Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Conscience	By : sordidhumors Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 15282 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: This story is based on "Harry Potter, " the novels and subsequent films created by JK Rowling, licensed to various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury, Scholastic and Warner Bros. This e-publication makes no profit.

Chapter List
- 17
- 18
- 19
SUMMARY: Harry faces the tribunal. Will Draco still be there for him when everything's said and done? And what about Ron and Hermione—how strong is their bond of friendship when faced with Harry's lusty betrayal?

WARNINGS: Ron grows a spine (unfortunately, it's a bigoted one), sex talk of a frank nature

CONSCIENCE:

THE DAY HARRY POTTER SAID IT

Harry cast a quick Reparo on his glasses. They must've gotten knocked pretty hard because both lenses were cracked. There had been quite a few Repairing Charms cast in the last few minutes. He'd watched Draco cast one to fix a button ripped off his denims. “These cost two hundred pounds,” the blonde had whined, prodding the muggle garment with his wand to make the fly functional again. Harry had growled, still naked, that if Draco didn't stop harping Harry would tear more than his trousers—he'd tear the silly grin off the man's handsome face. Draco had laughed and gone over to see about repairing the bedroom windows. Apparently, Harry's uncontrolled magic had blown out every glass pane in the room, including several mirrors. Powdery bits of glass lay scattered over sections of the hardwood floor. When Harry left his bedroom, Draco's nose had been wrinkled as he mumbled to himself that the windows of Grimmauld Place should not be able to break. Harry didn't have much time to worry over that before entering the kitchen to face his two best friends and only ex-girlfriend. He wasn't looking forward to this judge, jury and potential executioner scenario, but what choice did he have?

Hermione was speaking softly, bracingly to Ron at the kitchen table. Ginny was no where to be found. The brunette fell silent when Harry entered the room, her angry brown eyes rounding wordlessly upon him. She set down her tea cup, folding her hands neatly in her lap. She was waiting for an explanation. Ron, red around the ears and grinding his teeth, wouldn't meet his best mate's eyes.

Harry went to the stove and busied himself with putting the coffee pot on. He would bring Draco some coffee if he lived through this. He was positive the blonde would keep above stairs until after the bloodbath. Harry didn't blame him; in fact, he found he preferred that Draco stay upstairs. He was safe upstairs. Ron and Hermione couldn't hurt his feelings if he couldn't hear them—and that suited Harry just fine. He thought about making a cup of tea but it seemed rather pointless. He swung around, leaning against the stove with his arms folded across his chest.

“Okay, you two,” he said with a grimace. “Let me have it.”

Hermione scowled, hands tightening in her lap.

“You couldn't be bothered to set up a Privacy Ward on the bathroom, hmm?” she shot. “You were in too much of a hurry to stuff Malfoy silly!”

“We heard, you know,” Ron added, angry eyes on the kitchen table. Hermione sniffed, prim and loud, before pointedly turning her nose up at The Nasty Boy Who Screwed.

“You guys, it's not what you think—” Harry began. He didn't get a chance to finish.

“Yeah?” Ron spat. “What the fuck is it, then? Was he helping you with yer Transfiguration or something and yer dick just happened to slip up his arse?” He was red-faced and livid.

“We didn't—”

“I don't care what you and that snake did,” Ron growled. “I don't know what pisses me off more: that you led my sister on—my sister and my whole fucking family—or that you actually made it with Malfoy. I ought to hang myself, really. I've failed as a man. I let a pervert like you into my life, my family home, let you touch my own sister! You couldn't keep yer God damn hands off him, could you? He had to fucking tie you down.”

“Ron, you don't understand!” Harry pleaded, stepping forward. Hermione shot him a very skeptical look and snorted. Harry struggled to keep his cool. He wouldn't win his two best friends back by screaming at them. “Draco and I have this—”

“Oh!” Ron shouted. “It's Draco now, is it?!”

“You can't honestly expect me to sleep with someone and stay on a last-name basis?!”

“That's exactly what I expect!” Ron shouted, banging a Keeper's fist on the table so hard the tea cups rattled and the little cream pitcher almost tipped. “This 'thing' with Malfoy is just a fluke. You and Ginny belong together. We're going to be brothers, Harry; nothing can stop that.”

