Summary: Draco is assigned to Potter Watch: to protect Harry from his most dedicated fans. Draco excels at his job. Unfortunately, Harry excels at being Harry.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Epilogue compliant? EWE
Word Count: ~ 11,000
Beta: megyal, melusinahp, tehrin, and emansil.
The day Draco Malfoy could no longer deny that insipid chest flutter concerning one infuriating do-gooder was the day he almost lost him. It was also one of the longest days of his life, contesting even with the night he fled the castle with Professor Snape. The morning of this same day, Draco had been waiting in the endless Ministry Floo lines, trying to avoid the do-gooder's easy smile that flashed at him from every bloody Stag magazine in existence. The Floo station, packed with witches and wizards, broiled in a late summer humidity that felt absolutely hostile. Draco gave up trying to cool himself after his fifth charm shriveled up in the heat. An unnatural quiet, stirred only by the swish of a turned page, gripped this tiny patch of hell.
He tried to breathe; the air tasted like a Quidditch locker room.
The queue for the Ministry Floo inched ahead at the breakneck speed of a flobberworm in paste. Over a man's shoulder, Draco gave in and glanced at the glossy spread of a Stag article. Eating up a sizeable portion of the page was a picture of Harry Potter with Luna Lovegood at his side. It was taken at the latest fund raiser for the Romanian Dragon Preserve and Harry handed Luna a wine glass full of something blue. She took it, smiled in her vacant way, then snapped her gaze to something over Harry's shoulder and threw the elf wine on him. The image kept repeating, Harry's shock then immediate laughter playing over and over as the wine dripped from his long lashes.
The title scrolling across the top of the page read "Harry and Luna: Will They Ever Join Wands?" The Stag article continued on about how Harry and Luna had been together for years and how everyone at Stag eagerly wondered what the couple's next step would be.
All of it was drivel.
Draco checked his regulation Auror phone and noted the time. Since the maintenance overhaul three weeks ago to 'improve' Floo networking, the Floos were as clogged as Grimmauld's pipes. He'd probably do better simply walking.
Draco glanced over to catch girl Weasley waving high over her head.
"Weasley," he greeted his partner once she caught up to him.
With a dashing smile at the people behind him, Ginny slipped into line in front of him. Draco rolled his eyes. Tits, it was all about the tits.
"You are cutting off a long line of disgruntled Ministry employees who will probably poison your eggs in the cafeteria if you're not careful. And I am not to be excluded."
She shrugged, and pulled out her own copy of Stag.
Draco narrowed his eyes. "I cannot believe you support that gossip mag."
She tore her eyes away from Harry's laughing image, wine dripping down his face, to look up at Draco over her shoulder. "Why not? Don't you want to know all the latest dirt on Harry?" she said with a waggle of her eyebrows.
Draco crossed his arms. "I already know all the dirt on Harry."
Ginny hummed, then flipped the page. A photo on the bottom corner showed himself trying to stop a mob of admirers from ripping Harry's robes right off him. If a reprimand wouldn't have been slapped on him faster than a pixie could nip, Draco would have used something stronger than limited shield and stunning spells. These rabid fans needed to drown in a lake of reality. Preferably a deep lake, with wild merefolk and grindlylows that hadn't eaten in a decade.
The line moved forward in an inmate shuffle. He checked the time again. Ten minutes late.
Ginny began chatting with the man in front of her about the "How Good is your Harry Potter Trivia" quiz at the back of the magazine.
"Oh yes, Cho was his first," she said, then in a seductive tone, "followed by me." The man laughed. Draco sighed and stared up at the tiled ceiling of the Floo station. Brown and green stains spread across the tiles in a somewhat fetching pattern. Finally, it was their turn.
Ginny tucked her copy of Stag under her arm, tossed Draco a smile and stepped through the Floo's green light. He shook his head at his partner, waited impatiently for the light to glow green again, and then stepped forward to be sucked through the Floo.
"Hey, Malfoy. Dawlish wants you."
Draco glanced left, raised his chin to the top of Bechly's head which was barely visible over a stack of parchment, then proceeded to the little kitchenette to pour a cup of swill the Auror staff had the gall to call tea. A Muggle brand, akin to floor scrapings, but it was free and already prepared, and nothing else was available but coffee long scorched to the consistency of sludge.
On the counter lay a copy of Stag flipped over to reveal the back page. A full-sized ad for Phoenix Fetishes filled the page from border to border. Fifty Percent Off All Action Figures: the headline flashed. Marching along the edge of the advertisement were miniature Potters. There was Doctor Potter, with stethoscope and alembic. Quidditch Potter with goggles and broom. Auror Potter clad in red robes that fluttered as if in a wind, and Draco's personal gut churning peeve, Stripper Potter. The lascivious little action figure winked constantly. Very little accompanied that one. Anatomically Complete! the small print read.
There was even a Harry and Luna pair, wearing outdoor gear including a butterfly net and fishing pole.
He tossed the magazine into the rubbish bin where it belonged.
The funny thing was, Draco knew no wedding chimes were planned for Harry and Luna. Luna was spacey, flighty, fairly plain and utterly asexual. He'd never once known her to have kissed a boy, or a girl for that matter, and she didn't really seem to pine over those missed adolescence milestones. She cared about the usagiroos and the midge wasps and all things unknown to anyone else but her. Driven by some inner force, she desired to learn everything she could about an existence even more mysterious than the wizarding world itself.
Loony, that one.
Life in general held enough mysteries to keep him constantly on his toes. Why go looking for more?
And as for Harry. Well, let it be said that none of the ladies that Witch Weekly or the Potter focused Stag magazines tried to pair him up with would quite work. Harry was one hundred percent a cock sucker. Draco knew this because he and Ginny had been assigned as Harry Potter's Ministry appointed personal guards—not the most glorious Auror career if truth be told. For the last five years Draco had to endure Harry's whispered notes about the finer points of this man or that. In his younger days, Draco had even had the unfortunate experience of stumbling upon Harry in a few compromising positions. Harry had no secrets from him.
Draco forced down a swallow of bitter tea and left for Dawlish's office, wondering if he was off Potter Watch after Harry almost got crushed under the mob last week. As he passed through the Auror office, he nodded at the other men and women wearing red, each one looking only half as stressed as Draco felt.
"Malfoy, did you want to join in on the World Cup pool?" Ginny shouted across the room.
"Put me down for fifty on the Kestrels."
He stopped before Dawlish's door and tapped it with his knuckles, forcing down another swallow of tea. He looked defensively at the mug.
Luna was Harry's camouflage. The last thing the tosser wanted was more attention. Following Hogwarts, Harry had decided to use his fame to support those causes he thought worthy—which in Draco's opinion constituted every bloody one. Harry needed someone to escort to the scores of public events he attended. Unless you counted Draco and Ginny, who were ever present, guarding the berk's backside and modesty as the Potterphiles tried to strip him of every scrap of clothing for their collections.
