Prompt: #113 submitted by alexis_sd
Summary: It’s not the dreams that have been bothering Harry, per se. It’s the fact that he can’t do anything about them.
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, side Ron/Hermione
Warnings: Creature!fic (highlight for details): *Incubus*
Word Count: 7710
Author's Notes: Dear alexis_sd, I really hope you like this! I’m not sure if it’s exactly what you were looking for, but I tried to work in as much of your ideas as possible.
A great big thank you to my betas, cheerleaders and fellow brainstorm-ers: curiouslyfic, thepretender501 and kitty_fic!
It began with feather light touches, barely there and tracing the contours of his face; his brow, the slightly raised skin of the scar on his forehead, his cheekbones, nose and jawline. They smoothed under his eyes, brushing the lashes before caressing down his cheeks once more. The touches became identified as fingers as the nails were drawn down his cheeks in a way that rose small shivers in their wake. The fingers were warm, smooth and comforting. They caressed his throat, drifted over his collarbone and then flowed down over his shoulders to trace along his arms to his wrists, then disappeared.
The fingers were replaced by a mouth, the lips smooth as silk. Hot breath ruffled his hair, kissed across his brow, down his nose and skirted his own lips. His head twitched to the side, trying to get those elusive lips on his. Huffs of breath across his cheek, almost like laughter. His head was nudged to the side, exposing his throat. A tongue followed the tendon of his neck, lapped at the hollow of his throat and traced his collarbone, leaving a gentle nip. A sigh escaped from his lips, sounding more like a soft groan.
The hands were back; they traced small circles on his wrists, the fingers dancing over the vein there, and then up into the palm, sketching each line of his hand. His hands twitched at the light caress, trying in vain to grasp those teasing fingers. The lips were still at his throat, moving back and forth over the skin, sucking warm kisses and leaving a series of small nips on each pass.
But the touches were getting lighter, growing fainter. At his back, the soft feel of silk that was a caress on its own became coarser. Knowing what was about to happen, that this was to end upon waking, he opened his eyes. The lips came back though, fluttering over his lids and keeping his eyes closed and the identity of his lover secret. The hands gently cupped his face, the thumbs tracing once more over his cheekbones.
And then they were gone.
Harry sat slumped on the seat of the Hogwarts Express, staring out the window as the countryside rushed by in a blur. He couldn’t believe that Hermione had managed to convince him to return to Hogwarts for another year.
There had been a constant tingle over his skin once he had stepped onto platform 9 ¾. Harry attributed it to the anticipation of returning to Hogwarts, and of no longer having the threat of Voldemort on his shoulders. He was finally able to breathe.
And like every train journey to Hogwarts, there was the inevitable Malfoy encounter.
Harry shifted in his seat, propping his feet on the seat across from him. He had hunted down an empty compartment for himself so he could clear his head. And after feeling Ron and Hermione’s worried gazes all down the corridor, it was a relief to step into the secluded compartment, made even more so after he erected his privacy wards.
He needed the space to think. Space he had not been allowed after the final battle. Harry rubbed at his arms as the tingle intensified, making the sleeves bunch together. For one, that dream he had had; Harry had experienced wet dreams before, but never like that, where it had felt extremely real. And he'd never had problems with climaxing either. He figured it was just something to do with nerves about returning to Hogwarts.
Nodding decisively to himself, Harry ran a hand through his hair. That must have been why.
But why has it been so hard to come when you’ve tried yourself? a niggling voice asked. Harry trod that down.
It wasn’t that he was unable to come, per se. He’d just been… having a little trouble. He just needed more stimulation that was all. Grimly, he thought it might have had something to do with being on the receiving end of the killing curse more than once.
Desperately hoping that Voldemort hadn’t screwed his life up more than he already had, Harry glanced towards the compartment door. He was just in time to see Malfoy walk past, hair perfectly arranged, robes immaculate, and his back ramrod straight.
Malfoy paused in the corridor, glancing around himself quickly. There was a complicated expression on his face, made all the more difficult to interpret through the warped glass. Harry watched as he turned a full circle in the corridor, before Malfoy stopped and faced the compartment door. Harry’s stomach lurched; Malfoy shouldn’t be able to see him through the wards. So why did it feel like his eyes were staring straight into Harry’s?
It looked as if Malfoy was fighting with himself. Harry could have sworn he saw him almost reach for the handle before he stumbled back a step. Eventually, his hands balled into fists at his sides and he stalked away, looking tenser than he had been when he had first made his appearance.
Harry slinked down in his seat and hoped for a normal year.
“’od, I m’shed ‘Ogwarts food,” Ron said around a mouthful of potatoes. Hermione eyed him with distaste, before shooting Harry a why do we put up with him? look. Harry shrugged, returned hers with his own, he’s your boyfriend look and dove into his own meal.
