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Calanthe, posting as Wanda Destiny

A Hard Day’s Night

But when I get home to you I find the things that you do make me feel ...

The gritty crunch of climbing feet echoed up the stairwell, heralding Harry’s arrival long
before the front door opened. Draco felt every footfall vibrate down his spine until the
anticipation grew swollen, displacing his innards and making his body feel too tight, too
small.

The letter flap clanked belligerently as the door swung open and shut, and in his mind’s
eye Draco could see Harry shrugging off his robes as he wiped his feet on the mat.

“Sorry I’m late,” Harry called, and Draco was so furious he didn’t trust himself to speak.
The sound of shoes thunking against the skirting board as Harry kicked them off filtered
through the hallway and into the bedroom where Draco clung to the wall, muscles tense
and screaming.

“Are you in?”

Draco’s knuckles cracked and formed white dimples against his skin.

“Bloody hell,” Harry muttered, perhaps thinking himself alone, and if Draco had been
stronger he wouldn’t be paralysed with fury and instead he’d be long gone, out the door
and into someone else’s bed.

Waiting. Always waiting. Jealousy. Powerlessness. Secrecy.

Lust.

“Shit.”

Draco knew that Harry was standing in the kitchen doorway staring at two plates of
rubber pasta and a felled candlestick that had dripped waxy tears across the table cloth
and rolled onto the floor.

All cold. Cold as Draco’s anger.

“Shit,” Harry said again, but louder. The sound of his palms slapping against the door
frame punctuated his frustration.

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Fantasies of confrontation peeled Draco away from his anchor against the wall and into
the bedroom doorway, and he knew the moment Harry sensed his presence from the set
of his neck and his stillness.

It took moments for him to unfreeze. “I’m really sorry,” Harry said as he turned, his
contrite puppy dog eyes conveying recognition of exactly how screwed he was.
“Kingsley called me in about something I’ve got to do tomorrow,” he said. “I tried to get
away, but I can hardly say why I’ve got to rush, can I? And then an owl arrived and there
was something else, and ...”

His speech faltered then stopped, and Draco watched the first prickle of discomfort
pluck at Harry’s mouth at the realisation that something was horribly wrong.

No shouting. No threats of violence or worse yet, of leaving. Uncharted territory. No


Potter!, no Fuck, Malfoy!. Harry didn’t know what to do, and that made Draco strong.

Draco regarded Harry coldly: the skewed glasses; the grubby cuffs of his uniform shirt;
the shiny patches blooming at the knees of his trousers. Where did it live, this power he
wielded over Draco? Not in his clothes anyway.

Draco tilted his head until his temple rested against the frame, and he let his arms
uncross, dropping slowly, slowly, until Harry broke their stare and scanned Draco’s body
for the telltale line of his hidden wand like a good little Auror. There was no wand. There
was just Draco underneath his dressing gown – only weapons made of flesh – and Harry’s
face was warped with guilt when he reeled his training in and met Draco’s gaze again.

Harry swallowed, uncertain. For once, Draco thought, Harry was unprepared. What, no
strategy for this in the training manual?

“Maybe I should just— ”

“On your knees.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open in surprise, the controlled venom of Draco’s tone catching
him off-guard. He frowned and studied Draco’s face for clues, for any indication that it
might be a joke. And he didn’t obey.

Not straight away.

It took thirty seconds of oppressive silence before he did it.

Harry looked up at Draco from his position of penitence. He looked confused, upset. He
looked fearful that perhaps this time Spellotape and pillow talk couldn’t fix what was
broken. Draco revelled in it, wanting Harry to know the pain of uncertainty and long-
anticipated dispensability. The muscles at the corners of Draco’s mouth pulled and he
permitted himself a smile, satisfied when it was not returned.

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He knew when Harry’s knees started to hurt. The floor was wooden and unforgiving;
Draco appreciated the perverse parallel. He watched Harry’s comedic attempts to
displace his weight from his kneecaps and onto a fleshier part of his legs without drawing
any attention to his furtive jiggling. Futile, and highly entertaining. Oddly pathetic, too,
that Harry didn’t ask to get up, or simply get up and walk away. It occurred to Draco that
maybe Harry wanted this, wanted to have boundaries and consequences, or perhaps it
was just that he was hungry and his dick was stiff and he wanted to find the quickest
route from the floor to Draco’s arse. It wasn’t always as easy to read Harry’s motives as
Draco had once imagined.

