by Reiko Katsura
Draco Apparated directly to the location point that the letter had directed him to. A Portkey shaped like a plastic flower right next to the telephone booth that leads to the Ministry of Magic, the letter had instructed. Draco hadn't an idea of what "plastic" was, but he knew what a flower looked like, and so as soon as he Apparated to the point, he began his search for one. Sure enough, a white lily was placed on the floor beside the telephone booth.
Draco felt people staring at him, and he knew they were Muggles. The place was littered with them, always had been, and he was wearing his robe with the cloak over his head, looking ridiculously conspicuous. He'd rather be conspicuous to a lot of Muggles, however, than to Wizards who would report him to the Aurors in less time than it would take for him to blink.
Scanning his surroundings, Draco quickly made his way to the white flower bloom and bent so low his knees touched the rough pavement.
Blaise and the others were safe, at least. Before he left, he made sure that they had taken anything that might have been of value, and walked them to the escape route entrance. Draco had hugged them all—Hemsey and Hailey the hardest, because Merlin he would miss those girls—and had properly seen them out. He'd all but had to push Blaise through the door since, at the end, he seemed almost determined to stay with Draco and fight. As if Draco would ever let his best friend join him in a suicide mission.
Draco inhaled deeply. It had been so long since he had last been outside, and able to breathe in fresh air. That had been one of the reasons why he had been so vehement to leave the manor and venture outside, even if it would only be to the dark and murky Knockturn Alley. His own selfishness—his desire to escape the confinement of his house—had been the result of Scorpius's capture. It was his entire fault.
Closing his eyes, Draco reached for the flower and lifted it. As he felt that all too familiar tug at the bottom of his stomach, he bid goodbye to his freedom for the third, and what would surely be the last time.
Harry felt the pull of the wards surrounding his chambers and grinned. Well, took him long enough.
Casually, he made his way to his office where the wards had opened up. He didn't have to worry about Malfoy attacking him, at least. For starters, he didn't have his wand. If he'd even held one after all these years, it was most probably the belonging of someone else, and an awkward wand-user was no match against him. Perhaps he wasn't as powerful as Albus Dumbledore, but he was strong.
And that's where the second thing came in: he was strong enough to handle Malfoy for sure, and especially with his son in captivity.
Harry grinned. At first, he head been a bit reluctant to truly believe that Malfoy would come. His coming to rescue his son would be a suicide attempt. The Malfoy he'd known in Hogwarts had been a slimy git who wouldn't bother looking in anybody else's way if it meant not being able to focus on himself solely. He was the epitome of conceit. Harry hadn't believed that Malfoy would come for sure until he had told Scorpius what he was up to—in the process of retrieving a few strands of the kid's hair—and Scorpius had begun to sob. Harry recognized the sound in a heart beat; it was one of despair. Without uttering a word, Scorpius had convinced Harry that Malfoy would come, and without a doubt.
Letting the excited smile fall from his face, Harry pushed the door to his office open and walked in. The sight he was given upon entering was enough to make his heart pound, his nostril's flare, and bubbles of elation flood within him.
"Malfoy," Harry said, and it was much breathier than he had intended it to be. If Draco noticed the oddity of Harry's voice, he didn't acknowledge it. Instead, he stood in the middle of the office looking every ounce the pure-blood aristocrat he was, or had been.
"Potter," Draco hissed, and Harry loved the way his name slithered angrily through Draco's lips.
"Where's my son?"
Harry placed his wandless hand over his heart and feigned hurt.
"How cruel, Malfoy. We haven't seen each other in what—20 years?—and already you're skipping formalities and cutting the small talk? I'm truly hurt. And here I though we were friends."
"We were never friends, Potter!" Draco spat.
Harry narrowed his eyes and the words snarled through his lips before he could stop them. "No, we were much more than that!"
The silver orbs of the man standing before him widened in shock, and just as quickly they shuttered and glared.
Harry sighed dramatically. "Whatever. Fine, then; I'll take you to your precious Scorpius."
He walked to the end of the room without another glance at Draco. As soon as his hands reached the knob, Draco said stonily, "This better not be a trick, Potter."
Harry snorted, not wanting to play that particular game with Draco anymore.
He pulled the door open and waited for Draco to reach him. When the Slytherin made to pass him, Harry stopped him with his arm. "Wand," he ordered, calmly. Draco gave him a venomous glare and all but shoved the wand into Harry's outstretched hand.
"Not that I'm worried of course," Harry told him as he pocketed it. He noticed Draco's eyes follow the wand to his cloak and smirked. "Just 'cause I'm in no mood for petty games."
Draco glared and Harry could almost hear the growl reverberating in the back of his throat. As soon as Draco went past him, Harry allowed himself to lick his dry lips.
Draco was his.
Draco rushed past Potter, fighting against the urge to punch him like a rabid Muggle, and all but ran down the hall leading to an open door. The only thing on his mind was his son.
Draco passed through an open frame and into a room that resembled a cellar. He raked his eyes across it, and his breath caught as his gaze centered in on the middle of the room.
His son was there, naked, lying tied up to a tall green bed. Relief so great at having his son in his sight overwhelmed him, and he almost fell to his knees.
"Scorpius," he breathed, and his legs were running before his mind could tell them to.
Scorpius' head snapped up at the sound of a familiar voice calling his name, and his eyes widened when he saw Draco running to him.
