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In Loco Parentis	By : Phoenixstrike Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 16793 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 6
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all identifiable characters are copyright of JK Rowling, Bloomsbury, Scolastic and Warner Brothers. This fanfiction is for entertainment only and makes no money. No copyright infringement intended.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Chapter Five: Getting Closer

Harry sat in the chair in the corner of Draco’s room, watching the other man sleep peacefully. He was nursing a mug of coffee which had long-since gone cold in his hands, which he noticed had finally stopped trembling.

Draco’s story, and particularly his reaction to Scorpius’ supposed murder, had been harrowing; to hear that Draco had felt suicidal and had fully intended to take his own life once he had avenged his family’s killings had knocked Harry for six. Draco had been so open, so candid with him, and he had allowed Harry to witness him at perhaps the most vulnerable he had ever been, his kidnapping aside. Harry didn’t know for definite what he had done to earn Draco’s absolute trust when he was certain to trust so few, given their history, although he was confident it was Scorpius’ doing. Draco could see that Harry had raised his son, given the boy a happy life and loved him as his own, and Harry knew for that Draco would always be indebted to him.

Harry had tried to sleep, but around midnight Kingsley had returned Harry’s owl, asking for access to Grimmauld Place. Checking Draco was still in his potion-induced slumber, Harry had agreed, and the two men had talked long into the early hours of the morning, where Harry relayed most of Draco’s tale to him, including his theory about who carried out the kidnapping.

“All this over a business deal that Malfoy stole?” Kingsley had asked, the disbelief evident in his voice. “Two people murdered- which would have been three if they’d managed to get their hands on Scorpius- and Draco held prisoner for over four years, and all because of money?”

“I know,” Harry had replied. “Whoever did this is one cold-blooded sick bastard. And cunning, too, to manipulate the Aurors like this, making us think it was the work of pissed-off Death Eaters. I’m impressed Draco managed to work it out really. Such a shame he doesn’t have names.”

“You told me in the beginning you didn’t think it was Death Eaters,” Kingsley had said. “I’m so sorry I didn’t listen to you. But all the evidence- the brutal killings, the Dark Mark sealing the note we received- it all pointed to Voldemort’s supporters.”

“It was all intended to send us on a wild Hippogriff chase,” Harry had replied. “A red herring. And it worked. Merlin, they must have been laughing so much at the Auror Office.”

Kingsley had left around three in the morning, asking Harry to owl him any further information Draco gave about his supposed business deal, and with a promise to send a team of Aurors to search for the kidnapper’s wand Draco had inadvertently tossed away. Harry had returned to Draco’s room and attempted to get a couple of hours’ sleep himself, but his mind was wide awake in contrast to his weary body, and refused to shut down and rest. Eventually giving up on any idea of sleep that night, he had made the coffee then returned to Draco.

I still don’t know who did this, Harry thought, as he closed his exhausted eyes and rested his head on the back of the soft tan leather armchair, but when I find them I’m going to make them regret every single thing they’ve ever done to Draco and Scorpius. Those sick fucks are going to pay.

****

The following few days were difficult. Harry had asked Draco, gently, for further information about the business deal- the type of deal, the names of people involved, but Draco revealed he had been placed under the Tongue-Tying Curse which prevented him from being able to reveal any details. Harry hadn’t pressed the issue; Draco’s frustration at not being able to help further had caused his wild magic to flare and smash a window in the drawing room, which led to a frightened Scorpius flinging himself into Harry’s arms, whilst Harry hastily cast Reparo on the window.

Harry saw the pain on Draco’s face at this, and found that Scorpius’ need for Harry rather than his father for comfort when distressed didn’t bring him the sense of relief he thought it would. Instead he just felt bad for Draco.

“It’s going to take time,” Harry told Draco that night, when Scorpius was asleep. “I’m the only thing he’s had for years- he’s used to me being the one he turns to when he’s upset or scared. He’s so, so happy to have you back, Draco, don’t let that dishearten you.” He flushed, before deciding to voice his biggest fear to Draco- after all, Draco had been completely honest with him. “I, er, I was actually worried that he wouldn’t need me anymore, once you were healthy again. Or that you’d decide my role in Scorpius’ life was complete. It’s terrified me, really.”

