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
- 13
- 14
- 15
Author’s Note:

Thanks for all the reads, rates and reviews! All the same warnings apply.

suicidein_angeleyes: I hate to be the cause of any sorrow, especially since you are such a faithful reader and reviewer… but I was afraid things might get redundant. I think this series has covered most scenarios… But I sure wouldn’t mind if someone else thought of something new! It really is such a weird and unexplored aspect of sexuality. I’m eternally grateful to you for reading and taking the time to write… Your attention makes me happy :) And it might make you glad as well that this one turned into its own chappie—with a whole other one almost done as well, despite what I thought I had planned.

vampirekisses: You are so kind. It pleases me that I might have eased your RL situation somewhat with my own escape/catharsis—as your words have certainly done for me. I love Luna too! I’ve never written her before (my usual stuff is under a different name, of course) but I think she has so much potential because she’s got a lot going on under her idiosyncratic exterior. I meant it when I said she should share the title “brightest witch of the age” with Hermione… it’s just that her unconventional wisdom gets overshadowed by her quirkiness, and tends to get dismissed-- but I think she resonates with people who just “get her”. Truly, I love your insights and how sweet and encouraging you are with your responses. It means a lot that you take the time to write. It really, really does.

Sorry for the long wait— a computer crisis will do that to you. I’m so glad to be back online and hope you all enjoy the next squickarific part! :)

)*(

Displayed! (a sumptuous spread laid splayed on a table)

“WHAT?!”

A clatter of cutlery in the sink and Hermione’s scathing, indignant screech filtered through to the living room. Harry and Ron shared a quick glance to each other and left Hugo-- happily and obliviously playing on the rug-- and rushed to the kitchen with wands drawn.

The bushy-haired witch was glaring at Draco with both hands on her hips (and a bit of soap suds stuck in her fringe). He was chortling with his hands held up in submissive innocence.

She was seething and seemed to swell even more (if that was possible) as she swiftly took in the fact she had back-up—and witnesses-- in the doorway. “Are you saying that Muggleborns are mutants?!”

Harry looked to his soon-to-be spouse in dismay; how could he do something so heinous on the eve of their Bonding ceremony? Ron let out a low growl.

Draco just laughed.

“If you’d let me finish—I was saying: Going on the assumption that all people were magical once upon a time, Muggles have come from Squibs mating with other Squibs, slowly, over time-- they being naturally drawn together, as people with stronger overt magical cores tended to gravitate towards each other…”

Hermione nodded impatiently, this was the foundation of her thesis, complete with human’s earliest ancestors having had their spiritual leaders among the first to fashion wands to harness their innate ability (as was Harry’s rudimentary understanding).

Then she sighed wearily and apologized, “Sorry, I guess I’m just a little on edge— the excitement of today and tomorrow is getting to me. Plus, I’ve been getting no sleep-- Rose was doing a Riverdance against my insides all last night…” she subconsciously cupped her protruding mid-section. “Not to mention that stupid movie Ron made me watch last month about Zombies or whatever such nonsense…” she growled, and then mellowed, “Please, continue.”

The blond nodded in tacit understanding; a good portion of their dinner conversation had been of him subtly inquiring after her symptoms of the third trimester and casual offers of Healing advice. She flicked her wand back to the dish-water and the pots and plates resumed washing themselves (and glanced at the kettle when Draco non-verbally sent it to pour the boiling water and pulled out some chamomile).

“So,” Draco continued, now that he’d gotten back her attention to the topic at hand, “following that logic, I postulate that the magical “gene” or an entire poly-peptide sequence would have to mutate—or given the relative uncommon occurrences of Muggleborns, several separate patterns in different places on the double-helix mutate-- causing the recessive to miraculously become dominate again. Who can know why?”

Draco ducked his head down again and plucked up a couple of clean spoons.

“I mean, most times it comes after many generations and there is no record of a witch or wizard in the written family genealogy—not discounting the centuries that most people would have hidden that information due to fear of persecution. To this day, some couples with ancient, long Pure lines produce entirely non-magic-capable children-- though it is all hushed up. And conversely, now and again-- a baby is born with all the combined strength and power of the original witch and wizard, just look at you.”

