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The Dust of Water	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 20632 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

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Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Twenty-Six—The Past Intrudes
            Harry woke up to a kiss on the back of his neck, a hovering shadow, and Malfoy saying softly into his ear, “Good morning.”
            “Good morning yourself,” Harry said, and told his suddenly shrieking modesty to find someone else to bother, and rolled over.
            Malfoy smiled sleepily at him. He was sprawled across most of the bed, tilting his hips back as if to invite Harry to admire him. One fold of the sheets lay across his groin, but Harry could make out the shadow of his hardening cock beneath that.
            “Want to?” Malfoy asked.
            Harry told his fear, this time, to go bother someone else, and reached down and began to stroke Malfoy. He slid his hand beneath the sheet at first, and waited until Malfoy’s jaw sagged and his eyes grew a little vague and distant. Then he pushed the sheet back and forced himself to look down at what he held.
            Nothing too terrible. There was a long, thin vein running the length of it, and a grunt left Harry’s mouth before he could think about it. He touched his finger to that, and Malfoy barked and bucked and seized his wrist.
            “Not so hard.”
            “Really? But I thought you were.” Harry grinned at him, and then conquered another fear and bent down to take Malfoy into his mouth.
            It turned out not to be so bad, either. Harry couldn’t swallow it down right away—the way he thought vaguely that Old Harry must have done with Rob—because it seemed to catch on his jaw and he didn’t want to choke. But he licked and sucked a few times, and then leaned back and pressed his tongue directly to the vein Malfoy had told him not to touch.
            That made Malfoy shudder and come. Harry choked after all, his mouth full of liquid, and drew back and turned his head to the side to spit it out.
            Malfoy reached out and held his jaw like an arsehole, telling him in a strangely detached voice, as if he was watching someone else struggle with his semen, “Swallow.”
            Harry shook his head, tore free, and spat it over the side of the bed. Malfoy sat up, glaring as much as he could when his cheeks were that flushed, and said, “Do you mind, Potter? That’ll make a mess for the house-elves to clean up. It’s disgusting.”
            “Not as disgusting as trying to swallow would have been right then, believe me,” Harry said, and leaned forwards to nip at Malfoy’s lips and splay a hand over his chest when he only sat there and scowled. “Come on. You can’t be that angry at me.”
            “Why?”
            “Because I just sucked you off.”
            Malfoy finally laughed, but then said, “You needn’t think I’m going to return the favor this morning, not when that mess is still all over the floor.” His hand skated over Harry’s chest and pinched one of his nipples. Harry arched into it, having a slight, instinctive feeling that it would make things even better. It did.
            Malfoy grabbed his shoulders suddenly and rolled him down onto the pillow. Harry went with it. Malfoy had said he wouldn’t suck him off, but maybe he had changed his mind.
            He hadn’t, though. He hovered over Harry for a second, staring, and Harry got uncomfortable. Malfoy could do whatever he wanted in the privacy of his own bed when he wasn’t sharing it with Harry, but things got sort of weird when he was. Harry tried to get Malfoy off him by elbowing him in the stomach, and Malfoy grunted but didn’t move away.
            “What?” Harry finally snapped. Another way of easing the discomfort was probably just starting a fight.
            “You have no idea,” Malfoy said, with a slight whistling sound on the last word as if he was a balloon leaking air, “how beautiful you are.”
            He reached down and touched Harry’s cheekbone, eyelid, forehead—the parts of Harry he didn’t feel were especially beautiful. Maybe some people liked the scar. He didn’t know.
            I wouldn’t know. Old Harry is the one who got all the compliments in the past ten years and had to answer them. For all I know, people find my cheekbones beautiful all the time, and I just haven’t got compliments since I woke up because Ginny was used to them.
            Harry flushed again and tried to turn his head away, but that only made Malfoy’s finger stray and poke him in the eye. Harry yelped with pain and brought his hands up to protect his face. Malfoy pulled his own hand back. Harry knew he would be shaking his head even though he was having trouble seeing right now.
            “I don’t really understand,” Malfoy said, sounding almost as though he was talking to someone not in the room. “Why you? It could have been a lot of other people who captured my attention after the war. It could even have been one of the others I had to try and brew a complicated potion for. Just because I kept failing in the potion your old self wanted me to brew is no reason to get obsessed with you.”
            “That’s a question I can’t answer, either,” Harry grumbled, rubbing at his eye. At least it felt like an eye again and not like a quivering mass of sensitive jelly. He opened it cautiously and saw Malfoy sitting there and gazing down at him like Harry was all the mysteries of the universe in human form. “Because the one who had the answers and who you probably talked to about it is gone.”
            “I was asking myself more than you. I know you can’t answer it.” Malfoy’s grin suddenly flashed. “That pleases me. It was obvious that your old self took pleasure in being the sadistic one in the relationship, but that should be me.”
            “You didn’t have a relationship with him,” Harry said, just to be contrary.