Draco raised his eyes to meet Harry’s, and they were softer than Harry had ever seen. A small, gentle smile tugged at the left corner of Draco’s lips.

“Harry,” Draco began, “I’m not a complete monster, you know. I know I was a total arsehole in school, and I was ruthless in business after Hogwarts, but I don’t have a heart of stone. Nor am I blind. I will always be eternally grateful to you for what you’ve done for me and Scorpius, despite your personal dislike of me. You’ve saved us both, Harry, and I will never, ever take him from you. I don’t know what is going to happen in my future, but I do know that you are going to play a big part in it.” He reached out and stroked Harry’s forearm, causing a small shiver to inexplicably run through Harry’s body. “I cannot even begin to thank you, Harry, for everything. I love my son more than anything else in this world, and I desperately want him to love me as much in return, but he needs you. He’s always going to need you. You’ve been a father to him for nearly all of his life, and I’m not going to be the one to take his parents from him. That bastard did that enough to him for one lifetime. He’s not losing a parent again. As much as I never in my wildest imagination thought I’d be raising my child with Harry bloody Potter, it seems that I am.”

Harry could have wept with relief. Instead he managed to utter a “thank you” and Draco seemed to understand the emotion behind it.

“You’re wrong about something though, Draco,” Harry said after a couple of minutes. Draco’s eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion. “I don’t dislike you. I haven’t for a very, very long time. Hogwarts, the war- it was all such a long time ago now. At first, after your kidnapping, I just felt bloody sorry for you, and I don’t have it in me to hate someone who went through what you did, or someone I thought was dead, like I did you. But since you’ve been here- I don’t know. You don’t just have my sympathy any more. You also have my friendship, um, if you want it.” And with that, he extended his hand to Draco.

The irony of the gesture was not lost on Harry, and he knew Draco could easily reject his hand just as he had done Draco’s fifteen years previously. But instead of the snub Harry was half-convinced was coming, Draco’s face broke into an even, genuine smile and he firmly grasped Harry’s hand in his own.

“Friends,” he agreed.

****

“You’re doing well, Mr Malfoy. I’d like to keep you on a course of low-dose Calming Draughts whilst your mind continues to heal and you come to terms with everything, but your progress has been marvellous,” Healer Morgan told Draco at his latest check-up. It was now the last week of June, and two weeks had passed since Draco had regained his memories. Harry had to admit Draco was coping very well, both with his abuse and also the guilt he was feeling, despite Harry’s repeated assurances that this was not his fault. And if Harry ended up sleeping with Draco on the nights that Draco needed the comfort (which was a few nights a week), well, he was being a good friend to the blond.

He saw Healer Morgan to the Floo, made a quick firecall to Ron and Hermione to say hello, keep them up to date with Draco’s progress, and check how baby Hugo was, then returned to Draco’s room. Scorpius was already in there, curled into Draco’s lap as the pair sat in the leather armchair, and Draco was reading to him from the latest edition of The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle. Both he and Scorpius looked up and gave Harry identical smiles as he returned to the room, causing Harry to do a double-take. Scorpius was ever so like his father.

“I was never allowed this comic as a child,” Draco said. “Father said it was unbecoming of a Malfoy to read such poorly-written fiction, aside from the Muggle content. Instead I was educated in classical literature and French and Latin as well as Ancient Greek, which, in all honesty, was rather tedious as a boy. I’m glad Scorpius has had these, Harry. They’re fun!” He continued to read, and Scorpius giggled at the funny parts, and held out a hand gesturing for Harry to come and join them. Harry felt the knot of unease that he usually felt in his stomach when Draco and Scorpius were bonding loosen, as he made his way to the chair and perched on its arm. Draco wasn’t taking Scorpius away. He was instead joining Harry’s and Scorpius’ lives. Harry found he was perfectly OK with this.

