Correspondence and/or Encounters

Author's Notes

A/N #5 (repeated): 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 #6: I am fully aware that Draco only has one middle name (Lucius), but I've given him a stream of them (because I did it in another fic...one which is related to this one). I hope you can forgive me.

Title: A Visit to Malfoy Manor

Summary: After a day hanging out with his friends—at the Nodding Hill Carnival—Harry decides to visit Draco, because...sometimes just corresponding isn't quite enough.

Pairings: DM/HP

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: Wednesday, 13 February 2013

Word Count: 8,216 (this ONLY includes actual story, please disregard the "word count" provided by ff . net)


Correspondence and/or Encounters

Encounter #1

"A Visit to Malfoy Manor"

Sunday, 29 August 1999

Having only just parted from Ron, Hermione, Seamus, and Dean—and Dean's entire Muggle family—Harry had every intention of going straight home to shower...to get all the glitter, paint, and only Merlin knew what else off his person...then climb into his bed and get some much needed sleep. It had been a long day and he was exhausted!

But first he would take a moment to write to Draco...and perhaps talk through their mirrors, if the blond was still awake and willing. It had been a few days since they'd actually spoken and he really felt like they needed to talk.

Harry also would have liked to Floo Ginny—just to make sure she'd arrived back to Holyhead safely—but she wasn't going to be available for at least a week. Intrinsically he understood this, but was also a bit frustrated, because of their last encounter. They'd finally had sex. It had happened on the night of Ginny's first professional Quidditch match. The Harpies had won and there'd been a celebratory gathering following the match—after which Harry had ended up in Ginny's bed. They'd both had a little to drink—which lowered their inhibitions—but only enough to make them giddy. And horny. But the experience had been brilliant. Nothing like the sex he had with Draco, but brilliant all the same.

But he'd not talked to Draco about it yet and desperately wanted to. Felt like he should anyway—even though he knew the man wouldn't be thrilled about it. This made Harry frown. He didn't like hurting Draco, but...what could he do?

Changing his mind about going straight home, Harry instead Apparated to Wiltshire, which was approximately 130 kilometers southwest-ish from where he was a carnival in the Notting Hill area of London, and made his way down the narrow lane that he knew would bring him to the entranceway of the Malfoys' property.

Turning right, Harry stared at the grand entrance to Malfoy Manor. The high, manicured yew hedges curved off the narrow path on which he'd been walking, then ran perfectly straight, going off into the distance beyond the pair of massive wrought-iron gates that barred him—or anyone who'd not been invited—from getting closer. Harry knew that the gravel driveway in front of him led directly up to the front door—which opened automatically when someone got close enough—but...how would he get there? Surely the powerful wards that protected the manor were still in place.

Standing just outside the impressive gates, Harry peered through them—looking and listening, carefully trying to decide what his next course of action should be. There wasn't much to see between the towering hedges, but Harry knew the grounds to be immensely extensive; they contained a fountain in the main garden, albino peacocks roaming freely on the great expanse of lush lawns that wrapped around from the front of the estate to the back, and, just over some rolling hills, a lake-sized "pond," which was surrounded by a wooded area on three sides. Draco had once mentioned that they had stables as well, but hadn't shown them to Harry, so he didn't know where they were. Bottom line was, there was more here than any one family—of three—needed.

After staring through the gates for what seemed like forever, Harry finally reached out and tentatively touched them. He almost expected an alarm to go off, alerting the entire household of the presence of an intruder. Or a jolt of pain, which would be much more like the Malfoys he knew. But nothing happened. Nothing he could hear or feel, at least. And so he waited another few minutes, not sure whether he hoped someone would show up to collect him or not. What if someone did appear and...what if that someone was not Draco? Harry hadn't seen either of Draco's parents since he'd testified at their trails, but something told him neither would be pleased to see him loitering at their front gate. While Narcissa Malfoy might have been cordial to him at their last meeting—she'd given him a tight smile and a nod of thanks—Harry knew that was all she was capable of extending toward him. And Lucius Malfoy would probably Crucio him, despite the fact that it would land him permanently in Azkaban prison.

Wait! Harry thought, shaking his head to clear his addled mind. He had seen the Malfoys since their trials—but just once. Either way, he couldn't imagine them being happy to see him now. And in the middle of the night, no less. And Draco. Harry was certain the blond wouldn't be very happy with him for just showing up—especially if he caused a ruckus.

But, when no one appeared after a reasonable amount of time, Harry swallowed and nervously pushed at the gate. Silently, it swung open—but just enough to allow Harry to slip through. Once inside, he turned and closed it without so much as a click, then frowned at the distance that stretched out in front of him, wondering again if this was perhaps a bad idea.

Then a thought occurred to him. No alarms had gone off when he'd touched the gate, but...they'd neither turned to smoke to allow him to pass—not that he knew the correct motions to get them to—nor had the iron contorted into a face demanding to know his purpose for entering, as they usually did. Frowning, because Draco had told him some about their wards, Harry turned and touched the gate again—they were cold and seemed to have no magic in them. This worried the dark-haired young man, because, without magical protection, anyone could manage to get onto Malfoy property. They could be in danger.

