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Post-war Reconciliations

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It was growing. Becoming longer. Thicker.

"Can you believe it?"

"What?" Harry asked, the sudden panic knocking the breath out of his lungs.

Minister Shacklebolt smiled at him. The sounds of laughter and music blended together and Harry had to strain to hear Kingsley's words.

"Ten years!" Kingsley exclaimed; the wine in his glass sloshed over his wrist. Everyone was in a good mood tonight. "We've come a long way."

"Long. Yes." Harry nodded. It was nudging against his prostate, gently, but the pressure was persistent. Harry's ears were ringing.

"And we have you to thank for that." The Minister beamed at him. His eyes were misty and Harry would have wrestled the glass of wine from his hands, if only he dared to move. "Quite a turn out, don't you think?" Kingsley looked around, smiling at the guests. "It's a happy occasion. We used to celebrate those who had lost their lives, but now we celebrate those who survived." Kingsley frowned. "That should be in my speech. I think it is in my speech." He reached into his robe's front pocket, looking worried.

Harry closed his eyes briefly and shifted his weight. His dress robes were loose, but the trousers he wore underneath were too tight; his cock strained against the front. He felt as though he might burst. The toy buried deep inside his arse stopped growing, but Harry couldn't concentrate on anything except its presence. The feeling of fullness, the pressure against his prostate, the knowledge it didn't decide to grow on its own.

"I think it's time for you to give your speech, Minister," Harry said. He could hear the catch in his breath and hoped Kingsley wouldn't notice.

"Yes, yes." Kingsley nodded, searching through his side pockets now.

"Well, I'll just have some fresh air and return —"

Kingsley's hand shot out to grab Harry's shoulder. He pulled out a scroll from his pocket and waved it around, grinning. "I read the Quibbler, you know," Kingsley said, surprising Harry who thought the Minister wanted to discuss his speech. "I want you to know, Harry, and I speak for everyone — well, not everyone, but for quite a few people at the Ministry — who ever you decide to . . . whatever you decide to do, your happiness is the most important thing to us. Don't let needless secrets burden you." Kingsley sniffed a little and Harry patted his hand, gently removing it from his shoulder. He hoped Kingsley was referring to the article on Harry's love life and not the ones that suggested he planned to take over the Ministry with the aid of Cheering Charms and an army of animated turnips.

"Thank you, sir," he said, hoping the conversation was finally over.

Kingsley waved him off and unrolled his parchment. "Go, go," he said. "You're quite flushed. You had too much to drink, I imagine."

Harry forced a smile. He probably looked drunk. His cheeks were heated and even his lips felt warm and sensitive; he must have been biting them. He hoped that at least his glasses hid his eyes; his pupils must have been blown wide.

Walking was nearly impossible. He'd been hard for well over an hour, ever since he had arrived at the party. The pressure in his balls built slowly and no amount of concentration could push it back. The mere memory of being pressed forward over the sink, a firm hand on his hip, the other steadily pushing the toy inside him, made his whole body clench, muscles contracting around the intrusion he couldn't get rid of, couldn't stop thinking about. Perhaps the party won't be as boring as you seem to think, had been whispered in Harry's ear, and he remembered meeting Draco's eyes in the bathroom mirror. It's charmed, Draco had said, his grey eyes dark, only I can remove it. It sounded like a lie; Harry was sure he could Vanish it without the slightest effort. But he pushed the thought away and pretended he couldn’t. It would stay inside him until Draco decided to replace it with something else.

Harry pushed through the crowd and made his way to the balcony. He tried smiling and responding to greetings, but every step, every jolt, every brush of his cock against the fabric of his trousers — Merlin, why did forgoing underwear seem like a good idea? — twisted his face into a grimace. He kept his head down and didn't look up again until the cool night air hit his face.

A young couple flew apart as Harry stepped onto the balcony. They were standing next to the balustrade, their faces red.

"Sorry," Harry said and turned to leave. They were faster, however, hurrying past him and mumbling something about the beautiful view. Soon they were lost in the crowd.

