Title: The Perfect Drug (2/2)
“Sign,” said the delivery boy. Draco fought down the natural thrill of paranoia and did as he was told. The boy handed him the package and Draco guessed the contents instantly as the brown paper packaging warmed his fingers.
“Thanks,” said Draco.
“Have a nice day,” the boy said insincerely, and had just started to back away when he paused.
The boy looked nervously over his shoulder for a moment, then leant forward and hissed, “You know, I had no idea he was so weird.” Then he jumped back again and was gone before Draco had the chance to ask who the weird one was, and what he had done.
Instead, he shrugged and carried the package into the house, setting it down and carrying out the usual safety checks, even though he knew full well that it was from Harry. Once he was satisfied, Draco ripped open the wrapping and immediately went to read the message on the bottom of the cup, being careful not to spill the contents.
I’m in the car outside. You can bring the coffee.
Draco was heading towards the door before he had made the conscious decision to do so. By the time that the absurd idea of playing hard to get or refusing to follow orders from a slightly crazy ex-Gryffindor had crossed his mind, he had the front door open and was stepping out. Now he was looking, he could easily see the Jeep parked at the end of his drive and a familiar mop of hair inside it. Harry was probably watching the door, so to turn back and close it now would just look cowardly.
Well, at least Draco now knew what the boy had been on about earlier.
Draco took a long gulp of the coffee, then put it down on a table by the door before leaving the house. He strolled towards the car, and Harry waved a greeting and got out to meet him.
Draco stopped a few metres away, and looked slowly between Harry and the Jeep. It was huge and, Draco was pleased to note, a rather pleasant shade of green.
“Enjoy your drink?” Harry asked, clearly fighting to hold down a smile.
“There’s something seriously wrong with you,” Draco informed him.
“Yeah, that’s what they all say,” Harry said easily, and Draco fought down a completely irrational pang of jealousy. Harry was probably just talking about the people who had thought he was an insane attention-seeking power-seizing manipulative scar-boy, with whom Draco had been proud to identify not that long ago. Amazing, the way things changed.
“Maybe you should listen to them,” he replied.
Harry laughed. “You like the car, then?” He opened the door on the passenger side with a flourish, then headed around it to take his position in the driving seat. Draco felt mildly emasculated for a moment, but decided to let it pass; Harry probably just thought he was being a gentleman. It seemed like the kind of thing he would do.
“Why do you even need it?”
“Arthur made it for my twentieth birthday. It’s completely indestructible, doesn’t need petrol, is environmentally friendly, and looks amazing,” Harry said proudly.
“Overcompensating much?” Draco asked, not bothering to hide a smirk, and felt vindicated when Harry blushed and fumbled around with the keys, completely failing to start the engine. It struck him that Harry was pretty appalling at flirting, but instead of finding this annoying, Draco found himself finding it vaguely sweet. Which was disturbing on a number of levels, because there was getting into character, and there was method acting, but there was also that final stage where it was possible to start actually believing it. And. Well.
“Don’t worry,” Harry murmured, voice low and rough, “I really don’t need to overcompensate.” Draco stared at him in shock, but Harry’s eyes were fixed on the road and his face was completely straight, so Draco just settled with watching the way his hand wrapped around the gear stick, long fingers curling around the head. He was so preoccupied with watching Harry and trying to persuade his cock that driving was not the same as foreplay that he was startled when Harry finally stopped the car and turned off the engine.
Harry sighed happily and got out of the car as Draco stared around at an open expanse of grass and mud. They were literally in the middle of nowhere. Even sheep had dismissed the place, because there was not a soul around, just Harry and Draco and the car. Draco couldn’t imagine what Harry had brought them there for. Actually, he could imagine a few things, but Draco’s imaginings were mainly along the lines of ‘rolling naked in the mud’ or ‘rolling naked in the grass’, and then the gradual replacing of ‘rolling’ with ‘groping’ and ‘fucking’ and other such exciting terms.
