Paradigm Chapter Eight
Mar. 5th, 2009 10:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dysonrulesThis was formatting HELL!!! I'll fix it when I get a chance, sorry about the stupidity. A billionty of thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
byaghro for the fab beta!!
Draco looked at his reflection and shoved down about a thousand misgivings. He had to be completely insane to go through with this. How the hell had he allowed Harry’s puppy dog eyes and temper tantrum to sway him into such a stupid decision? He wondered if there was still time to purchase some Weasley product that induced vomiting, chills, and fever.
Harry entered the room and the very sight of him made Draco forget the wayward idea. Harry was stunning. He was dressed as Uther Pendragon, with a red tunic emblazoned with the lion of England in glittering gold. He wore black beneath, which covered him from neck to wrists. The open neck of the tunic exposed the shimmer of chain link above the black. A golden crown set with jewels adorned the top of his head and he would have looked every inch the monarch but for the fact that he currently struggled to fasten the red cape around his neck with a lion’s-head brooch. He frowned and yanked at the fabric.
“Bloody thing,” he muttered, still walking forward absently. His knee-high black boots gleamed. “How does this work?”
“Let me,” Draco said, walking forward and brushing Harry’s hands aside. The green eyes fastened on his and Draco laughed at the sight of his spectacles. They looked incongruous with the period costume.
“Do I look like an idiot?” Harry asked dryly.
“You look like a king,” Draco said as he fastened the brooch on Harry’s collar and adjusted the cowl. “A very shaggable king,” he added.
“If you look anything like Tor Bloodhorn, I know why Uther had no self control,” Harry replied.
Draco smiled down at him, although it was odd to look down upon Harry when they were normally of a height. It had been Harry’s suggestion that they both dress as Muggles, although part of a story that was curiously absent from Muggle history. In the wizarding world, Merlin was even more famous than in Muggle legend, but Uther nearly so. Even though Uther Pendragon had married and sired the illustrious Arthur, it was rumoured that he had saved his kingdom from repeated sacking by the Vikings by carrying on a long-term affair with a prominent Viking chieftain named Tor Bloodhorn.
To that end, Draco wore buff leather leggings and a wolf-fur tunic. His boots had been magically lifted to gain him extra height and he towered several inches over Harry. They were cross-gartered around his calves and he had spent several hours adjusting to them in order to walk properly without tripping.
He had decided against a wig, but had instead darkened his own hair to a dirty blond and lengthened it in order to braid multicoloured leather thongs through it, with decorative bits of bead and bone. Atop his head rested an uncomfortable Viking helmet topped with sharp white horns.
“I don’t think Uther wore spectacles,” Draco said.
Harry grinned. “They’ll be covered by my mask, prat.” He brandished his wand and Summoned his mask from the bedside table. It looked relatively kinglike, draped with chain links and shimmering with jewels. Harry plunked it on over his glasses and Draco sighed. He had been right. Everyone there would recognize that impossible thatch of black hair, as well as Harry’s unmistakable aura of heroism. The Uther personae was perfect for him.
Draco turned back to the mirror and tugged down his own mask, which was an extension of the helmet. He studied his image critically and had to admit he was nearly unrecognizable. His features were almost completely covered by the fur-edged mask and helmet, as well as the thick braids that spilled over his shoulders and down to the wide belt that cinched his waist. He had strapped a hefty axe to his belt.
Harry’s belt was black leather encrusted with gems and held a sword in a decorative scabbard. Draco had suggested he go to Hogwarts and borrow Godric Gryffindor’s famous blade and had to laugh when Harry actually considered it.
“You look beautiful,” Harry said and slipped his arms around Draco’s waist. His eyes peered over Draco’s shoulder, accenting their height difference.
“I do not!” Draco protested. “I look manly! And dangerous and barbaric.”
Harry laughed. “Yes, that too.”
“Watch your tongue, Briton, or I shall rape and pillage you.”
“You’re just trying to get me to cancel this affair and stay home and shag you.”
Draco put his hands over Harry’s and leaned back into him. “Is it working?” he purred.
“Nearly,” Harry said. “And I plan to hold you to that raping and pillaging idea when we get back.”
Draco frowned uncertainly. “Are you sure no one will recognize me?” he asked for the seventeenth time.
Harry’s arms tightened. “If they do, then we will deal with it, all right?”
Draco sighed and squeezed Harry’s hands. “All right,” he said even though he felt far from it. After one last perusal of their outfits, Harry took Draco’s arm and they departed for the Ministry.
Draco was extremely tense when they first arrived at the Ministry. The Atrium had been taken over for the gala event, which was to celebrate the anniversary of the Ministry of Magic, of all things. Like anyone cared when the bloody Ministry had been founded. It was basically an excuse to indulge the Ministry employees’ need for strong drink. After being dragged around the room for several minutes, Draco began to relax. There were few people he recognized, thanks to the profusion of costumes. Kinglsey Shacklebolt was easy to spot, being dressed appropriately as a Moorish Sultan.
Most of the attendees seemed to be geriatric old men hobbling about with stylized canes and costumes that tried to recapture their youth. Draco saw one old fellow who could not have seen a day less than a hundred, dressed as Robin Hood. He had prodded Harry and the two of them had spent several long minutes searching for equally old Merry Men.
“Look, there’s Maid Marion,” Harry said and nudged him. Draco’s gaze moved to a crone with a white powdered wig dressed in a period gown. Her ancient breasts had been pressed into overflowing from the top of the gown, riddled with wrinkles. He shuddered and bent to make a disparaging comment when he caught sight of red hair next to the old woman.
Bloody hell, it was Weasley. Draco knew damned well Harry had never mentioned their relationship… or business venture. Or whatever it was. But now he wondered if Harry had even disclosed his preferences to his closest friends. With a frisson of panic, he wondered why he had not thought to bring it up prior to this moment when the Weasel and… oh yes, there she was… Granger, bore down upon them.