They were so obsessed with Harry, Draco had even needed to troll Wbay to fish out some of the things they'd taken from him. He knew exactly what some of these folks thought an invaluable collectable.
He pushed through Dawlish's door, stalled in the doorway and sighed.
Harry looked up, long lashes no longer dripping elven wine. "Hey, Draco!" Sitting in the overstuffed, comfortable chair, Harry offered up a paper cup. Steam slipped through the little drinking hole on the plastic lid.
"Potter. I don't suppose you plan on relaxing for once? Skip out on the World for Wigeons Rally?" He deposited the mug of toxic waste onto Dawlish's desk—Dawlish shot him a glare—and lowered himself in the hard torture chair next to Harry. He took the offered cup, unable to halt his surely sappy nod of thanks. The heady scent of bergamot wafted through the hole and for a moment Draco closed his eyes and drowned in it.
Some Muggle drinks were done right.
"The wigeons need me," Harry said, sipping his own bitter smelling coffee. Draco had scolded Harry when he began his foray into the world of ground up, burned beans. Tea, Draco had said, that's a proper British drink. But Harry hadn't listened to him. Harry never listened to him.
"We need to discuss security for today's rally." Dawlish flipped through some papers spread out on his desk. Draco leaned back into his chair, cradling his cup on his stomach. Beside him, Harry chuckled.
"I don't expect anything different from any other appearance," Harry said. The chair swallowed Harry whole as he relaxed into the cushions.
"Neither do we, but it's good to review the procedure," Dawlish said, trying to scold Harry's indifferent attitude with a glare. Draco thought about joining in, but then caught a whiff of his tea and took another sip instead.
"As long as I have Malfoy there to protect me," Harry lowered his lashes with a shy glance at Draco, "I know I'll be safe."
Draco made a noise halfway protesting, halfway amused.
"The way he throws himself in the line of curses for me—" Harry continued, breathlessly.
Draco sighed. That only happened six times. He'd known he'd have no time to raise anything to protect Harry, so he'd done the only thing any other good Auror would do. Plus, none were deadly. Most of the curses only made Draco embarrass himself by pronouncing his love for the caster. At least the culprit had been easy to find.
"Always standing stoically by my side. My ever watchful guardian." Harry sighed like a virgin maiden. Draco pleaded silently with Dawlish to stuff a sock in Harry's mouth, but Dawlish appeared to be ignoring Harry to study the map of the rally.
"I think we'll set up a patrol of four other Aurors, with Weasley and Malfoy as the leads. Here, and here." He pointed to spots on the map that Draco couldn't even see from his unforgiving chair. "We'll also set up reactive shielding charms and Eye Spies to scan the crowd."
Draco kept his gaze on Dawlish, but out of the corner of his eye he knew Harry had turned toward him, was leaning on the arm of the chair, batting his eyelashes at Draco. Draco nodded at Dawlish's next question. Grunted periodically within the expanding seconds of him talking, talking, talking.
"Sound good?" Dawlish asked.
Draco blinked, his skin uncomfortably hot. "Yes, I think so, sir."
Every rally, every week. Always the same.
Harry popped out of his chair. "Then, my work here is done." He stopped before Draco's chair and looked down at him. "Grab a Stellas before the rally?" he asked.
Harry's face had dropped his insipid damsel-in-distress façade, and in that moment, Draco couldn't tear his eyes away. Harry's smile was genuine, and warm. A true smile that Draco knew Harry shared with a limited few. His eyes glittered with amusement, because Draco was in on his joke. Draco was always in on his jokes.
Unfortunately, he was getting tired of being the butt of this joke. Day in and day out.
It had been getting worse, this malady Draco seemed to have contracted. Probably a side affect of all those love curses.
But Draco knew better, and he'd never been one to lie to himself.
"Certainly, Harry. Meet at Smithie's?"
Harry nodded. "Alright. I'll be there as Reggie."
Draco watched him as he left.
He flinched. Dawlish had that exasperated tone of someone who'd been asking the same question repeatedly.
"What?" Draco asked, annoyed.
"Don't forget, that new reactive shield spell should block those love curses, so you don't have to throw yourself to the wolves this time."
Draco nodded. That would be a relief. He hated that feeling of desperation.
Split shifts killed any social life Draco dreamed of having. Some would say that Potter Watch was a social event in and of itself, but Draco would disagree. Working three to four nights a week watching for mad fans to assault Harry wasn't his idea of fun. Actually, he wondered if his sudden attacks of heartburn weren't caused by his duty guarding the sod.
Or it could be the spicy Indian food he'd taken to eating out of cartons on nights when he couldn't get home for a descent British dinner. The kiosk fish and chips had packed on five unwanted pounds, so he tried to stay away from anything leaking grease.
Realizing the night would be a long one, Draco stopped by his flat for a quick shower and a bit of a gnosh. He almost slipped on that morning's Floo mail: a Diagon Alley coupon book, a statement from Phoenix Fetishes, the Prophet, the weekly Stag magazine and a letter from his mother. He searched for his Gringott's statement, but it was probably caught in the Floo. He wondered when they'd finally finish the upgrades. He picked up the pile and dropped it on his desk in his home office. He ate some crackers and cheese, then showered, the water hot and steady against his aching shoulders. As he scrubbed himself dry he scanned his battalion of Potters that lined two shelves of a bookshelf in his bedroom.
He had them all. Quidditch Potter, Auror Potter and Hero Potter were the first three he'd purchased with the intention of dismembering them slowly on his more trying days. But instead of taking out his woes on the miniature heroes, he found himself drudging up past issues and yelling at the damned things. He complained to Doctor Potter and bitched at Farmer Potter. He even confessed about his growing inappropriate feelings to Stripper Potter, though that action figure only winked and blew kisses at him.
They were posable, and normally each one stood in a wide-legged stance, hands on hips with a 'ready to take on evil' attitude. Except for Stripper Potter, who Draco found in compromising poses every time he got home.
He had them all, except for the limited edition Bunny Potter released on Easter three years ago. Draco'd had the flu and couldn't get out to purchase the figure. The WBay cost was extortion, and now he had a figureless space on his shelf that instead held a tower of stained beer coasters.
Draco hated unfinished business.
He pulled on a clean set of Auror robes, and pinned on his official Potter Watch badge. Stripper Potter whistled at him, and licked his lips. Draco escaped the room before the action figure could do anything lewd.
A few minutes later he stepped from the Floo into Smithie's bar. Though it was early, as was typical for a Friday, Smithie's was stuffed to the gizzard, practically overflowing into the back alley with minglers. Draco scanned the crowd, looking for Reggie, or even Hermione or Pansy. There had to be two hundred people packed into the establishment like cuttlefish; the probability of him being acquainted with at least half of them was staggering.
