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Living with Harry Potter had its challenges. For one, he was a fucking slob. Getting him to do his laundry was a chore in and of itself, as he had a tendency to leave his dirty clothes strewn all over the place. Likely one of the reasons Ginevra divorced him in the first place.

Scowling, Draco bent to retrieve the sock under his foot. The one he’d nearly broken his neck over as it slid between said foot and the hardwood stair it was slung over. Bloody hell, it wasn’t even Potter’s sock! The pink cloth with white lace ruffles clearly belonged to little Lily.

And okay, they were both single fathers now, but Scorpius knew better than to leave a mess in the shared areas of their home. James, Albus, and Lily– hell, even Teddy –left their belongings everywhere, and it was no surprise where they’d learned such behaviour.

Clutching the sock in his fist, Draco descended the remainder of the stairs, working up to a rage as he searched the house for Harry. Teddy had taken the younger kids to the cinema, so that left their father as the sole recipient of his ire.

“Potter!” he called, poking his head into the empty kitchen. Next stop, the drawing room. “Potter! I need to talk to you.”

That was another challenge. The man didn’t listen to a word Draco said unless he was shouting it. And, even then, getting a response was like pulling teeth.

“Potter!”

A search of the entire house finally found Harry sprawled on the floor of the children’s playroom in the basement. Which was the biggest problem.

Living with an animagus was… interesting. Generally, it just meant hair in places it shouldn’t be and the occasional visit from the local police with reports of a dog barking. But laundry day presented a whole new problem. The large black dog napping on his daughter’s pink rug had next to no shame. He lay on his back with is front paws curled in above his chest and his back legs splayed wide, displaying himself to whoever happened to be looking.

Right now, since Harry was clearly asleep, Draco was looking. He swallowed thickly, his mouth dry and his head spinning as all of the blood drained to fill another part of his anatomy at the sight. He thought he knew what to expect when he and Harry decided to cohabitate. He expected to withstand a half-naked man wandering from the toilet to his bedroom, expected the scent of him to permeate everything, expected the lack of personal space that came with an affable-natured Gryffindor with three children. And he’d expected and considered his reaction to those things when deciding that, yes, he did need the benefit of another parent in the home. One with whom he’d had a decent relationship for years. One he respected and admired.

All of that was decided before he knew Harry was an animagus. That, when the mood struck him or he simply didn’t have clean clothes to wear, the man opted to wander the house as a handsome, shaggy dog rather than half nude. But, above all, Draco had no way of anticipating his reaction to that fact.

He’d feign disdain when faced with Harry’s muzzle on his knee while he was trying to work or read. He’d complain loudly of the mess he tracked in from the garden, or the resulting crash whenever his tail made exuberant contact with some breakable or another. Harry always changed back, chuckling as he waved his wand to clean the mess or repair the damage before shifting again and carrying on his way. But nothing else affected him the way this did.

Harry wriggled in his sleep, likely chasing a Snitch at dog level, and sent his distracting… package swaying with the movement. Draco cringed. He had to stop staring, it was entirely unseemly. And the attraction itself left an unsettling feeling in Draco’s stomach, like he was about to be caught doing something horribly wrong. It didn’t matter that Harry was a man, a wizard, not a dog. The allure of him in this form spoke volumes of just how fucked up Draco knew himself to be.

Determined to put an end to the feelings roiling in his gut, Draco levitated the sock he still held until it covered Harry’s exposed groin, cradling the bulge of his balls with a white lace crown. He felt a surge of self-righteous triumph when Harry gave a yowl, twisting his hairy body until he lay on one side and stared incredulously at the pink sock covering his… doghood.

Smirking, Draco crossed his arms and sneered down at the dog. “You missed a sock. Did you forget that you live in a house with several children?” he asked, drawing bright green eyes to him at last. “Cover yourself, would you?”

A twinkle of very human-like amusement crossed those eyes, and Harry yawned before snuffling at the sock, pulling it free to reveal the beginnings of an erection. Draco swallowed again as he lapped at the protruding glans of his cock slowly, pausing for a moment to resume his stare. When Draco didn’t move, his feet frozen to the spot in an odd mixture of arousal and fear, Harry hefted himself to his feet and padded closer.