For another minute or so Harry considered this. He would first talk to Draco about their wards and find out why they seemed to be down—then, if he was not satisfied with what he heard, he would go to the Minister for Magic. Surely Kingsley would help the Malfoys if Harry asked him to.

But, for right now, Harry just wanted to see Draco. He wanted to be able to talk to him and touch him—and kiss him. Frowning for a second, because that was going to be quite difficult if he couldn't just walk up to the door and knock—which he couldn't do without disturbing the whole house—Harry shifted on his feet. At first he didn't know what to do. Standing there, the dark-haired man considered the massive structure that loomed in the distance. He figured that, at this time of night, Draco would be in his bedroom—a room Harry knew to be on the third floor—and so he approached the manor and circled it until he stood under Draco's windows, giving a sigh of relief that a light was still on. But then he frowned. How the fuck am I going to get up there?! he thought in frustration. Then an idea came to him. He could Accio his broom and fly up to Draco's window. This would solve the problem of the front door, but...waiting for his broom could take some time—time Harry didn't want to spend.

"OH!" he exclaimed—then slapped a hand over his mouth and looked around, hoping no one had heard him. It was silly really, to think someone might hear his little outburst on a piece of land this enormous, but...he really didn't want to get caught here.

Summoning his broom might take forever, but Apparating home to get it wouldn't. In a blink he'd gone home, picked up his broom and cloak, then returned to Malfoy Manor. Then, pulling out his wand, he summoned his Patronus and sent it to Draco with a message—I'm outside, it said—then he jumped on his broom, covered himself with his cloak over himself—because he was worried about someone seeing him—then flew up to Draco's windows.

XxXxXxX

Lying on his bed, completely listless, Draco stared at the gray dragon—which he'd named Nimbus—that was soaring through the fluffy white clouds that had been enchanted onto ceiling above him, considering his life—or lack thereof. It was day number 189 of his 365 days of house arrest and he was bored. Bored out of his bloody mind. There was nothing to do. There'd been nothing to do since his final year at Hogwarts had ended—seventy-two days before. He walked each day, for some mild entertainment—and to get a little exercise—but he could only do so much of that; he knew the grounds that surrounded his ancestral home like the back of his wand and there really was nothing new to see...or do. Nothing changed at Malfoy Manor; everything always stayed the same. Exactly the same!

From time to time, out of sheer boredom, he fed the peacocks—always careful to avoid getting pecked. And sometimes talked to them too. Well, more than sometimes actually...as it was really more of a daily thing, not from time to time or sometimes. He could hardly believe he'd resorted to talking to the testy beasts, but...well, his friends hadn't visited—not once!—so who was he supposed to talk to? He'd expected to at least see Pansy or Blaise—his two closest friends—but...nothing! They did occasionally write though, so...that was something. Right? Hmm.

But that was the reason why Draco knew how and what his friends were doing. Letters. Thank Merlin for letters. Apparently Blaise was on extended holiday somewhere in southern Italy (lucky bastard!)—with his mother (er...maybe not so lucky then)—and Pansy...well, she'd utterly defied her father's demand that she marry the wealthy pure-blood wizard he'd betrothed her to and had taken up with some overweight Muggle in Surrey. She'd even given up her family's fortune to be with fat lug—much to her father's fury and disgust. Not too long ago, the thought of Pansy with a Muggle would have made Draco ill too, but now...not so much. In fact, it made him smile. She was doing what she wanted—what made her happy—and Draco thought that was brilliant. Good for her!

The letters from Blaise and Pansy also spoke of other friends. Blaise told him that Theo had managed to stay out of Azkaban as well. Despite his father's position during the war, Theo had stayed completely away from it all. He'd always been a bit of a loner, often making people think he was up to no good, but Draco couldn't think of a time that the other young man had done anything nefarious. Theo was quiet and sometimes secretive, but a good guy.

Blaise had also mentioned Greg. Like Draco, Greg had been involved in the war, but...witnessing Vincent's death had apparently done a number on him, causing him to sink into a horrible depression. The memory of it still sometimes gave Draco nightmares, but he'd mostly managed to heal on his own, whereas Greg had not. Blaise said Greg had twice tried to kill himself and was now spending an extended period of time with the Mind Healers at St. Mungo's...in lieu of being incarcerated. It was a good thing—his friend getting the help he needed—and Draco hoped he'd someday recover from the trauma of watching a friend die. Merlin knew it was a hard thing to do.

As for his female friends, Pansy said they were doing well too. Strangely enough, Millicent was still dating that Gryffindor werewolf, Lavender Brown...and, odd though it sounded, Pansy said they were blissfully happy and talking about bonding...someday. Draco was still reeling from learning of that relationship, but...well, he supposed his friends would be floored by what he'd been up to with Potter too.

And finally Daphne. Her parents had sent her off to Bulgaria to get better acquainted with the man they'd chosen for her—Victor Krum—since their wedding was scheduled to be at the end of the following summer. Sort of a strange match, Draco thought, but...whatever! Since it seemed Daphne wasn't protesting the match, neither then would he.

But this was all Draco had—letters from his two best friends, but not company.

