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The House That Lovers Built	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 14853 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfic.

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Chapter Nine—We the Living

            “I’m hungry. And I want to go swimming.”

            Harry started and opened his eyes. From the cramp in his neck, he’d been asleep a long time. And Malfoy was up, sitting on the edge of the mattress with his legs folded, dressed, as though he’d spent that time watching Harry sleep.

            Harry yawned and stretched out both arms and legs, sprawling them in all sorts of different directions until he felt Malfoy kick him. “So go on,” he said, and let his eyes flutter shut. “If you want to swim, I mean. I’m not stopping you.”

            “The house would probably make sure that I couldn’t go in the pool by myself, given all the other things it’s done already,” Malfoy said, words gentle on the surface but rough along the edges. “Come on—”

            He paused so abruptly that Harry rolled over, moaned at the twinge in his arse when that happened, and looked up at him. Malfoy’s hand rested on his throat, and he stared at his fingers as though they had choked him. Harry sat up and rested a hand on his elbow. “What’s wrong?”

            “I couldn’t say your last name,” Malfoy said. “I can’t—Harry Potter.” He hesitated, then said, “Well, that time I could. But I think—I think the house doesn’t want us calling each other by our last names anymore. It’s fine when we say it as part of the whole name, but it wants me to call you Harry.” He met Harry’s gaze evenly.

            “Come on—”

            And Harry felt the odd little catch in his own throat when he would have said Malfoy’s surname, the drag and the click that shut him up in ways that he didn’t wish to be shut up. He snarled, and his hands formed into fists in front of him.

            “You can say it,” Malfoy whispered. “Harry.” His hand was on Harry’s chin, bending his head back so that he had no choice but to meet Malfoy’s eyes, weirdly intrusive. “Say it, Harry.”

            “Draco,” Harry snapped, and the invisible bit vanished from his tongue. “You realize that that doesn’t mean I want to call you that all the time?”

            “I know that,” Malfoy said, with a weird smile on his face that Harry distrusted instinctively, and would have distrusted still more if he didn’t know Malfoy was suffering under the house’s restrictions as much as he was. “But while we’re here, that’s what we need to call each other.” He pulled Harry to his feet with an easy tug and offered him his shirt. “Now, hurry up. I want to go swimming.”

            Harry sighed and tugged the shirt on, though of course Malfoy didn’t offer him his trousers and he didn’t look for them. If they were walking only a few paces, from room to room, there was no reason to ask for them anyway.

            “I’ll go with you if you answer one of my questions,” he said, and then sighed when Malfoy waited expectantly. “Draco.”

            Malfoy nodded. The wide smile had vanished from his face, but Harry thought he could see traces of it lingering in his mouth.

            “Why do you like this?” Harry asked. “Me calling you by your first name, and having sex with you—all right, the having sex part I can understand.” One of Malfoy’s eyebrows had gone up, and Harry could only imagine the devastating things he would say in a minute if Harry didn’t retract that part of it. “But the rest of it? I know that you didn’t like me before we came here. We were never friends. Why didn’t you want to leave as much as I did? Why are you able to put up with this so much better than I can?”

            Malfoy studied him in silence for a few seconds. Harry began to shiver, and Malfoy cast a Warming Charm at him and then turned and left the lab. Harry hurried to catch up, not wanting to know what the house would do at the moment if either of them tried to stay alone in a room.

            “You’re right that I never liked you,” Malfoy said over his shoulder. “But I did envy you. And not because of your fame or because you were the one who received the fawning adoration of the crowds.”

            Harry rolled his eyes so hard that he winced a minute later, and Malfoy laughed, stopping on the side of the pool and pulling his clothes off again. Harry started to look away, then decided that he had the right to look if anyone did, and admired Malfoy’s long, sleek muscles as he emerged.

            “For that, too, then,” Malfoy said, and shrugged, and slipped, and then he was in the water, although he shivered. Harry pulled off his shirt and joined him, and felt the edges of ice beginning to form in the water melt. “But most of all, it was your friends. I thought Weasley wanted to be close to you to get some fame of his own at first, and that Granger saw you as a research project. Then I started thinking that no research project or desire for fame would keep me at your side through all the dangers they endured, and I knew it must be something closer to real friendship.”

