AN: This one is for misty-girl on tumblr who is podficcing this! Her voice is so relaxing and wonderful—I'm seriously flattered and will update y'all on when it's ready!
Chapter 8: Gone
Day six of training had barely begun and this was shaping up to be Harry's favorite day yet.
It was their first time out together since their meeting and the dessert shop, and it was somewhere there was no chance of being recognized—a small muggle gathering.
The Farmer's Market closest to Malfoy Manor was a tiny little spit along the side of the road but a thirty minute walk away. A gathering of tents, canopies and stands that were much more than their rickety craftsmanship would imply. The fruits and vegetables in the baskets being sold were as fresh as they came, and Draco often shopped there so he knew at least everyone's last name.
"And they know I'm gay," Draco went on explaining. The Farmer's Market was visible in the distance now, just over a hill. "I mean, they have to. Look at me—I'm doing this on purpose." Draco motioned to his outfit, crisp white slacks and a smart green sweater vest over a pinstripe green-and-white shirt.
"Right, and you're doing this to me on purpose," Harry joked back about his own outfit. Jeans were out, forever apparently in Draco's eyes, and Harry was wearing a pair of green trousers that were wide at the ankles, almost like women's bellbottoms. The belt was but a soft strip of the same olive green fabric tied into a bow around his waist. His shirt was a plain white button-up like he'd worn in school though, so he wasn't quite as loud as the man he was walking hand-in-hand with. "I'm kidding, you know. I like this." It made him feel handsome and Merlin help him—pretty.
"You had better be kidding," Draco snarked right back. "Because I was thinking of going easy on you for your lesson today for yesterday's exemplary performance, but now that's all out the window."
"Oh, like you were ever going to go easy on me," Harry challenged. He had marks all over his neck and chest that proved otherwise. Draco even had him dragging the rolling caddy for the bags.
Draco laughed at that but still held up a finger. "You're talking yourself into a hole," he reminded Harry.
"I wonder if I can talk myself into yours," Harry pondered, seeking what he knew was coming next.
Draco released his hand so he could give him a firm spank on the arse. "So cheeky today, you really will be in for it later. My mind's made up." And still Draco took Harry's hand in his again and they walked as one together.
"Good," Harry said, chin held high just like Draco had shown him. Being good was fun, but being bad could be just as entertaining with Draco, albeit usually leaving a handprint below his waist.
Draco and Harry exchanged a private look, a warm smile.
"Right, so, I think they know conceptually that I'm a big poof," Draco went on as if he'd never been interrupted. "But not in practice. It's the practice that usually weirds these country-types out. They look at us clothed and holding hands and all they see is us naked together—and suddenly we're the dirty ones."
The subject matter of his words were serious but Harry couldn't help but smile whenever Draco complained about straight people. It was so funny, that disgusted curl of his lip up when he talked about hexing homophobes or exacting bizarre revenges on the Dursleys.
Harry knew that Ginny was bisexual and Charlie was gay-ace but other than that he didn't really have many other queer friends. It seemed that all of Draco's friends were, though, and that they often held lively drunken dish-sessions on the heterosexual nonsense they saw go on around them from their parents' marriages to arguments they heard couples on the street having.
That kind of camaraderie sounded nice, even if a bit mean.
"Anyway, if they say anything sideways I'll—I'll—" Draco couldn't say he'd hex these muggles because that was unusually cruel and a violation of the Statute of Secrecy. So what could he do? The only punch he'd ever thrown in his life was getting one in on a paralyzed Harry who couldn't even fight back.
"You'll verbally eviscerate them," Harry finished for him. "You're pretty damn good at that—I would know."
"Thank you," Draco replied, genuinely flattered that Harry thought that and ignoring the harsher implications of how Harry would indeed know.
Harry squeezed Draco's hand to remind Draco it was all more than forgiven. "Mmm, I can smell something cooking," Harry's nose perked up. "Something oily." It was getting to be around lunchtime and the stew they were collecting ingredients for was for dinnertime, so maybe they could grab something here? Just as Harry looked over to ask about it he saw a knowing smile on Draco's face.
"Fried potato spirals, and yes, we're eating them," Draco confirmed. "They're in season right now, and Ms. Lethenbacker brings out her deep-fryer to her stand. We'll be getting potatoes from her and her alone—the quality is unbeatable for no magic additives to her soil. It's either cheating or child labor with all kids that are with her all the time. She's very pointed that they're not her kids though, they're her sister's. She's… a bit into me no matter how many hints I drop."
"Oh? Well I think you're dropping a big one with this," Harry said and held up their hands, fingers intertwined perfectly. "Is that why you brought me here?"
"A simple convenient coincidence," Draco dismissed. "I happened to want to cook stew today."
Harry could make out the shapes of figures now, some trucks pulled up with their hatchbacks open and overflowing with bushels of produce. The deep-fryer in question was a big, bubbling vat behind one of the trucks that looked wildly unsafe but probably tasted all the better for it. Rustic authenticity was hardly a motif in the Manor so the change of pace was appreciated.
Hand-in-hand they approached the tiny market. Draco caught the eye of one elderly man in a straw hat and he signaled a wave to him.
"Mr. Malfoy, right on time," came the elderly man's warble, voice shaky with age. "My onions are waiting for you to give them a good home. That fancy house on the hill have room for some onions?"
"Yes, I think it might," Draco chuckled. "Hello, Mr. Georges. This is Harry Potter, and we're going to make stew together."
The way Draco said that so matter-of-factly made Harry's stomach tingle. "Hullo, lad. Good to meet you," Harry said and stuck out his hand to shake. The old man's grip was strong for his age and made sense with his profession, tilling and working the earth.
