Disclaimer:
Anything belonging to the HP universe belongs to J.K. Rowling and others who have bought the rights to meddle with her toys. Anything that's not is mine, unless stated otherwise. I'm just playing around here, not making money, so please don't sue. I should also be crediting the writer of a story in which Harry and Draco have very, very hot phone sex for this, since I got the idea for the style in which this is written from that story. If anybody knows who I'm talking about, or if you think I'm talking about your story, please speak up, so I can give proper credit.
Author's note's:
It's H/D of course, but with a twist methinks. Warnings are for explicit sex and adult themes, if you're not old enough to read about that or just don't like to, please go away now.
Summary:
The war is over, Harry's head Auror and Draco Malfoy's in his office, but he's not feeling about it quite what he thought he would.
Desperate
He's slouched in a large brown chair in my office. The creases in his shirt only slightly less sharp than those in the old battered leather of the chair. He's staring at the floor, not really seeing the grain of the wood, and tells me he's been wrong about everything.
This is Draco Malfoy utterly defeated. And in his most desperate hour he turns to me. It almost cost him his life and I feel a misplaced need to repair him.
"Why did you come to me?"
"You saved the fucking Wizarding world, I presumed you were my best shot."
"Right."
He looks me in the eye as he talks to me. His look is frighteningly empty and certainly not containing belief that I am a shot at all. It hurts my pride. After all, I did save the Wizarding world.
"So, this is really a last ditch effort then?"
His eyes narrow as he shifts his gaze from the floorboards to my face again. They narrow, but the fire that used to ignite behind them doesn't show itself. Perhaps it died during the months of war, or maybe he left it behind somewhere in his past two years of running. Running from both sides. Voldemort's because he couldn't live up to the expectations, mine because he's a former Voldemort supporter.
"If you're going to arrest me, get it over with. Don't play games with me Potter, please."
A complete shift in facial expression occurs as he speaks. It goes from aggravated to pleading. It takes me a while to register the last one: I've never seen it on his face before.
"I'm not going to arrest you... yet."
"Well, I guess that's something."
It's disturbing to notice how utterly beaten down he has become. The fact that I'm not arresting him on sight should be a relief to him, but it hardly draws a reaction from him at all. I think he would've been just as apathic if I had had him arrested.
"What do you want?"
"What?"
"Why are you here, what do you want from me?"
"Oh – I... I just want them to stop hunting me."
And he looks eighty years old instead of nearing twenty-five. His posture reminds me of Remus. Defeated, resigned to the fact that things are never going to change, even if you try. But things did change for Remus: he died.
"Them?"
A sigh. I suppose it's meant to be frustrated, but it just sounds tired.
"Your Aurors. Preferably the Death Eaters too, but I guess you don't have much to say about them, even if you are the Big Chief."
Bitter, but whether it is because I've reached the successful position he always thought he would have, or because I can't do anything about the Death Eaters regardless, I can't tell. Malfoy fidgets and pulls at the threads that hang from the bottom of his shirt.
"You'd have to be redeemed. To do that, we have to prove your innocence."
"We?"
And a little fragment of emotion, a tiny slither of hope actually sneaks into his voice.
"The Aurors."
I crush it.
He says nothing, just stares at me. Something is moving behind those eyes; it's like I can see the wheels turning, calculating, searching for a way out of this. There's none and he knows it. He starts to shake ever so slightly and he pushes his hands between his legs to hide it, but I've already seen. And without warning or reason an immense sense of pity washes over me. My brows furrow of their own accord and it's like someone pushes a knife into my stomach and twists it.
"Look, Malfoy..."
He shakes his head, long strands of blond hair waving from left to right because of it. He looks unkempt.
"Don't, ok?"
"Don't what?"
"Don't make promises you can't keep. I've had enough of those."
His eyes break. The thin veil that protects his emotions splinters into a million pieces and I'm blinded by the sheer intensity of what goes on behind it. By the depth there is to his eyes now.
"I wasn't going to promise you anything. I don't do promises. I was going to tell you I will try to help you."
The veil repairs itself in an instant and I want to break it again. I want to know what's swirling behind it. He's shaking now.
"Are you cold?"
"Yes, but mostly tired."
I pull off my sweater and transfigure it into a travelling cloak.
"Come on."
I hand it to Malfoy and pull on my own.
"Where are we going?"
He's suspicious, looking around my office for any indication as to what is going on or maybe for an escape route.
"My place."
He freezes.
"What?"
But I've already grabbed his hand and with a crack, we appear in my living room. He stumbles and I have to grab his arm to steady him. He keeps swaying on his feet, so I gently put him down on the largest couch.
"Would you like something to eat?"
He looks up at me with an expression that couldn't have been more surprised if I had proposed, but recovers quickly. Good survival skill.
"Yes, thank you."
And again, he startles me. I've never heard him say 'thank you' before. I go into the kitchen and make him some chicken and rice; easy to digest. I take a large glass of water with it and ask Dobby to make us some tea and to make sure were are not disturbed.