            “They’ll take that as high praise, they will,” Harry muttered, and began to swim to the far side of the pool. Malfoy kept up with him easily. No reason why he shouldn’t, Harry decided. Aurors weren’t the only ones who might receive some training in swimming.

            “Listen,” Malfoy said. “Just listen.”

            Harry felt a thickness like a collar settle into place around his throat and decided that he probably couldn’t do much else at the moment. He sighed and leaned against the far side of the pool, letting his legs float out in front of him. Malfoy settled close enough for them to brush shoulders.

            “That was what I envied you for,” Malfoy said. “I had friends, but they drifted in and out and away from me. Pansy was really only my friend for as long as there was no risk or danger to it. She abandoned me during our sixth year. Millicent and I were never close, and Blaise and I were too alike and mocked each other. Theodore—I don’t know, I think we knew too much about each other as the children of Death Eater fathers. Most of the other Slytherins didn’t try to approach me. There were Vincent and Gregory, though.” He shut up and stared at the far side of the pool.

            Harry hesitated. He had never liked Crabbe and Goyle, and he hated the way that Malfoy had encouraged them to bully people. But he remembered what had happened in the Room of Requirement, and no matter what he thought about Malfoy or the way that he was acting about this stupid house, it was a pretty fucking awful thing to see one of your friends burn to death.

            He reached out and laid a hesitant hand on Malfoy’s shoulder.

            Malfoy turned to him and took a deep breath. His eyes were enormous, enough that Harry could see floating flecks of other colors in them. Green, and hazel—his eyes reflected light the way the water dancing around them did.

            This is stupid. Stop.

            But Harry didn’t think he could look away or quit touching Malfoy even if he wanted to, although he couldn’t blame those things on the house, either, not with the way that Malfoy was staring at him or the way he had reached up to clamp his hand on top of Harry’s.

            “Vincent died,” Malfoy said, struggling through emotions Harry could guess at and never, ever wanted to experience. “And Gregory didn’t want to talk to me after that. He blamed me for Vincent getting killed. I—understand that. But it just meant that the friendships I’d thought were always going to be there burned and cracked apart. And I was on my own, with no one but my family. They loved me, but that wasn’t enough.”

            Harry pictured what Ron would say if he could see Harry sitting there and listening to Draco Malfoy’s confidences. Then he shrugged. Ron wasn’t here, and Harry wouldn’t tell him about it if Malfoy wouldn’t.

            “So,” Malfoy whispered, “I envied you for your friends harder than ever. Even when they seemed to blame you and distance themselves from you, they always came back.”

            Harry nodded, thinking of Ron. Jealousy could affect him sometimes, but he would be there when it most counted, to rescue Harry from icy water and admit that he was wrong after the Triwizard Tournament.

            “Now, you’re talking to me and listening to me and touching me like you mean it and not running away for the sake of running away.” Malfoy lifted his head and stared at him, his hands clenched in the water as though he expected to have to fight for his life in a minute. “You could have been stubborn and stupid enough to go on resisting even when the house changed the shape of the bed on us. You could have tried to hurt me instead of letting me brew the potion, but instead, you trusted me enough to do that. You could have tried to kill me, even. You could have done anything rather than let me touch you, or have sex with me, let alone as often and enthusiastically as you’ve done it.” Harry glared, but Malfoy seemed to take that as encouragement, if anything, from the way his eyes glowed. “You were willing enough to go along with it, which means that you don’t see me as the ultimate evil or a person too terrible to be with. I don’t care that this situation is artificial. You’ve still given me something I’ve always wanted, and let me experience it from the inside, the thing you experienced with Weasley and Granger.”

            “I didn’t let them fuck me,” Harry said, the minute he felt the collar loosening from his throat.

            Malfoy utterly ignored that, instead leaning forwards until his forehead hovered a little distance from Harry’s scar and whispering, “Thank you.”

            Harry flinched. There was no retreating, not now, and he didn’t think he would get away for as long as Malfoy wanted to hold onto him, either.

            That wasn’t all the house. It wasn’t all Malfoy, who was strong, but not as strong as Harry. Harry could have pushed him away and gone on pretending that there was another way to get out of this house, or at least got along with him but nothing more, and starved and gone without sleep. He had done harder things when he was with the Dursleys, and he had been a lot younger then.

            But part of this came from him. He had wanted to understand Malfoy and get along with him and get out of this house more than he had wanted to preserve his own independence and autonomy. He looked away and shut his eyes as he thought about that.

