scarletladyy (scarletladyy) wrote in hp_prisonerfest, @ 2012-02-24 01:21:00 |
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Entry tags: | !fic, character: draco, character: harry, exchange: 2011/2012, pairing: harry/draco |
Getting Home - A gift for wintervixen86!
Title: Getting Home
Author: slythrngodss
Recipient: wintervixen86
Pairing(s): Draco/Harry
Word Count: 2,793
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: It’s a little angsty, and there’s sex
Summary: Harry’s home, but all he wants is to be a prisoner again.
Author's Notes: Thanks to my beta! Any mistakes left are mine.
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters. I’m just making them do things.
“It’s bad.” Remus sighed. “We’ve gotten him out physically, but he’s still there mentally. I mean, he wants to go back.” He stared into his tea. “I don’t know how to get through to him.”
“But he was a prisoner.” Charlie Weasley was all unfocused energy, angry and worried and caring.
“He doesn’t seem to see it that way.” Remus shrugged and swirled the tea in his mug. “He acts like he feels more like a prisoner now than when he was with Malfoy. Sometimes I feel like I should just let him go, let Harry go back to him.” Remus put his cup back down on the table and swallowed dryly.
“He’s obviously been brainwashed.” The young man channeled the quiet fury of his dragons. “We just have to break him out of it.”
“He just seems so lost.” Remus shook his head. “I just want him to smile again and if going back to Malfoy will do that, sometimes I think it’s worth it.”
Charlie frowned. “It’s only by a stroke of luck that Malfoy wasn’t caught. We can’t trust Harry to someone like that, especially if he’s as bad as--” Charlie froze, staring off over Remus' shoulder.
Remus stared at Charlie for a moment, startled by the sudden stop, before turning round to face a disheveled Harry. The young man’s hair was more all over the place than usual and the clothes of the worn and faded pajama set he wore, saved from the last of his Hogwarts days, hung off him. Remus had been wheedling him to eat but to little avail.
“Can you take me back? I have to go back.” Harry looked at Charlie pleadingly.
“I’m sorry, Harry.” Charlie looked away from the watery green eyes. “I think it’s best if you stay here.”
“Here?!” Harry snapped, the watery quality of his eyes replaced by fury. “Where I don’t even have my own wand? This is supposed to be good for me? I want to go home.” He growled out the last part and Remus looked like he had been kicked in the gut.
“This is your home.” Remus barely managed to get the words out.
***
Harry remembered the feel of sweat slicked skin gliding against his, the tang of Draco on his tongue, chanting Draco’s name because he couldn’t get enough. He wanted that again, and not just that. He needed the feel of Draco’s hand caressing his cheek, the feel of Draco’s robes when they were pressed together on the settee, the sound of Draco griping about who had done something to pick his ire this time. Harry needed to go home.
***
“Find him!” Draco flicked his wand with a snap, severing the man’s Death Eater mask in two, revealing a pale, pink rubbery face and a crease of blood down the forehead. “The Dark Lord needs Potter safe and Potter is safe when he is with me.” The fat man still stood there, catatonic.
“Go!” Draco bellowed. “And take the mask; you might be able to get it fixed if you’re not too much of an imbecile.” The man grabbed the pieces of his mask and scurried out of the parlor.
“You really don’t give a rat’s ass what the Dark Lord wants,” Blaise Zabini drawled as he stroked his quill. “You just want Potter back.”
“Need him back.” Draco slumped onto a silver-blue chaise that matched bruised looking shadows under his eyes.
“Obviously.” Blaise sniffed. “This is a bit too much trouble for a little piece of arse, Dark Lord or not.”
“He is not a piece of arse!” Draco jumped off the chaise to loom over Blaise in his high backed chair.
“I didn’t say he was.” The young man turned a calculating look to Draco. “I just said that if he was, then this would be far too much trouble to find him when you could just pluck some other black haired, green-eyed urchin off the street. You could even scar him up. Teach him to answer to Harry, if you wanted.”
Draco attempted to give Blaise a scathing look, but it was half-hearted and diminished in effect when Draco dropped back onto the chaise. “You shouldn’t be so flippant about the Dark Lord. He wants what he wants and who are we to say no?”
“You forget that I’m not one of his Death Eaters. I’m just a talented pureblood wizard who doesn’t object too much to his ideas and stays out of his way. Not everyone can be a soldier, Draco.” Blaise put his quill down. “You also forget that I know you’d be searching for Potter just as feverishly if the Dark Lord didn’t want him back.”
Draco turned to look out the window. One of his father’s peacocks strutted by and Draco wondered how it would look stuffed on the parlor wall.
