Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Let Me Be Your Voice	By : Queenie_Mab Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 8661 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations from Harry Potter, created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers: Bloomsbury, Scholastic, and Warner Bros. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended

Chapter List
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The atmosphere at Hogwarts that afternoon was filled with a mixture of emotions. Harry was pleased to see that all walks of life were contributing to the rebuilding effort. House-elves worked their magic side-by-side with wizards. Firenze was the only centaur helping, but he used his strong back and legs to haul heavy loads he pulled in a cart. Grawp and Hagrid collaborated in moving rubble away from the castle, and when he stopped to have lunch under the beech tree, taking a break with George, he saw that even the mer-people were pitching in by bringing blasted pieces of wreckage up from where they littered the lake, placing it on the shore for easy disposal.

“How are you holding up, George?” Harry asked, unwrapping a roast beef sandwich Kreacher had packed for him before he’d left.

George sat with his back against the tree, not eating, but watching the tentacles of the giant squid make ripples in the surface of the water.

“I’ve been better,” George said quietly, as if he had trouble admitting it was hard to be present in the place he’d lost his twin. “But Fred wouldn’t have wanted me to dwell on being gloomy, you know? I feel like I owe it to him to go out there and live twice as hard and have twice as much fun as a normal person. Like, I’ll live for him. I know that’s what I’d have wanted if it had been me.” He fell silent.

Harry nodded, chewing thoughtfully. “He’ll always be alive in you. The ones we love never truly leave us, they just change form a bit until we go and join them.” He thought of Sirius then, feeling his loss all over again.

George cracked a sly smile at Harry. “So, now that you’ve reached enlightenment, oh wise one…” he started, but Harry shut him up with a friendly kick to his foot.

“Mr. Potter?” Professor McGonagall’s voice called from behind them, making them both turn to see her draw closer. She walked with a staff now and a slight limp, though she held herself as rigid and proud as ever.

“Hello, Mr. Weasley,” she said, when she saw George. “Thank you both for contributing to the rebuilding process.” She turned back to Harry. “I hoped I could have a word with you in my office, Potter. Sometime before we retire for the night at any rate.”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry agreed at once. “No problem. I’ll come up and talk to you as soon as I finish my lunch.”

She gave him a sharp nod, but smiled warmly, looking out at the shore where the mer-people were busily piling rubble. “Albus would have loved to have lived to see this,” she said. “To see everybody putting aside their differences and taking up together for a common purpose.” She stopped talking, and dabbed at her eyes beneath her square spectacles with a small lace handkerchief.

Harry and George watched her retreating figure head back to the castle, over the sloping grounds.

~x~

After he’d finished his sandwich, Harry and George walked back up to the castle together; George stopped to join those working on restoring the Great Hall, and Harry headed up the stairs to Professor McGonagall’s office.

He passed Slughorn and Flitwick on his way up as they worked together to replace a section of wall that had been demolished. Harry smiled to see that Slughorn was huffing and puffing, sweat dripping from his balding head, and his robes hanging loosely from his shoulders.

The gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmistress's office had been restored. It recognised Harry and allowed him through without a password.

He walked up the circular staircase, no longer moving, and knocked on McGonagall’s door.

“Enter,” she called from within.

He stepped inside and took stock of what had once been Dumbledore’s, and then Snape’s office. Dumbledore’s portrait slumbered behind the high-backed chair McGonagall was sitting in, and Snape’s portrait sat between him and Phineas Nigellus, not sleeping, but pointedly not acknowledging Harry’s presence either.

Most of Dumbledore’s silver instruments and trinkets had been put away, and in their places, on the small tables littering the circular room, were tartan tablecloths and potted plants. He noticed the stone pensieve was back in its cabinet as well.

“Good, you’re here, Potter,” McGonagall said in her no-nonsense tone. “As you may have guessed, Hogwarts will be run a bit differently this year. We’ve decided to accept back all students who have not yet sat their NEWTs for another opportunity, and thus, these eighth-year students, as we’re calling them, will be housed apart from the rest of the school.”

