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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.

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�I�m
sorry I couldn�t see you before, Harry,� Libby Malfoy said warmly.

�It�s fine, I understand,� he murmured, looking her over with
a nod. She had been having visions again, and she hadn�t eaten for a week, so
she had said when he pressed her. The lines of her face were very angular now,
very much like her father, a look that was too masculine for her, but far too
feminine for him. She had cut off all her hair as well, long sharp lanks of
white-blonde made a strange bob around her face, surprisingly like her her
father�s post-war look. In her riding breeches as they walked over the Malfoy
estate, it was hard to shield the painful deja-vu.

Libby
smiled softly. �I look very much like him, I know. Mother used to call it �a
lucky curse.��

Harry
didn�t know what to say to that, and Libby winced. �I�m sorry. I�ve the habit
of saying exactly what comes into mind the moment I think it. It�s either the
damned Seeing bit, or I�m entirely too much a Malfoy.
I haven�t decided which yet.�

�Er�� Harry felt as though his chest was constricting. Luckily,
they had sat down on a small bench.

Libby
lowered her eyes and gently touched Harry�s hand with her gloved one. �I�m so
sorry, Harry,� she said softly. �I know it must hurt you to meet with me, and
I�ve called you here�I understand if you�d rather we didn�t anymore��

�No,
Libby,� Harry almost shouted. He was her last link�to him, she couldn�t.

She
smiled slowly, uncertainly. �I think about the past sometimes,� her Slavic
accent was stronger when she was recalling. �I vanted everything to work out
finely, I wanted to be able to control them, the powers�� She
shook her head. �I vas a fool. I played around with
something I did not understand. I cost a lot of people happiness�I shouted out
what I saw, I�� She frowned. �I drove a wedge between
you and Father�but you must understand I didn�t know, I only Saw
afterward��

Harry
wanted very much to hug her, very much. Libby was trembling, faintly, but she
was pulled away from him. Perhaps he would cause a vision, or perhaps she was
Malfoyish about touches.

�It
wasn�t your fault, Libby,� he said as softly as he could. �It wasn�t anyone�s
fault, except your father and mine. We were very �er�doubtful of each other. Possessive. Reclusive. We wanted to
live as if we had no obligations, we tried to make a Utopia and we couldn�t
handle the fact the world wasn�t that way at all.�

Libby
nodded. �I know. I tried myself�for Jules. And in a sense for
James. He never was one for perfection, though. I suppose that�s why we
didn�t work out.�

Harry
laughed. Hard. She had Draco�s wit too, though
subtler, more refined. His son was obviously an idiot.

�Libby,�
Harry said, and on a reflex touching her face with his
palm. �I�m sorry. I took your father away from you. I�m sorry.�

Libby
stopped, as if suspended between two emotions. This was too much. She Saw, and
she didn�t want to see, not like this, not her father�s lover or companion or
whatever it was�and she understood him. That was the worst of the visions, the
implicit understanding, the heady knowelge that came
with being unable to stop yourself from seeing into the very souls of people.
Despite being a Malfoy, she couldn�t thrive on hate and venom, like they had
for generations, probably until her father and herself. Silly
emotional creatures, the death of a great clan. Draco Julian,
always called Jules, wasn�t really a Malfoy, whatever his surname.

Finally,
Libby hugged him. She hugged him tightly because he loved her, and that was
something odd and unexpected, love for the child who had drawn the man you
loved away. She hugged him because he was Jules� grandfather, and because she
could see how much they were alike. She hugged him because he was somehow all
connected with this place, these lands, almost a Malfoy himself. And she hugged
him most of all, because her father would have wanted her to. To show Harry
Potter love.

When
they parted, they were both crying, and Harry was taken aback. �I�m sorry, I�ve
lived through so many bad things, did I trigger one��

�No,�
Libby laughed. �God, those things didn�t even touch you! I couldn�t See them, I couldn�t. I thought I would, but of course I
didn�t.�

�What
did you see?� Harry couldn�t help but ask.

