Chapter Eighteen

The house did not miraculously appear as Harry thought it would, but rather, where the air thinned and warped about the brickwork, a foot immerged, quickly followed by a pale body. Andromeda looked like hell. She was dressed impeccably in a dark blue dress that contrasted against the paleness of her malnourished skin and stretched across the hollows of her hanging breasts. She scanned the street, her dark hair flying about her face in tangles until she spotted her daughter, yelping on the floor a few doors away.



Andromeda ran down the street, her voice horse as she babbled out a stream of nonsensical words. "- Oh god, thank god you're okay – thought no one would ever find me – where do you hurt? – please live, please –"

"Mum!...Mum…Mum, don't worry! Mum! It's only a stinging hex!" Tonks' words brought out a racked sob of relief from Andromeda's wasted body, and as the older woman began peppering kisses about her daughter's face, Harry felt something poke his side.

"Be ready!" whispered Draco. "Tonks! Tonks, get her to say the address."

"Mum. Mum, stop kissing me – Mum, I couldn't find the house. Where do we live, tell me our address!"

Tonks words were smothered under a rush of affection from her mother, but she kept repeating herself. The words seemed to sink in as Andromeda began whispering the words 'thirty one –' before a loud voice interrupted her.

"Where are you? Dromeda! Come here, you filthy – What The Hell Are You Doing?!" Lucius seemed to clock Tonks underneath Andromeda's crouched body and he instantly raised his wand. "Oh no you don't! AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Harry lurched forward as he green light rushed towards the two women on the floor, but he was too late. Draco's arms wrapped around him from somewhere, a hand tightly covering his mouth to stop all noise of protest until the only sounds in the street where Tonks' heart-wrenchingly loud screams as she tried to shake the life back into her mother's gaunt body that rested on top of her.


"Lucius, what is going on…?" Snape's voice trailed off as he took in the scene in the street. His appearance was just as phenomenal as Andromeda's, but it went unnoticed as Tonks' screams had become hoarse begging.

"She was going to tell the auror the secret," said Lucius sedately, placing his wand away.

"Please, please….wake up…Mum….Mum, please…oh please…"

"Clean up that, would you, Severus? I'll take our new guest to our Lord."

"You can't just delegate jobs like that. How about you deal with the body and I'll take the traitor inside," suggested Snape, his voice resentful from past situations. Lucius turned icily towards the other man and the squabble ensued.

"You think that just because you get invited for the Monday mead nights that you –"

"No, I think it is because I am much more valued by the Lord –"

"You're probably the spy –"

"You're just jealous that the Lord doesn't trust you enough to spy for him – thinks your soft, Lucius –"

"How dare yo –"

"Wait for it," whispered Draco into Harry's ear. His body was pressed in a warm line along Harry's back, but Harry found it hard to think about the nipples that were probably pressing into his shoulder blades when Tonks' wails were vibrating his ear drums. It was hurting. Her pitched had lowered, but Harry was sure the damage was already done because his ears were popping.


Harry spun around at the same time that Draco rapped him sharply on the head again, bringing colour and form back into their bodies. Hermione's voice was strong and clear as she held her wand aloft, aimed sure and true as the other members of The Order stood behind her, battle-ready.

"THIRTY ONE BENSLEY ROAD, LONDON!" yelled Snape, his voice echoing out to the park. Immediately Harry saw the missing house in question appear, obnoxiously pushing the neighbouring houses aside as it inflated into existence. Lucius turned on to Snape with rage etching over every feature, drawing his wand.

"YOU! You traitorous –"

"DIFFINDO!" Draco's aim failed from the distance and sliced deeply into the thickset wood of the front door, slashing the metal numbers of the house in half. Lucius' attention was divided by the two other Slytherins but the dilemma was quickly sorted when the front door of 'backwards-C – apostrophe' opened and out poured numerous death eaters, battle cries spilling into the air. Ron's red hair primarily caught Harry's eye as the aurors and members of the Order all rushed forward to meet their opponents, but soon the flash of ginger was lost in the rays of spells washing over head.

Through the commotion Harry saw Robert on the floor, trying to rescue Tonks' catatonic form from the pandemonium. He went to help when Draco pushed him hard in the other direction, "What are you doing, idiot? Go get Voldemort!"

