Correspondence and/or Encounters
A/N #3 (same as A/N #1): This is going to be a series of related ONE-SHOTS about the times Draco and Harry either correspond in some way or find time for a liaison. Some of will involve other people, like Ginny and/or Astoria (and maybe others), but they will mostly be about our two lovely young men.
Warning (repeated): This story is m/m slash...if you don't care for that sort of thing, please don't bother reading. And there will be infidelity involved, once the two men marry their prospective women, but it won't really be cheating since both women are going to be open to what's happening.
A/N #4: Please note that this isn't much different than "Mirror, Mirror" in that the contact between Draco and Harry is mainly through their two-way mirror.
Title:Happy Birthday, Harry
Summary: After Neville Longbottom's birthday party, which was thrown at Grimmauld Place (July 30th), Harry lies in bed thinking about Draco (who's still on house arrest), has a wank, a conversation with Ginny, receives an owl, then FINALLY gets to talk to Draco. And then reminisces about a time in the past.
Pairings: DM/HP (some HP/GW, but no sex)
Rating: I rated this M for language and adult situations
Disclaimer: I own NOTHING! At least, nothing that's Harry Potter...all of that, of course, belongs to the wonderful J.K. Rowling.
Posted: Saturday, 8 September 2012
Word Count: 9,556
"Happy Birthday, Harry"
Saturday, 31 July 1999
(with memories from day, Monday, 5 April 1999)
Lying on his bed (again), Harry stared at his reflective two-way mirror—and all he could see was himself. Draco had been quite clear; he'd said, nearly twelve hours before, that he'd not be able to talk until very late the next day—but Harry had hoped it wasn't so. The blond hadn't really explained why, but Harry figured it had something to do with Draco's parents, because...what else could it be, right?
Sighing, because, in exactly twenty-three minutes, it was going to be Harry's nineteenth birthday and the person he wanted to talk to most wasn't available, Harry leaned over and set his mirror on his bedside table, then reached over and switched the table lamp to off. After doing that, he lay back and pulled his sheet up to his chin, then closed his eyes. Knowing he wouldn't fall asleep right away, the dark-haired young man just sort of lay there thinking. Not too much time seemed to have passed before he opened his eyes and glanced at his clock—but time went by much faster when one drifts off, which apparently he had.
"Happy Birthday, Harry," he said to himself quietly, then closed his eyes again.
The room was spinning a bit now. Harry'd definitely drunk too much and...he didn't much like the feeling. He had a vague recollection of dancing on one of the settees in the drawing room, while singing at the top of his lungs to whatever song someone was playing on the piano—causing much laughter. A few had even joined him, including Ron, much to Hermione's mirth—and horror. Dean and Seamus—and several other non-Eighths—had come as well, which was nice since they'd not seen much of them in the last year. In fact, all of those from Gryffindor House who'd been in Harry's year had managed to show up—as did several from the other houses. There were four boys and three girls from Hufflepuff House and four boys and five girls from Ravenclaw House, but just one boy and three girls from Slytherin House. The three Slytherin girls from their year who'd shown up had looked a little out of their element, but the one boy did not.
His eyes still closed and a grin on his lips, Harry vividly recalled Blaise Zabini's antics on the settee facing the one he himself had been on. The former Slytherin gave Harry a run for his money, in the singing department, then proceeded to dance with most people in the room—including some of the boys, who looked uncomfortable though they all played along. Not long after that, the dark-skinned young man started an almost terrifying game of Never Have I Ever—which people took surprisingly well—then, because everyone was beyond plastered, Zabini initiated the dirtiest game of Truth or Dare in which Harry'd ever been involved.
Did I really snog every unattached girl here tonight? Harry silently asked himself, a frown creasing her forehead. Then he shuddered as he remembered being dared to kiss Pansy Parkinson. He'd laid it on her—after being taunted by the girl—then left her standing there gaping, the two other former Slytherin girls laughing hysterically.
"Not bad, Potter," she'd snarked after the required one minute snog. "Red's a lucky girl."
Ginny'd been there too—as well as a few others that weren't in Harry's year—and she'd found it all hilarious. Well, until it was her turn to lock lips with a few people and Ron nearly had a conniption.
"HEY! I don't want to see that!" her brother had yelled. "What's with you and Harry anyway?"
Ginny promptly smacked him and Hermione rolled her eyes, both reminding Ron that Harry and Ginny weren't actually dating at the moment—and that, if Harry could snog half the people in the room, then Ginny could do the same.
Ron, of course, pulled a face and sulked for a while. Only a short while though, because he was soon distracted by the drink someone handed him, then a little snogging—with his girlfriend.
Just thinking about how things had gone, Harry smiled. Alcohol had really helped him to loosen up. Normally he didn't allow himself to be so free, but, on this night, he'd really let himself have a good time. And why not?! The war was over and he was free!
At some point during the evening, in the middle of all the drinking, dancing, food, and games, Harry'd gotten into an argument with Walburga Black's portrait. The dead old bat was outraged that he'd invited half-bloods, blood traitors, and Mudbloods into her home, and she was not shy about letting them all know it each time someone made the mistake of going out into the hallway and making too much noise. After accusing the belligerent bint of being a bloody wet blanket, Harry'd giggled, then ended her screeching—temporarily—by casting a storm spell on her painting. Then, once she was sputtering from the sheets of water pouring down upon her inside her painting, Harry closed her moth-eaten velvet curtain and put a silencing charm on it for good measure—and threatened to do the same to the rest of the portraits if they didn't shut themselves up immediately!
"Take THAT!" he yelled, then turned back to his crowd of onlookers—they were all gazing at him with amusement and snickering.
"I need to get rid of that thing!" he'd complained after he—and several others—had finished laughing.
"Draco's got some good Dark Arts books, Potter," Pansy had said. "You should ask him for some help. That bitch is awful!" the dark-haired former Slytherin said with a shudder.
"Just what I need, Parkinson, more Dark Arts books," he'd responded with a roll of his eyes. "As if this house doesn't already have enough of them."
She'd narrowed hers. "You know, they might be able to help you un-stick that thing, you twat! There are more uses to them than performing dark spells."
"She's right, Harry," Hermione offered from her place on Ron's lap. "If we could find the spell that Mrs. Black used to stick herself to the wall, we might be able to reverse it."
Frowning, Harry nodded. "All right."
