Celandine's Chronicle (celandineb) wrote in cels_fic_haven, @ 2007-08-08 20:47:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | hp fic better than revenge, hp fic draco/harry |
HP fic: Better Than Revenge, ch. 31: Upstairs in Grimmauld Place [Harry/Draco, adult]
Title: Better Than Revenge
chapter 31, "Upstairs in Grimmauld Place"
Author: celandineb
Fandom: HP
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: adult
Summary: Harry tries to explain his feelings about Ginny to Draco. When he has a nightmare, Draco comforts him.
"And these." Harry set the beer he had chosen down on the counter, and Draco nodded to the man behind it.
"Those too."
After carefully counting the Muggle coins he had been given in change and stowing them in his pocket, Draco picked up the four bottles of Chianti and tucked two under each arm. Harry carried the rest. It was only a few minutes' walk in the drizzle back to Grimmauld Place, and Harry spent them trying to decide how to give Draco his gift. After dinner, he concluded – he'd have Draco close his eyes, and then put the set of Gobstones in front of him, since he didn't have any way to wrap the parcel first.
Eating dinner and laughing, talking about the potions they had in progress, nearly made Harry forget the failure of his first attempt to destroy the Horcrux. He wasn't able to ignore the outside world completely, however. Draco's sleeve slipped up his arm as he gestured with his fork, the edge of the Mark showing. Harry shivered.
"You're not cold, are you?" Draco asked.
A year ago, if Draco had asked that question in such a tone, Harry would have assumed he meant it as a sneer. Oh, look at Potter, thinks he's so great and catches cold in a bit of rain. Tonight, it only sounded solicitous, as if Draco were really concerned that he might be ill.
"No, I'm not cold," he replied, pushing his empty plate aside. Dobby had apologized for not having anything for their pudding tonight except biscuits, but Harry had assured him that he'd rather have the rooms they were using not an inch deep in dust than have fancy sweets with the meal. He liked biscuits anyway. "But I'm finished. If you are, too, let's go to the library."
Draco licked the tip of his finger and dabbed up a final few ginger-biscuit crumbs, smiling. "All right." He rolled his eyes when Harry told him to sit on the sofa and wait, and close his eyes when asked. It was evident that Draco had guessed what was up, Harry thought as he hurried to the cupboard in which he had temporarily hidden the parcel. He just hoped Draco would like it.
"It's a Gobstones set," said Draco in a neutral voice when he opened his eyes. "Ah... thanks. I don't think I've played since I was nine years old."
Disappointed, and angry with himself for feeling so, Harry explained, "I know it's a bit childish, but I like to play though I'm not very good. I never had a chance to play many games when I was small; my cousin wouldn't play with me if he had any choice, so... I still like them. I hoped you wouldn't think it was too silly to enjoy, just the two of us."
He could see Draco's face screwed up in thought, then relaxing. "How about this? We could play for forfeits. The winner chooses something for the loser to do, within reason naturally." Draco took a sip of wine and licked his lips deliberately, holding Harry's gaze. Harry would have had to be a fool not to guess what sort of forfeit he had in mind.
"Oh." Within reason, Draco had said. That seemed safe enough. "Sure. I've never played for forfeits, but why not?"
Why not was demonstrated by the rapidity with which he lost the first game and had to wipe smelly Gobstone fluid from his face, sputtering. "You didn't say. Shall we pay the forfeits as we go, or keep a tally to settle at the end?"
"As we go," said Draco, smirking. "I wouldn't want to leave you in suspense. And for this first one," he looked Harry over, "I want you to strip down completely."
"My bum'll get cold on the wooden chair," Harry complained, but he was only half-serious. Stripping didn't seem too bad a forfeit, although if he was asked to get naked so quickly, he did wonder what else Draco might have in mind.
"You can cast a warming spell," Draco reminded him, which Harry did before sitting back down. It helped, but he still felt rather strange being naked when Draco was fully dressed. Especially since Draco kept stealing glances at him as they played.
