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Intoxicate the Sun	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 18051 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I am making no money from this story.

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Chapter Thirty-Two--By the Light of the Future

            "You still aren't listening to us."

            Pedlar had cornered Harry at the latest meeting before he could slip out the door. Harry made sure that his face was calm and he was smiling slightly before he turned around. Pedlar was recovering from his attempts to intimidate her faster and faster, and now there were plenty of people watching him critically for the next time that he used magic on her.

            And probably anxious to leave, for that matter.

            Harry would do his best not to scare any more people away from the revolution. He needed them. They were the ones who did the fighting, who put Ron's strategies into practice, who had been bold enough to follow him on dragons into Azkaban. But on the other hand, if they wouldn't do anything he asked of them without endless discussion, then he didn't see how much more of his time he should waste courting them. None of them had better suggestions than the first few they'd offered up. They'd wasted three hours last night on a debate about what they should call themselves, as if that was the only thing they could talk about that was of any value.

            Pedlar thrived in such an atmosphere, though. Already she could meet his eyes without flinching, and he thought her smile had an extra bright shine to it, like the light in Muggle cartoons that flashed off characters' teeth. She had her hands hooked now as if she would seize his throat.

            But the others had all left, which meant that whatever he said to her, it wouldn't occur in front of witnesses. She could tell stories later, of course, but she always could, and Harry had become almost accustomed to that, as well as the way the stories would warp his behavior beyond recognition. He met her eyes and waited.

            "You haven't done anything about putting our plans into action," Pedlar said softly. She took a step nearer, and it crossed Harry's mind to wonder what Ron would think if he walked in and saw them now. Perhaps that being involved with Draco wasn't the worst thing that could happen to Harry. "You haven't acted on the suggestions we gave you all those weeks ago, let alone the more recent ones since."

            "If I had, then you would have accused me of dashing into action without taking the advice of the council," Harry murmured. That was what they had decided to call themselves, the council, this group of men and women who wanted names more than they wanted plans. "There's no way to win."

            "Should you be thinking about winning when it comes to your own followers?" The light spilled out of Pedlar's smile now, tainting her eyes and making them shine like quivering flames. "I don't think so. I think that you should have learned the difference between fighting the Ministry and fighting us."

            "Because one's easier?" Harry knew that he shouldn't have let her push him to this extreme even as he said it. It was stupid and silly. He shouldn't give her words that much weight. He should simply smile at her when she said she wanted to see him alone and told her to invite as many people as she wanted. Yes, of course she would twist the stories about him, and so would other people.

            If they were always going to do it, no matter what gestures he made to appease them, then he should simply go ahead and do what he wanted, and worry about how many people followed him later.

            "Careful," Pedlar breathed. She edged in again, and now she was very definitely within the small bubble that Harry considered his personal space. "Someone could think you were making a threat."

            "They would if they listened to you tell the story," Harry said. Her hand still didn't touch her wand, but he had noticed the way that she was aiming it at a pocket in her robes, as though she had some other surprise to pull out. He didn't think anyone else in the revolution possessed the same inventive skill that George and Fred did, though, or that they would have let a theft from their labs go unreported. "How sad that not everyone listens to you."

            Pedlar tried hard to look offended, but her smile was too broad. "How sad that you're caught up in a personal rivalry, instead of doing your best to lead the revolution to victory," she murmured, and then her hand darted to her pocket.

            Harry's fire leaped up around him in a singing, singeing cloak. He kept it from extending further than that, though. If Pedlar had hoped that she would leave the room with a burn to prove all her stories about how evil he was, he managed to deny her that much.

            Pedlar's hand retracted, empty. Harry understood then. Her movement had been a distraction, trying to make him react before he thought and show that he was dangerous to more than just the few people who regularly listened to Pedlar. She hadn't counted on how much control Harry had over his fire.

            Too many people, Harry thought, meeting her rapid blinks and holding back a sneer with effort, hear the words "wild magic" and think that somehow they've got one over on me because they'll challenge me and see it.

            They stood there in the light of the flames for a few moments, and then Harry bowed to her and stepped back. "If you want to report something to the others," he said, "you'll have to think of a different ploy. Good day." He turned away.

            He heard the faint swish of cloth through air, and knew that Pedlar was trying to stick her hand in the flames so she could claim he'd burned her deliberately. Harry let his teeth show, and held the flames securely in place. Her hand soared through them and clapped him on the back, and then she made a disgusted noise.

            "So your fire is all light and no heat," she muttered, pulling her hand away and shaking it as though it stung while Harry glanced back at her, though he knew the fire hadn't hurt her at all. That was the point. He had such precise control of it, thanks to the "useless" books he'd read, that it was no longer wild in any true sense of the word.