"Oh sure, listen to the bloody know-it-all," Pansy quipped, a scowl on her face as her eyes flicked from Harry to Hermione.
But Hermione only smiled, because she knew Pansy wasn't particularly being serious. They weren't exactly friends, but spending their last year at Hogwarts sharing a house had definitely softened their feelings for one another. Bottom line was, neither hated the other.
Looking from one girl to the other, because he knew they actually got along somewhat well, Harry smiled—but now all he could think about was contacting Draco. And, impossible though it was, he wanted to see him.
Harry knew that he was just feeling sorry for himself. It was stupid really; he'd spent the evening hanging out and carrying on with his friends and some of their friends, but...all he wanted now was Draco. They'd all had a grand old time, drinking themselves silly—for Neville's birthday—and now most fast asleep, crashing in the many rooms of Harry's over-sized house. Neville'd had a heck of a time convincing his grandmother that he'd survive a night away from her; this was crazy, of course, since every year he—along with the rest of them—had gone off to Hogwarts. Not to mention the fact that the now grown up young man had survived a war with the people he'd partied with for hours on his birthday. So, in the end, Augusta Longbottom had given her blessing and sent him on his way.
And they were going to do it again tonight for Harry's birthday.
But Draco wouldn't be there—because he couldn't come, of course—and Harry was feeling sad. Not that, if Draco were to be able to attend, Harry'd be able to have any time alone with him—it being a party after all—but still, it would be nice to have him there. The good thing though, was that none of Harry's friends seemed to hate the blond any longer. That definitely helped, but Draco's house arrest was still a thorn in his side.
Glancing at the clock again, Harry frowned and wished his could get his mind off the blond, so that he could fall asleep. But instead, his thoughts kept straying to the other man—and their time together. They'd only been out of school and away from one another for one month, one week, and five days, but already it seemed like a year to Harry. The next six months were going to take forever! And, after the time passed, would they even see one another? Both of them had plans for the future—plans that did not include the other.
And would they even have the same connection that they'd had in school? What if it fades during this time apart? Harry thought sadly. Or, what if it doesn't fade? Either way, Harry didn't know what he was going to do.
His mind firmly on his connection to Draco Malfoy—and wishing he could connect with him right now!—Harry slid a hand inside his pants and grabbed himself. He was only partially hard, but three firm strokes had him fully erect and throbbing. Stopping briefly, Harry hooked his thumbs in his waistband and lifted his hips, then pushed is pants down his thighs to well below his knees—then brought both hands back to his cock and bollocks. Using his right hand to slide his foreskin up and down over the sensitive tip of his cock, Harry reached the left down and took his balls in hand and gently fondled them. While doing this, he imagined that it was the blond's hands on him and moaned at the image his mind had conjured. After rolling his balls between his fingers a few times, Harry let his hand wander down behind them and to his hole. Without lubrication it burned slightly when he pushed a finger past the tight ring of muscle there, but a whispered wandless spell solved the issue immediately. Pushing a second digit into his body, Harry moaned and continued to slide his other hand up and down his length, twisting his fist over the livid head of his pulsating cock with each stroke. Obviously he knew the exact angle and pressure he liked, but his mind was on Draco and how perfectly the blond man knew his body as well. It had actually been Draco who'd taught him what he liked and now he wished the other man were here—touching him and wanking him.
Groaning, because his head was just as full of Draco as his hands were full of his own pleasure, Harry continued to work himself into a frenzy—eventually speeding up his movements until he was jerking himself wildly and plunging his fingers into his body with abandon. It didn't take long before he was crying out as he shot his load over the wide expanse of his chest.
"Ohhh, yes!" he moaned, giving his cock a few more strokes, then letting his fingers slip from his hole. Lying there, breathing heavily—hardly capable of moving—Harry watched the remaining liquid leak from his spent cock, then closed his eyes. After a few minutes—that almost saw him sound asleep—Harry once again whispered a wandless spell, this time to clean himself up, then pulled up his pants and rolled over to sleep.
But the dark-haired young man was only just drifting off again when he heard a light tapping on his door. Frowning, he considered ignoring it and pretending he was asleep—but then he heard a quiet voice and, knowing who it was, he knew he should respond.
"Come in, Gin," he called from his bed.
"Hi," she whispered with a smile as she slipped in and crossed the room to him. "Can I sit?"
Harry shrugged. "Of course," he said as he sat up and turned the lamp on, then patted the mattress, indicating that she should make herself at home. "What's up?"
Ginny rolled her eyes. "How'd I get stuck in a room with Ron and Hermione?"
Harry laughed. "I didn't know that's where you were," he said. "Last time I saw you, you were sitting on Corner's lap snogging."
"Pfft! All part of the game, right?"
"I guess," Harry said, not bringing up the fact that they'd both agreed not to do anything with each other's housemates—since he'd snogged a few of hers. But then, school was over—for both of them—so what did it matter now.
"Besides, I didn't hear you turn anyone down," the girl accused teasingly. "Exactly how many girls did you snog tonight?"
"Um. I don't really know, actually. A lot of alcohol."
Ginny laughed. "Excuses, excuses."
"No. Really," he said. "I wasn't counting."
"Well, let me tell you then...it was seven from your year and six from mine. But, that includes me."
Harry winced. "Zabini is totally evil."
Ginny rolled her eyes. "I know, right? But, that's what you always said about Malfoy, Harry, and...look where that went."
Blushing, Harry just stared at her; he didn't know what else to do. Was she upset with him? She did, after all, give him her blessing to have fun until they decided to settle down and get serious—and that hadn't happened yet.
"You really should relax, Harry," she said after an awkward silence. "I'm just teasing you."
"Well...that's a relief," he said with a somewhat awkward smile. "You know, you're welcome to stay in here with me," he offered, changing the subject.
Ginny giggled. "Ron would have an absolute coronary if he found me in here with you in the morning."
Shrugging, Harry said, "So. We are getting married someday, right?"
"That's the plan," the redhead said, her eyes sparkling in the low light. "But, somehow I don't think Ron's ready for that yet, do you?"
Harry snorted. "But it's all right for him and Hermione to go at it like rabbits?"
"No. Well, yeah, I guess it is, but...I don't think he thinks his little sister should be doing such things." She laughed. "As if we've done anything!"
