Morning stretched across the grounds of Malfoy Manor. Draco hadn't slept in his bed, but had clung to Iece, folded at the hinge of his hips, knees drawn as high as he could get them, into the confines of her tiny bed. She became an extension of his chest. The bed was new. He could've given her an heirloom befitting her graduation from baby-bed to big-girl bed, but he wanted her to have a clean slate. It seemed important to get her one, uncontaminated by any of his childhood nightmares. Sleep was a time when the body was at it's most vulnerable, and required the soundest foundation for safety and rest possible. None of his old things felt suitable for her.
The higher the sun rose, the lower his heart felt. So he pulled her close and took tremendous comfort in the way she felt against him. Even after she'd awakened, he somehow convinces her to shut her eyes and go back to sleep. A thing not done. She anchored him in a storm of thoughts. What had he done to Harry? And in turn, what sort of trouble had it caused Harry to get himself into? He knew Harry was in trouble, not just because of the blasted watch, grudgingly recovered, but because he felt it. He'd kept his body balled up and uncomfortable to keep from going into deep sleep, not that his mind would've allowed it. He kept himself on the surface of sleep, waiting for Harry's call. A call that never came.
He couldn't keep waking up like this. To chaos. To wrist watches that couldn't tell him what he needed to know. To guilt.
He called for Jipsy. When she appeared, he whispered, "Find Harry. Tell me where he is, but don't let him see you."
He just wanted an update. He needed to know that Harry hadn't run out of there and gotten himself into more trouble. When Jipsy returned with news of his arrest, that he was passed out in a cell along with dozens of muggles, Draco took a moment to let his anger wash over him. He kept still, willing himself not to move, not to scream, until he felt the worst of it subside. He turned to Jipsy, whose eyes had grown wide at the sight of his trembling willpower.
"Thank you, Jipsy."
"Will we be rescuing Mr. Potter, Sir?"
He thought about it. "No. If Harry needs me, he'll call. He'll let me know." Mr. Potter would just have to get himself out of trouble.
Ever since asking Harry to join the Ministry's tour, there'd been nothing but mornings like these. He'd asked Harry to leave, for the peace. To clear his mind. His body had been giving him fits and if Harry was too uncomfortable with the symptoms to help him, then he needed Harry out of the picture. The absence only made him realize he was going to go through changes whether Harry was there or not. After three weeks without him, running around seeing the destruction he left in his wake, Draco was better off having Harry at home where he could keep an eye on him. But Harry hadn't called. That meant he didn't want to talk to Draco.
The image of Harry, stripped to his underwear last night, screaming at his parents while they watched on, wrenched tears from Draco. Harry hadn't deserved that. He hadn't meant to let that happen and Harry had to know it. Against him, Iece's bare arms and head felt feverish, but he knew it was his heated flush he felt, not hers. He tried not to wake her, and to let the pain out at the same time. They'd have a better morning if he got this over with.
How many of his mornings had started with tears since Harry's initial departure? Some peace. He realized he was supposed to do for Harry, what their daughter did for him. Be an anchor. A place that kept him steady, when all else washed away. He hadn't done that. Somehow, while tending to his own needs, he'd forgotten to be that for Harry.
Was every night a fight to survive for him? And here Draco wouldn't let him come home to his daughter. His part of the tour had extended beyond two weeks, and Harry had done his best to honor Draco's wish for time away from him. He was still braving the elements and wandering from shelter to shelter, just to make good on his promise to the Ministry. To Draco, it suddenly felt like he'd asked Harry to sleep outdoors in the rain, indefinitely, and Harry was still struggling to make that work.
Perhaps muggle jail was the last torment. He wanted Harry to come home, to make him feel like he had a home to come to. He hadn't done a very good job of that. Maybe that's why Harry's life was tossing him like a leaf in the wind.
This brought him some relief, because it pointed to what was wrong, and what needed to be fixed. He didn't know how, but identifying the weak spot allowed him to stop searching for a problem and start focusing on a solution. He couldn't fix Harry, and he damn sure couldn't fix himself. But he could be an anchor. He could be Harry's home.
He'd gotten what he needed out of their deal. A loyal house elf, and proof that he needed Harry just as much as Harry needed him.
