Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Crap! #2	By : blastendedskrewt Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 32233 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own anything in Harry Potter's universe and make no money from writing this story.

Chapter List
- 12
- 13
- 14
Author’s Note:

All the same warnings apply. Thanks for reading and a big smile for those who were brave enough to review… Unfortunately, the “rate” button does not always work—which is sad, because it is such a great anonymous way to show appreciation. Ah, well… shit happens…

suicidein_angeleyes: You make me so happy! I’M the one who gets giddy at seeing a response from you! Really, I get an “undignified amount of glee” just hearing from you :) You’re awesome!

vampirekisses: You never cease to blow me away with how kind you are—I love how your responses are so in depth and point out parts that stick in your mind. And I love that I put them there! I appreciate your “gushing” so much and that you enjoy my writing. I want you to know that you really have sustained me through a rather rough patch of real-life… I have a gratitude towards you that is beyond measure.

Balingo: Hi and thanks for leaving a review! I’m glad you liked the story so far. I went to “youtube” and searched and… ohhhhh my! Uh, I hadn’t heard of That to the extreme, but… um… Wow. I knew people have to be ‘inflated’ for colonoscopies, but I didn’t know any one did it for shits and giggles. Seeing those vids, how far they were taking it, I was afraid they might rupture something! So I hope they are being safe, butt—yeah… the farts would be something to behold! Ha-ha! (And the guy who fed whipped cream into his tube—I had to wonder if he got high off the N2O that those canisters use) Then I got lost in a morASS of related fart and crapping clips—and it was all down-hill from there… *sigh*

Anyway, (for a general FYI), the Discovered! parts 1 and 2 were obviously right after the original Crap! and in the middle of Crap! #2 respectively—part 3 happened some random time after Babied! (with Draco curious about playing in a diaper) and part 4 takes place somewhere after Dragged! (with Hermione a bit further along in her second pregnancy). This chapter resumes with the most recent events in the overall linear sequence (well I won’t say ‘of the plot’, because there really is none-- but perhaps, uh… ‘progression’?).

Please enjoy this next portion.

)*(

Surprised! (past presents and future gifts)

“Harry, you’re troubled,” Luna offered by way of greeting as she dreamily approached the table at which he sat, people-watching out the café’s plate-glass window under a heavy glamour.

(How did she DOthat?!) This time, he looked like a fifty-year-old, wearing a grizzled beard, brown eyes and no glasses! He wished he didn’t have to alter his appearance when he ventured into public Wizarding establishments and could just be treated as a ‘normal person’-- but hiding behind his various disguises was better than the alternative of getting mobbed, accosted by reporters and cameras, or on high-alert from people who wanted to ambush him with less-than-friendly spells.

“Luna! What a lovely surprise!” Harry grinned and rose, giving her huge hug and whispered urgently in her ear, “Please use my usual alias…” He pulled back to gaze fondly upon her cherubic features. “How did you know it was me, Pretty-Thing? I hadn’t even said ‘Hello’—And what makes you think I’m worried?”

“Ah, right, Mr. Evan Jameson!” she announced a bit too loudly and then lowered her voice as she sat in the empty chair across from his. “I can see your Aura is clouded darkly and swarming with Wrackspurts,” she said simply. “You have always had a specific configuration around your crown when you had something serious on your mind. Are you waiting for Draco?”

“No…” he started slowly. “He got called into the hospital. I’m just here killing time until he gets home.” She didn’t miss his eyes darting aside and downcast.

She beamed a beatific smile. “Well, now I can sit and talk to you like friends!”

Harry’s shoulders deflated and slumped, “How many times do I have to tell you? You ARE my friend! And one of the best, at that. There’s a very good reason that you are the only member of the press I’ll speak to… I’ve told you that a million times! As well as being one of the greatest Spirits I know…”

“That’s nice. Now, what seems to be the problem?” Her eyes were so wide, so cerulean blue and so… unconditionally and genuinely caring. Maybe he should tell her, unburden some of the doubt; he knew she would be unfailingly honest yet sweet about it.

Yes, what he needed was someone objective and non-judgmental-- and that was her, she was the perfect person to talk to! (Suddenly, he was overwhelmed with gratitude that she happened upon him there.)

He frowned, wondering where to start. He was bought some more time as the waitress bustled over and took his companion’s tea order. After she shuffled off to fetch the witch’s brew and returned with it, he came up with, “Erm… well… things have been a little “off” with him lately. He’s been acting weird.”

Luna gave a slight breathy laugh, “Has he been weird? Or weird-weird?”

“Huh?” Harry asked cluelessly, his conjured bushy gray eyebrows knitting in consternation (was there a difference?). She just sat still, allowing him time to gather his thoughts into words:

“Two days ago he told me he was working late, so I went by his office with dinner and they told me he’d left hours before. Then, he got called away today on his day off… which isn’t unusual, but he seemed distant when I asked him any details about it. No,” Harry corrected himself, Draco had been as present as usual in their interactions and love-making at home, but lately he was… evasive… about the time he spent away from their abode.

