Chapter 11
.o.o.o.o.o.
They didn't even bother to leave the fireplace. Potter hoisted him up against the soot-stained stone while simultaneously plundering his mouth. He expected that they were both riding high on certain emotions- relief that they'd escaped alive, triumph that they'd managed their task, skeptical optimism for the future and their tentative partnership, and of course there was still that ever-simmering sexual undercurrent that had come roaring to the surface.
Draco lost himself in the kiss just as he'd done on the night of the masquerade. In his lapse in judgment, he allowed himself to be swept away. His hands were in Harry's hair, pulling and kneading. Though they had both returned to their original appearances, they remained in borrowed clothing. The pencil skirt that Draco was still wearing had hiked up around his thighs when he'd spread his legs to accommodate Potter, who'd so rudely and insistently wedged himself between them. Potter's greedy hands pushed it up further, and he rutted his raging erection against what was beneath it.
Draco gasped and broke away from the kiss.
"Potter, how much of that Amortentia did you inhale?"
"Let me have this," Harry growled, "Even if it's only once. You've been an insufferable tease for years."
Had he, now? Potter did seem to like to follow him around Hogwarts while they were in school- spying, peeping, always finding ways to make their paths cross. And Draco… well he'd rather liked the attention, hadn't he? He swallowed down the sudden surge of desire.
"Once," he whispered hoarsely. Harry began pushing them toward the staircase, stopping every so often to ravish his mouth once again. Unfortunately, they'd both forgotten about Mrs. Black.
"Scandal! Impropriety! Indecency!" the old woman in the portrait shouted with her eyes nearly bugging out of her head, "Tainted prodigal son of the Potter line, how dare you lay your hands upon that pure, innocent and noble descendent of the House of Black!"
Draco thought that Potter might have an objection to make, were his hands and mouth not already occupied. They both ignored her as she continued her tirade, and her shouting was muffled once they were shut up in one of the bedrooms. Potter pushed him onto the bed while stripping off Weasley's clothing.
It hit Draco then- what was happening. This was not an awkward handjob in the darkness of the school dormitory. This was true, unhindered adult sex.
"Do you know what you're doing, Potter?" Draco asked, both breathless and wary. Surely the other man didn't have the experience that Draco was being fooled into thinking he had. How many tumbles could he have had in his short time as a sexually awakened golden boy?
"Not a clue, Malfoy. All I know is that I want to touch all of you, and every fiber of my being is begging to be inside of you."
Oh… Draco felt his heart skip a beat. That sounded both perfectly delightful and just a little bit terrifying.
Perhaps Potter would not know it, coming from muggles, but children like Draco had been- young, pureblood heirs and heiresses- were probably the most prudish of all wizarding adolescents. This was not so much a choice as it was a duty or a necessity. Old magic, the type that often guarded wills and trusts and estates and heirlooms, could tell whether a witch or wizard had been both pure before their marriage and faithful within it. For someone like Draco, indulging in casual, teenage dalliances would have compromised many future marriage prospects, and so he'd smartly limited such encounters.
Even Pansy, for all that she'd flirted and flaunted, would never have dared let anyone actually take her to bed.
However, Draco felt that he was bound by those chains no more. Here he was, marked as a criminal and undesirable, with his family name in shambles, and dying a slow death. Who could fault him for wanting to experience the ultimate pleasure once in his short, miserable life?
He could have chosen a worse man than Potter. Perfect, upstanding Potter. Kind to a fault and handsome, in a diamond-in-the-rough sort of way.
Potter ripped the already ruined blouse off of his chest, sending the buttons flying across the room. The skirt went the same way. For a long while he simply stared down at Draco, perhaps looking for evidence of it. He'd find nothing because Draco himself could find nothing, and he'd been checking obsessively. Draco shuddered under his scrutiny. Those eyes were far too intense. A green veil behind which a powerful and wholly irresistible magic taunted.
Moving on, Potter began to caress him everywhere, kneading lean muscles, tweaking nipples, skating fingers across his ribs and hips. Potter's lips worked at his neck, leaving a wet trail behind as they traveled all the way down his body. A strange, fluttering sensation took hold when Potter's mouth was brushing the taut skin below his navel, but Draco had no time to dwell upon it.
