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working

Fic: Mercy (1/3)
Title: Mercy
Author: gatewaygirl
Pairings: Draco/Harry/Snape, background Ron/Hermione, Sirius/Remus
Length: 23,657
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This story was written for amusement value only. Not my characters.
Warnings: BDSM (all), exhibitionism, minor abuse of authority, dirty talk, a tiny bit of bestiality, and misuse of equestrian supplies. AU.
Prompt: Werewolf!Draco and Werewolf!Harry are lovers, but lately they've been interested in getting a third into their pack -- they're convinced Snape would make a fabulous werewolf and submissive lover. Snape still hates/is terrified of werewolves, but they're determined to not take 'no' for an answer....
Author Notes: Thanks to calanthe_fics for Britpicking and beta (and putting up with yet more Snape), and clauclauclaudia for emergency kink beta when I was panicking, and for telling me it wasn't done when it wasn't. You're both wonderful!

Mercy


"Clean up the blood," Harry said, as he hobbled past Draco, "then join me in the shower." He felt a pang of regret as the words trailed behind him -- his lover had looked worse than he felt. Still, it did no one any good to muddle rank, not this close to the moon. He would let Draco sleep late, he decided, and make tea for both of them, and curl up with him by the fire; that diminished his standing not at all. Certainly an alpha should provide for his pack.

The hot water sluicing over his stressed muscles felt wonderful. The shower had been designed with a rail and cushioning spells, so he didn't have to worry about falling. He had a good life, he thought -- much better than most people in his condition, even now. Draco joined him just as he finished with his hair.

"Sorted?" he asked companionably. Draco's nose wrinkled.

"I can't manage precision in this state," he said sulkily. "It's no longer obvious. I'll see if it needs improvement this evening, when I can see."

Holding on to the bar, Harry scrubbed at his legs. "Agreed. After all, it's not as if we're in hiding."

Draco responded with a tired nod and a tiny smile. "I think I have enough energy to scrub your back."

"I knew there was some reason I rescued you from Fenrir," Harry replied, and Draco, despite his exhaustion, snorted with laughter.

"The only way anyone would ever do that for you, of course," he drawled, as he took the sponge and began to rub in a pleasant spiral up Harry's back. His voice sounded almost normal, but his hip was braced against the rail. "I think that bird we brought home is too contaminated to use. I left it outside, and if nothing takes it, I'll remove it tomorrow, okay?"

"It was obviously killed by an animal?"

"Oh, yes! That's the problem; one of us bit through the viscera. Pity -- it was a plump pheasant."

"All right, then." In pleasure, Harry shifted his human muscles under the spray for a moment. When he had to put a hand on the rail he did his best to make it look casual. "Turn around. I'll get your back too."

"Mm," Draco said happily, a moment later. "I knew there was some reason I allowed you to rescue me from Fenrir."

"Lucky for you that I'm an obsessive hunter."

"Lucky for all of Europe, I think."

Discomfort and amusement warred in Harry. "Never has so much depended on one man's character flaws," he quipped. He brushed his mouth along the line of his lover's shoulder blade. "Come on, babe -- let's go to bed."

"You needn't sound so seductive," Draco complained. "We're just going to sleep."

"Sleep close and warm," Harry countered firmly. "And that's so much better than alone."



"Harry?"

The soft voice was close, and familiar. Only two outsiders could get into Harry's house without his explicit consent. Without opening his eyes, he reached to the side and settled his hand in bushy hair. "Mm?"

"I brought breakfast," she said. "Pork pie, but fresh from the farm market. Was it bad, this month?"

"Just tiring." His eyes opened a crack for a glimpse of her face outlined by the light that leaked in the edges of his window blinds, and then, despite his intention, they dropped closed again. Despite his words, he ached all over, but after nine years, that was hardly worth mentioning.

"Ron's home with the baby," she volunteered, still at a whisper. "He sends his love."

"Hmph."

"Oh, all right, not in those words. But that's what it amounts to." She stroked his forehead in a motherly way. "You'll call us when you feel better?"

"Of course."

Draco turned onto his back. "Granger?" he asked groggily.

"Good morning, Malfoy!" she answered with aggressive perkiness.

"Girls!" he huffed, in much the same manner that he might have once said more offensive things, and he rolled away. Harry wasn't sure he had been awake for any of it. He cracked his eyes open enough to see that Hermione was smiling, and then sank back into blessed sleep.



When they woke, they found the promised pork pie, with a warm bowl of apple sauce beside it. Harry wasn't surprised to find a platter of cut vegetables under a preserving spell in the cabinet; Hermione knew that his stomach couldn't handle that now, but she liked to provide them for later.

"Fruit?" Draco questioned, wrinkling his nose at the apple sauce.

"It's an experiment," Harry explained. "She thought we might be able to handle it cooked -- something about the chemicals in cooked apple."

"Chem...?" Draco's eyebrows came down. "Isn't that a Muggle thing? She's not adding Muggle things to it, is she?"

