Summary: Draco is spending much of sixth year in the Room of Requirement. But sometimes the Room has a different idea of what he requires than he does.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): Bondage, blood play/knife play.
Deathly Hallows compliant? Canon-compliant if you squint.
Word Count: 5300
Author's Notes: Thanks to C. for the beta and for listening to me whine about the plot bunny that didn't work out. That chat with you spawned this. Happy Holidays, ennyousai! Of your three requests "blood play, culinary seduction, reincarnation" on each attempt I could get any two of the three, but not all three, darnit. So, I went for the first two, bearing in mind your thought that you "like dark fics with hopeful endings."
Draco hurried toward the seemingly empty stretch of corridor he knew was waiting for him. His hope. His bane. But what was Quidditch, or even his standing within his own house, if his mother died at the hands of the Dark Lord? What was disgrace in front of tossers like Theodore Nott when compared with the utter debasement of the Malfoy name, or the possible ending of their line?
Nothing. Nothing at all. He didn't even have Crabbe and Goyle with him tonight and it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but his task. He performed the requisite ritual to bring out the door to the Room of Hidden Things, and went quickly through it.
He cursed inwardly as the sparse space before him was clearly not the right incarnation of the Room. Sometimes the Room had its own ideas of what he "required." He assumed that the fact that it didn't usually come up with anything helpful meant that he was, in fact, beyond help. Sometimes it tried to give him food, but it couldn't give him an appetite...
His mouth fell open in shock as he finally realised what was before him. Some food, yes, what looked like one perfect strawberry sitting in the exact centre of a silver platter. The platter had some writing and inscriptions on it, but Draco couldn't be bothered to look at them just now, not when the more compelling sight was of one very naked, very male person, blindfolded and on his knees next to the table. His hands were behind his back; Draco tiptoed around behind him to see that they were bound that way with a dark twist of rope.
He didn't know what the Room was playing at but that really looked like Potter. Not that Draco knew what he looked like in the nude, but the black hair that stuck up every which way, and the curve of that lip...
"I can hear you," Potter said. "I can hear your robes moving."
Draco held his breath then. What was this all about? For a moment he thought Potter had found him and the Room had trussed him like this to protect Draco's secret. But no, that wasn't how the Room worked. If Potter had come here, asking for what he needed, and then Draco had come along...
He shook his head. He still didn't know how the Room worked with more than one person's needs or desires in play, and he didn't have time to find out, which was why he usually kept Crabbe and Goyle on watch, to make sure crazy Trelawney or someone didn't come in while he was working on the cabinet.
He saw Potter swallow and his chest hitch with a shallow breath. Fear? Anticipation?
He drew nearer, his robes moving the air, and bit his lip as Potter actually shivered. It might not really be Potter. It might be some illusion of the Room's...
Still, if it was Potter, he couldn't let him know who stood before him, suppressing a smirk. Perhaps Potter had intended to meet someone else. Perhaps the Weasley girl was more imaginative than Draco gave her credit for. Maybe she'd learnt some new things at Slughorn's parties? Draco'd always suspected he was a pedophile...
He picked up the strawberry. It was firm and cold and wet, as if just picked on a dewy morning on a mountainside. He looked down at Potter, kneeling there, blind and trusting.
Draco brushed the berry across Potter's lower lip and was gratified as Potter struggled at first not to pull away, then let out a warm breath as he realised nothing bad was happening to him.
Nothing bad at all. Draco traced all the way around Potter's lips with the berry until they must have been tingling, and before he knew it, he had coaxed the tip of Potter's tongue to dart forward. He nearly moaned when Potter moaned, as he touched the fruit and must have caught a taste. Draco drew the fruit upward then, ever so gradually, until Potter was standing on his knees, neck reaching upward to its limit. Why had he never noticed the grace in Potter's neck before? Potter was usually hunched over, as if trying to escape the notice of those around him these days. Only when he was on a broom did he...
Draco shook himself. You can't be having those thoughts about Potter, of all people... But at that moment, Potter surged up just another half inch and caught the berry in his mouth and bit down.