When Draco reached the bed he grabbed his son's face in his hands and took in every curve, every freckle, every line on his face, as if he were trying to memorize the outline. He bent low and kissed Scorpius on his forehead, inhaling the familiar smell of his son's hair.
He was pale, but his breathing was steady. Draco sighed in relief.
"Dad," Scorpius croaked, his grayish-blue eyes watering, "what are you doing here?"
Draco smiled thinly at him, his hands still cupping Scorpius' pale cheeks.
"Did you think I wouldn't find a way to get to you?" he said, and it was true. Even if Potter hadn't owled him, he would have found a way to get to Scorpius somehow.
"Stupid!" Scorpius snapped, and Draco flinched in alarm,."What do you think your doing? You'll get caught. You'll get sent to Azkaban! What were you thinking?!"
Scorpius' face turned pink in fury, but Draco didn't let that upset him. Instead he smiled—a courageous grin that he hoped would be reassuring—and said, "I would do anything for you. You know that. I may have acted like a foolish Gryffindor, rushing in to save you, but I knew what I was doing. Calling your father stupid! If it had been me, my father would have Crucio'd me."
Draco tried to cheer Scorpius up, even a little, but it didn't seem to work. They were more alike than just in features.
"How did you find me?" Scorpius breathed.
"Potter," Draco said the world as if it were bile, "owled me. Telling me where you were."
"It's a trap!" Scorpius screamed, and Draco flinched again. Merlin, his child was loud. "It's a trap, Dad! He took my hair so his owl could breach the wards! Leave while you can! Please, Dad!"
Draco opened his mouth to tell Scorpius that he already knew of what Potter did to get him there—the letter had been anything but evasive or ambiguous—but a low chuckle sounded from behind them, causing Draco to shiver.
"You're a bit late for that, Scorp," Harry said, a laugh in his voice.
Draco turned around and stood in front of Scorpius, and attempt to hide him from Potter's view.
"Potter! What did you do to my son!" he spat.
He noticed Scorpius' nudity for the first time, as well as the chains around his legs and arms, his son's blatant erection.
Potter quirked a brow. "I didn't torture him, if that's what you mean." He supplied, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender. His added words caused what color there was in Draco's face to fade. "At least, not in the way you'd think torture was."
Draco saw red.
"You fucking bastard!" He screamed, and blindly ran at Harry, his thoughts fixed on blood shed. "You raped my son! You fucking asshole, I'll kill you!"
Potter, apparently, had expected something of Draco's reaction, and in mere seconds Draco was stupefied and stuck to his spot. Vaguely, he could hear Scorpius yelling at Potter to leave his father alone, but Draco was too angry to make much of it. Through his stiffened body he stared at Potter murderously. When Potter sauntered towards him, his eyes positively dancing in delight, Draco wanted to scream. He wanted revenge. He wanted to hurt Potter.
"You're cute when you're angry," Potter whispered as he reached him, and hung his arms over Draco's neck. Though stunned, Draco could still feel the warmth of Potter's body pressing against his own. He inwardly shivered in disgust.
He watched, unable to do a thing, as Potter stepped back and ran his putrid gaze over his body. Draco felt revolted under his display. He wanted nothing more than to rip his eyes out so that Potter would never look at him that way again—him or his son.
"My, Draco—how beautiful you've become." Potter muttered his voice low and husky. Goosebumps broke out under Draco's skin. "You've certainly grown since I last saw you." Potter paused, and then laughed. "Of course you have. It's been nearly twenty years now. Adulthood has been kind to you. You don't look a day over twenty-five." He sighed, "I wish I could say the same for myself. Everyone always tells me I look old. A pity, really."
Unfortunately for Draco, he didn't see it. Potter still looked as boyish and young as ever. Signs of age and growth were evident—such as the soft lines at the corners of Potter's eyes and lips, the incredible height, strong built (still noticeable under thin black robes) and a mass of long, black shaggy hair that fell just past his shoulders. But his other features—the more distinct ones—hadn't changed in the least. Not the soft dimples that dipped into his cheeks, or his vibrant green eyes. Not the damned pink scar that ran like a lightning bolt down the left side of his forehead, or the owlish glasses hooked on a straight, low nose.
No, Draco thought. He didn't look much different from twenty years ago, either.
Potter trailed his fingers down the side of Draco's face, and Scorpius' voice resonated loud and clear through the cellar.
"Don't you touch my father!" he shouted, and Draco inwardly blinked in surprise.
Potter tsked. "Your son is loud," he said, frowning. He then turned and pointed his wand at the table.
No! Draco thought frantically, ready to burst from within his stone shell.
But all Potter cast was Silencio.
"There." Potter muttered, satisfied. He approached Draco again, and wrapped his arms around his chest. He then lifted him up and turned him around, so that he could fully face Scorpius.
Draco watched as Scorpius looked at him, fear in his wide blue eyes, and he hated Potter more than ever for making his son feel that way.
"You say I raped him, but that isn't so, you know." Potter started, and walked towards Scorpius.
Scorpius' eyes widened further, and Draco mentally screamed at Potter to get the hell away from his son.
"I interrogated him. There's a difference. Plus, there needs to be penetration for it to be considered rape. I suppose what I did borders on molestation, if you need to call it something."