            No getting out of this. No backing away.

            Which meant there was a strong chance that it would continue in the future, too, and he wouldn’t be able to change things when he and Malfoy were out of the house.

            But things would change. Malfoy won’t want me as much, and Ron and Hermione will surround me and talk about how they’re friends with me, he isn’t, and help me distance myself from him…

            Malfoy laughed quietly beside him. “I can see the struggle going on in your face,” he explained, when Harry opened one eye and looked at him. “You’re so open. So easy to read.”

            Harry turned his head away again. “Then you know that this is only going to last as long as we’re here, and not beyond that,” he said, controlling himself with an effort. “You’re all right with that?”

            Malfoy moved, gripping his shoulder with one hand and his throat with the other. Harry kept his eyes steadily on Malfoy’s face. He didn’t think Malfoy would really hurt him, but the emotions that boiled between them were more dangerous.

            “I know that it’s real right now,” Malfoy said. “And you can’t take the memory of the experience from me. That’s what I meant.”

            “I wouldn’t try to Obliviate you,” Harry said quietly, reaching up and prying at Malfoy’s hands until he released his grip. “But I don’t want you to sabotage the potion or do something else that would get us stranded in this house for longer than necessary. I want you to remember that it’s going to end. That’s all.”

            Malfoy watched him with an inscrutable face for a moment, then nodded. “It will end,” he said. “It will change. But not even you can say in what way, yet.”

            Harry grunted and shrugged away from Malfoy. “I still need to think of something to say in a Patronus, and especially why I didn’t answer Hermione’s for such a long time,” he muttered, stretching out for the far side of the pool. “Why don’t we swim while we think about that?”

            “I would prefer that you think about me,” Malfoy said, but softly enough that Harry could ignore him if he wanted, which was exactly what he planned to do. He swam beside Harry without attempting to stop him or kiss him again, which was everything else that Harry wanted right now, anyway.

            Harry decided, as he felt the water brush smoothly along his skin and Malfoy splash around and past him, that it was better to just apologize and then go on without telling Hermione why he’d forgotten about answering her. She would probably assume that it was due to the difficulty of getting any message past the house’s wards, and that way, Harry could avoid arguments with both his friends and Malfoy.

            And he would mention the nature of Malfoy’s potion, too. Hermione wouldn’t know the exact recipe, but she might have ideas about brewing portions of it faster so that they could get out.

            Malfoy’s arm brushed his as they were climbing out of the pool, and Harry thought back to the mattress in the lab and what he’d let Malfoy do to him there. What they’d done together.

            I have to get out of here, and see what’s real and what isn’t.

*

            Mercifully, the house played no new tricks with the food or the bed that night, and Harry slept deeply and woke up with Malfoy in his arms and his head resting on his chest. His hand traced slow, empty patterns around Harry’s nipples, but at least Harry was somewhat used to that by now.

            “We should go down to the lab,” Malfoy whispered, right before he twisted his head to the side and kissed Harry.

            Harry yielded, because he did want to, and at least this was something both of them had chosen, just at this moment, and not something the house had enforced. Malfoy held him and moved on top of him, moaning softly, his legs stretching and squirming every which way. Like tadpoles, Harry thought, and wanted to laugh.

            Instead, he kissed Malfoy and pushed and pulled him about until he was settled in a position that was comfortable for both of them. Their groins fitted together, their cocks rocked against each other at the same time, and Harry was crying out before he realized it, trying to kiss Malfoy so it would be muffled.

            Malfoy pulled away, though, and shook his head. His face was flushed, but nothing was brighter than his lips and the glisten of saliva on them. “No,” he said. “I like hearing you.”

            Harry yielded again, and groaned and screamed and moaned and cried through the rest of it, which ended faster than the other times they’d done this, with slick skin and Malfoy stiffening above him and crushing him when he cursed, and Harry feeling Malfoy’s tongue in his mouth at the exact same time as he came himself, while Malfoy stroked his hip and hummed smugly into the kiss.

            “We need a shower,” Malfoy said, sitting up. Harry watched him, the scars on his chest and the ribs showing through his skin on the left side. He would get too thin if he didn’t watch himself, Harry thought. He needed to remember to eat when they got out of here, and not simply sit in his lab and experiment. “Then we should have a meal, and then go to the lab.” His hand came and rested on Harry’s shoulder. “In the afternoon, we can do this again.”

