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Broken Dreams	By : Queenie_Mab Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 3557 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations from Harry Potter, created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including Bloomsbury, Scholastic and Raincoast. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

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~***~

He's sitting in a low armchair. It feels as if the springs sprung their last several years previously, and he shifts himself uncomfortably, joining in the laughter of a room full of ginger-haired people.

Fuck!

Draco's mind turns in circles as he's once again trapped inside one of Potter's memories. This should have ended when the Time-Sphere was lifted, or actually, it shouldn't have even started in the first place. Draco can't remember ever reading about a situation where two people under a Time-Sphere Charm were sharing the space. It figures that he'd be lucky enough to wind up being part of the first pair it happened to, along with Potter.

He shakes himself, trying to wake up, but eventually settles in to allow the memory to run its course. There doesn't seem to be any way out of it.

Potter is laughing at something Weasley has said, and Granger is there too, sitting beside Weasley. Their faces are tinged pink with what appears to be enough alcohol to fuel a common-room party. The one remaining twin stands up then, putting his bottle of whatever plebeians like the Weasleys drink in their spare time on the short squat coffee table.

"I've got to sleep," he tells them. "Have to open the shop early tomorrow. Congrats again on passing the Auror exam, Harry."

"Thanks, George," Draco feels himself say through Harry's voice. It's beyond bizarre to be inside somebody else's body as a voyeur, unable to make your presence known.

"What about me?" Weasley demands, pulling himself stupidly off Granger's lips where he had been sucking her mouth like a feasting Dementor.

Another Weasley throws a pillow at him. "Shut it, you. This is Harry's birthday too. You've had enough praise from Mum earlier today."

Weasly scowls at his brother, but Granger shushes him by whispering something in his ear that turns his face red as a beetroot.

Potter relaxes back in the low sagging armchair, humming contentedly in a state of drunken bliss.

"What's that, little brother?" the other Weasley asks, stretching his arms over his head so his ratty white T-shirt pulls up, revealing several inches of tattooed skin. Draco has to admit the view isn't bad, for a ginger.

"Charlie, is that a new tattoo?" Potter asks, and the Weasley, Charlie, Draco supposes his name is, turns to Potter and gives him a crooked grin. He has a burn mark down the side of his neck and his hair is cut quite short, and teased in spikes. He's not half bad, actually.

"Well spotted, Harry," Charlie says with a grin. He lifts his shirt up the rest of the way, exposing his pert pink nipples. "It wraps all the way around, see."

Potter's mate lets out a hiss. "Has Mum seen that?" he asks. "She'll kill you."

Charlie smiles wider, and Potter's eyes are transfixed on the tattoo. It's a dragon wrapped all the way around Charlie's torso, its head resting in the centre of his chest and its long body extending round his back and down his trousers.

"Does it go all the way down?" Potter asks, his eyes checking out the direction of the Dragon's body where it disappears down Charlie's front.

"It does," Charlie says, and drops his shirt again. He turns back to where his brother and Granger are eye-fucking side-by-side. "You know, I think you two ought to take it upstairs. I don't need to see you losing control and fucking on the table in front of me."

Weasley scowls again at his brother. "We're not. Harry, you don't mind, do you? Not all of us can live the life of celibacy you've sworn to take."

Charlie just about spits his drink out at these words. "What's that?" he demands, turning to Potter. "You becoming a monk or something?"

Potter's face flushes, and he glares at Weasley. "Thanks Ron," he says sarcastically. "I really wanted to share that tidbit about myself with your whole family."

At least Weasley has the sense to appear cowed by the dressing-down.

Granger stands up and takes his hand. "I think Charlie is right, Ron. Let's head upstairs. I'm getting sleepy."

"Right," Weasley says, and stands to follow her. He turns back to Potter. "Night, Harry. Sorry. I'm an idiot when I drink."

Potter waves him away like the idiot he is. He really ought to be better about standing up to his mates.

