Ch. 16 Vérité
Saturday, 11 November 2000Draco sighs heavily. He hasn't slept in two days. His head is pounding, and he finds he can't be arsed to care whether Robards kicks him out of the Ministry at this point. He wants to go home. He needs to go see Harry. He hasn't seen him since the back-up team had arrived at the pub on Thursday night and took Harry away to St. Mungo's. They weren't allowing Draco to leave headquarters even after he insisted that he should go see his training partner.
His chest has been aching and his worry hasn't seized ever since he realized that he can't feel Harry anymore. Harry's emotions had become a constant presence around him. His calm demeanor whenever the both of them were studying in study room six, his mad sense of giddiness whenever he laughed at something Draco had said. Draco bites his lip, clearing his throat when he feels it closing up.
"Remind me again what happened," Robards barks at him.
Draco refrains from glaring. He doesn't even think he has the energy even if he want to.
"They told me nothing," Draco says, numbly recalling the meeting of the Sons that he'd attended the night before. "They celebrated the death of the muggles at the pub. They asked me to find a way to free—" Draco feels his tongue glue itself to the top of his mouth, his oath of keeping the identity of the Sons a secret forcing him to stay silent. He gasps as his throat clears and ignores the way that Robards sneers at him.
"I left with the pretense that I would come back here to gather more information." Draco doesn't mention how Adrian Pucey had attacked him the minute he'd arrived at the meeting, gifting him with an impressively split eyebrow. Of course he would blame Draco for how the Aurors had managed to capture Higgs. Draco also doesn't mention how all the rest of the Sons had looked at him with disappointment when he had no information to relay, doesn't mention how Blaise had cornered him once more in an alcove of the new Sons headquarters, how the man had whispered in his ear, pushed him against the wall until Draco felt absolutely sick with himself. You play your part well.
Robards dismisses him and Draco leaves, taking long strides out of the office and down the long hallways toward the headquarters apparition point. He debates returning to Spinner's End, where he's been staying these days. He's exhausted, and he could do with a scalding-hot shower. But the urge to see Harry with his own eyes, to know that he's safe and whole and as frustrating as ever, wins over.
He had overheard Wood saying earlier that Harry had left St. Mungo's that very morning. He hadn't recognized the curse that Harry had been hit with—Higgs had always enjoyed being creative with his spells—but it must have been serious if Harry had to stay at St. Mungo's for two nights. Draco's anger returns. Higgs is fucking lucky that Draco hadn't been able to reach him after Harry had fallen. The back-up team had arrived just at that moment and Draco had been immediately taken back to headquarters by Wood.
Not for the first time since that night, Draco berated himself for not going to visit Harry straight away. What had Harry thought realizing that Draco hadn't come to visit? Had he been bothered? Had he even cared?
Draco hesitates when he enters the apparition room. He stands on one of the green markers which indicates the point of apparition. What if Harry doesn't want to see him? After all, Draco is the reason that Harry had landed in the hospital. He knows that Harry had deliberately chosen not to defend himself, bloody idiot. If only Draco hadn't been so distracted when he'd seen Blaise. If only his body didn't react so much to the man's presence. Then he wouldn't have needed Harry to be his bloody savior for the millionth time. He sighs, ignoring the stare of the Auror who's just stepped into the room.
Harry is probably home by now. It's getting late in the evening. Before he can second guess himself any further, Draco closes his eyes, picturing the front porch of Grimmauld Place, and braces himself for the cold once he arrives.
The cold, however, never comes. When he opens his eyes, Draco finds himself standing inside the entryway of the house, which is warm and dark. Confused, Draco looks about and concludes that he is indeed in Grimmauld Place, that he hasn't accidentally apparated to Spinner's End, and tries to calm the fluttery feeling in his stomach at the thought that Harry had keyed him into the wards.
"Draco?"
Draco's stomach flips. Harry is standing at the doorway of the sitting room, confusion, surprise, nervousness radiating from him in such a familiar way that Draco nearly sags in relief. His hair is a wild nest of coal-black hair, his face a little pale, the skin under his eyes slightly bruised as though he had also spent the past two nights awake. His clothes hung loose around him, and he really could use a few extra meals a day, but he's whole. He's okay.
"You're okay," Draco hears himself say.
Harry shrugs, a ghost of a smile appearing on the corner of his lips. "I'm alright."
They lapse into silence. Draco can't take his eyes away from him, can barely contain the urge to wrap himself in Harry's arms, in his magic, to touch him and make sure that he's really, truly there. But he controls himself. It won't do for Draco to just impose himself into Harry's space, however much he wants, and especially when he doesn't know if Harry is still hurting from his injuries. Besides, he doesn't think he can bring himself to take those few steps forward, to make the first move, what is he even thinking of doing?
Draco swallows, thinking that he's gotten what he came for. Harry's not in any danger. He's safe and will soon be back to his old Savior self in no time. Draco is just about to step back, an excuse on the edge of his tongue, when he feels it.