He inhaled sharply when Potter took him into his mouth. The man's enthusiasm and determination completely overrode whatever inexperience might have otherwise slowed him, and Draco's shock at the sudden, tight heat kept him from having any coherent commentary on the experience. A low moan slipped from his lips.
A sublime sort of torture. It had Draco writhing and begging soon enough, with his hands back in the other man's coarse, black hair. Half of him was mortified to have come undone to such a degree beneath another man's ministrations. The other half felt that things were as they should be. Draco was a rich, good-looking wizard of impeccable pedigree. He deserved to lie back and be pleasured. The fact that he'd ensnared Harry Potter of all people was something almost brag-worthy.
Just when he was on the brink of madness, Potter, that wicked creature, released him to explore below. Draco jumped at the feeling of a tongue in a place where he'd never thought someone would willingly put their tongue, but he was held down firmly by the hips as the attentions continued.
Draco had always assumed that he'd prefer a witch when it came to intimacy, though maybe that was simply because he was used to the feeling of Pansy's body draped over his lap. They were softer and more submissive. They would do as he ordered without complaint, and Draco hadn't been able to fathom not being in control. He'd always envisioned Blaise with a wizard, however, him being a carbon copy of his temptress mother, but that hadn't gone the way Draco had thought in the end either, had it?
Same sex couplings had rather fallen out of fashion lately, owing to the growing influence of muggles and muggleborns and their inability to procreate with the same gender. A shame, Draco thought, because what he was experiencing at that moment went beyond even his raunchiest wet dreams.
Potter began to tease him with his fingers, first one and then two. Draco marveled at how his body received them with only a slight bit of discomfort. It felt more strange than anything else, teetering on the brink of unpleasantness until they reached deep inside to the very heart of his arousal. This had Draco letting out a sigh that was so sultry and unseemly, that he scarcely believed it had come from his own mouth. Potter paid close attention to his face and his expressions, ridiculously eager to please. Draco imagined that he didn't disappoint, supine upon the bed, back arched, and breath huffing with building anticipation.
"Circe, I am going to ruin you," Potter whispered, mostly to himself, probably, but it made Draco's cock twitch with painful interest anyway. I'm already ruined, you idiot. In every way except this, perhaps, Draco thought.
Potter's cock, though he'd seen it before, shocked him again with its healthy size. Draco kept imagining it smaller in his instinctive urge to always humiliate the other man. Would it fit? Would it feel good pistoning in and out of his body? Would it reach far enough to scratch that incessant itch of arousal- the flame that was lit deep inside? These were some of the heady thoughts running through his mind.
The sweaty, dark-haired man above him caressed a lazy pattern upon Draco's chest, soothing him as he lined up for the intrusion. Draco shut his eyes and winced at the initial burn of it, and Potter swept down to capture his lips once more as he slowly slid in. Draco groaned, unable to control his voice any longer as he focused on the sensation of being split open.
He was soon moaning liberally after Potter reached down and teased him back to full hardness. His hips and hands worked in tandem, and every part of Draco's body was singing with elation. It was terribly overwhelming. His orgasms experienced alone with his own hand were so woefully inadequate and one-dimensional compared to what was building.
His mother had always warned him that to become the receptive partner in a sexual act would come at the cost of a piece of his heart, no matter how trivial he proclaimed the act to be, and Draco was realizing that he hadn't fully understood what that meant until now, as he was swallowing down an unknown emotion that was making his eyes sting. His arms wrapped possessively around the other man's shoulders and his fingernails dug deep into muscled skin as he urged the other man closer. His hips tilted upward, craving more contact and his legs wound around Potter's hips, drawing him deeper than before.
Potter growled in approval and began a much rougher pace, slamming into Draco hard enough that the sharp smack of their skin meeting could be heard over and over again in the hushed bedroom. Draco's panting became breathy and labored. The muscles of his legs and abdomen trembled involuntarily as his pleasure began to crest.
