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Defiance At His Feet

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Draco stood still, with his eyes closed. There was ash settling on the lids. There was ash in his hair. There was ash in his lungs. He wouldn’t cough, though. He refused.

“Um. Sir?”

Draco nodded without opening his eyes. Then he raised his wand and cast a spell that swept the ashes up in a tornado. Only when they were gone from his eyelids did he look, and then he studied the way that the tornado had taken most of the walls with it.

“Um, sir? Do we have to file a report with the Ministry about this? I mean, of course we do, but—do we have to say that it was Auror Potter who did it?”

Draco turned in a slow circle. At one point, this had been a fairly nice two-floor house in Hogsmeade, not far from the path that led to Hogwarts. It had had stone walls, and tapestries on those walls, and a door encircled with enough ivy to choke a hippo, and a long dining room table encircled with chairs. Apparently the owner had liked entertaining.

Had liked, because the table and the chairs were gone. The ceiling was open in a crack that could have saved the owner the cost of a skylight. The stone was crazed with lightning bolts that reminded Draco of far too prominent a one on the head of the man who had done this. And the tapestries, some of the floor, the ivy, and the rest of the furniture had joined the table and the chairs as piles of blowing, drifting ash.

No volcano out of Pliny could have done a better job, really, Draco thought in a detached way.

“Do we have to say it was him?” repeated the trainee, almost hopping from foot to foot.

Draco turned his head. The spit in the trainee’s mouth must have dried up, because he did nothing but stare silently for the next minute or two. Then he gave a quiet whimper that made Draco smile. The other wizards who had come with him, who were not trainees, grew quiet and glanced at the walls.

“A report isn’t going to be enough this time,” Draco said, and watched the trainee have his mouth shut for him with a gesture from another of his crew’s wand when she caught Draco’s eye. “I’m going to take on Auror Potter’s punishment myself.”

“Yes, sir,” said the witch who had shut up the trainee, even though Draco rarely demanded the title of his crew. Draco nodded and swept past her, his wand moving in large flashes that would undo the cracks in the walls and lift what was simply overturned—not much—back into its proper place. Others would take care of the holes in the walls, would take care of the floor.

Draco had a Potter to take care of.


No one else would probably have found it easy to get through the wards around Potter’s place, but Draco had a unique combination of cleaning team experience and Dark Arts experience. He found the weaknesses in the wards that no one else would have sensed, little curlicues of power trapped near the bottoms of them, and undid them, and walked past.

Potter’s house was an unexpectedly small place with few of the beauties that belonged to wealth. But Draco, glancing around with his insides filled with the slow burning of rage, cared only that there were excellent places to hide.

Funny, in a way. He wouldn’t have expected any Auror to stuff his home with furniture that blocked the lines of sight, doors that could close so firmly, half-walls that dipped and came down in odd wave-like patterns. But maybe Potter liked to think he could relax at home, and this was his way of ensuring he did so.

He would pay the price tonight.

Draco had shed his robes that he wore when he worked with his crew. The only clothes he had now were brand-new, robes he had bought under an illusion and an assumed name and stripped the tags from. He surveyed the house and finally selected a place behind a heavy couch that came all the way down to the floor in the back. He sat there, on a rug that felt almost decadent, and folded his legs.

And waited.

And waited.

The waiting didn’t grow tedious. Draco had trained himself, and trained some of his crew, in ways to learn the art of patience. He breathed and watched small dust motes disturbed by his movements dance in the sunlight. He could have Vanished them, but Potter was exactly the sort of person who would notice the absence of dust.

Besides, by the time Potter came home from another exciting day of making people suffer and destroying property, they would have settled.

The slanting shadows through the windows attracted Draco’s attention, and he watched them for a time. Then he sought and found the subtle shimmer of the wards out the windows. He had repaired them from the inside, and not even an alert Potter would notice the slight displacement of the curlicues that Draco had replaced.

Draco was better.

