Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Crap! #2	By : blastendedskrewt Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 32233 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own anything in Harry Potter's universe and make no money from writing this story.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Author’s Notes and Warnings:

All the same warnings apply (although this chapter has more to do with psychology).

Thanks for all the hits, rates and reviews! I love them! I am always so curious to know who is reading this and how the story is being received-- but fully understand this isn’t exactly a topic anyone would want to advertise that they’ve read (so that makes the comments I DO get all the more precious). I have to commend the brave souls that have spoken up— whether it is positive or negative reactions-- and let everyone know that they really make my day… It means a lot to me to hear that I’ve made people wonder, pushed their limits of typical thinking and/or given them some weird, new avenues of sexual behavior to ponder…

‘Vampirekisses’ has my eternal gratitude for composing the most awesome words ever given in the history of all fanfic reviews! Repeatedly… (You rock!)

Thanks everybody for the encouragement! It keeps me inspired writing this squicky series (that’s just been sitting in my head) and exploring this unusual kink… :)

CHEERS! ENJOY!

)*(

Stranded! (up shit creek without a potty)

_)*(_

Harry caught Draco in a big hug from behind. “What have you got there?” They rocked side-to side, full-body rubbing a bit-- two or three stanzas of a slow dance as ancient and eternal as the elements themselves.

Draco smiled and leaned into the strong embrace. He pointed to the little shoots poking up through the plot of Earth that Harry had recently prepared for him, “Wizarding Belladonna.” Then he gestured toward the privacy hedge that marked the boundary of their property. “Those are some Venomous Tentacula,” indicating the tiny stems and leaves emerging in the furthest row under a balsam-wood framework that would serve as their first training trellis (Harry was impressed that the clever blond had actually found a practical use for some of the three dozen pairs of disposable chopsticks they’d acquired in the junk drawer from their take-away habit!!).

“Just as long as you aren’t starting to plant anything illegal… or looking to sell—“ the Auror murmured, nuzzling the blond’s nape. “Both of those are ‘Class-C Non-Tradable Substances’.”

“Why I never--!” Draco’s mock-shock exclamation-- complete with the melodramatic hand clasped to his heart-- was cut off by a gasp when Harry suckled the pulse point on his neck.   The brunet enveloped the slender, gloved digits under his own, tugging the protective gear off and threw down both gauntlets. Harry was doing amazing things with his lips (along with the square, calloused palms roving all over the blond’s body). The powerful pelvis grinding against his own convinced him: “Let’s go inside,” Draco rasped as his agenda switched in a second from gardening mode to needing sex. Immediately.

The tanned, muscled man pulled away slightly, “I have a better idea… Let’s take a walk, there’s something I’ve been wanting to show you for some time now,” he answered mysteriously, interlacing their fingers together and guiding him towards the forest. Something about him seemed intense and Draco’s head was still swimming with the tendrils of lust that were swirling in his blood-stream so there was no protest forthcoming; he’d acquiesce to his lover any time, do anything he wanted—even if it was stepping outside of his comfort zone. (Well, he sure wouldn’t say ‘no’ to slipping within the tree-line for a salacious tryst and getting a blow job, hidden under the cover of shade and vegetation!)

He allowed himself to be led into the haphazard maze of wild-growing trees and shrubs and was content to follow when the trail turned so narrow they had to walk single-file. “This is the path cut by our family of deer,” Harry offered over his shoulder by way of explanation. “Quite helpful really, they’ve mapped out the edges of the property for me very nicely.” Yes, Draco could feel the thrum of the wards to his left at a nearly constant level; they were very strong and complex. It was an incredible feat of magic, given the energy expended to weave them and the inherent intricacies involved, especially considering the amount of acreage they covered.

“Our deer?” the blond asked skeptically, pushing aside some of the overgrowth with slight irritation (and then his face scrunched in a moue of disdain at having to side-step a large pile of dung pellets that were obviously spoor from the species in question). It was still hot in the afternoon sun, despite weaving in and out of the dappled shade of the leafy canopy overhead. He was starting to get sweaty—and not in the happy, fun way!

“Yeah,” the Auror replied, handing him a canteen of water from a holster on his belt, “seems we inherited a stag and at least two does when we installed the initial wards. I’ve seen them from a distance. They’re beautiful. And happy in here, I think--at least I’d like to believe they are… since they’re trapped.” At Draco’s small noise of confusion through a quenching swallow, he elaborated, “Nothing can get in or out.”

That put the Healer’s mind at ease. Somewhat. He still felt unsettled and out of his depth. He kept the water supply all to himself, clenched in a tight fist—he didn’t cope well with dehydration.

The house and potions lab (or anything else manmade for that matter) were out of sight and that made him nervous. They were surrounded on all sides with untamed, feral wilderness. As extensive as the grounds were at the Manor, there was always a hint of civilization to be seen. Whether it be an intricately carved bench at a vista point or a perfectly fabricated coy pond, a marble fountain or statue in a wooded glen-- or even as mundane as the well-maintained raked sand and stone-lined walkways that linked every attraction the landscape had to offer—there was always SOMETHING!

He gulped with a bit of trepidation when he discovered his fluttering heartbeat was now due to fear-based adrenaline instead of the libidinous excitement of a few minutes ago. He found voice to the concern that was first and foremost in his mind, “What exactly is on our land?”

He didn’t see Harry’s soft smile at the agitation in his voice as they picked their way over an uneven rough patch; the valiant Auror gently took Draco’s minutely trembling, delicate hand in his and helped him step lightly. The scheming brunet was smirking at the memory of his and Draco’s first detention together in the Forbidden Forest, (fondly reminiscing about how the little prima donna-- for all his tough talk-- had been so afraid of the dangers lurking in the dark). The blond also missed the furrow in his bushy, black brow the next moment when he thought of what they were heading to-- and realizing there really were scary things out in the middle of nowhere.

Harry appreciated, now, that his lover had every right to be wary, knowing so much more about the Wizarding world and the creatures residing in it than he ever had. His own childlike ignorance had been bliss-- and a blessing-- when it came to facing all the challenges of his young “hero’s” life (he suspected that had he’d truly known, he probably would have frozen in inaction). Suddenly, with his flashback to Draco’s discomfort over being submersed in the unknown--the furthest one could be from neat and orderly, predictable and controllable—he knew he’d have to handle this with the utmost finesse.

“There aren’t any blood-thirsty, murderous beasts, if that’s what you’re thinking!” Harry made his tone light and teasing, trying to keep Draco from becoming too frightened (and bolster his own courage for what he was about to do). “Seriously, the only carnivorous things out here are us, the owls and bats. Oh, and the toads. But I don’t think we’re on their menu…” He shot a playful leer towards his boyfriend and reached out to tickle his tummy, “But you may be on mine!”