“Do you trust me?” Harry asked, jerking Draco out of his increasingly steamy reverie.
Draco blinked at him. “Are you insane?” he demanded.
“Is that a yes?”
“Absolutely not!” Draco spat.
“Oh, it’s so good to know you trust me, Draco, because I would trust you with my life,” Harry said sweetly, then cackled as Draco’s mouth fell open in abject horror. “Have you ever driven a car?”
“When exactly would I have done that?” Draco asked derisively.
“Thought not. Anyway, mine’s indestructible, and I thought maybe you might want to have a go.”
Harry smiled hopefully, and at that point Draco knew that he would be doing exactly as Harry wanted, in spite of the fact that they were obviously both about to die. With sickening certainty he realised that this had nothing at all to do with revenge and money, nothing to do with Ralph and Amy lurking in the background with the Ministry on their tails; Draco was suddenly unable to resist the orders of someone he had hated only a few days ago, and he was under no illusions that he could call it acting.
So that was how he found himself half an hour later, trundling uneasily around the field and feeling more frustrated than he ever had in his life. It wasn’t just that he kept stalling, for which Harry would apparently never stop teasing him. It wasn’t just that the Jeep was a beast determined to head in its own direction, ignoring Draco’s attempts to steer. It was the way Harry kept covering his hand on the gear stick, claiming that it was stiff and he would just help Draco get the hang of it. And it was the way Harry reached across to keep a steadying hand on the steering wheel, because “indestructible for Arthur could mean anything, really”, and the way their fingers kept brushing and rubbing, sending shocks up Draco’s arm.
It was the way that Harry’s voice was lower, warmer than Draco remembered it being before, and the way that every time Draco looked over, Harry’s eyes were green and burning on his face.
“Maybe you’re too pure-blooded to drive a manual,” Harry said later, and damn it if he hadn’t stopped grinning all day.
“I hate you,” Draco replied stiffly, internally correcting the ‘too pure-blooded’ to ‘too horny’, and unfortunately agreeing with that particular statement in its entirety.
A few days later, Draco received a message telling him to come immediately. When he did, Ralph and Amy’s place was completely in boxes. Mick let him in, looking tired and worn, the usual pleasantries dropped in favour of a gruff nod.
As Draco wound around the boxes piled up around the living room, Amy hurried out of the kitchen.
“Oh, Peter,” she said. There were shadows under her eyes as she scanned the room for anything left unpacked. “As you can guess, we’re getting out.”
“I see,” Draco replied slowly. “Is this our last goodbye?”
“Hopefully,” Amy said grimly, and for some reason a wave of relief washed over him. This was the end of the road, the end of this part of his life, and he wasn’t sorry for it. Draco tried not to think too hard about why, or about where Harry fitted in to this picture. If Ralph and Amy had no further need for Draco to provide a distraction, there was no need for him to see Harry again, and yet, and yet…
Amy reached into one of the boxes at her feet and pulled out a bag of galleons.
“We’ve got one last job for you,” she said, thrusting the bag into his hands, “so listen up.”
One last job, thought Draco. One last chance, one last time he could be with Harry with a legitimate (well, sort of) reason and not have to admit that maybe he did like the man a little bit. Amy had been specific about it. Harry could not leave his flat, so whoever Draco had found to be his distraction had damn well better keep him there.
So that was how Draco found himself standing outside Harry’s door with a bottle of wine clutched in his slightly sweaty palms, feeling quite unaccountably nervous. After all, it was only Harry. They’d known each other long enough, and now Draco knew he was a terrible skier and this proved that he was in fact human, so there was no reason why he should be feeling this way, apart from the unfortunate fact that somehow he did.
As Draco raised his hand to knock at the door, however, it swung open of its own accord and Harry stood framed in it.
“Hi,” said Draco.
Harry blinked and stared at him for a moment, looking him up and down, eyes lingering on the bottle of wine in his hand.
“I’m meant to be going out,” said Harry.