Harry wrinkled his brow confused. “But, won’t that —” he started, but she cut in over his words.

“We think it will be best to give the eighth-years more privacy as you are all of legal age, and I expect, having all the houses in your year living together, that you will spearhead the change I want to see come over the student body. Inter-house cooperation must be promoted. We’ve chosen not to do away with Sorting entirely, because it has proven useful in helping students succeed to be with like-minded peers, but I do not want to see a return of the Gryffindor and Slytherin rivalry. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” Harry answered at once. “Absolutely.”

“Very good, Potter,” she said, her stern face relaxing a fraction. “The other issue I’d like to address with you is the Christmas festivities we have planned. It will be similar to the Yule Ball we held in your fourth year, but the focus will be on honouring those who gave their lives for our freedom.”

Harry nodded enthusiastically. “I’d also like to contribute some Galleons to create a memorial,” he said. “And I’d like to honour the house-elves for coming to Hogwarts’ aid. They didn’t have to fight, but they chose to, and I think they should be represented.”

McGonagall chuckled softly. “I see you and Miss Granger have been plotting together,” she said. “She was in here not ten minutes ago suggesting the same thing.”

Harry started. “Hermione’s here? She’s back?” He wanted to jump out of his chair and go and find her at once, but was stilled by McGonagall’s stern eyes focusing on him once again.

“Can I count on you to speak at the dedication ceremony, Harry? Just a small speech that will promote the prospect of all of us working together to build a better wizarding world?”

“Of course. I’ll get Hermione help me write it,” he added as an aside, watching her face soften a bit. “She’ll make sure I don’t make an idiot of myself.”

“Thank you,” McGonagall said, smiling warmly at him. She extended her hand across the large desk and Harry gripped it and shook. “Go on and catch up with your friends.”

~x~

That night Ron and Hermione joined Harry at Grimmauld Place. As much as it felt like old times to hang out with his friends, Harry couldn’t help but feel like an outsider as they sat in the drawing room after dinner, curled together on the sofa enjoying their newly-engaged status.

Harry watched the flames in the hearth turning the log in the fire to coals. He stood up and stretched, looking at his friends in their domestic bliss.

“Well, I think I’ll turn in for the night,” he said, itching to flee.

Hermione turned to look at him, smiling happily. She peeled herself from Ron’s side and embraced Harry, squeezing tightly. “We’ll see you in the morning. I’m so glad we’re all together again.”

Harry patted her back and grinned at Ron, who looked like he’d been hit over the head with a bludger, he was so vacantly happy.

“Take care,” he said, and retreated to Sirius’s old room.

~x~

Several weeks later, the restoration of Hogwarts had entered its final stage. Harry returned to Grimmauld Place for the last time before the new term was to begin.

He was tired and sore and incredibly horny. It had been hot as hell that day, and working alongside Bill and Charlie as they moved new furnishings into a previously unused classroom on the first floor, having discarded their shirts some time before, had offered Harry’s imagination plenty of wanking material.

He dug through his trunk, searching for the magazine he had acquired earlier that summer when he’d had a chance to get off to a Muggle shop on his own. He found it and pulled it out, flinging himself on his stomach on the bed, the magazine spread out before him.

He flipped through a few pages, eyes lingering on the title of an article he had already read: Finding Your Prostate, Finding Your Pleasure. Reading that article had been an eye-opening experience. He’d spent the last few weeks exploring, but now, he wanted to experience the real deal.

He turned a few more pages and found the picture he was looking for. Harry’s mouth went dry as he stared at the photo of a fit young man with blond hair, standing in the shower, with water streaming down his lithe muscles while he held his cock in a soapy hand, giving the camera a seductive smirk.

Harry knew Kreacher had stayed on at Hogwarts to help with the last of the start-of-term preparations, so the house was his alone and he needn’t worry about being interrupted. He stripped off as quickly as he could and propped the magazine open with a sticking charm to the bedside table, allowing his hands to eagerly roam his own body.

Lying back against the pillows, he stared at the glossy photo, wishing it was a wizarding picture so he could pretend that he and the man in it were watching each other while they chased a common goal.