And then, much sooner than he'd anticipated, he was spilling over the edge. He felt as though his consciousness was fracturing into tiny pieces, reality was giving way to ecstasy, and the world was, if only for an instant, a bright and beautiful place once more.
Still coming down from his high, Draco had barely realized that Potter had followed him into oblivion. The other man was murmuring vague praises into the damp skin of his neck, expressing his satisfaction in a clumsy and unnecessary way that was so very Potter.
Draco shut his eyes and breathed, allowing himself a short moment to be content and carefree.
.o.o.o.o.o.
He awoke to soft, winter sunlight shining on his face through the window. While his body felt dreamy and sated, with the exhaustion and nausea that usually plagued his mornings once again repressed, it was a latent sense of anxiety that had awoken him, as if he knew he was forgetting something important.
Draco realized that he'd fallen asleep on Potter's bed, in Potter's home. The man himself still had a lazy arm slung over Draco's hip and was snoring soundly into the blanket.
Draco immediately left the bed to hunt down his belongings, causing quite a ruckus in his haste.
"'s early," the man on the bed complained.
"It is 9 in the morning," Draco said stiffly, feeling quite awkward about what he had allowed to happen the previous night, "I have to leave immediately. I should have been back at the manor last night. It was stupid of me to stay. I will return as soon as I am able. In the meantime, do not open that bag." He buttoned his shirt and made a face in the mirror as he noticed the wrinkles. Potter was looking confused and sleep-muddled. "Merry Christmas, Potter," Draco added grudgingly just before walking out the door.
.o.o.o.o.o.
Draco instantly realized that he made a mistake by using the floo. He emerged from the fireplace in perfect view of his mother and his Aunt Andromeda, who were seated upon the nearby sofa, sharing a bottle of holiday blend and laughing lightly over some gossip. At their feet, a large padded blanket had been spread out upon the floor. In its center was a small, cooing infant that was struggling to crawl. A not so modest amount of gifts was stacked nearby, possibly all from his mother to her grand-nephew.
With their eyes suddenly upon Draco, he was again made very aware of the fact that his shirt was wrinkled and untucked and that his hair was mussed and unkempt.
"Ah, Draco, so good of you to come home for Christmas," Narcissa said, coldly ruthless, "Will your lover be joining us?"
"I don't have a lover," Draco scowled.
"Enough with the denial, Draco. A child isn't conceived in isolation," Narcissa responded shortly. Her eyes honed in on one of the bruises upon his neck. Draco blushed wildly, reaching up to cover it.
Apparently, his mother was sharing his private affairs with her sister, as Andromeda was looking concerned rather than surprised.
"Will you finally be telling me his name?" Narcissa goaded.
He thought about it for an instant- feeding her Potter's name just to get her off his back- but that would be rather cruel and unfair to Potter. Narcissa would be after him with a marriage contract faster than a niffler with a galleon in its sights, and if the papers ever caught wind of such a scandalous affair, the notoriety of the Malfoy family would once again become a hot subject.
"Cissy, you are a formidable witch. It is possible that Draco only wishes to spare the poor man your wrath." Andromeda said cautiously, perhaps hoping to head off an argument.
"If this mystery man was the sort to need protection from the ire of the Malfoy family, he should have thought twice before seducing my son. And my son should have thought twice before laying with him." Narcissa huffed. Andromeda smiled wryly and winked at Draco, as though her point had been proven.
"Draco is of-age and master of the house, dear sister. I daresay that if he wishes to keep such a secret, there will be little that you can do."
Narcissa's pressed lips revealed to Draco exactly what she thought of her sister's opinion. It was quite clear to see how they might be hopelessly divided over such an issue. Andromeda had shirked her pure-blood duties and run off with a muggleborn while Narcissa had put her own feelings aside and married for duty and politics. His mother must be terribly worried that her son would be following the path of his aunt, headed for a future full of disgrace, and there was nothing Draco could say to placate her.
Ignoring the tenseness, Andromeda bent down to collect her grandson and then carried him over to Draco. "This is Nymphandora's son, Teddy. Would you like to hold him?"