The Healer scowled and opened his mouth, but his boyfriend nipped that objection (that he just knew was there) in the bud; “Repelling charms against all insects were in effect even before we left the backyard… But they might not save you from me sucking on you!” It was the prospect of sex (eventually!) that kept Draco going—but it had been a very long trek, full of stumbling over rocky terrain (and he might be forming a blister on his left pinkie toe!).

And Harry wasn’t answering his questions to any satisfaction. He kept being so bloody evasive! His ‘we’re nearly there’s and ‘just a bit further’s had lost all credibility an hour ago. At this rate, if they didn’t turn back now, they would be too tired to perform in the bedroom! And his stupid, dizzy head had allowed him to get lost in the wild without his wand! (He’d winced when he first realized he’d left his beloved Hawthorne on the potting table.)

How pedestrian is it that I succumb to a siren’s song as pathetically as a Muggle taking orders from his prick?! ‘Follow Harry,’ his inner monologue taunted him in snide sarcasm, ‘Trust blind, do whatever he says…’ ‘Pitiful! Such a sheep…’ ‘You’re just a powerless animal without a wand!” The voices spat and echoed in his head, swarming in an amalgam of derision, loathing and taunting from Father, Fenrir, and Uncle Rodolphus-- with the last sounding most like Aunt Bellatrix speaking in tandem with the Dark Lord—‘ So weak, just like a Muggle girl and hiding behind another’s strength by paying with sexual favours!’

He must feel greasier and grimier than he thought if he was having such mutinous ideas and poor judgment! He didn’t tolerate physical activity in summer heat well-- and he knew it; it made him extremely grumpy to feel dirty (and now hopelessly dim for letting his libido overrule common sense). And how long had they been wandering around in this blasted quagmire of leaves and dirt?! He could feel it floating around him, molecules of tainting filth cloying and seeping into his pores as he excreted negativity out through his simmering perspiration… so insidious that it spread in a sickly glisten over every centimeter of skin.

He was so far gone in his inner whinging and self-defeating, ruminating thoughts that he barely registered that they had stopped walking a while ago and Harry was dismantling some very powerful containment spells. As the last enchantment fell, he was gently ushered over the threshold. He stood there staring, speechless.

What lay before him was a very enchanting spring-fed pond, complete with beautiful ferns framing it. But the energy emanating from the area was strangling and extremely Dark. Finally-- after bracing himself and summoning up the most neutral, civil tone he could muster for the man that had put him through a very uncomfortable journey (for this!)-- he asked, the words sticking in his throat, “What is this place?”

Harry took a deep breath and sighed wearily. “This is where Sna-Severus led me to find the Sword of Gryffindor. He placed it here and we destroyed the first Horcrux we’d found.” He wordlessly pointed to a scorched blot upon the Earth under a Sycamore tree. A flattish rock lay cracked, broken and charred; it was supernatural in the way the many seasons of several years didn’t erase the diabolic mark, still appearing as fresh and deadly even after all this time. Draco practically gagged on the sulfurous stench. “Ron saved my life that night… But Sss-Severus saved us all…” Harry bowed his head for a moment of respectful silence.

Draco felt completely out of sorts— He wanted to make light of the crushing that was happening in his core and attempt a joke. But the feeble one he thought of, at turning the place into a tourist attraction, disintegrated to dust in his mouth as the history and magnitude of what Harry had gone through slammed into his brain:

Harry’d spent all that time living by his luck--and Granger’s wit!—and overcame insurmountable odds with ‘how-many-guesses’ as to where in the fuck another Horcrux would be?! He himself had gone through a lot during the Dark Lord’s usurping of the Manor as his main residence near the end there, but this was almost unbearable to fathom—for his Soul-Mate to be held responsible for destroying a seemingly invincible mad-man?! At seventeen years of age?!

He simultaneously felt pulverized to a pulp and built up with the strongest stance possible; he wanted to dissolve in despair and simultaneously rage and rant and rave until his vocal chords were sore. How dare someone put his loved one through such utter hell! He wanted to curse into brutal, unimaginable pain all the ignorant bastards that had said Harry had been hiding like a coward in the months leading up to the Great Battle!

There was something sinister, macabre and profane about this place-- and he needed to leave… NOW!

Every instinct he had was screaming for him to run away as fast as he could. He faintly heard Harry mutter, “Dark Magic’ll do that to you…” His whole body jerked as Harry wrenched his stiff form back out of the spell-line. The Auror was furiously mumbling in Latin and as the last incantation was in effect, the onslaught of horror was abruptly cut off from sensation; all that remained is what had permeated into their auras and needed a few minutes to dissipate.

Through a haze, Draco took the time to marvel that Harry had the foresight to hide that atrocity away from the world (and was so gracious that he would never reveal his acts of courage, all in order to keep less intelligent-- yet more greed-driven-- people from attempting such a twisted version of immortality). And he was grateful they’d changed course and headed roughly at a right angle along the bottom of the property. Every step they took away from the evil site had the sludge of negativity roll off their shoulders in gloppy, toxic waves until they were breathing somewhat-freely again.

As they stumbled eastward, along the northern-most edge and away from that monstrosity, Draco vaguely heard Harry telling him, “Hermione only saw it once, when she helped establish the first protections—and has never been back since. Ron? Well, he flat out refused.” He stomped ahead on the trail, fists pounding thin air and then burst out with, “And I don’t blame him one bit after what came out of that piece of shit!” Harry yelled vehemently (causing the flight of half a dozen sparrows from a nearby tree). He shuddered in remembrance and was glad Draco didn’t press to find out more. “But you felt it, didn’t you? Now you know why I had to make sure it was safe and secret, where no one would accidentally stumble across it.”

He sensed, rather than saw, his lover’s somber nod of agreement.

Another flask was offered once they’d gained their bearings enough to gulp in fresh air, hunched over and hands clutched to their knees. Draco was deeply grateful that this was stronger, and that Firewhiskey had numbing qualities. After his second gulp, one niggling thought remained and allowed him to steer the conversation towards something he was more familiar with (and one that gave him peace of mind). “These wards are remarkable, Love,” he panted. “How do you know all of them? I can tell that there are at least four or five interwoven spells in one! And how are they still so strong after all these years? You are aware, that on a scale of this magnitude they deteriorate over time if they aren’t tended to regularly?” (He should know-- they had a team of House-elves specifically for that job around the Malfoy properties.)

Harry snorted mirthlessly and replied in a very flat, subdued voice, “We cast these every day for months, sometimes twice a day. Living in the tent and keeping on the move…” Draco winced when he realized yet again what life must have been like for Harry and his friends during the Ministry’s “Undesirable #1” bounty-hunting phase of Wizarding history. “Anyway,” the Auror continued, “There are seven in all, two braids of three and one wrapping spell. And I update and repair them every month.”