"Not added. It's ..." Harry shrugged. Hermione's explanations of the word had never been terribly clear. "It seems to be ... everything is made from things that you can't see, and these things have properties."

As he sliced the pie in two, Draco nodded. "Of course. Apples are the best fruit for maturity elements in potions, for example, and blood ties to the person it came from, as well as to life in general. You can't see that, but it's there."

"Something like that," Harry agreed, relieved to be back on familiar ground.

"So, are you going to try it?" Draco asked. Clearly, apple sauce was the Gryffindor's problem.

Harry shrugged. "A little, if smelling it doesn't make me feel ill."

It didn't. He scooped a tiny amount onto his plate, dipped his pie in it, and licked it from the crust.

"Well?" Draco asked.

"It might be safe. I think that's enough for a first try."

For a while, they ate in silence. When only a few bites of pie were left, Harry got up, swaying slightly as he adjusted to being on his feet. "Tea?" he asked, belatedly remembering his plans of the morning.

"That would be lovely, Harry, thank you." Draco smiled at him.

His spirits lifting, Harry smiled back and went to fetch milk from the cold cupboard before he started the kettle. He drank his own tea black, and it was easy to forget Draco's milk when he was tired.

"Do you think Black will call, this moon?" Draco asked idly, while Harry filled the kettle.

"It has been a while, hasn't it?" Harry responded. As he set the kettle over the fire, he tried to think when he had last seen his nominal godfather.

"Four moons."

"Ah." Harry shrugged. "They must have moved further away, then."

"Perhaps someone spotted Lupin."

Harry shrugged. He had liked Lupin as a professor, but he had never been able to forgive the man for infecting him with lycanthropy and putting an end to his brief hopes for a normal life. He had just started to glimpse it -- he had friends, and skills, and people who liked him -- and then someone who supposedly cared about him had dealt him another horrible, permanent blow, just because he had the attention span of a gnat. The longer Harry was a werewolf, the madder it seemed to him that Lupin had been able to forget the approaching moon for even a second, never mind what must have been at least half an hour, especially when in the presence of children in his care.

He was saved from having to reply by the fireplace flare that was their first warning of someone trying to reach them by Floo. Before the bell on the mantel could start ringing, Harry flicked his wand at the grate. Magic was harder than physical motion at this stage, and although the Floo opened, the kettle stayed where it was rather than swinging to the side. The head of another of his former professors appeared in the flames, narrowly missing the cast iron vessel.

"Mr. Potter," it said, inclining very slightly. The words were scrupulously polite, but Harry fancied that he could still see hatred snapping in those black eyes. "Mr. Malfoy. Are you recovered enough to report?"

Life as a social outcast had not improved Severus Snape any. His hair hung in greasy hanks, neglected enough to have formed knots at the base, which they never had at school. His face was gaunt as well as sallow, and there was a touch of paranoia in the way his attention twitched to the side. Of course, Harry realized, the kettle was still there, steam now rising from the spout, but he wasn't willing to get up and move it for Snape, not when it had taken the threat of Azkaban to train the man to address him respectfully.

A solution occurred to him, and he gestured at the fire. "Draco, would you pour the water, please?"

"Of course, Harry," Draco answered, emphasizing Harry's first name ever so slightly. He rose gracefully and crossed to the fire. When he reached over, his arm nearly brushed Snape's filthy hair, but he extricated the kettle without incident, and poured the water into the teapot that Harry had prepared. Afterwards, he went to wash his hands.

While he was doing that, Harry nodded at Snape. "Now would be fine," he said blandly.

He saw another flash of real feeling at that, but Snape covered it quickly, lowering his face in what was almost a bow. Pleasing Harry wasn't an explicit condition of his parole, but they both knew the difference between theory and practice, whether in potions or in the Ministry.

"As we discussed, I made a minor alteration to this month's formula. Did you observe any difference in the change or the aftermath?"

Snape would never say in advance what he had done to the formula, or what effect it was supposed to have. In theory, this was to not prejudice Harry and Draco's observations. In practice, Harry knew it to be another variable in the balance of power between them. He could send Snape back to Azkaban with a few choice words, but Snape could poison him at any moon ... if he became so miserable that he was willing to die himself.

"Deeper exhaustion," Draco volunteered. "I was virtually useless after the change, and then I slept longer and more deeply." He cocked his head to the side. "I may be better for it now."

Harry considered that. He hadn't actually tried charms, other than opening the Floo, but perhaps.... He flicked his wand at the teapot and succeeded in levitating it over to the table without spilling a drop. Unwilling to risk pouring with magic, he reached out to assist with his left hand as he lowered it down to the table. "Yes," he agreed, while pouring, "I'm not entirely steady, but better than usual for less than a day past the change."

Triumph glowed fiercely on Snape's face. "Good. The Veela nails work."

Draco's face crinkled in disgust. "Veela nails?"

"For flexibility in shedding and assuming humanity," Snape said pedantically, but Draco's response was not academic.