Frowning, Harry bit his lip. It almost sounded like Ginny was hurt. He knew that she was fully aware that he'd had sex with Draco—and wondered if she was feeling left out. But, it wasn't like she was completely innocent herself though. Innocent, Ginny was not! He knew for a fact that she'd slept with Dean Thomas—and he was under no delusion that she was waiting for him for sex. "I...um...er—" he started, completely at a loss for words.
"It's okay, Harry," she interrupted his stammering. "Really, it is. You've promised me we'll be together and...I trust you. That's enough for me."
"I do mean it, Gin...about us getting married. I...I love you."
Ginny's face lit up. "And I love you too, Harry," she said, deciding to ignore the fact that, though he loved her, he obviously loved Malfoy as well.
Harry sighed with relief. He'd wondered if his dallying with Draco would cause Ginny to look elsewhere and he was glad she was not—at least not for anything permanent.
"So...Corner again, huh?" he asked.
"No. Uh-uh," Ginny said with a vehement shake of her head. "It was a dare, Harry. We were playing Truth or Dare, remember? I am not dating that prat again."
Harry laughed. "Not that I want you to date him or anything, but...he's not actually that bad."
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Oh-kay," she said, her tone sarcastic.
"Besides, he's sort of...hot!"
Ginny burst out laughing. "Maybe you should have snogged him. You know, Luna once told me that she saw Michael carrying on with Kevin Entwhistle back in your sixth year."
Ginny nodded. "Yep! Of course, I never saw it happen, so it's hearsay. And, only somewhat credible...since, you know, it came from Luna and all."
"So, Corner and Entwhistle. Hmm."
"You didn't hear it from me," Ginny said, her hands held up in protest. "And Kevin's dating someone right now, so...no Michael and Kevin."
"Well, aren't you the gossipmonger tonight."
Ginny giggled. "Yep! So...did you talk to him?" she asked after a short pause.
Harry could tell she'd been itching at ask about Draco and finally couldn't hold back. He shook his head. "He said he probably couldn't talk on my birthday."
Ginny glanced over at Harry's clock. "Oh! Happy Birthday," she said as she pulled out an envelope and handed it to him.
Harry grinned and accepted the card—but it wasn't just a card. Inside, Ginny had included two tickets for her very first Quidditch match—which was in Holyhead in just two weeks.
"Wow, Gin...thanks!" Harry said. "I'll bring Ron."
Ginny nodded. "I figured. He'll like that. I gave a pair to George too, but he's looking for excuses," she said with a frown. "I think I'll enlist Charlie to help me out."
"That's a good idea."
"I thought so. I'm a bit nervous though...what if I do poorly?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right! Because you're just shite at Quidditch," he teased. "And, where's your well-known self-confidence?"
Ginny laughed. "You're right! Thanks for straightening me out."
Harry grinned. "No problem."
"Anyway, Happy Birthday, Harry," the redhead said as she leaned forward and gave Harry a birthday kiss.
After returning her kiss, Harry watched her sit back a bit. "Only eleven days until it's your day," he said as he grabbed her bare knee and squeezed it; she was wearing a cute thin nightgown that only reached mid-thigh.
Ginny nodded. "Yep," she said, popping the 'p.'
"Hey, you look cold," Harry said. "Why don't you crawl in?"
"It's summer, Harry. I'm not at all cold," Ginny said with a roll of her eyes.
Harry grinned mischievously.
"Are you actually trying to get me into your bed?" she asked teasingly.
This gained him a playful slap—but only served to make him smirk at her.
"I mean, you do have to get some sleep, right?"
"Well, there's plenty of space here and...I promise to behave myself."
Ginny snorted, but nodded. "All right, Harry, but...I'm not at all worried about you taking advantage of me. You've always been a perfect gentleman."
Quickly then, the red-haired young woman climbed into Harry's bed and under his covers, grabbed his hand, and placed her head on his shoulder. For a few minutes, they just lay there, hands clasped, Harry staring at the ceiling and Ginny looking across Harry's room—both silent. But soon their eyes started to droop closed.
It was many hours later before the two of them woke up again. Ginny woke first, feeling slightly disoriented until she figured out where she was—then she heard a noise and realized there was an owl tapping at Harry's window. Gently shaking the man, she smiled down at him.
"Harry! Someone's sent you an owl," she informed him, then started to get up. "And, I should go."
Harry shook his head. "No, not yet," he said as he pulled her back down and kissed her, then got up and went to the window. Opening it, he recognized the owl immediately and smiled as he took the package. "It's from Draco."
"Hmm. Like I said, I should go," Ginny reiterated as she started to rise.
Scoffing, Harry set down Draco's gift and faced the woman. "You should stay," he said, pushing her back onto the bed, then climbing on top of her. "No running off."
She rolled her eyes. "I'm not running off, per se...just...giving you some privacy," she corrected. "And look, you're getting a call."
Turning, Harry saw that his two-way mirror was glowing. Frowning, because he didn't know what he should do, he just sat there—causing Ginny to wiggle free and reach for the mirror. Holding it up to face Harry, she activated it and waited.
"Happy Birthday, Potter," came the blond's drawling voice.
Smiling, Harry nodded. "Thanks, Draco."
"Did you get my package?"
"Well, are you going to open it or not?" the blond asked impatiently.
"I...ahh...I was going to," Harry said.
Draco frowned and narrowed his eyes—then seemed to realize that Harry wasn't alone. "Hello there, Weaselette," he said.
Still lying on her back, her flaming hair spread out over Harry's bedspread, Ginny turned the mirror around so that she could see the man. "Hey, Malfoy. How's it hanging?" she asked.
"Nice!" was Draco's only response—but Harry let out an amused laugh.
"Well, I'll leave you two to it then," the red-haired young woman said as she shoved the mirror into Harry's hand and maneuvered herself out from under him and to her feet. "I'll see you later, Harry."
Harry frowned. "I know you have to leave for Holyhead today and won't be here for tonight's party, but...come say goodbye before you leave, yeah?"
"Of course, Harry," she replied. Leaning over the man still sitting on his bed, Ginny kissed his cheek, then glanced at a silently observing Draco. "Take care, Malfoy."
Draco nodded, but again didn't say anything.
"You could have wished her good luck, Malfoy," Harry said once his bedroom door had clicked closed.
Draco sighed. "I hate seeing you two together when I can't see you."
Harry frowned. "I know. I'm sorry," he said. "Should I have not answered because she was in here?"
