Paradigm Chapter Six
Feb. 20th, 2009 09:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dysonrulesMy lovely beta is being mauled by RL, but she still cranked out this chapter. Massive huggles and kisses to her!!! *squishes ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
byaghro *
For the uninitiated: Chapter One
It took Draco less than an hour to “make arrangements” for his absence. He simply sent owl messages to all of his usual clients and mentioned that he would be unavailable for approximately six months. None of them were particularly important, so explanations were unnecessary. Unfortunately, that left him with a couple of days with absolutely nothing to do. He tried not to think about Potter at all and occupied some of his time by going through his wardrobe. He purchased several new outfits and placed others on hiatus. Outstanding bills were quickly paid, thanks to Potter’s prior payments and Draco breathed more easily for the first time in months.
On Friday, his Gringott’s account showed a transfer of five hundred thousand Galleons and Draco had to wonder how Potter had explained that particular transaction. For “services not yet rendered”? The thought of providing those upcoming services made Draco flee his small flat and seek the bracing air of Hyde Park. He forced himself to use a Muggle umbrella in order to avoid frightening the natives, as it was pouring rain, as usual. He wondered what time Potter planned to come for him, a question that was answered when he returned home to find an owl perched on the sill of his small living room window.
I’ll see you at 9:00. Be ready.
Draco sighed. Eloquent as always, Potter.
When the designated hour rolled around on Saturday morning, Draco was a bundle of nerves. He had awakened at the simply ludicrous hour of four a.m. and drank several bracing cups of tea. In hindsight, that had been a mistake as he was now tired but jittery. He had changed clothes four times and finally settled on a pair of chocolate coloured trousers and a cashmere jumper that reminded him of sea foam. The fact that the fabric fairly begged to be touched had nothing to do with Draco’s choice.
Potter was five minutes early. He rapped on the door instead of barging inside, so Draco opened it by hand. Potter wore a black Muggle-style coat buttoned up to his neck. It hung just past his knees, exposing only the lower legs of his black trousers and heavy boots. Despite his weather-proof gear his hair was wet. The idiot had obviously been out in the rain without the benefit of hat or Umbrella Charm.
Draco helpfully pointed out the fact. Potter grinned.
“I was distracted,” he said. “Are you ready?”
Draco nodded. He had packed a trunk, even though he was not certain Potter remembered his offer to set Draco up with a new residence.
“Do you have luggage?” Potter asked.
Draco Summoned his trunk and Potter cast an impressive spell that apparently sent the thing to their eventual destination, as it vanished from sight. Potter stepped close and took Draco’s elbow. After a quick shift, Draco opened his eyes and looked around.
“Welcome to Grimmauld Place,” Potter said. They stood in a small, dark living room that had far too much dark wood and not enough lamps to dispel the gloom.
“Grim old place? You want me to live here?” Draco asked with an instinctive wrinkle of his nose.
Potter tugged at his forelock. “I’m sort of hoping you’ll fix it up.”
“You want me to redecorate?”
“I want you to make it yours,” Potter countered.
Draco was not certain how to respond to that, so he simply allowed Potter to lead him through the place on a tour. It was enormous, but not at all impressive. The house was also bizarrely familiar, like a dim memory Draco could almost recall.
“Where did you find this place, Potter? I hope you didn’t pay a ridiculous amount for it.”
“I inherited it, actually. From Sirius Black. He was my godfather.”
Draco drew in a shocked breath and Potter nodded.
“Yeah, if things had been different… well, you might have ended up with this place instead of me.” The Auror shrugged. “I sort of feel like you have more claim to it than I do. I mean, your relatives actually lived here. Your mum probably grew up in this house.”
This was the Black family residence? Draco tried to suppress his horror at the thought of his mother growing up in the dingy, depressing surroundings. It was no wonder Bellatrix had turned out to be a mental case and Andromeda had married a Muggle. The place was bound to unhinge them. His mother had been the only one to escape the madness, apparently.
“It’s horrific, Potter.”
The Auror nodded and grinned. “Isn’t it, though? It’s also yours. I signed the deed over to you this morning. I much prefer my flat near the Ministry. Frankly, I haven’t been here in months, but I thought you might want a change of scenery. It’s much roomier than your tiny place and this way I’ll…”
“Always know where I am?” Draco finished.
“Um… something like that.” Potter strode to the nearest window and yanked the heavy curtains open. A cloud of dust billowed up and the movement succeeded only in exposing a small window so covered with accumulated grime that nothing was visible beyond. “There used to be a house-elf, but he died two years ago. He was… fairly useless, anyway. I can probably ask Winky to come from Hogwarts and help you out. She doesn’t like me much and she’s a bit of a mess since she was freed… but she might like it here better than Hogwarts. The other house-elves don’t seem to care for her.”
“Whatever you think is best, Potter,” Draco said, although the thought of attempting to even clean the bloody place alone was daunting.
“Harry,” Potter corrected. “I’ll send for her this afternoon. Let me show you the bedrooms.”
