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Business Meetings	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 21371 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I am making no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 14
- 15
Thank you again for all the reviews! This is indeed the end of Business Meetings, and I’d like to thank people for the overwhelming response to this story; I’m so glad you liked it.

Chapter Fifteen—Starting the Fire

            Draco moved delicately through the rubble.

            At Harry’s insistence, he had not destroyed the entire Ministry, though the rage in him and the magic in Harry would have been sufficient to do that (whatever Harry thought of the matter). He had, however, attacked the offices of Magical Law Enforcement and the Wizengamot members and destroyed the records, the notes, the memos, and the plans regarding his flock that they had down on paper. And since the Ministry couldn’t survive without putting half their thoughts down on paper, it was an effective way to ensure that the survivors would find it twice as difficult to strike back at him.

            That there were going to be survivors was one of the things Harry was responsible for.

            Draco smiled as he watched one woman crouched under a desk, moaning. Ah, yes, she was the one that Amelia had bitten, if the ragged wound at the edge of her collarbone was any indication. At Draco’s command, Amelia had not used the thrall to make the experience an enjoyable one for her. She would retain for the rest of her life, along with the marks of a vampire’s fangs, a vague terror, all the more frightening for the lack of specific memories.

            There were certain memories left behind, of course. The Ministry had started this in the first place because the thought of a vampire who retained his wizarding magic terrified them, but Draco found little use for his magic most of the time. Fangs and hardened muscles and grasping hands could do what wands could not, and they were all less breakable.

            But for Harry, he had used his wand and the Pensieves that some of those he had bribed in the Ministry gave him, and the Pensieves stood ready and waiting, full of memories of the Aurors attacking Harry and sitting around in committee planning strikes at vampires who had never harmed them. The vampire who had called himself Banner when he was alive had proven more than useful.

            The wizarding world would know who was responsible for this. And it was not Harry, who would have served out his days as a calm Auror if they had let him, or Draco, who would not have risked his flock in any strike like this normally. Draco was looking forward to reading the lies the Ministry would use to try and convince the wizarding world they were not at fault. Truly.

            A hand fell on his shoulder. Draco turned his head and sniffed at the base of Harry’s neck, welcoming and acknowledging him, and flicked his tongue out. The marks of his fangs were on the other side of Harry’s throat, but it didn’t matter; his tongue was long enough to touch them. He felt them glow under his touch, briefly warm and a silver-white color that reminded him of his own hair in the mirror, when he could still use mirrors.

            “Git,” Harry laughed, using a hand to push his tongue away. “Are we done here?” He looked around.

            Draco watched his face, and saw the way his eyes watched the woman rocking under her desk, the other people lying half-drained and vulnerable under theirs, the burning papers, the crushed and smashed cabinets, the vampires prowling like great cats in circles and at diagonals and yawning now and then, displaying their scythe-like fangs. Perhaps his smile grew a little more fixed, a little more set. But he had made his choice, and he had asked certain things, and Draco had granted those. He leaned against Draco now, and Draco settled his arm about him, a weight of copper and lead that Harry wouldn’t shift, because he didn’t want to.

            That was the most remarkable thing about all of this, the thing Draco had gained by waiting. Act earlier, and he might have had the taste of Harry’s blood in his mouth and the taste of regret in his mind, because Harry would not have accepted the domination that Draco wanted to force on him. Wait, and he had this: Harry standing under his touch, leaning into it, and his eyes still shining, not dull.

            “Is there any reason to remain here?” he asked, and Harry’s eyes twitched to him. “To listen to them lament or curse you, to let them intrude on us?” He reached out and trailed a single finger down Harry’s shoulder to the elbow, and Harry closed his eyes and sighed out. He would make such noises now without prompting, because he wanted to make them, because Draco wanted to hear them.

            They had taught each other multitudes of unspoken things, but the most conscious, Draco thought, was how to face desire.

            “No,” Harry said at last. “I already spoke to Ron and told him to stay home this evening, and Hermione, too.” He hesitated, then added, “He hates what happened to me at the Ministry’s hands. But he hates—everything that happened to me.”

            Draco let his own weight rest against Harry, because he could. The smell of the scars on Harry’s throat was like skin, and sweat, and blood. “They will understand in the end,” he murmured. “Granger is already making strides.”

            Harry turned to answer him, and then paused when he saw the way Draco had his head tilted, so the edge of Harry’s scars came into view. He shook his head. “You don’t care about her,” he said. “Not enough to mention her in her own right.”

            “I do not care about them,” Draco agreed, lifting his eyes back to Harry’s and taking his chin between thumb and forefinger, lifting Harry’s head until he stood taller than Draco. “Not ever, except as extensions of you.”

            Harry half-closed his eyes and shivered. “You shouldn’t be able to say things that make me tremble like that,” he whispered. “You’re not supposed to be able to get inside my head like that.”

            “I am in your head,” Draco said. “Your body, your blood. And I thought we had established a useful context for the word should.” The corner of his palm found the scars and pressed down.