“Distracted! That’s the right word! He’s keeping something from me, I just know it.” His triumph over articulating his feelings was quickly doused by a crushing fear. “Do you think he’s lost interest in me and is seeing someone else?”

A strange ethereal look fluttered across Luna’s features.

“No. He is hopelessly devoted to you. Always has been, always will,” she firmly stated as an irrefutable fact, then added softly, “I’ve known that ever since the times we talked in the Manor’s cellar before you and Dobby arrived.” She spoke gently next (like one might regard a pitiful or volatile psychiatric patient), “Do you think it’s possible that he may be acting secretive because he has been taking some extra time in selecting a special gift to give you on Valentine’s Day?”

“Oh crap!” Harry/Evan exclaimed as he clapped his forehead with a clammy palm— brain rapidly dismissing the split-second of confusion over her statement about them conversing in the Malfoy dungeon together—his attention quickly began obsessing over lamenting his new predicament. He caused a few curious looks from surrounding tables by his outburst.

Normally he was such a firm believer in Occam’s Razor! “Shit!” he furiously whispered. “That’s coming up, isn’t it? I’m so hopeless when it comes to remembering that romantic couple-ey crap! (At Luna’s affronted look, he rapidly amended) “… Er… stuff!”

He groaned. Now he had an extra stress to find something good enough for his gorgeous (and talented shopper) guy!

“Lu, what am I going to do?” he shamelessly whined, “What do I buy him? He says I’m ‘pathetic at jewelry-sense’—whatever THAT means--- And I can’t get him the same candy as last year… or go to the same five-star Muggle restaurant we went to the year before! We can’t go anywhere in the Wizarding world! Ah, fuck, I’m screwed!”

“Harr-Evan,” she smiled as his flustering rambles ended with him holding his head in hands and took a demure sip of her tea. “It’s not the money you spend-- it’s the thought that counts. He had the whole first part of his life receiving pricey presents that held no sentimental value. He doesn’t need things. He needs a gesture. He needs something that shows how well you know him, how much you adore him and your life together. Is there any specific time or place that means a lot to the two of you?”

Harry tried to think and then the honey-blonde continued, “Last year, I made a picnic for Rolf and me, and re-created our first date. He loved it and it cost next to nothing…”

“A picnic! You’re a genius!” the man in disguise gushed in relief as he took her hands in his, “It’s perfect!”

“Well, don’t just copy me. It needs to be significant to you,” she sounded miffed at first, then skeptical when she added, “And Draco might have some aristocratic hang-up about eating outdoors without a table…”

“No,” Harry/Evan hurried to correct her, “our very first Valentine’s Day—even though I didn’t know it was that holiday at the time—we had a picnic breakfast! He actually arranged it all! I can book a room somewhere in Hogsmeade, and then get his favourite foods, and— “ (*ahem* he coughed in embarrassment, trying to pass off his suddenly red face as choking on his own spit in excitement—and covered his own stammering with a seemingly innocuous term) “-- make ‘special coffee’… We’ll go out on the lake…”

He trailed off, his mind whirring at a frantic pace—This was brilliant! He’d ask McGonagall to borrow a first-year boat and row them out to the middle of the water and… “So THAT’s where you two were…” Luna mused, cutting through his reverie. At Harry’s shocked stare, she elaborated, “I saw you.”

Confused by her friend’s gaping mouth opening and closing wordlessly in a panic, she clarified further, “I saw you come into the Entrance Hall and part ways at the stairs to the Slytherin’s quarters just before sunrise. You were both so sweet—and openly happy-- both not wanting to leave the other. Anyone who saw you could tell you loved each other.”

“What?” Harry squawked, feeling the icy dread he’d initially experienced when Luna had said she’d witnessed that episode be replaced with a blushing burn of incredulity, “We didn’t even know how deep our feelings ran—How could you?” (then muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “no wonder you didn’t seem so surprised at our big ‘we’re together’ announcement four years ago…”)

The newly-instated editor-in-chief of The Quibbler just sighed wearily (in a very similar manner as Hermione did when the boys around her were acting incredibly thick but found it nicer not to point it out). “I may have simply been ‘Loony’ to everyone else, but I’ve known your Aura for fifteen years. And you were you were positively glowing right then.”

Harry just stared, amazed yet again at the intelligence of the witch; there was a good reason she had been sorted into Ravenclaw.

“Ten years, it’s been,” she cooed with an unusual, extra-intense energy. “And your relationship has only grown stronger—you are even more inter-connected than I ever thought possible of two people—your magical signatures are twined so tightly and reside in euphoric harmony that the air about you sings. I can’t think of a more meaningful gift than to re-enact that fledgling, poignant moment when your hearts recognized themselves as bonded to each other.”

Harry gulped.