He was feeling a little hot around the collar, so he unbuttoned his robes a little and pushed the heavy material away. The tables were more crowded than usual, what with the first years being double the size to make up for those unable to attend last year, as well as any returning ‘eighth years’.
It wasn’t until McGonagall began the usual start of term announcements that Harry felt it safe to look at the room in general. He had been too nervous to take a good look around the room before, not really wanting to catch people staring at him openly. Or, more than usually at least.
There was still the odd person darting quick looks over to him, but Harry pointedly ignored them. His eye was caught instead, by Malfoy, who was glowering at him from across the room.
Harry swallowed, wondering what he had done this time to get on Malfoy’s nerves. He’d thought things between them after the war would have cooled down a little. He bit his lip, but refused to look away, twirling his fork in between his fingers. Malfoy clenched his jaw.
“Looks like it’ll be another one of those years, eh?” Ron said. He was twisted in his seat in order to see what Harry was looking at. “Still a right git. Thought he would have been a bit more humbled or something after his trial.” He turned back to face Harry, his eyebrows nearly reaching his hairline. “You know, after you got his entire family off and everything.”
Harry shook his head and shrugged before pushing his roast beef around his plate.
“Well, there’s nothing saying you have to have anything to do with him, Harry,” Hermione said.
Harry nodded his assent and went back to his meal. When the desserts came up he dug into the treacle tart with gusto.
Malfoy caught them at the door, looking a little pink in the cheeks. “A word, Potter? I think there’s something you should be aware of.”
Ron stepped up and drove Malfoy back. “Forget it Malfoy. Harry’s done enough for you.”
“This has nothing to do with you, Weasley,” Malfoy said in a dangerous tone. He crossed his arms over his chest and lifted his chin, not once looking away from Harry.
“Ron,” Harry said, and pulled on Ron’s shoulder. “Leave it. Let’s just go up to the dormitory.” Ron huffed, but allowed for Harry and Hermione to nudge him towards the marble staircase that still looked a little chipped.
“Later, Potter,” Malfoy spat as they passed him.
Harry’s hopes for a normal year plummeted.
There weren’t a lot of expectations in place for the returning seventh years. They had a common room to themselves, regardless of house, and personal rooms. And while they had a lot more free time, it was usually over taken with school anyways. Studies mostly focused on the job area, alongside with basic job training for the occupation. Hermione, for instance, was undergoing training for a job at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures to further her work with S.P.E.W. Though she detested the name of the Department.
“Regulation,” she had said, as she threw down a pamphlet on the table in the common room. “Honestly. Most Magical Creatures don’t need to be regulated. And besides, some shouldn’t even be classified as ‘Creatures’, like house-elves for example, or centaurs.”
“So why are you going into it, if you have so many objections towards it?” Ron had asked with an arched an eyebrow.
“Because the best way to change something is to change it from the inside,” Hermione replied matter-of-factly.
Ron had given her a dopey grin and pulled her down for a kiss. That was usually Harry’s cue to take his leave and give them a bit of privacy.
Ron and Hermione were so well suited for each other; Harry couldn’t help but be a little bit envious. Things with Ginny had gotten a bit stale, and Harry found it hard to talk with her now. Things were so different between them; a romantic relationship didn’t feel right.
Which was okay, when you took Harry’s dreams into perspective.
They didn’t happen all that often, though. For the first month and a half of school, Harry had been dream free, though he still had the occasional trouble with getting off. Harry ended up cursing Voldemort on those days.
Harry didn’t mind the break up with Ginny too much. The dreams gave him a vivid understanding of what it would be like with a male instead of a female, which, Harry was surprised to note, he liked very much. It made it more noticeable that things between Ginny and him had always been a little off. They worked better as friends.
The dreams though…. All Harry knew from them was that his subject was male. That every inch of him was soft to the touch, feeling like silk against his fingertips. That he was able to play Harry’s body like a finely tuned instrument. Although, considering that these were dreams, Harry knew he would need a lot of luck to find someone even close to that description. Of course he would dream about someone perfect.
The only good thing about the year, in Harry’s opinion, were the individual rooms. He liked having that one bit of privacy, especially when he woke up the odd morning after having one of those dreams.
Overall, it was the most normal year he had. There had been one incident though, where Harry might have expected trouble.
He had just walked inside the common room, the statue that guarded the entrance sliding back into place with the sound of grinding stone. The common room appeared to be deserted, but once Harry had started towards the stairs to his room, a pale figure coalesced out of the shadows by the fireplace.
“Potter,” Malfoy called. “I wanted to have a word with you.”