Grateful for the solitude, Harry walked to the railing and pressed his palms to the stone. Ivy branches were twisted around the thick balusters and extended all the way down, covering the strong pillars that supported the balcony. The view below was beautiful. White butterfly bushes, which must have been charmed to blossom for the party, surrounded an oval fishpond; yellow lanterns lit up the stone pathways, all of them leading toward the neatly ordered park of ancient oaks, elms and black cherry trees. It looked peaceful, in high contrast to the noise in the ballroom.

The toy inside Harry twisted: it was a gentle twist, a light nudge against his prostate, but more than enough to shatter the moment, and every nerve in Harry's body was pulled taut again. His hands pressed tighter against the stone railing, then clenched, crushing ivy leaves as he leaned forward to support himself; his legs threatened not to hold his weight for much longer. Another tiny twist and Harry closed his eyes. He wanted to squirm. Squirm and clench and roll his hips. The pressure in his spine urged him to bend just a little more, to thrust backward and push out. Or pull in — anything — just to make the damn toy move, to make his cock brush against his trousers, to find some form of release and stop waiting for the tiny twitches to tease him into madness.

Harry thought of Draco back in the ballroom, likely sitting by the bar with a smirk as he flirted with the bartender, rolled his wand in his fingers and directed the charmed toy to move. Harry had said he'd be able wait, that he could handle it all night. Draco's laugh had tickled something in Harry chest, the irresistible high of a challenge he knew he'd win. But he was such a fool; this was torture. The fact the Draco had known he wouldn't make it through fired his self-control and kept his hands planted on the banister and not at his zipper just a little longer.

One more twitch and Harry's spine curved, air escaping his lungs in a low moan. He couldn't bear to even contemplate how he must have looked: Harry Potter, honoured guest, in his elegant dress robes and with almost-tamed hair, standing alone on the balcony, bent over the railing with his feet apart and arse thrust backward, struggling to stay still and quiet but failing on both accounts.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn't go back inside like this. Seeking a moment of solitude had been a mistake, he should have realised. His carefully maintained control slipped and he didn't know how to reclaim it. He needed release; he needed his mind to function again. A few strokes and the torture would end.

His mind made up, Harry's hand twitched, but it didn't get very far. His eyes flew open, panic welling up inside him when he saw his hands. The ivy twisted around his fingers, coiling around his wrists. With a sharp jerk, Harry tried to pull away but, instead of snapping, the branches came alive and slithered upward, like tiny leafy snakes, wrapping themselves around Harry's arms, wrinkling his sleeves and gripping him tight. They pulled him down, forced him to bend until his elbows hit the stone. The leaves rustled all the way to the ground.

Harry willed himself to calm down and fight magic with magic not to fight it with force. The ivy stopped pulling, stopped twisting, and he closed his eyes, imagining a wand in his hand, his magic pushing forward to snap the branches holding him captive. He focused on the ivy and then, with a mighty jerk, pulled back. A few branches snapped, a few loosened and let him straighten, but Harry's back hit against something solid and his concentration broke.

His arms were still trapped and his panic rose again. Arms wrapped themselves around his waist and quiet laughter echoed in his ear; he could feel warm breath tickle his skin. Harry's whole body relaxed; he all but collapsed in relief against the man standing behind him. His head fell backward to lean against Draco's shoulder and he laughed, his breathing still shaky.

"Idiot," Harry said through his laughter.

Draco's lips dragged against Harry's neck as he spoke. "What did you think? That the ivy had it in for you?"

"I heard this house belonged to an evil wizard once." Harry hummed as Draco pulled an earlobe into his mouth. He was still bound by ivy, but the tight press of the branches around his arms felt different now. Soothing rather than threatening.

"And you thought it lashed out by way of ivy because of your inherent goodness?"

"Obviously." Harry twisted his neck to look at Draco's eyes; they were as dark as they were the last time he saw them when they stared at Harry in the mirror. Harry hadn't been the only one on the edge this evening. Draco must have been thinking about Harry squirming with every step and every word he spoke at the party. He must have been watching, waiting for moments when he could twist his wand and tease Harry senseless. "I do seem to attract evil."