Was it really the tenth anniversary of him doing That? He did some quick mental math, and yes, it was… And it was the perfect idea (and told his special friend that she ought to share the honorary title of ‘brightest witch of the age’ with Hermione).

After a sweet, inscrutable expression, she let out a lilting laugh.

The petite witch stood from her seat and enigmatically told him to make his heart open and to say ‘yes’ to new experiences, or situations—or some such, he wasn’t completely paying attention (just as he usually glazed over when she spouted profound, yet odd non sequitur proclamations). Then, she kissed his cheek, wishing him the best of luck with everything and floated away from the table humming a happy, twinkling melody.

Harry’s spirit was buoyed by his newly-found sense of purpose and plan. Now he knew what was amiss with his lover and what to do. (How did his DA comrade Lu always know him so well?) How she had determined that him and Draco were so utterly meant for each other remained a mystery-- not quite believing in the supposed ‘Auras’ and ‘Wrackspurts’—but he didn’t question her intuition; it was always right.

He was a man of action, and he had arrangements to make. The brunet’s blood thrummed in the life-affirming way that a new-found passion and project always injected his male vigor with extra virility. He threw down several sickles, far beyond what the tea had cost and strode to the door, immediately Apparating north.

_)*(_

“Fuck off, Potter! I’m sleeping!” Malfoy grumbled, creaking open one bleary eye; after ascertaining that his boyfriend had woken him up while it was still dark, the groggy blond fixed his hyper boyfriend with a cycloptic death-glare. “I thought the whole point of this get-away was to relax—not be roused before humanly possible!”

Harry just bounced around the room with a goofy grin, gathering the discarded designer clothes and cloak that had been shed only hours before and chucked them onto the disgruntled Healer’s tousled head. “Good Lord, you git!” Malfoy rose slightly from his pillow, a few of his locks sticking up at odd angles, “You’re worse than that infernal owl of Weasley’s!” (Seriously, how could his he lover have so much manic energy this early?)

Draco quickly, surreptitiously, checked on the well-being of the gift he’d hidden in the inside pocket of his cold-weather outer-robes, remembering its presence after it had clonked him on the forehead. Thankfully it was still tucked safely inside and intact.

“Get dressed, you lazy grump! It’s time for phase one of my master-plan!” Harry replied, tugging on Draco’s sluggish arm to get him to sit up.

Shooting him with a baleful scowl, the blond growled in a low tone, “There’s more than one ‘phase’ to this psychotic scheme?” (despite being tired, he managed to elicit a good impression of Severus, calling forth one of his patented “snarkasms”). In the next moment—after a tremendous yawn— he started pulling on his outfit from the night before.

“Well,” he continued to snark sarcastically, “please allow me a ‘number one’ step of my own. A rendezvous with the toilet-- before we go do whatever It is that you’ve got into your crazy head-- would be most welcome!” When he finished his piss and splashed some cold water on his face, he came out of the loo much more coherent and awake (and curious).

After several minutes of tip-toeing through town and over a patch of the Forbidden Forrest (amidst unanswered questions and curses at stumbling over tree roots in the dark), Harry finally swept his arm in a gesture of presenting a grand prize:

A platinum eyebrow quirked in unimpressed surprise-- bordering on disdain--when he spied a measly row-boat tethered to the edge of the Black Lake but allowed the off-duty-Auror to lead him towards it. A closer look revealed that it was filled with fluffy velvet and satin blankets and pillows; a very familiar-looking picnic basket was perched atop the mound of luxuriant textiles.

Ah. It all became clear now… The man he loved had remembered their first Valentine’s Day.

And then his heart-rate sped up in anticipation. (Did this mean that they would be enacting some of the other activities that had occurred on that historic date?) He wordlessly sat in the nest Harry had made for him; Draco raised no protest at his partner when the brunet tenderly took off of his shoes, wrapped him in Heat-Charmed bedding, and requested he disrobe completely.

After Harry settled his precious cargo in the bow and found his own plank-board seat, (and the blond was entirely naked and swaddled in silk) an embarrassing quaver sounded in Draco’s voice when he asked, “Is this going to be an exact re-creation?” He glossed over his moment of awkwardness by rummaging in the basket and handing them each a flask of coffee.

“Actually,” his lover seemed a tad nervous but dodged the question entirely; the non-satisfactory reply Harry gave spiced the situation with uncertainty, “I wanted to try something a little different… New…”

That sounded ominous.

Draco only hoped it wasn’t anything too revolting—he drew the proverbial line at overly-excessive body/finger-painting… or using IT in a purposefully mean and degrading way… or ingestion (No! He stopped that thought before he could get too repulsed and ready to hex his boyfriend; he had to trust that Harry wouldn’t push his limits too far)

“Which did you dose?” The Healer mired in trepidation tried inquiring again, all-too-hyper-aware of each sip they both took.

