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The Inheritance	By : Laurel Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 4067 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
For disclaimer, see the first chapter

Harry and Draco never talked about
the women in their lives. Ron, Neville, young James, their dead fathers all
played a role, but they never spoke about Hermoine, Pansy, Millicent, Ginny or
Libby, or their mothers. Sometimes Harry would slip, rarely, and Libby would
figure into their conversations. Draco made it precise,
and brief when it did.

"It's
her second birthday, isn't it?" Harry asked as they sat down to dinner.

Draco looked
annoyed. "Yes."

Harry
frowned. "Why are you here?"

"Pansy
took Libby to the Zabinis in Venice
for the summer." Harry started. So the rumors were true. Pansy was having
an affair with Avery Zabini, Blaise's younger brother. And Draco had allowed
Pansy to take his daughter, the Malfoy heiress, to Italy to spend the summer with her
mother and her lover.

"Pansy
and Avery are very discreet," Draco said softly and Harry knew that Pansy
had blackmailed him.

Sometimes
Harry wished that Ginny was more like Pansy. Pansy was rough, strong, wordly. When she realized her husband hadn't loved her and
was a homosexual, she did what she had to. Got over him, took a younger lover,
lived with her husband in relative peace, in friendship,

But Ginny
was a Weasley and had grown up in the Burrow, surrounded by the idea of true
love, of holding on, of dedication. And she had married Harry, whose only
dedication was directed to a man he could never trust. In her little world, in
their little house, Ginny Potter let her dreams mask reality. If she never
looked, she never saw, and she could pretend.

One night, a
crisp fall night after Harry had been gone for four days, she saw and could no
longer pretend. Her Harry, draped in expensive robes he would never think of
buying, smiling happily, marks along his neck and his right eye half-blackened,
as if he had gotten into a fight and hadn't bothered to charm it properly away.

"James
is sick again." She murmured. Harry sighed.

James was
always sick, always unwell. Sneezing, sniffling child, with a poor consitution,
who looked out at his father with glassy blue eyes, his red Weasley hair
knotted from lying in bed day after day, never getting any better. Harry saw
him in his mind's eye, ten years old, propped up by pillows, looking slightly
green, his face puffy from the side effects of too
many potions. Desperate, clinging to life, James, his only
child.

He couldn't
help but compare him to Draco's Libby, vibrant and outspoken, chatting about
Quidditch and schooling, her knees scuffed and bony and real. Harry had met her
once, Draco had come by to pick up some clothing, and Harry had shook her hand and she had asked his name. They had a moment
of conversation before Draco had come back carrying his robe on his arm,
smiling at them.

But James
Ronald Potter was nothing like his steely mother or his determined father.

When Ginny
saw Harry drift into a reverie, she coughed softly. At first she had wondered
what he thought of, but lately she had realized she didn't care. If it was
about him, she no longer wanted to know.There was only one thing she
wanted to know, and that was all. Gathering her Gyffindor war-survivor courage,
she spun to face her husband.

"Do you
love him?"

"Yes."

"Do you
love me?"

"Yes,
Ginny."

Harry took
one long step across the room and put his hand on Ginny's shoulder. Their eyes
met briefly before he pecked her cheek. "He'll never leave his wife,
Gin," he whispered softly. "Or his daughter.
Never. His name means too much to him."

For a moment
Ginny stood, shocked. The truth, in three broken sentences.
Harry would leave her and James, but only for him, and he would never leave his
family. So they were forever at an impasse, the two men, their wives, their two
children. Waiting for a decision that had already come.

"You
won't leave, either," Harry said, looking Ginny over. Now his eyes held
her sharpness.

Harry had
come once to Malfoy Manor, many years ago, after he'd found a Portkey cleaning
the flat he shared with Draco, the sancutary. He had stared out at the long
line of grass knolls, the small houses peppering the countryside, surrounding
by a gray, living, entity that rose out of the earth,
as beautiful and majestic as a living thing. For a moment Harry understood
Draco's pride at being born a Malfoy, and how he had come back to the place
that had decided for Draco that he could never be with Harry.

Polyjuiced
to look like Ron, Harry rang the doorbell at the gate.

"Mr.
Ron Weasley to see Miss Malfoy," he said, in an excellent approximation of
Ron's voice. They had known each other over thirty years, it was easily done.

"Mistress
is in her study," a house elf told him, leading Harry up porcelain-like
stairs and down a long hall before stopping at a huge set of double doors. At the top of the
doorway an engraving of a dragon looked down at him sneeringly, it's flesh stamped with a giant M. He waited, and waited,
and yet no one opened the door. Hestitantly, he pushed into the room.