Soon Potter and Charlie are alone in the sitting room and Potter is shifting in the uncomfortable chair, though Draco can't tell if it's the chair or the atmosphere that is causing the discomfort.

"So what gives, Harry?" Charlie asks, his voice low. "Feel like talking about it?"

"Not especially," Potter says, and knocks back the last of the drink in his bottle, then puts the empty bottle on the table.

"Right," Charlie says, and stands up. He Vanishes the array of empties on the table and leaves the room. Potter stares into the empty hearth.

When Charlie comes back into the room, he has taken off his shirt and hands Potter another bottle.

"Come on. Let's take a turn about the garden. It's still light out and I could use some fresh air."

Potter follows him, his eyes focussed on the tattoo on Charlie's back.

Draco wants to scream at Potter. It's so obvious you fancy his arse. He's practically throwing himself at you. Go and get him, but of course Potter can't hear him.

Through Potter's eyes, Draco watches the dragon tattoo on Charlie's back appear to come to life as his muscles ripple just walking. Draco wonders if perhaps he needs to go and find a Dragon-Tamer boyfriend of his own. Damn ... with a body like that, Draco thinks he can even accept the red hair and freckles.

Potter on the other hand, seems to be stuck in a sort of mindfuck. It's so obvious to Draco that Potter is bent, and that he bloody well wants to bend over and give Charlie whatever he wants, but it's like he can't. Not that there's anything wrong with his prick, judging by the rock-hard cock Draco can feel pressing against his hip, but because he's labouring under the thoughts that sex, cocks, come, and everything pleasurable, hell — everything that makes life worth living — in Draco's mind, is wrong, dirty, unacceptable... freakish.

Draco wants to find Potter's Muggle relatives and give them a dose of their own poison. How dare they so thoroughly fuck up a young child, so that even a decade later he is still held under the sway of their ludicrous brainwashing?

Potter is sweating. He drinks half the bottle of beer as they move out past a set of hedgerows. The garden is untidy and overgrown, but Draco can tell that it is a source of comfort to the people living in the ramshackle house. Potter seems to relax once they've moved into the open air. A soft cooling breeze rushes through the bushes, lifting Potter's sweaty fringe from his forehead, offering a balm of cooling relief.

They stop beside a shed, and look out over a small pond in the distance. The sun is low in the sky. It hangs heavily and shoots the darkening indigo sky with tendrils of yellow and orange, pink and red, just visible from the edge of the horizon.

Charlie takes a drink from his bottle and holds its cool surface to his chest, turning to quirk an eyebrow at Potter.

"It's brilliant at this time of day, don't you think?"

Potter seems to have fallen back into the role of awkward-as-fuck teenager, with no words coming to his rescue. Draco feels the humiliation too through the memory, and wants to curl up and not have to witness it any longer.

"Yeah," Potter says at last, and clears his throat. His cock is so hard against his hipbone, it's wetting his pants with sticky pre-come.

Charlie and Potter stand in amicable silence, watching the sun set. Draco starts to wonder if they're just going to stand there until they fall asleep or something. It's boring, but he does admit that the sunset is beautiful.

Potter finally seems unable to keep quiet any more, or perhaps it's just his inhibitions slipping away along with the sun, Draco isn't sure.

"I'm not celibate on purpose, or because I want to be," he tells Charlie.

Charlie sets his empty bottle down an an old stump beside the shed, and turns to look at Potter. His face is open and honest and so freaking gorgeous, Draco wants Potter to say the right thing, anything, to get to see the rest of the tattoo decorating Charlie's body.

The darkness is falling fast. Potter's eyes flicker to the pools of light from the lit windows of the house, shining yellow squares through the stretching shadows on the grass and bushes.

"Tell me," Charlie says, his voice quiet but encouraging. Draco thinks he must be a very good listener.

Potter shifts his weight from one leg to the other and leans back against the wall of the shed, letting his eyes flit to the sky above where a couple of stars are just now making their presence known.

