By: Slice

It was a good day and he was, apparently, God's favorite little Slytherin. How else, he took a second to ponder, could one explain the opportunity presented to him? But Draco pushed that thought away as it wasn't the important thing at the moment. The important thing was taking advantage of this wonderful, once in a lifetime opportunity.

After all, it wasn't everyday that you stumbled across a bound Harry Potter, completely at your mercy.

"You know, you're quite lucky that the Dark Lord's dead Potter," he said from where he leaned casually against the closed door of the supply shed. "After all, if he were alive, I would be expected to take you to him, helpless as you are." Draco took great pleasure from those last few words.

The Boy Who Lived: helpless and at his non-existent mercy. Oh yes, God's favorite.

"Certainly," Potter said dryly, his eyebrow quirking. "Since of course you would have kidnapped me and given me away to the tender mercies of the Dark, what with you being such a die-hard fan of the fucker."

Draco smiled beatifically at him. "Exactly! Now," he hummed, "since that option is no longer possible, we'll have to think of something else." He tapped his finger against his chin and made a great show of thinking.

Potter rolled his eyes. "Well, gee, I don't know. Maybe you could untie me, you over-dramatic git?" He punctuated his point by jerking on his restraints harshly. He sounded, Draco thought with amusement, a little angry.

Potter was stranded in the middle of the tidy clutter of the Quidditch supply shed. Warm light filtered in through the high windows, painting everything in shades of orange and red as the sun began to dip below the horizon, making broomsticks shine and glow and the shadows behind the trunks of balls and barrels of supplies deepen, like heavy sweeps of charcoal mixed in amidst rich pastel. Harry Potter himself stood, stretched taut with his arms pulled tightly above his head and bound with magical rope that disappeared somewhere roof ward. His feet were similarly bound.

Somehow, despite his helpless position, Potter still managed to exude menace and a certain thrill of danger. It was, probably, because Potter had never been able to cover up how he felt, and he had always been too stupid to know when he was losing. It made his eyes look like acid and Draco found himself loving it.

In fact it was funny, in a strange twisted kind of way. Harry Potter had always been different. Usually, it enraged Draco, made him furious and wrathful and painfully jealous at times. But in this way, Potter's anger, his always mercurial temper even during a time when the world was folding in upon itself and everyone was going lovesick with peace – like no one could ever be unhappy and like everything smelled of daises and roses – it was, he found, a crazy kind of blessing.

"No, no, no," Draco quickly dismissed, "where would be the fun in that?"

Potter snarled, and Draco smirked. "After all, someone needs to punish you." Draco watched with great satisfaction as Potter stiffened within his confines. "Oh yes," he purred. "The cosmic irony of it all, Harry Potter, great Savior of the Wizarding World, Defeater of the Dark Lord, etc. etc. etc. done in by a simple Thief Catcher spell."

Draco tsked and circled his prey. "It must be mortifying."

"Yes," Potter spat, "and you must know everything about mortification, eh Malfoy? You, the fucking paragon of Pureblood Supremacy having to bow and scrap and kiss up to a half-blood lunatic."

Draco stopped in front of Potter, who's eyes practically glowed and spat emerald green fire, the wicked color of the killing curse. His insides boiled with a queer mix of thick, tingling arousal and the sizzling agony of rage. "That was a low blow Potter, didn't think you had it in you to fight so dirty." Draco's eyes narrowed and his body wound tight like a snake, still and ready to strike.

"You," Potter hissed, his face flushing red with anger, red with passion, "started it."

Draco took his rage and hate and arousal and trapped it down deep inside him. He was a Malfoy to the bone if nothing else, and it wouldn't do to lose control. He stepped closer to Potter until there was barely an inch separating them, the heat of their bodies searing each other.

He wouldn't be able to win against Potter with words, the damn boy just spit them back out, dripping with a vitriol that Draco swore Potter had learned from the late Professor Snape. The dark haired boy had spent enough detentions with the snarling man to pick up some of his habits. But he could win other ways. When words would not do, touch would.