“Po-Potter!” Draco stuttered, trying to push Harry’s muzzle away when it went immediately to his crotch, inhaling deeply and exhaling with a huff. “What the fuck are you– ahh!” His knees buckled as Harry gave the embarrassing hardness in his trousers one long lick, from root to tip, leaving a warm, wet sensation in his wake.

Try as he might, Draco couldn’t catch his balance. He stumbled forward, falling to one knee and bracing a hand on Harry’s dark shoulder, his fingers gripping the smooth hair almost instinctively. Harry gave another huff, this time a clear doggy version of a very masculine laugh, and Draco flushed, trying to rise to his feet. But massive paws landed firmly on his shoulders, hot breath panting against his face as Harry jumped up and tackled him to the floor.

“Damn it, Potter!” Draco cried. “Get off of me, you brute!”

But Harry wasn’t listening–as if he ever did. He was too busy nosing at the vee of Draco’s shirt, nuzzling his cold nose against the heated skin of his collarbone and licking beneath the material. Draco pushed at the hairy body fruitlessly, trying to wrestle the dog off of him when, suddenly, the hair was replaced by smooth, hot skin. The muzzle disappeared, only to be replaced by damp lips and a wet tongue, sucking a love bite into the pale skin of Draco’s throat.

“You think I don’t know how you look at me?” Harry accused, dragging his teeth over the bruise his mouth left. “Think I don’t see your eyes on my cock, Malfoy?”

“I-I don’t know what you’re– ah! I don’t know what you’re talking about, Potter.” Draco argued weakly, his voice cracking when Harry ground his hard cock against the soft fabric of his trousers.

Laundry day meant Harry didn’t have any clean clothes. It meant he lounged around the house in his animagus form, completely naked. This wasn’t the first time Draco had encountered him, but this was rapidly becoming the most interesting.

“Who would have thought, the great Draco Malfoy has the hots for a dog?” Harry sniggered in his ear, trailing his tongue around the shell and sending a shiver through Draco.

“You aren’t a dog,” he breathed. Taking a chance, one made relatively easy by his unique position, Draco bucked his hips up, rubbing his erection against Harry’s, and groaned low in his throat. “Are you going to mock me, Potter? Or are you going to do something with this information?”

Harry reared back, looking down at Draco with lust blown eyes and a slack jaw before he composed himself enough to smirk as, with a flick of his wrist, he vanished the clothing between them. The smirk became a grin as he lowered his head, and his head morphed into its previously boxy shape as he tongued Draco’s nipple, dragging a gasping moan from his throat.

“Fuck, yes!” Draco cried, tangling his hands in Harry’s mane and arching his back into the sensation of a rough tongue scraping his nerves raw. “Oh, gods!”

Harry huffed against his damp skin, then stood and snuffled a path down Draco’s chest, lapping at his belly and groin, breathing hotly against his aching hard-on before applying his long tongue to that, too. Draco whimpered, overwhelmed by the sensations rocking his system. The tongue, so much hotter than he expected, the silky hair draped over his sensitive flesh, the friction of taste buds scraping over his exposed glans and catching on his foreskin. He cried out, again and again, his hands twisting in that hair, his hips rising and falling instinctively.

Moving still lower, Harry sniffed along the crease where Draco’s leg met his crotch, pushing his way into the cleft behind with his nose and nudging his leg aside to better reach the twitching ring of muscle hidden there. Draco complied, already mindless with want, breathless with sensation. He hooked his elbow around his knee, drawing it up and away, and gasped when Harry swiped his tongue over that spot once, then again, the very tips of his teeth catching in the soft globes of his arse.

“Harry,” Draco pleaded, his head tossing from side to side of its own volition, his toes curling in empty air and carpet fibres as his hips worked tirelessly. “Oh fuck, Harry!”

And Harry kept lapping at him, rubbing the flesh raw in his enthusiasm to taste, to take. When it became to much, Draco tried to close his legs, to angle away from the heat of that mouth, but Harry followed the movement, digging his tongue as deep as it could reach until Draco lay on his belly, his knees bent and his arse pushing compulsively onto that tongue, gasping and panting with every breath.