            “What if we get the potion finished today?” Harry rolled away and sat up, watching Malfoy, mainly to see what he would say.

            “Then it’s finished, and we escape,” Malfoy said, his lips twitching upwards, his eyes so bright that Harry cautiously decided that he’d been telling the truth, and really did want to leave. “But I don’t think it will be. I still need to infuse it with my magic, and with my blood. And I want a clean knife in the lab before I do that.”

            “Blood magic?” Harry said, before he could help himself. Malfoy looked at him, and then gave Harry’s damp and sticky chest a long glance. Harry flushed, but said, “Every potion that uses blood I’ve run into is used to dominate or control someone else.”

            “Of course,” Malfoy agreed. “It’s the house, in this case.”

            Harry stared at him. Malfoy looked back at him, with his eyes gentle and implacable. Harry realized that was all the answer he was going to get out of him, and sighed, shutting his eyes and rubbing his face for a second.

            “All right,” he said. “All right. I’ll send another Patronus to Hermione in case the first didn’t get through, and then come and help you with the potion.”

            “No shower together, then?” Malfoy’s hand moved towards his chest.

            Harry cast a Cleaning Charm, and it worked perfectly. Malfoy blinked. “I was sure the house would make it impossible for your wand to do that,” he murmured.

            Harry paused. It sounded like disappointment in Malfoy’s voice. He shrugged a moment later and said, “I think that we’re getting along the way the house wants now, and that’s more important to it than any single action we do. But I’m only going to do this because of the Patronus. We don’t have as much time this morning.”

            Malfoy nodded. “Good,” he said, and kissed Harry lightly, and rose to begin dressing, while Harry closed his eyes and once again concentrated on the silver stag. He had no shortage of happy memories to feed it with this time, although he didn’t think Malfoy would be grateful to know that one of them involved the way Malfoy had rocked above him, scars flaring on his chest and eyes shut with pleasure.

            Or maybe “ungrateful” isn’t the problem. Maybe the problem is “far too smug.”

            The stag appeared and pawed at the air for only a moment before settling back in resignation; it appeared to have accepted that there would be no Dementors around when Harry summoned it for quite a while. Harry leaned forwards. “Hermione, I’m making sure that my first message reached you. Malfoy thinks that he’s close to finishing that potion up—”

            He hesitated, noticing the way that Malfoy watched him. Head bowed, eyes glittering at Harry, his arms crossed.

            He’s waiting for me to mention that part of the potion is blood magic, Harry thought, while his face prickled and the moments stretched and the stag watched him, prick-eared, no less alert than Malfoy was.

            “Maybe not today, but soon,” Harry finished, looking at Malfoy and not the Patronus. “I’m sorry, again, because I didn’t contact you in so long. But we’re fine. The house hasn’t hurt us much. I need you to look through your books and see if there’s anything that we can do to speed up the process, though. There aren’t any books here. We’re just relying on Malfoy’s Potions knowledge, and the theory could have been messed up when the two of us blundered into this predicament.”

            The Patronus bowed its head and bounded out of the room. Meanwhile, Malfoy and Harry watched each other.

            “You didn’t tell her about the blood,” Malfoy whispered. “Even though you know the knowledge could be important to help her figure out if we’re doing anything wrong.”

            Harry swallowed back the immediate retort he wanted to make, that Malfoy was the one brewing the potion and not him. At this point, they were collaborators. “I—she would only argue with me, and talk about how we couldn’t do the potion after all and would have to figure out some other way to escape. I don’t want to listen to it right now.”

            Malfoy’s smile slowly warmed and expanded across his face. “Irritation. As good a reason for making important decisions as any, I suppose.”

            “Oh, shut up,” Harry muttered, and rose to start getting dressed, aware that Malfoy watched him as much as he had watched Malfoy.

            It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation. He simply wanted to know if it was real.

*

            delia cerrano: If Harry could be sure that he really wants this, or that Draco would once they’re out of the house, he would be more into it. But he simply doesn’t know.

            unneeded: Sorry to hear about the bee sting! I hope you recovered.

            Yes, Harry is not really all that enthusiastic.

            SP777: I think there are some crack fics with serenades in them, but that’s about all I can really think of.

            Anna: Thank you! As a matter of fact, neither of them has quite hit on what is needed to get out.
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The House That Lovers Built