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A Wayward Dragon In Little Whinging	By : ChimaeraChan Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 9030 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Ch 1
- 2-Ch 2
- 3-Ch 3
- 4-Ch 4
- 5-Ch 5
- 6-Ch 6
- 7-Ch 7
- 8-Ch 8
- 9-Ch 9
- 10-Ch 10
- 11-Ch 11
- 12-Ch 12
- 13-Ch 13
- 14-Ch 14
- 1
- 2
Author's Notes:
This is a slower burn, sweet kind of story (even though Harry swears a lot and is grumpy as sin.) I really wanted a cute Harry/Draco just out in the world kind of thing. Don't let the chapter numbers concern you, they're short.
Apologies in advance for slow updates with this. I'm writing on the side and I don't find a lot of time to indulge in fanfiction anymore. But feel free to check out my website for some original finished fics www.sadiesinsbooks.com

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A Wayward Dragon In Little Whinging
Chapter One
I have no clue why Draco Malfoy is standing on my front steps. Well, the Dursley's front steps. If I owned front steps of my own, I still wouldn't expect Malfoy to grace them. Which makes this very surreal moment extremely confusing. Because he's here. All pale, sexy prat.
“Aren't you going to invite me in?” He asks, his eyebrow raised in his normal sardonic expression, like he's not on my stoop in the middle of summer.
“Fuck no.” If Vernon sees him, life is going to go to shit really fucking quick. I might not look like magic, but Malfoy does. All the time. I don't think I've ever looked at him and not thought he was otherworldly. Even here in my boring as fuck neighborhood, he's a damn hunky prince, flesh beyond glowing pale, silky white-blond hair drifting sexily into his shining silver eyes, lips lush, and red, and terribly tempting. No, he is not coming into my house.
He sighs, running a hand through his hair and glancing behind him. He's got nice, broad shoulders and I can't help staring at them. “Potter, I need to talk to you and I can't do it out on the fucking street. This is important.”
Oh, I'm sure it fucking is. He's at the Dursleys, on my steps, dressed suspiciously like a muggle. I say suspiciously, because Malfoy should know how to dress like a muggle, seeing as he attends school with plenty of muggleborns. But he's managed to turn jeans and a t-shirt into something exotic. No joke. He's in tight dark jeans ripped stylishly, tucked into buttery tall black leather boots. His t-shirt is tight, with a picture of—Yup, you guessed it—fucking Merlin, name and everything written in script. He looks like some sort of rock star, or model, or just Draco Malfoy. Hot. That's his default. And prat, but that goes without saying.
I, naturally, feel like a goddamn pauper next to him. It's actually really fucking annoying to get up ridiculously early in the morning in the middle of summer to have to feel like a pauper at your own front door. He's not mentioning it, but he keeps staring at my bare chest—It's really fucking early. Like, fast asleep, worried Vernon is going to come hollering down the stairs for breakfast and work soon, early. I'm apparently underdressed. Too fucking bad.
“Listen, Malfoy, I don't know what the hell you want but you're not coming in here. My relatives are annoying enough without bringing a wizard into the house.”
He blinks at that, his crystal gray eyes focusing behind me, taking in the wall with the family portraits I'm not included in, the tacky paintings of flowers, mail piled up to the side and Aunt Petunia's pristine floor. He huffs after a moment, meeting my eye again. “I don't see anyone else.”
“They're asleep. The thing I was doing—Do you even realize what time it is?” Dawn has only just hit the sky, turning his hair near gold in the morning light. He looks angelic, the damn bastard.
“I need to talk to you,” he repeats, staring me down like he's offering some fucking solution to our standoff.
God, he's annoying. I thought I had gotten rid of him for a summer, at least. “Wait here.” I shut the door in his face, turning and walking up the stairs to my small room.
I glare at my bureau, then at my mirror. Everything I have is going to look like shit next to him. It's like a goddamn curse. I could suddenly become the neatest, most fashion forward guy out there, but next to Malfoy I'll still look like a homeless person. Fucking prat.
I throw on jeans that actually fit, having gone shopping weeks ago once returning to the Dursleys. Fucking Merlin t-shirt... Where the hell did he find that? I want that shirt. It's not fair that he can get a damn Merlin t-shirt when he never wears t-shirts. Grumbling under my breath, I pull out a black NIN tee—because it's fucking classic, thank you very much—and pick up my sneakers. Aunt Petunia throws a hissy every time I walk in the house in shoes. Even with her asleep, I'm not risking it.
He scowls when I open the door, like he's been waiting for hours and not less than three minutes. I ignore him, locking the door behind me, cliping my keys to my belt loop and sitting on the cement stairs to pull my socks and shoes on. I run my hand down my face, trying to get the lingering sleep out of my eyes. Nightmares again. Always nightmares. Waking up to him shooting sparks at my window sure as fuck didn't help anything.
