FIC: Surrender the Grey (10/30)
May. 11th, 2005 07:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
emmagrant01NOTE: This is the first draft of this story. The final version can be read HERE.
Title: Surrender the Grey
Author: Emma Grant
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Draco Malfoy returns to London after five years of self-imposed exile to start a new life with Harry. But will the secrets of the past destroy everything they've worked for?
Sequel to: Left My Heart. This will make much more sense if you have read that first!
Disclaimer: Not my characters, no copyright violation intended.
Length: 150,000 words
Status: COMPLETED November 2, 2005 (Posted March 2 - November 2, 2005)
Notes:
1. Please don't archive this story yet! This is the first draft, and in the next few months, it will be revised and edited. I'll post the final version on my website and a few other select archives, but in the meantime, feel free to link to this post.
2. There aren't enough words to say THANK YOU to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jedirita, hazelhawthorne, and charlotteschaos for beta-ing this story! These are some of the hardest-working betas out there, and they deserve lots of snaps for putting up with me for eight months.
3. Even though the backstory of this fic only assumes canon up through Order of the Phoenix, I stole a few cool ideas from Half Blood Prince. Cause they were cooler than mine...
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9
(10)
Draco took another drag off the cigarette and stared up at the crest emblazoned on the gates leading up to Hogwarts castle. He hadn't thought it would be so strange to come back here. It was, after all, a place he'd spent more than six years of his life -- six very formative years, at that.
And that was many years ago, and so much had happened to him since. Life was much simpler then, even though he hadn't thought so at the time. Those last few years had been horrible and lonely, with so many of his friends pulled from school. And the realization that he was gay had made his sense of isolation even more acute. He'd only told his secret to one other person, and that person was long dead.
Well, there was another. Draco'd never told him; he just knew.
The walk up the drive was long, and he was halfway there before he realized he was still holding the cigarette. He banished it with a flick of his wrist -- the anti-littering charms on the Hogwarts grounds were not something to be trifled with, nor was the anti-smoking hex inside the castle. Several unfortunate Hufflepuffs had learned that the hard way in Draco's sixth year. Their welts hadn't disappeared for a month.
The main doors swung open as he climbed the steps. A group of laughing children rushed past; a few cast curious glances at him, but none stopped to stare. His glamour was unremarkable, so he didn't expect them to do. He was tempted to turn and watch them, to see if they were dashing towards the groundskeeper's hut, or off to the Quidditch pitch. His mind was momentarily flooded by memories, enough to make him pause on the top step and collect himself.
There was a time when he would have given anything to be back here, but that time was long gone. For the first time in his life, Draco Malfoy felt old.
He stepped through the doorway and was almost immediately accosted by a teacher he didn't recognize.
"Can I help you?" she asked, in that tone that really meant Just who do you think you are to walk into a school like this?
"I have an appointment with the headmaster," Draco replied, stepping back. She was taller than him, and rather menacing.
She gave him a skeptical look. "The headmaster doesn't take appointments at this time of day. I'll have to go and check--"
"That won't be necessary, Professor Finkley," a voice said. Draco turned to see Severus Snape standing in the shadows. He stepped forward, leaning on his cane. "Aren't you supposed to be supervising the first years' study group in the library?"
Professor Finkley frowned at him, cast Draco another suspicious glance, then turned on her heel and walked away.
Draco smiled, but Snape did not return it. "Clever disguise," he remarked, then turned and began to walk down the corridor. Draco paused for a moment, then followed him.
Snape's limp was barely noticeable. He'd been badly injured during the War under circumstances that were shrouded in mystery. Draco hadn't seen the man in years; he'd only heard rumors about him.
They wound their way through the school, past portraits that were mostly familiar to Draco, up a flight of stairs that started to shift position until Snape hissed a word Draco couldn't understand. The stairway snapped back into place with a groan that seemed to indicate displeasure. They walked down another corridor and stopped before a gargoyle, to which Snape said, "Incanesco." The gargoyle sprang aside and a door opened behind it, revealing a staircase that moved on its own, much like a Muggle escalator. Draco followed him up the spiraling staircase into the headmaster's office.
The room looked different than Draco remembered. The one time he'd been there before, the office was full of trinkets and devices. Now it was uncluttered and orderly, with only functional objects and furniture about. Most of the former headmasters in the paintings on the walls were napping, though a few awakened and squinted at Draco. There wasn't a portrait of Dumbledore. Draco wondered why.
Snape sat behind a large desk and contemplated Draco for a moment. "Could you please drop that infuriating glamour charm?" he said at last.
Draco raised an eyebrow at his tone, but did so anyway. He settled back into his chair, trying his best to seem relaxed. But he wasn't -- far from it. Snape's eyes narrowed for a moment, and Draco had the distinct impression the man did not approve of his appearance underneath the glamour. It made him smile, for some reason.
"Well? What was so urgent?"
Draco hadn't seen Snape in years, and he'd expected some initial pleasantries, at the very least. "Well… I haven't spoken with you recently, so I thought--"
"Get to the point," Snape remarked.
Draco clenched his jaw. "All right. What do you know about the division in the ranks of the Death Eaters?"
Snape's lips twisted. "I'm not certain to what you're referring."
Draco gave him a long look. "I didn't come here to play word games, Headmaster. I know my father is involved in a conspiracy of some sort, and that it involves employees of the Ministry as well. I also know that not all of those in the ranks of the Death Eaters support his actions. And I know he considers you an ally."
Snape raised an eyebrow. "Does he?"
"Yes," Draco replied, even though he was guessing based on information that might prove to be unreliable. "I need to find out what happened three years ago, when Voldemort disappeared. And I believe you have information about it."
Snape's eyes narrowed. "Why do you think I know what happened then? Even if I did support your father, what information could I possibly have that you would find useful?"
Draco blinked at him. "What do you mean?"
"Unlike you, I wasn't there, Mr. Malfoy."
Draco felt his breath catch in his throat. "I was there? How is that possible? I was living in New York at the time."
Snape was silent for a moment, staring at Draco in a way that made him increasingly nervous. After several long seconds, Snape sighed. "Why do you wish to know?"
