Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

A Better Bargain Driven	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 3083 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Part II: By Just Exchange

            “Are you sure you want to do this, Harry?”

            Harry closed his eyes and waited through one deep breath and then another. Hermione waited with him. She wouldn’t ask a question like that and expect him to have an instant answer, Harry thought. It was one of the best things about her.

            But one of the worst things was that she would go around asking questions like that and expecting him to answer them at all, when he had just barely come to some peace.

            “It doesn’t matter,” Harry said finally, opening his eyes and looking around the dingy little kitchen at Grimmauld Place rather than directly at her. “I gave my word.”

            Hermione’s eyes were wide when he looked back at her, but she looked too run-down, after almost two years of open war, for tears. She nodded and scrubbed at her face. “It’s just…horrible,” she whispered.

            Harry laughed a little. “When has Malfoy ever not been horrible?” In agreeing to spy for them in the first place, he supposed. Tonks had talked over and over again about how terrible he had looked when she saw him in Malfoy Manor, and how dangerous it seemed there.

            But Harry and the Order of the Phoenix knew all about danger. Number Twelve Grimmauld Place was the only safe place they had left, and it grew more crowded every day as rescued Muggleborns, wounded Aurors, and desperate refugees came in. They got what people of those they could out of reach, to France or the remote parts of Ireland, but unless they won the war, that wouldn’t be enough, soon.

            At least they had the Fidelius, anchored in Dumbledore, or someone among the many, many people tired of the war probably would have betrayed them long ago.

            There was a sharp spark near his head, and Harry leaped and turned around. He still wasn’t used to that. Of course, this was only the second Blood Letter he’d received from Malfoy.

            The parchment that formed was almost golden-red, the way it had been last time, and the ink gleamed like shining blood. Harry grimaced. He knew how Blood Letters worked, or he had once Tonks had told him that was what Malfoy wanted to use to communicate and he and Hermione had done some research. The shared blood of the ink formed a bond between the sender and receiver, and Blood Letters could get through any boundaries and would normally only appear when the recipient was alone.

            Which…

            Oh, he was. Hermione was standing in the corridor outside the kitchen, ignoring Mrs. Black’s shrieks as she talked to Kingsley. It said something about how terrible the war had got, Harry thought as he slipped the letter into his pocket, that Mrs. Black’s screams were a lesser evil.

            He would have to read it later. Hermione and Kingsley were coming into the kitchen, and the way they looked was enough to tell him they had more bad news.

            At least, Harry thought unexpectedly, when I’m with Malfoy, I can show my honest emotions. He’s happy that this disgusts me.

            In front of Order members, he had to act the all-knowing general, or it was all for naught. They couldn’t fight on without someone to look to, and Dumbledore was gone more than half the time these days, still looking for Horcruxes.

            Harry sat up and forced a confident gleam into his eyes. “What is it, Auror Shacklebolt?”

*

            Potter,

            I thought you might like to know that the Dark Lord is planning a raid on the Ministry tomorrow. It’ll start like the others, with Death Eaters only casting spells at the Aurors first, but then they plan to have the Dark Lord himself participate. They’ll try to break the defenses with his magic and let him get inside the Ministry at last. There will be flank troops waiting to come through the Floo. I reckon they’ve got hold of some Ministry workers who Floo in every morning and now have had their houses taken over.

            This raid is supposed to happen at seven minutes after nine. The Dark Lord likes the number seven, for some reason.

            I think I deserve, at the very least, your bare skin tomorrow. Shall we say in the place where you once threw mud at me, at ten at night? By then, you should know whether my information was enough to save the battle or not.

            Draco.

            Harry closed his eyes and lay there, chest heaving. He had been disgusted enough when he’d only had to touch Malfoy through cloth. He’d washed his hand three times when he returned to Grimmauld Place, and then cast Scourgify Charms until Ron made him stop. He wasn’t sure that he could bear the touch of revealed skin.

            But he reckoned this was something he would have to get used to. And as Snape was prone to remind him, now dozens of people had died to protect him, and Harry hadn’t done anything, really, since the end of fifth year. Sixth year had been tense, with the war drawing near Hogwarts and Dumbledore teaching him about Horcruxes, but the only one they’d destroyed since then was the locket. Dumbledore was still trying to figure out how to get past the trap spells on the ring without hurting himself, and they hadn’t found any others.

            And Harry had hidden in the house and only occasionally gone on raids since last summer, between his sixth year and what should have been his seventh.

