HP fic: Better Than Revenge, ch. 30: The Library [Harry/Draco, adult]
Title: Better Than Revenge chapter 30, "The Library" Author: celandineb Fandom: HP Pairing: Harry/Draco Rating: adult Summary: While Harry is away, Draco talks to Mrs. Black's portrait again. They play a game of forfeits in the evening, and Harry extracts a promise from Draco.
Draco had no objections whatsoever to going upstairs when Harry suggested it, and if he was a little disappointed when Harry jacked him off quickly, he was certain enough that there would be other opportunities – if not tonight, then tomorrow or another day – that when Harry apologized for coming so fast, he only smiled and said, "There's always later, you know." Then he stripped down, using a quick cleaning spell, and waited for Harry to do the same.
"So, what information did you need to sort things out?" he whispered, running his hands over Harry's skin.
"I'm not sure... this is really good, but I don't know if it's enough, you know?" Harry was blushing as he spoke.
Well if they hadn't tried enough yet to let Harry decide if he was interested, Draco was quite willing to do whatever else he might find necessary. "You like messing around with me, but you're not sure if that's what you really want." An unwelcome thought struck him, and he sighed. "You still fancy Ginny."
To Draco's amazement, Harry replied, "No, I don't think so. If she were here and I had to choose, I'd choose you."
Hearing that made Draco's heart give a great thump, matched by a sudden rush of blood to his cock. "Really? You would? I never thought... oh, Merlin." He kissed Harry, quick little kisses all over his face, unable to put any words to the feeling of sheer happiness. His hands were actually trembling as he stroked Harry's messy dark hair back from his face, and he hoped Harry wouldn't realize just how overwhelmed he was. Not that no one had ever said such a thing to him before. Miles had said all sorts of things, and even Blaise had had an unexpected streak of romance in him occasionally... very occasionally. But this was different.
It seemed that maybe Harry did understand Draco's amazement, because he pushed Draco gently back against the pillows and gazed at him, his eyes so dilated that they scarcely looked green, murmuring, "Let me..." and then he slipped down Draco's body. A warm wet tongue swiped over the head of Draco's cock and he moaned. There was something in the way Harry was sucking him – Draco wasn't sure if Harry had ever done this before, although he suspected not – maybe it was just that it was Harry Potter, after all those years of fantasizing about exactly this.
"Oh, fuck yeah, Harry," Draco heard himself saying, struggling not to let his hips thrust up too hard. He tried to get Harry to release him before he came, but Harry stubbornly hung on, licking around Draco's shaft and rubbing the base until Draco couldn't help himself and spurted what felt like an enormous amount into Harry's mouth.
"Harry, oh, come here." Draco couldn't hold back, he wanted Harry to feel like this too, so he pulled him up to kiss him, grasping Harry's cock as soon as he could reach it. "Do you want me?"
"Yeah," Harry breathed, but he didn't move the way Draco expected.
"I mean, do you want to fuck me? Because you can, if you want. Or I can suck you off," Draco clarified. He hoped that Harry would want to fuck him. He'd only bottomed a few times, actually, but enough to know that he liked it and wanted to do it with Harry... although not till Harry wanted it just as much.
The pause was long enough to raise Draco's hopes, but Harry said at last, his voice a little embarrassed, "Suck me." Oh, well. That was fine too. Draco made sure to use every technique he knew to enhance a blow job – Miles had gone crazy when Draco blew over his wet prick, and Blaise always enjoyed having his balls played with – and was rewarded when Harry cried out, "Draco!" as he came.
Draco was grinning, almost chuckling, as he said, "Is that enough information, or d'you still want more?"
Harry laughed too. "Isn't more always supposed to be better?"
"Of course, and we can do other things if you want, too... whenever you're ready." Draco ran a hand along Harry's back and hugged him. "But not till then. This is more than I ever thought I'd have; I don't want to push you." He did, actually, but he knew it was likely to have the opposite effect on a stubborn Gryffindor.
"I've never done... I mean, I know of some of what else there is, between two blokes, but..."
Putting a finger across Harry's lips, Draco assured him, "I'm not going to compare you to anyone else just because right now I have more experience than you. It's okay."
"Okay." Harry rested his head on Draco's shoulder, and Draco felt himself falling into sleep.
