Title: Christmas Invasion
Summary: When Draco shows up at Grimmauld Place, Harry's plans for a quiet holiday end.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): masturbation, frotting, blatant disregard for the December 1997 calendar, AU
Deathly Hallows compliant? Not at all compliant. Totally AU
Word Count: 6,981
Author's Notes: Thanks to my betas G and J. You both are saints for all your work on this. Thanks to the girls for making me laugh and helping with the title. And finally, thanks to the hd_holidays mods who were insanely patient with me.
Leaning into the fireplace, Harry smiled when Ron’s face appeared at the other end.
“Right. So are you ready to forget your ridiculous idea of spending Christmas by yourself and come to the Burrow?” Ron asked.
“For Merlin’s sake,” Hermione scolded, sliding up next to Ron. “At least say hello to Harry first! How are you, Harry?”
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Harry’s voice was flat when he replied. “I’m fine, Hermione. And no, I’ve not changed my mind about staying here for the holidays, Ron. You two will be so busy trying to visit with both sets of parents; you won’t even notice I’m not there.”
“What are you on about?” Ron asked. “Of course we’ll notice you’re not around. Merlin, Harry, it’s the first Christmas in years we’ve not spent together.”
The smile on Harry’s face dimmed. “I know, Ron, but I just need some time to sort a few things out. Plus I’ve not had a minute to myself since the school year started. If I’m not in class, I’m training. I barely even have time to play Quidditch.”
Ron snorted. “Excuses, Harry —and not very good ones at that. Why won’t you tell us exactly what’s going on? Are you on some secret mission for Dumbledore?”
“Look, Ron, believe what you want to believe, but there’s no secret mission. Honestly, I just want to spend time alone. Don’t take it personally. I love you both, but sometimes a bloke needs a break.”
Harry relaxed when he saw Hermione glare at Ron. She spoke in a strained whisper. “We agreed we wouldn’t pressure him. You know how he gets when he feels forced to do something.”
Harry smiled. “Hermione, I’m right here. A fireplace is not that big. Really I appreciate your concerns, but I’m not on a secret mission or doing anything dangerous. I’m just trying to enjoy some time on my own.”
Hermione nodded. “All right, Harry.” They chatted for a few more minutes, making promises to talk again before the New Year, and said their good byes. Harry sat back on his heels in front of the fireplace, rubbed his hands along his cheeks and sighed. He wanted to be frustrated that Hermione and Ron did not appear to believe his reasons for wanting to be alone, but since he had not been completely upfront with them, he knew that being angry wasn’t exactly fair.
Sometime during the last part of his sixth year, Harry had begun having sexual dreams. Nothing unusual there, however, his dreams weren’t about Ginny or Cho or any other girl he knew, but about him with faceless men who would bring him to new heights of ecstasy. Harry moaned; as had been happening a lot recently, he was getting hard just thinking about the dreams. He had hardly been shocked when the dreams started, actually, since, in the back of his mind, he had realised about a year before that a fit-looking bloke could make him hard faster than some naked bird.
Early in the summer he had run into Oliver Wood in Quality Quidditch Supplies. They chatted in the store and had decided to go to The Leaky Cauldron to have a butterbeer and catch up on each other’s lives. Oliver had purchased a Firewhiskey for both of them, and Harry, being a bit of a lightweight, found his mouth running freely. After confessing his attraction to men, he had been surprised when Oliver leaned across the table and kissed him. In no time at all Harry had found himself in Oliver’s flat, pressed up against a wall being snogged senseless. He and Oliver had spent the summer together enjoying each other, and by the time Harry had boarded the Hogwarts Express, he had been quite certain he was gay. Now, he just needed to decide if he was ready to tell Ron and Hermione, or if he should just keep this to himself.
Even more unsettling to Harry was that the dreams didn’t involve Oliver; rather, they starred Draco Malfoy. Harry chuckled. Wouldn’t that send the Malfoy scion running for cover to find out that his greatest rival wanted to snog him?.
Harry had just settled himself on the couch, when a letter floated in through the fireplace, hovering in front of him. Harry leaned forward and plucked the envelope out of the air and read — Harry, I trust this finds you well and enjoying your hiatus. Here is a gentle reminder of the rules you are to follow:
You are not to leave the house for any reason.
You may only receive incoming Floo calls.
The Floo Network has been disabled for travel.
Dobby will be checking in on you periodically to ensure that you are safe.