“Oh,” Draco murmured, heart thudding in his throat. “Do you have to?” He would have liked to think that the disappointment, the fear that he was too late and would miss this last chance, was all down to the acting, the getting into character. He would have liked to think that so very, very much. Damn.
“I really should,” said Harry, looking torn. He didn’t move.
“But?” asked Draco.
“I, er.” Harry shifted uncomfortably on his feet, and Draco gave up.
“Fuck it,” he muttered, planting his palm on Harry’s chest and forcing him back into the flat, slamming the door behind them. Not that Harry was really complaining. Their lips met halfway and Draco had no idea who really started the kiss, but he really didn’t care because Harry was so good at it.
Giving a quick prayer to any deity or otherwise that might be listening, Draco dropped the bottle of wine onto the carpet before he did something stupid like clocking Harry over the head with it. The bottle fell with a safe sounding ‘thud’, so with that worry over, Draco added that anyone watching could bugger off now, and buried his hands in Harry’s hair. Harry pulled him close, guiding them carefully over to the sofa until they toppled over onto soft cushions.
Harry drew back a few minutes later, kneeling above Draco. Draco bravely resisted touching his fingers to his lips, which tingled from the pressure of Harry’s chapped mouth against them, and fixed his eyes on Harry’s face. He could practically feel Harry measuring him with his eyes, a slow burn starting inside him as they travelled down his body. Harry’s lips parted, and Draco watched as he slowly sucked his lower lip into his mouth; the reaction to pull Harry back down to catch Harry’s lip between his teeth took him almost by surprise, and then they were kissing again, Harry’s tongue thrusting deep into his mouth as he practically smothered Draco with his body. Draco thought that maybe if he drowned like this, it wouldn’t be the worst possible way to go. Harry was good, really good; Draco wanted to compare him to tacky things in romance novels, like all-consuming fires or other forces of nature, because that was the only way he could explain the fact that the world could end right then, but as long as Harry kept doing just that with his tongue, Draco couldn’t care less.
Shedding their clothes didn’t take long, Draco shrugging hurriedly out of his robe and watching Harry as he stripped off layer by layer. Draco had always thought in the past that the main advantage of robes was that it was so easy to take them off, but somehow watching as inches of flesh were slowly revealed as Harry lifted his T-shirt over his head was more arousing than it would have been any other way. Harry wriggled above him as he began to work his trousers down his legs and the rough material burned against Draco’s bare skin, but the friction was just as good. He swallowed a moan of anticipation when Harry was finally free of his pants, cock springing out to stand against his chest. Harry had been right; he really didn’t need to overcompensate.
“Keen, aren’t you?” growled Harry.
“Like you’re not,” Draco replied, trying to keep his voice steady.
“Oh, I’m keen,” said Harry, and then he was moving down Draco’s torso, peppering kisses on his chest and laving his nipples with his tongue.
At one point Draco couldn’t help keening in an extremely embarrassing and fairly desperate manner, but Harry just replied with a pleased hum that made his lips tickle Draco’s skin. When he finally crawled low down enough to nuzzle Draco’s cock, Draco couldn’t help saying, “Harry,” even though the words were all but strangled in his throat.
“What do you want?” Harry asked, breaths tickling the sensitive skin and fingers moving on Draco’s thighs as if he were playing the piano.
“I--” Draco started, but Harry didn’t stop to wait for an answer anyway, so he ended in a whimper with the first touch of Harry’s tongue to the head, clenching his fists in the fabric of the sofa.
Harry laughed, licked a long swipe from the base of Draco’s balls to the tip of his cock, and then rolled to his feet. The loss of contact was almost painful and Draco nearly wanted to cry, but Harry grabbed his hand and dragged him up as well. “Bedroom,” he said. “Now.”
Well, Draco wasn’t exactly in a position to argue.