The next morning the shrill voice of Dobby woke him out of a pleasant dream. He had just enough presence of mind to remind Harry to tell the house-elf not to go into the room that held Mrs. Black's portrait. Having a little help around the place was going to be a marvelous thing; Dobby even remembered that Draco preferred his eggs soft-boiled.
What almost made Draco lose his self-possession once again, though, was when Harry told Dobby to take Draco's commands as if they were Harry's own. Didn't Harry realize what that meant? Perhaps not, Draco realized as he finished eating. Harry hadn't grown up in a wizarding household, and his only close pureblood friends, the Weasleys, were too poor to own any house-elves. Giving another person full and equal authority over one was tantamount to marriage: something of which Harry was almost certainly unaware, so Draco resolved not to take Harry's gesture as demonstrating anything more than his generous nature and his ignorance of wizarding custom.
Draco made sure that Harry had the list of potion ingredients they would need – they had found only a few standard items in the house – and, once Harry had gone off to Diagon Alley, he showed Dobby which cellar room needed cleaning and also the room on the first floor that now contained Mrs. Black's portrait, telling the house-elf to stay out of that one. He, however, went in to see if there was anything more to be learned from his great-aunt Walburga.
"It's about time," she snapped as soon as Draco turned the frame outward again. "Don't you know that unless I'm properly hung on the wall, I am trapped here?"
"Yes, ma'am," Draco acknowledged. "I'm sorry, but for the time being it is necessary. I'm sure you can understand the need for discretion." He smiled at her, knowing that although overall he favored his father in appearance, his mouth was very much Black. As both a Black by birth and a Black by marriage, her pride in the family was greater even than that of Bellatrix or Narcissa.
She preened and said, "Yes, of course," when Draco smiled, though clearly she had no idea what he could mean. Asking her questions intended to discover whether there were any particularly significant Dark Magic items concealed in the house proved fruitless, unfortunately. From what Draco could tell, nearly everything with any magical use whatsoever had been removed, certainly anything potentially dangerous; the old lady lamented about having seen them taken by blood traitors in the past several years, despite Kreacher's best efforts to stop the thieves. It appeared that the house-elf had managed for a time to secrete a few items in his den in the kitchen, but that someone in the Order of the Phoenix had eventually found and removed them.
Mrs. Black carped at length about such matters. She needed only the occasional nod or sympathetic, "You don't say," from Draco to continue. Which was easy enough to do, but it was dreadfully dull listening to her rant on about the decline in behavior that she had witnessed in her time, beginning with her own ungrateful son whose actions were a betrayal of the purity of his lineage. A good deal of what she said reminded Draco of his parents' dinner-table conversation, when his father was feeling annoyed by the Ministry and blamed the policy changes on the growing prevalence of half-bloods and Muggle-borns in the bureaucracy, taking positions once reserved for those of pure wizarding blood.
It occurred to Draco to wonder, as he listened with growing impatience carefully concealed, if in fact there were enough remaining pureblood witches and wizards to fill all those posts. He thought over the students he knew at Hogwarts. Even in Slytherin there were several who had recent Muggle ancestry, although none were actually Mudbloods or half-bloods. Of the Gryffindors, only three or four in Draco's year were pureblooded, and the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were little better.
Eventually Draco concluded that there was less to be learned from Mrs. Black's portrait than he and Harry had hoped would be the case. He waited until she had finished a tirade against the restrictions that the Ministry of Magic had put on certain types of transformation spells, then broke in to say that he had other urgent matters to attend to, and much to his regret would need to leave her isolated again, and would she like a drapery across her painting to enable her to rest? She rather grudgingly assented, so Draco found a shawl that had been left in one of the bureau drawers and carefully hung it over the front of the frame before turning it to lean against the bedpost. Then he went down to see if Dobby had prepared lunch, and if Harry was back yet.
He was just beginning on a helping of cottage pie when Harry returned laden with packages that he refused Draco's help in putting away, saying that they'd do so after they ate.
"You were right, by the way," Harry said as he sat down.
"Right? About what?" Draco couldn't think what Harry might be talking about.
"About having Dobby come here to work for me. For us."
Hearing Harry say "us" so casually – especially hearing him correct himself to say it – made Draco's face hot. "Thanks. I, ah, never thought I'd hear you say I was right about anything," he added to explain his embarrassment.
"Was I that much of a git at Hogwarts?" Now Harry was flushing too.