"NO!" Draco burst. "I would have thought you were ignoring me."
Harry laughed. "Then I'm not sure what I should do."
"Nothing you can do, Potter."
"I thought you said you couldn't talk today," Harry said, hoping to change the subject.
"I can't. Mother's gotten the Ministry's approval to have a few visitors today, so she's having a tea...and she's insisting that I attend. They'll most likely ignore me completely, but I can't very well sit in the same room with them and talk to you through our mirrors."
Harry nodded. "I guess not. I'm glad you called before you go down though."
"It's your birthday," Draco said with a shrug.
"When do you have to go?"
Glancing across his bedroom, Draco frowned. "Not long. I only have about twenty minutes before she expects me in her tea room."
"But I wanted you to open your presents first...that's why I called," the blond said
"It's bigger than it looks; I shrunk it," Draco explained.
Nodding again, Harry reached for his wand and cast a spell to make his mirror hover in front of him, then he picked up the small package that Draco had sent him. Unshrinking it, Harry made quick work of tearing off the outer packaging, then opened the box. Inside there were three gifts, wrapped far more elegantly than was necessary.
"They're nothing huge, Potter," Draco said when it looked like Harry was going to burst with joy. "Just a few things that made me think of you...sort of."
Harry smiled. "I'm sure they're perfect, Draco."
"Well, go on then," the blond urged.
Still smiling, Harry chose the medium-sized gift, which was also the heaviest one. "It's a book," he said after shaking it and weighing it in his hands.
Draco rolled his eyes. "Very good, Potter...just open it!"
With almost painful meticulousness, because he didn't like just ripping pretty wrapping paper, Harry peeled it back carefully—to reveal a book. The book was bound in deep green leather and beautiful, but caused Harry to frown—because it didn't appear to have a title.
"Draco?" he questioned, his eyes going up to the mirror.
"Now, before you get your pants in a twist, Potter, just listen to me. It's not an evil diary or anything like that, I promise. My father wrote it, so you can't actually keep it, but I thought it might help you remove my great aunt's portrait from your front hall."
Harry's brow's rose. "Really? How?"
"Well, I got Mother talking about her side of the family and she mentioned that her father, Cygnus Black, didn't much like my father in the beginning."
"Pfft! No surprise there!"
Pursing his lips, Draco glared at the messy-haired young man, but continued. "Anyway, he once sent my father a gift. It was, however, not really a gift, but instead a handsomely decorated box full of curses and hexes...one of which had several Permanent Sticking Charms on it. Mother said Father had a hell of a time getting himself unstuck from his office chair."
Harry snickered—which Draco ignored.
"That book," he went on, "is full of my father's notes on how to counter each of the curses his father-in-law sent him, including several anti spells that may be helpful to you."
Harry smiled. "Wow! That's great, Draco. Thank you."
"Like I said, you can't keep it forever...Father will eventually notice that it's missing, but..."
Nodding, Harry said. "All right. Do you mind if I...copy it?"
Draco shrugged. "I don't see why not, but...maybe you should have Granger run a few Dark Arts diagnostics on it first...just in case Father put a curse or two of his own on it."
"Okay." Harry was smiling. "Pansy mentioned you might have something that would help."
Draco nodded. "And I told you last December that I might...sorry it's taken me so long to find it."
"That's fine," the dark-haired young man said, obviously touched that Draco trusted him with something that belonged at Malfoy Manor. "Can I open another one?"
Draco laughed. "Of course. Open the small one next."
Smiling, Harry set Lucius Malfoy's book down and picked up the next of Draco's gifts. "Um."
Draco rolled his eyes. "You're not going to guess this one, Potter," he said. "And, for Salazar's sake, don't shake it...it might break."
"So, it's glass then," Harry guessed.
But Draco didn't answer him as he carefully unwrapped his second gift. And it was made of glass...or rather, borosilicate crystal and gold. It was a hand blown glass ferret figurine.
Harry grinned. "This reminded you of me?"
"Well no. I was hoping it would instead remind you of me."
Harry nodded. "It will, Draco. And it's beautiful. I love it. Thank you."
Draco smiled happily. "I'm glad," he said—then he frowned. "I'm almost out of time, Harry."
"Oh. Sorry," Harry said. Setting the crystal ferret down on his night table, he picked up his third and final present from Draco. "I'm guessing another book. Honestly, Draco, you're as bad as Hermione when it comes to books."
"Please don't compare me to that...know-it-all," the blond complained. Draco no longer hated Harry's Muggle-born friend, but she still wasn't his favorite person in the world.
"If the wand fits, Draco."
"It absolutely does not fit, Potter!" he snapped. "Now, are you going to open your present or not. I don't have all day!"
"I am," Harry said as he slid his fingers under the paper and pulled it back to reveal another lovely book, this one also leather-bound, but brown instead, and with a beautiful peacock-feather quill lying diagonally across the top of it. "You got me...a diary?"
Draco shook his head. "Not really. It's a connection journal and...it's like our mirrors. I have one too," he said as he lifted up a similar book from his lap. The one Draco was holding was lighter in color—closer to tan—but the quill looked nearly identical. "If you write in your journal, it'll show up in mine too, and vice versa...so we can talk right in front of people. I'm going to take mine down to tea with me today and write to you. I'm sure my mother won't even notice...she'll just think I'm writing in my journal or studying something."
Harry grinned. "This is brilliant, Draco!"
"Of course it is!"
Harry rolled his eyes. "You're so modest."
"Not really," the blond quipped. "And further, it's spelled so that you can hide what's in it...just in case your nosy little girlfriend goes poking around in your room."
Harry laughed. "You know as well as I do that Ginny's not my girlfriend and that she's not at all nosy."
"Right. And that's why she answered your mirror. Clearly, she spent the night in your bed."
Harry sighed. "Draco, are we going to go through this every time we talk?"
The blond didn't answer; he was quite aware that he was being a prat.
"I mean, you know I love her and that...well, you said you're not willing to pull out of your arranged marriage. Has that changed?" Harry asked, seriously worried about what would happen if things had changed for Draco. Could he abandon Ginny after what he'd promised her? He didn't think that he could—even for Draco, the first and only person with whom he'd had sex.
But Draco shook his head. "No, Harry, nothing has changed...I'm still planning on marrying Greengrass' little sister. It is, as my father has said on many an occasion, a good match."
