

Draco brightened and nodded, pulling his clothes on carefully. He wasn't sure how soon he'd be ready to repeat that, but he liked the idea that it would happen again. "I suppose. If that's what you want," he said, trying to play it off, but he was beaming too much for Snape to take it in any other way than that he was delighted.

"It is what I want, Mr Malfoy, but you are an adult, and the choice is yours," said Snape.

Straightening, Draco looked at Snape for a long time, finding the new look of respect in his eyes. Finally, Draco nodded and said, "I am an adult, and I choose to go home with you."

Snape actually smiled then and nodded. "Very good." He wrapped an arm around Draco, and the tent and beach fell away and the old familiar furnishings of the Malfoy summer home sprang up in its place and Draco knew that he was really home.

FIC: Where the Naked Ladies Dance, NC-17, H/D

Wed, 09 Jan 2008 01:41:31 GMT

Title: Where the Naked Ladies Dance
Author: charlotteschaos
Recipient: emmagrant01
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Harry/Draco, Blindfolded Rentboy/Draco (Theodore/Draco, Harry/Ginny, Draco/Wife implied)
Disclaimer: All characters belong to JK Rowling. I just play with them for a while.
Summary: Alone with Ginny after so many years once the children are away at school, Harry discovers that there's more to himself than he thought, and more to Draco too.
Warnings: Drug use, brothel
Author's/artist's notes: Written for emmagrant01 on smutmas. Thanks to spifftastic and themostepotente for their beta work!

In the years since the war, Harry rarely saw Draco Malfoy anymore. Not much aside from the platform at 9 3/4 and the Ministry-sponsored Yule Galas and Spring Formals. Malfoy had taken the helm of his father's legacy, taking up governorships, talking to important people and otherwise being insufferably smug and ineffably charming in spite of how smarmy his reputation might be.

At every event he stood tall, pale, buttoned up to the throat and remarkably self-possessed—nothing at all like the emotional, bratty child that challenged Harry at every turn. Draco Malfoy had grown up.

For the most part, Malfoy would keep his distance from Harry at such events, giving only the same, solemn, singular nod to him. It acknowledged Harry's presence, and, Harry fancied that in its own way, Malfoy acknowledged some gratitude for Harry's heroics and testimony on his behalf.

"Still obsessed with Malfoy!" said Ginny. She was wobbly on her feet, a bit too much elf bubbly, but not an embarrassing amount. Harry blushed slightly, realizing he had been staring.

"I don't think he's up to any more evil, mate," said Ron, giving Harry a good-natured smack on the back. "Besides, take the night off. Kids are off in school, the night is still young and your wife is tipsy…"

Harry smiled at Ginny, but she looked away and Harry tried not to sigh. Seeming to sense the awkwardness the suggestion had brought on, Hermione said cheerfully, "The decorations are just beautiful, aren't they?"

Ginny responded with as much faux cheer as Harry could stomach and he found himself drowning out the noise of party patter watching Malfoy and Nott whispering to one another. Malfoy's wife sat off to the side, as distant as Ginny was to Harry and well into her cups. Nott stood far too close to Malfoy, looming over him, shaggy brown hair all but obscuring Malfoy's pointy face.

Malfoy smirked and nodded, agreeing to whatever it was Nott had suggested, and the two glanced around, checking to see if anyone was looking. Catching Harry staring, Malfoy tilted his head to the side, then winked and puckered his lips into a kiss. Harry's stomach lurched and his spine tingled.

"Oh, those two," Ron intoned to Harry as Hermione and Ginny chatted about their children and Hogwarts. "That's just something else about those Purebloods I'll never get."

"What does that mean?" asked Harry. He sucked in his breath, willing his arousal to abate. He had a pretty good idea what that meant. He'd heard it all before.

"You know, all-boys dorms… fagging," said Ron, his voice even lower than before.

Nothing like that happened in their rooms that he knew of, but Harry had heard of it happening. Nott stroked Malfoy's cheek and Malfoy leered at him. They turned together in the direction of the loo. Malfoy's wife watched wistfully and took another long sip of her drink.

Harry felt his erection straining in his pants and closed his eyes, concentrating on family, his wife, the life that he'd built that he didn't want to lose. After a few deep breaths, the imagined sighs and echoes of hard slapping flesh sounds faded from his imagination, and he was back in the present.

"We should head home, Ginny," said Harry, catching his breath and suppressing his want. "Big day tomorrow."

It wasn't true, but Ginny had sense enough to know when it was time to go, and she straightened her red satin robes, pressing them down smoothly as Harry said his goodbyes. She followed with gracious handshakes and waves, not once looking at Harry, and she followed him out the door.

__

In the dead of night, there is a parlor that calls to men, men who are selected to hear the siren song, a subtle magic that calls and sings, luring the men from the beds of their wives and to a seedy part of London, a back alleyway between a burned out bookshop and a boarded up cafe. Underneath were the denizens of sin, a cornucopia of earthly and unearthly delights. Or, at least this was what the song promised.

In reality, it was a long, dark hallway with circle-windowed doors behind which copulation took place on antiseptic tables. Couplings were mundane heterosexual encounters to dangerous liaisons between centaurs and men. At the end of the hall there was a door cracked open, sliver of light peeking through.

Harry heard his breath over the slapping sounds and gasped breathing. His heart thrummed with fear and arousal for what he might happen upon.

Billowing from the room was a thick, purple cloud. It smelled sickly sweet shot through with the acrid scent of come and sweat and far less savory aromas.

Screwing up his courage, Harry peeked around the door.

The room was dark but for one swinging lamp over a table bed, almost like the sort that Harry had seen in proper Muggle hospitals. Standing in front of the bed, wearing only a blindfold, was a young man, his hips snapping forward mechanically, regularly, causing the man he was pushing into to grunt, his face obscured by a mass of silky white hair that cascaded over his face.

Harry could tell by hair alone whose glistening body he was looking at, but for the moment, he chose to ignore that fact, instead taking advantage of the fact that Malfoy's eyes were closed, and the young man sawing into him like he wanted to rip Malfoy in half couldn't see him anyway.

Harry pushed his palm over the front of his trousers, trying to breathe as quietly as he could, not wanting to interrupt the proceedings, but feeling a definite urge to touch himself.

Draco Malfoy, a queer. A queer in a brothel. If Harry hadn't signed a binding magical contract to prevent him from spilling what he knew, he'd want to tell Ron. But then, even if he hadn't signed it, Ron's next question would be how it was that Harry knew, and that wasn't a question Harry cared to answer.

All Harry could look at was Draco's purpling, well-oiled prick as it moved through his long, pale fingers. Did he want this? Was this who he was now?

Since the children had left for Hogwarts, Harry and Ginny were left alone an awful lot--something he'd once longed for but now sought any reason to avoid.

It had been so long since he last felt something like lust that he couldn't remember. Sometimes Ginny was in the mood for a shag, but not often. They had little motivation to work at it when the kids weren't there to care.

They didn't even fight anymore. Whatever it had been, it was nothing now. Now it was waking up in the middle of the night to follow that elusive tune to its source:

There's a place in France where the naked ladies dance.
There's a hole in the wall where the men can see it all.
The way they shake is enough to kill a snake.

Harry was caught out of his pondering with Draco's eyes on him, a long tube that looked like a hook attached to his mouth. When Draco drew his hand back again, he waited a beat and then let the smoke out of his lungs, watching it twist skyward, as if he could follow.

"I should, erm…" started Harry as he backed away from Draco and the strange faceless boy.

"You should come over and touch my cock," said Draco, reaching out a lazy hand, his drawl almost purring over his glistening body.

Harry wasn't sure how he felt about touching another man's cock, but it was so exciting. This was the last thing in the world he should be doing with the last person in the world he should be doing it with. He was an Auror, and he never liked Malfoy much. Yet, Harry had his trousers open already and was pulling on himself at the mere sight of Draco up on that black piece of medical equipment, writhing over his green and gold dragon robes, one leg up in a stirrup and the other down, hooked around it at the knee to keep his legs spread wide open.

Deciding that he might as well, Harry closed the distance between them and slid his fingers under Draco's, pulling his cock as some random man fucked him. Draco was moaning, arching his back and grabbing Harry tightly. All Harry could do was marvel at the soft, velvety feel of Draco's cock, the way it bent, how it was different than his—probably about the same width and length, but that it just seemed to have more skin, and curved in another direction.

Still, Harry couldn't take his hands off of it. The head was wet and shiny each time it pushed through his fist, and Harry stared at it with great longing.

There was a clank from the stirrup as Draco pulled his leg from it and laid the flat of his foot on the man's chest. "You're done," he said to the blindfolded man. "Get out."

The man hesitated, his posture a question of how to proceed, but then he pulled out of Draco and pushed his blindfold up enough to see his way out.

Turning his attention to Harry, Draco whispered, "Fuck me."

Harry inhaled sharply, hand stilling on Malfoy's cock. Flexing his jaw a few times, he turned his head so that he could see the pucker of Malfoy's hole, seeing right to the meat of him, down the light hair on his balls, the dark promise of his fissure, and the way that it flexed. It was beckoning to Harry.

As much as Harry had intended to say that he wasn't ready to go this far, his hands were on his trousers, and he had them down to his ankles as he took up the position of the man with the blindfold. Draco hissed when Harry entered him, but all Harry could think about was how hot and tight Draco's arsehole was, how it was moist from being fucked, even his insides were well-oiled, well-preserved.

It felt miraculous and Harry didn't want it to end. He wasn't sure how many months it had been since Ginny had deigned to touch him and now he was sunk deep into Draco Malfoy. For seemingly no reason at all except that it felt dirty, wrong and bad to do it, even being here was an act of rebellion for the life he'd accepted.

But now, he was pushing into Draco, leaning down over him to kiss his neck.

"Potter, are you making love to me?" asked Draco.

"Huh?"

"Are you making love to me, or are you going to fuck me already?" asked Draco. He grabbed Harry's arse and pushed him harder into him, taking him all the way to the balls. Draco winced at that, but sat up on his elbows, flexing his abdomen to fuck him back. "Yes… yes, more like that."

Harry was hardly in a position to argue. All he could think about was not coming too soon, to make this last. He wasn't sure when he'd ever given himself permission like this before; he felt like it should count. He thrust madly into Draco, giving him everything that he had-- all of the anger and distress and confusion, the weirdness of this night, how lost he felt without his kids, having no buffer between him and Ginny.

Draco sat up, wrapping his arms tightly around Harry, fucking him back for all he was worth. Their bodies were compressed so tightly that it was hard to breathe, and yet, they were moving as one, eliciting moans and sighs out of Harry that he had never felt before. He'd never been held this powerfully, never been inside of another man, never touched a cock besides his own. It was thrilling and scary and Harry was going to come far too soon.

Shortly after, Draco followed, melting like dead weight against Harry's chest. Harry clung to him feeling the revelation of what he'd just done washing over him in waves of shock, horror and residual arousal.

He'd just fucked someone who wasn't his wife. He'd just fucked a man. He'd just fucked Draco Malfoy, once his sworn enemy, and all he could really do was dumbly hold him, pulse racing with excitement tinged with horror.

After a few minutes, Draco caught his breath and pushed away from Harry, rolling back onto the table. Again, Draco was sprawled out in front of him; body spread out and sated now, wisps of hair clinging to his forehead. His skin goose-fleshed from the wet contact with the cooler air, and he groaned, pushing the sweat from his brow with a delicate hand.

Harry wiped his sodden hand off on the table before reaching for his trousers, not really sure what else to do, but he felt clumsy and awkward standing there with his dick out, although Draco was still laying there without even the grace to blush at his spread, bruised thighs, looking thoroughly debauched.

Finally, Draco sat up on his elbows, glanced lazily around and pulled his robe around him. He squinted at Harry for a moment and then laughed with a snort. "Is that really you, Potter?"

"Yeah… who else would it be?" asked Harry. He brushed his hand through his hair, feeling the heel of his palm brush over his forehead. It had been over a decade since his scar last burned; since he'd really felt the urge to try and cover it, but something about what Draco said made him feel the need to prove himself to be himself.

"Hah! I thought it might be a hallucination," said Draco as he swung his legs over the table and hopped off neatly. He padded to the corner of the small, dark room where his dark robes were hanging on a hook against the wall.

"I guess that answers the question of why you wanted me to fuck you," said Harry, not sure if he was let down or relieved. He still couldn't quite believe he'd done it. He'd been inside of Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy was putting on his clothes, bending over with his arse red because of him.

