Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Contracted	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 18657 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I am making no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 20
- 21
- 22
Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Twenty-One--A Confrontational Hour

            Harry woke to a series of incredibly distracting sharp pings, the kind that made him think of nails springing out of joints. He stood up, drawing his wand and looking around the room.

            He first noticed that he was still in his house and moving with the slowness of sleep. That wouldn't do, not if an enemy was attacking the wards. He shook himself sharply and moved one hand across his forehead, a gesture that had the advantage of pushing his fringe out of his eyes and forcing him to clear his thoughts at the same time, he'd done it so often right before battle.

            Then he noticed that the pings were coming from the fireplace he usually opened to admit callers. He stared. The iron gratings on either side were shaking back and forth, pinging all the time as though someone was bouncing more iron off them. Harry took a cautious step closer, his wand still leveled.

            The pings stopped. Harry half-wondered if he'd imagined it, but no, at one point a flashing blue spark had leapt from the iron. Sort of hard to imagine.

            Unless he was having delusions now, or hallucinations, from the sheer stress of what had happened with his friends.

            Harry swallowed and turned away from the fireplace. He'd managed to forget that for a while in the oblivion of sleep. Part of him was tempted to go straight to bed and continue the forgetting, but he knew that wouldn't solve any problems in the long run. He had to plan a strategy. He had to decide how to tell Sandborn about his new distance from Ron, especially, without making it sound suspicious. He--

            The fireplace twinged and began to play a bright, cheery tune that sounded suspiciously like the Muggle lullaby Harry could dimly remember hearing from one of Dudley's music boxes. It had been his most hated song by the time that Dudley finally got bored of that toy and broke it.

            Someone was fucking with him now. Harry felt his lips draw back in a snarl. It would be good to let the anger out on some reporter who had forced his way through the wards, or one of the other Aurors who wanted to offer "condolences" or pry into the weird distance between Harry and Sandborn for gossip.

            But no, anger wouldn't work either, not when he was supposed to be in fear of Sandborn and no one could know the truth about the breach with his friends. Harry closed his eyes in simple exhaustion. He wanted to sleep, and do nothing else, until he woke up at the end of the world.

            The tune caught his attention again. Harry frowned and waved his wand. He knew what it must be. Rather than someone guessing that he hated that music, they were reaching through his wards with a spell that was technically allowed because it did no harm. It simply reflected one of his more annoying memories back to him. It was easy enough to stop--

            Except that the requisite gesture and wand movement failed to stop it. Harry stared with narrowed eyes. Yes, someone was fucking with him. And if it was Ron, who knew about the loophole in his wards, then Harry was really going to yell at him. He'd thought Ron was above this kind of petty vengeance.

            Luckily, his wand worked the way it was supposed to when he tried to trace the reaching spell to the wards it was affecting. It had woven its way through the protective spells over the wards on the fireplace. Someone was trying to make him open his Floo connection, which Harry reckoned was better than trying to beat down his door.

            "Finite," he said decisively, when he'd found the hole. He couldn't and didn't want to stop harmless spells from coming through the wards in general--that was a standard safety precaution, since there had been countless cases of wounded wizards dying behind wards that were too sturdy--but he would patch this one.

            The tune didn't stop. By now, Harry's teeth were grinding and he felt as though he was back with the Dursleys, body braced for the way that Dudley would thunder down the stairs and send dust drifting over him in the cupboard.

            He hated to give in to what the caller wanted by opening his Floo connection. But it would feel good to yell at someone right now, and surely whoever was doing this knew yelling was a possibility.

            He could indulge his third soul for a fleeting second, Harry assured himself as he began to lower the protections. In fact, it would probably feel so embarrassing that he would go back to the shelter of his first and second souls in a minute.

            "What?" he snarled as the wards fell.

*

            Draco stared in silent admiration. He hadn't known he had that particular kink before, that catch of the breath and tightening in his groin that came from watching Harry Potter's eyes blaze with power and magic.