Focusing on the hard lines of muscle in the model’s body, Harry’s hand moved over his chest, making his nipples stand to attention. He fought the impulse to jerk himself to completion and be done with it quickly. He forced himself to concentrate on the sensations his hands were making him feel. One hand slipped down to his cock, teasing the head where it peeked out from beneath his foreskin, a sigh escaping his mouth.

Admitting he was gay had been a hard truth to accept, but now that he had, he realised exactly how much he still needed to learn. He could feel his heart hammering beneath his ribs as he considered what he wanted to do. The magazine had explained the need for lubrication and the importance of preparation.

The hand on his chest slipped down past his bollocks. He opened his legs, knees bent to give himself room as his finger gently prodded the entrance to his body.

Harry focused again on the man in the photo, imagining wantonly preparing himself on the slippery floor of the shower for the man to watch, readying himself to be taken. He groaned at the thought, bringing his erection to full hardness with sure strokes. He pushed one of the fingers on his other hand inside to the first knuckle, teeth gritting at the slight burn.

Temporarily abandoning his activities, Harry reached into the bedside table drawer to see what he could find to use as lube, but the only thing in there was Draco Malfoy’s old wand, kept safely in a leather sleeve he’d picked up in Diagon Alley.

Rationalising that the wand belonged to him now, and he was free to use it however he wanted, he drew it out, recalling the spell Mrs. Weasley had taught him to produce cooking oil by magic. He coated his fingers with the stuff and set the wand beside his own on the bed, resuming his position.

He pushed one finger inside again, eased by the oil, and closed his eyes, this time imagining his fingers belonged to the man in the photo. He felt the flush on his face grow as he twisted the finger, pushing in deeper as he sought the elusive prostate he’d read about.

His breath caught as he brushed something with his fingertip. It sent a jolt of pleasure racing through his body, but dissipated quickly. He added another finger in his quest to find it again, but winced as his rim was stretched too much too fast.

He grabbed his wand again and repeated the spell, slicking his hand with oil. He braced himself, pushing two fingers inside, starting slow, and stretching the opening with small twists. He forced himself to relax, to accept the intrusion. If people did this with cocks, a few fingers shouldn’t be too hard to handle; he just had to figure out how to do it safely.

He fucked himself on his fingers, pushing in a little deeper each time until he found that spot again. It chased away the feelings of discomfort, and sent his mind reeling.

His eyes flew open and landed on the photo again, wanting to wipe the smirk off the model’s face and turn his expression to one of pure want.

He twisted and crooked his fingers more, drawing them out, eager to add a third. He pushed in with three, eager to find his prostate again, and withdrew halfway, panting, tears forming in his eyes.

He could do this, Harry told himself, easing back in with two fingers, working at stretching himself and relaxing, and stretching again.

Breathing heavily, he brushed his thumb over the head of his cock, fucking into his fist while he added the third finger again, slowly this time.

It was a brilliant feeling of fullness he was experiencing. Harry closed his eyes, allowing himself to just feel, to be present under the onslaught of sensation. He felt a trickle of sweat slide down from the backs of his knees while he alternated moving his hips between thrusting upwards into his fist, and back as his other hand plugged him.

Harry forced himself to slow down when he opened his eyes and spots floated in his vision; his glasses slid down his nose with perspiration. He tore them off his face, tossing them aside on the bed, while his mind told him he was ready for something more, something bigger. He dropped his hand to his side, finding the handle of a wand. He brought it up close to his face, studying it, his fingers brushing his prostate again, making him groan as the idea took form. Malfoy’s grey eyes flashed angrily in his mind’s eye, sealing his decision.

Harry withdrew his hand, wiping the slickness on his thigh, making the hairs on his leg stick together in a wet trail. His breathing came in shallow pants as he reached for his own wand, and pointed it at the hawthorn one that had belonged to Draco Malfoy.

He thought of Malfoy as he transfigured the wand into the replica of an erect cock. It was rubbery in his hand, though the core kept it rigid. It was flesh-coloured and long, though not as thick as his own erection. Harry was impressed by his own spellwork in how anatomically accurate he had made his new toy.