Draco inwardly hissed, and tried to push past his body restraints. It didn't even flex.
"Now, now, Malfoy. I can see it in your eyes, you know. The murderous intent. It's quite endearing." He laughed, and the sound caused Draco to shiver again.
"I did nothing your son didn't want."
Potter reached Scorpius' bed, and Scorpius immediately began to squirm away. The Silencio was still placed on him, so he couldn't speak, but Draco swore he could almost hear his son screaming at Potter to get away from him. Draco pushed again, fruitlessly.
"He's every part your son, you know. The beautiful silver hair, the dazzling gray eyes—though his lean closer to blue. He looks exactly as you did when he was your age. Quite the specimen."
Potter ran his hands along the sides of Scorpius' stomach.
Stop touching him! Get your hands off him!
Potter lifted his wand hand and said, "Aphrosias".
Draco thought he would be sick. He watched in horror as Scorpius' eyes rolled to the back of his head and his body arched up from the bed. He thrashed around, wantonly, squirming above the green fabric. Potter ended the Silence charm on his son and soon Draco's ears were filled with sound of his son moaning.
To Draco's complete and utter horror, he found himself hardening.
Merlin, he knew that spell all too well. He knew what it felt like—the wonderful sensations that rushed through your body like heat from the tongue. He'd tried many attempts over the years to perfect it, but had never been able to cast it right.
The spell lasted a minute longer, and the moaning got louder, until it was almost screaming.
Draco shivered inside his shell. Fuck, it had been too long since he'd had sex. Four years, almost. There wasn't much he could have done about that, however. There had been no other gay male in the manor. Theo was bi, and he and Draco had sex quite a few times in the years that they had been hiding in the house. But Theo had fallen in love with Daphne, though he never said anything to her, and Theo and his monogamous self had put an end to their night (and day) time liaisons. Even when they were broken up (which was the majority of the time), Theo still continued to remain faithful (though Daphne had no such qualms, and spent quite an awful lot of time with Blaise). Draco and his right hand had become best friends since.
Another lust-filled moan echoed throughout the room and Draco found himself mentally groaning.
Fuck, he was getting hard just hearing his son. How fucked up was that?
"Finite Incatantem," Potter pointed his wand at Scorpius's writhing body. Scorpius shivered, then stilled. Potter walked further down the bed, and his hand quickly grabbed onto Scorpius' hard cock.
Draco's son choked a sob and arched up again.
Potter let go, and Draco was horrified when Scorpius whimpered.
"What do you want, Scorp?" Potter breathed, and rubbed the head of Scorpius's cock with his thumb.
"To come!" he cried, and Draco tried so desperately hard to avert his eyes. He couldn't, though. They were glued open, forcing him to take in the sight of his son begging Harry Potter to get him off.
"And if you're a good boy, you will." He smirked, and walked over to Draco, leering, leaving Scorpius trembling and sobbing behind him.
"Now then," he continued, smiling at Draco. "What are we to do with you?"
Draco shivered as Potter's breath ran over his ear. "Call the aurors, have them send you to jail?"
Draco inwardly froze. "Send you both to jail. I hear Azkaban is great this time of year. Such nice weather out. Not that you'll be able to notice, with all the Dementors floating around the place, but…"
A minute passed and Harry sighed. "This is boring. Finite!"
The stone-like feeling evaporated from Draco's body, and he blinked twice, rapidly, trying to get used to feeling again. The disconcerting sensation left him quickly enough, and Draco stiffened when he realized that Potter was so close to him.
"You bastard," he found his voice, and it was shaking with anger. "You will pay for this, Potter!"
Potter laughed. "I'm sure. They always say that, you know. And then they're shipped off to Azkaban and die or go mad before they keep their promise. Sad, isn't it? I'm destined to be lied to."
Fear bolted in Draco, like lightening, and he had to hold back a gasp. Azkaban. The place that he had feared being sent to for all these years. The reason he had hid, rather than appear for a trial. Before, Draco would have done anything to not be sent there. Anything.
Now, he would do anything for his son not to be.
There was no preventing it. Draco knew what he had to do when he made up his mind to come there. He made his choice, and he would have to live with it. He was sick of being a coward. What his son must think of him. What he would think of him after this.
He glanced over Potter's shoulders, towards the bed, Draco's heart beat quickened when his eyes locked onto Scorpius'. They looked so pained, so scared.
Draco closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.
Please, he prayed. To what or to whom, he didn't know, but he prayed. Please let me save my son.
"P-please, Potter," the words felt like acid on his tongue. He couldn't bear to lift up his head and look into those green orbs that will undoubtedly mock him. Still, he pushed forward. "Please. I don't care if you send me to Azkaban, please just don't send Scorpius." Bastard, Draco added for good measure, because he was going to die from humiliation and shame.
There was silence, and then Potter said, "Why shouldn't I? He's the son of a Death Eater, has been living with one—and probably more—since he was born. He's an accomplice, probably a part of some grand scheme of you Death Eaters to take over the world again. Why shouldn't I?"
"Because he's innocent!" Draco snapped, more harshly and louder than he intended. "He wasn't even born during the war. He doesn't know who Voldemort is, or most of what he'd done. He's innocent!" Draco looked up, his eyes pleading. But he didn't care. He had to get Potter to understand.