Harry curled his lips in a mysterious twist (that could mean anything). “It could be in either one,” he replied. The brunet silently commenced manipulating the oars and maneuvering them out to the center of the lake.

Draco tried to figure out if Harry truly didn’t know which of them would get it. Was it was all just a “Russian-Roulette” type of “crap-shoot” at this point?

Or could it be that the black-haired guy-- who could be deceptively devious, hidden under an mask of innocence and an altruistic exterior-- was tapping into his Slytherin side and making sure to surprise Draco into taking a hideous turn at That (outdoors and semi-publically in the boat)?

He figured That version would make sense-- in a ‘pooetic-justice’ kind of way.

On the surface, it sounded like something Harry would do; after all, he was the one who’d had to let loose in this lake/boat scenario before, and he’d intimated that he wanted something “new”. But he could also envision the sentimental (“semi-mental”, as he was fond of calling him) former-Gryffindor to have events play-out just like the first time, and was only withholding of the information just to make his partner stew in the suspense.

Maybe This was the “something new”?!

Barring the circumstances that surrounded their first two times at doing That—since one was a genuine accident, and the other, a secret ambush--there was always a clear expectation of who was soon-to-be pooping (except for the incident of Draco getting the back-lash from his own spell when Harry’s wild flare imprisoned him in accidental-magic panties—they both got the unexpected consequences for that one!).

Well time would tell, Draco concluded, and he felt regal as he sat back and enjoyed the star-lit ride and delectable food. He figured that either way, they’d have a raunchy good time—they always did.

Soon, a heralding fizzle squiggled in his small intestines and told him “The Shitter” this time would be him. He started to squirm as every bit of food he’d eaten in the past twenty-four hours melted into a slushy liquid in his guts.

With his stomach flip-flopping and belly bloating at an incredible rate, he lost his appetite for the breakfast all-together (no sense in adding fuel to the fire, he thought, knowing his body was quickly deteriorating into a disgusting state of uncontrollable expulsion). And despite the warmth he was wrapped in, goose-bumps raised the fine hairs on his arms and legs at his internal upheaval.

He was aware he wasn’t upholding his usual stoic façade, but the expression on Harry’s face stunned him completely; there was some unknown quality covering his countenance-- unreadable-- yet the part he could decipher had his heart speeding up and penis starting to fill. The Saviour of the Wizarding World was going to devour him!

As soon as the edges of the Loch and the lights of the castle and town had faded, Harry stopped paddling the boat and shot an “Immobilous” at thewater surrounding them. The brunet pulled him close, making sure the blankets remained snug around his alabaster shoulders; the blond’s thighs were shifted over Harry’s hips and the Auror’s calves wrapped around Draco’s pelvis, heels digging into the top of the cleft of his ass.

Harry effectively cocooned them both in the cloth and leaned in for a long, lingering kiss.

His lover was sweaty, but Draco simply figured it was from the exercise, and didn’t even try to hide his ogling as the Auror rid himself of his clothes (that while at moments was an ungraceful endeavor given their positions, was exciting none-the-less). After several moments of snogging, getting more and more into a fever pitch and roving, groping hands, he knew he couldn’t hold back the fecal fury in his bowels much longer. It was settling lower and it was only a matter of seconds until he would start seeping.

There was always an effort of trying to stave off the inevitable whenever they played like this— the seconds before something happened that couldn’t be stopped or taken back—but his choice would soon be obliterated (especially being stranded in the little boat and no other options). He thought it only fair to warn his lover, “Erm, Baby? I’m about to explode.”

“Me too,” came the murmured reply, and then he heard a borborgymous gurgle that didn’t come from his own tortured guts. Draco’s fingers twitched spasmodically around Harry’s waist without his conscious consent. He jerked back in astonishment to look into those glowing-green eyes. “Together?” he whimpered, daring himself to hope.

Harry nodded, scooting his derriere closer to Draco’s and pressed their balls and eager erections together. Their clenched butt-holes were less than a few centimeters away from each other. The brunet cast the “no-smell” spell just in the nick of time.

Draco moaned as he felt a slow leak escaping his anus; the trickle he attempted to stifle turned into a torrential flood. (The pristine state of their skin and linens were ruined in an instant.) Harry emitted a few drips as he reluctantly relaxed his ring; his load was somewhat held back by a “cork” of firmer feces-- then with a sputtering, crackling pop it shot out and settled in the crevice between their cheeks, followed by a grimy gushing of foamy fluid and gas.

They both groaned at the immediate physical relief of intestinal cramps and attempting to keep the contents of their colons contained; in the swirl of practically-peaked arousal that spiraled upwards at the moment of crumbled control and the thrill of horror (and guilty pleasure) that always accompanied making such a mess, Harry grabbed both of their boners in his meaty palm. The brunet squeezed their shafts together and started stroking, while still grunting as he forced more feces from his body.