No, he did not feel any desire to hold his late cousin's werewolf cub, but Andromeda forced him to anyway, perhaps mistaking his hesitation for nerves. She handed the chubby infant to him and Draco nearly dropped him attempting to get a good grip. The baby's dark hair immediately turned a shocking shade of pink and he giggled happily while reaching for Draco's face.
"Oh my! He really likes you, Draco," Andromeda laughed.
"How…cute…" Draco looked over for his mother to come and save him, but she must have been feeling particularly vindictive. She merely glared at him. However, as it would turn out, it was a noise that would end up saving Draco. The chiming of the wards at the door. This was what Draco had been dreading and the reason he realized that he needed to be at the manor this morning.
The aurors had come.
"Mother, I need you to lie to our guests and explain that I spent Christmas Eve here with you. I'd rather not trouble my lover," Draco told his mother. She seemed both perplexed and annoyed at this, but Draco did not explain any further. She'd understand soon enough. Instead, he handed the baby back to Andromeda and went to answer the wards.
Within the glass foyer, the old elf, Kreacher looked to Draco before opening the door, as if he could guess what was on the other side and wanted to be sure that the master of the house would indeed want to entertain such guests.
"Go on," Draco urged after listening to whoever was on the outside pound insistently.
A storm of red-robed aurors flooded into the manor once the door was open. Draco recognized their most senior man as John Dawlish- that utter buffoon who'd been so incompetent during the war that he'd actually made a rather useful tool for the Dark Lord. No doubt he'd have something to prove.
"Spread out and search the place. Bring any wands to me. Take everything suspicious. If you find a hint of darkness on a loo roll, confiscate it," Dawlish directed his underlings, who simply swept past Draco.
"I don't believe the ministry was invited to my family's Christmas gathering," Draco said, marching up to Dawlish and the two cronies that remained at his side, "Unless you have a warrant, I'll have to ask you to l-"
He staggered back after the blow to the face that came from the auror's fist. There were stars in his vision and his lip dribbled blood.
"I…" Draco gasped, "I'll have your job for that, Dawlish!" he threatened blindly before he could remember that a Malfoy was nothing these days.
"You can try, but so long as I leave no evidence upon my wand, I'm afraid you're at my mercy, Mr. Malfoy," the elder man said, flexing the hand he'd just used on Draco. He gestured to the two behind him. "Restrain him. Get him ready for transport."
"Transport me where!? What am I even accused of!?" Draco demanded, his blood suddenly running cold while one of the junior aurors grabbed both of his arms and forced them behind his back. He'd known the ministry would probably suspect him after they discovered the break-in in the Department of Mysteries. After all, it was them who'd brought Draco that prayer-card with the clue after Rookwood's death. But Draco had nothing to incriminate him. They'd search the manor and find nothing, and nothing could prove to them that Draco had been at the ministry yesterday. He could even use Potter as his alibi if it came to that.
But Draco hadn't realized they might just take him into custody without any proper evidence or any questioning. Apparently, he no longer had even an average wizard's rights. Once in a ministry cell, they could administer him Veritaserum. If that were to happen, then his secret would be out- possibly Potter's as well, which could end his life due to the Unbreakable Vow.
"What is the meaning of this?!" Narcissa said scathingly as she hurried into the room, having heard the commotion. Andromeda followed on her heels, holding the now crying baby.
"Take her wand," Dawlish commanded his other underling while gesturing to Narcissa. The junior auror was a young witch, and Draco saw some hesitation in her as she approached his mother and aunt.
"Arhinda, perhaps you can explain the purpose of this terribly rude and dubiously lawful intrusion since John seems unable to do so," Andromeda suggested strongly to the young auror. Andromeda did not appear ruffled in the slightest, and the use of the aurors' first names caused Draco to remember that his late cousin had once been part of their ranks and would have known these aurors well.
"Ma'am, I am to check your wand for evidence of a recently performed memory-altering spell," the junior auror said to Narcissa, doing her best to ignore Andromeda. Draco's heart was beating fast. They were looking for the wand used to obliviate that Unspeakable intern. Thankfully, however, that wand was Malfoy's hawthorn wand which remained at Grimmauld Place.