"I have trouble …" Potter pauses, stumbling over his own thoughts, "…finishing."

Charlie has taken a step closer. Draco can feel Potter's breathing speed up along with his pulse. He wonders how much longer Potter will be able to ignore the rather painful erection he's been sporting without doing something about it.

"You mean, you come too soon?" Charlie asks, and Draco swears he can hear the lust in his voice, coming as if from a wild animal that has been trained to perform, just barely restrained.

Potter shakes his head and starts when he realises how close Charlie is standing. "I can't come." Potter's voice sounds broken. "I've spoken to a Healer about it only once. They told me it's a mental block."

Draco wants to smack Potter on the head for saying something so ludicrous in front of a willing piece of meat. That isn't how you get shagged, but judging by the gleam in Charlie's eyes, Draco almost wonders if Charlie hasn't just taken what Potter said as a challenge.

"Is that why things didn't work out with Gin?" Charlie asks, and Draco can sense a fine line being tread. Bringing up a sexual dysfunction is already one way to shoot down one's chances at getting off, but adding questions about one's failed past relationships, especially with members of the same family, has got to be the sword that severs it.

"Yeah," Potter breathes shakily. "Well, partly." His breath stutters as Charlie steps even closer.

Charlie has just stepped right into Potter's space. They are standing an inch apart; Charlie is a couple of inches taller than Potter, but of a much bulkier build, and Draco can feel the fire spreading through Potter's nerves at the attraction between them. It seems that Charlie has had enough with talking. He grips Potter by the biceps and leans in, closing his lips on top of Potter's, pushing Potter against the shed and holding him in place, while pressing his body against Potter's front. Potter's bottle falls from his hand with a clunk.

Draco shivers as he feels Charlie's and Potter's bulges bump against each other. Potter's cock is so hard it hurts. Draco wants to tell Potter to knock off the chastity act and adjust himself so it has room to breathe.

Charlie's lips still, barely brushing Potter's now. Their breath is mingling, and Potter is frozen. He hasn't responded to the kiss at all, though their lips are still touching by the barest brush. "Tell me to stop, Harry," Charlie says raggedly, and moves his lips to kiss the line of Potter's jaw. Potter's head responds automatically, baring his throat for Charlie without hesitation. "Tell me to stop and I will," Charlie says again, though Draco has to wonder where Charlie would have learned such a level of self control. He knows he wouldn't be able to stop if he were in Charlie's place.

But it doesn't seem to matter. Potter doesn't tell him to stop. Potter's hips actually buck up against Charlie's and Charlie take that as permission to keep going. His mouth is back on Potter's a moment later, tongue demanding and lips claiming.

Potter responds at last, his breath ragged as he succumbs to the demands of Charlie's mouth, finally losing himself in the kiss.

And Draco is so relieved too, to get to kiss the man, the dragon-taming hunk of a man that Draco has no qualms about denying the hotness of, even if he is a Weasley. Every family is bound to get lucky if they try hard enough to produce a good egg. But all these ridiculous thoughts are pushed aside when Charlie's hands find their way down, undoing Potter's fly and pulling out his cock.

The relief from being suffocated, bent awkwardly and stuffed in hot trousers is brilliant in the cool of the summer night air.

And then Charlie's cock is hot against Potter's and Draco would give anything to get Potter to look the fuck down so he can watch, but Potter's eyes are shut tight and he's gasping into Charlie's mouth.

Charlie's hand has become a fist around their pricks and he's slowly thrusting his cock up into the ring he's made, the leaking of Potter's cock lubricating the glide quite well.

"So good," Charlie groans, pushing his tongue into Potter's mouth, probably to keep him from answering or freaking out and saying something stupid like stop.

Potter's body seems to know what to do when he finally stops trying to control it, and allows somebody else to take the lead. Charlie, it seems, is a natural-born leader and more than happy to take charge and show Potter how these things are done.

