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The Long Defeat	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 30612 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 7
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter Eighteen—A Debate and a Test
            “What is it?” Harry thought his voice was perfectly neutral and nice, but it couldn’t have been, not when Draco immediately folded over the top of the paper and put it down next to his plate. He was trying to smile at Harry, but it didn’t even reach his cheeks, let alone his eyes.
            “What? What do you mean?” Draco dipped a hand into his pocket as if he was gripping his wand, but a second later, pulled it out without doing any magic as far as Harry could tell. He pushed a plate in the middle of the table helpfully towards Harry. It contained what looked like fat little tarts quivering with chunks of pear. Harry scooped one up and took a thoughtful bite, not removing his eyes from Draco. Draco cleared his throat uncomfortably and swiped at his face. “A disturbing story.”
            Harry was distracted for a second by the tart, which burst in his mouth when he’d thought it wouldn’t, and the sweetness was there as well as the juice running inconveniently down his chin. He gasped, swallowed, seized a napkin, and wiped his chin. Draco had the good grace to look away, but Harry saw him bite his lip.
            “What disturbing story?” Harry finally got the juice under control and put the napkin down beside him with more force than necessary. “If they’re spouting shit about me again and how I’m your sex slave—”
            “It’s worse than that,” Draco said, softly now, and slowly unfolded the paper again. “I think our grace period is almost over.”
            Harry took a careful seat, his gut churning. It had been a fortnight since he’d first practiced the magic that turned a stone into dust successfully. He and Draco had been training each day, dueling, but also using Harry’s magic to destroy anything disposable and inorganic they could find. Lucius and Narcissa had drawn the line at them turning walls to dust, though.
            There had been kisses and times when they sat silently in each other’s company and times when Draco went elsewhere while Harry visited his friends, and Harry had been happy.
            Maybe that time was over, and if so, Harry would mourn it. “Why don’t you hand me the paper so I can read it? You know my eyes aren’t good at this distance.”
            Draco didn’t even smile at the witticism—well, Harry had thought it was witty—which worried Harry more than all the rest of it. He took a deep breath and looked down at the headline.
            HARRY POTTER PAYING THE ULTIMATE PRICE?
            The photographs were one of him from the Tri-Wizard Tournament, mostly looking wet, and one of him while he stood in front of Gringotts, the day before he was officially enslaved, mostly looking murderous. Harry didn’t know what point they were supposed to prove until he read the next bit of the article.
            Has the wizarding world abandoned Harry Potter, the Chosen One, the Hope of Us All?
            Harry groaned. Draco managed a small grin. “The Hope of Us All part? I rather liked that myself. It’s a new variation.”
            “One that they’ll now use endlessly, the way they used to do with Boy-Who-Lived,” Harry muttered, and read on.
            The wizarding world has. How could we let someone who saved us all be enslaved by the Malfoys, his ancient enemies? He even had a rivalry with Draco Malfoy in school. That he went so tamely to his enslavement says much about how Harry Potter has lost his spirit.
            Harry put his hand over his eyes. When Draco had said their grace period was over, Harry had envisioned people who suspected that he was fooling the goblins and were angrily demanding an accounting. Maybe even the goblins themselves. It made sense, of course, that they would probably have more angry reporters besieging Malfoy Manor instead.
            “Of course they took offense at your enslavement of me and not the goblins’,” he finally muttered, and put the paper down.
            “Of course they did,” Draco echoed him. “It would be too much to ask, that level of self-awareness.” He clasped his hands together and gave a faint smile as Harry unwillingly snorted. “Now, the only question that remains is what we’re going to do about it?”
            Harry hesitated for a long second. He didn’t want either the goblins or the reporters coming into Malfoy Manor again. But the goblins would be harder to face. On the other hand, the reporters were capable of being annoying, and would probably publish articles about how the Malfoys were hiding him away if they didn’t get access.
            “Harry. Your eggs.”
            Harry started and turned his head. His eggs were small puddles of sludge and floating grey on his plate. The plate itself hadn’t been affected, but what was organic in his food…
            He was angrier than he’d thought.
            He took a deep breath, and then murmured, “You know, I’m not sure how many people know that I really have this magic.” He used his fork to poke at the eggs. “I’m sure that no one outside this house except Ron and Hermione knows that I’m training my magic to destroy metal and stone and things like that, either.”
            Draco frowned. “What are you saying?”
            “That there might be other ways to frighten them off.” Harry gave him a sharp grin and picked up another egg, concentrating for a moment. This time, the shell withered and cracked in sharp patterns, and something like black fungus peered through the cracks before turning into particles smaller than dust, feathering away from his fingers and onto the plate. “Though we’d have to integrate them with the pretense that I’m completely under your thumb and your obedient sex slave, of course.”