"Oho, Mr. Potter," Mr. Georges observed with a merry little chuckle and for a moment Harry was scared that he'd been given away. Was this man a wizard? Did he know? "Pleasure's all mine, for here I thought Mr. Malfoy was all alone in that big house."
So it wasn't about his identity as savior? Was it—was this man, a random stranger, happy for them? Neither Draco nor Harry knew quite how to react to that. Draco had been expecting the cold shoulder or at the very least a Good Ole' Brit 'tsk, tsk'.
"Not so alone anymore," Harry confirmed, looking to Draco with pride in his heart. "But please, tell me about your onions. We're looking for some for a stew."
"Oh, now my onions are the finest around, just take a look at these beauties, these right here," the man indicated. "Won't find a fatter onion this side of the Prime Meridian than mine."
Harry wasn't going to challenge him there, taking the few he was handed and turning them over in his hands.
"You just be careful when you're cuttin', or you boys will be crying up a storm into that stew. Trust me, regular sea salt preferred."
From what Harry had seen of this Mr. Georges so far he certainly trusted him with produce opinions. The couple listened to him ramble on some about proper growing techniques before Draco produced the paper money with a little something extra in the stack than what he bought cost. These people were hard workers, and deserved every pound.
Harry took note of the generosity as Mr. Georges did in his counting, looking to Draco about to ask if he was sure when Draco raised a hand. "Thank you, Mr. Georges. Give our best to Mrs. Georges, please."
"God bless and keep you," Mr. Georges finished, tucking the bills away into his overalls.
Similar scenes of niceties played out with Mrs. Haberdash and Ms. Li with their tomatoes and carrots, both women shaking Harry's hand, saying how nice it was to meet him. The women obviously turned to one another to gossip as soon as the two men left their section of the market, but that was fine. Harry and Draco both had experience being talked about, and this was nothing compared to the scathing remarks of wizards who knew absolutely everything around them.
They could be any two men in the world in front of these Wiltshire farming folks, a regular doctor and whatever Harry's cover story was that day. Just two blokes, clearly romantically involved but nothing else quite standing out about them. Muggles could be so refreshing sometimes.
Ms. Lethenbacker with her potatoes both raw and fried were next on the list, a couple of kids operating the fryer that from the look of them were somehow related to the woman, all sporting pale skin and blonde hair.
"Well look who it is, Mister Malfoy," Ms. Lethenbacker chirped. "Timmy, put on a potato for the man, would ya?" she barked at kid next to the fryer.
"Two, please," Draco pointed out Harry next to him.
"Right. Two," she corrected back to the kid, obviously displeased.
"I'm bored," announced one child who was laying on the ground ripping up grass.
"Nieces and nephews, what are you gonna do?" she asked.
Harry blinked because he really didn't know what he was 'gonna do' about that. Teddy was always a joy to look after on the rare occasions he worked up the courage to see him, and though more hyperactive Bill and Fleur's kids were sweet when fed.
"Right, so this is Harry Potter," Draco went on with introductions.
"Tracy Lethenbacker. Please, call me Tracy, Harry. Your handsome doctor friend never does. Aren't you two looking good enough to eat? He a doctor too?"
"So, Ms. Lethenbacker," Draco said pointedly. "We'll take a pound of the potatoes with our spirals." Frankly he was a little freaked out that 'Tracy' wasn't seeing the obvious, or maybe was purposefully ignoring it. She had always hit on Draco when he came here but Draco had hoped that was the light-hearted flirting of a straight woman and a gay man having a laugh together. Uh-oh.
"Load up the bag, Kenny," she said to the next child, tossing them a sack. She had red-framed sunglasses on but Harry could catch glimpses of her eyes shimmering beneath them. Uh-oh, indeed.
Draco leaned further into Harry and Harry did the same, the two of them pressed far closer than she could possibly read as platonic friends, right?
"Any plans aside from cooking today, boys? You have my number, right?"
"I don't own a phone," Draco reminded her, so glad that he could.
"And we do have plans," Harry said, catching on to the desperate looks Draco was throwing him. "It's date night, after all." He put an arm around Draco and squeezed his shoulder. "Cooking together can be so romantic, don't you think?"
Only then did the pieces of the puzzle fall into place for Ms. Lethenbacker. Her eyes went so wide her mascara could be seen bulging from behind her shades. "Oh, you're-? I mean, you two are, um." This kind of thing only happened in the city where they held those parades, right? Tracy was thrown entirely off her game to know gays could step foot outside of Soho.
"Yes, we're primary school sweethearts," Harry answered in his sappiest voice of confirmation. "Oh, the stories I could tell you about what a courter this one is. Our prom was everything I ever dreamed of."
Draco held back a shit-eating grin. "Yes, and you still look stunning in suits. Let's not bore her with tales of our playground dates, sweetheart," Draco played along. "You'll be seeing a lot more of Harry now, you know. It had only been a day since we had our ten-year reunion but I popped the question—would you move in with me?—and he said yes! Isn't that wonderful?"
Tracy Lethenbacker was speechless. The entire romance in her head she had constructed around the well-dressed man at the market with his mysterious riches was dashed right before her eyes and replaced with something she found weird and unfamiliar. "Well. It's," she said, shaking her head as her face did its best impression of Mrs. Haberdash's tomatoes. "It's sure something."
"Here you go!" said the kid named Kenny, holding out a bag for Harry. He loaded them into the caddy, near-full now.
"And your spirals," spoke the kid at the deep-fryer. She held forth the tower of fried potato sprinkled in salt, carved out for optimal eating. Draco took those and handed one to Harry.