He woke Iece back up and let Jipsy take her for a bath and breakfast. After his own shower, he set about repairing the damage downstairs. He'd asked Jipsy not to touch it. It was his mess and he'd hoped the punishment of cleaning it up would go towards atonement for putting Harry through such humiliation. But he hadn't touched it.
If he wanted to save the looking glass, it was going to take more than a simple spell to piece it back together. And he wasn't sure he wanted to save it. It felt like another betrayal to Harry, who wanted it broken. When he asked Jipsy for a normal broom and dust pan, she took his temperature with his wrist and asked if he was feeling okay. It made him smile, the first one of the day, and he felt like thanking her for the comedy relief. "Believe it or not, I'm going to sweep up this mess and it's going to help me think."
He'd wanted to say 'relax' but decided not to push it. Jipsy left him to his task, taking sideways glances at him. They both knew he was waiting on Harry's call.
He got the idea to clear his schedule, to just give in and bring Harry back. But he rejected it as many times as it returned. Harry was too pissed. He wasn't going to hear Draco out, and what's more, Draco didn't feel he deserved to be forgiven. Not this soon. Suffer it out, the broom in his hands coaxed. He bent down to lift part of a broken frame from a shard of mirror that kept the shard pinned to the floor. Two things happened at once. The release of the piece shifted the frame, causing connected pieces to pull from the wall. He cut his finger as the jagged piece jutted upward under the weight of what was left of the falling structure. More polished roots clattered to the floor, this time, taking an adjacent shelf with it.
When Draco stopped cursing and examining the cut on his finger, he noticed what had rolled to his feet. It had fallen from the other shelf. A trophy shelf. The object was a six foot long, black varnished, bamboo precision, customized Chinese Stargazer. A racing cruiser. A broom made for two. Silver pedals shone bright, almost white, against the black luster of the handle. It looked more like a gift from the hands of his father than from Harry, but there it was. Bought at a time when Harry had wanted to say thank you for all the help with his recovery. For every step Draco had taken with him and Iece. He knew Draco's tastes and wanted to prove that he'd been paying attention, in spite of his lack of interest in the finer things in life. He never splurged, but he'd done so to make a point.
His words had been like ointment massaged into Draco's soul. "I need you now, and not just to help with Iece. You've done everything for me, and I couldn't get you out of my heart if I wanted to. So you might as well get a proper welcome, sorry it took so long. Wherever I go, I want you there too. Ride with me."
At the time, that was as close to poetry as any quidditch playing, snitch-head, like Potter was going to come to professing what he felt. It was a romantic gesture during a time when there was no time for romance. They were just beginning to realize they only had each other, and a newborn baby, to face the future with. They were beginning to warm to the idea. The broom was going to be used for midnight rides as they left the past behind them. But the past was slow to leave and the gift was relegated to a shelf beside other Malfoy treasures.
Draco opened his palm and held it over the broom. He had only to think the command, 'up', before the thing lifted, vibrating in concert with his magic. He let his long fingers stroke its smooth surface and tested the weight. His center of gravity harmonized with the counterbalance built into the broom.
He got an idea. It was daylight here, but it was still dark in Edinburgh and London. There might be time for a "midnight" ride yet. Once it occurred to him, there was no letting it go. He summoned Jipsy.
"Take Iece to our London flat. Prepare a hot bath for Harry, I'm bringing him home."
He could've apparated to the jail and risked causing a scene. But his Chinese Stargazer said that would've been such a waste of exquisite craftsmanship and a brilliant dawn towards London. It was time to fully appreciate Harry's gift.
After taking a minute to cross reference Jipsy's details with digital maps, he charmed a layer of stealth illusion to keep him and his broom from being spotted. He left from a window and soared freely into higher elevation. He didn't get his midnight ride, but storm clouds gave him something similar, almost as dark, and just as thrilling. It was a rain-pelting ride and he added a buffer to help the water go around him aerodynamically. It was just uncomfortable enough to keep his adrenaline pumping, and just beautiful enough to keep him glad he'd done it.