"Yeah, but so was I, and I didn't have as much reason." Draco thought about it. "If I hadn't been so much at odds with Weasley, maybe you and I would have been friends long ago."
"We are now, and that's what counts." Harry dropped his fork and reached across the table to take Draco's hand. His skin was warm and dry, his touch reassuring.
"Even if we don't stay together," Draco stopped himself from saying "as lovers," sure that Harry would still reject anything so official. Instead he simply finished, "After you've done what you have to do about You-Know-who, I hope we'll stay friends?"
He was glad to have said it without letting the burning need he felt show through in his voice, and even gladder when Harry answered, "We will," squeezing Draco's hand again.
When Harry asked if Mrs. Black's portrait had been helpful, Draco told him that she hadn't, explaining that she only seemed obsessed with blood purity and the freedom to do any kind of magic without Ministry oversight, and didn't really appear to have been more than a passive supporter of Voldemort. "Her ideas are a lot like my father's, really."
"Except that your father became a Death Eater, and your aunt too." Harry's eyes flashed.
"I know that!" said Draco in exasperation. "Don't blame me for what they did. I was raised to believe those ideas too, but I'm working against You-Know-Who now, aren't I? Be fair, Harry." He didn't want to argue with Harry, but he wasn't going to let the assumption pass that valuing family and ancestry made a person automatically prone to be evil. Holding his breath, he waited to see how Harry would respond.
"Sorry," Harry mumbled, much to Draco's relief. Sometime they should have a long talk about these things, but he wasn't prepared for it now.
"Okay. Um." Draco cast around for a change of topic. "Dobby's cleaned up that cellar room, I think – you want to start trying some of those potions today, right?"
Together they began brewing a total of five different potions that afternoon, and actually completed the simplest one. In between, they unpacked the parcels Harry had brought back from Diagon Alley – all except for one, which Harry wouldn't let Draco look at and instead took away upstairs, still wrapped in its brown paper. He had brought more Muggle money for Draco, too, and Draco thought that perhaps they should go pick up some more wine or something. A Butterbeer sounded good but he'd forgotten to suggest it to Harry, and it wasn't as if Harry could have carried much more anyway. A Muggle off-license it would have to be.
When the Dissolving Draught was ready, Harry brought out the Horcrux and stood swinging it from the chain, looking apprehensive.
"Just try," said Draco softly, and grasped Harry's other hand with his own. He hoped for Harry's sake that this would work, although success on the first attempt was unlikely. The locket indeed emerged unscathed. "One of the others will work, I'm sure," he said as cheerfully as he could.
"Yeah." The response was discouraged. "At least tomorrow at the Burrow I can tell Hermione what we've done so far. Maybe she'll have more suggestions." Harry seemed to brighten up at that thought.
"Should I go along, do you think?"
"Go? Of course. The Burrow's safe, not like Diagon Alley where there could be Death Eaters looking for you. And we can try the Permutatio spell on your Dark Mark again – I want you to be safe from Voldemort's summons." Harry's voice was serious.
"I know." Draco put his arm around Harry, holding him tight. "I appreciate that you're concerned for my safety, even if sometimes I'm not happy about the restrictions."
"You'd do the same for me."
Draco gazed at Harry's face. "Yes, I would," he said simply. Even without the Unbreakable Vow, he would do anything to keep Harry safe, alive and well.
Before dinner they went out to buy wine, and beer as well at Harry's request. They shared most of a bottle of Chianti as they ate, and afterward, Harry made Draco sit in the library. "Just wait here, and I'll tell you to close your eyes in a few minutes," he said, going out of the room.
This would have something to do with that unopened parcel Harry had brought back, Draco was sure of it. Harry was so obvious sometimes. He leaned on his elbow and waited.
"Are they closed?" Harry called from behind him.
"Yes, now," said Draco, making a show of putting his hands over his eyes to guarantee his words. He felt Harry's weight on the sofa next to him, and then something being put on his knees.
"All right, open."
"A... Gobstones set." Draco was slightly taken aback. Touched that Harry had brought him a gift, yes, but Gobstones? A little childish, wasn't it? "Ah... thank you."
"I know it's sort of silly, but I like to play even though I'm not very good. I didn't get to play many games when I was small, only when my cousin was ill and not allowed to see any of his friends, then he played with me... and I learned quickly that I'd better lose. Wizarding games are more fun than Muggle ones anyhow," Harry explained. "So I hoped you wouldn't think it was beneath you to play."