In a matter of seconds, Draco was lying slightly awkwardly on the bed as he watched Harry messing around in his bedside table, arse waving enticingly in the air. It was quite clear who was in charge tonight, who was going to be the receiver in this particular venture, but Draco couldn’t bring himself to care. He didn’t spare a thought for whether Ralph and Amy had made it by now, didn’t care whether they escaped or not. Right now, this was all that mattered, and Draco wasn’t even surprised by the realisation that he wanted it again and again. Harry was a leader, a hero, and although Draco resented and disliked that side of him, somehow it just made him want Harry more.
Suddenly, Harry was over him again, the dim lighting of the room reflecting in his darkened eyes, and he closed his hand around Draco’s cock, cool and slick with lube. Draco’s eyes widened with realisation and his mouth opened in a gasp.
“Watch me,” ordered Harry, and Draco did watch, riveted, as Harry dunked one of his fingers back into the pot balancing precariously on the bedcovers and then slowly, slowly began to press it into his own arse. Harry began to worry his lip with his teeth again, but Draco couldn’t tear his eyes away, watching the curve of Harry’s hand as more of his fingers began to disappear inside. Harry’s cock bounced against his stomach, angry red and weeping precome as his fingers slid in and out. “This what you like, Draco?”
“Fuck, yes. God, you have no idea what you look like,” said Draco.
“Not a bad picture yourself,” Harry replied, voice unsteady as his hand kept moving. Draco could see his legs beginning to tremble, and his hands itched to steady them, to take Harry in his hand and pull until he screamed. His cock was painfully hard, desperate to be touched, but Draco knew that if he did he would come and he didn’t want this to end so soon. Hell, he never wanted it to end. Harry was gasping now, finally beginning to lose a bit of the control he’d been showing over Draco all evening (and probably longer), but there was nothing that Draco wanted or was able to do anyway.
After what felt somehow like an age and yet no time at all, Harry breathed, “Now.” Then he was over Draco again, slowly sinking down onto his cock, and Draco couldn’t help giving a long, low groan as he was completely swallowed. Harry was so hot, so tight, panting above him, and Draco felt like he might pass out.
“Fuck,” he whispered again. “Harry--”
“I know.” A flash of teeth, and then Harry was guiding Draco’s hand to his cock and beginning to move above him, sweaty skin sliding together as he felt his orgasm building inside him.
“I don’t know how you can,” Draco gasped. “You’re not me, you can’t see how--”
“I can see you. And really, I know,” said Harry, and then he bent down and kissed him, wet and sloppy, thrusting down again and again until Draco felt him spurt wet and hot over his chest. That was enough to finally push him over the edge, and Harry’s mouth muffled Draco’s shout as he came.
When Draco woke up the next morning, Harry wasn’t there. The space where he had slept was cold, its occupant long gone. Harry hadn’t left a note. Draco hurriedly dressed himself and went home, tasting the wrongness of the situation on his tongue, sharp and sour.
He pottered around the house aimlessly. Half of him almost wanted to start brewing again, just to do something with his hands, but he decided against it. He was done with that now. He had no market; no reason to make the stuff, and if he left it laying around the house while he was in a mood like this… no. It wouldn’t do.
Draco had to resist going to find Harry for the rest of the day, whiling away the hours with worry, wondering what Harry thought he had done wrong.
Late in the afternoon, there was a knock at the door. Draco was well aware that he looked a bit of a state, hair not brushed since last night and clothes in disarray from his fretting and fiddling, but he opened it anyway. He was only half surprised to see Harry standing there.
Harry didn’t ask to come in, just stepped forward and expected Draco to back up to give him room. Which Draco did, of course, so Harry couldn’t really be faulted on his reasoning. Weak people gave way before forces of nature like Harry Potter; trying anything otherwise made about as much sense as King Canute turning the tides, and Draco was no Viking. Harry let the door slam behind him, and didn’t stop walking until Draco was backed up against the wall. He dimly registered that this was the entrance to his brewery, but right now the irony was further from amusing than it had ever been before.
Harry stepped forward until they were pressing together, bodies aligned, and Draco felt his cock begin to stir.