Draco is beyond aroused. He's torn between wanting the memory to end so he can have one off thinking about it in his own body, and staying present in the memory and experiencing Charlie's skills first-hand; well, second, so to speak. He hates that he has to do it with Potter's weirdness getting in the way.

Potter is close; hell, Draco swears that Potter has been close to the edge since Charlie took off his shirt. He would be impressed by Potter's stamina if he didn't know that it wasn't stamina at all, but fear. But the aching in Potter's balls is so good, he doesn't have time to dwell on those thoughts. He's chanting in Potter's head. Close... close... close... come on, damn it, but of course Potter doesn't realise he's there.

Potter's mouth breaks from Charlie's, tearing away like it's painful. He bucks his hips, thrusting his cock into Charlie's fist, unable to stop, even as he's saying, "I can't, I need…"

Charlie, sensing the words aren't what he wants to hear, moves his free hand to Potter's face, forcing him still and clutching his jaw, so when Charlie claims his mouth again, Potter can't speak anymore, can't do anything but answer the kiss.

And then at long last, Draco feels the winding up, the pressure, the agonising torture in Potter's cock and balls crash through the barrier keeping them from working, unable to resist the stimulation.

Potter comes with a cry, though it's muffled by Charlie's mouth. Draco feels it too, a mixture of intense pain and ultimate relief and pleasure, blending so thoroughly, that Draco is amazed Potter hasn't passed out.

Charlie follows him over the edge and Draco feels the burst of fresh come joining the enormous amounts that Potter has produced. Their cocks are still hard, but less rigid, coated in slippery come, and Draco feels Charlie's lips turning up in Potter's mouth, until he becomes aware that tears are spilling down the sides of Potter's face, and Potter has his eyes shut tight.

Charlie pulls back, still not quite as aware as Draco that Potter is not fine.

Potter's eyes open. They find Charlie's dazzling face, beaming with happiness; the just-shagged expression looks quite good on him.

Draco wants to groan and have Potter reach for Charlie's cock again as Charlie brings his come-soaked hand to his mouth and licks a long stripe clean, still smiling.

"You taste brilliant," Charlie says.

Potter's stomach quivers; he's shoving his cock back into his trousers and doing the fly, eyes averted, deliberately not making eye contact.

"I have to go," Potter says, and pushes Charlie back from him, enough to give him room to slip away.

Draco can see the understanding that he's made a tactical error fall over Charlie's expression, but Potter moves away so quickly, Charlie doesn't have the chance to explain or to do damage control.

~***~

Draco groans in relief when he opens his eyes and is in his own room, in his own bed, in his own mind and body again.

He is rock-hard and his hand is halfway to his erection when his mother's voice calls from the doorway.

Draco quickly shifts the blankets on his bed, so they cover all clues as to his arousal.

"What was that?" he asks.

"I was telling you you need to shower quickly and dress. You have a guest for tea, and the Aurors will be over later today as well."

She sweeps through the room and stands over his bed, a small frown creasing her forehead.

"You look flushed, my darling."

"I'm fine," Draco answers, unable to keep the heat from spreading up his chest to his face, covering his cheeks. "Give me twenty minutes, and I'll be down."

Narcissa hums, and runs her slender fingers through Draco's hair affectionately. "All right."

She leaves the room, a very pretty smile on her face.

~***~

When he steps into the drawing room, tying his dressing gown around his waist over his lounge pants and T-shirt, he meets the almond-shaped eyes of Blaise Zabini. Blaise holds him with his eyes from the table; the same face Draco has so often seen in the throes of passion, now collected and smooth in a state of perfect aristocratic poise. Blaise's hair is shorter than it the last time Draco had seen him. His tight black curls hug his scalp, displaying the perfectly-shaped head that Draco will never admit he covets.

Draco is assaulted by the memory of Blaise shampooing Draco's hair one night in the Prefect's tub. Draco recalls the arousal of Blaise's fingertips against his scalp, how Draco had been brought to his knees by the touch, and then Blaise had ruined the moment by informing Draco his head was lumpy.

