Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Volcanologist	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 3352 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Volcanologist
- 2-Part Two
- 1
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            “Did they tell you they caught the bastards who threw that pumpkin at you? It took them forever to set up that ritual, and they had to buy a bunch of special ingredients. It was easy enough to trace the ingredients to Knockturn Alley.”
            Harry grinned at Ron as they rode the lift up and away from the Department of Mysteries. “I’m surprised the shopkeepers they bought from cooperated that much.”
            Ron coughed into his fist. “There might have been some persuasion. And description of what would happen if my best mate died. Just a little, you understand.”
            Harry reached out and laid his hand on Ron’s arm. Ron looked at him silently as the lift slowed down.
            “Thank you,” Harry said. “I am fine, but it’s good to know that they won’t be doing this to anyone else. And that they were so afraid of me they messed up the rest of their activities just trying to take me out.”
            Ron gave him a bloodthirsty grin. “Take it as a compliment, mate.”
            Harry nodded. “I will.”
            Ron turned around again as they left the lift, staring at Harry with assessing eyes. “You know,” he said, “it almost sounded like you meant that.”
            Harry blinked at him. “I always do…”
            But he let his voice trail off as he realized what Ron meant. Before, he would have bristled or been at least a little sarcastic because people thinking he was some kind of hero, or powerful Auror, or anything else scary was just another indication that they didn’t know him at all. Harry made a fair share of arrests, but he didn’t cripple or kill people. He was just effective, not frightening.
            Now, he probably did sound as if he meant it. Having one person who knew the innermost depths of his mind and hadn’t turned away did make a lot of difference.
            “No,” said Ron, “sometimes it sounds like you’re putting up grudgingly with people calling you a hero, but you don’t like it.”
            “Well.” Harry shrugged. “I’m probably never going to like it, but I think I can put up with a variation on the theme. At least this time it got people captured, instead of just standing around and gaping at me when they think I can’t see them.”
            That made Ron relax and snort. He had no more patience with trainees who thought Auror Potter was “the Great Harry Potter” than Harry did. The days when a new bunch of trainees got brought around for introductions were always trying. “The sound of their jaws dropping gives them away,” he agreed, and clapped Harry on the back. “Malfoy wasn’t too awful?”
            He didn’t sound as if he thought Malfoy would be, which meant that maybe Malfoy’s arseholishness was a private thing. Harry grinned and tossed off some light answer which he couldn’t remember later, but which sent Ron away satisfied.
            And in the meantime, Harry could sit in his office and think.
            He didn’t want to tell his friends about what Malfoy had done to him, for obvious reasons. Hermione would think it was an ethical violation—which it probably was. Ron would be revolted.
            But also, it was something just for Harry. He wanted to keep the one person who had seen him for who he really was, and why, to himself for as long as possible. A concerned Ron would be harder to hide that from.
            Harry shivered and opened his eyes. There was a pile of papers standing only a few centimeters in front of him. Harry stirred through it, trying to make it look like he was very concerned about the right pieces of paper reaching their proper destinations.
            Then he sat back and shook his head. So he couldn’t give a convincing performance. So what? He had nearly died earlier that day. That ought to be a reason for a little time off.
            And it wasn’t like someone would guess, simply from watching him, that he was entertaining thoughts about Malfoy that most of his friends would think he was better off not having. Even communicating with Malfoy couldn’t seem suspicious. The man had just saved his life.
            Still, even as he wrote out a memo thanking Malfoy and asking about taking him to dinner to celebrate, Harry told himself not to get his hopes up. The Unspeakables were notoriously late for responding to any post, and sometimes never did. And Malfoy might have his own research to occupy him more than Harry did when Harry wasn’t right in front of him. Hadn’t Unspeakable Tromaine said something about telepathic mice--?
            Malfoy’s memo shot back to him less than ten minutes after Harry had sent his own.
            Seven-o’clock. Jacob’s at Sunset.
