Title: Heroes From Our Past
Pairing: Harry Potter / Draco Malfoy
Categories: Slash, One-Shot, DH and Epilogue compliant
Warnings: Slash, Adult Language, Infidelity
Word Count: 2 500
Summary: In a secluded bar in Muggle London, two old enemies meet up for a drink.
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and
Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
The snow falls in soft showers over me as I walk down the street in the cold January evening. I can't remember any previous winter being this cold. One step after another I take, the frozen ground creaking beneath my feet. I hate the sound, it sends shivers down my spine more than the cold air does.
I breathe out in relief as I reach for the familiar door, pulling it open and stepping inside. The smoky, hot air hits me like a wall, melting away the cold from my face. The pub is as crowded as on any Wednesday night, and I sneer at the long line by the bar. Fifty cranky and obnoxious Muggles arguing over cheap drinks. The effects of Little Saturday are quite apparent.
Making my way past the queue, I stalk over to the small booth at the back of the room.
"You're late," Potter mutters peevishly as I approach him. I barely hear him over the noise in the room. He is dressed in a Slytherin green blazer, a garment that looks very alien, yet strangely appealing on him. I sit down opposite of him, slithering out of my coat.
"Family issues," is my only response as I lean back against the wall. I do not elaborate and Potter does not inquire about it. That is our rule, one of many.
"Here you go," he says simply, sliding one of the two drinks in front of him over the table towards me. I take the offered glass, raising an eyebrow at the strange, bluish liquid. Potter always picks out the most strangest things, and every time a different one. I believe I have yet to drink the same drink twice here.
"Thank you," I take a sip without questioning the content, surprised to find that this time Potter actually managed to order something drinkable.
"So," Potter clears his throat after a minute of silence. "How are things?"
"Splendidly," I mutter mirthlessly, staring into my glass. "Same old, same old." Taking a deep breath, I set the drink down on the table, sighing dejectedly. "Astoria keeps acting up. Jealous women are a real pain in the arse, I tell you."
Potter chuckles uncomfortably. "I can kind of understand where her mood is coming from, you know."
I sneer at him. "Don't try to pull that shit with me. It's her problem, not mine."
He snorts disdainfully, glaring at me from behind his glass. "It's her problem that she expects you to be faithful?"
I nod decisively. "Yes. In an arranged marriage, it is. She should be able to control herself, not throw tantrums at her son's birthday party." I add the last sentence as an afterthought, almost regretting it when the words cross my lips. Sharing too much forms attachment. We can't afford more of that.
Potter cringes at my words. "Was it that bad?"
I nod curtly. "Luckily the other parents were in another room, and the children are only four years old and don't understand a thing. Nonetheless… Private matters should not be settled in public." I leer at the memory. "I always knew that woman's impulsiveness would become a problem."
A heavy silence lashes over us, and eventually becomes very uncomfortable. This is precisely what I feared. This is why we decided never to discuss personal issues. A rule that I find being broken far too often these days.
"I think Ginny is suspecting something," Potter murmurs, a worried crease forming between his eyes. "She keeps asking why I have to work late every Wednesday, bothering me to use the influence of my name to get me off the hook." He looks around in the room cautiously, as if mentioning his fame would immediately call forth every reporter in Britain. I do not bother to remind him that Rita Skeeter probably doesn't loiter much in Muggle bars.
Instead, I grin at him maliciously. "You don't ever wonder if she would like you to use the 'influence of your name' for other advantages as well?" I know it's a cheap shot, but I simply love to see the anger and embarrassment flash in Potter's eyes.
"Shut up, Malfoy," he spits at me viciously. "Don't you dare make such insinuations about Ginny."
I huff tauntingly. "I do not make insinuations, Potter." I glare at him, taking care to pronounce his name with prominent venom and scorn. "I'm telling you what's right in front of you, what you refuse to see."
If he could hit me over the table, he probably would have by now. Luckily I sit safely in my seat, watching Potter's nostrils flare as he focuses on something obscure in the distance to calm himself down. "Who are you to judge other people's marriages?" he asks sourly.
Snorting sardonically, I take a sip of my drink, the liquid warming my throat pleasantly. "I'm not judging your marriage. I'm judging the denial you refuse to let go of."
"I'm not going to think less of my wife so that I may justify my own sins."
There is some truth in those words. The truth of a Gryffindor, at least. But I refuse to forgive the faults of others just because I feel guilty. In the end, we are all sinners, and I will judge others as much as I do myself.
"Face it, Potter," I therefore respond simply. "You are not the saint you used to be, and neither is she. Stop expecting it from either of you, and you won't need to get disappointed."
Potter does not answer, hopefully because he has realised that I am right. Though obstinate as he is, he still refuses to admit it. He sighs in irritation before he downs the entire content of his glass and rises from his seat. "I'm tired of this. Let's go," he declares obnoxiously, as if ordering me around will suffice for making up for his lost dignity. Though my pride tells me to protest, I have no desire to take this pointless quarrel further, so I give in, finishing my drink and standing up to pull on my coat. Potter is already waiting for me, his grumpy expression obvious even from behind the knitted scarf he has wrapped around his neck and chin. He suddenly looks ridiculously young, much too young to be the father of three children.
We step outside, the cold wind colliding harshly with my face. Quietly we walk a hundred yards down the street, to a familiar dark alleyway between a Chinese restaurant and the Bio Rex cinema. Stopping behind two green dumpsters, Potter turns to me.
"So, your place?" he asks, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. As if there was any question about the matter. I do not bother to answer, but simply grab his arm and apparate away. As usual Potter closes his eyes, and doesn't open them until we have landed safely in my private bedroom at the Manor. He says apparating makes him sick. Pathetic, really. But I guess that is what one gets for being raised by Muggles.