It was
light, floral Victorian furniture, with golden columns and mirrors against the
wall. A chandelier was lit with magic, and sofas and chairs were crowded in
front of an emerald fireplace, where an empty portrait hung, a
figure which was supposed to stand holding a horse's bridle in the middle of a
spring forest. At the corner of the room, a tiny alcove revealed Libby Malfoy. Dressed in a white empire-waisted shift tied with a shimmering
green bow, her hair falling like a long sheet around her face. She was
holding a harp against her chest. When Harry entered she looked up, her dark
eyes startled.

"Ron?"
She said uncertainly, moving the harp from across her chest to leaning against
the chinzt sofa. Reaching across the nearby table, she put on soft white kid
gloves and put a hand in Harry's false-Weasley one, her grip surprisingly
strong.

"It's
good to see you," she said, sitting down. "Tea?"

Harry sat
down comfortably, trying to put himself at ease. How close where Ron and Libby
anyway? He had no clue.

"How's
Hermoine?"

"Grand,"
Harry smiled. "Working hard."

Libby nodded
distantly. She scratched at her palm, and Harry saw her remove the glove on her
right hand. The skin was lighter than just above her wrist, it seemed
impossible, since she was so pale, but there it was. Harry watched her
absentmindedly as she scratched the skin softly, adding little red lines to the
scars which had already settled there. He hadn't noticed her damaged hands at
Madame Malkin's, and he felt strangely sure she had used some sort of charm to
disguise them.

"Your
hands," he said softly.

Libby
smiled. "Just a little awful lately, nothing new."
She went to grab the teapot without thinking. For a moment she seemed fine, her
smile still on her face. Then it froze and she did too, her entire body
petrified as if she had been spelled. Immideatly, Harry reached out for her,
and Libby's eyes opened large and she dropped the kettle, dark liquid settling
into the light carpeting.

"Don't!"
She screamed, moving away from his touch. "I'm a Seer! I can't!"

"Libby,"
he said softly, forgetting to use Ron's voice. "Calm down."

She bowed
her head for a moment, the curtain of white silken threads shielding her eyes.
When she looked up she was smiling.

"Hello,
Harry," she said warmly. "I was wondering when you'd come to see
me."

Draco was
annoyed. It was obvious in the way his mouth was set, and the clothes he was
wearing. Black and severe, nothing special. Harry was
reminded of the Yule Ball and how he had looked like a vicar. He suddendly had
the urge to rip off the clothes and scream at Malfoy for being so childish as
to express his feelings in his dress, but that wouldn't do. Draco would just
smile slowly at him and tell Harry how he'd looked for another excuse to get
him naked.

It wouldn't
be completely wrong.

On an
impluse he took Draco's hand, and he fully expected him to turn away, but
instead he rested his head on Harry shoulder. "I want to go home. Harry."
He said softly, and despite his annoyed voice Harry was cheered. He had Malfoy
and they lived together. Sometimes. Perhaps that
wasn't anything remarkable, but it was home. Home.

"Stop
looking so bloody cheeful," Draco murmured, but he was too tired to
protest against Harry's lips brushing his own at the doorstep of their flat.

"Git,"
he said, and a twitch overtook his formerly annoyed mouth. Draco had the
attention span of a fly. Any pretty thing and he forgot what was bothering him.
It still marveled Harry that lightening and gold Draco Malfoy thought that he
was beautiful. He never said it.

But Harry
knew.

"Your
git," Harry said, smiling as they walked into the kitchen, the first room
that greeted them.

Draco
smiled, well, scowled, really. He was still pretending to be mad. "I don't
know what I did to deserve you, Potter. Worse than the Mark, you are."

"Oh,
darling," Harry fluttered his eyelashes. "Why I can't believe what
you're saying when you're rubbing your hard cock all over my new pants."

"Shut
up Potter," Draco cursed him, twice, before removing both of their pants.
"I hate you, I really really do--"

"I
know," Harry said comfortingly. "I hate you too, Malfoy."

Their lips
crushed against each other, neither wanting to be the first to open their
mouth. It was turning into quite a struggle as they stared blankly at each
other, their mouths swollen and desperate. But in a sudden moment, Harry
changed his mind and relented and Draco's tongue slipped in, warm and yet cool
and soothing. He felt his fingers lock in silky strands before their bodies
moved together as if on a cue neither of them understood.

"Malfoy--"
gasp. "What is it--"

"Not--"
pant "--like" goan "--this."

He shoved
Harry away and his pale, almost inhuman eyes were sparkling brightly.
"We're not teenagers." He ran a tongue along Harry's jaw, stopping at
his ear. "I want you in me. Potter. Are
you listening?"

Harry's eyes
were too blank. Then he snapped to attention. "Okay. Sure. Grand."