Draco snorted, incredulous. "Do I really need to answer that?" Snape raised an eyebrow. "I don't remember any of it. Isn't that reason enough?"
"No."
Draco pursed his lips. He'd told no one what he was doing. Was it such a good idea to begin now?
"I'm working for the American government," he said at last, "and my task is to uncover the degree to which Death Eaters control the Ministry." It was mostly true.
"To what purpose?" Snape asked, voice surprisingly calm. "There has always been a degree of tolerance and complicity between both of those parties. I'm shocked this isn't something you know already."
Draco looked away. "I have no memory of the incident, yet it lingers in my subconscious mind. My father has been chasing me for a year, but I don't know why. His owl waits outside my flat. I believe he is even eavesdropping on my dreams."
"You should forget this hopeless crusade and return to America," Snape said. "Trust me, Draco -- this is more than you want to know."
"That's not an option," Draco replied. "I have made promises. I have… commitments."
"You would be best advised to leave Mr. Potter alone as well," Snape said.
Draco looked up at that, surprised. "How do you--"
Snape scowled. "Who else would you become involved with but the one person you shouldn't? It will do neither of you any good to uncover what happened that day. I know that isn't what you want to hear."
"No, it isn't," Draco replied, resisting the urge to slump down in his chair. "I'm being approached by supporters of my father who are asking for my help. Harry and I are both tormented by dreams we don't understand. Unspeakables are threatening me, and there is a smothering spell on the Ministry of Magic that--"
"I cannot help you, Draco. My position does not allow it. But understand that even if it did, I would still be reluctant. We made a choice, all of us, and it was for the best. There is no going back now."
"I don't even know what choice I made!" Draco hissed, finally losing his composure. "How can I know it was for the best?"
"Stop thinking with your groin, boy, and consider the consequences of your actions."
"This is ridiculous," Draco replied, glaring. "And I'm not thinking with my groin."
Snape smirked. "Of course not. I suppose you think you're in love, or some such rubbish."
Draco held his chin up, defiant. "I simply need to know what happened. I need to understand what role I played in this, and what role Harry played. It may be the case that nothing will change, but I can't bear living in the dark like this. It's going to make me crazy."
Snape considered him for a moment. "I do not have the answers you seek, Draco. But I think you know who does."
Draco swallowed.
"Your father was trained as a Legilimens, so the possibility of him eavesdropping on your dreams is nontrivial. I'd be careful, if I were you."
Draco nodded. This wasn't the answer he'd wanted, but it was clear he had only one choice. He'd have to go to Lucius.
+++++
Draco apparated to one of the local points in Soho, a phone box with a sign on it that read "out of service". It was a few streets from his flat, so he walked home slowly, thinking. People rushed around him on the pavement as they headed home from work, not seeming to notice a mousy-haired man dressed in a black robe. Draco paused on the stoop of his flat, then looked up. The owl was sitting in its usual spot, preening its feathers. The sun would soon set, and the owl would leave to hunt for the night.
Draco watched it for several seconds, until it stopped preening and looked down at him. It stared at him, unblinking. Draco stared back a few moments more, then whispered, "finite incantatum." He felt the mild tingle of the glamour charm dissolving on his skin, leaving him bare to the owl's gaze.
It blinked then, and shifted its head to the side as if uncertain what it had just seen. A moment later, it nodded its head in a near-human manner, launched itself from the roof, and flew away.
Draco sighed and opened the door to his flat. There was no turning back now.
+++++
Draco flooed to Harry's flat at half seven, dressed nicely per Harry's request. They headed out not long after, bundled up in coats against the chill, walking towards Notting Hill Gate. Harry'd written the restaurant's address on a slip of paper, but they passed it twice before they found the entrance.
Assagi was a small Italian bistro tucked up a flight of stairs on a quiet residential street. Draco took one look at the half dozen tables, all marked 'reserved', and leaned into Harry. "This looks expensive."
Harry leaned back and smiled. "You're worth it."
Draco almost laughed, then realized Harry wasn't joking.
Their coats were taken and they were seated at a small table by the window, where they could look down on the dark street below. Draco watched someone walk a dog along that street until a menu was placed before him. He was avoiding looking at Harry, but he couldn't help it. Harry would certainly see the guilt written on his face if he looked hard enough.
"Are you trying to look like anyone in particular tonight?" Harry asked.
Draco shrugged, staring down at the Secondi Piatti section of his menu. He was running out of glamour ideas, to tell the truth. "No. Why?"
"You look like… an old friend of my father's," Harry said, opening his own menu.
Draco frowned at him. "Who?"
Harry's lips twisted into a smile. "Want to pick the wine?" He pushed a thick leather binder across the table.
Draco shot him an annoyed glance before opening it to see a truly remarkable list of French and Italian wines, all priced at twice the market rate. "What are you having?"
"Mmmm… veal, I think."
Draco narrowed it down to three Tuscan wines, then picked the middle-priced one. The sommelier nodded his approval as he plucked the table wine glasses up and carried them away.
Five minutes later, their food had been ordered and their wine was served, and they still hadn't really spoken about anything of substance. Draco looked up to see Harry staring at his wine glass, frowning. Draco winced: why was he doing this? Harry was trying very hard, after all.
"This is lovely," he said. Harry looked up, startled. "Looks like it was a challenge to get a reservation."
Harry smiled. "I'm starting to wonder how Peggy accomplishes these things."
"And rather pricey, too. Special occasion?"
"Yes," Harry replied. He blushed and twisted the stem of his wine glass between his fingers. "It's been two weeks since you… since we…" He shrugged.
"Oh," Draco replied. He wasn't sure how to respond. It was sweet and touching, and frustrating beyond belief. Harry had been so lovely to him during the last 24 hours, after two weeks of being moody and insensitive. Why was he morphing into the perfect boyfriend now?
Harry reached across the table and took his hand. Draco stared at their clasped fingers for a moment.
A coughing sound signaled the return of their waiter. He placed a platter of antipasti between them and raised an eyebrow in a clear gesture of not here, boys. Harry squeezed Draco's hand before releasing it.
They'd agreed not to talk about work over dinner, and they hadn't cast a screening spell just to seal the deal. Draco was still paranoid, however. Whenever he looked up, people at other tables were staring at them. They quickly looked back to their food, but they were staring nonetheless.
