Draco had a dream.
In his dream, he was lying in bed with Potter after they’d untangled after another fantastic shag. He had looked Potter in the eyes and told him he loved him.
Draco had woken up screaming in horror. It had not been one of his best mornings – Nott attempted to jump into bed with him again – and just as he suspected, the day didn’t fare any better.
At breakfast, he found out that his parents had agreed to chaperone at the ball tonight. Mother waved at him from her spot at the faculty table, while father stared at him as if he’d like nothing more than to Obliviate the thought of Draco and Potter together out of his mind.
That wasn’t likely to happen once the owls began arriving with their mails. The Daily Prophet was delivered, and then all eyes were on him.
His mother was smiling sweetly and holding up the newspaper, while his father turned an alarming shade of red as he choked on a piece of bacon.
Feeling a sense of foreboding, Draco picked up the newspaper. On the front page was a picture of him and Potter embracing yesterday at Hogsmeade, taken by Colin Creevey. Draco was not amused at how he appeared in the picture. The rumpled hair was not an appropriate look to don in public! He would’ve hexed Creevey if he wasn’t so riveted by the article next to the photo.
The headline read Harry Potter Speaks Out About His Relationship With The Son Of An Ex-Death Eater, and underneath was an extensive dedication to the merits of Harry Potter blah blah blah but underneath that was a short snippet of how he and Potter got together. Most importantly, and this was the part that made him feel both horrified (when he told Potter to fix it, he did not meanthis) and charmed, they quoted Potter saying, “I love Draco Malfoy, and I will not hesitate to ruin anyone who dares to lay a hand on him.”
All of the sudden, his dream came rushing back – of Potter gazing at him, of Draco whispering I love you – and Draco jumped up to his feet, panicked.
“No I don’t!” Draco cried, startling those who had yet to stop staring at him. At that moment the double door opened and Potter walked in, pausing in mid step when he realized people were staring at him and Draco.
Draco didn’t know what he was going to do, feeling suddenly and inexplicably shy, but Potter decided for him. The man scanned the Great Hall until his eyes fell on the Slytherin table, and with purposeful strides he walked toward Draco and past him.
Draco turned around just in time to find that Potter had grabbed Nott and pinned him to the table. Potter made a fearsome sight, looming over Nott, his teeth bare, eyes like lightning. Draco swallowed, feeling his cock stir in his pants.
“If you ever try to touch Draco ever again, I will personally make sure you suffer long and hard for the rest of your short-lived, pathetic life. Do you understand me?” Potter snarled. Draco was mesmerized at the way Nott cowered under him, practically quaking in fear.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Draco saw Pansy smirking knowingly.
“Pansy, did you have anything to do with this?” Draco murmured inconspicuously.
Pansy gave him a look through her thick lashes and her smirk widened. “I got sick of listening to you shrieking every morning for him to get out. A girl needs her beauty sleep, you know.”
Draco didn’t have time to reply to her. Potter caught his attention again when he shook Nott and growled, “Do. You. Get. It?”
Nott nodded vigorously. If his neck moved any faster, Draco feared it was going to break.
When Potter was satisfied by Nott’s sincerity, he let go of him with a sneer and turned to Draco, smiling like he'd just seen the sun for the first time in ages. Draco was actually nervous at how quick Potter’s expression went from I’m-a-badass to I'm-an-innocent-young-teenager-in-love.
“Hey, Draco,” Potter said softly, gazing at him with adoration apparent in his eyes. The way he looked at Draco never failed to make him weak in the knees. “You want to eat breakfast together?”
The way the sunlight sneaked through the windows reminded Draco of the Potter in his dream, naked, with the golden light making him look like something from a fairytale book.
Mortified at his thoughts, Draco turned and fled.
Draco stared at himself in the mirror. The black body suit was making it really hot and difficult to breathe. But he had to admit, he did look incredible, even without all the gushing compliments his mirror was dishing out. The black material clung to his body in all the right places, accentuating his trimmed waist, his compact chest, abdomen, and legs that went on as if forever. There was no way anyone was going to be able to resist him now, especially not after they saw his arse.
Blaise burst into his room, looking dashing in his Prince Charming suit. “Draco, you bloody ponce, are you done – oh holy shit!”
Draco smirked, doing a one eighty for Blaise.
“You’re… in a cat suit,” Blaise said faintly.
“Be rendered speechless by my looks, Zabini, for I am that hot,” Draco said smugly.
Blaise raised an eyebrow at him. “You do realize your outfit leaves very little to the imagination, don’t you?”
Draco cackled. “Don’t be jealous, Blaise, it’s very unbecoming. Now let us grace the world with our dazzling presence!”
