hd_hols (hd_hols) wrote in hd_holidays,

Happy H/D Holidays, lizardspots!

Author: furiosity
Recipient: lizardspots
Title: Bad Company
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco; Harry/Ginny; Draco/unnamed male character (implied)
Summary: Throughout the war's duration, Harry had imagined a lot of things about its end. Just not this.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 9700 words
Author's Notes: Many thanks to my beta, who must remain nameless for the time being.

Bad Company

Somewhere in the near future, the war was ending.

Harry remembered one thing about the hunt for Voldemort's Horcruxes: it had taken a very long time. There had been danger -- perhaps not at every turn, but nevertheless it had been real. What remained of his sketchy memories was fading rapidly. People often told Harry that he was making history, that he would be remembered forever, that people would write books about him and his friends. He had no particular wish to be remembered; he only wished he could remember things properly. But most of the time, everything happened so fast and Harry had to think so quickly that he did not have time to remember. Maybe he would read about the details in a book one day.

That day was still at an undefined point in the future, though, and Harry forced his thoughts to the present. He stood outside the Shrieking Shack, where he was to meet with Snape's "liaison" for the Order. Snape was deep undercover with Voldemort's Death Eaters, and since the incident with the switched lockets, Voldemort did not let Snape out of his sight. Thus the need for a liaison, who represented Snape as though he himself were Snape. Harry wondered why Snape had been so insistent about that last point.

He got his answer when the door opened, revealing Draco Malfoy's pale face and rail-thin frame.

"You," said Harry with distaste. Why Snape had allowed the slimy bastard to join their side, he would never know.

Malfoy sneered. "Whom were you expecting? The Minister? Of course, as far as you're concerned, I might as well be the Minister."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Harry, frowning. He was beginning to get a very bad feeling about this, and only half of that had to do with Malfoy, of all people, standing in front of him.

Malfoy walked from the doorway, motioning for Harry to follow him. "From what I understand, Professor Snape's got seniority amongst your Phoenix people. Since I am to be his substitute for the time being, that makes you accountable to me."

Harry let the door click shut and snorted. "You're such a twit, Malfoy. You can't seriously think that Snape expects me to listen to you. You're not even part of the Order. Besides, you're not really on our side--"

"Professor Snape is quite convinced that I am, and that's all you need to know, Potty."

"Snape isn't here, though, and I couldn't care less about what he's convinced of," said Harry. He had spent fewer than five minutes in Malfoy's company and he was already irritated to the point of wanting to strangle the bastard. "If he means for me to listen to you, he can bloody well forget it."

Malfoy smirked. "Professor Snape had foreseen this, of course." With a lightning-quick movement, he reached into his pocket and produced a small, spherical object that pulsed bright blue for an instant. A Mind-link device.

Harry felt a presence settled in the back of his mind, a disembodied, whispering voice. Potter, do not be a fool. I have my reasons for appointing Draco to the task. You risk everything by letting a childhood grudge interfere with our mission."

It's not a childhood grudge, Harry told the voice -- Snape's voice, but oddly distant, as though coming from the bottom of a rocky canyon. His dad's a Death Eater, and he tried to kill Dumbledore!

I'm a Death Eater, too, and I did kill Dumbledore.

Harry had nothing to say to that. Snape's crimes had been committed because of a promise he had made to their old Headmaster. It didn't make the loss of Dumbledore any easier to bear, but at least the murder had not been a betrayal. Malfoy wasn't Snape. So what you're saying is that I have to act as though Malfoy is you?


Why can't you just use the Mind-link?

The threat of discovery is too great. The voice faded from Harry's mind, and he was alone with Malfoy once more.

"Convinced now?" asked Malfoy, who had in the meantime dropped the Mind-link device carelessly back into his pocket.

Harry said nothing, just stared at Malfoy, attempting to look as calm as possible. He was anything but calm. For as long as he could remember, he had disliked Malfoy, and now Malfoy stood there, looking as smug as ever and, for the first time in their lives, he had the upper hand. That made Harry angrier than the rest of Malfoy's numerous vices.

"Good," said Malfoy. "Now that that unpleasant business is out of the way, fetch me some tea."

Harry raised both eyebrows and crossed his arms. "What?" Surely he had to be joking.

"I said tea. You don't expect me to relay Professor Snape's instructions with my throat so parched, do you?" Malfoy gave an affected little eye-roll and smirked.

"You're out of your fucking mind," said Harry. His blood was slowly coming to a boil. If Malfoy thought he could order Harry around, he would need to think again. "Re-activate the Mind-link."

"I don't think so," said Malfoy coldly. "You will do as I say, or Professor Snape will find out that you refused to co-operate even after your little chat with him."

Harry took a threatening step towards him, but Malfoy whipped his wand out of his other pocket and aimed it at Harry's chest. "You're so predictable, Potter."

Harry considered Malfoy's stance and came to the conclusion that if he were to go for his own wand, Malfoy would have time enough to hex him at least once, and there was no telling what sort of hex Malfoy would use. He was angry enough to risk it, but seeing Malfoy's smirking face reminded him of how pale Hermione had been after they'd brought her back to Grimmauld Place after last year's ambush. Malfoy had been a part of that; he'd been ordered to restrain her until Bellatrix got there. Had Kingsley and Tonks not managed to free themselves, there was no telling what might have happened. That Malfoy had had no choice but to follow orders mattered very little to Harry; he didn't give a shit if Malfoy lived or died. In fact, it would have been easier for everyone if Malfoy had the good sense to get himself killed.

"H-h-he said she was going to drain my blood and feed it to pigs," Hermione had choked. Harry still suspected that he'd used the Cruciatus Curse on her, but Hermione denied it.

Cold rage seething in his gut, Harry looked around the shabby interior, locating a tea set atop a cupboard on his left. As he brewed the tea, he deliberately kept his back turned -- this was a dangerous move, with someone so underhanded, but Harry hoped it would lull Malfoy into a false sense of security.

Sure enough, as he turned around, mug in hand, he saw Malfoy tuck his wand back into his pocket. There was a triumphant smirk on his face as Harry approached.