“You haven’t been sleeping. You’re wan, you’re scaring the plebs more than you usually do, and I don’t see a problem with the last, but Pansy thinks you can’t get good help if they’re too scared. She’s usually right about those sort of things. It’s definitely true that my mother couldn’t find a decent husband once they all started dying off.” Blaise ran a hand over his shaved head. His mother could be a touchy subject; he didn’t often bring her up.
“I’m not going to start killing off servants.” Draco groaned. If nothing else, he knew he could trust Blaise to bring up the most inappropriate anecdotes while attempting to be helpful. It was rather sweet, actually.
“They just have to think you will.” Blaise gave a long and drawn out sigh, unsure of what to do with his friend. “What will you do when you find him?”
“Love him.”
Blaise ignored how his friend looked and instead snorted. “There’s no such thing as love, Draco. There’s just two people, using each other up until there isn’t anything to use any more.”
Draco smiled thinly. “Your mother damaged you quite thoroughly.”
Blaise gave Draco a look that said ‘you’ve known me how long?’ but out loud he said, “It has nothing to do with my mother. I reached my conclusions on my own; though, I suppose she did help them along.”
***
The sound of layers of paper thickly tearing were muffled by the library door, but still loud enough to cause Remus to wince.
“You could stop him, you know.” Charlie Weasley offered as they stared at the locked door. It wouldn’t take more than Alohomora and perhaps some elbow grease to get past the thing.
Remus shrugged. “Let him do what he needs to do. I can Charm them back together when he’s done. They’ll be a bit more delicate, but I’ve always been one to be gentle with my books, so there’s no need to worry.”
Charlie glowered and stalked off, shoulders tight with tension. Remus’ eyes followed him away and he had to resist smiling at the hard lines of that taut back. The young man cared so much and so viscerally, it was something to be appreciated.
***
Harry felt the leather pull away from the stitching and spells binding it to the paper and it made him feel like he could do something more than just sit and wait to get well, as they told him to do so often while they whispered about Stockholm Syndrome behind their hands. He wanted to tell them that he wasn’t ill, but they wouldn’t believe him, and he’d come to Remus’ small library to read and escape for a while, but then a character had smiled (he couldn’t even remember the name now a scant fifteen minutes later), and he remembered kind smiles and warmth and sunny days and hands carding through his hair and laughter.
He threw the book across the room and it reminded him of force, pleasant and tantalizing. Hands tugging insistently at his hair, teeth dragging hard and sharp against skin flushed with heat. No matter what he did, he couldn’t escape the memories. Not even the books offered him relief, not that he had ever been one for reading, but he thought it good to try, and now all he could do was destroy them for failing him. They weren’t his way out.
***
“We have a lead on Potter.”
Unbelieving, Draco was at the boy's side in an instant, ready to strike, hard and physical and so much more satisfying then a hex. Potter had taught him that. The boy didn’t flinch, whether it was because he didn’t recognize such a Muggle attack or because the newest Death Eaters were the most well trained yet, proper soldiers, Draco wasn’t sure and didn’t care. “We think he’s staying with a werewolf somewhere near Monmouthshire in Wales.”
Draco watched the boy for a moment, not sure of what to do before his face quirked up with a slow, eerie smile. “Would you like some tea?”
He needed a way to keep the boy around until he knew if the information was good or not. If it wasn’t, he’d have the boy's head. They should know by now not to bring him poor information. “Near Monmouthshire is a large area,” Draco drawled while nearly beaming. “We’ll need more accurate information if we are to obtain the prize.”
“Yes, sir.” The boy gave Draco a decisive nod. “It has already begun.”
Draco fingered his wand, pleased. “Good. Have some tea with me.” It was not a question.
***
Destruction really was the way to go, Harry thought, as he sunk into an exhausted heap on the kitchen floor, broken china scattered around him, Remus watching him silently from the doorway.
“I am sorry,” Remus spoke finally, minutes after Harry’s tears had started to fall. “I’m sorry that you feel this way. I don’t doubt that you loved him.” He sighed and Harry looked up at him, eyes wide and glassy and tinged with red.
“You have always shown such capacity for love. But you couldn’t have been safe there. I can’t believe that he wanted you safe and whole and strong. It’s my job to protect you. You’re Lily and James’ son.”
Harry didn’t say anything.
“You hate me, don’t you?”
Harry still didn’t say anything.
“I’ll clean up in the morning.” Remus walked away to his study, to stay awake among his newly mended books.
***
“I find Potter, and you,” Draco sneered, “destroy,” he twisted the word around his mouth like a misshapen piece of metal ore, pure and jagged and weighty, “the house.”
Draco turned from the Death Eater leading the group of men with him and turned towards the house. If Harry wasn’t there then destruction was assured and if Harry was there the destruction didn’t matter.