There were eight altogether, most of them so small they were barely more than cupboards, but three of them were large enough to warrant separate sitting rooms and bathing facilities. Draco avoided choosing the master suite, suddenly remembering his grandmother Black. He had been in this house as a small child and the vague memory was terrifying. The thought of sleeping in the same room with the shade of that woman was sobering. Instead he chose a corner room with a large window seat that looked out on a tiny Muggle garden—or would once the windows had been scrubbed.
“I replaced all of the bedding in the house, since I wasn’t sure what room you would choose,” Potter said, lurking in the doorway as Draco examined the wardrobe. It was serviceable enough, for an ancient relic. He looked at the Auror, who grinned at him. His pose was causal enough, but Draco sensed his nervousness. He was surprised Potter had not begun to babble—it seemed to be one of his defence mechanisms. “So, um… are you hungry?” Potter asked, likely in preparation to start an endless flow of words.
“Only for you,” Draco said quietly, primarily to witness Potter’s reaction, but also because—fuck it all—it was true. Potter straightened from the door, green eyes going huge. He strode forward and wrapped his arms around Draco, remembering at the last moment to deflect his lips to Draco’s cheek and then slide them down to his usual place—latching onto Draco’s neck. Draco relaxed with a sigh, already feeling the strain of the last few days dissipating. It was interesting how quickly his body had become accustomed to Potter’s touch, and how quickly it had become a craving.
“I was going to wait until you were settled,” Potter said even as his hands moved to caress Draco’s cashmere. Draco felt it tug free of his waistband and then Potter’s hot hands were on the bare flesh of his back, stroking in that wonderfully reverent way of his.
“I’m settled,” Draco replied. “Or I will be as soon as we break in that bed over there.”
They quick-stepped to the bed in what was nearly a dance, shedding clothing as they moved. Draco fairly pounced on Potter’s body, kissing every bit of flesh he could reach while stroking Potter’s lovely cock. Potter arched into Draco’s touch, body responding beautifully to Draco’s movements as though he really was the professional he pretended to be. Potter tried to reciprocate, but Draco was having none of it. Potter had paid a ridiculous sum for his services and he would make damned certain the Auror got his money’s worth.
He trapped both of Potter’s wrists against his hips, preventing him from grabbing at Draco’s cock. “I want to touch you,” Potter said in a voice that carried a hint of a whine.
“Later,” Draco replied. “Right now it’s my turn.”
He released Potter’s hands and moved downward to lick a stripe up the centre of Potter’s rigid cock. He sucked the liquid from the tip and smiled at Potter’s twisting response. It would not be long. Apparently Potter had touched no one during their brief separation. Draco wondered if he had even wanked. He vowed to ask him later, at some inopportune time, just to watch the colour flood into his cheeks. The thought of it made Draco glance upward, to see Potter’s head thrown back. A lovely flush tinted not only his cheeks, but also his entire torso. The fingers of one hand were clenched in the material of the bedspread—the other touched Draco’s hair so lightly he could barely feel it, as though the Auror was afraid to urge Draco onward.
Draco took him deeper despite the lack of direction—or perhaps because of it. He licked and sucked at Potter eagerly, mildly surprised at how satisfying it was to suck the cock of the glorious hero. Fuck, the sounds Potter made should be illegal. His breathy whimpering of Draco’s name nearly had him coming without being touched. Draco almost reached down to bring himself off, but the knowledge that he wanted Potter to do it—Harry to do it—stopped him.
Potter’s cries warned him, as well as the tensing of Potter's thigh muscles over his shoulders. Draco drew back as Potter’s orgasm swept over him, convulsing flesh and ejecting a spray of white over the Auror’s flat abdomen. And just like that, Draco thought, the Hero of the World is undone. Because of me.
He allowed a smirk to curve his lips, but it turned into a genuine smile when green eyes met his and Potter laughed. “Slytherin devil,” he growled and tightened his grip on Draco’s hair. “Come here, you.”
Potter tugged and Draco followed the insistent motion, undulating forward until he lay flat upon the spent Auror, who was not quite as finished as he seemed. He rolled Draco over and rested on his chest, smearing ejaculate between them in a cool mess. Draco found he didn’t mind in the least.
“Whose turn now, Draco?” he growled and then levered himself down quickly to take Draco’s length into the molten heat of his mouth. Draco tried to hold out against the onslaught of Potter’s determination and shocking talent, but soon enough he was screaming and pouring himself down the throat of the man who owned him.
For six months, he reminded himself. Only six months.
As Potter sprawled next to him with a satisfied smile and Draco memorized the exact shade of his eyes, he pushed away a foolish, wayward thought.
I should be paying him.
~~ x ~~
Harry awakened when it was still dark to find Draco gone. He sat up and fumbled for his glasses, feeling slightly panicked. His fingers encountered a slip of parchment and he pulled on his spectacles and cast a Lumos in order to read it.
Have a nice Sunday. See you tomorrow.
He sagged back into the pillows, both relieved and disappointed. Sundays were Draco's. Harry wondered where he had gone and tried to crush a flare of jealousy when he hoped the blond had not gone to visit another lover.