Well, he did have his parents. Sort of. Even in a house the size of Malfoy Manor you had to run into the other humans living there. Occasionally, at least. He saw his mother here and there. Had tea with her twice a week—Tuesdays and Thursdays, at precisely half four. And once a week—after brunch on Sundays—Draco visited his mother in the gardens. As it was well-established that Narcissa Malfoy didn't trust anyone with her roses, she donned an apron and pruned them herself. She'd apparently been doing it for years, though Draco hadn't know it, and obviously enjoyed the peace of it. Most times he just sat and watched her—because it was clear she wanted to work in silence—but other times she talked while she worked.

But that was about it for conversation with his mother. Narcissa Malfoy had pretty much sequestered herself in her rooms and Draco knew not to pester her when she'd closed her doors; she had never been quite welcoming of disturbances when she was there in the past and he was not about to test her now. And so Draco stayed away.

Draco saw his father from time to time as well, but...well, Lucius Malfoy was mostly absent too. Not physically absent, of course, because, just like Draco, his father wasn't permitted to leave their property—not that he hadn't tried and been punished with searing pain and a week in bed under Healer observation and an Auror guard at the door. No, it was more of a mental absence that Draco was subjected to when he chanced a visit to the older man. Draco had dropped in on his father a few times, but none of the visits had gone very well. Lucius either ranted about the days of old or...just sat there, staring blankly out a window. The former was quite unpleasant, causing Draco to stand there cringing, his jaw clenched while he silently listened to his father's tirades...and the latter, which was not any more pleasurable, found the blond stalking out of the room, hurt and angry—and confused! Though there had been plenty of times in his life that he'd wanted to ignore his father, doing so now was more than disconcerting. He wanted to be there to help him through this trying time, but at the same time he wanted to disappear—which he could not do.

Instead of disappearing, Draco had to find other things to do—and that's where roaming the grounds came in.

He also explored a bit inside, going into parts of Malfoy Manor he'd ignored his entire life. The basement and attic had mostly been off limits while he was growing up, so he spent some time in both of those places. But that too only held his interest for a time—a very short time. The attic was dusty, dirty, and stifling—it was summer, after all—while the basement was dark, dank, and...well...the dungeon was down there and it held some pretty bad memories, so Draco didn't much care for that part of the house.

Bottom line was that Draco had loads of time on his hands and very little to do to fill said time. It was excruciating!

But right now it was late. Really late. Draco knew he ought to just put out his light and get some sleep, but...well...the next day would just be more of the same. Nothing! But he wasn't even really tired. Lack of real things to do did that to a person.

Sighing, the blond reached out and ran a slender hand over his cat's soft white fur. Lyra purred contentedly at his touch, then stretched and meowed loudly, then curled into a ball to go to sleep. Smiling, Draco was just about to do the same when something silvery-white penetrated a wall and bound into his bedroom. Without hesitation, the blond scooped up his cat and scrambled away from the invading apparition and crouched behind his bed—then waited.

I'm outside.

Chancing a look over his bed, Draco frowned at what he saw there. It was someone's corporeal Patronus...and not just anyone's Patronus, but Potter's stag—which, by this time, he knew quite well.

Still frowning, Draco put Lyra down on the bed and got up, then edged himself around the phantom-like animal, backing toward one of his many bedroom windows. Once there, he reluctantly turned away from the wispy creature standing in the middle of his room and parted the heavy drapes, then leaned forward enough so that his forehead was pressed against the cool glass as he scanned the ground outside below him. At first he saw nothing—except for a few snowy-white peacocks strutting around—and then something appeared directly in front of him, giving him a start. It was Potter, of course, hovering out there on his blasted broom. He'd clearly just removed his invisibility cloak.

"What the fuck, Potter!" the blond hissed after throwing open his window. Though loud enough for the green-eyed man to hear, Draco's voice was barely above a whisper—because he was worried they'd be overheard and that he'd get into trouble. Though what trouble, he wasn't sure.

"Hi," Harry chirped happily, ignoring Draco's obvious displeasure.

Glancing behind him, then out the window again, Draco glared. "Why are you here, Potter?"

"Well, hello to you too, Malfoy," Harry said, returning the glare.

For a second, Draco just stared. "It's a bit late, but...hello," he said stiffly—then raked his eyes over the dark-haired man in front of him. "What the bloody hell is all over you?"

"I went to the Notting Hill Carnival with...friends," Harry informed him—as if that explained everything.

Having no idea what that was—and not missing the hitch in Harry's voice just before he'd said 'friends'—Draco stared blankly at the other young man for a second, then spoke. "And that means...what exactly?" he drawled. He tried to sound bored.

Harry laughed—a bit too loudly, which made Draco cringe.

"It's a street festival, silly. In London. It was brilliant! The Muggles sure know how to have a good time. I'm covered in paint and...glitter, I think," the green-eyed young man said, giving himself an unsure glance, then looking up at Draco again. "I went with—"

"I don't care, Potter!" Draco interrupted, annoyed that Harry could go out with friends and have fun while he was stuck at home...alone. "Are you drunk or something?"

The messy-haired man grinned. "I had a few beers, but no...not drunk," he said—then wobbled a bit on his broom. "Well, maybe a bit tipsy," he capitulated.

Frowning, Draco glanced behind himself again—and this time noticed that Potter's Patronus was gone—then brought his disapproving eyes back to the disaster hovering outside. "You look like shite!" he accused crossly.