"Please. He's innocent. He's just a boy. Please, Potter!"
Draco's breath was slightly erratic from his frantic rant, and he locked eyes with Potter, refusing to look away. Let him see his desperation. He didn't care.
"Please," he said again, when moments had passed and Potter refused to say anything, let alone move. "Please."
More moments of silence passed, and despite what Draco said, he couldn't bring himself to ask again.
Eventually, Potter hummed.
He opened his mouth, and Draco was prepared for a refusal or rejection, but got something else entirely.
"Did you ever tell your son that we were lovers?" he said, and though his voice had been low when he said it, it was loud enough to carry out into the room.
Draco inhaled sharply, and his eyes traveled once again to Scorpius. His hope that his son hadn't heard was shot when Scorpius looked at him with huge, bewildered eyes. Potter followed his gaze, and then smirked at Scorpius.
"Oh, yes. Sixth year at Hogwarts. We fucked like Veelas in heat for almost five months. Or was it six? Draco?"
Draco noticed the change from surname. He also noticed that Potter had asked him a question. He was still too shocked from the topic to breach to react, though.
"You see, Scorpius," he spoke to Scorpius, though his stare was targeted on Draco, "one day I found your father crying in a girl's bathroom on the first floor. I thought he looked beautiful. He caught me, threw a hex, and we ended up dueling. Our dueling led to fist fighting, and our fist fighting led to groping, and our groping led to passionate sex on the floor of a girls bathroom. It didn't stop there, though. It continued, on and on and on, for months. In front of everyone and—" Harry chuckled lightly, "—even when we were alone. We met up almost three times a week for months, fucking each other's brains out in various rooms in the castle."
Harry's expression darkened and Draco found that it had become even harder to breathe. "A little over a month before the year ended—a week before your father decided to invite all his little Death Eater friends along to terrorize poor defenseless children, as well—"
Draco closed his eyes, fighting back memories of that night. It haunted him already too much. Having it repeated aloud was like stabbing an open wound that refused to heal properly.
"—I told him I loved him."
Draco flinched, and from far away he heard an intake of breath, and knew it to be Scorpius.
"I told him I loved him, and you know what he told me? He said, 'Don't expect it to be reciprocated, Potter. I don't love you, never have, and never will. You're a good fuck, and that's the only relationship we have', and then slid out of me, before either of us could come, and started getting dressed. Right before he left he added, 'I was going to tell you that I'd had enough of fucking around with you. You're boring. Now's a good a time as ever, I suppose', and then left. Just like that, he left. A week later he finds away to bring in a group of Death Eaters to the school and a rabid werewolf. Best break-up present ever, I think."
Draco's heart was pounding in his chest. He didn't want to hear this.
"I was heart broken for a long time, afterward. Devastated when, just a day later, you were sucking face with fucking Pansy Parkinson."
Potter snarled, and for a moment Draco didn't even think he realized he was there. He was lost in it. It would have been a perfect time to do something, to do anything, to Potter—kick him in the balls, punch him in the face, strangle him, anything. But he found that he couldn't move, also so lost in the words and memories that Potter brought back.
"I went on this grand mission with Dumbledore—" Draco flinched, "—and couldn't even pay attention. Dumbles drank some painful potion or other, asked for some water, and I was so bloody out of it that I didn't even stop to think that maybe the potion caused extreme thirst to the drinker, knowing that the only source of water around was a lake full of Inferi. Dumbledore used his last bit of magic to get us out of there alive. That last bit of magic would have come in handy when Draco—darling Draco—decided to pop up and point his wand at him. Of course, I was so shocked and fixed on the sight of the person who broke my heart to react, and then in comes Snape and kills him."
Potter—no, Harry, because it was a lot more personal now— clenched his jaw, in anger. "Yes," he hissed, and if he hadn't been able to understand it, Draco would have thought he had spoken in Parseltongue. "Best break up present ever."
Harry then continued, his anger calming, though not disappearing. There was an aura of agitated magic circling lightly around him, and it made Draco gulp and take a step back.
"You broke my heart, Draco. I was never the same after that. 'Mione and Ron wouldn't get off my case, telling me I was all moody and depressing, and acting as if they couldn't handle me. Seventh year, when I left school in search of Voldemort, it had been you who had been on my mind. After all, you were a Death Eater, Voldemort's lackey." Harry spat, and a dribble of spittle flew on Draco's cheek, Draco was far too entranced to wipe it away.
"Wherever he was, you would be. At least, that's what I thought. The final battle came, I beat Voldemort, but you were nowhere to be found. Gone, missing with the other load of Death Eaters who fled and went into hiding. I still thought about you, even a year after the battle. Even two years, and five years, and sometimes even after ten and fifteen. I'd finally, finally¸ stopped thinking of you—stopped thinking of wanting to take my revenge, when along comes Pansy Parkinson."
Draco shivered at the way Harry said her name, as if there were a freshly baked turkey sitting on a table before his eyes.
"Oh, how much fun I had with her. By the third day she was begging me to kill her. Just begging. I tortured her, a bit more violently than I did with the others. I cast Aphrosias on her for hours. She begged and pleaded to let her come, and then when she knew I wouldn't, her cries changed tune. She wanted me to kill her."
Harry smiled, almost warmly.