            “Of course.” Draco’s voice was a little thick.
            Harry glanced at him. Draco’s eyes were wide, his cheeks flushed. Harry frowned. He had seen Draco look like that when they were making some clever plan against the goblins, but Harry didn’t know what he had to be so excited about this time. It wasn’t like Harry’s plan was all that clever, if you thought about it.
            Then Draco leaned forwards, with one elbow on the table, to look at him, and stared. And Harry remembered the other times that he’d seen Draco look like that. Usually right after they kissed.
            Harry swallowed through a throat that was so dry he might have swallowed some of his own created dust, and put the mess of the egg down. “You—you’re not frightened by that?” he asked, and jerked his head at the plate.
            “No,” Draco breathed. “I—I knew what you could do, but I hadn’t seen it. Not like that, under your deliberate control.”
            Harry wanted to ask another question, the next, obvious one about what Draco was feeling if it wasn’t fear, but his own face was flaming. He took refuge in picking at the mess with his fork. “But it’s dangerous. I could hurt you if it got out of control. It usually happens to whatever I’m touching at the time. And you saw the way that I didn’t even hurt the fork. Living things are still more vulnerable to me even when I’m trying really hard to hold onto my temper.” Living things like people.
            “I don’t care.”
            Draco got up and came around the table towards him. Harry stood up, hesitantly. Even after two months where some portion of almost every day had been spent in Draco’s company, he didn’t think he knew what would happen when Draco reached him.
            What happened was Draco grasping Harry’s chin and kissing him soundly, and then catching one of the deadly hands that Harry kept trying to tuck behind his back and clasping it firmly. Harry allowed it, more surprised than anything. Then Draco drew back and gave him a look that had embers in the bottom of it.
“I know you could hurt me,” Draco whispered. “But that’s true of your dueling spells, too, and you haven’t. I want—I want everything about you.” He tugged on Harry’s shirt as if he was contemplating rending it down to the bottom. “Sometimes I think you feel the same way about me, and sometimes I don’t know. Why don’t you show me, and I’ll tell you what your gestures say to me?” His fingers crept into the collar of Harry’s shirt.
“You trust me with this magic?” Harry placed a hesitant hand on the back of Draco’s shoulder, and a second later, worked his fingers under Draco’s shirt in turn. He didn’t need to touch bare skin, because his magic would affect cloth just as badly, but he had to be sure.
Draco hissed and let his head droop back. “Yes,” he whispered. “Oh, Harry, you have no idea how that feels.”
            “I think I can make a guess, based on your face,” Harry said, and smiled a little, awkwardly. He had no idea what he was doing, but it was better to have an idea what you were doing some of the time and go with it the rest, maybe.
            He pulled Draco against him. For a second, their chests touched, the heat in them burning through the cloth. Harry looked down to make sure nothing was really disintegrating, and Draco surprised him with another sharp kiss.
            This time, Harry let himself stop worrying and kiss back. It felt wonderful, at least as wonderful as when he had stopped worrying about what the Malfoys would think of him and just chosen the rooms he wanted.
            Draco was gasping into his mouth in the same eager way, and pushing him backwards. Harry nearly tripped, and he thought for a second about house-elves or Draco’s parents coming around the corner or how someone could see them and accuse them of—
            What? Seducing each other?
            But Draco settled all of Harry’s silent concern that they really needed to go up to their rooms by shoving him again, and kissing him at the same time. Harry gave in and grabbed Draco, turning him around so that he was the one against the wall. Then he lifted his hands clear of Draco’s skin and touched the cloth of his shirt and concentrated, the way he had when he’d touched the last egg.
            Draco’s shirt dissolved, wisping away. Harry blinked and licked his lips. “Wow,” he said. He’d thought it would turn into ashes, too, but apparently different things happened to cloth than to food.
            Or even paper. He actually hadn’t used his deadly magic all that much, when he thought about it.
            Draco ruthlessly yanked on Harry’s hair, and said, “I’m going to do the same thing with a spell, if you don’t get yours off soon.”
            Harry touched his own shirt and concentrated in the same way, and the magic seemed to blast through his fingers, taking them for its natural channels, making them into something deep and complicated, deeper than just flesh and bone. In a few seconds, his shirt was gone, and Draco pulled on him again, and they were together.
            Harry had thought of pulling off their trousers, but when Draco groaned and shifted against him and their groins accidentally brushed, it was obvious there was going to be no time—no time for a lot of things. Harry huffed and grabbed Draco around the shoulders and wrestled Draco into him, and they began rutting together.