If you need to reach me, Dobby is able to come and go between Hogwarts and Grimmauld Place.
Harry rolled his eyes and, grumbling, flopped back onto the couch. “Yes, yes, I remember the rules. You pounded them into my head before you allowed me to Portkey over here!” With a wicked glint in his eye, Harry pulled out his wand and Incendio’d the letter.
Closing his eyes, Harry wondered why Dumbledore felt it necessary to reiterate the rules he had set up. It’s not like I’d have any reason to leave or anything, he thought, drifting off to sleep.
Harry shifted as he woke, rubbing the crick in his neck and stretching his arms above his head. His stomach growled, reminding him that he had not eaten since his arrival late the previous evening. Wandering down to the kitchen, Harry was thrilled to discover that Dobby has stocked the pantry with plenty of his favourite crisps and biscuits.
He tucked a bag of smoky bacon crisps under his arm, grabbed a handful of Jammie Dodgers, and picked up his pumpkin juice, carefully making his way to the library. Harry plopped himself on the rug in front of the fire, spread out his feast, and Summoned a book from the shelf. Stretching out his arm he grabbed Practical Uses for Defense Against the Dark Arts out of the air. He had seen it earlier in the day and knew that this would be a good time to gain some knowledge that would surely help him when it was time to fight Voldemort.
The gold letters embellishing the faded red book-cover had long ago started to show the tell-tale signs of wear. Harry was excited to think that maybe Sirius had held the same book and read its pages as he prepared for battle. After allowing himself the briefest moment of sorrow, Harry opened the book and began to skim the chapter titles.
His eyes widened and his mouth fell open at the printed words.
Chapter 1 – Being gay
Raising self-esteem, healthy love, preferences
Chapter 2 – Preparing for love
Embracing, touching, rubbing or frotting, kissing, biting
Chapter 2 – Preparing for love
Chapter 3 – How to make love
Performing fellatio, masturbation, rimming, positions for maximum pleasure
Harry slammed the book shut and closed his eyes. His heart raced as though he had just run for miles. He wondered when Sirius had added this book to the library collection. Judging from the worn cover and the stuck together pages, it had not simply sat on a shelf collecting dust. Harry decided this was far more interesting than any defence book would be and, taking a deep breath, he opened the cover again and began reading.
Over the course of several passages, Harry found himself thinking about his time with Oliver. They had had fun, but they both had known it was just a way to pass the summer. Still, Harry couldn’t help but miss the kissing and the gentle caresses. Crawling onto the couch, Harry leaned back until he was nearly lying flat. He pulled his jumper up and ran the pad of his thumb over his nipple and moaned. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine that it was Oliver pinching and twisting them—manhandling them in the way that Harry loved. He slid his hand down his chest and stomach and teased at the hair just below his navel before unbuttoning his jeans.
A moan escaped Harry’s lips when his hand snaked under the waistband of his boxers and his fingers encircled his hardening prick. He gave a few long, slow tugs on his cock before letting go, raising his hips and sliding his jeans and boxers down his legs. Cupping a hand around his bollocks, Harry rolled them gently in his hand. He remembered how good it felt to have them in Oliver’s mouth with Oliver’s tongue rolling over them. For the first time since he’d arrived, Harry wished he was not alone.
Grasping his prick, he slid his hand up and down. Pushing a particularly erotic memory of Oliver into the front of his mind, he increased the speed of his hand, working his thumb over the wet tip of his cock with each stroke. He felt his balls tighten and the waves of impending orgasm race through his body. Within seconds his release pulsed in thick spurts over his stomach and chest as he shouted, “Draco!”
Harry rested on the couch for a few minutes, sated and relaxed until, abruptly, he sat bolt upright. “Bloody buggering hell!! Draco? I was thinking about Oliver, not Malfoy!” He rubbed his temples. Oh hell, who am I trying to fool? No matter who I start out thinking about, it always seems to be Malfoy’s face I see when I’m coming.”
He performed a quick Cleaning Spell on himself, pulled the blanket off the back of the couch, and rolled onto his side. No need to go up to bed he thought as he fell asleep, dreaming about the man he’d had and the one he truly wanted.
Harry spent most of the next day sleeping, not so much to catch up on his sleep as to avoid the thoughts about Malfoy that kept running through his mind, and down to his prick.