It was probably the gay thing that was attracting their attention, Draco reminded himself -- nothing more. There wouldn't be any wizards here. No spies for his father. He had to relax.
"So, two weeks?" Draco said once the waiter was out of earshot. "It seems like longer."
"I know," Harry replied, fishing a mussel out of its shell. "I feel like I've known you for longer than a month."
"You've known me for 13 years."
Harry grinned. "Well, not really."
Draco contemplated the olive on the end of his fork. "So this is an anniversary dinner, then? I hadn't pegged you for the romantic sort."
"That's what my wife always said," Harry replied. "Ron used to give me no end of shit about it. Said I treated girls as if they were mates, and that's why they kept leaving after the shagging got old."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "This from a friend? Really, Harry. You must sort out your priorities."
Harry blinked at him for a moment, then peered at the platter again. "Today's his… would have been his birthday, actually. I'm glad Hermione isn't alone this year."
"His birthday?" Draco frowned.
"Yes. It's hard to believe he didn't live to be twenty-one." Harry's voice was small.
If they'd been alone, Draco would have taken Harry into his arms, but at the moment, he wasn't even sure he should take his hand. He settled for nudging Harry's knee under the table.
In the dream, Ron had said this was his doing, and that he'd have to fix it. Draco wasn't sure he could trust that dream, but he could do something, at least. He could find out what happened.
He only hoped it didn't cost him Harry.
An hour and two hundred quid later they strolled back to Harry's flat, down dark side streets with shadows that reminded Draco far too much of his dreams. Harry insisted on holding his hand the entire way, which was nice at first. But when Draco's hand began to sweat, he casually tugged it loose, only to have it captured by Harry again moments later. He swallowed down his annoyance. He should be grateful Harry wasn't pretending he wasn't gay any more, he reminded himself. But his tension wouldn't be so easily relieved.
They were barely in the door when Harry pressed Draco hard up against it, kissing him with a fire he hadn't possessed in a week. Draco was caught by surprise, but allowed Harry to back him to the sofa, letting himself be kissed and touched, letting Harry's hands pull his clothing away.
He was naked within minutes. An unbuttoned shirt hung loosely on Harry, all that remained of his clothing. It brushed against Draco's sides as Harry moved, tickling him in spots he normally wasn't sensitive. Draco squirmed against the sensation and Harry pressed him down into the sofa. Harry's weight on him like that was usually pleasant, but tonight it made Draco feel claustrophobic.
They hadn't made a sound since they'd come in except for the occasional groan or apology for an unintentional bump. Draco'd been afraid they would come back and talk. Considering Harry's new 'perfect boyfriend' routine, it wouldn't have surprised him.
"I've been thinking about this all afternoon," Harry whispered against his lips. "I want to make love to you all night."
Draco closed his eyes. He'd never been so tense about sex in his life. He pushed up against Harry's chest, and nearly toppled him onto the floor. Harry blinked at him, surprised.
He hadn't meant to push quite that hard. Draco licked his lips. "Fuck me."
"What?"
Draco sat up and tugged the collar of Harry's shirt, forcing him to kneel on the couch. "I want you to fuck me," Draco repeated, brushing his lips over Harry's. "Long, and hard, and rough. Right here on this sofa."
Harry swallowed, but Draco saw a flicker of lust in his eyes. Screw the romantic bullshit. This was what they both wanted, really.
Harry held out his hand and his wand flew to him. He contemplated Draco for a few seconds, long enough that Draco wondered if he'd made Harry angry with his request. "Turn around," he said.
Draco smiled and turned, bracing himself against the arm of the sofa. This was more like it. No talking. Just fucking. He could deal with fucking.
Harry's hands caressed his backside before his thumbs slid down to pry the cheeks apart. They remained like that for a long moment. Draco felt strangely exposed, imagining Harry staring at his arsehole. Why hadn't they dimmed the lights first?
He realized he was feeling vulnerable. His cock hardened almost instantly at the thought, to his surprise. He felt something hard -- the tip of Harry's wand -- press into him, and he waited for the spell.
It didn't come. He was leaning over the arm of the sofa, with a wand up his arse, while Harry just looked. He bit his lip, wondering why the hell he found the situation so… hot.
Harry's fingers traced over the small of his back, lingering in odd places.
"What are you doing?"
"Playing," Harry replied. The wand pressed into him a little further, and Draco caught his breath. "Your dragon likes me."
"Because I like you," Draco replied. He wanted Harry to get on with it, but he was enjoying this tension far more than he would have anticipated.
Something warm and wet was on his skin then -- Harry's tongue.
Draco resisted the urge to turn around and look. "Are you licking him?"
"He likes it," Harry murmured in response. His tongue ventured ever lower, finally dipping far below the territory the tattoo usually occupied.
Draco held his breath. Harry's tongue tickled around the wand, making Draco shudder. "This is nice, but--"
He felt a whisper against his skin, followed by the sensation of the lubrication spell spreading inside him. Then the wand was gone and Harry's hands grasped his hips.
"You wanted me to fuck you," Harry whispered.
Thumbs pried his cheeks apart again, and Harry's cock pressed into him. The burn of it caught Draco by surprise. He clenched the sofa arm, trying to concentrate on relaxing.
"I'm hurting you," Harry remarked. He didn't stop his slow press forward.
"No," Draco replied, though he knew it was ridiculous to lie. He was tense, so his sphincter was tense. He'd wanted it rough, though. He deserved it. "It's good."
Harry paused for a moment when he was balls-deep, hands sliding over Draco's skin. His touch was soothing.
Draco gritted his teeth. He didn't want soothing. He pressed back against Harry, willing him to start moving. Harry's hands moved back to Draco's hips, gripping them hard, then he started fucking Draco in earnest.
Draco kept his eyes closed, hearing himself say things like "harder" and "faster". The rough fabric of the sofa rubbed against the skin of his prick over and over as he was jolted by the force of impact, on the verge of rubbing his dick raw. He gripped the edge of the sofa tight, trying to find some leverage to push back.
He was going to pay for this in the morning.
