Prompt: # 1
Summary: Draco has a secret that will probably rip his friendship and romance with Harry to shreds.
Pairing(s): Draco/Harry, Draco/OMC, Pansy/OMC
Warnings: Spoilery: *Bestiality*; drug-use; some non-con; hints of bottom!Draco: I asked for modly advice and for this particular prompt it was acceptable. I tried to make it as off-screen as I could. The timeline is also very much out of order.
Word Count: ~9000
Author's Notes: This prompt seized my attention the first time I saw it, and even though I skimmed past it many times, I kept going back. I waffled terribly after I chose it, but the story itself remained firm and thankfully persistent. Thanks to the mods for being so supportive and patient. vaysh, I hope you like the attempt at filling your very interesting prompt. Thanks to L for the quick and wonderful beta. Any mistakes remaining are my own.
ALPHA MALE (let him run)
let him scramble across sweetgreen and tumble over hardgrey
let him pant, richsweetred pulsing high skin damp
will taste good
let him run
and then pounce on him rip away pin him down
take him take him take him until he screams
let him run
Harry rolled from between Draco's legs and flopped onto his back; they both stared up at the underside of the bed's canopy, breathing hard. Draco felt an annoying sheen of sweat on his neck, and he got up out of bed, walking in long, quick strides towards his bathroom. He closed in the door with as quiet a click as he could manage. Then, he cleaned himself and washed his face. Hands braced on the cool porcelain of the sink, Draco stared at himself in the mirror. Grey eyes gazed back at him somberly, and water dripped from the ends of his hair, darkening the strands a little.
This was certainly not the face of a person who'd just had consensual sex with not just an unexpectedly beloved friend, but also a friend who happened to be the much-beloved Hero of the wizarding world.
Draco sighed and ran a hand through his hair, slicking it back. A thin smile played about his lips; he was darkly amused at how like his Hogwarts self he appeared at the moment. Then, he gathered himself and strode back out.
Harry had pulled the covers from where they'd still been tucked under the mattress and now had them flung over his lap and legs. His hair was more messy than ever, from Draco clutching at it as they'd kissed. It was softer than it looked, curling against Draco's palms. He'd enjoyed that part immensely; kissing Harry was fulfilling in a way he hadn't realized he would ever enjoy.
Harry was looking down onto his lap, picking nonexistent bits of lint from off the top of the thick covers. Draco slid underneath as well, sitting so that the bare skin of their shoulders touched. It was so maddeningly arousing to have him so close; Draco just wanted to pin him down, crawl inside him and have him cry out hoarsely--
He pushed that thought aside hurriedly. Never again. Never ever, not with anyone and especially not with Harry.
"So," Harry said, very quietly. Draco tilted his head back against the padded surface of the headboard and exhaled slowly. "That was." He didn’t have to complete the sentence, for Draco understood the sentiment.
"Yes," was all he could say. Stating the obvious wasn't necessary.
"Right. It was...right, we did that. Together," Harry continued, almost in a whisper. "I mean...being with you is brilliant, Draco, really it is--"
"Harry," Draco warned, closing his eyes. "Don't."
Even with his eyes closed, Draco could feel the force of Harry's pout. It was cute, even in such a situation, and Draco couldn't help a faint smile at that. Harry Potter, scowling in Draco's bed as if he was a small child who hadn't gotten their usual sweet after dinner.
The silence between them grew deeper and sharper, and Harry fidgeted beside him. His skin was so warm, and the smell of his sweat invaded Draco's nostrils and his mind. He let out a soft, involuntary moan. That sound seemed to catalyze something in Harry, for almost immediately, he shifted onto his side and licked the lobe of Draco's ear.
"Please, Draco." Harry pressed against him, all naked sensuality and hot longing. Draco turned his head and their mouth fitted together so wonderfully. Harry tasted perfect and before he knew it, Draco had rolled them both over, himself on top. Harry clutched at him, spread his legs so that Draco could settle in even closer, and arched up with eager delight.
Draco had only been semi-hard earlier, hadn't even come; not because he'd been bottoming, he really had no problem with that, but because Harry had obviously been unhappy and yet so determined to be with Draco, physically.
Such a Gryffindor. It was disgustingly charming.
Draco pressed with trembling rhythm against him, cock now hard and pulsing, poking at Harry's hole with every shift. Harry muttered something against his mouth and suddenly everything was all slick, Draco's thick shaft sliding along Harry's slippery cleft and Harry was tilting up his hips, readyreadyready--
"No," Draco snarled, almost lost, and tore himself away from Harry with a supreme effort. Control: he must retain control. He tumbled to the floor gracelessly, bruising his knee on the carpet. Harry rose from the bed with jerky movements and raised one hand; his fingers twitched in a peremptory manner, as if commanding someone to approach. His eyes flashed at Draco as clothing suddenly covered the slender lines of his body, well-tailored dark material hiding all that flushed skin. Draco remained sprawled where he was, unconcerned with the indignity of his position. That display of wandless magic was absolutely arousing, and Harry only did it when he was in a disastrous mood.
Harry opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, pressing his lips together. After a few uneven breaths, he seemed to unclench his jaw.
"I'll see you tomorrow, then," he managed, tightly.
"Will you," Draco mused in a flat manner, getting slowly to his feet. Harry's gaze tripped lightly over his naked body and then returned to Draco's face. He looked angry, amused and wary, all at once.
"Yes. After all, we are still friends." One dark eyebrow twitched, and the green gaze was heavily intent. "...right?"
Draco blinked at him and swallowed. "Right. Of course." He stared right into Harry's eyes, surprised into bare honesty. "Of course."
A small smile touched Harry's lips. He seemed relieved, of all things.