The third morning after arriving at Grimmauld Place, as Harry sat in the kitchen drinking his morning tea and reading the Prophet, a noise near the landing caught his attention. He reached for his wand, only to realise he had left it in his room. He knew Grimmauld Place was heavily warded, so the chance that this was an intruder was slim.
Harry straightened up at the table. He was dressed in his pyjamas, but figured that Dumbledore would understand. He was not, however, prepared for Professor Snape to walk through the door.
“Professor?” Harry said. “What are you doing here? Did Dumbledore send you to check on me? You can see I’m perfectly fine, so there’s no need for you stay.” Harry knew he would probably suffer for his cheek, but at that exact moment, he really didn’t care.
“That is Professor Dumbledore to you, Mister Potter,” admonished Professor Snape. “And attempt to control your regrettable Gryffindor tendency of speaking before you think.”
Harry glared at Snape, but kept his mouth shut.
If Professor Snape had been capable of smiling, Harry was sure that the man would have as he continued. “It appears that Professor Dumbledore has had a change of heart and you will no longer be staying here on your own.”
Harry’s head fell to the table with a heavy thud. “Oh bloody hell, please tell me you’re not staying here for the rest of my break.” His words muffled against the table.
“Language, Potter!” spat Snape. “No, I am pleased to say that I have not been relegated to Potter Babysitting, nor forced to endure your painfully adolescent company for the duration of my holiday. Mr. Malfoy, however, is not quite so fortunate.”
Snape stepped to the side to reveal Draco standing behind him.
Harry raised his head slightly off the table. “Excuse me?”
Snape smirked, his eyes glinting wickedly. “Tut, tut, Mr. Potter. Lost your hearing as well as your manners?”
Harry was incredulous, and his face reddened with controlled anger. “There is no bloody way he is staying here!”
“It’s not like I was given a choice, Potter,” Draco sneered. “Surely you can’t believe I’m here of my own free will?”
Harry’s retort was cut off by a dismissive wave of Professor Snape’s hand. “This is neither up for discussion nor negotiations,” Snape said. “Draco, your suitcases are by the front door. You and Potter can decide which room would be best for you to use.”
His gaze slid between the two young men. “Oh for the love of Salazar! It’s not as if you have been told you must become best friends over the holidays. I do, however, expect to find you both alive when I come collect you to bring you back to school.”
Harry folded his arms. He could never outstare Snape, but he’s give it a good Gryffindor go. “I can’t promise anything.”
“There’s no need to promise. If permanent damage occurs— to either of you—you both will suffer my personal wrath.” He spun on his heels, cape snapping, he strode out of the room and the house, leaving the boys in embarrassed silence.
Several minutes passed before Harry stood up, took his cup to the sink and rinsed it out. He turned, leaned up against the counter and sighed. “So, why are you here, Malfoy? Why couldn’t you have stayed at school instead of coming here and ruining my holiday?”
Draco’s jaw clenched and his face flushed with anger, his voice dripping with disdain. "Oh please, Potter. Do you think I want to stay in this hell hole? Yeah, top of my Christmas list, nearly two weeks of brain numbing torture with my childhood nemesis? Hardly!”
Harry pushed off the sink and strode out of the room past Draco, calling over his shoulder, “You know what, Malfoy, don’t really give a shite, just stay the fuck away from me.”
Harry slammed the door shut once he reached his bedroom. Gone was his quiet, peaceful holiday. He began to pace around his room. “What’s Dumbledore playing at? And what’s Dra...Malfoy hiding from?” He paused, running his hands through his hair. “How the hell am I going to survive the rest of their holiday with him in the same house?”
Harry moped about in his room for nearly an hour after his disruptive morning. Finally deciding not to let Malfoy’s presence make him a prisoner locked in a room in his own house, Harry gathered his things and crossed the hall to take a shower. Stripping off his pyjamas, he stepped under the steamy spray. He let the water beat down on his shoulders until he could almost feel the tension leave them. Almost.
His mind drifted to the earlier scene in the kitchen. Despite his anger at Dumbledore for sending Malfoy there, Harry couldn’t help but notice how good Malfoy looked. Apparently, neither could his cock. As soon as Harry pictured Draco in his mind, his traitorous prick had begun to stand up and beg for attention. Harry continued to scrub his body, pointedly ignoring the increasingly painful throbbing in his groin.
Unfortunately, the throbbing won, as always. Fine, Harry thought. I’ll wank, but I will not think about Draco... Malfoy!