Potter startled at the first touch of lips against his cheek. Draco could feel his stubble, harsh against his soft lips. He darted his tongue out, tasting sweet salty sweat and something he couldn't describe, like musk and wind and power. Quickly, he moved his face back before Potter could jerk around and bite at him, his teeth clacking forebodingly scant inches from his nose. Draco bit his tongue in delight at the furious emotion whirling within those radioactive eyes and something giddy and heady rose up from deep inside himself to swallow Draco whole.

Draco gave a husking laugh and placed his hand lightly on the slender, corded neck of the boy before him. Slowly, he dragged it down the lean body until it rested over the top of frayed trousers right where a small slice of tanned flesh was uncovered. Thanks to the awkward position Potter was in, his shirt had ridden up and Draco took the opportunity to rake his nails slightly against that bared, vulnerable flesh.

Potter gave a great shudder, and his eyes closed once, very briefly, before pinning him with a look Draco could not interpret.

"Shh, quiet now," Draco slowly slid to his knees, never dropping his eyes from Potter's. "Take your punishment like a good boy. Who knows," he added with a heavy lidded gaze, "I might even give you a reward." Draco smiled and his knees touched the ground, his hands slowly caressing up a toned back, sneaking beneath the clinging shirt. "Give you something sweet to suck on, perhaps."

Draco finally let his gaze drop at the little hitch that caught in the dark haired boy's breathing. He used his hands and forearms to lift the shirt up even more, revealing sharp-ridged bones and lean, hard muscle covered over by scarred golden flesh. Beginning with a nip right below Potter's navel, he explored his new playground, licking and nibbling and biting and mouthing along the hard spines of twisting scars until the muscles of Potter's stomach were twitching and spasming from the onslaught and Draco had to clutch at Potter's hips awkwardly with his elbows to keep them still.

The sound of Potter's grudging, reluctant moans was music to his ears.

"You have so much to repent for Potter," he whispered against the trembling flesh, trailing slow kisses along the coarse trail of dark curls traveling down Potter's stomach to lead into tenting trousers. "So many grievances done, so much that you've gotten away with, you and your arrogant pride, yes."

With a furious, impatient sound in the back of his throat, Potter jerked his hips forward as hard and fast as his bindings allowed him, knocking Draco's head back sharply. Draco surged to his feet, glaring angrily and swiping at his mouth. Blood bloomed stark against his pale hand from where his teeth had cut into his lip.

Potter's nostrils flared, and his breath came ragged and heavy – partly from anger, and partly from lust. "The least you can do Malfoy, if you're really planning on molesting me, is to call me by my freaking given name."

Draco sneered, "Still giving orders even when defenseless? You arrogant bastard," he hissed and relished in the explosive breath the green-eyed boy gave when he socked him hard in the gut. "Well fine then, Harry. It's so much more intimate, after all."

Potter laughed breathlessly, and it echoed with recklessness and anger and something that sounded uncomfortably like remembered despair. "Now you've got it Malfoy, no more hiding behind silly masks and cloaks." He gasped air back into his lungs, "No more hiding behind your father."

Draco snarled and punched him again, sinking his teeth hard into the tender flesh of his neck until Pot- no, Harry went rigid with pain – though he refused to cry out – and blood welled into his mouth. He smeared the hot substance across Harry's skin, painting him red and gold: a mockery of Gryffindor colors.

"Oh, didn't," Harry hissed, sounding savage, "like that one much did you? Your daddy's dead now isn't he, and who killed him Malfoy, who?"

Draco froze, not wanting to think about this, to talk about this, hating Potter for bringing it up, for pushing all the right buttons just the right way, like he knew the secret code to get beneath his skin when no one, no one else had ever been able to, had ever even dared to. And he hated Potter all the more for knowing all this, for knowing how Draco was pieced together and not liking the person it made one bit and wanting it to break. Hated him for wanting Draco to shatter so that he could laugh and grind the pieces to dust beneath his heel.

Cruelty tasted pungent and rancid when served from one Harry Potter.

"I did."