"Don't bring the tea in, only make it. I'll get it myself."
"Yes Harry Potter, master."
Malfoy attacks the food with a vengeance. I sit down on the couch next to him and watch him eat. He's gotten skinny. He was never fat, but his wrists are now noticeably thin and there's a shadow under the cheekbone I can see. I lay a hand on his arm after several bites and he stills.
"Slow down, or you'll have stomach trouble later."
His gaze is piercing, poking into mine, trying to find out why I am doing this. I let him search me; he won't find anything, I don't know why I'm doing this. After a few minutes he resumes his eating, slower this time and I settle deeper into the couch, contemplating the situation. There's a Malfoy in my house. Very likely the most dangerous Malfoy of all, because he's so unpredictable. Then why am I not afraid?
I take his plate to the kitchen and bring back the tea with me. He's already emptied his glass of water on my return. I hold out my hand and indicate that he can take off his cloak now, but he shakes his head.
"You want to keep it on?"
Nod.
"All right."
We sit and drink tea in silence. It's almost peaceful, but as it stretches it gets loaded with unasked questions. And Malfoy looks slightly better for being fed, but he still looks as though the sun will never shine again.
"Look, I will do what I can for you, all right?"
Something that is supposed to be a smile. In an effort to please me, not because it is heartfelt, and it hurts. It physically hurts to realize that this is a young man, in his early twenties, and already he has lost the ability to smile. It strikes me as disproportionately tragic and I feel an overwhelming need to make it right, to fix him, but I have no idea how to do that or were to start. I plunge in regardless.
"I don't hate you."
The veil breaks again. Dozens of unnameable feelings come rushing out at me, seizing me, trying to pull me in. I resist.
"Everybody hates me."
It's full of conviction, laden with unshakable belief. And I give in. I drown in the rush of emotion washing over me and I feel it when I say it this time.
"I don't hate you."
He isn't fazed.
"Everybody hates me."
I have to do something to stop this. I have to let him know I don't hate him, I can't tell why exactly but it's of the utmost importance I do. Something deep inside me is yelling at me, telling me to fix him, commanding me to let him know I don't hate him. And I reach over and kiss him. I didn't expect the emotions to enter me through his mouth and I have no control over mine as they surge to the surface like bubbles in a bottle of soda.
He opens his mouth, maybe in shock, and I deepen the kiss. Plunging my tongue into his mouth, pushing him sideways and into the couch, desperate to make him feel I don't hate him. Abruptly he breaks contact. All the emotion is gone from his eyes as he opens them.
"Not that."
He whispers, voice quavering and uncertain and the ugly idea creeps up on me that he may have been forced to do worse things than this for a hiding place. My heart aches with compassion for this boy who has been mistreated since childhood and abused since he could cast a spell. I touch his cheek, softly and he flinches.
"Please tell me they didn't ask that of you."
Pain and sorrow resonate through my voice and I can tell he's caught off guard. It takes him a split second longer to answer than usual.
"They didn't ask that of me."
"They didn't?"
"They did."
I have to close my eyes against the hurt storming through my body. I feel guilty. Responsible because I saved so many, but couldn't save him. Wouldn't, because I was too stubborn, too arrogant to see. Soft lips press against mine, caressing, comforting. I push him away.
"You don't have to. You can stay. If you like, that is."
The words tumble out of my mouth and over each other, forming sentences that don't make sense, but he seems to understand anyway.
"I want to."
I kiss him again and push my tongue in his mouth. He does the same and we end up sliding our tongues together too fast and clashing our teeth. But it is okay, because his arms have come to circle my waist and I cradle his head in my hands. He pushes against me and fire shoots through my groin. I'm getting hard and I pull away.
"No!"
He grabs for me, pulls me back against him and rubs his own erection against my stomach. Despite the fact that my position is awkward – I'm too low on his stomach, so I have to bend my head too far to reach his mouth – I kiss him. He meets me halfway. I brace myself on my arms to get better access, but this is a tiring position and I can't use my hands. I roll over on my back and stand up. Malfoy follows me to my bedroom, but stops in the doorway so I have to pull him onto my bed. He rolls on his side away from me.
"Malfoy?"
No answer, only rigid shoulders facing me. I move closer to him and he whimpers softly as I touch his shoulder.
"What's wrong?"
He turns around suddenly and clings to me as if he wants to crawl into my body. His head buried in my shoulder, arms circling me and legs twisted around mine.
"Draco."
The name sends a shiver down my spine and he must take it as a bad sign, because he disentangles himself and makes to climb off the bed.
"Draco."
It sounds strange coming from my lips. I pull him back.
"Harry."
He kisses me again. Slowly, marvelling at what his tongue finds. He spoons me, as I have to turn away from him for a moment to catch my breath. I'm confused; my body is hurting and singing with pleasure from all the emotions and sensations rampaging through it. And why am I doing this? I don't like him, not at all. Or do I?