"Cheers, love," Draco said, touching their spirals together like clinking wine glasses.
"Cheers, love," Harry echoed.
They both bit in, both giving hums of approval.
"Delicious as always, Ms. Lethenbacker. Kids," Draco nodded to the children with more reverence than the adult woman. He produced the money for the spirals and potatoes and gave it to Ms. Lethenbacker, and then produced two more large bills for the children, one each.
"Wow! Thanks, mister! I can buy a whole video game with this!"
"Yes, right, buy some games and videos," Draco nodded, not understanding.
Harry snickered and helped himself to more of the tasty treat. He didn't even know one could prepare potatoes like this, like one giant chip. "Is there anything else we need?" Harry asked of Draco.
"That's all. I have fresh sweetcorn at home already," Draco said, going over his mental checklist one last time. "Yes, that was all we needed. Let's go home."
"Yeah, let's go home," Harry nodded, one hand on his snack and the other on the trolley of ingredients.
Tracy Lethenbacker said something but neither of them heard her. Draco was in awe of Harry—could he really be thinking of the Manor as a home already? They turned for the exit both sporting pinker cheeks.
"Where did you learn this recipe?" Harry asked, the sounds and smells of the market fading as they walked back towards the road leading out.
"On a trip to Spain a few years ago I had it at a small family restaurant. The dish isn't really anything complicated but I can never get it to taste like it did there—I can come close, though, and that is pretty damn good. Occasionally I'll bastardize it and add udon when I'm making it for someone sick—the world's most savory chicken-noodle soup."
"What were you doing in Spain?" Harry asked
"I spent a weekend there with Theo once to help him get over a breakup," Draco shrugged. "Barcelona was nice during the day but I liked it best at night, in the clubs drinking like fish. I can get a little… carried away when I'm with my friends."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "I would love to see you dance on a bar, I won't lie."
Draco laughed a full, hearty laugh. "That obvious, huh? Yes, I've danced on a few in my days. Maybe one day you'll be fortunate enough to see it." Talking about this forced Draco to imagine a world in which Pansy and Harry could be in the same bar together somehow and that was probably impossible, right? Draco looked over to Harry biting his lower lip as he tried to decide whether Harry actually meant that, that he would go out with his friends.
Sensing his hesitation, Harry looked to Draco and swallowed his bite of potato spiral. "What is it?" Harry asked, voice small.
"You've done nothing wrong," Draco assured him quickly. Now that the Farmer's Market was behind them they had nothing but open fields around them, and a long walk back to the Manor. "I was simply thinking. About my friends, specifically. You want to know something?" Draco chuckled. "Pansy encouraged me to reply to your ad. I think she'd faint if she knew what she was actually pushing back then."
"So she still hates me, huh?"
"What—? No, Harry, no, she does not hate you. Pansy Parkinson reserves hate for those who deserve it and you don't, not to me and not to her." Draco realized he was coming on strong in his defense of her but all Pansy had ever done was defend him, so how could he not return the favor? Draco took a breath to calm down. "Funnily enough she thinks the same of you, that you hate her because she wanted to give you up," he recalled of one drunken night spent venting to each other.
Harry shook his head. "No, that's not right. I don't hate her. She was scared and she thought it would avoid bloodshed. We were just kids." Did Draco and Pansy talk about Harry separately from the ad? Harry so wished he knew what the content of those discussions were, what Draco said about him.
"We were," Draco agreed quietly. He wondered if Harry gave himself that same reminder, that same grace about his own actions. It was clearly easier for him to forgive others than to forgive himself. Draco's heart ached for Harry and all he'd been through.
"Well, if neither of us hate each other," Harry reasoned. "I guess we're pretty much strangers again. I know you've been ignoring her owls—they keep scratching at the window in the mornings."
"Hers and Theo's and Blaise's," Draco confirmed of the unanswered messages, not wanting to lie or shrug it off. "I'm occupied at the moment and will get back to them. It's not uncommon for me. They at least value my privacy for all else of my sanity they violate. What are you trying to get at here, Potter?" Draco asked and used his last name to fire him up about it.
Harry huffed and stuck his lower lip out. "I'm not trying to get at anything, Daddy," he said sweet as sugar, eyelashes batting. "But," he returned to his normal voice. "What are you going to tell them when this week is up?"
After taking a moment to think carefully about his answer, Draco replied. "That I responded to an ad and I met someone, and I really quite like him," he said, corners of his mouth twitching up. "We don't have to tell them who you are if you don't want to. We don't have to tell them anything. They will know I'm getting laid, though, so that's something I can't bluff my way out of. What do you want me to tell them?"
"That's fine," Harry went with Draco's first answer. "Yeah, that sounds good. I think I'm going to say about the same to Ron and Hermione when the week is up, that I met someone and we took a vacation together. I… really can't tell them how we met again or what we do aside from dates, I think I'll die of embarrassment. You're lucky your friends can talk about that kind of stuff," he pointed out.
"And when they press to meet this mystery man because they're nosy and also care about you?" Draco inquired, curious and lilting to imply there was no wrong answer here. Discretion had been their first bonding principle in text before they even knew each other's identities. Draco would understand if Harry wanted to keep all of this under wraps not just from the public but from his friends. 'Ex-Death Eater' still applied, probably especially to war veterans.
"Then…" Harry trailed off, trying to separate all the noises in his head into categories, into voices and feelings and Harry's reactions to them. "Then I'll tell them, after some more weeks of stalling because I can totally pull that off with them, that I'm seeing Draco Malfoy."
"You don't have to tell them," Draco reminded Harry softly but Merlin how he wanted to believe Harry was telling the truth.