He wrapped soapy fingers around his shaft and started to pump his fist. His motions were harsh and needy and in an embarrassingly short amount of time, Harry climaxed, Draco’s name on his lips. Leaning his head against the shower stall, he watched as his release swirled down the drain. If only he could wash all his problems away that easily.
For the next two days, Harry never saw Malfoy around the house. He noticed that food was gone from the pantry or refrigerator, so he knew Draco was eating. Beyond the missing food, there was no indication that anyone else was in the house. Several times Harry found himself outside Draco’s bedroom door listening for any sounds—any signs of life— but the room was dead quiet and Harry chastised himself for caring.
The sun was fading for the day when Harry realized he had been sitting in the same place in the library for several hours. He had hoped that reading would prove a decent enough distraction to his current dilemma. Unfortunately, his eyes kept wandering to the sex book he had found earlier. Giving in to temptation, Harry picked it up and began to thumb through the pages. He closed it; something about the tome wasn’t right. There was something...different about it. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but his instincts pointed him to Draco.
Once again he found himself at Draco’s door, trying to gather the courage to knock. It wouldn’t be too odd, he told himself, to see if Draco needed anything. The git was a guest in Harry’s home, after all—it was only polite. Deciding against it, however, Harry turned away just as the room door flung open.
“What the fuck is your problem, Potter?” Draco’s wand was clutched in his hand. “I’ve left you alone, stayed out of your precious space, and as repayment, you hover outside my room?”
“I was just checking on you—,” Harry stammered.
“Checking on me or checking me out?” Draco’s voice became low. “I’ve seen your little sex book in the library. Is it just a coincidence that all the diagrams have men with blond and black hair?”
Harry’s mouth dropped open. “How would you know what colour hair they had? Were you that interested in the book that you changed their hair colour?”
“What are you on about, Potter! I didn’t colour any damn pages of your learner’s guide to gay sex!
“You’re full of shit, Malfoy! You know you did it! How dare you?” Harry shook with anger.
Draco opened his mouth to speak, closing it quickly. He reached up and pushed Harry out into the hall and turned back into his room, slamming the door behind him.
Harry slumped against the wall, listening to Draco’s muffled rant. He wanted to believe Draco. He was so tired of fighting. Feeling a bit sorry for himself, he went down to the kitchen, hoping to find enough ingredients to make a batch of biscuits. I came here to enjoy my holiday and I’ll be damned if I’ll let the likes of Malfoy ruin that for me, Harry told himself. He reached for the Muggle cookbook he had left on the kitchen shelf. He flipped to the biscuit section and ran his finger along the names, searching out his favourite recipe.
Turning to Gingernut Biscuits, he checked the list of ingredients. Harry went to the pantry, retrieved the items he needed and placed them on the counter. Harry found cooking the Muggle way very soothing. It gave him the opportunity to think about the things that were bothering him. And right now what was bothering him was about six feet of blond goodness, with a sizeable side of snarkiness.
In the time it took to bake the batch of biscuits, Harry had come to a conclusion. It really wasn’t much of a stretch to realize that Draco was there because it was not safe for him at Hogwarts. Harry had seen Draco’s name on the list of students remaining at the school over the holiday, so if Draco was not going home and was not safe at Hogwarts, then it stood to reason that something definitely changed — and Harry began to wonder if it was Draco’s loyalties. Pulling the last tray of biscuits out of the oven, Harry decided that if the blond had changed sides, he was going to work it to his advantage.
Slamming the door in Potter’s face, Draco strode over to the sad excuse for a bed in his room and sat down, rolling his wand between his hands. He shouted, “Where the hell does he come off accusing me of colouring the pictures in his little sex book! It had to have been him. The book didn’t look like that the first time I looked at it and there’s no one else in the house.”
But Draco did remember the book changing — or at least, it seemed to have changed — he just could never put a finger on anything in particular. Colours were more vibrant where they had been dulled before; even the models in the photographic examples seemed… cheerier?
“Impossible!” Draco called aloud, remembering that the images weren’t magical images at all — just plain, static, unmoving photographs. Still, one of the models looked amazingly like Potter, and the one doppelgänger’s partner? Blond. Thin. Grey eyes.
Draco flopped back in frustration and tried to toss those thoughts aside. He sighed at the preposterous notion that the images — the non-magical photos — were changing into Draco and Potter. But blood rushed to his cock at the memory of a few of the pictures, the positions, and the ecstatic expression on the models’ faces. Merry Fucking Christmas, Draco, stuck in hell with the one bloke you can’t have.