            When Harry had decided, from the visions he still got, that Malfoy was the most reluctant torturer among the Death Eaters and perhaps they could do something with him, Tonks had volunteered to carry the message. Everyone thought of Harry as their general and inspiration, but this was the first thing he had really done, the first plan he had really come up with.

            He would do something with it now. He wouldn’t back out.

            He reached for the vial of Malfoy’s blood that had arrived with the letter and his own wand, and started to write back.

*

            “I wasn’t sure if you would remember when I wrote those words.”

            Harry stood with his back turned to Malfoy and admired the tumbledown nature of the Shrieking Shack instead. No one came here now; Hogsmeade was occupied, and the students at Hogwarts, when it still had students, had avoided it. Harry wondered what they had thought could happen there that was worse than what happened in the war.

            “Potter.”

            And now Malfoy’s hand was on his shoulder, and Malfoy’s breath was in his ear. Harry turned around and met the git’s eyes as fearlessly and calmly as he could. He would do what had to be done, and get it over with.

            “Come,” Malfoy said, gone breathless for some reason. Maybe my disgust arouses him, Harry thought with a roll of his eyes as he trailed Malfoy around behind the Shrieking Shack. There was a small area there that Malfoy shielded with Smoky Wall Charms, the equivalent of a Disillusionment Charm cast on the air instead of a person. And then he faced Harry and stared at him.

            “Strip.”

            “Yeah, because you told me to.”

            Malfoy smirked. His eyes were still wide and gleaming with excitement. Maybe it made a change from the crunching, boring grind of life as a Death Eater, Harry thought. I wouldn’t know. “I told you other things that seem to have prevented a raid. The Dark Lord was extraordinarily angry. I’m supposed to be on a scouting mission now to try and capture members of the Order and figure out how they did it.” He paused. “I think that’s enough to merit a kiss, isn’t it?”

            “A kiss or stripping?” Harry snapped. “Because I can’t do both at once.”

            “You could if you would only wear robes instead of those ridiculous Muggle clothes,” Malfoy muttered, but he was on the verge of laughter still. “A kiss first.”

            Harry stepped forwards. All the thoughts clanging through his head revolved around two things: the kisses he had shared with Cho and Ginny, and how awful this was going to be in comparison.

            And yet, somehow, it wasn’t.

            Malfoy reached down and hooked his hand ruthlessly through Harry’s hair, tilting his head back until he exposed Harry’s neck. Harry gritted his teeth at the feel of fingers pressing into his skin and did his best to kiss Malfoy sort of on the lips but mostly on the chin.

            It didn’t work. Malfoy’s mouth was in the right place after all, and this time, Harry only felt ordinary skin for a minute before Malfoy’s tongue swept out and tapped hard on his mouth.

            This is for the Order and the raid that we prevented and the lives we saved today, Harry reminded himself, and opened his mouth.

            He jumped when Malfoy’s tongue touched his. He hated it. Of course he did. He would rather have been in bed or awaiting some news from the Order than here at all. And yet it was intense. It was probably just tongues touching, but it felt as though he had grabbed hold of Muggle electricity.

            Malfoy urged him backwards, stroking Harry’s forehead and the scar, which surprisingly didn’t hurt at all, even with Voldemort’s anger. On the other hand, Harry knew enough Occlumency by now that their connection was mostly under his control.

            Malfoy had conjured some blankets and a sort of mattress or pallet on the ground, too. Harry let Malfoy lay him down, still caught up in the sensation in his mouth. His lips tingled when Malfoy pulled back, and he put up a hand to feel at them before he caught himself and scowled at Malfoy.

            The git knelt down beside him, still staring. Harry got restless and squirmed. He’d never liked being stared at, even if it was just one person. Aunt Petunia used to do it all the time when he was a little kid.

            Good. Think about the Dursleys. If anything can make this absolutely without lust on your part…

            “Now strip,” Malfoy said, and his voice was as soft as the whispers that Ron and Hermione sometimes exchanged.

            Harry locked his teeth together, to give himself something to think about so embarrassing thoughts would stop coming to mind, and rolled to get himself out of the trousers. The shirt was easiest. The pants he worked on with shaking hands, until Malfoy reached out and helped him pull them softly, inexorably, down.

            “Ah,” Malfoy said, and without even asking permission, he reached out and caught Harry’s cock in his hand.

            It happened just when Harry was trying to stare up at tree branches and the darkness and decide this wasn’t occurring at all. He choked, because Malfoy’s hand was also the first one other than his own to touch there, and Harry thrashed and reached down to snatch Malfoy’s wrist. But Malfoy only tugged a little and shook his head.