"Leaves the question of what you're doing here open, but I'm hardly in a position to judge," said Draco. He buttoned his robe up to the collar, looking primly like a vicar but for his mussed hair. He tended to that by smoothing his hand over it and then tying it with a black velvet bow.

"I don't know why I'm here. I guess I just…" started Harry.

"Wanted to fuck a bloke?" asked Draco.

"What? No! I…" said Harry, feeling out of his depth with Draco's steely gaze on him. He blushed brightly. "I don't know why I came here."

"Given what the establishment is… I'd say there's a fairly obvious reason why you came here," said Draco. He pulled a small velvet pouch from his pocket and laid a few Galleons down on the counter and then smirked at Harry. "I should make you pay a portion of this."

"I… you… you were paying for… that…" Harry gestured to the door where the man had exited.

Draco set his jaw and lifted his chin proudly. "I was paying for him to leave, not to fuck me. I'm starting to see the wisdom in that position now."

Even though Harry understood the implied insult, he was far too shocked by Draco paying to be fucked to bother with being offended. "You pay for sex? To let some guy put his prick in you? Why would you do that?"

"Because my wife doesn't have a prick?" Draco offered, shrugging.

Harry wasn't sure if he was kidding or not, and he just stood there staring at Draco in shock. He thought of Draco's wife drinking too much, and he thought again of the whispers and lascivious looks that passed between Draco and Theodore Nott. "You like being fucked," said Harry.

"Nothing gets past you, does it, Potter?" asked Draco. He started towards the door.

"But you have a wife… you married a woman…" said Harry, following Draco out and down the hall.

"I am again astounded by your observation of the obvious. But I take the point that you find this a contradiction. Allow me to point out that you are just as married as I am and that did not stop you from plugging my hole."

"But… but why did you marry a woman if you like men?" asked Harry, trying to hurry to stop Draco before he got to the door, wanting to hear this answer. Maybe it would help him understand.

Draco stopped and looked coldly at Harry for a moment. "I don't suppose I ever gave that much thought. I reached a certain age and it was appropriate to get married, so I did."

Harry felt something lurch in his stomach, a sort of familiarity at the situation. Had he thought about whether or not he truly wanted to get married? Whether he truly wanted to start a family? Everyone was getting married, and he was still seeing Ginny. He'd never given it much thought. It had never been a consideration that he wouldn't. "Oh."

"Oh, indeed," said Draco. He pushed on the door to open it to the slightly chilled night wind.

"Do you love her?" asked Harry, not sure what possessed him to ask such a question, except that it suddenly seemed very important.

"Of course I do. She's my wife," said Draco, crossing his arms and leaning against the door. He looked outside briefly and then turned his attention back on Harry.

"Are you in love with her?" asked Harry. He wondered what he would answer if Draco asked back.

Draco stared at Harry for a moment and then shook his head. "Never been in love. Not sure I believe in it. Now, if that's all, I have a bed to sneak back into, and I do believe you do as well."

It was hard to feel anything but incredibly sad for Draco, and in turn, sad for himself. He nodded and said, "Yeah. I do. I should um…"

"You're not going to try to kiss me goodnight, are you?" asked Draco. He was smirking in that unnerving way, but Harry fancied that he saw something like hope in his eyes.

"Erm…" Harry leaned in awkwardly to kiss him and Draco rolled his eyes and gave him a peck.

"See you around, Potter," said Draco as he stepped away into the swirling wind. He pulled his wand and Disapparated from the spot.

"Yeah, see you around, Malfoy."

--

As it turned out, Harry did not see Draco around at all. He came by the brothel several times, but never caught Draco there. He didn't rent any of the boys or girls that were offered and eventually stopped going, deciding that whatever spirit moved Draco to going to such a place must've been more rare than he was led to believe.

He didn't see Draco again until a couple of months later. Harry dressed carefully for the gala knowing that it was likely that Draco would be there. Normally, he would not go to more Ministry functions than were strictly necessary for work, but he'd heard through the grapevine that the Malfoys planned to attend.

Ginny seemed thrilled with the notion of getting dressed up and going out again. His conversations with her had been as strained as ever, and they had settled into a comfortable silence and avoidance. Harry remembered fondly how easy she'd once been to talk to. Now it seemed as if they had run out of things to say. She knew all of his stories and he all of hers. When he spoke of work she got a blank look in her eye, and though she asked polite questions to keep him talking, it was plain that he bored her.

In return, he didn't much care for the gossip about her friends, to know who was sleeping with whom or why. He didn't care about the shows that Ginny watched or what new project she was throwing herself into to alleviate the tedium of having an empty nest.

She was chirping on about possibly taking a job coaching a girl's junior Quidditch league when Harry caught sight of Draco across the room. His wife was on his arm and he was gliding smoothly towards a table to sit her down, checking his watch.

The gala was set up in white and silver, a late winter affair with silver goblets and radiant crystal. The walls were decked in white and fairy lights dripping down in long strings. There were large, round tables with serpent lily centerpieces, lit with floating candles. In the middle of the room was a large dance floor surrounded by a small self-playing orchestra.

Harry hoped Ginny didn't expect him to dance.

Before she had a chance to ask, Harry watched Draco get up from the table he'd sat his wife down at and head towards the loo. Remembering the eager looks that Draco and Theo had worn at the prospect of going to the loo made Harry curious as to what went on there. He hoped it was something like the brothels.

After making his excuses, Harry crossed the large hall, making a beeline for the bathrooms. The inside was huge, again larger than what he might've predicted from the outside, which had been a door that appeared to lead to nothing more extraordinary than a water closet. What he found inside was radiant in black and marble tiles that scored across the floors and brass washbasins held up by erumpent snouts. There was a seemingly endless wall of stalls, presumably to facilitate the needs of as many wizards as might need to go. Past the sinks was a row of urinals, all glossy and black with brass fittings and a long mirror.

Draco stood before the third urinal, robe hiked up to reveal trousers underneath and shiny leather shoes that looked so moist and soft that Harry could've sworn he saw them breathe.

His pulse raced as he stood there listening to the soft thump and click of the door shutting behind him. For a mad moment, he thought about the last time he was in the loo with Draco. He remembered the tears and gaunt face and the look of horror when he realized Harry had moved faster. Beyond that, all he could remember was the blood and the fear that he might've finally brought their rivalry to an end.

Just as he was starting to think that being here perhaps wasn't such a brilliant idea after all, Draco turned and brushed an interfering lock of his white blond hair from his face. It had fallen from the bow that kept his plaited hair back. There was just enough of it that Harry wondered if it hadn't been artfully held back to give Draco something to play with when he felt coy.

"Potter," said Draco, looking at him straight on, the top of his head reflected in the mirror.

Harry swallowed and nodded, unconsciously sliding his hand into his pocket to finger his wand, not sure how this meeting would go.

Draco turned and then laughed at Harry's soft gasp of shock. Draco had not put his prick away, and it sat there under gathered black material looking lewd and wrong sticking out there like that. It was vulgar and Harry wanted nothing more than to touch it.

Reaching back, Harry grabbed for the door and Draco rolled his eyes and took him by the hand into a bathroom stall. He sat Harry down on the toilet seat and closed the door behind him. Shimmying his trousers down to his ankles, he expertly pulled one leg out and straddled Harry, standing over him. Draco reached across Harry to the marble wall behind him, leaning his weight on that one hand as the other held his cock up, trying to feed it into Harry's lips.

Again it was all happening so fast, too fast. They hadn't talked, and yet, Harry was afraid to turn it down lest he never be offered it again. Each of these instances had been random, but he still felt compelled to at least say something. He licked his lips and by virtue of proximity, the tip of Draco's cock. It tasted salty and sweet-- flavored with an odd tang of Draco. His flavor was colored by Draco's expensive cologne that wafted off of his body as he moved, washing over Harry in waves of spicy fragrance.

Harry wanted to say something, wanted to stop him, but the tip of Draco's prick was so insistent against his lips, Draco teasing with the tip of it like it was applying lip gloss rather than smearing him with pre-come. Groaning, Harry opened his mouth, planning on speaking at first, but instead he sucked him into his mouth, slowly letting Draco's length slide into him. He swirled his tongue enthusiastically around Draco's cock, wanting to feel every ridge, every spot, to make Draco moan and whimper with neediness to make him stay, to make him want Harry as much as Harry wanted him.

Wrapping his arms around Draco's waist, he started to slide his fingers down his back, grabbing Draco's cheeks and moving them in circles against one another, kneading the flesh as he sucked and kissed his cock.

Harry hadn't felt anything this immense before, never had this sort of joy when he kissed Ginny's cunt. Not that she had a bad cunt or a wrong cunt, as far as he knew. But this, this was something totally different. Draco's prick filled him, aroused him, made him want to keep sucking and sucking until Draco cried out. He wet his fingers in his mouth, breaking from Draco's cock. He looked up at Draco's face, which was contorted in edgy pleasure, waiting for Harry to get on with it, to keep sucking him.

Harry did so, leaning in to pull Draco's cock into his mouth as he spread his fingers inside of Draco, moaning at the warmth of him, the strange dryness, so different from a cunt, yet still it was incredibly exciting.

Draco rested his hand on top of Harry's head and kept him still as he started to rock his hips, moving for Harry, taking a proper speed, but never going too deeply into him so that he'd gag. All Harry could do was finger fuck him and suck him and look up at Draco's shiny face, the way his cheeks blushed, how his chest rose and fell as he breathed through his mouth.

Harry heard people coming and going in the bathroom, knew that they were there, but they had no idea. Every stall was soundproofed in order to maintain privacy, but it was still exciting to think that they were out there. Men who came in for a piss who had no idea that two blokes a mere few feet away were sucking each other off. Harry Potter, no less. Harry smiled inwardly, wondering what everyone would think if they knew he was doing this, if they knew how much he wanted to do this.

He wriggled his finger against something hard in Draco that elicited a strangled moan from him. Harry pushed at that spot again and again, feeling how frantic Draco was to get off and loving how Draco was grabbing his hair and huffing loudly. After a few more wild thrusts into Harry's mouth, Draco was warning him about coming and Harry kept his arms locked around him, letting Draco know it was all right to come in his mouth.

Harry tried to swallow it all, but felt it oozing back out of the corners of his mouth and running down his throat. He was just wondering how he was going to explain come stains to his wife when Draco sat on his lap, straddling him. Harry reached for the tissue paper, but Draco knocked his hand away and grabbed him by the throat.

As hard as that grab was, the way that Draco licked and kissed the come from Harry's chin and mouth was delicate. Worshipful. Sweet. All Harry could do was stare at him through his foggy glasses until Draco set them aside, leaving them on top of the toilet paper dispenser.

"I… where have you been?" asked Harry. He looked down to see Draco unfastening Harry's trousers quickly, pushing his robe aside as he fished Harry's prick out of his boxers. Harry hadn't even thought that he could get that hard, but there he was, huge and horny for Draco Malfoy, who was sitting in his lap, looking imperious in spite of how debauched he was.

"In your mouth, obviously," said Draco, sneering a little until his face contorted with the first shock of pain.

Harry groaned and his head fell back as Draco sat on him, feeling his muscles relax inch by inch to accommodate him. He shuddered in pleasure, basking in it before he had to get back to trying to be coherent. "No… I mean… at the… place."

Draco's face was the portrait of pained confusion until realization dawned on him and he rolled his eyes. "I told you, that was just sometimes. But I'm sure there were loads of people there to slake your lusts, Potter. Most of them younger and possibly prettier than me."

"What?" asked Harry. In all of the possibilities of having this conversation, it had never occurred to Harry that Draco might think someone else was prettier than he was. "No, I didn't… not with anyone. I was waiting for you!"

For a moment, Harry wasn't sure if he'd said a good or a bad thing. Draco just stared at him, his head tilted, and there was a slight and sad glimmer to his eyes that looked almost like hope. Then he shut down again and shrugged. "It's worth the trade if you can afford it, and I'm sure you can."

"I wasn't there for that, I was there for…" Harry trailed off, realizing what he was saying. He sounded like a lovelorn teenager. It was making him nauseated.

"There for me, Potter? Well, there's a novel idea," said Draco. His head was tilted down, hands on Harry's shoulders as he came down hard and fast like clapping on top of him. He was wincing a bit, but Harry thought he saw tears in Draco's eyes and on impulse, he cupped Draco's face and kissed him wildly, wanting to feel that, feel him, feel that deep, immense, consuming loneliness, wanting to feel Draco, to know him by being inside of him, connected by prick and tongue, invading him and making him give up all of his secrets.

