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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.

Chapter List
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Part V: Hath My Heart

            It was not going to happen.

            Because I will it not to, Draco thought, lying with his arms stiff on either side of his body, staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom, invisible in the darkness. He panted like he’d been running, and he knew it didn’t sound healthy.

            It also wasn’t healthy to have sweat standing out on his forehead, and his fingers working frantically in the blankets beside him, and his body feeling as though it would be simpler to stop existing. At least that way, he wouldn’t have to deal with the consequences of what Potter had said.

            They have a battle plan that requires him to die.

            If things had been different, the Dark Lord the man Draco’s father had once described, then there would have been no difficulty about what Draco had to do. He would have betrayed Potter’s plans to the Dark Lord in an instant, and asked for Potter’s life as his reward. Then Potter would have been upset with him, but he would have been alive. Which had to come before everything else.

            But then Draco wouldn’t have started spying for the Order of the Phoenix anyway, because he would have stayed loyal to the Dark Lord, and there would be no bargain for Potter to fulfill.

            Draco shifted around, trying to get more comfortable. There seemed to be a hump of spring under his back, which was silly, when the mattresses his family was afforded were still more comfortable than anything else in the Manor.

            Or as if it was a piece of pine needle stuck there.

            Yes. That’s what it’s like. A piece of needle stuck and irritating me, like that one bed I lay with Potter on.

            He could taste Potter even when he was alone now, see the way his stubborn expression melted into pleasure, and feel the urgency coursing through him like a drumbeat when Potter’s unexpected Blood Letter had arrived, summoning Draco to—Draco knew it now—give him something he could forget the bad news in.

            Well. Potter would learn that he couldn’t just jerk Draco around.

            He’s not the only one who can make plans and do something unexpected. And neither is the Order of the Phoenix.

*

            “You seem strangely intent on that potion, young Draco.”

            Draco hadn’t started when the Dark Lord spoke, because, as silently as he could move, he still needed to open doors. And Professor Snape, traitor though he was, had taught Draco to hold his own in Potions by maintaining a state of clear, lucid concentration that would let him focus absolutely on the potion while coming to the surface in the case of outside sensations. The noise of the door opening was one of those things he’d trained Draco to respond to. It might mean the difference between success and disaster for a potion.

            “I hope that you’ll let me use it in the next raid, my Lord,” Draco responded, kneeling even as he strained some of the yellow, murky mixture the potion had become through a net of silver threads that had been in the Malfoy family for generations. The potion ran gold through them as it dripped back into the cauldron, but left a sharp-edged glop clinging to the net’s threads. Draco laid the net aside on the table. He would need to mix the glop back in later.

            “Or should I say,” he went on, turning around and bowing so that his forehead touched the floor, “the aftermath of the next raid, when we bring some Muggles back here.”

            The Dark Lord chuckled and reached down, pressing on the back of Draco’s neck. Draco looked up obediently, and filled his mind with images of potion-making as he felt the usual probe against his shields.

            “The Lover’s Haze,” said the Dark Lord. “What interesting ideas you have, Draco. We might let you put on a show before the court. Or we might not,” he added, in that usual way he had of changing the ground beneath his Death Eaters’ feet so nothing would be certain.

            Draco had expected it, and let his eyes fall again as he nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

            “Continue,” said the Dark Lord, and swept out. Draco got back to his feet and reached for an obsidian knife to chop up some of the sharper edges in the glop.

            The Lover’s Haze Potion, when he had it done, would be a potion he could smear on his lips, and transfer with a kiss. It never affected the one who had made it. But it would drug the one he kissed, loosen their tongue and make them confess their innermost thoughts.

            Usually, it was used simply in bedroom games, to learn the desires of one’s partner—or the things that would most humiliate them, in the game Draco was letting the Dark Lord think he would play.

            But there was another property of the potion that Draco was counting on. The confessions would always be the absolute truth.