The rage might have calmed down during the hours he waited, and if that was the case, then Draco would have left and come back another time. But it didn’t. Draco sat so still that only his heartbeat moved him, a slight rocking back and forth, and still the anger burned. The warmth pervaded all his limbs and his mind and kept them from being stiff, much more than the slight stretches he performed at regular intervals.

He lifted his head when the shadows began to die and he heard the sound of the key in the lock. Potter was coming back much earlier than expected. Someone on Draco’s crew might have warned him.

Then Draco dismissed the thought as it burned up like a curl of parchment in the flames. No. Draco had simply waited longer than he had expected; a glance at the heavy watch on his wrist showed that it was indeed after six. His crew was loyal. Potter was following his own routine.

Draco listened as the door opened, as Potter groaned and cast aside his cloak and boots, as he moved around the kitchen connected to the drawing room by a half-open door. Potter had no house-elves and did all the cooking and cleaning tasks himself.

Draco smiled slightly. Potter was going to get a lesson in cleaning tonight.

By the smell of it, Potter made some dish heavy with cheese and meat, and ate alone at his table and muttered at the Prophet in a muffled grumble. He washed the dishes, put them away, and walked into the drawing room with one hand rubbing at his eyes and his mouth open in a yawn.

Then Draco moved.


As he came around the corner of the couch, Potter was already turning, some instinct or training alerting him to what movement he needed to make. So he dodged Draco’s first spell, a Stunner, and perhaps that was for the best, given that Draco wanted him awake for what he was going to do.

Potter flinched back from a binding spell, and then cast his first one. Draco leaped over it easily and came down in a focused whip.

The binding spell this time caught only Potter’s wrist, but that still made his arm abruptly stick to his side and meant he would either have to pause to loosen himself or fight hampered. He chose to fight hampered, although he was gasping in air and staring at Draco with such wide eyes that Draco felt a stab of satisfaction anyway. “Malfoy?” he asked faintly.

Draco swept right, left, right. He used furniture to block a charm that would have blinded him and cast another binding one at Potter’s wand hand. Potter’s face hardened for the first time, and he snarled a curse Draco had never heard before.

The floor under Draco’s feet started to shake. Draco leaped easily to the couch he had hidden behind, to a chair, to another chair, and came at Potter with his feet knifing ahead of him. Potter made a startled noise and fell back out of the way.

He didn’t expect a physical attack, Draco thought as he stood again, light on his feet, and kicked to the side. A groan from Potter let Draco knew that he had hit his target, the side of Potter’s knee. Potter was limping now, one hand still bound, as he faced Draco’s next furious strike, and Draco wasn’t touched yet.

“Malfoy, what are you doing?”

Potter should have used his breath for casting instead of debating. Draco rushed in from the side, feigned a second kick at Potter’s knee, and watched with a thin smile as Potter dodged that—and straight into his next trap. Draco had wordlessly cast a net into the air behind Potter, and Potter cried out as it snared one of his feet and spilled him to the floor.

He didn’t stay down long, but that had winded him, and Draco cast another wordless charm that should go unnoticed for a time and hurt Potter’s breathing further. Potter backed up so that his spine pressed against the wall and stared at him warily.

“I still want to know why you’re doing this.”

Draco said nothing. He was watching Potter’s hand, which had finally come free of the binding spell and was creeping around to the side. If Draco wasn’t wrong, Potter would press it flat against the wall and then use that method to launch himself at Draco.

Draco wasn’t wrong.

Potter sprinted credibly even with his knee almost giving underneath him and the charm Draco had cast working in his chest to deprive his lungs of air. But he also shouted his spell aloud and pointed his wand in the exact direction that it came from, leaving Draco an easy chance to drop beneath the Stunner and stab Potter’s ankle with a foot as he went running by. Potter dropped heavily, nearly cracking his head on the leg of a chair.

Draco smiled as he listened to the wheezing begin. Maybe that would finally teach Potter a lesson about speaking in the midst of battle, although Draco didn’t think it would have a chance to stick right away.


Draco strolled towards Potter, whipping his wand around in his hand as if he was overconfident or thought the duel done with. Potter narrowed his eyes and cast wordlessly, as he should have all along. The bright blue glow that surrounded his wand for a second wouldn’t have been enough notice for almost anyone.