The music was a dull throb overcome by the murmur of the crowd. A squall of laughter surfaced out of the drone of noise, and Draco recognized that bark of cheeriness. His eyes skimmed over heads of blond, red, a hundred shades of brown, until they landed on a dark brown thatch of hair, and peeking out from underneath were a pair of pale, blue eyes. Harry was laughing so hard tears were welling up.
As Draco walked toward Harry's table, shifting his body this way and that, not bothering with apologies as he bumped people and people knocked into him, Harry looked up at him and smiled.
Draco nodded and swallowed down a sudden lump in his throat.
"Draco!" Harry lifted his lager in salute. Ron, Hermione and Luna glanced up as well. Luna waved, her teeth flashing on parade.
"Hello." Draco greeted everyone with a nod.
Luna held out a knit bracelet for him. Draco stared at it.
"What's that?" The thing looked woven from strands of yarn picked from garish colors not found in nature.
"It's a CDPP bracelet." She tied it around Draco's wrist and he noticed almost everyone in the bar was wearing one.
"Did you make these?" Draco asked, remembering the Cliff Dwelling Protection Pact meeting three weeks ago where some man in a ridiculously flouncy hat had given a nasty acrylic yarn bracelet to Harry. Harry had proceeded to wear the thing for a week.
"Oh no. Nancy Marsh and Gemma McCord brought them in. They gave us a handful, free." Luna seemed pleased. Draco caught Hermione rolling her eyes, but he also noticed the yarn circlet around her left wrist.
Harry lifted his wrist and brandished it for Draco to see. "Look. I've got one, too. Sexy, no?" He waggled his eyebrows at Draco. As Reggie, Harry's eyebrows were bushy enough to house a flock of tiny birds.
"No," Draco said, then scratched at his wrist. Knowing his luck, he'd probably catch hives, but he didn't take it off.
Harry pushed over a short glass for Draco. Draco didn't drink much, especially before guard duty. He took his responsibilities seriously.
They sat at their table, drinking and relaxing before the World for Wigeons Rally. Ginny showed up, her own Auror robes wrinkled after a full day of action.
"You've been at it all day?" Draco asked.
Ginny had a bit of a haggard air about her, but she still flashed a grin at Draco. "Of course. No rest for the wicked!"
"Ginny. Welcome," Luna said, and slid over on the bench so Ginny would have a place to sit.
"How are you, Luna? Any new adventures?"
"Fine. And yes." Luna smiled, her unfocused gaze preparing Draco for the inevitable. "I was in Ireland looking for a pooka and…."
Everyone laughed loudly at the story when Luna finished telling it. Except Draco. It was one they'd heard millions versions of, but Luna adored sharing her expeditions, so they always listened intently. Draco felt it was required by some tacit blood pact vowed ages ago. The story, everyone in the room fulfilling the proper response. Like teamwork.
It just felt so odd being a part of it.
Harry grabbed Luna's hand and squeezed it. Draco watched as the two stared at each other a moment, a moment that slid into something inappropriately long and Draco looked away. Maybe Harry wasn't as gay as he claimed to be.
Draco looked back at the happy couple. Harry was staring at him while Luna and Ginny were caught up in some other conversation about wand length and performance. Harry grinned, though on Reggie's face it wasn't half so charming.
"Catch," Harry said, and tossed Draco his beer coaster. Draco snatched it from the air, an easy feat after being Seeker all those years.
"Nice." Harry nodded his approval.
"Of course," Draco said, smirking as he slipped the coaster into his pocket.
Later, as Harry, Ginny, Luna and Draco left to attend the rally, Luna sidled up to Draco and said, "Don't worry, Draco. I'm not in your way," then just as breezily walked off. Draco scowled after her, running his fingers over the smooth surface of the coaster in his pocket.
The crowd of people flowed like a single living organism, or possibly like a giant bowl of sentient pudding, rushing to close the distance between them and the grandstand that would eventually reveal their Great Harry Potter.
Draco had the right side of the crowd, while Ginny'd been positioned on the left. Other Aurors were wading through the pressing sea of people, secretly weaving a network of calming spells on the thousands of attendants of the World for Wigeons Rally.
Draco wondered if half these people even knew what a wigeon was.
Then a roar squelched all other sound, all other thought, as Harry Potter, Warrior for the Wigeon, stepped out into a spot of light, garishly dressed in a feathered robe of rusty orange and grey.
He lifted his hand in a regal wave and Draco was forced to muffle the fresh surge of adoration to protect the fine bones within his ear. The pink trail of love spells sprayed through the air as the crowd welcomed Harry. Draco tensed, every muscle in his body ready to jump if need be. The first spell hit the shield barrier and dissipated into a shower of pink sparkles, then the next, and more, hundreds of them, transforming the air into a torrent of pink that rivaled even Pansy's seventh birthday party.
Then Harry began his address, heart-felt and warm, talking about the plight of the wigeon and how it was everyone's job—no everyone's duty—to do anything they could for its continued existence.
"It's only us, the witches and wizards of the world, who can make a difference. Please, whether it's through a modest donation of galleons or your precious time, I ask that you donate something of yourself for this most worthy creature."
Behind him Luna approached, burdened with an armful of box draped with an orange cloth. Harry leaned down to peck her on the cheek—Draco tensed, eyes keen for any feral fan to take this opportunity to jump on stage.
"They're so in love," someone nearby said. Draco spotted little pink hearts floating over the heads of those particularly besotted by the idea of an 'in love' Harry.
Harry slipped the cloth off the box. Blinking at them from behind a wire mesh was a rather concerned looking duck. The duck's rusty head turned this way and that as it clicked its pale blue bill in alarm. Harry plucked it from the safety of the cage, and then with a flourish of feathers and high pitched quacks, he released the bird. A silence settled over the crowd as they watched, as one, the duck fly off into the distance, where Draco knew it would be quickly collected and released into its native habitat.
Glancing up at the stand, Draco caught Harry looking at him. When their eyes met, Harry cracked a crooked smile and winked. Draco looked away, checking the people within the wink's vicinity to see if any were looking at him, looking at Draco to swarm him, kill him for the audacity of earning a wink from Harry Potter himself. Fortunately, most of the crowd looked elated instead, a few even faint, probably sure that the wink was meant for them.
More hearts floated up into the evening sky.
Damn, Harry. Taking such risks. He was as bad as Stripper Potter.
Draco continued his patrol, working his way through the mass of people now wearing some alarming shade of orange. A few still attempted love charms, but none hit their target. Silently, he wished a sudden case of stomach flu on every one of them. Merlin knew Draco wasn't feeling his peak with the sea of pumpkin mash before him.
With one final kiss to the audience—and really, people thought he was straight?—Harry left the stage hand in hand with Luna. Draco, still duty bound, watched the crowd, blocking them from leaping to the stage and charging after Harry as they nearly foamed at the mouth. There needed to be a vaccination for Potter fever.