Merlin, he can feel Harry's sudden need, the longing through their link and it has him rooted to the spot. Draco can't help the shaky breath that escapes him and he's helpless, he knows it. He won't be able to leave now, not when Harry is staring at him like there is no one else in the world he'd rather see. Draco bites his lip, more to keep an embarrassing sound from escaping. But that seems to be the cue that Harry needs because he rushes toward him.
All at once, Draco is wrapped in Harry's warmth, his body hot and hard underneath the loose layers of clothing and Draco's heart jumps when their lips meet in a frantic, burning embrace. Harry's hands are around his waist, holding Draco tight against his chest and he takes Draco's bottom lip between his teeth. Draco melts into the touch, reaching his arms up, tangling them once more into Harry's impossible soft, dark hair, pulling him closer still. Their lips move together, perfectly in sync, their tongues soon intertwined. Harry feels so warm and solid and real, his excitement apparent though their link and Draco wonders if Harry can feel the same. Harry's kisses are growing more urgent—he presses Draco against the railing of the staircase, and his knees grow weak when he feels Harry's hardness against him.
"Draco, I can't—" Harry starts to say against his lips. One arm has curled around the small of Draco's back holding him tight, and the other reaches around to grasp the bannister behind them. Harry kisses the side of his mouth, sliding his lips across his jaw, toward his neck, nipping gently at the skin and pulling a low moan from Draco. "Shit. I can't stand for too long."
Draco pulls away just enough to notice that Harry's breathing is labored and his legs are shaking.
"Well," Draco says, "you've a perfectly decent chaise lounge in your sitting room—"
"Bedroom." The word is spoken softly, soft enough that Draco thinks he's imagined it. But one look at Harry's face, the dark, hungry look in his eyes and the slight flush that appears on his face the longer Draco stands frozen in his arms. Draco finds it hard to swallow. His mouth has gone terribly dry.
"Where?" Draco manages to ask, too worked up with the way Harry keeps glancing down at his mouth to care that his voice comes out huskier than he might like.
"Second floor. First room on the right."
Draco brings his hands down to the hold the sides of Harry's face, closing the distance between their lips before he apparates them to Harry's bedroom.
In the light of the one lone table lamp, Draco briefly catches sight of peeling blue wallpaper before Harry pushes him gently, the back of his knees hitting the foot of the bed. He falls on the bed and Draco dearly hopes that he's moving as gracefully as he imagines because, if he's being completely honest with himself, his brain is still catching up with the fact that fuck, this is happening.
His hands are shaking a bit too much to pull himself up properly and he only manages to scoot up a fraction before Harry climbs over him, reaching a hand under Draco's back and lifting his body with ease so that Draco is laying more comfortably in the middle of the bed, soft pillows at the back of his head. Draco's trousers have grown unbearably tight at being handled in such a careful, thoughtful way, and he quickly spreads his legs for Harry to settle between them. This elicits a deep sound of approval from Harry, who smiles at him and bites his bottom lip when his eyes sweep down to the bulge in Draco's trousers.
"You like that, do you?" Draco asks, glad that he's still able to smirk, though his heart is hammering wildly in his chest.
Harry lets out a breath of laughter, his cheeks red. He runs a hand up Draco's side, pushing his shirt up in the process.
"I do," Harry replies.
Draco shivers, Harry's hand hot against his skin. When the hand stops, Draco wants to protest. Harry is looking at him, as if waiting, and Draco realizes that he's asking for his permission. Shakily, Draco nods.
Harry gives him the sweetest smile at this and, carefully as though he's still waiting for Draco to tell him no, slowly plants a soft kiss on Draco's lips. His hands return to Draco, lifting his shirt up the rest of the way, urging Draco to lift his arms so that he can remove it completely. Once it's off, Harry comes back to recapture his lips and, all gentleness gone, works his mouth open with his tongue. Draco can feel Harry's magic immediately surround him, powerful and overwhelming. Each touch on his skin is like fire and when Harry moves lower, his lips leaving a trail of burning kisses down his neck, down his chest, he feels like he might die. Literally, he feels his heart almost stop when Harry tentatively licks at one of the scars on his chest, runs his tongue down the longest scar that's etched permanently from his left shoulder to his right hip. Draco gasps, his hands clutching at Harry's shoulder, surprised at the sensitivity, at how very intimate it feels to have Harry doing that.
Through a haze of lust, Draco can suddenly see that Harry is struggling to hold himself up, his arms shaking on either sides of him, notices that Harry is pushing himself to make Draco feel good even though he should be resting.
"What are you doing?" Harry asks when Draco forces him gently on his back, with Draco now straddling his hips.
Draco swallows, his heart pounding fast in his chest and his hands shaking in nervousness and excitement. Harry's magic is now flowing freely around them. His fingers shake when he reaches for the hem of Harry's shirt and marvels at how easily Harry can make him feel helpless, as though he hasn't a clue what he's doing, as though he's never done this kind of thing before. He pulls the shirt over Harry's head and though it isn't anything that he hasn't already seen, Draco has never been in this position while looking at him. He can see the collection of scars that litter Harry's body: faded burn marks, long, thin scars much like Draco's, that have also never healed properly.