“Harry!” Ron cried loudly, causing Draco to cringe. “Oi, I’d recognize that hair anywhere.”
Weasley was dressed as a Roman Centurion, although the costume was obviously second-hand. The bristles on his helmet had seen better days and many of them were bent. The red cape around his shoulders was beginning to wear in spots. Apparently his fortunes had not improved much. The thought made Draco feel somewhat better.
“Hey, Ron,” Harry said as Granger oozed her way between Draco and Harry in order to smother Harry in an embrace. She was dressed in period robes, probably meant to represent some famous witch that no one would ever recognize. Thankfully, Harry did not ask. “Hermione,” he said and fought his way free of the bushy hair and excess of perfume. What was it with the Muggle-born and their obsession with cologne?
“I’m so glad you came, Harry! You look fabulous! You’ve been so mysterious about your date, now where is she?” Granger said and peered around carefully. Her eyes touched on Draco and then dismissed him until Harry stepped closer and wrapped an arm around Draco’s.
“She’s a he, actually,” Harry said. “And he prefers to remain anonymous at this time, due to the hullaballoo that will doubtless arise the moment the press catches wind of that fact. I assume that wretched insect Skeeter woman is here?”
For once—possibly the only time in her life—Granger was silent. She took in Draco with a sharper gaze while the Weasel gaped like a fish; his jaw opened and closed for long moments with no sound emitting.
“Harry,” Granger said in a hushed tone. “Are you sure you want to—?”
Draco felt like nodding, except that to agree with Hermione Granger was so foreign to his nature that he felt extraordinarily conflicted. Regardless, it was too late. Those standing near enough to hear the exchange were apparently intelligent enough to put two and two together, or in the case of Harry and his date—one and one.
A buzz whispered through the room and grew markedly louder and more obvious. Before Draco could suggest taking evasive action, they were surrounded by a crowd of people, most of them bearing cameras or brandishing wands with Recording Spells activated.
“Harry Potter!” they cried and only the hand tightening on Draco’s arm stayed him from fleeing.
Harry held up a hand and the noised lessened to a murmur. “I will issue a statement and answer personal question one time only, but not here where you are creating a danger to innocent bystanders. If you’ll follow me to the conference room…” Harry stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to Draco’s cheek, a movement accompanied by dozens of flashbulbs blinding Draco momentarily. “I’ll be back in a few moments, love. Hermione, if you’ll stay with Tor and guard him from the vultures, I’ll explain everything, I promise.”
She glared at him, but years of solidarity were, thankfully, well-ingrained and she nodded and stepped closer to Draco. Ron seemed yet unable to process the revelation, so Harry hooked an arm through his and dragged him through the babbling crowd. Most of the “vultures” followed the hero, but several stayed with Draco, taking pictures and asking invasive questions until Granger drew her wand and cast a vicious-looking circle of crackling energy that shoved everyone back several feet.
“We have nothing to say,” she snapped. “If you want answers, you’ll get them from Harry!”
Snarling, the greedy newsmongers and gossips slunk away, leaving Draco in relative peace. Several partygoers remained, either uncaring of the drama or merely having nothing more to do than whisper amongst themselves and cast curious glances in Draco’s direction.
“So, Tor,” Granger said. “How long have you known Harry?”
Draco smiled. “Perhaps you should take your own advice and ask your questions of the Chosen One.”
Her gaze sharpened as she tried to penetrate his disguise. Draco wished he had thought to alter his voice. “I can’t believe he never said anything,” she muttered. “Did he think we wouldn’t understand?”
Draco frowned, feeling the need to defend Harry, even though he was not completely clear why Harry had not taken his closest friends into his confidence regarding his sexual preferences.
“We see him every bloody week,” she continued, “And yet he never says a word.”
“How would he broach that subject?” Draco asked in annoyance. “Please pass the gravy and by the way I prefer blokes.”
Granger smiled. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right.”
“And you?” she asked. “How do you feel about Harry? Is this some casual thing for you or is it something more serious?”
Draco refused to even ask himself those questions. “Once again, you’ll have to talk to Harry about that. I tried to talk him out of this public revelation nonsense, but he refused to listen.”
She nodded. “Yes, he does that.” She sighed. “I suppose I shall have to wait and hear it from him, then. But I can warn you that if you should ever decide to hurt him…”
“He’s a grown man, Granger,” Draco snapped. “I believe he’s more than capable of taking care of himself.”
She glared at him and her lips thinned into a thin line. She studied him once more and her eyes widened slightly. Draco swore inwardly and wished he had not called her Granger.
“Draco?” she asked, barely audible.
“The name is Tor and I’ll thank you to keep it at that for the duration of the evening,” he said curtly.
She frowned and her eyes flicked to where Harry had disappeared. Worry lines wrinkled her forehead and Draco wanted to gnash his teeth. She would never let up on Harry now. Once Granger found out he was living with Harry, there would be no end to her henpecking. He was suddenly grateful he had maintained the rent on his flat—he had a feeling their six-month agreement was about to be cut short.
He only wished the knowledge didn’t leave him with the taste of ashes in his mouth.
~~ O ~~
Harry rubbed his temples and then replaced his glasses. He grinned sheepishly at Ron in the mirror. His friend did not look amused. Ron’s blue eyes glared at him.
“You never thought to bloody mention it?”
Harry shrugged. “I didn’t really know. Not until recently. I mean, I suspected now and again, especially after we left school and my relationship with Ginny just… fizzled.”
“Why recently? Is it that Viking bloke? Who is he?”
Harry nodded. “Yeah, it’s the Viking bloke. I can’t tell you who he is, at least not yet. I don’t want him hurt by this. It was hard enough to convince him to come here with me tonight. I have to protect him.”
“How do you know he wants protecting? How do you know he won’t go straight to the press with every bloody sordid tale of…?”
“Tale of what, Ron?” Harry snapped. “Do you think we do anything different than any other couple? When we touch each other what makes it worse than a man touching a woman? Skin and lips and hands all feel the same when you’re in—”
“In?” Ron said. “You’re in? What are you in, Harry? Are you saying you’re in love with him?”