"Good." His smile grew wider, although there was a strained edge to it. "No need to see me out."
"Thank you for preserving the few remaining tatters of my pride, Potter," Draco told him, and Harry laughed a little. With a slight incline of his head, Harry strode towards the door of Draco's bedroom and let himself out.
Draco sat on the edge of his bed, and let out a low, growly sort of sigh.
He lay on the bed for a moment, quietly taking stock; all limbs and internal organs seemed present and accounted for. However, there was a distantly thin, shiny layer of pain all along the surface of all his muscles, as if they'd been stretched as far as they could have possibly been asked to go, and then pushed further. Slowly, he sat up, sparing a glance for the tatters of white cloth strewn across his lap, remnants of what had apparently had been fine linen in a former life.
He pushed them away from himself, wrinkling his nose at the nose at the cloud of scent which rose: sweat, ejaculate, liquor and a healthy drizzle of sharp fear. His prick, spent and wrinkled, lay against the inside of one thigh, soft pink against pale skin. A faint glimmer of a modified Contego remained on the flesh; at least he'd been able to cast some kind of protection against transmittable diseases. A soft sound came from the furthest corner of the room, and Draco's head snapped towards it. He was aware that his nostrils flared, sniffing at the air, and that his teeth were bared in what must have seemed to be a gleefully feral expression, for the young man crouched between the television stand and the wall whimpered some more and tried to curl himself into a smaller shape, mainly through a series of convulsive flinches.
In that moment, Draco underwent a curious doubling of his personality; split, one might say, although each half was quite aware of the other, and fairly comfortable with that fact, up to a point. There was currently, however, a twisting kind of strain between the two halves.
No, one side commanded tremulously. It sounded like a small child trying to scold a large and persistent bully. No. Stop. Enough.
The response was not verbal, but there was an expression of slavering delight of craven, unstated lust. Whatever that other side had gotten, it had liked, and it had wanted more. Soonest best, of course.
Draco fought a grim, internal battle, barely won, stuffing that wild section behind a mental wall sturdy enough to keep it contained, for now. He still had to carry out his daily meditation, and removing himself from this scene, this place full of awful delicious scents was a necessary first step...but first, he had to clean up.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed , barely registering the thick pile of carpet against the bare soles of his feet. The hotel room was unrecognizable due to two incontrovertible facts:
1. He could not remember how he had gotten there;
2. It was trashed quite beyond recognition.
Papers were strewn all over the floor, torn from magazines and newspapers. Forlorn and ragged bits of expensive clothing was scattered among the mess. Most of the furniture was upended; even the television stand lay on its side. The television itself lay on its face directly in front of the stand. The electrical cord, still plugged into the wall, was pulled taut.
The only pieces of furniture which seemed relatively unscathed and in proper position were the bed and a long, low glass-topped table. The table, probably designed as a stylish surface to place one's cup of coffee or strong drink, now quietly accommodated messy lines of pure white powder, and a few of those plastic cards used to open doors in Muggle hotels.
Draco wondered if he'd inhaled any of the powdery substance. More than likely not, although he could actually see himself doing it sooner or later, just to leave that doubled mind of his for a little while.
The young man in the corner had pulled up his knees and wrapped tattoo-covered arms around his legs. He had curly hair almost as pale as Draco's. He peeped up at Draco and ducked quickly back down when he saw that Draco had been considering him rather closely.
"Don't hurt me," he mumbled to his knees. Draco closed his eyes briefly.
"Did I hurt you?" Draco asked, almost conversationally. Wisps of the previous night floated through the heavy fog of his memory: moans, fingering this man's stretched and sloppy hole, hearing his pleasured gasps turn into shrieks that weren't even shrieks at all, they were so breathless with terror, so lovely to listen to, especially since he had such a nice voice--
--that's right. This man was a Muggle singer, a popstar, although Draco had thought the word hilarious, and thought that if it had been a wizarding thing, the performer would really have popped at some time in their performance. The wizarding world could be literal like that.
Benji Lucky, it was? Or the other way around, but he had been fuck out of luck last night, as far as Draco could see: the skin of Benji's arms, side and flanks had large welts, red and raised. Draco felt pity and horror rise up within him in equal, stifling measure...followed by a possessive sort of satisfaction.
Benji's head jerked up as if Draco had shouted negations at him.
"Yes! You...the wolf!" He shuddered almost uncontrollably and Draco felt his empty stomach roil. He should have known better; he'd been through the bloody War, for fuck's sake, suffered and caused suffering. Reformed he was, though not remade; but to have a person cringing almost helplessly before him was something he had lost the appetite for so many years ago.
He swallowed back the shame, the utter self-hate, and said with gentle dubiousness, "What about a wolf? In here?"
Benji's gaze, of light brown eyes, so very pretty, locked with Draco's. He opened his mouth, seemingly to descend into a high-pitched rant, but then he pressed his lips very tightly together and nodded. His expression was one of wounded accusation and panicked fear, this last barely held at bay. Draco stood away from him, allowing a nonthreatening space. A short distance away, he spotted a pair of black jeans on the floor; a slight bulge on the left side indicated the hidden pocket of his wand.
Draco moved towards his discarded clothing very slowly, and yanked them on as quickly as he dared, leaving the white shirt unbuttoned for now. Benji watched him with wide eyes. When Draco tugged out the wand out of his pocket, Benji blinked. He obviously hadn't been expecting a polished wooden stick.
"Are you sure," Draco said, smooth as anything as he flicked his wand around and the room began to put itself together, "that you're not having...what is the phrase? A drug-induced hallucination? I mean, could this be happening right now?"