Harry was clinging to Draco when he came, fucking him so hard that his thighs felt bruised and his calf muscles burned from the effort. He'd felt out of his body when he came, elated beyond what he'd experienced. He clung to Draco, refusing to let him go as he panted and sighed, chin tucked on his shoulder.

Hesitantly, Draco folded against him for a few moments, pressing soft kisses along Harry's hairline.

After a few minutes of stroking Draco's hair and being held and feeling so cuddly and warm, Draco finally stood up. He caressed Harry's cheek and kissed him again before wiping himself off and tossing the used tissues in the bin. He pulled up his trousers and smiled at Harry.

"These things you do, you just do them because they're fun?" asked Harry as he righted himself.

Draco leaned against the side marble wall and nodded with a slight shrug.

"So, you've really never been in love, ever?" asked Harry, wondering if he could believe that from a man who kissed like that.

Draco's jaw tightened and flexed a few times as he considered Harry and then finally, he said, "I was in love. Once. But he had other priorities. It's not worth all of that pain."

Harry stared and then nodded sadly. "I love the world, I love my friends, I love the opportunities I've had and I love my children, but I don't think I've ever been in love before."

Opening the door, Draco smiled over his shoulder. "You always were the lucky one," he said casually before slipping away, leaving Harry to stare at the empty space he'd occupied.

Lucky.

Sure.

--

The next night, Harry decided to try his luck at the club again. Draco had seemed surprised that Harry had gone back again and again, and he wondered if perhaps he'd visit. Not finding him, Harry left after a couple of hours, but went back the next night and the next. He started to learn the patterns of the patrons; the wild-eyed look of a man on his first visit, the almost bored look of the frequent visitor. Some people came in with packages; some came in with nothing at all. No one looked in anyone's eyes and most seemed put out by Harry's hopeful look each time the door opened.

He'd been doing this for a week before Harry decided that Draco wasn't going to come back. His stomach tightened with the certainty of that thought. No matter what he might've thought was going on, he was wrong.

Peering around the corridor, looking into the doors, he wondered if he could do it--if he could really just pick someone out and fuck them. The idea didn't fill him with the sort of thrill that Draco would, but his prick didn't seem to know the difference. The idea of being touched, being sucked was enough to get him hard, but Harry just wasn't sure he could do it.

Down the hall, a door was open. Two men were fucking roughly, one pinned against the wall, bent over with his arms out for balance. His hair was dark and over his face so that Harry had no idea who he might be. The other man stood taller, his hair short, but he wasn't anyone that Harry had ever remembered seeing. They both appeared older than him and better fed. The man fucking the dark-haired man nodded to him and said, "You can watch."

Harry stood in the doorway, unsure whether he should watch or not, not sure what this really meant. He didn't want to get in over his head, yet he was rather ready to get on with his life if that prat Malfoy wasn't going to show up again. He wondered what he'd meant that there was someone… a he… that he thought he'd loved before and he wondered if it wasn't Malfoy himself holding back, not showing up, being vague, dragging things out impossibly that lost whatever man that Malfoy was interested in.

In the midst of his bitterness, he watched the fucking. His prick twitched in complaint at not being touched, and Harry pressed the heel of his hand over the front of his trousers, trying to be subtle about it, but his cock was starting to ache at the sound of their bodies coming together, the moans and whispers. If he closed his eyes, he could still see Malfoy lying there, purple smoke curling around his pale body, lasciviously stretched out and begging to be fucked.

"Yeah, take it out," said the man from across the room. Harry ignored the rude tone, didn't open his eyes. He didn't want his fantasy to be ruined. He imagined Malfoy there, commanding him to take his cock out, wanting to see it, moving to his knees in front of Harry, watching the way that Harry stroked it.

Harry palmed his prick out of his trousers, folding back his underpants so that he could fist it quickly, not being at all gentle with it. He couldn't imagine Malfoy being gentle with his cock if he was touching it. He leaned against the back wall, only half realizing that he was next to an open door, wanking in plain view from the hallway.

He was getting close, so close to coming. Even his sense memory of Draco was getting stronger, like he could smell the thick sickly sweet of his opium and the lightness of his musk. He thought he could feel the brush of Malfoy's hair against his cheek and then the soft moistness of his lips.

Lips?

Opening his eyes, Harry found himself staring at a fuzzy cheek and then steely grey eyes gazing impassively back at him. He pushed the man back and gaped when he saw that it was Draco Malfoy. He was standing there fully dressed, hair pulled back into a loose pony tail, holding a long, thin silver cigarette holder with a kretek burning at the end.

"You looked like you could use a hand," said Draco, holding up a gloved hand. He was still wearing a traveling cloak, but his hat was off. His hair was slightly askew, looking like he'd been hiding under something--perhaps a cloak of a different sort.

"How long have you been here?" asked Harry, looking down nervously at his hand wrapped around his cock. It was painful to stop stroking it now, yet he knew his erection was going to wither at any moment. Except… that Draco was here and staring at it, too.

"Thirty-eight years, give or take," said Draco as he bit the fingers of his glove and slipped his hand out from the supple leather in an elegant movement. He wrapped his fingers around the base of Harry's cock and said, "Don't come yet."

"That's not what I meant," said Harry, sure that Draco was quite clear on what he meant, but unable to voice it with Draco's hand on his cock. He led him to the next room and then Draco pinned him against the dark wall after slamming the door. Each of the rooms looked the same; the cold table in the middle with the lamp shining down over it like an examination room, and the dark corners and slick linoleum tile.

"I know," said Draco as he pulled at Harry's cock slowly. "I've been here all week."

"What?" asked Harry, his mind spinning as much as it could with Draco doing what he was doing with his cock, feeling the roll of Draco's manicured thumb over the tip of his prick. "All week? Why?"

"Watching to see if you were really faithful to me," said Draco. He fell to his knees in front of Harry and nuzzled his cock, rubbing it against his cheek adoringly. "And you were, but for some wanking you were doing in front of strangers. Dirty boy."

Harry blushed; surprised he had enough blood to reach his cheeks with as hard as Draco was making him, smearing his pre-come all over his face. Part of him was angry for being left in doubt that whole time, but another part of him just wanted to enjoy this, to just have this, to let Draco behave as he would so long as he got his dick sucked now and then. It was a little like having two wives, only of late, Draco was putting out quite a bit more and didn't seem to want any jewelry.

From him, anyway.

"I don't want anyone else," said Harry truthfully. He hated himself for his earnestness, but he supposed if Draco had been watching him all week, he had to know that.

Again Draco's eyes looked glassy, damp, and he averted his gaze and Draco said, "You want to fuck me."

"I do," said Harry, but he was feeling frustrated that Draco didn't seem to be getting the point. "I want to fuck you and only you."

Draco wouldn't meet Harry's eyes, but stretched out his tongue to drag it along Harry's cock. He stopped and smiled impishly, "Monogamous affairs. How very…" He turned his cigarette holder over and extinguished the kretek, setting it aside so he could concentrate on Harry's cock.

In the interim, Harry had pulled his prick away and was pulling his underpants back over it, though it very much pained him to do.

"What's that, then?" asked Draco, looking confused and just a little hurt that Harry was putting his cock away.

"You're making fun of me, Malfoy. I don't find it particularly amusing. You string me along all week--watch me, make me jump through hoops all because I like you, in particular. It's unfair and it's rude, and I don't think I want you to suck my cock," said Harry, thinking those words sounded very, very wrong, and yet, the idea of letting Draco touch him like that after the way he'd behaved was starting to wither his erection, and he was glad that mind and body were finally coming to an agreement on this.

Draco stood then and looked around, but they were in an empty room. There was no one to hear, no one to see this great conflict--no one to see that the great Draco Malfoy had been turned down for a blowjob.

But more than that arrogant irritation that was always dancing on the edges of Draco's expression was an expression of bewildered hurt and then sorrow as he looked down at the floor. He was blinking rapidly and Harry wasn't sure what it could mean, exactly. Only that he felt compelled to reach out to Draco.

He set his hand on Draco's shoulder, meaning to give him just a quick squeeze of reassurance, and Draco fled to him. Draco's arms wrapped tightly around him and his face tucked against Harry's neck. He could feel the slight wetness there, but there were no sobs. Just quiet crying. Harry wasn't sure what it meant.

"It's all right, Malfoy. Really. I don't hate you," Harry said, trying to soothe him.

"I don't know why I can't… why it's just so… I didn't think you cared. I didn't think it mattered and then you said you did and I just… I wanted to come up to you but I thought maybe you were… really waiting for someone else or something else. You never liked me. We never liked each other. I didn't… I couldn't believe it," said Draco, barely taking a moment to even breathe.

Harry was overwhelmed, and he stroked Draco's back as he tried to sort that all out. "It's all right. It is. Just… maybe we should… let me take you out to dinner. We can go somewhere, yeah?"

Draco pulled back and looked at Harry, discreetly blotting his eyes with a hankie. "Dinner could be something. They'd… all see you with me," he said softly.

"What? Who would care?" asked Harry, in his usual, slightly oblivious way. "So they'll see us. It's just dinner. I don't plan to bend you over the table."

Draco actually laughed, and Harry thought he had a rather nice laugh when it was sincere. Harry smiled at him and smoothed down Draco's hair. "Maybe I don't know if I want to go if you're not!"

Harry cleared his throat and leaned in to kiss Draco's head.

"You'd really be seen with me, Harry?" asked Draco, his voice small and sounding painfully plaintive and child-like. "Out in public?"

Nodding, Harry wondered what manner of man Draco had been in love with before that having dinner was such a big deal, but he wasn't ready to know that. The past was the past, and he wasn't sure he'd want to know. "Yes, out in public is where the best restaurants are, I've found," said Harry.

"All right. Thursday night, then?" asked Draco.

"At eight. It's a date."

--

Babylon at the Rooftop Gardens in Kensington had been more of a 90s Muggle hang-out, or so Harry had been informed not long after he'd arranged to meet Draco there. He'd heard about it when he was younger and always thought the idea of a fine meal on a rooftop garden sounded extraordinarily romantic, but he'd not thought about it until he was trying to figure out somewhere to take Draco. Now that he knew it was less hip than it once was, he was worried, but then, he supposed that this was Draco they were talking about, and it wasn't as if Draco kept up on Muggle trends.

He hoped.

As far as he was concerned, the restaurant was modern with hardwood floors, crisp linen tablecloths and a beautiful view of the gardens outside. There was a fire that crackled in the small hearth just behind him that took the edge off of the modern crystal and helped to soothe Harry's nerves. Draco had been a little strange about where they would meet and under what circumstances. Harry wondered if Draco would even show up at all.

He ordered a glass of wine to try and take the edge off of his nerves and was only a couple of sips into it when he saw the flash of Draco's bright hair catching the light at the front of the long strip of restaurant, made to give every table the best view possible. Draco appeared lost and as if he were having a hard time hearing what the host was telling him, his expression slightly pained in the way adults can look towards children who are telling them unpleasant stories. His grey eyes moved past the host, and he caught sight of Harry.

Harry was so used to seeing Draco in his usual drab couture that seeing him in a silvery cashmere sweater with charcoal wool trousers seemed suddenly light and airy for him. The low lights and flame light hit his face, turning what was usually pallid a soft gold and all Harry could do was stare for a moment. Draco flashed him a cocky grin and tilted his head to the side to indicate a gaggle of heiresses half his age giggling and gazing dreamily at him.

"They're half your age," Harry sniffed as Draco sat down across from him.

Draco flicked his hair back and looked so smug that Harry found himself wanting to slap him. "I've still got it."

Harry picked up his menu and looked it over. "Have you? I'd've thought with all of your money, they might've found a cure for you by now."

Kicking back, Draco nodded to the server and pointed at Harry's glass and indicated he wanted one. After a beat, he leaned forward to grab Harry's wine glass, gave it a sniff, and then asked for a wine list instead. "Is that why you invited me here? Were you hoping that there was some sort of… injection… you might get to cure you of me?"

It was difficult not to laugh at Draco's antics. Harry took his wine glass back from Draco, gave him a look, and took a sip of it. There was nothing wrong with a good merlot as far as Harry was concerned, but it probably didn't have the cachet of the Rioja that Draco ordered instead. Harry tried not to care about that, or care that he'd invited Draco to a slightly-less-than-trendy restaurant. "From what I recall, I've been the one giving the injections. Are you considering a change to market as a cure-all?"

Leaning in, Draco smirked devilishly. "My prick as a panacea has its merits."