It made sense. There was a prophesy and even though he had little faith in such things, he couldn't think of a single other person in the fray that he wanted to face the psychopathic madman. Draco pressed the flesh wand back into Harry's hand, and in the middle of a riot, it seemed crazy to give it back. "What about you?" asked Harry, about to offer his own wand.

"I'll acquire one somehow. Now hurry."

"What about you?"

"Oh, well I've got to kill my father." smiled Draco simply. There was blood in the cracks of his lips. "Now MOVE!"

They didn't kiss, or hug, or grasp hands because that would be like admitting that they weren't invincible. Harry headed through the mayhem, dodging the occasional severing hex fired his way, but generally weaved through the couples caught in battle and to make it to the front door. It was ajar and felt like trespassing, like breaking and entering into that old couple's home in Epping when Draco insisted the tenants were part albino bloodhound and needed to be captured urgently.

The hallway was empty. Harry thought that he would check about the downstairs rooms, but looking about the décor that must have been decorated by Andromeda, Harry decided to avoid the paisley and flower prints and head straight up the stairs.

It was called pathetic fallacy when it was about the weather, but Harry wasn't sure what it was called when it was about the wallpaper. The floral patterns had been changed to blank slate grey on the top landing and Harry had half hoped that it was Voldemort who had decorated downstairs. Meeting no adversaries so far, Harry went to the first bedroom and opened the door.

Bunk beds and a wardrobe full of uniform black cloaks were the only furnishing of the room. The walls were dingy and the smell of smoke and blood wafted strongly from the carpet. Harry checked for people and then left upon finding no one. The next room was similarly furnished, and Harry was thankful that bunk beds were not regulation for The Order's safehouse.

Back on the landing, Harry walked past a frosted window. He tried to look down into the street but all he saw was a hybrid of colours through the opaque glass.

"What'sss a boy doing hhhhere?"

Nagini's snout was poking out the far end of the corridor, head wedged in a narrow gap of the door. Aiming his wand with the intention to stun the stupid snake, a red beam shot out before he said a word and smacked the serpent between the eyes. Harry whistled and rolled the wand between his finger tips. "Hot damn."

" Whosssse there my p-pet?" Harry felt his bladder clench. Sending one last glance back at the window, hoping to suddenly see a blond blob among the colours, Harry gathered his courage. "Pet? Nagini, come back, my pet."

Harry walked as softly as possible along the landing and nudged open the door that was omitting the encouraging hissing. Stepping over Nagini's dead length, Harry slipped through the door and was greeted by the most unusual sight he had ever seen.

Harry had half expected to see more bunk beds, but there was only one large king size in the corner. The main focal of the room was the large heath fire, large logs burning to make the room unbearably hot and a large winged back chair, of deepest green, was drawn close to the flames.

In the chair sat the object of Harry's nightmares, the terror of his childhood, the murderer of his parents…in a terrycloth dressing gown that flashed rice-paper skin stretched across knobbly knees.

Harry had never had to contemplate his enemy owning such mundane things as knees. But looked at Voldemort, huddled by the fire because he'd probably become so reptilian he could no long produce his own body heat, bald and wrapped in his comfort clothes like week old cod in newspaper…Harry realised how old the man…snake-man was. Eighty. About eighty, give or take a few years, and not all of those years living.


Red eyes raised slowly from the fire as the head began to turn towards the door that Harry stood in. Harry couldn't help but notice how the light reflected off that shiny scalp, before he came to his senses and swished his wand through the air. "SECTUMSEMPRA!...oh…err…"


Draco couldn't help laughing. It hurt somewhere deep inside to see the look on Potter's face; like a naughty boy caught burning ants with his practise wand.

"I didn't mean to do that, honest Hermione."

Granger seemed a little at lost about which sort of reprimand to follow with, and merely stood dumbfounded at the scene. She was blinking a lot and her hair was quivering with mirth unbeknownst to the head it was attached to.

"We should take a picture," suggested Draco, feeling that such a moment should be preserved forever.

"Oh, very dignified," hissed Harry. Draco raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"Do you think I will get a special reward for being your practise dummy before you did this?"

"It's hardly the same thing!" cried Potter, distressed. "I didn't know what it did then. And…and this didn't happen to you. And…" Potter was turning a funny colour and Draco wanted to do Gryffindorish things, but his pride kept him still. "And I'm glad I didn't because I like you a lot."