How hateful; how utterly low, but Benji's eyes appeared in danger of falling out of his head as he watched magic at work. Draco was breaking nearly every statute of secrecy set by the wizarding world, but this was an emergency. He'd fix it all in a moment, anyway.
"...the wolf," Benji whispered; the magic, though interesting, seemed to be secondary at this point. "There was you, and then. And then."
Draco gave him a coolly gentle smile, well-practiced after so many years. "What's this really, about a wolf of all things?"
Benji didn't move as Draco's magic finally coiled over him, healing his scratches; he seemed far too stunned to even flinch away when Draco knelt in front of him. Draco pressed the point of his wand very gently to that space between Benji's eyebrows. Benji began to pant in apprehension at Draco's proximity.
"It's alright," Draco said. "This won't take more than a moment."
Benji began to stutter:"W-Wh--"
"Obliviate," Draco intoned, and it was gentle, so very gentle; he could do that at the very least for poor Benji here. The charm sanded at Benji's memories, taking the harsh bite of reality and giving it a sheen of a barely-recalled nightmare. Draco was good at that, brilliant really. He'd had a long and proper training at it, after all.
Draco tucked his wand into its slim pocket, sat back on his heels and waited for the blank expression on Benji's face to fade away. After a few beats, it did, and Benji knuckled at one eye in a childish move before focusing on Draco.
"Hello there, sleepyhead," Draco said, in tones appropriately cheerful and rueful. "You've had a bit of an episode, I fear." He glanced meaningfully towards the table with its lines of white powder.
"Have I?" Benji cleared his throat and then yawned. "Happens." He glanced down at himself. "Naked again, are we?"
"Happens," Draco echoed, and got to his feet. He smiled when Benji released a slight chuckle. "Up you get. World's waiting."
Benji rose, rubbing at his bare arms. "How'd I get here? I had a bad dream, do y'know? What's your name, then?" All these questions came in rapid sequence, but Benji didn't seem to require an answer to any of them. He walked around picking up his clothes; it may have been a subconscious thing, but Benji seemed to keep Draco in his line-of-sight, as if he was afraid Draco would pounce.
"Look," he said, kneeling down and swiping a finger through the white powder. Draco watched as he licked the pad of that finger. "Look." He glanced up at Draco for a moment, and there was an echo of horror in the back of his eyes. "I dreamed about this wolf, you know."
"Yeah." Benji shuddered and then managed a ghastly smile. The inside of his lips looked bloody. "Maybe it's time to stop talking to the White Queen, eh?"
"Possibly." Draco placed his hands on his hips and considered Benji as the other man buttoned up his simple yet expensive shirt. Benji was moving very quickly.
"You know, you're well fit. I'd definitely have you for another round," Benji said, tones light. Then, a slight shadow passed over his brow. "But...maybe. Maybe not."
"How disappointing," Draco said, although he wasn't that disappointed at all. Benji gave him a fleeting smile, and just as quickly, he was out the door.
Draco watched him go. This is the last time, he told himself. The very last time.
Harry Potter, of course, disregarded that heartfelt vow with intolerable ease.
The Floo connection in Draco's bedroom zinged very early on a Tuesday morning; one or two o'clock, thereabouts. He flinched awake, snatching at the wand which lay on the ledge above his head.
At the quick twirl, a crisp voice came through the green flames.
"Malfoy? Terribly sorry to wake you."
Draco said, "Don't lie, darling. You're not sorry at all."
Goldwine Harrow laughed. With her unusually gentle name, and the kind, sweet features of a benign grandmother, Draco sometimes forgot that she was ex-Auror. He suspected that she'd been assigned as his immediate supervisor to 'watch' him. She'd been watching him, actually, for nearly ten years.
"We've had an Level Four incident."
"Where?" Draco had already swung his legs out of bed, pacing quickly over to his wardrobe.
"Club in Charing Cross," Goldwine said. "Hit-wizards were trailing a suspect. Suspect set off a stunning variety of Wheeze's to mask his escape, but he got himself caught."
At this time, Draco had his wardrobe open, critically eyeing all the Muggle uniforms.
"Paramedic, is it? Or police officer?"
"Police sounds better," Goldwine said. "Club's called RoxyPony, go on ahead. I'll rouse up Hamilton and a few others."
Draco pulled on his disguise and found the club on a map which helpfully pointed out the location with blinking red arrows. Then, he Apparated there under disillusionment, a handy trick for any Obliviator. Then, as unobtrusively as he had been trained, he searched for those Muggles who milled around in a low-level panic, telling each other about the insanity they'd witnessed. Wand hidden in the sleeve of his bright-yellow jacket, he carefully altered the memories of their night. It wasn't particularly hard. He had to be very careful, almost sly about it all. This appealed to his Slytherin sensibilities very much.
He found he quite liked being an Obliviator. He'd thought about being an Auror, or even a Ministry Potions' Master, but he'd abandoned those brave ambitions after the solid rejections from the Ministry itself. Pansy had been completely mortified over his intense need to work.
"You don't have to prove yourself to any of them, you know," she'd hissed all those years ago, over a large pitcher of iced-tea spiked with an inordinate amount of alcohol. "Do you hear me? They're so triumphant over themselves, they'll never see you as anything else than the defeated enemy." She'd looked close to spitting on the fine linen, and barely restrained herself, lips pursed in bitterness and disdain.
"I know." To himself, he'd sounded calmer than he'd felt. "Scone?"
"No," she'd snapped, but had taken one anyway, nibbling angrily.
He still made it a point to speak with her as much as once a week. Pansy, now a careful mother, took his Firecalls with unrestrained delight; at least now, she was more accepting of his job. It was interesting the changes wrought in her by the wily little Marigold, who loved Draco with all her five-year-old heart.