He made another sound, a sound Draco associated with whores, as sweet red juice ran from the corner of his mouth. Draco looked down to see that Potter's cock had risen at some point during the teasing, and the head itself looked as ripe and sweet as a berry.
Draco's own trousers had grown uncomfortably tight. The opportunity seemed irresistible. How could he not? It can't really be Potter, he thought. Can't be. This is all the Room's reflection of my subconscious or something. My need to dominate Potter at last.
He never took his eyes off Potter's blindfolded face as he unbuckled his belt, the sound of the metal clacking unmistakably. Potter's lips seemed to part another fraction, as if he knew what was coming. Draco's cock sprang free as he pushed his waistband down under his balls and gripped the base.
He started with the same tease, rubbing the head back and forth across Potter's lower lip, then in a circle all around his mouth, painting his lips until they glistened with precome, and coaxing out that tongue.
Potter's groan as he took the first lick made Draco go weak in the knees. The next thing he knew, Potter had swallowed him to the root and was working him quickly toward climax. His tongue was a wicked thing against the underside of Draco's cock; he'd never felt the like. His own breathing became harsh in his ears, it wouldn't be long before he spilt straight down Potter's throat.
Just the thought of that was enough to send him over the edge, gripping the back of Potter's head to keep him there as he thrust once, twice, thrice, emptying himself in an orgasm the likes of which he'd never before had. He found himself a few blissful, blank moments later on his knees with one hand on Potter's shoulder, his forehead against Potter's forehead. Merlin's saggy left testicle that was... The first time he'd ever come while touching--being touched by--another person. Being sucked by. God.
And Potter didn't know it was him. Draco's other hand wrapped around Potter's still-hard cock, then. Whom could he have been meeting? Not the Weasley girl--he hadn't seemed surprised to find a cock in his mouth. Nor had he been upset by it, if the raging erection he still sported was any indication. Her older brother, perhaps? Seemed unlikely.
Whoever Potter had thought he would meet, though, undoubtedly he expected them to reciprocate. Draco couldn't let him know he'd been here, or Potter might catch on to where Draco was going and what he was doing, and that was just not on.
It took only ten good strokes of Potter's cock before he came with a cry that echoed as if the Room were much larger than it appeared. Draco let him slump against him for a few long seconds while Potter caught his breath, and then he pulled back, performed a fast but thorough Cleaning Charm, and beat a hasty retreat before the Room could release Potter from his bonds.
The next morning at breakfast, Potter looked none the worse for wear, and Draco assumed either the Room had let him go after that, or that the bonds were not tied as tightly as they appeared. He knew Potter couldn't Summon his wand if his performance back on the train was any indication, so the Room must have... Draco suddenly realised hadn't even thought to look for Potter's wand.
You stupid fool, he thought. Maybe the Room had been trying to help him after all, by giving him his true ticket to freedom, Harry Potter helpless and ready to be delivered to the Dark Lord?
But no. If Draco wasn't there, the Room wouldn't "think ahead" to what Draco would want. It would reflect the desires of whoever was there. Apparently Potter had needed... something.
Time went by. Each time Draco returned to the room to work on the cabinet, he wondered if he would get a surprise, but no, time and again he was able to return to the Room of Hidden Things without trouble.
The trouble was the cabinet. Which was still not repaired. Draco was beginning to get desperate.
Potter, the great fool, nearly brought an end to it all one day when he rent Draco from hip to jaw with some kind of hideous slashing hex. As he lay in one of Madam Pomfrey's beds, bandaged and lightly sedated, Draco wondered if Potter had known all along and had merely been waiting for the chance to take revenge?
Stupid. Potter was on one side of the war and Draco was on the other, even if Potter seemed to be the only one at school who acknowledged it. It was as simple as that. Everyone else was worrying about their marks and the House Cup. We're the only two who see each other for what we are. Well, we two, and Snape. Potter trying to kill him had nothing to do with what had happened in the Room that one time. Draco was starting to wonder if the whole thing hadn't been a dream.
But the next time he went to the Room, he was shocked to find Potter there again. Bound and blindfolded as before. Naked and helpless.