He took Scorpius to bed shortly after the comic whilst Draco showered, and praised the boy as he read passages from his reading book to Harry, needing hardly any help with the words.

Harry travelled downstairs and found Draco dressed in clean blue pyjamas and a black dressing gown, his damp hair darkened from the shower, holding a box of matches and trying in vain to light the oil lamps in the drawing room. Realisation thundered through Harry, and he couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to him before now. Draco was without a wand, and he had told Harry about his inability to perform wandless magic. He made a small noise in the back of his throat which drew Draco’s attention to him. Draco instantly dropped the box and stared at the floor, a flush creeping up his cheeks.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t think,” Harry said. Draco looked at him quizzically.

“Why should you? And, anyway, not like I can march into Ollivanders and pick up a new one, is it? A wandless Summoning Charm is the limit of my ability,” Draco said bitterly. He slumped into the armchair and put his head in his hands.

“Wait here,” Harry said, an idea suddenly occurring to him, and he disappeared into his study. He unlocked a small drawer in his desk and retrieved a green velvet case, before carefully locking the drawer behind him and returning to the sitting room. He crouched down next to Draco and, with a smile on his face, handed the case over. Draco accepted the case, opened it cautiously, and let out a gasp. He reached into the box and retrieved the length of hawthorn and unicorn hair within it with trembling fingers, as he held it up to the light to examine it. His eyes were alive and sparkling.

“It’s time you had that back,” Harry said quietly, the smile never leaving his face. “That’s a fucking good wand, you know. Vanquisher of Voldemort, and all that.”

Draco turned to Harry and beamed. He pointed it at the oil lamps and, in a voice much louder than was required, as if he was trying to summon his confidence, cried, “Incendio!”

The lamps were immediately aflame with light. Harry gave a sideways glance to Draco and noticed the light from the lamps was reflecting on his cheeks; Draco had begun to shed tears, and Harry realised that a lump had formed in his own throat. Suddenly he felt two arms thrown around him and Draco’s body pressed against his own.

“Thank you,” Draco whispered in his ear. “Thank you.”

“You’re… you’re welcome,” Harry stammered, momentarily stunned, then returned the embrace thoroughly. He found himself strangely disappointed when Draco pulled away, but couldn’t stop himself from laughing as Draco proceeded to cast numerous spells around the room, for the sheer joy of having a wand of his own at his command for the first time in five years. Firstly he Transfigured a vase Luna had given him into carriage clock, then he changed the colour of Harry’s curtains. He flicked the lamps on and off so quickly they almost produced a strobe effect, before turning his attention to the walls, portraits and carpet. Finally, ten minutes after he began redecorating the drawing room, Draco whispered a Finite, turned the room back to its original condition, grinned wickedly at Harry and Disapparated with a pop, and Harry heard laughing coming from the third floor. He decided to give Draco a few seconds to himself and ascended the stairs without magic.

Despite Draco’s jovial mood, it seemed the most natural thing in the world for Harry to share Draco’s bed that night.

****

July arrived, and, with it, the marking of a month since Draco regained his memories. Harry found himself enjoying Draco’s company more than he ever thought he could. They shared fun stories, and Harry found he made a wonderful shoulder to cry on when Draco was distressed. He, in turn, shared some of his more vulnerable moments, such as the loss of Sirius, with Draco. It made both of them feel better to know that the other knew how they felt.

Harry returned to the office on a part-time basis, concentrating mainly on Draco’s case, allowing for some much-needed time alone for Scorpius and Draco. The search for the missing wand had, predictably, not turned up any evidence. Nor had Harry’s investigation into Gringotts vaults, looking for any that had received any abnormally large deposits over the last half a decade, or his questioning of Ollivander, when he enquired about all wand purchases in the last nine months. Harry had ordered his Aurors to investigate wandmakers on the Continent, and he was now trying to narrow down the area of London in which Draco may have been held captive; all he had to go on from Draco’s description was the area was highly affluent, and that pointed to a lot of potential locations. He chose to focus firstly on Holland Park, but a search of the three wizarding properties registered in the area revealed nothing and no other magical signatures were detected in the area. He was in the process of organising a search of the properties in Notting Hill next, a popular area with the oldest and wealthiest pure-blood families. After talking with Draco, Harry had discovered that Draco hadn’t at any point in the months since his escape and his discovery in Islington crossed the Thames, meaning Harry was concentrating his search north of the river. He felt a small prickle of hope that something would turn up, and clung to his very small lead.