And then it was gone, leaving Draco’s soaked skin prickling with sudden coldness as Harry trailed his tongue up his spine, over his shoulder blades to nuzzle the back of his neck. As he did, Draco felt the sharp point of Harry’s cock jabbing blindly against his arse cheek, heard the helpless whine in his ear. Mindlessly, he reached back, taking the slick cock between his fingers and angling his hips to guide it into place.

When the head was notched and Harry’s hips were pumping slowly, Draco braced his hands on either side, lifting himself to meet him and groaning when Harry slid home, effortlessly. The cock, slimmer than a human cock, felt huge inside him, the weight of Harry above him, the scent of dog around him, was intoxicating, and Draco pushed back into every snapping thrust, crying out as gowling gasps sounded in his ear.

The pressure building in his balls soon overtook him, and Draco screamed as his orgasm exploded behind his eyes, tensing his muscles as he shot his spunk on the pink and purple rug beneath him. But Harry kept pumping, his breathing becoming erratic and a whine building in his throat. Each thrust became shorter, deeper, until he was buried to the hilt and throbbing within Draco’s arse.

And then, unexpectedly, Harry’s cock seemed to swell, the base lodged just inside the clenching ring of muscles at the entrance of Draco’s arse, and he began whimpering in distress. The pressure was nearly unbearable, the burning stretch quickly becoming too much, but Draco drew a deep breath, then another, relaxing his muscles before turning to look at Harry over his shoulder.

“Hey, hey,” he soothed, reaching back to scratch at his ears. “It’s okay, just relax. It’ll be over soon.” Harry kept whimpering, dancing nervously as his body locked them together, each movement pulling painfully at the cock still sealed deep in Draco’s arse. “Fuck,” Draco hissed, subconsciously rolling his hips.

The pain was easing, giving way to pleasure and Draco's cock swelled with it as he threw his head back on a moan. Harry's spunk was filling him up, splashing against the walls of his arse and increasing the pressure. Desperate for relief, Draco's hand flew to his cock, gripping and pumping as Harry continued to dance in place, whimpering.

“Gods, yes,” Draco breathed. Harry licked nervously at his neck and ears, soothing the flushed skin. “Fuck, I'm going to come ag– ahhhh ! Harry!”

As his cock pulsed in his fist, Draco pitched forward, sliding free of Harry's cock and falling to the floor in a quivering heap. Harry followed, his shaggy hair fading into damp skin as he laid himself over Draco's back, panting into his hair.

“Oh fuck,” he murmured. “I'm so sorry Draco. I didn't know that would– shit, are you okay?”

Weakly, Draco nodded. “I-I'm fine, Potter,” he tried to snap, his shame returning as his orgasm subsided. Lifting his torso from the floor, he tried to push Harry off to stand, but he couldn't. “Let me up,” Draco insisted.

“What's wrong?” Harry asked, finally shifting so Draco could move. “I thought–”

“You thought?” Draco scoffed, searching the surrounding area for his clothes. “And what thought led to that, exactly?”

Spotting them, neatly folded on the child sized sofa against the far wall, Draco made his way to collect them, ignoring the pleasant ache in his arse and the not-so-subtle slide of Harry's spunk from his stretched hole. Taking his wand, he cast a scourgify, cutting the flow short just as the fluid began to trickle down his thigh.

“You wanted it, too,” Harry said, confused anger colouring his tone. “I fucking know you did, so don't treat me like I violated you somehow.”

Tugging his trousers into place, Draco ducked his head as he fastened them, his hands shaking with the knowledge. Glancing around, he winced as their location came back into focus. He'd just allowed Harry Potter, as a dog, to fuck him in their children's play room. Gods, he was sick.

“I know I did,” he answered at last, turning to face Harry. His friend. His roommate. For fuck’s sake, how was he supposed to go on like this? “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let it go that far. I realise that this changes our arrangement somewhat, so I'll find somewhere else for Scorpius and myself to-”

“What?” Harry interrupted, the colour draining from his face. He stood, stumbling a little, and moved toward Draco. “What the fuck are you talking about? You can't leave, Draco. This is your home.”