Draco sucked in a breath when he saw what awaited him on the table. No fruit, no platter. Just a dagger that looked to be made of pure silver, with a wicked point.
This time, Potter was already hard, a bead of precome shining like a jewel at the end of his cock.
Draco took up the dagger and watched Potter's chest heaving with excitement.
Could he really kill him right here? Did Potter have a deathwish? It didn't seem likely.
Draco slipped his robes from his shoulders and then rubbed his thumb over Potter's red lower lip. There was a softening of Potter's posture, a degree of surrender, that sent Draco's heart racing.
He pulled back his thumb and returned with the pommel of the dagger, smooth and cold and metal. Potter whimpered slightly, but licked at it as if it were the berry. Or something else. Draco nearly said something to him like "very good," but caught himself before he could give his identity away. He petted his hair instead, and found Potter seemed to suck harder.
The bead of precome had grown. Draco pulled the dagger back, knelt and bent down until he could lick that salty jewel. He wasn't sure which of them made the whorish noise that time.
He sat up and touched the point of the dagger to Potter's chest.
Potter whimpered but did not flinch. Draco found himself counting his heartbeats.
"Go on," Potter whispered. "Go on. I must deserve it or the Room wouldn't..." But then he could say no more, drawing in a pained breath as Draco dragged the point across his pectoral.
It left a gratifyingly bright red mark, though it was not a true cut. More of a scratch, an angry scratch. He pressed the point again and made a matching scratch on the other side, this time eliciting a more pained sound from Potter.
Potter panted as he fought the pain, and Draco noted with interest that Potter's erection did not flag.
Nor did Draco's.
"Cut me," Potter whispered, when Draco hesitated, trying to decide what to do next. And so Draco obliged, this time using more of the razor thin edge to leave a brief, bleeding line on Potter's chest. He gathered from the sounds Potter made now that actually being cut was not as painful as being scratched. In fact, it sounded rather like it was somehow pleasurable. The blood ran in trickles, bright and fascinating. Draco worked his way down the ladder of his ribs, and almost as an afterthought took Potter's cock in hand as he began to make a series of cuts in Potter's inner thigh. One stroke for each cut.
Halfway up the other leg, Potter came with a strangled cry, convulsing as he came so hard that he ended up in Draco's arms, the dagger on the floor a few feet away as Draco, unable to stop his body's response, thrust hard against the warm body, coming with a great shudder inside his trousers. He must have been delirious when he reflexively pressed a kiss against Potter's sweat-damp temple before he struggled to his feet.
He nearly ran all the way to the dungeons, his robes hiding the bloodstains on his clothes and the damp spot at his crotch until he could get cleaned up properly. What the hell had he just done? Had he just... forgiven Potter for nearly killing him? And did it count if Potter didn't even know it was him?
Are you sure he doesn't know? He's been obsessed with you all year... And Draco had been obsessed right back. No more so after that first encounter with the berry than before, right?
The Room. The answers had to be in the Room. He resolved that tomorrow, when he got stumped with the cabinet, he'd try to find a way to get the answers from the Room itself.
As it turned out, he had to wait until late, and he snuck out alone, his prefect badge glinting in the light of the few lit sconces he passed. He arrived uneventfully at the stretch of wall.
But as he walked back and forth, he couldn't focus on a single question. Why Potter? What did he want? Was Draco ever going to fix the cabinet, or was it a doomed mission from the start? And what about Dumbledore? Draco was out of ideas for how to attack the old man. Was there any way out of the trap he was in?
The door appeared. Draco found his heart was pounding. What would he find on the other side this time?
He pulled it open. No one was there. Just a small room. At the centre, a small table. Draco closed the door behind him and went to examine what was on the table.
"No," he said, eyes widening as he saw what lay there. A long, soft-looking length of cloth and a small coil of rope. He swallowed as he began to tremble. "I can't. I'm not... I'm not brave like him."
The sound of a creak made him lift his head, and he saw the door to a wardrobe he hadn't noticed before opening. The empty hook and hangers were clearly made for his clothes.
The drawer for his shoes popped open, and a very small, thin drawer made for a wand.
He bowed his head. "If you're really sure th-this is what I n-need..."