“You’re the one with the tactical expertise here.” Draco chuckled. “When you say go, we’re off.”
***
The door to Harry’s room cracked inwards and Harry watched it fall, staring at the glowing embers of the hallway and wondering what good Remus was doing at protecting him if the safe house was burning down around their ears, not that he minded. The heat had yet to reach Harry and what he felt was a soothing sort of warmth. He almost missed the smoky figure in the doorway, robed in black, silver mask in hand, face and skin, pale, pale, pale. Paler than he remembered.
“Draco!” Harry launched himself at the specter of a thought to find him real and hard and solid. He clung on, burying his face in the black robes that reeked of the smoldering ruins the house would be by morning. Draco’s arms came around him, tight and close and Harry wished they could melt into him because he never wanted to be free of those arms again.
Draco managed to trigger the Portkey to the manor before kissing Harry, whose lips were dry and thin, pushing hungrily at his own. The Portkey landed them in the parlor and not in the bedroom, which Draco was starting to realize was a grievous error. The need that he had been feeling was raw and open, like a wound, and the way to heal it was right there and he pushed Harry down onto the chaise, not caring that the soot from his robes was smudging onto the old fabric.
He ran his fingers into Harry’s forever messy hair and found it tangled and wonderful and used it to tug Harry’s hot needy mouth closer to his own. They could never get close enough. He kissed his way down Harry’s jaw, square and strong and open with the keen in his throat at the way Draco hit that spot right there, like there hadn’t been a day missed between them. And Draco had to hear that sound again because it meant that Harry was real and there and that he wasn’t going mad with longing, like Blaise and Pansy were worried he would.
He held Harry’s head back with his hands, exposing the creamy, tan of his neck and felt his pulse beneath his lips. Draco nipped and sucked and Harry grabbed at him, wanting, always wanting. Forever wanting, forever needing more. Harry wanted to grab him and hold and drag himself against Draco. Already panting and they hadn’t even been together long enough to say 'I missed you' and 'never again' and 'I will kill them all'.
Their robes were still on and Harry slipped his fingers under the collar of Draco’s smoke filled clothes to tug against the spells them kept them closed. Draco pulled them off over his head, not wanting to use his mouth to say anything but Harry’s life affirming name. The shock of cold hair sent shivers down his spine, no help to the quivering already deep and low in his belly.
He dragged his cock against the rough cotton of Harry’s robes, smudged with the silt from Draco’s, but still green, always green, like Harry eyes. Draco would never get that green, nor would he forget the way that green looked on Harry’s robes with a glistening streak of pre-come on the fabric, marking Harry as his.
Draco pulled desperately at the fabric, wanting to get to the expanse of skin beneath, skin he remembered touching and sucking and biting. He wanted to feel Harry. He wanted Harry to feel him, feel the heat of him, feel the way his breath hitched when Harry’s fingers would ghost up the underside of his cock next to the vein that throbbed there.
The fabric ripped and Draco attacked the flesh of Harry’s chest, dragging his teeth over Harry’s nipples, seeing them raise at the attention, so dark and pink that it made Draco hurt to look at them. And Harry’s hands were grabbing at Draco’s arse and his sides and sliding up the inside of Draco’s thighs, pinching and smoothing and dragging with uncut nails.
Draco lapped his way down Harry’s chest to the awful Muggle jeans, worn and faded and rough against Draco’s prick, like the callouses on Harry’s hands would be. Draco licked at the spot above the button and Harry arched into him, grabbing at Draco’s shoulders, gasping and digging in. His hot panting breaths so full of want that Draco almost came from the sound of them.
Draco unbuttoned the jeans easily and worked for a moment on the unwieldy zipper, so strange and Muggle and awkward. He pulled the jeans and Harry’s pants down in one go, grinning at the way Harry’s breath caught as the fabric dragged over his heavy cock. It sprung up, free, and Draco flicked his tongue at the tip, reveling in Harry’s smell before he closed his mouth over the head, sucking and slurping and making the obscene noises that were making Harry start to tremble. He worked his mouth up slowly, tantalizing, teasing, using his tongue to keep up a firm pressure along the underside of Harry’s cock. He wanted to devour it whole but he needed to unmake Harry, feel Harry fall apart to know he was real and to let Harry know he was real. He dragged himself back up Harry’s cock before diving back down and starting up a more sustainable pace, bringing Harry to the edge before backing off again. Coming off and licking at Harry before swallowing him whole, swallowing around him and slurping and bobbing until Harry came, chanting a litany of Draco’s name.
They were home.
***
“You were quite right to suggest the potion, Severus. This attachment does keep my seventh Horcrux quite safe. And going mad without each other, well. That’s just an added bonus, isn’t it?”