            Potter's eyes were greener like this. He was leaning forwards, all the muscles in his body tense, as if ready to launch himself at someone's throat. One could see that he had a shape under those Auror robes, Draco thought. He found himself eying them meditatively. To have Potter wear them in the bedroom sometimes was tempting.

            "Oh, it's you," Potter said, noticing Draco. He sounded...disappointed? Perhaps he'd been wanting someone he could blame for the debacle that happened today, Draco thought, though in that case he should have waited until he could see Daphne. Potter stepped back, shifting uneasily, casting a glance over his shoulder as though he had company, though Draco was well-aware that Potter had no company in his pathetic little house. "I was going to write you a letter about the informant who let slip enough truth for Hermione to investigate it. I assume you know what's happened by now?"

            "Hm, yes," Draco said. "Granger contacted me." He watched the taut lines of Potter's body and decided there were compensations for the abrupt vanishing of his anger. He could use his weight, Draco was certain, to bring down fleeing suspects. Draco thought of other ways he might use it, and certain games they might play, and his mouth filled with water.

            "Then you'll know her side of what happened." Potter's voice was firming and dulling again, pushing away all the fire. Draco rolled his eyes. Didn't he realize that wasn't going to work, now that his secret was out with more people than just Draco? He had no reason to suppress and hold himself back in private anymore, only when he was with Sandborn or someone who might report to Sandborn. He could be angry all he liked.

            All he likes.

            "I want to hear yours," Draco said. "And I want to make sure that you don't brood yourself to death."

            Potter looked at him with those eyes that somehow seemed ashy despite their color, cocking his head. "What do you mean? You can't actually die of brooding, Malfoy. Only if you commit suicide because of depression." He sounded faintly interested, as though this was an academic subject entirely unconnected with him.

            "Stop it, you stupid bastard."

            That insult made a flickering flame stir to life briefly, but Potter looked down and shrugged it away. Draco had never known how irritating a shrug could be. "Yeah, I know. It doesn't have anything to do with our goals. So. Who told Hermione, and can you keep them quiet?"

            "You don't get to do this," Draco said. "You don't get to pretend that what happened between us didn't happen just because you're upset about your friends." He found that he was the one leaning forwards this time, as though Potter was more than just an image in the fire and Draco could take him by the shoulders and shake him. "You ought to be spitting angry about what happened, or happy that they finally know and that takes the burden of telling them at some later time off your shoulders. Why aren't you?"

            "Stop it, Malfoy."

            His retort was weak in the extreme. Draco smiled and pressed harder. "Anger and happiness are normal human reactions. Does everyone get to experience them except you? Do you think you don't deserve them? I never saw anyone who stews along in the middle of self-pity more than you. I think you made the contract with Sandborn out of self-pity after all. Ooh, noooo, the Wizengamot is afraid of me, however will I cope?"

            Potter just nodded, his head bowed, and Draco realized abruptly that that was the wrong tactic. That was the way Potter wanted to think of himself just now, after his confrontation with his self-righteous friends. Weak and broken-down and worse than anyone knew. Draco shifted physically and mentally and launched himself again.

            "Or maybe you think you're better than that," he whispered tauntingly. "Oh, the other Aurors and the suspects and the sneaky Slytherins can let their emotions out, but not Harry Potter. The Hero. The Bloody Genius. The Auror everyone looks up to. The Ministry speaker who smiles tolerantly when someone accuses him of betraying his pre-war ideals for politics. The one who nods at Sandborn's shoulder as if someone has his hand up his arse playing puppet. The one--"

            "I told you to stop it."

            Oh, Potter was dripping fire now, literally, with red-gold sparks leaking from his wand and his eyes back to the blaze that Draco wanted to see. Draco smiled at him, and it was all teeth. He knew why that had worked. That was the image Potter had created and projected because of the contract, the one he hated. And it was one that, if Draco understood him correctly, he had striven hard to keep from projecting in his own home, his private place. Well, Draco would force him to face it and keep forcing him if that was what he needed.

