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Reap the Hurricane	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 11499 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfic.

Chapter List
- 16
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Chapter Seventeen—Some Enthusiasm

            Harry panted beneath Malfoy, and when he had recovered enough from the panting to feel like he could breathe, kissed him again. Malfoy growled at him and dug deeply into him. His fingers were in Harry’s neck and Harry could feel his pleasure in the way that Harry’s skin rasped away under his touch, the flowing of the blood, the curling of the pain.

            Feel it, and feel his own pain, and feel Malfoy’s driving desire, as single and mindless as the hunger that Harry had once felt for a family of his own.

            He flung his legs wide and then clapped them shut again, around Malfoy’s waist. Malfoy huffed and looked down at him with wide eyes, shaking his head. Harry gave him a grin that he knew resembled a death’s head in turn and said, “Fuck me.”

            Malfoy jerked. His eyes were bright as he looked at Harry, but Harry could feel his mind charging back and forth, the way his thoughts swarmed like schools of fish, the desire that alternated with the fury.

            And the fear that Harry might change his mind.

            “It’s not going to alter,” Harry said, and bit him on the side of the throat, keeping his teeth locked in until Malfoy tore his head away with an irritated sound and the ripple of claws on the edges of his fingers. “You wanted enthusiasm. Well, I want it, too. It’s a lot better like this than it was the first time.”

            “The first time was good,” Malfoy said, but with a sharpness to his voice that rivaled his claws.

            “This will be better.” Harry let his legs fall open and arched suggestively towards Malfoy. “You were the one who spoke with contempt that first time about me being a virgin. You might as well do your part towards making sure that I’m not one anymore.”

            Malfoy began tearing at his clothes. Harry called winds to help, to form little hands that would pluck his shirt and trousers off without tearing them. Malfoy could do the same thing with his weapons, maybe, but Harry thought it would take him time to gentle their cutting power, and Harry didn’t want to wait.

            Don’t want to slow down. Don’t want to stop. Don’t want to think about what I’m doing. Don’t want to do anything but feel.

            Harry couldn’t remember the last time he had granted himself permission to do that.

*

            Potter was being sensible, and Draco knew that he had to act before the idiot changed his mind.

            As Potter’s clothes were dragged off him, though, he sat back and let his gaze and his hand both rest on Potter’s chest. Because acting fast didn’t always mean acting hastily.

            Potter looked at Draco, and his cheeks turned the color of Weasley hair. His hands twitched, and Draco knew that he wished he could cover up, and was holding himself back from doing that even as he lay there. He had to know it was too late already.

            But no one had ever looked at him like this, lingeringly, as though considering him for his looks instead of his celebrity scar. Which only prompted Draco to give him a vicious smile and go on doing it.

            Potter was nothing special, seen as just a normal person, the way Draco had looked at other normal people. Not much muscle, lots of wiriness. A mess of slender limbs, a tumble of chest and legs and arms, that made Draco wonder how often he got anything to eat. (And didn’t that thought cause an interesting swirl in the middle of Potter’s mind, a dancing collapse of clouds and chaos?) No wonder he’d been grateful to find magic. He could survive, but he would never be a strongman. This was the body of a survivor.

            Draco bent down and allowed himself to trace one of Potter’s scars with his mouth, the wide white one punctuated with jagged dots that trailed up and around Potter’s hip.

            Potter closed his eyes and tilted his head back, his mouth open. Draco listened to him pant and knew that he wasn’t holding a sound back from escaping; he was so caught up in the strain Draco was subjecting him to that he couldn’t make a sound. Draco rewarded him with the flat slap of a hand over his frantically beating heart and a bite to the scar.

            His other hand had found its way between Potter’s legs, moving with the familiar ease of someone who had already sucked Potter off once. The only one who ever has, Draco thought, and didn’t know which of them the thought came from. The only one who ever will.

            That last thought was definitely his, from the way that Potter looked at him, all parted lips and bright teeth ready for the kill. Draco laughed and sat back, his own clothes gone as he pried at them with the edges of his fingers. He could always Reparo them back together. He retained the use of his wand, unlike Potter.

            “Stop insulting me and get in me,” Potter snapped. “Unless you want me to change my mind.”

            “That’s the beauty of it, Potter,” Draco said, and bent down and kissed him long enough and hard enough to make Potter choke and forget his name, and that they were in the middle of a conversation. “No matter how long I talk, no matter what I say, I’m going to be in you. Because you want me there.”

            Potter ripped his head down, his mouth opening in the gesture that Draco thought he would use to swallow a hunk of meat, and then he nodded. “Right,” he said, sprawling back and spreading his legs so wide that Draco felt the sympathetic ache in his own hips. “So get in me, because I keep wondering about this pleasure that you promise me. I want to feel it.”