Draco was like no one else.

He performed the correct counter to the spell without ever stopping his movements. That made Potter’s eyes widen and his hand tremble for a second. Then he shook his head and muttered, “You still haven’t told me what this is about.”

“A house,” Draco said, stopping for a moment and watching the way that one of Potter’s feet pressed against the floor. “Mostly reduced to ash.”

“This is about property? What does that matter next to people?”

Draco’s lip trembled. He wanted to snarl. He wanted to get drawn into a debate. He did neither. “Perhaps you could think of the owner of that house as a person.”

“You’re utterly ridiculous, Malfoy. If anything, you should be grateful to me. I keep your elitist arse in business.”

Draco nearly rocked forwards, nearly ran. But he held himself back.

Potter didn’t.

He rose from the floor with a shout and tried to punch Draco in the diaphragm. If Draco had already been moving forwards the way Potter had tried to taunt him into doing, then he would have received the impact of that fist in the most vulnerable part of his body. But Draco had held back, and Potter’s punch fell short.

Draco cast an easy Tripping Jinx. By now, Potter was gasping with his mouth open, trying to find air. He stumbled where he never would have—well, most of the time he wouldn’t have, Draco hoped—and fell heavily, barely managing to roll and protect his head.

Draco had time to aim his wand and cast three spells in succession.

Potter stared up at him from the floor. He’d rolled onto his back, and had tried to rise only once before he recognized the steel clamps that curled around his ankles and wrists and held him to the floor. The other charm that Draco had cast had removed the one interfering with Potter’s breathing. Draco didn’t need him to suffocate when he should be paying for his crimes.

“What the fuck, Malfoy,” Potter whispered. He stopped for a second, as if surprised that Draco hadn’t Silenced him, too.

But Draco wanted him able to complain. Had decided that he was going to speak his piece, and see how utterly it failed to have any effect on Draco. He stepped forwards and smiled down at Potter.

“Your Auror training is adequate, I see.”

Potter’s upper lip trembled the way Draco’s had a minute ago. Then he shook his head. “Curse me with whatever you’re going to curse me with and then leave, Malfoy. And you’d better make sure to include a Memory Charm, or guess what my next stop is going to be.”

Potter was probably referring to his friendship with Minister Shacklebolt. Draco gave not a single fuck. But he had changed his mind on one particular aspect of Potter’s punishment, after watching the way his chest heaved under his torn shirt.

“You don’t care about anyone but yourself, Potter,” Draco told him pleasantly. “Nothing about the owners of the property you destroy, nothing about the people who could be hit by your fire spells or the flying rubble. I’m told that you’ve even charged ahead when the Dark wizards you’re pursuing have hostages.”

“You wouldn’t know anything about it, Malfoy. You’re clean-up.

“I’m going to make sure that we both benefit from the selfishness. You’re right, cursing you wouldn’t give me any benefit. And it would only make you worse than before, because you’d want to prove me wrong.”

Potter’s forehead was furrowed. “Then what are you going to…”

He stopped speaking as Draco reached up and undid the neat tie that he wore to work every day. It was a point of pride with him that he was so good at his work that the tie stayed clean no matter what he faced. Draco untied it with slow fingers, and saw the way Potter followed every movement with heated eyes.

Yes, this was almost simple.

Draco cast the tie aside, kicked off his boots, and smiled at Potter. “I’m going to make it good for you, Potter. And I can keep on making it good if I want to.” He let his breath linger over the word “want,” and saw how it made Potter’s eyes widen. “On the other hand, if you continue being careless with everything including your own life, you’ll never feel my hands again after this.”

Draco undid the clasp that held his robes shut, and leisurely worked his way down the buttons. Potter abruptly blurted, “You can’t seriously think that I’d stop capturing Dark wizards because you can fuck me into a haze, Malfoy.”

“I said nothing about stopping you from capturing Dark wizards.” The deep blue robes dropped straight down, and Draco stepped over them, aware of every muscle moving with exquisite precision under his skin, aware of how hungry Potter’s eyes were as they fastened on him. “I only want you to stop the property damage.”