He heard a strange sound, and it was a moment before he registered what it was. His eyes flew open, but too late -- a startled gasp emerged from the fireplace. He turned to see Cho Chang standing there, hand over her mouth and eyes wide with shock.
Harry had disengaged and jumped to his feet before Draco even realized who the intruder was. He plucked his trousers from the floor and held them over his groin, glaring at Cho. "What the fuck are you doing here?!"
Cho was pale, almost shaky. "I didn't think you'd be home!"
Harry's shaking was from sheer rage. "You didn't think I'd -- then why are you here?"
Cho crossed her arms over her chest, regaining a bit of her composure. "I came for the quilt."
"The quilt?" Harry's voice raised pitch. "We've already discussed this!"
"No, you refused to listen to me. There was no discussion."
"You don't even like that quilt! You just want it because you know I like it."
"It was a wedding gift!" Cho shouted. "It's no more yours than mine."
"Molly wouldn't want you to have it, anyway. She hates you!"
Draco slid to a sitting position, pulling his knees to his chest. He really didn't want to hear this.
"First of all, she doesn't hate me, and second, that's irrelevant," Cho retorted, voice shrill now. "You thought that quilt was ugly and never even put it out unless she was coming over!"
"Oh, for--" Harry's fists were tightly clenched. "So you were just going to come here and steal it, then? What else of mine have you taken?"
"I used to live here, you know. Everything in this flat is ours, in case you've forgotten."
"Not anymore," Harry hissed. Draco looked up at the tone of his voice -- he couldn't help himself. Cho shrank back a step, though she still looked furious. "I'll give you the damn quilt, but that's all. And I'm changing the wards so you can't just floo in to steal from me whenever it strikes your fancy." Harry stalked away, disappearing through a door.
Draco smirked at Cho and stretched his legs out before him. She glared at him and looked away.
"I'd offer you a drink," Draco said, "but I'm sure you must be on your way."
Cho snorted, still not looking at him.
"Or maybe you'd like to stay and watch?" Draco continued. He stroked his flagging erection.
Cho turned to him then, an unidentifiable expression on her face. It was somewhere between rage and disgust, and she was struggling to swallow it back down.
"Oh, I'll bet you would," Draco whispered. "Maybe you liked what you saw before."
"Fuck you," she hissed, eyes as cold as his father's. "You're so pathetic, Malfoy. You haven't changed at all and we both know it. This is all you're good for, isn't it?"
Draco clenched his jaw. "You won't get him back, you know."
Cho smirked. "Do you think that's what I want?"
Harry reappeared then and thrust the quilt towards her. He'd put his trousers back on. Cho took it and started for the fireplace again.
Harry held out an arm to block her. "Oh, no -- you think I'd give you a chance to cast a backdoor charm on the ward? Use the door, like the unwelcome guest you are."
Cho's expression didn't change. She turned and walked around him, heading to the door.
A minute later she was gone. Harry stood staring at the door for another minute, silent.
Draco pressed his forehead into his knees. He hated Cho Chang for more reasons than he could count. But mostly he hated her for what she did to Harry. Harry would be angry and morose for the rest of the night now, and there would be no sex.
Draco sighed. What had he been so tense about earlier? Harry was being wonderful and sweet, and Draco had practically pushed him away.
Harry turned around and faced the fireplace, an odd look on his face. He picked up his wand and pointed it at the grate, whispering the spells to take down the floo wards. Then he recast them, setting them so that only he and Draco could pass through.
Draco was touched by that gesture, emboldened, even. Harry collapsed onto the sofa, still staring into the fireplace. Draco stretched out on his side, head in Harry's lap. Harry petted his hair as if he were a cat.
"Hope Hermione doesn't try to floo over," Draco remarked.
Harry sighed. "I'll change it in the morning."
Harry's hand rested against Draco's cheek for a moment, one finger stroking his cheekbone. Draco felt something cool against his skin and realized it was the bracelet. Draco's bracelet.
The memory of it popping off his wrist weeks before flooded his mind -- he'd spoken with his father in that alley and learned of Lucius's plan to capture Harry. Lucius had asked for Draco's assistance, and it never occurred to Draco to cooperate. He'd been leaning against the rough brick of the alley afterwards with his hands over face, thinking about Harry and how much he'd wanted to protect him -- and the bracelet had fallen to the pavement.
He'd stared at it there on the ground for a long moment, baffled. He knew what it meant, the significance of it coming off at that moment. But he didn't believe it. How could it be possible that he was in love with Harry Potter, whom he'd hated for most of his life, whom he hadn't seen in years? Who'd just popped into his very complicated life, unbidden, unwanted?
Whom he'd never even fucked, for Merlin's sake.
Draco hadn't known how he felt about Harry until that moment. And everything had fallen into place in a matter of hours, followed by a glorious night that had changed Draco enough to reconsider everything he'd thought he believed in.
He'd always been out for himself, available to the highest bidder. FBI, CIA, Death Eaters, Aurors -- it didn't matter, as long as he was in control. As long as his own interests were served first.
But something about Harry had changed that, and he didn't know how or why. And even then, his own paranoia and insecurity had nearly derailed the whole thing.
As it would do still, if he wasn't careful. Draco caught Harry's hand and turned his head so that he could kiss the palm. Harry's fingers continued to caress his cheek.
"Besides, I don't want any more interruptions," Harry whispered, looking down at Draco's face. "And I'm sorry, but I don't want it rough tonight either. Can we just go to bed and take it from there?"
Draco smiled.
It was sweet and slow and quiet; soothing and careful and soft -- everything Draco hadn't realized he'd wanted in sex. They took their time with each other's bodies, not rushing, not racing. When Draco finally came, he was sitting astride Harry, hips rising and falling in an easy rhythm while Harry's slick hand enclosed his cock. A moment later, Harry flipped them over and pressed into him a dozen more times before collapsing against him with a groan.
Draco slid his arms around Harry's back, the dampness of their skin making contact slick and hot. Harry was utterly spent, forehead pressed into Draco's shoulder.
It felt perfect. There had never been a better moment to say the words Draco was thinking. They swelled in his mind, almost forcing their way through his lips. He squeezed his eyes shut and sighed instead.