            “No. You ceded the right to complain when you agreed to this,” Malfoy whispered, and bent down yet again to kiss him.

            Harry almost tried to vanish into the kiss this time, because it would distract his attention from the way that Malfoy’s hand eased idly along his cock, now and then pausing to rub the head, now and then acting as if he wanted to know all the veins that ran through Harry’s it. Fleeing was impossible. By the time Malfoy leaned back and began to take off his own clothes, Harry was hard.

            He put his arm over his eyes and tried to breathe slowly, evenly. Nothing made sense. Well, all right, it made sense, it was just a response, but why Malfoy would want him aroused didn’t.

            So Harry decided to ask.

            He dropped his arm and opened his mouth, and then froze again. He had to stop doing that, he thought in distant desperation.

            But Malfoy was also the first person Harry had ever seen undressing to have sex with him, and that changed things.

            Malfoy’s face was calm, distant, attentive, his glittering eyes traveling back and forth from Harry’s groin to his lips. He smiled when he saw Harry staring, and arched his neck, turning his head a little so that his hair fell down as he undid the last buttons of the robes and pushed them away.

            He wasn’t even wearing pants.

            Harry looked down before he could stop himself, and choked. Yes, Malfoy was aroused, and he didn’t need any outside help.

            Malfoy grabbed his mouth in a kiss before Harry could ask his question. Then he lowered himself with a groan, and suddenly Harry had a warm, bare chest on his, and warm, bare legs locked around his hips, and a warm, bare cock on top of him.

            Harry bucked and gurgled something. Malfoy only kissed him back and began to rub so hard that it was damn distracting. Harry pushed at his shoulders, and Malfoy only took one of his hands and pinned Harry’s wrists above his head.

            That gesture reminded Harry of what he was here for. He tried to lie still, tried to think about the darkness and the tree branches again. There was someone who had said to lie back and think of England—

            But he couldn’t. It was a stab like Malfoy was already fucking him when Malfoy smashed their groins together. And then Malfoy dragged his nails down Harry’s chest and it was prickling pain followed by prickling pleasure. And then Malfoy pinched his nipples.

            It wasn’t fair, Harry thought as he heard himself moan. He didn’t know all this stuff about himself! He was supposed to be safe, he was supposed to get through the war and marry someone and have tender sex and lots of babies—

            Not have the most intense experience of his life half-trying to throw Malfoy off and half-trying to pull him closer. And he lost the intention of getting rid of him when Malfoy ground and shimmied against him, and he felt the head of Malfoy’s cock touch the head of his.

            Feels good!

            Harry grabbed Malfoy’s shoulders and tried to find the exact same angle, the same spot. It was so wonderful, it was so hot, and Malfoy did it again and smeared Harry with the soft liquid leaking from him and Harry was there and he was hard and wet too and this was so good that it almost hurt to think it might be better at some point—

            Harry’s orgasm coiled in his belly and snapped straight out of him. He wailed against Malfoy’s lips. Malfoy stiffened in response and came all over Harry, and even the feeling of spunk wasn’t disgusting this time, the way it had been last time. Harry was still soaring. He hadn’t crashed yet.

            He closed his eyes and lay there, letting pleasure blank out thought, feeling good for the first time he could remember since the start of the war.

*

            Coming back to himself hurt. And not because of the scratches on his chest or the way that his hips felt as if he’d been ridden roughshod over stones.

            Because of the lingering echo of pleasure in his brain, and the hungry satisfaction in Malfoy’s eyes as he stared down at Harry, tracing one of the scratches.

            “I think that went very well,” Malfoy said. “Next time I’ll ask for more.”

            Harry sat up fast enough that he banged his forehead into Malfoy’s arm. Malfoy only laughed and moved out of the way, but slowly enough that Harry thought, in spite of himself, about how loose, languid muscles would move, and the way he sometimes felt when he woke up from a dream of the war being over…

            His cheeks hurt with how hot they were. Maybe I should just accept that as normal for being around Malfoy now, Harry thought, and sat up to reach for his clothes.

            “You were satisfactory.”

            Harry only nodded without looking up. He didn’t know what would happen if he looked up. Probably he would do something stupid like say some of the words brewing in the back of his head. And no one would be wiser or better if he said those words. Nothing would change.

            What Harry wanted most at the moment was for something to change.

            He was so intent on getting his shirt over his head that he didn’t notice Malfoy reaching out to help him. He jumped when hands settled on his shirt collar and pulled it low over his head, and then Malfoy leaned in for another kiss.