Put that way, how could Draco refuse? He looked at the set and had a sudden thought. "Tell you what. We could play for forfeits. Loser does whatever the winner asks for, within reason of course." He caught Harry's eye and licked his lips, suggesting the kind of forfeit he had in mind; he also refilled their glasses. A bit of alcohol wouldn't hurt when it came to lowering inhibitions.
"Oh." Harry's eyes widened, and he grinned. "Sure. I've never played like that before, but sure."
They set up the game on the library table and began. Harry had spoken no more than the truth in saying that he wasn't very good; he had lost the first game within minutes.
"Shall we pay our forfeits as we go, or do you want to keep a tally?" Harry asked when it was over.
Draco pondered. Either would do, but... "As we go," he decided. "So, for your first forfeit, I think I want you to strip down. Completely."
"The chair's cold," Harry pointed out, but he stood and started taking his clothes off.
"Cast a warming spell," Draco shrugged, watching Harry's body emerge from the cotton and wool that had concealed creamy skin dusted with dark hairs. He felt his cock twitch at the sight. Gobstones was much more fun this way.
In a moment of inattention, trying to decide what to claim for Harry's next forfeit, Draco made a strategic error that resulted in Harry winning, to both of their surprise.
"I guess I want the same forfeit from you," Harry said. "No more clothes."
Not terribly imaginative, but probably a good first step. Draco rose and began to undress. Harry watched just as intently as Draco had earlier, and Draco could see that Harry found it exciting, too. He took another drink.
"Want to keep playing, or stop now?" he asked.
"Let's keep on," Harry answered. "Maybe I'll get lucky and win again."
"Don't count on it, Potter," Draco warned in a mock-serious tone. "I was once the runner-up in the All-Britain Under-Elevens Gobstones Championship, when I was eight."
"But were you ever the champion?" Harry countered.
"Nope. I beat her in a private match five months later, and after that I knew I was the best and didn't bother entering again." Draco smiled, remembering his defeat of Daisy Runcorn with the same warm triumph he had felt back then. "You move first."
This time he did not let himself be distracted, and won again handily.
"What forfeit do you want?" Harry picked up his glass and drank in thirsty gulps. He had overdone it on the warming spell; his skin was rosy-pink now and a drop of sweat beaded up on his forehead, sliding past his ear and down his neck, stopping where the skin changed texture at his nipple.
Draco decided to move things along. "I want you to wank yourself during the next game... but slowly. Don't come, just jerk off while I watch and we play." He grinned slyly. That ought to ensure that Harry would be unable to concentrate, and thereby lose again.
Harry either didn't realize the probable result or didn't care, because he only looked disconcerted, he didn't protest that the forfeit was unfair. His left hand went over his prick in a protective gesture. "Are you sure?" he asked plaintively.
"Oh yes. Go on, wank for me." Draco moved his chair over a little to get a better view. Harry gave himself a few strokes, then raised his hand and spat into it.
"Too dry." He wrapped his fingers around his cock again and began to pull at it slowly, twisting a little each time he reached the head, his eyes intent on Draco's. His cheeks were flaming nearly as scarlet as the tip of his prick, but he said almost defiantly, "Is this what you want?"
Draco swallowed. His own cock was hard and aching, just watching, and he had to focus to keep his hands from shaking as he reset the board. "That's what I want. Play – use your other hand."
As expected, Harry lost this round even more rapidly than the first one. In an unsteady voice he asked, "What's the forfeit?"
Standing, Draco moved the few feet to Harry's chair. "You can stop touching yourself now." He straddled Harry and sat down on his thighs, pressing his cock against Harry's belly, Harry's cockhead just peeping out over Draco's thigh. Draco brushed his finger over the damp slit, then leaned forward to breathe into Harry's ear, "I'd really like this up my arse."
He heard Harry swallow. "You want me to fuck you?"
Draco drew back a little and saw the look of total panic on Harry's face. "I'd like it. But we agreed that the forfeits should be within reason. If you really don't want to, I'll give you an alternative."
"What's that?" Harry sounded wary.
"You get to make yourself come, but with two fingers inside you. Yours or mine, either one."
Harry gulped again. "Um. All right. Yours."