"There's a good boy," commented Malfoy just before Harry stopped in front of him. His words turned into a startled shriek as Harry threw the scalding tea into his face. Malfoy's wand clattered to the floor as he raised both hands to his eyes, howling in pain. "You fucking--"

Harry had him by the throat, pushing him backwards against the nearest wall. "There's more where that came from, Malfoy. Don't fuck with me. This isn't Hogwarts; we're not playing Quidditch any more. This is war; life or death. So make your own fucking tea and tell me what you know." He was shaking. He didn't know whom he hated more at that moment: Malfoy or Voldemort.

"Fuck you," spluttered Malfoy. "You maimed me! I'm not telling you anything, you--"

Harry eased up on his throat a little, and used his knee to keep Malfoy pressed firmly against the wall. "Then go back to Snape and tell him that, and be sure to mention the circumstances."

Malfoy's fist connected with Harry's side, but the blow was ineffectual; it hurt, but not enough to slow him down. He tried to seize Malfoy's throat again, but Malfoy wriggled out of his grasp and tried to heave him physically away, using his shoulder, putting all his strength into the movement. With a grunt, Harry stepped backwards, seized Malfoy round the midsection, and slammed him down to the ground. Malfoy flailed his arms as Harry straddled him, but Harry grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the floor behind Malfoy's head.

An ugly, dark pink blotch decorated most of Malfoy's face, and there was no hint of a sneer, for once. He looked terrified, but there was no sympathy in Harry, not for Malfoy. He'd brought this on himself. Harry leaned down close to Malfoy's ear. "Snape might be unhappy with you for failing to be a good little liaison, but everyone will be unhappy with you for trying to hurt Harry Potter while pretending to be on his side. Do you know what the Order of the Phoenix does to traitors?"

Actually, the Order of the Phoenix didn't have any specific measures for dealing with traitors, but Malfoy couldn't know that. And Harry felt capable of murdering this man right now, for what his aunt had done to Sirius, for Dumbledore's death, for Hermione's pain.

"I wasn't trying to hurt you," said Malfoy with a whimper, still breathing heavily. "I just told you to fetch me tea. You're the one who attacked me--"

"Shut up," growled Harry, and strengthened his grip on Malfoy's wrists. "You think this is a game, do you?" Heat seemed to radiate from Malfoy's burned face, and Harry sat back on top of him. Malfoy was taking great gulps of air through his mouth, as though deliberately trying to hyperventilate. His eyes were red-rimmed, but still Harry felt no sympathy.

He became aware of something hard digging into his arse cheek and shifted irritably. Malfoy had bones in the oddest places. Malfoy's mouth snapped shut, and his eyes bulged even more. Harry shifted again, and as Malfoy drew a sharp breath through his nose, he realised it wasn't a bone he was sitting on.

They stared at each other; Harry with growing apprehension and mild disgust, and Malfoy with ever-increasing terror in his eyes.

"I didn't realise you liked me so much," said Harry finally. He hadn't moved, and he still felt Malfoy's erection pressing against him.

"I can't fucking stand you," spat Malfoy, and lurched. Harry's grip on his wrists had slackened, and Malfoy was able to free his arms. His whole face was dark pink now, so that the burn wasn't even visible. Malfoy tried to push Harry off as he sat up, but Harry merely grabbed his arms again, grinning. He would never let Malfoy live this down.

"So you're a fairy-boy," he said in a conversational tone. "No wonder Parkinson always acts like she needs a good, hard shag."

"I'm going to kill you," said Malfoy weakly.

"At least you're not stupid enough to deny it," replied Harry. He released Malfoy's arms and got off him, staring down at his dirt-stained jeans. In the next instant, Malfoy sprang up and out as though to hit him. Harry reacted quickly, propelling him against the nearest wall. "You don't really hope to kill me, do you?"

Malfoy's gaze was pure loathing, his mouth a tight line. Harry wondered how the hell he was going to get out of here if he kept having to restrain Malfoy. Then he had an idea. "I'm going to tie you up," he informed Malfoy. "I need to be going, and I'll never leave if you keep trying to attack me. I might even send someone along to untie you, later."

"Fuck you," spat Malfoy, as invisible bonds wrapped around his legs and wrists, leaving him standing helpless with his back to the wall.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like it the other way around?" asked Harry with a mocking laugh. He put his hand on Malfoy's crotch and squeezed. "I'm afraid I'm not into your sort at all." He squeezed Malfoy's still-hard cock again, hoping to humiliate him even further.

Malfoy made a low sound in his throat, an intimate sound, incongruous with the situation. It made warmth pool in Harry's lower belly, and he released Malfoy's cock as though stung. He stared at Malfoy, whose eyes were shut, his face averted. Harry's mouth went dry. He could still feel the heat in his palm. Heart pounding, he kept staring at Malfoy, willing him to make that sound again. He had never heard anyone moan like that before; what little alone time he and Ginny got was usually spent trying to be as quiet as possible, for Mrs Weasley was never far away.

And here was Malfoy, bound and at Harry's mercy, yet he'd made that pretty sound as Harry touched him. Thinking about it sent a fresh burst of excitement into Harry's groin, and somehow it did not matter that Malfoy wasn't a girl. In fact, it was better: it wasn't really cheating, that way.

Instead of walking away, Harry stepped closer to Malfoy and hitched up his robes. Malfoy's erection was outlined starkly in his white underpants. Harry pressed his fingers to it, watching Malfoy's eyes widen with fear. He tugged Malfoy's underpants down, enough to expose his cock, thick and long, nestled in a thatch of light curls. He wanted to touch it, wanted to make Malfoy moan again. As he curled his fingers around Malfoy's cock, there was another surge of heat in his belly; it made him want to rub up against Malfoy's naked thigh.

"What are you doing?" asked Malfoy, voice shaking, as Harry unfastened his jeans and pulled his own cock out.

"What does it look like?" muttered Harry without looking at him. He stepped closer, so that his cock lay snugly against Malfoy's leg, and closed his hand around Malfoy's cock once more.

"Let me go," said Malfoy weakly. His words were cut off with a strangled gasp as Harry tightened his hold and pulled Malfoy's foreskin all the way back, exposing the head of his cock, red and wet. Malfoy closed his eyes, as though in resignation, and that was when Harry panicked.