"I am not assuming," he snarled, surging to his feet. "I am human."

"Most of the time," Snape shot back, but his sense of self-preservation reasserted itself. "Perhaps I misspoke. However, it is the same transition, and the power of a creature with more control over that transi--"

"I see the point," Harry interrupted, unwilling to have them fight. Draco's subsequent guilt would not be worth his own moments of pleasure. "Draco, he's just being rude. Ignore it." He looked steadily into Snape's visible rage. "It seems to have worked, to some extent."

"Thank you," Snape said. For a moment, he almost sounded sincere, but then he grimaced, withdrawing a few inches. "If you would both give me details...."

"You could come through," Harry said deliberately.

Snape did not quite manage to contain his shudder, and Harry felt a surge of bitter satisfaction.

"That will not be necessary. Now, on a scale of one to five...."



The next day, they woke at noon. Harry had to admit that he felt capable, if not comfortable, which was quite good for his second day. Draco, who was usually in worse shape, seemed to be completely recovered. They were just finishing their toast when the first bark sounded at the kitchen door.

"Your errant mutt is here," Draco commented.

Harry sighed. "He is my godfather, Draco."

"Some godfather, running off with the man who attacked you."

"He cast a healing spell and signaled the school first, risking arrest, and then led off the Dementors, risking worse. And I can't blame him for having more loyalty to a many-years lover and longer term friend than to someone he'd barely met, no matter whose son I was." Harry spoke over the second bark, and at the third got to his feet.

"He'll want favors," Draco warned.

Ignoring him, Harry opened the door.

"Hey, Padfoot," he said. The great head of the dog came higher than Harry's waist, and he could never resist stroking the thick fur, an act as comforting as it was automatic. "Come in."

The dog bounded in, tongue lolling out. As soon as the door shut behind him, he turned into a man. As always, Harry envied and admired that easy, casual change of form. He was wearing Muggle clothes, Harry noted: black jeans that had faded at his seat and knees and above a wallet; and a loose-woven collared shirt that brought out the blue in his eyes. His hair fell over the collar only at the back, and his face was tanned.

"Harry!" he said, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "You're looking good."

"I might say the same for you," Harry returned, smiling back. "Shall I make more tea?"

"Lovely," Sirius said promptly. "I'm dog tired."

Harry's mouth quirked as he put the kettle on. "Long trip?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"I suppose not."

"How are things here?"

Harry shrugged. "About the same. I'm still heading up the Council of Cursed Beings, so it's been a busy season, but Draco does the difficult jobs--"

"Wizengamot meetings and Ministry functions?" Draco asked dryly.

"Persuading people to do things," Harry translated.

"I invoke your reputation more readily than you do, that's all." Draco made a face. "You face the vampires."

Harry shrugged and cast about for actual news. "Had Hermione had the baby, last time you were by?"

Sirius grinned. "Just," he said. "Still healthy, I take it?"

"Oh yes. She figured out the full use of her lungs quickly enough."

"Good," Sirius said with a sharp nod. "A quiet baby is trouble later, or so well-meaning ladies used to tell your Mum."

"Mm." Harry wasn't sure what to say to that. Had he been quiet or loud? He had the impression he had been quiet for the Dursleys.

Draco brought the tea to the table. He poured for Harry, but then put the teapot down. Sirius gave him a sharp look, but poured for himself without waiting to see if Harry would. For a few moments, the only sound was spoons touching softly to fine china.

"Remus had a difficult moon," Sirius said. Anxiety raised the pitch of his voice. Harry held back sympathy and anger both and took a sip of his tea.

"Did he, now?" Draco said, the words dripping with acid. "What a pity he is a fugitive, then, unable to buy Wolfsbane potion -- or did you get him some caustic crap off the black market?"

A red flush of rage rose up their guest's face, but he kept his voice quiet and his head low as he spoke to Harry. "Harry. It's been almost ten years, and he's still miserable about what he did to you. Would you please consider giving him your pardon, so I can at least take care of him properly?"

"Pardoned or not, he would be killed if he showed his face on the street. He is known, and Harry is adored."</p>

"We wouldn't return," Sirius said quickly. "I swear we wouldn't. But where we're living, there's a limit on how long a werewolf can be prosecuted for a non-fatal attack, so if he wasn't in danger of being extradited--"

"You're somewhere in America, then." Draco smiled with vicious triumph. "You wouldn't get that tan any other place that has that."

Sirius froze. The shock on his face faded to rueful acceptance. "It's a big place," he said quietly.

"Mm." Draco stretched his arms. "But again, there's that tan, in March. Do you know that in some states the time limit for prosecution for an attack on a human is shorter than that for an attack on livestock?"

Sirius stared.

Harry snorted. Sirius had obviously not accounted for Draco's work comparing Britain's werewolf laws to others around the world. Sensing Draco preparing for another strike, he decided to step in. "I can see that."

"Oh?" Sirius asked. He looked worried.