"Do not hand over your wand, Cissy. They have no legal grounds to be searching you like this, and are attempting to intimidate you into complying," Andromeda said while glaring at Dawlish, who stared back irritably.
"Are you really going to stand in the way of this?" the older auror barked at Andromeda, "After what the war has done to your family?" Andromeda seemed greatly offended at this. Her eyes narrowed and she adjusted the child at her hip.
"What am I standing in the way of, John? This is illegal, and this is my family," his aunt said, to the shock of everyone in the room. Andromeda and Dawlish entered a sort of private stand-off, neither willing to back down. Narcissa, who'd been watching testily while a team of uninvited aurors ransacked her home yet again, suddenly moved away from her sister to come to Draco's side.
"Draco, darling, you look faint," she said in a prodding voice. Draco immediately knew her game. This was one of their old routines that they'd sometimes used to get what they wanted in the past. Draco sagged dramatically against the auror that was still holding his hands behind his back. He put on a rather pathetic face.
"Oh, the pain! Mother, my jaw. I think it's broken."
"This is absolutely reprehensible treatment," Narcissa scolded, turning to Dawlish, "My son is pregnant and vulnerable. If something happens to the child he is carrying I shall have to think about declaring a blood feud." She snapped her fingers to summon the house elf, and the old thing popped back to visibility at her side, "Kreacher, please floo St. Mungo's and have them send over a healer. If the ministry wishes to search my house, then they may do so. I have nothing to hide. However, I shall see that my son receives care for the trauma that he has been put through."
Draco did not like the thought of being examined by a healer, but he still made a show of moaning in pain and also holding his stomach. While he wasn't happy his mother had told these aurors of his 'pregnancy,' he also understood why she had dropped that tidbit of information. This would ensure that they could not take him to Azkaban, and would cause them to rethink taking him into custody at all. They wouldn't want it in the papers. A former Death Eater being jailed with only circumstantial evidence wasn't much of a story, but a tragic and pregnant pureblood being falsely accused and imprisoned might be gold in the hands of the right journalist.
The gambit paid off. Draco was released from the hold and his mother led him to a nearby settee in order to fuss over him. It seemed the aurors had little else to say while they went about their search, and they kept their distance from Draco and Narcissa as if they were plague carriers. When their raid, inevitably, turned up nothing, they simply took their leave and left an awful mess in their wake.
"Did you mean that, 'Dromeda?" Narcissa said in a softened voice once there was silence in the manor again. Even little Teddy was quiet, pouting and hiccuping against his grandmother's shoulder. Immediately, Andromeda became a bit flustered and she blushed.
"Oh, well, it is the truth. I don't see how the war has anything to do with it," Andromeda huffed. Narcissa gave a small, thankful smile. It only lasted a moment, unfortunately, and after that she turned her wrath on Draco.
"Explain yourself, Draco. You knew they were coming. What have you gotten yourself into?"
"There was a break-in at the ministry and I thought that we might become suspects. It is clear they want to get us for something. They are spelling for us, Mother, and they won't stop until we are in Azkaban."
"Then I suppose I should be more grateful for your condition. The healer will be here shortly and I expect you to allow him to look at you."
"I'd rather not," Draco said, making a face.
"Draco," this time it was his aunt speaking, "It would be beneficial to you to be seen. Have your injuries documented and your pregnancy confirmed by a third party. Stir up enough of a fuss that the ministry will think twice about playing loose with the law when it comes to you and your mother."
Draco ground his teeth against this logic and under the weight of his mother's stern stare. Of course, Andromeda was right, but the problem was that Draco was not actually pregnant. Not in any normal sense of the word, at any rate. Unfortunately, unless Draco were to come clean to his mother and reveal the dark magic he'd gotten mixed up in, he had no choice but to allow himself to be examined. What would the healer find in his examination? Draco supposed he always had the option of standing up and proclaiming the man a quack.