"I taunted her. She had no right, stealing what was mine. I imagined her kissing you—sucking your face with her ugly lips—and so I rammed my cock into hers until she could hardly breathe."
Something tugged in Draco's stomach, and he whimpered. Harry had gotten so much closer, and he hadn't even noticed. He still wasn't noticing, really. He was still so enraptured by the man in front of him, so different from how he remembered him. Harry, back then, had been kind. Quick to anger, yes, and hurtful at times, but kind.
He'd been sane.
"And then I figured what she must have done to you with that fucking seeping pussy of hers, and I took that, too."
Harry was leaning into him, his arms holding tightly to Draco's back, and he continued to reiterate the past in his ear. It was soft, but Draco had no doubt that Scorpius was hearing everything.
"I tore her legs open, and she started screaming. It was futile; she couldn't even move. I positioned myself right on top of her, and drove right it."
Something hard pressed into Draco's leg, and he quivered in feeling.
"I pounded into her for hours, until I couldn't get it up anymore. The spell I cast on her days before didn't allow her to come. She suffered, over and over and over, the feeling before climax, the torture of being unable to. She sobbed and screamed, letting out every little secret of hers. There hadn't been much to pull from her, and certainly nothing very useful, but that didn't matter. She had to suffer. She had no right—touching what was mine."
Draco was pushed, hard, into the wall, and he tried, feebly, to shove Harry away. But Harry was too strong. He (Draco?)was hard as fuck now, and wanted nothing more than for Harry to get away from him.
"It went on for two weeks. In the end, she was such a mess. I didn't even allow the healers a chance to look at her. I sent her straight to Azkaban, on the second landing where the Dementors didn't roam, in a cell near the men's quarters. Poor Pansy Parkinson, raped over and over and unable to get anything from it. She died only a month in there, I think. Tragic. What a horrible way to die."
Harry cupped the hot, aching bulge that formed between Draco's thighs, and it took everything in his power not to moan at the contact. He was sick—getting hard over a story like that. Or maybe it was because Harry's hands were sinking into the skin of his back and shoulders. Maybe because it had been so long, and Draco severely missed the feel of having someone's breathe tickle the lobe of his ear, of the feel of a cock rubbing against his leg.
"Let me go!" he growled, and tried again to push Harry away.
Harry barely moved an inch. Instead, he leaned closer and said, "You don't want me to send your son to Azkaban, Draco? Then how about a deal."
Draco's eyes widened, and he looked at Harry sharply.
"If you can keep from coming for five minutes, I won't turn Scorpius in. Moreover, I'll even hide him for you, Draco."
Draco's breath caught, and held.
"If you come during the five minutes, the deal's off."
Sex? The deal was based on sex?
Dread grew in Draco. There was no way he would be able to win. It had been too long. Too long since he had sex, and even too long since he wanked properly. A hand to his cock alone would have him finished in seconds.
Draco opened his mouth, prepared to demand something else, but Harry quelled it with a shake of his head and a finger to Draco's lips. "That's the only negotiation I'll make. Take it or leave it."
Alarmed at the extra voice, Draco turned around to see Scorpius leaning up as much as he could, his elbows pressed to the bed, his eyes pleading with him.
"Don't. You don't have to. Please."
Draco looked away. With shame building his chest, he exhaled shakily and nodded.
Harry had no such hesitation.
"Excellent!" he hissed, and before Draco could even register what was happening, his chest was pressed against the wall and his robed were gone, banished to the floor beside his feet in a pool of black cloth.
"You won't even last two minutes, I assure you," Harry breathed into the back of his neck, and Draco's breath hitched. It continued to do so as Harry made his way down the line of Draco's spine, licking and lapping at the pale skin.
Two warm hands grabbed the cheeks of Draco's bare arse, and he gasped.
He didn't want Potter touching him. He hated it. He wanted him to stop.
Because he knew that, if Harry was anything like he had been in Hogwarts—always knowing what to do and where to touch to make Draco go wild—he would become absolute putty in his hands.
His cheeks were spread apart, and a cold drift flickered along the inside of Draco's arse, making him shivered.
When Draco felt the heat of a tongue probe into his hole—which hadn't been touched in so fucking long-- he bit the inside of his cheek to keep him from moaning and tried to push his front away from the wall to prevent friction of any kind to his throbbing cock.
Harry, apparently, had taken it for eagerness, because he pushed his face further inside, and Draco could almost feel the grin on his face, and with the flat of his tongue licked a long wet trail from the top of his balls to the sensitive skin above his opening.
Draco couldn't hold it back that time.
"Like that, don't you?" Harry breathed, his breath hot and heavy on the inside of Draco's ass. "You always did."
As the tongue began to probe and lick and lap and slide, and suck on Draco's hole with wetness and deep suction and expert movements, Draco found that couldn't keep any sound back. He was pushing into Potter's face, not wanting to and yet wanting so bad, and even though he knew that he must have seemed like a whore to both Potter and his son—whom Harry was making Draco forget was there, at times—he couldn't stop the sounds that ripped from his lips, so high and pleasurable and wanton.
Just as before, faster than Draco could even think, Harry turned him around by the hips so that Draco's wet ass was spread against the wall, and his cock was jutting red and hard in Harry's face.
A warm hand enveloped his throbbing member, and Draco had to force himself not to come from the initial contact.
Much to Draco's humiliation, Harry chuckled.