Still grinning, Harry gestured at himself. "Yeah. Like I said, paint...glitter...and Merlin knows what else. I think this might be flour," he said, giving his chest a pat and watching as the white powdery substance puffed into the air—then snickering when a goop of white fell from his chest to the ground far below him.

Draco grimaced. "That's repulsive!"

"I know, right?" Harry said, looking disgusted.

Leaning forward, Draco sniffed. "I think flour is the least of your worries, Potter," Draco huffed. "What is that smell?"

Harry laughed again. "I think Ron might have spilled beer on me at some point."

"So you were out in the streets, drinking with Muggles? How very plebian," the blond said, his nose in the air.

At this Harry rolled his eyes. "Sometimes I think plebian's your favorite word, Malfoy," he complained, "but yes. Now, are you going to invite me in or not?"

Frowning, Draco held up a hand and shook his head vehemently. "Not. Absolutely not!"

Potter snorted out another laugh. "Why not?"

"You're a mess, Potter. Mother would kill me, quite literally, if I let you ooze all over the place."

Harry grinned. "Yeah...and she'd be pleased to have me in if I looked normal?"

Draco snorted at this. "There's never a time when you look normal, Potter."

"Come on, let me in," Harry begged.

Draco shook his head again. "Not looking like that!" he said with a look of disgust. "Like I said, Mother would be furious—"

"I'll fly in," Harry interrupted. "I promise not to so much as drip on the your pristine flooring."

"You can't come in. I'm not allowed visitors," Draco argued.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You liar. I know for a fact, because you told me, that you are allowed visitors. No more than three at a time."

Draco frowned. "What I meant was, no one's allowed to enter or exit via the windows. They're warded against it."

"I see. So...you've never been able to sneak out?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "I've never had to sneak out, Potter...everything I need is here."

"Well then, I'll meet you at the front door."

Draco's forehead bunched up again. "You expect me to let you traipse through the manor looking like that?"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Draco!" Harry snapped. "I'll cast a cleaning charm over every square centimeter that I touch...I promise."

Draco bit his lip.

"You're acting like you don't want to see me," Harry said, now looking unsure of himself. "I...um...I'll just go. Sorry."

"Wait!" Draco burst as Harry turned away. "Don't go. I do want to see you. It's just...what if my parents see you?"

Stopping, Harry looked back at the blond. "We won't let that happen. Plus, I have my cloak."

Shifting on his feet, Draco contemplated. "Well, ahh...I guess, since you have your—"

"Front door then?" Harry interrupted.

Draco hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, but—"

With a wide grin, the man on the broom sped away.

"Damn it, Potter!" he cursed as he grabbed something to cover his night clothes.

XxXxXxX

When Draco reached the ground floor, he hurried toward the front of the house, desperately hoping Potter wouldn't just walk inside until he arrived—that would set off one of the many wards—and was pleasantly surprised to learn that the dark-haired man wasn't as dumb as he currently looked. Quickly crossing the entrance hall to the already open doors, Draco stopped and looked at the man who, facing away from him, had his arms crossed over his chest. Smiling, Draco leaned against the doorframe and appraised the other man; a mess though he may be, Harry Potter was still quite the vision. And then Draco's eyes strayed to Harry's arse—making his smile widen. Yes...lovely, he thought, his head crooked to the side. But this lasted for only a moment—his ogling. Making every effort to make his face impassive, Draco pursed his lips and cleared his throat, instantly drawing Harry's attention.

"The door opened when I approached, but I...I wasn't sure what I should do," Harry said as soon as he saw Draco.

Nodding, Draco said, "You did the right thing. Coming in without an invitation would have sounded an alarm, summoning my parents, the house-elves, and possibly the servants."

With a frown, Harry walked slowly toward the other man...a smirk on his lips. "But I was invited."

Rolling his eyes, the blond shook his head. "Not really, Potter...more like you invited yourself."

Harry grinned. "So, can I come in or not?" he asked, now only a hair's breadth in front of Draco.

"First tell me how you plan to enter without getting all that shite," he said, motioning at Harry's person, "all over my parents' home."

"Easy!" the dark-haired man burst—with more volume than Draco was comfortable with—then pulled out his wand and aimed it at himself. "Scourgify! See? All clean."

Draco tilted his head and scrutinized the other man. "I wouldn't go so far as to say that, but...all right," he capitulated, with a shrug before stepping back. "Welcome to Malfoy Manor, Potter."

Snorting a laugh, Harry moved over the threshold and glanced around the room. It was a massive entrance hall—quite impressive really—sumptuously decorated with a magnificent gray and forest green area rug, extremely ornate furnishings, and a large gilded mirror that took up almost an entire wall. But Harry'd seen it all before. Twice, in fact. His first visit was during the war, when he and his friends had been caught by Snatchers; they'd dragged them through this very room on their way to the drawing room above, then again to bring him to the dungeon, which was in the basement. And, for his second visit, he'd Flooed into this room when he'd arrived at Malfoy Manor for the three days of their Spring Swap—an assignment given by Professor Mitchell during their final year at Hogwarts. Yes, he knew the room well.

"Looks about the same in here," he said with a nod, then turned and moved toward the blond again. "Hi," he whispered as he slipped his arms around Draco's waist and pulled him in for a kiss.

