Here's chapter 9-only one chapter left now!
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Disclaimer – This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
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After the longest and most torturous dinner Draco could remember, Harry and he crossed the Seine to take the Floo back to the Hotel de la Rose Rouge from the Champs-Élysées – Clemenceau Floo Terminal. Draco thought his heart was pounding hard enough for passers-by to hear.
When Harry threw the powder on the glowing embers, he turned to look at him. "Come up for a bit?" he asked nervously. The bravado he'd shown at the restaurant with his comment about Draco's French was gone. The man standing before him was not the Saviour of all Britain; he was just a man like any other, inviting another man up to his hotel room and afraid of being rejected.
The terminal was empty apart from themselves, and Draco closed the distance between them and kissed him, a gentle pressing of his lips against Harry's. He trailed his fingers down the side of Harry's face to his throat and chest. "Oui," he answered against Harry's lips before kissing him again.
Stepping from the flames into the hotel's lobby only moments, Draco's mouth was dry, and his fingers twitched to weave themselves through Harry's hair.
And to do other things, as well.
"I'm on the seventh floor," Harry said, his voice strained, as they crossed the lobby to the lift.
No lift had ever moved slower.
Finally, the doors opened, and they stepped out into the corridor. Harry's room was at the end of the corridor, and when he drew his wand to unlock the door, Draco saw his hand shake.
He couldn't wait any longer. Even before the words of the spell had been spoken, Draco grabbed Harry by the arm and pulled him towards him. Just as eager, Harry's free hand cupped the side of Draco's face before sliding down his neck to his shoulder and around his back. The few kisses they'd shared in the Floo terminal had been starters for this, the main course. The moment their lips met, Draco knew he'd never really known what magic was before. Kissing Harry excited him more than any other man ever had. Harry's mouth, his hands, his body, the feel of his hair between Draco's fingers . . . Draco had never been more aware of the feel of another man's body before. Before Harry pulled away, he took Draco's lip between his teeth and tugged it gently. He released it, then captured it again. Breathing heavily and each with a drunken smile on his face, they stood in the corridor with their arms around each other, their faces so close the tips of their noses touched and each exhaled breath ghosted over the other's skin.
Harry had barely whispered the words of the spell to unlock the door before his mouth was on Draco's again. They stumbled into the room, holding each other so tightly they nearly tripped over each other's feet. Once inside, Draco shoved Harry against the closed door, their lips still moving together, and their tongues learning the contours of each other's mouth. Moving from Harry's mouth, Draco kissed and nibbled and sucked along his jaw as he pressed his hand against the front of Harry's trousers.
"Fuck, yes," Harry hissed, dropping his head back against the door and exposing his neck more fully to Draco. He moaned as Draco pulled the button on his jeans open and lowered the zip.
Harry pulled Draco's shirt from his trousers and fumbled with the buttons. Once he'd got them open, he slid his hands under and scraped his nails down Draco's chest hard enough to leave pink lines behind. He pinched Draco's nipples and pushed him backwards until Draco's knees hit the edge of the bed, and they tumbled onto it. Kneeling over him on the bed, Harry's hands stroked all over Draco's chest, before moving downwards to his waist and slowly opening his trousers. Harry made such a tease of it, Draco promised himself he'd make him pay until Harry's hand slipped under his pants, making Draco swear loudly. He dug his heals into the bed and bucked his hips up against Harry's hand.
Pushing himself up onto one arm, Draco reached for the waistband of Harry's jeans and pulled him to where Draco could reach to slide his own hand under Harry's boxers. Dropping his head down and pulling his lip between his teeth hard enough to turn the pink skin white, Harry groaned and covered Draco's hand with his own free one. Draco's free hand wrapped around Harry's, and together they stroked each other and themselves. It was awkward to manage, but it was brilliant.
Wanting more, Draco again pulled Harry closer by the open fly of his jeans. He met Harry's eyes and held them as he ran his tongue over Harry's boxers, up and down, over and over before pulling the fabric down and out of his way. His eyes still locked on Harry's, Draco licked him, tip to base and base to tip.
Harry grunted and cursed and rocked his hips forward before pushing Draco onto his back and taking him into his mouth through his pants, his hand cupping Draco's sack.