Hermione was nodding along, mollified but frowning in concentration, completely enraptured with the flow of ideas; the men could tell she was gearing up to compile and add her careening cognitions and conclusions to the discussion. The debating duo was now relaxed and engrossed, fixing their cups as they liked, blowing lightly on the fragrant steam.

Ron and Harry started to feel a little foolish for rushing in with wands at the ready.

“No one knows why genetic mutations occur, obviously,” Draco stated, calmly taking a sip of his tea, “but… it would explain a lot, given the work on Muggle chromosomes and recent genome-mapping work. The Wizarding World doesn’t have anything comparable. Yet.”

Draco sighed impatiently, signaling his frustration with the limitations (that he would actually concede of) in his culture. Hermione made a small ‘m-hm’ noise of assent.

“The Old World Order focuses solely on the magical core and not DNA,” the blond admitted, “which is not surprising since our animal, biological roots are so shunned and actively ignored… But given the data at a cellular level, alongside human evolution—“

Crisis averted, Harry and Ron rolled their eyes at each other and left the room, remembering why they left in the first place; when Hermione and Draco got into “talking shop” about their highly intellectual fields, they tended to tune it out.

Fairly early on after Harry and Draco’s announcement that they were a serious couple (and the former Slytherin integrated into the close-knit circle of friends), they all discovered they were very grateful for how the most disparate two of the group had forgiven and found each other to engage in these cosmic conversations. Both Ron and Harry could never keep up with their respective “better-halves” who were well-versed on all the latest research and findings; the two former Gryffindor men tended to be more visceral and physical, rather than analytical and cerebral (and it frustrated their partners they had no one to bounce ideas off of, until then).

The red-haired toddler was exactly where they’d left him, intent on his building-block project. He looked up when they returned, then gurgled with glee when he cut down his carefully-crafted tower with the edge of his hand.

Harry tried to concentrate on their casual Quidditch talk as they supervised Hugo erecting another structure. He laughed in the appropriate places when Ron relayed how horrendous the broom rides to and from the site of the ceremony were (“I swear mate, if we were going any slower, we wouldn’t have even been in the air.”).

But his mind was wandering…

This afternoon they had gone to the special meadow on their property (where they had watched the meteor shower last August) with Molly and Mrs. Malfoy to plan things. The mothers had been able to Apparate there with Side-alongs from the happy couple, but Hermione, so close to her due date could not, claiming the ‘squeezed through a tube’ sensation would squish Rose right out of her. When Harry had offered to change the location to something easier for her, the withering glare she leveled at him said it all.

It WAS rather funny that when they finally made it, the very pregnant witch got off Ron’s broom all pale and complaining of reckless flying, (everyone knowing full well that the youngest male Weasley was only centimeters off the ground and navigating at a granny’s pace, taking no chances with his precious cargo).

When she spotted the ancient Druid obelisk covered in runes she immediately squealed in rapture and screeched in ear-splitting rancor; somehow she was able to simultaneously write down every line and curve carved in the stone on a conjured bit of parchment and slap Harry about his shoulders and head, berating him for not showing it to her sooner.

As they arrived and settled in, Harry had been confused and stymied by his lover’s furtive glances and furrowed brow out into the field. At first he’d attributed his anxiety to the older women having to cooperate, but when he realized he kept looking at the same specific spot, Harry sniggered to himself; his lover was searching for any remaining evidence of where he’d taken that emergency dump last summer. Having roved over the land in his monthly ward up-keep missions, the Auror knew that the intestinal emission had the snows of Winter and the rains of Spring to melt it back into innocuous and life-sustaining Earth.

Hermione was nestled in the grass, lost in her own little research/artifact mode, and that left Narcissa and Molly to hatch a plan as to where the pavilions, tables, chairs, etc. would be placed. There were some tense moments in the beginning with the matriarchs butting heads on trivial details, but in the end, with Draco skillfully mediating, they were all working well together.

Harry pretty much stayed out of it all, just willing to go along with whatever pomp and circumstance the more knowledgeable among them deemed appropriate (all the way down to letting Draco fix his hair, choose his shoes and dressing up in the robes picked out for him). All he had to do tomorrow was show up, so he meandered across the field, heading for Ron and Hugo who were tossing rocks into the pond. Well, his best mate was skimming stones-- the toddler’s attempts to copy his dad were simply singular splashes.