When, rather to his surprise, he beat Draco in their second game his imagination failed him and he told Draco to strip as well. Draco's movements as he undressed were unhurried, and he kept his eyes on Harry the whole time. Harry felt his face grow warm. Somehow it seemed much more erotic than he had thought it would, to watch as one piece of clothing after another fell to the floor. Draco lifted his wineglass; the movement of his throat as he swallowed reminded Harry of how it felt to have that mouth wrapped around him, and he was glad that he was sitting close enough to the table that Draco couldn't see how quickly he had grown hard.
"Want to stop, or to keep playing?" Draco asked.
"Might as well keep on; maybe I'll get lucky again," said Harry, trying to be casual about it.
"Don't count on that, Potter." Draco gave a mocking smile and explained that at age eight he had taken second place in the All-Britain Under-Elevens Gobstones Championship, and having beaten the winner privately several months later, he hadn't even bothered competing for the prize the following year.
Harry was impressed despite himself – he had never won so much as third place in a footrace in primary school – and sufficiently distracted by Draco's bare skin that he made a strategic error which allowed Draco to trounce him once more. Knowing that Draco really was skilled at Gobstones made it less humiliating than it might have been, but he still felt himself flush with embarrassment at his rapid defeat. To hide it, he picked up his glass and drank thirstily. Was it the presence of Draco naked that made him feel so warm? He was positively sweating.
"What do you want as forfeit this time?"
Draco's grin was knowing, almost sly. "I want you to jerk yourself off as we play the next round. Move your chair so I can watch, but don't let yourself come."
"Are you sure?" Harry was taken aback, but at Draco's nod, he started to fist himself. After having had Draco suck him off, his fingers felt comparatively rough and dry, so he spit on his hand and continued. "Like this? Is this what you want?" He forced himself to meet Draco's eyes, trying to pretend nonchalance. Watching Draco watch him was nearly unbearable – in a good way. It took all of Harry's concentration not to come, with the result that he lost the fourth game within moments. As, he suddenly realized, Draco had doubtless planned he would do. Bastard. Harry looked at Draco helplessly. What more could he possibly demand? "And the forfeit?"
Draco stood and came over to Harry's chair, straddling his legs and then sitting on them, pushing their cocks together. "You can stop wanking now. What I'd really like is to have this," he brushed his fingers over the head of Harry's prick, "in my arse."
Harry's first impulse was to shout, "No!" He suppressed the urge. They'd said the forfeits would be reasonable... and why was he panicking? It wasn't as if Draco had said he wanted to fuck Harry, which would be a rather more intimidating idea. But the thought of it seemed dirty and intimate and altogether more than he was comfortable with. Besides, he was awfully close to coming. What if he couldn't last? Draco might laugh... Harry swallowed hard.
"You want me to fuck you?" His voice shook.
"I'd like that. If you really don't want to, I'll let you come by wanking instead – but with two fingers inside you, either yours or mine. That's the alternative."
Harry had experimented with that himself a few times, safely behind his bed curtains at Hogwarts. Why it seemed less worrisome to have Draco's fingers in his arse than to have his prick there Harry wasn't sure, but it did. Maybe because he wouldn't be able to watch Harry while he was doing it. "Um. All right, yours."
He was glad when Draco Accio'd some oil to use, however, and willingly knelt down, leaning against the chair to tug himself off as Draco began to finger his arsehole.
"Relax," said Draco, "and I promise it'll be good." Harry tried, and with Draco gently pressing into him, he succeeded. Then Draco's finger touched that place, and Harry moaned.
"I told you," Draco murmured in Harry's ear, kissing his the back of his neck. Harry cried out again as he felt himself stretched by a second finger. His fist slid over his cock faster and harder, but it wasn't until Draco said, "Come for me, Harry," that the release shuddered through him, his balls tight up against his body as he spilled hot fluid through his fingers and onto the chair and floor.
Draco's arms were around him now and Harry turned to face him. Instead of words that would be inadequate to how he felt, all he could do was to say Draco's name, over and over, in between hungry kisses. When he had calmed down a little, Draco asked, "One more game?"