Curious, Harry opened his mouth and slid the dildo inside a couple of inches, closing his eyes and pretending it was attached to its former owner. He imagined Malfoy’s arrogant voice telling him to suck it, commanding him to take it in deeper, to get it wet and ready because he was going to use it to fuck Harry’s brains out.

Harry’s jaw started to ache and he gagged when he let it slip inside too far, bringing the taste of stomach acid up to sour his mouth. Too much, too soon, he figured, and pulled it back out.

The hand holding his wand trembled. Harry was growing weak with desire and needed to experience the sensation of being fucked at long last. He murmured the spell to produce oil over the head of the dildo and put his wand down again, bringing his knees up to his chest to open himself up as much as he could.

The angle was all wrong, and it was frustrating. He rubbed his erection back to full hardness by sliding the slick dildo against it, closing his eyes, pretending he and Malfoy were grinding against each other.

Harry turned onto his side and lifted his top leg, positioning the dildo at his entrance with a contorted arm. He pushed the head inside himself, drawing a quick hiss of breath at the pain of the breach. His face broke out in a sweat, cock leaking copiously onto the duvet, but he persevered, pulling the dildo back out and pushing it in again slowly, forcing himself to relax around it.

The sensation of fullness was strange and threatened to overwhelm him. His breath hitched as his body took it in, accepting the intrusion at last. Harry’s arm was getting tired, but he felt that if he just kept at it, the orgasm he would achieve would blow his mind.

After a few more pushes, his eyes focused on the holly wand, and he thought to himself that there had to be a spell he could use to get the dildo to fuck him while leaving his hands free.

And then it came to him. He picked up his wand with his free hand, though it was angled awkwardly, and pointed it at the dildo in his arse. He cast the charm he’d learned during the Hogwarts restoration to cause a hammer to hover and pound in a row of nails.

“Nggh!” he gasped as the dildo took to the charm and began thrusting inside his arse with a rhythmic pounding. He struggled to get on his knees, his hands gripping the headboard to stabilise himself against the onslaught. He could barely think as he commanded himself to relax around the merciless toy. He thought of Malfoy again, shuddering. He imagined Malfoy positioned behind him, gripping his hips with bruisingly tight fingers and fucking Harry with angry grunts.

Harry could practically hear Malfoy’s voice in his head. Like that, Potter? Admit it! You’re gagging for my cock! You’re made for this — taking Death Eater cock like the whore you are!

The fullness inside him stretched him to the point of pain, but the pleasure he felt, as the head of the dildo battered his prostate, blended the sensations into a pure, overwhelming sensation of highness. Lights popped behind his eyes, and he could barely think to stroke himself to completion before he flew over the edge.

He came with a groan, painting the duvet with long thick white stripes, and nearly passed out from the effort of catching his breath. A moment passed before Harry realised he was still being fucked by the dildo mercilessly pounding into him. He picked up his wand in a clammy hand and ended the spell with a whispered: “Finite.”

The dildo slipped from his aching backside, and Harry went limp with exhaustion. It took all his will to clean up the mess and return Malfoy’s wand to its usual form. He crawled beneath the warm sheets and rolled over. He extinguished the candle-lit chandelier with his wand and put both wands, his glasses, and the magazine into the bedside table drawer, hands trembling out of his control.

He was left with a disconnected sense of floating. The orgasm had blasted him right out of his body, making him feel like his consciousness was hovering halfway between his physical form and breaking away to float somewhere near the ceiling.

He closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to claim him, while his arse continued to throb. His whole body thrummed with the tingling sensation of coming down from an intense high.

Harry wondered if Malfoy would be willing to put aside their history and to start over this year. He doubted it, but still hoped, longing for a change to come over the entire wizarding world, and for Voldemort’s influence to be wiped clean. It was a pipe dream, and Harry knew it, but he held it close to his heart, swearing to himself in his last moments of consciousness that he would do his utmost to be the “better man” and to give this coming year a chance to prove that change was possible, if only to himself.
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Let Me Be Your Voice