Blaise Zabini is a study in sangfroid. He looks absolutely unruffled at Harry's sudden presence at their side. It's either a Slytherin thing or a pureblood thing, Harry surmises, because Zabini affects a cool arrogance while Draco maintains a cool disdain. He's all polish and galleons in silk-embroidered robes, with strong, white teeth gleaming against smooth, dark skin. Rich brown eyes glitter as his gaze rakes over Draco hungrily—it's the look the hunter gives the rabbit that has slipped the snare.
Zabini is poised, fit, and commanding. Harry knows immediately by the set of his jaw and the line of his shoulders that the Italian is a special kind of dangerous. He's a man who enjoys being cruel for the sake of the twisted pleasure that cruelty alone can provide. He is incapable of remorse and regrets nothing. He's an arsehole of the highest caliber.
Harry wants to punch him in the face on general principle.
"Potter," Zabini drawls, "It appears the rumors are true, then." He shoots a darting glance at Draco. "Slumming with Death Eaters. How deliciously low."
Harry sighs and shakes his head. "Back a fortnight, and that's the best you can come up with? I must say I'm a little disappointed. I always thought you Slytherins were masters of the insult. Draco does better cursing out the garden gnomes."
"You said you arrived yesterday." Draco's chin lifts in accusation.
"Two days," Zabini says, and his eyes crinkle in a slight squint. "Potter is mistaken."
Harry sucks in a breath and barks out a laugh. "Oh no, I'm afraid I knew the exact moment you set foot on British soil. You've tried three times to access your seized vaults at Gringotts, been denied entry to La Cave twice, and consulted with no less than six Ministry lawyers in an attempt to do Merlin knows what—" Harry flicks a dismissive hand in the air, "I got bored with it and moved on." He looks to Draco and smiles warmly. "There are more important things that require my attention."
The repudiation in Harry's tone hits it mark. Zabini's face is blank for a moment, and then his lips curve into a cruel smile. "Attention?" he laughs derisively. "Yes, Draco's always been high maintenance. He's like a fat, spoiled housecat," he says with mocking spite. "Sooner bite you than look at you, but if you offer him a saucer of cream, he'll twine around your ankles and stick his arse in the air."
The denigration in the way Zabini looks at Draco when he speaks undoes the last of Harry's resolve. He feels Draco's slight stiffening and without looking at him, Harry knows that even though the mask hasn't cracked, a gentle flush has crept into Draco's cheeks, betraying his supposed shame to Zabini's sadistic delight.
Conviction sears like a brand into his heart as Harry realizes that no one will ever again make Draco suffer in that way. Because if they do, he'll AK the lot of them and skip happily to Azkaban for his crimes. It's probably not the healthiest train of thought, but he doesn't give two fucks about it.
What is crystal clear is that there is nothing Harry won't do to keep Draco from being hurt.
Nothing.
And that starts right here, right now.
Harry unfurls his arm from behind Draco to menace forward and stare Zabini down. "Listen very carefully to what I'm about to say, because I'm only going to say it once. Leave Britain. Now, while you still can. Because there is nothing here for you. There is no circle that will welcome you, no establishment that will serve you. My name carries weight in places you cannot fathom, and from the moment you arrived, the word spread. You are persona non grata. You are Untouchable. You will find there is nowhere for you to set up housekeeping. No decent Dom will associate with you, and no self-respecting sub will go anywhere near you." Harry smiles, but the mirth doesn't reach his eyes. "But on the off-chance you find someone foolish enough to take you on, there's always this—" Harry's fingers flicker at his side, a glancing movement so quick, it's almost imperceptible, and a discreet ripple of magic settles over Zabini.
His eyes widen in shock and fear, and Draco's mouth falls open, equally dumbstruck.
"Wh—what have you done to me?" Zabini's voice is breathless and ragged.
"Let's call it...insurance," Harry says smoothly. "If you ever—and I mean, ever—raise your hand in anger on a partner again, your magic will turn and visit upon you your intentions a hundredfold. The consequences of which could be quite nasty, or given your predilections—deadly, even. Wouldn't that be a shame?"
Zabini makes a strangled noise. "You—you can't—that's—that's not possible—"
"Isn't it?" Harry says flippantly. He smiles into Zabini's face, like they're mates, like Harry's giving him the latest Quidditch scores over chips at the pub. The friendliness makes his tone all the more terrifying. "I defeated a Dark Lord. I came back from the dead. I am probably the greatest wizard of any recorded age. Do you really want to call my bluff?"