*

            “I don’t think this is such a huge thing to ask for, given what I’ve done for you in the last little while.”

            They were back in the clearing in the Forbidden Forest where they had seen the dying unicorn. Even those memories dimmed before Draco’s irritation as he watched how slowly Potter undressed.

            Potter turned towards him, face shadowed. Then he shook his head and said, “Oh. No. It wasn’t begrudging you, Malfoy. Just thinking about something else.” He kicked the Muggle trainers he’d once again worn off and bent down to yank on his trousers.

            Draco had the Lover’s Haze potion safe in a vial in his already discarded robes. He had intended to put it on his lips immediately and kiss Potter the instant he arrived, so that there would be no chance Potter could get away without telling Draco what was going on.

            But now, it was as if a fire had leaped to life in his chest, and he didn’t want Potter drugged or distracted at all while they were having sex. He seized the bottom of Potter’s rough clothes and dragged them off while he was still struggling with his belt. Potter gasped and fell, up in a second with his wand in hand.

            “What are you playing at, Malfoy?” he snarled, aiming the wand straight at Draco. “If you think for a second I’m going—”

            Draco grabbed him around the waist and dragged Potter against him, his fingers finding flinching warm skin, warmer from the fire Potter had been standing with his back to. Draco had drugged a guard-snake to come here, and while he was confident in his own Potions skills, he knew he would have to get back soon.

            And yet all that went out of his head when he saw Potter so determined to focus on something beyond Draco.

            “You think you can ignore me?” Draco hissed, digging his hand into the soft skin over Potter’s ribs, making him wriggle and yelp. “Well, you can’t.” And he slammed his mouth into Potter’s, so hard that he knew Potter’s teeth were probably cutting his lips, and dragged him down and over. Potter rolled with him on the ground.

            Draco was already naked. And he had charms he could cast to make Potter relaxed and slick, so he did, and he cast the same lube charm on his cock, and raised Potter and jammed him down on his cock.

            Potter yelped, but intimately familiar as he was with Potter’s sounds of pain from Quidditch games, Draco knew it wasn’t because he hurt from where Draco had entered him; more likely it was just the unexpectedness of it. And that made Draco reckless with anger, too. Potter ought to have come here expecting this. He was the one who had begged Draco to fuck him last time. Had he thought it would never happen again?

            Draco rolled himself over, every movement burning with grace, radiant as light from an exploding star leaking down his limbs. He put Potter on his back, staring up at him with wide eyes. Then Draco flexed his hips, and Potter’s face went scarlet as his back strained in response, his legs locking around Draco’s.

            “What was that?” he hissed.

            Draco grinned. He thought he knew what it was, but it was also clear that he must not have hit it last time they fucked, or Potter wouldn’t have sounded so startled. He angled himself a little, switching angles when Potter wriggled, and then he hit it again. Potter moaned in a ragged voice and turned his head a little to the side, apparently not wanting to look at the person who brought him such pleasure.

            Draco wrenched his head back around. “I could stop, you know,” he said, and began to slide out, using all the willpower he’d mustered during endless months of braving the Dark Lord’s wrath and walking the edge of uncertainty to stay alive. “I could stand up and walk away, and then you could try to use your hand or your wand to bring you relief—”

            “Fuck you, Malfoy!”

            “That’s one thing you’ll never do, no matter what happens,” Draco said with certainty, and mopped little bits of spittle off his face. “Your choice, Potter. In—” he let himself sink a little deeper, and knew from their twin gasps something about how it felt for Potter “—or out?” And he began to draw back again, focusing his attention ferociously on Potter’s knee to keep from looking at his face and yielding.

            Potter thrust upwards himself, and pulled Draco back in. “Come on, then,” he said, and arched and wriggled.

            Draco laughed breathlessly—Potter had managed to avoid giving Draco what he asked for even when there should have been no way he could—and began to thrust the way Potter had probably wanted him to last time, thick and rapid. His gaze remained on Potter’s face as he did, the fading blush in his cheeks, the sweat, the different crinkles around his eyelids as he squeezed his eyes shut.