His eyes were fixed on the spot on the floor where Harry had knelt. A silken pillow, the edges embellished with fine glass beads, appeared. Draco let out a breath and began to disrobe.
When his clothes and wand were stowed he returned to the table and sank slowly to his knees on the pillow. Now, how did the...?
No sooner had he reached for the cloth and rope than they affixed themselves to him, the cloth plunging him into darkness and the rope snaking his wrists together so quickly he cried out in surprise. But the terror subsided after a few minutes, and he concentrated on taking deep breaths. Maybe this was all there was. Maybe it was all the way the Room tried to tell him that he and Potter weren't so different after all? That thought fit surprisingly well and Draco began to hyperventilate all over again.
He went stock still at the sound of the door opening. Oh God, oh God, who it it? What if it's...?
The door slammed and he heard a stuttered "M-Malfoy?"
It seemed Potter hadn't known who his seducer was, after all. Draco merely bowed his head, certain that his cheeks were flaming red.
He heard Potter's footsteps as he stalked closer--to the table, it sounded like--then a sharp in-drawn breath.
What was there? What did the Room give Potter? Draco could feel himself shaking, but he couldn't even think of what to say if he wanted to beg for mercy. He couldn't even think of the first word, his mind was so blank with fear.
He could hear Potter moving, this way and that, but he couldn't even wonder what he was doing. Then his voice again. "I guess that means I have to go through with it, huh."
Draco flinched away from something warm near his face, then caught a sob as he realised it was only Potter's empty hand, come to cup his cheek.
"Don't be afraid," Potter said, voice as gentle and warm as his touch.
At that, Draco burst into tears. "Th-that's a stupid thing to say!" he spat angrily. "Y-you're bloody terrifying!" But he didn't pull away from the hand on his cheek.
"I know. I'm sorry. I... I didn't think. I didn't mean to... hex you like that the other day."
God, his voice sounded so naïve. So sincere.
"But you did," Draco said. "You... you may as well get on with it. That's what this is, isn't it? My execution? The mercy-killing before the Dark Lord does it himself?"
He felt Potter's other hand come to rest on his other cheek, his breath warm against Draco's face as he spoke from close. "I'm not here to kill you."
Draco's heart was hammering so hard he could barely hear the words, but he could hear the tone. His fear lessened only slightly, though. "What's on the table?"
But Potter only hushed him, brushing his lips over Draco's gently, back and forth, until he had coaxed Draco's tongue up to touch his own.
Oh God. That was definitely Draco making that whorish sound, as he parted his lips more and let Potter further into his mouth, the kiss deepening and making him short of breath in a far more pleasurable way. Terror was morphing into something else now, beginning to feel less like fear and more like thrill. Potter released his mouth. "P-Potter." Draco panted. "What's on the table? Is there a berry?"
One hand disappeared, then returned to cup his jaw, tilting his head up into the kiss this time. His lips met something cold, then an intense sweetness shocked him as he bit down on the fruit, followed by an even more intense heat, Potter's lips and tongue chasing the sweetness for himself. Draco strained against the rope, wanting to pull him down closer, wanting to bury his fingers in Potter's hair, but he could not undo the restraints.
Potter's mouth searched the hidden hollow under his hair, behind his ear, and Draco felt himself melting. The arms that circled him were shirtless. Draco gasped as he felt the blazing heat of an erection brush his thigh. "What else is on the table?" he demanded. "Is there a dagger?"
"Hush." Potter nuzzled at his ear, his voice soft. "I'll never cut you again. Never." His mouth traced the thin line left by the hex.
"Don't say that," Draco said. "We're still on opposite sides."
"I know." Potter tipped him back until Draco was lying on his side with his head on the pillow. Draco curled up his legs, but found Potter's fingers brushing at his cock encouraged him to open his posture.
"What are you going to do to me?" Draco asked, imagining all manner of possible things that could be on that table.
Potter was silent a long moment, then Draco felt him touching his hair, then curling behind him spoonwise, almost protectively. "You gave me what I needed. I'm just going to do the same."