“Is anyone dead?” I look up at him, watching his face carefully. Nothing. He's gotten better at hiding shit. If I piss him off enough, he'll probably crack. But I don't know if I want to play that game so early in the morning.
“No.”
I stand, starting down the stairs. He follows after hesitantly, glancing back at the Dursleys like it's the one place he wants to be. “Potter, I need to...”
Yes, yes, talk to me. “Coffee,” I grunt. “There's a place down the street. And my relatives won't throw me out on my ass for bringing unsavory characters home.”
“Unsavory?” He huffs, catching up to me, mild annoyance flashing in his eyes. “People love me, Potter. Mothers think I'm the fucking 'cat's meow.' Their words, not mine.”
It's way too early. He's also apparently a morning person. Of course. “My relatives are scared shitless of magic. That includes the people that wield it. They will not like you. They will bitch me out for you showing up. They will be reminded that I possess magic, and they will again question if I really should be under the same roof as them.” I don't bother pointing out that he's a total prat, and even if mothers like him, I find him annoying as fuck.
He falls silent, his lips taking on a tense edge. Anxiety, maybe. Anger. I really need to stop looking at his mouth.
It's less than twenty minutes to the convenience store. For whatever reason, he doesn't say anything. He's not looking around, so I don't think he's worried about being followed. I don't know. I still don't know why the fuck he's here and if I really care. The air still has that chill dew to it, and I turn my face up to the sun when I step into the patches of light through the trees. Warmth. Light. An absence of the unceasing dark and the nightmares it contains.
He stops cold when I walk up to the glass doors to the place and they slide open automatically with a ding. Holy fuck. He's never seen—There are no words. Malfoy Manor must be located under a rock.
I let him stand there figuring out if he wants to chance the electronic doors, stepping in and heading straight to the back where there's another morning person already full of caffeine to take my order for some cavity inducing donuts and coffee flavored sugar. I find him beside me after a moment, staring at the menu curiously above our heads.
“Got any cash?” I ask, trying not to smirk when he shakes his head. Rich little prat doesn't have muggle money. Of course. “Pick whatever you want. I've got it.” The girl comes over with my donuts in a bag, handing an egg on a bagel with bacon—or the damn near equivalent. It never seems like the real thing in these places, like they manage to slip some plastic in there somehow. Malfoy orders a donut and coffee. Missy behind the counter drools. Yeah, I know. It's actually kind of refreshing. If we were in the wizarding world, that look would be directed at me just because of the scar on my forehead. Out in the muggle world, I still get that look a bit, but it's not assumed. And next to Draco Malfoy, I can disappear into obscurity among the rest of the people that don't look like sex gods. It's kind of nice.
“Is there something wrong with my clothes?” He mutters when we get outside, glaring at the people coming in that are looking him up and down. I just sip my coffee, refusing to address that fucking question ever. Maybe I could get him into my clothes if I say something. Maybe I could just get him out of his clothes.
“Malfoy, what the fuck are you doing here?” I ask, feeling it's about time to address this fucking problem and send him on his way to stop tormenting me. Seriously, it's way too fucking early. Early in the morning, early in the year—I'm not prepared for him. My brain and dick are very much fighting over how I should handle this situation. Never a good sign.
He looks around, scowling as he nearly burns his mouth on his drink. What is he, a fucking idiot? I mean really, hot coffee. Blow. Fucking wizards apparently don't know shit about anything.
“Ugh, this taste like crap.”
That he can taste it at all is amazing enough after burning his tongue. We reach the park I've been eyeing, and I put my stuff down on the merry go round. I snag his cup from him, popping the top off. It's black. Fucking noob. I hand him mine—Ridiculous sweet shit I shouldn't be drinking anyways. I sit with my food, sinking my shoes into the sand and watching him rise to the learning curve and actually blow on his coffee before trying it this time. The boy's brilliant.
I eat my plastic egg sandwich, washing it down with the murky shit he ordered. Once the caffeine hits my system, I probably won't hate him as much. Or maybe I'll hate him more. Depends what mood he's in.
“Well?”
He looks up at me from his donut, his lips covered in powdered sugar. Fuck. I train my features. If he sees me laughing, he's going to wipe it away. And he cannot, ever, be allowed to do that. Fucking adorable, sexy prat.
“Why are you here? What do you want?” I wave my hand encouragingly when he doesn't seem interested in answering. I fear I might have let a smirk free. But still, he hasn't wiped it away.
“I need your help.”
Ugh, seriously? “Malfoy, it's like 5 am.”
“I didn't mean right this second. Well, sort of.” He gives me a haughty sniff, which also clues him in to the fact that he's got powdered sugar on his mouth as he coughs. Sigh. I hand him a napkin, cus he can't seem to figure out life without cleaning charms. The kid is damn hopeless in the real world.