Harry took a moment to marvel that all their lives were so good…

Harry was glad Draco had talked him into delaying telling everyone exactly WHY they were asked to ‘save the date’ of the Summer Solstice, making most everyone believe they were simply planning a grand party. They only clued Mrs. Weasley in a week prior to the true nature of the gathering after most of the arrangements had already been made by the Malfoys. They magnanimously claimed that Molly should be able to just relax, enjoy the festivities, and not have to stress over preparations-- and subtly reminded her that she had plenty of other children to plan weddings for.

Draco insisted it was traditionally his family’s responsibility because he had been the one to ask for the Bonding, but Harry secretly suspected his beloved had the keen foresight to let his mother have her day—and have free reign on spending and decoration design. After all, he WAS her only child and chance at coordinating such a ritual. (He also suspected that the two aristocrats were afraid Molly might make things a bit too home-spun for their tastes, and he was grateful they were so polite and diplomatic about promoting their own agenda without hurting his surrogate mother’s feelings)

Molly got some say and felt like she was helping, but the things that were important to Narcissa and Draco were already cemented in place.

Everyone was clear on what their jobs were: Narcissa, Molly and Arthur would go early and set up everything in the afternoon. The select, few guests would arrive by floo to the house and Charlie, George and Ron would Side-along them after they passed Hermione’s inspection for deceit (primarily Polyjuice and un-registered Anamagi, especially in beetle-form). This she could do from an armchair by the fire place-- with an ottoman nearby in case her swollen ankles needed elevating—and then Ron would fly her in for the sunset ceremony and twilight party.

All in all, everything seemed to be falling into place just fine.

Ron was always welcome company—and usually a refreshing lime-wedge to the bitter tequila of The-Boy-Who-Lived’s public existence-- but Harry’s mind was elsewhere on this night. He remained in his own internal world, ruminating on the fact that tomorrow at this time he would be joined “officially” with The Love Of His Life.

That was, until his thoughts were tugged into the present by a nauseating odor that was permeating the living room—and it wasn’t one of Ron’s legendary farts, either—it was heavier and hung in the air as a more humid, substantial stench…

It was Hugo. (Rocking on his padded bum a little, the child’s bulging diaper and shit-eating grin explained it all.)

Harry was wrinkling his nose a bit and wondering about whether or not to say something when Ron finally noticed. “Kid takes after his old dad, I’m afraid,” he sighed, rising from the rug, “The dreaded ‘after-dinner-deuce’ strikes again… I’ll just get him changed.” He scooped up his poopy-pantsed son (and his readily-accessible baby-bag) to take him to the loo. Calling over his shoulder, Ron said the words the brunet had most wanted to hear since late afternoon:

“See if those nerds in there are done—we need to get home for an early night so we can be ready for all the craziness tomorrow, yeah?”

_)*(_

“I’ve been holding back all day,” Harry purred huskily in his ear. He loved his friends-- he really did-- but just now, holding Draco from behind, arms wrapped around his svelte waist, he was very happy to see them vanishing away in the Floo.

The blond gently laughed, leaning into the embrace Harry had caught him in the second the last of the company had left. He knew they both had to restrain themselves from being too demonstrative and ‘touchy-feely’ in front of others-- but it was always a relief to get a tender hug, a loving caress, or to simply move a lock of hair that fell over the others eye without having to be scrutinized or make people uncomfortable with their affections.

Harry tugged him around and gave him a sultry, languid kiss that promised much more. “I’m sure you have,” Draco chuckled. “In fact, I know you have,” he smirked as he cupped and squeezed the almost fully-hard bulge at his lover’s crotch.

“Toots…” the Auror groaned and tried to twist his hips away, “If you don’t stop that I won’t be able to properly show you the gift I got you.” Draco dropped his hand and looked at him questioningly.

“I bought you a present for our wed- I mean, Bonding.” Platinum eye-brows quirked in silent surprise and he allowed himself to be pulled up the staircase. Instead of being led to their bedroom as he’d assumed, they went further down the hall to the bathroom.