Taking off my heavy winter coat and placing it over the back of an armchair, I draw my wand and light the fire place. Then I turn to Potter, who is still fighting with the buttons on his own coat. Without delay I cup his chin and lean forth to kiss him, moving my other hand to unbutton his coat quickly. As soon as he has freed his arm from the coat Potter wraps them around my neck, the kiss intensifying quickly. He gasps against my lips as I slither my cool hands under his shirt and onto his warm skin, my fingers already working the buttons on his jeans.
"You're in a hurry," Potter chuckles softly, tugging at the hem of my shirt and moving to pull it upwards. I let go of him to pull the garment over my head. While I do so, Potter walks over to the bed, kicking off his shoes and pulling his own shirt over his head as he goes. I watch the scene with interest, the sight of that familiar, muscled back immediately intensifying my heartbeat. He looks back at me, cocking an arrogant eyebrow as he grins lecherously, crawling onto the bed and lying down on his side. Taking off his glasses, he tosses them to the bedside table, before moving into a more comfortable position to gaze over at me.
"I bet you're inviting me here to get back at her, just hoping that she'll walk in on us," he murmurs, not looking like he minds that fact much.
"Well, that is part of the fun," I admit, grinning wickedly at Potter who is lying there and looking positively edible. Letting my shirt fall to the floor, I move to unbutton my own trousers slowly, all the while keeping my eyes steady on Potter. His gaze flickers from my eyes down to my working hands as he swallows loudly. With the last button popping open my trousers fall down my hips to the floor. I step out of them and kick them to the side, striding over to the bed where Potter lies waiting.
I lean down onto my arms over him, forcing him onto his back, looking up at me. His emerald eyes pull me in, still as alluring as they were years ago. The first time.
I move closer, my face merely an inch from his, but remain hovering over him, delighting in hearing his laboured breath, feeling the puffs of air against my lips. Moving my heads down to his waist, I tug at his jeans, yanking them down his hips. He learned not to use underwear a long time ago.
Potter gasps as his erection springs free, kicking off his jeans and throwing his head back, giving me perfect access to his throat. I lean in to graze my teeth over the soft skin, biting, licking and sucking until small bruises have formed. Moving one hand over his stomach and chest, I let my fingers tweak at his nipples, the soft tissue instantly hardening under my touch. My other hand moves lower, slowly approaching his crotch. Potter is already whining with need before I have even reached his cock. When I do, I wrap a steady hand around his erection, gently pumping the hard flesh in a slow rhythm. I make sure not to touch him to roughly or too long, wanting to see him writhe under me for the longest possible time. When he bites his lip, his eyes closed and lashes fluttering, looking alarmingly close to coming, I let go of him completely. He gasps at the loss, looking up at me with the disbelieving alarm of a child. I grin lewdly, grabbing hold of his hands and pulling them up over his head, before rolling him over onto his stomach. He groans loudly with want but moves obediently under my touch. I still holding his hands over his head as I lean over and whisper in his ear:
"What do you want, Potter?"
He moans loudly into the mattress, but still compels himself to form the words. "You," he stutters, shivering as I breathe onto his naked back.
"You'll have to specify your request." I kiss his spine softly, wondering if he can feel my smile imprinted on his skin. My free hand moves down his lower back to his arse, cupping one cheek not-so gently.
Potter whimpers under me, cursing into the mattress before he throws his head back to roar: "Just fuck me already, will you?"
I leer victoriously, finally letting go of Potter's wrists as I use both hands to summon the lubricant and prepare the man below me. Not that he needs much preparation, he is writhing with need after I have breached him with only one finger.
"God… just… Now!" he commands, wriggling his hips suggestively. And quite frankly, I don't need to be told twice. He moans at the loss as I pull my finger out of him, but I soon have him gasping again below me as I push into him. Gasping I sheath myself, the warm tightness surrounding me with such familiar pleasure. I go as gently as I can, even though I am shuddering from need and my knees are shaking from the restraint. When I am fully sheathed, I pause, trying to catch my breath. Potter wriggles impatiently below my, and I cry out as the powerful electrical shocks run though every nerve in my body.
As if punishing Potter I pull back out almost completely before ramming back in hard. Potter yells out, bucking violently under me, the weight of my body the only thing keeping him from jolting into the air.
I do not stop moving, but keep pumping in and out of Potter, his moans and cries demanding it harder and faster sounding like music to my ears. I keep kissing his neck feverishly, my hands still at his hips, nails digging into the soft skin. Then Potter whimpers loudly one final time, his hands tugging violently at the sheets as he comes beneath me, rutting into the mattress. I feel him clench around me and lose all control, pumping in him one final time before I empty myself inside him, descending into bliss.
For a moment I just lie here, breathing in the scent and smell of his hot skin. Then finally I pull out, delighted to hear him moan at the loss. I roll to the side to let him crawl out from under me. He does so, grinning at me lewdly and immediately standing up. He does a quick cleaning spell on himself, groaning as he stretches his sore muscles. I observe him reverently as he pulls on his shirt and his jeans, working on the buttons just a moment longer because he knows that I am watching him.
When he is completely dressed and has put his glasses back on he looks over at me, an appreciating smile flashing on his face as he takes in my still naked body, sprawled on the bed. Then he shakes his head, chuckling softly as if at a private joke, and grins at me.
"Next Wednesday, then?" he asks, the exact same question he has asked for almost three years now. And I, cocking an eyebrow and sneering at him, answer in the exact same manner as ever before.