Draco takes his seat at the head of the table, his mother to his right and Blaise to hers. He fights the urge to tell Blaise to take his pefect arse and sully somebody else's dining room chair with it, as seeing Blaise with Narcissa wrapped around his finger makes Draco scowl.

"Darling," Narcissa says gracefully as ever. "Blaise came over to give you his regards during your convalescence. Isn't that thoughtful?"

Draco takes note of the sharply-angled eyebrow his mother throws at him. The way her eyes widen ever so slightly at the corners reminds him to perform his duties as head of the Malfoy house in an acceptable manner.

Draco shakes out his napkin and drapes it over his lap, meeting Blaise's eyes with only the barest hint of defiance.

"Yes, thank you, Blaise. It has been a while since we've had the pleasure of your company."

Blaise smiles, his white teeth a sharp contrast to the darkness of his skin, and, despite Draco's insistence he is over Blaise and no longer susceptible to his charms, Draco finds it hard to suppress the tingle of arousal that runs up his spine at the sight.

"I heard you were in a Time-Sphere for three days, Draco," Blaise says, the vibrations of his baritone voice sending floods of memories of what else that voice has said through Draco's very toes, making them curl.

Draco pours himself a cup of tea, and doctors it with milk and sugar. "I wasn't aware the details of my hospitalisation had been made public. Please tell me you didn't run the story in the Prophet."

Narcissa coughs gently into her napkin and gets to her feet. "Draco. I will give you and Blaise a chance to catch up properly. Remember the Aurors will be here in an hour. Send Blinky to fetch me if you need me in any way." She stretches out her hand to Blaise, who takes it and kisses it briefly. "Thank you for visiting, Blaise. I do hope to see you more often in the future."

Blaise answers with another one of his charming smiles, leaving Draco hiding behind his teacup to cover the face he can't help but pull. He wishes things hadn't ended with Blaise as they had, but he concedes that it is better he discovered his lover's taste for multiple partners before they had moved into a more permanent arrangement.

Blaise turns back to Draco as the door clicks closed. "I heard about you from Amanda," he says, taking a dainty sip from his teacup. "I wouldn't dream of publishing details of an ongoing Auror investigation without permission."

Draco furrows his eyebrows, trying to recall who Amanda is. He doubts very much Blaise would think twice about publishing whatever would sell. It was more likely he'd been silenced by the Aurors.

"Davies," Blaise says, enlightening him. "She's the sister of Roger Davies."

Oh right. Dear Roger, the bugger who handed Draco the portkey to this lovely curse of being shackled to Potter's mind.

"Have you proposed to her yet?" Draco asks, careful to keep his voice neutral, and to pass the illusion that he really doesn't care one way or the other.

When Blaise doesn't answer, but takes another sip from his teacup, Draco is unable to keep the charade of master of his house up any longer. "Why are you here, Blaise?" He puts his napkin on the table and pushes his chair back, standing up.

Blaise continues to look at him, his expression carefully bored, but showing signs of true worry, to those who know how to read him right, and Draco does, sort of.

"Three days," Blaise says again. "Do you realise how close you were to dying? And then when I heard what the curse was that put you there, and Potter was involved."

Blaise stands up as well. His shoulders are stiff. He glares at Draco as if it is Draco's fault for making him concerned.

"Potter was the one that put that scar on your chest the first time, Draco. When I heard … I needed to come over to see for myself that you are well. Happy?"

Draco frowns. It isn't like Blaise to get worked up over anything, let alone Draco, but here he is. Draco gestures to the conservatory door and walks towards it, keenly aware of Blaise's eyes on his back, but at least he is following.

They enter the room and a burst of warmth hits them from the atmospheric charms his mother has in place for the plants. Draco closes the door behind him after Blaise steps through.

