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The Inheritance	By : Laurel Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 4067 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Disclaimer: see Part One.

If Harry calculated exactly, he had been in this strange semi-state of affairs with Draco Malfoy since they were eleven. If you counted seeing a spoilt boy in a robe shop as the beginings of a sexual attraction that seemed the cornerstone of your entire life. Of course, at twenty-six, married, hero, and father; Harry was inclined to say he knew absolutely nothing.

Which wasn't exactly true. He was walking down Diagon Alley to do his Christmas shopping, three days before Yule. Draco always called it Yule, but then again Draco was a Malfoy and Malfoys were pagans. Once Harry remembered hearing that the Blacks were Roman Catholics, but he figured that Narcissa had converted or something to that effect. Harry stopped in front of the parfumerie on the edge of where Diagon Alley became exceedingly expensive.

Of course, he had no idea what to get Ginny. Married six years and no clue whatsoever. He always brought her perfume, strange scents that made him think of cake or peacefulness, which was how he saw Gin, but she never wore them. She had started wearing deep, masculine scents early in their relationship, heavy colones on her freckled skin. Sometimes Harry wanted to scream at her, but what could he say? There was no code of ethics about talking about your male lover's scent to your desperate wife.

Of course, he had gotten Draco his present months ago. He was easy enough to shop for, anything expensive and unnecessary would do, and walking into Asprey's Harry had found lots of unnecessary things to buy Malfoy. At first Harry had worried that a Muggle store would offend him, but then he found out that the owner's had been Squibs, and they had a wizarding store in Hogsmeade,somehow this made everything acceptable in some Malfoyish sense. So it became tradition for Harry to buy him whatever nonsense in the store struck his fancy.

This year, their sixth, Harry left spending a great deal of his fortune on an emerald cashmere throw, an embroidered ebony quill set, some abstract paperweight which looked vaguely like it may have once been a bludger, a black crocodile briefcase with engraved initals which he filled with embossed parchment and high quality inks. Then, impusively, Harry had seen a traveling case and a platinum wristwatch and had chosen them as well. Feeling a bit snarky and vicious, he had engraved in the last two: "Harry Potter".

"You will be the envy of everyone, wearing this watch, sir," the saleswitch had smiled cleverly.

Harry frowned. "It's not for me."

"Oh." She looked confused. "Your name--"

"I know," Harry laughed. "It's to remind him. He'll hate it."
When Harry got home, James was still in bed with a case of the winter flu and Ginny was rushing around, a red-gold sweater half pulled over her head.

"We're late," she cried, looking Harry over. Gently, she smiled. He hadn't been with Malfoy today, she could tell. He was not overly cheerful. This is a small victory, but Ginny took them wherever she could. Malfoy wasn't getting her husband on Christmas.

Harry laughed. "Where are we going with James sick? I thought we were staying home for Christmas."

"No," Ginny frowned. "Mum and Dad and everyone are gathering up at Hermoine and Ron's, Harry. Surely you remember. I told you last week."

Harry sat down on the couch, annoyed. "I'm not going."

Ginny gasped. She had never fought with Harry, never, and now his sullen determination was against her. She felt her Weasley temper boil up before she could prevent it. "What do you mean you're not going! It's our family, that's what! IT'S BLOODY CHRISTMAS, that's what!"

Harry shrugged, his lip curling faintly, as if Ginny had left the garbage sit in the pail too long. "I'm not leaving London, Ginerva."

Ginny felt her wrists tremble, a sure sign she was going to implode with fury. She sat down on the couch, silent for a moment. "What will I tell them?"

"I don't know," Harry said softly. "Say I'm ill, or that I have work, or that I'm in a depression. Anything. Tell them the truth if you like, Ginny. It's yours."

"A strange Christmas gift," she murmured. "Stories and lies. What's the truth, Harry?" Her green eyes looked lost and haunted. "Where does it begin?"

Everything begins with hate. Harry heard Draco's nineteen-year-olds' words in his head. This isn't a love affair, it's a hate affair. And Potter, you're going to fall so hard for me it's going to ruin the rest of your life. In Harry's mind's eye, a nineteen year old Malfoy stuck out his hand. Afraid, Potter?

Harry had taken it. Of you? Never.

"Are you going to leave now?" Ginny asked softly.

"No," Harry nodded towards the floo. "You and James should go first."

"Will you be here when I get back?" Ginny asked.

Harry sighed.
It was the night Harry left Ginny and his son. It would have, years later, after all the sting of the relationship with Malfoy had faded away, Harry was able to realize that. It was one thing to leave your family alone on Christmas, and quite another to carry off with another man on the same day. It was callous. But all people in love are somewhat callous, and being Harry Potter, he took it to the extreme edge.