�Father,�
Libby murmured. �Most of all I saw my father. He was a very good looking kid.�

�Hmm,�
Harry wiped his eyes. �And didn�t he know it!�

They
strolled on in silence for a time before Libby spoke again. �This is good, you
know. I feel�better, somehow.�

�Yes,�
Harry smiled. �So, you�ve any questions?�

�Half
a million,� Libby plucked a flower and twirled it near Harry�s face. When she
smiled, so openly, she hardly looked like her father at all. �But they�re all
about Father and that�s yours.�

�Not
completely.� Harry laughed. �He�s yours as well. Ah, Draco Malfoy would have
loved this.�

�What?�
Libby looked confused.

�Two
very attractive people fighting over him,� he nodded, half to himself. �Vain
git, your father was.�

Libby
put her arm around Harry�s waist manfully, companionably. �Yep, that he was, my
dear Papa. �Libby, you have to catch that Snitch.� �Libby, don�t frown, it
doesn�t become a Malfoy.� �Libertas, you�ll never succeed unless you make
people believe you already have.� �Miss Malfoy, remember who you are and cross
your legs.� �

Harry
nodded. �I do remember things like �Potter, brush your hair.� �Potter don�t sip
your tea so loudly, it�s plebeian.� �Harry, don�t track mud in the house,
Malfoy�s don�t live in hovels.� �

�Ah!�
Libby nodded. �I got that one too when I went riding.�

As
they walked and reminised, neither noticed a young man enter the garden, and
leave it�s beautiful maze furiously.

Mrs.
Alberta Lindehurst liked to watch her neighbors. At forty-four, with no
children and a mild mannered husband who worked long hours, she had little else
to do with her time. So every morning at 5:15, she would wake up from her
little wrought-iron twin bed, get her gossip magazines and romance novels, and
sit on her graying porch, and watch the day break.

And
like clockwork it began, in the small upperclass town just outside London. First Michael
Portley, the gifted boy from across the way, would wake and make his way to the
bus stop for the first of three to take him to the Academy. Then, businessmen
would come by, former boys she had gone to school with, some older and some younger,
who would hug their wives goodbye and disappear to do whatever men did in the
working world.

Then,
at 6:45, Andrew Black would come out from the largest house, which sat upon the
hill and go for his morning run. Mrs. Lindehurst would
immideatly drop her book to watch him. Lanky, proud and young, he ran
across the even pavement as though he was chasing something. It took many views
for her to realize that perhaps he was running from something all the same.

The
Black boy (she called everyone under thirty boy) was a
mystery to her. It was obvious he was well-bred and well-educated, probably an Eton graduate, definetly too refined for this part of the
world, where people were still discovering the art of potluck and distant
acknowelgements. He was handsome and wealthy, he dressed well enough, but he
rarely stopped to say hallo to any of the ladies, and he never even nodded to
any of the men. He, and Harry Evans, the other boy, were a mystery.

There
were rumours, at first, Mrs. Lindehurst knew. Flithy things they said about
those two, and for the first time, Mrs. Lindehurst didn�t spread the gossip
about her sewing circle. Besides, the boys never even showed each other the
little bit of affection. In fact, most of the time, they were downright hostile
to each other. Mrs. Lindehurst thought she heard they were cousins somewhere,
and that bit of knowelge had stuck. She would have started one about they�re
being brothers, but they looked so unalike, so she dropped the idea.

As
the pure, bright golden-white image of Andrew Black running by in his gray
sweats turned the corner, Mrs. Lindehurst dropped her magazine to watch him
again. He was the lovliest thing she had ever seen, really, moving art. Mortimer,
her husband, had never taken her to a play or the opera. But once she had seen
a ballet on television, and the way that oddly gorgeous boy moved reminded her
of all the grace of one of the male swans she had seen; all thin graceful pride
and a soft, sweet melancoly underneath the firm movement of muscle.

When
he passed, she was sure the Black boy had a twinkle in his eye and Mrs.
Lindehurst smiled as he passed, forgoing her novel for daydreams.