Potter laughed, sounding strangled. When he spoke, his voice was soft, but still lanced with that razor blade edge, "That's right Malfoy, you killed your father. You killed him, after you betrayed him. I saw it with my own eyes. Neither of you shed a tear or let that haughty Malfoy mask slip, but I could see it break him."

Draco stood fiercely quiet, perfectly still. No one, no one had said anything. The war had ended, the dead had been tallied, the spies had been exonerated and though it was whispered from ear to ear of just who had killed Malfoy Sr. no one had ever spoken of it to him, not once. And Draco had bottled it up and shoved it to the wayside, not wanting to deal with it.

Now he couldn't move for fear that he would crumble and he couldn't, he just couldn't do that, especially not in front of Harry fucking Potter, he had to remain strong, he was a Malfoy dammit, and Draco sucked in a harsh breath, his hands curling up into fists and tried to hold steady, tried so hard to hold it, hold it together, hold it closed and hold it, hold it --

"He loved you."

He shattered.

He had tried so hard not to feel, to be apathetic and stone faced for the world, but Harry Potter was not the world and alone knew how to play him like a finely tuned instrument, and instead he didn't feel apathy as he crumpled to the ground, the world blurring like a fiery carousel before his eyes and a rampage of emotion taking hold of him, and though it was cruelty that began it, cruelty wielded by Harry Potter that finally fractured his façade, it wasn't cruelty that he felt in the strong arms that wrapped around him.

This isn't any cruelty I know, the part of him that was always detached, even when he had screamed beneath the cruciatus, noted. He sobbed into the bend of a slick neck, smearing cooling blood across his cheeks and nose, making it run pink with his tears and arms clutched him safe against a strong body.

Somehow, he knew that if he fell right then, if he shattered into a million, jagged pieces and had to be put back together again, he knew that it was okay. Because these arms that cradled him close would catch him, and that heart that beat strong against his chest would make sure that he was pieced whole again, make sure those strong hands picked up every last part of him. Because even though Harry Potter had managed to break him, it wasn't to walk away and leave him as such.

It was comfort he felt, as his world slipped forward into a damp black.

He woke softly, blinking his eyes languidly until a room of soft shadows and softer light came into view. He shifted slightly, and silk ran like cool liquid across his bare skin. Soft breathing came from his right, and a large, calloused hand ran gentle circles over his belly.

"I'm naked." Draco murmured, taking in the plain ceiling above him, the sound of a fire crackling somewhere.


"You were tied up."


"How did you get out?"

A soft chuckle caused him to slowly turn his head until his cheek rested on a smooth pillow and he could see the boy lying on his side next to him, looking at him with quiet eyes. "If Voldemort's Death Eaters couldn't hold me, do you really think a Thief Catcher spell could?"

Draco let his eyes run over Harry's features, his dark, serious eyebrows, his kind mouth and stubborn chin. "No, I suppose not." He felt strangely empty, like he had been scrubbed inside and wrung out. Limp and boneless and numb and, surprisingly, clean.

"I'm naked." He reiterated.

"Yes, I think we've established that."

Draco frowned faintly. "I think I should be mad at you." Harry gave a small smile and almost distracted him with an interesting sweep of his thumb across Draco's hip. He was even closer to being distracted by the thigh that brushed against his own.

"I hope you don't mind, but I'd really rather you weren't."

Draco nodded, and said with a certain amount of detached surprise, "You're naked too." Harry's eyes sparkled when he was happy - or was it amused? Draco stared more intently. There were faint lines at the corners of those almond shaped eyes, from laughter or worry or both, and there was something decidedly tender about the way Harry was looking at him but Draco couldn't make himself be bothered to feel disgusted at the squishiness of it. He was too busy feeling warm inside.

"We're naked, together."

"In bed, if you want to get technical."

"In bed, yes. Naked together, in bed." Draco paused for a moment to savour this fact. "I think I could learn to like this arrangement."

Harry smiled brilliantly and it made his eyes even more shiny and happy so that Draco was hypnotized by it, like a snake's gaze, and when Harry moved to hover over him he couldn't move or do much of anything but stare, and wait, his mouth slightly open, his breathing slightly heavy, his cheeks still flushed from tears and sleep and when Harry touched his mouth to his he found that he didn't want to do anything but let and accept and reciprocate.