He was standing in the Shrieking Shack with his jeans around his knees and his hand on Draco Malfoy's cock. Stupid, reckless, wrong. Hastily, he released Malfoy and stepped away, pulling his jeans up and very nearly tripping over them. His cock felt uncomfortable pressed up against clothing again, but Harry would worry about that later. He needed to get the fuck away from here. What had possessed him to... to...?

"I always knew you were a coward where it counted," remarked Malfoy.

"Oh, fuck off," said Harry. "I don't know what that was, and if you know what's good for you--"

"It would be good for me if you untied me," snapped Malfoy. "Then I could take care of things myself."

Harry's mind provided a snapshot of Malfoy, standing as he was now, knees bent slightly, moaning as he tugged at his cock. It did nothing for Harry's composure, but he untied Malfoy. After all, he had only tied him up so Malfoy would stop trying to murder him, and now it no longer looked like a possibility.

He turned around and strode towards the door, but Malfoy called his name.

"If you won't get me off, at least Heal me," said Malfoy, gesturing to his burned face. His eyes were still downcast.

Harry regarded him for a moment. "I suppose you're ugly enough as it is; no need to make you even uglier," he said, cast a Healing Charm over the burn, and kept walking. Just before reaching the door, he paused and turned to look over his shoulder. "This didn't happen."

Malfoy looked up. "What didn't happen? I don't know what you're talking about."


It wasn't cheating, Harry told himself for what felt like a thousandth time. Nothing happened. I hate Malfoy. It was momentary insanity.

Someone knocked on his bedroom door. "Come in," he said, expecting Ron, but it was Ginny who entered. She was carrying a rolled-up piece of parchment.

"This just came through the fireplace," she said. "Who is it from?"

Harry took the parchment from her hand, broke the seal, and unrolled it.

By the way, you forgot the professor's letter. I had thought you would remember, since we're dealing with "life and death", to use your charming turn of phrase, but apparently not.


"It's from bloody Malfoy," said Harry, crumpling the note. "I forgot Snape's letter on the, uh, table when we met last week."

"Harry, what were you thinking about, honestly? That letter could be important!"

"I know," snapped Harry, not looking at her. He was afraid that if he did, she would see everything in his eyes.

There's nothing to see. Nothing happened.

He hopped off his bed and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" called Ginny. Harry could practically hear her frowning.

"Back to the Shrieking Shack, where else? I've got to get that letter. It could be important, remember?"

Ginny sprinted to the doorway and planted herself in front of Harry. "Who pissed in your pumpkin juice?"

"What?" asked Harry, irritated. He couldn't look at her. He hadn't done anything but he couldn't bloody look at her for feeling guilty. How was that fair? He was going to fucking kill Malfoy.

"You've been avoiding me all week," she said. "And now you're just being rude. Did Malfoy say something to you? What's going on?"

"Nothing," said Harry. It was true. Nothing had happened, and even if it had, it was only Malfoy. So why did he feel so fucking guilty? "Why would Malfoy have anything to do with it, anyway?"

"Look at me, Harry. Harry?"

But Harry was bounding down the stairs, past the elf-heads and the place where Mrs Black's portrait had been, out of the house and to a secluded spot between two neighbouring buildings, a spot where he could safely Apparate.

The door to the Shrieking Shack stood open, and Harry walked inside, looking around for Malfoy. He wasn't there, but a thick roll of parchment sat next to the tea set. Harry grabbed it and walked out, colliding with Malfoy in the doorway.

"That was quick," said Malfoy, sounding a little out of breath.

"You could've said something earlier," said Harry. As irony would have it, he could not look at Malfoy, either. "You could've spared me a trip and sent it through the Floo."

"Professor Snape was very specific in his instructions, and unlike you, I'm always willing to follow instructions from those better and wiser than I."

"Unlike me? Is that to imply that you're better and wiser than I am? Don't make me laugh."

"You said it; I didn't. Weren't you leaving?"

Harry looked at him then, narrowing his eyes. "I'll leave when I feel like it."

"I'd offer you some tea, but you'd only throw it in my face," said Malfoy. "Don't forget to close the door when you do leave; there's a draught."

"It was open when I walked in." Harry didn't know why he wanted to counter everything Malfoy said; it just felt right, natural. They were enemies, even despite Malfoy's working for Snape.

Malfoy didn't say anything. He withdrew to a low, tatty sofa near the wall opposite and turned his back to Harry. Harry knew he ought to have left, but that was what Malfoy seemed to want, and he was not going to do anything Malfoy wanted him to. He knew he was being childish; he would have to leave at some point, but right now he was content to stand there, clutching Snape's letter and staring a hole through Malfoy's skull.

"Potter, why are you still here?" Malfoy asked after a while. He didn't even turn around.

"I'm not," said Harry, and walked out, slamming the door behind himself.

When he got back to Grimmauld Place, he found Ginny and Ron playing wizard's chess in the drawing room. Tonks was on guard duty outside the building; Mrs Weasley was in the kitchen, and the other Order members were all out of the house. The end of the war was near, and everyone was preparing for the final strike against Voldemort.

Ginny didn't look at Harry as he entered, Snape's letter in hand. Ron grinned broadly. "Good news, mate?"

"Haven't read it yet," said Harry. He glanced at Ginny, but she ignored him.

The letter contained no good news, but no bad news, either -- everything was the same as it had been three months ago; Voldemort was still holed up in some hidden ancient castle in the west, refusing to come out. Losing the Horcruxes had weakened him; most of his Death Eaters didn't know that either of them could now easily take their vaunted Dark Lord in a duel.

"If only it were that easy," said Ron.

"Snape could do it," came Hermione's voice from the doorway. "I don't know why he won't."

"Because I've got to do it," said Harry, exasperated. Hermione had been studying the nature of prophecy for months now. A few weeks ago, she had come to the conclusion that "either must die at the hand of the other" was meant metaphorically, not literally. Whatever the hell that meant. Anyway, they'd had that argument too many times already; now, Hermione merely pursed her lips, seated herself next to Ron, and began giving him chess advice.

Harry tried to exchange looks with Ginny, but she kept her eyes on the board. Sighing, Harry went to the kitchen to see if he could have an early supper. He would fix this, somehow. They'd had rows before, and Ginny had given him the silent treatment just like now, and it always worked out in the end. Malfoy didn't matter; he was just an aberration, and whatever happened that night at the Shrieking Shack would never happen again.