“What?!” the blond wheezed while taking a third shot of the hard liquor. “When do you have time to accomplish all that? It’s taken us half the afternoon just to make it down one side of the parcel!”

That gave Harry a reason to let out an honest chuckle. “I told you when you started up your little “Girls Day” again with your mom after the war that I have better things to do with my time than pay someone to cut my toenails.” He smiled at the shock on his boyfriend’s face and winked, then turned to continue along the path. He decided to leave out the fact that he covered the distance a lot quicker on his own, when he didn’t have to compensate for Draco’s mincing, dainty gait.

Draco weakly defended, yet trailed off ineffectually, “It’s more than just that…” He stood still, watching his lover’s retreating back, and then started to trudge after him with heavy footfalls-- and an even heavier heart. He felt chagrined and more than just a bit foolish; the ‘spa day’ he and his mother shared on the first Sunday of every month suddenly seemed shallow and frivolous:

While he was undergoing relaxing deep-tissue massages and rejuvenating facials, Harry was draining his magical reserves in all types of inclement weather; while he was getting a sea-salt scrub foot massage and pedicure last week, Harry’s toes were hot, tired and sore from hiking this many kilometers (and more); while he enjoyed his time in the sauna last winter, Harry was slogging through snow and undoubtedly frozen to the bone; and every time he’d relished indulging in his manicures these past years, Harry had been wielding his hands and harnessing his energy against the elements—all to keep them safe.

And what did he have to show for it? The fripperies of perfect nails and flawless skin? (What was he—a man or a wife?!) Some of the insecurities that had surfaced from confronting the locket’s place of destruction were still bothering him. “I’m sorry… I should have helped…” he offered glumly, feeling as extraneous and pointless as piece of paste jewelry.

Harry looked puzzled at his tone when he went to face him. “What are you sorry for? I love it that you get to have that special time with Narcissa! Not to mention, you come home all happy and prettied-up for me… you know how I love that amber-musk smell they put in your hair!” The brunet gave a lascivious brow-waggle and then went on to explain, “And if I wanted your help, I’d ask for it-- but I know being out here isn’t exactly your ‘thing’. Besides, I like taking care of this for us. It makes me feel useful and needed. Toots, you are my partner and contribute in other ways. We each do what we’re better at-- like me sawing down trees and how you do the cooking, brewing and remember to bring Doddy and Dibby in to clean the house every two weeks.”

(Oh bloody HELL! Draco cringed, I really AM the woman in this relationship!)

Harry ignored Draco’s pensiveness and positively beamed. “I’m just happy you’re coming with me today—I have a surprise for you.” When silver eyes narrowed in suspicion at the prospect of another ‘surprise’, the green-eyed man (twinkling worse than Dumbledore ever had) laughed, “You’ll like this one, I promise.”

_)*(_

While Draco was grateful they were steadily moving away from the soul-crippling vortex of the Horcrux site, they weren’t moving any closer back to the house; the comforting vibrations of the wards remained a constant along the left side of the path. Their property was roughly a rectangle, he knew that much, so he deduced they were just as far from home as before. Which presented a problem for Draco, because as much as he’d been sweating, he was beginning to have a great need of a toilet. His need to urinate was consuming the rest of his thoughts (and the somewhat distant sound of running water, like a babbling brook, wasn’t helping matters either).

He longed for the grounds of the Manor, where there was always a commode close by: The stables were in view of the boat house, which was in proximity to the pool cabanas, plus a quick stroll from that, the Quidditch pitch had its broom-shed/changing rooms and the greenhouses were next to the croquet lawn—all of which had adequate facilities. Any of the verandas and gardens alongside each wing of the house were within easy walking distance of a bathroom.

And then with the license to Apparate, immediate privacy was never more than a finger-twitch to the wand and three D’s away…

But right now? Wandless? There was nothing! He was stranded! And he was pretty sure if he asked for a ‘side-along’ from Harry back to the house, he would be put off. But he had to try, so he put on his best authoritative voice on, “Baby, we need to go back. You need to Apparate me to the house now.”

“What? Why? You said you were free the rest of the weekend!” Draco thought he could detect disappointment in his tone.

“I need a loo,” he said simply, regally smoothing out some wrinkles in his shirt. “I suppose we could just come back right after—perhaps landing in the vicinity of your so-called surprise?”

“Oh, for crying out loud, Draco!” The exasperated brunet flapped his arms, gesturing all around them, “The whole world is a fucking toilet! Stop being such a prissy prig and just piss on tree!”

“I will not!” the haughty aristocrat declared hotly, bristling at the insinuation that he was somehow a frilly fop and instantly stilled his hands from preening his disheveled clothes. “There’s something to be said for good manners, Potter! Proper behaviour of a gentleman does not negate masculinity!”

“Whatever. A pretentious prude, then? Wet your pants, see if I care, but we’re almost there.” Harry said airily, and knew it was time for ‘phase one’. “But now that you mention it…”

“And just when and where, pray tell, is ‘there’?” the disgruntled blond sounded horribly petulant in his sarcasm and discomfort (inwardly groaning as Harry pulled down the zip on his denims, whispering ‘soon’, and began sending a strong jet of pee onto the edge of the path). Draco grumbled and had to pinch the tip of his penis at the susurant hiss and spattering noise, frustrated with Harry’s huge, over-the-top sigh of satisfaction.

But faced with the visual and auditory cues, it was too much and he couldn’t hold it; he made the split-second decision so he would not soil his clothing. “Fine!” he ground out with a growl and exposed his groin, adding to the splattering of the forest floor. He was overwhelmed with relief, but felt as low and dirty as the most despicable creature. “Is this what you wanted?! Fine, I’m no better than a fucking animal! Happy now?!” He glanced madly all around, as if suspecting someone to be spying on them.

Harry surveyed him with bemusement. “I suppose—Are you? Was that really so difficult? Look, we’re all alone out in the middle of warded nowhere-- no prying eyes, just you and me. Inside, outside—Does it really matter? Besides, it’s already gone, soaked in and become one the Earth.” (Draco looked and yes, indeed, the evidence was all but gone, just an unassuming damp patch under a bush.) “You can forget about it now and leave it behind.” As if to illustrate his point, he shook off his member and pushed forward.

“AND, as for ‘there’-- I meant our campsite, OK? It’s August tenth, the height of the Perseid meteor showers. I thought we could have a picnic dinner and watch the show… See?” The brunet swept away one last branch and Draco gasped at the beauty and natural splendor spread out before him.