Ginny would go next, following Harry backstage to ensure everything was as they expected, and then Draco would follow. That's how it always went anyway.
From backstage, Harry's cry of alarm nearly tossed Draco on his arse. Then he heard a rush of Ginny's curses, spat out at some unknowable foe. Blocking, binding... and then a tracking spell. So fast. It all happened so fast. Draco launched himself to the stage, his robe almost tangling up his feet. Behind him, the crowd began mulling about like cows in a thunderstorm. Draco's heartbeat filled his ears as he sprinted through the backdoor, almost tumbling to his knees as he rounded a corner and then tripped over Ginny's prone form.
Draco patted her body, searching for any obvious wounds. "Ginny. Ginny!" He gripped her robes, ready to shake her, anything so she'd respond, but then she groped for his hands weakly.
"Draco." Her eyes wouldn't focus. She couldn't even lift up her head. "I put a tracker on him." She held up her wand. He took it in his hand, holding it steady as he touched the tip of his wand to hers, transferring the tracking spell. "One woman. Caught me," she paused and her eyes rolled back into her head, "off guard. Save Harry."
"But, you're hurt." He still couldn't find any injury. Was it the Cruciatus Curse?
"I've called for medics already. Just," Ginny gasped for air, "go after him."
Draco stared hard into Ginny's eyes; the pupils shifted from a tiny pinprick to the blown gaze of a drunk. "Fuck," he yelled. Then he tossed off his Patronus to the Auror division, telling them about his current plight.
He stepped away from Ginny, her eyes already half-shut, and swirled his wand in a wide arch, opening the doorway to the tracking spell. Passing through, the spell sapping him of his strength, he readied for an attack.
Instead he stepped out onto a desolate, high desert plateau.
Instantly, the wind tore at his clothing and hair; he had to squint his eyes to shield them from the dust. It was late, the setting sun barely peaking above the horizon. Cactus, scrub brush and red stone spread out around him in an area about the size of a Quidditch Pitch, and beyond that the edge plunged away to the desert floor below. In the distance he could see more of the same, faded earth as red as Mars.
At his feet was a baby's pacifier. Draco kicked it across the plateau.
Carried on the wind were the scent of juniper and earth, and the sound of tumbling stone.
Draco spun around and dashed toward the edge where he'd heard the stones falling. He skidded to a halt inches from the cliff, cart wheeling his arms. Below him, on a precariously thin trail, was a woman in robes, floating Harry's limp body behind her. She wasn't even facing Draco as he threw a silent stunner, but it sizzled as it hit her robes, releasing waves of colors shifting across the fabric.
She glanced over her shoulder and threw her head back in laughter. Her hair had an unkempt look about it that reminded Draco of Hermione in first year. "He's mine! You can't have him, and you can't stop me."
"Bloody Potterphile," Draco mumbled through clenched teeth.
The woman, her robes now a metallic red, continued down the path at a confident pace. Draco stood on the cliff's edge and tried spell after spell, but he couldn't affect the kidnapper. Probably bought those robes from that trouble maker, George Weasley. His Cloak and Dagger line was becoming a problem for the Ministry's law enforcement. It couldn't be that Draco was too worn out from the Tracker.
Draco studied the trail, a path barely wide enough for a single foot. He gripped the coaster in his pocket and, promising unhappy things upon Harry once he'd saved the big-egoed oaf, began down the trail.
His Lumos Ball, hovering over his shoulder, lit the path as he worked his way. Never clumsy, Draco still wasn't the most athletic man around—though he'd never admit such limitations to anyone. Pressing his back against the rough rock, getting twigs, dirt and who knew what vermin in his hair, his progress was slow. He could see the woman reach the bottom, Harry hovering behind her, and Draco hadn't even made it a quarter of the way down.
She looked up toward Draco, still clinging to the mesa's cliff face. Turning from Draco, she faced Harry. As Draco inched along he watched her run her hands over Harry's body. Her fingers ran through his hair as Draco stepped across a hole in the trail. While she felt up his arms and chest, Draco had to duck under an outcrop. But when she landed her unworthy hands right on Harry's crotch, Draco pushed himself off the sliver of a trail and hoped his cushioning charm would be good enough when he hit rock bottom.
And a rock bottom was exactly what he saw as he plummeted through the sky.
As the floor of the world raced toward him, Draco flatted himself out like those crazy skydivers he'd watched on the telly. His face was pressed flat and his hair would be a waste, but those were trivial things when this mad woman was stealing Harry Potter, probably to parse out his clothing and body parts to the highest bidder.
When he hit the ground, his cushioning charm bounced him thirty feet back into the air. The woman had bolted, disappearing around the plateau's side.
Draco bounced again, and he threw himself off the charm and landed hard on his feet. He dug around in his trouser pocket for his phone and took off in a foot race. Speed Connect One took him directly to the Auror office.
"Malfoy," the phone cracked, "...are you? Is ... you?" Draco could barely hear Atkinson through a steady stream of static.
"I've no idea my location. Africa. Maybe America." He continued speaking into the phone, repeating key points even as the phone spat out mean noises. "I'm in a desert with red stone and high plateaus. One perp with some strong defenses. She has Potter." Draco decided to preserve his breath.
Crackle. "...Arizona … contact … Security Police..."
Draco stared at his phone, then snapped it shut and dropped it into his robe pocket. It bounced around against his thigh in an irritating staccato. Stretching his legs as far as they'd go, he sprinted around the plateau. Finally, he could see her, and he saw the dusty sedan she was making for.
Close enough now, knowing that the woman's shield would be a challenge, he aimed his hex at the car. One tire exploded into shreds of rubber, the sound echoing off the walls of the plateau. Then another.
The Potternapper whirled around on Draco.
"He's mine!" She pointed her wand. Potter hung hip high in the air about five feet away from her as she pulled her wand back.
Fine, so he couldn't affect her with his spells. Draco lifted the stones around her and bombarded her with fist-sized missiles. When he saw her flinch, he knew he'd hit the goblin hoard. Magically, she was protected by that robe. Physically, she was a viper in a weasel nest.
Raising her arm to protect her head, she sliced at Draco, cutting him across the thigh. Fast, she was so fast. The pain shot up through his leg, taking him to the ground. Desperate, he threw a grappling charm, grabbing the car under the front axle, and yanked it forward, slamming into the woman, squashing her beneath the vehicle. Blood gushed through his wound, soaking his trousers, feeding the earth. He stuffed his hand in his pocket, searching for his phone, but it wasn't there. He tried his other pocket, and all he found was a hand-sized circle of cardboard. He gripped it, and dropped to the dirty ground.
He must have passed out, which was terribly embarrassing. When Draco came to, he was propped up against the plateau with his wound bandaged with torn strips of his robe. He frowned; he loved that robe. Specially made from fine baby alpaca wool, woven with protective spells against the elements. Now it was a pile of rags, soaked in his own blood.