"I'm surprised you lasted this long," he said, and all at once Draco's dick was enveloped by a warm, eager mouth.
"Fuck!" and he wasn't sure if it had been a hiss or a groan. Then Harry laughed lightly with Draco's cock still in his mouth, and the little vibrations that caused made Draco shut his eyes and arch.
Harry nipped at the tender flesh under his balls, massaging them lightly with the tips of his warm fingers, and Draco whimpered.
The entire of Draco's cock was engulfed—to Draco's surprise, since he was not in any way smalll—and he whimpered again, and then groaned.
Harry continued, kissing and sucking at random places, rubbing the head with his thumb and using his nail to softly run over his slit, pulling on his balls, and deep throating his entire length, sucking like he was trying to vacuum his orgasm from him.
Draco was shaking, trying to hold back his impending orgasm. He tried to think of every gross thing he could—Greg and Millie having sex, Filch sleeping with his cat, kissing a weasel—but then Harry would do that thing he did where he pulled Draco's cock up so the tip reached his belly, pre-cum smearing his pale skin, and licked the underside of his cock like a lollipop, scraping his teeth gently against the sensitive skin, breathing over it with his hot breath, curling his damp, blonde pubic hairs with his long fingers; and Draco world would shatter and he would be forced to start back at square one.
Draco dared glancing down, and as soon as he did he regretted it. The sight of Harry's head bobbing up and down on his dick was too much.
With a cry, Draco came—pushing his hips forward and coming so hard it hurt. It seemed to last hours—or at least minutes—him shooting off in Harry's mouth, non stop, as wave after wave of pleasurable release shocked every inch of his senses.
When finally the last drop had been spilled, Draco fell to the ground, his knees weak. He couldn't even think, his orgasm had been that powerful. He still felt ripples of electricity move through him, starting from the tips of his curled toes the top of his dazed head. He was still hard. Not nearly as much as he had been before, but his cock was definitely stiff.
When his head finally managed to clear, it felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over his head.
"No…" he gasped, and shook his head. "No…"
He'd come. He'd come, and it certainly hadn't been five minutes.
He'd come, and he just sent his son to Azkaban.
"Please," he said frantically, and his head shot up. He would beg for another negotiation. Another bet. Fuck, he would even suck Harry off. Anything!
But what he saw when he looked up was enough to make his mouth shut closed and caused him to push back into the wall.
"W-wha—" Draco stammered, weary of the way Harry was looking at him. Leering at him.
He didn't have a chance to say anything more when Harry dropped to the floor over him and all but threw himself on top of him.
"Potter!" Draco cried, as his hands were held together over his head by one of Harry's strong hands, and the other hand tearing his legs apart. Harry removed that hand so that his knees could take their place, making it more successful for him to keep Draco's legs open.
"Potter, stop it!"
"No!" Harry growled, and Draco froze. He almost hadn't been expecting an answer.
"Silencio!" he spat and Draco realized that his son had been screaming at Harry to stop.
"I'm going to fuck you, Draco," he growled, and Draco drew back at the mad, blazing look in his eye. "I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll be screaming with my name on your lips."
With another flick of the wand, his own clothes were gone, scattered somewhere in the room where Draco couldn't see.
"Stop!" he cried again, afraid. But Harry wasn't listening. He positioned himself right over Draco, and wandlessly cast some spell to bind his hands together and to the floor.
Draco closed his eyes tightly, anticipating the inevitable, but even that anticipation was not enough for the searing pain that struck through him when Harry drove in.
He cried out, and tears fell from his eyes as Harry pulled back out all the way and slammed in. It was too much. It had been too long. Without even minimum stretching, time to relax, or lube for comfortable access, it felt as if a knife had been stabbed into him.
He cried out again when Harry repeated the thrust. On and on it went, painful and torturous and wild, and Draco kept his eyes shut tight, tears marring them, and cries for Potter to just stop at his lips. It hurt too much.
Finally, finally, Harry froze, and shot his load off in Draco. Draco felt himself being filled by warm liquid, but he paid no mind to it. He couldn't get past the burning sting that began to throb from within him.
So he cried—because he was never one to handle pain—even when Harry pulled out, and even when both their cum was spelled clean, and even when his body was lifted to the floor by the same man and brought to a large, conjured bed.
Everything. His body, his arse, his heart.
"Hurts, doesn't it?" Harry said quietly, over Draco's sobs. "To have something important to you taken away." Draco didn't know what or whom he was referring to—his arse or Scorpius—but it didn't matter, because it both hurt.
"What you just felt, like you were being ripped to shreds, is how I felt when you left." The words were quiet, but Draco felt the anger simmering above them.
"You hurt me, too," he continued. "My revenge isn't over."
Draco cried out when Harry moved over him on the Harry's hand rested on his chest, he tried to push it away with his now-free hand, but Harry simply held onto it.
"Shh," he whispered, "don't worry. I'll make this time good for you. I'll let you come."
Draco didn't respond. Instead, he lay there, trembling. He was thirty-seven years old. A grown man, and he was crying like a child. Cowering like a babe.
He hadn't felt so disgusted with himself in years.
"Shh," Harry whispered again, and true to his word, the second time was more pleasant. As pleasant as it could get for someone who truly didn't want it.