Harry returned from work late, one evening in mid-July. Scorpius was already in bed, and Harry could hear Draco reading him a story from a book by a Muggle children’s author that Harry knew the boy enjoyed. He opened the door and peered in discreetly, not wanting to disturb either of them.

“Mrs Twit waited until Mr Twit had eaten the whole plateful,” Draco read, his face screwed up in distaste, and Harry knew why, having read this book countless times to the boy. He bit back a laugh and carried on listening, as Draco ploughed on. “Then he said, ‘You want to know why your spaghetti was squishy?’ Mr Twit wiped the tomato sauce from his beard with a corner of the tablecloth-” Draco winced again, much to Harry’s continued amusement, but persevered with reading anyway–“’Why?’ he said. ‘And why it had a nasty bitter aftertaste?’ ‘Why?’ he said. ‘Because it was worms!’ cried Mrs Twit, clapping her hands and stamping her feet on the floor and rocking with horrible laughter.”

Draco closed the book as the chapter ended, whilst Scorpius shook with laughter, both at the book and his father’s reaction. “Honestly, Scorpius, does this Roald Dahl write anything less revolting that you might enjoy instead?”

“Certainly not,” Harry replied, and both Draco and Scorpius jumped and turned towards the door. “Honestly, Draco, this is the sort of literature five-year-old children want, not A Hundred and One French Verbs or Homer’s The Iliad, or whatever it was you had to read.”

“Can you tell me a story now please, Harry?” Scorpius asked. “Now Daddy is here too, you can both tell me the flying story! About how Daddy played Quidditch at Hogwarts!”

Harry blanched, and Draco raised his eyebrows and cast Harry a sideways glance. “Tomorrow,” Harry said firmly, deliberately avoiding Draco’s gaze. “You’ve just had loads of The Twits and it’s way past your bedtime.” Scorpius opened his mouth to protest, but he emitted a huge yawn instead, and conceded defeat. Harry and Draco both kissed him goodnight, and Draco extinguished the lamps with a flick of his wand. They exited the room and entered the drawing room on the ground floor. Draco’s face was still unreadable. Harry poured them both a shot of Firewhisky and sat down.

“What did you tell him?” Draco asked mildly, but the accusation in the tone and his piercing stare still stung Harry. Draco obviously thought Harry had told Scorpius all about his cheating father, his grandfather’s bribery, how he lost every time to the Gryffindor Golden Boy, etc. Harry sighed.

“I told him stories about how fantastic you were in the air. In fact, I’m pretty sure Scorp thinks you’re some kind of demigod or something on a broomstick,” Harry replied, his lips curled in amusement at the thunderstruck expression on Draco’s face.

“But why?” Draco pressed earnestly, “why did you tell him all those things, when you and I both know that whilst I can fly quite well, I was a passable Quidditch player at best?” Harry sighed and knocked back his Firewhisky, replacing the empty glass on the table.

“Draco, what do you know about my upbringing? Before I came to Hogwarts, I mean?” he asked. Draco shook his head.

“I know you were raised my Muggles. Snape told me once. He told me about your mother’s sister, or something.”

“Yes. Well, they were the sort of Muggles that make the rest of them look bad. The stereotype of a Muggle that Voldemort wanted everyone to believe. They hated magic- well, my Uncle Vernon did anyway. My Aunt Petunia- that was my mum’s sister- was just jealous and had a massive case of sour grapes. Anyway, for whatever their reasons, they both spoke about my mum and dad as if they were vermin. Coincidentally, I was the same age when I went to live with them as Scorpius was when he came to live with me. I never heard either of my guardians have a single kind word to say about my parents. All I ever heard from them was that they were freaks, and my dad was a worthless layabout who wouldn’t even get a proper job.” He paused, taking a few deep breaths. Even after all this time, he still felt immense anger towards them. Even when Petunia had made contact a couple of years ago to tell Harry that Vernon had dropped dead from a heart attack, he couldn’t feel forgiveness towards the man.