"I'm sure it does," said Harry, sitting back as the server arrived to pour Draco his wine. "But that's not why I invited you here."

The mask of Draco's bravado slipped, and Harry thought 'I've got you now.' But as quickly as it came, it went, and Draco swilled his wine and looked into the dark depths of the glass and asked, "Then why did you invite me here?"

"I wanted to get to know you," said Harry. He thought that had been clear from the start, but perhaps Draco was so jaded that he couldn't quite contain that thought.

"We've known each other our whole lives," said Draco, his face darkening before he took another long sip of his wine.

"I didn't know that you liked…" Draco shot Harry a warning look and then glanced around the restaurant nervously. Harry nodded. "The point is, we never really talked much before. Or lately."

"That is likely because I didn't much care for you, and you made it rather plain that you didn't care for me from the start," said Draco. He sat up and tapped the edge of the crystal for another pour of the wine.

Harry was alarmed by the alcohol consumption, but then, he wondered if perhaps Draco wasn't just nervous. He thought about how vulnerable he'd looked at the notion of going out together. He wondered if he'd have to break Draco down to open up to him every time they met. "I think I've done a pretty good job lately of letting you know that I like you a little bit," Harry said gently, leaning in and reaching his hand out.

Draco looked around the room again and then stared at Harry's hand as if it were an unwelcome rodent. Harry felt a bit out on a limb like this, and he thought about Draco's hand outstretched to him on the train and how he'd turned his back on him. He didn't regret that choice in the least. The way Draco was then and given all he'd been through with his friends, it was the right choice. But now, Harry appreciated a little better how it felt to put himself on the line for someone and the fear that it wouldn't be returned.

Setting his wine glass down near Harry's hand, Draco flicked his fingertips over Harry's palm and then folded his hands politely on his lap and looked around the restaurant again. Harry smiled and nodded his understanding, relieved that he hadn't been completely blown off. Draco ordered the special and advised Harry that in any fine restaurant it was best to order the special, as it was likely to be what the chef put his heart and soul into and would have the best ingredients. He lectured Harry about the proper wine and explained the history of cutlery and table manners, taking it back to medieval times when enemy houses would come together to share a meal and all possible weapons were meant to be handled above board.

Normally, lectures put Harry off, but Draco just seemed to glow as he spoke, explaining with a bit of his usual haughty demeanor, but with an exuberance that Harry thought perhaps came of having freshly explained such things to his son. For the first time, he really thought Draco must be a good father. Perhaps he'd be a bit overbearing or expect a little much of his son, but Draco had an enthusiasm and a passion and a reason for everything he did and Harry found himself captivated.

Better still, the more he spoke, the less he drank and Harry watched as the haze lifted from Draco, and he looked bright and happy in a way that he'd never seen. There was a light in his eyes that for once wasn't a vicious glimmer, but sincere pleasure. Harry tried to catch the check when it came, but Draco was quicker and to Harry's surprise, he had a Muggle credit card.

"What, do you think I'd remain completely ignorant of this bold new world?" asked Draco as he looked outside, squinting at something Harry couldn't see. Then he leaned in again and said, "Bet we could get up to something out there. It's rather dark… there are some bushes just…"

Draco was pointing and Harry was blushing and clearing his throat. "I thought… maybe… this could just be… a date," said Harry.

Giving him a wary, confused look, Draco said, "You don't… like me anymore?"

"No, no, no! I lo-like you a lot!" said Harry, trying not to think too hard about that slip. It was far too soon for that, and really, he had no idea where he was going with this or what he was doing. "I want to see you again. I just want to get to know you."

"I'm not a girl, Potter. You don't have to…" said Draco as he took the check back from the server and signed his name with the flourish of an implied quill in his hand.

"I know you're not a… I just… I really like you. I promise we can… next time, all right? I just don't want you to think that's the only reason why I want to see you," said Harry.

Draco stood and pocketed his card and gave Harry a guarded look.

"I really want to get to know you. I want to know what this is. I… it's got to be about more than sex, doesn't it?" asked Harry.

Something in Draco flickered with hope, and he shut down again. "No, it doesn't have to be anything."

Somebody had hurt Draco. They'd hurt him badly. Harry wondered if he wasn't just setting himself up to be hurt the same way. "Maybe not, but if you want me to fuck you again, you'll come on another date with me."

Draco looked very much like he wanted to say something to Harry, but his lips formed nonsense words until he clamped his mouth shut. "Fine," he said, eyeing Harry with suspicion. "But you'd better fuck me next time. I'm not here for the conversation."

Harry stood and faced Draco down, staring at him impassively until Draco balked and finally turned to leave, muttering to himself.

After he was gone, Harry grinned. He hadn't said 'no.'

--

"Oh Harry!" Ginny enthused. She was flushed with an excited glow, her hair still damp from an early morning shower. She was still in her pink dressing gown and pink slippers and clutching the Daily Prophet in her hand. "This is just so great, you have to read it!"

It was far too much zeal for Harry before he'd had his first cuppa. He was only a shower and a shave into the day, still not completely into his Auror robes. Squinting at her, he tried to suss out what it was she was on about, but gave up quickly. "Yeah?"

She huffed at his disinterest, but didn't hold that grudge for long. "There was a Wizard brothel in London! It's been raided by the Ministry!"

Harry's eyes widened. He had no idea that it was under investigation, which was rather alarming, because he was head of the department. He remembered the contract he'd signed to keep it quiet, but obviously someone somehow found their way around it. His stomach tightened with guilt and anxiety, but Ginny wouldn't be so pleased if he'd been implicated. Would she? "Really?"

"Yes, loads of filthy perverts rounded up, but that's not the best part!" she said, elated.

Dread filled Harry's lungs. "What's the best part?" he breathed.

"Malfoy's been implicated!" said Ginny, barely able to contain her glee. She looked at Harry as if she expected him to join in on her giddiness.

Instead, Harry felt nauseated, worse than when he thought he'd been caught. "Was he... there?" he asked, crushed.

"Oh, erm..." she said, looking at the paper again. "No, he wasn't there. It was just part of a deal the owners made to out some of their high profile clients."

Somehow, the notion of possibly being sold out was less daunting than the idea of Draco being serviced in that dive again. He'd hoped that Draco wasn't going there anymore; he certainly hadn't seen him go there in a long while, but he'd never been sure. He still wasn't positive. "Oh."

"Isn't it great?" asked Ginny. She was perplexed by his response, it was written all over her face. She reached out to touch Harry's hand, but Harry yanked it back and folded his arms over his chest.

"Why would it be great?" Harry snapped.

"Because you hate Malfoy, and this is humiliating," said Ginny, her voice low, slow and her tone condescending. "Now you know he's a dirty pervert who likes having his way with men."

Harry flushed brightly and shook his head.

"What?" she asked, taking a step back. "Are you worried about his wife?"

"No," said Harry flatly. She was so bewildered and for a moment Harry hated her for not knowing him at all. Was there really a time in which he would've laughed about this?

But just as quickly as the anger began, it abated as Harry realized that she couldn't have known these things about him. He barely knew them about himself. He wasn't sure who he was anymore, but what he did know was that he needed to see Draco.

"Then what is it?" asked Ginny, her voice high-pitched and panicked.

"Because I've been fucking Malfoy."

He watched her face, all of the stages of loss flickering through her expressions. Denial. Bargaining. Rage. Acceptance.

"Get out," she said. Harry would always remember the flat toneless voice.

He nodded and turned, heading back up the stairs from the cozy kitchen, mentally packing enough clothes to get him through a few nights at the Leaky. There was a crash of china against the doorframe and Harry was doused in warm tea.

Stopping, Harry took off his glasses and cleaned them, then finished his trek up the stairs to pack his bags.

--

Harry sat at the bar watching Tom drying glasses by hand, not really thinking much of it beyond the faint wonder if he was going to live out his days here at the Leaky. He hadn't given much thought to walking out, with no mind to where he was headed, but found himself in this familiar location, trading Galleons for the right to occupy a room that his bags were in, but he'd yet to visit. He sipped his pint, mind everywhere and nowhere, listening to the pleasant murmur of the pub around him. It was early enough in the evening that no one was tipsy and conversation was still convivial.

A hush fell over the room just as Harry was surfacing from his thoughts, and he turned to see what the disruption was only to see the familiar glimmer of bright white hair on a man descending the decrepit stairs. His head was up, silver eyes meeting any that dared to look at him directly.

"Draco!" Harry gasped, hopping up to his feet.

The room turned to look at Harry, and then, as if it were a tennis match, all heads turned to Draco for a response.

Smacking his lips in distaste, Draco glared imperiously at the hoi polloi, staring each one down until they returned to their conversation before he took the final few steps down the stairs, eyes locked with Harry's. "Potter."

Though Harry was a bit stung by the cool response, he realized that his effusiveness probably put them both in an uncomfortable situation. Not that Harry cared overmuch about the social politics of anything, let alone drunkards in a tatty pub. He guessed that if Draco were fussed about it, he wouldn't be taking the seat next to him.

There were a thousand questions Harry wanted to ask, but he was cut off by Draco's dramatic drawl, "Do you have anything that has not been pulled through the Thames?"

Tom shot Draco an irritated glare.

"Absinthe, then," said Draco, flicking his fingers in a gesture as to where he preferred it placed before him. It was there in an instant with a silver spoon on top, a plate of sugar cubes next to it and a tall glass of iced water.

As Draco saw to pouring the cool water daintily over a few cubes of sugar he'd placed on the spoon, Draco said, "Come to see me in my disgrace, Potter?"

Blinking, Harry said, "I'd no idea that you'd be here!" He felt dowdy and ordinary with a large, dark pint of something that probably had been pulled through the Thames.

"Oh?" asked Draco. His eyes darted around for listeners to their conversation, and obviously not satisfied with the security of their possible conversation, he flicked out his wand to cast a muffling charm around them. "I did not see your name attached to that article. I suppose you did something terribly honest that got you sent here by your lovely bride?"

Harry blushed and looked down, clearing his throat. "She was mocking your…erm… fall from grace."

Removing the spoon from the top of the glass, Draco took a sip of the milky green concoction. "She's hardly the only one," he said after his long sip.

"I didn't expect to see you here. I really didn't. I take it you've been thrown out of the Manor?" asked Harry. He watched Draco worriedly. He'd heard things about absinthe, but Draco seemed to know what he was doing.

Draco threw his head back in a haughty laugh. "Throw me out of Malfoy Manor? My house would eat her."

Harry smiled at Draco, thinking it was an exaggeration. Then again… one never knew with dark wizards, and Draco didn't appear to be joking. "Oh."

"I'm just giving her a couple of days to collect what she brought with her. I was fine with her staying, but I suppose disgrace is much for her delicate temperament. It's just as well. She drank too much, and I didn't care for her influence on Scorpius. Had I been advised of her weaknesses, I'd've never… well, that is neither here nor there," said Draco. In spite of his sharp tone, speaking his son's name softened his expression, and Harry saw the spark of pride and adoration in Draco's otherwise cold eyes. "He is a perfect child in spite of his mum. He takes after me."

"How is he doing with all of this?" asked Harry. He finished his pint, but shook his head when Tom gave him a questioning look for another.

Lifting his head to show off his pointy chin again, Draco said, "He is a Malfoy. He is strong in adversity." Then, after an extravagant wave of his hand, enhanced and loosened by another long sip of absinthe, Draco added, "Besides, anyone who would challenge him would wake in a bed of scorpions now, wouldn't they?"

"What?" Harry sat up, his eyes widened in alarm. "How would that happen?"

Draco shrugged elegantly and took another sip, brow perked and saucy grin in place. "Children are very resourceful when they need to be. I shouldn't be surprised if he learned a hex to do something of the sort."

"And where would he have learned that?" asked Harry.

The broad grin told Harry everything he needed to know about the source of that particular hex.

"DRACO! That could get him expelled!"

"Shh," said Draco, although the Muffliato was still firmly in place, and they had nothing to fear. "You sound like my mum."

"Your mum has some good sense then. Why would you teach a child a hex like that?" Harry wondered if he might not enjoy another pint if the conversation was going to carry on like this. And people thought Harry was reckless!

"Look, Potter, there are bullies at Hogwarts," said Draco, finishing his absinthe. "And I fully intend that my son be one of them."

The statement explained so much about their early years. Harry could only shake his head and roll his eyes. "Look, I'll tell Albus to look out for him."

"That'll go over well," said Draco.

At Harry's look, Draco continued, "He has about as much use for your son as I did you."