To say it, and then to lose Harry anyway -- that would be the worst thing of all.
Go to next part
Title: Surrender the Grey
Author: Emma Grant
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Draco Malfoy returns to London after five years of self-imposed exile to start a new life with Harry. But will the secrets of the past destroy everything they've worked for?
Sequel to: Left My Heart. This will make much more sense if you have read that first!
Disclaimer: Not my characters, no copyright violation intended.
Length: 150,000 words
Status: COMPLETED November 2, 2005 (Posted March 2 - November 2, 2005)
Notes:
1. Please don't archive this story yet! This is the first draft, and in the next few months, it will be revised and edited. I'll post the final version on my website and a few other select archives, but in the meantime, feel free to link to this post.
2. There aren't enough words to say THANK YOU to
jedirita, hazelhawthorne, and charlotteschaos for beta-ing this story! These are some of the hardest-working betas out there, and they deserve lots of snaps for putting up with me for eight months.3. Even though the backstory of this fic only assumes canon up through Order of the Phoenix, I stole a few cool ideas from Half Blood Prince. Cause they were cooler than mine...
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9
(10)
Draco took another drag off the cigarette and stared up at the crest emblazoned on the gates leading up to Hogwarts castle. He hadn't thought it would be so strange to come back here. It was, after all, a place he'd spent more than six years of his life -- six very formative years, at that.
And that was many years ago, and so much had happened to him since. Life was much simpler then, even though he hadn't thought so at the time. Those last few years had been horrible and lonely, with so many of his friends pulled from school. And the realization that he was gay had made his sense of isolation even more acute. He'd only told his secret to one other person, and that person was long dead.
Well, there was another. Draco'd never told him; he just knew.
The walk up the drive was long, and he was halfway there before he realized he was still holding the cigarette. He banished it with a flick of his wrist -- the anti-littering charms on the Hogwarts grounds were not something to be trifled with, nor was the anti-smoking hex inside the castle. Several unfortunate Hufflepuffs had learned that the hard way in Draco's sixth year. Their welts hadn't disappeared for a month.
The main doors swung open as he climbed the steps. A group of laughing children rushed past; a few cast curious glances at him, but none stopped to stare. His glamour was unremarkable, so he didn't expect them to do. He was tempted to turn and watch them, to see if they were dashing towards the groundskeeper's hut, or off to the Quidditch pitch. His mind was momentarily flooded by memories, enough to make him pause on the top step and collect himself.
There was a time when he would have given anything to be back here, but that time was long gone. For the first time in his life, Draco Malfoy felt old.
He stepped through the doorway and was almost immediately accosted by a teacher he didn't recognize.
"Can I help you?" she asked, in that tone that really meant Just who do you think you are to walk into a school like this?
"I have an appointment with the headmaster," Draco replied, stepping back. She was taller than him, and rather menacing.
She gave him a skeptical look. "The headmaster doesn't take appointments at this time of day. I'll have to go and check--"
"That won't be necessary, Professor Finkley," a voice said. Draco turned to see Severus Snape standing in the shadows. He stepped forward, leaning on his cane. "Aren't you supposed to be supervising the first years' study group in the library?"
Professor Finkley frowned at him, cast Draco another suspicious glance, then turned on her heel and walked away.
Draco smiled, but Snape did not return it. "Clever disguise," he remarked, then turned and began to walk down the corridor. Draco paused for a moment, then followed him.
Snape's limp was barely noticeable. He'd been badly injured during the War under circumstances that were shrouded in mystery. Draco hadn't seen the man in years; he'd only heard rumors about him.
They wound their way through the school, past portraits that were mostly familiar to Draco, up a flight of stairs that started to shift position until Snape hissed a word Draco couldn't understand. The stairway snapped back into place with a groan that seemed to indicate displeasure. They walked down another corridor and stopped before a gargoyle, to which Snape said, "Incanesco." The gargoyle sprang aside and a door opened behind it, revealing a staircase that moved on its own, much like a Muggle escalator. Draco followed him up the spiraling staircase into the headmaster's office.
The room looked different than Draco remembered. The one time he'd been there before, the office was full of trinkets and devices. Now it was uncluttered and orderly, with only functional objects and furniture about. Most of the former headmasters in the paintings on the walls were napping, though a few awakened and squinted at Draco. There wasn't a portrait of Dumbledore. Draco wondered why.
Snape sat behind a large desk and contemplated Draco for a moment. "Could you please drop that infuriating glamour charm?" he said at last.
Draco raised an eyebrow at his tone, but did so anyway. He settled back into his chair, trying his best to seem relaxed. But he wasn't -- far from it. Snape's eyes narrowed for a moment, and Draco had the distinct impression the man did not approve of his appearance underneath the glamour. It made him smile, for some reason.
"Well? What was so urgent?"
Draco hadn't seen Snape in years, and he'd expected some initial pleasantries, at the very least. "Well… I haven't spoken with you recently, so I thought--"
"Get to the point," Snape remarked.
Draco clenched his jaw. "All right. What do you know about the division in the ranks of the Death Eaters?"
Snape's lips twisted. "I'm not certain to what you're referring."
Draco gave him a long look. "I didn't come here to play word games, Headmaster. I know my father is involved in a conspiracy of some sort, and that it involves employees of the Ministry as well. I also know that not all of those in the ranks of the Death Eaters support his actions. And I know he considers you an ally."
Snape raised an eyebrow. "Does he?"
"Yes," Draco replied, even though he was guessing based on information that might prove to be unreliable. "I need to find out what happened three years ago, when Voldemort disappeared. And I believe you have information about it."
Snape's eyes narrowed. "Why do you think I know what happened then? Even if I did support your father, what information could I possibly have that you would find useful?"
Draco blinked at him. "What do you mean?"
"Unlike you, I wasn't there, Mr. Malfoy."
Draco felt his breath catch in his throat. "I was there? How is that possible? I was living in New York at the time."
Snape was silent for a moment, staring at Draco in a way that made him increasingly nervous. After several long seconds, Snape sighed. "Why do you wish to know?"
Draco snorted, incredulous. "Do I really need to answer that?" Snape raised an eyebrow. "I don't remember any of it. Isn't that reason enough?"
"No."