"What more could I possibly forfeit, after that?"
"You might win," Draco pointed out.
"Maybe." It seemed unlikely, although now that Harry was relaxed and Draco still quiveringly aroused – Harry could feel the pulse of blood in Draco's cock where it pressed against his own flesh – perhaps there was a chance. "All right, if you want. Just one more."
The final game was the closest of their contests; piece by piece Harry fought for the win. He felt Draco's eyes on him as he leaned over the board, but pushed away all extraneous thoughts to play the game as best he could. The effort paid off.
"Should have stopped while I was ahead," said Draco, charming himself clean of the Gobstone slime.
"Looks like it." Harry hesitated. He knew what he wanted to claim as his forfeit now, but he wasn't sure it was appropriate. "Does... does the forfeit have to be sexual?"
"Not if you don't want it to be. It just has to be something within reason," said Draco with a curious expression on his face.
"I know that." Honestly, sometimes Draco seemed to think Harry was still a first-year student. But this wasn't going to be something Draco would be expecting, or happy about. "I want... for your forfeit I really want you to cooperate willingly with Hermione tomorrow to alter the Dark Mark, even get rid of it if she can in one day," he said in a rush. "I know it'll hurt, I've felt Voldemort through my scar and it must be similar. But I want you to be free of him for good."
Draco looked horrified; his right hand jerked involuntarily to cover as much of the Mark as possible. "All right." His voice was sullen, almost harsh. "If that's what you really want, I will."
"It is. It means a lot to me that you agreed." Harry began to put the game away. Draco passed him several pieces, his expression frozen and unhappy.
"You're not mad at me, are you?" Harry snapped the lid closed and handed him the box.
"No."
He sounded it, though, even judging by the single word.
"I wouldn't want to go to bed with you mad at me," Harry said quietly. "Come here." He held Draco close for a moment, feeling him stiff and resisting the embrace, then sighed. "Let's go up to our room. I want to tell you something important, but I'd like to be comfortable when I do it."
He picked up the pile of his clothes and stooped for Draco's as well.
"I'll get those." Draco took them from Harry's hands and started walking out of the room. "What do...? No, you'll tell me when we're in bed."
Harry cleaned his teeth quickly and paused over whether or not to put on his pyjamas. Wearing them would make him feel less vulnerable, but perhaps that was a reason not to, under the circumstances. He glanced at Draco, who had pulled on the green t-shirt that Harry had bought him to wear as a nightshirt the evening they had stayed at the Grangers'. It seemed much longer ago than ten days, somehow. The shirt came down to mid-thigh and Draco's long pale legs, only lightly scattered with golden hairs, stuck out below. His knees and feet were knobbly, quite different from the smooth elegance of his usual appearance when clothed. Abruptly Harry realized that he was staring and turned away, deciding to put on his pyjamas after all.
"So what important thing did you want to tell me?" asked Draco after they had climbed under the covers.
"A couple of things, actually." Harry took a deep breath. "First, I honestly do know what I'm asking you to go through to get the Mark off, or altered enough that it can't be used to summon you. I'm pretty sure I do. Um. Have you ever had someone hit you with the Cruciatus Curse?"
"No." Draco shook his head.
"Well, I have." Harry's mind flinched away from the memory, but he forced himself to go on. "The night Voldemort was restored, he used it on me. It felt as if my bones had turned into fire inside my body... I can't even describe the agony." He glanced down at his hands, clenched so hard into fists that the nails bit into the palms – he hadn't even felt the sting. "It can't be worse than that, I don't think. And you know Hermione will stop whenever you need, to let you recover a bit."
Draco was looking at him with mingled awe and wariness. "You stood up to the Cruciatus Curse when you were only fourteen."
"Yeah. And then he fought me, a wizard's duel. I barely managed to escape... and I had to bring Cedric's body back. That was almost as hard as fighting," said Harry. "So what I'm saying is that I saw how you reacted when Hermione was casting the Permutatio spell the other day. I do understand how bad it might be for you, and I'm... I have a lot of respect for you that you're willing to try."