Another officer approached Draco as he finished another Muggle, and he prepared himself for some questions, relaxing when he recognized Hamilton's slight smile.
"Have you been inside as yet?" Hamilton asked, shifting his own wand deeper inside his sleeve for a moment.
Draco shook his head. "Just going in now. You'll make another sweep out here?"
"Yeah, sure, go on. I'll come in after, when Cookson and Rampaul get here."
Ducking past the police caution tape, Draco trotted down a few steps and down a narrow, dimly-lit corridor. He paused as the corridor opened up into a high-ceilinged space, coloured lights still strobing over a few remaining patrons, huddled in small groups. He made his way around them, disguising his wand as a pen and taking notes as they spoke, casting whispered spells. Another neat Obliviator trick, and he had almost reached the second to last group, when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.
A man rose from where he had been sitting at one of the many tables pushed close to the wall; it seemed as if he appeared out of the shadows. He was clad all in black, the top buttons of his long-sleeved smart shirt undone to reveal the skin at his collarbone. He looked so very familiar, and Draco stared at him for approximately six seconds or so, before his mind superimposed missing glasses over the narrow face, and registered Harry Potter.
"Fancy seeing you here," Potter said as Draco stood transfixed. He offered a smile that was more like a sneer. "Cat got your tongue?"
"Hardly," Draco said. "I suppose it was your Hit-squad that caused this mess."
Potter tilted his head. "Guilty as charged. Criminal's been caught, though, right?" Without his glasses, his eyes seemed larger and brighter.
"Yes, and thanks for the mess you've left behind."
"At least we've given your squad something to do."
Draco rolled his eyes. Eighteen years since he'd last been this close to Potter, and they were back to baiting each other as if they were still at Hogwarts. He turned on his heel, dismissing Potter even though the skin on the back of his neck prickled towards the other man.
"Keep up the good work, Officer Malcolm," Potter's voice jeered softly from behind him. Draco refused to show any surprise over Potter's knowledge at his Muggle cover-name.
He finished up the other group as quickly as he dared, and stalked out of the heart of the club without glancing at the last place he'd seen Potter. The other Obliviators would trace his steps, checking the strength of the spells he had cast, just as they'd all be trained. He wouldn't give Potter the satisfaction of his attention.
Draco returned home to a well-needed nap, waking up just in time for his regular call to Pansy and Marigold.
"Once, you used to call me," Pansy said with a mock-offended sniff. "Now, Goldie is the one with all the attention. Do you see how life has mistreated me?"
"I'd like to speak with my god-daughter, if you please," Draco said with all the hauteur he could rustle up at eight in the morning. "Ah, there she is. Hello."
"Draco," Marigold said seriously, holding up a ruined doll. She had never called him Uncle. "Je veux un nouvel Harry. See, Pinch-Pinch has hurt this one."
"What a horrid little Pinch-Pinch," Draco said, trying to hide a pleased grin at how Pansy's Crup had mauled the Potter-doll. Marigold gave the doll a sad little squeeze. The Potter-doll squeaked out I'll help you! I'm a Hero! I'm Harry Potter!
"I saw him yesterday. Harry Potter, that is," Draco said suddenly, and hid a wince at the excited expression which dawned on Marigold's face. Behind her, Pansy's upper lip curled almost involuntarily but she said nothing.
"Really?" Marigold was breathless with excitement. "Did you speak to him, Draco?"
"I did," Draco said evenly, and looked at Pansy again. Her expression was now quite bland. "We worked in...the same place."
"That is so cool!" Marigold whooped, throwing the Harry-doll in the air and then catching it, clutching it close to her chest.
"How American," Pansy muttered, but Marigold ignored her.
"Draco, I want an autograph," Marigold demanded. She leaned forward. "Did you know, he's a Hero? It says so in my storybook."
"I'll try, darling," Draco said and closed one eye as Marigold let out a high-pitched shriek. "Hmm. Quite a banshee you're raising, Pans."
"More like a little lion, this one," Pansy said, kneeling behind Marigold to lift her into her arms. Pansy's dark hair was long and straight, with a heavy fringe cut stylishly across her brow. Marigold's lighter brown hair was done in very much the same style. She was a tinier, cuter version of Pansy, and she lived in a world without a War. Draco thought he would do anything to keep it that way for her.
A small book came sailing through the flames. Draco caught it, and stared at the gilded cover: My First Book of Legends.
"You can get that autographed for her," Pansy said, her dark expression mocking even as Marigold giggled in excitement. "That should be fun, right?"
"A veritable party, I wager."
Pansy had no returning banter. She gave him a look which said quite clearly, Don't get too close.
Definitely not, he eyed in returned, and closed to Floo-connection to Marigold's happy waves.
"Very nice," she drawled, and knuckled one eye. The sheer sleeve of her expensive robes slipped down her bony wrist. She was sprawled across an incredibly old rosewood caned settee in one of the Manor's many sitting rooms. Draco wriggled and changed back into his human form. He rose from his crouched position with an offended glare.
"Nice? That's bloody incredible, Pans, for fuck's sake."
Pansy hummed and held out the hand with her joint, smoke spiralling up from the lit end. The joint hung limply between her first and second fingers. Draco snatched the tightly rolled white cylinder and took an annoyed drag.
"I bet you Potter can't do this," he said as he returned the joint to her fingers. Pansy grunted, quite unladylike.
"I bet you fucking Potter can turn himself into phoenix, and then hopefully fly up his own arse."
"Pansy Parkinson," Draco mimicked the low, stern tones of his mother, "I will not have such language in my house about Harry Potter."
"My deepest apologies, Mrs. Malfoy," Pansy whimpered unconvincingly. "I promise next time I see him, I'll kiss his ass just like everyone else."