“Do you want to know what I did today?” Harry asked, placing his hands on his shoulders and slowly trailing them down Draco’s chest, then lower until they were cupped over his crotch. Draco could feel himself getting harder by the second, even as Harry’s words made his stomach give a sick lurch.
“Okay,” he said, glad his voice didn’t waver.
“I talked to some drug dealers my team apprehended last night, a lovely couple called Ralph and Amy.” Harry’s voice was deceptively gentle, and he accompanied his words with a wiggle of his fingers. Draco bit back a moan, and Harry dropped to his knees.
“And do you want to know what they told me?” he asked again, pushing Draco’s robes aside, shifting away layers of cloth until Draco’s cock jutted out in front of him.
“Ngh,” said Draco, and Harry stared up at him for a moment, before closing his mouth over the head of his cock. He sucked slowly, gently, tongue dancing across the tip. Draco had to brace himself against the wall, his knees dangerously close to buckling, and then Harry moved away again.
“They told me I was meant to be out of the way.” Harry’s eyes were cold and hard, burning into Draco’s face. He briefly swirled his tongue around Draco’s cock again, and Draco felt his hips thrust forward involuntarily, needing more. Then Harry’s hands were on his thighs holding him back, fingers digging in none too gently, and his mouth was gone and Harry was talking again. “They said they had a contact, the same one who made them the drug, who had set someone up to distract me from my work. Not that it mattered, because I have a whole team to do most of it for me, and I was planning to let them take this case for themselves anyway. But you, I never saw you coming.”
“Harry--” Draco started, hating the way his voice cracked as he said the name.
“I’m not done!” Harry shouted, and Draco jumped. Harry was just kneeling there, so angry (and rightly so) and Draco was still so hard he could probably drill through walls. “They said it would be someone who hated me, someone who wanted to bring me down. So of course it was you. You made their drugs for them, you took their money, and you lied to me.”
Harry’s voice was lower now, and under the anger Draco could hear a hint of something else. Maybe sadness, maybe regret. Again, Harry sucked Draco into his mouth, swallowing him down as he held him back with one hand, the other straying to his balls, swiping across his puckered hole. Draco was shaking, fingers trembling as he put his hands on Harry’s shoulders, but he only realised too late that he had made yet another mistake.
Harry drew back with a hiss. “Don’t fucking touch me, you’ve got no right to do that now. I thought you liked me, I thought you wanted me. I thought you’d changed, Malfoy.” Harry practically spat his name as he licked the head of Draco’s cock, and the disgust in his voice made Draco hate himself almost as much as Harry clearly did.
“Please, Harry, I--” he gasped, and Harry pulled back for the last time.
“How much of it was an act?” he demanded, and for a moment something flickered in his eyes, different to the cold and the hate. “I just. You have to tell me.”
Draco felt something hot on his cheek, and hoped in vain that it wasn’t a tear. “Not enough,” he whispered, “not nearly enough.”
Harry stared at him for what felt like hours, eyes measuring and face unreadable. He slowly swiped his tongue across his lips, opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. And then Harry made a sound between a shout and a groan, and his mouth was around Draco again, sucking longer and harder and deeper, some fingers squeezing his balls mercilessly as the others dug painfully into his leg. The sensations were completely overwhelming, and Draco was too stunned even to cry out as he came.
He sank to the floor slowly, knees finally giving out under him. The last thing Draco saw was Harry’s face, and the last thing he heard was the word, “Stupefy.”
Draco came to on his own sofa, arms and legs firmly locked under some curse or another. Still, the situation was better than he had expected, and probably better than he deserved.
“Drink,” said Harry from somewhere above him, and Draco gulped gratefully from the glass of water held to his lips. When he was done, Harry moved away, still out of sight. They were silent for a little while, so Draco was slightly surprised when Harry said, “It’s over for Ralph and Amy.”
Draco nodded, able to do that much, but his voice failed him.