            "If you want to put it that way," Harry told her. "Now, don't you have minions waiting for you to spread the terrible word about how much I hurt you? I'd think you'd want to get back to them."

            Pedlar stared at him, and there was hatred in her eyes, hot and flaring in all the ways his fire wasn't. Harry stared back at her in wonder. He didn't know how someone he was so little concerned with could hate him so much, when he felt next to nothing for her.

            Perhaps that was the problem. Pedlar wanted an equal connection with him, the connection of being a hated enemy if not his trusted adviser. And when he denied her that, when he balked her, she took out her temper on him.

            Luckily, she knew there was nothing she could say in this situation that wouldn't make her look ridiculous. She stalked out of the meeting room, robes floating behind her in the way Snape's often had. Harry grinned at the thought. He doubted Snape would find the comparison flattering, which was of course at least part of the point of making it.

            "Potter."

            Harry raised an eyebrow. He had assumed that some of Pedlar's minions would come to clamor at him, or perhaps that Ron would be waiting to deliver a report on the rebellion's mind. Instead, Draco stood there, his shoulders hunched and arms folded as if the room was colder than the corridor. He watched Harry's eyes and straightened with a snap, chin rising.

            Harry smiled. Where Pedlar reached for false dignity to carry around with her, Draco had the real thing, no matter how scarred. "Draco," he said, and he couldn't have kept the warmth out of his voice if he tried. His fire bent to point at Draco, and Draco's heartbeat sounded in his ears. "Can I help you?"

            "You sound as though you should be working in Diagon Alley, not leading a revolution," Draco muttered, but he leaned forwards anyway, his eyes wide and anxious. Harry waited for him, feeling a thrill prickle up and down his spine. Being this close to Draco was exciting. And not in the ways that Ron would probably insist on thinking of, pervert that he was. "How sure are you that Pedlar will let you stay leader?"

            "Do you mean that she'll attack me and force me out?" Harry shook his head. "I think I've frightened her too badly. She's trying to make me strike her so that I look like the villain, not because she's anxious to face me in a duel. And if enough people believe her, then I suppose that might be possible."

            Draco's hands clenched twice. "And what does happen, if that happens? Particularly to the people around you who have supported you in the past? Do you think Pedlar and her rabble are eager to let me and my parents live?"

            Harry had to roll his eyes, even though warmth filled the center of his throat. Self-centered as always, thinking about the ways he would survive even though he has more immediate problems. "Then I would use my life to defend you, and them, and Ron, and anyone else who still wanted to follow me," he said. "And my magic, which is more to the point."

            "You don't have enough power to do that," Draco said. "To hold off a mob, I mean," he clarified, when Harry cocked his head at him. "No one does."

            Harry held out his hands. Fire showered from one palm to the other in an elegant arch, a trick that he couldn't have done when he first began trying to control his wild magic, in the aftermath of burning Duplais. Draco snorted and started to say something, but fell silent as the arches multiplied and thinned at the same time, until twenty-four rainbows of gleaming flame shone on Harry's hands.

            Draco swallowed. Harry nodded to him. Draco was wise enough to know that it wasn't the form of magic that made it impressive, in this case, but the finesse and control implied by the number and size of the arches.

            "I can do this," Harry said, and then folded his hands inwards and banished the magic as if it had never blazed there. "I can do more than that when someone I love is threatened."

            Draco paled as though someone had slammed him up against a wall, and then shook his head. "I don't--you don't love my parents."

            "But other people that I mentioned?" Harry took a step closer to him, wondering if Draco would finally let him talk about what had happened between them. His belly heated when he thought about it, and his groin, and his chest. "Yes, I do love them. And I would defend them."

*

            I came looking for a political conversation, not this, Draco thought, and swallowed again. He didn't know whether he was swallowing nausea or exhilaration. Neither had any place here. He could almost hear his father's voice hissing at him about how weak he was, to fall prey to something like this, the delusions that Potter told himself and others. Real revolutions weren't won with love and wild magic. They fizzled out in compromise, or succeeded and were back to the natural way of pure-blood domination within a generation.

            Except that Draco didn't think that the world had ever seen a revolution led by someone like Harry Potter.

            Now that Draco was close to him and not pretending anymore, he couldn't deny the magic that shimmered around Potter like a corona of invisible flame. He was gasping in the heated air, working his mouth and nose open at the same time, close to stumbling. And that was just from being close to it.

            If he was closer? If Potter was to take Draco in his arms and press his mouth to his?