"Get some tongue in," Draco advised. "Probably you'll dislodge the stick. Here, watch this." He changed form again, and paraded around, teeth bared in an impressive show of dominance.
Pansy watched him dispassionately.
"Hey," she said suddenly, "if you're bent as a human, are you bent as a wolf?"
Draco's growl had a strong hint of fuck you in it.
Draco walked around with a child's storybook tucked in the inside pocket of his robes for about four weeks before he stumbled across Harry Potter again. He entered one of the smaller wizarding pubs to have a drink with Greg and saw Potter sitting at one of the tables, right near the middle, deflecting all the furtive attention from the other patrons in a rather self-conscious manner. Weasley and Granger were missing in action, thankfully. Potter was wearing a large t-shirt and worn jeans that seemed to be older than most people in the room. When their gazes met, Potter's self-effacing posture seemed to stiffen. For a brief flash, he was the mocking Hit-wizard Draco had seen in RoxyPony, before he relaxed into the mode of retreating Hero once more.
Draco changed his trajectory from the small table he and Gregory took together, and sat at Potter's table without a word.
"Sure," Potter said, leaning back and taking a sip of his drink. "Go ahead. Have a seat."
Draco reached into his inner pocket. Potter made no overt movement, but his entire being seemed to still, gaze fixed on Draco's hand inside his robes. Draco pulled out Marigold's book, and smirked at Potter's suspicious glare.
"Forgive me if I seem wary of Malfoys bearing books," Potter said and Draco stopped smirking.
"I've been sent for your autograph," he said, biting off the ends of his words. He placed the book on the table, near Potter's hand. Potter stared at Marigold's book for a long, silent moment and then pulled out his own wand, poking at the spine of the book and muttering under his breath.
Draco watched him, lips pressed tightly together. However, Potter seemed satisfied with the results of his spells. He changed his wand into a self-inking Quill.
"Do I make this out to Dearest Malfoy?" he asked, eyebrows raised in what looked like friendly expectation to anyone who didn't notice the intensity of his gaze. "Or shall I write to Draco, thanks for being such a dedicated fan."
"Neither of the above," Draco told him, taking his own turn to lean back in the chair and adopt an air of nonchalance, even though he felt his skin warm at the way his given name sounded as it emerged from Potter's lips, and how Potter stared at him. "I told you, I was asked. To Marigold Broussard, if you please. No need to put your mind under pressure for any other embellishment."
"Hmm." Potter considered him for a few moments more, and then flipped through the rest of the book. A low, amused huff escaped him when he got to his own chapter. "Interesting. And what do I get out of doing this for you?"
Draco gazed at him, incredulous. "I rather thought that autographs were free."
"I don't do autographs," Potter said, twirling his pen between his fingers. The movement was hypnotic in the corner of Draco's eye, and he refused to look directly at Potter's hand. "As a matter of fact, I'm thinking I won't sign this here, because they'll be wanting one too." He nodded in a way to indicate the entire room. Indeed, when Draco glanced around, he noticed the avid expressions on their neighbours' faces. "So, what do I get?"
"What would you want from a Malfoy? Especially one that bore a book."
Potter scratched at his chin with the feathered end of his quill, before transforming it back to a wand. "I'll have to think about that. How do you spell that last name?"
Draco spelled it and then tried to hide his confusion as Potter shrunk the storybook and tucked it into the pocket of his jeans.
"What are you--"
"You can meet me here tomorrow. Same time." Potter got to his feet and then paused. "Broussard. Parkinson married a bloke named Broussard some time ago, didn't she?"
"You're keeping tabs," Draco said, standing as well. Potter looked up in his face, expression thoughtful.
"And you don't?"
He walked away before Draco could construct any response.
and keep thrusting fast
not too much teeth but clamp down at the back of his neck
so he doesn't wriggle away
they'll always try to
shouting and screaming
shake roughly so that he understands
don't move unless i allow it
i will allow it
i won't hurt you
licksoothe be still
Draco walked around the messy room, picking up used glasses and throwing them up in the air, murmuring a levitation spell each time. He had a small swarm of them hovering about his head already, and he concentrated on another spell to put the furniture back to rights, as far as he could remember. Potter popped in a few seconds after the blue two-seater bumped gently against the wall.
"Oh! Thanks, that's brilliant of you." Potter gazed around his now-neatened sitting room. "You didn't have to."
"I wanted to," Draco said and sent his swarm of glasses towards Potter. With friendly ease, Potter collected them and passed them along to his long, narrow kitchen. Their magic seemed compatible enough, strangely. There were no clashing sparks, at least.
"And thanks for coming," Potter said as the sound of the glasses tinkling in the sink filtered back to them. "Really, it was nice having you here."
"Thank you for inviting me." Draco kept his tone level, polite, and kept his distance from Potter... from Harry. He shouldn't have stayed, no matter how much Potter had been glancing at him all night, giving him those quirky smiles that Draco had to admit he liked to receive, to soak them into his skin. He should have left as soon as Weasley and Granger did, about twenty minutes ago, but Potter had himself a serious pull, and Draco was helpless in orbit.
He had to leave.
"I didn't think you would show," Harry said, bending down to retrieve a sparkly conical hat from the floor.
"Why not?" Draco edged his way to the arched entry of the sitting room, which was closer to the exit and, unfortunately, closer to Harry himself. "It wouldn't have mattered if I hadn't shown anyway."
Harry snorted. "Come on. It would have mattered," he said and stared up right into Draco's eyes. "It would have mattered to me."
Damn it. Ever since their units had been linked together for assignments, they spent a lot of time around each other. Often, Draco forgot to be annoyed at that fact, because Harry was amusing and sharp and sly and kind of pretty in that narrow, intense way which made Draco forgot every promise he'd ever made to himself.