He wondered if the Cloak and Dagger series carried wool.
Harry leaned over him, wigeon feathers poking this way and that. "Ah, good. You're not dead!"
He dribbled some water into Draco's mouth from his wand. The water tried to slide down his throat, but a dam of dried spit stalled its progress. It took a few mouth and tongue contortions, but soon enough Draco swallowed greedily.
Harry was smiling. Not his 'on' smile, the one he presented in public that suggested he was everybody's friend. This smile was soft around the edges. This smile was real.
"I was worried about you," he said.
Draco stopped drinking; Harry took his wand away. "Why aren't the Aurors here yet?"
Harry shook his head. "No idea. I did find your phone." Harry dumped a battered Auror phone into Draco's palm. A chip in the housing released a trickle of dust. "My guess is that it fell from your pocket and smashed against a rock." The Queen's butler had nothing on Harry's poised delivery.
Draco's heart rate ratcheted up as he considered their situation, then he took a steadying breath. His backup knew his coordinates from the call. However, the signal had been crap. He was still exhausted and didn't know where he was, so he didn't want to take the chance and Apparate.
"Harry, can you send a Patronus out?"
Harry dropped to the ground next to Draco, back against the warm stone, arm touching arm. "To where? Back to London?" He raised his eyebrows at Draco. Draco licked his lips and looked away. "I'm good, but—"
"It's our best hope. Mine's already on the job." Draco tilted his head back to look into the sky. A dash of stars spread overhead, like spilled salt on a royal purple tablecloth. He'd never seen such a sky. It made him feel small.
He cast a Lumos Ball. The sudden light dunked them both into a temporarily void.
"My guess is that this is Arizona, in the United States. I do have a fan in Sedona. I can send it to him."
Draco stared at Harry.
"What? We correspond via e-mail. He's on my Facebook."
Draco stared harder. "Your what?"
Harry waved him away. "He's a very nice man. I'm sure he'd come on out here and pick us up."
Draco almost wanted to cry.
"Potter!" he barked. Harry jolted in shock. "You do realize it was one of your vaunted fans who did this to you, right? Kidnapped you. Hurt Ginny-"
"And me," Draco finished, drawing it out with frustration.
"How is Ginny?"
Draco wondered that, too. "I'm not sure, though the Aurors were on their way before I even followed you through the portal. I'm sure she's fine."
Harry leaned toward him, looking deeply into Draco's eyes. He had to fight the response to look away. From this distance he could smell Harry: sweaty and sun-kissed with an undertone of his hair products and cologne. A smudge of dirt lined his jaw.
"Well, if you think so. She is tough."
Draco nodded, still trapped in that gaze.
For a minute there, Harry seemed poised at some turning point, and Draco felt suddenly nervous. With a quick dart of his tongue, Harry wet his lips and Draco couldn't stand it anymore.
"Why are you looking at me?" Merlin, he almost spoke with a squeak.
Harry sat back against the stone again, receding from Draco's perimeter, and he felt like falling over, as if his support had been vanquished in one quick fell of a wand. "Oh, well, maybe because I'm relieved. I've been saved. Ginny's going to be fine. I'm alive, uninjured, and stuck with one of my closest mates."
"I better contact Simon." Harry sent off his Patronus and both men watched the stag fade into the distance.
Harry pushed himself to his feet. "I think we should move. Not sure how Simon would take a woman smooshed under a Ford."
Draco glanced at the sedan. It was too dark to see much of anything else. "Fine," he said.
They followed the curve of the plateau and sat on a boulder near a dirt road they found. As they waited for Harry's crazy fan to arrive, they rested shoulder to shoulder in midnight darkness, turning the landscape into a hidden world of shadows on shadows. A few single white satellites soared across the sky. The dull ache of his injury began to set in with the chill of the night, and his warming charm wasn't making him feel any better.
Finally, after Draco had begun to give up hope and devise alternative methods of their recovery, a tiny car jolted down the rough, desert road, its headlights blinding Draco.
Harry popped up form his seat, the lack of his presence draining Draco of his meager warmth.
"Simon!" Harry called, waving as a small man leapt from the car and sprinted to Harry.
Alarmed, Draco pushed himself to standing, his weight on his good leg, and readied his wand, but cast no stunner when Harry raised his own arm and enveloped the little guy in a hug. Shorter than Harry, his head rested easily on Harry's shoulder. Draco bristled at just how long the hug was lasting.
He hobbled over to the disgusting display of male bonding and waited.
Finally, Simon pulled away, his face overwhelmed by a grin of udder adoration. Draco felt a little sick at the brilliance of that smile, like it exuded some kind of indigestion rays. He turned to Draco and held out a hand, all crooked grin and wind-swept hair. Reluctantly, Draco shook it, wondering if he'd catch something American.
"Nice feathers, Harry. And wow, you guys actually wear robes—" he looked Draco up and down, "—in public? Amazing." He shook his head. "I can't believe it, Harry and Draco in the flesh." He turned towards Draco, "I've heard so much about you."
Draco turned to Harry, but Harry was busy tying his shoe.
"It's a pleasure," he decided on saying.
"I see you televised with Harry here, always his guard. We've got quite the contingent in the club who think you'd be the more habit forming."
The way he looked at Draco made Draco a little nervous. And what in the world did that even mean?
Harry stood, brushing off the legs of his trousers and stripping himself of some of his World for Wigeons costume. "Simon, stop teasing Draco. As you say, he drives the eighty."
Simon's eyes grew big and he nodded at Harry, then his face cracked into that unbelievable grin again and his nod shifted to a shake of disagreement. "Oh no, no, no. Harry, your radar is totally skewed on this one. He'll take Lombard, if the driver is the right one." Then he winked.
Draco didn't like the sound of it, though he had no inkling as to what they were talking about. "Please refrain from talking about me in automobile laced euphemisms."
Harry laughed, then turned to Draco and studied him with narrowed eyes.
Draco stood up straighter. "What is it now?"
Harry shook his head, with a curious hum. "Nothing." Then he shrugged away the awkwardness and said, "Shall we go?"
"Hope you don't mind," Simon said, "but it's a two-seater. One of you will have to sit in the other's lap." He turned toward his car with an amused expression. Draco stared at the car in horror.
Simon found it all together too amusing to take every corner at teeth-gritting speed, with the top down and wind wrestling with his hair.
The drive was a nightmare. Because he had longer legs, Draco had sunk into the bucket seat and then Harry had climbed onto his lap. Though Harry was careful of his injury, any jarring caused spears of pain to lance his leg. This might have been tolerable, even with Simon racing the sports car along the rough and twisting roads, but it threw Harry's weight into a constant see-saw. Draco tried to press his legs together, stop the constant bumping against his prick, but he couldn't help the erection that began to build after over an hour of this treatment.