            "Why should I?" Draco leaned back as if reclining on a comfortable couch--good thing he was flexible, and that Potter would get to experience the outer limit of that flexibility--and leered. "You can't get to me. And I can tell you the truth. Out of all the people in your life, only I can do that. Your friends are too blinded by their anger, my friends aren't as invested in you, and you're surrounded by people who don't care what you really feel, as long as you give them what they want. I'm the only one who can tell you that you're being a prick, that you believe your own press, that your image matters more to you than other people do--"

            Potter snarled like a wild bear this time, and then snatched a pinch of Floo powder up and cast it in the fire. A second later, he was in Draco's drawing room, wand out as though he intended to start cursing.

            "Expelliarmus," Draco said idly, and Potter's wand soared away from his hand. That was good. Draco didn't want this to become a battle of curses and hexes, one that Potter would undeniably win. He wanted to keep it and make it physical, and he leaned further back and threw Potter a mocking smile. "Your signature spell, I understand," he said.

            Potter leaped at him, and he was magnificent like this, and Draco was going to remember it from now on and treasure the memory.

            Right after he and Potter fucked the rage into the ground.

            Potter first tried to punch him in the jaw, a predictable beginning, but Draco wrapped his legs around Potter's hips and pulled, and they spilled to the floor together. Draco ducked another punch that would have powdered his nose and bit Potter on the ear. Potter jerked to startled attention, and Draco bit his throat.

            "Stop it, Malfoy," Potter said for at least the third time, although Draco could feel him stirring to life. "We can't solve all our problems with sex." He started to rise.

            Draco cupped his arse and yanked up with one thigh between Potter's legs, forcing Potter to drop back if he didn't want to be kneed in the groin. Then Draco settled into a steady rubbing motion, and Potter gasped, the fire in his eyes fogging with confusion as they fluttered shut.

            Draco hummed contentedly as he leaned forwards to kiss Potter. He was much more entertaining, and smarter, when he concentrated on sex. That was something he hadn't managed to fuck up with the contract, to Draco's knowledge. After all, Pansy had got him away from Callia before he had actually married the bitch.

            I'll have to buy something nice for Pansy.

            "No, I mean it," Potter said, and he had more will than Draco would have given him credit for. He sat up again, and managed to ignore the way his heavy cock was rubbing against Draco's skin. Draco smiled at him, and Potter blinked, but didn't gape. He shook his head and pushed Draco away. "These are not--I can't do this." He paced to the other side of the room.

            Draco sat up on the carpet, resting one elbow on a knee as he examined Potter. The man's arse was as nice to look at as his front, if not as expressive, and Potter was comfortably far from the fireplace that he would have to use to flee. "Why not? You seemed happy enough to do it last time."

            Potter spun around to face him last time, and no, Draco had been wrong, those green eyes and his flushed face were much nicer to look at. "You're insane," he snapped. "That's not--this time, you've been taunting me."

            "I was last time, too," Draco said. "Or at least telling you the truth in a way that wouldn't qualify as complimenting."

            Potter shook his head, shut his eyes, and, by the sound of it, began counting under his breath backwards from ten. Draco stood and sauntered closer, glad that he had some practice in moving quietly.

            "Three," Potter said, and Draco slid a knee carefully between his legs without touching the skin.

            "Two," Potter said, and Draco arranged his arms around the idiot's shoulders.

            "One," Potter said, and opened his eyes, ready to be all solemn and serious and contract-y, at which point Draco kissed him.

            Potter gasped and gaped this time, and Draco took advantage of the chance to sweep his tongue into Potter's mouth and lap at the corners of his lips. Potter sighed and moaned, and Draco hummed back, delighted to discover that for once they were in agreement. Potter's hand came up and clutched uncertainly at his hair, and Draco purred back, approving, driving his own hands deeper. Potter's hair was softer than it had looked from a distance, where it mostly resembled a bristle-brush.

            And once again he staggered away. Draco lifted an eyebrow and said, "Anyone might think that you don't want to sleep with me."

            "I can't," Potter said, his eyes opening and shutting as though someone else had control of them. "This is important."