Harry snatched up his mask and fastened it over his glasses carefully, blocking out the question. He dared not ask it for fear of the answer.
“Of course not,” he muttered flippantly. “He doesn’t feel anything for me.” Harry held up a hand quickly to forestall Ron’s outburst. “But I trust him! Okay, I trust him not to do anything that will… Well, anything that will harm me.” Even as he said the words he wondered why he believed them so vehemently. Since when had he trusted Draco Malfoy not to wish him ill? Was he so easily swayed by the way Draco said his name in the dark and the way his eyes glowed when he came?
Harry flushed at the memory and decided he didn’t care. If Draco used him for his own ends—in a way other than the agreement they had already forged—then it was Harry’s fault for being so blindly trusting. The very thought of Draco made him ache to get back to the blond. He should not have abandoned him for so long, especially in Hermione’s care. She had most likely penetrated his disguise by now and Harry would be in for a ration of questions.
Harry checked his outfit once more—not that it was effective as a disguise any longer—and went out.
It took him forever to find Draco.
~~ O ~~
Draco ditched Granger when she was accosted by an ancient crone who apparently recognized her costume to be that of Artemisia Lufkin, the first female Minister for Magic—oh happy gasp!—most likely because she had been born during old Artemisia’s tenure, which was sometime in the 1700’s from what Draco could recall. Still, he was grateful for the fossil because Draco had some pressing business to take care of and it was something he definitely did not need Hermione Granger to witness.
The pressing business pressed him up against the wall of the darkened hallway, squashing pillowlike breasts into his abdomen.
“Draco,” she purred. “I knew it was you.” She laughed huskily. “Imagine. You disappear from the face of the planet for nearly five long years and now you turn up in the company of Potter! In a pretty little queer sort of relationship.”
“What do you want, Pansy?” Draco snapped even as he glanced around to ascertain their privacy. He cursed his luck. “How did you recognize me?”
“It was your walk, darling. No one moves like you do. It’s disgraceful, actually, like sex on legs.”
Draco grimaced. Damn her. What was she even doing at a bloody Ministry function? He had tried to maintain secretive tabs on all of his former friends, but the last he had known of Pansy she had gone to Brazil.
“What are you doing with Potter? Is this just a game you’re playing or is it something more serious? You don’t seem averse to his company. Not at all.”
He wanted to snarl that it was none of her business, but that would simply sharpen her need to make it her business. He could practically see the wheels turning in her Slytherin brain. She had gone to Brazil because the Parkinson funds were dwindling away at a rapid clip. Draco suspected she had gone to procure a rich husband. Apparently she had failed, if her look of avarice was any indication. She definitely planned to turn her discovery into a wagonload of Galleons. And Harry would pay it to protect him. Draco knew it without question.
“If you plan to blackmail Potter, you’re too late. He just gave a tell-all to the press.”
She smiled and trailed her fingers over his chest. “Did he really? Did he tell all, Draco, or did he leave out one tiny little fact? Why are you hiding behind your costume, darling? Is Potter afraid of what people will think if they find out he’s shagging a Death Eater? It must have been hard enough for the poor dear to expose himself without that. The press and the public, they can be so vicious.”
Draco smiled without humour. “Pansy, you’re forgetting one tiny little thing,” he said as though he spoke to a child.
She was nearly quick enough. Her hands shoved at him even as she reached for the wand in her sleeve, but Draco was faster. “Modificus!” he hissed.
Pansy’s eyes glazed immediately and she stiffened like a doll. Someone laughed nearby and Draco nearly panicked, but he forced himself to relax and take his time. He drew Pansy back against him as though they had paused in the alcove for a snog. He only hoped the tale of him kissing a woman after escorting the famous Potter to the event did not circulate like wildfire. A couple staggered by, giggling drunkenly, but did not seem to look in Draco’s direction. He heaved a sigh of relief.
He was quick but thorough. By the time he stepped from the alcove—and straight into Harry—Pansy was shaking off her daze.
“What’s this, then?” Harry asked tightly.
“Poor dear had too much to drink,” Draco said in a sympathetic tone. “I think she’s going home now.”
Pansy giggled as she walked past them. “King Arthur, how adorable,” she cooed and patted Harry’s cheek. His shocked gaze snapped upward, obviously recognizing Pansy through her Cleopatra getup.
“Run along dear,” Draco urged and Pansy giggled once more and disappeared, heading toward one of the large fireplaces. Draco watched her until she Flooed out of sight and then he turned to face Harry’s angry expression.
“What exactly were you doing in a darkened hallway with Pansy Parkinson?” he gritted.
Draco blinked at him. Was he jealous? He considered the novel idea for a moment or two, until the angry Auror spun on a heel and stalked away.
“Harry!” he said quickly and hurried after him. It only took Draco a few steps to catch him and he pulled Harry around to face him. Green eyes flashed through the grey mask and Draco refrained from smiling--barely. "Harry, stop."
"Maybe you should hurry after Pansy," Harry said tightly.
Draco pulled him into an embrace. It was somewhat like hugging a block of granite. He really was angry.
"Harry, there is nothing between me and Pansy."
"That's not what it looked like."
"Don't tell me you're jealous of a female."
"Did she recognize you?" Harry asked.
It was Draco's turn to stiffen. He thought about lying. "Yes."
"Fuck. She won't keep quiet, will she?"
"Actually, she will," Draco said with a hint of a smirk. He was very good at his Memory Modification Charm, after all.
Harry tipped his head back to look into Draco's eyes. If anything, he looked even more suspicious. "What did you promise her?"
"Not a single thing."
Harry inhaled sharply. "What did you do to her?"
"You don't want to know," Draco admitted and was profoundly relieved when the music began, nearly deafening them. There was a collective wince and the music stopped before resuming at a more tolerable level. "Would you like to dance?"