            Potter was the most alive person Draco had ever met. It would never have been like this with anyone else, because they wouldn’t have responded to Draco’s demands with such insults, such fire, such shudders.

            And Draco was going to make sure that Potter stayed alive.

            He grabbed Potter’s wrist and grabbed his fingers at the same time, roughly entwining them, holding on. Potter didn’t seem to notice what he was doing. He was lost in his own little world of grunts and harsh breaths, catching his chest and his nose against Draco’s skin.

            But Draco knew. Draco was the one in control. He drove down, he angled, and he held on and made Potter come.

            This time, Potter gave a muted sound of ecstasy only, but it was enough. Draco felt the spreading wetness between them and let go, following Potter in a thunderous spiral down, to the exhaustion that awaited them both at the bottom.

            And the vindication.

*

            By the time Draco stirred and opened his eyes again, Potter was starting to recover, but he was still limp. His eyes remained half-open, and so did his mouth, as Draco crawled slowly over to his robes and drew out the flask of the Lover’s Haze.

            Perfect. This was the very situation Draco had hoped to land them in, where Potter would think the way he rambled about the plans to kill him some sort of sweet exhaustion brought on by the sex. And it would be a dream instead of a memory, later.

            Draco carefully coated his lips with the potion. It tasted faintly sweet, with a sticky gloss on his lips. Draco shrugged at the slightly unpleasant feeling and crawled back to Potter, carefully pulling him around so that his head rested on Draco’s knees instead of lolling off to the side.

            Potter stared up at him with glazed trust.

            Out of everything—the risk of being caught by the Dark Lord, of having Potter be suspicious, of not having the potion work the way it was supposed to—that was what nearly undid Draco. And when Potter stirred and murmured his first name, instead of his last, Draco came the closest he ever would to regret about something other than his decision to be a Death Eater.

            No. I can’t. If I don’t do this, then Potter’s going to die, and not even struggle against it, because they had to convince him to be a martyr until the last.

            Draco bent down and kissed Potter, slow and long and languid. Potter gasped and let himself be kissed, his tongue not even moving until Draco pointedly licked it a few times. Then Potter guided his own heavy arms around Draco’s neck and kissed back, mouth sprawled open and heart beating a little faster as the potion began to take effect.

            “You know,” Draco whispered at last, when he could pry their lips apart, “I don’t perfectly understand this battle tactic that means you have to die. Can you explain it to me?”

            Potter hesitated, and one last spasm of doubt wrung Draco, this time about whether he’d brewed the potion right. But then he began to murmur, and all Draco had to do was bend low enough to let his ears catch every word.

            And calm his growing anger.

*

            Draco didn’t send a Blood Letter this time. He had no way to send one to the person he needed this owl to reach.

            He wrote it steadily during a time when he had Stunned the snake-guardian. And he didn’t care if the Dark Lord chose that moment to look out of the snake’s eyes. Or rather, he cared only because it would mean that he might be defeated on the verge of doing something important.

            But he couldn’t worry about that right now. He couldn’t be worried about anything except the words unfolding on the paper, and then the silent fashion in which he made his way, under a Disillusionment Charm, to the top of the Manor that still served as an Owlery. The owl that hooted at him was silenced in a moment by another charm. Draco watched it wing away with the letter and the vial of his blood, indignantly.

            Then he went back to his bedroom and woke the guardian-snake beneath his bed with an Rennervate, before he applied himself grimly to the business of being an ordinary Death Eater for now.

            It was as if his anger had given him luck. Soon enough, a day later, a Blood Letter materialized, a vial attached to it.

            The letter was different this time. For one thing, the blood was not Potter’s.

            Draco,

            You are right on your assessment of the means that Dumbledore intends to get rid of the Horcrux in Potter. And I find your proposed adjustments…interesting.

            Severus Snape.
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A Better Bargain Driven