He puttered around the house for a while and finally took himself to Hogwarts to procure the services of Winky. Grimmauld Place was far too large for Draco to try and care for himself, even though he had apparently learned to cook and clean during his tenure of self-employment. Winky's drinking problem had escalated after Dobby's death and Harry vaguely wondered if she would be of any use at all, but he decided she could hardly be worse than Kreacher had been before his demise. Even if she only cleaned Draco's room and the kitchen, it would be better than nothing. It took Harry nearly two hours to escape Hogwarts when both teachers and students came out of the woodwork to greet the “Famous Hero”.
He finally returned to Grimmauld Place and set Winky to cleaning the front hall, taking care not to disturb the curtains that still surrounded the painting of Mrs. Black. Then again, opening the curtains was a more difficult task now that Harry had nailed them to the wall.
He debated returning to his flat, but decided to cook dinner at Grimmauld Place. He was surprised when Draco reappeared shortly after dark, and Draco seemed almost as amazed to see him. He leaned against the doorway of the kitchen and it took Harry a moment to notice him. He wondered how long the blond had been watching him and found himself blushing slightly.
"Are you hungry?" Harry asked.
Draco shook his head. "I ate at Mother's. But I wouldn't mind dessert, if you have it."
Harry smiled and thanked Merlin that he had prepared for that eventuality, at least. He had stopped in Hogsmeade before returning home and picked up a selection of sweets at Honeydukes. He pulled a plate of iced cakes from the chiller and Levitated them to the table. Draco immediately sat in a chair and dragged the plate to rest in front of him. He picked up a confection iced in gold frosting and sporting tiny ferns.
"Did you buy some for yourself?" Draco asked and took a bite.
Harry shook his head. "Not really."
Draco grinned at him, showing gold teeth for a moment, and then turned his attention to the treats, ignoring Harry while he ate.
Mother's, Harry thought. Thank Merlin.
Harry was shockingly, blissfully, ludicrously happy. He had spent every spare minute of the past week fucking Draco into the mattress of several of the beds in Grimmauld Place, as well as a couple of sofas and the kitchen table. He should have been exhausted and definitely sexually spent, but the mere recollection of Draco spread out on the table with his silver hair shining on the dark wood as he cried Harry's name... Bloody hell, he was getting hard again. It should have been impossible.
"All right, who is it?" Hermione asked.
Harry shook off his reverie and pressed the heel of his hand into his growing hardness, trying to stave off a full-blown erection. "Pardon?" he asked, glad that the tablecloth covered the movement.
"Who has you daydreaming with that pornographic smile on your face?" she asked.
At the word pornographic, Ron perked up, yanked away from the Wizarding Wireless coverage of a Welsh Quidditch match by the promise of smut. "Eh? What was that?"
"Harry seems to have a new romance," Hermione said and placed a trencher of green curry before him.
Ron stared at him. "You do? Who is she?"
Harry looked away and dug into his food eagerly, which only caused Ron's gaze to sharpen. Hermione was a horrendous cook. Thankfully, the excessive heat of the curry drowned most of the flavour and he and Ron were accustomed to her lack of ability after years of Friday night meals. They were quite good at pretending to enjoy it, especially Ron, whose taste buds were most likely eradicated by now, anyway.
"Dunno what you're talking abou'," Harry mumbled through a mouthful. He quickly washed it down with a gulp of hot tea.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Fine. Don't tell us, Mr Secretive. We'll find out soon enough. You can't keep her secret forever."
Harry pretended to be interested in the green bits that swam in the brownish sauce. He didn't need to keep Draco secret forever, only for the next six months. By then, he would certainly be tired of the blond. Surely by then he could let Draco go without regret.
He tried not to bolt his food, but the thought of Draco waiting for him was enough to make him fairly squirm with impatience. He declined dessert, ignoring Hermione's knowing smirk, and Apparated back to Grimmauld Place to find Draco seated in a plush armchair calmly reading the Daily Prophet. He wore nothing but an unbuttoned blue linen shirt.
He didn't make it out of the chair for quite some time.
~~ x ~~
Living with Harry was surprisingly easy. Draco was shocked at how quickly they moved into a routine. In the morning, Harry rose and groggily readied himself for work, dressing atrociously and failing to do anything at all with his horrible mat of hair. He would kiss Draco on the cheek and Disapparate. Draco would sleep until nearly noon and then crawl downstairs to eat the breakfast Winky prepared for him. After that he would wander around the nasty old place and catalogue items that needed changing—which had grown into a scroll nearly six feet long.
After a few hours of that, Draco would take a leisurely bath and then read a book or take a nap. His wand would sound an alarm one hour before Harry was due to arrive home, so Draco would quickly prepare himself. He was having more fun than he would admit trying to find outfits that would appeal most to the Golden Auror. Harry seemed unimpressed by the leather trousers and shimmery silver mesh shirt, but his eyes had fairly gleamed when Draco appeared clad in Muggle jeans and one of Harry’s t-shirts. Draco had been lucky to make it out of the foyer and onto the living room couch before being pounced on and nearly devoured.