Harry gaped at him and Draco noticed that he had softened a bit in Draco's grip, no longer trying to gently pry himself free. "Dance?" Harry repeated.
"I realize that my toes will most likely not thank you in the morning, but yes, Harry, would you like to dance with me?"
A large section of the floor had cleared in the centre of the room and various couples made their way forward to swirl sedately. Harry swallowed hard and Draco smiled. He seldom observed uncertain Harry and it was a definite treat. He moved his hand downward and gripped Harry's.
"Come on," he said and pulled Harry onto the floor with the crowd parting before them. Harry was nearly as stiff as he had been earlier, but Draco patiently guided him until he started to relax. After several passes without falling or causing excessive damage to Draco's feet, Harry actually grinned.
"This is kind of fun," he admitted.
"Of course it's fun," Draco said and held him more tightly as they executed a quick turn. He noticed several flashbulbs bursting and knew that Harry was still the centre of attention as far as the press was concerned. Harry's hand tightened on his shoulder and he frowned, apparently seeing them also.
"I want to go home," Harry said suddenly.
"Don't you want to give them a show first?" Draco asked, slowing his steps.
"I think they've had enough of a show already... What do you mean?"
Draco stopped dancing and moved his fingers up to touch the edge of Harry's jaw. His fingertips drew gentle circles for a moment and then slid beneath Harry's chin to tip his head back slightly. "I think a kiss might make a nice photo, don't you agree?"
Harry's eyes widened beneath the mask. "But..."
"Don't worry, I'll extract payment later," Draco assured him. Before he could rethink his reckless action, Draco lowered his head and touched his lips to Harry's.
~~ O ~~
Harry was drowning. He had imagined this moment a hundred times, a thousand times, but reality was nothing like the fantasy. Draco’s lips were warm and soft and only slightly wet, pressing gently against his. The kiss was chaste, almost sweet, and certainly nothing that would account for the sudden racing of Harry’s pulse.
He could hardly believe Draco was kissing him. He had never allowed it before, not even once, not even accidentally. Harry couldn’t breathe as Draco’s lips moved over his, still gentle, brushing over the sensitive flesh and then sucking lightly. Harry instinctively moved forward, clutching at Draco and parting his lips, desperate for more and terrified that Draco would pull away after the brief tease.
But Draco did not. Instead his left arm tightened around Harry’s waist while his other hand slipped from Harry’s jaw into the hair at the nape of his neck. Draco’s tongue flicked over Harry’s lips in a light caress, first the bottom and then the top. Harry’s hands clenched in the fur of Draco’s costume as he fought a whimper. He wondered if it was possible to die of a simple kiss.
Harry drew in a shuddering breath as Draco pulled back for the merest instant before diving in once more, this time to breach Harry’s parted lips. The first brush of tongue against tongue was beyond brilliant.
Harry succumbed, not caring at all about the crowd around him and the flashes and murmurs—his world had narrowed to encompass nothing but Draco and the sweep of his tongue as it explored Harry’s mouth. It seemed almost too gentle, as if he thought Harry might break beneath the onslaught.
Draco stopped, albeit not quite abruptly, pulling away with a last caress over Harry’s tongue and a light suction on Harry’s lips. Harry panted and tried to regain some semblance of control, but when his eyes met Draco’s, even veiled by the mask, he knew he was lost. He was completely and utterly owned by his rentboy.
~~ O ~~
Draco looked at Harry, shaken to his core. Fuck, it was a kiss. It was only a kiss.
But Harry didn’t look as though it was merely a kiss. His eyes were wide and unfocused, staring through glasses and mask with pupils so large he might have been drugged. His lips were parted, gleaming with Draco’s saliva, and so fucking kissable it was all Draco could do to resist the lure.
Harry seemed oblivious to the shocked crowd, but Draco felt their presence with a bizarre sense of resentment. Harry looked—Merlin, he looked like he wouldn’t protest if Draco laid him out on the floor and peeled off his clothing in front of the entire wizarding world. He looked at Draco as though he were the centre of the damned universe.
No one deserved to see this Harry. This Harry was Draco’s and he would be damned to a thousand hells if he would share. Not now, at least, not until Harry pointed him toward the door and released Draco from their agreement.
Until that moment, Harry Potter was his.
Draco curled his arm around the Auror and drew him closer, concealing Harry’s dazed face in the curve of his shoulder. “Come on,” he said gruffly and headed for the nearest fireplace. The crowd parted before them, wisely, because Draco was not above pushing at the moment.
He ushered Harry into the Floo and caught Granger’s worried face an instant before he called out, “Diagon Alley!”
They appeared before Ollivander’s and Harry smiled in bemusement as the fitful rain hit their faces. “Why are we here?” he asked a moment before people surrounded them like ravenous beasts, unfettered by the chains of propriety.
“Harry Potter!” they bellowed.
“A moment please!”
“I have some questions!”
Draco snarled and Apparated them to Grimmauld Place.
~~ O ~~
Harry stepped away from Draco and wiped at a droplet of rain that clung to the tip of his nose. The rush of cool air had cleared his head somewhat. He smiled at Draco.
“I would have Flooed straight here,” he admitted.
Draco nodded as he tore off the Viking helmet and mask. “And they would have camped outside the front door and alerted not only your Muggle neighbors, but also the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. You would have been in trouble with your boss and I would not have a moment of peace.”
Harry wanted to say thank you. He wanted to say a large number of things, but there suddenly seemed no way to convey his feelings, which were too large for mere words to contain.
Instead he said nothing and watched Draco take off his furred costume—the axe, the leather, the raised boots. Harry was silent as Draco spelled away the braids and lightened his hair to its usual platinum sheen.
When Draco stood before him clad in nothing but leather breeches, Harry felt something close to pain tugging at his chest. He opened his mouth to speak.
Thankfully, Draco shot him a sardonic look. “Planning to wear that getup all night?” he asked. “Let me guess; you want me to call you Your Majesty?”