"I saved you several times!"

"You almost killed me!"

Sighing, Harry said, "But I never loosed scorpions in your bed!"

Draco raised one finger to point at him, "You didn't know how."

"You're impossible!" said Harry, although he couldn't help but grin. It felt good to talk to Draco, even if they were fighting. There was something familiar about it, although this was not the rough and tumble of school years. It was more relaxed and teasing. Whether it was the absinthe or their conversation, Draco looked much more at ease.

"So, you see why I'm divorcing, then?" said Draco with a wry smile.

"I'm pretty sure I'm going to be divorced, too," said Harry. He nodded to Tom for another pint.

"You are also impossible," said Draco. When Harry played at being offended, Draco nudged him with his shoulder playfully.

"I've heard that. Mostly from you," said Harry before chugging down half of his pint. He was feeling warm and pissed, and though his life was being uprooted, he was feeling optimistic about it.

"I was the first." Draco pointed to his grey eyes with two fingers spread and said, "I have a keen insight into humanity."

Harry was pretty sure Draco was not the first to have said that, and that the honor lay with his relatives, but he didn't feel the urge to point that out to Draco. Besides, Draco was laughing at himself, and the sound was musical, and all Harry could do was sit and admire him.

Draco's laughter turned serious when he saw Harry staring at him, and he looked at him seriously. "So, where are you going to go?"

"Haven't thought that far ahead," said Harry. He finished his pint and left it on the counter, looking at it for a long moment, but deciding against another. The future was wide open now. He could give real consideration to what he wanted. The news about his marriage would be out, and Harry didn't intend to keep anything secret. Revealing his association with the brothel would likely take the spotlight off of Draco, anyway. "I'm going to tell the Prophet that you weren't the only one at that establishment."

"That's not very smart of you," said Draco, his expression the portrait of concern. "Not that I've ever associated cunning with you, in particular."

Harry laughed. "It's honest, and… well… it's only fair. They'll stop talking about you that way, too, which would be good, right?"

Draco set his hand on Harry's, not even checking to see if anyone was looking. "Don't do it for me, Potter. I can handle myself. This is hardly the first brothel scandal for the Malfoys, and I doubt it'll be the last."

"Your da?" asked Harry. He looked down at Draco's hand on his. His hand was chilly from the absinthe, but it felt good there. Harry turned his hand over and closed his other hand over Draco's small, spindly fingers, trying to warm them.

"Pfft. My father? No way. You saw my mum!"

"But your wife…"

"Old what's-her-name? Unremarkable. Good breeding stock. Father lucked out, is all. And he wasn't really…"

"Gay?" asked Harry, looking at Draco curiously.

"As you say," said Draco, looking dismissive. "In any case, I suppose if you're going to fall on the sword for me, I should have to keep you."

"What?" Draco had slipped his hand away and had taken Harry by the wrist, heading towards the stairs.

"You'll stay with me. At the Manor. When I reclaim it. But for now… I've grown quite tired of the scenery and would prefer we retire alone so that I might properly reward you for your valor," said Draco as he pulled Harry by the arm up the stairs.

"What?" asked Harry. His pulse was racing as he realized what Draco was saying. He would have somewhere to stay. Somewhere to live, and he could be with Draco, which he'd never considered even a possibility. The notion thrilled him.

"I'm going to take you upstairs and ride you like a wild horse," said Draco slowly, as if Harry were dense. "Then tomorrow, we'll pick up your things and move you into the Manor. You'll have your own wing if you want it, but my door will remain open."

After a languid pause where Draco looked insecure at the prospect of Harry turning him down, he added, "If you want that."

Harry felt like he might burst from pleasure, and that was even before being ridden. He nodded before he could form words and said, "I would love that."

Don't mind if I do.

Thu, 03 Jan 2008 02:24:58 GMT

artwork by red_rahl banner by janicechess

ETERNAL GLORY AWAITS.

FICLET: Line in the Shadow, Theodore/Draco, R for Violence

Mon, 01 Oct 2007 23:40:48 GMT

Title: Line in the Shadow
Author: charlotteschaos
Characters: Theo/Draco, Theo/Terence
Rating: R for violence
Word Count: 500
Summary: Draco gives Theo a gift that he knows will cause difficulty between Terence and Theo.
Author's notes: Thanks to spifftastic for beta! This was inspired in part by reading threads from outside_leaky and the new Turin Brakes cd "Dark On Fire" more specifically, the song "Stalker" which is pretty awesome, but also pretty spooky and seemed to make for pretty brutal muses. Anyway, I'm blaming Turin Brakes for it, and a client at work taking too long to get back to me so I had time to write a cranky ficlet!

On the outside, looking in, Draco shivered from the chill wind. It was damp, but not cold. Inside of Theo's house looked warm, hot even. A fire glowed, backlighting the two fighting men-- Theodore Nott and Terence Higgs.

Theodore had been immaculately dressed until Terence had pounced on him the second he'd walked into the room. Draco recognized the look on Terence's face. He could smell Draco on Theo. He knew the two had spent the day together, knew that Draco's presence left echoes, reminders of his presence. Draco never truly left Theo's thoughts, and everyone knew it.

What Terence hadn't expected was the bulge under Theo's fine silk shirt, a small wriggling dragon, as alive as he was. Draco smiled with pride when it bit Terence through the shirt and regretted that he hadn't filled its fangs with venom.

A light mist began to roll down, matting Draco's fine hair to his cheeks as he watched the storm turn hurricane inside. Terence didn't like the dragon. He was shouting, face red, mouth spitting. Theo stood stoic, seething just beneath the surface. He shook his head at Terence's shouting, at his pleas to remove the nipple ring.

From outside, all Draco could really hear was the increased patter of the rain falling on the window he was staring into. He couldn't hear the denials, the screaming, the hysteria. He couldn't hear what Terence was about to say, couldn't read his mind to know what spell he intended to cast when he flourished his wand.

Calmly, Draco pulled his and purred, "Imperio." He worried momentarily that though Theo's wards recognized him and allowed him in this close, they might've prevented hostile magic, but as he watched Terence's face go from angry to blank, he knew he had him.

Terence was given to dramatic, emotional displays. Everyone knew that. He would cut himself open, hoping to be saved. Everyone knew that.

Draco gave Theo a quick glance before flicking his wand, feeding the incantation that Potter used to split him open into Terence. Snape was gone. No one would know how to fix him, even if they were so inclined.

Obediently, Terence turned his wand on himself and said, "Sectumsempra!"

It was a shame about Theo's shirt, Draco had always liked the cut of that one and now it was drenched in Terence's blood as the spell ripped him apart from bowel to jowl, creating a red flow up through his face. Draco took a step forward to admire it, watching the blue-red cords of Terence's entrails spill out over the marble floor.

Theo was pale as a ghost watching, but Draco's movement outside the window must've attracted his attention, because he looked up, out the window, wand drawn and ready to strike. His anger and fear melted into shock as he realized who was outside, and he stared.

Draco pressed his hand to Theo's window, feeling the warmth inside as the rain beat down on him, wind starting to whip through his cloak in punishment for his crime. Theo pressed his hand against the window on the other side, gazing at Draco in quiet admiration.

Blowing on the window in a steady stream of hot breath, Draco wrote backwards in the fog, "MINE."

Higher up, Theo blew on the window and wrote, "YOURS."

Mad pimpin.

Tue, 04 Sep 2007 01:28:38 GMT

So! It's an h/d story, of course, and it's pretty edgy, hence the darkness part of the story, but it's a featured story over at The Quidditch Pitch, which is very exciting!

I'm doing well, overall. Long weekends are always welcome and I'm just sort of soaking in my lack of current fandom obligations until November. Working and reworking my story a bit, massaging things, thinking, pondering, just sort of enjoying the process more than I have in a long while.

Cut my hair yet again! Now it's black/brown/purple and asymmetrically chin-length and shaved a bit in the back. It's pretty saucy, which makes me happy. Lots of changes and I guess I'm exacerbating it a bit, but… it's good, too. Always good to get out of a rut!

On the down side, I seem to have managed another sinus infection. The up side to that is that fevers are sort of fun if you know how to enjoy them, and if you love squick like I do, the green stuff that comes out of your nose is fascinating.

How does it feel?

Thu, 30 Aug 2007 03:24:01 GMT

How do I feel?

Blah.

I'm not really sure what to say beyond that. I'm tired. I feel like I'm tired nearly all of the time and I'm not sure how to remedy that.

The whole Craig issue is causing me great amusement, however. How could it not? Oh Republicans. Consider a little less repression. Puts the whole Clinton fiasco into perspective, doesn't it? How many people were calling for his head? Er. Other than Monica. :)

Anyway... I did get into smutmas and I'm diligently working my assignment and am 4k words in and I have... so much to say on it, that... I wonder if it's going to turn into a novella. I suppose I have time if I'm being diligent!

I'm skipping this month's daily deviant. I guess with all of the changing up with journals and new canon I'm just feeling too unsettled to bust out with smut. Everything feels sort of up in the air and it's not very inspiring... er... other than smutmas, but then... that has solid deadlines and I know where that's going to be posted.

When did I become so needy for patterns and regular space? Dunno. Must be getting old.

So, how are you?

FIC: Imitation of Love, Draco/Theo, R NO SPOILERS

Sat, 18 Aug 2007 03:03:32 GMT

Title: Imitation of Love
Author: charlotteschaos
Characters: Draco/Theo
Rating: R
Prompt: 73. Draco/Theo, popsicles from daily_deviant
Word Count: 2300
Summary: "Amortentia doesn't really create love, of course. It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love. No, this will simply cause a powerful infatuation or obsession.
Author's notes: Thanks to cursescar and spifftastic for betaing! This is now AU by virtue of its having been written prior to DH.

"Amortentia doesn't really create love, of course. It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love. No, this will simply cause a powerful infatuation or obsession. It is probably the most dangerous and powerful potion in this room--oh yes," he said, nodding gravely at Malfoy and Nott, both of whom were smirking skeptically. "When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love..."

Draco pulled the hood of his cloak up before consulting the live map of Hogwarts he was given by the heir of Slytherin himself. It had been such an honor at the time, but now, as he scanned the map with tired eyes, he realized what a curse it had all been.

Potter and Dumbledore, both gone on the same night-- who would've guessed? Potter's shame for almost killing him and the distraction of the Weasley girl had given Draco great leave for doing things that he needed to get done. It had been finished for days. Now was the optimum time to bring the other Death Eaters in.

He was just giving one final look around the dorm room he'd called home on and off since he was eleven. Crabbe and Goyle were tucked safe in their beds. Blaise was... elsewhere. Draco smirked to himself and sighed indulgently before his eyes rested on Theo, who was sitting up, staring at him.

Staring. Theo was so often staring. Their camaraderie lent it some context, but sometimes Draco would find it a bit unnerving-- especially just now, when he was trying to make his grand escape.

"Malfoy?" he whispered, turning to slip out of bed.

Draco held out a hand to stop him, but there was no stopping Theo when he chose to do something. Sighing, Draco waited till Theo got close. He looked at the taller boy critically, noting that he couldn't see Theo's dark eyes in the eerie green glow that came from the lake water, even at night.

"Where are you going?" asked Theo. His brown floppy hair was mussed and he was wearing blue silk pyjamas. He looked rumpled and sweet. Draco knew better than that, particularly after the stories his aunt had shared about the Nott family, but for the moment, he just looked like a normal boy.

A normal boy that seemed to attract shadow.

"Go back to bed," said Draco. There were several times he'd almost asked Theo for help, but then, he didn't want to drag him into the middle of all of this. Theodore was an orphan now, thanks to Potter and his friends. They had that in common and it had been enough to keep them watching each other's backs.

This was one of those times where he had to watch Theo's back.

"Is this more of your... mission?" asked Theo. He looked bright-eyed about it, but all Draco could do was shrug.

"It's a secret. Just..." Draco watched him wearily, knowing it had mostly been just dumb luck that Theo hadn't followed him before now. They'd gotten to be such good friends while Potter was hogging all of the potions attention, but he just couldn't say anything. "Just get back into bed. Don't come out till morning. Promise me?"

"I promise," said Theo, tilting his head, his brow creased with worry.

Draco pointed to the bed for Theo to get into it.

Theo paused and looked at Draco for what felt like hours. Then he leaned in and kissed Draco's cheek. Draco parted his lips for a shaky breath and closed his eyes, keeping them closed long after the radiant warmth of Theo's cheek left his.

"For luck," said Theo.