He was trying to be reassuring, but Draco's heart kicked in his chest like a trapped thestral. What he needed was for his parents to be safe. He needed a world without the Dark Lord. Maybe that meant he needed Potter to be the bloody Chosen One. What he didn't need, though, was all his repressed wants and desires coming loose like a pack of demons from Pandora's Box. Come apart now, and it could all be over...
"I need you to trust me, Draco." The words were soft, but Draco felt the dual shocks of hearing his given name from Potter's lips and the brush of something cold and wet against his arsehole. He clenched and caught one of Potter's fingers, slick with something.
"Trust you?" He could barely breathe. A soft kiss landed on his shoulder and he forced himself to take a deep breath.
"I trusted you with the dagger. Can you trust me... with this?" Potter rubbed his cock against Draco's arsecheek. His voice was warm and close in Draco's ear. "The only thing on the table after the berry was a pot of lube."
Draco pressed back against him, unable to argue against the twitching of his own cock and the conspiracy of his subconscious with the Room itself. "Go on, then," he said, though he sounded just as scared as he felt. "It's... it's my first time."
That shouldn't have been reassuring, but somehow it was. Draco gasped as one of Potter's fingers slid into him. Oh, that felt far better than it had any right to. Potter slid it in and out, as if he were fucking him with it--well, but that made sense, didn't it? That was what they were about to do. He clenched tighter at the thought and Potter's finger set off a bloom of heat inside him. God...
Then for a moment he was empty and he whimpered at the loss, but what returned was larger, two fingers, stretching him now, in and out, and Draco at last began to relax.
A soft word. "Up." Hands helping him to shift so that now he lay his chest across the pillow? No, it was higher than that. Something else the Room provided, a tuffet or ottoman. He could feel the pillow under his knees and the dripping of something wet down the inside of his thigh as his arse was thrust in the air.
He could hear Potter slicking himself, the sound obscene and close, but Draco's whimper was more because he could not see or touch it himself than any distress over what was about to happen.
Potter covered his body with his own first, warm and real. "Draco."
Draco wetted his lips with his tongue. "H-Harry."
And then Harry was pushing into him, slowly, so slowly... then suddenly passed the point of resistance and buried himself like an arrow in a target. Draco held his breath, waiting for the pain to pass and desperately hoping it wouldn't feel like that the entire time.
Harry just held him, both of them trembling, until Draco felt a miraculous loosening. It was as if he couldn't hold so tightly any longer, and Harry moved deeper into him. Oh, there... He touched that spot and Draco saw stars. "Again," he heard himself say.
His answer was a kiss on the back of his arm, and then Harry drawing back and pushing forward once more. Oh, yes. That was... much better. "Fuck me."
"It's what I need, isn't it?"
There was no more arguing after that, just Harry moving inside him, tearing away every shred of fear or doubt Draco had, wearing away the masks, the questions, the airs. In the end it was just Draco there, more naked than he'd ever been in his life, surrendering to need. When he started to come he cried out in surprise; he hadn't even known it was possible to come without touching his cock. The orgasm tore through him, making explosions of colour behind the blindfold, and then leaving him limp, Harry still buried deep in him.
They were both panting. Harry's cock felt long and thick as he slowly withdrew.
"Wait." Draco tried to raise his head. "Did you come?"
"We're not finished until you come."
He could almost hear Harry smiling. "You're very bossy for someone who's tied up."
"Finish in me, Potter, or we're not finished here."
"Harry." Draco slumped again. "Please, Harry?"
"Gladly." The blunt head touched him again and slipped in easily this time. Harry fucked him earnestly, and it was not long before his rhythm stuttered and he slammed hard into Draco, coming with a loud groan. "Better?"
"Better," Draco said. Harry's soft cock slipped free.
Harry made a noise of surprise.
"What is it?" Draco asked, as he felt Harry move away from him.
"Um. There are three new bottles on the table. They look like potions."
"Are they labelled?"
"Yes. This one's Senor Salvador's Soothing Salve..."
Draco snorted. "For my tender arse, no doubt."
He felt Harry's hand on his shoulder. "Does it hurt? I didn't... I didn't mean to do it so hard at the end there..."