Harry tugged off his mask and dropped it. He took several steps forward and wrapped his arms around Draco’s bare torso. “Actually, I want you to fuck me,” he whispered.
Chapter Nine
byaghro for the fab beta!!Draco looked at his reflection and shoved down about a thousand misgivings. He had to be completely insane to go through with this. How the hell had he allowed Harry’s puppy dog eyes and temper tantrum to sway him into such a stupid decision? He wondered if there was still time to purchase some Weasley product that induced vomiting, chills, and fever.
Harry entered the room and the very sight of him made Draco forget the wayward idea. Harry was stunning. He was dressed as Uther Pendragon, with a red tunic emblazoned with the lion of England in glittering gold. He wore black beneath, which covered him from neck to wrists. The open neck of the tunic exposed the shimmer of chain link above the black. A golden crown set with jewels adorned the top of his head and he would have looked every inch the monarch but for the fact that he currently struggled to fasten the red cape around his neck with a lion’s-head brooch. He frowned and yanked at the fabric.
“Bloody thing,” he muttered, still walking forward absently. His knee-high black boots gleamed. “How does this work?”
“Let me,” Draco said, walking forward and brushing Harry’s hands aside. The green eyes fastened on his and Draco laughed at the sight of his spectacles. They looked incongruous with the period costume.
“Do I look like an idiot?” Harry asked dryly.
“You look like a king,” Draco said as he fastened the brooch on Harry’s collar and adjusted the cowl. “A very shaggable king,” he added.
“If you look anything like Tor Bloodhorn, I know why Uther had no self control,” Harry replied.
Draco smiled down at him, although it was odd to look down upon Harry when they were normally of a height. It had been Harry’s suggestion that they both dress as Muggles, although part of a story that was curiously absent from Muggle history. In the wizarding world, Merlin was even more famous than in Muggle legend, but Uther nearly so. Even though Uther Pendragon had married and sired the illustrious Arthur, it was rumoured that he had saved his kingdom from repeated sacking by the Vikings by carrying on a long-term affair with a prominent Viking chieftain named Tor Bloodhorn.
To that end, Draco wore buff leather leggings and a wolf-fur tunic. His boots had been magically lifted to gain him extra height and he towered several inches over Harry. They were cross-gartered around his calves and he had spent several hours adjusting to them in order to walk properly without tripping.
He had decided against a wig, but had instead darkened his own hair to a dirty blond and lengthened it in order to braid multicoloured leather thongs through it, with decorative bits of bead and bone. Atop his head rested an uncomfortable Viking helmet topped with sharp white horns.
“I don’t think Uther wore spectacles,” Draco said.
Harry grinned. “They’ll be covered by my mask, prat.” He brandished his wand and Summoned his mask from the bedside table. It looked relatively kinglike, draped with chain links and shimmering with jewels. Harry plunked it on over his glasses and Draco sighed. He had been right. Everyone there would recognize that impossible thatch of black hair, as well as Harry’s unmistakable aura of heroism. The Uther personae was perfect for him.
Draco turned back to the mirror and tugged down his own mask, which was an extension of the helmet. He studied his image critically and had to admit he was nearly unrecognizable. His features were almost completely covered by the fur-edged mask and helmet, as well as the thick braids that spilled over his shoulders and down to the wide belt that cinched his waist. He had strapped a hefty axe to his belt.
Harry’s belt was black leather encrusted with gems and held a sword in a decorative scabbard. Draco had suggested he go to Hogwarts and borrow Godric Gryffindor’s famous blade and had to laugh when Harry actually considered it.
“You look beautiful,” Harry said and slipped his arms around Draco’s waist. His eyes peered over Draco’s shoulder, accenting their height difference.
“I do not!” Draco protested. “I look manly! And dangerous and barbaric.”
Harry laughed. “Yes, that too.”
“Watch your tongue, Briton, or I shall rape and pillage you.”
“You’re just trying to get me to cancel this affair and stay home and shag you.”
Draco put his hands over Harry’s and leaned back into him. “Is it working?” he purred.
“Nearly,” Harry said. “And I plan to hold you to that raping and pillaging idea when we get back.”
Draco frowned uncertainly. “Are you sure no one will recognize me?” he asked for the seventeenth time.
Harry’s arms tightened. “If they do, then we will deal with it, all right?”
Draco sighed and squeezed Harry’s hands. “All right,” he said even though he felt far from it. After one last perusal of their outfits, Harry took Draco’s arm and they departed for the Ministry.
Draco was extremely tense when they first arrived at the Ministry. The Atrium had been taken over for the gala event, which was to celebrate the anniversary of the Ministry of Magic, of all things. Like anyone cared when the bloody Ministry had been founded. It was basically an excuse to indulge the Ministry employees’ need for strong drink. After being dragged around the room for several minutes, Draco began to relax. There were few people he recognized, thanks to the profusion of costumes. Kinglsey Shacklebolt was easy to spot, being dressed appropriately as a Moorish Sultan.
Most of the attendees seemed to be geriatric old men hobbling about with stylized canes and costumes that tried to recapture their youth. Draco saw one old fellow who could not have seen a day less than a hundred, dressed as Robin Hood. He had prodded Harry and the two of them had spent several long minutes searching for equally old Merry Men.
“Look, there’s Maid Marion,” Harry said and nudged him. Draco’s gaze moved to a crone with a white powdered wig dressed in a period gown. Her ancient breasts had been pressed into overflowing from the top of the gown, riddled with wrinkles. He shuddered and bent to make a disparaging comment when he caught sight of red hair next to the old woman.
Bloody hell, it was Weasley. Draco knew damned well Harry had never mentioned their relationship… or business venture. Or whatever it was. But now he wondered if Harry had even disclosed his preferences to his closest friends. With a frisson of panic, he wondered why he had not thought to bring it up prior to this moment when the Weasel and… oh yes, there she was… Granger, bore down upon them.
“Harry!” Ron cried loudly, causing Draco to cringe. “Oi, I’d recognize that hair anywhere.”