Nodding, Draco straightened his arm to point harder at the bed. He didn't open his eyes again until he heard the springs protest the extra weight.

"Till morning. You promised," said Draco. "Don't try to follow me."

He watched what he could see of Theo's face and he didn't look happy. Draco wished he had more time, that he could stay and debate this, but he had to go. "Just stay in here tonight."

"Tonight," said Theo as he pulled the covers up to his neck.

"Just stay safe."

Draco didn't know what else to say after that. He wanted to pound Theo for distracting him, for scaring him with the notion that Theo would try to follow. He wanted the world to stop so he could fully appreciate a kiss on the cheek from a boy and why it had excited him so.

But now it was time to go. He checked his time piece and nodded. It was nearly the appointed time.

"I have to go," said Draco, as much to himself as Theo.

Theo nodded, but looked sad, letting his hair hang down in his face, shrouded in darkness from the green velvet curtains over mahogany. "I know."

Then Theo spoke so quietly that Draco thought it might be a hopeful auditory illusion as he walked out. He didn't dare to even hope it.

"I'll find you," said Theo.

"Don't," Draco whispered back before closing the door.

--

"The thing is, Draco, dearest," said Bellatrix, her tone trying to sound soothing, but he could tell she was edgy with irritation at having to defend anything Voldemort did, "that the Dark Lord is best pleased with how things have come about. Severus was given an opportunity to prove his loyalty to us, and he didn't lose an extra man that he needs."

She looked between Draco and Theo. Theo was staring again and Draco was glaring at him from outside of Draco's tiny room, just passing in the hall, but he'd stopped to listen. Draco slammed the door in his face and then leaned against it, arms crossed.

"So then why am I down here in the dungeon guarding prisoners?" he asked, kicking the door.

Fortress hidden in the Forbidden Forest it may well be, but the doors were light for Draco's liking, not that anyone considered Draco's feelings on anything anymore.

Shaking her head, Bellatrix likewise folded her arms. "You are too young, too brash and far too eager to be sent into the fray. Besides, the Dark Lord is not yet done being angry with your father. Without him here to..."

"And whose fault is that? I don't recall being the one to abandon him at his post!" Draco slammed his mouth shut, knowing that this was not the time or the place for this rant. It could only lead to him being behind the bars instead of guarding them with Theo.

Bellatrix held up one warning hand to remind him of the perils of that course of discussion and then looked behind Draco to the door. "What of Nott? Why the animosity? I'd never been of the impression that you two were bosom buddies, but in the past, you've at least been able to hold your temper."

If questioning his father's imprisonment were impolitic, admitting that the bulk of his anger with Theo was for joining the Death Eaters would be deadly. He couldn't very well say that he didn't want Theodore to follow him here, to be entangled in this mess because he'd been too fond of him.

He'd been on the cusp of abandoning this sinking ship when Theodore showed up, so excited to see Draco that he'd shouted "Malfoy!" in the dungeons, loud enough that the word reverberated over the dark stone and seemed to shake the torches.

"I said I'd find you!" Theo had said. His eyes were bright and his lips drawn back in a smile far too happy for the dungeons of a hidden fortress.

"You shouldn't have," said Draco, something twisting in his chest at Theo's visible disappointment. "You really, really shouldn't have."

Draco looked back at Bellatrix, brought into the present by her impatient sigh. He shrugged. He couldn't tell her that he was trying to protect Theo from the start and it hadn't worked out. He felt incompetent and foolish for doing all he did to no avail.

"He's just here to steal my glory," he said, falling back on old excuses.

She nodded as if she understood, but he knew she really didn't. No point in clearing that up. Bellatrix crossed to him and stared into his eyes so intensely that he thought she might kiss him, but instead she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close.

He let her hold him for a few moments, but only because she felt like and sort of smelled like his mum. It was a minor indulgence before he pulled away and opened the door to show her out.

"You will do great things, Draco. I know you will. Just be patient. I'll see what I can do," she said, slipping from his room.

He watched her walk down the corridor, haunted, creepy steps, lethargic stride of the damned. It wasn't her he was watching, though. He waited till after she'd turned a corner. Waited until that dark head popped out of his room, Theo looking even more rabbity with his head poked out of his room. Draco thought he even saw Theo's nose twitch.

Even though Draco glared, he was pleased that Theo was still watching.

"I loathe you," said Draco, narrowing his eyes at Theo. Then he slammed the door again, leaving Theo looking completely baffled.

--

Days later, Draco was still guarding prisoners. That's what it was called, anyway. There weren't any prisoners. Everyone had either been let go or was killed and Draco had the distinct impression that this war wasn't going very well for the Death Eaters. He folded his arms and leaned against the stone wall, feeling the warm wetness of it. It was a humid summer, and he could feel it all the way into the dankness of the dungeons.

At first, Draco just saw Theo's head bobbing towards him. Theo was tall, much taller than Draco now, and walked with a bit of a stoop, as if his head had to drag the rest of his body along. His shiny brown hair flopped in the torchlight and Draco couldn't help but think of a puppy. Puppy Nott, bounding towards him with something in his hand.

"Ice lolly?" Theo offered, holding one out to Draco. There were two; there was one that was purple and another that was white, with a mother of pearl sheen. The white one was the one that Theo was offering to him, beaming.

Draco just wanted to slap him for being so cheery about being on the losing side of the war, but then, having an ice lolly tended to make even the direst situations have a sense of whimsy to them.

Maybe that's why Theo had gotten them.

Sniffing his, Draco furrowed his brows and looked at Theo with an odd expression on his face. "Did you make these?" he asked.

Theo tilted his head and then nodded. There was something else behind Theo's eyes, something desperate and unreadable. Draco needed to know what that was, but he wasn't at all sure how to ask.

"They smell like you," said Draco flatly, staring at the lolly for a moment. Theo whimpered and gazed at Draco.

He opened his mouth, stretching out his tongue to lick it, pointedly ignoring Theo's hand signals and struggling away from his hand when he tried to grab the lolly from him. "You said I could have it, it's mine. Why do I have to give it back? What did you do? Piss in it?"

"No... no. I didn't... that's not... Just... it's bad, let me give you another one," said Theo, looking as wild-eyed as he had when he discovered his father was in Azkaban.

Draco hadn't even heard Snape approach. Snape was everywhere he needed to be, just in time to save Draco. For this, Draco was immensely grateful, even if his means to show it was often misconstrued.

"I'll take that," said Snape, snatching the ice lolly from Draco.

Snape glared down at Theodore. "You foolish, foolish boy. There is no need for this. Get back to your post and leave Malfoy alone," he said, banishing both lollies with a flick of his wand.

Snape turned to Draco and then looked back at Theo, who was retreating hastily.

"What was that about?" asked Draco, also watching Theodore scramble back to his post.

Snape sighed, a long, weary sigh and then looked at Draco who was staring back up at him, eyes wide. "Was he trying to kill me?" asked Draco.

"No, not kill you...." Snape looked at Draco again and smoothed his hair back from his face. "Just be careful around him, all right? I'm not sure that you're ready for... just be careful."

Draco felt confused, but decided to let it go; only two more hours till his shift ended and he could ask Theo what that was about-- and if he had another ice lolly.

--

With two hours very long hours to think about it, Draco had worked himself up into quite a bit of a frenzy about Theo's potential poisoning. Snape had assured him that Theo wasn't trying to kill him, but just what exactly was he trying to do?

By the time the two hours had passed, Draco had long since left reason and moved on to the greener pastures of Total Hysterical Conspiracy and fled down the winding labyrinthine corridors till he got to Theo's quarters.

He kicked open the door and held out his wand, all but out of breath from how quickly he'd hurried.

"YOU TRIED TO POISON ME!" Draco bellowed.

With preternatural speed, Theo had dropped his book and had his wand out to point it at Draco. "YOU SAID THE POTION SMELLED LIKE ME!"

Draco was taken aback. He hadn't thought that Theo would do anything but beg his mercy and forgiveness and beg him not to eviscerate him where he sat. The smell of the potion hadn't really occurred to him. "THEN YOU SMELL LIKE POISON!"

Whatever answer Theo had been expecting, it was evident that Draco had surprised him. He took a malicious satisfaction in being just as baffling to Theo as Theo was to him.

"No..." said Theo, taking the yelling down a notch, which was just as well, because the dungeons were a bit of an echo chamber. No wonder Slytherins learned to be crafty--you never knew what would carry. "I don't smell like poison. It wasn't poison. There was a potion in that lolly. Amortentia. And it smelled like me."

"Don't be ridiculous! That would mean that..." Draco furrowed his brows and then looked away from Theo. He scanned the room till he saw what book Theo had been reading. It wasn't his usual fare, which tended to be spell or history books. Instead, it was a bit tattered for all of its otherwise grandiose gilt pages and leather. It was a scrap book with the imprint of the Nott coat of arms featuring a Thestral on each page. It was open to a picture in which he and Theo were ten--just before going to Hogwarts. They were curled up together under the Christmas tree.

Draco remembered that night fondly. They'd both been given brooms early for their Christmas presents and had played a terribly unsuccessful game of 'catch the Snitch' with his mum's glass ornaments. To this day Draco wasn't sure if Theo was that much of a butterfingers or if he just kept dropping the ornaments to make Draco laugh.

By the end of the night, the floor was dusted in a fine mist of broken crystal that shimmered in the moonlight, looking invitingly like snow. Draco had seen to getting a rug thick enough to prevent splinters and had been the first to lie down. Theo had declared him an angel on the white rug surrounded by glittering broken glass.

That was the night of his first kiss--of his only real kiss with tongue. They'd still been restless when they settled in on the blanket, Draco still jazzed for an adventure.

"Have you ever kissed a girl?" he asked Theo.

Theo blushed deeply and shook his head gravely.

"Me neither. I reckon that I probably will, but I won't know what I'm doing," said Draco.

Cottoning on to the idea, Theo blushed and then made the first move, cupping Draco's cheeks so softly that it almost tickled. Then he pulled him in and all Draco really remembered were Theo's soft lips, the way he tasted, the slick-warm feel of his mouth, the caress of his tongue and the way his fingers stroked Draco's cheeks.

Draco had melted into it, pressing his hips tentatively against Theo's; wondering if this had the same effect on him. He was answered with a jab of Theo's prick against his belly. There they were on the floor, laying sideways to each other, hands gently exploring, pricks rubbing together, just for the simple enjoyment of touch.

They'd both gotten the idea about the same time and grabbed their own cocks before switching, each taking the other. Initially, they touched each other in much the same way, copying rhythm and tenseness. But then Draco became more encouraged and he pulled harder, faster, watching Theo's face- the way his mouth formed an 'O' and he moaned it over and over to Draco.

Draco fucked Theo's hand, pushing against it, needing to feel this, to know it was safe. Draco never thought beyond this. It was what it was. They'd messed their pants, tossing each other off and slept with their bellies pressed together, tacky in the morning. Their parents had no idea and snapped that shot.

Now it was in Theodore's scrapbook.

Draco sat on Theo's bed and stared at it for a long while.

"I didn't want you to join," said Draco.

"I know, said Theo, sitting on the other side of the bed. He lipped an arm around Draco and Draco rested his head on Theo's shoulder.

"I didn't want this for you. You could do better than this, than me, than anything. You could be whatever you wanted, you know," said Draco, maybe exaggerating a little, but it was how he saw it.

"Maybe what I wanted was you," said Theo, pulling Draco closer before setting the scrapbook aside. "And who we might've been."

"That's crazy. We're both boys," said Draco, having a difficult time fathoming this.

"But you smelled me in the Amortentia. You smelled me and I'm what your heart desires. It's not up for debate." Theo was stroking Draco's hair and kissing the top of his head, but he knew that Draco wouldn't respond that easily. He smiled again at Draco and then nuzzled the side of his face. "Stay here for the night. You can sort it out in the morning."

Sorting out his sexual identity crisis at midnight didn't sound appealing and he found that, unlike when other people touched him, he rather liked this. Maybe there was something to be said for craziness with other boys, if it's what your heart desires. Draco closed his eyes, and for the first time since his father was imprisoned, he felt safe.

FIC: Between the Bars (Harry/Draco, NC-17) No Spoilers

Sat, 18 Aug 2007 02:48:31 GMT

Title: Between the Bars
Author: charlotteschaos
Characters: Harry/Draco (implied Theo/Draco)
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: 116. Harry/Draco post-war, conflicted and angry Harry, hurt and hostile Draco. Conflicts lead to mutual understanding and sex. Relationship/love and BDSM big +!
Word Count: 5500
Summary: The people you've been before, that you don't want around anymore-- they push and shove and won't bend to your will. I keep them still.
Author's notes: Thanks to themostepotente for beta! Summary is another song lyric. I know, right? This time from Elliot Smith. Remind me to listen to happier music.