“Ron, we're already brothers,” Harry exhaled sadly, hands listless at his sides as he pleaded. “That's why I thought you'd understand.”

“But you and Ginny—” Ron objected.

“Me and Ginny nothing!” Finally, Harry exploded. The truth beat at the backs of his teeth, desperate to get out. “It wasn't like this with Ginny. It wasn't like this with Cho Chang and at least I was attracted to her, sexually. I'm not a monk, Ron! I just... I didn't want to say anything. I thought maybe I wasn't that sexual a person. Then I was with Draco and this whole flipping part of me just came alive. Ron, I've never felt this way before,” Harry breathed against the tightness in his chest. The words forced their way out. “So maybe I'm gay. Maybe I prefer blokes. I know I like Draco. Can't you just be happy for me because I'm happy and you're my best mate?”

“No, Harry. I can't.” Ron's face was like stone now, like a statue of his best mate speaking to him from the kitchen bench. “That little prick has insulted me and my family—our honor, Harry—more times that I can keep track of. He almost got Hagrid fired and Buckbeak executed. He calls Hermione... well, you know what he calls her. I won't say it,” Ron huffed. “How many times has he almost gotten us expelled? And that shit he pulled with Umbridge—'Inquisitorial Squad' ring any bells? Then he tried to kill Dumbledore all last year. He nearly killed me with that meade! He put Katie in the hospital wing for months. He was a Death Eater, Harry. He let them mark him; he didn't fight it, even. He was one of them, believed what they believe; hell, he probably still does and you're just to horny or whatever to admit it. I can't just up and forgive him like you have. I'm not screwing him.” Disgust suffused his once friendly face, making him unrecognizable. “You keep saying he's changed, but I really don't see it. You're the one whose changed, Harry. I don't know who you are anymore.”

Harry had to fight not only the lump in his throat but the stinging, prickly sensation gathering behind his eyes. It felt like Hagrid had punched him in the chest. There was absolutely nothing he could say to change Ron's mind. He would just have to wait, give the guy some time, and maybe, maybe he'd come around. Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“I'm the same person, Ron,” he managed in a contrabass, tired voice, his shoulders slumped. “I wish you could see that. And I wish you could look past your own shit and see who Draco is; he's starting over, Ron. And this isn't a fluke. We're not fake. We're together.”

Hermione gave a startled twitch and Ron's fist struck the table again.

It felt weird saying that to his friends. It felt strange thinking of being in a relationship with anyone with what he knew he was facing; but somehow, the fact that it was Draco behind him actually made him feel comfort instead of crippling fear. Draco could take care of himself. He was a survivor. He was a Malfoy for fuck's sake—the man could weather anything and probably come out on top, richer and more confident than ever. Draco would be okay. That made Harry smile despite himself.

“I like him,” Harry explained, knowing his friends didn't give a shit but wanting to say it anyway. It felt good to get everything off his chest and into the open. “I like him a lot. And he fancies me, too. We're not in an ideal situation but we're going to make the most of it—you know, try to date and stuff. He probably won't join the Order with me or anything but he wants to support me... in his own way. He's helping me already.”

“I don't believe this shit,” Ron said to Hermione, ignoring his best friend completely. “You wanna head back to the Burrow? I think Ginny was right.”

Hermione nodded slowly. “Perhaps she was.”

“So that's it?” Harry spluttered as the two stood, joining hands and making for the door. “You're just giving up on me? You're done? Six years and you're throwing it in,” he chased after them, hounding them, talking to their backs as they went up the rickety staircase to collect their things. “What about the Horcruxes? You giving up on those, too? Gonna let Voldemort win because of where I put my cock?”

Harry thought Draco would be proud of his use of coarse language to make a point. He felt a little stronger, more in control, talking like that. Hermione paused at the door to her room, her hand on the frame.

“I'll floo call you with my research,” she said flatly. “This is more important than who you stuff. I'm glad you still recognize that you have a job to do. Just don't let Malfoy get in the way.”

She shut the door in his face. That was that.