"Well, yeah. It's not as urgent to the human self, so it's harder to remember on Wolfsbane. I expect they think that someone who can go ten years without attacking a human probably has improved their system enough not to do that, but maybe not enough to not kill a sheep, which, you know, people eat, really."

Standing, Draco stretched again, lengthening his lean body. He wasn't as bulky as Sirius Black, but he was young, and quick, and a werewolf. "Having made your plea," he said, "again, perhaps you should go."

"Wait," Harry said. Draco huffed, but sat without complaint. Sirius looked nervously at him and then back at Harry. He licked his lips.

Harry sighed and evaluated the matter. Again, as Draco had said, and this did come up every year or so, but that didn't mean it was the same. Lupin would be in his mid-forties, now -- still young, for a wizard, but old for a werewolf who had gone most of his life without the Wolfsbane potion. Even during the few months he had taken it, it had not eased the transition as much as it did now. Snape, in the three years that he had brewed for Harry as a student, and the five-plus years he had done so as a condition of his parole, had improved the formula considerably. As the silence stretched, hope trembled on Sirius's face, while Draco's stayed frozen with aloof disdain.

Finally, Harry set his hands down on the table. "I'll think it over," he said, although he knew he had already decided. His mind was moving ahead with what he would need -- his solicitor, a Ministry witness, his own witness -- Hermione, he thought, as she would approve of his mercy, rather than thinking it weakness. "Contact me at the dark of the moon, and I will give you my answer."

Sirius smiled bravely. "Thank you," he said. "I mean that. Even if-- well. Thank you for considering it, Harry, really. You're a good man."



When Sirius left, Harry wilted with exhaustion. He waited for Draco to criticize, but Draco just came around behind him and laid his hands gently on Harry's shoulders. After a moment, he began to press in at the tight muscles there.

"You're going to do it, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I expect I am," Harry admitted. "After all, I've never wanted him in prison -- or dead -- and he'll be safer with Wolfsbane than without."

"Not if he doesn't take it," Draco pointed out, but now that Sirius was gone, there was no real rancor in it.

"Do you want to argue it with me?" Harry asked. Draco usually knew when he needed that.

"No." Draco's hands stopped. "I helped you pass that law, remember? I agree that the victim -- once an adult -- should have the right to extend clemency." His fingers clenched. "Mind you, if I ever see the bastard...."

"Agreed," Harry said. "I'll make that clear. This is a pardon, not forgiveness." He let his head fall back, and Draco tilted forward, looking him in the eyes. Some things stayed human, Harry thought, mindful of how that held no challenge between them. "You know what we need?" he said. "A pack."

To his surprise, Draco stiffened. "Am I not sufficient?"

Harry raised an eyebrow at him. "Actually, watching you with Black, I was thinking what a good beta you'd make. I never had to bring him in line." He grinned. "Wouldn't you like to have someone beneath you?"

In a telling motion, Draco licked his lips. Harry laughed. "Hm. Who do we know who'd be good?"

Draco, his manner thoughtful, began rubbing his shoulders again. "I can't think of anyone -- amongst the wolves, I mean. Katya is pleasant, but you'd take her to bed, or at least want to, and I couldn't endure that."

"No?" In his confusion, Harry twisted around. "You didn't mind Barry."

Draco shrugged, the motion leaving his shoulders down, and slipped back into his chair. "He's a man. I can compete with men. Besides, you were learning things."

In contrast, Harry's shrug was pure nonchalance, dismissing the issue. "You can compete just as well with women, I'm sure."

"But a child?" Draco said wryly. "If it were to happen?"

Harry hesitated. He wanted to say no, that his devotion to a child -- and he was fairly sure it would be devotion -- would not extend to its other parent, but he wasn't sure it would work that way. "No women," he said instead, and was rewarded by seeing Draco's tension ebb. "So, does that eliminate all the werewolves we know?"

"I think so," Draco said. Delicately, he cleared his throat. "Were you considering, hm, making your own?"

Denial halted on the tip of Harry's tongue. "I could," he said. "For the right candidate." To his alarm, his blood was starting to rush at the prospect. Too long without sex, perhaps -- by the end of his moon-weakness, a stiff breeze could arouse him, but surely the thought of biting a person, bringing his teeth and curse into blood -- that should not.

"Hm. Might I suggest Severus?"

"Snape?" Draco's suggestion hauled Harry back to the present. "Severus Snape, moody, domineering bastard, won't wash?"

Draco tilted his head, making his hair catch the afternoon sunlight that streamed in the back window. "I think he's deeply submissive, really. The problem is, he doesn't understand that, so he goes about satisfying it in all the wrong ways, so it's never actually pleasant, and he doesn't learn what he wants."

But you could show him remained tantalizingly unspoken. Harry had to collect himself to speak. "And your evidence for this ... theory?"

"Consider," Draco confided, leaning forward. "He signed up to serve Voldemort. Even if he didn't realize the man's madness, he did this as a half-blood. He knew he'd be everyone's whipping boy, whether he admitted it to himself or not. He was not only putting himself below the Dark Lord, but below people like my father."