Harry just looked a little sheepish as he ducked in and said he needed a piss first, (“and you might as well too.”).

They were giggling like idiots as they stood side by side at the bowl and “crossed wands”; it wasn’t something they did on a regular basis, but after the first playful time it spontaneously occurred (as yet another source of competition between them) they realized that neither of them had had the childhood experience of a brother or friend to act like seven-year-olds with.

They laughed with abandon, jostling shoulders as they shot their jets of urine, fighting for dominance at any given spot. The two determined streams blended and churned bubbles together on the surface of the water.

They loved the feeling of camaraderie.

Slipping back into adults with bladders empty (and Draco’s curiosity piqued), the brunet took him to what Draco referred to as “the spare room”.

It was a place he seldom went as it mainly just housed his boyfriend’s exercise equipment (which he secretly thought looked like torture devices—and actively avoided). The Pureblood’s collection of vintage brooms and Quidditch paraphernalia he’d collected over the years-- but rarely used, or even looked at much anymore-- also resided there along the far wall. A battered old Muggle motorcycle with a side-car loomed in the last corner (that Harry was very tight-lipped about it-- all he knew that it once belonged to his cousin Sirius Black and held some serious memories for The-Man-Who’d-Lived-Through-So-Much).

A quick glance around at the details had him noticing that there WAS a new addition to the regular jumble of junk… and that his Baby was guiding him to it with a palpable air of anticipation. The cheesy flourish with his arm wasn’t necessary, but as Draco went to closer observe the offering, he was baffled. It looked rather plain to him, not something that Harry should be acting so proud about.

It was just a table-- nothing to write home about-- only a bland, unadorned, clunky frame with a glass top. On closer inspection, it was an eye-sore. (It made him glad his beloved entrusted their home’s interior design and décor to him and had the good sense to hide this banal monstrosity in a private room.)

“It’s a table,” he managed, after several moments of surveying it, trying to come up with the most civil comment and tone he could muster.

Harry just nodded enthusiastically and began unbuckling his belt. Draco resisted the urge to snap at him to explain; he never liked admitting he didn’t know something, and, right now he had no idea what his lover was doing (although he didn’t mind the view of Harry baring his beautiful body). When the last stitch of clothing hit the floor, the brunet gestured toward the ugly new furniture. “Go on then, you lie down underneath.”

Silver eyes narrowed in suspicion-- and a bit of disdain at being relegated to lying on the floor—but did as he was told. He immediately noticed and appreciated the cushioning charm on the carpet. “So,” he sniped impatiently, “what’s the point of all this?” He was starting to feel a little silly reclining on the rug and Harry seemed to be dawdling over whatever the proceedings were to be.

“Erm…” Harry mumbled, seeming to have some internal debate, “Uh, I’m not sure exactly what… Didn’t completely think it through…” Draco rolled his eyes but managed to hold his tongue against some acid comment of impetuous Gryffindors jumping in without a solid strategy in place. Harry appeared to have made a decision because he squared his shoulders and stepped onto the shiny surface. Thinking out loud, he muttered, “I guess this time, I’ll just…”

Draco’s breath sucked in so fast he choked a little on his own spit. Was Harry doing what he thought he was doing?!

He had hoisted himself up above Draco’s head, feet splayed, and was squatting down with his butt and bits completely exposed to view. The blond admired how his muscular cheeks spread naturally in this pose and decadently displayed his delicious hole; he was enraptured, having never seen his lover from quite this angle before (usually he saw him from behind on hands and knees, or lying down on a bed). This was entirely new.

He immediately pitched a tent in his robes at the implications of the situation. He briefly wondered where Harry had come up with such an unusual idea, but the thought left him in the next moment.

Draco stopped breathing all-together when the wrinkled ring hovering above him winked a few times and then relaxed outward; the gorgeous whorl began to open. He barely registered Harry grunting with effort, telling him in between wheezes, “Told you… *ungh*… been *hunngk*… h-holding it… *eh-rrh*…all day…” The rounded tip of the glistening turd breached the rim and the blond’s respiration resumed, becoming incredibly rapid in his excitement.

A minuscule clay-like marble suddenly broke free from its flesh tube and skittered across the smooth surface, leaving a trail of small brown smudges; Draco followed its progress and marveled at this sexy set-up, appreciating the appeal of the view while being protected by the clear glass.