Harry paused, one hand gripping the banister and his foot half raised to climb the first step. He twisted around just enough to face Malfoy and said, “What, then?”
Malfoy looked distinctly uncomfortable. Harry couldn’t recall ever seeing him looking at a loss for words. Terrified, yes. Indecisive, of course. But never looking as if speech had abandoned him. Malfoy opened and closed his mouth several times, then bit at his lip. Harry gave a careful exhalation of air, not wanting to have to deal with an irate Malfoy as well.
Eventually, Malfoy looked annoyed with himself. “Look, there’s something you should know. Now, I don’t want you thinking I had anything do to with it, because if it had been my choice, none of this would have ever happened, but I suppose one thing led to another after the war, and you were a pivotal part, and as such–” He broke off once he realised he was blabbing.
Harry gaped at the uncharacteristic display. “Look, Malfoy, I don’t know what you’re on about, but if you really must say something, could you – I dunno, say it?”
Malfoy sneered. “Oh yes,” he said, “I bet you’ve got a tonne of plans to look forward to. All those press conferences and fan clubs – your time is really valuable.”
Harry flushed. His grip on the banister tightened. “It’s not like I particularly like those things, Malfoy, not that you’d believe me in the first place. For once, I’m allowed to have a bit of privacy after everything and I’d like to get the chance to live my own life now, make my own decisions and all that. But I believe you wanted to tell me something important, so I’ll let you do that, shall I?” Harry turned around and faced Malfoy completely, crossing his arms over his chest.
Malfoy looked a little hesitant. He was silent for a moment, staring down at the purple rug of the common room as if it had all the answers. Harry saw him clench his jaw and when he looked up, there was a determined look in his eye. “What I was going to say, Potter was that–” He broke off once more, closed his eyes and swallowed. Harry was about to ask if he was all right when Malfoy opened them. Harry forced himself not to take a step away from the whirl of emotions he saw there.
“Look,” he said, and his voice sounded a little defeated. “The war is over, right? Can’t we put all that happened behind us?”
Harry furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?” As some of the tension eased from his shoulders, his arms dropped down to his sides.
Malfoy ran a hand through his hair, then smoothed down his robes. “Exactly what I said. Move on from the war,” he said. “Leave the past as it is.”
Harry sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth. If Malfoy was talking about what he thought he was… “It’s worth a go, I guess,” he said hesitantly. Not that I expect much to change anyways, he thought.
Malfoy looked as if he knew what Harry was thinking. “Worth a go,” he repeated before he lifted his chin and smirked. “Yes, and I’m sure everything will work itself out along the way.”
Harry gave him a curt nod before he started back up the steps.
The dreams returned that night, feeling different from the others before. It had more of a possessive quality to it, as if the other man in the dream had no intention of letting Harry go.
Harry was unable to find his release the next morning.
Harry stared down the long hallway of the entrance to Grimmauld Place and fought back a sigh at all the work he knew he had ahead of him. He rubbed his arm a little as the hairs there rose. The house was such a depressing place, full of horrid memories and ghosts of the past.
The wallpaper had been replaced and gleaming tile took the place of the worn carpet. Walburga Black’s painting still hung on the wall, but Harry had decided to use her own trick against her and had used a permanent sticking charm on the curtains so they couldn’t be opened. He didn’t tell Kreacher, though.
“Master Harry?” Kreacher croaked.
Harry whipped his head around to see the elf standing in the doorway to the kitchen. “Kreacher, hi,” Harry said, and gave a wobbly smile. He released his arm and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his robes. “Did you start already?” he asked as he strode down the hallway.
Kreacher met him at the base of the stairs and bobbed after him, wringing the new tea towel in his long fingers. “Yes, Master Harry. The first two floors have been cleaned out.”
Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “Let’s get started on the third, then.”
The cleaning, surprisingly, went by smoothly enough. Most objects were too Dark to handle safely, and it took some convincing to have Kreacher throw them out and not go looking for them later.
It was when Harry was laying down when it hit him hard. He no longer had a reason to return to Hogwarts again, unless it was to do with Auror business. Which Harry hoped it wouldn’t come to.
Determinedly, he rolled over in bed and yanked the covers up. But the ache continued, a heavy weight on his chest, like he was missing something.
Harry winced as he pulled his trousers on over his erection.
He had woken up with it, and nothing he did could make it go away. After his morning wank had failed, a cold shower did nothing to ease his frustration, and had only resulted in a foul mood.
It didn’t help that in the week and a half that he had been working on fixing up Grimmauld Place, there had been a constant ache, as if he had forgotten something vital.
A chime rang through the house, indicating that Ron had arrived so they could head out to the Ministry together for training. Harry cursed and rearranged himself, throwing on his robes to hide the bulge.