Harry pretended not to notice, but at one point, after nearly gaining air topping a hill, Harry ground into Draco's lap and there was no way the other man couldn't have felt Draco's hard length. Draco was mortified and kept his eyes out the side window, not even taking in the change from desert to a sparse forest of short, stubby trees.
All around them dark shadows jutted toward the sky like lumbering giants tearing themselves from the earth. The lights of habitation dotted the surrounding area like little fairy villages. It might have been beautiful, if he weren't so distracted by the ache in his balls.
By the time Simon pulled into a drive curving toward a modern palace—who knew the bloke was a billionaire—Draco was fit to be dunked in the shell shaped pool. Unfortunately, about ten other people were already in it.
"Oh, didn't I mention?" Simon said with false sincerity. "I was in the middle of a party when you called." He grasped the edge of the windshield and practically swung himself out of the car. Draco rolled his eyes. Harry soon followed, like a normal man, not some circus reject. Draco took a moment to bring life back into his legs before he escaped the toy car as well, allowing the blood to pound against his cut and through other portions of his body.
Simon leaned against his vehicle. "Why don't you join us while you wait for the Security Police?"
Harry loved the idea. Draco took another glance at the pool; it was all men. He secretly hated it.
Less than half an hour later, Draco found himself wearing a pair of overly garish swimming trunks that hung to his knees, sitting in the middle of the hot tub with a few men eager to get to know him. And smile at him. And touch him.
The hot tub sat on the back porch of the Sedona mansion, all river stone and potted cactus. The air had a heady scent of something sharp that Draco couldn't identify. On the opposite end of the porch Harry, Simon and some other guests were sitting at a table, talking and flipping change into a cup.
The heat from the water, and a few pain killing spells, soothed his aching leg. A sealant charm kept the water away from a newly applied bandage. It wasn't as deep as he'd thought.
A tooth-rotting sweet drink, potion-thick, rested on the lip of the hot tub near Draco's shoulder, untouched after that first sip. The other men in the tub were well into their thirds, or fifths. Having started before he and Harry had shown up, they were well along the dangerous path to inebriation.
"Draco, so you're a member of the Security Police?" asked Tom, a happy twenty-something with perfect, white teeth and deep dimples.
Tom was an inventor and created some Muggle/wizard hybrid communication device. To Draco, it sounded like his spiced up Auror phone. He'd suggested Tom give his invention a sturdy casing. Kei, directly across from him in the tub, owned a greeting card business, Annoch raced merlions, Mikhail bred unique pets for wizarding families and had purple hair and eyes. A mad race of introductions had been the second order of business when they'd arrived. Draco filed away each and every guest, and not recognizing any of their names or faces, didn't think them any actual threat.
Though, apparently the entire group was made up of Potterphiles. An American cluster of wealthy men who all loved Harry Potter, upping their threat level automatically. Draco just didn't get it.
Draco couldn't wait for the Security Police to get there. The first order of business had been to contact them. Unfortunately, there was some major incident with the manatee population rioting in Florida, and the Agents on duty were busy traipsing through the waterways of the state. Personally, Draco thought getting Harry away from these fanatics a little more important than quelling a sea cow riot. The Americans really needed to bolster their forces if such a little thing overshadowed Harry's rescue mission.
The Aurors were also informed of the situation. Since they were in no immediate threat—according to them, though Draco had told them about the Potterphiles—they were told to sit tight until tomorrow. Then they would deliver a Portkey to Simon Masterson, apparently a prominent wizard businessman. Ginny was in St. Mungo's, but her injuries were not critical. And apparently Luna sent her love, uncaring at Harry's current predicament, trapped with the gaggle of men all fawning for a piece of the famous Harry Potter.
She had better start acting like the sick and worried girlfriend she was posing as, or people might start to catch on.
Draco nodded at Tom. "Yes, though, we are called Aurors."
Annoch squealed; Draco narrowed his eyes at him.
"That's such a dangerous job, isn't it?" Annoch asked, reaching out and laying his hand on Draco's arm. "Chasing down criminals." Annoch was a sturdy man, and Draco could tell he worked out, but something about his manner didn't seem all that... brawny.
Draco looked at where the man's darker hand laid against Draco's pale skin. Slowly, he slid his arm away. Annoch's eyes widened and he put his hand in his lap.
"It's not terribly dangerous anymore," Draco said, almost wistfully. "Seven years ago, Harry took out the worst of them and after that the rest fell like dominoes." For a while he'd wondered why Harry hadn't joined the Aurors, then after time he understood Harry's desire to do something useful with his fame. "Actually, I take that back. Since I'm on Potter Watch, I think my life is in more danger than even during the war."
That got a round of laughter, though Draco had been serious.
"Drink up, Draco." Draco bristled, but understood such familiarity was American custom. "Or I can get you another if that girly drink isn't to your taste," Kei said.
Kai acted and appeared the most normal, which made Draco keep the closest eye on him. Draco could tell the others were trying to make him feel welcome, but Draco had never been comfortable hobnobbing with the hoi polloi.
He nodded. "Whiskey, rocks."
"Oh, a man who likes his liqueur pure," Annoch said, his voice going pleased and high again.
"I'm not much into syrupy drinks." Draco smiled, trying to be friendly, and they all stared. Mikhail's unnatural eyes took on a hungry cast. Draco's smile dried on the vine. The men shared a look, and Draco inwardly scowled, certain they were up to something.
"I need to leave the tub," he said, holding up his pruning hands as proof.
"Here." Tom handed Draco a plastic tube. "It's water block. We all use it," he gestured to the crowd in the tub.
Kei began climbing out of the tub, his rear end encased in a skin tight blue suit that covered less than Draco's pants.
"It lets us stay in the tub for hours," Annoch said, leaning toward Draco, "if we want."
Draco was pulling away, eyeing the man like he would a drunken Potterphile clutching his Disco Potter action figure, when he heard Harry make a noise. A high, breathy sound a close cousin to a giggle. When Draco looked, he saw Simon holding onto Harry's biceps, chest to chest, lips raised to Harry's ear as he whispered something else that made Harry laugh.
Harry's eyes half-closed stared off toward the ground as he listened. A soft smile had settled on his lips.
In slow motion, Simon's hand moved up and down Harry's arm.
Draco felt someone touching his own arm, and he caught Annoch slathering him with a clear, gelatinous substance. Draco yanked his arm away and climbed out of the tub. "If you'll excuse me." He made his way for Harry and Simon The Molestation King.
It didn't matter that he wasn't dressed in his crimson robes; it didn't matter that this man was supposedly Harry's friend, Draco was still on Potter Watch. As he nearly charged across the back patio, Harry caught sight of Draco. In an instant Draco watched emotions flutter across Harry's face, things he couldn't name from just one glance.