- - -

Harry went back to the kitchen to collect Draco's coffee along with a few left over baked goods. He prepared a cup for himself, heavy on the cream, and set it all on a tray that he could carry upstairs. Pushing open the door to his room, he was greeted with the sight of Draco Malfoy, clothed and groomed for the day, sitting in his bed with Severus Snape's old copy of Advanced Potion Making in his lap. Harry was irrationally glad Draco was still there—in his room, in his bed. He looked comfortable, ever-poised but relaxed. Maybe even a tiny bit happy. He turned a page, glancing up when he heard Harry enter the room. Harry's pleasure must have been written all over his face. Draco regarded him closely, focusing for long moment on his face. Harry blushed.

“Guess Gryffindor firing squads aren't so bad,” the blonde quipped. “Yeh appear to have lived. They should work on their aim.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, shutting the door with his foot. “The Boy Who Lived, remember?”

“How could I forget?” Draco's silvery eyes fell to the tray Harry bore, noting its contents with a subtle smile. “And The Boy Who Brought Me Coffee, too.”

“Went through hell to get it,” Harry snorted ruefully, sitting on the edge of the bed and setting the tray by Draco's hip. “You don't wanna know the burning hoops I jumped through for your extra sugar.”

“I'm sure they were substantial,” Draco played along, reaching toward the steaming mugs. He met Harry's eyes, silently asking which was his. Harry was amazed he could understand the question in the man's eyes, the query radiating from the tilt of his head and the angle of his shoulders. Harry couldn't resist ducking in to steal a kiss before handing over the correct cup. Draco's lips were still, surprised under his own. When he pulled away, Draco regarded him carefully over the rim of his cup. He blew over the steaming liquid, his face giving away nothing of what went on beneath. Harry could appreciate the morning mystery.

“Do you want to know what they said?” Harry asked, picking up the cup he'd made for himself. With enough cream and sugar, he could get used to the extra caffeine at the start of the day. He realized that, if they kissed now, Draco would taste like coffee, too. It was almost enough to make him jump the blonde—fuck spilled coffee or stained sheets. It would be worth it. Only the sight of Draco sighing at the aroma held him back. It was nice just to watch the man enjoy something whole heartedly.

“I'm sure I already know,” Draco took a tiny sip, rolling the piping liquid through his mouth before swallowing. “Filthy whore, snake, bastard, 'not to be trusted,'” he droned listlessly, not rightly caring what names he was called. “'What the hell were you thinking, Potter?' Oh, and 'betrayal of trust, all that is right and good in the world.' Did I miss anything?”

“Just the part where they heard us in the bathroom,” Harry shrugged, blowing on his own coffee before breaking off a bit of day old scone and dipping it in his cream-laden coffee. “They left.”

“Yeah?”

“Back to the Burrow,” Harry sighed, sucking the sweet coffee out of the softened scone before dipping it again, swirling it in the liquid while he thought. “I guess it should bother me but it really doesn't. They're being so pig headed about the whole thing. I mean, they could've apologized for barging in on us. That obviously made you uncomfortable. I don't think they took us into account at all,” he shrugged. “Ron's whole rant was about himself—how I betrayed him and his family. He said I was a pervert and he hates himself for letting me touch his sister.”

Draco listened without comment, working on his hot coffee.

“I didn't expect them to understand or anything. I'm not stupid. I just wish they could be happy for me, you know?” Harry looked away across the bed spread, remembering how Ron and Hermione had behaved when he and Ginny had started dating. “They were good when it was me and Ginny.”

“They like Ginny,” Draco pointed out, his voice casual and even.

“Yeah, but... Ginny was always there, always liked me and agreed with me. It was no big deal when we dated—if you could call it dating. You and me, though. We've put our shit aside to have a go at this. What we're doing is a much bigger deal: seeing past all our old crap, realizing we're good together... sexually; but in general, too. It's like my friends will only be happy for me if I don't grow up.”

“No one likes change,” Draco said, breaking apart the scone and taking a piece for himself. He sort of sucked at it, scraping a bit of icing off with his perfect white teeth before popping the pastry in his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. He washed it down with sweetened coffee.

“True,” Harry nodded. “Draco, can I ask you something—as a leper?”

“Go ahead,” he said after swallowing, a smile playing on his lips at the reference to their private political analogies.