The walk down the stairs was uncomfortable to put it lightly, but, Harry thought hopefully, it seemed to be going down a bit. It still chafed a little, though.
He found Ron looking around the drawing room, slack-jawed. When he noticed Harry in the doorway, he gestured to the room. “You said you’d changed some things, but this is – it’s unrecognizable, Harry!”
Harry grinned. “Thanks,” he said. “Kreacher was a big help, but don’t tell Hermione. He was only too happy to help when I told him he could keep some of the stuff so long as it wasn’t cursed.”
Ron snorted. “Of course he was. Have you any breakfast?” He crossed the room and led the way down to the kitchen where Kreacher already had a breakfast spread waiting. Ron sat down at the table and pulled the nearest dish towards him before beginning to fill his plate. He frowned as Harry gingerly lowered himself into his chair. “You doing all right, mate?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Harry said quickly. “Just you know, first day of training and all.”
“I’m sure there’s nothing to be worried about,” Ron said around a mouthful of egg. “At least, not for you.”
It wasn’t the training that was worrying Harry, though. He toyed with his fork. What if this… well, whatever it is that was afflicting him, interfered with his ambition to be an Auror?
“Oh yes, I’m sure there will be no clouded judgement over my abilities,” he said sarcastically as he poured syrup over his pancakes.
“Hm, there is that,” Ron said. “But chin up, Harry. That all just shows experience.”
Ron nattered on about his thoughts on the training, what he had been reading up on (through Hermione) and how Hermione was being sucked into her new division. “It’s fourth year all over, Harry.”
Though Ron was complaining, Harry noticed that he couldn’t have looked happier. He smiled, then discreetly pressed his palm to the slowly decreasing bulge in his trousers, thankful that it was finally abating.
The Ministry was the same as always, bustling with activity, both aerial and on ground. Harry and Ron squeezed their way through, stepping carefully around a bloke wearing thick gloves and juggling several flaming bottles that looked as if they were trying to bite his fingers.
“Hermione said she’d meet us in the Atrium before we went down,” Ron muttered, craning his head around. Whatever it was he saw made him stiffen. “Wha – I don’t believe it,” he muttered darkly, and strode off towards the remade fountain.
Harry followed behind him at a slower pace, all the while feeling as if he was walking towards a magnet. The ache that had been plaguing him since his return to Grimmauld slowly disappeared.
His step was light when he moved up beside Ron, who was looking suspiciously between Hermione and Draco Malfoy. “What’s going on?”
“Yes, what it is going on?” Ron demanded.
“Nothing is ‘going on’, Ron. Malfoy is simply helping me with research in a specific area now and then,” Hermione said, darting a quick look over at Malfoy before sliding her eyes over to Harry. She smiled a little, and Harry returned it. “He’s got knowledge on the ‘Creature versus Being’ thing. He’s helping the department get a better grasp on things relating to specific Magical Beings.”
“How?” Ron asked, and narrowed his eyes at Draco.
“Private information, Weasley,” Draco replied. His gaze slid over to Harry and he nodded. “Potter,” he said, brushing past him as he walked away.
Ron watched him go. “There’s something odd about him. He’s still an untrustworthy sod.”
Hermione huffed. “Oh lighten up, Ronald. This isn’t school anymore.” She turned on her heel and led the way to the lifts.
Harry didn’t understand what was happening to him.
Every morning now, he woke from an increasingly erotic dream to an erection that just wouldn’t go away. No amount of wanking or cold showers or disturbing thoughts could discourage it. It was as if his cock had a mind of it’s own… well, more so than usual.
Either way, he had difficultly sleeping through the night. After a while, he found himself dropping off halfway through lectures, until it eventually resulted in this – waking up at the end of the lesson and having to invent a reason why he wasn’t about to leave. Auror Gibbs had given him an odd look, but had left regardless.
Harry pressed the heel of his hand to the front of his trousers, trying not to recall the most recent dream. The smooth touches, the soft feel of skin beneath his hands, the feeling of being full and complete and a scent that alone had the ability to his toes curl, make him realise what was about to happen. Harry’s breath hitched and he leaned back in his chair.
He was no longer trying to curb his erection. Instead, he rubbed at the bulge, pressing the tips of his fingers against the underside. He was just about to reach inside before he realised what he was about to do and snatched his hand away. Not in the Ministry, with an unlocked door where anyone could get in. Besides, it’s not like he’d be able to come anyways.
He should leave before things got too out of hand. Harry stood quickly, overturning his chair, and shuffled to the front of the room. He adjusted his robes to better hide his condition, drew a deep breath and opened the door.
He was just pulling the door closed behind him when Malfoy appeared, walking down the hallway towards him. Harry felt his face colour, but Malfoy couldn’t possibly know what he was – had been about to do… could he? Harry mentally shook his head; no, of course he wouldn’t be able to. He was just being paranoid.