"But I will," Harry said. "I don't really keep secrets from them, not ones this big. The two of them are like siblings. They love me, and I love them, and if they really, truly understood how happy you make me—how good you make me feel about myself, and life, and—I dunno," Harry rambled, losing track of some words in his passion. "Everything. Once they know that they can't be mad for long. At least I hope not."
Draco's wax heart melted next to Harry's flame. "I think the same of you," Draco told him, silver eyes bright. "And I think the same of my friends. They will be… likely intolerable at first, but after they get their jokes out they'll calm down."
"I can't tell which will be more mortifying, their jokes or Ron and Hermione's inquiries," Harry replied darkly.
"I can play nice with Weasel and Granger," Draco shrugged off before realizing what he'd said. "Er."
"They're the Granger-Weasleys now," Harry informed him. "And they're going to expect a few more apologies from you."
"Yes, well, would they like a vial of my blood as well? A love potion test?" Draco prodded.
"And here I thought you were going to play nice. Come on, you know exactly how to push their buttons like you do mine and you have to restrain yourself when the time comes. I can give rewards, too," Harry reminded Draco.
Blonde eyebrows went up next. "Oh? Bribing me into being nice to your friends with sex? What a minx you're turning out to be through my training." Voicing his desires had been the focus of their conversation last night, and how better to help Harry speak the words he found shameful or dirty.
Harry giggled, full-on giggled, and his face heated up to hear the sound of it.
"Well, either way, I fully accept," Draco assured him. "You needn't behave yourself for my friends, perhaps quite the opposite, because they're foul bitches when they want to be. Please return all snide remarks as is customary. They won't get offended; that's just how we communicate."
"Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini—and what about Goyle?" Harry would never forget how his heartrate spiked when he saw Draco flanked by Crabbe and Goyle as a kid, for it meant Draco was coming into the conversation cocky and confident.
"Goyle and I meet for drinks once a month. He's more of a pub bloke, and that's fine. He's gone steady with a Hufflepuff from our year and works in Knockturn Alley." It had been shaken down by Aurors before but there was nothing illegal there, just some darker-than-most magic. Nothing wrong with that in Draco's eyes. "It was hard for him to get work with his name. I know the feeling."
It couldn't be easy at all. Harry admired how Draco had persisted in being a Healer, for few were more hated than the Malfoys after the war. With Tom Riddle dead the people wanted a justice they could carry out, and many attempts had been made on the Malfoy's lives in the years following. Harry had seen some of the files at the Auror Academy, but they didn't say much and soon enough he lost access to them altogether.
"And then there are the owls from my parents. One is due soon," Draco spoke like one would of a coming storm. "I hope you understand why I won't be mentioning anything about this in my upcoming reply."
Harry nodded. "That I can understand. But if they try to set you up with any pureblood boys then you can't see them. We said monogamous."
"Wow, Harry, a true Gryffindor turning such a lovely shade of green," Draco teased. "I will not be forced into another arrangement by my parents, no, not even another shitty 'blind' date like they tried that one time in '04. We said monogamous and I still am fully in favor of it."
Harry's shoulders relaxed. "Alright, then." It wasn't a bad plan, especially when it wasn't like Draco's parents could show up under probation anyway. That really was what cemented the feeling of safety and home there, too.
"Are you still fully in favor of this stew?"
"Yes, and that potato spiral was delicious. Makes me want more potatoes, so let's do this." In the distance Malfoy Manor stood, half a shell and half a white palace. Harry's heartrate went up just to look at it, to imagine what could be built next.
What would be made next, of course, was stew.
"Could I tell you something," Draco said rather than asked. "That will sound like I'm being sappy but I promise is an objective truth?"
Harry smiled, putting out his other foot so Draco could fasten the silken strips around Harry's left ankle to the leather 'X' he had unshrunk from his collection of furniture for later placement. "Sure, Daddy."
"You are the most gorgeous doll I've ever dressed. Ever," Draco informed him, fingertips light as he tied the silk into a neat bow.
"Draco," Harry said, blushing and not believing him in the slightest. When Draco said sweet things like this it was hard to believe he was speaking about him, and Harry ate it up.
"Objective truth," Draco reminded him sternly, giving the side of his leg a little swat. "You look incredible." Draco looked up, eyes first wandering up the edge of the pink silk teddie Harry had on that fit snug enough to give everything beneath away.
Panty-lines on The Boy Who Lived, what a dream. Draco licked his lips thinking about how he wanted to lick them.
The knickers beneath were an innocent white, soft cotton. Draco's gaze drifted up Harry's skirt, a hand climbing up the inside of his knee to slide up his thigh. "Look at you. So supple and spread. Your arms are next—you'll be completely immobilized for this."
Harry nodded. "Yes, sir. I'm… excited."
"You are? Good. Because I wasn't kidding when I said all that bratty behavior came at a price. But that's why you acted out in the first place, isn't it? Well, Harry, I've come to collect." Draco rose to his feet, reaching with his next pink ribbon for Harry's right wrist. He bound it tight to the leather-covered X-frame and made another bow with it once he was done.
With only one arm left free to move the reality of being totally bound was sinking in with Harry like icy water dripping down his back. He presented his left wrist with no hesitation, riding whatever wave of feeling this was to see where its natural conclusion lie bound facing this cross. Draco bound the last wrist with a bow, all wrapped around like shackles before becoming fixed to the frame, and Harry shivered.
"Go on then," Draco offered, a hand sliding up and down the small of Harry's back through the fabric of his nightie. "Test my knots, see if you can get out."