It was a pastoral, serene meadow—and Draco had never seen a more gorgeous scene (or felt more benevolent, ancient, positive magic concentrated in one spot)! The atmosphere was cleansing and pure, and many other adjectives that haven’t been invented yet about the way different magics feel. The panorama spanned out in a roughly half-circle shape, the trees framing the curve while the flat dissection of the diameter showed the edge of a cliff. From what he could tell at this distance was that the drop-off was rather severe, judging by the misty look to the moors underneath, blending into a patchwork of farmland and the hint of a small village dissolving on the horizon.

A few adult deer looked up when they entered the area, noses twitching and tails flicking, and made haste to usher two little ones--just now losing their spots-- into the woods at the far end. There was a grand bed set up in the center, with a stone-lined fire-pit near the foot of it, and some curious, obviously Druid stone formations at the head.

“Harry!” Draco breathed in awe. “It’s magnificent! So where’s the tent? I’d like to freshen up before we dine.”

The cunning brunet smiled wider. This was going to be sweet. “There isn’t one, Love. This is it. We can wash up in the river—last one in is the rotten egg!” he yelled, already taking off at a sprint towards the far side, clumsily shedding his clothes as he went. He just had to sneak some peeks at the blond while he was awkwardly fumbling around to get all the hot, damp cloth off him; Draco was frozen in place, looking absolutely dumfounded, almost momentarily catatonic while watching this spectacle.

Draco held his breath. Never before in his life had he seen such a thing!

Harry, apparently, had no inhibitions about baring his body outdoors-- and in broad daylight! Granted, they were alone in a very private and secure location, but it didn’t reduce the wonder he felt at drinking in the sight of his perfectly sculpted boyfriend, whooping with abandon and laughing like a child as he ran down the bank and splashed into the part of the stream that had widened into a pond. The sensual sighs and moans he was emitting as he doused his hair, clearly enjoying the coldness on his scalp, solidified the final fraction of Draco’s erection. “Come on, Cute-ness!” Harry called to him, swimming backwards further into where it was deeper. “It feels amazing!”

The blond hesitated. Did he dare? Part of him wanted to let go and be as free and unfettered as his lover, finding refreshment and fun in the cool water. The other part-- his stiffly regimented upbringing-- was warring with the appropriateness of frolicking in a creek like a hedonistic heathen. He’d already stooped to urinating outside (but that was a necessary evil). This was a choice to throw composure and comportment to the wind—he did not have to do this for survival, after all.

(Father must be turning over in his grave, he thought, for me to even consider debasing myself in this way. But he wasn’t here-- or the voice of his conscience any more. And hadn’t his life with Harry already irrevocably moved and grown beyond what his culture and heritage had planned out for him?)

Just as he was contemplating nudity al fresco and trodding barefoot on the muddy, mossy rocks that lined the river, Harry yelled out to him again. “What are you waiting for? Don’t tell me you’re afraid to jump in!”

Oh, that did it! He was not afraid! He was simply clinging to his last shred of dignity and decorum! His fists unclenched by his sides and he forcefully started removing his stained shirt. (What Mother never knows will never hurt her!) He glared at his lover, who was paddling languidly in circles, floating on his back; he was going to splash that smug smirk right off his face!

Why did Potter always push his buttons so? One little taunt-- a wisp of a dare or slight on his character-- and he had Draco boiling with determination to prove him wrong, to best him, to win! It had always been this way between them, ever since they first met at eleven years of age and became the most antagonizing of rivals when they were in their first years at Hogwarts. They still pushed each other’s limits in every way (albeit now tempered by genuine affection); it was this fact that was the bedrock foundation of their relationship—and it found Draco standing defiantly by the pond in all his natural glory, chin held high.

He squinted in the sun, the rays glinting off his all-over alabaster complexion and white-gold hair. Harry was still lazily treading water with his eyes closed. After tearing his stare away from the enticing black patch of pubes and genitals peeking out from the surface, Draco slowly, silently entered the natural pool, intent on ambushing the unaware Auror.

He relished the cold wetness that swirled around his thighs and promised to ease his over-heated, sticky skin. He cringed a bit at the sliminess he felt under his toes on the stones but rather enjoyed the sensations of the sand underfoot. Stealthily, he snuck up and then with a primal war-cry, he pounced, dunking the brunet under. Both roaring and spluttering, they wrestled. Each trying to get the upper-hand, they tumbled, churning the faint current around them.

Their grappling, flailing limbs slowed and Harry’s face split in a smile that could melt hearts. Draco was breathless, his hands stilling on the bunching biceps and accepted the passionate snog his lover lured him into.

While the blond was still reeling and gaining his bearings, Harry teased, “Catch me if you can!” and took off at a furious pace toward the other end of the pond. Not to be outdone, Draco followed. They raced, shoulder to shoulder, aiming for the large boulder that marked the edge, where the river reconvened to a narrow stream (and then spilled over the cliff several meters away). Harry had more brute strength and stamina despite the physical exhaustion of the hike while Draco’s swimmer’s-build and stroking technique were more efficient and effective. So it was a close tie.

Panting, Harry enveloped him in an embrace and kissed him again and again. The body heat and contrapuntal chill of the river was exhilarating! The Healer was overcome by the situation, being nude and frotting up against his gorgeous lover—who had just, yet again, proved that he didn’t have to play out the destiny prescribed by his ancestors. He was outside, naked as the day he was born; he had horsed around like a kid in the creek and squished Earth between his toes for the first time; he’d even passed water on a bush! And he found he didn’t hate it. He found acceptance and unconditional love—and discovered that everything was perfect (as long as Harry kept doing that enticing motion with his hips)!

He hadn’t noticed that he’d been maneuvered to the shore until he was gently laid down, his torso upon sand and reeds, with his bottom-half still submerged. He was being pounded and rubbed into oblivion, the vibrant colors of a sunset sky the last thing he saw before his eyes closed to the overwhelming bliss that was coursing through his veins. “Fuck!” the brunet exclaimed above him, “Bed! Now!”

However much he was enjoying this at the moment, the practicalities of sand being present at the time of sex let him pause enough to regain enough blood to his brain to find their way to the bed where they would be more comfortable (although, he couldn’t help but admit, his backside would be nicely exfoliated now).

The second they hit the sheets, after much stumbling and awkward walking due to their twin arousals, Harry rutted against him without restraint; the brunet quickly lost it only moments later, amidst several rabid grunts and a howl. After he was prematurely done spurting his release all over the body under him, he mumbled, “Sorry, I couldn’t hold back…” (Draco decided to take it as a compliment and a testament to how irresistible he was.)

Harry took up the Healer’s tumescence. Two expert pumps and a thumb teasing the tip-- combined with the soft brush of his coarse-haired cheek against his own and the sharp, hot exhalations in his ear wrenched from his lover swimming through his orgasm-- had Draco coming all over himself, joining his leavings on his abdomen with the twitching brunet’s. They flopped back and watched the growing gloam with sated eyes.