“Malfoy,” he said. “I didn’t realise you came down here so often.”
Malfoy walked towards him easily, his stride smooth and sure. “I have no reason to be at the Ministry at all, really. Why would I want to, when all I receive are dirty looks?”
Harry frowned when Draco came to a standstill beside him. “So why come here at all then?” he asked, and followed as Malfoy waved him towards the lifts.
“Well, Granger mostly. She’s a little pushy with her questions,” Malfoy said.
And though that shouldn’t have been much of an explanation, with Hermione, it always was. “And the other times?”
Malfoy opened his mouth, then closed it. “I – nothing,” he said edgily. He was walking so close to Harry, the sleeves of their robes brushed.
Harry almost asked what that was supposed to mean, but his cock chose that moment to twitch violently in his pants. His step faltered for a moment.
“I also wanted to talk to you.”
Harry raised his brows. “About what?”
Malfoy heaved a sigh and pressed the button for the lift. Harry heard a clunk and a whirr as it began heading downwards. “We haven’t been doing that great of a job of getting along, have we? Mostly, It seems as if we’ve been avoiding each other.” Harry couldn’t argue with that, though he thought avoiding might be taking it too far. “So I thought we should probably get together more often,” he finished as the lift doors opened.
“Yeah, all right,” Harry agreed as they stepped inside.
“Excellent,” Malfoy said, and if Harry didn’t know better, he would have thought he sounded relieved. Harry watched as he tossed his head back, his hair shining from the light. “How do you feel about a dinner later on this week? You don’t need to worry about my father or anything; I’ve got a place of my own.” His eyes were piercing when he looked at Harry, and Harry couldn’t bring himself to look away.
“Sounds great,” Harry said, thankful that his voice didn’t betray him.
The rest of the ride up was awfully quiet and awkward. Harry shuffled nervously, trying to find a way to stand comfortably and in a way that wouldn’t reveal his condition. Somehow, he thought Draco might already know, or he was quickly becoming more self-conscious. Harry shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Potter–” Malfoy started. Harry looked over at him and felt his insides squirm. Malfoy was about to say something more, but the lift doors opened and the noise from outside broke the peace between them. Malfoy stopped abruptly as three people pushed inside, making Harry press himself against the wall.
“I’ll see you later, then,” he heard Malfoy say, almost as if it had been whispered in his ear, as he slipped out the doors.
“Wait, Conner!” Harry called, cursing as he yanked his pajama bottoms up harshly. How the hell had the man dressed so quickly? Harry ran out of the bedroom so fast he almost ran into the opposite wall.
Conner was already at the bottom of the stairs, and Harry flew down to catch him. “Would you just–”
Conner spun around halfway down the hallway. “What, wait? Apparently, this won’t work out Harry, if it’s physically painful for me to touch you,” he sneered.
Harry winced. He didn’t know why it had felt so strange to have another person touch him intimately. Strange in a bad way; almost as if he was betraying someone. “Maybe I just had too much to drink?” Harry offered hopefully.
Conner snorted and shuffled backwards, towards the door. “One glass of wine is hardly a lot, and you’re no lightweight.” His sandy hair fell into his eyes as he shook his head. “Look, this was a mistake. It’s not working,” he repeated. “I just wished you had told me before that you didn’t like me.”
Harry felt his face grow hot. “It’s not that I don’t like you–”
Conner kept up backing towards the door. “Sure,” he said cagily, disbelievingly. “Guess we’re just not compatible, is all. I– I’ll see you around, Harry.” And then he fled, the door closing behind him with a click that echoed morosely through the house.
Harry sat down on the bottom step and put his head in his hands.
Damn whatever this was. It was screwing around whatever possibility he had to have an intimate relationship, interfering with his Auror training at other times, and he just couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to know what this was, and why it was happening. But the only way he’d be able to figure it out would be to ask. Harry flushed at even the thought of sharing something so private with another. But it was something he knew had to be done regardless.
Sighing, Harry stood and rolled his shoulders. It would have been nice to be allowed to come for once; he didn’t want to head over to Malfoy’s high-strung. It would just end up making the dinner more uncomfortable than it was already bound to be. And he had hoped that maybe it was just on his own that he wasn’t able to achieve orgasm.
But having Conner touch him… In some ways it was worse. It had felt dirty; like it was something he knew he shouldn’t be doing. Harry knew that alcohol had not been a factor, so really, there was no excuse for why it was so hard to become aroused when having a good looking man touch him. It was as if his ability to get an erection was dependant on the dreams. Which, Harry figured, was true when he considered the past year or so.