            “And I suppose you would say I don’t have one with you.” Malfoy gave him another sharp smile. “Even though I would say I do.”
            He rolled to the side, and his hand came down and clamped around Harry’s cock. Harry stiffened and quivered. He’d honestly almost forgotten about how randy he was while he was talking with Malfoy. Now he closed his eyes and thrust forwards and just hoped that Malfoy would continue holding on.
            “What would you say now?” Malfoy continued in an airy and definitely sadistic tone from above him.
            “I—would say—jerk me off,” Harry said, in a voice that echoed the tremors racing through him.
            Malfoy took his hand away, ignoring Harry’s harsh cry of loss, and leaned down towards him. “I want you to ask.”
            “I just did.”
            “That was a demand. A question has more words, including please, usually.”
            “I can tell you several that don’t,” Harry said, and proceeded to shout some examples. Malfoy just listened to him talk, humming and nodding now and then as if he was noting down some particularly choice insult to use later.
            “None of that lessens my desire to hear you use the word please,” he finally murmured.
            Harry shuddered. His groin was aching now, and honestly, he did want to come, and what Malfoy did after that, and what he had to do in pursuit of that, seemed equally unimportant.
            “Please make me come,” he whispered, and then looked straight at Malfoy, wondering if that wasn’t enough and Malfoy would make him beg some more.
            But maybe Malfoy was tired of the teasing himself, because he reached down and caught hold of Harry in a firm grip, working him back and forth. Harry found his head tilting further and further back—his teeth caught his lower lip—there was a curve to his spine that he didn’t think he’d ever experienced before—
            And he dropped, or fell, or whatever the right term should be, and he came, and Malfoy reached down and stirred his hand through the mess covering Harry’s cock and brought it up to Harry’s lips to lick.
            Harry turned his head away, shuddering. Malfoy prodded at his shut lips again with a little clucking, scolding noise. “Come on, now. You know there’s no way that you’ll get on with me if you don’t learn to swallow.”
            “Maybe I’d prefer to swallow yours instead of mine.”
            “Well, you wasted it all on the floor, but that can be arranged at a later date,” Malfoy said, and took his hand away. Harry heard a sucking, slurping noise, and shuddered again with his eyes closed. He didn’t dare to look for a few minutes, and when he did, he found Malfoy licking his lips with a satisfied expression. He shook his head at Harry. “You’ll learn to like it.”
            “I doubt it,” Harry said flatly, and then he stood up and made his way to the shower.
            Of course Malfoy insisted that he couldn’t shower alone, and that meant they were both late to breakfast. Or they would have been late if there had been anyone other than the house-elves to keep track of time and worry about them.
*
            Harry was laughing at something Malfoy had said—a stupid joke he couldn’t even remember later, when he thought remembering it would have helped—when he heard a hammering on the window. He spun around, hand falling to his wand automatically. He thought he could feel a wind of laughter in the back of his head. The Elder Wand was eager for battle.
            But Malfoy didn’t look alarmed. He only raised his eyebrows and clapped his hands, and a house-elf appeared and hurried over to the window. “It’s an apparently suicidal owl,” he murmured, when Harry looked at him. “I don’t know what it thinks it’s doing, but best we let in rather than have the elves scrub blood off the windows later.”
            Harry opened his mouth to answer, but the window opened and the owl dived across the room at him. Harry ducked and reached out a hand for the letter, but the owl circled in agitation and then came diving at him again. It reminded him of Pig, but Pig was just excitable and this owl seemed like it wanted to hurt him.
            “Timeo,” Malfoy cast. The spell hit the owl in a wave of blue light, and it screeched for a moment and then settled on the edge of the table, cowering away from Malfoy.
            “I haven’t seen that hex before,” Harry said, blinking. The owl could barely look at Malfoy, but it let him take the letter. “What does it do?”
            “Makes someone or something afraid of you but docile,” Malfoy said absently, looking at the letter. Apparently there was nothing on the outside, because he turned it over and opened it. “There are others that would make something afraid but hostile, and others that would make something catatonic with fear.”
            “No, thank you. And stop reading my post.”
            “It could be from someone who wishes you ill. Like Kelvin.”
            Harry scowled, reluctant to admit the point, and reached for the letter again anyway. Malfoy let him take it, although he was frowning. Harry studied the handwriting and stifled an exasperated sigh.
            “Rob,” he told Malfoy, who only nodded. He’d probably already seen that, the nosy bastard. Resigned, Harry turned back to study whatever Rob thought was so important.
            Harry,
            It’s been long enough without an answer to my letter that I can only assume it was intercepted or that you’ve decided against replying to it. I have to send you another one.
            Not everyone who holds the secrets of your past is a criminal or a Weasley. And I don’t think you have any chance of discovering this one without my help. Please write to me. Either that, or meet with me. That would at least increase the chance that the letter won’t be taken. I’ve sent this with my fastest and most aggressive owl, but then, I thought the last one was safe, too. Please respond.