"Right." Draco gave a funny little laugh. "I'll try. If you'll be there too."
"Of course I will, if you want me," said Harry, surprised. "I thought maybe you'd rather not have anyone to see you."
"Hermione will be there anyway, casting the spell," Draco said. "I wouldn't want Ron around, or any of the rest of them, but you... I'll need you, Harry." He rolled over and propped himself up on his elbow to look at Harry, grey eyes dark.
Harry nodded. "I'll stay with you," he promised.
"Thanks." The word fell quietly into the space between them. "So. You said there were a couple of things you wanted to tell me. What's the other?"
"I wanted to talk to you about Ginny." Harry paused, trying to marshal his thoughts, and Draco waited for him to speak, only a twitch in the muscles along his jaw indicating any apprehension.
"I love her," he said at last. "I couldn't stand it if she were hurt in any way. That's why I broke up with her at the end of term." He stared at Draco, who looked confused.
"But if you..."
"Too many people knew about how I felt, you see," Harry cut him off, anxious to finish explaining. "All of Hogwarts. You knew. Snape knew. One way or another, Voldemort was going to have heard that I was going out with Ginny Weasley. And he'd possessed her once already, through his diary. Well, you know about that. She's vulnerable, and she makes me vulnerable; it would be easy for him to use her as a way to hurt me or get leverage over me, by threatening her. The only thing I could do to lessen that threat to both of us was to break up," said Harry.
"I understand," Draco said slowly. "So if... when... you defeat him for good, then you'll go back to her, is that what you're telling me?" His face was expressionless and he didn't move, yet it was as if he had withdrawn somewhere distant.
"No!" Harry protested. "I mean yes, that was what I intended to do, which Ginny understood, and accepted. But now, no." Harry bit his lip. "Now I... I'd rather be with you," he finished in a rush. "But the problem is, you're vulnerable too, with the Mark, and also because to Voldemort you're a weakling, a traitor. I'm sure the Death Eaters will have no qualms about trying to take you down, whatever services your father might have performed in the past. At least almost no one knows how I feel about you... just us, and Hermione because she guessed."
"Hermione knows," agreed Draco. "I think Mrs. Weasley too, though I'm not sure how. Hermione told me she probably did. And you might be surprised to hear me say it, but Ginny isn't exactly an idiot and she might well have figured it out." He made a face. "If she hasn't yet, I expect she will soon, no matter how discreet we try to be. If she loves you she's bound to notice a difference in how you act towards her, and towards me."
"Yeah," sighed Harry. Draco was doubtless right about Ginny... though the idea that Molly Weasley had guessed his feelings for Draco made him more than a little uncomfortable. She had treated him like a son all these years, and he'd rather thought she approved of his relationship with Ginny; although, come to think of it, she hadn't given a hint of either happiness or disappointment. Moreover, polite as the senior Weasleys had been to Draco when he and Harry were at the Burrow, there were enough years of bad blood between them and the Malfoy family that Harry found it improbable that they would be glad if he and Draco were an item.
Cautiously Harry looked at Draco. An item. He had just thought of them as a couple, as he used to do with Ginny, and he wasn't entirely sure if he liked the way he had done so almost reflexively. Draco himself, well, Harry was quite happy to do whatever kinds of fooling around Draco might suggest – well, a lot of them at least – or even just sit and talk as they were doing now. But his family... to say that the Malfoys were unsympathetic was to laughably understate the matter in Harry's opinion. Whereas the Weasleys were just nice to be around, friendly, all of them but Percy at any rate. Oh, the twins could be right prats sometimes with their practical jokes, but they weren't vicious.
Draco seemed to be waiting for Harry to say something more.
"Anyhow," said Harry awkwardly, "whether Mrs. Weasley and Ginny know or not, it's still only a few people who do. It's not public. So I don't have the same worry that if Voldemort caught you he might torture you specifically to force me to act a certain way... and that's a relief for me, really it is."