Later that night, he waited for Ginny outside her bedroom; when she appeared at the end of the hallway, Harry grinned at her, hesitantly. She didn't return his smile, but she didn't walk away, either; that was a good sign.

"Hey," he said, blocking her way with his arm across the doorframe.

"Hey yourself," replied Ginny. "I'm really tired, Harry; I just want to go to bed now."

Harry took her hand. "Can I come, too?"

She looked at him, then gently freed her hand. "I don't think so."

"I'm sorry I was rude," said Harry quickly. He'd been meaning to say that in context somehow, but it didn't look like Ginny was going to bring it up.

"It's not even that you were rude," said Ginny with a sigh. "I just don't think it's a good idea for us to, you know, when things aren't going so well."

"What are you talking about?" asked Harry. "Why aren't things going well?"

"Look, I know you're under a lot of pressure," said Ginny after a long pause. "But I'd lose respect for myself if I let you use me as a punching bag or a fuck toy."

"Ginny, it isn't like that!" protested Harry. "I would never-- I-- You know I wouldn't!"

"I thought I did," said Ginny. "Now I'm not so certain." She ducked under Harry's arm and quietly closed the door in his face.

Harry leant his forehead against the door and cursed under his breath. Why did she have to make everything so dramatic and complicated? It was only sex. It didn't change the way he felt about her.


"Wow, Malfoy's actually taking his duties seriously," said Hermione, holding up another letter from the fireplace.

"I trust he isn't hoping for an Order of Merlin after all this is over," remarked Ginny. She sat on the sofa and stroked Crookshanks between his ears. Harry eyed the cat with a stab of irrational jealousy.

"I can't open this," said Hermione. "Seems to be sealed to you only, Harry."

"How sweet. He isn't writing you love letters, is he?" asked Ron with a hearty laugh.

Harry frowned at him. "Why would he be writing me love letters?"

Ron shrugged. "I dunno. I heard from someone that he and Zabini -- or was it Nott? -- were very close at Hogwarts, if you know what I mean. Malfoy's just the type, too, isn't he, with his fancy clothes and--"

"I think it's just a rumour," interrupted Harry. He had to protect Malfoy's secret if he hoped for Malfoy to protect his, didn't he? He thought quickly, and blurted, "There are pictures of Parkinson all over the Shrieking Shack."

"Ugh," said Hermione. "Who would want to stare at her pug face all day?"

"Malfoy can't exactly afford to be picky," said Ginny. "He has a face like a rat."

"No, a ferret," Harry corrected, sending Ron into paroxysms of laughter. The incident with Draco Malfoy the Amazing Bouncing Ferret would simply never get old.

Still chuckling, Harry unsealed the parchment and opened it.

The professor requests a report on the Order's recent movements.


"I suppose I'd better go and give the report," said Harry. He waved to Kingsley as he sprinted to the Apparition spot, and a moment later, he was outside the Shrieking Shack.

"It's open," called Malfoy before Harry even raised his hand to knock. He didn't know why he bothered to think of knocking, but Malfoy might not have been decent, or something. Who knew what the stupid git got up to in there?

Malfoy was on the sofa, a glossy magazine of some sort in his lap. A low coffee table had been added to the furnishings since Harry had last been here; it held the remains of what might've been today's lunch, or yesterday's dinner. The room smelled faintly of lilacs, but the walls were as grimy and the floor as dirty as ever.

There was nowhere to sit except the sofa, and Harry wasn't going to sit beside Malfoy, so he remained standing. "Put your magazine away; I haven't got all day."

Malfoy placed the magazine onto the coffee table and leaned back. Harry stole a glance at the magazine and felt his face heat up; the large, boldfaced title across the top of the page was in a foreign language, but no words were needed to explain the naked bodies sliding together on blinding-white sheets.

"Good to see you're putting your time away from school to good use," he said.

"My hobbies are none of your business," retorted Malfoy, and bent forwards to close the magazine. The photograph on the cover was no less embarrassing, and Harry looked away quickly.

He gave a summary of what everyone had been up to -- it wasn't difficult. Now that members of the Order were primarily concerned with finding Voldemort rather than trying to evade him as Harry eliminated the Horcruxes, a week's activities could be summed up in a few sentences. There was always someone guarding Headquarters, but beyond that, there was nothing to report.

"Professor Snape told me that the Order's headquarters belongs to the Black family; is this true?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but the Order's headquarters belongs to me," said Harry. "I inherited it from my godfather." He'd never given this much thought, but with Malfoy staring at him, cold-eyed, he suddenly felt something like pride of ownership.

"He had no right to give you Grimmauld Place," said Malfoy, his face turning pink. "He was struck from the family tree!"

"The house-elf answers to me, which means it's mine," said Harry, absurdly gratified that he'd inadvertently taken something from Malfoy. "So save your squealing for when you wank to that magazine of yours."

"My sex life is none of your business." Malfoy looked indignant.

"You call wanking a sex life? That's sad, Malfoy. Really sad."

"It's better than getting off with a Weasley. Does she have freckles on her cunt, too?"

Harry took a step towards him. "Keep your comments about my girlfriend to yourself, you fucking shirt-lifter."

"What if I don't? What are you going to do? Call me names? Loom over me threateningly? Ooh, I'm so terrified," said Malfoy in a falsetto. He lowered his voice to normal as he fixed Harry with a glare. "You'll be answerable to Professor Snape if anything happens to me. You don't want that, Potty."

"He said that, did he?"

Malfoy patted his pocket. "I have it in writing."

Harry rolled his eyes. "My advice would be to use that to wipe your arse. I could make you disappear, Malfoy, and Snape would never know what happened."

"Such sinister threats from such a noble soul," said Malfoy with a sneer. "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Harry Potter, who thinks murder is an adequate punishment for saying naughty things about his girlfriend."

"Fuck off," said Harry. "We're done here."

"Yes, quite." Malfoy picked up his magazine and flipped to the centre of it. On the cover, which Harry now could see clearly, two young, muscular men were intertwined, kissing passionately. Harry's cock reacted before he could turn away, and then Malfoy looked up from the magazine.