Draco pursed his lips. He'd told no one what he was doing. Was it such a good idea to begin now?
"I'm working for the American government," he said at last, "and my task is to uncover the degree to which Death Eaters control the Ministry." It was mostly true.
"To what purpose?" Snape asked, voice surprisingly calm. "There has always been a degree of tolerance and complicity between both of those parties. I'm shocked this isn't something you know already."
Draco looked away. "I have no memory of the incident, yet it lingers in my subconscious mind. My father has been chasing me for a year, but I don't know why. His owl waits outside my flat. I believe he is even eavesdropping on my dreams."
"You should forget this hopeless crusade and return to America," Snape said. "Trust me, Draco -- this is more than you want to know."
"That's not an option," Draco replied. "I have made promises. I have… commitments."
"You would be best advised to leave Mr. Potter alone as well," Snape said.
Draco looked up at that, surprised. "How do you--"
Snape scowled. "Who else would you become involved with but the one person you shouldn't? It will do neither of you any good to uncover what happened that day. I know that isn't what you want to hear."
"No, it isn't," Draco replied, resisting the urge to slump down in his chair. "I'm being approached by supporters of my father who are asking for my help. Harry and I are both tormented by dreams we don't understand. Unspeakables are threatening me, and there is a smothering spell on the Ministry of Magic that--"
"I cannot help you, Draco. My position does not allow it. But understand that even if it did, I would still be reluctant. We made a choice, all of us, and it was for the best. There is no going back now."
"I don't even know what choice I made!" Draco hissed, finally losing his composure. "How can I know it was for the best?"
"Stop thinking with your groin, boy, and consider the consequences of your actions."
"This is ridiculous," Draco replied, glaring. "And I'm not thinking with my groin."
Snape smirked. "Of course not. I suppose you think you're in love, or some such rubbish."
Draco held his chin up, defiant. "I simply need to know what happened. I need to understand what role I played in this, and what role Harry played. It may be the case that nothing will change, but I can't bear living in the dark like this. It's going to make me crazy."
Snape considered him for a moment. "I do not have the answers you seek, Draco. But I think you know who does."
Draco swallowed.
"Your father was trained as a Legilimens, so the possibility of him eavesdropping on your dreams is nontrivial. I'd be careful, if I were you."
Draco nodded. This wasn't the answer he'd wanted, but it was clear he had only one choice. He'd have to go to Lucius.
+++++
Draco apparated to one of the local points in Soho, a phone box with a sign on it that read "out of service". It was a few streets from his flat, so he walked home slowly, thinking. People rushed around him on the pavement as they headed home from work, not seeming to notice a mousy-haired man dressed in a black robe. Draco paused on the stoop of his flat, then looked up. The owl was sitting in its usual spot, preening its feathers. The sun would soon set, and the owl would leave to hunt for the night.
Draco watched it for several seconds, until it stopped preening and looked down at him. It stared at him, unblinking. Draco stared back a few moments more, then whispered, "finite incantatum." He felt the mild tingle of the glamour charm dissolving on his skin, leaving him bare to the owl's gaze.
It blinked then, and shifted its head to the side as if uncertain what it had just seen. A moment later, it nodded its head in a near-human manner, launched itself from the roof, and flew away.
Draco sighed and opened the door to his flat. There was no turning back now.
+++++
Draco flooed to Harry's flat at half seven, dressed nicely per Harry's request. They headed out not long after, bundled up in coats against the chill, walking towards Notting Hill Gate. Harry'd written the restaurant's address on a slip of paper, but they passed it twice before they found the entrance.
Assagi was a small Italian bistro tucked up a flight of stairs on a quiet residential street. Draco took one look at the half dozen tables, all marked 'reserved', and leaned into Harry. "This looks expensive."
Harry leaned back and smiled. "You're worth it."
Draco almost laughed, then realized Harry wasn't joking.
Their coats were taken and they were seated at a small table by the window, where they could look down on the dark street below. Draco watched someone walk a dog along that street until a menu was placed before him. He was avoiding looking at Harry, but he couldn't help it. Harry would certainly see the guilt written on his face if he looked hard enough.
"Are you trying to look like anyone in particular tonight?" Harry asked.
Draco shrugged, staring down at the Secondi Piatti section of his menu. He was running out of glamour ideas, to tell the truth. "No. Why?"
"You look like… an old friend of my father's," Harry said, opening his own menu.
Draco frowned at him. "Who?"
Harry's lips twisted into a smile. "Want to pick the wine?" He pushed a thick leather binder across the table.
Draco shot him an annoyed glance before opening it to see a truly remarkable list of French and Italian wines, all priced at twice the market rate. "What are you having?"
"Mmmm… veal, I think."
Draco narrowed it down to three Tuscan wines, then picked the middle-priced one. The sommelier nodded his approval as he plucked the table wine glasses up and carried them away.
Five minutes later, their food had been ordered and their wine was served, and they still hadn't really spoken about anything of substance. Draco looked up to see Harry staring at his wine glass, frowning. Draco winced: why was he doing this? Harry was trying very hard, after all.
"This is lovely," he said. Harry looked up, startled. "Looks like it was a challenge to get a reservation."
Harry smiled. "I'm starting to wonder how Peggy accomplishes these things."
"And rather pricey, too. Special occasion?"
"Yes," Harry replied. He blushed and twisted the stem of his wine glass between his fingers. "It's been two weeks since you… since we…" He shrugged.
"Oh," Draco replied. He wasn't sure how to respond. It was sweet and touching, and frustrating beyond belief. Harry had been so lovely to him during the last 24 hours, after two weeks of being moody and insensitive. Why was he morphing into the perfect boyfriend now?
Harry reached across the table and took his hand. Draco stared at their clasped fingers for a moment.
A coughing sound signaled the return of their waiter. He placed a platter of antipasti between them and raised an eyebrow in a clear gesture of not here, boys. Harry squeezed Draco's hand before releasing it.
They'd agreed not to talk about work over dinner, and they hadn't cast a screening spell just to seal the deal. Draco was still paranoid, however. Whenever he looked up, people at other tables were staring at them. They quickly looked back to their food, but they were staring nonetheless.