“I longed to hear stories about them,” Harry continued. “Anything. I didn’t even know what they looked like until our first year at Hogwarts, or which of my features came from which of my parents. How many times have you heard someone tell me I’m the image of my dad, except for my eyes? That I have-”

“-Your mother’s eyes,” Draco interrupted. “Many times. Even everyone in our world knew their faces, Harry. Do you really mean you didn’t have a clue, about anything?”

“No, nothing. And, like I said, what I was told about them painted them in a really negative light, and was a complete and utter pack of lies anyway. So when I took Scorp in, I vowed to never, ever be like that with him. My personal feelings towards you at the time were unimportant. What was important was Scorpius’ happiness. He deserved to hear some wonderful things his dad did, what a hero he was, even if it was total bollocks.”

Draco’s lips twitched into a smile then, but Harry could see sadness in his eyes.

“That was an amazing gesture, Harry, and I really do appreciate you giving Scorpius some stories about me. I just wish you had some tales of actual heroics, rather than fabricated ones,” he said wistfully. “Somehow, ‘your dad was a servant of the most insane megalomaniac of recent history, tried to kill the headmaster of Hogwarts, almost killed your Uncle Ron with poisoned mead and even attempted to cast an Unforgivable on me in a bathroom’ doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, does it.”

“Don’t do this to yourself,” Harry said sternly. “You were a terrible Death Eater, you’ve never killed, and you saved my life back in your Manor. I know full damn well you knew it was me, and your actions bought us enough time to escape. Without you, Draco, we would have lost the war. Now, if that’s not fucking heroic, I don’t know what is. I haven’t told Scorpius that purely for the reason he is a boy of five and I didn’t think he needed to know about Voldemort yet. But I always intended for him to know that his dad showed immense courage and defied one of the most evil people who have ever existed. Yes, I have actual stories of your bravery to tell him. It’s one of the main reasons I kept your wand; I was going to give it to him when he was old enough.”

Draco was stunned into silence. Harry instinctively reached over and took Draco’s hand in his.

“I know you’re not, what did you call yourself, ‘a complete monster’,” he quoted. “Vain- yes. Arrogant- certainly. But you’re a wonderful, loving father, and you have shown courage beyond anything the last few years. Never think you don’t have amazing qualities as well.”

Draco gave a small cough and swallowed. He glanced down at their joining hands, and Harry noticed he licked his lips.

“Ok,” Draco said finally, as he reached for the bottle of Firewhisky and refilled their glasses, before handing one to Harry. Harry received the glass gratefully and took a sip. “Let’s talk about something more pleasant. Your love life.”

Harry spluttered on his Firewhisky and felt himself turning red.

“Well, that’s going to be a very short conversation,” he mumbled, inwardly wondering why everyone seemed obsessed with who he was seeing or sleeping with, but deciding to just get on with it as he knew Draco wouldn’t give up as easily as Ron. “Kissed Cho Chang in fifth year of Hogwarts, went out with Ginny Weasley in sixth year, got back together with her after Voldemort died, broke up a couple of years later when she slept with someone off her Quidditch team behind my back. That’s it.”

“That’s it?” Draco sounded incredulous and Harry suddenly wanted the ground to open up and swallow him. “One girlfriend and one snog?” He seemed to ponder something, before his expression became more serious. “Harry- Scorpius- is he the reason you’ve not dated?”

“Partly,” Harry admitted. “I mean, his safety has been my number one priority since the moment he came to live here. But I could have gone out on dates and things. I trust Ron and Hermione absolutely, and they would have looked after Scorp any time I wanted to go dating, but to be honest, I’ve just not been interested.” He finished his drink and held his glass out lazily to Draco for a refill. “I’ve never cared much about sex or anything. I certainly don’t miss it.”