"Why are you still here?" he asked. There was a glint in his eye that Harry wanted to be imaginary, but it wasn't, it was there, it was lust. Harry didn't know how he knew; Ginny certainly never looked at him like that, at least not when he could see her. But he knew. Malfoy wanted him. They couldn't be in the same room for five minutes without at least trading insults, but Malfoy wanted him. And Malfoy could make sounds that sent unfamiliar shivers of excitement through him.

"Come here," Harry heard himself say.

For a moment, there was silence, total and deafening. "What?" said Malfoy finally. His knuckles were white as he clutched the magazine in both hands, holding it up like a shield.

"I said come here, Malfoy," repeated Harry. As formless, empty lust took over his mind, he seemed to be a different person, a different Harry -- not the Harry who tried to do the right thing, and apologised, and...

When Malfoy didn't move, Harry started to walk towards him. Malfoy sprang out of the sofa as though it had suddenly turned into a beehive, and raced towards the wall. He pressed himself against it, eyes round and fearful. "You can't," he said. "You wouldn't."

"Who's the coward now?" asked Harry, advancing.

Even distressed, even terrified, Malfoy stayed true to himself. "Right," he said, the mocking tone in his voice somewhat spoiled by its shaking. "It's completely wrong to fear for your life, you're a coward if you do. How un-Gryffindor of me--"

"Your life?" Harry actually stopped. "What are you talking about?"

Malfoy blinked. "You were just now threatening to murder me, Potter, in case your memory needs refreshing."

"Oh," said Harry. "That's not why I--" His face burned, and his insides were rearranging themselves unpleasantly. Had he made a mistake?

Of course you made a mistake, and if you don't stop now, you'll make the biggest mistake of your life.

But as recognition dawned on Malfoy's face, the lust-filled look returned, and Harry remembered how he'd moaned when Harry touched him. He crossed the distance between them and slid his hands behind Malfoy's arse, pressing their bodies close together, cock to cock, so close he could feel Malfoy's heartbeat.

Malfoy's chest heaved against his as Harry lowered his mouth to kiss him, but instead of Malfoy's lips parting before his tongue, Harry found them pressed close together. He pulled back and raised an eyebrow.

"No kissing," said Malfoy. "I don't--"

"Don't be a girl," snapped Harry. "It's only a kiss; it doesn't mean anything." Just like it was only sex, he realised. Love could make those things meaningful, but in and of themselves they meant nothing beyond the pleasure they brought. And he wanted to feel Malfoy's tongue against his, wanted to swallow whatever sounds Malfoy made, make them his.

It felt nothing like kissing Ginny; there was no warmth, no rushing butterflies in his stomach. There was only fire, deep in Harry's groin, making his cock strain against his underpants and his breathing erratic. Malfoy's tongue in his mouth felt foreign at first, but the more heated the kiss became, the more sounds Malfoy made, and Harry was rapidly losing control. He gave a vicious thrust upwards; Malfoy met and matched it. They fell into an erratic rhythm, broken up occasionally by the wet sounds of their mouths as they broke apart for air.

Harry's clothing was beginning to chafe, not just at his cock but everywhere; he felt constricted, bound, a prisoner. "Off," he half-growled into Malfoy's mouth, and tugged at his robes. His own clothes followed, in an untidy pile on the floor. Harry had a fleeting thought about Mrs Weasley wondering how he'd got the shirt so dirty, but Malfoy stood naked in front of him, and though Harry wasn't gay, he couldn't help but stare at Malfoy's cock, thick and pink, hard for him.

Harry felt fingers close around his own cock, and suddenly this seemed like a very bad idea. He didn't like Malfoy touching him this way, as though Harry belonged to him, as though... "I didn't give you permission to do that," he said, his voice breaking. "You--"

"Now who's a girl?" Malfoy bit back with a sneer, a challenge in his eyes. "I hate to break it to you, but if you want to get off, you'll have to let me touch you. Unless," he whispered, leaning closer, "you want to stand there and wank."

"That's where you're wrong," whispered Harry, seizing Malfoy one-handed just at the base of his neck. He shoved his knee between Malfoy's legs, forcing them apart, and moved up close, letting his cock slide against Malfoy's. Gripping Malfoy's chin, he forced another kiss out of him, rough and wet, and closed his other hand around both their cocks. The sensation of firm, warm flesh against his was like nothing he had ever felt before, and an involuntary gasp escaped him as he quickened his movements, but it wasn't enough. This was child's play, wanking, and Harry wanted to fuck.

He released their cocks and reached down, under Malfoy's balls, up and forward till his fingers slid across Malfoy's arsehole. Malfoy made a strangled noise as Harry's middle finger slid into him, and it made Harry want to slam all seven or so inches of himself up there, even despite knowing what "up there" was used for normally. Strangely, Malfoy's hole was slick, not dry as Harry had expected. "This is interesting," he said in a low voice. "Were you expecting me to fuck you, Malfoy? Did you prepare yourself for me? I'm touched, really."

Malfoy rolled his hips forward and back, forcing Harry's finger deeper into himself. "Give yourself too much credit," he panted. "It's called wanking, Potter--"

"Wanking is when you use your hand and your cock," said Harry, and gripped the base of his cock as if to demonstrate. Instead, he forced Malfoy's legs further apart with his other hand, smearing lube and God knew what else over Malfoy's inner thigh, and guided his cock to Malfoy's hole. He'd wanted this since he'd walked in, since he'd seen those pictures in Malfoy's little magazine. Wanted to make Malfoy pant and moan and scream his name. Whatever their allegiances, they had always been enemies, and all was fair in war.

Malfoy pushed him away. "You're not fucking me," he said, with sudden clarity in his eyes, as though he'd read Harry's mind.

Harry stared at him, breathing heavily, hand still on his cock. The rest of the world seemed to have faded from all thought, for the moment. All that existed was the wet warmth between Malfoy's legs, and it didn't even matter if he'd lubed himself up for Harry or for a dildo. "I'm not?" he heard himself say.

"No. Not you." Malfoy's stare was pure hatred, combined with an element of surprise, as though he'd just woken from a trance, and Harry, in turn, felt a jolt in his chest. He was standing naked in front of Draco Malfoy, and he had just been thinking about fucking Draco Malfoy, which would most certainly have been cheating on Ginny.