Sitting by the fireplace not attached to the Floo Network, Draco Malfoy was looking into the flames with little excitement in his eyes.

"Happy Christmas?" He asked as a question. Draco's reflective eyes caught the fairy lights Harry had put up days ago.

"Festive Yule," he murmured, a soft grin on his face. "Don't be an idiot, Potter. You honestly don't believe there's a baby born to a virgin."

Harry was going to make a comment about how sometimes beliefs were just so because they flew in the face of actuality, but he didn't want to fight much with Draco when he wasn't much of a Christian himself, anyway. "Not really, Malfoy," he sighed, sitting down and putting an unaccustomed arm around Draco's shoulders.

"You're very beautiful," Harry smiled.

Draco shrugged. "It doesn't do anything, so it's unimportant."

"What?"

"Looks. Appearance. For someone who saved the wizarding world, you are certainly hung up about my attractiveness. You are a vain man, Harry Potter, and what's worse, you're vain for me, and I'm barely anything to you."

"What are we?"

Draco shrugged, then raised his eyebrows, moving closer. "We're secret lovers who meet over burnt bridges and lost intentions in trenchcoats, smoking french cigarettes. We're orphans thrown together by circumstance running away from cruel foster parents to be together. You're an artist and I'm your muse, but I'm married to your rival-- I'm a wealthy landowner and you're the farmer's daughter-- we--"

"Stop," Harry smiled. "You should be a writer, Draco Malfoy."

"Potter," he frowned. "You flatter me too much. Really, it was almost better when you were insulting. You used to get this mad glint in your eye. Now we're just desperately fumbling, aren't we? I'm rather dissapointed in this turn of events. I thought we'd always be passionate."

Harry looked him over critically. "I think you're insane, Malfoy."

Draco laughed. It was beautiful and ringing. "Most likely. I've been under so many curses it wouldn't be possible for me to be sane. Are you though, Potter? Carrying on with someone whose tried to kill you? Eating Christmas cake across from a Death Eater."

"You were a spy," Harry shifted uncomfortably. "And you never really tried to kill me."

"Pretext, context, vowels and maybes," Draco sang softly. "If then perhaps. I always did have trouble with conditional clauses and unconditional love. Potter, you've got girly eyes."

Harry smiled. "Yeah, they're my mum's. I'm going to kiss you, Malfoy."

Draco frowned. "Don't ask for permission."

Harry watched Draco open his Christmas gifts with a strange sense of intimidation. Here they were, sitting across from each other at a breakfast table, adults, and he was still frightened of what could be. Fear, he'd always been afraid of fear.

"They're lovely," Draco said simply, with the dismissal of beauty that only the utterly gorgeous can master effectively. "If inaccurate."

"Inaccurate?" Harry frowned. "How?"

Draco picked up the case and ran his fingers along the embossed "DM". "You would think he'd be a better detective, what with graduating from Auror school and being almost sorted into Slytherin. You'd think he'd actually bother to find out my name, for heaven's sake."

"Name?" Harry snorted. "Now you're going to tell me Draco Malfoy isn't your name."

"Not completely."

Harry shrugged. "So what? We've all got nicknames. What's that to the purpose? I bet you don't know my middle name."

"James," Draco frowned. "Your father's name and your son's. Henry James Potter. I could tell you that your wife's name is Ginerva, and that James' middle name is Ronald, but I'm sure you don't know Pansy's. Or my own."

Harry sighed heavily. He felt as though he'd failed at some exam he didn't know would be so important.

Draco got up from the table apburtly. "Antoinetta Lucia, partly after my father."

"What?"

"Pansy's name. I used to call her Ant when we were children and throw bugs in her hair." Harry smiled, finding this oddly fitting behaviour for the Malfoy he knew. But Draco was looking faintly ill, and displeased.

"You know, Potter," he said archly. "I should have found a nice pureblood boy to carry on with. Who'd know my first name. Or even someone who'd care to. "

Harry sighed. "Are you mad, Malfoy! Of course I care! I'm away from my damned family on Christmas--Yule--what ever the bloody hell you want to call it, because of you. You! Jesus Christ! I feel like I'm always one step behind with you. What's it now? Am I too uncaring for poor sensitive, long suffering matyr Malfoy? Poor little Death Eater turned spy! Is that it, Draco? That I could do something you couldn't again. One thing on top of everything else? Poor Malfoy could never kill anyone--"

Harry heard the words coming from his mouth as if from a long distance. He couldn't believe it: the utter hate that came from his mouth. Finally he had clasped his hands over his mouth and sank down in the chair. Draco was looking at some point above his head very intently, and Harry wondered what in God's name ever possessed him to learn the powers of speech.