Trying to ignore the throbbing in his crotch, Draco rolled onto his side, a futile attempt to sleep. At least the Potter in his dreams returned his feelings.
He was no longer sure that he found that thought comforting.
When Draco woke a few hours later, his stomach was loudly reminding him that he had not eaten for several hours. Checking the time, Draco was confident that Potter was sleeping — the perfect time for a little rummaging in the kitchen. Draco was surprised to find a plate of freshly baked Gingernut biscuits and a note on the table. Help yourself. If you’ve not found it already, the Earl Grey is in the cupboard over the sink. HP
Draco eyed the biscuits warily for several moments, as if expecting them to jump up and stab him, before moving to fill the kettle and set it on the hob. He lit the flame underneath it with his want and pulled down the tea and a cup, suddenly wondering how Potter knew that Earl Grey was his favourite. He reached out and tentatively took a biscuit, nibbling at it at first but eventually taking a large bite once he discovered how tasty they were. Settling into a chair, he relaxed and ate several biscuits, allowing his mind to wander again.
Harry heard Draco leave his room. He lay in bed for quite some time, trying to decide if he should attempt another talk with Draco tonight or wait until the morning. By the time he had decided to go downstairs, he heard Draco’s footsteps on the stair and the snick of his bedroom door closing.
“Tomorrow it is, then,” he whispered as he rolled over and drifted back off to sleep.
Harry slept in late the next morning. As he padded across the hall to the shower, his thoughts were solely on how to get Draco out of his room. Quickly finishing in the bathroom, Harry headed down to the kitchen, wondering as he went if Draco had tried any of the biscuits he had left out last night. At the sight of the empty plate he smiled widely, feeling more confident about talking Draco into coming out of his room.
When he had finished eating and finished washing up his few dishes, Harry went to the library. He hoped to devise a plan that wasn’t quite as lame as just going to Draco’s room and asking him to come out.
He stopped in the doorway, his mouth hanging open. Curled into a chair by the fire, his leg dangling over the arm of his chair, sat Draco. A plate with a few biscuit crumbs lay on a table near him and he slowly reached over and picked one up, popping it in his mouth. Harry tried to speak, but his mouth wordlessly opened and closed.
“Interesting fish imitation, Potter,” Draco said, looking up and smirking. “Is that your only talent, or might I expect a few more animal impersonations before you come through the door?”
Harry’s brow furrowed in confusion and anger, until he caught on to the teasing light in Draco’s eyes. He winked at Draco. “Oh, I think you might be quite surprised at some of my talents, Malfoy. Quite surprised indeed.”
“What? That in his spare time, the golden boy of Gryffindor likes to conjure up biscuits in the kitchen?” Draco snickered.
Harry strolled to the chair across from Draco and sat down, casually leaning back and smiling. “It’s much worse than that, Malfoy. I didn’t conjure those biscuits; I actually made them like a Muggle would.”
Draco’s eyes grew wide.
“So, I suppose that might be something the Prophet might love to get a hold of one day soon.” Harry’s eyes shone with amusement. “Should I owl your friend, Rita Skeeter for you?”
Chuckling, Draco gave a dismissive wave. “Oh please, Potter. That old hag? No, this kind of news is worthy of only one publication. I’ll be heading to Witch Weekly with this little titbit. Why, witches all over the world will be swooning at the thought of Harry Potter baking them biscuits.”
“Too bad they’re not their not the ones I want swooning over me.” Harry’s face turned immediately scarlet, once he realized what he had said. He was having such fun bantering with Draco, he let his guard down a bit too far.
Sitting up in his chair, Draco spoke slowly and deliberately. “I see. So you really do Seek for the other team?”
Harry tilted his head and shrugged. “Is that a problem, Malfoy?”
“It might be,” Draco said, getting up from his chair and walking out of the room. He stopped in the doorway, looked over his shoulder and smirked. “If I wasn’t Seeking for the same team.”
If Draco had stayed in the doorway for another second, he would have seen the completely gobsmacked expression on Harry’s face. Harry’s head was spinning. Draco just admitted that he was gay, hadn’t he? Harry was completely confused by Draco’s admission and, truth be told, more than just a bit turned on. He needed to find out why Dumbledore sent Draco to Grimmauld Place. Harry was sure that things would fall into place, once he got Draco to tell him what was going on.