"But as a teacher--"

"As a teacher, he bullied the students, but just, I think, because he was unhappy. He took the job -- as I know now -- to serve Dumbledore--"

"In restitution."

"Yes, but it was restitution by abasing himself, really, wasn't it? I mean, teaching was beneath him; he's always thought so, as far as I can see. And for all his scheming, he never takes what he actually wants. I mean, I'm sure he wanted me, that week we were on the run-- Every time I was in a position to tell, he was aroused."

"He was probably too busy trying to get you away to make a move."

"I was too stupid to tell him to suck me, you mean."

Harry laughed. "Should I be jealous?" The question would have been more threatening if it hadn't swelled with arousal.

Draco licked his lips again. "Mm. I'd never let him do to me the things you do."

Harry leaned forward, close enough to hear Draco's breathing. "Like what? Tell me."

"Bind me," Draco said raggedly. "Flog me. Take away my sight, my wand. Tell me what to do."

"Mm. And if I were to tell you to suck him?"

Draco's eyes closed and his color heightened. "I... Yes. I'd want him to hear you command me, though. To know it was you --I'm yours."

Pleased, Harry squirmed in his chair. "That would bring him round to anything. You're brilliant with your mouth." He stood and walked behind Draco. From there, he ran his lips over Draco's ear and whispered. "He should watch you first -- watch how you submit to me, see how much you like it."

Draco moaned. "Please, Harry."

"Please what?" Harry, never patient, was pushing at Draco's back.

"Anything."

"Forward. Pull yourself onto the table. All the way." While he still had the control, Harry sent the tea things gently to safety. Priceless Malfoy china clinked down against the pitted ceramic of the sink while his eyes stayed greedily on Draco sliding onto the table and then squirming forward, belly to the polished wood, until he could grasp the far edge.

"Very nice." Harry strolled around the edge of the table until he was at Draco's head. Leaning forward, he grasped the hem of Draco's shirt and pulled it up, baring his back. Carefully, he smoothed Draco's fair hair down under the rumpled fabric. "You look so lovely there," he said softly. "Do you want to know what I'll do to you?"

"No." The folds of Draco's shirt muffled his voice, but his tone was almost defiant in its certainty. "Please."

"God, I love you," Harry said fiercely. "More than anyone can imagine." Wordlessly, he Summoned Draco's favorite blindfold -- the soft one lined with rabbit fur from Draco's first mindful kill -- from the bedroom. For the moment, he set it on Draco's back, between his shoulder blades, as he contemplated Draco's clothing. It was sexy, having it bunched up like that, but it was also in the way, and he didn't want to need to assess the risk of strangulation while he played. With a soft unfastening charm, he undid Draco's buttons, and then spread his shirt to the sides, preserving the half-dressed look without all the awkwardness.

"Better access," he said, pushing down Draco's collar to kiss at his neck. "You're so beautiful."

"Thank you, Harry," Draco said breathlessly.

"My pleasure." From a long dragging stroke of fur to skin, Harry lifted the blindfold and set it into place, Draco raising his head enough to provide clearance. Harry tied the long black ribbons into place over his fair hair. "Such a pretty thing," he soothed, and without explanation, moved away.

Draco, he knew, could hear him opening drawers and shifting things within them, and walking back. He wouldn't know what Harry had selected, though -- an exciting departure from Harry's usual toys. Harry felt that the kitchen ought to have a plethora of useful implements, but he wasn't finding much to his liking. He tried a bamboo skewer against his bared arm, but it didn't have the sting that he had expected. The wooden spatula would probably work, but he wanted something more pliant. Perhaps he wasn't in the right mood for innovation.

Next to the spatula, he spied the spring-hinged wooden tongs, and grinned to himself. He had no idea how they would feel, but they should make a load of noise when the sides clacked together. He was willing to use them without testing, just to see Draco flinch.

Quietly, he returned to Draco's side and ran a hand down his back and over his still-clothed arse. "There," he soothed, and Draco breathed in, anticipating a move. Harry brought the tongs down hard.

It was a spectacular noise. Draco yelped, and Harry had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

"How does it feel?" he asked. "I didn't test, for obvious reasons."

"You could now," Draco pointed out, which Harry couldn't argue with. He didn't like using things he didn't know the feel of, really. He snapped the tongs against his thigh.

"Huh. Not much sensation, for all that noise."

"Quite the noise though. What is it?"

"The salad tongs," Harry said, and Draco laughed. With some irritation, Harry realized that he had lost the element of mystery. "You know," he declared, "I'm not interested in experimenting today." He undid his belt, knowing that Draco would recognize the clack of the buckle and the soft shushing of the leather being pulled through his belt loops. Draco moaned.

"Snape would be frightened," Harry said, "watching me do this." Harry flipped the leather so the curved side was down, and trailed it over Draco's fine trousers. "Give me your arse."