            Draco had to close his eyes, and then he had to reach for his wand. Because there were certain things that neither his weapons nor Potter’s winds could do easily, and conjuring lube was one of them.

            Potter kept his eyes closed and his hands still as Draco plunged slick fingers into him, but his mouth fell open again, and his legs spread further. Draco chuckled. He wasn’t even doing anything pleasant yet, anything that would make normal people feel good, as he thought towards Potter.

            Potter managed to bring his tongue and teeth close enough together to talk. “It’s not g-good. It’s intense.”

            Draco piled on top of him again, kissing him savagely, reaching into him. His mind whirled with birds and hunts and mummidade and Potter speaking up beside him when he decided to tell the Weasleys that Draco spoke for him, Potter responding when Draco asked for enthusiasm, Potter trusting him to take care of Teddy, Potter.

            He rubbed his erection against Potter’s arse and took his hands in his, pinning them to the ground and tenderly fanning out his fingers. He bit Potter’s lip and did so until the blood flowed. He scratched Potter again and smiled at the skin under his nails with more than a little satisfaction.

            Yes, this was what he wanted.

*

            Malfoy was insane. But then, Harry was probably mad, too, because he was letting the madman bite him and scratch him until he bled.

            And then fuck him.

            The fingers inside him probed and made him feel new things. Harry had long ago stopped thinking there were new things to feel. The thick, choking pleasure in Malfoy’s mind from simply watching him was a new thing, though, and so was this.

            Here was someone who wanted him for reasons other than his celebrity, who might even want him in spite of that. The bond could be blamed for tying them together. But Harry didn’t want to blame anyone, not particularly. He wanted this.

            “Still a lot of talking, not a lot of action,” he said, and kept his eyes shut so that he could savor the sensations further.

            Malfoy either picked that up from his mind and wasn’t about to object, or liked it. He moved back down Harry’s body and shoved his fingers back in, working them around with little grunts until Harry arched his back.

            “Still not good enough for a normal person?” he asked, with his breath coming faster and his voice full of laughter.

            Harry didn’t bother answering, just kept his eyes shut and his body busy. He was fucking himself on Malfoy’s fingers now, or at least that was what Malfoy would probably call it. He didn’t care. He wanted to offer himself up and wait for the pleasure, the intensity, to sweep through him and rise to a firestorm. Malfoy was just the instrument he was using to achieve that height.

            Is that all?

            The voice came from inside him and around him. Malfoy might have spoken aloud. Harry answered that way, his mouth dangling open when he was done, still occupied in forcing himself down. “For right now, yes.”

            Malfoy kissed him for it, at least, and then sat back on his heels and lined his cock up with Harry’s hole, which was the only reason that Harry had to value him, right now. Harry panted and let his legs tremble, let his tongue hang out. He wanted this, and no one else was around to see.

            Malfoy slid inside him, painfully slowly. Heartbreakingly slowly. Harry counted a few breaths and then shoved himself in and down, before Malfoy could catch on to what he was doing and stop him from doing it.

            Malfoy shouted. Then he panted into Harry’s ear, “Why would I want to stop you from doing that?”

            “Because you were going slowly,” Harry said, and twisted his head up to bite him, which made Malfoy shift inside him in interesting ways and made Harry cry out. Malfoy caught his wrists and clenched them in the air, above Harry’s body like a wrestler’s, and held them there as he worked himself further and deeper in, slower, fucking.

            “Not now,” Malfoy said, and his teeth were bright like a fox’s.

            Harry laughed at him, hearing the winds in the upper skies on Hurricane dance in response to the laughter, knowing he could call them down and fling Malfoy off him in an instant if he wanted. “You like this,” he said. “How’s that for enthusiasm?”

            “I think I like this very much,” Malfoy said, hammering his hips home and making Harry groan and rock back. “And I think that I’d like to do it again.”

            Trust Malfoy to make a point like this, Harry thought, but he nodded back, because Malfoy would have felt the agreement writhing in his mind already, would know how good Harry felt, would know how wonderful Harry thought everything and everyone was at the moment. “Yes,” he gasped. “Yes, so would I.”

            And then Malfoy bent his knees and locked his feet on something and began to fuck him the way Harry wanted, without pausing and without slowing down.

            Harry yielded himself to it.

*

            Potter’s head sprawled on the ground. His neck flopped. His limbs did the same thing, flying up and down in response to Draco’s thrusts.

            It was honestly the sexiest thing Draco had ever seen.

            He grabbed Potter’s shoulder with his teeth and hung on, through the motions that wrenched his neck and the tremors that invaded his muscles and the crying that filled his ears, as the moment came closer, and closer. Joined to Potter’s pleasure, joined to the warmth of his body and the way they both moved, Draco was soaring along with it, welcoming the orgasm, in a way that he had never done before.