Eventually, Harry roused himself enough to ‘Evanesco’ their ejaculate and managed to light the fire. He produced a picnic basket from under the bed and wine was poured (at least Potter deemed it acceptable to dine with acceptable vessels, revealing a pair from their nice, eight-glass set—and the Vintner had a fairly reputable label). Soon, the tantalizing smell of sausages browning in a pan and baked beans warming in a tin can were making the blond’s mouth water even more than during the frantic dry-humping they’d just shared—and realized he was famished due to all their exertion today.

With renewed wonder at how much he loved this man, he gracefully accepted the ‘campfire food’ on a plate of their finest china--grateful for the small bit of elegance in this rustic setting-- and partook of yet another untried activity; a meal prepared like a caveman. The flavors exploded on his tongue, the wood-smoke blending with the grease and protein beautifully (although, sadly, the baguette was a lost cause as it had fallen off the toasting-fork and burned in the flames). He nodded fervently in acceptance, his mouth was full to bursting with ecstasy already, when Harry placed some blueberries, figs and cookies on his plate.

He snuck more biscuits (when Harry wasn’t looking) than he would have normally but he justified it by all the energy he’d expended that day, coupled with how delicious they were—sweetly complemented by the Riesling. It was the perfect accompaniment to the meteor shower that was beginning to make itself apparent as the dusk faded to an inky backdrop. Being so far from urban street-lights made it seem as if they were nestled under a swath of black velvet with pin-pricks of the most Cosmic ‘Lumos Maxima’ shining through and could reach out and pluck the dazzling lights from the sky if they wanted to. The first shooting stars made their appearance and they were both stunned into silence, wrapped in each other’s arms; Draco watched the Heavenly spectacle with more than a bit of appreciation, pondering if there could be anything more Divine.

After a while of being two insignificant spectators, it turned out there was something more delectable the universe had to offer; Harry saw fit to draw his wand and cast the “Lech” spells on himself (that was the nickname they gave the combined lubing and stretching enchantments) and proceeded to make love to him slowly, lovingly, allowing his rocking from above to be framed by the fiery, celestial display behind him. Their unhurried rhythms-- the same as had been swaying bodies since time immemorial—built and ascended their pleasure to tantric heights. When Harry finally exploded and rained his seed upon his lover’s chest (his “black hole” spasmodically squeezing around the Healer’s weeping erection) Draco went supernova…

_)*(_

They were still gazing upon the sky with sleepy eyes, their noises of awe and exclamation turned to dull murmurs; the drowsy vocalizations—both from the aftershocks of their coupling and renewed viewing of the meteor shower—trailed off.   Harry slipped into a doze, but Draco, despite being physically spent, still found his mind racing:

He was completely outside and acting like an animal! (Granted, they were in a luxurious bed, with the nice bits of magic Harry decided to dole out, but he was defenseless without his wand and living off the land). He didn’t have protective walls around him and a sheltering ceiling above him. He could feel wind and smell the forest; he could hear owls hooting and bugs chirping.

This was not like the time his mother charmed his clock to chime the hours with different bird calls (the shrill cry of peacocks for his six am wake up alarm). No, the sounds came in random intervals and various directions from the birds while the chorus of insects provided a steady beat in the background. It echoed in the maw and Draco could sense with each molecule in his being that the open expanse around the little sphere he could discern in the dark, extended in an indefinable amount from all sides.

He was blood, breath, flesh and bone. He was but one speck, a passenger riding on the surface of a harsh, yet life-giving planet… Any trivial thing he ever fretted over was gone—he’d peed on a tree and the world didn’t cave in! He’d ‘skinny-dipped’ and the sky didn’t fall! He’d felt naturally occurring sand in his toes—and liked it!

It was both oppressive and liberating at the same time; it was claustrophobic yet he was breathing more deeply and feely. The steady, faint snores from his lover grounded him and gave him a sense of peace, as if the fact that if Harry could completely relax, then everything was really all right.

But, something was still feeling anxious in the pit of his stomach and it was keeping him from drifting off. His limbs felt like lead but his middle was roiling with nervous energy. At first he chalked it up to his nervousness about being subjected to such a barbaric existence, but after he reconciled his thoughts on being vulnerable yet safe because of Harry, he wasn’t so sure. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant to be in this picturesque meadow—in an extremely comfortable bed, made up with his favourite linens, entwined with the love of his life—but there was something churning in his gut that warned of unpleasantness, of danger.

In the next second, he realized exactly what that foreboding was; he ground his teeth as the unmistakable cramp gripped him. Feeling the airy mass rocket back and forth from this duodenum to his rectum, he poked his ass out from under the covers, taking a huge gamble. He let his tensed ring open ever-so-slightly and was immensely relieved when it turned out just to be a hot, humid fart! It had felt rather virulent (and possibly wet).

For a moment he had been afraid Harry had done something sneaky to the food and/or drink, but seeing as how nothing had happened to him so far and they had eaten all the same things, he figured letting that gas out would be the end of the intestinal distress. And he was beginning to see the appeal of being out in the open air as the stink dissipated quickly—although it was pungent enough right after blasting off that he was glad he hadn’t just unintentionally ‘Dutch-Ovened’ his beautiful beau with it!

Triumphant for all of six seconds, the sensations swirled again and clenched his insides even lower. This was not good! He was usually so regular-- an ‘after-morning-tea’ bloke! He had been reassured and promised again and again that they would be back at the house for breakfast, long before he had to do his bathroom routine; this wasn’t supposed to happen now!

He felt a fizzle under his navel that somehow pushed a more solid mass right down his poop-chute – It was like a turtle head poking out! It took some effort to close his hole down, clamped shut tighter than a ‘Langlock’ on his anus. And FUCK! He felt more gas! (He knew instantly that Apparation was out of the question— even if he did somehow manage to extricate the Auror’s wand from the harness on his calf-- the ‘squeezed through a tube’ sensation would undoubtedly leave him with feces staining the backs of his legs and whatever floor of the house they landed in!)

Another cramp gripped his guts hard and he knew the waste in his system was going to come out soon whether he wanted it to or not. He had a terrible decision to make: Soil himself and the bed without the power to cancel the smell or clean the mess—OR, leave the comfort and security of the blankets and his boyfriend, brave the forest alone in the dark and defecate on the ground somewhere like a dirty beast. The choice was obvious, really, but he was fighting his fear and pride.

Taking a quick glance at Harry’s slumbering form (frankly, he was amazed all his fidgeting hadn’t woken the man), he silently crept from the bed. He grimaced when he had to put his bare feet back into his still sticky-moist boots. But there was nothing for it as his urgency increased and he awkwardly waddled with clenched buttocks towards the tree-line. He was still a few meter shy of the concealing arboreal shadows when he felt a squirt escape his pucker and smear between the flesh of his cheeks. (Noooooo! His mind screamed. Not yet! Not out in the open!) But it was happening. NOW.