It was horribly disgusting, yet entirely erotic and enticing to feel the sensation of sitting in a scorching puddle that they had made together. More bubbles burbled through the sickly swamp between their legs and both men were panting as they strained to expel the last bouts of thin, runny excrement.

Then it became almost a competition as to who could finish shitting first.

It was kind-of embarrassing how quickly they both came with a bare minimum of manual stimulation (as if somehow, they had been channeling the weak stamina of their sixteen-year-old libidos), but there was no denying that experiencing That from both perspectives simultaneously was an incredible turn-on.

_)*(_

It took several minutes to calm down and clean up.

Sated and sighing (and sleepily snickering at the steam that was still rising through the frigid air of February in Scotland from their exhilarating encounter al fresco), Draco reached into his cloak pocket and withdrew his gift for Harry. “I was going to give this to you after dinner tonight, but it seems like the right time now.” He held out a smallish rectangular box, presenting it to his lover with a proud smirk.

Harry visibly deflated as he accepted it. “I didn’t get you anything,” he mumbled dejectedly, “just this trip.” Draco rushed to reassure him that This had been perfect--very thoughtful—and he loved that Harry had conceived it and carried such an ideal, sumptuous fantasy to completion.

The former-Gryffindor looked a bit more heartened at his words and unraveled the purple ribbon. He held his breath in giddy anticipation (that he still felt every time he received a gift that he knew wouldn’t be a pathetic, mundane, used item of the Dursley’s) and lifted the lid— to reveal a WWW bottle, (much like the two he’d recently emptied into their coffees).

He was confused a moment as to why Draco would think it most appropriate to give right after they’d completely cleared out their systems just now-- until his detail-oriented eye noticed it was the older version of the graphics on the label and the contents were not the ‘crystal-clear-water’ typical of the Potente Pootion, but a misty, opalescent silver swirling—not quite liquid, not quite gas—the vapor of an extracted memory!

“Is this what I think it is?” Harry asked in breathy awe.

“Yes,” Draco confirmed with a beautiful smile, “Well, a copy —I could never rid myself of that memory completely, no way-- I observed it, then put back the original. I knew there had to be a reason I kept ahold of this vial over the years…”

“What about the no evidence rule?!” Harry squeaked, shocked at the sentiment; his exuberance dimmed in the next moment, “I don’t have a Pensieve…”

“Potter…” Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, “you can add the strand directly back into your brain… (‘provided you have one’, he itched to add, but banished that thought—Harry didn’t have the benefit of growing up as he had, and his naiveté was one of his most endearing qualities) “Once you put it in your head, no external proof will exist.”

(Oh yeah, Harry realized, he’d seen Dumbledore do that, taking back those wispy threads and replacing them in his temple—but he didn’t know how…)

Draco continued his “Wizarding world education” in lecture-mode as Harry silently contemplated the implications. “People don’t generally willingly give up their memories this way, it’s much more personal than viewing in a Pensieve that shows the action from the third person vantage-point. This way, you will get all my personal, inner-workings that I myself experienced and remember. Most people want to keep at least a little privacy in their minds. Plus, not everyone has the power and knowledge to do this.”

The blond pulled his precious Hawthorne with its Unicorn-hair core and uncorked the vessel; he floated the snippet of their shared history by the tip of his wand and placed it at the brunet’s left eye-brow. Harry was suddenly inundated by thoughts and feelings that had not been his own:

He witnessed the two of them in startling clarity, the way they were out on the lake ten years prior; he felt and saw them from Draco’s perspective—the vision was mainly focused on Harry, but glances down at his “own” lower body showed him to have pale, porcelain skin… (He sensed a shift in thinking).

And then he was overcome with the sensations of excitement they were finally back together again, smug that his scheming had worked and Harry had taken the potion-laced coffee—according to his most hopeful expectations—and an incredible amount of buzzing anticipation over what was going to occur.

Harry was actually surprised that there was absolutely no sliver of vindictive or malicious intent in there at all, just overwhelming arousal—that intensified ten-fold at hearing Harry fart for the first time. (Damn! He HAD noticed that!)

The heat he felt was doubled; watching them through silver eyes in the passionate embrace and snog of their reunion after being apart for so long was incredibly sexy, he had to admit, but currently he was assaulted by the sensation of Draco’s lust, and feeling it churn in his veins in the present (as well as his own).

Harry was intrigued and embarrassed (but also really titillated) by watching his increasingly nervous features as he realized and was having his internal debate about having to take an urgent, nasty shit. He remembered how horrified he’d been in those agonizing moments but right now he was floating on a swirling cloud of the desire Draco had been feeling.

The Healer was fascinated by watching the play of emotions run over Harry’s face, growing hard again—and could tell that he was too by the turgid length that was twitching against him. Harry made it to the end, he could tell, blinking furiously and panting.

“That was incredible! I don’t really know what to say… except ‘thank you’. For trusting me to share something so private… I…” Draco just smiled and hugged him tighter. “Although I was a little surprised there wasn’t anything about getting even with me, or plans to humiliate me further…”

The blond gave a semi-hurt snort and said, “Here’s what I have to say about that!”