“But I have to capture them that way to make sure they don’t have any chance of escaping.”

Potter’s voice was a dry mumble. Draco arched an eyebrow and took off his white silk shirt. Potter rattled the cuffs as he shifted for a glimpse of Draco’s bare chest. Draco permitted it for only a moment, then turned and folded the shirt on Potter’s couch.

“You don’t,” Draco said softly. “Draw on your Auror training and the spells I’m sure you know to keep them from escaping, or set up traps, but don’t just go in with curses falling from your lips and tell me it’s the only way.”

He dropped his hands to his plain linen trousers and waited.

“Well? Go on, Malfoy.” Potter stared up at him, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips.

“Why should I? If you’re not going to give me even the chance to convince you…” Draco drew out the word, and leaned over to glance at his shirt. He could put it on easily. It didn’t have as many buttons as the robes.

“I’ll think about it.”

“That was all I needed to hear,” Draco told him softly, and slid his trousers down his hips. Potter made an incoherent sound when he saw the outline of Draco’s cock against his slim pants, and his hips gave an aborted thrust into the air.

“Perhaps your bed?” Draco asked, and made his voice part of the evening shadows falling into the room, blended with the desire devouring Potter’s mind.

Potter stared up at him with motionless eyes and a motionless face, and Draco wondered for a moment if he would agree. Perhaps he valued his “independence” more than he did the chance for a good fuck after all.

Then Potter surrendered.


It was a beautiful thing to watch, and not one Draco had thought he would ever see. Potter’s eyes softened and almost seemed to glaze as if he had given himself to an Imperius Curse. He stopped struggling against the cuffs that bound him and sprawled under them instead. He smiled at Draco, and his hips gave that thrust again.

Draco found himself studying the bulge under Potter’s own robes, and the way that his eyes shone. He had planned for this evening to be full of pleasure anyway, but to have a Potter who was going along with this completely willingly instead of just to get fucked…

“Come on, Potter,” he said softly, and broke the cuffs with one flick of his wand.

Potter gave a little gasp-groan, and Draco glanced at him in surprise. Potter licked his lips as he sat up, his gaze darting between Draco’s face and his groin. “To use the spell so that you can break both sets of cuffs at once like that is just—rare.”

It was, but Draco hadn’t expected Potter to appreciate that fact. Thinking about it, though, he supposed he had no reason not to think Potter was educated. He had a brain when he chose to use it.

Draco helped Potter off the floor with a single tug on his arm, but placed both their arms across Potter’s chest when he tried to kiss him. “Not until we’re in the bedroom and you’re flat on your back.”

“You like me flat on my back, don’t you?”


Potter started in turn, evidently not expecting that honesty, either. He swallowed and whispered, “You can have me.”

Draco gently tugged a pliant Potter into his bedroom, a room he had explored earlier when picking out the best place to hide. He had rejected it in the end because the bed was on a little platform, up off the floor, and didn’t have curtains or long sheets either. But now it seemed to shine as Potter turned them around and sat himself down on it, before reaching for the buttons of his robes.

Draco stopped him again. “I want to do that,” he whispered.

Potter’s throat bobbed. He nodded and let his hands fall.

Draco undid the buttons with a slow hand, not magic, the same way he had opened his own. He looked into Potter’s eyes the entire time, despite the fact that the robes were revealing bare skin and toned muscle underneath them. Potter was already squirming, one hand shifting into his lap.

Draco drew back. Potter glared. “What the hell, Malfoy?”

“Anticipation makes it better,” Draco whispered, and held still until Potter nodded and returned his hand to his side. Then Draco leaned in and kissed him on the lips for the first time, and Potter gasped soundlessly under the touch of his mouth.

Potter’s mouth was hot and eager and begging, and if Draco had known that this was waiting under the façade of complete bravado and swagger that Potter liked to project—if he had known that Potter might want to surrender with the right person—

He didn’t know what he would have done. But he knew what he wanted to do right now.