He wasn’t exactly sure how this was supposed to work (what was he to sit upon?) but instinct took over and he bent at the knees, hovering his bum over the dusty dry grass. He continued to try holding in the inevitable for a few moments more, but resisting was futile; when the slight dribs that escaped without his permission turned to a drizzle, his control crumbled and he relaxed his sphincter. There was a glugging ‘gloop-gloop’ noise (not unlike the sound of Polyjuice simmering and bubbling in its mud-consistency phase) as his poop pumped out of his body, the firmer and loose stool blending into one giant steaming pile.

The beleaguered blond moaned with the conflicting feelings of humiliation at what he’d been reduced to and physical relief that came with letting go. It was horrible… and wonderful. He grunted quietly as the flood slowed and he needed to bear down to get the last of the viscous lumps still clinging to his inner walls. And then his bladder emptied itself as well, giving its own dirty dénouement to the culmination of bodily satiation.

He was just glad his lover had been asleep and would be none the wiser to this mortifying moment. Or so he thought…

Harry had, in fact, been awake from the second his bed-mate had started squirming; he’d hoped, of course, that something like this might happen. He’d baked the molasses cookies knowing full well that ingested in large quantities, the sugary syrup acted as a laxative (he shuddered in remembrance of how he came by that knowledge, that summer day when Dudley had nicked a whole batch from under Aunt Petunia’s horse-like nose and spent the rest of the afternoon, an “intermission” during dinner and the whole evening on the toilet-- and then smiled at the cute way Draco had skeptically questioned, “mole asses?” after the he’d inquired as to what this delicious new treat was).

He’d also counted on Draco’s sweet tooth to do himself in-- although he didn’t make so many biscuits as to truly harm him, of course, just maybe enough to give Fate a nudge. He smirked as the blond huffed and left the bed. A quick night-vision charm to his glasses had him surveying the scene with startling clarity:

When Draco’s hunched posture turned into a crouch, the Auror’s heart sped up and his erection throbbed as he watched the pale globes of his ass spread as he squatted and the first globs of feces descended and coiled in raunchy ropes on the grass. Harry knew it was incredibly naughty that he was peeping without permission, but he was mesmerized. It glinted wetly in the starlight and his harder than a rock cock twitched in fascination. It was disgusting and depraved for him to be so turned on by it, but he found the whole thing highly erotic!

He loved the sight of the crap, hanging, still connected to his lover’s body for a second before it succumbed to gravity and met the ground; the small sounds, both intestinal and verbal from his boyfriend sent beads of precum out his yearning slit. He had to quiet and time his own panting breaths to match Draco’s so as not to give away his voyeuristic view and shatter the magic of the moment. (And just what was it about a mound of poo, un-obscured by the optical illusion brought on by a toilet bowl and its water that made a load all on its own look so BIG?)

Finally, when it was done, Draco shuffled his way back to the bed with shaky knees, a red face and messy behind. He couldn’t slip into the sheets so unclean and stain them! He rummaged as quietly as he could in the picnic basket for some of those rough-as-sandpaper take away napkins they’d used at dinner. He cast a furtive glance over his shoulder in the direction of his indiscretion, half expecting it to rise up and come haunt him (although he supposed that mental imagery was caused by the movie they’d watched a couple weeks ago-- that quasi-religious film in which the actor playing the character of an angel/the voice-of-God had reminded them both of Snape and there was an attack by a “shit demon”, an evil entity comprised of the worst of human offal).

He snorted mirthlessly to himself and thought, “Facing my own inner shit-demons, indeed!” He startled and jumped about a foot in the air when a sudden ‘Lumos’ engulfed him and heard his boyfriend ask, “What are you doing?”

“Ah! Erm… nothing… just thirsty… Go back to sleep, Love.” Draco hid the wad of paper behind his back with one hand and continued on a faux search of their supplies to locate the water canteen with the other. “Go back to sleep,” he repeated, “Just got to go take a piss.” He started off in a different direction of his incriminating evidence and didn’t see Harry’s face split into a grin. He yelped when he the sensation of an ‘Evanesco’ swept over his crack and sac (Harry didn’t have the heart to tell him he’d had to vanish the splatter on the heels of his Wellington’s as well).

“Tootsie!” the brunet called after him with a hint of laughter in his voice, “I know you don’t have to pee, just come back. You’re clean now, so come on.” He held the hem of the duvet up invitingly and Draco reluctantly returned to their silken nest. All the brunet’s actions indicated that he knew exactly what had happened. Draco lay down, turned away from Potter and pouted.

A strong, warm arm snaked its way around his waist and jostled him slightly. “You care to explain why you were out there in the dark, wandering around by yourself?” Draco frowned. If he already knew, why did he have to ask? (AND make him say it out loud? What a smarmy asshole!)

“Harry…” the blond whined, “Don’t make me say it!” He sounded terribly petulant as he buried his face in the pillow. He was crushed and humiliated there was a witness to that horrid act; now there was no denying such a thing had ever happened. Granted, it was still just as private as any other time they were alone together in the house and playing their fetishistic games, but this was different. “I had an emergency…” he mumbled pitifully, ashamed of his weakness.

The breath was hot in his ear, and the words positively quivering with lust, “You are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen… Everything about you is so gorgeous!” Harry was reverently stroking every inch of skin on Draco’s front with his right hand while the fingers of the left entwined in his blond locks just above his nape and then turned to a fist. The tumescence grinding against the back of his inner thigh doubled in friction and intensity.

Harry crooned through a groan of obvious desire, “I can’t believe I get to see this side of you, so open and human… I count myself lucky every second of every day that we can share this…” His questing erection poked between the juncture of the blond’s groin and tops of his clenched-together thighs, prodding the back of his balls. Draco’s whole mind was acutely aware of every contradictory emotion and physical feeling imaginable; it was appalling, disgusting, satisfying-- and somehow “safe” now that it was deemed acceptable-- yet overall, titillating and the very epitome of trashy tartness. (Fuck, it’s getting me aroused!)

They both moaned when the ‘Lubricous’ was cast and Harry started slipping inside his ring; the brunet relished the tight heat and the blond cringed when he realized he hadn’t been cleaned internally and was undoubtedly smearing fecal remnants all over his boyfriend’s beautiful boner. But it felt good. More than good as Harry started to thrust. They moaned again in unison as Harry found Draco’s prostate and the squelching noises rose in volume with the frantic increase in pace.