"I'd sooner say you inspire it." Draco's lips pressed against Harry's briefly. The simple contact ignited Harry's skin and he gasped.

“I am an inspiration to the wizarding world. The Quibbler said so.” He pushed back so that his arse rocked against Draco’s groin. They groaned in unison.

"Oh, and what else did the Quibbler say?" Draco’s hands were at Harry’s belt, his dress robe had already been unbuttoned. Harry really needed Draco to teach him that one, the sneaky bastard.

Harry drew in a sharp breath at the graze of Draco’s knuckles along the bulge to the left of his zipper. He clenched around the toy and it was almost enough. But knowing the tease was nearly over made him desperate to last. He curled his hands into fists around the ivy, pulling it taut. The sting staved off the inevitable a bit longer.

Draco mouthed along Harry’s neck, threatening to leave a mark with every gentle suck. It stirred Harry’s arousal higher, that Draco would mark him and send him back to mingle. How the whispers would travel like a wave, washing over the assembly, until every eye would flicker to him and know. Harry jerked away, but the ivy held him in place. Draco snickered into his shoulder.

"Door?" Harry tried to look back to see Draco’s face, but he’d angled himself out of view.


"Nothing too suspicious, I hope. I don’t want tonight’s entire security detail blasting onto the balcony, thinking I’ve been kidnapped."

"Potter, please." Draco kissed along his jaw. “A simple redirection charm: anyone who approaches will have the urgent need for stuffed mushroom caps and the buffet is well-stocked on the other side of the ballroom.”

"Clever. Now I think you were about to get this damn plug out of my arse and fuck me until I forget my name."

Draco swept Harry’s formal robes to the side and tugged Harry’s trousers past his hips. "I don’t think so. I think you were going to tell me about some article in the Quibbler."

"Draco," Harry whined. Draco’s hand snaked between Harry’s arse cheeks, applied the smallest pressure on the plug and changed the angle. Sparks of pleasure tingled through Harry’s body. He trembled and Draco’s arm wrapped across his chest, supporting him.

"Don’t tell me you forget giving that interview?"

"I –" Harry swallowed against his parched throat. Draco had read the article. They weren’t fooling each other here, but knowing he’d read it was entirely different from having a conversation about it. He needed to see Draco’s face. "At least call off the ivy."


Harry huffed. "The article was about post-war reconciliations."

"Was it?" Draco rubbed the toy again and it pulsed at Harry’s prostate.

"Well, it was to me," Harry said through clenched teeth.

Draco let his hand relax and just sit on top of Harry’s right arse cheek. It was a small mercy. Draco's touch seared his skin.

"Then Luna asked me about my own personal experience with reconciliation."

Draco’s finger traced idly on Harry’s buttock. "And you said?"

Harry could quote it easily – not everything he’d said that day, but what Luna and he had agreed for the paper. He was sure Draco knew it word for word as well:

Some people would be shocked with the choices I’ve made, the people I've chosen to love, but that doesn’t matter to me. Forgiveness is not a democracy. It’s a personal decision. I feel no need to share my private life, or ask anyone’s permission.

He didn’t name Draco. He hadn’t felt a need to. He and Draco weren’t a photo op. They were lovers, and they felt no shame in that.

Draco squeezed Harry’s arse. "Well?"

"I told Luna that I get off on being kidnapped, tied up and buggered blind by very bad men."

Draco’s laughter burst from his chest, rumbling at Harry’s back. "That you do." Draco dropped to his knees.

"Thank fuck," Harry muttered and Draco’s snicker tickled the back of Harry’s thigh.

Harry’s robe kept falling back and getting in the way, if Draco’s huffs were anything to go by. "I should have dealt with this before enchanting the ivy."

Harry pulled on the vines; the leaves tickled his wrists but the plant held strong. "You could release me."

Draco hummed and Harry felt the warmth of Draco’s magic. The vines began to move but they only tightened around his wrists. A new vine came out, wrapped around the hang of his robe and held it neatly to Harry’s side like a drawn curtain.