Despite this, or rather, because of this, knowing that Harry is just as battle-worn, that he's imperfect in the most faultless way, Draco feels something deep in his chest, something that scares him more than anything he's ever faced before.
He leans forward and with one last deep kiss, Draco pulls away and moves his body lower. The desire to taste Harry, to explore his body as if this is the only chance he will ever get…he wants to make this good for Harry; wants him quivering underneath his body, coming undone. He moves his hand down Harry's chest, following his movement with his mouth, kissing, nipping at the blemished skin, very aware of the small pants, the shaky exhales that slip from Harry's lips.
When he eventually, inevitably, moves lower, his head now level with Harry's toned abdomen, Draco pauses. He lets his breath run softly along the skin, admiring Harry's self-control, how Harry is so clearly holding back the sounds that threaten to escape. Draco kisses the skin on his navel, letting his tongue slide across his bellybutton, smiling when Harry's breath halts and is then released shakily. Draco's suddenly impatient. He can't wait to make Harry lose himself, to hear those sounds that Draco has provoked. He can feel the warmth of Harry's trousers on his chest, can feel the small thrusts that Harry can't help but make. Draco's heartbeat speeds up, skipping when Harry reaches a hand to hold on to his forearm.
Draco moves lower, one hand spread across Harry's abdomen, the other stroking the inside of Harry's thigh. Boldly, he places his lips on the tent in Harry's trousers, his hand joining, palming Harry's erection. He sits up, quickly unfastening Harry's trousers and Harry lifts his hips readily so Draco can slip them off.
Harry is now lying quite naked on the bed, a flush creeping up on his face when Draco rakes his eyes all over, down to Harry's unfairly perfect erection, his mouth watering with the need to have it in his mouth. Slowly, his fingers wrap themselves around Harry's length. Harry closes his eyes, biting his lip hard. Draco lowers his body once more, unable to wait any longer, and takes Harry into his mouth in one, fluid motion. He's not sure whose moan sounds in his ears, but the gasp as Draco starts to move his head up and down in a slow, steady cadence, is definitely Harry's. His tongue is pressed flat along the underside of Harry's length and Draco closes his eyes, lamenting how he's gone through life without the taste of Harry in his mouth. Harry's tangled his hands in his hair, holding on, and Draco slides one hand up to feel the muscles of Harry's toned chest.
"Fuck, Draco." Harry tightens his hold on Draco's hair as though he wants nothing more but to thrust into Draco's mouth and Draco would welcome it. But he just lets Draco set the pace, moving his hands to grip his shoulders, a low moan finally escaping him.
Draco is getting close. Harry's careful groans, the hardness in his mouth, the intoxicating taste that's purely Harry, it's all too much to bear. He unfastens his own trousers, making quick work of lowering them enough to take his own hardness in the palm of his hand, stoking in time with the movement of his mouth on Harry's length. He can tell when Harry gets close: his hands have left Draco to slide across his own face, over his hair, and to either side of his head to grip the pillow underneath, his chest heaving. There is something about having this much power over someone, to see them unraveling as Harry is right now, that Draco absolutely loves. When Harry glances down again, Draco holds his gaze, the vibrant green eyes darkening when Draco deliberately swirls his tongue in a way he knows feels remarkable.
"God…"
Draco feels the pulsing around his mouth, the pulsing of Harry's magic around him, and he groans at the feeling, dizzily wondering if one can get drunk off someone else's magic. He lowers his free hand from Harry's chest back down to his length while continuing to suck him, steadily increasing the pace and pressure until Harry let's out a desperate, whispered word that sounds a lot like his name.
The only warning Draco gets is a frantic hand on his head, pushing his hair away from his face, their eyes once again locked on each other before Harry's body tenses, the muscles on his abdomen tightening, and Draco's throat is filled with the hot, bitter release. Before Draco can wrap his head around what's happening, Harry has pulled him up, kissing him thoroughly, holding him in place with his hand firmly in his hair. His other hand knocks Draco's away from his painfully hard erection, already moist, and strokes him expertly. Draco whimpers into Harry's mouth, breathless as Harry's tongue explores, and he really should have realized that Harry's the kind of man that loves tasting himself on someone else's mouth. Draco can't take it. He's so close and when he pulls away from Harry's lips to gasp, Harry's whispered words of encouragement in his ear, his magic delightfully suffocating, his hand firm and twisting just so, brings Draco over the edge and he's coming on Harry's chest, his body shaking with the force of it.
He doesn't remember sliding on the bed beside Harry, doesn't remember Harry cleaning their bodies with a wordless wave of his hand, his eyes drifting closed, or the softest pressure on his lips that pull a small smile from him, before he drifts off into a deep, comforting sleep.
oOo