Truthfully, it didn’t really seem to matter what Draco wore. The fact that he was waiting by the door each night when Harry arrived home seemed to please the Auror like nothing else. He would sigh a bit, as though relieved to see Draco, drop whatever he happened to be carrying, and step forward to wrap Draco in a warm embrace. The embracing had taken a few days to get used to. It was nothing like the prelude to sex that Draco was used to. Instead, Harry actually clung to Draco for long minutes and did nothing but hold him and breathe into his hair, as though the very act of clinging to Draco somehow renewed his lifeblood.
Draco stood passively and allowed himself to be held, every so often patting gently at Potter’s ribs in an effort to be released. After the third day, Draco began to feel that the hugging renewed him, as well. It was a disturbing thought.
Often they would not make it until dinner without some sort of sexual encounter, usually instigated by Draco, who either dressed to entice Harry or ate suggestively, or simply touched the Auror until he couldn’t stand it any longer and took Draco against the nearest object, be it sofa or chair or wall. At night they shared the bed in Draco’s room, which was rapidly becoming their room, because Harry never slept anywhere else. If he returned to his flat at all, it was in between trips to the Ministry and back, because he stayed wrapped around Draco every night.
Draco was thankful for Sundays, because he could escape the Auror’s overwhelming presence. Visits to his mother renewed his sense of self and reminded him that he only tolerated Harry’s—Potter’s—presence because he had a larger goal in mind. Self-reliance. Without the necessity of paying rent, the funds in Draco’s bank account began to grow.
~~ x ~~
Harry came home the several days later to find the living room completely changed. He frowned for a moment at the realization that in the past few days Grimmauld Place had become home while his flat in London had become... empty. He had not been back since installing Draco at Grimmauld Place.
Draco noticed his frown and quickly produced a piece of parchment. "Here is an accounting of everything I purchased. You did tell me I could make the place my own and I kept the furniture that was here. The majority of the expense was in the upholstery—it had to be replaced because it was in simply dreadful condition. An army of house-elves would not have been able to extract the dust. And thank you for Winky, by the way. She does an admirable job of cleaning, although she hasn't gotten to the windows yet because this room alone took her half the day. She started on the kitchen while I redecorated." There was a pause. "Say something, Harry."
Harry smiled. He could not remember the blond speaking more than a few words at a time since encountering him again, so the babble was almost enchanting. Not adorable, he told himself sternly and forced his eyes to the paper in his hand before taking in the room once more. Draco had spent a mere handful of Galleons and the room was spectacular. He barely recognized it. Gone were the wood-panelled walls and morbidly dark carpeting, replaced with a clean, pale wall colour and bleached wood floors. The furnishings were the same dark wood, but the new coverings were light and airy, grouped in a way that was inviting rather than forbidding. Fresh flowers adorned a table near the bay window, framed by new curtains.
"It's amazing," Harry breathed and tossed the receipt on a nearby table. Draco nearly sagged in relief before apparently remembering himself and straightening proudly. Harry took several steps forward and gathered him in a tight embrace before pressing soft kisses into his neck. "I can hardly wait to see what you do with the rest of the place."
~~ x ~~
Draco was more relieved than he let on. He had been quite frugal with Harry’s funds, aware that the Auror had already spent a ludicrous amount on Draco's fee alone. He thought the results were impressive, but seeing Harry’s approval made him feel oddly pleased. He suspected that his stay in the former Black residence was only temporary, despite Harry’s foolish proclamation that he was giving the house to him, so he had swayed his choices toward items and colours that would please Harry rather than his own sensibilities.
The past few days had been surprising. Draco thought he might grow bored with nothing to do and no clientele to manipulate, but the remodelling of Grimmauld Place had been a fascinating challenge. Draco looked forward to Harry leaving in the morning so that he could begin working. Oddly enough, he also anticipated the Auror’s return in the evening. Draco had thought they would have nothing in common other than physical attraction, but in that he had been mistaken.
Their sexual relationship stayed molten and Harry could seldom keep his hands from Draco, especially when he arrived home at night. After the expected embrace, he would often turn amorous. Draco was surprised by the fact that they were more compatible than he ever would have guessed. After a physical encounter, they would retire to the living room or the study or the bedroom, depending on Harry’s mood. Often Harry would talk about his day and Draco would massage his shoulders and pretend to listen—except that he found himself actually listening, and occasionally making suggestions. One evening they played an entire game of chess—which Draco won—before retiring to bed. Once there, Harry was always the same, ardent but gentle, even when his urgency was obvious.
Draco melted into Harry’s touch and felt even white teeth graze the skin of his neck. Draco found it far too easy to play the whore, since it was never one-sided. Harry always gave as well as he took, and sometimes even gave without taking. Draco thought back to the morning when he was awakened from a sound sleep by Harry sucking his cock--and wasn't that the best way ever to wake up?
He often found himself daydreaming about Harry while he was away at work, and anticipating his return with an eagerness that threatened to make him physically ill. He didn’t miss the Auror, after all. He merely wanted a decent shag. He was a man, after all. It was perfectly normal to want sex.