“Well, Ron was especially angry that, um,” Harry tried very hard not to blush, “that you're a guy, I think. He kept saying I was a pervert. I don't really know if I like guys. But I told him and Hermione I might be gay and that really pissed him off. Did I use the right word? That's what wizards call it, right? Same as muggles?”

“Yes,” Draco nodded so he wouldn't shake his head in amusement. The smile on his lips was a priceless mix of disbelief and delight. “Gay, bent or queer are considered polite words for it. You might hear wand-swallower—Kneazler for girls.” He gave the tiniest of laughing shrugs; apparently it was kind of a cutesy name for lesbians. “It sounds like Weasley was being particularly low-brow about it. Being gay or bisexual isn't an issue amongst purebloods but people like the Weasleys, Longbottoms, Patils—wizards who associate more with muggles—they have a problem with it. I was told they got it from muggle culture.”

“I guess that's true,” Harry admitted. It was an ugly thing to say about people who he considered his friends; however, muggle culture was very derogatory toward gay people. “Muggles generally don't like gays. They're not given the same rights as other muggles—like being able to get married or have custody of one another's children. That one's a big problem I heard about. It's just bad, generally. There was a boy at Stonewall—the muggle school I was supposed to go to before I heard about Hogwarts—and he was attacked by a gang because he was gay. It was a big story in the news because he was hospitalized for two weeks and almost died of complications. Muggle kids gets teased and bullied for a lot of stuff,” he clarified, “but calling someone gay is definitely the go-to insult, I think. My Uncle Vernon used to call me that a lot. And Dudley—that's my cousin. I used to have nightmares about the TriWizard and Dudley heard me mention Cedric Diggory. After that, he went around telling all his cronies that Cedric was my boyfriend. I never thought about it, though. He made fun of me all the time so what's another insult, right?”

“So muggles are the source of tha' kind of attitude,” Draco said pensively.

“You mean wizards don't think that way?”

“Oh, I'm sure some do,” the blonde shrugged. He finished the last of his coffee and set his mug on the tray before stretching back against the mound of pillows he'd made, leaving none for Harry.

“What's it like?” Harry asked, taking a full draw on his coffee now that it had cooled enough.

“With purebloods?” Draco peered at him with an unreadable expression before turning his attention to the canopy, folding his arms behind his head to recline regally. “No one really cares. It's about magical prowess, money, connections, influence. Just look at Dumbledore—powerful wizard, taught at Hogwarts for ages, contributed to the community, so no one gave him any trouble.”

“Dumbledore was bent?”

“The Boy Who Lived To Be Clueless,” Draco chuckled. When he smiled, the apples of his cheeks took on the slightest pink tinge and the outsides of his eyebrows turned down. His face scrunched a little, making him look younger, happier. It was a good look for his once sour, stern exterior. Harry wondered how many people had the honor of seeing Draco smile like that; hopefully, not too many. He counted himself lucky.

“I have my suspicions about Severus, as well,” Draco continued. “I think it was a source of camaraderie between them—and possibly why Dumbledore asked him to be a spy for your Order. I can see a certain usefulness. But then again, Severus is half-blood, so there wouldn't have been anyone hounding him to marry and produce an heir. Perhaps he was only being selective. It's just a hunch on my part.”

“Are your hunches always right?” Harry asked after setting his coffee on the tray and removing it from the bed. He laid down in reverse, his feet at the head of the bed and his head propped up on an elbow near Draco's bare feet. He liked that Draco removed his shoes and socks before getting in bed—he was tidy that way. Harry almost laughed at his Malfoy-like double entendre.

“No, not always,” Draco said slowly, raising one meaning-filled brow at Harry. He felt a blush creep up his cheeks despite his best efforts to stay collected. Draco had this effect on him.

“So...” Harry offered Draco a sly smile, letting his gaze travel up the man's “tidy” form—from his pale feet, up his long legs, past narrow hips and a lean chest to his handsome, softly smiling face. Sweet Merlin he was gorgeous. “Purebloods don't care. Gay, straight, whatever?”