The Auror’s guttural grunts in his ear sent goose-bumps over his flesh and then suddenly, he was chilled for a different reason; the plunging of Harry’s prick was suctioning another bout of diarrhea down towards his rectum. Draco shoved feebly at Harry’s arm holding him, “Get off… I have to…”

“I know, I’m so close too… Gonna come…” Harry responded breathily, still pounding, but starting to falter into an erratic rhythm with his hips.

“No…” Draco was equally breathless, “I need to go some more… let me up…”

Harry didn’t release his grasp, but rather growled, “YESSSSSSS! Push, Love! Give it to me!!” Draco was torn, but since his lover was begging for it, he decided to let him have it—if it turned out that he didn’t like it later, well, that was his own damn fault! He bore down, forcing the watery waste around the seal Harry’s shaft made; it sputtered in an explosive gush and was quickly over. The damage was done, he could feel the scalding liquid escape and wet both of their overly-sensitized skins. Harry screamed his climax and roughly clasped Draco’s cock and milked another load of semen from him.

There were no words… just millions and millions of cells, as numerous as the stars in the sky, singing in Cosmic ecstasy.

_)*(_

“So,” Harry started slowly, wondering how to phrase this, “how is it ok for me to ‘go’ outside and not you? You seem to think it’s all right to play inside, especially in the loo, but what about my first time? Making me have an accident in the boat? ‘Just piss over the side and be done with it?’ You didn’t seem to have a problem with that.”

Draco frowned. “It’s different for you. Plus, I needed to get you to someplace private and where you couldn’t easily reach a bathroom. Inside the castle, you would have made it to a bog and spoiled the “accident”.”

“You didn’t make it to a toilet and let loose in the dungeon corridor your first time! And That was potentially public…” Harry countered.

“Well, I don’t have the Boy-Who-Lived’s luck,” the blond replied a bit bitterly. “My only luck was that it happened during lessons and it was only you that witnessed it. And thank any and all deities that the air is too humid in the dungeons to house gossipy portraits!” The blond shuddered and snuggled closer to Harry’s side. “I guess it was some sort of luck that made us come to a “realization” that day though...”

“But why is it so different for me? I get not wanting anyone else knowing—seeing or hearing or smelling your poo—but really, you have a hang-up about simply pissing on a tree? Even when we’re alone? Is it OK for me because I’m somehow beneath you? Because I’m not a Pure Blood?”

Despite Harry’s non-accusatory tone, merely curious, the blond sighed in resignation; he attempted to articulate the concepts that were woven into the fabric of his psyche. “You don’t understand how I was brought up, Potter. I was bred to be a replica, a blob of superior genetics that would be molded into what my mother, and more specifically, my father wanted. Children are a direct reflection on the parents and they have the power to uplift or destroy the Name and Line. They are spoiled and given everything, on the condition of acting proper at all times. Bring shame upon the House and you are regarded as lower than the dirt under their feet.”

Harry shifted his lover in his arms slightly, to get more comfortable; he had the feeling he was in for some heavy-duty education and insight tonight. He wasn’t wrong.

“I’ve never told this story to anyone, but it might help illustrate my point. Luckily, this incident did not happen in public or my fate would have been far worse. After dinner on my fifth birthday of my favorite foods, amidst plenty of presents--complete with a delicious butter-cream frosted cake—I was allowed into Father’s study for the first time to read before we retired for the night. He permitted me to read my story-books on his leather sofa, as long as I was quiet, while he read the paper. It was quite the privilege, let me tell you. And I’ll never forget this as long as I live:

“I popped-- That’s what Nanny Hannah called farts. It made a funny noise, so I laughed. I still cower when I remember the look on Father’s face. He turned red in suppressed rage, rather than paler like I was used to. He didn’t say a word to me, but hauled me up by the neck of my robes and dragged me down the hall to the washroom reserved for guests, and chucked me in (which was just as well, since I was unexpectedly seized violently with horrible diarrhea—at the time I thought it was just from being emotionally upset, but as I’ve told you before, I was becoming profoundly lactose intolerant by that time). I was locked in and I could hear him berating My-Nannah—not the actual words, except “Squib” and “failed to train”, but the tone was clear.

“My-Nah was crying and, I suspect, suspended without pay—and it was all my fault!   I hurt her with my lack of self-discipline! I didn’t see her until two weeks later, or my Father for the next four weeks. The House-elves who brought my food to my room said that my mother was on vacation, but I saw her from my window in the gardens some afternoons...”

Harry wasn’t sure what was worse— being a child with no love or attention, yet predictable hatred and ostracism, or having love and approval only sometimes and have it contingent on unrealistically strict codes of conduct being successfully met. He held his tongue in order to keep this un-usually open streak of verbosity flowing from his boyfriend.

“And then right after those weeks, there was the ice cream social for the Summer Solstice we held on the east lawn and rose-gardens every year. I didn’t know the signs yet, or they snuck up on me too rapidly—but the end result was that I messed my new white robes, all the way down to my expensive imported shoes. Nanny Hannah wrapped me in a blanket reserved for the children to sit upon and hurried me into the house. My mother and her friends were too far away to witness what had occurred, but I suspect she did all the ‘Obliviations’ herself, when she learned which kids were with me by the duck-pond when it happened. There’s no other explanation; Pansy or Blaise would have, at the very least teased me-- and at most, blackmailed me with that information. No, there was a mass cover-up, but I know she didn’t spare me the memory for a reason.”

“I didn’t see either of my parents for quite some time after that, and I was to take meals in my room, be tutored in my day room, take my music lesson in the grand piano conservatory and learn how to behave in polite company at all times, even when alone. You don’t understand, Harry. As soon as a Pure Blood child is potty-trained, anything less is unacceptable. As soon a one can use the loo, they are expected to conduct themselves as adults in miniature, and the upper-crust of society is all about social standing and image. It’s an illusion, of course,” his grey eyes flicked from side to side a bit, “We still have to do base things like excrete waste, but if no one sees it—and you don’t admit to it—there is no evidence! Don’t you see?

Harry thought it made sense in a weird way and nodded, trying to exude understanding so he could learn more. This seemed to precipitate the most concise answer he could hope for as Draco belted out as if was gospel. “It’s all about what you present to the outside world! If it happens behind closed doors, it doesn’t exist!”

“So Pure Bloods don’t burp, have bogeys or earwax then?” Harry was trying to laugh as he felt suffocated by hearing about Draco’s background. He wouldn’t stop the font of information for anything in the world since it was the first time it was forthcoming, but it didn’t hurt his heart any less.

“No! Well, not as far as the rest of the world is concerned. There’s a reason women, if they have to, say they are ‘going to powder their nose’ and men who need the toilet abruptly and can’t leave present company without some sort of explanation state, ‘I’m afraid I need to go wash my hands now.’ The gore of childbirth is tolerated for the necessary sake of creating heirs, but it is not witnessed by men, and never spoken of.”