*
            Harry slowed a little as he approached Pleasant Alley, the small alley off Diagon that had a—well, a great or a horrible reputation, depending on what you thought about the kinds of things it served and sold. Jacob’s at Sunset wasn’t far into the alley, a small door set under an even smaller sign with the name and the image of a sun setting behind a hill.
            Small, but only until you stopped, held out your wand to check against the wards that made sure you weren’t one of the banned potential customers, and then moved through a shimmering curtain of light and beads into the restaurant.
            The place was dim, but magic sprang into life around Harry as he came through the door that let him see perfectly. That was another trick, another ward. Jacob’s at Sunset was heavy on magic, counteracting the trend of a lot of restaurants in Diagon Alley now to imitate Muggle décor and customs.
            A soft-footed server came up to Harry and bowed. He didn’t show any surprise at Harry’s scar. “Come this way, Mr. Potter. Mr. Malfoy is already waiting.”
            Harry nodded and followed. Titles didn’t matter here, either. Harry wasn’t an Auror, and it was possible no one here even knew Malfoy was an Unspeakable.
            What mattered were the black walls, and the soft red carpets, and the dim light shed from the enormous fireplaces burning on pure magic, and the interactions at the small ebony tables that each had living black roses blooming in the middle of them.
            The table Malfoy was sitting at had a slightly better light than some of the others, thanks to a glowing globe like Lumos caught in the thorns of the roses. Malfoy sat with his cloak flung over the back of the chair, and the chair itself turned sideways so he could sit with his legs extended. He was sipping blue wine that shone like the light from a glass tube. He didn’t stand up when Harry came in, but his glance was intent all the same.
            “You will speak your orders to the air,” the server murmured, and left. Harry didn’t nod after him, knowing he wouldn’t look over his shoulder. He sat down opposite Malfoy instead.
            “You didn’t go home to change your robes.”
            “I didn’t want to.”
            Malfoy looked at him carefully for a second, then sat back. “In what we do, Auror robes make no difference to me.”
            Harry turned carefully away from the table and said aloud to the air, “Champagne.” He turned back and saw Malfoy trying not to stare. Well, so what? Harry didn’t know what kind of wine Malfoy was drinking, wasn’t sure he would want it if he did, and he felt like celebrating. “I know that. You want me, not the Auror robes.”
            Malfoy’s eyes were dark. Harry hoped he hadn’t messed up already. But then Malfoy nodded and sipped from his tube again. “Yes, I do. I just wanted to warn you that if you showed up in Auror robes hoping to gain some sort of psychological advantage over me, it wasn’t going to work.”
            “I didn’t do it for that reason,” Harry said, and saw the plate with his glass and champagne coming from the corner of his eye. It floated, but didn’t bob at all, which was something that was difficult to get right with that spell; it might have been an invisible human being carrying it. Harry took it and turned back to look at Malfoy.
            Who nodded, slowly. “Good.”
            Harry drank his champagne in silence for a little while, and Malfoy drank his wine, or whatever it really was. Harry licked his lips when he was done and sat back to look Malfoy calmly in the eyes. “What is this going to be?”
            “Have something to eat first.”
            Harry heard the snap of the order in his voice, and felt a warmth inside. Malfoy had his own reasons for wanting Harry to eat and be healthy, but it didn’t really matter what they were; Harry didn’t mind the secrecy.
            Someone wanted to care for him. They wouldn’t sit around wanting to be rescued the way they thought Harry did with people all the time; they wouldn’t whimper and look up at him like puppies; he got to do what he wanted, eat what he wanted, and because someone else had told him to.
            It made his stomach fill with a happiness as intense as nausea.
            Harry spoke his order for lamb with mint sauce to the air, and it arrived in a few minutes. Malfoy watched him eat with terrible intensity. Harry wondered if he’d had something to eat himself.
            He didn’t think it mattered, though. Malfoy didn’t want him to ask, and Harry didn’t need to. He was sure Malfoy wasn’t fool enough to drink on an empty stomach, no matter how nervous he was that he might have fantasies coming true.