            “It can mean—what we want,” Harry said, and blinked, and then suddenly snapped open eyes full of brightness so he could look at Draco. “You know I hate it when you try to send me into a trance by doing that.”

            “The trance only worked once.” Draco flicked his tongue out to lick the scars again, and Harry tapped it warningly with one finger before pulling back. “No, Harry. I merely wanted to know what we agreed about with respect to the word ‘should.’”

            Harry sighed and responded, “It can mean what we want. We choose our duties, now. You chose to lead the flock, to gather them around you and dominate their minds, when you could have chosen to live solitary and never attract the Ministry’s attention. And I chose to come to you, when I could have chosen to run away and stop investigating and they probably would have left me alone.”

            Although Draco privately doubted the likeliness of that last conclusion, that was the part he had wanted Harry to remember. He nodded. “You deserve this, and I do, and we will have it,” he said, and rested his hands on Harry’s shoulders as he moved around in front of him to kiss him. Harry’s tongue stung his fangs, and his lips burned. “You should do what you want to do, after spending so much time serving others. That is the only reason for the word to apply to our lives.”

            Harry caught his hand, and kissed the back of it. Draco closed his eyes and was aware of it: hard bones, stretched skin, sluggish blood. So different from the quickness, in all senses of the term, of the man in front of him.

            But that was the contrast between them that made them the way they were and brought Draco to life nearly as much as Harry’s blood. He tightened his hand around Harry’s fingers, and Harry gasped slightly, and Draco had had enough of this place of burning and blame and terror. There was only one place he wanted to be right now.

            He gathered Harry close in his arms, hearing him hum slightly as he tended to do when Draco held him like that, and Apparated them. They appeared in the throne room, and all around them was the silent light of torches and the darkness Draco had grown used to. He felt Harry raise his shoulders and bring them down, his breath escaping in a gentle hiss.

            This time, he was the one who kissed Draco and bore him backwards and down, to the floor that would not cut Draco’s back, that was less hard than it. It was Harry who fell on him with hands and teeth and opened his clothing. Draco went loose and long-limbed to kick it off, and Harry crouched over him, using his wand to Vanish his own clothing. Draco reached out and canted one hand across his hip, watching.

            Under his nails, the skin and the blood pulsed. The green eyes shone, and the scars were there: marks of fangs, Killing Curses, lockets, venom. Harry had survived them all, and come into this, come back to Draco.

            Grown into himself, grown towering.

            Draco kissed him, and kept his lips at Harry’s while his tongue flickered out and touched the scars again. This time, it made Harry growl, a low enough sound that Draco felt the throb in his stomach when he listened. Harry liked things about him like this, he had told Draco three days ago as they planned their assault on the Ministry, things that no human lover could do, things that reminded him Draco was someone extraordinary for whom he had chosen to throw over his world.

            Harry Potter would never have an ordinary, normal life. But he could admit to himself, and to Draco, at last, that he didn’t want one, that trying to have one would be false in and of itself.

            Draco had been part of that realization.

            He ran his nails over Harry’s shoulder, and Harry hissed and tossed his head back. The hisses melted into the edge of Parseltongue, melted into groans, melted back into words, as Draco let himself draw blood, a single scratch. He didn’t bring his hand to his mouth. He lay still, and let Harry fall back into himself, a long, long spiral down, before he blinked and looked straight at Draco with clear eyes.

            “Bite me,” he said, and lay down on Draco’s chest as on a bed, his head lowered, his hair sweeping over Draco’s neck in a crisp, curling mass, and Draco smelled it and smelled iron and ivory and blood, and extended his fangs to touch the scars on Harry’s throat.

            Harry arched, a flowing, sensual gesture that he would never have permitted himself when he was still part of the Ministry, and then tilted his head backwards in a single agile movement, so that he was the one who brought himself onto Draco’s fangs, who broke the skin. Draco made a sound that was sob or grunt or hiss, he didn’t know which, and then the blood was in his mouth.

            He had tasted Harry’s blood more than once now, and it was not the first time, but it was overwhelming, crushing. It seized him and hurled him, and he was not the one in control here, though he knew someone else might think so, coming on him embedded in Harry like this. He raked Harry’s hips again with blunt claws, and sucked, and drew, and dragged, and was sucked, and drawn, and dragged. Harry’s lips parted and his eyes closed, and there was fire in Draco’s mouth, and weight whirled him under. He was drowning in the sea, fighting back to the looming waves high above him.

            But he had no need to breathe, and in the throes of a feeding like this, he had no need of a sense of direction, either. There was nothing here but dazzle. Light, and more than light, burning darkness, the memories of their month together, the races and the challenges and the yelling into each other’s faces and the moment when Harry had bitten him back and Draco had gone hard in an instant from the sight of his own dull blood on Harry’s blunt teeth.

            This was unstoppable, something he could not stand up to, something that had no use for him if he did not conform to it. He was part of it, and he was more, united with Harry, than he was alone in his own mind. Controlling other vampires could not compare to it. There, he could drown them if he wished. Here, it was swim or be drowned himself.