“You don’t miss sex?” Draco asked, and Harry shook his head.

“I read an article in one of Hermione’s magazines once on asexuality. I’m pretty sure that’s what I am. Didn’t care about having it when I was in a relationship, don’t miss it now I’m single. I think that’s why Ginny cheated on me actually, my lack of interest in a physical relationship.”

“Even in that fucking cell I missed sex,” Draco said, as he poured himself and Harry another generous measure of the fiery spirit, then, in response to Harry’s raised eyebrows, he added, “what? I’m a red-blooded male! I’m not saying it was at the forefront of my mind, but occasionally, when I was alone in the dark, I wouldn’t have minded someone there to fuck.”

The Firewhisky was warming Harry from head to toe now, and he felt his inhibitions slip slightly, although he was a long way from intoxicated.

“Quick-fire questions, then,” Harry said. “And you have to tell the truth. “How old were you when you lost your virginity?”

“Fifteen,” Draco replied. “I guess you want to know who? Pansy, of course. My turn. Same question.”

“Eighteen,” Harry said. “My eighteenth birthday actually. Ginny, obviously. Number of people you’ve slept with?”

Draco started counting on his fingers, and Harry let out an alcohol-induced giggle, earning him a mock-glare in response.

“Twelve,” Draco finally declared. “Four women, eight men.”

That threw Harry. “Men?” he said, and realised his voice was far too high-pitched.

“And women,” Draco clarified. “Although, with the exception of Annalisa, all the females were in Hogwarts. Let’s just say that over the years I developed a strong preference for my own sex.”

“But… but you were married! To a woman!” Harry exclaimed, their game forgotten.

“I’m aware of that,” Draco replied dryly, clearly amused. “And she was fully aware of my… desires. Annalisa was a wonderful person.”

“Do you want to talk about her?” Harry asked, the fog clearing from his head.

Draco appeared to be battling with himself in his head. Eventually the part that did want to talk about his late wife won, because he nodded his head.

“We were married at just nineteen,” he said. “On the day of the solar eclipse. Her family- the Sauvageau family- are a very old, wealthy pure-blood family in France; the French equivalent of the Malfoys here, if you like. My mother was a childhood friend of Annalisa’s mother. She would spend summers at the Sauvageau mansion in Rouen as a girl, and they had kept in contact until Annalisa’s mother died in 1995. I’d known Annalisa since we were both infants. I won’t say our marriage was arranged- we certainly had a say in it- but it was definitely encouraged. From the Malfoy point of view, she was from good aristocratic stock and from a family that had played no part in the war with Voldemort.

“I told her about my sexuality right from the beginning, way before we were married. We agreed that if we were both discreet we could have our affairs on the side. I loved her dearly, and she loved me- but we weren’t in love with each other. She was more like my best friend, and she felt the same way about me.”

“I don’t understand how you can marry someone you’re not in love with,” Harry replied. “And have a child with them. It’s… it’s not right.”

A flash of irritation crossed Draco’s face, which he evidently fought to control.

“Harry, you’re not a pure-blood. You don’t understand the culture. All children of wealthy pure-blood families grow up knowing their role in life is to produce the next generation of pure-bloods. The Potters had done it for centuries before your father married your mother. But although we didn’t love each other in a sexual way, please never think I didn’t adore that woman. She was a wonderful person.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said. “I didn’t mean to judge you. And who am I to judge others’ relationships anyway, when I’ve been so successful with my own.” He downed yet another shot of Firewhisky, and had to admit the alcohol was definitely affecting him now.

“So, getting back to the game.” Draco was trying to lighten the mood again and Harry was more than happy to allow it. “My number is twelve. Care to explain how your number is just one?”

“Like I said, I just don’t desire sex,” Harry said, the Firewhisky allowing him to talk more candidly than he would normally do on the topic. “I just don’t care about it. Sex with Ginny was fine when we had it, but that’s about the highest compliment I can give it. As I said, I think I’m asexual.”

“Well, what do you think about when you wank?” Draco asked. And even with the alcohol flowing in his system, the question turned Harry’s cheeks scarlet.