Harry was huffing, straining to rid his rectum of the stiff, thick length that was currently at a stand-still and stretching his sphincter to its limits. After several long moments of sustained pressure, the hard knobbly bulb (comprised of many tiny pellets all compressed together) was pushed past the point of no return; aided by gravity, the impressive log began its inexorable descent right towards Draco’s face.

The voyeur to this unusual scenario was torn between watching Harry’s expression (which he found adorable when he was taking a dump) and witnessing the activity of his anus so up close. The novelty of the shitting-show won out.

Draco surreptitiously popped open a couple buttons at the front of his robe, and snaked his pale digits in to touch his throbbing arousal. He was fwapping furiously by the time the piece of poo reached the transparent barrier.

But there was more to come out.

While the consistency of the crap gradually became more homogeneous, the log was still so firm that it had nowhere to go once the blunt end touched the glass; the stress of its weight caused the length to ‘jack-knife’ and the rest rushed out, culminating in a tapered tip. The evacuation complete, the entire load fell on its side with a dull thump.

The blond whimpered his climax amidst Harry’s heavy panting above him.

Regaining a modicum of composure, Harry grinned down at his lover as he vanished the mess he’d just worked so hard to expel. “Did you like your gift?” he asked, not really expecting an answer—the creamy evidence of Draco’s ejaculate- covered hand and robes said it all. The blond, still blown away by the display, gulped and nodded mutely. Harry smiled at him fondly, exceptionally pleased he had been able to surprise his lover so thoroughly.

Draco finally extricated his floppy limbs from the floor and knelt by the side of the sturdy frame, clutching it as a life-line while giving Harry a frantic kiss. The brunet slithered off the pooping platform without breaking the lusty lip-lock. After several seconds of sensual snogging sitting on the rug, Harry eyed the space under the table, giving voice to a particular desire. “Do you think you might want to take a turn?”

The blond took a moment to consider it-- but the hope and yearning in his Intended’s tone and glowing green eyes decided it for him (as did the shaky fingers toying with the pre-cum coating the head of his purpled cock in desperation and need). He could never refuse doing whatever it took to make this man happy.

Without wanting to seem too eager--or too much of a push-over-- he drawled, “I suppose I could try…” (Draco inwardly crowed at how Harry’s face lit up like a ‘Lumos Maxima’) “In fact, it’s probably a good idea to clear out. I don’t want any “nervous stomach” issues worrying me tomorrow…”

Harry wriggled onto the covered patch of cushioning-charmed carpet and grabbed his swollen erection to await his treat in eager anticipation. The blond nimbly unbuttoned his soiled robes the rest of the way with an effortless sensual sense of grace; the Auror spared a moment to revel in the fact that his aristocratic partner could still remain entirely dignified when removing spooj-stained clothes—and the reasons why they were sullied in the first place and why they were being taken off now.

Good Goddess, how he loved him!

“So,” Draco began once his alabaster skin was bared, “how does this work?” The question seemed rhetorical—it wasn’t rocket science—just get up there and shit, right? Somehow, he needed a smidge of hesitation to preserve his pride. Just a bit.

Bracing himself for the inevitable outcome of his promise, he decided to crouch in the same position that Harry had used-- there would be many more times in the future to test out lying down, sitting, standing (or perhaps a mirror underneath for a solo experiment).

Then a thought occurred to him-- the next time they played like this they would be Bonded! After tomorrow, they would have all the unconditional acceptance and freedom and time to try anything they pleased with impunity! Not that they didn’t have it now, but the reality of their status as “official” made him swell with emotion.

Buoyed by these thoughts of love and security, he cast an evacuation charm on his innards and waited for the movement in his bowels to begin. It didn’t take long—about the amount of time it took for him to register that Harry had put his glasses back on and was avidly studying the sight of his under-carriage. Steeling his hands and heels on the cool glass, he prepared himself to let loose in plain view of his beloved.

The purposefully induced poo started slow, and then gathered momentum. The larger chunks and more runny parts spewed forth in undulating waves—there was an ebb and flow to the onslaught—ferocious at times, more diminutive at others.