            Harry finished the excellent meal with a little sigh, and Malfoy leaned forwards and started speaking in a voice as soft as the firelight.
            “I want to take you home and spend some time staring at you. To see all the scars that I couldn’t take in individually because I was too busy setting up the ritual design to stop the curse this morning. To hold you and make you hold still for me.”
            Harry shuddered, once. There was adrenaline speeding through him. Malfoy probably didn’t know it, but he was using sort of the same tone that Dark wizards had, in the past, when they were threatening Harry with something.
            Now that the tone was being spoken in the right kind of environment and by someone who didn’t want him to die but might want him to suffer, in his own way, Harry wondered if he could ever listen to the threats with inner laughter again.
            “And then,” Malfoy said, drawing out the words as if he was going to throw them forwards like blades, “I want to fuck you so hard that I’ll hurt you.”
            Harry let his eyes flutter closed. “But you’ll be with me.”
            Malfoy didn’t ask the questions that would have marked him as either stupid or too distant from Harry to understand what he wanted. He only nodded and said, “The entire time. The entire time.”
            “Then we can go as soon as you’re ready,” Harry said, and reached out to pick up his champagne glass, a test of sorts.
            Malfoy forced his hand back to the table. “I’m ready now.”
            Harry nodded, supplying the unspoken words for himself. And you’ll have to be.
*
            Malfoy did indeed stare at Harry’s uncovered body. The odd thing, Harry thought, as he lay on the bed and felt the staring pass over him, was that no one else had ever looked at him that way before, even the lovers Harry had had who thought he was really handsome. They got distracted by the scar on his forehead and never looked at any of the others.
            Malfoy did.
            He picked up Harry’s right hand and let his tongue follow the path of Harry’s messy letters. He traced, over and over again, the scar on Harry’s left one that came from the knife Dudley had tried to use on him. He had Harry roll over on his stomach and looked at faded old marks on Harry’s back, so old that he could no longer remember exactly which ones had come from which hard beatings by Dudley.
            “I wish you could remember more about yourself,” Malfoy whispered into his neck. He was moving on top of Harry, gentle movements that could only be called thrusts if Harry felt Malfoy’s cock touching his arse. He didn’t, actually. Malfoy kept space between them except where his hands gripped Harry’s shoulders. “I want to know the origin of every scar, and what you ate for breakfast every morning of your life, and all of your thoughts every day.”
            Harry moaned slowly back. He was still getting used to this intensity focused on him. He had heard people say things like that before, and they’d frightened him, then.
            He thought Malfoy should frighten him if he was being smart. But he didn’t feel particularly smart at the moment.
            “I want to know you because it means knowing myself,” Malfoy whispered. “Even after I became an Unspeakable, some of me was lost and wasted. All those years I spent without contact with you, and all those years I spent doing things I didn’t want to do. In service to the Dark Lord. Learning useless things at Hogwarts. I want more than that.”
            Harry closed his eyes. This time, he had no idea what to respond. He didn’t know if he could help Malfoy recover what he’d lost, partially because Malfoy didn’t sound as if he knew himself what would count as having it back.
            But then Malfoy lowered himself and his body was touching Harry’s, his chest pressed to Harry’s back, his cock against Harry’s arse, his toes on Harry’s heels. Harry wriggled and cried out, entirely without meaning to.
            “Now I can at least have this,” Malfoy whispered. “Have you again and again.” He reached out and picked up something from the table next to them. Harry hadn’t looked at it closely, but he had seen it was in a flask and had a sort of liquid motion to it. He’d assumed it was lube.
            Now Malfoy held it close to his face, and Harry opened his eyes, because not even the lovers he’d had for the shortest time thought he needed lube to help his mouth. It was a potion.
            “You’re going to drink half of this,” Malfoy said, “and I’m going to drink the other half. It’ll let us come more than once. In fact, we’ll probably have some trouble if we don’t keep trying to come.”