For a second, Draco responded in kind, his own hands coming up to rest on Harry's shoulders—but then he realized where they were and maneuvered himself out of Harry's arms. "Potter, we can't do this...someone might see."

Harry laughed again. "Someone like who?" he asked, taking a step toward Draco. "I'm sure your parents are in bed."

"Well, yes...probably. But this is dangerous. You and I...we're playing with fire."

Harry grinned. "It is a little reckless, but...Gryffindor," he said as he reached for Draco and pulled him close again. "I need you."

"Gryffindork, you mean," Draco corrected, wiggling to extract himself from the other man's arms.

Cocking his brow, Harry eyed the blond. "Aren't you Slytherins supposed to be a little more...sneaky?"

Draco shook his head. "I'm all about self-preservation, Potter. Father would kill me if he found you here...and I'd rather not die after all I've been through."

"Pfft! Tell me about it," Harry puffed out, then nuzzled Draco's neck—causing the blond to groan. "I've missed you."

"I...I've missed you as well, but..." Stiffening, Draco forced himself to focus. "Seriously, Potter, you should...stop."

Sighing, Harry dropped his arms and stepped back. "Fine then. I'll just...go, I guess," he said, then started for the door.

"No, wait!" Draco protested. "You just got here. I don't want you to leave, Harry. It's just..."

Harry stopped and looked at Draco. "Okay. I won't then. Leave, that is."

Sighing his relief, Draco held out a hand—which Harry immediately took. "Are you hungry? We could raid the kitchens."

"Not really. I sort of ate a lot today. Besides...wouldn't want to run into anyone."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Maybe I was being a little over anxious about things. Getting caught, I mean. Both Mother and Father have been in bed for hours and rarely show their faces around here...and I doubt the house-elves or servants would give a fuck about you being here."

Harry grinned. "I knew it. Still not hungry, but...I would like to get cleaned up though. Would it be okay if I showered? Scourgify just don't cut it."

"Of course," Draco said, smiling and taking Harry's hand. "Come on. Let's go up to my room."

XxXxXxX

It took nearly thirty minutes of scrubbing himself almost raw—under the scorching spray in Draco's heavenly shower—to finally look and feel as if the grime of the day had been completely washed away. Yes, he'd cast a cleaning spell on himself prior to entering the Malfoy household, but those spells always left one feeling a bit itchy...like you felt after you'd allowed sweat to dry on your body, which was never pleasant. Now, his skin pink, tingling, and toasty warm, Harry emerged from the bathroom—squeaky clean—and walked over to where the blond lay sprawled on his huge canopied bed.

"I nicked one of your robes," he said as he flopped down beside the other young man. Rolling to face Draco, Harry smiled. "Apparently you have several of them."

Smirking, Draco turned, slipping a hand into said robe. "Yes, I do. One for each day of the week, but you needn't have bothered...I'm just going to remove it."

His eyes sparkling, Harry chuckled. "You wanted me to parade myself through your room...naked? I don't think so."

"Well, yes, that is what I want, Potter," Draco said as he loosened the tie around the dark-haired man's waist and pushed the robe open, exposing Harry's chest—and more. "Water hot enough?" he asked, raising his brow as he traced a finger over the red marks he found on the other man.

"Brilliantly so, yes," replied Harry, shuddering slightly when Draco's fingertips grazed a nipple. "I felt disgusting after spending all day out in the streets. Oh! That's nice, Draco."

Pushing Harry onto his back, Draco kissed his way up the other man's chest, wiggling out of his own robe as he went. "Isn't it?" the blond said. Grinning, he latched his mouth onto the opposite nipple and suckled, then ground their erections together—causing the dark-haired man to moan quite loud—and moved up to Harry's neck.

"Merlin, I've missed this!" Harry groaned, his eyes closed as he enjoyed the feeling of Draco's mouth devouring his body.

"I have as well, Potter," Draco said. "You have no idea!"

Leaning down, Draco first pecked a few kisses on the green-eyed man's rosy lips, then licked them moist, dipping his tongue in when Harry opened his eager mouth to allow him entrance. Draco loved Harry's mouth; it was so soft and warm and giving, yet capable of firmly taking when the moment called for it—like now. Grinning into Harry's mouth as the man on his back tried to take control, their tongues tangling in a mad rush for power over one other, Draco used the weight of his body to keep the other man pressed into the mattress.

"I don't think so, Potter," the blond managed to ground out between kisses. After a few more, Draco raised his head and waited for Harry's eyes to open. At first they were glazed over, but soon they focused. "You don't get to come into my house and control me."

His eyes sparkling, Harry grinned. "Of course not," he said, sliding his hands around to Draco's back and settling them there. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Pfft!" Draco scoffed, knowing just how much the dark-haired man loved to fight him for dominance. "You don't fool me, you know," he went on as he nipped a few bites on Harry's stubbly chin, then nibbled his way back to the other man's ear. "I know you'd like to flip me over and...Potter, what's this?" he asked, his eyes trained on a reddish-purple mark just behind Harry's left ear.

"Er..." was all Harry managed as he slowly raised a hand to cover what Draco was going to make a big deal over.