Harry was gentle; his movements were slow and practiced. They hovered and pressed over every inch of his frame, as did his tongue and mouth. He took his time, slowly building up the heat in Draco's stomach. He sucked on his nipples, pinching the hardened nubs with his teeth, and causing Draco to groan into his shoulder. He nipped on his collar bone and shoulders, lapped at his stomach and navel, suckled on his pubic bone and licked at the hair above his cock. He ran kisses from his ankles to his thighs, and circled at them with warm hands.
By the time his mouth reached Draco's hardness, he was already a dazed mess.
Harry didn't suck it for long. When he removed his mouth, he came away with a large pop, and smiled crookedly when Draco—unconsciously—whined.
When Harry pulled Draco's legs apart, Draco stiffened in fear.
"I won't hurt you," Harry soothed, and eased his legs apart.
He hadn't lied to him about that, too. He muttered a healing spell to clean and close off any rips that Draco had endured during the previous penetration. He summoned lube and coated his hand fingers in it. Harry pumped at his own cock as he pumped his lubed fingers into Draco's arse. He pushed his dick in slowly, so slowly that Draco felt nothing else aside from fullness. Harry pushed out, and went in at the same pace.
On and on it went like that, Harry moving in an out slowly, causing small ripples of pleasure to wash over him. Draco moaned here and there, every time the head of Harry's cock hit his prostate.
After a while it became too slow, and before Draco could stop himself he was demanding that Harry hurry up.
Harry smiled at him, and Draco nearly cried.
The movements became more rapid, then, the thrusts harder and specific. Harry angled for the spot that made Draco see white, over and over, and over and over Draco moaned aloud, gripping Harry's middle with his legs and trying to impale himself further into him. When it became too much, Draco came—pulsing and shuddering. Without meaning to, he closed himself tightly around Harry, and Harry groaned.
As soon as he started to come Harry pulled out, delaying his orgasm for as long as he could as he continued to slide his cock through Draco's arse, coming over his cheeks and balls and lower back.
The feel of come on him made Draco moan.
Tired, he fell onto the mattress, and grunted when Harry fell, exhaustedly, on top of him.
"I loved you."
He felt the figure on top of him tense, and Draco let the words that he had always wanted to say, yet never could, rush out.
"Back then, I loved you, too."
Silence ensued, before Harry lifted himself from Draco's back and asked, "Then why did you do it?"
Do it. Do what? There were so many things that Draco had done wrong. He didn't know where to start in listing all the mistakes he'd made in the past, and frankly, he didn't want to.
"Because…because you chose that Weasel bint over me. And because I wouldn't go against my family. And because Voldemort—" it had taken Draco almost five years to be able to hear the Dark Lord's name without flinching. It had taken him another two to be able to say it, "—threatened to kill my mother."
More silence ensued. Harry broke it, eventually, with a tone that was like ice.
"It doesn't matter. What's done is done. I'm not through taking my revenge."
Draco closed his eyes and lowered his head, and he felt like he would throw up.
A whole minute passed before Harry spoke again. "Scorpius. Who's his mother?"
Draco didn't hesitate to answer for Scorpius. She was dead, and completely safe from Harry's wrath.
Draco could have sworn that Harry hissed.
"Where is she?" he demanded, turning around and glaring at Draco. Draco flinched.
Harry narrowed his eyes. "Who else have you slept with since Hogwarts?"
Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson.
Harry narrowed his eyes further.
"I don't believe you," he said dangerously, and Draco clenched his jaw. "No worries. I'll find out. That's my job, after all. I'm an interrogator."
Draco dropped his head again, unable to look Harry in the eye anymore. His head hurt. It... this…everything… was just too much. His head felt like it was about to explode.
"You and Scorpius will move into Grimmauld Place."
Draco's head shot up, and he stared at Harry with wide eyes.
"It's my safety house," Harry told him, as if Draco hadn't even done anything. "Heavily warded, and nearly as protected as the Ministry is. You'll live there, under my protection. I haven't had my revenge yet, and I can't do it with you in Azkaban."
Draco's eyes continued to widen.
"So you'd rather be sent to Azkaban?" Harry asked, condescendingly.
Draco clenched his teeth and glared. Who was he to speak to him as if he were some child?
"Fuck you, Potter!" Draco spat, venomously, his shoulders shaking in fury. He'd allowed himself to be the fool one too many times that day already. He allowed himself to vulnerable, pathetic; weak.
Harry snorted at him. He fished his hand in his pocket and retrieved the extra wand. Quickly he tossed it at Draco and Draco's hand instinctively shot out and grabbed it.
"Get dressed," he demanded, "and release your son. I'll be back shortly. And do refrain from trying to escape." He narrowed his eyes. "One wrong move, Malfoy, and I'll have both you and your son's ass tossed in Azkaban, in a cell next to Pansy Parkinson's fucking corpse."
He didn't even bother to glance at Draco as he turned on his heel and stalked off, still naked, heading in the direction of the open door.
Right before he entered he paused, and then called out in a voice that was meant to chastise. "I didn't choose Ginny, you know," he said, and then continued to walk forward. His voice rang out from the hall. "When you saw us, she was kissing me."
Draco stared after him, unaware that he wasn't breathing. When the lack of air caused his chest to constrict, Draco gasped loudly.