"Happy?" he repeats. "Not especially." He wonders what Blaise has to gain from this show of sympathy. "You never answered my question earlier."

Blaise steps forward. Draco finds himself backed up against the door while Blaise pins him in place wedging his thigh between Draco's legs and holding Draco's shoulders in place with his hands. "I don't want to answer that question," Blaise says huskily. "I'm still holding out hope that you'll stay single until we're thirty."

Draco's eyes fall shut when Blaise's mouth covers his, the tingles running through his nerves worse than ever, making him shiver beneath Blaise's talented tongue. But Draco reminds himself that Blaise is probably newly engaged to Amanda, and Draco will never be more than a passing fancy to Blaise. The thought of the promise they made before his heart was stamped on reminds Draco exactly why he doesn't want to do this right now. He breaks the kiss, glaring up into the dark pools of black that are Blaise's eyes.

"I've told you before, Blaise. I am worth more than a piece on the side. You can't have me, so remove your hands at once."

Blaise refuses to move. He holds Draco's shoulders in place with his hands even tighter, sending a thrill of fear and desire flooding through Draco's body. It isn't his fault he was subjected to the hotness of Charlie Weasley through Potter's memory and then was unable to take care of his erection before being forced to interact with Blaise. He stares back at Blaise, his eyes flashing with hurt, but, too, the way Blaise is looking at him, as if he's not going to allow Draco to refuse him, makes Draco's heart stutter.

"I'm not marrying her, Draco," Blaise says, his voice low and breath hot on Draco's cheek. "When she told me about the Time-Sphere, how long you'd been in it … all I could think about was what if you had died and I'd never get to touch you again."

He presses his hips forwards, pinning Draco to the door even more than before, sending the blood in Draco's body to flush his face. His cock throbs harder against his hip bone. Blaise's hand finds his cock, his lips trailing along Draco's jaw. "Fuck, look how hard you are for me already. It's been five years. I long to taste you again." Draco feels himself giving in, submitting to Blaise's tantalising words. It is so easy to be with Blaise, to just follow his lead, but the memory of their last time together makes Draco draw a shaky breath.

Blaise doesn't allow Draco time to object. He dives forwards, latching onto Draco's lips, pushing his tongue inside and stealing Draco's breath right out of his lungs. One hand falls to pull Draco's hips closer to Blaise's and the other moves up to muss Draco's hair, combing fingertips over his scalp.

Draco has always had a very sensitive scalp. Blaise joked once that he thought he could make Draco come by running his fingers through Draco's hair, and wouldn't that be a different way of looking at 'giving head'.

Draco stops kissing Blaise back. Walking into their dormitory room to find Blaise pinning Daphne Greengrass into Draco's mattress is burned into his retinas. That was the same day they had sworn to each other that if they were both still single by the age of thirty, they'd chuck the expectations that came with their family names and marry each other. And Draco had been so stupid as to fall for him. He was about ready to confess to Blaise that he was in love with him and would rather not wait until they were thirty, but how did the creep meet him? Balls deep in a tart, smiling up as Draco pulled the curtains aside and inviting him to join them.

Draco closes his lips, refusing to allow Blaise's tongue any more exploration of his mouth. He stiffens beneath Blaise, breathing angrily through his nose.

And Blaise finally takes the hint and pulls back, tossing his hands up in frustration.

"Ahem." A voice breaks the tension and Draco's eyes fly to the door on the opposite side of the room, meeting Potter's cool expression as he pokes his head inside. "Malfoy, your elf said I could find you in here. My team would like a word with you shortly." He disappears as quickly as he appeared, and Draco's stomach fills with a sick feeling. Dread pools in his gut. How much of the exchange with Blaise did Potter witness? Why does it even matter?

"Blaise, I trust you can find your way out," Draco says coldly.

"I can, Draco." Blaise pauses for a moment, staring at the place Potter just was, as if he's about to say something else, but thinks better of it. Draco moves aside and watches him leave.
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Broken Dreams