Rolling off the dark-haired man and quickly moving away from him, Draco got to his feet, pulled on his robe, snapped it closed and straightened it, then started pacing. "That's from..." he started—his gray eyes flaring angrily as he pointed at Harry's neck—then he paused, stopped pacing, and faced the man lying on his bed. "The Weaselette gave you that, didn't she?" he accused, his face flushed with...something.

"Ahh. Yeah," Harry admitted. "So?"

"So...you know I hate reminders of...of her!" Draco snapped, gesticulating wildly. "Why'd you even come here? Are you just trying to brag about being with her?"

"Draco, it's not like that. You know I'd never—"

"Never what, Potter...fuck her?"

Sitting up, Harry sighed. "Well, no, that's not what I'm saying, but...you knew this was coming, Draco," he whispered. "You know I'm planning on marrying Ginny...just like you're going to marry Greengrass' little sister."

Draco groaned. "Don't remind me. Please."

"I'm sorry," Harry said quietly—and he was sorry.

Frustrated, Draco started pacing again—in hopes of controlling his fury—but ended up rounding on Harry. "So, you did fuck her then?" he demanded, his brow furrowing.

Frowning, Harry said, "Ginny and I...had sex, yes, but I wouldn't use the word—"

"Fuck you, Potter!" the blond snapped. "Just...fuck! Did you come here directly from bedding the little b-witch...to rub it in my face?"

"Of course not," Harry said, shaking his head vehemently. "Come on, Draco, I would never do that. You know I wouldn't just—"

"I know nothing of the sort!" Draco interrupted loudly.

The volume of Draco's voice visibly startled Harry—after all, they didn't want to get caught—causing him to frown. "Draco...shhh."

"Don't shush me, Potter!" the blond yelled, his voice almost shrill. "No one's going to hear us unless I want them to! And...I don't, of course," he added—quieter.

Scooting to the edge of Draco's oversized bed, Harry ran a hand through his own tousled hair and sighed again. "This happened days ago...after the Harpies won their match," he explained with obvious reluctance. "There was a celebration party and...well, it had just been Ginny's birthday a few days before, so I...we decided it was time to give it a go."

Draco snorted. "That was...fifteen days ago!" he said after ticking off the days on his fingers. "You blathered on about that bloody match two weeks ago! Why am I just now finding out about this? And, why the fuck is that mark still there, half a month later?" he screamed. "Have you ever heard of using magic to get rid of it?!"

This caused Harry to blush. "Well...um...George noticed it the morning after and...well...he sort of put a charm on it, so that it wouldn't go away until I saw her again. Ron was pretty much horrified and I've been hiding it from the rest of the Weasleys..."

Draco just glared at him.

"So, obviously it's still here," said Harry, jabbing at the offending mark, "because I haven't seen Gin and probably won't for a while. The Harpies are traveling," he rambled. "It has faded some though, I think, but...I'll have to start the Auror Training Program with the bloody thing, I guess, and—"

"Yeah. Well, you should have thought about that before letting that little...twit put her mouth on you!" Draco spat—then circled his bed and, in a very un-Malfoy-like manner, flung himself down on the other side.

Worried, Harry allowed his eyes to follow the other man—now lying flat on his back with an arm thrown over his face. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

Draco didn't answer.

"That was one of the reasons I wanted to come over tonight...to tell you. I wanted to talk to you about it in person...not through our mirrors."

"As if I want to hear about her!" the blond burst, then rolled to his side, turning his back on Harry and pulling a pillow over his head.

Sighing, Harry stood up. "Do you want me to leave, Draco?" he asked, terrified that the blond would tell him to go. "I'll understand if you do."

From under the pillow, Draco mumbled something that Harry couldn't quite catch.

"What was that?"

Abruptly sitting, Draco's gray eyes flashed. "NO!" he bellowed—then threw his pillow at Harry. "No, I don't want you to go. I'm just... I don't know what I am, Potter," he all but whined as he let himself fall back onto his bed again.

Shifting on his feet—and hugging Draco's pillow to his chest—Harry eyed the other man. "So...er...you'd like me to...stay? Even though I...did what I did?" Not knowing what to say, Harry stopped talking and waited for Draco to respond—and he did.

Nodding, Draco looked away—but not before Harry saw the tears shining in his eyes.

Tentatively, the dark-haired man moved forward, first kneeling on Draco's bed, then slowly crawling toward him. When he reached him he slumped onto the blond's chest and whispered, "I so sorry, Draco. I really didn't do this to hurt you."

"I know. It's all right, Potter...not your fault," he said quietly, then took a deep breath. "I'm just being stupid, I guess."

Harry snorted at this. "We both know you're not stupid. And...this is hard."

"Yeah."

For several minutes they both just lay there silently, Draco listening to Harry's breathing and Harry listening to Draco's heartbeat.

"What can I do?" Harry finally asked.

"You could push Weaselette off her broom and forget about her."

Harry chuckled at this—because, despite it all, he knew the blond was joking.

"Or better yet...you could Obliviate yourself and forget about her entirely."

"I'm not sure either of those things would go over very well with the Weasleys."

Draco gave an undignified snort. "As if I care about them!"

This made Harry grin too. Lifting his head, so he could see the blond's face, he said, "But you care about me?" he asked hopefully.

Rolling his eyes, Draco scoffed. "Absolutely not, Potter!"

Harry's grin only widened. "You do care! I knew you did even though you're an arse most of the time."