Letting Draco slip free, Harry rose from the bed and stood beside it. "Come here, lay like this," he ordered, directing Draco to lie across the width of the bed. Standing beside Draco's head where it lay on the edge of the bed, Harry undressed. Draco watched him, pulling his own clothes off as well. Balancing himself with one hand on the bed, Harry kicked his jeans and boxer off and knelt down to kiss Draco deeply. Draco held Harry's head in his hands as they kissed, and Harry's free hand ran over Draco wherever he could reach. Harry covered Draco's face with kisses and crawled onto the bed as he licked his way down his throat to his chest. He paid special attention to Draco's nipples, sucking on them, nibbling them gently, blowing air across them, and Draco fisted the bedcover in his hands as he squirmed beneath him. Harry moved lower, over Draco's ribs to his abdomen, then lower and nuzzled his face against Draco's length before taking him into his mouth.
Draco's hands clenched into fists, and his toes curled. He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed ragged breaths through clenched teeth as bucked his hips up and fucked Harry's mouth. He took Harry in his hands and stroked him until Harry moved, placing both of his knees on the bed on other side of Draco's head, straddling his face.
His heart threatening to hammer its way out of his chest, Draco understood now why Harry'd had him lie across the bed. He wrapped one arm around Harry's thigh and stroked him as he shifted enough to reach, then he wrapped his mouth around Harry and sucked greedily.
Harry gasped and cried out. He buried his face against Draco's thigh as mumbled oaths fell from his lips, and he gripped Draco's leg hard enough that his nails dug into the skin.
It wasn't an easy position. It was hard to keep another man in your mouth when all you wanted to do was alternately clench your jaw or scream, but they established a rhythm that soon had them both coming hard all over the bed and each other. Feeling more sated than he ever had before, Draco lay across the bed with his arms spread out wide, breathing hard and feeling positively boneless. Above him, Harry's elbows buckled, and he collapsed onto Draco. He lay across him for the span of two breaths before rolling onto his side beside him.
When he'd caught his breath enough to speak, Draco said, "That—was fucking brilliant."
"Mmm," Harry hummed. He traced the side of Draco's leg with the tip of his nose before pressing closed-mouth kisses below his knee. "Glad you liked it," he said. "Do you have to go back to the palace, or can you stay?"
Draco closed his eyes. Harry wanted him to stay. "I can stay," he answered, thanking his lucky stars the Astronomy professor had wanted to observe some rare something-or-other that night and had already arrived at the palace before Draco'd left.
"Good." Harry pushed himself up onto his elbow and kissed all over Draco's kneecap.
Draco pushed himself up onto his elbow as well and watched him. No one had ever kissed his knee before. They'd just gone down on each other at the same time, but watching Harry place small kisses on his knee held Draco spellbound.
"I hate sleeping alone after sex," Harry said as he lay back down. He lay on his side and wrapped his arm around Draco's leg like it was a teddy bear.
They laid together in that oddly wonderful position for several minutes, and Draco looked up at the ceiling, feeling perfectly content and decidedly drowsy. He pillowed one arm beneath his head and stroked where he could reach on Harry's legs with the other hand.
"Mmm," Harry hummed again. "And the only thing better than a good wank first thing in the morning is a good fuck against the shower wall."
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"No one will notice you're wearing the same clothes you wore yesterday, will they? Maybe you should transfigure your shirt," Harry suggested. "It wouldn't do to set a bad example for your students."
Draco buttoned the last button, and he looked at Harry lying in the bed, the sheet pulled up to his waist but naked beneath. He was propped up on a pile of pillows with one arm behind his head, and his left leg bent up and rocking slowly. Merde…, Draco thought. Ça, c'est une image. He looked too good to resist, and Draco crawled back onto the bed and kissed him till they were both breathless.
Harry's hands began opening his shirt.
"I just buttoned that," Draco reprimanded.
"I know. I watched. Looks better this way," Harry said.
"What happened to not setting a bad example for my students?"
"They're not here."
Draco stood up and re-buttoned his shirt. "I'll Floo straight into my quarters, but you're not making going back to the palace any easier."
"Not trying to," Harry said as he slid a hand under the sheet.