It was Harry’s turn to grin, knowing what he was about to do—he’d learnt that statement and behaviour from him after all; he loved how each of their individual mannerisms and sayings were blending together the more time they spent in each other’s company. He held his breath as his boyfriend angled his hips to press his buttocks to Harry’s hip to bestow upon him a most eloquent rebuttal to his insult.

Draco thought he was going to let a little residual flatulence go, but was surprised when he ended up sharting instead; Harry felt the hot gust of gas turn to a fine, sizzling mist that spray-painted his skin and dripped into his pubes. “Oops, miscalculated that a bit,” Draco casually commented, fingers scrabbling around for his wand to vanish the mess.

Harry’s breath hitched at how relaxed and utterly un-remorseful Draco was! His cock was quivering-- practically vibrating-- at the added stimulation of how accustomed they had become with each other; they were comfortable and un-ashamed, they were unconditionally accepting of each other and devoid of fear of being seen in a vulnerable state.

It was exquisitely intimate!

The Auror quickly grabbed his Soul-Mate’s wrist, stilling his questing hand and groaned, “Leave it…” He smeared his hardened shaft through the mess betwixt the blond’s cheeks. “This is what I always wanted.”

“If all you ever wanted was for me to accidentally do a wet fart on you, Honey, all you had to do was ask,” Draco half-joked, half moaned in renewed arousal at the brunet’s ministrations to his slickened back side.

Harry tried to explain the “closeness thing” (but he feared it didn’t make as much sense as it had in his brain—he wasn’t exactly thinking clearly at the moment as most of his blood had switched heads). He shoved his prick into that willing pucker the moment he heard the blond spooned before him say, “Well, plug me up or get out of the way, Baby. There’s a bit more coming…”

He fucked him slow at first, drawing out the pleasure and the last of the watery waste trickling down out of his lover’s innards; he reveled in the liquid heat that dribbled across his groin but quickly devolved into hard thrusts that pounded into Draco’s prostate. They were rocking in a rhythm as profound and eternal as the ebb and flow of the tides (Harry briefly wondered that if the boat and water hadn’t been frozen, that they would have capsized from their energetic coupling).

Neither was sure how long it took until they were both keening in ecstasy, gasping and grunting, then coming, and finally back to cuddling…

_)*(_

“There is something else I want to be different with us.” Draco captured Harry’s waning, sleepy attention with that mysterious comment. The blond took up his lover’s left hand and shook it slightly; he looked up at Harry’s chin and furrowed his forehead, tugging an earlobe in his trademark gesture of anxiety with his right. “Besides doing a double-dump for the first time…” he laughed nervously.

Perplexed, Harry just quirked a black eye-brow and waited for him to go on. It was highly unusual for Draco to appear so UN-self-assured. The silence stretched until the fidgeting Healer bluntly blurted, “I want us to be ‘Official’!”

Harry was stymied. “Official? As in, ‘an official couple’? I thought we WERE…” and at the odd expression on his boyfriend’s face, he asked-- dreading the answer-- “We’re not?” He sounded plaintive and afraid, and then protested, “We own a house together! Both our names are on the deed!”

“Baby,” the blond sighed, (once again realizing how much his beau still didn’t know the world they lived in, that he himself took for granted as a product of his Pure Blood upbringing), “our home is under a ‘Fidelius’. Gringott’s seals those records, and no amount of sob stories, whinging or bribing from the populace can persuade the Goblins to ever reveal that information. That’s part of how we’ve been able to keep our relationship a secret.”

Draco’s face radiated in unrestrained emotion, his voice rose to a passionate plea and pitch. “I don’t want to hide ‘US’ anymore! I’m talking about wanting to be Bonded with you!” then added more timidly, “If you’ll have me.” Harry opened his mouth to say ‘yes’ immediately when Draco interrupted because he had to elaborate, make sure his beloved knew what he’d be getting them both in to.

“Before you automatically agree, you need to be aware that it would be made public the second it happens. If you aren’t willing for that, I’ll understand and cancel the rings I went and commissioned last week.”

“Rings? Was this perhaps last Tuesday when you told me you were ‘working late’?” top detective Potter pieced together the clues—and his theory was confirmed by a (very half-assed) shrug of apology.

Apparently, the blond didn’t think that the white-lie was worth mentioning aloud, because he barreled ahead with his original thoughts, “But I don’t want to live and act as if we are ashamed—I want to take you to all my favourite Wizarding places. Restaurants, shops, attractions! I’m proud of what we have and want to shout it from the mountain tops.”

“Fuck the public’s reaction!” Harry proclaimed with a tremendous amount of bile and vehemence. “I’m not ashamed either—and we’re both well-established in our careers now… So, yeah!” The brunet broke into a wide grin. (Finally he was going to get some security and a sense of family!) “Yes, Mr. Malfoy, I will marry you!”