Draco laughed. "Yeah, I do," he admitted.

"What can I say...everybody loves me," Harry said, pushing a hand against his own chest and fluttering his eyelashes playfully. "Because I'm the Chosen One, you know."

Snorting, Draco slapped Harry on the head. "Don't push it, Potter!"

Staring down at the blond, eyes wide in mock offense, Harry said, "Did you just...hit me?"

Draco nodded. "Not the first time, nor will it be the last, I suspect."

"I think this calls for punishment," the dark-haired young man said—then started tickling the other man.

Shrieking, Draco struggled against the onslaught, finally managing to stay Harry's hands. "Enough!" he yelled. Then, when he got his breath back, he scowled. "You're evil, Potter. You know how ticklish I am and yet you do this to me anyway."

"Yeah, I do, and...you know how much I hate it when you call me by my last name," Harry countered.

Draco rolled his eyes. "I've always called you Potter...why should I stop now?"

"Oh, I don't know," Harry said with a shrug, "maybe because we're having sex!"

"Not right now, we're not," Draco argued.

Harry smiled. "But we're going to."

"How very presumptuous of you, Harry. Do you think all you have to do is just waltz in here and I'm going to fuck you silly?"

"Or...you could bend over and let me fuck you!"

Draco snorted. "Not likely!"

"Just another memory to add to daddy's Pensieve," Harry suggested.

"Nice try."

"Fine then," Harry capitulated as he started taking off his robe again, "but next time it's my turn."

Laughing, Draco helped him. "All right. Next time...whenever that might be."

Once Harry was divested of his robe, Draco struggled himself from his own, then pushed the dark-haired man to his back and started kissing him again; first his mouth, and then his chin, moving across his jaw to his neck again. And then, reaching the mark the Weaselette had made, Draco bit down on it hard—causing Harry to shudder violently and his eyes to fly open.

"Should we...ahh...talk about this first," Harry managed to ask, "before you tear my throat out, I mean?"

Teeth still firmly attached to Harry's neck, Draco shook his head—eliciting a groan from the man below him—then released him so he speak. "No. Just feeling the need to mark you too," he said, lowering his mouth and latching on again.

Moaning, Harry's eyes instantly rolled back into his head. "That feels...brilliant!" he said, strongly feeling the need to have the other man inside him. It was several minutes though, before the blond pulled back to admire his work.

"Perfect. Just wish I could spell it to stay there until she sees it," he complained, knowing he couldn't use his wand—because of his house arrest.

A bit dazed, Harry looked up at him with a loopy smile. "Do you want me to do it?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "No, thanks. Though the gesture is appreciated, you could just as easily remove it after you leave here."

"I wouldn't do that, Draco."

"Ever the Gryffindor."

"Are you going to fuck me silly or what, Malfoy?!"

"You must have patience, Potter."

Harry barked out a laugh. "Ahh...Gryffindor, as you said...we're not patient at all. Better find yourself a Hufflepuff if that's what you're looking for. I hear Zacharias Smith is still available."

Draco pulled a face. "Thanks, but...no. Not that prat!"

Laughing again, Harry cocked a brow. "Who then? Ernie?"

"As much as Macmillan turned out to be pretty okay...for a Hufflepuff, that is," Draco added, because he just had to get a cut in, "no!"

"Justin?" Harry pushed. "He's about the only one who has as much money as you do."

"Would you just shut it, Potter!"

"Would you just fuck me, Malfoy! Come on," Harry taunted, rutting his hard cock up against Draco's. "Let's get on with this."

For a second, Draco just stared down at the dark-haired man—then he maneuvered his knees between Harry's legs, spreading them wide so that he had room to work. "This what you want, Harry?" he asked as he pushed his erect cock at Harry's unprepared hole. "How brave are you, little lion? Shall I fuck you raw?"

Harry laughed again. "I'm not that brave," he said, his voice husky. Then, before the blond could comment again, Harry whispered his favorite wandless lubrication charm and waited for the other man to push into him. In a blink, Draco had breached the tight ring of muscle and was fully seated—but then he just stayed there, as still as can be.

"My patience is wearing thin, Malfoy," Harry panted after a few moments. He wiggled a bit and tried to push himself further onto the blond man's cock, but Draco, his arms around him, only squeezed him tighter. "What're you doing?" Harry finally asked.

"What the hell does it feel like I'm doing?"

"Um."

Pulling back, just enough to look down into Harry's eyes, Draco rocked his hips, watching as the man under him shivered with each tiny thrust. "If it's not clear to you, I'm holding you, Potter. It just...feels good," he said as he lowered his mouth to Harry's and kissed him. "Doesn't it?"

Harry nodded.

"Merlin, I've missed this," Draco said, drawing himself partially out of Harry's body, then pushing himself back in—over and over again.

"Me too," Harry managed, his body moving in sync with Draco's. "OH! Right there, Draco. Faster!"

Shaking his head, Draco kept the pace slow, apparently intent on tormenting the man he was fucking, stopping altogether every few minutes to kiss and caress him.

"Draco," Harry moaned. "You're killing me here."

But the blond didn't verbally respond—not right away. Their bodies, now shiny with a thin layer of sweat, were working together, both men grunting and groaning with each and every thrust and pull that repeatedly brought together and apart. It was a beautiful thing.