Harry released his cock and exhaled slowly, willing his arousal to go away. Malfoy stepped aside and bent over to pick up his pants. "This didn't happen," he said, his voice muffled. Harry stared at Malfoy's exposed backside and didn't even realise he'd stepped forward until his hands locked on Malfoy's hips as he pressed his cock against Malfoy's arse.

Malfoy lurched violently forwards and they both fell to the floor, Malfoy trapped beneath Harry, Harry's cock still nestled against Malfoy's lower back. Malfoy twisted around and tried to push Harry off himself. Harry knew he should have let him, but his cock was still hard, and Malfoy's writhings and frustrated little noises were only heightening his arousal.

"I told you, Potter," panted Malfoy, his narrow face flushed. "You're not fucking me."

Harry sat up and placed his hands on Malfoy's shoulders, pinning him down. No was supposed to mean no, but Malfoy was still as hard as he was. Whatever was making Malfoy do this now had nothing to do with sex. "It doesn't mean anything."

Malfoy sneered up at him. "Is that supposed to be reassuring? Potter, I hate you. Of course it doesn't mean anything." His lower lip was slightly fuller than the other one, Harry noticed. He bent down and bit it gently, on a whim. Malfoy sucked air in through his nose and turned his head aside. "Stop it, Potter, this is a mistake."

Harry barely heard him. Reality had gone out the window once again, and he just wanted to rub against Malfoy until he came since Malfoy was going to be such a girl about the fucking. He took Malfoy's earlobe between his teeth and flicked his tongue against it. Malfoy tried to struggle out of his grasp again, but he moaned as Harry sucked at his neck. Harry moved his hips up and down, back and forth, rubbing his cock against Malfoy's stomach, biting his lip. It wasn't enough like this, so he sped up, almost heedless of Malfoy's answering thrusts, almost not noticing Malfoy's mouth on his, Malfoy's tongue sliding against his with increasing urgency. They were both moaning now, panting and sweating, and then Malfoy whined, "fuck me," and locked his legs behind Harry's back.

Harry slammed into him, and Malfoy let out a harsh cry, his face twisting up in pain. "Are you fucking mad?" he croaked. Harry, startled by the genuine pain in Malfoy's voice and expression, froze. His cock insisted that he move, and the slick heat of Malfoy's body around him did too, but Harry felt vaguely guilty for hurting Malfoy. Why he felt this way, he had no idea. Malfoy had hurt him plenty over the years.

But never whilst naked.

"Just stay still," muttered Malfoy. His pale eyelashes were stuck together in clumps, giving his face an odd doll-like quality. Harry looked away, with a strange sense of embarrassment, and then Malfoy moved. Harry drew in a sharp breath and tensed; everything faded except the pulsing of blood in his veins and a relentless surge of heat as Malfoy fucked himself on Harry's cock, seeming to take him deeper every moment.

Unconsciously, he started to move, meeting Malfoy's thrusts halfway, and eventually only Harry was moving, faster, faster, his mind a white haze of pleasure, every heartbeat like a distant snap of thunder. Harry bent down and kissed Malfoy, sloppy and wet and noisy. He gripped Malfoy's shoulders with his hands and changed the angle of his thrusts; Malfoy moaned, low and guttural and never-ending, sending Harry's mind into a tailspin as his orgasm hit him, overwhelming and furious; he was barely aware of Malfoy's cock twitching against him, Malfoy's come smearing all over his belly, slippery and warm.

"You've done this before," said Harry after pulling out and settling back on his heels.

Malfoy said nothing; his eyes were half-closed as he lay there, his stomach glistening with his own come, dirty handprints on his white shoulders. He still lay there when Harry left, his insides a strange mixture of deep satisfaction and deeper shame. He wasn't sure what he was ashamed of more: having betrayed Ginny or having enjoyed sex without the relationship drama quite this much.


When Harry walked into the drawing room, he found Ginny and Hermione sitting on the sofa, drinks in hand.

"It was done twice before," Hermione was saying. "I'm sure it can be done again."

"What can?" asked Harry, stopping in the doorway.

"Reversing the Fidelius Charm after the Secret Keeper has died," said Hermione, and turned to him. Her eyes widened. "Harry, what happened? You look like you've been rolling in the dirt..."

Harry fought panic as he surveyed his clothes. His jeans had uneven dirt stains on them, and his shirt looked grey instead of white. "Had a fight with Malfoy," he said, his voice wooden. He kept his eyes averted; surely they would see he was lying if he raised his eyes. Even though it was technically true; he and Malfoy had had a fight of sorts...

"Why are you still fighting with him? We're on the same side, aren't we?" Hermione's voice was disapproving.

"He's still a git, side or no side," said Ginny. Harry glanced at her, and was suddenly struck by a thought he had never expected.

At least he let me fuck him even though we hate each other. You won't even let me touch you until I grovel and beg and apologise, even if there's nothing to apologise for.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" asked Ginny. Her eyes had narrowed slightly.

Harry looked away. "I was just thinking about something," he said. And that wasn't even a lie.


Over the next few weeks, Harry mostly managed to banish all recollection of the incident with Malfoy to a far corner of his mind. It had felt brilliant but it had meant nothing; it had been a one-time thing, temporary insanity. These things happened sometimes, Harry told himself every time he began to feel guilty and wanted to confess everything to Ginny. He felt nothing for Malfoy but deep contempt; he wasn't even gay. It had been nothing more than wanking, really, merely getting off together. Boys did that sometimes, even when they had girlfriends. Of course, they didn't generally stick their cocks up one another's arses, but that was a minor detail.

So when Malfoy demanded another report on the Order's movements, Harry felt no trepidation as he walked into the Shrieking Shack.

"Have a seat," said Malfoy, nodding at the sofa's other end.

"I'll stand, thanks," said Harry. It was bad enough that he had to report to Malfoy; he wasn't about to start following Malfoy's orders.

"Suit yourself." Malfoy rose as well, without even looking at Harry. They were silent for a few long moments, and then Malfoy spoke again. "Well, I'm waiting."

"For what?"

Malfoy looked up, and Harry flinched a little, afraid that he'd see lust in his eyes again and hear him moan at the back of his mind. But Malfoy was perfectly expressionless. "For your report," he said. "I didn't tell you to come here so I could look at you."

"Then stop fucking looking at me," said Harry, bristling. "As for my report, I didn't prepare one. Ask questions."