When Harry’s thighs started to quake and his eyes shone wet Draco felt himself harden a
fraction. He found pleasure in Harry’s suffering, and he rolled the realisation around
inside his head before accepting that it was so, and that he felt no guilt for it. His cock felt
heavy against his thigh, heavier still when he watched Harry spot its small movement, its
ripening curve pressing against the drape of his dressing gown. He ran his nails down its
length while Harry watched, a tickle of satin weave against his shaft. The ruffled collar of
his foreskin released a spot of dampness when he touched it, his fingertip dipping into
the hollow to worry his prick’s sheathed crown with its tiny dripping slit until it let more
wetness out. The damp spot in the fabric grew until it was the size of a coin and cold
when it touched his thigh.

A painful blush crept up Harry’s neck and onto his cheeks as he knelt in discomfort and
watched Draco become aroused. But he didn’t say anything, and he didn’t look away. He
watched Draco’s hand and the way his erection rose, lifting the hem of his dressing gown
until Draco’s knees felt cool air.

“I like you down there,” Draco said as he undid the belt and let his robe fall open.
“Where you belong.” It took no more than a moment to bare as much of his body as he
wanted Harry to see, and that was the hardness, the red rawness, of his cock and the
pale expanse of his belly, and those long, long legs that spent so much time being spread
for the Boy Who Lived. Harry’s blush climbed higher and disappeared beyond his hairline,
and Draco laughed.

“I know you like what you see,” Draco said. “You’ve sucked it enough, haven’t you?”
Harry’s nod was barely visible but no less emphatic for it. “You like having all this in your
mouth,” and he stroked himself from root to tip, pulling just enough to make his balls lift
and bounce, a lickable mouthful of flesh that if tugged just so made him howl like dog.
“Just think about all those times you’ve gone down on me in dangerous places, praying I
won’t make too much noise and blow your straight boy image.”

Draco knew he was pushing Harry, but he was too angry to dwell on the consequences.
He was too tired of justifying this second-rate liaison to himself. Consequences be
damned.

Harry’s mouth was wet and open, the inside of his mouth the same sinful pink as a well-
used hole, and Draco thought Why not?

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“Come here.”

He touched himself as Harry made his way across the hallway, pain furrowing his brow as
his kneecaps protested the burden of his weight against the floorboards. It wasn’t a
graceful approach, and Harry didn’t look sexy. But he did look miserable, and Draco loved
that.

He stopped a nose length from Draco’s knuckles, close enough to fill his lungs with the
hot stink of prick, close enough to stick his tongue out and steal a taste, but for once he
held himself in check like a good little boy, like someone who had to pay for his mistakes
and not simply shrug them off the Teflon veneer of his fame.

“The question is,” Draco murmured, “do I want that lying, deceitful mouth on my
tenderest parts?” Harry’s eyes never wavered from tracking the slow journey of Draco’s
hand up and down his erection, but Draco could tell from the knot of frown lines on his
face that he wanted to shout and deny and wheedle his way out of it. Again.

A blob of clear fluid threatened to fall when it reached the taut limit of Draco’s foreskin,
but instead of letting it go to waste he painted a glossy line down each of Harry’s cheeks,
the smattering of five o’ clock shadow chafing his skin, a sweet irritation. Harry’s eyes
were pinched closed so hard that only the tips of his eyelashes were visible. He was
shaking to the tips of his hair and not even trying to hide it.

Draco took Harry’s chin in an unkind grip. “Suck it.”

Harry’s mouth opened immediately, lips poised to meet that first awkward nudge of cock
head, and then his tongue darted out and took a solid lick up the underside of Draco’s
length, lingering in the complicated ridges around his frenulum where Draco was the
most sensitive. Draco held his breath as Harry explored, unwilling to vocalise how much
he wanted to push past Harry’s teeth and rape his mouth.

Eyes still closed, Harry covered every inch of Draco’s groin with his tongue as though he
was learning it anew. It felt glorious and cruel, making Harry’s neck strain and watching
his hands making useless, frustrated fists near the floor, desperate to take a grip of
something yet resisting the urge like a proper little martyr.

“I said suck, not seduce,” Draco said the moment he trusted himself to speak; the
moment ended when Harry’s lips shrank around the girth of Draco’s prick and he jerked
forward and impaled his face on it. Harry moaned then, loud enough to drown out the
feeble sound Draco made. Draco’s erection glittered with spit when Harry pulled back so
far that only his lips clung around the leaking head, and the obscene wet slurping noise
when he gobbled it down again had Draco clawing for composure at Harry’s scalp.