"How about here, Harry?" the blond asked as he angled himself just so and thrust in hard and fast.

"Oh, yes! Right there! YES!" Harry screamed, shuddering as he shot his essence between them. "Ohhhh."

This didn't slow Draco down in the least. As Harry came, covering them both, the blond continued to drive into him. In and out. In and out. Slamming against that spot inside Harry's body that made the dark-haired man's eyes roll back into his head in ecstasy. Over and over again.

And then it was like a dam was breaking and Draco too was shuddering, filling up Harry's tight cavern.

XxXxXxX

It really didn't seem like he'd been sleeping very long, but, when Draco cracked an eye open and noticed that the light of sun was blaring in through the window he'd left uncovered after Potter had arrived the night before, the blond knew it was late. And quite possibly very late. Usually, indirect sunlight wasn't enough to wake him, so he wondered why he was up—what had awakened him. And then he heard a rather loud rap on his door and knew.

"Draco?"

Draco groaned. It was his father.

"Draco," the man outside the room said more firmly. "Unlock this door...immediately."

"Shite!" he said with another groan. Turning, he gave the man sleeping next to him a poke—and a shove when Harry didn't move an inch—and then hissed, "Potter! Wake up. My father is knocking on the door and I can't let him in with your lounging about."

Though Draco knew Harry would have been content to ignore him, the dark-haired man rolled over and squinted up at him—he couldn't see a thing without his glasses, of course. But, other than that, Harry didn't move a muscle to get out of the bed. "Just hide me," he said, then pulled Draco's bedding over his head and tried to sink back into the mattress.

"No," Draco argued, his teeth clenched. "Get up! You have to go...at least into the bathroom. Or something." Draco's eyes looked from Harry to the door when he heard another impatient rap on it.

"Draco! Open this door!" came his father's muffled voice.

Frowning, Draco tried to yank the blankets off his bed companion, but Harry struggled to keep them over him. Managing to pull them away—if only briefly—the blond slapped Harry's bare arse, causing him to yelp before burying himself under them again. Finally, giving up, Draco sighed and arranged the blankets on top of the naked man. "You're such arse, Potter!" he snapped. "I swear, if I get into trouble for this, I'm going to—"

And then another rap sounded, interrupting him.

"Draconis Scorpius Lucius Abraxas..." Lucius could be heard, reciting Draco's full name from outside the room—which caused Harry to poke his head out and grin blindly up at Draco, mouthing the rest. "...Phelan Lucien Arnaud Maximus Malfoy," Harry finished, almost giggling. "I just love your uncommon name."

Draco grabbed a pillow and slammed it onto Harry's head, sending the dark-haired man back under the covers. "Prat!" he spat. Then sighing, Draco fluffed the rest of the bedding and stood up. Donning a robe—the one Harry had worn the night before, because he didn't see the one he'd been wearing—Draco scowled down at Harry's stupid grinning face and messy as bloody fuck hair. "Hide yourself," he commanded—then turned.

"Coming, Father," he called out as he hurried across the room. Before opening the door, he glanced back at his bed and, satisfied Potter was completely hidden again, faced the door and opened it. "Sorry. I was using the toilet," he lied.

Gliding into his son's suite, Lucius Malfoy looked around, as if he expected to find something nefarious going on—little did he know—then, finding nothing, he sniffed and wrinkled his nose. "It smells like a Quidditch locker room in here, Draco," the man complained and headed toward the windows. After throwing them all open, the older Malfoy turned and glanced around the room again. "And...this place is a mess! What have you been doing in here?!"

"Nothing, Father," Draco said innocently—or so he hoped. It was hard to keep a straight face; he wanted to laugh and say, Oh, nothing much, Father, just buggering Harry Potter senseless, but of course he couldn't say that, because his father would hit the roof. And, in the man's condition, that would probably be a very bad thing. Instead, Draco just stared back at him, wondering why his father was out of his own rooms. This was a rare thing; Lucid moments were very rare occurrences. "Is there something you needed, Father?" he asked after a moment.

Lucius' eyes narrowed, then quickly his brow smoothed. "You didn't come down to breakfast."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Or lunch."

"I was...tired, I guess."

"Are you ill, son?"

Draco shook his head. "No, Father, I'm fine. I promise."

"You need to eat."

Draco nodded. "I'll be down soon," he said, curious as to why, of all days, his father would be worried about his eating habits. Usually the older man didn't even bother to leave his own rooms, let alone worry about Draco.

Lucius' eyes then went to Draco's bed and narrowed again. "You really ought to take better care in here, Draco. It looks like you've had a wild night."

Blushing, and hoping his father didn't notice, Draco nodded again. "Yes, Father. I'll make my bed and straighten up, then come down...after I shower," he added, realizing that he probably reeked of sweat and sex.

This seemed to satisfy the older man. Giving his son a clipped nod, Lucius turned and walked out without another word. Sighing, Draco quickly relocked his door and turned a glare on the man in his bed—who was now peeking out and laughing.

"Yes, Father," Harry mimicked—and received another pillow to the head for his teasing.


End of third one-shot!

Post Script

This series of one-shots will eventually reach between 30 and 35 different entries. This is entry 3 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.