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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.

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Part III: He Cannot Miss

            Draco knelt among the other Death Eaters and watched the torture of the spy in silence. Or the supposed spy. It seemed to Draco, more and more often now, that the Dark Lord tortured those who had done nothing wrong except be in a certain place when he looked at them, or not bowed fast enough, or not babbled out enough convincing excuses for why they hadn’t captured Potter or an Order of the Phoenix member.

            He buried those thoughts with the ease of long practice, and bowed his head further as the Dark Lord turned towards him. He thought he knew what the request would be, and sure enough, it came.

            “Show him what you can do, Malfoy.”

            Draco rose to his feet, eyes fixed and vacant. He knew his parents were looking at him as he crossed the circle of bare stone towards the prisoner. He didn’t look back.

            But it was different, this time, as he stood in front of the man and looked down. This was someone he hadn’t really known except by reputation, Hercules Nott, a cousin of Theodore’s who had gone to Durmstrang. He had come back and chosen to be a Death Eater even though he wasn’t qualified. He lay on the floor and stared up at Draco with eyes wide with desperation.

            Draco stared back, and thought of qualities and Potter and the idea that he might still have something in his soul that made him even less of a Death Eater than Nott. He snorted and raised his wand.

            His Cruciatus was sharp and practiced, by now, and gripped and shook Nott like someone shaking out dust from a rag. Draco actually yawned as he watched. It was a little different from last time, he thought. A little different.

            He had something now that made life worth living.

            “Enough.”

            Draco ended the curse at once and bowed in the Dark Lord’s direction. Those crimson eyes were narrowed, watching him speculatively. Draco wasn’t surprised when the Dark Lord told him to remain after the others had gone, Bellatrix hauling Nott off to one of their Healers. Draco reckoned that the Dark Lord had thought Nott could be useful after all, if only as a spy in some of the circles on the Continent that didn’t owe allegiance to him.

            “Kneel.”

            Draco did it at once, his head bowed until he touched the floor with his brow. The Dark Lord rose and paced in a steady circle around him. Draco knew that tactic. It was supposed to unnerve people until they blurted out the truth.

            But Draco was already unnerved and despairing most of the time, and he knew that the Dark Lord might kill him any hour. He knelt there, until the Dark Lord snapped, “Stand.”

            Draco did so at once, and met the Dark Lord’s eyes. He could feel the Legilimency pulling at his thoughts, and carefully rearranged his Occlumency shields so that the Dark Lord could see his contempt for Nott. There was a moment when he was held breathless, and then the pale face in front of him relaxed into a sneer.

            “There are those who would say that you are hardly qualified yourself to be a Death Eater, Draco,” said the Dark Lord in a voice like waves of poisoned air.

            “I know, my Lord,” Draco whispered back.

            “You were less focused this time. Or more focused. Not as absent from the torture, yet less affected by it.” Draco could still hear the sibilants in the Dark Lord’s voice when he dragged out words with s’s, but he didn’t seem to do it as often as he once had. “What changed?”

            Draco shook his head a little. “My Lord, I’m coming to realize that no matter how much I’m unworthy of it, I have your Mark on my arm. I have to do something. I can break down and cower under the burden. Or I can do my best to live up to it. Even though it’s late and something I should have been doing before.”

            “That is…unusual among Death Eaters, Draco. The desire to change. One would have thought you would have remained what you were at the beginning. Most do.”

            “I know, my Lord,” Draco said, thinking of his aunt’s unvarying madness and the way that most Death Eaters cringed and did nothing else. “But honestly…” He hesitated.

            “You should always be honest with me, Draco.”

            “I was bored staying the same,” Draco said.

            The Dark Lord’s slitted mouth split further open, and he laughed, a soundless breath that still made sharp prickles crawl up Draco’s arms. He inclined his head and murmured, “I can understand that motivation. Boredom has made me do many things, in my time.” His eyes slid up and down Draco’s body with what Draco thought was a new appreciation. He did his best to keep his face quiet and still, not showing what he felt or thought.

            “Only see that you do not grow bored with serving me,” the Dark Lord added, and the smile fell apart again.

            “Of course not, my Lord.” Draco bowed to him.

            “Go.”

            Draco went back to his bedroom and sat down, staring for a moment at the wall. He hadn’t been as afraid of the Dark Lord as he usually was, he realized slowly, even though he should have been. He had a secret to hide that made it all the more likely he would die in pain.

            But he had not been.

            It was only right, as soon as the magic would let him—proving he was truly alone—to write a Blood Letter to Potter, asking him along to celebrate his victory.

*

            This time, filled with a strange mixture of emotions and lack of time like bubbling champagne, Draco didn’t let Potter voice a complaint about the surroundings, which were the inside of the Shrieking Shack. Or about Draco, or about being summoned in the middle of the night, or anything else. He simply reached out and dragged Potter towards him and kissed him.

            Potter stiffened once, then tried to lean back and let Draco “have his way,” as he would probably put it. But Draco followed him up, pushing him back onto the blankets he’d already conjured on the dusty floor, and straddled Potter’s body.

            Last time, he’d felt Potter respond almost against his will. Draco was going to have at least the same level of participation now.

            He’d passed on details about a raid on a Muggle village and about the Death Eater the Dark Lord had accused of treachery, meaning that the Order could use Nott’s name and description, if they had to, to pretend it was where they’d got Draco’s information. He was patient and clever and holding up under circumstances that would have destroyed a lot of people. Draco thought he deserved a reward.