The bed was cold when he crawled into it, the covers in disarray. Despite feeling frustrated and weary, Harry fell asleep quickly – after he took out his frustration on his pillow.
He woke up two hours later, sweaty, breathing shallowly, and achingly hard. Groaning, he flopped back onto the bed and flung an arm over his eyes. He could still feel the possessive touches, as if he was being reminded that he belonged to someone, that they felt as though they had to stake their claim. He whimpered as his cock throbbed, a single word repeating itself over and over in his mind. Mine.
He needed to talk to a Healer.
Harry stared into his teacup sightlessly, his mind buzzing. One word repeated itself over and over.
The dreams were being sent to him by his mate. He was unable to climax because that apparently belonged to the Incubus. It also reflected the Incubus’ frustration at not being able to get what he needed properly from his mate. It had to be someone he knew, or at least saw an awful lot of. And after dreaming about this person for almost two years, he should be able to find him easily, right?
Wrong. Of course, it didn’t help that the dream-bastard kept kissing his eyes closed, or positioning himself so that when Harry could open his eyes, the outline was fuzzy and indistinguishable.
Harry had no idea how he’d even begin to locate his other half if he couldn’t bloody well see him. Confused, Harry turned to the only solid reference point he had.
“Hermione, I don’t know what to do,” Harry said, swirling his finger around on the tabletop. “Do you have any ideas at all?”
Hermione bit her thumbnail and watched as his finger twirled anxiously. “I – I don’t know what to tell you, Harry. The Incubus has to be close to you; he’d be having a hard time of it as it is.”
“What do you mean?”
Hermione’s hand fell into her lap. “What I mean is that he’s obviously had close contact with you lately to bring out this sort of reaction, but he’s keeping his distance, most likely waiting for you to figure it all out. Which is making it harder on him, too.”
“Then why doesn’t he just mention something?” Harry groused. “I’d prefer to know what is going on rather than having to put together a puzzle with missing pieces.”
Hermione shook her head, looking half amused. “Oh Harry, sometimes you can be so oblivious.” Harry gave her a steely look. She huffed. “Oh come on, it’s part of the challenge, isn’t it? Finding out what’s really going on is right up there with your ‘saving people thing.’ You demonstrated that in sixth year.” She covered his hand with her own, gave a gentle squeeze, then stood. “I’m sure it will work out, Harry. For all you know, the answer is staring you right in the face.” She gave a cryptic smile and left the room.
Harry refrained from banging his head on the table.
Harry stood by the fountain in the atrium, his arms crossed over his chest and a surly look on his face. He knew that Hermione knew more than she was letting on, but all his questions had gone unanswered. He had nothing to go on. How was he supposed to figure out who this Incubus was when he had such a small amount of information? There was nothing he could get from the dreams; the details were too hazy. What good was Auror training doing for him in this case?
He swore under his breath, watching as the steady stream of people walked in and out of the Ministry, appearing and disappearing in a swirl of green flames. The faces were ever changing, and no one stared at him longer than the norm. He was on the receiving end of a few raised, eyebrows though.
“What are you doing, standing here like the idiot you are?”
Harry turned his head at the sound of the drawling voice and gave a hesitant smile to Malfoy. “Because apparently it’s what I do best.”
Malfoy rolled his eyes and perched on the edge of the fountain. “Yes, I can tell. But seriously, Potter.”
Harry sat next to him, close enough that their thighs were almost touching. “I’m waiting for someone.” He shifted a little, darting an anxious look over to the lifts. Malfoy was wearing an amused smirk when he glanced over, his eyes a gleaming silver-grey.
“Anyone in particular?”
“Well, it’s kind of – kind of a mystery.” Harry wasn’t sure what was making him say this to Malfoy. But as Hermione wasn’t saying anything and Ron was off doing a special course, Malfoy was the only one he felt comfortable talking about this with. Strange, he knew, but true nonetheless.
Malfoy hummed, and said, “I wish you the best of luck trying to find them, then.”
“Thanks,” Harry said, still scanning the crowd for anyone who might stick out.
“Also, Potter, we never settled on a date.” Harry looked over at him, surprised. Malfoy smiled and explained, “For the dinner. How does tomorrow sound?”
Harry blinked and said, “Good.”
Malfoy nodded. “Around six then.”
As he stood, Harry caught a faint trace of his cologne. Warm, slightly citrus with a hint of vanilla. It was familiar, but he wasn’t able to quite place it. Instantly, his mind reverted to last night’s dream, and the soft fall of hair that tickled his nose.
Harry’s heart stuttered and his head shot up, trying to catch sight of where Malfoy had disappeared to, struck by a sudden realisation. No, it couldn’t be. But the Healer – and Hermione… Fuck, Malfoy had been around from the beginning.