Draco cast a Tempus Charm for the seventh time. Where the hell was he?
Chapter Seven
byaghro *For the uninitiated: Chapter One
It took Draco less than an hour to “make arrangements” for his absence. He simply sent owl messages to all of his usual clients and mentioned that he would be unavailable for approximately six months. None of them were particularly important, so explanations were unnecessary. Unfortunately, that left him with a couple of days with absolutely nothing to do. He tried not to think about Potter at all and occupied some of his time by going through his wardrobe. He purchased several new outfits and placed others on hiatus. Outstanding bills were quickly paid, thanks to Potter’s prior payments and Draco breathed more easily for the first time in months.
On Friday, his Gringott’s account showed a transfer of five hundred thousand Galleons and Draco had to wonder how Potter had explained that particular transaction. For “services not yet rendered”? The thought of providing those upcoming services made Draco flee his small flat and seek the bracing air of Hyde Park. He forced himself to use a Muggle umbrella in order to avoid frightening the natives, as it was pouring rain, as usual. He wondered what time Potter planned to come for him, a question that was answered when he returned home to find an owl perched on the sill of his small living room window.
I’ll see you at 9:00. Be ready.
Draco sighed. Eloquent as always, Potter.
When the designated hour rolled around on Saturday morning, Draco was a bundle of nerves. He had awakened at the simply ludicrous hour of four a.m. and drank several bracing cups of tea. In hindsight, that had been a mistake as he was now tired but jittery. He had changed clothes four times and finally settled on a pair of chocolate coloured trousers and a cashmere jumper that reminded him of sea foam. The fact that the fabric fairly begged to be touched had nothing to do with Draco’s choice.
Potter was five minutes early. He rapped on the door instead of barging inside, so Draco opened it by hand. Potter wore a black Muggle-style coat buttoned up to his neck. It hung just past his knees, exposing only the lower legs of his black trousers and heavy boots. Despite his weather-proof gear his hair was wet. The idiot had obviously been out in the rain without the benefit of hat or Umbrella Charm.
Draco helpfully pointed out the fact. Potter grinned.
“I was distracted,” he said. “Are you ready?”
Draco nodded. He had packed a trunk, even though he was not certain Potter remembered his offer to set Draco up with a new residence.
“Do you have luggage?” Potter asked.
Draco Summoned his trunk and Potter cast an impressive spell that apparently sent the thing to their eventual destination, as it vanished from sight. Potter stepped close and took Draco’s elbow. After a quick shift, Draco opened his eyes and looked around.
“Welcome to Grimmauld Place,” Potter said. They stood in a small, dark living room that had far too much dark wood and not enough lamps to dispel the gloom.
“Grim old place? You want me to live here?” Draco asked with an instinctive wrinkle of his nose.
Potter tugged at his forelock. “I’m sort of hoping you’ll fix it up.”
“You want me to redecorate?”
“I want you to make it yours,” Potter countered.
Draco was not certain how to respond to that, so he simply allowed Potter to lead him through the place on a tour. It was enormous, but not at all impressive. The house was also bizarrely familiar, like a dim memory Draco could almost recall.
“Where did you find this place, Potter? I hope you didn’t pay a ridiculous amount for it.”
“I inherited it, actually. From Sirius Black. He was my godfather.”
Draco drew in a shocked breath and Potter nodded.
“Yeah, if things had been different… well, you might have ended up with this place instead of me.” The Auror shrugged. “I sort of feel like you have more claim to it than I do. I mean, your relatives actually lived here. Your mum probably grew up in this house.”
This was the Black family residence? Draco tried to suppress his horror at the thought of his mother growing up in the dingy, depressing surroundings. It was no wonder Bellatrix had turned out to be a mental case and Andromeda had married a Muggle. The place was bound to unhinge them. His mother had been the only one to escape the madness, apparently.
“It’s horrific, Potter.”
The Auror nodded and grinned. “Isn’t it, though? It’s also yours. I signed the deed over to you this morning. I much prefer my flat near the Ministry. Frankly, I haven’t been here in months, but I thought you might want a change of scenery. It’s much roomier than your tiny place and this way I’ll…”
“Always know where I am?” Draco finished.
“Um… something like that.” Potter strode to the nearest window and yanked the heavy curtains open. A cloud of dust billowed up and the movement succeeded only in exposing a small window so covered with accumulated grime that nothing was visible beyond. “There used to be a house-elf, but he died two years ago. He was… fairly useless, anyway. I can probably ask Winky to come from Hogwarts and help you out. She doesn’t like me much and she’s a bit of a mess since she was freed… but she might like it here better than Hogwarts. The other house-elves don’t seem to care for her.”
“Whatever you think is best, Potter,” Draco said, although the thought of attempting to even clean the bloody place alone was daunting.
“Harry,” Potter corrected. “I’ll send for her this afternoon. Let me show you the bedrooms.”