"He'd torture me in any case," Draco said, "so I don't see that it matters much why. Unless you'd leave me to it if he weren't threatening you with what he might do to me?"
Harry struggled to explain more clearly. "It's not that I wouldn't feel awful if that happened, and wouldn't try to rescue you. Because I would, of course I would. But he wouldn't be using you against me on purpose. Does that make any sense? The pressure to help you would be just my own wishes, not forced from the outside. anyway, if we can get the Mark off or altered enough, that might protect you more as well."
"I suppose I understand." The words were slow, thoughtful. Draco had curled up in a ball and wide grey eyes looked at Harry from under a shock of pale hair. "That means that we'd both better be careful to keep – us – as much of a secret as possible, hadn't we? Hermione and the Weasley women may be trustworthy, but until You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters are defeated altogether, they'd better not have any clue." Draco gave a sudden sharp laugh, but when Harry asked why, the other boy refused to answer.
The reasons for remaining discreet might be irrefutable, safety being perhaps the most pressing, but Harry was secretly pleased for the excuse. He might have begun to accept the idea that their mutual feelings might be significantly more than lust backed up by a modicum of friendship, but that didn't mean he wanted anyone else to know if he could help it. Not yet, anyway. He wasn't sure himself if it was more because Draco was a bloke or because he was a Malfoy, and maybe it didn't really matter all that much which.
"Anything else, since this is apparently the night for confessions?" Draco's question broke into Harry's thoughts.
"Not that I can think of. Nothing important right now anyhow," said Harry. "Was there something you wanted to tell me?"
Red spots bloomed on Draco's cheeks, but he denied having anything to say. "One of us has to go down to the cellar at two in the morning to add hellebore to that third potion," he reminded Harry instead. "I'll do it if you like."
"Would you?" Harry yawned, suddenly feeling exhausted. He had meant to suggest that they could mess around a bit – Draco had gotten him off back in the library, and he hadn't reciprocated – but maybe it would be better to wait, be less tired.
Draco nodded. "I don't mind." He wriggled down between the sheets. "I think I'll get a couple of good hours in first though."
Harry woke, thrashing, the sheet tangled around him. His heart was pounding as if he had just run up from the Potions classroom all the way to the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts, and Draco wasn't there, snoring softly next to him. After a moment Harry remembered that Draco must be working on the potions for the Horcrux downstairs. He considered going down himself, but decided it might seem as if he didn't trust Draco to tend them properly, so he waited with mounting impatience until he heard the creak of a floorboard in the hallway and Draco slipped back into their room.
"Harry?" Draco must have seen him sitting up, silhouetted against the headboard. "What's wrong?"
"I... had a nightmare," said Harry, almost too embarrassed to admit it. If he hadn't worried that he might dream it again, and maybe hit Draco by accident, flailing around, before he woke up, he would have kept quiet about the whole thing.
"What about?" asked Draco. Although he had been walking barefoot, his feet were warm when he slid back into the bed and moved close to Harry.
"Voldemort, what else? I dreamed that I thought I'd destroyed all the Horcruxes, and went after him, but he must have made more than Dumbledore thought. He stood there and laughed and I couldn't touch him, all the hexes and things I tried just bounced off. Then he started threatening to destroy everyone I loved and cared about. And they were all there, everyone, Ron and Hermione, Ginny, all the Weasleys and even Percy, Neville and Dean and Seamus, Professor Lupin, Tonks... and you. You were right up front, right where he could see you."
"I was?" Draco put his arms around Harry.
"Mm hm." Harry shuddered involuntarily. "And Voldemort started hurling curses, and people began to scream... and then I woke up, and you weren't here."
"It's all right, it wasn't real. It was only a nightmare." Harry was grateful that Draco hadn't laughed at him for acting such a baby, frightened of a dream. A dream never hurt anyone. He said as much, and heard Draco suck in a breath.
"Not true, Harry," Draco said at last. "It depends. There are ways to make what a person dreams seem so real that they wake up with the physical imprint of it on their bodies."