Harry fellated as though his every breath depended on it. He plunged wildly up and
down, nose thumping Draco’s body at the extreme of his efforts. Draco was horrified and
fascinated by the sight, but his body was far from conflicted – he was hard and hungry

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for it. Tears formed and fell down Harry’s cheeks as he choked himself on Draco’s cock,
his mouth working overtime to convey an apology that words couldn’t shape.

When Draco sank his fingers into Harry’s dampening hair and took a grip, Harry’s hands
flew up and clung to Draco’s thighs for support, his thumbs digging uncomfortably into
the softer skin between Draco’s legs. Draco slowed the pace, but he made Harry take him
all, even when Harry’s upper body lurched as his throat was breached, even through the
aftershocks of Harry winning his fight against nausea. Draco offered no respite, and
Harry didn’t ask for any.

Harry’s chin dripped saliva onto his trousers, and his mouth was so wet and mobile that
Draco struggled to keep inside it all the time. Every time he came close to slipping out
Harry would dart forward and recapture him; watching Harry strain so hard to get his
mouth fucked was a moment of perfect beauty and one that Draco thought he wouldn’t
forget. It wasn’t just the suction and the tongue and the moans that cranked Draco up, it
was the situation, Harry’s acceptance, his acquiescence to the consequences of his
actions.

His lips must be numb, Draco thought as he rode the groove in Harry’s bottom lip with the
underside of his cock. Oh well.

Harry’s hands grew too bold, and that’s when Draco knew he had to stop. Harry’s
thumbs rubbed circles to smooth out the crescents dug by his nails, and his fingertips
kneaded Draco’s thighs in that familiar proprietary manner Harry always seemed to take
with Draco’s body, the one that was covetous but that would in time become entitled if it
wasn’t nipped in the bud.

“Off,” Draco said, pushing Harry away, but not enough to topple him. Harry looked up at
him with manic eyes as he wiped the spit off his chin on his shirt sleeve. Even now Harry
wasn’t sure which was this was going to go, although Draco knew, and he let his face
show it. He fingered his prick affectionately, testing its stiffness and pressing the fattest
veins just to double check that yes that still felt good, even after such a brutal mauling, at
the mercy of careless teeth.

“I don’t think you’ve ever sucked me off with such selfless dedication,” Draco sneered,
eyeing the misshapen tent at Harry’s crotch. “The harder you try the more I want, do you
understand that?”

Harry’s mouth opened, but with no real intention of responding. Had Draco known that a
bit of mouth fucking was all it would take to shut Harry up he would have done it a long
time ago.

“Are you still dressed?” Draco asked with a frown. “An oversight on your part I’m sure.”
He fondled his balls like only an owner could while Harry scrabbled to take off his clothes.
He got off his knees first, though, Draco noted with amusement, and when he stripped
his trousers and pants off he had to lift his hips off the floor to do it.

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Interesting, the way he slid back a foot or more away from Draco once he was nude. He
looked like a pet who’d been caught doing bad things to the chair leg and was about to
pay the disagreeable price. His torso was splodged with irregular spots of red, livid and
hot against the pale background of his skin. Draco could see the sweat sheen below the
straggly patch of hairs on his chest, and the way his nipples were perked and pitted with
arousal. His cock was hard and a tortured shade of scarlet, the clump of pubic hairs at the
bottom of his shaft sculpted into stiff rings by sweat and the heavy flow of his
excitement. Something behind Draco’s balls tightened, and a wash of pleasure flooded
up into his stomach and down into his toes. Draco could stare at him endlessly and never
get bored. Harry was a palate of warmth and danger and virility, just waiting for someone
to come along and mix the colours in the right way to paint a masterpiece.

“You know what’s going to happen now,” said Draco. “Don’t you?” He slid the dressing
gown off his shoulders and let it pool at his feet, knowing how devastating for Harry the
image of his naked body would be. He took two steps forward and nudged Harry’s knee
with his foot. “Don’t be shy.”

When Harry looked up his eyes were fierce, and when he complied and spread himself
open there was an unbreakable challenge thrown out that said try and break me, but you
won’t because you can’t.

Draco didn’t doubt that it was true.

But he intended to try all the same. Not because he hated Harry, but because he loved
him more than was good for him, and something had to make that stop. Perhaps that
little push too far was all it needed.