It was probably the gay thing that was attracting their attention, Draco reminded himself -- nothing more. There wouldn't be any wizards here. No spies for his father. He had to relax.
"So, two weeks?" Draco said once the waiter was out of earshot. "It seems like longer."
"I know," Harry replied, fishing a mussel out of its shell. "I feel like I've known you for longer than a month."
"You've known me for 13 years."
Harry grinned. "Well, not really."
Draco contemplated the olive on the end of his fork. "So this is an anniversary dinner, then? I hadn't pegged you for the romantic sort."
"That's what my wife always said," Harry replied. "Ron used to give me no end of shit about it. Said I treated girls as if they were mates, and that's why they kept leaving after the shagging got old."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "This from a friend? Really, Harry. You must sort out your priorities."
Harry blinked at him for a moment, then peered at the platter again. "Today's his… would have been his birthday, actually. I'm glad Hermione isn't alone this year."
"His birthday?" Draco frowned.
"Yes. It's hard to believe he didn't live to be twenty-one." Harry's voice was small.
If they'd been alone, Draco would have taken Harry into his arms, but at the moment, he wasn't even sure he should take his hand. He settled for nudging Harry's knee under the table.
In the dream, Ron had said this was his doing, and that he'd have to fix it. Draco wasn't sure he could trust that dream, but he could do something, at least. He could find out what happened.
He only hoped it didn't cost him Harry.
An hour and two hundred quid later they strolled back to Harry's flat, down dark side streets with shadows that reminded Draco far too much of his dreams. Harry insisted on holding his hand the entire way, which was nice at first. But when Draco's hand began to sweat, he casually tugged it loose, only to have it captured by Harry again moments later. He swallowed down his annoyance. He should be grateful Harry wasn't pretending he wasn't gay any more, he reminded himself. But his tension wouldn't be so easily relieved.
They were barely in the door when Harry pressed Draco hard up against it, kissing him with a fire he hadn't possessed in a week. Draco was caught by surprise, but allowed Harry to back him to the sofa, letting himself be kissed and touched, letting Harry's hands pull his clothing away.
He was naked within minutes. An unbuttoned shirt hung loosely on Harry, all that remained of his clothing. It brushed against Draco's sides as Harry moved, tickling him in spots he normally wasn't sensitive. Draco squirmed against the sensation and Harry pressed him down into the sofa. Harry's weight on him like that was usually pleasant, but tonight it made Draco feel claustrophobic.
They hadn't made a sound since they'd come in except for the occasional groan or apology for an unintentional bump. Draco'd been afraid they would come back and talk. Considering Harry's new 'perfect boyfriend' routine, it wouldn't have surprised him.
"I've been thinking about this all afternoon," Harry whispered against his lips. "I want to make love to you all night."
Draco closed his eyes. He'd never been so tense about sex in his life. He pushed up against Harry's chest, and nearly toppled him onto the floor. Harry blinked at him, surprised.
He hadn't meant to push quite that hard. Draco licked his lips. "Fuck me."
"What?"
Draco sat up and tugged the collar of Harry's shirt, forcing him to kneel on the couch. "I want you to fuck me," Draco repeated, brushing his lips over Harry's. "Long, and hard, and rough. Right here on this sofa."
Harry swallowed, but Draco saw a flicker of lust in his eyes. Screw the romantic bullshit. This was what they both wanted, really.
Harry held out his hand and his wand flew to him. He contemplated Draco for a few seconds, long enough that Draco wondered if he'd made Harry angry with his request. "Turn around," he said.
Draco smiled and turned, bracing himself against the arm of the sofa. This was more like it. No talking. Just fucking. He could deal with fucking.
Harry's hands caressed his backside before his thumbs slid down to pry the cheeks apart. They remained like that for a long moment. Draco felt strangely exposed, imagining Harry staring at his arsehole. Why hadn't they dimmed the lights first?
He realized he was feeling vulnerable. His cock hardened almost instantly at the thought, to his surprise. He felt something hard -- the tip of Harry's wand -- press into him, and he waited for the spell.
It didn't come. He was leaning over the arm of the sofa, with a wand up his arse, while Harry just looked. He bit his lip, wondering why the hell he found the situation so… hot.
Harry's fingers traced over the small of his back, lingering in odd places.
"What are you doing?"
"Playing," Harry replied. The wand pressed into him a little further, and Draco caught his breath. "Your dragon likes me."
"Because I like you," Draco replied. He wanted Harry to get on with it, but he was enjoying this tension far more than he would have anticipated.
Something warm and wet was on his skin then -- Harry's tongue.
Draco resisted the urge to turn around and look. "Are you licking him?"
"He likes it," Harry murmured in response. His tongue ventured ever lower, finally dipping far below the territory the tattoo usually occupied.
Draco held his breath. Harry's tongue tickled around the wand, making Draco shudder. "This is nice, but--"
He felt a whisper against his skin, followed by the sensation of the lubrication spell spreading inside him. Then the wand was gone and Harry's hands grasped his hips.
"You wanted me to fuck you," Harry whispered.
Thumbs pried his cheeks apart again, and Harry's cock pressed into him. The burn of it caught Draco by surprise. He clenched the sofa arm, trying to concentrate on relaxing.
"I'm hurting you," Harry remarked. He didn't stop his slow press forward.
"No," Draco replied, though he knew it was ridiculous to lie. He was tense, so his sphincter was tense. He'd wanted it rough, though. He deserved it. "It's good."
Harry paused for a moment when he was balls-deep, hands sliding over Draco's skin. His touch was soothing.
Draco gritted his teeth. He didn't want soothing. He pressed back against Harry, willing him to start moving. Harry's hands moved back to Draco's hips, gripping them hard, then he started fucking Draco in earnest.
Draco kept his eyes closed, hearing himself say things like "harder" and "faster". The rough fabric of the sofa rubbed against the skin of his prick over and over as he was jolted by the force of impact, on the verge of rubbing his dick raw. He gripped the edge of the sofa tight, trying to find some leverage to push back.
He was going to pay for this in the morning.
He heard a strange sound, and it was a moment before he registered what it was. His eyes flew open, but too late -- a startled gasp emerged from the fireplace. He turned to see Cho Chang standing there, hand over her mouth and eyes wide with shock.