Harry closed his fists around the silk and pulled gently at first, and then with some force. He really couldn't get out of these. His wand was right to the side, of course, so he could be out in a second with Diffindo, or using the safeword, but that wasn't what he wanted—Harry wanted to be stuck like this. His heartrate rose significantly, pounding in his ears while all his eyes had to behold ahead of him was the leather cross-section.
Two hands came from behind him to gently lift off his glasses, placing them on the table next to his wand. This empty ballroom Draco had grand plans for but for now it was the biggest open space in the Manor beside the entrance hall, so he'd elected to start Harry's training for the day in the room with the biggest, widest windows in the Manor.
Nobody could see over the ferny plants that Draco had planted and grown around the Manor, but the wide white windows still made Harry feel exposed, sun shining on his back.
"Can't get out, can we?" Draco teased because of course he couldn't, these knots only wound tighter when they were pulled on. "Then it's time to begin."
Draco turned around to the other two pieces of furniture he'd used the expansion spell on, a chaise lounge and a workshop table. Atop the table was the leather case holding the variety of instruments Harry would be suffering under today, a spectrum of pain to see which noises Draco liked out of him best.
Harry shifted on his feet, the heels he had on making it hard to stand up straight but the binds he had on forcing him to. It made him feel unstable as if suspended, his stomach dropping with each attempted movement of his legs.
Watching Harry fidget on the frame in that tiny night dress had Draco half-hard already. He'd shed his shirt when they began and all that was left were his white trousers and pants.
The first thing Draco did when approaching from behind was grab Harry's arse, one hand to each globe so he could lift them, squeeze them, play with them. "You're going to be pinker than your dress by the time I'm done with you," Draco purred into his ear, pressing his chest to his back. "Say 'mercy' when you want it but I can't guarantee I'll give it."
Harry swallowed. "Yes, Daddy." His cheeks kept burning to think of what he must look like to Draco right now, legs spread and completely vulnerable.
"Then down these go," Draco narrated, pushing Harry's knickers to his knees and hiking up the already-short skirt of the dress so Harry's backside was exposed. "There you are." Draco pinched Harry's arsecheeks hard and smirked at the noise Harry made. "My pretty little slut."
"You think I'm pretty, Daddy?" Harry asked, swallowing.
A big, genuine smile overtook Draco's face. "Yes, I do. I think you're the prettiest thing I have ever laid eyes on, the way you light a fire in my stomach asking simple questions like that. You are so, so pretty, Harry Potter—I have always thought so." Draco brought his hand down hard on the outside of Harry's thigh.
"Ah!" Harry gripped his bindings.
"And you're going to be even prettier when I'm done painting you like a canvas," Draco concluded, bringing his hand down to smack the other thigh.
Harry jumped, surprised by the sting but not repulsed by it.
"You've mentioned liking pain—now's your chance to prove it." Draco's flat palms made contact with the backs of Harry's thighs and the bound man saw stars. "Yes, here's where it really hurts, doesn't it?" Draco clapped the seat of his thighs again, even harder this time.
The noise that came out of Harry was a mix of a moan and a sob. "I like it," Harry whispered. His thighs hated him for saying that but he did, he liked to feel Draco behind him enjoying his pain. That sneer he could feel pointed at the back of his head made Harry's exposed cock twitch.
"You like this?" Draco moved his hands up in an act of mercy, this time bringing his hands down on the globes of Harry's arse. A red trail was developing up Harry's legs that made Draco lick his lips.
Draco Malfoy admired submissives, even looked up to them in secret. He knew himself, and he knew he'd have a hell of a time taking orders and pain. He bruised like a banana and was fiercely distrusting, while Harry had placed all of his trust in him in the span of a few days. Sure, they were hardly strangers given their history, but Draco couldn't see what Harry was doing in submitting as anything other than deeply noble.
"Yes," Harry breathed. "It hurts," he went on with a ragged breath. "But it's, fuck, it's—I'm—I like it."
Draco spanked Harry's arse with all the strength he knew the other man needed and turned his cheeks red where he was slapping them. "What do you like about it?"
Harry huffed, unsure how Draco expected him to articulate this right now, and got a particularly hard spank to the left cheek for it. "Ah! I, I mean—" Harry was cut off with another one to the right cheek with the same force. "It aches well. It, it burns like sex in the arse and, it's—I mean it's you."
With a slight pause, Draco began giving tight pinches all over the areas he'd reddened. "And what does that mean?"
Shifting his weight but ultimately unable to move, Harry had nowhere to lean but into the pinches, yelps and all. He teetered on his heels with nothing to do but take it, just as he'd wanted. "It's you, Draco, you're so good at this and you make me feel safe, like, like everything is okay. Even when it's not, and... Hits have always felt like kisses from you."
No air entered or left Draco's lungs. He switched to gently rub the abused skin, earning a little shiver from Harry for his kindness. Did Harry even know what he was saying in this haze of sensation? Probably not, subspace did strange things to the brain, Draco told himself and reeled back for a hard slap on the arse across both cheeks.
"Daddy!" Harry called for him, skin tingling and prickling.
"Daddy's here, sweetheart," Draco found his voice again, low and dark. "You've been very good so far, but I did promise you were in for it. Breathe, darling, and feel what you get when you're a sassy brat and get Daddy's special kisses." Draco spanked him in rapid-fire succession until his own hand was red.
One of Harry's best qualities, according to Draco, was exactly what a sassy brat he could be. This game of punishment and reward meant Harry acting out was a cry for his Daddy, a cry to be taught a lesson like he'd asked for in his ad.
"Remember what that feels like," Draco instructed, taking some mental notes on Harry's reactions down to the little arches in his back when he wanted more. "Because you've been bad enough to earn Daddy's hand and the crop."