“How did you get here?”
“Apparated.”
Right, because he lives in a wizarding household, and he can use magic when supervised. Unlike me, who has to wait for Hogwarts and a dozen teachers to hold my hand. Whatever. “How'd you find out where I live?”
He shrugs, making me immediately suspicious. Because, seriously, he shouldn't be here asking me for anything. He should be here trying to get me killed. Luring me to my doom with those really gorgeous lips and cruel eyes.
“Malfoy, I'm not helping with shit until I know how you got my info.”
Looking at me bored as fuck as he wipes his mouth, he finally answers, “Snape.”
That's a puzzler. Snape hates me. But he's also a double agent working for the Order. He could have given up my info because he thinks Malfoy's going to try to take me out and the potions master wants to see what he'll do. Or he gave it up because he thinks Malfoy needs my help. Or... “Was this information given willingly?”
“Of course.” Like I'm being a crazy, paranoid person, or something.
“Let me see your arm.”
“Potter, are you fucking kidding me? I'm not a fucking Death Eater.” He looks like he's going to punch me. Good fucking luck. I glare and he eventually relents, turning his inner arm outward. “There's nothing. Happy?”
Fuck, this kid is seriously pale. I bend closer, holding his wrist as I peer. I don't trust him. For all I know he's charmed it away. I rub my hand over where the mark would be, but nothing reveals itself. No feel of magic or evil. He's chilly. And he smells really nice. I probably should let him go now.
“Where'd you get your shirt?”
“Solstice gift.”
Bastard. It's a really cool Merlin shirt. The beard and hair have animals hidden in it, and it clings to him, showing off his tight, toned form. Right, time to let his arm go.
I run my palm over his bicep one more time, just to be on the safe side. His skin turns slightly pink from my touch and I do it again. It totally has nothing to do with me wanting to feel his muscles flex under my hand and slowly warm up from my body heat.
“Potter, I'm not a Death Eater.”
Yeah, yet. The thing is, I can't remember ever touching Malfoy beyond the occasional fistfight. It's apparently addictive. “Let me see your other arm.”
He growls in exasperation. “Potter, they only put it one place. Part of their fucked up code.”
Yeah, he'd probably know. I hold my hand out and with a loud huff, he turns and shows me his other arm. I wonder if I ask to see his ass, if he'll let me. I bet he has a fucking perfect ass.
“Are you done, or am I going to have to strip?” He's pissed. I'm considering it. He'd look good in the morning light. Fuck, he'd look good in anything, anywhere. Does he have tan lines? Like a different shade of pale under all those clothes?
I forcefully take my hands off of him, grabbing my bag of donuts to give me something to do. “Alright, you're not a Death Eater. What the hell do you want?”
“Your help.”
Duh. “Need a bit more than that, Malfoy. Details.”
I glance over when he doesn't say anything. He's biting his lip. It's wet, and red, and caught between his teeth. God, I want to kiss him.
“I'm in trouble,” he mumbles eventually, releasing a long sigh. “I sort of... Well, you looking for the Dark Mark might have had different results, if you get my drift. But I... I ran.”
“Holy fuck!” Whoops, might have said that out loud, given his expression.
“Snape told me you have some sort of protection from You-Know-Who. That as long as I'm in the same house as you, I'd be safe until getting to school next term. After that... Well, who the fuck knows?” He shrugs, like he's not scared out of his fucking mind.
But he is. I can see it. He's shaking.
He could be lying. It's Malfoy. He lies all the fucking time. Over everything. Just to see if he can.
“Prove it.” There's no way in fuck the Dursley are going to let me have a houseguest.
Scowling, he straightens from his slump, glaring at me. “How the fuck do you want me to prove it? Would you like a written letter from the Dark Lord himself? Dear Mr. Potter, I'm unhappy to inform you that Draco Malfoy, son to my most loyalest of servants, has pussied out after learning he's to be my sex toy. Enclosed, I have sent all of his credentials, including a record of his escape, just to set your mind at ease. Fuck you, Potter. I'm not lying.”
I must have heard that wrong. Staring into my bag of donuts I run the words through my head, slowly sifting through. Nope, pretty sure he said sex toy. Pretty damn sure. I pull out a chocolate frosted pastry of doom and take a bite so I don't have to look at him right now. Sex toy? Voldemort can actually get it up? What is he, like a hundred now? Draco Malfoy as a sex toy...
I would definitely trade the Merlin shirt for that particular sex toy.
“So, can I stay with you?”
He could be hoping to get into my house to try and tear down the wards. He could be looking to gut me in my sleep, or drag me out into the night with Voldemort waiting outside. He could be crying right now, which I'm pretty sure he is.
Red rimmed eyes. At least he's not bawling. Fuck. Fuck my life.
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A Wayward Dragon In Little Whinging