Draco practically ran to his room after he left the library. He closed the door, crossed the room and flopped down onto his back on the bed. Flinging an arm over his eyes, he sighed. The news that Harry was gay had gone straight to his cock, which was now so hard that it was threatened to burst right through his trousers. Draco pressed his palm against his erection, willing himself to relax. When several moments had passed with no sign of it softening, Draco slowly unbuttoned his trousers and lowered the zip. His breathing grew erratic when he felt the silk of his boxers slide across his prick.
Draco lifted his arse and pushed his boxers and trousers down to his knees; his cock bounced free, slapping against his stomach. The tip poked out from its foreskin, and it glistened with moisture.
Draco closed his eyes and slid his hands up under his shirt, letting his fingers drift along the length of his body. He moaned softly as his fingers tickled his skin and he played with the coarse hair that framed the base of his prick. Slowly, he wrapped his fingers around the firm shaft and began to stroke up and down.
His moan became a gasp as he slid back the foreskin, and his thumb grazed the leaking tip. He ran his thumbnail tenderly into the slit, his back arching up off the bed. Draco pushed his shirt up and pinched a nipple between his index finger and thumb, giving it a bit of a twist. He dropped his hand from his cock and cradled his bollocks in his palm, rolling them in his hand.
For the first time in weeks, he allowed his fantasy to take over. “Oh yes, Harry, just like that.” Sliding his fingers back, he traced the outside of his entrance, imagining it was Harry’s finger touching him, teasing him. He continued teasing himself with one hand, while the other firmly grasped his prick. He teased and pumped roughly, and before long, he was shooting his release calling out Harry’s name.
Harry sat shaking his head in disbelief. It was like every holiday rolled into one. Draco was gay. Not that Harry would be likely to benefit from that smidgeon of information, but still...
As Harry dwelled on it, he realized it was nearly Christmas day. He wondered how Draco would have celebrated at the Manor. Although he knew that he couldn’t pull off anything elaborate, he suddenly wanted to celebrate. He called for Dobby. When the house-elf arrived he explained his plan. Dobby gleefully agreed to help Harry and left quickly to begin his tasks.
Harry knew he needed to have a frank discussion with Draco to find out a great many things; namely, where Draco’s true loyalties lay and how he truly felt towards Voldemort.
Still deep in thought, Harry looked around the room, his eyes landing on a bottle of Firewhiskey that he was sure had not been there before. He walked over, grabbing it by the neck, and walked u the stairs. It’d be nice to have it with him as he to talk to Draco. Liquid courage, he thought with a laugh. This is either very smart or about the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. Either way, Harry headed towards the serpent’s den.; when he reached Draco’s room, he gulped and raised his hand to knock on the door.
He heard a groan — long and primal — from the other side. Harry was about to call out to Draco, to be sure he was not hurt, when he heard the unmistakable moan of orgasmic relief and Draco calling out his name. Harry’s name.
Harry gave it a moment before knocking. Still, he heard Draco swear and jump up from the bed. Several minutes passed and Draco had still not answered the door. Harry hesitantly knocked again, this time a little harder. Shortly after that, a very flushed, messy-haired Draco opened the door.
“Hi,” Harry said, attempting not to blush. “We need to talk.”
Draco’s eyes straitened. “How long have you been here?”
Harry looked at his own feet. “Um, just got here, didn’t I?”
“Either you’re lying or you’ve developed a fixation with your trainers,” Draco said his voice rising. “Now let’s try that again. How long have you been here?”
Harry raised his eyes to meet Draco’s, his normally pale cheeks now bright red.
“Really not that long” Harry said, “but probably longer than you’d have liked.”
Draco schooled his features, raised his chin proudly and looked down his nose at Harry. “Is that what you wanted to talk about?”
“No! I came up here to talk to you about why you’re here,” Harry said with a shrug of his shoulders. “I found this bottle of Firewhiskey in the library and thought that maybe if I got you pissed, you’d tell me the truth.”
“And now, after what you...heard?”
Harry thought carefully for a few moments. “I still want to know why you’re here, but now I’m also wondering why me?”
Draco walked into the hallway, pulling his bedroom door shut behind him. “I’m not promising anything...but I wouldn’t mind a toss from that Firewhiskey.”
“Don’t put yourself out, Malfoy,” Harry muttered, following behind Draco. When Draco stopped suddenly, Harry walked right into him.
“If you’re going to be pissy about this, Potter,” Draco said exasperatedly, “you might as well just fuck off now.” He leaned against the wall, arms crossed defiantly.