"I should like to hit you," Draco finally said. "Hard. Breaking your nose was quite nice, but I think a broken jaw would be much more effective." He looked at Harry calculatingly. "Right. Now you'd only let me, and where's the fun in that?"

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Draco had already began again. "You could always hurt me, Potter. I didn't like that, and now it's quite worse. I'd pretend to be affronted and go home, but I've successfully alienated Pansy and my best friends. They all know, Potter. I wonder what they'd do if the ax fell finally. I suppose they'd all be relieved and Blaise would come skipping to take your place."

There was silence for a long time, and finally, desperately, Harry spoke. "Don't leave," he said chokingly, and something in Draco's face hardened visibly at his desperation.

"You-- you-- can't leave," Harry said and Draco noted with faint shock that the man might be near tears. Tears because of him. Harry looked up, his eyes red-rimmed and strained, and his jaw clenched from the effort and Draco wondered if he'd ever cried at all. Draco had, of course, silly, vain tears, tears when things were too hard. He hadn't cried for the right things, the horrid things. He hadn't cried when his father recieved the Kiss or at his funeral, when his mother lost one of her legs in the war. At his wedding. Then he had scowled and gotten on with it. But emotion seemed to paralyze Harry.

Something hard and sharp and fierce inside Draco Malfoy broke. It wasn't a crash, or a great change marked with some fierce revelation, rather it was like the final knocking down of a wall that had been crumbling for centuries. Whatever that was that now stood in ashes, it left someone who was able to cradle Harry Potter to his chest and slowly rock him back and forth.

"You musn't cry," Draco said bitterly. "Not about me. We're just fooling about, that's all."

"No," Harry shook his head in the moist spot he had created. "I was horrible. I was so horrible, I don't-- I didn't mean it, Draco. You know I didn't."

"Right, it doesn't matter anyway," Draco said briskly, in contrast to the actions of his body, as he rocked Harry and soothing ran his hand through his hair. "Doesn't matter, we always fight and managed to wound each other before. Nasty little mouth you've got on you, surely I shouldn't have forgotten. Though when we were kids, all the insults where followed with 'er' and 'um'. You've no right to be so eloquent all of a sudden."

"Oh, Draco," Harry said softly. "I wish I hadn't-- I want you so bad." Harry looked down. "It's different now. I thought it would get easier, but it doesn't. We're wrong, you know. This whole bit is wrong and it makes me furious, and I hate myself, and then I rush off at the mouth at you and I never want to make you hate me-- not like the others-- they do--or they leave. Everyone I love goes off and leaves me and that's that. It's me, I push them-- I push you-- but I do--- I love--"

Draco's fingers were over his mouth and they were shaking. "You've got to learn impuse-control, my dear boy. Now remember that we're never going to say anything like that, don't you. Yes, now get off of me, Potter, my leg's quite numb."

Harry grinned. "Should I leave altogether then, since I'm such a bother.

"No," Draco smiled. "Gods, you look wonderfully inticing with your hair all messed like that. C'mere."

Harry smiled eagerly, climbing atop Draco until their bodies were in line. He marveled softly at how they met, oddly symbiotic, fitting together like stacked spoons. He took handfulls of Draco's soft white-blond hair in his hands, running his fingers though the strands, wrapping them around his index finger, letting them drop, and then doing it again. After a moment, he touched his nose with the soft point below his and leaned in for a kiss. Then, there was no thought at all.

"Hmm," Draco said lazily. "You always were a good kisser, Potty."

"Were?" Harry frowned. "And now?"

Draco laughed, locking his legs above Harry's waist and pulling him down again. "I don't know," he snorted unbecomingly as Harry's mouth opened on his neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark, "Ooh, that's nice, do that again. Circe! Don't bite me so hard, last thing I need is people giving me knowing glances like they did on your birthday."

He felt a soft press of lips to his stomach and then the cool air of the bedroom reaching his hardened cock. Then Harry's face was hovering again above his own, before he dipped back down again, his mouth connecting with a hipbone--a nipple-- and then once again with the sore area on his neck that Potter seemed to adore. "God, Draco, you're gorgeous," he murmured, pushing a hand through his hair again. "Sometimes I still can't believe you're here."

Draco smiled fondly. "Easy enough choice if you ask me. Now, be a good boy and get the lube so that you can stick that cock of yours up my arse and we can get a good night's sleep, all sticky and saited."

Harry laughed. "You kill all the romance, Malfoy. Breaks a lad's heart, it does."

"Hmm, ahh," was Draco's intellectual response, as Harry's mouth broke his connection with his own and two fingers entered him with an ease only experience can give. Smiling down, Harry bent his knuckles and watched as Draco's eyes flashed and his mouth opened gently.