A cold shiver ran up Harry's spine, his toes curling in his heels. He'd had some, albeit more amateurish, spanking in his life from a man's hand but never a toy on top of the bruises already forming from how damn hard Draco's hand was.
Draco turned and grabbed the sleek black riding crop, testing it a few times in the air to make some satisfying swishing noises. He saw how Harry strained against his bonds, the nightie he had on gone damp with sweat and clinging to his skin. There was much more sweat to come.
When Draco first pressed the crop to the inside of Harry's knee it was gentle and smooth, gliding up his 'painted' thighs one at a time. That really had Harry quivering against the cross, his cock visibly hard.
When he reached between Harry's legs Draco gave his balls a teasing tap with the crop, gentle but more than enough to make Harry squirm with fear. He'd taken a few Bludgers to the groin in his Quidditch career and he wasn't eager to relive the feeling. Maybe something less painful could be fun, but for now he wasn't even sure how the crop would feel on his regular skin.
That changed in an instant, though, when the crop collided with his arsecheek.
A stripe of pain struck Harry further than skin-deep, a hit he felt in his very muscle. "Fuck!" Harry roared, bucking against the X-frame.
"And how does that feel?" Draco inquired almost scientifically, slapping the other cheek with the leather tongue hard enough to leave a mark.
"Fuck, fuck, it hurts—but don't you dare stop. I want to feel it, I want your punishment."
"Good boy." Draco used crop on his thighs next, getting even louder cries of shock from the bound man. "You know you deserve it?"
"Yes, I do," Harry gasped, taking shaky breaths between impacts. The noise the crop had made in the air was nothing compared to it hitting his raw skin. Thwap. Harry had never felt anything so blissfully sharp, not like a blade but still biting. "I'm a whore."
"A whore with a big mouth," Draco snipped, giving him the crop and ogling how his arse jiggled when it was struck. "Harry Potter, a gay whore for hire—aren't you glad I'm your Daddy now and not those other pathetic men?"
Harry's limbs were shaking, his legs wobbling even worse because of the heels. "Yes," he answered, voice thin. "Yes, Daddy, thank you, Daddy." Harry's mouth moved and he didn't even realize it, words flowing more freely than breath. "None of them could have been my Daddy; it always had to be you."
Fuck, if Harry kept talking like this Draco might go and do something incredibly stupid like fall in love with him or something. What an absolute joy Harry was when he was properly beaten, properly brought to the edge of his own shame and deepest desire blathering complete nonsense.
"You're damned right," Draco agreed, giving Harry's arse a final hard whack. Harry jumped, his arse covered in horizontal stripes and imprints of the leather head.
"Th-th-thank you…"
"So polite, so sweet when you learn your lesson," Draco purred in his ear. He put the crop back down on the table so he could press both palms to Harry's arsecheeks, soothing the angry red skin giving off heat. "Look at you," Draco marveled down at him, hands moving in slow circles. "Red in all the right places. I think you're ready for me now."
Harry nodded, head cottony and soft when Draco rubbed the skin he'd hurt before. "Yes, please," Harry requested.
He was floating but tethered to reality more than he'd been in years. Draco had pushed him and pushed him and had known just when he was starting to go numb to it. How was Draco so good at this? Harry's vision was splotchy, head light from what felt like all the blood in his body having rushed to his groin and behind.
"I see how hard you are, love," Draco murmured. "And how hard it is for you to keep standing like this. I'll take you down, and take you as mine."
"Yes…" Harry whispered, eyelashes fluttering. He felt Draco's nimble fingers come up to undo the binding on his left wrist, and then the other.
Draco placed Harry's hands onto the sides of the frame. "Hold on tight, sweets, I'm getting your ankles now." Draco pressed his hands over Harry's to make sure his grip was firm enough. He sunk down to quickly undo the remaining knots, freeing Harry entirely. "Stay still, stay still," he warned until he rose, putting his hands on Harry's sides. "Don't try and move too quickly. Let me lead you."
Harry wasn't sure how much he could move in the first place, world pleasantly fuzzy and foggy. He honestly couldn't remember how but somehow Draco guided him to the chaise lounge, his hands feeling the red velvet curiously as he was lifted onto his hands and knees, knees still bound with his panties.
In this position Harry's lingerie dress fell back down to cover some of his arse, so Draco quickly moved it away. He wouldn't take it all the way off, though, not when Harry so enjoyed being dressed and pretty for him.
"Another small mercy," Draco led with and undid the strappy heels Harry wore, tossing them to the side. "You're welcome."
"Thank you, thank you for all of this…" Harry breathed deep, whole body tingling. When he felt Draco's hands press to his arse again he winced from the pain. That only made him all the harder, too, to know Draco's skin would be slapping against his again soon.
Draco smiled wide. "You'll be thanking me for a lot more than that soon. You ready for my cock?"
"Yes, Daddy," Harry answered and wriggled against the lounge, getting comfortable and resting his head to the side so that he could look back up at Draco.
Draco spread his cheeks to see Harry's hole, casting his eyes to his when he turned his head. "You may come only after I do, don't you dare get lazy on me."
Harry nodded eagerly and, heaven help him, smiled right back at Draco.
Draco couldn't help himself. He reached forward to stroke Harry's cheek. "Such a beautiful smile." When that smile was directed at him Draco hardly knew what to do with himself. He had to focus, keep his cool; keep the smooth Daddy act up until he was so close to orgasm he couldn't keep anything up anymore.
Draco uncorked the endless oil vial he'd summoned to the table earlier and spread it all over his fingers. The first one pressed between Harry's spread cheeks to make small, teasing circles around his rim.