When Harry took his sweet, sweet mouth from his he gasped, "but just so we're clear, if you ever tell anyone what happened, I will kill you, lover or no." Harry laughed softly and Draco rather thought Harry was probably laughing at him and that just wouldn't do at all. With a soft growl, he pulled the dark boy back down to him and captured his lower lip between his teeth. Harry stopped laughing, and moaned.

"Good boy," Draco said softly into that wet mouth and ignored the indignant noise his words received. He was awake, but it felt like he was still dreaming, half asleep, and he didn't want that, he didn't want that vague existence. He wanted to feel this.

He stroked his hands over warm, rough-soft skin, skated them over muscles and scars and fed upon Harry's mouth, shifting over to twine his legs with Harry's beneath the cool sheets, to curl up into that warmth, that nearly palpable energy the dark haired boy had always given off. Harry Potter was like fire, strong and hot and powerful, and Draco wanted to burn himself in that heat.

It raced through his veins until he was overwhelmed with it, over heated and over emotional. Tears once more tumbled from his eyes and Harry drew back enough to give him a soft, squishy kind of smile. Draco's heart hurt with so much strong feeling. The darker boy leaned down and lapped at his tears, like a cat, and Draco gasped and shuddered and wondered if this was what love was like.

Overemotional, messy, and really, really hot.

When Draco stopped crying Harry turned them over, Draco on top but despite that Harry was still the one in control, with the power and strength enough for both of them. He cradled Draco with his body and brought him from his sleepy shell with the twisting, almost hissing sound of his moans. Draco was brought back to earth and sensation and life, brought back from the nothing-dreamness he had ensconced himself in and anchored by the feel of Harry's hot body beneath his, moving and rolling and coaxing and rubbing.

"I want to be inside you," Draco breathed.


They came back down slowly, Harry cradling Draco in his arms and Draco gripping Harry tight against him. With a murmured, half-remembered incantation, Draco cleaned the already drying seed from them and sighed. They curled up in the middle of the bed, content to bask in the afterglow of mind-blowing sex.

Soon though, Draco's breathing evened out and his temperature reached a more normal level and he quite suddenly noticed it was cold. "Where in Merlin's name is that sodding sheet? I'm bloody freezing my bollocks off here."

"Humm?" Harry blinked sleepy green eyes open, still not quite as recovered as Draco. He too noticed the chill.

A quick and furious search for the missing sheet had Harry reaching over the bed to pull it off from the floor. He looked amused, Draco noticed, and he couldn't take his eyes of the soft, lovely glow in his face, the tender look in glittering eyes. "Looks like it fell to the floor when we got a little, uh, rowdy."

Draco laughed softly, sharing an impish grin with Harry and they curled up once more beneath the sheets together. He was almost asleep before Harry asked him, "What are you planning on doing after graduation?"

Draco snorted softly and couldn't help it when his arm tensed. "Not really much I can do. Spy or not, I'm marked. People don't want a Death Eater working for them." He sighed.

Harry kissed his cheek chastely; stroking whatever skin he could reach. "We all have our scars to carry after the war, they must learn to accept that. Don't worry Draco, we'll find something for you to do."

Draco's sneered slightly, his eyebrows near his hairline. "Oh we will, will we?"

Harry nodded, completely unperturbed. "After graduation, we'll figure something out." He laughed softly, "It was pretty silly of them to have us go back to school and take classes huh? We learned everything during the war anyways, we should have just been allowed to take our NEWTs and be done with it." He yawned.

"Hmmm," Draco stared down at the drowsy man in his arms intensely for a minute. "Things have really changed, haven't they?"

Harry nodded sleepily against his chest, his breath already evening out. "Yeah."

Draco stroked black hair for a long time, until Harry was drooling slightly on his bare skin and Morpheus had come to wrap his soporific arms tight around him, a sleepy parody of the warm, soothing arms Harry had wrapped lovingly around him.

"Good," Draco said, and slept.