            Draco shook his head. That was the kind of thing he couldn't imagine, that he had no business imagining. Not because it couldn't happen but simply because there was no reason for him to think he would ever get it again.

            Potter wanted more than he could give, the kind of committed and loving relationship that Draco saw between his parents. And he couldn't do that. He couldn't choose something that would shut the last of the Malfoys out as thoroughly as that, even if they had chosen one that shut him out.

            "Sorry," he whispered, ducking his head and avoiding the way Potter stared at him. "You don't need me bringing this up when you have to concentrate on handling Pedlar and her threats." He moved a step away, feeling as though tar clung to his foot when he lifted it from the floor.

            "I can handle them for days on end and still have time for touching you."

            Potter had surged forwards so that he had more than closed the distance between them, ruining Draco's fragile attempt to break away from him. His eyes were deep and green and shining, and he bent down and let his lips hover above Draco's. He was close enough that Draco's tongue touched his mouth when he tried to lick his own dry lips.

            "You can stop me, if you want," Potter murmured. "Such power over me. That's the sort of thing Pedlar would envy you for, and so would others. Of course, no one would envy you for the right things. But you can take that power, if you want." He reached out, and his hand flattened over Draco's heart. For the first time, Draco thought he felt Potter's heartbeat in return, a quick, frenzied, hot drumming. No, that's his magic. "Do you want me to stop?"

            Draco had to close his eyes. He couldn't stand the green so close to him, even more than anything else. His breath came fast and hard, and the smoke felt as if it was rolling through his lungs, smoke from a forest on fire.

            The hand and the mouth were bad enough, but those eyes...

            He couldn't hide from them even with his eyes closed, though. That was the bad thing. He could see them still, foxfire, marshfire, will-o'-the-wisps, shining behind his eyelids and leading him astray. They followed him down into the darkness of his own mind, and the defenses he tried to bring up against them--images of his parents, the Manor, the future that he had once hoped to have with a wife he chose and the children he would raise as heirs to his family's legacy--whirled away and expired in the midst of that smoke.

            He was burning. The whole world would burn in the unnatural flame of Potter's magic and the universe wouldn't feel its passing. Maybe the universe would burn, too.

            And maybe he was mad.

            Without looking at Potter, Draco reached up and searched until he cupped the back of the man's neck. Potter shuddered and dipped his head to sweep his nose along Draco's cheek, which felt exquisitely, uniquely, sensitive.

            "Yes," Draco whispered. "Oh, God, yes. Yes, please, come here."

            And so he embraced the fire.

*

            Harry kissed Draco carefully. He thought Draco's surrender was still fragile, and he wasn't entirely sure he should trust it.

            More than that, he didn't know if Draco really wanted this. He wasn't squirming away, but he let himself be kissed passively, rather than participating in it. And no matter how Harry wielded his tongue or drew back and licked or tried to coax Draco's tongue out of hiding, he just stood there.

            Well, Harry knew a way to coax him.

            He eased Draco backwards, and because Draco seemed committed to that passivity, he went along with the push. When his back landed on the wall next to the door, his eyes widened, and then he smiled. He was probably anticipating that Harry would make them both come the way he had before.

            Instead, Harry kissed him one more time, his mouth delicate and tracing, urging, and then knelt at Draco's feet. He looked up and watched the realization spark to life in Draco's eyes, leaping up like a wildfire. He reached out a hand as if he would grasp Harry's and pull him back to his feet.

            Harry ended that by leaning in and resting his mouth over Draco's erection. He did nothing but breathe. That was enough to make Draco's pants dampen, from both the inside and the outside.

            Draco closed his eyes and turned his head away. But a moan escaped him despite himself, and he didn't shove Harry off or turn and flee. Harry would have to use those signs to conclude that he wanted this so far.

            So he went on, gently mouthing and licking, pulling back a little when Draco's hips arched and he tried to shove himself into Harry's mouth without taking his trousers off. Yes, Harry would give him what he was shaking for, but he would do it in his own time, and he wanted to make sure that Draco was fully in the moment, not hiding from Harry or himself, when he asked for it.

            Draco's moans got desperate, got words along the edges that sounded like Harry's first name, before Harry yielded and undid Draco's belt and trousers. His hands were steady, but he did have to pause and wait when Draco froze as Harry's hand slid down to his bared groin. If Draco broke and fled now...

            Harry knew that he would have to curl himself up in silence for a while, the way he had after reading the prophecy that Hermione had sent him.

            But Draco settled back against the wall, and the quivering in his legs looked like it was taking on a different dimension. Harry kissed him on the hip and dumped his belt and trousers and pants all in a tangled mess on the floor. Then he reached out.