“Harry, please. I can't stay. Not after–”

“After what, Draco? You can't stay here because we shagged?”

That wasn't shagging, Harry! That was–”

“Hot? Fantastic? The sexiest fucking thing anyone has ever–”

Draco was shaking his head, horrified. “That was wrong, Harry!” he shouted, wishing Harry wasn't standing so close, naked and fuming. “Gods, I can't believe you let me–”

“Let you? God damn it, Draco! I wanted that as much as you did! You've been driving me fucking mad, the way you look at me. The way you smell when you're turned on!”

“No, no,” Draco cried, shaking his head fervently. “Wanting it doesn't make it okay!”

“What makes it not okay?” Harry demanded, giving Draco's shoulders a shake where he held them in place before him. “I wanted it. You wanted it. We're two consenting adults in the privacy of our home. What's wrong?”

“It's– fuck, I don't know Harry! It's wrong!”

“You–” Harry began, then shook his head. “You think it's wrong because I was a dog.” It wasn't a question, but Draco lowered his head in shame, avoiding Harry's eyes. “I'm not a dog, Draco. You said so yourself.”

“I know what I said,” Draco whispered, his eyes closed against the accusation in Harry's voice.

“Do you– do you only want me as a dog?” Harry asked tentatively. “My nose doesn't tell me what's happening when I'm not a dog.”

“No, I-I do,” Draco assured him, finally looking up into those vibrant eyes. “I just… I can't control myself when you're–”

Harry chuckled, lifting his hands to cup Draco's cheeks. “You could have fooled me. A bloody year and a half you made me wait.”

“I didn't–”

“You did, you git. And now you want to leave? Because I fucked you in my animagus form? You'd take Scorpius away from his best friends, split up our family because you're ashamed of something you don't have to be ashamed of?”

“Harry,” Draco began, desperate to get through to him but rapidly losing his will to argue. Harry wasn't ashamed.

“You know, I happen to know that this isn't as unheard of as you're making it out to be. Veelas and werewolves? Other animagi? Do you think it's never happened before?”

Draco frowned, then grimaced. “Thank you for that, Potter. Now I'm picturing McGonagall as a cat–”

Harry gave a bark of laughter, then bent and claimed Draco's lips, lightning quick. The texture of his tongue was different than it had been on his skin, and the flavour of him wasn't remotely dog-like, but Draco felt himself quiver. Felt anticipation coursing through his veins as Harry angled the kiss deeper and wrapped his arms around Draco's waist.

“Please don't go, Draco,” he pleaded, rubbing his nose along Draco's. “I don't want you to go. I don't want Scorpius to go. You two are my family, as much as the Weasleys are. As much as my children are. We don't have to do that again. Just, don't leave us.”

Draco sighed, pressing his forehead to Harry's. “We aren't going anywhere,” he promised. Then held his breath, wondering if he dare ask the question his mind was screaming. “B-but– Maybe we, er… maybe we could do that again?”

Harry pulled back, eyes searching his face, and Draco wanted the words back. But then he was grinning, his arms tightening around Draco's waist and a delighted laugh bubbling out of him.

“Thank fuck!” he laughed, lifting Draco off his feet and spinning him in tight circles.

When he stopped, he buried his face in the crook of Draco's neck, his lips closing around the flesh there and his hands lowering to cup his arse. Laughing nervously, Draco pushed him away.

“Not now, Potter! The washing machine must have stopped running by now, and the kids will be home soon.” Turning, he shot another scourgify at the carpet, washing away the evidence of his climax from Lily's rug, then cast an air purifying charm to clear the scent of sex from the room.

Laughing again, Harry dropped a kiss to Draco's temple, then bent to retrieve Lily's sock before heading toward the laundry room. Draco watched him go, his eyes glued on the flexing muscles of Harry's arse as he strode naked through the house. Their house.

Their home.

Draco smiled and set about tidying the playroom.