Harry was not prepared for his boyfriend to laugh uproariously at him after baring his fragile, vulnerable heart. He frowned, wondering what he’d missed.

He did not have to wait long:

“We can’t get married, you silly sod!” Draco tried-- unsuccessfully-- to keep the mirth out of his voice at Harry’s hopelessly romantic notions of wedded bliss; it was a very Muggle way of thinking (and it became abundantly clear that the Ministry only trained its Aurors in criminal law). “Marriage is a formal contract only observed for heterosexual couples because it is, at its barest essence, an alliance to secure suitable heirs.”

He suppressed his smirk at Harry’s crestfallen face and continued, “A Bond of Matrimony concerns long negotiations—taking months, even years-- involving heritage and blending of Old Blood Lines, rules and stipulations about progeny and property and vaults— in short, it is a cut-and-dry business arrangement. It cements into law what the people can and can’t do. It’s designed to keep financial interests and familial images intact, while allowing side dalliances-- completely discreet, mind you-- fully accessible. As long as there is no evidence and no bastards to bring disgrace or inheritance rights into question…”

Draco shook his head in negation, “That’s not what I want,” he stated firmly. “No, a magical Soul-Bonding is considered more like an Unbreakable Vow of fidelity and love. While our names won’t change or bank accounts merge, it is still a legal civil union, and not any less of a Binding Magical Contract (he didn’t quite understand the irrepressible shudder that ran through the brunet at those words, but proceeded to expound on the exact nature of what they would be committing to).

“The second the ritual is completed, it registers with the Ministry. It becomes public record, no confidentiality whatsoever-- and you know that the minute someone sees the famous name ‘Harry James Potter’ appear on parchment, the story is going to explode. The press and every private citizen are going to go into a frenzy. You can still back out, you know. I’m happy just being together as we are…”

Harry groaned, “Of course I want to be ‘official’ or whatever-the-fuck you want to call it!” (He felt relatively safe in using the same word Draco had used, even if he wasn’t clear on all the particulars. Hermione would tell him the rest.) And while still overcoming the huge revelations recently laid at his feet-- he knew with all certainty, with every fiber in his being-- he’d always wanted this.

“We can have Luna pre-write an announcement to go out simultaneously,” the brunet suggested, “so we can get a jump on some damage control when it happens. You know, make sure the correct version of events gets out there before the other idiots go into wild speculation. It’ll still be crazy for a while… But you know they are going to be worse on you than me. Are you ready for that?”

Then the wild-haired man muttered to himself, “Remind me to give Rosie a three week vacation before the date we set. She’ll need to relax and refresh before the shit hits the fan…”

Silver eyes squinted as Draco tensed in jealousy, “Who exactly is this woman and why would you be sending anyone on holiday? And I certainly hadn’t realized you took turns doing That with any of your fans!”

“Wha-what?!” Harry broke down in unrestrained guffaws at Draco’s erroneous conclusion to the Muggle metaphorical phrase of all hell breaking loose (and trust him to focus on the one extraneous bit!). Once he’d gotten over his giggles and explained the saying, he sighed. The time had come when he’d have to admit to his Soul-Mate just who she was to him (though he DID gain a small measure of satisfaction to catch the smug blond in a situation that left him as wrong-footed as he’d been just now).

“Rosebud Rainier has the patience of a Saint-- been my rock for years now-- but this could be the thing that crushes her if she’s not properly rested beforehand…” At the blond’s quizzical look (and ready to horribly hex, if he was honest with himself) Harry confessed, “She’s… erm… my… Ministry appointed ‘Correspondence Custodian Manager’.”

Draco sniggered, “You have a person that deals with your mail?

The-Boy-Who-Lived (twice) scrunched his face into a scowl as if he’d tasted something bitter, “Actually, there’s a whole team…” he ground out, feeling his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. Draco was shaking in silent laughter. “The Minister has one as well!” Harry blurted out in his defense, but it only served to incite Malfoy further.

“Oh, so now my Intended is as important as the Minister of Magic?” Draco whooped, all his envy and insecurity gone; Harry supposed this mocking at his expense was better than Malfoy becoming maudlin and moping.

Harry mumbled, “There’s too much mail… I’ve always lived under “Fidelius” charms and the logistics of it are just insane.”

Draco snorted (in a horribly undignified and uncouth fashion) and waved his hands around in the air in an exaggerated, melodramatic manner. “Oh no! The Saviour has too many swooning girls writing love him letters…”

“I’m sure Quidditch players and singers have the same set-up!” Harry declared hotly. “It’s like a homing beacon, calling them to a single, focal point—Imagine any celebrity being flocked by owls while trying to play a game or give a concert! The first day of Auror training was a disaster! It was right after The Second War ended and as soon as they had a place to find… well, they found it all right! The first day we got nothing done except for the younger Aurors to laugh at me and the older ones start grudges!”