"I hear it's perfectly awful. He's really let himself go," said Theodore Nott, tipping his head forward to drop his fedora into his hand as he smoothly reached for the door of the Leaky Cauldron. "But he's here every night, rambling on about something or other."

Draco was listening with rapt attention, but he was looking everywhere but Theo, taking in the familiar sights that he'd spent too long away from. "Not sure how much further he could've gone. He always looked a bit like he'd let himself go."

Snickering, Theo held the door to let Draco in first. For some, it was a matter of respect to open the door for another person, but Draco expected it to happen, and often it did.

"Have I mentioned how good it is to see you in the flesh?" asked Theo.

Smiling, Draco nodded. Theo had mentioned that a few dozen times in the last couple of hours since Draco returned from Australia. He'd gone a long way to hide out from Voldemort and his cronies. He waited well beyond when it was reasonable to return, but Draco was just trying to be careful.

That was what he told himself, anyway.

"Is he here yet, Tom?" asked Theo brightly as he crossed the small pub to pay for two pints that had appeared the moment Theo entered the door. It was a simple, but effective charm Tom used for the regulars to make them feel important. It worked.

Tom nodded to a dark corner where a robed lump hung lethargically over a table, an open bottle of firewhisky in his hand and not a glass for it in sight.

Tufts of black hair rose up uncertainly around the arm the man had lying over his head. Draco had only a moment's wonder at the back of the man's head before his face rose over his arms.

Still the same glasses, the same scar, but the look on his face was defeated. He no longer had that fiery passion. Harry Potter had the jaded look of a man who was once deeply in love with the world and the people in it, but that world never lived up to his expectations. He stared at Draco for a long wile before he sneered at his bottle, took another swig and dropped his head onto his arm that draped across the table.

Instantly, Draco felt ashamed for wanting to come here and see Potter at his low point. All of the childhood rivalry and even being on different sides of the war melted away, leaving Draco feeling strangely empty inside.

Taking his pint from Theo, Draco swallowed it down in a few quick gulps and said, "Let's get out of here."

Theo looked surprised and a little disappointed, but he swallowed his pint down quickly in turn and followed Draco out of the bar.

--

Though Draco was terribly busy unburying Malfoy Manor from the several layers of red tape the untimely deaths of Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy had left it under, Potter was never far from his thoughts. He met with solicitors, nodding and agreeing to the banalities of the New Wizarding Laws versus the Old Wizarding Laws. Draco tried not to laugh as he imagined Percy Weasley, the new Minister for Magic, explaining the new laws to the Things that came out in the dark to murder anyone who was not of his blood who tried to take control of the property. One already had after the Ministry saw fit to sell the property to them. Now that Draco had returned, he considered the matter settled, but it was never quite that easy and Draco was told that he would need to move back out of the Manor until the matter was resolved.

He could've afforded loads better, but none of that occurred to him. His first thought was to pack a few days worth of clothes and return to the Leaky, pleased with a legitimate excuse to be there while he spied on Potter.

Sitting at the bar, he obtained a room key and a pint and was just turning around on the stool to see if Potter was under the table drunk yet when he found himself eye-to-eye with the speccy git.

"Did you come here to laugh, Malfoy?"

"Potter, we've talked about you harassing the customers before," Tom said, his voice sharp over the slight tremble.

Maybe he should've been scared, but Draco felt an eerie calm of familiarity in confrontation with Potter. He held up a hand to Tom to stop him, slightly amused that in spite of it all, people probably were still afraid of Potter.

"I came here for a pint and a room. If you wish to provide a floor show, I didn't buy any channels on the wireless, so you're more than welcome to entertain me," said Draco, keeping his eyes trained on Harry's. They were green and red from long, hard nights of drinking.

"You can't stay here. This is my place," said Potter. He didn't flinch, didn't care, but he was wobbly and stank of firewhisky. Letting his eyes drift down, Draco noted Harry was working on a bit of a drinker's paunch, as well.

"It's a place for rent, and I need a place to stay," said Draco, standing and moving into Potter's personal space. To his surprise, Potter started to back up, but with purpose--heading back to his table. Draco followed.

"There's plenty of rooms left for slimeballs like you in Azkaban, Malfoy," said Potter before flopping into his chair. Draco was again surprised by Potter kicking out the chair across from him in invitation for Draco to sit down.

"You really need to work on your bar repartee, Potter. You'll never pull with the 'slimeball' approach," said Draco as he took a seat.

It almost looked like Potter was leering for a moment, but it quickly resolved to a sneer and Draco arranged his dark robes around him to make himself comfortable.

"It worked on you, but maybe you just know what you are," said Potter before he grabbed his firewhisky bottle by the neck and took a long slug.

Surprisingly, Draco had no retort to that, furrowing his brows. He looked glumly at his pint, wondering why he thought talking to Potter would be a good idea. Draco was just about to excuse himself and head to his room when Potter piped up again. "I know Snape testified that he'd put you up to all of it, but I was there when you talked to Dumbledore. I know what you're capable of. Maybe I'm the only one. No one ever believed me that you could be. The greatest lie the devil ever told was that he didn't exist."

Draco looked up at Potter, at the strange expression on his face, at once goading and needy and then he took a long sip from his pint. "You do the devil a great disservice by saying that, but it's nice to know that I wasn't the only one buying my own press."

"You almost killed someone," said Potter, tilting his head up and looking indignant, but comforted that Draco hadn't jumped up and left.

"You did kill someone," said Draco flatly. He wished he hadn't when he saw the darkness pass over Harry's face.

"I did it to protect people," he said after a few more swigs from his bottle.

"I was trying to protect my parents," Draco answered without hesitation. He swallowed the rest of his pint down and tapped it for another. It refilled from a flick of Tom's wand and the money was tallied on the board.

"And they're dead now," said Harry. His face lacked expression again. "Because you ran."

Draco's pulse raced as he wondered if anyone would really care if he punched the Boy Who Lived in the face, but instead, he just said quietly, "I was tricked into leaving. Snape said my duties were elsewhere and by the time I realized I'd been duped, my mother was dead."

"And your father and Snape took the fall for everything you did. You got off scot-free."

"In what universe is losing your parents and mentor getting off scot-free?" asked Draco. He'd officially had enough of this conversation and banged his fist on the table. "No wonder your friends left you to rot here! You're a monster!"

Draco fully expected that to start a proper row and he was spoiling for it, his hands balled up into fists, ready to dodge the first blow and come in with a few hundred of his own. To his surprise and great remorse, Potter started to laugh--that sick, sad, hysterical laughter of the tormented.

"Did you just sort that out, Malfoy?" he asked when he had finished his laughter. Potter's eyes flashed cold and then sorrowful and he finished off his bottle and knocked it on its side. It rolled off the edge and almost crashed to the floor, but Tom was on it, and the bottle vanished, replaced with another. "They have better things to do than to baby sit a hero who's outlived his usefulness."

Though the adrenaline was still flushing through his veins, something twisted in his chest at the sadness in Potter's voice, the bitterness, that Potter was once so well cherished by the Wizarding world and now he was in pain and invisible. "What about Weasley? And Granger?"

"Ron?" asked Potter. He shrugged. "He never liked how famous I was. He won his own accolades in the war, had his own victories. He didn't need me around anymore. Hermione tries, but she's a life of her own."

"And the Weaslette?" Draco didn't know why he was asking, or why he cared, except that since fifth year, when his father could no longer protect him, he knew how cold the real world could be. He'd thought the notion that you could only look out for yourself would've been ingrained in Potter by the way he grew up, but clearly Potter had started to hope.

There was nothing that had the casual cruelty of hope when it was dashed.

"That was forever ago, Malfoy," said Harry, sighing softly. "She just kept going forward and I... didn't."

Draco nodded and took another drink. Though much of Potter's life was a matter of public record, Draco suddenly realized that he knew nearly nothing about what had happened to him in the past few years. "Yeah, I guess it's a little silly to think that who you find interesting at sixteen is who you'll always be with."

"What happened with Parkinson?" asked Harry almost immediately, as if he didn't want to think too much more about Ginny.

"Nothing happened with her," said Draco, sighing at where this conversation was going. It was almost depressing that he was going to have to explain this to Potter, of all people. Potter had never been terribly observant, but he'd thought that surely after following him sixth year he might've sussed things out.

Evidently not.

"So you're still with her?" asked Potter. He hadn't had much of his new bottle of firewhisky and Draco turned to order two coffees, hoping that Potter would take the hint.

But then, maybe keeping him tipsy was a better plan.

"I was never with her, exactly," said Draco. He tipped cream into his coffee after it had floated over and sipped it daintily.

"I thought... well, she did your homework and..." said Potter. He eyed the coffee and then looked at his frewhisky but didn't drink either.

Draco closed his eyes and inhaled. He could probably avoid this line of questioning by changing the subject, or maybe he could just make something up, but then, he wanted to know what Potter would say to it. He'd always wondered if Potter knew, how much he'd seen and what he thought if he did know. Now he would find out.

"I'm gay," said Draco after opening his eyes to watch Harry's reaction.

He fully expected Potter to sit back, to shift away slightly, to laugh too loud and say that was great, really great. That it was fantastic, in fact, and that he knew several gay men and women and that he liked them all and thought that they were really brave and great and to be quizzed about hot pants or asked if he was wearing knickers.

Instead, Potter just said, "Oh." He picked up his cup of coffee and sipped it. "So Nott, then?"

Draco blinked in surprise and nodded slowly. "For a little while, yeah."

"I'm taller," said Potter.

For a long time, Draco just stared at Potter, watching him continue to sip his coffee, trying to fathom what that meant. Finally, he said, "No, you're not."

"He's married," Potter pointed out, looking at his bottle of firewhisky.

Draco took it away and set it on the seat next to him and ordered another coffee for Potter. "Like I said, it was for a little while. It was a long time ago."

"What happened?" asked Potter as he summoned the bottle into his lap and wrapped his arms around it like a lover.

Blushing, Draco cleared his throat. "You mean..."

It took Potter a moment to resolve what Draco was asking, and when he realized what needed clarifying, he blushed brightly, too. "No. I mean... you two aren't still together..."

"Oh! Oh. Right. Well," Draco babbled, not sure whether he was disappointed or relieved not to have to relate the intimate details of what happened between him and Theo, but he focused on what the question was. "It was only ever a bit of fagging to him, I suspect."

"So you were the... you umm..." said Potter, making hand gestures that Draco didn't think should be made in public, and certainly not in his presence.

He looked around to see if anyone was watching their strange conversation, but no one else was in the bar just yet. "I'm not sure that's any of your business, Potter, and it's not something I care to discuss in public."

Nodding, Potter said, "I understand."

Draco was relieved by that answer and reached for his coffee to take another sip, but instead, Potter's hand circled his wrist and he was being dragged up the stairs. "We can talk in my room."

--

Leaning against the closed door of the motel room, Draco watched Potter frantically dig through weeks worth of clothes and copies of the Daily Prophet to try and find the floor to make a path for Draco to walk in.

Potter was mumbling about how the cleaning staff refused to come in anymore after a few of them had been hexed for waking Harry up unexpectedly, but Draco wasn't really listening. Instead, he was appreciating the view. Whatever paunch was happening at his midsection was filling out Potter's bum rather nicely, filling Draco with a mad urge to swat it.

Had it been nearly any other man than Harry Potter who had dragged him up to his room, Draco would've assumed that the gesture would be more than welcomed. As it was, Draco folded his arms and wondered exactly why he had been pulled up here.

Potter stood up and put his hands on his hips, face flushed, his breathing a bit erratic from the exertion. He dragged his wrist over his glistening forehead, revealing the scar and making his hair stick up. It was almost cute.

"Y'know, Potter, for all of that work, you seem to only have left the bed clear enough to sit on. If I didn't know any better--" Draco's words broke off as Potter grabbed the front of Draco's robes and swung him around, throwing him off balance enough to toss him onto the bed.

Now that he was this close to Potter, Draco wondered if maybe Potter had grown taller than Nott. He Potter definitely outweighed the other man.

"I really need to stop letting men drag me to their rooms," Draco rambled, looking around shiftily, as he tried to reach for his wand, wincing in anticipation of Potter throwing a hard punch at his jaw, but what he felt instead was a hard prick jabbing against his thigh and Potter's warm mouth closing over his. Or maybe I should let more of them drag me to their rooms.