Draco
laughed. "You're babbling." He put a hand on Harry's chest, he was wearing a Chudley Cannons t-shirt. So childish. He pulled it off over his head as Harry's
bumbling fingers undid his high collar shirt. Then they stood, staring at each
other for one absurd moment before Harry lunged and forced Draco to the ground.

It was not
as if he put up much of a fight, or any fight really. Harry remembered him
during the war, Malfoy could have easily overtaken him
for a while. Harry invited the idea for a moment, but Malfoy was lying
perfectly still under him with shadows under his eyes and faint lines on his
forehead.

Despite the
fact Draco would (and did) swipe at him, Harry brushed a hand through his hair
and kissed his temple.

"You're
sleepy, Malfoy,"he said, not without tenderness. "Want me to tuck you
into bed?"

"You're
aroused, Potter," Draco countered, "And so am I." He smiled
brilliantly. "Make it a quick one and we can both be in bed that much
faster."

He didn't
need much more encouragement. Actually, he didn't need any encouragement,
he was bedding Malfoy, for Godsake. Malfoy with his pink and
white skin, brillant large lips and angular face. Malfoy
whose eyes managed to stay cold and distant even when Harry did the most
outrageous things to him. Malfoy, whose every vein and pore seemed as if
it were created to taunt Harry and then bring him happily and peacefully to
orgasm.

Harry held
Draco close, and fumbling for a moment in his pocket, found the small bottle he
usually carried (Malfoy had the habit of surprising him with sex anywhere).

Easy now,
Potter, Harry told himself as he slipped a slick finger into Draco. Don't
end it so quickly. His cock was twitching angrily, and then Draco jumped,
quirming his fingers deeper into him. Harry felt his mind wander. In a few
minutes he would be in there, warm and tight and --

"Harry fucking Potter!" Draco was screaming like a
scolding teacher. "Enough of that." He
grabbed Harry down and pressed a burning kiss to his neck which quickly became
a biting stretch of teeth grating his skin. "Come here, darling little
Harry Potter," he cooed sardonically, spreading his legs. "You know
you want me."

"Malfoy,
I--" A
finger touched his lips. He was about to say something emotional and Draco had
once again cut him off.

"Let it
go, Potter," he said sharply. "Saying it won't make anything
better."

He was
right, Draco. Harry slicked himself and then slid into him. Then he began to
move. Draco was very vocal, tonight, Harry mused as he moved sharply within
him. It must have been the wait on the walk home.

"Oh
God, Harry!" Draco was screaming, his legs going limp around him.
"Fuckfuckfuckfuck--OH!" He pulled Harry down to him by his hair.
"Don't you stop! Don't--omigod, I-- I--"

Harry was
mumbling, he vaguely heard his voice saying something about how tight it was
inside Draco and how beautiful he was, but he was straining against the
inevitable and when Draco screamed his name and a string of oaths, he came, and
Draco was moaning. He loved the warmth of it, his release, warming Draco's cold
white body, and for those few moments when he orgasmed within him, Draco's eyes
were soft and unbelievably tender. When he looked at him like that Harry felt
unbelievably optimistic. Sometimes he wanted to fuck Draco all day and night,
just to get multiple visions of his softened gray eyes, warm in his own.

He had
stopped pushing Harry off of him after sex after the first year had passed.
Harry liked a moment of snuggle, and despite his habit of eating the most
disgusting greasy foods, he was still slender. So Draco only pretended to mind
when a post-coital Harry nuzzeled his neck, and called him beautiful and
wonderful, like he was doing right now. In fact it was very nice to see the
state he put Potter in, after two years of-- well, he didn't know what-- Potter
was still very enchanted.

"You're
wonderful, Draco," Harry murmured, his head resting against the white
shoulder, and his legs wrapped protectively about his waist. "I don't know
what I'd do without you. You're everything."

"No
one's everything, Harry," he didn't mind calling him Harry sometimes, and
it did make the git smile.

"You
are to me," Draco looked at his eager face disbelievably. "No, it's
true. Enemy, friend, lover, roommate, everything."
Harry tossed his messy hair and met Draco's eyes with his bright green ones.
"I hate telling you, though."

Draco
laughed. "You're an idiot and so am I." He was in a generous mood
after being shagged within an inch of his life. "Let's go to bed, Potter,
I'm bloody exhausted." Harry extended a hand and helped him up.

"You
know, the neighbor's didn't make a fuss," Harry mused.

Draco
laughed. "I put a charm up around the kitchen while you were busy
gyrating. Amazing the things you don't notice, Potter."

"What
am I missing now?" Harry asked, curiously.

Draco
laughed sharply. "Nothing I�ll ever tell you."
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The Inheritance