In a scramble of motion, Draco lifted his rear end, the side of his face still pressed against the wood, and let go of the table edge long enough to push the garment down to his thighs. He moved his bum in an enticing little waggle while it was still up in the air, and then settled down again.

"He knows you wouldn't hurt me," he said breathlessly.

"Yes, but he would say it was because I was a werewolf. Violent." Harry brought the belt down on Draco's skin -- a gentle strike, but one that left a line of pink across the white skin. "No control."

Draco gasped at the second lash, but then caught himself. "You have control. He doesn't want-- Ah! -- to see it. Gods."

Talking suddenly became a matter for later. The belt was heavy, and Harry kept his blows on Draco's arse, laying line after line there and feeling his own blood rise. Draco squirmed against the table, gasping and sometimes yelping, until Harry pinned him with a hand on the back.

"Harry."

"I was thinking," Harry said, dropping the belt and running the fingers of his other hand along the ridges he had raised from Draco's arse cheeks, "I could summon something a little more precise ... or I could just climb up there and fuck you." He was tempted to make it Draco's choice, but Draco had said he wanted to be told what to do. Deciding, Harry stepped back and picked up the belt. "Off the table," he said. "On the floor, hands and knees."

Draco squirmed back off the table, reaching with his bare feet for the floor. His trousers slid to his ankles, but he ignored them as he dropped to his knees, and then forward onto his hands. The blindfold stayed on.

"Good." Harry slid the belt through its buckle and looped it over Draco's head. Draco froze, but Harry wasn't surprised. He had never done anything of this sort before. Carefully, Harry slid the buckle down until the belt was loosely set around Draco's neck, than cast a charm to keep it from constricting further. "There, love. It won't tighten. Now you have a leash." He stepped on Draco's trousers. "Let's go for a walk."

After a moment of squirming forward to extract himself from the pinned trousers, Draco started a hesitant crawl. Harry gave a little tug to give him his direction. "Come on, now. Head up!"

At the reminder that he could be seen, Draco's stance changed entirely, his back straightening as his head came up. He lifted a hand like a pointer's paw, and he stepped out after Harry.

Their home, Stag's Run Lodge, had started out as a hunting lodge. The old part of the house was a long, stone, high-roofed hall, with the kitchen at the back. In the nineteenth century, someone had doubled the width of the structure, adding four bedrooms, and in the twentieth, the room alongside the kitchen had been divided in half, with the back half becoming a large bathroom, and the rest enlarging the adjoining bedroom. That was nominally Harry's, although both of them slept there, and both had wardrobes there. The bed in Draco's room had long since given way to a roman couch, two armchairs, a writing desk, and six glass-fronted bookcases, all from Malfoy Manor.

As they crossed from the slate floor of the kitchen to the wood plank of the new addition, Harry guessed that Draco expected to be taken to their bedroom. Indeed, he had to tug twice to get Draco to turn down the corridor instead.

"That's it," he said. "Don't try to guess, just follow. Planning is not your job, right now."

Draco hesitated, and then dipped his head in a nod. When he followed, it was more actively. He didn't even pause in front of his room. Harry was pleased.

"Stop now," he said, just past the door to the guest room. He crouched down and stroked Draco's skin. It was cool, and he was about to cast a warming charm when a different idea stopped him. He cast the charm on his hand instead, and stroked Draco's back and legs, giving him warmth with the touch. "You're doing well. I expect it's disorienting, isn't it? Not as much sense of how far you've come as if you were walking."

Draco nodded again and rubbed his head against Harry. Laughing, Harry stood. "All right. Turn left."

For a moment, Draco almost turned right, but then caught himself. Harry shook his head. Still thinking, is he? He led Draco into the living room, and Draco gave a little sigh of relief when he crossed onto the first carpet. Harry made a note to himself to check Draco's knees when they were done with this.

He took Draco across a narrow gap of bare floor, and then to another carpet, and from there around the sofa in front of the small side-hearth. There, he knelt in front of Draco and released the belt, enlarging the loop and pulling it off him. He stroked a hand up Draco's chest, guiding him up, and then kissed him, lingering over the warmth of his mouth and reminding him who they were. Finally, he pulled away, and stood.

"Draco. We're at the sofa. I am going to sit down, and then I want you across my lap, understood? You are welcome to speak, shout, comment -- anything but ask me what happens next."

Draco nodded. "Yes, Harry," he said belatedly, his voice oddly soft from the silence.

"Good." After casting a warming spell on the sofa, and charming the fire alight, Harry undid his trousers, let them fall, and stepped out of them. He sat down, conscious of the feel of the plush cushions against his bare arse and thighs. His shirt and jumper felt peculiarly solid.

"Join me now," he said.

Draco turned toward his voice, and then had to feel for the front of the sofa. Harry used the time to wordlessly Summon lubricant from their room. He was just setting the jar down when Draco's hand encountered his leg. For a moment, it just rested there, and then Draco leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Harry's shin. From there, he climbed up onto the sofa and crawled over Harry's lap. "Mm," he said, settling down with a wiggle that rubbed his hip against Harry's cock, and his cock against Harry's thigh. "Skin."