Harry settled back on his elbows, his knees open wider than the width of his shoulders,
all mouth-watering, biteable flesh and glossy black hair that thickened then thinned in all
the right places to drag Draco’s eyes down his body to his arse. It was the sort of pose
that Harry admired, that made him speechless, when Draco did it. But Harry ... when
Harry did it, showed himself like that, it made him look shameless, like he was completely
at ease with himself even though Draco knew he wasn’t. He looked like a rent boy
working overtime for fun. It unsettled Draco. Until he worked out that’s what it was
supposed to do.

He dropped to his knees so close to Harry that their legs touched, and then he dropped
further still, palms flat on the floor to either side of Harry’s chest. He leaned close to
Harry’s face and whispered:

“I could eat you,” and he traced his nose along the angle of Harry’s jaw, “one bite at a
time.”

The flesh under Harry’s chin, a little towards his ear, was rough with bristles but fragrant
and tender. When Draco licked it he tasted salt and shaving soap, and he felt the flutter
of Harry’s pulse against his tongue.

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When he sank his teeth in it wasn’t a tease. In a moment he could feel the resistance of
one row of teeth against the other through the morsel of skin squeezed between. So
little effort, to bite through.

So hard to heal.

Harder yet to hide.

Harry winced at first, trying to close the space so that Draco would have to stop. But
Draco rolled Harry’s throat between his teeth, imagining the blush-turned-black bruise it
would leave behind, and it was moments until Harry gave up, and let Draco do his worst.

Harry’s knees clamped Draco’s hips in place so there was no escape. Draco mauled
Harry’s throat until he could taste blood through the skin. Then, satisfied, he let go.

Immediately Harry tried to kiss him, but intimacy and tender exchanges would offer a
distraction Draco couldn’t afford.

“I think you’ve been practicing this pose in front of the mirror,” he murmured against
Harry’s earlobe. “Whose cock did you dream of, Harry? Was it mine?”

“Don’t,” Harry replied, face turned away to the side.

“Are you still a virgin, Harry?” Draco persisted, the tone of his voice insinuating and cruel.
“No, no,” he continued, kissing the bloodshot ruin of Harry’s neck. “I bet you’ve had all
sorts up there, haven’t you?”

“No!” Harry gave a squeak of shock, and all it did was egg Draco on.

“Tell me, Harry,” Draco said, lifting one hand and running it down the slippery length of
Harry’s cock to his balls and past them, back further to the beginning of his crack. Harry
hissed when Draco’s fingertip reached his tight, tiny hole. “Hm,” Draco whispered, “I
think two, if not three, fingers. In front of the mirror so you could watch yourself too, you
kinky thing,” he continued, conscious of Harry’s squirming discomfort and the rhythmic
jerking of his erection. “I think your female Weasley told you to fuck her, to fill her up,
and all you could think was that you wished it was you.”

“Draco, don’t,” Harry said, voice wavering over his name, but his body screamed for
attention – any attention Draco cared to give.

Pressing into the dry sphincter with the tip of one finger, Draco held Harry’s entire body
on just one inch of bone. Harry’s body rose in time with the crooking of that finger joint,
head thrown back in shame and arousal as Draco felt the terrified tension of Harry’s hole
pulse and grow tighter by the second. Any moment he would be expelled, but Draco had
the taste for it, and he would not be denied.

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“It won’t take long for me to come inside here,” Draco said to the sound of Harry’s
groan. “It’s tighter than that filthy mouth of yours, anyway.”

When Draco pulled back to retrieve the lube from his robe pocket, Harry slid back to the
floor and hid his face with his hands. He didn’t say anything, just rubbed at his sockets
with enough force to draw tears.

Draco was generous with the lube and his attention, coating both hands so that when he
wanked Harry in time with his fingering, Harry’s body relaxed and his arms fell away,
revealing the shiny pinkness of Harry’s face, and his expression, torn between bliss and
discomfort.

Two fingers in and a twist of the wrist, and Harry’s hips were up off the floor, chasing
Draco’s hand for more, more, the pursed rim of his hole flaring out as he bore down and
invited in finger number three.

“Easy, tiger,” Draco murmured as he made a triangle of his slimy fingertips and slid them
in. “I’d like this hand back at some point.”

If Draco had been neglecting himself, his erection did a sterling job of springing to
attention the moment Harry’s body got into the rhythm and started to fight for more of
those fingers. The sight he made was incredible, spread out in a boneless daze except for
the thick length of his cock, a perfect partner for Draco’s own excitement.

Harry was soft inside. He expanded and contracted in ripples as Draco touched him, hole
stretching to welcome Draco’s knuckles, just kissing them hello.