Draco's mouth watered. Harry'd been right with what he'd said the night before. A good fuck against the shower wall was a brilliant way to start the day. He felt a lingering burn, nothing near painful, just enough to provide a physical reminder—not that Draco'd be likely to forget. He'd never had better sex in his life. And he wanted more. They had all weekend, and he wanted Harry on his back beneath him.
"I'll come back," he said. "Only, I really do need to make an appearance. I am meant to be the director, after all. But I needn't stay long. The Astronomy professor is in charge today, and the librarian will come tonight and stay till tomorrow night."
"I'll be right here," Harry said, stretching out his arms and legs, the sheet slipping lower, before curling up on his side to go back to sleep. "Try not to make too much noise, yeah?"
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Draco took the lift down to the lobby looking forward to the weekend ahead more than he could ever remember doing before. This was the maddest thing he'd ever done: Harry Potter and he, sharing a weekend of incredible sex. He started to laugh at the sheer unbelievability of it until the lift stopped at the fourth floor, and an elderly couple speaking Portuguese stepped in. The couple tipped their heads at him, and they exchanged polite bonjours. Draco wondered what they made of the wide grin he could not rein in.
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Dressed once more in his standard wizarding robes, Draco left his quarters and made his way through the palace. His mind was far more back in Harry's hotel room than it was in the palace, and he was determined to make his escape back to Paris as quickly as he could. Needing to talk to the Astronomy professor, he made his way to his colleague's office before going to his own, but when he reached the room, nearby portraits informed him they'd been asked to request he meet Monsieur Picques in his own office.
" Est-ce qu'il y a un souci?" Draco asked, worried something might've happened in his absence.
The portraits replied that they understood there was a problem with one of the coaches for the following week.
The children were all fine then; there hadn't been any accidents. That was good, but Draco exhaled loudly in irritation. This had to be more of Millard and Lafarge's doing. Draco didn't care anymore—French Quidditch icons or not, if they were to continue the Quidditch school next year, those two would not be asked back.
"Ah, Draco, vous êtes de retour," called the Charms professor as Draco reached the stairs leading to his office.
Draco waited for the man to join him and asked if there'd been a problem with the translation charms. There'd been none during the week. If there were now, he wouldn't be able to get back to Paris as soon as he wanted.
"Non, les enchantements fonctionnent correctement. Je voulais juste passer pour les vérifier, mais ils fonctionnement correctement."
That was good. Paris sooner rather than later, then. "Il semblerait que soit Mallard, soit Lafarge cause quelques problèmes à Yves," Draco said as they climbed the stairs. His money was on Lafarge—it was her turn, after all. He repeated the promise he'd made to himself to his colleague.
"Je croyais qu'elles étaient parties pour le week-end."
Draco'd also thought they'd left for the weekend. He related Madame Mallard's threat not to return next week if Madame Lafarge stayed on. "Peut-être qu'aujourd'hui c'est Madame Lafarge qui menace de ne pas revenir."
Opening his office door, Draco found the Astronomy professor with both Nicole and Émilie—the former looking highly anxious and both of the latter looking delighted, with their pleased as Punch expressions.
"Ah, Draco, vous êtes là," breathed the Astronomy professor with the relieved air of one glad to pass a problem on to someone else.
Bracing himself for the newest round in the Mallard-Lafarge feud, Draco asked which one of the two was causing problems now.
"Non ce n'est pas elles. C'est Viktor Krum. Une lettre de sa femme est arrivée. Il ne va pas pouvoir venir demain soir comme prévu. Il est très désolé, mais "
The Astronomy professor went on to explain and to worry—what was to be done, he asked? But Draco scarcely paid attention. He'd heard enough. Viktor Krum was not recovered enough to fly. He would not be arriving tomorrow, after all. He expressed his sincerest apologies, but he simply did not have the energy to fly.
Émilie and Nicole giggled.
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Harry was lying in his bed drifting between sleep and wakefulness when his hotel room door opened, and he heard Draco whisper he was back. Harry cracked one eye open barely enough to see, but did not let on he was awake. Without his glasses, all he could see was the blurry shape of a blonde man stripping his robes off. Rather a good reason to look into that corrective eye surgery Hermione's parents had told him about.
The mattress dipped and squeaked as Draco climbed back into the bed, then an arm wrapped around Harry's waist and kisses were pressed along his shoulder. "Rouge orange jaune vert bleu indigo violet," was whispered into his ear.