"That's horrible," said Harry vehemently. "Surely that's against wizarding law?"
"It's not. It can be used for good purposes as well as bad – some of the healers at St. Mungo's use the technique, I've heard. And there are... other uses too." Draco's head moved against Harry's shoulder, and Harry realized the other boy was grinning.
"Oh. Oh." A crowd of images made their way into Harry's mind, some of them quite... disturbing.
"All those Muggle legends of incubi and succubi had to have their origins somewhere," Draco observed. He did not sound bothered by it at all.
"I suppose so," said Harry, but he still thought it odd that there was evidently no Ministry regulation of such spell-casting.
The reason became clear when Draco sat up and said, "It's very difficult to do, though, and most of the time the result isn't going to be worth the effort. I'd bet that the wizards who've duped Muggles into believing they've been seduced by a demon got off on it themselves somehow, but even so, there'd be easier ways. If you were after an enemy, attacking them in their sleep like that is rather an indirect way of doing it. There's lots of other possibilities, including some that would also keep you anonymous to your victim."
Harry found Draco's calm discussion of enemies and victims and attacks disconcerting. He'd lived through too much of that to take it with such aplomb. "This was just a nightmare, though," he muttered. "I don't think Voldemort had any hand in it... it's just nervousness."
"I expect you're right." Draco reached out and brushed the fringe back from Harry's forehead. "Your scar hasn't been hurting you, has it?"
"No. Actually that's surprising. I haven't sensed anything from him at all, or had the scar hurt since before I went to Godric's Hollow." Harry frowned. "I wonder why not?"
"How long before?"
"Since..." Harry thought about it. "Since about the time Dumbledore died, I suppose. I'm not sure exactly. The connection always seemed to ebb and flow, sometimes it was quite weak, and I just don't remember for certain. You'd think I'd've felt his triumph when he learned that his greatest enemy was defeated."
"Dumbledore wasn't his greatest enemy, though. You are; you're figuring out ways to kill him. But I'm sure tonight wasn't anything but a nightmare. If he were practicing dream magic on you... well, let's just say that you'd be in a lot worse shape than you are. Besides, I don't think it's actually possible to cast those spells from a very long distance. He'd have to know where you were, and this house is too well hidden." Draco's voice was reassuring, and he patted Harry's shoulder comfortingly. "Come here." Reversing their roles from earlier that evening, he pulled Harry into an embrace.
It was nice to lie there with Draco's arms wrapped around him. Too close for sleep, maybe – Harry usually slept better with room to move, although that had its drawbacks as well. He could smell some of the herbs Draco had been adding to the brewing potions. Mostly good scents, those were, overlaying the tangy-salty aroma of Draco's own skin.
"Thanks," he said, muffled, into Draco's neck. Again he had a fleeting thought that he might suggest having sex, but after that dream he really wasn't in the right mood. Instead he just let Draco stroke him, long slow movements from his head all the way down his spine, and tried to let the fear go. Tomorrow they would return to the Burrow, and Hermione would work on removing Draco's Mark, and perhaps she or one of the Weasleys would have suggestions for making a more effective potion to destroy the Horcrux.
"Sleep," Draco was murmuring. "Sh. Just sleep. You're safe here, and so am I. Sh. Sleep."
ch. 1 / ch. 2 / ch. 3 / ch. 4 / ch. 5 / ch. 6 / ch. 7 / ch. 8 / ch. 9 / ch. 10 / ch. 11 / ch. 12 / ch. 13 / ch. 14 / ch. 15 / ch. 16 / ch. 17 / ch. 18 / ch. 19 / ch. 20 / ch. 21 / ch. 22 / ch. 23 / ch. 24 / ch. 25 / ch. 26 / ch. 27 / ch. 28 / ch. 29 / ch. 30 / ch. 31 / ch. 32 / ch. 33 / ch. 34 / ch. 35 / ch. 36 / ch. 37 / ch. 38 / ch. 39 / ch. 40