"Remove your hands from Potter," Draco said in a voice as solid as granite and quiet as a sigh.
Simon released Harry and held his arms up, showing just how empty his hands were.
"Hey! Sorry, Draco. I didn't realize Harry was yours."
Draco almost choked, looked from Simon to Harry and back again.
Harry's face was expressionless, tinged pink in the fluorescent light. At Draco's stunned silence, Simon stepped back to Harry's side and hung his arm around Harry's back.
"Oh, well, if he's not—"
"I'll take Draco then!" came a falsetto from behind him. Draco twisted around, shocked that the slimy merlion jockey had snuck up on him. Annoch held his arms open and threw himself at Draco, who stepped to the side and watched the man stumble to catch himself.
The entire gathering on the back porch was now watching the four men. Overwhelmed by the scrutiny, Draco grabbed Harry's arm, and with a muttered, "If you'll excuse us," dragged Harry inside.
They stopped in a tiled living room with a rough stone fireplace. Draco wondered whether it had ever been used. A leather couch sat in the center of the room; an end table had the latest issue of Stag poking out from under an issue of People.
"What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing?" Draco's heart skipped angrily in his chest. "Those blokes would all throw you to the ground, rip off your—" Draco glanced at the tight swimming costume Harry wore that was even more revealing than Beach Harry's, "—clothing and eat you for dinner. You're practically braising yourself in orange sauce shouting 'Come hither, men, dinner is served.'"
Harry pulled his shoulders back and stood straighter. A sharp edge colored the green of his eyes. "I was enjoying myself, with people who are friendly and who helped us when we needed help."
Draco bit off his next volley of condemnation, searching his brain for something to shoot through Harry's thick layer of obliviousness and his general trusting nature.
"Harry," Draco took a step closer to him and lowered his voice, "All of those men are gay. They want you. They want to fuck you." There, Harry couldn't misinterpret that.
"Yes. So? First, Draco, none of them would force me. Second, why are you so sure I can't take care of myself? Not to boast, but I did drop the Most Evil Wizard of the Age," he said with wide, encompassing gestures. "And lastly, what if I want to be good and well fucked?"
Draco suddenly went cold. Then hot. "What? You can't mean that." He couldn't stop his eyes from dropping from Harry's face. "You want to bend over and let the entire gang drop in for a dip? You might as well go cottaging across the British countryside."
Harry's cheeks pinked. "Well, no."
"What are you doing then?"
Harry looked away. "It's not really your business." Draco's jaw dropped. "Listen, yes, you're my friend. Yes, you're my bodyguard. But we're not in London, and it's safe here. Let's just relax a little. Enjoy ourselves."
Draco stepped away. "No way am I—" Draco waved his hand in the direction of the gathering on the porch, no doubt staring into the well lit room from outside.
"I'm not expecting that," Harry said, softer now. "Just have a drink, enjoy yourself."
"Annoch keeps touching me," Draco whined.
Harry's eyes narrowed. "I'll have a word with Annoch."
Draco almost laughed. "Oh, so now you're protecting me?"
Harry tilted his head and released one of his honest grins. "Always. And Draco, you are quite fit. When you smile, you knock people over with how gorgeous you are. It's hard not to touch you."
Draco didn't know how to respond to that.
Five whiskeys later, Draco didn't let it worry him. Didn't let Harry's state of well being worry him. Didn't let Harry's last comment, right before he'd turned away, bother him one bit. Who knew where Harry had gone, and what trouble he and his John Thomas had gotten into. Draco just didn't care.
After the third drink, he'd let Mikhail cover him in water block and landed in the hot tub with a splash, Kei on one side, Mikhail on the other. Now, two drinks later, a hand was on his knee, and another rested on his shoulder. Both men were leaning over Draco, kissing each other, and Draco watched in fascination.
Kei languidly rolled his tongue around Mikhail's, seeming to taste every inch of his mouth. Mikhail moaned, a noise tapped from somewhere deep within that rumbled forth with the power of feral desire. Their lips met, Mikhail would take in Kei's tongue and suck, the gentle thrusting rooting itself within Draco's pulsing blood, bolting straight to his crotch.
As he watched, he longed, and a small portion of thought in the back of his brain wondered at how easy it was to miss something he'd never before experienced.
He wanted to suck on someone's tongue, be sucked on, the sensation almost haunting him like a long dead memory from a long dead past. Kei glanced sidelong at Draco, never stopping the kiss. Draco felt hot. He needed air.
Inside, through the plate glass window, Draco saw Harry enter the living room, surrounded by gorgeous men, laughing and looking carefree. Simon had his arm around Harry's waist, and Draco had his tongue plastered to the roof of his mouth. He wanted to dash over there, rip that arm off, throw Simon to the ground and fight him like a Muggle, all teeth and claws. Instead, Draco sat in the hot tub with Kei rubbing his inner thigh, watching Harry and thinking, I'm drunk and all I want is you.
One of the men—Kei, Mikhail, it didn't matter—brushed along his erection.
"I need to find Harry." Draco nearly levitated out of the hot tub and stumbled away.
He yanked open the back door; everyone looked his direction. Draco stood there a moment, dripping and hard, his breath coming with rasping difficulty.
"Draco-?" Harry said, slowly stepping away from Simon. Draco relaxed a little. Simon met his eyes, they glittered with amusement. Stupid, short, rich sod. Draco forgot where he'd left his wand; he wanted to curse the little fucker's balls off.
Draco jerked his head, a rough, inelegant movement, and turned toward the half of the house he hadn't explored, expecting Harry to follow him. A loose string from his bandage tickled his inner thigh as he walked. Though he was drunk—he knew that with every numb sense and extremity he had—he still hoped his dignity wouldn't take more of a beating by having Harry ignore his demand.
He had to get Harry away from them. He felt so desperate.
He ended up in a sunken room with a TV the size of Wales hanging from the wall and speakers mounted in every corner. Bookcases lined the walls, but Draco couldn't read any titles through his blurry vision.
Behind him, the door closed. "Draco?" Harry said.
Draco's shoulders relaxed a little, but he didn't turn around. "Harry, I don't want you with those men. You should stick to my side."
"I see." A moment of silence, then, "Tell me, why should I stick to your side?"
"Well." Draco looked up at a tiny speaker nestled at the junction of ceiling and wall and thought about that. Draco knew Harry was in danger. Those men were obviously out to take advantage of him. They could slice him open and sell his kidneys, or steal his wand to hawk on WBay, or do lascivious things to his body. Terrible things with their tongues. It was for Harry's protection, didn't he know that? But instead of all those excuses, Draco simply mumbled, "I like it when you're by my side."
Harry moved closer. Draco could feel his presence, a constant pressure he realized he was eternally aware of. "What?"
Draco huffed, a noise completely undignified. Did Harry have to be so difficult? "I like you by my side, you drama queen."