            Love,
            Rob.
            Harry sighed and rubbed his forehead. “If it’s something really important, why can’t he just put it in the damn letter?” he muttered.
            “Because he wants you to reply to him. To be bound to him. He wants you to meet with him and look in his eyes and tell him you don’t love him anymore. It’s the only way he’ll accept it.”
            Harry blinked and looked up. Malfoy was sitting on the edge of the dining room table—something Harry never would have thought he’d do—bent forwards with his eyes shining like metal balls. “You sound as if you understand him.”
            “I do,” Malfoy said calmly. “I also loathe him, but I understand him. Because it’s what I would do in his place, if I thought I had a new chance with someone I loved and obviously wasn’t over. Even though he doesn’t have that chance because you’re with me.” He reached out and looped a hand through Harry’s arm. Harry gasped at the intensity of the touch. He supposed it would look casual from a distance, but up close, it really, really wasn’t. Malfoy pressed down on him. “You’ll be with me from now on.”
            “I’ll be with you if I decide that I want to,” Harry corrected, and glared a little, and ripped his hand free.
            Malfoy immediately sat back with a neutral expression. He said nothing else, and Harry glanced again through Rob’s letter. But nothing had changed in it, it was no more informative, and when he tried a few spells just because he thought they might show him something that had been secret, nothing appeared.
            “I suppose I’ll have to meet him if I want more information,” Harry finally muttered.
            “Not on my watch.”
            “Listen,” Harry said, and rolled his eyes at Malfoy. “Just because I find myself in the same room with someone I once dated doesn’t mean that I’m going to be overwhelmed by lust and tackle him. You can trust me.”
            “But not him.”
            “I don’t think he’ll tackle me, either.” Harry shook his head. “He’s like you. He believes that I’m not the man I once was—”
            “That is a problem.”
            Harry stared at Malfoy. His voice had become so sharp that Harry felt as though the words were scratching him. But it was Malfoy’s eyes that really shut him up. They were mad, blazing, as though Malfoy wanted to attack Harry the way the owl had.
            “He could have something important to tell me,” Harry said tightly. “I’m sorry you don’t like it, but I do have to go meet him.”
            “If he wants you, and he thinks that you’re coming to him, and now you’re even more different from the man you once were—” Malfoy was quivering, but Harry didn’t think it had anything to do with fear. “You’ve slept with a man. That leaves a trace on you, a mark that can’t be hidden. He could find you even more desirable because of that—”
            “Okay, what is this shit?” Harry asked, because Malfoy was starting to irritate him and he thought maybe the word would make Malfoy pay attention. “The idea that I’m marked or visible or something—technically I already wasn’t a virgin, and I probably did more with him than I did with you even though I don’t remember it—”
            He stopped. Malfoy had stood and turned his back on Harry.
            “If you go to him,” said Malfoy, and his voice was empty, “then you do it without my interference, but also without my support.” He glanced back at Harry, and his eyes had gone aloof. “I will have nothing to do with this madness.”
            “I don’t know if he would even talk to me if you were there.”
            From the way Malfoy drew up his shoulders, that was something Harry shouldn’t have said. But it was the truth! Harry didn’t see the point in hiding and denying things that were real simply because Malfoy might have preferred to ignore them.
            And Harry didn’t even know why he would have preferred to ignore them. He breathed as deeply and calmly as he could, and finally asked, “Why do you think it’s such a big deal for me to see Rob now that I’ve had sex with you?”
            Malfoy answered in a flat voice without turning around. “Because he would want you more than anything now, and you won’t promise to stay mine.”
            Harry shook his head. “No one can simply possess me. And it doesn’t matter if they had a sexual relationship with me at one point, or have one now, or…”
            He let his voice trail off. Malfoy sat there with his back to him. Harry wondered, with a feeling that was like stepping into a house he expected to be warm and lit only to find it dark and cold, whether he would be kicked out of Malfoy Manor, too.
            He had to ask, or he would wonder until his head ached. He forced a smile and a calm question. “Am I going to be exiled from here if I decide to go speak to him?”
            Malfoy turned around and stared at him. “Of course not.”
            That decided Harry. He nodded. “Then I’m going to go speak to him.”
            Malfoy looked away again.
            Harry sighed. It was odd to walk away from someone he’d slept with last night—and this morning, too—without a word, but given the memories he’d seen, it wasn’t the weirdest thing he had done in the past ten years, either.
            “Good-bye,” he did say, as he went to write a response Rob’s owl could take. He had no idea where to Apparate yet.
            Malfoy only hunched his shoulders and said nothing. Harry shrugged, and summoned a house-elf to ask for parchment and ink.
*
     moodysavage: Yes. But also fragile.
moon: Thank you!
Severus1snape: Draco would agree with you.
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The Dust of Water