            Or went on? Harry had never done something like this before. He had no idea where things had begun and ended. He had no idea how long they were going to be like this, straining against each other, with Draco’s panting breath on Harry’s face and Harry’s panting breath somewhere around Draco’s ear.
            But he was rapidly learning what it was like, sweat slicking his fingers and staining over his spine and his back quivering with exhaustion. He was getting to know the tickle of Draco’s hair against his ears, and the rapid huffs of surprise made by each wet exhalation and the glide of hands over his chest. Then that became the glide of hands over his shoulders. And it was surprising, and new, and when Draco wanted to kiss him with an impatient little grunt Harry went with it, and—
            The heat was suddenly everywhere, to the point where Harry opened his eyes honestly surprised that Draco’s hair hadn’t caught on fire. The bumping of their hipbones and the rubbing of their erections—and that was the first time Harry had been so aware of his cock, so aware and heavy and oh Merlin it would be embarrassing if someone caught them now—and the heat of sex and possible humiliation and desire swirled all together and Harry came with a grunt, closing his mouth over Draco’s so that he could muffle it.
            Draco had had the same idea, from the frantic twist of his neck, but he didn’t manage to do it at the same time, so Harry’s teeth caught Draco’s tongue and Draco’s lips clasped air. He was coming, then, too, and his hands were trembling on Harry’s shoulders, and his breath was too sharp and fast and everything was so.
            They crashed together in that they slid down the wall and tumbled slowly to a heap on the floor. Draco was murmuring with sleepy confusion into Harry’s cheek. Harry, on the other hand, felt as if he could give it another go, if his cock would stop being inconveniently soft and his muscles would stop their inconvenient trembling.
            “Draco?” he whispered, and swept one hand over his cheekbone.
            Draco finally opened his eyes, seeming to accept that neither the floor nor Harry was a bed. “What?”
            “That was wonderful.”
            Harry flushed a second later, because his declaration sounded more than a little pompous and stupid, but from the way that Draco’s eyes widened and flashed, it was more than appreciated. Draco drew himself up onto an elbow and gave Harry a gentle once-over, as if he was looking into his heart and seeing all the appreciation there along with everything else. “Good. I’m glad you think so.”
            “I do,” said Harry, and reached for his wand again, this time to cast the necessary Cleaning Charms and the ones that would tell them if anyone had tried to come in and seen them. No, there was nothing. Either house-elf magic was undetectable given the spells Harry was using, or the elves had heard the noises and wisely decided that it was none of their business. “Now, let’s go up to your rooms and sleep.”
            “My rooms? Why not yours?” Draco turned his head to the side, as if to say that he would be just as glad to use the floor as a bed after all.
            “Because yours have the most comfortable bed.” Harry slung his arm over Draco’s shoulders and pulled at them until Draco opened his eyes. “And later, maybe we can do this again, and that’s more likely in a comfortable spot, don’t you agree?”
            Draco smiled, eyes shining. He nodded, and they stood up and staggered towards the stairs together.
*
            Draco woke slowly much later that morning, looking up at the canopy of the bed and feeling wonderful, the way that Harry had said.
            He turned his head and saw Harry asleep beside him, his face exactly as calm as though they slept like this every day. Draco reached out and thoughtfully took Harry’s hand, entwining their fingers until it would take a nundu to pry them apart.
            No. I won’t let that happen. If he still doesn’t want to stay in the wizarding world, I’ll just have to convince him that it’s a good idea to do it.
            Harry rolled towards him and sighed, and Draco braced himself for the moment he would open his eyes and say something wrong. But what Harry actually said when he opened his eyes was, “So I think I do have a good plan for teaching them to fear my magic and still think that I’m your totally obedient slave at the same time.”
            Draco leaned forwards and tangled his fingers in Harry’s hair, sliding them back and forth purely so that he could enjoy the texture. “And that involves us appearing together before a reporter one more time?”
            Harry sighed. “Yes. Although hopefully it’ll be the last time for our year.”
            Draco hesitated, then decided that he wouldn’t say anything about Harry’s plan to leave the wizarding world right now. They could discuss that later, when some of the languor had gone out of Draco’s bones and his head had cleared.
            “So tell me your great plan,” he said, and settled back, pleased, for the moment, just to be here and to have Harry explaining things to him.
*
delia cerrano: Well, Harry doesn’t feel like an adopted son or brother to the Malfoys. He does trust and like Draco, and while he’s still a little wary around Lucius, he also trusts Narcissa.
staar: Thank you!
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The Long Defeat