"Ooh, ready enough," Draco smiled, sitting up and pulling down Harry's boxers. "Very nice." He placed a kiss on Harry making him see stars.

It was very much like coming home, Draco thought hazily as Harry filled him. Full and warm and taken care of, and the harsh bites on his neck, or the rough hand on the small of his back seemed not to oppose this, but to make it seem even more fact. He heard his voice, rough and strained, calling out to Harry, saying something he couldn't even hear, and then his head snapped back into reality and Harry's face was bright with sweat, shining emeralds and browned skin above him.

"Oh, gods," he was groaning. "Fuck-fuck-fuck. Aah, take it Draco-- gods you're fucking beautiful--I never wanted anything more than I want you-- Merlin!"

Then it faded away into the haze again and he felt Harry's hand on him, firmly stroking him in the way he knew would get him off-- and Draco was dying, absolutely dying because he was hitting that spot, and kissing his neck, and saying those things-- oh Merlin! If he didn't stop, it felt like he was going to die, but that would be alright now-- Harry was inside of him, and that seemed a pleasant enough way to go--

"Harry!" Draco screamed, and his whole body tensed expentantly, and then it was gone, thank the gods, all drained out of him, sliding between Harry's blunt Quidditch fingers and his stomach, and the corners of the Eqyptian quilt they were fucking under, pulled from the nearby couch, because it was freezing and Harry never could get the heating charms right.

Harry was above him, smiling, he fucking knew Draco hadn't come that hard this week, and all that clenching and satisfied smirking he was doing wasn't helping any because Malfoy was so fucking beautiful and it wasn't fair that he should be looking up at him like that, and no matter where Harry was he knew he hadn't any fucking control over anything, because Draco did.

And when Draco leaned up and kissed his ear and said, "Come, Harry. Come within an inch of your life." He cried out his name and an oath and he did, and Draco felt all the warmth hit in between his legs he felt like it was home--now, perfectly home. Harry was trembling, it was that good, and Draco wrapped his arms around him tightly.

"It's okay, Potter," he murmured, making circles on his spine. "I've got you."

"Draco?"

"What?" He hated being bothered in the afterglow.

"Run away with me?"

Draco sat up sharply, and looked at Harry. "You're mad. What about everyone?"

"Sod everyone," Harry frowned. "We need each other now, don't flinch Malfoy, it's true. Please. Come away with me now. It's Christmas, it's New Year's. Pretend like it's a holiday vacation."

"Running away with my male lover does not a holiday make," Draco frowned. After a long moment, he added, "Are we coming back?"

Harry didn't ask. "Maybe here. I love this place. But not back to that," Harry shuddered. "We won't ever go back to that."

Draco laughed sharply. "Potter, you've asked me to change my life to be with you, uproot everything, laugh in the face of tradition, desert my wife, and taint my family name. Do you want to add anything else or shall we call it a day?"

Harry sighed. "Are you going to?"

Draco looked slightly dazed. "Okay."
Sitting on the bed, his head propped by pillows, Draco Malfoy felt the winter sun reflect off of London snow and beam right into his face. Grumbling, he reached over in bed for Harry, but instead his hand hit cold, cleansed sheets. He smirked, seeing that Harry had spelled them clean, and somehow magicked his boxers on him as well.

Then, the feel of a note.

The train leaves at four.

--Harry.

PS: Gaius Draconis Tacitus Malfoy. Okay or did I miss some Roman warrior? --H.P.
Draco sighed. He was going mad. Running away with Potter. "What train to where?" He said out loud, but there was no answer and he looked at his full name written in Harry's horrible hand with a smirk. He could do detective work after all.
After her father's funeral, Libertas had found that note among other letters in her father's personal things. She wondered what they're few short months alone together had been like, and she had blushed, happy she was wearing gloves and could not know. Seeing that was beyond an invasion, and those happy young men didn't need her prying eyes.

One day she would meet Harry and give it to him, she thought easily, patting her swollen stomach. She would explain and they might become friends, after all, they would be family.

Perhaps.

A/N: Wow, I feel reviewed and privileged. Well, to say some things, I am an odd writer, it puts most of my lit. teachers out figuring where I am going half the time. There's going to be one or two parts more and an epilogue, to clear things up that way.
As for someone saying Harry was convient, I do think that in a sense Draco is taking advantage of him, at least he wants him to want him but not with strings attached, although he can't help but want more all the same. It's very trying being in love with someone and pretending you just want them for sex.
And as for Libby and James, well, there's going to be a shift towards talking about them in the later parts.
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The Inheritance