Harry averted his gaze and pulled at the bit of broken elastic on the side of the little hat. Draco took a deep breath and opened his mouth to take his leave. Firmly, but politely. They were friends now, amazingly, and this was a friendship Draco was determined to keep. It was advantageous, of course, to have Harry Potter as a friend. Any Malfoy worth their salt would fight to keep someone with such influence close.
Additionally, Harry was never always the same. It was hard to explain and simple at the same time, because fundamentally, he was always Harry Potter... but he could be a different Harry Potter as the situation warranted. That kind of honest deception appealed to Draco, and was just one of the many reasons he should not be alone with Potter for any amount of time. So he would say goodbye and speak with Potter on their next assignment, or whenever they crossed paths at the office; no more, no less.
"Would you like some coffee?" Harry asked, and there was that quirk of a smile again. "Before you go, that is."
Draco said, "Thank you, that would be nice," and managed not to beat his head against the wall in frustration at himself. He trailed behind Harry to the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his arms folded as Harry puttered about with his Muggle brewing machine. Harry retrieved a pair of large purple mugs and set them down on the wooden table in the middle of the space before heading right towards Draco.
"Sugar, sorry," he said, reaching out. Draco shifted to one side and apparently blocked Harry from the very sugar-bowl he had been aiming for, for Harry laughed a little breathlessly and snaked his other arm around Draco, still standing close. "Okay. Got it."
"Good," Draco murmured, unfolding his arms and letting them hang by his side. "Harry--"
Harry tilted his head and leaned in, but Draco didn't move to reciprocate, holding himself rigidly. Harry pulled back, tentatively, looking up at Draco with a longing question in those gorgeous eyes. He leaned his head in the other direction and approached once more, and Draco sighed as their lips brushed against one another.
Draco gave up. His arms came up, lightly gripping Harry's upper arms as their lips pressed against one another in hesitant, gentle touches. Harry moaned softly in the back of his throat and his tongue slid against Draco's.
Draco wrapped his arms around his shoulders, kissing him soundly. When Harry broke their kiss with a pleased sound, he looked up at Draco with a smile.
"Really, really glad you came," he said. "Really."
"Qu'est-ce que--" Julien began, voice still sleep-rough.
"My apologies," Draco said, tone strained. "Pansy."
Without a word, Pansy immediately threw off the covers, revealing her small, high breasts and slender frame.
"Pansy," Julien said, clearly and quietly. "Pansy--"
"I'll return," she said as she pulled on a silky robe. She knelt on the bed and placed her palm on Julien's cheek. "I will."
Julien lay back on the pillows, staring at Draco with an unreadable expression. Draco nodded at him, and turned back to the Floo, returning to his own suite.
When Pansy stepped through into Draco's flat, she stood still and surveyed the damage. A man lay on his side in the middle of the destroyed room, naked and shivering. Draco wrapped his arms around himself, hunched over as if preparing for an inevitable blow.
"I've wiped his memory. Done what I can for his...injuries," Draco said. He swallowed, hard. His mouth and lips felt dry, and he didn't want to touch the poor man again. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Pansy kneel close, inspecting the trembling man dispassionately. She drew the deep hood of her robes over her head, and waved her wand over the man's body; then, she tucked her arms underneath him, and lifted him easily.
"I'll leave him at St. Mungo's," she said and spun on her bare heel. After a few moments she popped back into his space, one of the few people with that kind of access. Roughly, she pushed him into one of his armchairs and summoned a tray of tea, placing a warm cup into his hands.
"What happened?" she whispered after he got a few sips in. "Draco, tell me."
"I'm not sure." Draco let her fuss over him as much as she liked. He was busy keeping his mind as blank as he possibly could. Locked away at the very edge of that blankness, something growled in feral amusement.
"I changed...just as I got in him," Draco told her. Pansy's hand flew to her mouth, barely muffling a gasp.
"You should have heard him," Draco said, voice low. He sounded eerily calm to his own ears. "He tried to get away. I wouldn't let him."
"Shhh." Pansy pulled him close, and he pressed his face into the crook of her neck. "Hush, Draco."
"I'm a monster," Draco said.
"So you are," Pansy told him. "But I still love you."
Joint meetings amongst Aurors, Hit-wizards and Obliviators were interminably boring. Across the broad table, Goldwine had her delicate hands resting atop the polished wood, her eyes half-closed. Draco knew that she would recall every last nuance of the meeting, each subtle pissing match among their supervisors. Beside him, Harry slouched in the surprisingly comfortable chairs, swiveling back and forth slightly. He looked even more asleep than Goldwine, but he would probably fill out reports faster than Draco.
Draco watched Harry out of the corner of his eye. Harry caught him looking and gave him a slight smile. It was kind of amusing; no one had the the slightest idea that they'd had a horrible row a few nights ago, over sex.
"We both hate it when I'm on top," was Harry's very valid argument. "You know, I know, so why not the other way around? Come on, Draco."
Draco had simply said, "No," from behind his book and set his jaw behind his book while Harry had thrown his hands up and stomped off in the direction of Draco's kitchen.
"You have no tea, you heathen," he'd said when he'd stomped back. "And that new brand of pumpkin juice I like is almost finished."
"Did you write them on the list for Minzie?"
"Of course I did." Harry flopped onto the sofa beside him. "But you know what pisses me off more than anything else?"
"The sex or the tea?" Draco drawled and flipped a page.
"The sex," Harry said. "Do keep up."
"So sorry," Draco murmured, and turned another page, barely reading the words.
"You won't tell me why." Harry sounded forlorn. "Did someone--"
"No one hurt me," Draco said. "Nothing of the sort. We've had this conversation already, I'm sure."