            "And sex isn't?" Draco gave him a smile that he knew was pure temptation, and waited. He thought he had done enough chasing.

*

            Harry was trying to recall the utter despair over the loss of his friends that had plagued him before coming here, and the anger he'd felt at Malfoy just a moment ago. Those emotions had been important, damn it. Bloody all-consuming, enough to make him storm through the Floo into Malfoy Manor like he owned the place. They weren't supposed to wither and disappear like a rose petal crumpling up in a harsh wind. He didn't know--they weren't supposed to do that. He wasn't supposed to be here.

            But somehow they had, and he was, and Malfoy was watching him with a bright, inquiring smile to see what Harry would do next.

            He was saying that I was a hero for the sake of having people say nice things about me, and that I believed those nice things.

            Harry bared his teeth, the anger coming back full-force. He just had to look away from Malfoy's bitten lips while he spoke, so that he could forget that he was the one who had bitten them up. "I'm not like that," he said.

            "Like what?" Malfoy prowled a step forwards, then stopped and raised his hands innocently when Harry glared at him. "Someone who enjoys sex? Because you can be that way without damaging your precious heroic reputation."

            "You don't get it," Harry said, spacing the words slowly so that he wouldn't be tempted to just call his wand back and start hurling curses the moment he reached the end of the sentence. "That reputation is gone now. Ron and Hermione know that it's a lie, a hollow shell, and they're going to tell all my other friends unless they leave it up to me to tell them." He wasn't sure which decision he would prefer at the moment. "When I break from Sandborn, then the rest of the people in the Ministry who trusted me won't anymore. And from there, it'll get out to the press. There's no heroic reputation anymore."

            "Then I don't understand your objection," Malfoy said, and looked honestly confused.

            Malfoy was only honest about fucking, Harry reminded himself. "My objection is that you're wrong," he said harshly. "I never believed in my own press. I knew that it was a lie."

            Malfoy nodded, looking enlightened now. "Then you have the chance to make a change," he said. "You can become the sort of person who fucks his emotions out, the way so many other people are, if you want to."

            "But I don't want to be," Harry said.

            "Why not?" Malfoy spread his hands. "You've made the point, quite eloquently, that none of the people you were desperately lying to are going to be yours to deceive anymore. And I would be more than happy to tumble into bed with you. Who's holding you back? Why is it so important to hold back?" He took another step closer.

            Harry held out his hand to ward him off and closed his eyes.

            Because, whether or not Malfoy had intended to ask it that way, it was a bloody good question.

            He reached down into the middle of himself, into the third soul that he'd had to ignore everywhere but his own house for years, and by the time that he'd got back to his own house in the evenings, he mainly wanted to go to bed. He hadn't thought about things like this when his reputation and his dating life and most of his emotions were predetermined by the bargains he'd made.

            Now he had a chance. Now the manacles were crumbling. Callia was gone. Even Ron and Hermione were gone.

            That was a horrible echo of loss, but if they never came back, then Harry would have to learn who he was without them. Or who he wanted to be. Malfoy was right about one thing: Harry had the chance to change if he seized it. He could continue with some of his old ideas and ideals, but he couldn't be the same, because too many other things outside him had also changed.

            "I think," he heard himself say, in a voice so calm and controlled that he started and opened his eyes, "that I want to be someone who chooses what he gets into."

            "Understandable," Malfoy said. "Like what bed he gets into."

            Harry turned his head and met a pair of eyes brighter than he had thought they would be when he'd so strongly refused a casual fuck. "Yeah," he said shortly. "I want to choose."

            Malfoy stepped back and nodded. "Okay. Then you don't want to have sex with me again?"

            Harry grimaced. This would be the part where everything got complicated. "I'd like to," he said. "But that's not the same thing as wanting everything else that comes with it, like your sense of humor and your tendency to remind me all the time that you were right and I was wrong."

            Malfoy's smile was delighted and so slow that Harry mistook it for a frown when it was in the forming stages. "Why, Potter. Are you saying that you only want me for my body?"

            Harry felt his face turn red. "No," he said. "That's disgusting."