"Well I'm glad you didn't too because I think my body would mourn the loss of my wonderful face." Draco could feel the giggles rising up in him as he looked over at Voldemort's corpse. Feeling elevation riddling up every part of his being as he looked at Voldemort's shocked face that was held upside down in his own hands, as if he was surprised to have caught his own head.

He could feel the freedom, taste the better world that was far off in the future.

"Please can we take a picture. It would make a brilliant advert; Ban the Bully!" Draco gave a beseeching look to Granger. She just shrugged, unsure of any procedure.


Stepping out into the street, Potter began letting out little gasps that had nothing to do with public indecency, as though the thoroughly unimpressive death of the Dark Lord was made up for by the carnage in is absence. "Oh god…"

"Cheer up, we've won," soothed Draco, elbowing Potter in the ribs and pointing to his father. Prone on the tarmac of middle Muggle London, Lucius sat awkwardly on account of his two broken legs. They were splayed at funny angles, but unlike the spread legs of a lover of a suicide jumper, the angles radiated from half way down his thighs as though someone had come along and snapped his femurs like a wish bone.

Weasley was fisting a collection of flesh wands he was confiscated off of fallen Death Eaters, making his way to Lucius, yanking it out of the man's crippled swollen hand when he was met with spitting resistance. "You'll all die, you'll all pay for what you did, you traitors! Wait until my master comes, he'll kill you all – like cockroaches!"

Draco gave Potter a wink and went over to his father, pulling something out of his pocket. "Hey, dad. Check this out." Flinging the Polaroid into Lucius' lap, he turned back to Potter and smiled, "Fancy going and finding a cuppa?"

"Sure thing," replied Harry as they walked away, Lucius' almost-manly crying in the background. "I hope that's the only copy of that picture."

"Of course," replied Draco, smiling serenely, patting his breast pocket discretely.


"Can't you do that more quietly?"

"And how do you suppose I do that?" hissed Harry, the door creaking under his spells.

The golden moment of silence was broken fairly quickly. "…Hurry up."

"Shuddup." Harry was trying to concentrate on breaking the wards, each layer more complicated than the next, and the job made even more problematic by his partner pressing against his back. Touching his arms, thighs, bum and belt loops. "Do you mind? You're not helping."

A hand strayed into his boxers in reply.

Finally the wards fell and then a quick Alohomora on the chains that were wrapped around the front door, they entered the building quietly.





"What? We're inside the Fidelius, no one will hear. In fact, I say we make more noise. You know, just to check the charm is working…what do you think?"


"Yeah…Bend over."


"Nah, here."

"Bed. Room."



Brilliant arse. Draco had to give it to the man, Potter had a wonderful backside. Especially when it was bent over as he tried to struggle out of his socks. Quickly divesting himself of his own clothes, boxers flung with particular exuberance in his haste to feel the humid air press against his skin, Draco moved forward and pressed the hard length of his body along Harry's behind. A small gasp of surprise was almost reward enough, but the feel of Potter's thighs clenching around his cock as he slid himself forward through the small vee under that perfectly formed arse was the topping on the cake.

"So Mister Potter," began Draco, his voice taking on an authoritive note as he began to conduct an interview, "How do you feel now that you have defeat all the world's evil and bagged yourself the best looking bloke too?"

"Well, good." Said Harry, spinning about and using the front of his thighs instead to do some very interesting things. Pressing his lips to Draco's throat, he continued, "But frankly I feel about under appreciated."

"Oh, and why is that?"

"Ah, well that 'best looking blonde' won't put out." Sighed Harry, grinning. Draco made a funny squeaking sound. "I feel like I haven't been paid my due…for being a hero, I mean."

"Oh," Growled Draco, extremely put off about the prudish implications being cast on his character. "And what would be in your due?"

"Oh, you know. A nice blonde fan-boy, getting down on his knees, begging and fawning over me." Harry gave an exaggerated sigh, and then a wide grin as Draco shrugged nonchalantly and banged his kneecaps on the wooden floor. Big grey eyes peered up at him, eyelashes fluttering like a 1940's movie star, and a shit eating grin.