Harry laughed. "Colours?"
"Very good," Draco answered.
Harry rolled onto his back, and they kissed. Draco's lips moved from Harry's mouth to his jaw and continued to his ear. "Any idea where I can find a replacement Seeker for the second week of school?" Draco asked as he bit Harry's ear.
"Is Viktor alright?" Harry asked.
"On the mend," Draco assured him, tracing patterns on Harry's chest with his finger. "But not up to flying for hours a day with a few dozen children just yet."
"Hm, I don't know." Harry dragged his nails down Draco's back. "I reckon I could send out a few owls." He kissed Draco's chin.
The kisses grew desperate, and the touches grew heated. They rolled around the bed, pulling the sheet from the mattress and knocking pillows to the floor.
Draco's hands gripped Harry's bum, and his fingers teased him. "It's my turn," he whispered as he reached for the small bottle on the table beside the bed. When his hands returned, the teasing became purposeful.
Harry moaned and pushed himself back against Draco's fingers. When he felt ready, he raised himself to his hands and knees.
"No. On your back. I want to see you when I fuck you."
"Then you get on your back," Harry said, pushing Draco down by the shoulders and straddling his waist.
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After lying together in a state of exhausted post-coital bliss, Harry'd had the hotel send them up a picnic lunch for two, and Draco and he were lying in his bed, sharing it. He felt like he was in the middle of some sort of mad dream, like the past twelve or so hours couldn't possibly have happened. This was the most impulsive thing Harry'd ever done. In the real world, he'd learned the hard way to be very guarded and mindful. At times, he almost felt like he needed to have a potential boyfriend fully vetted before he could say yes. It had to be Paris, Harry told himself, making him want to throw caution to the wind so completely and just let himself go. In France, he could be just Harry, and he was looking forward to the coming week more than he had looked forward to anything in a very long time.
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"I am glad you have come back, Monsieur," Émilie said as soon as she saw Harry.
After their lunch, Harry'd packed the few things he'd unpacked the day before and checked out of his room at the hotel. They'd returned to the palace, and he'd settled back into his room there. Aside from the time he'd get to spend with Draco—both in and out of bed—he was glad to be back at the school. The upcoming week would focus more on specific positions, preparing the kids for the matches they'd play on Thursday and Friday, and he was he was eager to work to working with all the future Seekers. Who knew, maybe one day in twenty or so years, he'd be watching one of the kids he trained that week playing in the World Cup, sitting there proudly and thinking, I remember when . . . Or, maybe he'd run into them in the stands, maybe with their own young children, and they'd say, "Mr Potter, I remember when you gave me my first lesson as a Seeker!" and that would be great, too.
"I'm glad to be back," he responded. "How's the scavenger hunt going?"
Émilie responded that the hunt was going well. More of her Beauxbatons classmates had come for the weekend, and she and her friends who'd worked during the week had the two days to themselves. "We are to stay at the palace, but you are free to leave. Wouldn't you rather be off enjoying yourself somewhere?"
"Not really," Harry answered. Right then, there was nowhere he'd rather be—a nice feeling, that. Draco had one or two director things to attend to—one of them being writing to Madame Maxime to let her know Harry was staying with them another week. And Harry had some letters to write as well, to let Ron and Hermione and Andromeda know he'd be staying. Plus, he wanted to find Teddy after the scavenger hunt, to let him know. Later, maybe, Draco and he would go somewhere. Or, maybe, they'd stay at the palace. But right then, Harry was thinking that there weren't just the students he was teaching. In front of him was a young Seeker who by that time next year might well be on the threshold of a professional career. It was true, of course, that Draco was the one who'd taught her, but Harry flattered himself that maybe he'd played a small role in that possibility. "If you're free, why don't you get your broom? We can take a practice Snitch up."
To see Émilie then, one would've thought she'd been given five Christmases and five birthdays rolled into one.
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"Mate? Is something wrong?" Harry asked Teddy. He'd sought his godson out after the scavenger hunt to tell him he'd be sticking around for the rest of the school, and while Teddy'd said he was glad Harry'd be there, he looked anything but. Harry was worried; was his being there casting a shadow over Teddy's experience? This was meant to be Teddy's big thing. Harry'd made a point of not hovering, but had just his being there spoiled things for Teddy?