"That’ll do."

The chill air on his bare arse sent a shiver through Harry.

Draco kissed up the back of Harry’s thigh, nuzzling at the soft fold where the curve of his arse met the top of his leg. Harry shifted his weight, pushing back, silently begging for more. Draco pulled away.


Draco’s nose knocked the end of the plug and Harry hissed as it thickened, stretching his hole in a delicious burn.

"I lied about the door, Harry," Draco purred. "Instead of distracting people away, I charmed the doors to be windows to let sound pass through. People are already gathering to watch you bend over for me."

Harry flushed. His adrenaline spiked at the thought. It wasn’t true; one glance over his shoulder and he’d call Draco’s bluff. Instead, he bowed his head and leaned forward, bracing his tangled hands on the banister and imagining the picture he made. He gritted his teeth at Draco’s dark chuckle. It never stopped amusing Draco how an intensely private man loved the fantasy of exhibitionism.

If he concentrated, he could hear Kingsley’s speech and the scattered applause every couple of minutes while the Minister’s words dazzled the crowd. "We don’t have much time."

Draco hummed his assent and kitten-licked around the plug in an excruciating tease. Harry pushed back and groaned in relief when he felt the slow drag of Draco pulling the plug free. He winced at the awkward, empty feeling it left while he was still so close, so hard. He almost begged for it to be shoved back in, to be fucked hard and rough with the dammed plug. But he couldn’t, not with Draco’s cock as a viable option only a short distance away. He could feel his arse clenching and unclenching involuntarily.

Draco blew gently at Harry's hole and Harry scrambled for purchase against the rail. He blinked blindly at the fish pond below until Draco’s hot tongue swiped the twitching ring. Harry struggled to breathe, pushing back and thrusting his cock forward into nothing. “Fuck.”

Draco relentlessly circled the over-sensitised rim. Sweat dripped into Harry’s eyes and he tried to wipe his brow on his arm, which was still covered in ivy. He’d be a mess for his speech, if he made it all. At this point, he might die of frustration before he ever left the balcony.

There was another spattering of applause; Kingsley had to be nearly done.

Maybe Draco heard it too or he was reading Harry’s mind or he was just that big of a bastard – but he took that moment to thrust his tongue into Harry’s arse. It was too much and not nearly enough after being filled and desperate for so long.

"Fuck me, you prat."

"Thought you’d never ask." Draco stood, pressing close to Harry’s back so that his knuckles grazed Harry while he fumbled with his zip.

Draco pressed in; one deep thrust and he was fully seated, the lube and stretch from the plug barely enough. Harry tried to muffle his curses with his arm. Anyone in the garden below was surely getting an earful.

Draco was relentless, fucking with sharp snaps of his hips and a bruising grip on Harry’s waist. They’d both had too much teasing and Draco didn’t wait long to wrap his fingers around Harry’s cock. Harry arched, choking on a sob of relief. The pace was brutal, Draco’s fist flying on his cock as he pounded Harry’s arse. The orgasm crashed over him, sending his body into tremors as he was held fast, arms tangled in vines and pinned to the banister. At his back, Draco came, clutching at Harry in a needy, desperate way that only slipped through at times like this.

The thrum of the music in the ballroom pulled them through their haze. Music meant Kingsley was done and Harry was on in another ten minutes. Draco carefully pulled out and before Harry could adjust to the emptiness, the plastic nub was placed at his rim, but not pushed in.

Harry looked over his shoulder and nodded.

Draco grinned and awkwardly kissed the side of Harry’s mouth as he pushed in the – once again small – plug back into Harry’s arse. With a wave of Draco’s wand, the vine was gone, Harry's robe de-wrinkled and he suspected his hair was tamer than when he’d arrived. Harry bent to pull up his trousers and whimpered at the burn of the plug in his tender arse.

Draco laughed and tapped Harry’s buttocks, gentle enough to be an apology. "Go give your speech about post-war reconciliations, Auror Potter." He brushed his lips across Harry’s cheek. "Just don’t let anyone know I wrote it."