Harry
laughed. �Dray, she�s an old woman.�

�An
old dirty woman,� Draco frowned, tousling his hair gently with a towel, after
showering. That was his little routine. A shower and a run,
every morning. �I swear, she looks at me as
though she could swallow me whole. It�s vaguely terrifying.�

�Says
the man who was awarded the Order of Merlin, Second Class,� Harry teased.
�Jesus, Dray. You probably brighten her otherwise dim and dreary life. Besides,
you shouldn�t be running in winter.�

�It
would be safer if you let me do heating charms outside,� Harry�s face darkened
and Draco tried another tactic. �You should be jealous,� he murmured haughtily,
as Harry followed him downstairs to the kitchen. It pleased Draco somehow, that
wherever he went in the house, Harry would follow him, even if their
conversation had long ended.

�Why
in Merlin�s name should I be jealous?� Harry laughed, picking up the Prophet.
�Everyone knows you�re as gay as a girl in a pink dress in Springtime.
And your taste in women, however, is horrendous.�

�As
if yours is any better,� Draco frowned. He still cared for Pansy, and Harry
both loved and hated to weild that knife and mention women. While Harry had
left everything behind without a second glance, parcels and letters still came
from Malfoy Manor in her hardly-legible script, another sign of something
aristocratic and distant that Harry Potter could never be part of. Once he had
asked about the letters and Draco had said sharply, �Ant�s and my business is
our own, Potter.�

A stony silence desended on the table.

�Er�� Harry said finally.

�Don�t
mumble,� Draco said reflexively, before picking up the Arts and Entertainment
section of the Prophet. �Ah, look who�s made this week�s news. One of your old
school chums, Potter. Oddly enough and one of my own as
well.�

Harry
looked over Draco�s shoulder. Alexander Avery and Padma Patil
Announce Engagement at Founder�s Ball.

�I
didn�t know Avery,� Harry frowned.

�He
didn�t go to Hogwarts, he went to Durmstrang.�

�Oh.�
Harry frowned. Death
Eaters.

�Right,�
Harry said, mock seriously. �Let me see. �Patil and Avery have been seen across
the greater wizarding world canoodling for weeks��

Harry took the paper, and held it above
Draco�s reaching hands, amused. "Canoodling.
Wonder what that means? They must have taken it from Muggle
papers, that's the new way to get slang. Do you suppose we canoodle,
Malfoy? It sounds like some kind of tiny magical beast."

"Reminds
me of Pigmy Puffs," Draco said, mollified.

Harry
smiled wickedly. "Reminds me of ferrets."

Draco
Malfoy's face looked as though he was about to cast a very fine hex he had
learnt from his old friend Blaise. There was something distinctly Slytherin and
predatory in the way he leaned over the table and touched Harry's cheek.

"Aah,
baby," Harry murmured as Draco sat on his lap, moving gently back and
forth. "You're all morning-glory and lovely--" He felt a hand
unzippering his pants, and Draco smirked as he felt Harry's calloused fingers
grasp him sharply. Feeling wicked, he gave a little
moan of appreciation.

"Harry,
darling," he whispered softly.

"Hmm?" Harry looked shocked. Draco had gotten off
his lap and had pulled his pants back on.

�Don�t
think for one second that you can call me that and expect anything,� he said
coldly. In an instant Harry was on his feet.

�Oh gods!� He frowned. �Don�t be angry, Draco! C�mon, you
know I don�t mean it, it�s like when you call me halfy or something, it�s just
the back and forth between us�you�re not actually going to leave me hard here,
are you?!�

Draco
smiled sweetly. �I dunno, Harry. You look very agitated. It�ll teach you a
lesson. I think I�ll have a shower and a wank and then I�ll set out for
vacation venues and perhaps I�ll forgive you by the time Christmas comes.�

�Holy Hogwarts!� Harry screamed, �You are no longer serious.
Tell me, Draco Malfoy, that you are no longer serious.�

Draco
shrugged becomingly, but in a moment he was shoved without a word into Harry�s
arms. Pushed between the walls, he ignored the mild discomfort of his spine
hitting the exposed brick panelling. Once again Harry
unzippered his pants and then his own. For a moment they simply smiled
at each other before Draco tilted his head down, and looked at Harry through
the fringe of his unbelievably dark lashes.

Harry
groaned as the coy, innocent-like look went straight through his body like some
sort of molten lava.

�Baby,
you know what that does to me,� he frowned.