Draco soon realized, after the first major portion of soft poop plopped against the smooth surface, Harry’s view would be obliterated so he shuffled, crab-walking forward. He also budged up to spare the mounds of waste from seeping to his feet; this squatting position naturally left the rest of the body relatively un-scathed, and he wanted to keep it that way (although some unexpected farts kind-of ruined that plan as they splatted and sprayed the back of his balls, inner-thighs and ankles).

All in all, as the last of the undigested particles streamed from his small intestines, he felt monumentally relieved and proud of his accomplishment (a fact that did not diminish when he saw the opalescent streaks of Harry’s sperm painting the under-side of the glass). He forced a few last squirts out and realized he was hard again, simply titillated by the extreme raunchiness they both endured.

The disgusting evidence of their play was quickly disposed of and Draco dragged Harry down the hall where he expertly made love to him in the comfort of their own bed.

_)*(_

“Are you ready for tomorrow?” Harry asked quietly as they lay entwined, the only light from the moon shining through the window, the sheets ruffled around their waists.

He felt his soon-to-be spouse nod against his chest. “Of course,” he murmured, “Everything is all set for the ceremony. One of Mother’s specialties is organizing parties and galas—she’ll not let anything go awry. And our robes are freshly pressed and back from the tailor already.”

The brunet gave a little snorting laugh, “I don’t doubt that… I meant are you prepared for our ‘outing’ to the public? No qualms, no regrets?”

“I weighed the risks before I asked you to Bond,” the former Slytherin reminded him. “It won’t be so bad. We’ll miss most of the initial hub-bub since we’ll be traveling the globe for a month… And Lovegood’s article covered things very well. I think she did a wonderful job in explaining our relationship and who we are now.”

It was true. Her writing was brilliant.

Somehow she’d managed to capture their history in a very sweet and reasonable way without being overly sappy; it subtly played on people’s sympathies, allowing them come to their own realizations and understanding about how theirs was a beautiful and cosmic love-story. She had a general outline of the ritual itself and then ended with a plea for respecting the privacy of the couple-- and in lieu of sending gifts, a suggestion to make a donation to their favourite charity, ‘Phoenix Friends’ that helped those victimized by The War.

It was perfect and they had told her so.

It also helped that over the years since the Final Battle, that for all that the Wizarding populace had been “sheeple” when it came to believing the Daily Prophet, everyone now understood that only The Quibbler was the one true, reliable source regarding ‘The Saviour’ and his Golden Trio.

The once-questionable periodical had gained the utmost respect for its integrity and veracity of its information once the honey-blonde witch—a known close friend of Harry Potter and the only member of the press he would speak to-- had taken over (and toned-down claims about fantastical beasts, relegating the accounts to a few paragraphs on the back page). All other publications were only regurgitated reports of Luna’s—or wildly inaccurate fabricated rumors. (Seriously, did Witch Weekly think any of their readers would actually believe Harry Potter had suddenly become a Saudi prince?)

“You know, you’ll have to get another trunk for this next ‘chapter’ of my life—the one where you are included in the public eye.” Draco was grateful for the cover of darkness that hid his unbecoming blush.

He’d been so embarrassed when Harry had discovered that he kept a collection of every article that mentioned the Golden Boy’s name all throughout school and beyond. (To this day, he steadfastly refuses to tell how much he’d spent at a silent auction right after the Final Battle—before they’d made contact again and rekindled their relationship-- for the old clippings of Harry’s bland birth announcement and the much more auspicious and coveted story on that life-changing event in Godric’s Hollow on Halloween.)

When Draco had been found out shortly after they’d moved in together, he’d ungracefully flushed and stammered apologies and defenses over the stacks like it was a dirty secret. He was ashamed to admit he’d amassed every printed bit--however trivial-- and meticulously snipped them from the papers and magazines on his own by hand over the years since they were eleven and kept them in chronological order in a locked box. (The brunet had reassured him over and over that he was flattered—and loved that he even had an ‘Undesirable No. 1’ poster with the “UN”-part scratched out in scarlet ink, consisting of several parallel lines in the shape of lightening-bolts.)