Satisfied with this option, Draco was already imagining creative insults and how he would intone his voice in his false outrage when the healer arrived in his lime-green St. Mungo's robes. Andromeda politely excused herself at this, leaving Draco and his mother alone with the man. As a child, Draco had always had a private healer. He'd never been seen by anyone other than that particular healer and Madam Pomfrey at Hogwarts. Subjecting himself to this stranger would be humiliating.
Healer 'Pye' was cordial enough, a sort of innocent and curious man that didn't seem the type to be concerned with his patients' blood status or politics. Perhaps this was why he was sent. Draco let his mother do the talking while he fully immersed himself in the role of 'helpless victim.' He sat quietly while his bruised face and split lip were mended, but he couldn't help the racing of his heart when the healer was casting charms over his midsection.
"You don't need to be nervous, Mr. Malfoy. It looks like your child is just fine. Remarkably healthy, in fact. You're about ten weeks, yes?"
Draco gaped stupidly for a moment. That was not what he was expecting to hear.
"The magic is very strong," the healer continued without waiting for Draco's answer, "You and your partner must have an incredible bond. Keep up the good work."
"It's really there?" Draco blurted like an idiot, unable to stop himself. Healer Pye chuckled, as if a surprised and confused patient in Draco's situation was somehow normal.
"He or she is still pretty small, but they'll make themselves known soon enough," the man said, disgustingly cheerful. Draco really did want to vomit now. The healer went on to remind Draco of all of the things he should or shouldn't be doing but Draco wasn't listening. He felt like he was stumbling into this crisis all over again. A sense of nauseating panic overwhelmed him. He felt like so much time had been wasted. Even now, sitting here, time was being wasted.
Soon enough, Healer Pye was clapping Draco on the shoulder and then bidding him good-bye. Narcissa led the man back to the floo with assurances being made to follow up soon. When she returned she must have finally taken pity on Draco, watching him, pale and shaken, wrangle his anxieties. She sighed and sat down upon the settee beside him.
"Is it finally sinking in now, Draco? This is not some trifling matter," she said to him quietly. She didn't know how right she was about that. "Tell me his name."
"I can't, Mother," Draco whispered, praying for her to understand even though he was resolute in not revealing any part of his struggle to her.
"I've been speaking with Andromeda about your… options. As you know, the Malfoy manor and assets cannot be inherited by a child born out of wedlock. If you do not marry, Draco, it means the end of the Malfoy name. If you do not marry before this child is born, then he or she will be a bastard that shall forever be an outcast in pureblood society."
Draco knew that with any luck, his 'child' would not be taking a single breath outside of the womb. And would it truly be so great a loss if the Malfoy line were to end with Draco? In the will that Draco had already drafted, his mother would hold possession of the manor and live there comfortably until her death. At that time, the manor and whatever remained of the Malfoy fortune would pass to Teddy Lupin. However, he really didn't want to tell her any of this. As numb and as terrified as he felt, he had to keep up appearances for her sake.
"Your Auntie 'Dromeda has developed quite the soft spot for you," Narcissa went on, "She's been very persuasive in arguing that you should have some choice when it comes to your marriage. Whoever this paramour of yours is, Draco, if you truly love him, then-"
"No," Draco cut her off, stopping her before she could force herself to say it. Marriage to a pureblood heir like Draco was not a simple thing. It came with access to wealth, treasures, and a horde of dark secrets that needed to be carefully safeguarded. That Narcissa would even suggest allowing a stranger that she'd never met to marry into the family meant that she was placing enormous trust in Draco- that or she cherished him to such a degree that she'd decided she was willing to throw everything away to keep her son's favor. It both warmed Draco's heart and terrified him.
"It's… not like that, Mother," Draco said softly. Narcissa appeared somewhat relieved at this, though she did not say anything, so Draco continued, "I'd prefer it be someone who meets your standards. I will marry whomever you wish, Mother. If you can find someone who'd still have me, then I'll offer no resistance. Set up the parties, the meetings, the negotiations- whatever is necessary. Let us do what is best for the family."
She pulled him into an embrace.
"My strong, beautiful boy," she whispered into his hair, "You will endure," -that line that his father had been so fond of, "not because you are a Malfoy, but because you are my son."
.o.o.o.o.o.