            Potter still tried to stay passive. Draco pulled back and hissed, “You enjoyed it last time, Potter. And I made it clear in my letter exactly what I wanted from you. Now open your mouth.”

            A breath when Potter glared at Draco with passionate hatred, and then he opened his mouth. Draco dived in, groaning. The taste made him so hard that he gave up on the notion of lying there and making Potter come first, which he’d been half-planning.

            “Come on,” he said, and rolled to the side, and spread his legs. His robes were easy enough to take off. He lay back and pushed his hips up. “Come on,” he added, when Potter hesitated. So his plans were changing. It didn’t matter. He had to know exactly what Draco wanted from the position he’d taken.

            And Potter did. And he knelt, grimly, on the floor, ignoring the way Draco nicely conjured a cushion for him a second later. When he opened his mouth, Draco had to close his eyes for a second. He was about to come right there.

            There were no words for the way Potter’s mouth sealed around him.

            He sucked like he had experience. Draco rolled his hips against Potter’s mouth, and his blood boiled for a different reason as he thought of who Potter might have practiced with. Maybe Weasley didn’t want Potter dating his little sister, and he’d offered himself as a substitute. An older Order member? Would Potter’s godfather, when he was still alive—

            Jealousy roared like a tiger. Draco pushed forwards and almost choked Potter. That calmed him a little.

            Not so much experience, then, Draco thought, and grabbed the sides of Potter’s cheeks. “Suck me,” he said.

            And Potter did.

            It was almost as if he was glad to have something to concentrate on, Draco thought dizzily as he fell into it. Potter’s nails were tight little pinpricks on the sides of his hips, and Draco’s body rose and fell with the waves of sensation that Potter stirred up in his cock. So warm, and the sensations kept shifting, as Potter’s tongue moved back and forth and up and down. Draco shoved himself down, but Potter never choked again.

            And he almost always held eye contact with Draco, at least during those moments when Draco could keep his eyes open.

            Draco felt himself getting ready to come. He reached out and cradled Potter’s head between his palms. He didn’t know what he would say, but he knew he had to say it. He opened his mouth.

            He didn’t get the chance. Potter sucked again. The orgasm left him with a whoosh like being caught in a rushing wind. Draco fell back on the blankets and gasped at the ceiling.

            It was the best experience of his life.

            After a little while, Draco became aware that Potter wasn’t on the blankets beside him. He turned his head, thinking for a moment that he might have left.

            But instead, he saw Potter kneeling there, his eyes squinched shut and his hands clasping his bony knees. Draco stared. He couldn’t imagine what Potter thought he was doing.

            Then he saw the erection, and he knew. Potter was willing it to go away.

            Viciously glad that Potter had no idea there were spells for that—and it really seemed as if he didn’t have that much experience after all—Draco rolled towards him and grabbed him around the waist. Potter opened his eyes and stared like a startled deer, then thrashed in Draco’s grip.

            “I don’t want it!” he said loudly.

            Draco laughed. “As if I would suck you, Potter,” he said, and slid his hand down Potter’s arse instead, turning him and holding him. When Potter tried to back up, he just trapped himself against the wall. Draco maneuvered his knee until it was between Potter’s legs, and held him there with his eyes, and added, “Satisfy yourself.”

            It seemed like Potter might break free. His face was red with outrage, and his nails cut Draco’s leg the way they had his hips, and his eyes were blazing again. But when he moved, it wasn’t away, or backwards, or sideways.

            It was forwards, against Draco.

            Draco groaned. He had had no idea how hot it would be, to have Potter getting himself off against Draco’s knee. Once again, he refused to yield eye contact, and Draco’s pulse hammered almost harder than it had during his orgasm.

            It was like Potter thought this was defiance, instead of obedience.

            His neck jerked suddenly, and he held his head to the side and hissed. Draco’s first thought was Parseltongue, snakes, the Dark Lord, and he shivered.

            His second thought was triumph as he felt Potter pouring himself out, hot and sticky, against Draco’s knee.

            Even better, Potter slumped after that and couldn’t gather the strength to go right away. Draco gathered him close, wildly delighted by the way his shoulders shook and he bared his neck to Draco because he was too worn-out to do anything else.

            Potter actually rolled his head to the side and closed his eyes, he was so weary, and snuggled against Draco. Draco kept his chuckle down to a shudder in his chest. He would probably scare Potter away otherwise.

            But he must not have kept it quiet enough. Potter’s eyes flew open, and he tensed. Then he tore himself away from Draco with force so great that he probably left some small hairs and flakes of skin behind. He turned around, panting, his eyes wild.

            Draco spread his arms. “I’m not holding you here, Potter,” he said. “Not now. I just didn’t think that someone who helped me enjoy myself so much should go away without getting something in return.”

            “Go to hell, Malfoy,” Potter panted. “Like you care about anyone but yourself.”

            Draco stared straight at him. “When I’m risking my life to trade you information? Think about it, Potter.”

            Potter swore at him some more, words that Draco knew more by the shape his lips made than any breath he could put behind them. And then he turned and snatched his wand and rearranged his clothes and vanished.

            Draco leaned slowly back on the blankets. He frowned a little. His triumph hadn’t gone missing; his body still buzzed and sang with how good he felt.

            But the evening had ended on a bit of a sour note, and he didn’t know why. Potter’s outrage would only have pleased him a week ago.
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A Better Bargain Driven