Malfoy kept staring at him, clearly out of pure defiance, but Harry refused to look away first. "How close are they to finding the Dark Lord?" Malfoy asked.

"Voldemort," said Harry. "His name is Voldemort. And we have no idea how close we are to finding him, because we don't know where he's hiding. What sort of stupid question is that?" He would not look away and he would not blink.

"What, Shacklebolt hasn't managed to turn up anything in a whole month?" Malfoy's tone dripped derision.

"He had several trails, but they had all gone cold quickly," said Harry, hating himself for the defensive notes in his voice. "The Order's lost too many people. Not that you'd understand anything about that."

"I'm not interested in your conjectures, Potter, I want the facts," said Malfoy.

Harry's eyes were beginning to water, but still he refused to blink. "Snape wants the facts," he snapped. "You're just a self-important mouthpiece. That's all you've ever been; it's all you'll ever amount to."

A dark shadow crossed Malfoy's face. "What the fuck's the matter with you, Potter? Are you on your rag? Need to get laid? Why can't you--"

"Dying for another chance to feel my cock up your arse, fairy-boy?" interrupted Harry.

Malfoy's lips moved soundlessly as his face turned pink with indignation. "Now who's self-important?" he managed finally. "That was the worst fuck of my life, Potter. Can't say I'm eager to repeat the experience. In fact, I'd rather let your little Weasley girlfriend have a go at me with a strap-on, freckles and all."

"Don't you fucking speak of her that way," growled Harry, taking a step towards him.

Unexpectedly, Malfoy laughed. "Is this what you're going to do every time you're here, Potter? Start a row so you can have an excuse to manhandle me? Back off, I'm not interested."

"No?" asked Harry, and lunged forward to grab Malfoy's crotch. "What's this, then?" he asked, sweeping his thumb over Malfoy's stiff cock, concealed by his robes. "Did you get that as soon as I walked in?"

"Fuck you," gasped Malfoy.

"I think I'll fuck you instead," said Harry in a low voice. He hadn't meant to; he hadn't meant to touch Malfoy at all, but now that he was, he wanted him.

Harry didn't even bother taking off his jeans or Malfoy's robes; he tore off Malfoy's underpants and shoved his legs apart, pushed his own jeans and pants just far enough to free his cock--

"Wait," muttered Malfoy, and stuck his hand between the sofa cushions, producing a thin bottle. "Hold out your hand."

Harry did, and Malfoy poured a generous amount of lube over it. Harry had no idea how to go about applying it, so he just smeared it all over Malfoy's hole and slicked the rest over his cock. Malfoy grunted as Harry entered him, and grabbed fistfuls of Harry's shirt to pull him closer. Harry lowered his head and found Malfoy's mouth with his; Malfoy's cheeks were rough with days-old stubble that hadn't been visible before, so light it was. Suddenly, Harry was very conscious that he had his cock balls-deep in another man. All skin and bones, almost no muscle, but still a man.

Harry pulled out. "Turn around," he said roughly, tugging at Malfoy's robes. "I don't want to see your face."

Malfoy sneered, but Harry spun him round, threw him over the sofa, and slid inside him, letting Malfoy's robes fall down to cover his arse. He set a desperate, frantic pace, heedless of anything but his own building pleasure and a deep-seated anger whose source he could not explain. As emotionless as this all was, Malfoy's increasingly needy cries drove Harry's movements, made him want to fuck Malfoy even harder, so that all he heard was one constant, keening moan. He twisted his hips and dug his fingers deep into Malfoy's sides, thrusting in and out with speed and ferocity he could never have allowed himself with Ginny.

"Fuck," groaned Malfoy, lowering his head and raising his lower back to meet Harry's thrusts. Harry saw him fumble with his robes one-handed, grabbing his own cock. Within minutes, Malfoy let out a strangled moan, his whole body going rigid underneath Harry's, his arse clenching around Harry's cock as he came all over the sofa beneath him. The added pressure wrenched Harry's orgasm from him, even though he hadn't wanted to come yet.

Malfoy's face was pressed against the sofa as Harry pulled out and stepped back to tuck himself back into his jeans. "What the fuck are we doing?" mumbled Malfoy. He lifted his head and twisted around to look at Harry. There was a dirty stain on his cheek that hadn't been there before. He looked beaten.

Harry remembered telling Malfoy to turn around so he wouldn't have to see his face, and something like regret trickled into his heart. Harry squashed the feeling with a sense of brutal satisfaction. "We? There's no 'we' here, Malfoy. I fucked you and you got off on it. We didn't do anything."

"Right," said Malfoy, straightening and turning to face him. "Is that what you tell your girlfriend, Potter?"

Harry tried to backhand him across the mouth, but Malfoy ducked just in time. Furious with himself, Harry stalked out. Only after Apparating back to London did he remember that he'd never made his report. Grudgingly, he went back to the Shrieking Shack, but the doors were locked. Malfoy was inside, Harry knew; he could see his shadow moving around. He considered knocking, but decided against it. Ashamed as he was to admit it even to himself, he couldn't wait until Malfoy summoned him again.

Malfoy did summon him the next day, with a snide note that read:

Since your performance last evening was decidedly sub-par, you'll need to try making your report again, as Professor Snape will not be satisfied with what you've given me.


Harry didn't even wait for Malfoy to speak when he walked through the doors to the Shrieking Shack. Malfoy was standing next to the tea set, teaspoon in hand, when Harry grabbed his robes, lifted him off the floor and onto the counter, and pulled his pants off.

Malfoy didn't even pretend to resist this time; he merely Summoned the lube from its hiding place in the sofa and told Harry to hold his hand out. Harry took his time applying the lube; he spread it across Malfoy's hole, then stuck a finger in. Malfoy rocked forwards, shutting his eyes, and Harry added another finger, then a third, watching Malfoy's face closely. Malfoy's breathing was shallow, erratic, his eyes slightly out of focus. "Like that?" whispered Harry, twisting his fingers as he fumbled one-handed with his belt. Malfoy moaned and moaned until Harry pulled his fingers out and tugged him closer. This time, he felt his balls tighten almost as soon as he entered Malfoy; he came within seconds, his curses drowning out Malfoy's groan of frustration. "You're pathetic," panted Malfoy. "I wonder how your girlfriend stands it."