"Merlin, no! All the kids think it's well sick that you're my godfather. They think you're, like, some sort of superhero or something. None of them have godfathers who used to play Quidditch."
Harry had to stifle a laugh. All the kids saw him as was someone who used to play Quidditch. "Well, that's good, then. But something's bothering you."
"It's nothing."
"Teddy."
Teddy shuffled his feet. "Only . . ."
"Only, what?" Harry prompted.
"I don't wanna be a Seeker. I wanna be a Chaser," Teddy said as if admitting to something terrible.
Harry waited for more, but nothing else came. He was confused. "So? Be a Chaser." Harry'd filled in the registration form saying Teddy wanted to be a Seeker, but he was sure that could be changed. Unless, maybe there wasn't an open spot for him with the Chasers?
"But you were a Seeker," Teddy said, looking up at him with eyes that were identical to Harry's own.
"Oh, Teddy," Harry said, feeling rotten. He'd only meant to encourage him, certainly not pressure him or make him feel he had to be a Seeker. He didn't care what Teddy did, as long as it was what he enjoyed.
"But I do like Seeking. Catching the Snitch is great!" Teddy said. "But you only get to catch it once, and then the match is over. Chasing, you can keep scoring over and over, and like Douglas says, if your Chasers are good really and score enough, it doesn't matter if your Seeker catches the Snitch."
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"Children should come with instruction manuals," Harry lamented to Draco that night as they lay together in the bath. If a good fuck in the shower was a good way to start the day, a good wank in the bath was a brilliant way to end it.
Cupping water in his palm and drizzling it over Harry's chest, Draco said he believed there were any number of books on raising children.
"Read one of them one day, why don't you," Harry responded dryly. "I never meant to make him think he had to be a Seeker. I really don't care what he wants to do, only that it's what he wants."
"Don't worry about it too much. I see it every September with the First Years. Sometimes, it is the parents pushing them into playing a certain position—innocently, maybe, since it's what they know best. Sometimes it's the kids wanting to emulate the parents. And with your having played professionally. . ."
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"Brilliant," Harry said between breaths. They were both panting, and the muscles in Harry's legs were protesting the workout, but the view was worth it. He and Draco had followed Émilie's uncle's advice and come to the Sacré-Coeur, electing to forego the funicular and take on the challenge of climbing the stairs. From where they—and a swarm of countless other visitors—stood, Paris stretched out around them for miles in all directions. "Pity there're so many tourists, though."
Draco laughed and said, "Says the tourist," and Harry laughed, too.
As he looked out over the rooftops of the French capital, Harry began to think he'd quite like to start doing a little travelling. He'd taken Teddy here and there, but only places around home. Weekends at Bristol or other beach resorts, day trips here or there. Now though, enjoying seeing Paris with Draco, and with Teddy starting Hogwarts the following year, Harry was thinking about other places he'd like to see.
He cast a glance at Draco. It wouldn't be the same, though. Travelling alone.
"The dome is open to visitors," Draco said with undisguised reluctance. "I think it's a few hundred steps, mind," he added almost pleadingly. Harry's enthusiasm to escape the crowds and take in the view from the dome won him over, and he sighed. "Fine, but not till I've caught my breath—and make no mistake, you will owe me for this, Potter."
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"I may never walk again," Draco complained. "And it's all your fault. I hope your photos are worth the use of my legs."
"They are," Harry assured him, looking at his camera and flipping through the shots he'd got that day. The unparalleled view, the shots he'd taken during their trek up the hill, the one he'd got of Draco's backside when the other man had faced away from him . . . Putting his camera down, Harry glanced around them. They'd found a little café on a corner a couple of streets away from the basilica and claimed a table in a nice, shady spot. Though not in the main tourist area, it was not far, and a good number of tourists milled about, but it was just that which gave them their privacy. The easiest place to go unnoticed was in a crowd—make that a crowd of tourists, and one could be almost invisible. Under the table, he let his hand slide up Draco's thigh, applying more pressure the further up he went. "I do appreciate your sacrifice, and I promise, I'll make it worth it," he said under his breath.
Acting very put upon, Draco said, "See that you do."