He found the Guardia, the division containing Harry, and left his broom on the roof while he entered. He could've gone to the desk. He could've filled out the proper paper work and waited to be assisted like everyone else. But his flight had exhilarated him and he saw no reason to hide his true wings now. He couldn't help it if others had no magic. That wasn't his fault and he wasn't going to tie an arm behind his back just to make the world around him feel better while he felt restricted. He would use his full magic today. That meant releasing an explosive stunning spell that hit anyone who put their eyes on him. It traveled through the eyes. It was only effective at a distance of twenty feet, but that gave him time to walk into the facility, scramble their security cameras, step around uniformed police, and make his way along the holding cells until he found Harry on the floor. His knees were drawn, head resting on them, and his back against the wall. With his wand, Draco short circuited the keylock on the cell. Bars slid open. He stepped over the other men lying on the floor, to get to Harry. Harry hadn't answered when Draco shouted for him because, he saw when he lifted Harry's head, some chemical influence kept him in a stupor.
"Wake up, Harry. I've come to get you."
He tried a few first-aid grade charms to rouse Harry to full consciousness, but the most they did was cause Harry to blink through his dirty glasses at Draco until the fog overtook him again. Draco pulled him to his feet. Harry was heavy and more magic was required to keep him upright and get him to the broom. Once there, he positioned Harry, pulled him close against his back, and wrapped Harry's arms around his waste. He used binding wards to keep them secure around him, and to fasten Harry to his spot. Storm clouds grew darker as they headed for London.
As he guided the broom, Harry's weight against him, was only a reassuring detail. The broom had no problem balancing the two of them and suddenly it didn't seem like such an extravagant investment for anyone to make, but a practical one. It convinced him they would need a three-seater for family outings, and seared the promise to buy one, as soon as he could, into his brain. Rain cleared as they passed through the horizon line demarcating a shift in time zones. It was easy to imagine what this would be like, with Moonlight on their backs and wind ripping through their clothes. Such flights were filled with enough zeal to soothe a thousand hurts. You could not be depressed and soar through the elements like this. No wonder Harry loved quidditch. It was just an excuse to stay in the sky as much as he wanted to. You couldn't feel helpless when you were running neck to neck with this much wind power.
Pink and gold dawn, above the coverage over London, proved to be just as soothing as his memory of midnight clouds. The air was dryer and light dispersed over the city in a way that made him glad to be a part of everything down there, streets, buildings, muggles and all. The world wasn't so bad from this vantage point. In fact, it all seemed quite deliberate and beautiful. Coming back with Harry against him, felt like regaining something he'd lost. Something he'd forgotten about. It brought him even more appreciation when he felt Harry stirring against him. The weight of his sleeping head lifted from Draco's back and he heard a whisper as it heated his ear.
"Where are we going?"
Draco grinned at the sound of alertness and focus in Harry's question. "Home," he shouted over the wind, and angled his broom for the rooftop of their flat.
All he meant to do, was give Harry a hot soak, maybe a bite to eat, and rest. He'd lost track of what Harry was supposed to be doing today. He figured a morning in pajamas, after a jail cell, would do Harry a world of good. He didn't like the bloodshot eyes and sluggish responsiveness that Harry kept reverting back to, but as long as he answered when Draco spoke to him, he decided to put the breaks on the questions. Harry would tell him why he'd been arrested soon enough. They both had confessions that needed to wait.
He didn't have to bathe Harry, just let him soak. By the time he checked on Iece and Jipsy, who was letting her finger paint with strawberry and chocolate pudding, on scattered paper at their dining table, Harry had bathed himself and stepped from the bathroom drying his hair. His glance at Draco, at once apologetic and thankful, reassured that he was more sober than he was thirty minutes ago. But Draco recognized the droop in his shoulders, his clammy skin, and chapped lips as the subtle signs of a body that needed recuperation more than it needed anything. Harry sat on the edge of their bed, not bothering to stand as he pulled on the drawstring pajamas laid out for him. It wasn't until his fingers were struggling to button the top, that he tried to offer a complete sentence to Draco.
"Thank you. I'm sorry I left out the way I did. You -"
"Sshh…" Draco sat in a plush chair across from him. "You don't have to say anything. Just sleep. When you wake up, you'll eat. You'll play with your daughter, who doesn't know you're here yet. Then we'll talk. You can tell me everything then. I'll be right here."