With a loud hum Harry leaned back into Draco's touch. The first finger slid in so easily Harry could hardly believe the lack of resistance he was giving. It seemed his body took to training quickly. That pleased Draco as well, earning a hum of approval in return.
"See? A few days and Daddy has you so open already. Don't you feel more relaxed?"
"Yes," Harry answered. Physically and emotionally.
With a twist of his wrist Draco worked his finger in and out of Harry, pressing it to the edge of every wall to stretch him before the second came in to join it.
Harry tensed slightly at that, earning a mental note and a little laugh from Draco. "Too much?"
"No, I can take it," Harry answered stubbornly, backing up on Draco's fingers to prove his point.
Fuck, Harry Potter looked incredible fucking himself back like he was desperate for it. "Yes, I see you can," Draco observed from behind him, eyebrows raised. "I see a lot of things from my view up here I quite fancy." He ran his other hand over Harry's marked cheeks, smiling fondly at the memory of giving them to him.
Lighter than he'd done before for Harry was sensitive but hard enough to draw a yelp, Draco slapped Harry's arse with his fingers inside of him. He felt the clench instantly, a dizzying tightness to imagine his cock in.
After a few curls of his fingers Draco found the sweet spot that made Harry moan so breathily again. Draco spread his fingers to add a third in the stimulation, getting deep enough to roll his knuckles.
All the while Harry's legs shook like leaves, hips steadied by the hand that had spanked him when he was down and submitting further still. What a sweet kiss indeed.
"Remind me again," Draco said in a way that sounded like it was a suggestion but clearly was an order. "Because I seem to have forgotten, and maybe you have, too. Who owns you?"
Harry swallowed, opening his mouth but hesitating for just a second too long, earning him another, harsher spank. "Ah! You do! You do, Daddy, you own me. I'm yo-ou-ouuurs," Harry's response turned to a loud, whiny moan at how far Draco was pushing him open now with three fingers to stretch him.
"Whose?" Draco asked with a sick laugh.
"I belong to you," Harry answered between his shivers. "You've kept me, I'm yours—I'm kept."
Draco slid all three fingers out at once. "That's right."
Harry whimpered at the absence but was soothed soon again to feel Draco's hands grip his bruised thighs. "Yes," Harry willed him on. "Please take me."
"I take you when I please," Draco retorted, pointing his slicked cock at Harry's hole. "I just happen to be lucky—you're a slut who's always in the mood, and you're my slut. What ever are you going to do when I have to go back to working during the day?"
Before Harry could answer Draco sunk into him with a raspy groan.
"Ah," Draco struggled for breath for a moment for how silky-soft Harry felt inside.
Harry was seeing splotches of color in his vision, his cock having grown even harder to feel Draco enter him so fully. "I'll miss you," Harry said, voice stripped down to near-nothing. "At work. It'll be harder to not touch myself like you ask when you're not here to keep me disciplined."
"Tut tut, thinking of defying my rules, are you?" Draco demanded, pulling back and slamming forward into him to earn a loud groan out of Harry. "I have toys that hurt much more than the crop and my hand. I could cane your feet until you cry, or tie you up before I leave so I know you won't do it."
Harry shivered with excitement. Not all days, but maybe one day he'd like that. "I wouldn't dream of defying your rules, Daddy," Harry grinned cheekily, mouth tugged right after into a gasp from how fast Draco began the pace of his thrusts.
"You better not—don't you ever underestimate how creative I can be to make the punishment fit the crime," Draco growled, thrusting forward at a brutal pace to savage Harry's hole and sate his own need for friction. He could give a damn about Harry's cock at the moment, throbbing and leaking everywhere, for Draco had not yet given him permission to come and wouldn't be touching him there until he did.
"Ah, ah-!" Harry's hands scrambled to clutch red velvet and brace himself against the thrusts Draco was giving him,
The blonde was putting his back and thighs into it, whole body rolling forward when he sunk deep to grind the tip inside Harry. "Fuck," Draco groaned, treasuring the sounds falling from Harry's mouth in time with the slap of their skin together.
Their bodies met in perfect harmony, with Harry now for the fourth time since they'd started that Draco had been inside of him that he was the perfect size. Perhaps that was just his body adjusting, but it worked either way. Draco slotted into Harry easily after the past days of training, and proved his ease now to bring him to the edge.
"Daddy," Harry called out, more comfortable with the word than he'd been at the start of this, too. It felt so good to say—it had no emotional attachments to it except for Draco, and the positive association grew with each romp. They'd even fucked once like this with no Dominant or submissive roles, just fucked, and Harry had come so hard he nearly blacked out. "I'm—"
"I know, sweetheart, you're hard as a rock," Draco soothed while his hips slammed into Harry's again and again. "But Daddy hasn't given you permission to come yet."
Harry squirmed, arse rocking back slightly to take Draco even deeper. He would be a good boy; he would listen to his Daddy. "Yes, sir."
Draco beamed at his obedience and the term of respect Harry had decided to attach to him. Was that a ploy by Harry to get Draco to be more lenient? Did Draco care? He kept up the rhythm of his hips to watch how it made Harry's body undulate and writhe.
His head turned back over his shoulder again to look at Draco and Harry's breath caught in his throat. Draco looked so focused, so fit when he was moving inside of Harry. "Daddy," Harry begged quietly.
"So needy," Draco teased as he worked his hips. "But I suppose you have done everything I've asked. You may come after I do—only if you thank me for my mercy."
"Thank you," Harry responded immediately. "Thank you for your mercy, Daddy. Thank you for your spankings and fuckings and, and—everything." Harry moaned the last word so loud it echoed in the empty ballroom.