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, going back to their original topic, knowing Draco was uncomfortable about him knowing and talking about his hobby of the past fifteen—almost sixteen-- years. “Luna’s article is great. She knows us really well…” And then a niggling thought bubbled to the surface, one casual comment she had made months ago that he’d never asked either of them about. “Lu said something once—she said she knew how much you cared for me because you two had talked while she was being held in the Manor’s dungeons…”

Harry felt his boyfriend stiffen in his embrace. They never really discussed that terrible year in any detail—neither of them wanted to dredge up those horrible memories. But Harry had to know now that he remembered that fact.

Draco heaved a heavy sigh and replied, “We had a few… conversations before you came along and saved her…” Harry remained silent, encouraging him to continue; he sensed a little jealousy that he hadn’t been whisked away from all the evilness as well (but it just hadn’t been possible at the time). “The weekends I was summoned home from school to report on the status of Hogwarts… sometimes I was chucked in there too… when I couldn’t or wouldn’t, erm… participate in the Death Eater “activities”.” He shuddered in revulsion.

The brunet squeezed him in sympathy and support.

“We didn’t speak at first, of course, but when she helped me after I’d been… injured one time…” He sounded choked up until he vehemently yelled, “She didn’t even have to!” Draco pounded an angry fist into the mattress. “She was being held a prisoner and tortured in my Family’s house! She could have ignored me, or even kicked me when I was down!” Then he deflated and his tone softened. “But she didn’t… she tended my wounds as best she could and was so nice… Somehow she seemed to intuit that talking about you would give us both hope… She was right.”

Harry sensed that was about all the divulging Draco could handle. He wasn’t wrong.

“But she didn’t completely get the beginning of our dating relationship correct, did she?” The shaken blond snorted, trying to lighten the mood, referring to the rather sweet way she described them getting together after being bitter childhood rivals.

Harry had to laugh. “Yeah, there was a bit more in between the ‘passionate animosity turning into passionate love,’ wasn’t there?” He continued to chuckle. The start of their sexual encounters was the complete opposite of fluffy and romantic; the first time was actually during a physical fight.

Harry had been on one of his brooding late-night walks when he (literally) bumped into the Slytherin prefect doing his patrols.

The obligatory arguments and insults ensued, but the Gryffindor snapped under the pressures of his life and shoved his blond nemesis up against a wall; in an unleashed fit of temper and act of raw aggression, the enraged brunet pinned his rival there, clenching his wrists against the stone overhead, chest to heaving chest. Malfoy had struggled in determination to dominate and tried to throw him off with a few kicks about his ankles and a sharp buck of his hips. The jostling of their angry wrestling took an odd turn when they discovered—much to their astonishment and horror—that their mingled hot breath, bodily contact and the friction of their touching pelvises had made their penises grow hard.

The next second, they were furiously frotting like fiends. By some strange, unspoken mutual consent, they’d ended up taking it as a challenge of who could make the other ejaculate in their pants first; it was yet another form of competition designed to humiliate the other, nothing more. When they’d both come quickly, practically simultaneously, they were appalled and mortified by what they had just done. Chalking it up to rampant, uncontrollable teenage hormones, they parted in shock, gulping down guilty breaths.

Draco was so rattled that he just let Potter run away without taking any House points.

This happened several more times when they happened upon each other in similar semi-private situations (which was happening with an increased frequency too often to be mere coincidence—the blond haunted the halls near Gryffindor tower more and the brunet had taken to consulting his Map when he needed to blow off steam). They couldn’t seem to help seeking each other to purposefully provoke the other, both secretly hoping their racing adrenaline from the more acceptable mode of arguing would again lead to the forbidden, animalistic pleasure they’d discovered.

The typical verbal sparring simply became an acceptable excuse to start the carnal, physical interactions they craved. Malfoy, on one occasion, fearing he was too close to losing his load first, grabbed Potter’s clothed groin with his hand and irrevocably added a new element to their trysts; their first kiss was on the following session when Harry had come first and mashed his mouth against Malfoy’s to shut up his derisive, triumphant laughter.

Soon, they were actually planning their rendezvous beforehand, all pretense of “running into each other by accident” abandoned. They eventually became less combative and more focused on mutual gratification, exploring with greater depth the thrill of bare skin on skin and questing lips (the biting and pinching remained, but had considerably softened in sensuality). Both being horny boys, they ventured on into oral and anal stimulation and penetration.