            “Until when?” Harry whispered, his voice hoarse.
            “Until sunrise.”
            Harry reached out with a shaking hand—although mostly because his arm had gone numb with Malfoy lying on top of him—and scooped up the flask. Malfoy watched with a soft laugh as Harry swallowed.
            The potion curled into Harry’s gut and lit it with a smoldering fire like the ones in Jacob’s at Sunset. Harry pivoted over and grabbed Malfoy’s arms, pressing the flask into one of his hands.
            “Drink it,” Harry whispered. “And then fuck me.”
*
            It was incredible.
            Harry could feel his heartbeat speeding along, seemingly shaking the bed. That had to be the potion. His heart normally never beat like that, not even when he was naked and paralyzed in the Department of Mysteries with the runes of a curse climbing his body and turning him to stone.
            And he had some basis for comparison, now.
            Malfoy was fucking him. They fucked with Harry on his hands and knees, Harry’s face buried in the pillow sometimes and raised to gasp for air sometimes, and Harry felt his skin starting to burn with the sweat, with the salt in his sweat. Malfoy was swearing at him, but half the time Harry couldn’t hear him; he had other things to listen to.
            “Fuck you, fuck—”
            Malfoy knew how to move. How to thrust sideways sometimes, and sometimes up, and sometimes down, so that Harry was left in silent craziness, trying to anticipate his moves. And he never could. Malfoy swore and urged him on, and Harry thrust against the bed, and reached back and tried to grab Malfoy and push him in faster.
            “You’re just a means of satisfying myself.”
            Harry snarled back, “Well, I’m glad that someone’s getting satisfied.”
            That made Malfoy ride him so hard that Harry felt something get sprained in his wrist. His hands gave out beneath him, and he fell face-down on the bed. Malfoy sat up and rearranged himself somehow and began flat-out plowing him, until Harry cried out again and tried to make it sound like a plea for mercy.
            Either he wasn’t convincing, or Malfoy had drifted away into his own satisfaction and couldn’t answer him. Harry managed to glance back once, when he could convince his aching neck to turn against the pain, and saw Malfoy’s eyes closed as he bobbed in some world of his own.
            When Harry came, that burned, too.
*
            It was exciting.
            Sure enough, the potion had given them back their erections within a few minutes of both of them finishing. Malfoy had immediately turned Harry over and told him to stretch his arms until his hands touched the edge of the bed. Harry had tried, but the bed was wider than he’d thought and he couldn’t make it.
            Malfoy taunted him about that as he rode him, as he plunged in until Harry heard the sound of their arses squeaking together.
            “You’re small, aren’t you, Potter? All that strength everyone thinks you have, and your body really is big enough to hold it after all. You’re small.”
            Harry came up with a response to that, too, hard as it was when both his brain and his arse felt liquefied. “Well, that should make me tighter.”
            Malfoy froze, staring at him, eyes with white visible all the way around. Then he plunged in, groaning, and held himself there as he bathed Harry’s insides.
            Harry let out a tired chuckle and reached down to wank himself. Malfoy pinned his wrist down on the bed again and took all his control away.
            “You come riding me or not at all.”
            “Like that’s going to happen—” Harry began, and then felt Malfoy firming up inside him. He gasped and shifted around until he thought he could plunge down on Malfoy and really get pressure right where he wanted it.
            “Yeah,” said Malfoy, and watched Harry for a few seconds with his eyelids lowered as Harry fucked himself towards completion. Then he smiled. “Did I mention the potion works faster for the one topping?”
            “You didn’t. It’s like you, though.”
            Harry let words go after that, chasing his pleasure so hard that his thighs were quivering, and Malfoy let him do it. Harry slumped back when he was done, panting, and then Malfoy began to fuck him again, and Harry cried out from the pain and the fear that Malfoy would stop.
*
            It was amazing.
            They did it one last time in a chair that Harry hadn’t even seen when Malfoy first brought him into his bedroom. There had only been the bed, and the man behind him kissing him and shoving Harry towards it.