While Draco was not nearly the slag his roommates and certain Australians had made him out to be, he was no virgin, either. He knew exactly what that push in his thigh meant. Potter was packing. He must have a huge prick and Draco was curious about it. He had no current attachments, and Potter was so blasted on who knew what, that he figured, "why not?"

That is, until Potter started to kiss him in earnest. It was pleasant in some ways, needy and passionate, but he'd had the technique of an overexcited dog and Draco wasn't sure he'd ever get hard again after that floppy-lipped monstrosity. Potter pulled back to look at Draco's face and Draco suddenly thought: The savior of the Wizarding world wants to fuck me. That's got to be good for bragging rights, at the very least!

"All right, Potter, but we're going to have to do this my way since you clearly have no idea what you're doing." Draco grabbed Harry's chin and pushed his lips together to more of a pucker. "If you start drooling, suck it back. If you haven't brushed your teeth, do it. In fact, wash your whole body. Don't come into my bed unclean," Draco barked, pushing Harry off of the bed.

"This is my bed!" said Harry as he strutted off to his bath.

Draco heard the water running and got up, slowly undressing himself and having a look at the scattered and tatty collections of Potter's things. There were a fair few toys--probably to make up for his ruined childhood. Draco fancied that he still played with them. Then there were games for adults, like Wizard's chess. Then there was a large stack of magazines.

He didn't need to dig far to find a copy of a gay men's magazine. As he tried to pull the sticky pages apart, he amended his mental note of finding a used a copy of a men's magazine, and then dropped it to the floor.

So Potter played for both teams, with perhaps a bit more interest in homosexuality--at least tonight. The alcoholic gay went out in the early 90s. Someone really should've given Potter the memo.

Once Potter was out of the shower, Draco stood stark naked in front of Harry's bed. He started pulling his cock and instructed Potter to pull off his towel and jerk himself off as he walked towards Draco.

Holding out his empty hand, Draco started to lower it, indicating to Potter to get onto his knees as he walked closer and closer. Draco cursed his two drinks and a dry spell before leaving Australia for making him horny enough to go this far with Harry fucking Potter, but then, maybe this was just what he needed.

It looked like it was something Potter needed, too. Friends gone, moved on, just like the laws and life had moved on for Draco. Pansy was married. He'd never had any interest in her, but she was still meant to be his, to bear his children. But life, when you're not looking at it directly, keeps moving.

It brings tired heroes and weary deserters together again.

Before he knew it, Potter was crouched on the floor and pushing Draco down to sit on the edge of the bed. He thrust his head between Draco's legs and he was nuzzling his balls, flicking his tongue at them occasionally. He wasn't quite the overeager puppy he'd been before, but he didn't have much finesse. Sliding a hand through Potter's hair, he held him still and Draco moved his hips against him, the thrill of sensation almost as heady as he thought, fucking Harry Potter's mouth!"

It was so wrong that Draco wanted to laugh, but then, it wasn't that funny when he really thought about it. He wasn't the same person he'd been before and clearly the war had changed Potter. The truth was, Draco always had an odd affection for the nosy prat, liked that he would get to the bottom of things, even if he did it in the most inefficient manner. But that seemed like the person that Harry didn't want to be around anymore, someone that he didn't want to know.

Draco wondered who Harry did want to be. He petted his hair and smiled down at him, nodding. "Not so much like a dog now, see? I knew you'd be a good little cock sucker."

He loved watching Harry's concentrated expression, how he believed he could do this, to make it good for Draco, and if he did, maybe things would go back to normal.

That, Draco could not give to him. No one could.

Draco fucked his mouth almost brutally, but Potter was moaning and loving it, squeezing Draco's arse cheeks, leaving finger bruises before he slid a finger between the cheeks to that silky rubbery muscle. Draco felt the teasing, and hissed when Harry dipped his finger into his arse.Harry seemed more curious than nervous.

"Ever fucked a man before, Potter?" he asked, grunting because he was getting close. Potter pulled his mouth away and then shook his head, looking a bit sheepish.

"I wanted to, I just..."

Groaning at how ruthlessly Harry had pulled away, Draco had just enough wits to say, "Well with Ron and Neville to choose from, I don't think it was in the cards for you. But I'm going to let you fuck me, but you mustn't make a sound, no matter what I do," he said, rolling them over so that he could lie in the middle of the bed.

Draco lifted his legs up, folding half with his knees against his ears, presenting himself to Harry. He felt dirty by how long that Harry stared at his hole. It wasn't exactly Draco's best side and he found it humiliating.

To Draco's great surprise, Harry leaned down and drew a warm, wet line of saliva from the crack of his arse to his hole in a few long, slow stripes that cooled in the drafty tavern room. Then he slowly pushed his tongue into Draco, making him take the soft warmth inside of him. His tongue thickened and pulled out, swiping daintily along the rim before plunging in again, pushing it as deep as he could go.

Draco hooked his index finger into his mouth, biting down on it to keep from making noise himself. It wasn't part of the game initially, but Draco wanted to play, too.
The movement of Harry's tongue inside of him was maddeningly and he reached down to pull his prick, pulse racing with the thrill of it, toes curling at the exquisite feel of warmth, the touches so light that he could barely keep from giggling or moaning.

Again, Draco was left to groan when Harry pull his mouth away. When Draco looked up at him, Harry mouthed, "Slut."

Draco's whole body broke out in a brilliant blush. He couldn't argue the point lying on Harry's bed, holding his knees up so that Harry could take him, so he could do whatever he wanted to with him.

Suddenly, Draco felt incredibly vulnerable. He watched Harry settle in below him, felt his prick pushing at him and the sting of that first hard entry, especially with nothing but saliva for comfort. He whimpered as Harry thrust solidly into him and Draco slapped his arse cheek hard for making a noise.

Back arching off of the bed at the slap, Draco drove Harry further into him, too deep to really be comfortable, but Draco didn't fight it. His adrenaline was pumping too hard for him to really feel the pain. He felt little other than the glorious sting of his skin from where Harry slapped him.

"Are you only doing this because you're drunk?" Draco asked, hoping that didn't bypass the rules, because he wanted to feel that sensation again. But he did want an answer.

"I don't know," said Harry before slapping the side of Draco's arse again, harder this time. Draco rocked against him and moaned and Harry hit him again.

The spot where Harry kept hitting him got warmer and warmer each time Harry slapped him and each time he reacted by driving himself onto Harry's cock again and again.

Harry dragged his nails down Draco's thighs after tearing at the enflamed skin.

All Draco could do was react, let his body shift and convulse under Harry's command, to feel the pressure of his body, to feel the harsh invasion and the way that Harry reminded him that it wasn't all about pleasure.

After a few minutes, Harry finally lost control and sunk his fingers into Draco's thighs to hold him still as he slammed into him. Draco grabbed his prick and pulled harder and faster, trying to keep up with Harry's erratic fucking, wanting to experience it with him. Draco had never been fucked this hard. No one would ever dare hit him like this, and yet Draco was taking it and loving it.

All he could feel was the tingle of his skin and the greedy need of his cock to release and after the pressure built to where all he could feel was touch, rubbing and need. He came on himself and on Harry's chest, surprised that things were winding down with Potter as well. He held himself up long enough for Potter to milk the last of his release and then braced himself for Harry flopping on top of him.

He wanted to tell Harry how great that was, how great he was, how much he'd needed that, but what came out instead was, "You should stop drinking."

"Really? I hadn't heard that one before," Harry snapped back. He started to pull away, but Draco held onto him tightly.

"If you stop for tomorrow, I'll come back and you can fuck me again. How's that?" asked Draco.

"One day?" asked Harry. His face was tucked against Draco's neck, making it impossible to read his expression.

"Yeah. Just tomorrow. If you get through that, I might let you fuck me again," said Draco, petting Potter's back.

"Meet me for a date, then. A proper date. At seven," said Harry. "Downstairs."

Draco smiled and nodded. "I've some things to tend to, but I'll be back by then. It's a date."

"A date," said Harry and then he smiled and kissed Draco sloppily before passing out next to him.

--

Draco really should've known better than to believe that the bumbling idiots that served as the Ministry would have managed to extract their heads from their arses in a timely manner. What had been originally slated as a time for Draco to stop by the solicitor's office to sign a few documents turned into an all day affair in which several Ministry officials showed up confused as to whether they were supposed to arrest him or give him back his property.

For a few hours in the early afternoon, it looked as if Draco was having Azkaban signed over to him, much to his amusement. Alas, someone caught the glitch and by seven, not one single thing had gotten done, aside from making Draco late for his date. He tried desperately to detangle himself from the paperwork, but he wasn't released until nine, at which time he desperately Apparated to the Leaky, praying that Potter had held on and not lost faith.

His answer was in the corner of the tavern. Potter stood with his wand drawn on a rather tall blond woman whom he was telling off quite thoroughly. She looked surprised that he wasn't going to shag her again. Her husband, however, looked murderous.

Suppressing his irritation that Potter evidently thought Draco was a woman, Draco intervened before things could get too nasty and grabbed Harry by the front of his shirt to drag him up to his room.

Draco propped Harry against the bathroom door as he started a cold shower to try and shock Harry into a less inebriated state. There were charms and potions, but at the moment, Draco was too angry with Harry to be more merciful. Swinging Potter under the cold steams of water, Draco growled, "This is not two hours worth of drinking, is it? Did you even try?"

Potter screeched at the water, but quickly relaxed into it, weighed down by his shame. "I started to get nervous around four. I worried that you wouldn't show. I just thought a drink or two... just to take the edge off, you know?"

"No, I don't know," said Draco as he stripped Harry's clothing off.

"I guess you wouldn't," said Potter, a bit helplessly. "No one really does." He slouched and shook his body free of the clothes and reached for Draco's face, stroking it roughly, but Draco knew he meant to be gentler with it.

"You were worried I wouldn't show up?" asked Draco. He watched Harry curiously, trying to figure out how he'd gotten to this place, but then, all of those losses, a world that has no use for you... it had to do things to a bloke. "You don't even like me, Potter."

"I didn't like you," said Potter, after a long silence. "I didn't like a lot of things then. I didn't understand things. I understand more, but all that brings me is this. The more I know, the fuzzier everything becomes and it hurts. It hurts so much," said Harry. He wasn't sobbing, but his eyes were wet. His face was pulled up with emotion and he started to pull at Draco's robes. "I killed someone... "

Draco pulled off his robes and slipped into the tub with Harry, pleased that the comfort of their bodies touching seemed to soothe him. "I know."

Potter sobbed once and then exhaled. "I don't know if it was the right thing to do."

It was clear that Harry had wanted to admit that to someone, but he couldn't say it to just anyone. He had to say it to someone who wouldn't judge him for his doubts, someone who could see it for what it was. "You had to. He would've kept coming back. It's not your fault."

Draco paused and then leaned forward to press his lips to Harry's forehead. "You are forgiven."

Immediately, Potter grabbed Draco's hips and pulled him on top of him. It was a rough, cold, watery entry, but Draco didn't mind the sting, because Harry needed him and Draco was the only one who could help.

Potter held Draco's waist tightly in the bottom of the tub, pumping into him slowly, his expression a million miles away as he thought about all of the pressures, all of the things he had to do, that he didn't do, how differently things could've been. The images were stuck on replay in his head. He didn't want it anymore. He wanted all of it gone.

Draco arched his back as he rode on top of Harry, watching how Harry touched him, what it felt like. He brought Harry's fingers to his face and kissed them each softly, anointing his skin. He dropped that hand onto his prick, helping Potter find a rhythm, to pull him as he needed to feel it. Draco fucked himself on Harry's cock while he thrusted into Harry's hand.

"Am I really forgiven?" Harry gasped.

Draco nodded, pressing kisses over his face. "You did your best. You did what you had to, and you did it because it's all you knew how to do. That's all you can do." As Draco said it, he realized it was true. Maybe he wasn't cursed as a deserter of the Death Eaters. He'd done what he was told; he'd done what he needed to do, just as much as Harry did.

"You are forgiven," Draco rasped again. Harry's body tightened up and Draco felt the slickness running back out of him, wetting his thighs. It didn't take much of Harry's hand to get him off and he came on Harry's chest. They both rubbed it into his skin.

After a few minutes of just laying together and relaxing, as both reviewed what they'd done, they both smiled and felt understood, at least in that moment, and in that moment, there was hope that they could both be forgiven and that this would be enough.