There were eight altogether, most of them so small they were barely more than cupboards, but three of them were large enough to warrant separate sitting rooms and bathing facilities. Draco avoided choosing the master suite, suddenly remembering his grandmother Black. He had been in this house as a small child and the vague memory was terrifying. The thought of sleeping in the same room with the shade of that woman was sobering. Instead he chose a corner room with a large window seat that looked out on a tiny Muggle garden—or would once the windows had been scrubbed.
“I replaced all of the bedding in the house, since I wasn’t sure what room you would choose,” Potter said, lurking in the doorway as Draco examined the wardrobe. It was serviceable enough, for an ancient relic. He looked at the Auror, who grinned at him. His pose was causal enough, but Draco sensed his nervousness. He was surprised Potter had not begun to babble—it seemed to be one of his defence mechanisms. “So, um… are you hungry?” Potter asked, likely in preparation to start an endless flow of words.
“Only for you,” Draco said quietly, primarily to witness Potter’s reaction, but also because—fuck it all—it was true. Potter straightened from the door, green eyes going huge. He strode forward and wrapped his arms around Draco, remembering at the last moment to deflect his lips to Draco’s cheek and then slide them down to his usual place—latching onto Draco’s neck. Draco relaxed with a sigh, already feeling the strain of the last few days dissipating. It was interesting how quickly his body had become accustomed to Potter’s touch, and how quickly it had become a craving.
“I was going to wait until you were settled,” Potter said even as his hands moved to caress Draco’s cashmere. Draco felt it tug free of his waistband and then Potter’s hot hands were on the bare flesh of his back, stroking in that wonderfully reverent way of his.
“I’m settled,” Draco replied. “Or I will be as soon as we break in that bed over there.”
They quick-stepped to the bed in what was nearly a dance, shedding clothing as they moved. Draco fairly pounced on Potter’s body, kissing every bit of flesh he could reach while stroking Potter’s lovely cock. Potter arched into Draco’s touch, body responding beautifully to Draco’s movements as though he really was the professional he pretended to be. Potter tried to reciprocate, but Draco was having none of it. Potter had paid a ridiculous sum for his services and he would make damned certain the Auror got his money’s worth.
He trapped both of Potter’s wrists against his hips, preventing him from grabbing at Draco’s cock. “I want to touch you,” Potter said in a voice that carried a hint of a whine.
“Later,” Draco replied. “Right now it’s my turn.”
He released Potter’s hands and moved downward to lick a stripe up the centre of Potter’s rigid cock. He sucked the liquid from the tip and smiled at Potter’s twisting response. It would not be long. Apparently Potter had touched no one during their brief separation. Draco wondered if he had even wanked. He vowed to ask him later, at some inopportune time, just to watch the colour flood into his cheeks. The thought of it made Draco glance upward, to see Potter’s head thrown back. A lovely flush tinted not only his cheeks, but also his entire torso. The fingers of one hand were clenched in the material of the bedspread—the other touched Draco’s hair so lightly he could barely feel it, as though the Auror was afraid to urge Draco onward.
Draco took him deeper despite the lack of direction—or perhaps because of it. He licked and sucked at Potter eagerly, mildly surprised at how satisfying it was to suck the cock of the glorious hero. Fuck, the sounds Potter made should be illegal. His breathy whimpering of Draco’s name nearly had him coming without being touched. Draco almost reached down to bring himself off, but the knowledge that he wanted Potter to do it—Harry to do it—stopped him.
Potter’s cries warned him, as well as the tensing of Potter's thigh muscles over his shoulders. Draco drew back as Potter’s orgasm swept over him, convulsing flesh and ejecting a spray of white over the Auror’s flat abdomen. And just like that, Draco thought, the Hero of the World is undone. Because of me.
He allowed a smirk to curve his lips, but it turned into a genuine smile when green eyes met his and Potter laughed. “Slytherin devil,” he growled and tightened his grip on Draco’s hair. “Come here, you.”
Potter tugged and Draco followed the insistent motion, undulating forward until he lay flat upon the spent Auror, who was not quite as finished as he seemed. He rolled Draco over and rested on his chest, smearing ejaculate between them in a cool mess. Draco found he didn’t mind in the least.
“Whose turn now, Draco?” he growled and then levered himself down quickly to take Draco’s length into the molten heat of his mouth. Draco tried to hold out against the onslaught of Potter’s determination and shocking talent, but soon enough he was screaming and pouring himself down the throat of the man who owned him.
For six months, he reminded himself. Only six months.
As Potter sprawled next to him with a satisfied smile and Draco memorized the exact shade of his eyes, he pushed away a foolish, wayward thought.
I should be paying him.
~~ x ~~
Harry awakened when it was still dark to find Draco gone. He sat up and fumbled for his glasses, feeling slightly panicked. His fingers encountered a slip of parchment and he pulled on his spectacles and cast a Lumos in order to read it.
Have a nice Sunday. See you tomorrow.
He sagged back into the pillows, both relieved and disappointed. Sundays were Draco's. Harry wondered where he had gone and tried to crush a flare of jealousy when he hoped the blond had not gone to visit another lover.