He eased Potter back on the bed, and Potter went, his hands still at his sides, not even rising to clutch at Draco. Draco shuddered and crawled on top of Potter before he thought about it, then had to roll awkwardly to the side to undress him.

Potter didn’t seem to find it awkward, though. He was smiling, his eyes widening and softly darkening. Then he leaned up for another kiss, and Draco almost got distracted from removing Potter’s robes again.

When he finally got them undone, Draco threw them on the floor where they would be out of the way, and then yanked off Potter’s pants. Potter sucked in a startled breath. But his cock was rising even further, and Draco didn’t think he really minded.

“Potter,” Draco started, glancing at Potter’s flat stomach and his collection of scars and the way he writhed with suppressed excitement, not sure which one was most interesting.

“Call me Harry.”

Draco stared at him. He could have said lots of things, but none of them sounded right. He nodded. “Harry. I’m going to fuck you.”

Yes. That’s what I want.”

And Harry surrendered even more, leaning his head back and closing his eyes so that his throat was bared to Draco in a single tense column.

Draco bit it, because he couldn’t help himself. Then he yanked off his own pants and reached for his wand.

Harry trembled a little as the spells hit him, cleansing and opening him. Draco had thought of going slowly, given his own words about anticipation, but he had a different way to make the appeal of that demand obvious. He slicked his own cock with a third charm, and then slid inside Harry as Harry gasped and shivered.

And Draco didn’t move.

Harry popped open an impatient eye and gave his arse a little wriggle, but he had a huge bed and Draco could easily shift backwards a little. That went on until Harry hissed between his teeth, “Fine. I told you I wanted to be fucked, and you did everything except the actual –ed part, what does it take, Malfoy?”


“Draco. Move the fuck on.”

Draco raised his eyebrows and rocked slowly. Even that slight motion was enough to make Harry suck in a deep breath and bare his throat again. Draco ran a light hand over his skin, and moved his hips once more.

Harry surged up to meet him, letting out a blissful cry. Draco moved more and more slowly, and Harry drove himself backwards to coax out some slight hint of movement. By now he was all one flush from his face down his chest and to his cock.

Draco stopped again.

Fuck, Draco!”

“Are you going to charge into a dangerous situation with a Dark wizard and cast spells that reduce most of the furniture to ash and blast holes in the walls again?”

“H-how are you even talking in complete sentences?”

“I’m not putting forth much exertion here,” Draco said, and watched Harry’s flush deepen. “Will you?”

“If that’s what I have to do!”

Draco nodded and sighed. Then he withdrew fully from Harry’s arse and turned towards the door. He picked up his wand on the way, and looked around to make sure that he hadn’t dropped any of his clothes on the floor in the bedroom. He shrugged a little when he saw the pants. As far as he was concerned, they could stay there. It wasn’t as though he didn’t have other pairs.

Malfoy! Get back here and finish what you started!”

Draco turned around and smiled at the sight that met him. “Why should I? You appear to have matters well in hand.”

Harry dropped flat on his back and said, “If I promise to think about it, are you going to come back here?”

Draco strode in a leisurely fashion back across the room. Honestly, it would have been difficult for him to follow through on his intention. Harry was panting and wriggling and so eager. Draco slid back inside.

This time, he really allowed himself to feel the heat inside Harry, and let it mingle with the anger that still drove him. He closed his eyes and angled his hips just right, and Harry shouted and reached up to try and clutch at Draco’s arms.

“Yes, I thought so,” Draco said, and immediately began to move faster, shoving himself against Harry’s prostate with every motion. Harry’s eyes were rolling back in his head, his body trembling with satisfaction. Draco reached down and fucked him as fast as he could, while reaching towards his wand.

Harry was making nonsense noises now, in a way which might be simply fractured English or might be Parseltongue. Draco held his wand ready, and noticed how Harry’s pace was quickening, his mouth widening with pleasure, his eyes dilating.

Draco stopped.

Harry stared at him, and then drove himself downwards. His face contorted with pleasure, in the moment before Draco cast the charm that stopped him from coming.