Draco
smiled sweetly. �And you know what your alpha-male bit does to me as well.�
Their mouths met eagerly, sloppily, before Draco rested his head on Harry�s
shoulder.

Harry
could smell the familiar scent of Draco�s skin, warm and sweetly pliant, like
the fresh baked sugar cookies his mother used to make when she had a bit of
extra time. Biting down on the bit of the golden flesh nearest him, he smiled
as Draco gave a soft moan. Then he felt long fingers aligning their cocks
together and instictively he began to move until there was nothing but the
warmth of Draco�s mouth on his ear, and his hands, holding them firmly in place
as one.

�Again?�

Harry
laughed. �Sure, prat.�

�Harry,� Draco
said softly.

�What?�
Harry looked slightly dazzling in the light.

Draco
looked away. �Nothing. I can�t�it doesn�t matter.�

Harry
was coming closer. Draco had forgotten he had tiny freckles sparkling on his
nose. From all the Quidditch games out in the sun.
God, Harry was gorgeous. All smooth and serious, and earnest in that way that
made it seem almost impossible for him to be Harry, and yet he was.

�I
love you,� Harry said solemnly. �I came for you.�

Draco
was moving oddly, from head to foot, he looked slightly terrified and lost.
�What if we�re late?� He sighed. �There was always distance between us, so many
differences, but now�but now it�s like an ocean.�

Harry
smiled winingly. �I�ve already built a ship. We�re together now, despite
everything. Two years now, Malfoy.� His arms tightened around Draco almost
painfully as he pulled him closer.

"I
love you," Harry muttered. "You know no one can love you as much as I
do."

There
were fingers at his pants, and Draco felt as though he had sunk into some sort
of dream state, where life was suspended between two panels of the Now and the
Then, and somehow, he remembered this and yet it was happening for the first
time. Harry�s fingers were rough, and blunt and uncertain, and Draco could feel
the lines of the scars Umbridge had forced onto his hand, only they weren�t as
raised as they should be�but they weren�t children. They were adults and they
had run away from responsibility, and now he was naked and Harry was touching
him, and he felt his hands slide down to Harry�s cock and he gave a pretty,
breathless sigh.

�Oh,
Dray.�

�Harry,
I�� Smothered, a kiss and a pull and all thoughts were
somewhere else.

Draco
was flushed, his eyes wide and dilated as he slid down onto Harry's cock
impaling himself eagerly. "You know how I feel," Draco said, and the
words were cut off and gasping was interjected between them as Harry pushed
them down onto the floor again. "Oh, I can't say it anymore-- I won't--
but Harry, you know I do. Tell me you know it."

Harry
nodded, his arms wrapped tightly around Draco's shoulders, holding him tightly
to him. At times like this Draco remembered how much smaller Harry was, thin,
slim, really their heights weren't any different, but there it was, the feeling
he had to protect Harry
from anything bad. He was glad Harry had never seen the end of
the war, had never joined the fight against the Death Eaters, had gone off to play Quidditch professionally. He was
beautiful and pure still, in a way that Draco couldn't be anymore. Then his fingers on his scar.

Draco
had bucked up and Harry was deeper, sheathed more in that warm inside him. Nestled there for a minute as Draco touched him gently there.
"I�m holding onto you, Harry Potter." He said softly. "I
probably won't ever say it again, but that doesn't mean it isn't there. It�s so
much. So damn much that it isn't fair, it really isn't. You took all the good
parts of me and marked them as your own-- and I hold on."

"Oh,
god," Harry groaned, and he felt himself snap, scattered into a million
pieces as his come spurted through Draco, and then his hands were warm and
sticky and they were releasing at the same time, and they eyes locked and held
and Draco felt the world lurch uncomfortably, like when he was a child and had
visions, but it didn't seem to matter in some distant part of his mind, because
Harry had said I love you.

.

�Are
you hurt?� Harry said, worried. �Is it something��

�Let�s
not talk!� Draco cried. �I don�t want to. Harry,� he was pleading with him.

�I
know, Dray," Harry said, going to move, but Draco held him down, tightly,
against his chest.