Harry had disengaged and jumped to his feet before Draco even realized who the intruder was. He plucked his trousers from the floor and held them over his groin, glaring at Cho. "What the fuck are you doing here?!"
Cho was pale, almost shaky. "I didn't think you'd be home!"
Harry's shaking was from sheer rage. "You didn't think I'd -- then why are you here?"
Cho crossed her arms over her chest, regaining a bit of her composure. "I came for the quilt."
"The quilt?" Harry's voice raised pitch. "We've already discussed this!"
"No, you refused to listen to me. There was no discussion."
"You don't even like that quilt! You just want it because you know I like it."
"It was a wedding gift!" Cho shouted. "It's no more yours than mine."
"Molly wouldn't want you to have it, anyway. She hates you!"
Draco slid to a sitting position, pulling his knees to his chest. He really didn't want to hear this.
"First of all, she doesn't hate me, and second, that's irrelevant," Cho retorted, voice shrill now. "You thought that quilt was ugly and never even put it out unless she was coming over!"
"Oh, for--" Harry's fists were tightly clenched. "So you were just going to come here and steal it, then? What else of mine have you taken?"
"I used to live here, you know. Everything in this flat is ours, in case you've forgotten."
"Not anymore," Harry hissed. Draco looked up at the tone of his voice -- he couldn't help himself. Cho shrank back a step, though she still looked furious. "I'll give you the damn quilt, but that's all. And I'm changing the wards so you can't just floo in to steal from me whenever it strikes your fancy." Harry stalked away, disappearing through a door.
Draco smirked at Cho and stretched his legs out before him. She glared at him and looked away.
"I'd offer you a drink," Draco said, "but I'm sure you must be on your way."
Cho snorted, still not looking at him.
"Or maybe you'd like to stay and watch?" Draco continued. He stroked his flagging erection.
Cho turned to him then, an unidentifiable expression on her face. It was somewhere between rage and disgust, and she was struggling to swallow it back down.
"Oh, I'll bet you would," Draco whispered. "Maybe you liked what you saw before."
"Fuck you," she hissed, eyes as cold as his father's. "You're so pathetic, Malfoy. You haven't changed at all and we both know it. This is all you're good for, isn't it?"
Draco clenched his jaw. "You won't get him back, you know."
Cho smirked. "Do you think that's what I want?"
Harry reappeared then and thrust the quilt towards her. He'd put his trousers back on. Cho took it and started for the fireplace again.
Harry held out an arm to block her. "Oh, no -- you think I'd give you a chance to cast a backdoor charm on the ward? Use the door, like the unwelcome guest you are."
Cho's expression didn't change. She turned and walked around him, heading to the door.
A minute later she was gone. Harry stood staring at the door for another minute, silent.
Draco pressed his forehead into his knees. He hated Cho Chang for more reasons than he could count. But mostly he hated her for what she did to Harry. Harry would be angry and morose for the rest of the night now, and there would be no sex.
Draco sighed. What had he been so tense about earlier? Harry was being wonderful and sweet, and Draco had practically pushed him away.
Harry turned around and faced the fireplace, an odd look on his face. He picked up his wand and pointed it at the grate, whispering the spells to take down the floo wards. Then he recast them, setting them so that only he and Draco could pass through.
Draco was touched by that gesture, emboldened, even. Harry collapsed onto the sofa, still staring into the fireplace. Draco stretched out on his side, head in Harry's lap. Harry petted his hair as if he were a cat.
"Hope Hermione doesn't try to floo over," Draco remarked.
Harry sighed. "I'll change it in the morning."
Harry's hand rested against Draco's cheek for a moment, one finger stroking his cheekbone. Draco felt something cool against his skin and realized it was the bracelet. Draco's bracelet.
The memory of it popping off his wrist weeks before flooded his mind -- he'd spoken with his father in that alley and learned of Lucius's plan to capture Harry. Lucius had asked for Draco's assistance, and it never occurred to Draco to cooperate. He'd been leaning against the rough brick of the alley afterwards with his hands over face, thinking about Harry and how much he'd wanted to protect him -- and the bracelet had fallen to the pavement.
He'd stared at it there on the ground for a long moment, baffled. He knew what it meant, the significance of it coming off at that moment. But he didn't believe it. How could it be possible that he was in love with Harry Potter, whom he'd hated for most of his life, whom he hadn't seen in years? Who'd just popped into his very complicated life, unbidden, unwanted?
Whom he'd never even fucked, for Merlin's sake.
Draco hadn't known how he felt about Harry until that moment. And everything had fallen into place in a matter of hours, followed by a glorious night that had changed Draco enough to reconsider everything he'd thought he believed in.
He'd always been out for himself, available to the highest bidder. FBI, CIA, Death Eaters, Aurors -- it didn't matter, as long as he was in control. As long as his own interests were served first.
But something about Harry had changed that, and he didn't know how or why. And even then, his own paranoia and insecurity had nearly derailed the whole thing.
As it would do still, if he wasn't careful. Draco caught Harry's hand and turned his head so that he could kiss the palm. Harry's fingers continued to caress his cheek.
"Besides, I don't want any more interruptions," Harry whispered, looking down at Draco's face. "And I'm sorry, but I don't want it rough tonight either. Can we just go to bed and take it from there?"
Draco smiled.
It was sweet and slow and quiet; soothing and careful and soft -- everything Draco hadn't realized he'd wanted in sex. They took their time with each other's bodies, not rushing, not racing. When Draco finally came, he was sitting astride Harry, hips rising and falling in an easy rhythm while Harry's slick hand enclosed his cock. A moment later, Harry flipped them over and pressed into him a dozen more times before collapsing against him with a groan.
Draco slid his arms around Harry's back, the dampness of their skin making contact slick and hot. Harry was utterly spent, forehead pressed into Draco's shoulder.
It felt perfect. There had never been a better moment to say the words Draco was thinking. They swelled in his mind, almost forcing their way through his lips. He squeezed his eyes shut and sighed instead.
To say it, and then to lose Harry anyway -- that would be the worst thing of all.
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Date: 2005-05-11 01:42 pm (UTC)Thanks so much!