Harry nodded. "I can see that. You're both very...pretty."
"Appearances aren't everything, Potter."
"Of course not, but I'm surprised you know that," Harry teased. "I'm sure you have loads in common with Asterisk. From what I've seen she's—"
"Astoria, Potter!" the blond snapped. "Her name's Astoria."
Harry snickered. "Whatever. If you can call my someday wife, Weaselette, then I can make up names for yours."
Draco frowned. "I suppose."
"So, would you rather I hide things from you?" Harry asked. "I mean, when it comes to Ginny. Or...what?"
The blond sat in silence for a few moments, then shook his head. "No...this is already our huge dirty secret. At least the three of us are being open about it."
Harry sighed with relief.
"Why doesn't this bother her, Potter?"
Harry shrugged. "Ginny's not that kind of person, Draco...I'm not sure she has a jealous bone in her body."
"Hmm. Are you sure she really loves you?"
"She's made it clear that she does."
"She's dating other people too, then?" the blond asked.
"I'm assuming she's dating, but...remember I said that she and I aren't dating right now."
"Right...and again that's why she was in your bed when I called.
"My house is full," Harry explained. "She was just sleeping here."
Harry rolled his eyes again. "I haven't fucked her, Draco!"
"Because we're not dating!"
"I thought it was because she's your best friend's sister."
Harry frowned. "Well, there's that too. Could we stop talking about this, please?"
Draco shook his head. "I'm trying to understand this."
"Why can't you just take it for what it is?"
"Because I can't," Draco replied—then pushed on. "So, she's dating others and...you don't care."
Harry sighed. "I said that I assume she's dating."
"Oh, Potter," Draco said as he shook his head, "you know what they say about those who assume...makes an ass out of you and me.
"Yes, I have heard that one."
"And so...you don't care."
"I'm not saying that, but...I'm not a hypocrite, so it's fine," Harry explained.
Draco frowned. There was something in Harry's posture that made him sit up and take notice. "Who's she dating? She bring someone to your party last night?"
Harry blinked. "How'd you know about the Neville's party last night?"
Draco rolled his eyes. "Blaise mentioned that he was attending...and so did Pansy. I can't believe Pansy went."
Harry's face flamed. "Yeah, Pansy was here. She's still here, in fact," he admitted.
Draco's eyes narrowed. "What's with the red face, Potter?"
"I...ahh...well, it was Blaise's fault, but...I...mighthavebeenforcedintosnogg ingPansy," he said quickly.
"What was that? You snogged Pansy?" Draco asked, incredulous.
"Yeah...and several other girls," Harry admitted.
For several seconds, Draco just looked shocked—and then he burst out laughing. "Oh, how I wish I could have been there to see that. I bet you left her gasping." He grinned. "And what about the Weaselette...must have taken part in all that too."
Harry nodded. "She did. Spent half the evening on Corner's lap."
Draco shuddered. "The guy's hot, but seriously needs to use some hair removal potion."
Harry instantly reached up and rubbed his scruffy jaw. "You have a problem with stubble, Malfoy?"
"Not on his face, you imbecile," Draco said. "There's nothing worse than—"
"OH! That's enough...I don't need to know that much about Corner!" Harry objected.
Draco laughed. "Did you think we were the only two?"
"Well no, actually Ginny said that Luna told her about Corner and Kevin Entwhistle during our sixth year...or something."
"Entwhistle's gay too? Hmm, I had no idea."
"I'm not gay, Malfoy," Harry objected.
Draco frowned. "What do you call enjoying a cock up your arse and reveling in sucking cock, Potter?"
"I'd say I'm bisexual."
"Tell me that again after you've actually had sex with a woman."
"Women make me hard too, Malfoy."
"Whatever you say, Potter!"
"And, just so you know, I've never really been attracted to another man before," Harry admitted. "It's just...you."
Draco couldn't help but smile. "Really?"
Harry nodded. "Really."
"Fine then, I'll concede that you're bisexual," Draco corrected himself. "I, on the other hand, am totally and completely gay."
"You're totally gay? Completely? And yet you plan on marrying Astoria Greengrass, a woman?" Harry asked. "Really?"
Draco nodded. "Yes. It's arranged and I will not disgrace my parents by backing out of it. And don't even say anything about my family's disgrace," the blond snapped.
"I wasn't planning on it, Draco," Harry said with a sigh. "I'm just...worried about you. I want you to be happy."
Draco nodded. "Me too, but..." He let his words trail off. "Shite! I have to go, Potter...Mother's summoning me."
"It's fine, but," Harry said with a shrug, "why do we always have to end on a sour note?"
"I don't know." Draco reached up then and touched Harry's reflection. "I'll send you a message in the journal as soon as I can, all right?"
Harry nodded. "I'd like that."
"Happy Birthday, Harry."
"Thank you, Draco...for your wishes and for the gifts...I love them!" Harry said, then reluctantly closed their connection.
After taking the mirror in his hand and ending the hovering spell on it, Harry set it on his night table—then picked up the crystal ferret that Draco had given him and smiled at it. It was so cute...just like the man who'd given it to him. This made Harry chuckle, however, because he knew how Draco would feel about being considered cute; he would hate it! It was a nice gift though; Harry would treasure it and it would definitely make him think about the blond.
Too much, in fact, Harry thought with a sigh as he let his eyes wander about the room. Then, his eyes falling on the connection journal Draco had given him, Harry set the ferret figurine down and picked up the leather-bound book. It was clearly quite old, but in great condition—and most likely another book that had been in the Malfoy family for generations. This made Harry wonder about whose hands—and thoughts—had touched this very same book over the years. Running his hand over the elegantly gilded cover, Harry smiled again—it really was a lovely book—then brought it to his nose to smell the fine leather. Leather books always smelled so good to him, but this one somehow seemed better...probably because it had been given to him by someone special.
Harry next examined the spine. It too was beautiful. It was the same rich brown color as the cover, but with raised bands and gilded with gold lettering that simply said, HJP. Touched that Draco had personalized the journal for him, Harry couldn't help but run a finger over his initials.
Smiling, yet again, he turned the book around and noticed that the spine and cover weren't the only parts of the book that had been given the gold standard—the pages were gilded as well. This made it even more beautiful and eye-catching, but also served a practical purpose, he knew—thanks to Hermione's many lectures about books...books, books and more books. As with other books, the gold was applied in conjunction with glue, to help protect the page edges from browning, moisture, and dust, but they would still be susceptible to physical damage and easy to scratch. Knowing this, Harry promised himself to treat the book with utmost care.