Draco strokes my cheek with a finger; so tender it almost brings tears to my eyes. Languidly, his finger drops lower, over my neck, into my collar, lightly touching a nipple. I squirm and Draco groans at the friction my arse causes. I squirm again and he gasps. His hand has opened the buttons of my shirt and he keeps trailing fingers up and down my stomach and chest as I keep moving against him.
Suddenly he removes his hand, pushes it up between my legs from behind and splays it over my erection. I jerk and gasp at the sudden contact. Draco's hips rock back against my butt because of my sudden movement. He pulls me back further against him with his hand, increasing the pressure on my cock, while pushing his between my cheeks.
I turn, wrestling off my shirt in the process and opening the clasp of his travelling cloak. It's splayed over his side of the bed like a dark cape and I block the associations that come to mind. His shirt goes next and I attack chest and stomach with my mouth, while rolling him onto his back and straddling him. Lapping and biting and sucking.
"Hhm, right there."
"Here?"
"Yesss, harder."
I bite down hard on the spot just below his bellybutton and Draco bucks his hips. I have to fold my legs under me and put my feet on his knees to prevent him from bucking up too hard after the next bite. His belt clasp smashes against my breastbone and it hurts.
I try to loosen my own belt while lapping and biting at Draco's chest. The pressure on my erection is getting painful. But when Draco bucks again I loose my balance and end up next to him, after my nose connected with his stomach. Draco's kissing me before I can even gather enough wit to feel embarrassed.
"Sorry."
Whispered between increasingly heated kisses and I have to fight to get an answer out.
"Hmm'sokay."
Draco works on my trousers while kissing me and I work on his. Boxers follow shortly after and before I realize we're both naked, a warm mouth engulfs me. Heat flares in my groin and my balls tighten as Draco picks up a quick pace.
"Slow down, or I'll come too soon."
He slows, his sucking less powerful and it's nice, but not what it could be. Obviously, he hasn't done this much. I'll have to show him.
I pull him up and turn us around so he's now sprawled out onto the mattress and I can dive between his legs. I cast a protecting charm over his cock and over mine.
"You need to protect yourself. You can contract sexual transmitted diseases by oral sex too."
He smiles, then gasps as I lick the top of his head.
"Tease a little first. Lick and bite and suckle, don't take it in your mouth right away. And when you do, make sure you don't do the same all the time. Work your tongue around the head or touch that little triangle at the base of the head."
I show him what I mean and he moans and spreads his legs wantonly as I pick up the pace. My finger takes him by surprise and he squeezes his eyes shut against the pain. I pull out of him.
"Sorry, was that to much?"
"No, but can I suck your cock first?"
We return to our earlier position: me on my back and Draco between my legs. This time he teases, like I told him and uses his tongue much more. I let him know I like what he's doing by moaning and sighing, but it's tiring and he's not used to it and has to stop too soon. He kisses me deeply in apology and lies down next to me. I taste my own bitterness mixed with his saliva. He did know to use generous amounts of spit.
I try my finger once again and this time he only hisses in pain. I work at opening him up – it's a slow process - but he's fingering my cock the entire time. He's much better with his hands than with his mouth. He shows me a crooked finger, as I push the second one in.
"Like this. Search around, you'll know when you hit the right spot."
I do. He keens and pushes his arse back onto my fingers. I pull them apart, stretching him and Draco throws his head back.
"More."
He's panting now, just as much out of breath as I am. I slide another finger in him and hit his prostate again. This show of Draco keening and bucking on my fingers is turning me on even more than his hands on me are and I move my fingers faster and faster. He copies the pace on my already much handed erection and I feel like I'm going to explode if I can't come soon.
"Can I fuck you, please?"
"Yes."
I roll on top of him and position myself in front of his opening. He's still too tight and I don't want to hurt him again so I hold back, but he pushes back against me relentlessly, moving slightly to coax my cock deeper and deeper inside.
"You're not ready."
"Don't care. Need you. Need you."
He sounds desperate and I want to do nothing but comply. But when I'm finally inside him he reaches up to steady me.
"All right?"
"Just... give me a minute. It's been a while."
After a while he wriggles and I can't stop myself from pulling out and thrusting back in. He moans loudly though, so I figure he's ready. I set up a pace and he angles his body so that I hit his prostate. I watch as his hand urgently works his own cock and it's all over way to soon. I explode inside him with a loud grunt and it's all I can do to keep myself from collapsing onto him. He's still working his cock with his hand.
"Don't stop moving."
I feel myself going flaccid, but try to move inside of him anyway. It doesn't work and Draco bucks his hips more furiously. He whimpers when I pull out of him, but seems very happy as I replace my cock with my fingers and work him that way.
"Yesss!"
It's an altogether different experience to feel someone contract around my fingers as they cover themselves with seed, but not an unpleasant one at that. I pull my fingers out of him and cast a quick cleansing spell to clean up the mess. The scent will still be here tomorrow morning, but you can't have everything. I lie down next to Draco and pull him into my arms, cradling him, like he's the most precious thing on the planet. Because to me, at this moment, he is.
"I don't hate you."
He sobs.