“For all you know, the answer is staring you right in the face.”
Harry stood and pushed his way though the tide of people, his eyes searching frantically for the distinguishable blond hair. But it was impossible to find Malfoy in the crowd. Harry cursed, not caring who heard, and made his way over to the Apparition point.
It wasn’t particularly hard to Apparate to Malfoy. Closing his eyes, he spun on the spot and allowed the pull that had been present since the first dream to take him to where he was needed.
He’d get his answers.
“Well, I should say this isn’t a surprise, but it kind of is,” Malfoy drawled when he opened the door of his flat.
Harry had thought about how to start this, from asking things like ‘Why me?’ to ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ What he ended up saying, though, was, “Why is it a surprise?”
Malfoy waved him inside before answering. “Because it took you so long to figure it all out.” His smile eased any sting from the words though. As he turned, his fingers grazed across Harry’s chest, making him shiver. He followed Malfoy into the flat, his eyes never leaving his back.
Malfoy came to a sudden stop, almost making Harry run into him. He turned, raising a hand to run it down Harry’s cheek. “I was going to explain everything, that day at Hogwarts,” he said. “But then you began talking about how you finally had privacy and being able to live your life how you wanted, and I realised that if I told you then, things wouldn’t have gone well. We’d both have been angry and spiteful, and looking for a way out.” Malfoy’s gaze on Harry was scorching; Harry felt his throat run dry.
“So I decided to let you figure things out for yourself. I figured anything gleaned from the dreams would have to do for a while, until you figured it out.” His eyes flashed. “And now that I have you, I don’t intend to let you go.” He stepped forwards, his hand moving around to the back of Harry’s head.
“How am I an Incubus?” Malfoy finished. Harry gave a small nod. “Special circumstance. It became apparent after the war. One thing led to another and it chose you as its mate, after everything you’ve done; saving my life, getting my family out of Azkaban… it chose you because it knew that you were safe, you’d help protect it as much as it would protect you.” His fingers twined in Harry’s hair at the base of his neck.
Harry’s breath caught. “Malfoy, wait–”
“Draco – it’s Draco from now on,” he said, his voice rough. His hands were sliding down Harry’s chest, the buttons seemingly undoing themselves. “Do you know what it’s done to me to leave you alone and wait until you came to me yourself? What it felt like to know that that man was touching you? Touching what’s mine?” Harry’s shirt landed on the floor in a heap.
A part of Harry wanted to refute that claim, but it was easily squashed down by the part that felt fit to burst. He stumbled backwards as Draco ushered him down the hall, his hands coming up to take hold of Draco’s shoulders. Draco made a sound halfway between a moan and a whimper, his hands pushing on the material of Harry’s trousers until they were in a pool around his ankles; Harry kicked them away on reflex.
He arched as Draco ran a possessive hand down his chest, rubbing his thumb over a nipple, before pressing Harry into the nearest wall. Draco bent his head, his breath ghosting over Harry’s skin and making the hairs at his nape stand on end. His own hair tickled Harry’s skin, just like in the dreams, before he bit on the juncture between neck and shoulder. Harry’s eyes went wide and he gasped; he’d never felt anything like it before. His hands tightened on Draco’s shoulders and he pulled him closer.
Draco growled. “Mine,” he said, his voice muffled against Harry’s skin. Harry tugged at Draco’s collar, but his hands were pushed away. Draco trailed his fingers along Harry’s arms, up to his shoulders, then cupped his jaw. He tilted Harry’s head back, his mouth gliding in a hot line up the base of Harry’s neck, mouthing his jaw, then over to his left ear. “Mine,” he whispered again, his breath ruffling Harry’s hair.
He drew back just enough to look Harry in the eyes; his own were shining, promising untold pleasures. Harry swallowed around a suddenly dry throat and licked his lips. Draco watched the movement, his eyes hungry. He leant in until their lips were almost touching, skimming Harry’s lips with his own. Harry gave a small, breathy moan and tangled a hand in Draco’s hair, pulling him into a proper kiss.
Fire raced through his body at the contact. Draco, apparently, felt it too; he pressed against Harry, the material of his robes rubbing against Harry’s chest, and Harry couldn’t help but think that the contact would be better if Draco was naked too. He grasped at Draco’s arms, fisting the material. Draco took the opportunity and delved his tongue into Harry’s mouth, grinding himself against Harry and eliciting a whimper.
“So long,” he panted. His skin looked as if it was glowing and his hair was in disarray. He pressed a hand to the centre of Harry’s chest and pried Harry’s hands away from his robe. Slowly, he kissed his way down Harry’s body, sinking to his knees before him. He nibbled softly on Harry’s hipbone as he eased Harry’s pants down, inch by slow inch.