“But even with family, you’re not allowed to say you need to use the bathroom?” Harry thought back to his time with the Dursley’s; he couldn’t make that declaration—and had to sneak around it for his own reasons-- but Uncle Vernon and Dudley had absolutely no compunction about breaking wind at the table or taking half a morning or afternoon holed up in the loo— engaged in the newspaper and Gameboy (respectively)—farting and defiling the porcelain with disgustingness. Then he flashed on how cute it was that Draco never announced his departure when he had to go to the toilet, just slinked away, trying not to draw attention to himself.

“This is what I’m saying!” His lover yelled, and pounded a pedantic fist into the mattress, his face twisted with bile. “You NEVER admit it! ‘Filth doesn’t come from your being! Malfoys are above all banal and boorish behaviours that plague the common folk. Even among other upstanding Wizarding families, WE do not stoop to the level of any debasement! We. Are. CIVILIZED!’

Draco was left panting and Harry was reeling from the harsh indoctrination that was filtering through. Those sounded like direct quotes! And while some of that was all well and good… taken to that extreme, it just seemed, well, unhealthy. Weren’t you supposed to be allowed to blow your nose in front of your mom? He shook his head, he would never really understand what was normal and what wasn’t… He never had a caregiver… unless you counted Draco (who selflessly, sensuously, and generously) catered to his every whim since they’d moved in together, even though he was an adult.

“It’s all about appearances.” Draco’s voice snapped his rambling thoughts back to the present. “What happens behind closed doors is another matter completely. Obviously, everyone has to ‘go’ and I know that the Families have unsavory, sordid affairs and extreme sexual perversions, but it’s never spoken of nor revealed. The other elite, old Families are just waiting for a slip or crack in the facade to lord it over whoever is higher up or to keep another’s status securely below them. It’s an illusion, yes, we still have bodily functions, but as long as it’s private, we remain superior to the crass masses.”

At Harry’s indignant huff, he quickly explained, “I know, it’s silly and wrong, I’m just telling you how I was raised. Here’s an example of how important this concept is:

“During the winter holidays our sixth year, Pansy threw up in a potted plant in the foyer—we’d all been sneaking wine at the party—but it happened in front of a crowd. By the next week most of her offers for arrangements of marriage were rescinded, my own included. My father would never tolerate such a display to be in any way linked to his Line and reputation. All that remained for her were the absolute dregs, and her parents suffered extreme loss in rank. The behavior of a child can elevate or annihilate the worth of an entire Blood-Line.”

Suddenly, Harry was accosted by his memory of Sirius talking to him in front of the Black Family tree tapestry; the miming of using a wand as a shotgun and the scorch marks on the ancient cloth over his and Andromeda’s names brought on a whole new meaning…

“I think that may have been behind her trying to sell you to the Dark Lord at the Final Battle,” Draco continued. “It was a bid to redeem herself and her parents, uncles and cousins even…” He shook his head in lament, “Stupid of her not to realize the whole World Order had changed… long before then, actually… Clinging stubbornly to the Old Ways is not realistic any more… If it ever was.”

“Pure blood children are expected to act and conduct themselves with courtly manners. In fact, I’ve never been barefoot in sand or grass before today.” His boyfriend seemed to be shocked into silence and he quietly relayed the Malfoy summers in the south of France at the villa on the beach-- how he would wistfully watch the kids playing on the shoreline, splashing in the surf and building sandcastles, laughing with delight. It looked like so much fun! But again, such common activities, especially ones that got ‘one’s self dirty’ or partially unclothed in the public eye, were prohibited.

Harry finally understood it implicitly then—the distinction of dirty and messy, outdoors meant public, inside meant private (even though that line was blurred)—and the foundations of their previous, mutually agreed upon ‘no evidence rule’ made sense on yet a deeper level:

Draco had been bullied in his own way, under a heavy veil of etiquette and societal pressure, to become a snobbish automaton; he’d learned early, and harshly, to quell such impulses and enact the role prescribed by his parents—to be a pliant and highly-suggestible being. Harry found that his lover was not unlike being an Imperius victim or an employed Inferi. But by seven years of age, Draco admitted he’d perfected the part (and pretty much believed it as reality). By the time he was ready for Hogwarts he’d had years of training to think himself better than everyone else.

It saddened the Auror that his lover’s childhood and carefree innocence had been stripped from him, much like his own, but in an entirely different fashion. Draco really had come a long way since that Fateful day in Madam Malkins’ shop; Harry vowed to cut him some slack when his fussy little quirks surfaced from time to time. He would remind himself that it was all part of what made his man so infuriating, intriguing and incredible. The brain-washed blond was still learning, sometimes wobbling like a newborn colt standing up for the first time; and it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

The proof was in the trust he showed Harry by allowing him this camping trip without his wand, how he went with the flow even though it was so far beyond his realm of experience-- that he would stretch his levels of comfort-- all to make his lover happy.

Draco sighed again, but this time with the satisfaction of finally unburdening himself. Despite several strops, unpleasant surprises and somewhat disturbing yet profound revelations of personal growth, he was actually starting to like this camping thing (although if they ever did it again-- and he told Harry he would welcome that—they would fly here and he would have his wand!).

Life with Harry was definitely filled with the clashing of two different worlds and perspectives, but they were changing and blending into the best possible versions of themselves they could be. Together. They were making it work, side by side. They still challenged each other like they always had but in much, much better ways; there wasn’t any animosity now, just affection and contentment.

“Draco?” the brunet asked, after the conversation lulled.

“Hmm?” the blond replied sleepily, drained from all the trying yet auspicious events of the last twelve hours and about to drop off.

“I love you,” he answered, voice thick with sleep and emotion. “After we go home tomorrow and I get Ginny’s birthday fire-call out of the way, I want to soak in a huge tub of bubbles with you…”

The Healer smiled into the brunet’s hair-line, “We can have brunch and mimosas-- and play with the jets…”

Harry chuckled softly, “Yes, let’s do the ‘clean, sweet-smelling domestic thing’,” he squeezed his love playfully, “and then I can thank you properly for coming with me on our first trip together.”

Draco gave a sharp twitch in surprise, and then realized that yes, this was the first night they’d spent away from their home together, or one of the flats they’d occupied during their training and certification. He found his lips spread in a wide, coprophagous grin. “Deal!”

)*(

Author’s Note:

Whew! OK, that turned out a LOT longer (both in word count and length of time it took to write it) than I had anticipated, but I just had to do Draco’s hang-ups and history justice! I hope I accomplished that.

Also, the fact that the next five chapters (which are in no way as long and getting back to the simple PWP format) have been composing themselves in my mind along-side this part, and forced me to keep jotting down the ideas. That slowed me up for posting… but the others should come faster….

Hope you enjoyed that one! Any and all comments are more than welcome! :)
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