"Yeah, I thought so."
Draco twirled around. Harry stood there, his hair an untamed mess, dressed in loose trousers with no top. His chest was a golden tan with a dusting of hair around his nipples. Draco knew all this, of course. He'd seen Harry topless before.
"Draco." Draco tore his eyes away from Harry's nipples to look at his face. He wore a wry grin. "I'm up here."
Draco rolled his eyes, or tried to; it made him a little dizzy.
"Then it's agreed," Draco said, reaching out for the sofa to steady himself. "You're not to leave my sight. My side. Understood?"
"Oh, well, Draco. If I can't leave your side, you'll have to do a few things for me. Give me something." There was a purr in Harry's voice that vibrated Draco's heart within his ribcage.
Draco swallowed, unable to look away from Harry. "And… what would that be?"
With mad, lustful hunger, Harry stepped toward him; head bowed, that gaze punching through his wild bangs. Dazed, Draco just stared at him, realizing this moment would be branded in his memory until he took his very last breath.
Draco paused, then nodded. "Alright."
It seemed like that simple approval was all Harry needed before he launched himself at Draco. Under the momentum of desperation, they tumbled onto the couch. Wriggling to get comfortable, comfort wasn't found. With one leg jammed in between the couch and Draco's body, Harry had to prop himself up on his outstretched leg. Looming over him, hands planted on either side of Draco's head, Draco felt a bit panicked. The position was awkward. Then Harry came forward and kissed him.
Draco didn't even hesitate; he kissed for all he was worth, nibbling on Harry's lips, tasting the cheese Harry'd eaten before Draco rescued the man from his worshippers. Then he took Harry's tongue into his mouth and sucked.
He'd never done that before. Never sucked on someone's tongue. The sensation, pulling the flesh into his mouth, holding it, sucking on it, exploded through his mind. For every instance of suction, Draco pulled little mewling noises out of Harry. For every little noise, Draco felt a tidal surge flood through his body, filling him, washing through his senses, and leaving him devastated, full of nothing but need.
"Harry. I want you. I want to … Can we…?"
He wanted to fuck. His cock raged in his baggy suit. Though he'd never learned the art of gay sex, he was pretty sure he could figure this stuff out without any diagrams or textbooks.
In a move that challenged his current coordination, he flipped them over, settling over Harry like a blanket. He pressed his body into Harry's, erection lined up with erection; the sensation was fucking brilliant. He was ridiculously hard. Why hadn't he done this before?
"Draco," Harry panted, his pupils huge black spheres, "what is it? What do you want?"
To be in you. To feel you surrounding me. But they were in another's house, crammed onto a couch, and no matter how corny it sounded, Draco didn't want their first time to be a quick shag on a Potterphile's entertainment room furniture. "You, Harry. I want you in every way. "
Harry chuckled, a deep, contented sound. His breath was warm. "Of course, Draco. Always."
Then, with crooked twist to his lips, Harry arched his back and forced their cocks together. Lights flashed behind Draco's closed lids. He leaned down and dipped his tongue into Harry's mouth. Harry took it, pulled it into his own, and sucked.
Draco's groan busted the hushed silence as his cock brushed against Harry's. Harry sucked Draco's tongue again, the sensation hooking straight into Draco's balls. He rubbed himself against Harry as Harry attended to his tongue, a rhythmic swaying, a primal drive. He thought he heard the door click open, then click shut again, but he didn't hesitate. He was here with Harry, cock against cock, having his tongue sucked, and he felt like he was swimming, drowning in the depth of it.
Harry rolled his hips again; Draco gasped. He couldn't breath. He lifted his face for some air, frotting against Harry spread out below him. Press and brush. Harry dug his fingers into Draco's arms which shook from holding himself up. Too much clothing. Draco wished for his wand to banish it all away. He wanted to feel Harry's soft skin against his own. He wanted to feel him, taste him, every inch of his flesh.
"Draco… I'm…" Harry's movement became frantic. Arrhythmic. Draco abandoned meeting him thrust for thrust and simply fell into a rut, rubbed his entire length against Harry. The pressure building in a steady charge took a turn toward desperate, his frenzied hips taking control since Draco could do nothing but feel.
And then it came, the storm bursting with him, electrical sparks zipping through every nerve in his body. His bollocks tightened, and he lost it. Shuddering, he could feel his orgasm as it tore through his body. He was vaguely aware of some noise, a kind of animal keening. It could have been him; it could have been Harry. Hell, it could have been some voyeur who'd snuck into the den to catch a wank. Draco didn't, at the moment, care. He'd just unloaded his brains into a pair of borrowed swim shorts covered in cheerful fish.
Harry lay beneath him, panting. Draco had nothing else to worry about but the man underneath him.
"Christ." Harry pushed his bangs off his sweaty brow.
Draco couldn't help it, he was grinning. Perhaps like a loon. "Agreed," he said. Then collapsed on top of Harry. Just until he got his strength back.
"Simon told me this plan would work."
"Well, when we were trapped in the outback and he'd gather his mates to play 'let's get Draco to notice Harry.' Seemed like a good opportunity. Never let a kidnapping go to waste."
Draco rolled over onto his side and stared at Harry across the bed. They'd been together for three weeks now. Harry even knew about his Potter collection, though he didn't know about his investment in Phoenix Fetishes. Yet.
He studied Harry, lying there in the fading light of evening. His skin was glistening, a pink flush covering every inch. Draco wanted to lick him again, run his tongue from toe to nose, taste that mouth, suck on his tongue. His cock twitched a little. Harry brought out the beast in him.
"So, it was planned? All those men, hanging all over you?"
"Hey, now. They were hanging all over you, too. I mean, fuck Draco, you're gorgeous!"
Though Draco knew he was an attractive man, he still felt a gooshy warmth to hear it from Harry. "So, was Annoch your idea?"
Harry scowled. "Oh, hell no. I had to curse him straight for a night to keep him away from you."
Draco's eyebrows rose. "So you say?" He liked that Harry would curse someone for him.
"Ginny and Ron are going to be here soon," Harry said, running his fingers along Draco's side, making his skin twitch.
Draco rolled onto his back and drew his arm over his eyes. "I can't believe you convinced me to invite them over. To my flat. What if they come into the bedroom?"
"What if they see your Potterphilia, you mean?" Harry asked, chuckling, poking Draco in the ribs.
"I better put a curse ward on the door," Draco muttered.
Draco opened one eye and glanced at his collection. His coasters, stacked into a single overflowing tower, had been relocated to the top of the bookcase. There were no blank spots for them anymore. Bunny Harry stood proudly next to Auror Harry, who wouldn't quite look in his sibling's direction. It was good to date your obsession.
"So, dinner," Harry prodded. "I said you could pick. Kidney pie?"
Draco thought about that, and then shook his head. "No. Let's just get some curry."