That sobered the teasing blond somewhat. “Wouldn’t un-delivered mail just be returned to sender?”

“Um, no. It doesn’t really work that way,” Harry half-smiled (an odd mix of ruefulness and nostalgia) in a bitter-sweet remembrance to all his Hogwarts letters when he turned eleven. “If it’s not accepted by the recipient or a publically recognized proxy, it’s relentless. I would be swamped whenever I left the house without Rosie’s office.”

“I guess I never thought of it much in depth before…” the Draco mused. “The Manor allowed certain missives in, depending on the intent and identity of the sender-- as ours do now at home-- but yeah, I never really pondered what random fan-mail would be subject to.”

Harry frowned. “Well, they’re not all nice… and I’m not just talking about being sent a gross, used pair of knickers—Rosebud has to deal with all kinds: pleas for me so solve any and all of their problems, donate and appear for various charities and functions, to love and lust potion-laced paper, to blackmail of suicide if I don’t date them, angry fathers threatening me that I better marry the daughter I supposedly impregnated ‘or else’-- to people who blame me for the death of a loved one because I didn’t defeat Voldemort fast enough…” he paused then, the weight of his guilt palpable in the air.

Draco had the decency to gulp and feel chagrined for his earlier insensitive outburst.

“Some are complicated, like if you read the words aloud you can curse yourself! No, there’s a team of experts, and the Aurors have to check out the ones that indicate harm to themselves or others. Law enforcement has to take those seriously, even if they think it’s a joke.” Draco heard something in his tone, a sort of sadness that made him think they gave him a hard time or resented him for it.

“But my team can handle it.” (He shifted uncomfortably; he really didn’t want to have to explain right now how his government appointed crew “humourously” referred to themselves as ‘Potterwatch’, poking fun—with a hint of derision—over the underground radio programme that centered around him during The War)

Harry brushed past that unpleasantness. “It’s what they’re paid for, right?” Harry picked up his train of thought, “Maybe we can set up a station for you, too. It won’t do to have Howlers and such bothering you at the hospital…” Draco had to admit, that was a very good idea and told Harry so.

Then, the gravity of it hit him; Harry said yes! And meant it! And was making plans so it would all work out!

Suddenly he was overwhelmed with an all-consuming love for his special man and captured his lips in a fiery kiss. It was passionate, possessive and then he pounced, pinning Harry under him.

The prone brunet moaned at the sudden-- pleasantly-surprising-- animalistic man-handling and spread his legs wide, knees high up towards his chest in a silent plea and invitation. Draco wasted no time and urgently whispered, “Push!” Harry complied, knowing that it was more than likely to result in a mess.

He wasn’t wrong.

The last of his liquefied bowels squirted forth from the force, easing the way for Draco’s prick to penetrate him; the muscle manipulation outward allowed him to swallow the turgid shaft easily. They both groaned and gasped for breath. No matter how many times they made love, it was still so intense they could hardly believe it and the initial jolt of pleasure made them have to pause to hold back on climaxing straight away.

When Harry couldn’t take the stillness any longer, he stared to rock up slightly (as much as he could in his current position). Draco growled and started pummeling into him faster and faster until his pelvis was snapping at a furious pace, the slapping of flesh on flesh resounding in the quiet of pre-dawn over the lake.

“You!” *thrust* “ARE!” *poke* “MINE!” *stab*

Too soon, the erratic motions of the blond’s hips (complete with the desperate double-humps of his hips while buried balls-deep, frantically shoving his member the furthest within it could possibly go) signaled his impending orgasm so Harry took up his own erection and fisted the needy flesh. The touch sent him tumbling-- dribbling the very last of the spooj left in his sac over his whitened knuckles.

Draco let out a muffled scream from the back of his throat and toppled, following his lover into bliss.

After recovering and a few quick passes of Harry’s wand to clean them up enough to lie comfortably (although they would need lots of soap and hot water later to feel truly and properly cleansed), Draco snuggled against his Soul-Mate’s side. He squeezed his soon-to-be Official partner as he started to succumb to sleep.

“You accept me—You said YES… I’m never letting you go…”

Harry smiled languidly in response. The satisfied brunet held him closer and kissed the side of the blond head he so adored; slipping into a dreamy doze himself he agreed wholeheartedly as he clutched Draco tighter, “Never ever. Together forever… It’s you and me.”

)*(

Author’s Note:

Sorry for the long wait on this one… Work got crazy (and as you can probably imagine, this subject necessitates being in a certain frame of mind and energy to think and write about).

Initially I was thinking that this would be the last chapter (as far as my original outline went), butt, now I’m envisioning one more… and then possibly an epi-LOG. I don’t know if I’m ready to be done--I just love these two in this shituation and their life together in this weird universe—and I’m not sure if I can let this go just yet. Though maybe it has run its course…

Hope you liked that one and come back for the next go!
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Crap! #2