"Why should you have all the fun?" Harry answered teasingly, opening the jar as quietly as possible.

"Oh, you haven't been enjoying this?" Draco challenged.

"I have, of course," Harry replied, "but the physical side has been mostly yours. Now...." He ran his warmed hand down Draco's legs, first one, than the other. "You were told not to think while being led, yet you still tried to turn into the guest room."

"I just thought--" Draco stopped abruptly, realizing what he had said.

"Yes. You did." Harry brought his hand down on the dark lines across Draco's arse, and Draco yelped. "Now, what do you say?"

"I ... I'm sorry I tried to anticipate where you were going?"

Harry spanked the other cheek, a little bit harder. "The right idea, but you'll have to do better."

"I'm sorry I was thinking when I was supposed to be following you. I'll try not to next time."

"Much better," Harry stated, and he stroked his hand gently over Draco's arse. A quick lift for lube and he did it again, this time drawing his slicked thumb down Draco's crack.

"Oh," Draco sighed.

"Mm." Harry teased around Draco's opening, rolling the pad of his thumb around it without pushing in.

"Oh," Draco repeated, more strongly. "Will you-- I mean, I'd like you to fuck me."

"Would you?" Harry teased, sliding his thumb in. Draco took him too often to need this much care, but Harry didn't want to let him up, just yet.

"Very much," Draco said promptly, rocking his hips and rubbing his erection against Harry. "It's been days, and you're not too tired now, I can tell you're not. Don't you want me?"

"Oh yeah," Harry answered, coating his hand. He pushed two fingers up in place of his thumb. "I want you. Want you over the arm of the sofa so I can look at all those marks on your arse while I move inside it."

Draco hesitated. "Blindfold?" he said, not quite a request so much as a reminder of factors involved.

"Yeah, that would make it easier, wouldn't it?" With a final light slap to Draco's arse, Harry made his decision. "Up. Back on your heels."

Draco moved back, and Harry reached behind his head to undo the ribbons. He didn't have to tell Draco to kiss him; something in his face was permission enough, and Draco leaned forward enough for that and twisted into it, nearly falling back into Harry's lap. Harry nudged him back. "Up. There's lube on the table. Get me slick enough for you, and then move into position."

"A delightful plan," Draco agreed, and reached for the jar. The charmed top allowed a certain amount out at once; he spilled it twice into his hand, filling his palm with a glistening pool. Harry spread his arms along the sofa back, and parted his knees to give Draco full access, and smirking, Draco dipped a finger in his glistening reservoir of lube and drew a wet line from behind Harry's bollocks to the tip of his cock.

"Ah!"

"I love the way your skin moves when I do that." Draco dipped two fingers in and swirled them around the head. "Of course, you might like this more if you'd remembered a warming charm."

"Sorry," Harry muttered.

"Why? You know I don't care much, back there, anyway." Draco picked up Harry's wand and warmed the liquid. After painting four lines up Harry's cock, he caught the tip between two fingers and drew a painstaking clockwise spiral up the shaft.

"Are you going to add in runes?" Harry managed, his voice tight.

"Hm. No, I suppose not." In a sudden move, Draco brought his still cupped hand to Harry's erection, and smeared what was left all over it, so that the excess dripped down to the edge of his thighs and down the cleft of his bollocks into the crack of his arse. After four tight, fast strokes, he pulled away, scrambled over Harry's lap, and snugged up against the arm rest. The book on the side table was quickly lowered to the floor and he lay his chest across it, raising his bum. The lines from Harry's belt were even more impressive now. Harry admired them while he positioned the head of his cock.

"You're so good," he said. "I could stretch you more, and go in fast."

"Just -- just in," Draco said.

"Yeah?" Harry leaned into it -- just a little, pushing, but not forcing. "Like this? In slowly, letting you open for me?"

"Merlin, yes, like that."

It was agonizingly, gloriously, slow. Only when he'd made an inch did Harry pull back, redistribute the lube, and start again, immediately gaining ground. "Draco. My love."

"Yes, yes, love you, harder!" Draco babbled, and he pushed fractionally harder, watching until his head had sunk fully into Draco's buttocks. Again, he pulled back, got slicker, pushed in again. Draco rewarded him with a wailing cry.

"I have to move, baby." Harry took a measure of lube and reached under Draco, smearing it up and down his cock as if he were polishing a broomstick. He began to pump in and out, feeling the tight ring around his cock loosen slightly.

"Yeah, brilliant," Draco panted. "Fuck me so hard, Potter. You always want me, don't you? Want to bury your cock in me."

"Yeah, you," Harry answered. "Wanted to fuck you since before I knew what it was." He was thrusting in faster now, letting his body choose the rhythm. "Sniffing after your arse without a fucking clue." The wolf had known better.

"Yeah you, yeah more," Draco chanted, cried, and Harry hammered into him, memories and plans fading away into heat and constriction and scent and pleasure, and he roared as it surged, and panted as it faded, working at Draco until he followed after.