Draco took a deep breath. "I'll be sore, I think."
"Well, that's obviously why this is here." There was a moment when Harry fussed with getting it open, and then Draco felt something cool and soothing against his arsehole. Harry slipped a finger in and he gasped softly with remembered pleasure, the experience firmly imprinted onto his body, it seemed. Harry made sure he was well-coated inside with the stuff and Draco half-wished he could fuck him again right now.
After all, surely there wouldn't be another time.
"What are the other two," he asked, as Harry finished with the salve and moved away again.
"They're both the same," Harry said. "One for you and one for me? The label says 'Draught of Lethe.'"
Draco went cold. "Are you sure?"
"That's what it says. It's very easy to read. Why, what is it?"
"It's a potion of forgetting. The Room is telling us that now we have to forget all this." He squeezed his eyes tight behind the blindfold. "After all, we're still on opposite sides."
Harry was silent for a long moment. "But... I thought this was all..."
"The Draught of Lethe doesn't work like a Memory Charm. It fades a memory to more like a dream. You keep what you've learned, you keep... some residual feeling, but like a dream after you wake up, you don't remember the details." His heart had started to hammer again. It made sense. It made perfect sense. They wouldn't remember enough of what happened to betray themselves, but they would remember that they trusted each other. Draco wouldn't try to get revenge for the attack in the bathroom. He wouldn't do anything to stop The Chosen One.
He felt Harry's fingers trying to undo the ropes. "Leave them," Draco said. "I think the Room will let me go once you're gone."
"All right." Harry sounded miserable. "I'll take the potion after I get outside, though. If I take it in here, it'll lead to us wondering what the hell we're doing here, and who knows what might happen then."
He heard the sound of cloth rustling, Harry putting his robes back on. Then the sound of his footsteps retreating.
"Um..." Draco's heart sped up as he heard him come closer again. "Kiss me one last time?"
"All right." He sounded less miserable this time. He helped Draco upright, back to a kneeling position, and cradled his face in both hands. The kiss was gentle, each of them still supple from spent passion.
And then Harry drew away. There was nothing more to say. Draco heard the door close.
A few moments later, the ropes released and the blindfold fell away. He sat up and rubbed at his arms, which had grown stiff from being held back like that. There on the table sat the vial of the Draught of Lethe.
He went to the wardrobe and got dressed first. A Cleaning Charm everywhere but there since that would remove the salve.
When he turned back to the table his breath caught. Everything else had vanished, and next to the bottle there was something shiny. A golden key.
He snatched it up, seized with certainty that the key would fit the keyhole on that blasted cabinet. "And you couldn't have given me this earlier?" he said to the Room.
But of course not. Because something apparently had had to happen between him and Potter beforehand. Draco took the bottle in hand and slipped it into his robe pocket. He'd take it later. First, he had a cabinet to fix.
* * *
Epilogue: Two Years Later
He never did take the draught. Instead he kept it, taunted himself with it whenever something horrible happened. After the Dark Lord made him watch the snake eat Burbage, he nearly took it then, but didn't. After the first time he made a man shit himself with Cruciatus, he nearly took it then. But no one memory was truly unendurable. And the memory he hoarded now, deep in a secret chest in his mind, only taking it out to look at the treasure when he was absolutely sure it was safe, was of Harry coming back to kiss him once more.
When the Snatchers had brought Harry to the Manor over that horrible Easter, Draco had nearly lost his grip. He could barely look at him for fear that the deep-buried memory might burst forth for all to see, somehow. As if he might lose control and kiss him right in front of everyone. But he'd managed to keep it together long enough for Harry to escape.
When Harry had saved him from the Fiendfyre, he'd wondered if Harry remembered. But there had been no chance to talk, no chance to probe and find out.
Draco sat at his writing desk, contemplating the bottle. Well.
He took out a quill and penned a quick note. Best not to make it seem as if he had agonized over the wording all day. He would know soon enough. He did not address the note, nor sign his name. It read simply:
He attached the vial and sent it off.
Two days later the answer came.
Two vials and a note.
I never took mine either. Dinner tonight at 8 in Godric's Hollow?