            "Then you're saying that I'm disgusting, because that's the way I generally engage with my lovers, but at the same time you still want to sleep with me." Malfoy appeared to ponder this for a few minutes before he shook his head. "You have issues, Potter."

            "Surely I've never denied that," Harry said, but his voice was weak and he knew it. He turned his head away and leaned it against the wall for a minute, drawing in a heavy breath.

            "I want to sleep with you," he said at last. Malfoy showed no impatience with his muddy thoughts, remaining silent behind him. "But it doesn't mean that I think it's the best thing right now."

            "When, then?"

            Harry rolled his eyes and turned to face him again. "I don't know. Why do you care? Why don't you go find someone else to fuck?"

            "Because I like fucking you, too," Malfoy said. "Even if we haven't yet figured out what will feel better, my cock up your arse or yours up mine." He paused, then laughed. "You're pretty when you blush."

            Harry muttered, "Sod off." A moment later, and he felt competent to say, "Okay. So right now, I have to concentrate on making sure that I get away from Sandborn with my life intact and enough--enough of whatever I need to make a new life."

            "Are you thinking of quitting the Aurors, then?" Harry blinked at Malfoy, who responded with a shrug. "If your Weasley hates you now, I can't imagine that he'll want you to remain as his partner, and it might be a bit unsafe for you to continue working in the Ministry after your break with Sandborn."

            "I can't do it right now," Harry said, while he struggled between the vision of some peace and quiet away from the Aurors and the disturbing fact that he had no idea what he would do with that peace and quiet. He'd had dreams, but they'd withered when he signed the contract, and this far away in time, he could no longer even remember what they were. "I have to convince Sandborn that I'm only afraid of him, not intent on fucking him over, for as long as possible."

            "Then we'll tackle that first," Malfoy said. "And you can give the thought of sleeping with me more consideration later."

            "Why would you help me if I'm not sleeping with you?" Harry asked suspiciously. "What you told me made it sound like you and your lovers only had sexual relationships, and nothing else."

            Malfoy smiled at him. "Because the fire is back in your eyes," he said simply. "And because I appreciate honesty in return. If you won't sleep with me again, at least you're admitting it, not dancing around the issue because you don't want to hurt my feelings or because you think you need to give up everything for me. Which I admit I was worried about, considering what you gave up for your friends." He paused thoughtfully. "But mostly because of the fire."

            Harry spent a few more minutes staring at him. But as far as he could tell, there was sincerity in Malfoy's eyes. He might be an odd ally, but Harry thought he would be an honest one.

            "All right," he said. "Then help me work out the lies I'll tell Sandborn and the lies I should tell everyone else. Or does that conflict with your honesty?"

            "Lying to enemies doesn't bother me, I told you." Malfoy nodded at him. "Besides, watching the way you watch my mouth is payment enough."

            "Git," Harry said fervently, flushing again.

            Malfoy shrugged and made his way back across the room to take his place on a low couch. "Come on. We need to make a list of everything Sandborn already knows, what he's likely to find out, and what you can bluff him on."

            Harry hesitated, and then slowly joined him, telling himself as he went that it wasn't only, or even mainly, because of Malfoy's encouraging smile.

*

            kit: Yeah, that was. I don't think Draco quite realizes how intense it was for Harry.

            SP777: The problem is that, if Harry lied about everything, they have to doubt their own accomplishments as well as Harry's own feelings for them. They can't trust anything he said. Trying to recover from that is to take some time.

            Nubia: But making the contract did say, essentially, that Harry had thought Ron and Hermione weren't competent enough to achieve those things on their own. That was the effect, whether or not he intended it to be.

            Lara: Thank you! I'm glad that you like the story. I can see Harry making a deal like this, if not to the extreme that I've taken it, because of his drive to help people. And I think he would be horrified if people feared him after the war.

            Ron and Hermione are hurt, and that's why they're lashing out meanly. Part of them wants to hurt Harry as badly as he hurt them.
- 20
- 21
- 22
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

Contracted