Zabini is pale and speechless—two things he's probably never been before. That's satisfactory enough.
He beams at Draco, sliding an arm around his waist to pull him along. "Shall we, darling?"
Draco manages a breathless, "Yes", and lets himself be maneuvered.
Harry glances at Zabini. "Enjoy your evening, Blaise."
Once they've gone a few steps, Draco somehow reverses the hold Harry has on his arm, and is now the one doing the tugging. He drags Harry off into a shadowed back alcove and shoves him against the wall. Draco's mouth is on his before he can get a word out.
"You are magnificent—" Draco pants between kisses, "—absolutely magnificent. Do you have any idea what that does to me?" He grabs Harry's hand and pulls it to his crotch. Draco's cock is beyond hard. "That was the hottest fucking thing I have ever seen," he whines as Harry's fingers curl around the rigid length. "I had no idea a spell like that even existed."
Harry captures Draco's lips and kisses him with fierce abandon. He pulls back with a smack of wet lips and grins. "That's because it doesn't."
Draco's eyes grow wide. "You mean—?"
Harry offers a Gallic shrug. "I bluffed. It happens."
Draco's hands curl into the lapels of his suit jacket. "Then what the fuck was that? I could—I could feel that you did something. I didn't imagine that."
"No," Harry chuckles as he shakes his head. "That was a particularly strong anti-wrinkle charm with a touch of an arousal-inhibiting hex." Harry stares straight into Draco's eyes. "The next time he gets an erection, he'll break out in hives. Very unpleasant."
"How do you know he won't test you, though?"
"Simple," Harry says. "Whatever else he is, Blaise Zabini is a coward. He's not going to risk himself any more than he has to. And if it takes him a while to figure it out, fine. He certainly not going to embarrass himself by calling me out on it later. That would mean he would know that I would know that I got to him. He'll never admit that."
Draco cups his cheek and leans in to rest his forehead on Harry's. "That's so Slytherin." He rubs his mouth across Harry's lips. "And still so fucking hot." Draco's breath is warm and moist on Harry's skin, and his body is wound so tight Harry can feel each twitch of muscle of under his hands.
Harry smiles, predatory and sly. "Yeah?"
Draco thrusts his hips forward on a breathy gasp. "Take me home, Harry. Now."
Because there's no arguing with that look in Draco's eyes, Harry tightens his hold, and Apparates.
OOOOO
As soon their feet touch the ground in Harry's chamber, Draco is on him like a Niffler on gold, tugging and pulling, pushing Harry back toward the sofa. He's having a hell of a time attempting to undress himself. He's trying to kick off his shoes, shed his clothes, and kiss Harry all at once. Harry's chuckling against his lips while avoiding getting knocked in the face by the flurry of Draco's limbs. He's all knees and flying elbows, stumbling and hopping, backing Harry across the room. Breathless and desperate, Draco is flailing about, not making any real progress.
He's ungainly and uncoordinated, and Harry thinks he looks rather like a marionette caught in a windstorm. Harry finds it more arousing than it should be, and gives him a reprieve with a wave of his hand. Draco's coat, tie, and shirt come off, and one of his shoes flies across the room to bang into the opposite wall. But now he's naked from the waist up, and Harry latches onto skin, pulling Draco down to straddle him on the sofa.
"Finally," Draco whines, attacking Harry's neck with a series of biting kisses, sucking at him as he grinds their cocks together.
Harry grabs him by the face to still him, and plunders his mouth with wild ferocity. Draco moans above him, and when Harry pulls back to stare into his eyes, Draco leans forward to lord over him like a vulture. Blond hair has become mussed and shaggy, falling over his face, but Harry can see the light of arousal burning bright in their depths. Draco's arms brace themselves on the back of the sofa, on either side of Harry's head, bracketing him in. Harry grabs him by the hips and thrusts up, and Draco's head falls back on an indecent groan, exposing the long, sinuous column of his neck. Harry bites it just to hear him gasp.
"What is it, baby?" Harry asks, easing back to drink in the sight of him. "Tell me what you want, Draco."
That blond head dips again, seductive and sly, and his eyes sparkle like starlight. Draco's tongue makes a slow swipe across his bottom lip, making it glisten a rosy pink in the low light of the room. He whispers, but it sounds like a siren in Harry's brain.
"Play with me."