            He drank, and drank, and reached down. Harry, yielding to the pleasure because he wanted to, opened his eyes and chuckled quietly as Draco’s nails scraped at his arse. Then he grabbed his wand, lying abandoned to the side, and cast another spell, this time one that made him relax, half-boneless. Draco extended his arm as he could his tongue, bones crackling under the skin, and found Harry’s hole with two fingers.

            Harry bowed his head and huffed. Draco’s fingers sank deep. Harry was rocking on them in instants, chanting something muffled, half in Parseltongue, half in English. Draco shook his head, and brought his fangs free.

            “You have to hold still,” he said, because he had said it before, and he liked Harry’s response.

            “The hell I do,” Harry said, and leaned back, levering himself with grace and strength on his hands alone, placed on Draco’s hips. He dropped towards Draco’s cock, and Draco scrabbled to get it in place. Harry was not above bringing himself off and then walking away if Draco teased him too long or didn’t cooperate.

            And then…

            Then he was inside Harry, and he was weightless.

            Harry closed his eyes above him, his face so bright with pleasure that it made Draco’s cock stir from that alone. Harry rocked, and sighed, and his sighs were deeper than before, pulled from somewhere inside him that Draco believed he didn’t show to anyone else. He jammed himself backwards, and rocked faster, and Draco felt the pleasure begin to splinter him, making him drive his hips into a rhythm that was Harry’s, not his own.

            He tried to cling. He drove his fingernails into Harry’s skin, and extended his tongue to lap the blood dripping from the wounds dry. But the pleasure here was as intense as that he caused Harry when he drank. Harry opened one eye and smirked, then braced his feet against the floor and began to bounce. He couldn’t keep that up for long, as Draco knew from experience, but he didn’t need to.

            Buried, buried inside, and Harry fucking himself in short smooth strokes, his breath making his chest move and shine with life, his eyes too brilliant to be comfortable, reminding Draco of the burning, killing sun…

            It was too short, it always was, no matter how many times Draco did this or how many times Harry did this or how much time they spent together, Harry’s head was back and quivering and his legs were clenching down, and he came just from Draco inside him and licking him, and Draco was aware of a minor surge of pleasure at that before the greater pleasure came down and overwhelmed him.

            Crushing him. He had spent the last seven years, since he was turned, learning to cope with being a vampire, and being powerful for once, instead of merely dreaming that he was, thanks to his father’s name. He had to relearn now how he could stand in awe of something and allow himself to stand in awe, instead of trying to master it.

            They lay together when it was done. Draco’s fingernails were sticky, and his stomach, and his tongue, and his cock. He listened to Harry’s heart, felt his skin, smelled his contentment.

            Then Harry said, “We should try it upright next time.”

            Draco nodded, and licked the side of his throat, and said nothing.

            Harry propped himself up on one elbow and considered him speculatively. Draco wondered if he really thought that Draco wouldn’t want to have sex with him in whatever position he wanted, but his next words put paid to that.

            “I won’t be all right with everything you do,” he said.

            “But what I wanted to know,” Draco said, and put a hand on Harry’s shoulder to slit the air with a nail trailing down, “was what would make you turn away from me. Not what would make you argue with me.” He leaned nearer, until their eyes were near enough to intermingle lashes and their foreheads near enough that he could feel the heat from the oldest of Harry’s scars. “And you needn’t think I’ll be all right with everything you do, either.”

            For a moment, the tension held between them, bright and strong. Not brittle, Draco thought. Nothing they did together would ever be brittle again.

            And then Harry smiled, and rolled off him onto the floor, conjuring a blanket for himself. “Good. I’m glad we understand each other.”

            Draco lay still, his arm over Harry—Harry’s warmth the only blanket he needed—and waited for the coming of the day that would separate them, and the night that would rejoin them, and more and more on from that, night and day without end, forevermore, an endless series of meetings.

            The End.

*

            unneeded: Sorry you didn’t get on-screen violence against the Ministry, but I think Harry and Draco’s reactions were more important.

            SP777: Hey, what’s this ‘finally’? This story was much shorter than some of my others!

            Kitsune: Thanks for reviewing. I hope you enjoyed the last chapter.

            Mehla-Seraphim: That was definitely the one that would have deserved it!

            AlterEquis: Ron and Hermione didn’t know anything about it. It was people with reason to hate vampires, and they kept away from Harry’s friends because it would have been stupid to involve them.

            Angel_Kayohisura: Thank you so much! Glad that you found the streamlining in of facts about the vampires impressive; that’s what I strive to do, since I hate big, indigestible lumps of information being dumped into the story.

            The line about Harry leaving and not having to look over his shoulder was meant to emphasize his choice. And the line about “myself” in the description of a vampire murdering someone was meant to emphasize that he would watch it, rather than someone else watching it.

            JoleneG: No, that’s all right. Draco moves fast, remember, as a vampire. He is against Harry’s back when he and Harry orgasm, but he was in front of him at first, and moved around. Then he was carrying Harry with Harry’s head near his neck, so it was easy for him to kiss him.

            Fullmoons_wings: Yes, as you can see. ;) I’m really glad you liked it.
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Business Meetings