            Potter released first. Draco heard his hiss and caterwauling, and felt the soaking warmth on his stomach. He closed his eyes and rejoiced, in the moments before the storm turned back on him and caught him up.

            Sound and fire and fury, and then the final dashing down to the ground, still limp and shaking with pleasure.

            Draco lay there for a while, because he didn’t have to move and so didn’t want to. He stroked whatever part of Potter he could reach; he wasn’t sure what it was at the moment, his hands unable to tell the difference between hair and skin and bone, so far had he gone in the opposite direction. He let his consciousness drift and seep back into his body, and sighed out when it returned.

            Potter stirred under him, and swallowed shakily, and asked, “Is that what you meant?”

            Draco laughed into Potter’s hair—yes, it was hair currently touching his face and sprawling across his nostrils—and turned his head. “Yes, it was,” he said. Potter looked back at him with the chaotic swirl of emotions building up in him until Draco wasn’t sure what would come out of his mouth, so he seized the initiative and repeated, “It was, Harry.”

            Potter gaped at him. Draco leaned in to kiss him. He didn’t look attractive with his jaw hanging open and his tongue protruding.

            Potter kissed back, that tongue dodging and lapping around Draco’s and making him gasp out a surrender for having thought of him as ugly. Then Potter snorted. “Why call me Harry aloud if you’re going to call me Potter in your head?”

            “Because that’s what I want, Harry,” Draco said, and enjoyed the little ripple that traveled through Potter’s body when he said that, the surge and jounce and dance he couldn’t control. He responded to his name. Well, of course he did, but he also responded to Draco saying it. “I would suggest that you use my first name as well, at least in front of the Weasleys.”

            Potter hesitated, then shrugged in the way that Draco had felt him do right before they sprang into the middle of this and said, “All right, Draco.”

            Yes. The sensation tugged like hooks against Draco’s blood and marrow, and he knew it would for a time, no matter how often Potter said Malfoy when it was just between them. He smiled and leaned his head on Potter’s chin, shutting his eyes.

            “Erm, Draco?” Potter’s hands were uncertain on his sides and shoulders. That was all right, Draco thought. Uncertain was sometimes the same thing as tender. “Do you want to go inside? If we stay out here like this, someone could find us.”

            “Teddy and Victoire are safely tucked away by now,” Draco murmured, not opening his eyes. “They’re the only ones I might worry about seeing us like this, the only ones who might genuinely not understand. The others will understand, well enough, both what we did and the claim I have on you. Or are you turning your back on that, too, now?”

            Silence, while the bond between them was charged with noise. Then Potter said, “No. Reckon we’re like this and it’ll stay like this, now.”

            Draco had to laugh into his neck again. “No, it won’t. It will change, and change again, and that’s the truth. That’s the way things should be.”

            Potter shifted beneath him and murmured, “That might be the most profound thing you’ve ever said.”

            “Well, the speaker of profound truths would like to sleep now,” Draco murmured, and stretched his arms out over Potter, sprawling above and below and in circles and crosses that meant Potter couldn’t escape, that he had to bear all of Draco.

            From the way Potter’s arms locked around Draco, he didn’t mind that.

*

            “This is it, then,” Hermione whispered behind him. “We should expose any other seeds we have and any animals we raise to the wild magic.”

            Harry, his eyes on the thick forest of green shoots and leafy heads that had sprouted from the seeds he’d taken up into the windstorm, nodded. Then he glanced at Hermione with a smile. “Are we going to raise any other animals than the bird Draco and I brought back?”

            “I brought embryos with me,” Hermione said.

            Harry turned and stared at her. Not only was this the first he had heard about that, he would have thought it was impossible to transport embryos with current magic other than inside the mother. “What?” he whispered.

            Hermione flushed a little. “Well, when I realized where we were going, I knew that we might not be able to take lots of animals with us. What if they didn’t survive the planet’s winds? What if they couldn’t eat the grass? We would have to spend a whole lot of time raising food for them before we could raise food for us, and in the meantime, they’d probably all starve and die. So I started reading about Muggle experiments on freezing the embryos of endangered species.” She brightened. “It’s fascinating. They can make sure that a rare wild cow gets born to a domestic cow instead, and—”

            Harry chuckled, coughed, and recalled her to the present. “I’m sure it is,” he said. “But how did you manage it? And what animals will they be born from?”

            Hermione shrugged. “I practiced veterinary magic and ice spells and Preservation Charms until I had it. The mothers are just going to be Transfigured grass at first. I studied object-animal Transfiguration a lot, too.”

            Those plain words, Harry was sure, concealed a tremendous amount of work. Hermione grew impatient with other people who weren’t willing to put in the labor to understand what she understood, but she never seemed to see her own labor as anything remarkable.

            “That’s wonderful,” Harry said, grinning at her, and seeing her grin back. “What kinds of animals did you bring?”