Harry withdrew his hand one moment before a waitress approached them, and he leaned away from Draco. His thoughts drifted back to the old man who'd come up to them with the story of his brother. The world he and Draco lived in was very different than the one the man's brother and his lover had known, but two men still could not openly show the affection a man and a woman could. Harry's mind drifted back further, to last Monday, and the two men who'd shared a brief kiss on a doorstep on a busy Parisian street. How quickly might Draco and he become the centre of attention of the oblivious crowd around them were Harry to lean over and kiss his lips? Very quickly, he reckoned.
The waitress and Draco spoke, and Harry listened raptly. If anyone'd told him a week ago that Draco Malfoy ordering them drinks would be the sexiest thing he'd ever heard, he'd have fallen to the floor in fits of laughter. Hell, his reaction to just the idea that he and Draco would ever even have drinks together would've been fits of laughter.
But here they were.
"Do you like liquorice?" Draco asked, pulling Harry's mind back from its wandering.
"Er, yeah. Why?"
Without answering him, Draco spoke once more to the waitress. When she'd gone, Harry asked what he'd ordered them. The only answer Draco gave him was that it was one of his personal favourites, and a promise that if he liked liquorice, he'd like it.
Moments later, the waitress returned with a tray bearing two tall glasses with a small amount of a clear amber-coloured liquid, a tall pitcher of water, and a second pitcher filled with ice.
"Ah," Draco said, as the waitress set everything on their small table. "Parfait, merci beaucoup." When she'd gone, Draco poured water into both of the glasses, and the liquid turned a cloudy, milky yellow. He added some ice cubes, handed a glass to Harry, and sipped his own.
"What you eat and drink whilst visiting France is every bit as important as what you see. It's most popular in the south of France, but you cannot leave France without sipping a pastis on a summer afternoon."
"Is this what you drink in your villa overlooking the Mediterranean?" Harry asked. His mind supplied him with picture after picture of Draco in settings Harry imagined the French Riviera looked like, and he found himself regretting that he would never see the images in his head first-hand.
"In lounge chairs on the terrace overlooking the sea," Draco said, as if he knew what was passing through Harry's mind. "The water is a shade of blue you can't imagine."
The pictures in Harry's head changed to include white lounge chairs, and the colour of the sea intensified. Why did he imagine the lounge chairs were white, he wondered absently?
Pushing the thoughts aside, he tried his drink. "Oh, that's good."
Both the pavement where they sat and the surface of the road were made of nearly identical paving stones. The café was painted a pink-peach colour with green shutters, and ivy climbed the walls of nearly every building along their side of the street. Directly across from them, tall evergreens rose above a stone wall Harry supposed surrounded a private garden. Draco nudged him, and motioned behind Harry, where a young man with dreadlocks pulled back from his face and secured at the nape of his neck had sat down on the pavement with a rucksack next to him. He pulled something from his rucksack and set it beside him.
Then, right there on the sidewalk, the man began to draw.
With surprising speed, a portrait took shape as Harry watched the man work. Passers-by stopped to watch, occasionally blocking the artist from Harry's sight until he shifted in his seat and stretched his neck to see around them. Periodically, the man referred to a photo he held in his hand, and by the time Harry had nearly finished his drink, the man had covered a space Harry guessed roughly about three feet square with the portrait of a young girl in a red hat and a blue coat.
"Renoir," Draco said appreciatively.
Harry turned to him. Muggle history and Muggle artists?
"I used to see a Muggle artist," Draco said after Harry asked him where he'd learned about Muggle art. "We met when I took a job as a nude model for a class he was teaching. I became his muse. It was quite torrid." As Draco said this, he swirled the last bit of his drink in the bottom of his glass. He looked up at Harry and burst out laughing.
Bastard. Harry downed the rest of his drink. "Pity. I'd've made him an offer for one of your paintings to hang in my bedroom. I'll just have to stick with my original plan to enlarge one of the photos I took of you in your sleep."
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The next morning, Harry lay in bed beside Draco, listening to him breath. The weekend had gone by fast—time flew when one was having incredible sex. But they still had the rest of the week. He snuggled against Draco's side and let his eyes drift shut, intent on enjoying the last few minutes before they would have to get out of bed.
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Hope you liked chapter 9! Only one chapter left now!