Shaking his head, mind numb and still not knowing what the hell just happened—and not too clear on how it happened—he turned around, and gaped when he saw his son, staring at him with narrowed, furious eyes, and still chained to the bed.
Draco let out a small, almost crazed laugh, and buried his head in his hands.
They weren't going to Azkaban. They were going to live in Harry's house. Harry Potter—who Draco was convinced was absolutely nutters, decided to protect them.
They weren't going to Azkaban.
Draco let out a shaky breath, and sighed. He threw his legs over the bed, dropped to the floor, and winced as a sharp pain shot up his ass and spine.
"Fucking bastard," he cursed, and made his way to the infuriated son who he had forgotten was there.
"I can't believe you finally decided to leave your job, mate," Ron thumped Harry on the back, and Harry chuckled softly. "'Mione will be stoked. She absolutely hates your job, you know. Thinks it changed you."
Harry smiled. "Hermione worries too much."
Ron nodded. "Tell me about it. Anyways, why did you decide to leave your job? I though you liked being an interrogator."
Harry had just finished handing in his letter of resignation to the Minister. Kingsley had nearly had a fit, and Harry had to solemnly explain that he was so tired of interrogating and dealing with the dark. He was already thirty-eight. He wanted to settle down, maybe start a family, and take on a lighter job. When he told Kingsley that, the Minister had all but threw him out of the office and told him never to come back.
"I guess you were right. It is a rather dark job. I'm getting a bit tired of dealing with dark wizards all the time. Plus, it sucks not being able to tell you anything. I always feel bad afterward."
Ron stopped and turned to face him, and Harry did the same. He clapped Harry on the shoulder, and gave him a beaming smile.
"Honestly, Harry, I thought the job changed you a little, too. You became distant, and seemed to be depressed more. I'm happy you decided to change. Glad to have you back, mate."
Harry gave Ron a brilliant smile, and Ron's own grin grew in size.
"Where're you headed, now?" Ron asked, as they continued walking.
"Home. I'm tired as hell. Up all night finishing reports I needed to before I could hand in a resignation form."
His best friend turned and coyly quirked a brow. "Sure about that, Harry? You don't have one of those "one-night-stands" waiting for you at your place?"
"No, none of those. I haven't had sex in ages."
It was Ron's turn to laugh. "Poor little Harry," he joked, and Harry nudged him playfully in the side.
Ron walked Harry to the lift; bid him good bye, made him promise to come over for dinner sometime that week, and then jogged off down the opposite corridor.
In the elevator, he joked with all his co-workers and laughed boisterously. He bid goodbye everyone he came across, flirted with the witch at the front desk, and left the Ministry with a hop in his step.
As soon as Harry was far enough to Apparate, he did so, and landed right in the middle of Number 12 Grimmauld Place.
He tore off his shoes, tie, cloak, and threw them on the floor by the foyer. He passed the annihilated portrait that had been Mrs. Black, walked down the long hallway, and headed up the stairs. He stopped at the second floor, and made it down the landing. Harry passed three doors before he made it to the last one on the right side of the hall. He paused for a second before turning the knob, and then opened it slowly.
Harry walked in, quietly, his front facing the door. He closed the door softly, and turned around. The sight he saw pulled a smirk from his lips.
Draco Malfoy lay naked, half covered in green silk sheets, on a large white canopy bed. His son, similarly entangled, lay next to him.
The sound of soft snoring was like music to his ears. He crept forward, at a measured pace, and pulled the transparent white cloth that hung from metal poles to the side, getting a much better visual of the both of them.
He had fucked Draco and Scorpius so hard last night they couldn't even walk.
Harry kneeled onto the large bed and crawled his way over to the sleeping blondes.
He'd demanded they tell him who else Draco slept with after Hogwarts, but they had refused to give names, instead denying and saying it was no one. Harry had tortured them all night long, yet they still kept their mouths shut.
Harry ran a finger delicately over Scorpius' cock, and the limp anatomy, covered with stale, day old come, stirred.
Well, he mused, as he turned over and did the same to Draco who, to his delight, reacted the same. He would have to try again.
With both hands he encircled the both of them, and smirked when he heard twin moans of despair.
He smirked wider.
Merlin, did he love being an interrogator.
A/N: And that's the end of "The Interrogator". I truly enjoyed writing this fic, and I hope you enjoyed reading it just as much. I hadn't intended the fic to surpass 5k, but.. it somehow ended up becoming this massive thing. There might be a few typos in the story, and I apologize for that. Even with four betas, weit was still a rush job. This story was written in a week, and with only half a week to beta it... well, you can pretty much imagine ^_^
This was my first time writing such extreme smut, and so much of it! I hope I did a good job in that aspect.
If you enjoyed this story, please review! Thanks for reading!
UPDATE: I forgot to mention that I will be writing a "lost scene" of sorts. One of my betas was highly disappointed that I did not write Scorpius and Draco's first night at Harry's house, and to be honest, I kind of am, as well! =p I don't know when it will be published (it shouldn't be too long in coming, though), but it will be separate from this (meaning, as a separate story). The ending of the story was left somewhat open intentionally, since I'd hoped to enact a "hopeful" ending, rather than a solid, happy one. Still, the one shot should give everyone a further view into Scorpius, Harry, and Draco's possible relationship. I can assure everyone now, though, that the future for the boys isn't fluffy in the least. Once again, thanks for reading!