            Now, though, as Harry bobbed slowly on Malfoy’s cock and hissed as he came down from the ache inside his arse, he had time to look around. Malfoy had a few pictures on the walls, although most of the room was too dim for Harry to see much. Malfoy seemed to prefer the firelight at the level it was inside Jacob’s at Sunset, with the smoldering flames barely pouring out more shine than shadow.
            One of them had a sort of pale blob in the center. Harry had fucked up and down three times before he realized that it was meant to be a skull. He stared.
            “Am I boring you?”
            Malfoy reached up and twisted his right nipple. Harry cried out and ducked his head, and let the skull fade into the darkness behind his eyelids. “No,” he whispered. “But you have interesting tastes in painting.” He decided he would speak up and risk the chance that it would get Malfoy upset. “Like you do in partners.”
            There was a little silence with Malfoy flexing his thighs under Harry, helping more than he had been so far. Then he said, “I like to keep things around me to remind me of my weaknesses. That painting reminds me that I’ll still die someday, no matter what I try. So I have to work twice as hard while I’m still here.”
            “And me? What kind of weakness do I prove to you?”
            Malfoy twisted Harry part of the way around, not moving at all himself, which made Harry wince from the pain in his neck. Malfoy didn’t seem to have noticed the movement, with the intensity he used to stare at Harry’s eyes.
            “None, now that I have you,” Malfoy hissed, and opened Harry’s mouth with his tongue.
            Harry sagged back and let him. It hurt to come, and still he let Malfoy make him.
*

            Harry opened his eyes to pain. He grimaced and lay still, then shifted a little from side to side. There was the pain in his arse where Malfoy had taken him, and sprains in his wrist and neck, and roughness from where Malfoy had lain there twisting his nipples—for maybe twenty minutes after the potion had finally worn off—and some more miscellaneous aches that Harry thought were probably the potion itself.
            And there was the problem of what came after.
            Harry turned his head. Malfoy was beside him in bed, but not asleep, although Harry thought he’d heard him breathing in sleep when he first woke up, himself. Malfoy had his hand spread out flat beneath his chin, and he was watching Harry.
            Harry swallowed some air and sat up. “Do you want me to leave?” he asked.
            “You don’t understand.”
            Malfoy’s voice was more normal than it had been last night, the same way the room looked more normal with the sunlight coming in around the blinds and under the crack beneath the door. Harry shook his head.
            “I said I wanted you around to remind me of weaknesses,” Malfoy said, and sat up. He had long red scratches down his chest that Harry didn’t remember giving him at all. Malfoy saw him giving them a startled glance, and smiled lazily. “But I also said I didn’t have them when I had you. You remember?”
            Their conversation in the chair. Harry nodded. “But—”
            “But?” Malfoy waited. Harry had to find the words.
            “I thought you would be satisfied with having me sometimes. That would mean we’d be fucking but I’d still be leaving in the morning.”
            “Not sometimes,” Malfoy said at once. “Always.”
            He kissed Harry, although they both winced back a second later because of their mouths. Malfoy went on speaking, licking up a small trickle of blood where his lip had dried and cracked.
            “There’s another side to this fantasy. The one where you know me like I know you. And I teach you telepathic magic so you can also read my mind. And you kiss me when we’re not in bed, too.” There was a barely perceptible hesitation. “And you call me Draco.”
            Harry felt another stirring and coiling of powerful tension in the bottom of his stomach. He didn’t bother hiding his smile as he leaned up and kissed Malfoy again.
            It was beyond wonderful to be desired and needed and wanted. But it was also wonderful to be able to desire and need and want back, and to have both at once.

            “I can do that, Draco,” he whispered, and saw the same molten passion dawn behind Draco’s eyes in the second before Draco bore him to the bed.
            I can do that. I can more than happily do that. All of it. All of him.
            The End.
*
            Severus1snape: I hope you enjoyed this second chapter.
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