“You have to promise to do more than think about it.”

“How are you still on about this?” Harry’s voice was louder than the noise he made as he rammed his clenched fists into the bed.

“I still remember where and what I am. And why I decided I wanted to fuck you in the first place.”

Harry closed his eyes and reached out to stroke himself. Draco watched and admired the sight, because he could, before he said, “That won’t help.”

Harry opened his eyes. “Fuck you.”

“Not something either of us want, Harry, if we’re honest. And if you think about it, which do you want: to dash around acting like a fool, or to come?”

“If I don’t promise this…”

“I never fuck you again. And you don’t come for the next month.”

Harry Potter had an impressive glare when he wanted to. Draco had an impressive stamina. He shifted around a little and watched pleasure course through Harry’s body as he reminded him of what he was missing.

“You th-think that’s enough to get me to change my behavior?”

“Well. Yes.”

Harry swore at him. He tried shoving himself backwards onto Draco’s cock again, which did bring him pleasure, but not of the kind he was seeking. He tried wanking. He tried yelling all sorts of curses about telling Shacklebolt what Draco had done. Draco watched, because it was an interesting show, and all he had to do to bring it a halt was move his hips a little.

Harry finally let his head fall back, and whispered, “Fine.”

“What was that?”

“A bloody promise, okay? I’ll try to do better! I don’t always know what I’m going to do until I do it, but I’ll do better! Now, fuck me!”

“Oh, I think I can do that,” Draco said, and then he removed the charm and started to move again. This time, he didn’t just use speed. He let himself into the motions, let his own eyes warm and his façade fall apart.

Harry gasped, rapidly rising back to the edge again. Draco lowered his head and kissed him, his tongue darting out in motions that went opposite to the motions of his cock inside Harry.

Then Draco held himself still, through the brutal delight of holding his own pleasure at bay, and watched Harry come.

It was everything he had wanted. Harry shook himself apart under Draco, his lips parting in another series of what might be Parseltongue hisses, his hands clawing for a moment and falling open, his skin glistening with sweat and then come. His throat showed that tense arch again, and then even that was gone and his head was rolling to the side and his eyes rolling back in it.

Draco kissed him once more on the side of the cheek and then truly let himself go.

It was a shattering fall, white swirls of light traveling past his eyes which were locked on Harry’s shining ones, and God, he felt good. More than good, when he thought about who he was in bed with, and inside, and potentially lovers with.

Of course, Draco thought, as he let himself fall in another way and dropped down next to Harry, there’s always the chance that he might backtrack on his promise, and I might have to do this again.

He stretched languidly under the pressure of that thought, and ran his hand down Harry’s face again. Harry turned towards him, eyes half-lidded. “This isn’t the part where I confess that I was always secretly in love with you, if you were wondering,” he mumbled.

“Oh, I know,” Draco said. “But it is the part where I confess that I rather liked this, and I’d like to do it again.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “But if I don’t mess up any other houses…”

“This could be incentive to not do it again. It could be incentive to do things right. You choose.”

“I choose both of them. All of them. Just anything that will let me keep you.” Harry flung one arm over Draco’s chest.

Draco kissed him and gestured lazily with his wand at the door of the bedroom, which shut. Then he pressed closer to Harry and shut his eyes.

“Um, Draco?”


“You’re clean-up, so you probably know some good charms to get rid of, you know—”

“I planned on remaining inside you for most of the night,” Draco said calmly, “so there will be less mess than you might imagine.”

Harry groaned shakily into his ear, and then murmured, “Any chance that I could convince you to make less mess right now?”

“Unlike you, I dealt with the aftermath of property damage, fought a brilliant duel, and fucked you senseless today. You’ll have to wait.”

“How long?”

“Longer if you keep asking.”

Harry took the hint, and shut up. But his hand crept up to Draco’s shoulder and closed with a tightness that told Draco this could be more than fucking, more than incentive, at least if both of them made the right choices.

Draco smiled into the darkness, and pressed closer, to get the sleep he’d needed, so that he could keep his own promises. He had a Harry to take care of.

The End.