But as fast as his thoughts about book-care came to him, they just as quickly vanished when he opened the book to find a list of names—previous owners of the journals, he assumed—magically inscribed inside. Scanning the list, he found something interesting; there was another Malfoy/Potter pairing—Sophia Malfoy and Alexander Potter. The inscription read:
Alexander Potter (1895-1997) & Sophia Malfoy (1897-2006)
Courted ~ 1922 to 1923
Married ~ 14 February 1923
Children (two) ~ Alexis Potter (b. 1930) & Samantha Potter (b. 1934)
Frowning, because somehow he'd managed to forget all about the portrait he'd seen of the couple when he was at Malfoy Manor last, Harry recalled the incident. It was during Professor Mitchell's "Spring Swap," exactly three months, two weeks, and two days before.
"And this is my great, great grandfather, Lucien Phelan Malfoy," Draco drawled as they stopped in front of yet another portrait of a pointy-faced man with blond hair and gray eyes. "And his wife, Phoebe Wilkes-Malfoy...my great, great grandmother, obviously."
"You named the owl you gave me for Christmas after your great, great grandfather?" Harry asked with astonishment—and a bit of nervousness too, because the blond was standing a tad close for comfort.
Draco laughed and took a step closer. "Many of our owls are named after relatives, Potter. I gave you Lucien, because he's much more pleasant than Phelan, who's named after my great grandfather," Draco explained with a nod at a portrait down the way some.
"I see." Harry studied the portrait of Lucien Malfoy—which seemed to be studying him back. "You...ahh...have his eyes."
Draco looked at the man in the portrait and cocked his head. "Do you think?"
Harry nodded. "Definitely."
Draco looked up at the portrait again and smiled sadly. "He died when I was eight. He used to tell me stories...stories Father forbade him from passing on to me. But he said that, because he was the oldest living Malfoy, that he could do anything he wanted." At this, Draco smiled again—this time with fondness. "Father hated his stories."
Harry grinned. "I like him already."
"And he gave me sweets even when Mother said no," Draco continued without responding to Harry's comment. "And...gifts too," he started—then paused and looked at Harry again. Even thought the other boy had just teased him about his father—which he loathed—Draco didn't want to argue. Instead, he grabbed Harry's shirt sleeve and pulled him on toward the next painting. "My great grandfather, on the other hand, was a complete arse!"
Harry laughed. "Phelan Abraxas Malfoy," he read aloud. "I'm seeing a pattern with names."
"Yes, wonderful, isn't it? Draconis Scorpius Lucius Abraxas Phelan Lucien Arnaud Maximus Malfoy...lovely name," Draco said sarcastically, his nose scrunched up.
Smiling, Harry said, "Well, it is quite a mouthful."
"Sod off, Potter!" he snapped, forgetting that he didn't want to argue. "At least it's not common!"
Harry rolled his eyes; they'd gone though this argument on more than one occasion and it usually ended in one of them telling the other to take a long walk off a short pier. "I'm sorry, but...I'd much rather have my common name over the thing you call a name." Harry pretended to shudder, which caused Draco to give him a shove.
"Fuck you, Potter!" the blond said—but there wasn't much malice in it.
"So, this was Phelan Malfoy's wife?"
Draco hardly glanced at the painting of his great grandmother, so engrossed in the boy standing next to him, he was. "Uh-huh. Laira Montague-Malfoy was a fine woman. Far more decent than her husband," he said—then tugged Harry to another grouping of portraits. "And this is my grandfather, Abraxas Lucius Malfoy. He died young thou—"
"Wait!" Harry interrupted. "Who's this? She's quite lovely."
Draco stopped and looked up at the portrait, then frowned. "That's my great grandfather's sister, Sophia Malfoy. She wasn't much tolerated by the family," he said as tried to steer Harry away from the painting.
But Harry wasn't budging. "Why?"
Draco groaned. "She...ahh...didn't marry well, as far as the family was concerned."
Harry frowned and looked around at the surrounding portraits, but didn't see a man anywhere near Sophia Malfoy that could be her husband. "Who'd she marry?" he finally asked.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, because he really did not want to talk about this, Draco mumbled out a name.
"What was that?"
Sighing, Draco turned and looked right into Harry's curious green eyes, then walked over to a closed door and opened it. "This way, Potter," he said as he went into the other room. "I'll tell you who she married, but then I want something in return."
Harry narrowed his eyes, wondering what the blond could possibly want from him—and feeling a little nervous because part of him already knew. Malfoy had been making not-so-subtle passes at him for months now—passes he'd been trying to ignore, because they'd quite confused him. In fact, if he were completely honest with himself, he'd have to admit that he enjoyed the blond's attention. And he wasn't one hundred percent sure why. And so, despite the nervousness, Harry followed Draco anyway.
"Close the door," commanded Draco. He was standing at the far end of the room. It was a small room—a closet, really—with many covered paintings on the floor leaning against the walls, but empty otherwise.
Doing what he was told, Harry closed the door, then turned and looked at the blond. "W-what's going on, Malfoy?" he asked as he took a couple tentative steps into the tiny room.
Draco first shifted on his feet, then took a step in Harry's direction. "Back in 1821, my father's great aunt, Sophia Malfoy, met a man named Alexander. The story goes that this Alexander bloke came to one of her parents' balls...right here at Malfoy Manor...with his own parents and his siblings. Not long afterwards, Alexander began courting Sophia, but...her parents weren't at all happy about it. They forbade her from seeing the man, but she ran off and married him anyway," Draco explained as he took another step toward Harry. "It later became known that the two of them had bonded to one another within a week of meeting. Her parents were furious! But, eventually they had to accept it, because a bonding is not something that's controllable; it just happens sometimes...and it's stronger than an ordinary marriage. There is no divorce available with a bonding, and it can't be broken or annulled."
"Wait! I thought Lucien and Phoebe Malfoy were...more pleasant than other Malfoys," Harry interjected.
Draco rolled his eyes. "While it's true that my great, great grandfather was a better man than his son, my great grandfather, what I actually said was that, Lucien, your owl, is more pleasant than Phelan, who's also an owl. I was not talking about my wizard relatives."