            Hermione gnawed her lip a little. “Well—mostly cows. They worked the best, and I know we can use them for butter and milk and cheese and hides as well as meat. The problem will be getting them to eat the grass. I brought some sheep, too, and a few goats, and some birds. I don’t know if we should use the goats with the mummidade around, though.”

            Harry nodded. “Which birds?”

            “Geese, chickens, ducks.” Hermione began to walk back towards the main camp, and Harry followed her. He knew that Malfoy wasn’t far away, because the bond was bending and stirring, but he felt no sense of urgent need from that direction, so he would remain with Hermione for now. “But we can’t use the ducks until we have enough water for them to swim in. The geese, too, for that matter. The chickens would give us meat, for when the bird’s meat runs out.” She glanced towards Bill’s house.

            “I spoke with him yesterday,” Harry said quietly. “He seemed a lot calmer and saner. Before, he wasn’t even trying to control what happened to him. He just thought it was his natural reaction to the immigration, and that he should be allowed to be as nasty as he wanted. Now that we’ve forced him to think about it, I think things will go better.”

            Hermione smiled at him. “I hope so!” Then she paused, and gnawed her lip once again.

            “What is it?” Harry found himself shifting and bracing his weight, ready to protect her against any threat. The bond stirred again, and then he knew Malfoy was moving towards him. Harry knew nothing he could say would prevent him from coming, but he did reach out and send a light stroke down the spine of Malfoy’s mind, to tell him there was no threat in sight and they probably didn’t have to react to it yet.

            “We’re still doing it,” Hermione whispered. “Still acting like the leaders and like we have to decide what’s best for everyone else. I kept the secret of the embryos because I didn’t know if it would work and I didn’t want to raise false hope, but then the first one I told was you, and we’re already making decisions about which animals should be born and which shouldn’t. I think—I think we need to discuss it with everyone.”

            Harry bristled for a moment, wanting to tell her that she had kept the embryos secret for a good reason and then told him about them first just because he happened to ask about them, but then nodded. He could at least see the justice in her complaint, although he hated to see her put herself down because of it. “All right. That’s true. I’ll—make sure that we have another meeting soon.”

            He grimaced at the thought of another one. On the other hand, if he managed to hand over some of his leadership role, then he would have to attend less, or at least be a spectator instead of a leader.

            Malfoy appeared, loping easily across the grass towards them like a wolf heading home to its lair. Harry raised his hand to Malfoy, and found it hard to take his eyes off him. So strong, so gleaming, his hair rippling and flowing and flashing.

            I’m flattered, Harry.

            Harry flushed and turned back towards Hermione, who was looking knowingly at him, but at least wouldn’t know why. “Do you want to tell them today or tomorrow? If we wait—”

            A sharp shout brought Harry’s head around. The winds were gathering in the sky, he saw, the storm-blue flush coming, and he hadn’t called them. He raised his winds in defense, and Malfoy crossed the last two meters with an easy leap and landed beside him. He rested his arm against Harry’s shoulder. Harry bowed his head and tried not to think about how comforting it was, to have him this close.

            “Storm?” Hermione asked, already casting the spell that pulled clods of earth towards the greenhouses to brace their glass walls.

            Harry frowned and cocked his head. The magic was rising, yes, but without the deep, passionate roar he would have expected to hear from an approaching storm. In fact, the winds were dancing, the way they had with him when he had gone up to fly on his broom and Malfoy had interrupted.

            Malfoy stirred beside him, about to say something. Harry charged ahead of him. “No, it’s not. I don’t know why the winds are gathering, but—”

            Another shout, and Harry turned to see Charlie running towards them. Only now did it occur to him that the first shout must have been about something other than the winds, which the others couldn’t feel, or the sky turning blue, which hadn’t happened until after it.

            “What is it?” Harry called, hastening towards him, Malfoy a silent shadow at his side and Hermione a noisy one behind him. “Did something happen to Teddy?”

            Charlie shook his head. His thick hair whipped around his head in the rising wind, and his eyes were wide and wild. Harry wondered if his own magic had started to manifest.

            “The egg!” Charlie shouted, gesturing up to the sky, where the winds had begun to wheel in celebration. “It’s hatching!”

*

            SP777: The Weasleys honestly didn’t realize how hard they were making it for Harry. They’ll be better now.

            And Draco and Harry are still wary of falling for each other when they don’t know how much they like each other.

            unneeded: The mummidade don’t yet know how to offer something in return, but Draco, if no one else, will make sure they do.

            Draco is very satisfied with the enthusiasm he received, thank you.

            Silverkitten: Thanks! At this moment, it’s hard to say what abilities Ginny and Hermione might develop, or whether they already have something that could be seen as the beginning of the wild magic but they haven’t looked at it like that yet.

            I’m glad that you’re enjoying it.
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Reap the Hurricane