He puttered around the house for a while and finally took himself to Hogwarts to procure the services of Winky. Grimmauld Place was far too large for Draco to try and care for himself, even though he had apparently learned to cook and clean during his tenure of self-employment. Winky's drinking problem had escalated after Dobby's death and Harry vaguely wondered if she would be of any use at all, but he decided she could hardly be worse than Kreacher had been before his demise. Even if she only cleaned Draco's room and the kitchen, it would be better than nothing. It took Harry nearly two hours to escape Hogwarts when both teachers and students came out of the woodwork to greet the “Famous Hero”.
He finally returned to Grimmauld Place and set Winky to cleaning the front hall, taking care not to disturb the curtains that still surrounded the painting of Mrs. Black. Then again, opening the curtains was a more difficult task now that Harry had nailed them to the wall.
He debated returning to his flat, but decided to cook dinner at Grimmauld Place. He was surprised when Draco reappeared shortly after dark, and Draco seemed almost as amazed to see him. He leaned against the doorway of the kitchen and it took Harry a moment to notice him. He wondered how long the blond had been watching him and found himself blushing slightly.
"Are you hungry?" Harry asked.
Draco shook his head. "I ate at Mother's. But I wouldn't mind dessert, if you have it."
Harry smiled and thanked Merlin that he had prepared for that eventuality, at least. He had stopped in Hogsmeade before returning home and picked up a selection of sweets at Honeydukes. He pulled a plate of iced cakes from the chiller and Levitated them to the table. Draco immediately sat in a chair and dragged the plate to rest in front of him. He picked up a confection iced in gold frosting and sporting tiny ferns.
"Did you buy some for yourself?" Draco asked and took a bite.
Harry shook his head. "Not really."
Draco grinned at him, showing gold teeth for a moment, and then turned his attention to the treats, ignoring Harry while he ate.
Mother's, Harry thought. Thank Merlin.
Harry was shockingly, blissfully, ludicrously happy. He had spent every spare minute of the past week fucking Draco into the mattress of several of the beds in Grimmauld Place, as well as a couple of sofas and the kitchen table. He should have been exhausted and definitely sexually spent, but the mere recollection of Draco spread out on the table with his silver hair shining on the dark wood as he cried Harry's name... Bloody hell, he was getting hard again. It should have been impossible.
"All right, who is it?" Hermione asked.
Harry shook off his reverie and pressed the heel of his hand into his growing hardness, trying to stave off a full-blown erection. "Pardon?" he asked, glad that the tablecloth covered the movement.
"Who has you daydreaming with that pornographic smile on your face?" she asked.
At the word pornographic, Ron perked up, yanked away from the Wizarding Wireless coverage of a Welsh Quidditch match by the promise of smut. "Eh? What was that?"
"Harry seems to have a new romance," Hermione said and placed a trencher of green curry before him.
Ron stared at him. "You do? Who is she?"
Harry looked away and dug into his food eagerly, which only caused Ron's gaze to sharpen. Hermione was a horrendous cook. Thankfully, the excessive heat of the curry drowned most of the flavour and he and Ron were accustomed to her lack of ability after years of Friday night meals. They were quite good at pretending to enjoy it, especially Ron, whose taste buds were most likely eradicated by now, anyway.
"Dunno what you're talking abou'," Harry mumbled through a mouthful. He quickly washed it down with a gulp of hot tea.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Fine. Don't tell us, Mr Secretive. We'll find out soon enough. You can't keep her secret forever."
Harry pretended to be interested in the green bits that swam in the brownish sauce. He didn't need to keep Draco secret forever, only for the next six months. By then, he would certainly be tired of the blond. Surely by then he could let Draco go without regret.
He tried not to bolt his food, but the thought of Draco waiting for him was enough to make him fairly squirm with impatience. He declined dessert, ignoring Hermione's knowing smirk, and Apparated back to Grimmauld Place to find Draco seated in a plush armchair calmly reading the Daily Prophet. He wore nothing but an unbuttoned blue linen shirt.
He didn't make it out of the chair for quite some time.
~~ x ~~
Living with Harry was surprisingly easy. Draco was shocked at how quickly they moved into a routine. In the morning, Harry rose and groggily readied himself for work, dressing atrociously and failing to do anything at all with his horrible mat of hair. He would kiss Draco on the cheek and Disapparate. Draco would sleep until nearly noon and then crawl downstairs to eat the breakfast Winky prepared for him. After that he would wander around the nasty old place and catalogue items that needed changing—which had grown into a scroll nearly six feet long.
After a few hours of that, Draco would take a leisurely bath and then read a book or take a nap. His wand would sound an alarm one hour before Harry was due to arrive home, so Draco would quickly prepare himself. He was having more fun than he would admit trying to find outfits that would appeal most to the Golden Auror. Harry seemed unimpressed by the leather trousers and shimmery silver mesh shirt, but his eyes had fairly gleamed when Draco appeared clad in Muggle jeans and one of Harry’s t-shirts. Draco had been lucky to make it out of the foyer and onto the living room couch before being pounced on and nearly devoured.