Weasley was dressed as a Roman Centurion, although the costume was obviously second-hand. The bristles on his helmet had seen better days and many of them were bent. The red cape around his shoulders was beginning to wear in spots. Apparently his fortunes had not improved much. The thought made Draco feel somewhat better.
“Hey, Ron,” Harry said as Granger oozed her way between Draco and Harry in order to smother Harry in an embrace. She was dressed in period robes, probably meant to represent some famous witch that no one would ever recognize. Thankfully, Harry did not ask. “Hermione,” he said and fought his way free of the bushy hair and excess of perfume. What was it with the Muggle-born and their obsession with cologne?
“I’m so glad you came, Harry! You look fabulous! You’ve been so mysterious about your date, now where is she?” Granger said and peered around carefully. Her eyes touched on Draco and then dismissed him until Harry stepped closer and wrapped an arm around Draco’s.
“She’s a he, actually,” Harry said. “And he prefers to remain anonymous at this time, due to the hullaballoo that will doubtless arise the moment the press catches wind of that fact. I assume that wretched insect Skeeter woman is here?”
For once—possibly the only time in her life—Granger was silent. She took in Draco with a sharper gaze while the Weasel gaped like a fish; his jaw opened and closed for long moments with no sound emitting.
“Harry,” Granger said in a hushed tone. “Are you sure you want to—?”
Draco felt like nodding, except that to agree with Hermione Granger was so foreign to his nature that he felt extraordinarily conflicted. Regardless, it was too late. Those standing near enough to hear the exchange were apparently intelligent enough to put two and two together, or in the case of Harry and his date—one and one.
A buzz whispered through the room and grew markedly louder and more obvious. Before Draco could suggest taking evasive action, they were surrounded by a crowd of people, most of them bearing cameras or brandishing wands with Recording Spells activated.
“Harry Potter!” they cried and only the hand tightening on Draco’s arm stayed him from fleeing.
Harry held up a hand and the noised lessened to a murmur. “I will issue a statement and answer personal question one time only, but not here where you are creating a danger to innocent bystanders. If you’ll follow me to the conference room…” Harry stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to Draco’s cheek, a movement accompanied by dozens of flashbulbs blinding Draco momentarily. “I’ll be back in a few moments, love. Hermione, if you’ll stay with Tor and guard him from the vultures, I’ll explain everything, I promise.”
She glared at him, but years of solidarity were, thankfully, well-ingrained and she nodded and stepped closer to Draco. Ron seemed yet unable to process the revelation, so Harry hooked an arm through his and dragged him through the babbling crowd. Most of the “vultures” followed the hero, but several stayed with Draco, taking pictures and asking invasive questions until Granger drew her wand and cast a vicious-looking circle of crackling energy that shoved everyone back several feet.
“We have nothing to say,” she snapped. “If you want answers, you’ll get them from Harry!”
Snarling, the greedy newsmongers and gossips slunk away, leaving Draco in relative peace. Several partygoers remained, either uncaring of the drama or merely having nothing more to do than whisper amongst themselves and cast curious glances in Draco’s direction.
“So, Tor,” Granger said. “How long have you known Harry?”
Draco smiled. “Perhaps you should take your own advice and ask your questions of the Chosen One.”
Her gaze sharpened as she tried to penetrate his disguise. Draco wished he had thought to alter his voice. “I can’t believe he never said anything,” she muttered. “Did he think we wouldn’t understand?”
Draco frowned, feeling the need to defend Harry, even though he was not completely clear why Harry had not taken his closest friends into his confidence regarding his sexual preferences.
“We see him every bloody week,” she continued, “And yet he never says a word.”
“How would he broach that subject?” Draco asked in annoyance. “Please pass the gravy and by the way I prefer blokes.”
Granger smiled. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right.”
“And you?” she asked. “How do you feel about Harry? Is this some casual thing for you or is it something more serious?”
Draco refused to even ask himself those questions. “Once again, you’ll have to talk to Harry about that. I tried to talk him out of this public revelation nonsense, but he refused to listen.”
She nodded. “Yes, he does that.” She sighed. “I suppose I shall have to wait and hear it from him, then. But I can warn you that if you should ever decide to hurt him…”
“He’s a grown man, Granger,” Draco snapped. “I believe he’s more than capable of taking care of himself.”
She glared at him and her lips thinned into a thin line. She studied him once more and her eyes widened slightly. Draco swore inwardly and wished he had not called her Granger.
“Draco?” she asked, barely audible.
“The name is Tor and I’ll thank you to keep it at that for the duration of the evening,” he said curtly.
She frowned and her eyes flicked to where Harry had disappeared. Worry lines wrinkled her forehead and Draco wanted to gnash his teeth. She would never let up on Harry now. Once Granger found out he was living with Harry, there would be no end to her henpecking. He was suddenly grateful he had maintained the rent on his flat—he had a feeling their six-month agreement was about to be cut short.
He only wished the knowledge didn’t leave him with the taste of ashes in his mouth.
~~ O ~~
Harry rubbed his temples and then replaced his glasses. He grinned sheepishly at Ron in the mirror. His friend did not look amused. Ron’s blue eyes glared at him.
“You never thought to bloody mention it?”
Harry shrugged. “I didn’t really know. Not until recently. I mean, I suspected now and again, especially after we left school and my relationship with Ginny just… fizzled.”
“Why recently? Is it that Viking bloke? Who is he?”
Harry nodded. “Yeah, it’s the Viking bloke. I can’t tell you who he is, at least not yet. I don’t want him hurt by this. It was hard enough to convince him to come here with me tonight. I have to protect him.”
“How do you know he wants protecting? How do you know he won’t go straight to the press with every bloody sordid tale of…?”
“Tale of what, Ron?” Harry snapped. “Do you think we do anything different than any other couple? When we touch each other what makes it worse than a man touching a woman? Skin and lips and hands all feel the same when you’re in—”
“In?” Ron said. “You’re in? What are you in, Harry? Are you saying you’re in love with him?”