"Possibly you're just asexual," Harry mused. "Or... maybe you're just not as into me as I hope."
"Don't be--" Draco started and then pursed his lips against the ridiculous. He kept his book up high. He didn't want to deal with an unhappy Harry, especially since he was the obvious reason. Harry wriggled about, and Draco could feel the heat of his gaze on the side of his face.
"Well, you get hard when we kiss, and you come when I touch you," Harry said, quite matter-of-factly. "So you're kind of into me."
"Brilliant deduction, that," Draco grumbled, and shifted so that his twitching cock wouldn't get any more eager.
"You're the first person who hasn't given me exactly what I want," Harry had murmured, sliding closer to Draco. "Don't you want to give me what I want?" He'd kissed the side of Draco's neck, softly. "You do. You want to slide right up into me and--"
Draco tossed away his book and created at least five feet of space between himself and Harry by standing up on the opposite side of the coffee-table.
"That's just the problem, isn't it, Potter?" he sneered. "You always get what you want. Frigging Golden Boy. You're just going to have to live with the fact that you won't get it from me."
Harry's expression became stony as he rose as well. He stalked over to Draco and cupped his face in both hands, giving him a long, slow kiss. Almost helplessly, Draco slid his arms around Harry's slighter frame, enjoying the feel of their bodies pressed together.
"You're a bloody liar, Malfoy," Harry had said when he pulled away, eyes half-lidded with sensual triumph.
Now, as the meeting ended and Goldwine collected a stack of reports from Draco with a wry smile, Harry turned to him and said, "Got the new flat-screen. You'll be over tonight, right?"
"No," Draco said immediately and because he was a fool and quite weak, amended with: "Of course I am, you idiot. You've been on about this thing for days now."
Harry's eyes twinkled at him. Sometimes, to annoy him, Draco would point out that he had quite a few Dumbledorian traits, especially when he was in a manipulative mood. Harry usually countered that there was no one as manipulative as a Malfoy.
Their friendship was almost too easy, Draco opined as he kicked at Harry's door later, arms full of wine, cans of soft-drinks and that ridiculous cheesy popcorn that Harry liked. The door swung open, and Harry said, "Ah, yay, the popcorn! Lovely lovely popcorn, I love you. Oh, hello, Draco."
"Hello to you too," Draco said, dumping the lot into Harry's arms. "The things you eat, really. You're a grown man, you eat like a five-year-old. Marigold has a more sensible diet."
"Marigold is a sensible child, fortunately," Harry said, heading to his kitchen and pulling out glasses and plates. Draco locked the door and felt the powerful wards snap into place. Harry trotted towards his bedroom, carrying a tray with glasses and a bowl, and Draco followed, a sliver of apprehension curling in the pit of his stomach.
"Where are you?" Harry called out as Draco stood just by the door, outside the corridor. "Come on in, you berk, I'm starting the movie now."
Harry's bedroom was surprisingly small, considering the rest of his home. The bed took up most of the middle, and a narrow wardrobe with interior wizarding space was pushed against the wall opposite the window; apart from that, there was nothing else: no desk, and definitely no chairs for Draco to perch on.
"Get on the bed, then," Harry said.
"I know your bloody rules," Harry said, sharpness carving his words into sharp points. He didn't look at Draco, but was busy pointing the remote at the massive television mounted on the wall. "No sex unless I'm topping, which I really don't want to do tonight, so it looks like no sex. You won't let us try anything else, but whatever. Can I just watch a movie with my mate, man?"
"Anything else? Such as?" Draco asked, toeing off his shoes and crawling cautiously into the bed. Part of his mind, that feral side that had been quiet for so very long (until Harry Potter), seemed to perk up at the word mate, but not at the connotation Harry had meant.
Harry shrugged. "Thigh stuff, I guess. In between the thighs, that is. You know."
"Thigh stuff," Draco repeated, intrigued. "Sounds interesting."
Harry considered him out of the corner of his eye. "Does it?" He sounded sly. "We can try it, sometime."
"We could." Draco was cautious. A position like that sounded good, very good; but it could lead to other, unwanted things. Harry, however, appeared satisfied with the thought, and they settled back to watch the movie: a mystery, which was surprising considering Harry's thirst for explosions. Draco ended up curled on his side, more than half-asleep after drinking two glasses of wine. His eyelids drooped and he fell into a deep doze.
Vaguely, he felt most of his clothing being removed, and the covers thrown over his body. He wanted to wake up and say something to Harry, but he found he couldn't. There was a curious lightness in his muscles, a floating feeling in his bones. He shifted and mumbled, and then sighed at the light touches which now trailed over his skin.
He began to harden, unsurprisingly. It wasn't a hard feat around Harry. He felt warm lips fold over one of his nipples, a tongue swirling around the stiffening nub. It was so hard to wake up fully, and so he stopped fighting it. Harry was atop him, straddling him, now pressing soft kisses against the corner of his mouth and murmuring. Draco tried to turn his head, to catch Harry's mouth, but he felt too fuzzy and Harry was too far away and too close at the same time.
The bugger's drugged me. He's put something in the wine, Draco thought hazily and felt panic construct a monstrous palace in his brain, but so far away that he could only sense its menacing shadow. Then, Harry slid down further, pushed Draco's long legs apart and took his hardening cock into his mouth. If Draco could moan and thrust up into Harry's mouth, he would. As it was, he could only manage a slight whimper and a faint wiggle. The greedy slurping at his crotch was almost obscene, and the only part of him that was completely awake was his penis
Harry shifted up again, fondling Draco's balls with one hand. Draco had no idea what he was doing with his other hand.
He found out soon enough.