Truthfully, it didn’t really seem to matter what Draco wore. The fact that he was waiting by the door each night when Harry arrived home seemed to please the Auror like nothing else. He would sigh a bit, as though relieved to see Draco, drop whatever he happened to be carrying, and step forward to wrap Draco in a warm embrace. The embracing had taken a few days to get used to. It was nothing like the prelude to sex that Draco was used to. Instead, Harry actually clung to Draco for long minutes and did nothing but hold him and breathe into his hair, as though the very act of clinging to Draco somehow renewed his lifeblood.
Draco stood passively and allowed himself to be held, every so often patting gently at Potter’s ribs in an effort to be released. After the third day, Draco began to feel that the hugging renewed him, as well. It was a disturbing thought.
Often they would not make it until dinner without some sort of sexual encounter, usually instigated by Draco, who either dressed to entice Harry or ate suggestively, or simply touched the Auror until he couldn’t stand it any longer and took Draco against the nearest object, be it sofa or chair or wall. At night they shared the bed in Draco’s room, which was rapidly becoming their room, because Harry never slept anywhere else. If he returned to his flat at all, it was in between trips to the Ministry and back, because he stayed wrapped around Draco every night.
Draco was thankful for Sundays, because he could escape the Auror’s overwhelming presence. Visits to his mother renewed his sense of self and reminded him that he only tolerated Harry’s—Potter’s—presence because he had a larger goal in mind. Self-reliance. Without the necessity of paying rent, the funds in Draco’s bank account began to grow.
~~ x ~~
Harry came home the several days later to find the living room completely changed. He frowned for a moment at the realization that in the past few days Grimmauld Place had become home while his flat in London had become... empty. He had not been back since installing Draco at Grimmauld Place.
Draco noticed his frown and quickly produced a piece of parchment. "Here is an accounting of everything I purchased. You did tell me I could make the place my own and I kept the furniture that was here. The majority of the expense was in the upholstery—it had to be replaced because it was in simply dreadful condition. An army of house-elves would not have been able to extract the dust. And thank you for Winky, by the way. She does an admirable job of cleaning, although she hasn't gotten to the windows yet because this room alone took her half the day. She started on the kitchen while I redecorated." There was a pause. "Say something, Harry."
Harry smiled. He could not remember the blond speaking more than a few words at a time since encountering him again, so the babble was almost enchanting. Not adorable, he told himself sternly and forced his eyes to the paper in his hand before taking in the room once more. Draco had spent a mere handful of Galleons and the room was spectacular. He barely recognized it. Gone were the wood-panelled walls and morbidly dark carpeting, replaced with a clean, pale wall colour and bleached wood floors. The furnishings were the same dark wood, but the new coverings were light and airy, grouped in a way that was inviting rather than forbidding. Fresh flowers adorned a table near the bay window, framed by new curtains.
"It's amazing," Harry breathed and tossed the receipt on a nearby table. Draco nearly sagged in relief before apparently remembering himself and straightening proudly. Harry took several steps forward and gathered him in a tight embrace before pressing soft kisses into his neck. "I can hardly wait to see what you do with the rest of the place."
~~ x ~~
Draco was more relieved than he let on. He had been quite frugal with Harry’s funds, aware that the Auror had already spent a ludicrous amount on Draco's fee alone. He thought the results were impressive, but seeing Harry’s approval made him feel oddly pleased. He suspected that his stay in the former Black residence was only temporary, despite Harry’s foolish proclamation that he was giving the house to him, so he had swayed his choices toward items and colours that would please Harry rather than his own sensibilities.
The past few days had been surprising. Draco thought he might grow bored with nothing to do and no clientele to manipulate, but the remodelling of Grimmauld Place had been a fascinating challenge. Draco looked forward to Harry leaving in the morning so that he could begin working. Oddly enough, he also anticipated the Auror’s return in the evening. Draco had thought they would have nothing in common other than physical attraction, but in that he had been mistaken.
Their sexual relationship stayed molten and Harry could seldom keep his hands from Draco, especially when he arrived home at night. After the expected embrace, he would often turn amorous. Draco was surprised by the fact that they were more compatible than he ever would have guessed. After a physical encounter, they would retire to the living room or the study or the bedroom, depending on Harry’s mood. Often Harry would talk about his day and Draco would massage his shoulders and pretend to listen—except that he found himself actually listening, and occasionally making suggestions. One evening they played an entire game of chess—which Draco won—before retiring to bed. Once there, Harry was always the same, ardent but gentle, even when his urgency was obvious.
Draco melted into Harry’s touch and felt even white teeth graze the skin of his neck. Draco found it far too easy to play the whore, since it was never one-sided. Harry always gave as well as he took, and sometimes even gave without taking. Draco thought back to the morning when he was awakened from a sound sleep by Harry sucking his cock--and wasn't that the best way ever to wake up?
He often found himself daydreaming about Harry while he was away at work, and anticipating his return with an eagerness that threatened to make him physically ill. He didn’t miss the Auror, after all. He merely wanted a decent shag. He was a man, after all. It was perfectly normal to want sex.
Draco cast a Tempus Charm for the seventh time. Where the hell was he?
Chapter Seven