It was still a contest of wills and stamina, but the antagonism (at least in private) had faded and given way to an understanding of using each other for an escape from the escalating pressures facing both of them in their regular lives and public personas. Eventually, they became more affectionate with each other—but still not daring to reveal the tenuous feelings of this newfound care in front of others.

And then they experienced those two first episodes involving scat-play and found they were bound together by the most astounding dynamic of all. Shortly after, all hell had broken loose in the Wizarding world and they were torn apart by open warfare and disparate circumstances of family, blood and political sides.

Harry sighed, realizing he’d grown half-hard again at the remembrances of the origins of their relationship’s evolution. “Lu was right about one thing, though.”

“Hmm?” Draco questioned, ruffling an absent hand through those unruly black locks.

“Hermione said something very similar when I first told her and Ron about us. She said something like our ‘attentions were always attracted to each other and we both seemed to “come alive” when we interacted.”

Harry made a small scoffing ‘sktch’ sound, remembering that Hermy had instantly made the analogy to little boys pulling the pigtails of the girl they liked just to get a reaction and didn’t care if the attention they got was positive or negative. She’d launched into a huge spiel about how it seemed so obvious now-- but he’d tuned it out (after the initial hurdle of revealing his huge secret and getting instant support from her) to judge Ron’s reaction:

The redhead’s grimacing face had gone purple. Then white. Then green. Finally, still tinged a bit pink, he agreed with his fiancé like he’d known it all along, coming up with the astute comment of, ‘You always had an unmatched attachment to him, mate.” He really had to hand it to the both of them for taking it so well, and told Draco so.

“I wondered why that transition was so smooth, but I’d always figured it was due to Granger’s superior intellect and swottiness and Weasley’s general pussy-whipped-ness.”

“You’re horrible!” He swatted the snotty Healer on the shoulder. “They know me best and even though all our pasts together weren’t great, they could see what was really true! Hermione was the first one that deciphered that you were just a product of your upbringing and probably miffed and jealous I refused your friendship when we were kids. And all our spats… she said it had something to do with ‘pushing boundaries’ and that we ‘always roused the strongest emotions in each other’… First as rivals, then as something more.”

“We still enjoy pushing each other’s buttons,” Draco observed. “But we’re not mean or petty about riling each other up now.” He smiled when the brunet silently squeezed him in affection. “Besides,” he continued with a haughty sniff, “life would be too dull for words if we didn’t. No point in living at all if there’s no excitement anymore.”

Harry stiffened a little at his rather dire assessment, but ultimately had to agree. “You’re right, of course.” He had to stifle a chuckle when his lover puffed up his chest in pride. “We need the teasing to feel… alive.” Then he really did laugh out loud, “Can you imagine us being completely sweet and considerate all the time?”

Draco huffed. “We are. … But there’s a genuine love and respect now along with the taunts... we’re just… sugar and spice.”

“And everything nice?” Harry needled cheesily.

The blond wrinkled his nose, a little discomfited at showing such depth of emotion and having it made light of. “Shut up, you. I’m being serious.”

“I know,” the Auror sighed sleepily, more than ready to rest and wake up later on the day he would be officially Bonded to his Soul-Mate; he yawned widely, his eloquence dwindling as he gave in to exhaustion, unable to express how profoundly he felt for the man he held in his arms. “I just… love you so much.”

Draco smiled in the dark of their room, about to nod off as well. “I love you too, you twat.” Within a minute, the heavy breath of sleep reached his ears as his soon-to-be-spouse started to drift away into dream-land. The content blond was able to mumble before he was swept away as well, “And tomorrow, the whole world will know just how much.”

)*(

Author’s Note:

Hope you all liked that one… (Wow, that last conversation about their relationship was a wispy idea I had way back when I wrote “Showered!” but didn’t quite fit there, or in any of the rest of the chapters… I kept it in mind each time but it didn’t have a naturally occurring place until now.)

I never thought this collection would turn out so long! It just keeps expanding of its own accord. There is more fermenting. Hope you come back for the next go!
- 13
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- 15
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Crap! #2