It was no more than a swollen pink ruffle when Draco drew his fingers out and lined his
cock up instead, pulsing against nothing until Draco touched himself to it and it spasmed
hard. Draco felt it for a second before he bore down and pushed inside.

Inside.

Inside Harry, and oh hell he’d never done that before and why the fucking hell not
because it was glorious enough to go blind for, all fleshy pressure and the sight of
himself spearing Harry’s arse. Now it was Draco’s turn to close his eyes because if he
took another look at the white-tight stretch of Harry’s anus clinging to his prick he
thought he might come on the spot.

He dared a glance down when his balls patted against Harry’s bum, just to check that he
really really was a full cock’s length inside Harry Potter’s hole, and bloody hell he was,
and even getting sucked off wasn’t as tight as the grip Harry’s body had on him. He
rocked his pubic bone against Harry to deepen the push, and Harry punctuated each
motion with a deliberate, erotic huff of breath.

Draco took it slowly, as slowly as he could bear, only picking up the pace when Harry’s
thrusts grew faster than his own. He picked Harry’s legs up and lifted them, one in each

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hand, spreading Harry open like a Playwitch centrefold. Draco could see that it hurt, but
he could see that Harry still wanted it, and he could remember how much he had wanted
it when the roles were reversed. The glorious burn and the mindfuck of being penetrated
right there where it was so naughty, so frowned upon. Being fucked by Harry Potter. It
really wasn’t any wonder he’d wanted it, was it?

Impatience pushed the pace, and soon Draco was taking longer strokes and smacking
Harry’s body harder, grinding his hole into submission, demanding it slacken and take
what he gave.

When he hit full pace they were both groaning on every stroke, and Harry’s hand had
crept to take hold of his cock. Watching Harry do that to himself while Draco fucked him
was enough to put the final nail in the coffin of Draco’s composure.

“Pussy little Potter needs his arsehole filled with cock,” Draco taunted, hips jerking, prick
poking into the steadily yielding channel between Harry’s legs. “Kept this well hidden,
haven’t you?” Draco pressed. “Can’t quite come to terms with how much you want it, I
bet.” Harry made a strangled noise and threw an arm over his eyes, as though blocking
out the sight of Draco would silence him as well.

“You’re a slut for it, aren’t you? I bet you’d bend over in the changing room and let
anyone have you, wouldn’t you?”

Draco surged forward at Harry’s sob, feeling the slick glove of Harry’s hole stroke him
closer to losing his load, loving the tension in his thighs as he fucked Harry hard, hips
smacking into the backs of his thighs on every wet inward thrust. He tightened his grip so
that his thumbs burrowed between the tendons at the back of Harry’s knees and made
him cry out, and then he pushed harder until Harry’s purpling kneecaps bumped against
his shoulders under the force of the fucking.

“Getting loose now, aren’t you?” Draco wheezed. His lungs burned as his body ploughed
on. “Tell me,” he cajoled. “Go on.” He looked down into the gap between their bodies
and watched his cock disappear inside Harry without any resistance. Harry was wide
open, gaping and wet with lube, and he tugged at his erection like he was working
towards the last, best orgasm he would ever have.

“Don’t,” Harry pleaded behind the shield of his arm, face turned to the side so that Draco
could see his struggle in profile. “Stop,” he added more quietly, but his body showed no
sign of wanting to stop, fist beating his cock urgently, arse rocking back into Draco’s
insistent pounding.

“Tell me you love it, you bastard,” Draco persisted. “Tell me that big dirty hole needs my
cock to fill it.”

“Stop it!” Harry said, the tightness in his chest making the words sound like a sob. But he
wanked himself harder and spread his legs wider in spite of himself.

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“No, Harry,” Draco shouted. “No.” He was getting too close to do anything but come.

“I want it!” Harry bellowed in anger, vocal chords straining, his face screwed up in
distress before he deflated. “Fuck me,” he gasped. “Make me come.” And then, “Don’t
stop ...”

Harry bucked roughly when he came, shoulders lifting off the floor as his body tried to
close in on itself. Thick ropes of opaque jism arced over his belly and chest and he roared
like an animal. His hole squeezed hard enough to draw a groan from Draco, who rode out
the spasms until Harry had milked himself dry.

“Don’t stop,” Harry whispered. “Don’t stop.” His arm fell away from his eyes, but he
couldn’t look at Draco.