            Harry nearly punched him in the cheek. Then he thought again of the needs of the war and the way he had given in before, and suffered Malfoy to do it. He stood up and didn’t wipe his lips, even, which he’d thought was more mature than he was capable of being.

            Malfoy only lay back and stared up at him with an odd expression, his hair spread around him on the white blankets that he’d conjured. White like a wedding dress, Harry thought, and wished he hadn’t had that thought, which was the case with most of them in his head for right now.

            “Put on some clothes,” Harry snapped, averting his face.

            “Until next time, Harry.”

            Harry shuddered. Even the way Malfoy spoke his name was like an unwanted, intimate caress. And he could see, before he left to Apparate, Malfoy’s eyes on his groin as if he could see how wet Harry’s cock still felt.

            Harry’s one consolation, as he left, was that he hadn’t actually had sex in his clothes, which meant there was no visible wet spot.

*

            When Harry let himself into Grimmauld Place, he paused. There were usually half a dozen people in the various drawing rooms downstairs, any time of the day or night—people with wounds having them tended to by Madam Pomfrey and their other Healers, if nothing else. But right now, there was nothing except a soft glow of candlelight from the kitchen.

            “Hello?” Harry asked, drawing his wand. His first thought was that Death Eaters must have found their way in somehow, perhaps by killing Dumbledore, and that they were waiting for him.

            But a gentle voice was the only one to answer him. “There are rooms upstairs better-suited to the tending of wounds right now, Harry. I asked them to leave so I could have a little private conversation with you. Come into the kitchen, please.”

            It was Dumbledore’s voice. Still with that vague, lingering feeling from his schooldays, that nothing too bad could have happened as long as the Headmaster was here, Harry walked into the kitchen.

            Dumbledore sat in the chair at the head of the table. And he smiled up at Harry and nodded to two bowls on the table in front of him. Both of them were made of stone and covered with sigils that raised the hair on Harry’s arms. For lack of any classes, Hermione had started to tutor him and Ron in Ancient Runes during the months they were stuck here, and he could sense how powerful some of those shapes were.

            In one of the bowls lay a heavy ring, cracked in half. In the other was a small silver circlet that looked like the sort of tiara Harry had seen Muggle girls playing princess wear.

            “Sir?” he whispered, sitting down in front of Dumbledore. “You finally found a way to destroy the ring?”

            “I did. And now that I know how to use it, I can do the same thing to the others.” Dumbledore nodded to the other bowl. “I finally gathered a memory from Horace that revealed Tom talking about a version of the Room of Requirement he used often. And when I looked there…”

            “You found another Horcrux,” Harry whispered, bending over to stare at the silver thing in the bowl. It didn’t seem different from a tiara no matter how much he looked at it, though. “What is it?”

            “A diadem that once belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw. Thought missing centuries ago.” Dumbledore gave a distinct sigh of satisfaction. “I had never even considered that Tom might try to acquire this item. Unlike his snake, it is not an obvious choice, and the legends of it were so old that I thought he would try for an item with a more recent association with Ravenclaw.”

            Harry nodded. They all thought Nagini was a Horcrux, but getting close to her had proven impossible so far. “That’s great news, sir. Can I be there when you destroy the diadem?”

            “Yes, I think that would be a good idea.” Dumbledore’s eyes could shine like diamonds, sometimes, when he was happy. “Since you will most likely need to know how to do it yourself.”

            Harry blinked at him. Dumbledore was staring at him in that way he had when he was trying to make you guess secrets without telling you them.

            But Harry was too tired to guess secrets tonight, and as Dumbledore’s eyes sharpened, Harry thought he might know why. He coughed and stood up. The scratches under his shirt were stinging again. “That really is great news,” he repeated. “It makes everything worth it.”

            “I hope it brings the end of the war closer,” said Dumbledore promptly, “so that no one else will ever have to make such sacrifices for the greater good again.”

            Harry’s cheeks burned, as they really hadn’t stopped doing since he spent time with Malfoy. Of course Dumbledore knew. Tonks would have told him, if no one else had. Harry nodded awkwardly. “I hope so, sir. Good night.”

            Upstairs he went, to take a shower, and cast a Healing Charm on the scratches, and then take a bit of the Dreamless Sleep Potion that Snape doled out to them a tiny flask at a time. The dose would be so small that he would still chance some dreams, but they would last a shorter amount of time and be more broken-up and confused. Harry hoped that there was a lesser chance of sex dreams. He wanted to forget all about having sex with Malfoy.

            And he did, until the next Blood Letter arrived.
- 1
- 2
- 3
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

A Better Bargain Driven