            Draco bucked and bowed his head as Harry touched his cock, smoothing his fingers from shaft to head. Harry learned the texture of the skin by feel, watching Draco's face all the time. Draco never opened his eyes.

            But he was still here. There were so many different kinds of courage in his heart that Harry felt his breath come short when considering that, far more than considering what he was about to do. Yes, it would be his first time doing it, but so what? He wanted to. He wasn't caught between wildly conflicting desires and choosing to pursue one, the way Draco was.

            "Ready?" Harry asked, and then wondered if he should have. Draco's shoulders tensed. On the one hand, Harry was giving him the chance to say no, but on the other, he might have put more pressure on Draco than he was prepared to handle.

            But Draco hissed between his teeth and nodded.

            For the nod, more than anything else, even the way that he groaned when Harry did it or the way he reached out to grab the side of Harry's head, Harry opened his mouth and took him in as deeply as he could.

            It felt weird. Draco's cock teased and scraped at the back of his mouth, and triggered a bout of coughing that he had no control over and which went on for an embarrassingly long time. But at last Harry managed to seize control of his breathing and go back down for a second time, and then Draco--

            The only word Harry could think of was melted. Draco melted like chocolate on a summer day, slouching back against the wall, his hips loose, his legs spreading, his moans long and languid. Harry assumed he was doing something right, at last, and grabbed Draco's hips so that he could muscle one of them closer to his mouth. Draco's cock went deeper than he really wanted then, and he jumped as Harry choked and almost spat him out.

            Harry looked up, hesitantly, wondering if he had hurt Draco with a scrape against his teeth--

            And found Draco smiling at him.

            That made Harry dive back down, filling his mouth, filling his lungs, filling his tongue, sucking and swallowing. That was worth all of it, and so was the way Draco's hand trailing through his hair, as though uncertain whether Harry really wanted him to grip. Harry moved his head up, an incoherent plea breaking through his mouth as he worked, and Draco's hand tightened.

            Held tight, embraced at last, Harry sucked as hard as he could, rested his jaw only so that his tongue could lick just as hard, and reached down with his hands to touch Draco's hips and balls and arse when he realized Draco liked that, too. At one point he ran his finger all the way up and circled teasingly around Draco's hole, then paused and eased one fingertip inwards.

            Draco came, wild and crying out as though that had surprised even him. Harry opened his jaws wider and swallowed as fast as he could. His throat pulsed and ached, and he felt a strange, savage satisfaction as some of the liquid escaped his lips and dripped down his face.

            This was what it felt like to share yourself fully with a lover. He'd come close a couple of times, but never this far.

            Draco was sliding down the wall before Harry finished swallowing, his quiet gasps filling the room with sound. Harry followed him down, still sucking, and then pulled away when he saw Draco wince, because it probably hurt. Then he reached out and traced his fingers around the corner of Draco's jaw, wishing he had the right words to say next.

            Draco answered him by reaching down and rolling Harry on his back. Then he parted Harry's legs, knelt between them, and rested a thigh against his groin.

            Harry's lips parted, and he whined without knowing he was going to do it. Then he reached up, gripped Draco's hips again, and began to rub himself off, rolling his own hips back and forth to the point where his arse felt scraped and painful from the floor.

            Draco watched him do it, panting with his eyes half-closed. Every time Harry thought he might be bored, he saw some spark in those bright eyes that let him continue.

            And Draco had reached out for him. Draco was the one who had initiated this. That made all the difference. All the wonderful difference.

            Harry came with what felt like the pattern of Draco's kneecap embedded in his groin, his thighs tight, his belly shuddering. The wetness and the confinement of his cock, because he still hadn't taken his trousers or his pants off, made the whole thing better. He let his head sag to the side, his mouth open, his sides heave up and down.

            Oh, God. He felt good. Because he'd made Draco feel good, because Draco reached back.

            He reached up and pulled Draco down on him, although Draco strained and resisted a little, whispering something about people coming to the door. Harry shook his head and closed his eyes. He felt fire wrap around them, stroking soft tendrils up and down their sides, across their backs. Anyone who came through the door or glanced in would see only a slow-burning fireball, and doubtless know better than to disturb them.

            Draco watched the fire with a face full of awe. Harry tugged him closer still and shut his eyes.

            Magic was nothing, not next to this experience.

*

            SP777: Harry doesn't want to leave because he would never see his friends and Draco again. And just because he has powerful magic doesn't mean that he thinks it makes him any more special than anyone else.

            I think you may be the only one reviewing, which is all right. This story has taken longer than usual, since I was updating it irregularly for a while, so people may simply have lost interest.
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Intoxicate the Sun