Harry stepped out of his pants when urged to do so, his eyes fixed on Draco. Draco darted a look up before fixating on Harry’s erection before him. Harry didn’t have time to wonder when he had gotten so hard before Draco swallowed him down to the root.
Harry cried out, his hands tangling themselves in Draco’s hair as his hips jerked. Draco hummed and gripped Harry’s hips, swallowing around him. He pulled back to massage Harry’s cock with his tongue, then swept down to mouth at his sac. Harry panted and screwed his eyes closed. At this rate, he wasn’t going to last long, especially not after all the frustrated wanks.
Draco, as if he could sense Harry’s approaching orgasm, sucked him down hungrily and increased the suction as he slid a hand around to finger Harry’s arsehole. Harry came with a shout, yanking harshly on Draco’s hair as Draco swallowed around him, not losing a single drop.
Harry sagged against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting before Draco, panting for breath. His knees were drawn up to the sides, widely spread to accommodate Draco’s place between them. “Fuck,” he said once he was capable of speech. “You should have told me sooner.”
There was a stray drop of come on the edge of Draco’s mouth and Harry watched avidly as Draco’s tongue flicked out to lick it away. He didn’t respond; he didn’t need to when he had that look in his eyes, the hunger apparent in every line of his face.
He kissed Harry savagely; Harry moaned as he tasted himself in Draco’s mouth. His arms felt weak and they trembled as he lifted them up to yank off Draco’s clothing. The robes slid away as if turned to water, and it was either extraordinarily good luck or intellect on Draco’s part that he wasn’t wearing anything underneath… not even pants.
Draco’s fingers were slick with a wandless charm when he brought them back to Harry’s hole. He teased him, running the tip of his finger around the rim before applying just enough pressure to allow the tip to sink inside. Harry made a small noise of contentment, his hips twitching upwards to meet the finger and trying to take it deeper.
Draco was everywhere; his mouth left hot trails over Harry’s skin, leaving passion marks in its wake. His hand drifted across Harry’s chest, tweaking a nipple here and finding every erogenous zone while his other continued to finger Harry mercilessly. Even after the most satisfying orgasm just moments before, Harry was once more achingly hard.
“Draco,” he moaned, arching his neck. His hips thrust to match every press of Draco’s fingers until they were taken away. He whined, opening eyes he hadn’t noticed had closed. Draco pressed him against the wall, fitting himself easily between Harry’s legs. Harry scrambled for purchase as Draco began to thrust slowly inside, his hands finally landing and gripping at Draco’s upper arms tightly. “Ah – fuck.”
Draco made an animalistic sound when he was completely sheathed, his face hidden in Harry’s neck as he bit and licked at it. Harry’s back rubbed against the wall, his legs ached from being in such an awkward position, but it was brilliant. He lost his breath every time Draco slid forwards, and Draco’s hands never stopping their exploration of Harry’s body.
Harry thrust back as best he could, mewling, but he just didn’t have the range of movement that Draco did. Draco circled his hips, bringing his cock into contact with Harry’s prostate. He shouted, crying out desperately for Draco to fuck him harder, faster. His nails left red tracks on Draco’s back; he shuddered – clenched – and came.
Draco seemed incapable of speech. His thrusts were wild and erratic as he clawed at Harry, pulling him closer. He found Harry’s wrists and pinned them to the wall on either side of his head and leant in to crush their lips together. Harry gasped desperately into his mouth, squeezing around Draco’s cock. Draco moaned and shuddered before collapsing against Harry.
Harry sucked in great gulps of air, wrapping his arms loosely around Draco’s shoulders as he recovered. Draco’s cock slipped loose when Harry straightened his legs, the joint cracking as he stretched out.
“Sorry,” Draco panted.
Harry laughed. “What do you need to be sorry for?”
“For losing control like that,” he said, and pressed their foreheads together. The glow that had seemed to envelope him before was fading, but there was still enough to make him look ethereal. “I–”
“Took what you needed,” Harry finished.
Draco smiled and staightened up. “Seeing you in the Ministry every day was fine, and while the dreams were nice, it was never quite enough. This is much more,” he stopped and took in how thoroughly ravished Harry looked, and his smile grew. “Satisfying.”
Harry flushed. “Yes, well,” he said and pushed away from the wall. “My arse is a bit sore at the moment after being taken on the wall of your flat.”
Draco helped him stand, and he traced a love bite at the base of Harry’s neck with his forefinger. “You’re a little early for the dinner, but that’s okay. I’m sure I can scrounge up something.”
Harry laughed. “I don’t think that food is much on my mind now.”
Draco’s eyes sparkled with humour. He took Harry’s hand and led him the rest of the way down the hallway.
”You’re here with me. And this is where you’re staying.”