"Accio oil." Spells for lubricating were never entirely satisfactory, Draco thought. Miles had had some Muggle gel that worked wonderfully, but Draco wasn't sure where or how he'd acquired it. Blaise and Draco had used ordinary cooking oil, borrowed from the Hogwarts kitchens, once or twice – tonight that was far better than nothing, since Draco had had no chance to investigate wizarding salves.
The bottle smacked into his upraised hand and Draco let a smile creep over his face. "This will help. Squat down – no, get on your knees and brace against the chair with one hand." He tipped out a hasty palmful of the oil and slicked his fingers well, rubbing the rest along the crack of Harry's bum. He nudged one oiled fingertip against the tight pucker and Harry let out a strangled yelp.
"Relax." Draco traced a circle around the wrinkled skin. "It'll be good, I promise you. Go back to wanking." He began to rub his own cock gently too as he slowly eased the tip of one finger into Harry's passage. It was slick and tight, hot and soft; he imagined what it would feel like to put his prick there and stroked himself harder. Very gradually he slid the finger further in as the muscle eased from clenching. He searched and felt the nub of Harry's prostate through the clinging flesh. Brushing over it, he elicited a half-gasp, half-moan from Harry.
"Told you this would be good," whispered Draco smugly, leaning forward and licking Harry's neck as he moved his finger some more, in and out, then carefully added the stipulated second finger and enjoyed the way that Harry whimpered and spread his legs further, opening himself to Draco's touch, his hand now pumping his cock frantically. "Come on, Harry, come..." Draco urged. Harry cried out and came as Draco's fingers worked inside him, thick drops splattering against the chair legs and the floor. Draco let go of his own cock, hard though it was, and eased out of Harry's arse, murmuring a cleaning spell. He wrapped his arms around Harry, who turned and kissed him, sucking at his lips and tongue as if he were starved for it.
When Draco leaned back to look at Harry, the other boy's eyes were half-lidded and his lips flushed and swollen. "Draco... oh, Draco." He shook his head. "That..."
"Shh." Draco kissed him again. "One more game?"
"I'm not sure what more I could forfeit," said Harry, his tone rueful.
"Maybe you'll win," Draco said lightly. In fact, he had already half-decided that he might just play to lose this time... he was curious what Harry might ask of him.
"Maybe." Harry scrubbed a hand across his face. "All right. One more."
Draco was careful not to make it obvious that he was throwing the game. He simply made one or two small but strategically important mistakes and didn't get theatrical about bemoaning his foolishness, either. Harry's face was intent as he bent over the board, and Draco found that watching Harry, still naked, was distracting enough that he might have lost regardless. Upon Harry's victory, he shook his head, saying, "Should have stopped while I was ahead, shouldn't I?"
"Probably. Although really I'm not sure what to ask for your forfeit." Harry bit his lip. "Does it have to be sexual?"
"Of course not, if you don't want it to be." said Draco, wondering what else Harry might have in mind. "Just as long as it's something within reason."
"I know that." Harry sounded irritated. "Give me some credit." He stared at Draco for a moment, his expression measuring. "For your forfeit I want you to really work with Hermione tomorrow to alter the Mark as much as possible. I understand how much it must hurt you," he added sympathetically. "It must be like when I feel Voldemort through my scar. But I want... I really want you to be free of him," he finished in a rush.
Draco struggled to keep calm. He dreaded the pain; he didn't really believe that Harry could understand what it felt like. Granted, Harry had survived Avada Kedavra, but that was when he was a baby, he couldn't possibly remember, and as far as Draco knew Harry had never experienced a Crucio. But it was a reasonable forfeit, he had to admit that, especially since he would have had to do it anyway – just perhaps not so much, all in one day.
"All right," he muttered, looking down at the board. "If that's what you really want me to do."
"It is." Harry started to pick up the Gobstones and put them back in the box. Draco handed some to him. "You're not mad, are you?" Harry asked tentatively when they were all put away.
"No." He wasn't, he was sure of that. He tried to put on a more pleasant expression.
"Good, because I wouldn't want to go to bed with you mad at me." Harry closed the lid and pushed the box over to Draco, then stood up. "Come here."
Between the distraction of the game and the dismay of the forfeit, Draco's arousal had mostly dissipated. He pushed back his chair and went over to Harry, holding himself stiffly as Harry put his arms around him.
"Draco... you are mad, I can tell. Or at least annoyed." Harry's breath was warm against Draco's neck as he sighed. "Let's go upstairs. I want to tell you something, something important, but I'd rather be comfortable while I'm talking."