That last moan caught Draco deep in his gut, a burst of warmth and white-hot light leading him forward. "Oh," Draco gasped, rhythm falling to disorganized thrusts as deeply as he could manage. "Harry."
With a few more slaps of their skin, Draco was spilling over the edge and taking up Harry's offer to do so inside him, his cock jumping and spurting forth white bursts in his already-slick heat.
"Yes," Draco groaned. "Yes, yes, yes…" he trailed off to admire the liquid seeping down Harry's red-striped thighs. Draco continued his steak of mercy to reach around and stroke Harry as he wound down his thrusts, needing only a few pumps before Harry too hit his peak.
"Daddy!" Harry cried out as his last coherent word, fading to aftershocks and low groans from the release still rocking his body.
"Good boy," Draco responded quickly, knowing praise was best administered directly after. He would have much more than cuddling to do for this round of aftercare. "Such a good boy for Daddy…" Draco cooed as he eased out of him, his hands going to rub Harry's temples.
"O-Oh," said Harry of the unexpected head massage. It felt nice, and Draco's hands on his head guided him easily to laying down on the lounge on his stomach.
Draco was quick to show affection in other ways, leaning forward over the laying figure to kiss between his shoulderblades twice. "Stay still, I'm not going anywhere," Draco instructed, leaning back slightly to rummage around on the table.
Harry was so blissed out face-down on this plush couch he wasn't quite aware of his surroundings, only of Draco's voice.
The next thing Harry felt was a cool, tingling balm applied to the backs of his thighs by Draco's hand. He shivered at first but vaguely understood the importance of it and after adjusting to the temperature found himself leaning back into Draco's hands as he spread the balm from his legs up his arse and hips.
"There," Draco murmured when he was satisfied with his coating. "Prevents scarring and disinfects broken skin, and it smells like mint."
"Let me guess, you brewed it yourself?" Harry asked, having caught onto Draco's need for specificity in his products.
"Right you are, love. Does it hurt anywhere else? Your wrists, your ankles?"
"S'fine," Harry replied sleepily, feeling like he was sinking even further into the cushions. "I'm fine, just come here, just get over here."
Draco checked but the marks seemed light, so he conjured his glass of water for he and Harry to share before curling up alongside him, knowing that he wouldn't want anything touching his legs or arse after that for they'd be raw at least a few more days. "I'm here," Draco murmured, crossing their feet together.
"Good," said Harry, eyelashes fluttering with the pull of exhaustion. He felt he had nothing left in his body, not a unit more of magic or energy, and that felt oddly nice. Drained but filled—what a bizarre sensation. "Stay here."
"I will. You're mine, remember?" Draco said with a cheeky grin, smoothing a hand over the pink nightie Harry was still wearing, now stained in sweat and come. "You're my kept man."
Closing his eyes Harry smiled, nudging closer and closer until he could rest his nose on Draco's big, handsome one. Harry could lay here forever. "That I am, Daddy. That I am."
With some annoyance, Hermione knocked again. "Harry." There was no reply.
"Harry, seriously," Ron spoke at the door. "I know you're upset about something, probably, but please, you have to let us in."
"We're worried," Hermione emphasized.
Ron sighed because he knew Harry hated it when she said that but it was true and right. "Look, I get ignoring us for a day, but twice in a row? Harry—are you even in there?"
Ron and Hermione waited for an answer in silence.
"When was the last time you saw him?" Hermione asked, voice creeping on panic.
"Uh, like a week and a half ago? Look, I've been busy with the case—"
"—and I've been busy with the deposition but I thought we agreed to not let it go more than a week!"
"Then why didn't you check in?" Ron demanded, trying to keep his voice down in case Harry was on the other side of the door listening to them argue. "Ugh, forget it, it doesn't matter, let's not argue right now. Where do you think he's gone?"
"He's not at the Burrow," Hermione began. "Or here, I think."
"Then should we…?"
"Yes."
"It's a bit invasive," Ron tried to posit but knew what was going to happen in the end.
Hermione produced a brass key from her charmed purse. "It's what he gave us this for. Come on, I'm going in." It fit into the lock and turned, opening the door to Harry's flat seemingly… cleaned? The lack of crisp bags lying around was a good sign, the couple thought.
"Harry?" Ron called into the flat, closing the door behind his love and him.
"He's not here," Hermione observed with a bit of surprise.
"Maybe he's gone out for groceries, or a walk," Ron tried.
"Both yesterday and today? I'm sending a Patronus message. If he's somewhere that the wards will allow it through then we can ask. I know he said to only use this in emergencies but this is an emergency, Ron."
Ron couldn't help but agree. "Alright, you send out the message. I'll check out his room for hints to where he is."
"Weren't you the one just saying this was invasive?" Hermione poked fun. "You can't resist being an Auror about it."
That got a laugh out of Ron, shaking his head as he walked into Harry's bedroom. Well, here was where all the debris had gone. Harry had apparently all shoved it in here trying to make the main living space look clean. Did he have someone over?
Ron heard Hermione crafting the message in the other room and began snooping through what was on Harry's nightstand. Two mugs, a dirty plate and a black scroll case—how odd, what was this?
Ron dropped lower still, knowing Harry's habits better than anyone and that things of importance were placed under the bed more often than not. It was what Ron didn't see next that shocked him. "'Mione?" Ron called from Harry's room, panic risen in his throat. "Hermione?"
She rushed to the door having just sent her message, eyes wide. What was going on with their beloved, damaged friend? Hermione already felt as if she had failed him. "What is it?"
"It's his shoebox," Ron remarked, disbelieving. "All the important things, his pictures of his parents—it's gone."
"Gone?"
"Gone. Send another message, one to everyone we trust from the old Order: where is Harry Potter?"