“I… um, I don’t. Not really,” he replied. “Perhaps a couple of times a month at most. And when I do, I don’t really think of anything. It’s more a response to a physical need, if that makes sense. See? Asexual.”

Draco seemed to study Harry’s face for a long moment as in appraisal, his gaze flickering from Harry’s own orbs, down to his lips, then back to his eyes again, before making a, ‘hmmmm’ sound. He moved closer to Harry on the sofa.

“I don’t think you’re asexual,” he said, looking Harry straight in the eye this time, and was Harry imagining the smile he could hear in the tone of Draco’s voice? “I just don’t think you’ve found what you need yet to light your fire.” And suddenly, so quickly Harry barely saw him move, Draco closed the small gap between them and pressed his mouth firmly against Harry’s.

Harry let out a small gasp of surprise, momentarily frozen to the spot. Draco took advantage of Harry’s slightly-parted mouth and licked his bottom lip, sending an intense buzz of pleasure shooting through Harry’s spine. Before Harry knew what he was doing, he let out a muffled moan, and in an instant, he let his eyes fall closed and began to kiss his former nemesis back, letting his empty Firewhisky glass fall to the floor with a clatter, and wrapping one arm around Draco’s waist whilst the other snaked into his hair. He felt Draco’s hands mimic his actions, burying themselves in his unruly black locks, and Draco tugged slightly, not enough to cause pain, but enough to awaken every nerve ending on his scalp, making Harry shiver delightfully.

Oh, the only lucid portion of Harry’s brain that was still working helpfully supplied, right! I see now why people like to do this. Harry vaguely wondered what the fucking hell he was doing, but at that moment he decided he didn’t care; all that mattered was Draco kept kissing him. He parted his moist lips further, and Draco instantly slipped in his tongue, which caressed Harry’s. Harry heard a guttural, animalistic groan coming from somewhere before working out it had come from his own throat, but he was enjoying what Draco was doing to him far too much to feel embarrassed. He realised he was rock-hard, actually hard, something he couldn’t remember being for a very long time indeed, and his erection was straining in his trousers, pushing against the material and causing a delicious friction. The unfamiliar thrill of arousal thundering through him was almost as powerful as Draco’s kiss itself.

Harry was unaware how long he and Draco spent lost in the moment together kissing, himself pressed into the corner of the sofa with Draco virtually on top of him, their chests flush together, a hardness that Harry was quite sure belonged to Draco digging wonderfully into his hip joint. Just as he was about ready to declare that Draco was the greatest human being in the history of humanity, and succumb fully to either of their desires, however, Draco broke the kiss, planting a series of chaste but equally spine-tingling kisses along Harry’s jawline and up to his ear. Harry could hear his raspy, desperate panting, and felt cool breath caress his over-heated cheeks.

“Did that light your fire?” Draco whispered hoarsely, then nibbled on Harry’s earlobe, before finally breaking contact and standing off the sofa, rearranging his somewhat untidy clothing. Harry was satisfied to note that Draco looked how he himself felt- ruffled, aroused, and slightly disorientated.

Harry brought a thumb up to his kissed-swollen lips and ran it slowly across them; they were still tingling from Draco’s touch. He glanced up at Draco through what he was sure were wide, glassy eyes, and simply nodded dumbly, unable to make his mouth form a coherent sentence. Draco smirked, the cocky smirk Harry remembered from school and had been so absent from his features in the two months since Harry had rescued him.

“Good,” he replied, obviously more coherent than Harry was at that precise moment. “Something for you to, ah, think over, perhaps.” Its double-meaning was clear in Draco’s voice. He leant forwards and placed a final kiss on the patch skin where Harry’s ear joined his head. “Goodnight, Harry. What we do about this is up to you, but I think I’ve made my feelings clear. The Quaffle is in your court now.” Without a second glance backwards, Draco exited the room, leaving a very dishevelled and thoroughly confounded Harry rooted to the sofa with a raging hard-on, unsure he would ever move again.

_______________________________________

Draco is reading The Twits by Roald Dahl. The story is not mine.
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