This seemed to be the permission Harry needed to fall back and let go. Draco helped him by leaning forward and pushing against his chest. He had to leave the chair to do it. It seemed only natural to kiss Harry once his head sank into his pillow. His body wasn't quite straight on the bed and Draco spent a few minutes adjusting him until Harry looked more comfortable. When he realized that Harry was sound asleep, he remained straddled above him and gradually warmed to the idea of straddling Harry's hips. Just to confirm his suspicions. Just to appreciate what fullness filled his thighs and let him put all of his weight there.
He knew that Harry should've been too tired for sex. He was certainly too tired to stay awake for it. But beneath his pajamas, his penis responded to Draco's pressure. Draco thought seriously about doing something with it. Maybe it was the flight, maybe it was wishing he could've given Harry what he'd wanted last night, but either way, the energy was there. It climbed up his spine and made him ground himself against Harry. Arousal saturated his own blood vessels, bursting beneath his skin and spreading from chest to groin. There were so many things to think about. Decisions to weigh. Sex was never going to be a thing of absolute convenience for them ever again. What he wanted most in that moment, was for Harry to fill him. To use his cock to bore the room it needed, even it it had to tear a place for itself. His gut clenched around the thought of being pushed to his limit from the inside.
He and Harry had discussed the 'not while I'm sleeping' rule that intruded on the sex lives of some couples. They agreed they didn't need it, because Harry wanted what he wanted in the middle of the night, and Draco liked the power of knowing he had something that could inspire desire in Harry from a dead sleep. It had a lot to do with the baby, and not wanting to admit to having needs while they were raising her, as if any slip in conduct was going to unleash the poison Lucius Malfoy had contaminated them with. But she wasn't in a bassinet at the foot of their bed anymore. They had privacy. They had a house elf. They had the morning all to themselves.
Draco used a remote to close the blinds with one hand, as his other pulled the drawstring on Harry's pants. He decided, no matter the state of his body, it was high time he made love to this wizard. Even if Harry wasn't awake for it, his body affirmed its ability to participate. As Draco pulled the waistband down and kissed, and took Harry in his mouth, he had to believe that his efforts were following Harry into sleep and making a wonderful difference there.
He tried not to be too greedy or too heavy handed. But Harry was so firm, so beautifully and impossibly hard, it seemed a shame not to take full advantage. He couldn't take another rejection. He had gained some mastery over the curse that controlled what he could and couldn't do with Harry. But he was learning that it was an emotional switch, and all he had to do was think about pleasing Harry, to trigger it. He knew what Harry liked. No matter the protests, he knew that the best times for Harry were before the war, and before Harry had to deal with the curse, himself. Until then, he'd enjoyed Draco's cursed body without the trauma that later ruined everything. Until then, that was the part of Draco that he couldn't get enough of. And Draco's body remembered it. Remembered it, and changed to accommodate what it thought Harry wanted, every time Harry was around him these days.
But Harry was the one who couldn't handle it. Harry was the one violated by the change in Draco's body. This is why Draco considered Harry's sleep to be a blessing. When he could no longer satisfy himself using his mouth and his hands, he gave the emptiness between his legs what it wanted. Discarding pants and jacket, he lowered his open thighs onto Harry's prone form, wearing only his button down shirt and loosened tie. The shirt provided covering, allowing him to look indirectly at what he was causing their genitals to do. He didn't need to see. He felt his way onto Harry's erection and eased himself there until there was more pleasure than pain. His muscles relaxed and told him how and when to proceed.
From sleep, Harry's compliance revealed itself in moans that Draco pushed out from him. Harry's fists even gripped the bed covers, as his abdomen wound down tight on his impending climax. He never opened his eyes. His muscles sprung, lifting Draco as he poured himself from the rise of his hips, into Draco's body. Draco counted each convulsion, loosing track in the midst of his own. He'd learned to count the waves of Harry's orgasms, knowing an average one from a great one. His own locked his body so hard, he was almost grateful when the spasms released him and let him fall across Harry.
It was his turn to place apologetic kisses along Harry's face and neck. He was sorry for so much, not all of it was about the privileges he'd just taken. He couldn't give Harry enough kisses to make up for it. Harry's solid shoulders and torso supported him so soothingly, smelled so good in the aftermath of fresh bath-sex and clean perspiration, he let himself stay there. He let Harry's breathing lull him to sleep.