Harry snatched up his mask and fastened it over his glasses carefully, blocking out the question. He dared not ask it for fear of the answer.
“Of course not,” he muttered flippantly. “He doesn’t feel anything for me.” Harry held up a hand quickly to forestall Ron’s outburst. “But I trust him! Okay, I trust him not to do anything that will… Well, anything that will harm me.” Even as he said the words he wondered why he believed them so vehemently. Since when had he trusted Draco Malfoy not to wish him ill? Was he so easily swayed by the way Draco said his name in the dark and the way his eyes glowed when he came?
Harry flushed at the memory and decided he didn’t care. If Draco used him for his own ends—in a way other than the agreement they had already forged—then it was Harry’s fault for being so blindly trusting. The very thought of Draco made him ache to get back to the blond. He should not have abandoned him for so long, especially in Hermione’s care. She had most likely penetrated his disguise by now and Harry would be in for a ration of questions.
Harry checked his outfit once more—not that it was effective as a disguise any longer—and went out.
It took him forever to find Draco.
~~ O ~~
Draco ditched Granger when she was accosted by an ancient crone who apparently recognized her costume to be that of Artemisia Lufkin, the first female Minister for Magic—oh happy gasp!—most likely because she had been born during old Artemisia’s tenure, which was sometime in the 1700’s from what Draco could recall. Still, he was grateful for the fossil because Draco had some pressing business to take care of and it was something he definitely did not need Hermione Granger to witness.
The pressing business pressed him up against the wall of the darkened hallway, squashing pillowlike breasts into his abdomen.
“Draco,” she purred. “I knew it was you.” She laughed huskily. “Imagine. You disappear from the face of the planet for nearly five long years and now you turn up in the company of Potter! In a pretty little queer sort of relationship.”
“What do you want, Pansy?” Draco snapped even as he glanced around to ascertain their privacy. He cursed his luck. “How did you recognize me?”
“It was your walk, darling. No one moves like you do. It’s disgraceful, actually, like sex on legs.”
Draco grimaced. Damn her. What was she even doing at a bloody Ministry function? He had tried to maintain secretive tabs on all of his former friends, but the last he had known of Pansy she had gone to Brazil.
“What are you doing with Potter? Is this just a game you’re playing or is it something more serious? You don’t seem averse to his company. Not at all.”
He wanted to snarl that it was none of her business, but that would simply sharpen her need to make it her business. He could practically see the wheels turning in her Slytherin brain. She had gone to Brazil because the Parkinson funds were dwindling away at a rapid clip. Draco suspected she had gone to procure a rich husband. Apparently she had failed, if her look of avarice was any indication. She definitely planned to turn her discovery into a wagonload of Galleons. And Harry would pay it to protect him. Draco knew it without question.
“If you plan to blackmail Potter, you’re too late. He just gave a tell-all to the press.”
She smiled and trailed her fingers over his chest. “Did he really? Did he tell all, Draco, or did he leave out one tiny little fact? Why are you hiding behind your costume, darling? Is Potter afraid of what people will think if they find out he’s shagging a Death Eater? It must have been hard enough for the poor dear to expose himself without that. The press and the public, they can be so vicious.”
Draco smiled without humour. “Pansy, you’re forgetting one tiny little thing,” he said as though he spoke to a child.
She was nearly quick enough. Her hands shoved at him even as she reached for the wand in her sleeve, but Draco was faster. “Modificus!” he hissed.
Pansy’s eyes glazed immediately and she stiffened like a doll. Someone laughed nearby and Draco nearly panicked, but he forced himself to relax and take his time. He drew Pansy back against him as though they had paused in the alcove for a snog. He only hoped the tale of him kissing a woman after escorting the famous Potter to the event did not circulate like wildfire. A couple staggered by, giggling drunkenly, but did not seem to look in Draco’s direction. He heaved a sigh of relief.
He was quick but thorough. By the time he stepped from the alcove—and straight into Harry—Pansy was shaking off her daze.
“What’s this, then?” Harry asked tightly.
“Poor dear had too much to drink,” Draco said in a sympathetic tone. “I think she’s going home now.”
Pansy giggled as she walked past them. “King Arthur, how adorable,” she cooed and patted Harry’s cheek. His shocked gaze snapped upward, obviously recognizing Pansy through her Cleopatra getup.
“Run along dear,” Draco urged and Pansy giggled once more and disappeared, heading toward one of the large fireplaces. Draco watched her until she Flooed out of sight and then he turned to face Harry’s angry expression.
“What exactly were you doing in a darkened hallway with Pansy Parkinson?” he gritted.
Draco blinked at him. Was he jealous? He considered the novel idea for a moment or two, until the angry Auror spun on a heel and stalked away.
“Harry!” he said quickly and hurried after him. It only took Draco a few steps to catch him and he pulled Harry around to face him. Green eyes flashed through the grey mask and Draco refrained from smiling--barely. "Harry, stop."
"Maybe you should hurry after Pansy," Harry said tightly.
Draco pulled him into an embrace. It was somewhat like hugging a block of granite. He really was angry.
"Harry, there is nothing between me and Pansy."
"That's not what it looked like."
"Don't tell me you're jealous of a female."
"Did she recognize you?" Harry asked.
It was Draco's turn to stiffen. He thought about lying. "Yes."
"Fuck. She won't keep quiet, will she?"
"Actually, she will," Draco said with a hint of a smirk. He was very good at his Memory Modification Charm, after all.
Harry tipped his head back to look into Draco's eyes. If anything, he looked even more suspicious. "What did you promise her?"
"Not a single thing."
Harry inhaled sharply. "What did you do to her?"
"You don't want to know," Draco admitted and was profoundly relieved when the music began, nearly deafening them. There was a collective wince and the music stopped before resuming at a more tolerable level. "Would you like to dance?"
Harry gaped at him and Draco noticed that he had softened a bit in Draco's grip, no longer trying to gently pry himself free. "Dance?" Harry repeated.