“I’m not the one...” Harry paused, sighing as he threw up his hands in frustration and chose his next words carefully:
“Look, let’s just put the past behind us.” He held out his hand to Draco. “Harry Potter, and you are...?”
Harry waited as Draco sneered at his outstretched hand, and Harry wondered if Draco was remembering how Harry had rejected him seven years ago. Just as Harry was about to give up, Draco slid his hand into his, shaking it briefly. “Draco Malfoy. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”
“Can’t say I have,” Harry said, smiling. “But easily remedied. What say we open this Firewhiskey and drink to our newly-established...acquaintance.”
They walked in genial silence to the library. Draco stopped in the doorway and looked at Harry, his eyes sparkling.
“There’s a tree in here —” Draco said softly, “with fairly lights —just like we always had at the Manor.”
Harry guided Draco into the room. “Really? Just like?”
“Yes, just like.” Draco’s eyes were bright when he turned to look at Harry. “How did you... No. Why did you do this?”
“Tomorrow’s Christmas.” Harry shrugged. “I just wanted to make it more festive here, so I asked Dobby to get a tree and decorate it like a Wizard family would. I imagine he remembered the trees from the Manor and this is what he came up with.”
Draco went to the tree and ran his hand over the branches. His head dropped to his chest and his shoulders slowly raised and lowered as he took a deep, slow breath. Harry thought that Draco might have been upset with him, when the blond turned around and smiled.
“Thank you, Harry,” Draco said, his voice was soft and trembling. “I think I could use that drink now.”
Draco using Harry’s first name was an admitted shock, but Harry hid his surprise well, hurrying to the sideboard and retrieving two tumblers. He returned to the couch, sat, and set the glasses on the table in front of him, pouring a healthy glass for the two of them. Harry raised one tumbler in the air and patted the seat next to him with his free hand.
Draco accepted the glass and sat at the other end of the couch. They tilted their glasses at one another in a silent toast and swallowed a mouthful, wincing at the strength of the bevvy.
Setting his glass on the table, Harry turned to face Draco, pulling one leg up against the back of the couch and settled his back against the arm rest.
“Why are you here, Draco?”
Draco stared into the tumbler as if mesmerized by the liquid swirling in the glass. He looked up at Harry, his eyes dull and his mouth drawn into a tight line. He took another large swallow of Firewhiskey and paused until the burning subsided.
“I couldn’t go home, and it wasn’t safe for me to be at Hogwarts.” Draco’s voice was still uneven. “So, Professor Snape talked to Dumbledore” He shrugged. “And here I am. Apparently, this is the one place where neither the Dark Lord nor my father can find me.”
“And why would your father and Voldemort be looking for you?”
“I was supposed to be Marked over the holidays.” Draco made a sound somewhere between a snort and a laugh. “Some gift, don’t you think? Being forced into servitude to an insane megalomaniac. Just what every pure-blood wants for Christmas.”
Harry rubbed his face between his hands. He’d suspected that Draco was not going to give up his information freely, but he wasn’t prepared to drag it out of him bit by bit. Picking up his glass, Harry took a large swig.
“I’d pretty much worked that part out in my head,” Harry replied. “What I’m not sure about is where your loyalties lie.”
Draco tossed back the last of his drink. “Potter...Harry, do you really believe that Dumbledore would have risked exposing Professor Snape as a spy—not to mention bringing me to Order Headquarters, if I hadn’t pledged my support to you?”
Leaning forward, Draco grabbed the bottle and filled both glasses. He raised his glass in a toast to Harry, swallowed another mouthful, and leaned back with a sigh, his eyes closing.
“What made you change your mind?” Harry said softly.
Pulling his feet up onto the couch, Draco tucked his knees under his chin. He opened his eyes and, once again, fixed his gaze on the clear liquid he was swirling in his glass.
“My father took me to a Revel just before school started up again,” Draco said, his voice barely audible. “He thought it was time I learnt what being in the Dark Lord’s inner circle was all about.”
“And...what did you learn?” Harry was almost too afraid to ask.
“All I saw was a bunch of grown men, cowering to do the bidding of a lunatic.”
Draco gave a harsh laugh. “Problem was, I could never tell my father that I thought the Dark Lord was completely mental. Unfortunately, I’m not as good of a liar as I seemed to think and Father didn’t believe me. I think he would have hexed me, had Mother not been there.”