Look at me! Draco’s brain screamed. Don’t deny me! Seconds away from orgasm, he
dropped Harry’s legs and slid out of his arse, ignoring Harry’s groan of pain as his
cramped limbs hit the floor.

Cock in hand, Draco clambered over Harry’s useless body until he was poised over his
abdomen, directing the trajectory of his impending orgasm into Harry’s face. “Look at
me,” he hissed, the sticky slapping of his masturbation rising to a crescendo.

Harry’s eyes opened and he turned his head warily, just in time to flinch as the hot splash
of Draco’s come hit his cheek. Draco grunted as he emptied himself onto Harry’s face,
each heavy splatter landing like a slap. The shocked immobility of Harry’s expression
made it all the sweeter.

Suddenly it was over and they were two breathless men swimming in their own sweat
and stink. Draco ran his hands through his hair and sat back onto the congealing mess in
Harry’s lap. He shifted his hips in the seductive roll of a high-class hooker, smearing them
both until their flesh started to chafe. He leaned forward and ran his fingers over the
vivid bite mark on Harry’s neck one last time before lifting himself off and collecting his
dressing gown, covering his body primly as though they hadn’t just rutted like animals on
the hall floor.

It would have been perfect to walk away without one more backwards glance, but Draco
knew he didn’t have it in him not to gloat.

He turned back and surveyed the slimy wreckage of Harry Potter on the hall floor; his
face a dangerous shade of puce as he tried to compose himself.

“I didn’t know,” Draco said to no one in particular, before turning his gaze to Harry’s
face. “I didn’t know you were so ashamed of what you need. You think it’s weak; you
think I’m weak for taking it.” Harry looked as though he might cry. “Well I’m not. I’m
stronger than you.”

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Draco spent a moment tying the belt on his dressing gown before moving to the
bedroom door. He wouldn’t go home tonight, not to bear the knowing scrutiny of his
parents as he picked up the pieces of his collusion with this lie.

“Maybe this can replace the shame you feel about me, hm?” he said. “Imagine what
they’d all think if they knew their hero loves it hard and fast up his arse. Can’t have that,
can we?”

He turned at the door and took a long, last look at Harry. He watched Harry flinch as a
thick gob of spunk dripped off his hair and hit his earlobe, an unexpected stab of cold
amidst the burning shame.

“Goodbye, Harry.”

Draco didn’t look away as he closed the door.

A peaceful ten minutes passed in which Draco lay on the bed with a book, and Harry
made little noise getting dressed before letting himself out and locking the door behind
him.

When he was alone in their hideaway Draco dropped the book to the bed and stared at
the ceiling, righteous indignation preserving his sense of justification even as he felt the
razor slice of his loss.

Tomorrow he would tell his parents it was over. His father would say he told Draco so,
and his mother would say it was regrettable but probably for the best. He would eat food
that tasted of nothing for weeks and sleep badly before falling recklessly into the arms of
another man who would try to fuck him over.

Some rich tapestry ...

~oOo~

He was woken sharply by the rapping of a beak on glass. He scrambled out of bed fearing
the worst, and drew back the curtain to reveal the pre-dawn blackness and his mother’s
owl.

A neatly folded newspaper was delivered into his suspicious hands, although it was a
minute or more before his eyes adjusted enough to the harsh light to allow him to read.

He almost dropped the paper.

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POTTER GAY! the Prophet headline screamed. Boy Who Lived admits love for Malfoy heir
the by-line ran, words scrolling round and around a scared and elated looking portrait of
Harry himself, hair still stringy with Draco-knew-what and collar skewed enough to show
a perfect ring of teeth marks on his neck.

Draco read the story a dozen times before the other owls started arriving, one from
Pansy and one from Blaise, and one from Lovegood inexplicably wrapped in foil and
scattered with wild rice. He hoped it was wild rice at any rate, and not some form of
dormant burrowing parasite.

It was full daylight by the time the letter from his father arrived:

About time.

He showered and dressed and gave himself the day off work to bask in the glory of
knowing that every time someone looked at his mouth they’d know exactly whose cock
had been inside it. Yes, I am fucking Harry Potter, you have a nice day too.

He felt twice as tall as he strode to the Apparation point two streets away from their now
redundant hidey-hole and prepared to face his parents. Yes, a nice plate of oak smoked
salmon and scrambled egg for breakfast, he thought, while he decided how long to keep
Harry waiting for his forgiveness.

He was whistling when he turned on his heel and felt the pull in his navel.

Now the world knew not to mess with Draco Malfoy. But better than that, Harry Potter
knew it too.

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