"I told you," growled Harry. "Shut the fuck up about Ginny." He closed his fist around Malfoy's cock and squeezed, drawing a gasp. He didn't even bother to pull out, and when Malfoy spasmed around him a few minutes later, Harry thought that his cock might get torn off. Bizarrely, he was hard again.

It was as though a floodgate had opened somewhere inside him; he found he couldn't get enough of Malfoy. It still meant nothing, not where it counted, but Harry began to look forward to their meetings. Marked man or not, he loved sex, and it turned him on to see Malfoy -- Malfoy, who hated him and was hated back -- unable to resist him.

All of it caused a deep sense of guilt that Harry could no longer ignore. Meaningless or not, he was cheating on Ginny, and he had no idea what he was going to do.


"We need to talk."

"I believe that's my line," replied Ginny. She had dragged an armchair to the window and now sat staring out at the sheets of rain that obscured the buildings across the street. She looked calm as she turned to him. "But yes, we do."

Harry suddenly realised that he didn't want her any more. He still loved her, still respected her, but imagining her naked was doing nothing for him. He felt a tiny stab of guilt, and made another realisation. Ever since the Malfoy thing first happened, four months ago, he hadn't been able to look at Ginny without feeling guilty. The worst of it was, he couldn't even blame anyone but himself.

"You go first," he told her.

"No, go ahead," said Ginny. "You did start this conversation."

Except that I have no idea what to tell you. Harry frowned. "I think it's obvious that we can't handle things as well as we thought we could." He pursed his lips. "That made no sense, did it?"

Ginny grinned. "None whatsoever, but I agree."

"You do?"

She shrugged, her grin fading. "I wish it could have been different."

"Me too," Harry told her. "It still could be."

"Yeah, maybe. Some day."

"Some day," echoed Harry. He was thinking about the night before, in the Shrieking Shack.

With a loud, satisfied sigh, Malfoy pressed his forehead against Harry's shoulder and immediately pulled back, as though stung. His fringe hung over his forehead in a sweat-damp mess. Reflexively, Harry lifted a hand and brushed the hair out of his eyes. Malfoy's mouth tightened and he lowered his gaze, colouring. Harry cupped Malfoy's face in one hand and wiped a dirt-smear off his cheek. He realised what he was doing and snatched his hand away, embarrassed and angry at himself. They were enemies, they hated each other, and just because Malfoy had just made him come, it didn't mean Harry had to thank him for it.

Malfoy had always looked for ways to try and get under Harry's skin, but this was the first time he had succeeded. It was irritating to think of it that way, but Harry couldn't help it. This break-up... time off... thing was a victory for Malfoy, a victory he would never know about, but it was enough that Harry knew it. Somehow in the midst of all the meaningless fucking, Harry stopped seeing Malfoy the git and started seeing Malfoy the person. The physical bond created something between them that hadn't been there before; Harry didn't know what it was, he just knew it wasn't supposed to have happened. Not so near the end of the war. Not when Harry was so close to getting everything he'd ever wanted: peace, safety, a family with the girl he loved.

The fireplace made a coughing sound, and a roll of parchment dropped onto the floor, followed by a cloud of green dust.

He'll be taking the Hollowbridge Pass in two days' time. There is a network of caves that leads there. I trust that I do not need to tell you that your only advantage will be surprise.


Harry looked at Ginny. "It's time."


He was only half surprised to see Malfoy there, lounging carelessly against a rock cliff with a look of insincere boredom on his face. He really was a bit pathetic, with his delusions of grandeur and attempts at looking as unflappable as his father. Or perhaps it was simply difficult to take Malfoy's affectations seriously when Harry had seen him naked and moaning godyeshardermorenow despite all his defiance when clothed. The unexpected mental image made Harry remember it again: that one moment the last time they'd done it, that frozen bit of time where Harry's fingertips brushed away a few strands of white-blond hair, that one instant of something that wasn't affection, but felt an awful lot like it. It had felt... nice. Different.

"I was thinking," Harry began; Malfoy's eyes widened.

"I'm shocked," he said with a not-quite sneer. "I didn't know you could do that."

"Bugger off," muttered Harry. Uneasy tension crept into the pit of his stomach; he wasn't sure if he was annoyed or offended or both.

Malfoy peered around the corner into the empty cave, and then turned back to Harry. "Well, are you going to keep me in suspense all evening? Or are you still thinking? I realise it's an involved process and everything, but I haven't got all night--"

"Shut up, Malfoy," said Harry without any real edge. He was neither annoyed nor offended, merely slightly off-balance -- where Malfoy tended to keep him. Where Harry liked being, as bizarre as that seemed to his rational side. "You'll come out with us to celebrate, tomorrow. And then I might invite you to my house--"

"You mean my house, Potter; Grimmauld Place belongs to the Black family--"

"I said," hissed Harry, stepping up to Malfoy, "shut up."

Malfoy did, but that probably had less to do with Harry's commanding presence than with Harry's palm firm and tight over his balls.

"As I was saying," continued Harry, "I might invite you to my house. And if you're very good, I might even fuck you, then. So make sure you're on your best behaviour, won't you?"

Malfoy's breathing hitched, and he turned his head away. "What if you die tonight?"

Harry shrugged. "Then you'll come to my funeral. If there is one."

"I hope you die," said Malfoy. "I've always wanted to attend your funeral. Would you like a commemorative speech?"

"Only if you mention how good it felt when I fucked you." Harry felt excitement, bone-deep, mounting; it was time. If he didn't leave now...

A weak sneer. "No speech, then. Your loss, Potter. I'm eloquence personified."

"Oh yeah, especially when I fuck you."

Malfoy's eyes darted to Harry. "Why do you keep saying that? I get it, Potter, you've had the privilege of buggering me senseless. If you may recall, I participated, so I'm quite aware--"

"That's good, Malfoy, really good. It means that whatever happens tonight, at least you'll remember me."

A mixture of anger and surprise lit on Malfoy's pale face, replaced promptly by a thoughtful frown. "I suppose. For a few hours."

Before walking towards the cave's gaping mouth, Harry turned to look at Malfoy one more time. "I'll remember you, too."

The End
Tags: [fic], genre: war fic, rated: nc-17, round: summer 2007

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