"I realize that my toes will most likely not thank you in the morning, but yes, Harry, would you like to dance with me?"
A large section of the floor had cleared in the centre of the room and various couples made their way forward to swirl sedately. Harry swallowed hard and Draco smiled. He seldom observed uncertain Harry and it was a definite treat. He moved his hand downward and gripped Harry's.
"Come on," he said and pulled Harry onto the floor with the crowd parting before them. Harry was nearly as stiff as he had been earlier, but Draco patiently guided him until he started to relax. After several passes without falling or causing excessive damage to Draco's feet, Harry actually grinned.
"This is kind of fun," he admitted.
"Of course it's fun," Draco said and held him more tightly as they executed a quick turn. He noticed several flashbulbs bursting and knew that Harry was still the centre of attention as far as the press was concerned. Harry's hand tightened on his shoulder and he frowned, apparently seeing them also.
"I want to go home," Harry said suddenly.
"Don't you want to give them a show first?" Draco asked, slowing his steps.
"I think they've had enough of a show already... What do you mean?"
Draco stopped dancing and moved his fingers up to touch the edge of Harry's jaw. His fingertips drew gentle circles for a moment and then slid beneath Harry's chin to tip his head back slightly. "I think a kiss might make a nice photo, don't you agree?"
Harry's eyes widened beneath the mask. "But..."
"Don't worry, I'll extract payment later," Draco assured him. Before he could rethink his reckless action, Draco lowered his head and touched his lips to Harry's.
~~ O ~~
Harry was drowning. He had imagined this moment a hundred times, a thousand times, but reality was nothing like the fantasy. Draco’s lips were warm and soft and only slightly wet, pressing gently against his. The kiss was chaste, almost sweet, and certainly nothing that would account for the sudden racing of Harry’s pulse.
He could hardly believe Draco was kissing him. He had never allowed it before, not even once, not even accidentally. Harry couldn’t breathe as Draco’s lips moved over his, still gentle, brushing over the sensitive flesh and then sucking lightly. Harry instinctively moved forward, clutching at Draco and parting his lips, desperate for more and terrified that Draco would pull away after the brief tease.
But Draco did not. Instead his left arm tightened around Harry’s waist while his other hand slipped from Harry’s jaw into the hair at the nape of his neck. Draco’s tongue flicked over Harry’s lips in a light caress, first the bottom and then the top. Harry’s hands clenched in the fur of Draco’s costume as he fought a whimper. He wondered if it was possible to die of a simple kiss.
Harry drew in a shuddering breath as Draco pulled back for the merest instant before diving in once more, this time to breach Harry’s parted lips. The first brush of tongue against tongue was beyond brilliant.
Harry succumbed, not caring at all about the crowd around him and the flashes and murmurs—his world had narrowed to encompass nothing but Draco and the sweep of his tongue as it explored Harry’s mouth. It seemed almost too gentle, as if he thought Harry might break beneath the onslaught.
Draco stopped, albeit not quite abruptly, pulling away with a last caress over Harry’s tongue and a light suction on Harry’s lips. Harry panted and tried to regain some semblance of control, but when his eyes met Draco’s, even veiled by the mask, he knew he was lost. He was completely and utterly owned by his rentboy.
~~ O ~~
Draco looked at Harry, shaken to his core. Fuck, it was a kiss. It was only a kiss.
But Harry didn’t look as though it was merely a kiss. His eyes were wide and unfocused, staring through glasses and mask with pupils so large he might have been drugged. His lips were parted, gleaming with Draco’s saliva, and so fucking kissable it was all Draco could do to resist the lure.
Harry seemed oblivious to the shocked crowd, but Draco felt their presence with a bizarre sense of resentment. Harry looked—Merlin, he looked like he wouldn’t protest if Draco laid him out on the floor and peeled off his clothing in front of the entire wizarding world. He looked at Draco as though he were the centre of the damned universe.
No one deserved to see this Harry. This Harry was Draco’s and he would be damned to a thousand hells if he would share. Not now, at least, not until Harry pointed him toward the door and released Draco from their agreement.
Until that moment, Harry Potter was his.
Draco curled his arm around the Auror and drew him closer, concealing Harry’s dazed face in the curve of his shoulder. “Come on,” he said gruffly and headed for the nearest fireplace. The crowd parted before them, wisely, because Draco was not above pushing at the moment.
He ushered Harry into the Floo and caught Granger’s worried face an instant before he called out, “Diagon Alley!”
They appeared before Ollivander’s and Harry smiled in bemusement as the fitful rain hit their faces. “Why are we here?” he asked a moment before people surrounded them like ravenous beasts, unfettered by the chains of propriety.
“Harry Potter!” they bellowed.
“A moment please!”
“I have some questions!”
Draco snarled and Apparated them to Grimmauld Place.
~~ O ~~
Harry stepped away from Draco and wiped at a droplet of rain that clung to the tip of his nose. The rush of cool air had cleared his head somewhat. He smiled at Draco.
“I would have Flooed straight here,” he admitted.
Draco nodded as he tore off the Viking helmet and mask. “And they would have camped outside the front door and alerted not only your Muggle neighbors, but also the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. You would have been in trouble with your boss and I would not have a moment of peace.”
Harry wanted to say thank you. He wanted to say a large number of things, but there suddenly seemed no way to convey his feelings, which were too large for mere words to contain.
Instead he said nothing and watched Draco take off his furred costume—the axe, the leather, the raised boots. Harry was silent as Draco spelled away the braids and lightened his hair to its usual platinum sheen.
When Draco stood before him clad in nothing but leather breeches, Harry felt something close to pain tugging at his chest. He opened his mouth to speak.
Thankfully, Draco shot him a sardonic look. “Planning to wear that getup all night?” he asked. “Let me guess; you want me to call you Your Majesty?”
Harry tugged off his mask and dropped it. He took several steps forward and wrapped his arms around Draco’s bare torso. “Actually, I want you to fuck me,” he whispered.
Chapter Nine