“Sex is never that simple,” Draco said agreeably before explaining fully. “Someone such as myself, a pureblood heir, would be expected to marry and produce another legitimate heir for the family name. After that, I don't think most people give a damn what someone does in the bedroom. A certain amount of experimentation is expected, especially in one's school years. Even for a while thereafter. Take Durmstrang, for instance,” Draco sat up a little, pursing his lips as he put words to something that had probably been understood and unspoken his entire life. “If a gent's gone to Durmstrang, you can assume he's had sex with a few blokes... and might be up for it again if you approach him right. We're all aware of it.”

“Didn't your father want you to go to Durmstrang?” Harry asked, recalling a conversation he'd overheard on the Hogwarts Express fourth year.

“You heard tha'?” Draco's smile spread, his eyes closing for a moment as he, too, remembered. He'd been such a shit then. It had been a difficult time. “Well, father was aware of my preferences at that point. I think Durmstrang was meant to get it out of my system. I think that's how it is for most other blokes packed off to Durmstrang. I can't say I would've minded.”

That certainly explained Krum spotting Draco's feelings a few weeks ago. Maybe Viktor had known a lot more than he let on.

“So it's all casual sex, then. That's what's normal?” Harry asked, praying Draco couldn't hear the apprehension in his voice. He'd already explained that a casual relationship wasn't on the menu but still, he wanted to know what Draco was used to—what most of the wizarding world would think of them if and when they went public with... whatever it was they had. He was still horribly unsure.

“I suppose,” the blonde shrugged. “When you're in your teens and twenties it's quite acceptable. As one gets older it should become more discreet, naturally, but it's still quite common.”

Harry examined the hem of Draco's trousers, waiting for him to go on. When he didn't, Harry was forced to look up and ask another question, his mouth dry.

“Is that why you wanted to go to Durmstrang?”

“Partly,” Draco conceded, not meeting Harry's eyes. He lowered his arms to his sides, sitting up fully to consider. “I'm sure you'd rather not hear this, but I showed some affinity and talent for the Dark Arts. Yes, I'd already been taught,” he spoke before Harry's mouth could open fully. “And I was quite good. I still am. It's the old way. I could have done very well at Durmstrang. Fourth year was one of the best years of my life.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked. He reached a hand to Draco's shin, resting on the fabric of his trousers, feeling the solid warmth of his leg just beneath the material. Just touching the man made him feel better; that Draco allowed it was still mildly amazing.

“I spent a lot of time out on the Durmstrang ship. Mostly getting tanked out of my mind,” he admitted with a reluctant half-laugh. His eyes were very far away. “We all got on famously. I think it was the groan heard 'round Scotland when I broke the news.”

“What news?” Harry asked, now running his hand absently up and down the side of Draco's calf. His legs were raw muscle and bone. They felt great. All of him felt great, really. Harry was sorely tempted to start rubbing the man's feet. He resisted the urge only by focusing on his words. And how great his legs felt. Harry may or may not have been groping.

Draco chuckled. “That I don't bottom. I think I broke quite a few hearts with tha'.”

Draco didn't.... Harry had to think about that one for a moment before it completely settled in. Draco was aggressive, sexually; dominating, even, but Harry liked that. Draco always met him head-on for intensity and that got his blood pumping like nothing else ever could. Maybe it could be a battle of wills. Maybe, with time, Draco would submit to him.

“Still, I practically had my pick o' the ship,” Draco continued, shrugging. “I never met Krum, though. Well, Viktor,” Draco rolled his eyes at his own inclination to worship the man. He was an international Quidditch star. Draco had probably known about Viktor Krum long before the World Cup. “He was always up at the Hogwarts library or in his private quarters, undoubtedly with a more sophisticated bottle,” Draco almost snorted through his nose. It was quite the heavy exhale. “I drank ale with the plebes.”

“Wow,” Harry mocked, hand reaching Draco's knee before sliding back to his ankle. “I guess you were really desperate for a shag.”

“You have no idea,” Draco let his brows turn up playfully, his eyes going wide to emphasize his point. Those grey eyes were sharp, vivid. “Without the great Harry Potter to pummel on the pitch, I sought alternate means of... ventilation.”