"Stay
here, for a minute," Draco murmured sleepily, and Harry felt his chest
ache, he looked so young and innocent, and happy. They were perfect imperfect
together. "Stay there and just hold me for a minute, and stroke my hair
like you liked to do, and let's just be blissfully, ridiculously happily in
love for a little while. Murmur sweet nothings and all that rot I never let you
do otherwise."

"Hmm,"
Harry said contentedly. He put his hand in Draco's hair and played gently with
the strands. "I'm crushing you, brat."

"'Ss,
okay," Draco sighed. "I'll mind it and treat you horribly later. I'm
so tired right now. You're nice and warm, Harry."

The
sun was already high in the horizon when Draco awoke, groaning at the awkward
postion he was lying on the floor. Instantly he smiled seeing the messy dark hair
thrown across his shoulder. Harry. He stretched lazily. Harry and he
had�and�Draco smiled to himself. It had been fucking perfect.

�Oy,
Potter,� he said softly into Harry�s ear. �Still want scrambled eggs, you
mutt?�

Harry
laughed eagerly. �Rashers,� he seemed to be saying into Draco�s abdomen.

�Well,�
Draco frowned. �I�m up.� He stood magestically and pulled on his boxers. �Hmm,
these could be cleaner, but I�m not complaining. Let�s see how terrible I am in
the kitchen, yes?�

Suddendly
Harry stood up and wrapped his arms around Draco and held him tightly. �I love
you.�

Draco
rubbed Harry�s forearms, pulling away. �That�s the trouble, isn�t it?� He
softened the words with an absentminded kiss.

Harry
smiled into his plate. Draco�s eggs were a little runny and the bacon was
slightly dry, but the orange juice was fresh squeezed and lovely, and the toast
had real butter and the coffee real cream.He was staring intently at the folds
of the tablecloth, knowing Draco�s eyes were on him.

�Draco,�
he began slowly.

�I�m
reading, Potter,� he frowned.

Harry
groaned. �Serious talk, Draco.�

�Fine,�
he put down the paper. �Speak.�

�I
want to do the Unspeakable Vow.�

Draco
coughed on his coffee. It burned his throat, and somehow that shock of pain was
comforting. �What?! Whatever for?�

�No
one else. Ever.� Harry said easily. �That�s why.�

Draco
flinched. �And who would we trust with this?�

Harry
frowned. �True.�

Silence
reigned for a moment.

�Then
we�ll bond!� Harry said cheerfully. Draco frowned.

�Don�t
give up, do you?� He grumbled.

�No.�
Draco frowned. �I need to think. Harry�� There was a
strange, strangled note of pleaing in his voice. Suddendly, he reached over and
brushed his fingers through Harry�s knotted fringe, and his lips were pressed
to the throbbing vein on his temple, and Draco couldn�t breathe, couldn�t
function, it was as if everything was happening all at once, as if he was
spinning out of time, and just from a touch.

It
was his lips. Draco smothered a moan between them, and their lips locked and
held, and Draco stopped breathing, and somehow every single part of his body
quieted and stilled and waited. And Harry kissed him like they were little kids
trying out what pressed lips could do: softly, hesitantly, and then, he brushed
a tongue across Draco�s lips and almost without warning his mouth opened and
they were kissing, and Draco could taste salt and the cool, bitter taste that
was Harry, like nuts and cinnamon and something like a stinging spice,
everything unsafe and unbalanced and beautiful and there wasn�t any beginning
or end or words to describe it.

Draco
felt Harry�s hand touch his cheek, and then his mouth followed.

�Okay,�
Draco said, muffled into Harry�s mouth.

*~*

Harry Apparated into his apartment to see his son sitting in the
living room.

�James?�
Harry said uncertainly. They hadn�t spoken in months.

James
paced the room and then looked at his father dismally. �I want to know what�s
going on between you and Malfoy, Dad.�

�Malfoy?� For a moment Harry thought of Draco and his
stomach dropped. How to explain that,
dear God�

�Libertas.� James said, cutting into his thoughts. �Libertas
Malfoy. Surely you know her. You�ve been to see her three times this month.�

James
held up an article from the Quibbler. Harry Potter involved in Love Affair with socialite Libby Malfoy,
nearly half his age.

Harry
laughed hysterically.
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The Inheritance