Sometimes, sex left Harry feeling peaceful and unconcerned. At others, that same peace changed something in his mind and made all his thoughts clearer, and he was suddenly possessed of theories, or worse, plans.

"I shouldn't use my belt in front of Snape," he said.

"Mm?"

"I think his father may have done that to him."

Draco's eyes opened at that. "Oh." He yawned. "A flogger then. The Imperial Flogger."

Harry laughed. The Imperial Flogger was Hermione's fault. When she had found out she was pregnant, she had apparated in unannounced, eager to share the news with Harry, and had been horrified to find him laying into Draco with a riding crop. She had railed at him for abusing his power, and then when Draco had -- woozily, Harry had to admit -- insisted that he was enjoying it, told him he was obviously punishing himself for what he had done in school. For three days after that, Harry had been unable to contact her, and then she had shown up, unannounced again, with an apology and a box.

"I've been researching," she had said, firmly the scholar, "and have found that some people do enjoy that, and it doesn't mean anything's wrong with you, and I brought something to show I'm sorry for not trusting you."

The 'something' had been a flogger -- but not like any that Harry had ever seen before. This had tails of scarlet leather, with a haft encased in purple suede and bound near the top and bottom with gold braid, and finished at the top with a gold medallion. It was so clearly made for looks that Harry had been afraid it would be useless, but it wasn't. It wasn't harsh, certainly, but it could build up a good sting. Draco's mocking nickname for it had taken a more affectionate tone after Harry had subjected him to a long session with it.

"That might be the best one to use on him, too," he said thoughtfully. "If I'm careful about wrap, I can work him up slowly."

"You're good at that."

Harry paused to look at Draco and then to kiss him. "Are we serious about this?" he asked. "I mean, he's still Snape."

"But there'd be advantages," Draco coaxed. "You could make him wash, for one."

Harry laughed. "And we'd be doing him a favor, really. I mean, he'd get over his fear of werewolves, right?"

"And imagine the advances he could make in his research with first-hand experience of the Wolfsbane potion."

"Mm." That would benefit all of us. "Of course, he'd want to publish." Harry considered. "I suppose I wouldn't object to him having status outside the pack."

"That's just status to the pack, really."

Harry looked at Draco, and his chest rumbled with a low laugh. "Slytherins!"



He pulled off his robes, desperate for air, for space. There was sweat on his skin, and then there was pain, and then he was fully in the forest night, as a wolf should be. His mind was racing and hard to control, but even that was precious; this was the last time; the next moon would vanquish thought entirely. The traitor's scent was close. He hunted.

He found. His prey was among others, protected by an agitated herd, and he crept forward cautiously, knowing the threat, but unwilling to call off the hunt. A shift of view and he saw the herd's sport: his rival, his everyday quarry, dripping with blood that didn't quite cover the sharp scent of his fear, pinned under an evil enemy, who mounted him, not in honor, but to amuse the herd.

Maddened by fury, he charged. The evil one was too engrossed in his pleasure to turn in time to meet him. He felt bone and muscle give under the impact before his attack was returned, too late. Fur in his mouth, and blood, and then death was his servant. The herd cheered, then muttered, and then disappeared in pops, leaving him and his new Protected alone in the woods.

He licked blood, soothing.


Harry woke. He had thrashed free of the covers and was freezing cold. Draco, who knew better than to touch him in such a state, was standing clear of the bed, wrapped in a blanket, saying his name, urgently and steadily, again and again.

"Here," Harry answered. His heart was racing. He forced himself to sit and begin straightening the bedclothes, but the shadows in the room still drew his eye, and his mind wanted to sort them into threat or prey.

"Which one?" Draco asked wryly, stepping into range.

"Rescuing you," Harry answered. Draco's body was soothingly white as he parted the blanket to slip back into bed -- nothing at all like the bruised and torn creature that Harry had pulled his robes over with his teeth after the Death Eaters had left him to die.

"I think you may remember more of that then I do," Draco said wryly. "After the bite, everything blurs behind the pain."

They said the same things, some nights, and sometimes new ones, but never much. After six years, there were still things left unsaid.

"I was hunting Snape."

"I know."

That had come out early.

Harry curled himself into blankets and safety and gathered his courage. "I remember the taste of your blood."

"Oh."

After a moment's stiffness, Draco pressed close. "You licked me," he said, returning to things said before. "I remember wondering when you -- this wolf -- would bite."

"Yeah." Harry took a deep breath. "I ... I've never bitten anyone. Human, I mean. Fenrir was in wolf form, and Voldemort -- well, Voldemort wasn't anymore. A human...." He could imagine it even as he spoke -- sinking long teeth past tight, thin, human skin. His hand trailed over Draco's thigh.

"Mm," Draco murmured. "It doesn't have to be real -- Snape, I mean." He tilted his head back as Harry licked his neck. "It can just be our fantasy."

Harry made love to him as tenderly as if he were still wounded.

Mercy: Part 2