“I know what you did,” Harry tapped his temple knowingly. “And your secrets are safe with me. And those Romanian guys, I guess.” He got himself to shrug and hoped it looked casual. A jealous rage clawed at his gut, like it had when he'd first seen Ginny snogging Dean Thomas. This time it was about a thousand times worse because it was Draco. Draco, who could have anyone in a heartbeat. He was a fucking catch. People would line up just to see him take his clothes off—at least, if they had eyes in their heads. Draco was sex personified. His damaged flash just made him more beautiful in Harry's eyes.

“It bothers you. Yer obvious. I can see it in yer eyes,” Draco observed, leaning over his long legs and bracing just above his knees. He was flexible, as a Seeker ought to be. He stretched until his face was about six inches from Harry's. The dark haired man knew the limber blonde could close the distance if he wanted to. “Why? Because I've slept with other people? Because I talk about it? I'm not ashamed.”

“I wouldn't want you to be ashamed. It's because,” Harry worked to keep his voice even, worked to keep his eyes locked on Draco's, “you know what you're doing—with blokes—and I don't. I mean, we've done it a few times. And it's been really great. But I know there's... something else. A couple things we haven't done. And I don't even know if wizards do it the same way muggles do.” Harry watched Draco's eyes for any emotion, any change, like panning for silver. All he could pick out was mild amusement swirling amid green and grey. “I guess you would know, wouldn't you?”

Draco nodded slightly, not breaking their eye contact. “Yeh gonna ask me, Potter?”

Harry smiled at Draco's familiar teasing. It was just funny now, how Draco still riled him like no other. Now Draco excited him, too. That excitement gave him courage.

“How do wizards do it, Draco?” He asked, hoping his expression could be taken as flirtatious. He had no idea how two grown men were supposed to flirt with each other. Tightening his hand on Draco's calf seemed like a good idea. He ran that hand up his leg, past his knee to rest at the blonde's inner thigh. As if on cue, Draco's pupils dilated ever so slightly. And his inhale took vaguely longer than normal. That was a good sign. So Harry pushed it. He leaned, cutting the distance between their lips in half. He could feel Draco's breath on his face. He could count Draco's eyelashes. They were brown. And there was the long, narrow scar at his hairline and a tiny freckle in his right eyebrow that could only be seen from this close. These things were like the birthmark on his backside—yet another glorious detail to soak in, to memorize, to immortalize. And Draco was his... maybe. He would be, Harry decided. If it was the last thing he did, Draco Malfoy would give in to him.

“Draco,” he whispered, “tell me how we fuck.”

The side of that delicious, demanding pink mouth slithered up in a lazy smile and his eyes crinkled, lit up in a deep green. It was the prefect color on him.

“I put my cock in yer ass, Wonder Boy.”

Harry gulped. First of all... no. And second of all? He'd seen Draco and there was no way that would fit. Anywhere. Ever. He'd barely gotten it in his mouth the last time and it felt like he'd unhinged something in his jaw that was not meant to unhinge so. That Romanian guy had to have a hole like the English Channel. That or he'd been hiding a vagina somewhere. There was absolutely no fucking way.

“Who says I'm taking it up the bum?” The confidence in his own voice surprised him more than it did Draco. “I'm not really sure I'm gay. I just... like you, is all. And you happen to be a bloke.”

The blonde laughed silently, air exiting his nose in little puffs while he rested his forehead against Harry's. Dark hair tickled the skin around his silver eyes. “Bully for me, then. Liking it up the arse has nothin' ter do with being gay. There's no button up there tha', once pushed, turns a bloke gay; although it will send yer brain ter Belgium an' back, but I digress.”

“Now,” he postured, bringing a cool hand to cup Harry's unshaven cheek. “Wantin' a big, buff Beater ter ram yer ass like his own personal Bludger—tha' makes ya gay. I've shagged a few blokes; enough ta know wha' I'm doin'. We don't want injuries,” he laughs. He simply breathed a moment as his laughter stilled, his fingers wandering back to take Harry's hair in a firm grip. He honed in on Harry's eyes, gazing deeply, letting the other man know how serious he was. “Hopefully I can give ya a few ideas 'bout what yeh wanta do ter me.”

“Cor, don't talk like that...” Harry mumbled. He was hard again. Draco's lips met his in a wild, panting rush.
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Conscience