"But, when it came to his daughter, Sophia," Draco went on, "Lucien Malfoy was pretty much a prick too."
Harry nodded. "Not unlike good old Lucius Malfoy in regards to his precious offspring," he quipped—and received a glare from Draco for his efforts.
"Anyway," Draco said, ignoring the black-haired boy's words as he took several more steps toward him, "they didn't disinherit her...mostly because of the bonding, but also because the man's family was old money."
It was now Harry's turn to roll his eyes. "Of course they didn't! It's all about money with you people, isn't it?!" he said, his voice thick with irritation. "Unbelievable!"
Now standing fairly close to Harry, Draco reached down and uncovered one of the paintings. "This is Alexander," he said—then waited while Harry looked at the painting.
Harry took a few steps backward, so that he could study the painting properly—it was quite large—and frowned at what he saw. The man staring back at him stood with his arm lovingly thrown around a stunningly gorgeous woman, presumably Sophia Malfoy. He was quite tall and dark-haired and, though weary-looking, appeared to be extremely happy. He had a slight smile on his lips and lines around both his mouth and eyes that told the viewer that he'd had a good life. And, he had bright green eyes. For some reason this surprised Harry. Frowning, Harry continued to study the painting.
After a few moments of watching the green-eyed boy stare at the portrait, Draco moved up next to him and, allowing their sides to brush, said, "Sophia Malfoy married Alexander Potter, Potter."
Harry blanched at this, then stepped back. "So, we're related then?"
"Brilliant deduction, Potter," Draco said, matching Harry's step backward with a forward one of his own—and then another so that he was firmly touching Harry now. "Distantly, but...yes. Most pureblood families are."
"But I'm not a pureblood," Harry protested, taking yet another step away from the blond—his back now against the door they'd come in through.
Draco laughed. "Your family was counted among the purebloods until your father went and married your Muggle-born mother," he said, his tone as neutral as he was capable of making it. Draco had been raised to hate Muggles and those who were Muggle-born—and anyone not of pure breeding—but he was trying to alter those long-ingrained notions. It wasn't easy, but he knew it must be done—especially if he hoped to get into Potter's pants.
Harry shook his head. "Wait. That doesn't make sense. I get my green eyes from my mother's side of the family. I've got my mother's eyes...that's what everyone always tells me."
"Your mother wasn't the only person on the planet to have green eyes, Potter. Clearly you have at least one green-eyed relative on the Potter side as well," Draco argued as he absently made a gesture at the painting of the green-eyed man with one hand, then stepped back into Harry's personal space and used the other hand to pick some imaginary lint off the front of Harry's shirt.
Harry's eyes followed the blond's gesture, but quickly went back up and locked with gray. "I...um...so, we're related," he said lamely, as he maneuvered himself away from Draco's fingers.
"Like I said...distantly," Draco repeated.
"How long have you known about this?" asked Harry.
Draco shrugged. "Not long. Obviously, I've been in our Hall of Ancestors before, but I'd never seen this particular portrait until I was poking around last summer...after the war."
Harry nodded. "When you were forced to stay at Malfoy Manor day in and day out."
Draco nodded—then moved in on Harry once again. "Now, I gave you what you wanted, Potter," he said as he grabbed Harry's wrist and pulled, then pushed him back into the door, placing a hand on the door on either side of Harry's shoulders. "Now I want you to give me something in return."
Harry nodded. "All right. What do you want?"
Draco grinned at this—but it was filled with mischief. "Nothing you can't give me, I'm sure of it," he replied as he inched closer.
Frowning, Harry eyed the blond; he was clearly up to something. "What are you playing at, Malfoy?"
"I'm not playing at anything and...stop calling me by my surname."
Harry laughed at this. "And why would I stop doing that, Malfoy? I've been calling you Malfoy for as long as I can remember. It's what we do."
"You're going to stop, because the nature of our...relationship is changing as of this moment," Draco said, his fingers now gripping the front of Harry's shirt.
Harry frowned again. "And how's that?" he asked nervously—totally distracted by Draco's questing fingers.
The blond shrugged—then moved a hand down and yanked Harry's shirt from his trousers. "I'll show you," he said as he leaned in and brought his lips to Harry's—at the same time that he pressed his body to the other boy's.
For several moments Harry just stood there allowing the blond to kiss him—but then he felt his body starting to react and all but freaked out. "Whoa!" Pushing the other boy away from him, none too gently, Harry glared at him. "What the fuck are you doing?"
Smirking, because he'd felt Harry's reaction against his leg, Draco just moved in again. "Don't pretend like you didn't like it, Harry, because I know you're as hard as I am," he said as he wove a hand into Harry's messy black hair and pulled hard enough to make him wince—then he attached his lips to Harry's neck and used his free hand to bring their bodies together again. "I'm tired of flirting with you," he went on as he licked his way up the column of Harry's neck, then nibbled back down. "And I'm tired of trying to make you notice me."
Again, Harry just took it. He could hardly concentrate on anything at the moment...except the sensation of someone—Draco Malfoy—licking and nibbling up and down his neck. It felt good. Fantastically good! Being relatively inexperienced, Harry was lost in feeling.
And then his mind seemed to come back to him and he stiffened up.
"Wait," he said, his hands coming up to and pressing against Draco's chest. "Stop. You need to stop this, Malfoy."
"Draco," the blond corrected. He'd managed to push one of Harry's hands off his chest and now had his mouth latched onto the place where Harry's neck met his shoulder. "Call me Draco."
Harry swallowed hard, then breathed deeply. "Draco. You need to stop. We can't do this. We're...related."
The blond scoffed at this. "How many times do I have to use the word distantly, Harry. We're not even third cousins." Kiss. "Which, by the way, is legal...even by Muggle standards."
"Stop over-analyzing this!" Kiss. "And just...shut up and enjoy it, for Salazar's sake."
"I'm not gay, Draco," Harry protested—but made no concerted effort to put an end to the blond's kisses and licks and nips and touches. "Really, I'm not."
Growling, Draco grabbed Harry's erection through his trousers and said, "This tells me that you are! So I want you to just...try to relax and see what happens," he said, then brought his mouth back to Harry's now-exposed shoulder.
"Ginny," blurted Harry.
"Isn't here!" Draco snapped. "And she doesn't care, remember? You two have chosen to remain apart this year, right?"