"Oh mister Potter, you're such an inspiration!" Harry almost snorted at the falsetto voice that sounded remarkably like Justin "We are so indebted to you! Oh how, how can we make it up to you? I'll do anything. Please, use my supple, bendy body as you will – take me now, oh wonderful hero!"

Harry tried to contain himself, but he betrayed himself when he squeaked "Suck me, fanboy!"

"God, Potter, I think it is time to reel in your imagination. Next thing you know, you'll actually think you are someone famous or something. Pfft." Draco went to place his mouth over Harry's cock but Harry delayed him, pressing a finger into the middle of the blonde fringe to press him away.

"Let's do this on the bed."

"…This isn't a honeymoon."

"I know!" Harry sniffed. "I just bruise easily."


Justin frowned as he looked into the stone basin. It had come by three exhausted owls, wrapped in gaudy pink paper with a bow on top. It looked the same, but he didn't trust bloody Draco Malfoy as far as he could hex the bastard. The strands of red that were swirling on the surface of his memories told him that something had been recently added.

Cautiously curious, Justin leaned forward and pressed his face into the misty liquid. Instantly he regretted his inquisitiveness.

It was horrible, seeing two of past lovers writhing on the bed, moaning and thrusting towards one another. The tones of their skins contrasting in the green tint of the leafy morning, hands gripping each other tightly, hips meeting with loud slaps that echoed with the groans of ecstasy.

And then Malfoy looked towards him. He almost forgot that both of them were just two wisps on memories because he felt himself tense as Malfoy seemed to look him right in the eye.

"Bet he didn't ever let you do this, eh." Malfoy punctuated his words with a harsh thrust into the body beneath him, and then he winked and inclined his head down to Harry. Beautiful Harry who had his legs spread like a slut, grabbing his knees to hold himself wider for the vile Slytherin. "Do you think he looks like a frog in this position?"

Harry looked up then, looking at Draco, "What did you just say?"

"Oh, nothing. Relax." Draco smirked and Justin felt the world close in around him as the memory ended, the image of Harry arched up from the mattress in pleasure the last thing in his mind.

That and Draco bloody Malfoy's triumphant smile.


"See. I told you."

Harry folded his newspaper and looked across the table. "What?" he asked.

"Simultaneous orgasms." Stated Draco. "That's the proof. We are the Kings of Sex."

Harry thought about the sex they had had last night. And this morning. And in the shower. And in the kitchen. And he thought that maybe he could finally enjoy life now that Voldemort was dead and he was in the company of the people he preferred. "I don't think so. We should practise more."

Draco smiled at him and took a sip out of his cup, nodding. "Yes, yes, you're probably right. Can't be too careful. Here, pass me the paper."

Harry handed over his newspaper silently, and began about making himself a cup of tea. Draco coughed a little as he flapped open the newspaper ostentatiously and pointedly turned towards the centre pages. He held the paper aloft in front of his face, opting to display the front page headlines to Harry than make a hand free to clutch a teacup.

"Did you give Justin back his pensieve?" asked Harry, not wanting to have random ex's turning up in the middle of his new relationship.


Harry didn't see the smirk that was hidden by the newspaper as he poured milk into his cup. The greenery of the balcony covering reflecting in the hot beverage, the handle moist from the heat of the country, Harry couldn't help glancing at the headlines.

"Dark Lord Defeated.

Harry Potter Missing."

The photo that accompanied the article was a familiar picture; Draco stood with his arm around a pale corpse's shoulders, grinning widely while he held Voldemort's head aloft like the Quidditch World Cup, sending out winks to the readers of the Prophet. Harry saw himself in the picture, standing behind the grinning maniac, shaking his head in exasperation with an obsessively hungry look glinting in his eye at Draco's back.

Harry felt embarrassed at being caught with such an expression on his face, it seemed so unlike him to look like that. Surely he had been carried away in the moment.

"You said you'd gave the only copy to your father."

"I lied. Drink your tea." Draco rustled the newspaper higher over his face.

Harry looked down onto the cobbled streets below the balcony and tried to think of something that would convey to Draco how happy he was to be free and back to the place he'd spent some of his happiest months. "I like coffee."



A/N: Right, well there you go, that's the end of the story. Many thanks to Faerylark who came up with the idea of giving the pensieve back to Justin. Hope you all enjoyed the story, please feel free to leave a review if you liked it – I'm replying to all reviews now that it is over. Bye! x