Harry held up his cock and straddled him once more...and then settled down on the thick shaft. Draco felt himself being enveloped by slick, warmth tightness.
No, no! he screamed mentally, but all that emerged from his lips was a fierce howl. Whatever drug swimming in his system was absorbed by the speed and force of his sudden transformation and instantly he was thrown into a powerful mental battle with the savage part of himself.
The struggle was always terrifying, mostly because his awareness was increased by the exceptional senses of his wolf-form. He could smell, see and hear far better, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not seem to stop the lustful craving in this form.
Harry shouted, and Draco smelled the spike of fear and surprise. Harry rolled off him, onto his hands and knees, trying to crawl away, but Draco was upon him in an instant, penis unsheathed. Harry cried out hoarsely again as Draco slid deep into him, swelling even more once he was inside. His fore-paws scrambled on Harry's thighs, leaving thin scratches in the smooth skin, before locking into position against the crease where thigh met pelvis, holding him in place as he shifted from one back leg to the other.
Harry tried to struggle away from Draco's thrusts, but stilled as Draco growled at him. He thrust hard and deep, and Harry let out sharp little moans every time Draco's furry pelvis slapped up against his buttocks. Draco fucked harder, movements wild; Harry clutched at the sheets with both hands and suddenly he clenched around Draco's cock, uncontrollable pulses of his hot inner walls. Draco sniffed at the sharpness of of his release and whined, pumping faster. In another moment, the base of his cock swelled even more, as he flooded Harry's rectum with his own come. Harry gasped and tried to struggle away again, stopping as his hole stretched ineffectually around the thick knot.
Draco whined again, and licked at the shallow groove of Harry's spine. He could hear the rapid beating of Harry's heart, the way he panted heavily. Draco made one final exertion of his will and the wolf-form, sated for now, melted away. The bulbous base of his prick also disappeared, and his normal human cock slipped slipped out of Harry's stretched entrance. He couldn't help a soft moan as thin, viscous come dribbled out.
Harry was trembling, they both were, but Draco had to move fast. He scrambled to one side, pawing at the trousers that Harry had pulled off him. He managed to pull out his wand, but Harry suddenly turned around and threw himself on Draco.
Draco found himself on his back, his wand-arm pinned to the bed. With his other hand, Harry held his own wand at Draco's throat, his eyes wide. The tip of the slender wood sank into vulnerable skin.
Draco licked his lips, trying to get that hot-dry feeling usually brought on by the Animagus transformation.
"Drop--" Harry croaked out and stopped, swallowing past the hoarseness in his throat. "Drop your wand," he said, more smoothly. Here was the well-trained Hit-wizard, calm even after just being violated by a wolf. "Drop it, Draco."
Draco uncurled his fingers and let his wand fall out of his grip. Harry grabbed it and tossed it over the edge of the bed.
"You were going to wipe my memory, weren't you?" Harry asked, staring at Draco even more intently. Draco nodded.
"I....I can't tell you how sorry I am," he said, starting to shake again. "Forgive me, Harry. Please." He tried to say more, but the shivering became even more severe, his teeth clacking in his head. Harry cursed and rolled off him, racing out of the bedroom and coming back in a few seconds. He was quite naked, but Draco couldn't fully appreciate that fact, even though Harry lifted and pushed him into a sitting position between Harry's legs, his back against a warm, bare chest. Harry's hand came around and tipped a slender vial of clear liquid to his lips.
"There, drink that," Harry said, voice low and soothing. "It neutralizes the effects of the shite I gave you."
You little shit, Draco thought as he swallowed the sweet fluid and then said it out loud after he swallowed, just for the record.
"I know, I know." Harry reached back, placing the vial on the wide ledge of the bed's headboard. He put his arms around Draco."I'm so sorry. It was...incredibly stupid of me to do that. I was wrong. Why didn't you tell me? Didn't you trust me?"
"I didn't trust myself," Draco said, and relaxed marginally in Harry's arms, which tightened about him. He allowed himself to melt a little more. "Harry. You must know, I would never....I mean, in the past, I have hurt you, but not now, never--"
"Shh," Harry said, kissing his ear. "It was scary. I really didn't expect to have a wolf under me. I bet it was scary for you too, right?"
"How can you understand?" Draco whispered, fighting back hot, tired tears. He clutched at Harry's arms, pulling one away to press his lips to a rough palm. "You must see I am a monster, Harry."
"Far from it." Harry moved the hand which Draco kissed, and caressed the side of his face. "But even if you were, I'd still love you."
Draco allowed himself to be held for a few more minutes, then extricated himself from Harry's arms. He retrieved his wand, and cast as many healing spells as he knew on Harry.
"We'll figure it out. Promise," Harry said drowsily before falling asleep, legs tangled with Draco’s.
Draco waited until he was fully asleep, and then carefully wiped every recent trace of himself from Harry's memory.
"You can't fix it, Harry. No one can," he whispered before he left. "But I love you, too."
It froze as a human stepped from behind a tree. How had this human come so close without being scented out by the wolf?
It sniffed and then sat on its haunches, surprised. It knew this scent. It was a beloved scent.
"Hello, Draco," the man said, and the wolf tilted its head to one side. It let that Other part of itself come forward a little in its mind, incredulously absorbing the softly spoken words. Draco. The Other name. "You've been running from me for a long time."
The wolf whined, and got back to its feet, going towards this man, this Harry, with its whole posture submissive. Harry knelt, rubbing strong hands over its head, murmuring in admiration and love.
"This time I'll run," Harry whispered. "And maybe I'll let you catch me."
In a flash, Harry spun around, but then his human form melted into the sleek, strong form of a wolf with a thick black pelt. The black wolf streaked away, and with a joyous howl, the grey wolf followed.