“I just never thought it would end like this for you. It’s so bloody stupid, Draco. It seems wrong.” There was a hint of savage humour in Harry’s voice, roughened by worry and lack of sleep. Draco agreed with him. He’d never thought it would end like this, either.
“Why haven’t you arrested me?” he croaked.
“I pretty much have, but. I don’t really know.” Draco heard Harry get up, following the sound of his footsteps around the room. “I’m not sure I want to.”
Draco was silent for a while, listening to Harry pace and fidget, before he was able to speak again. He wanted to get up, wanted to grab Harry’s hands and calm him down and tell him that none of this had been his fault. Draco wanted to tell him that it hadn’t really happened, that for once he hadn’t lied to him, that he had never meant to hurt him, but it wasn’t true and he was done with lying. Draco wanted to do so many things, but not for the first time around Harry, he was completely helpless. “I’m sorry,” he said instead, but even to his own ears the words were pathetic and nowhere near enough.
“For lying to you. For helping them. For ever making the bloody drug.” Draco laughed bitterly. He’d done it to save other people’s lives at first, but it hadn’t had much of a good effect on his own. Funny, the way the world worked.
“I should hand you in,” said Harry. The sofa creaked as he sat down, and for the first time Draco could see his face. There were huge circles under his eyes, lips bitten and raw. Draco desperately wanted to reach out to him, even though he had given up that right, and maybe he’d never had it in the first place. He tried to think how he would feel if someone he cared about had betrayed him like this, wondered if he could be as calm as Harry was now. Probably not, but then Harry had always been a better man than himself. Maybe that was why Draco had hated him this long. And maybe if he still did, it would have made this easier to bear.
“But I don’t even know if I can,” said Harry, and he looked away.
Draco felt like his heart was about to explode out of his chest. He didn’t know what to say, too scared that anything he did manage to get out would just turn Harry against him even more.
They sat in silence again, then Harry made a frustrated noise and jumped to his feet. “I just can’t get over how stupid this is,” he snapped. “I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to do.”
“I can’t,” Draco replied miserably, knowing that if he were Harry, he would have no qualms about handing Draco straight in. Draco had done enough wrong in his life to know what the right thing to do was, but he still couldn’t quite say it.
He could hear Harry pacing again, the noises muffled on the new carpet Draco would be in no position to wear down from his cell in Azkaban. In his mind he was already there, the door clanging shut behind him, the chill already settling into his bones, and he was so caught up in the growing nightmare that he barely noticed when Harry began to talk again.
“The evidence against you makes sense,” Harry said gruffly, “but working and trading under Polyjuice protected your identity. If we search your house and come up with nothing, Draco, nobody can touch you.”
Harry walked forward and leant over him, fixing his eyes on him hard, and Draco felt another stirring of insane hope.
“I don’t want your excuses, and I really, really don’t want you to make me regret this.” Harry sighed, looking older than Draco had ever seen him. “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Draco said quietly.
Harry waved his wand and Draco could move again, stretching gingerly to work out the kinks from the prolonged inertia. “Just make sure I have nothing to arrest you for, alright?”
Harry got up and headed to the door, and Draco creaked to his feet to follow him. It was only as Harry put his hand on the knob that the question burst out of him.
“And what about us?”
Harry paused. “Give me time. This should blow over in a few days if you play your cards right, and then… Just give me time.”
Draco stood there for a few minutes longer after Harry was gone, unable to believe his luck and scared that Harry would change his mind. Then he turned to the wall hiding his brewery, and began the long process of cleaning up old mistakes.
A week later, Draco lounged in the foyer of the Ministry of Magic. Once again, suspicious looks rained in on him from all sides, but once again there was nothing anyone could do to touch him. He smirked as a tall Auror passed him by, practically tripping over his own robes as he stared at the intruder.
Draco looked around until he caught sight of a delivery boy passing through, and waved him over.
Trying to ignore the butterflies dancing in his stomach as he retrieved the cup of coffee from a pocket in his robes, he asked the boy to send it up to one Harry Potter.