Harry nodded. "Yes, but... OH!" he burst, because Draco was rubbing his hardness—making him harder, if that was possible.
"Now. For what I want," the blond said. "I was thinking a blow job would do."
Harry's eyes widened and he shook his head as he straightened up. "You're mad, Malfoy! I told you I'm not gay. There's no way I'm going to suck your... Oh FUCK! he yelled when Draco wrenched open his trousers and pulled them—along with his pants—down to his knees.
"No one said anything about you servicing me, Harry," Draco responded, his eyes dilating with lust as he moved in and took Harry's now fully erect cock into his mouth.
Allowing himself to be pushed back into the door, while Draco's mouth engulfed him fully, Harry watched the blond go to work. On his knees, Draco brought a hand up and clamped it around the base of Harry's cock—to stave off orgasm, Harry immediately realized—then closed his eyes and, his lips stretched around Harry's considerable size, hollowed his cheeks as he sucked.
Harry couldn't help the moan that escaped his own lips. He'd never experienced someone sucking him off before, because...well...no time in his previously busy life, but now he was amazed at just how good it felt—a hundred times better than those very same lips had felt on his neck.
Draco, however, had obviously done this before. How many times, Harry didn't know, but, as far as he was concerned, the blond's work was bloody brilliant! At the moment, Harry couldn't think of anything he wanted to do more than watch Draco's mouth as it moved up and down his hard length.
But, as his knees began to go weak, Harry found that he couldn't continue to watch the show Draco was giving him and remain upright—and so he shifted his strength. Throwing his head back and using the door to keep himself standing, Harry closed his eyes and let out a deep groan.
On his knees, Draco did the opposite. Opening his eyes, the blond watched Harry's reaction to what was clearly his first blow job—and doubled his efforts. He absolutely wanted this to be an unforgettable experience. After a short time though, the dark-haired boy's body began to tremble—almost violently—making Draco aware that climax was imminent.
And then Harry was struggling—trying to push him away.
"Oh! Draco! Stop!" he yelled as the blond continued to suck on him. "You've gotta... Oh! Stop! I'm gonna... OHHH!" Harry moaned as he shuddered, then emptied himself into Draco's mouth, whimpering out an, "I'm...sorry," as he collapsed to the floor.
Wiping a small drop of come off his chin, Draco smirked at what he'd done to Harry; the other boy had completely come apart—pun absolutely intended—and was now lying bonelessly on the ground of their portrait storage room.
"Oh wow! That was bloody brilliant," Harry said after a few minutes of trying to regain his breath, a silly grin on his sated face. "Where in Merlin's name did you learn to do that?"
Not wanting to answer, Draco shrugged—but then he sighed and said, "Picked up some Muggle on Canal Street...before our sixth year."
Harry's eyes widened.
"Don't look so surprised, Potter!" the blond snapped, his surliness back. "You didn't think I was virginal, did you?"
"No, not really."
Quickly getting up, Draco straightened his clothing—and adjusted himself, because he was still painfully hard—then glared down at Harry. "Pull up your pants, Potter...don't want to get caught with them down, do you?" he asked—then turned on his heel and stormed out of the room.
Coming out of his reverie, Harry glanced up to see Kreacher standing at the foot of his bed and remembered that it was his birthday—and that he was at home at Grimmauld Place with a house full of friends. But the house-elf didn't look happy.
"What is it, Kreacher?" he asked.
"The Mudblood is—"
"Kreacher," Harry said warningly.
Blinking his bloodshot eyes, Kreacher wrinkled his snout-like nose and scowled, then started again. "Master's Granger friend is attempting to assist Debby in the kitchens, sir," he croaked. "And she's making Debby weep."
Harry sighed. He knew that Hermione meant well—she thought she was helping his house-elves—but she really didn't understand them.
"All right. I'll be right down."
Nodding his head, his bat-like ears flopping, Kreacher disappeared with another crack!
For a moment, Harry stared at the spot where Kreacher had been, then his eyes went back to the journal in his hand. He'd examined its outsides thoroughly and had just been looking at the first few pages when he'd realized another Malfoy and Potter had once owned the journals—and then he'd gotten lost in his own memories.
Smiling, Harry ran a finger over the names of the couple who'd apparently been in love. "A Potter and a Malfoy," he whispered. "Go figure."
And then he turned the page to find a journal entry already there waiting for him.
I'd be willing to bet that you've all but forgotten
seeing the portrait of our distant relatives at
Malfoy Manor last spring. But I'll remind you...
just in case. *grin* It was in that little room, just off
our Hall of Ancestors. Remember? You know, the room
where we...well...you know. I'd wager you haven't
forgotten that part. You'd better not have! I did a
fine job, if I do say so myself.
Forgetfulness. That was my intent, of course...to
make you forget (the portrait), because I wasn't ready
to talk about our families. To be honest, I'm not
sure I'm ready to talk about it now either, so...don't
get too excited that I even mentioned it. I did, however,
think it quite propitious when I found these particular
journals in one of our libraries; that they'd once
belonged to Alexander Potter and Sophia Malfoy,
two people who are related to the both of us, shocked
the bloody shite out of me.
Anyway, I decided then and there that we
just had to put them to use and immediately confiscated
them. I hope you will write in yours, so that we can
communicate during my time of incarceration.
P.S. I hope you have a Happy Birthday, Harry.
Don't do anything that I wouldn't do.
End of second one-shot!
This series of one-shots will eventually reach between 30 and 35 different entries. This is entry 2 of 30-ish, so I'm obviously NOT finished. Please stay tuned for more.
Note: ALL my Harry Potter fics are related! At least, I'm making every effort to tie them together in some way.
Now, while you're waiting for more "Correspondence and/or Encounters" to be written, you can read "Class of Ninety-nine" (in progress) that is the story of how Draco and Harry end up tangled together. In short, they return to Hogwarts after the war to finish school and...start fucking! It's slow going though, so don't expect them to be together right from the off.
I've also started a series of one-shots that, unlike "Correspondence and/or Encounters," I'm posting separately (four parts are currently posted). I'm calling this my "Togetherness" series and it takes place later in Draco and Harry's lives. They are 41 years old this and their lives have changed dramatically.
Repeat Note: ALL my HP fics are connected, so just imagine it goes from "Class of Ninety-nine" to "Correspondence and/or Encounters" to the "Togetherness" series.