Harry sat very still, unsure of what to do or say next. When Draco remained silent Harry spoke. “I’m really sorry, Draco. But for what it’s worth, I’m really glad you changed sides.” Harry blushed and quickly emptied his glass.
“Well someone had to come and rescue all you Gryffindors from yourselves, didn’t they?” Draco’s said, his words beginning to slur. “You half-wits rush in, wands drawn ready for battle. I need to teach you subtl... sutle... things known only to Slytherins.”
Draco reached for, and missed, the bottle of Firewhiskey, his hand grazing the neck, sending the bottle tipping. Harry’s hand shot out and gripped the bottle before a drop spilled out.
Harry preened. “Still got my razor sharp refluxes.”
“Bowshoat...! And do quit hogging the booze, Potter.”
Draco shifted and reached for the bottle just as Harry lifted his arm and moved it out of the way. Draco ended up sprawled in Harry’s lap, their mouths inches away.
“I should move,” Draco said, his words just breaths of drunken heat.
Harry gripped the bottle tighter and swallowed hard. “Okay.”
As they shifted back onto the couch, Harry’s prick rubbed against Draco’s. Harry moaned, tilted his head and kissed Draco chastely.
Hesitating for a second — to be sure he was not about to be punched — Harry pulled Draco into a passionate kiss, his tongue tracing Draco’s lower lip, seeking entrance. He was rewarded when Draco parted his lips, his tongue meeting Harry’s in a tangle of wet fervour.
Draco began to press his hips down as Harry’s began to thrust up. They pressed and slid, and the divine friction of Draco’s prick rubbing against his own more intoxicating than the alcohol had been. Pulling out of the kiss, Harry stretched his head back against the couch.
Draco grinned and placed tiny kisses along Harry’s neck, from the outemost jaunt of his chin to his heart-spoon. He covered Harry’s Adam’s apple with his lips and sucked until the flesh was red and angry, at the same time frotting faster and faster against Harry.
Harry felt as if the room was spinning out of control, he felt the catch in Draco’s breath against his neck and he was lost. He gave one final thrust up, his back arching under Draco’s weight as he climaxed. He could feel the hot moisture of his release against his skin and was please to feel Draco shudder as he came a few seconds later.
The intensity of his climax had a sobering effect on Harry. No longer feeling the effects of the alcohol, he worried that Draco might not be as pleased with the situation.
“Budge up a bit,” Harry said.
“But I’m sticky,” Draco whigned.
“Oh don’t pout, it’ll be fine.”
Harry found his wand. Draco tenses slightly when he saw Harry point it at him. When Harry swished and flicked is package, Draco felt the unmistakable tingle of a Cleaning Charm work its magic on him, cleaning all traces of sex —all physical traces, at least — from his body.
“I thought you were going to Obliviate me,” Draco admitted.
“To tell the truth,” Harry said, as he summoned some blankets and pillows from upstairs, “I seriously thought about it.” He made a make-shift bed on the floor near the fire and the Christmas tree and sat on it. He bit his bottom lip and looked hopefully at Draco. “Do...do you want me to?”
“Not bloody likely.” Draco joined him on the blankets curling into Harry’s side with a familiarity usually reserved for long-time lovers. “I want to remember this night.”
“Are you sorry?” Harry asked quietly.
“Would I be wrapped around you if I were?” Draco drawled.
“I just don’t want you to wake up and regret anything.”
Draco sat up and looked down at Harry. “A few hours ago I was wanking to the thought of you. What in the name of Merlin’s frilly pants would make you think I didn’t want this?”
Pulling Draco back down into his arms, Harry smiled. He ran his fingers through the pale blond strands, watching as the firelight danced off them.
“Besides...I’ve an appointment with Witch Weekley tomorrow. Sod the biscuits — this is the real story!”
The laughed; Harry never once believed Draco was being Serious. There was an odd trust about them now. Odd, yet refreshing.
“You know we’ll cause all kinds of uproar when we go back to school, don’t you?” Draco sounded hesitant.
“Don’t care,” was Harry’s sleepy reply.
“What about Granger and the weas...Weasley?”
Harry rolled to face Draco. He brushed a lock of hair away from Draco’s eyes. “I’ll just tell them Father Christmas gave me the best gift this year. You.”
Draco snorted. “You do realize, Potter, that sentiments like that may just get you re-sorted into Hufflepuff, don’t you?”
“Draco...shut up and kiss me.”