Blaise just gave him a look before holding the door for him. Draco met up with Pansy, dressed as one of the Weird Sisters. She raised an eyebrow at him and smiled secretly. He didn’t have time for secretive smiles. He was already one hour late, the perfect time to make an impressionable entrance. Best not to deprive the world of his wondrous company for any longer.
The party was on full blast by the time Draco got to the graveyard near the lake. The decorations were epic. The ghosts looked even more bloody and frightening than usual, having taken to chase after first years screeching for their souls. Peeves was there, raising havoc as always, though his tricks had more humor in them than malice. Draco wasn’t surprised; Peeves had always loved Halloween. It was the one time people could feel safe having him throw things at them without fearing for the loss of body parts or of dropping to the floor in a dead faint.
Draco had agreed to meet up with Potter at the graveyard, He was feeling strangely uncomfortable about seeing him tonight. There was something about that silly dream that haunted him, making his heart flutter and his chest tight. Draco didn’t know what that meant, exactly, and it unnerved him.
“Malfoy!” Granger called, running after him. Pansy eyed her with distaste; Granger had come as the other Weird Sister. Draco felt like something was going to go down tonight, and it wasn’t going to be pretty.
“What, Granger?” Draco asked exasperatedly. He didn’t have time to deal with her, and he didn’t particularly want to either, especially after she tied Potter up and made him say silly things.
“Harry’s waiting for you behind the willow tree,” Granger said breathlessly, and then paused. “You look hot. And inappropriate.”
Draco smirked. “Of course I look hot, now if you excuse me.”
Draco left his friends to find Potter, walking past a Weasley dressed as a Quidditch player from the Chudley Cannons. He gave Draco a grin and two thumbs-up. Draco returned it with a sneer, and moved onward, passing quite a few eccentric costumes before he was waylaid by his parents, appearing to be the undead bride and groom.
“Draco,” his mother exclaimed, “You look just absolutely stunning. I dressed up as a cat once for Halloween, remember that night, Lucius love?”
The way his mother said ‘that night’ made Draco shudder violently. “What do you want, mother?” He said hastily before his father could reply.
“Well, your father has something to say to you,” his mother said, giving father an encouraging nudge.
Lucius looked as if he had swallowed a rather large fruit and was having difficulty dislodging it far enough to speak.
“Lucius,” Narcissa said softly.
Lucius cleared his throat. “Draco, I would like to extend my approval to your choice of… love partner.”
Draco stared at him as if he was missing a head. “What?”
Lucius looked distinctly uncomfortable in his bloody, white suit. “I figure, anyone who can instill fear so early in the morning can’t be as bad as I imagine, even if that person is Potter. So, let’s just leave it at that.” And we shall never speak of it ever again, Lucius implied in his meaningful look.
“Okay…” Draco said slowly, still a little blind-sided by his father’s easy approval. He suspected mother’s involvement, but she was beaming so happily that he didn’t have the heart to ask. Besides, what he didn’t know didn’t hurt him, especially when it concerned his mother. The woman was a fearsome character in her own right, despite appearing so willowy and genteel. He had heard stories, after all.
They waved him off, and Draco continued on his path littered with human shrieking skulls until he found the willow tree, off in a dark corner by the lake, away from all the noises and people. It was lit by floating jack-o-lanterns, the dim light casting eerie shadows on the tree and lighting the lake in a soft glow.
When he saw Potter, Draco’s jaw dropped.
“Hey,” Potter said, grinning when he saw Draco.
“Oh for the love of all things frightful please tell me I’m dreaming,” Draco said faintly.
Potter was wearing nothing.
Alright, so he wasn’t wearing nothing, but he might as well be. The only thing Potter had on was a cut out cartboard painted as the sun on the top of his head and very tight, very shiny golden pants.Short golden pants.
“What are you wearing?” Draco exclaimed, trying to ignore the way his body was reacting to Potter’s skin, his muscled flesh, and the very distinct outline of his impressive cock.
“Take a guess,” Potter said, spreading out his arms and smiling broadly.
Draco eyed him critically. “Oh bloody hell,” he groaned, realization dawning. “Don’t tell me…”
“I’m the Golden Boy,” Harry said, bursting out in laughter.
“That is so cliché I don’t even know where to start.”
“Ron came up with it,” Harry said, shrugging. He eased off the tree and came toward him. “By the way, you look insanely sexy.”
Potter tugged at his furry ear, leaning close until Draco could feel his breath on his skin. “I especially like the cat ears.” Potter’s hands slid around his waist and down to his arse. “And the tail.”
Draco involuntarily shivered at Potter’s lovely low voice, raising his arms to grab a hold of Potter’s arms.
“I thought you might,” Draco said, affecting nonchalance. “So, why are we here and not dancing to the horrid screeching they claim to be music?”
“Because I didn’t want to share you tonight,” Potter said quietly. “Especially not after seeing you in this.”
Draco bit back a groan. “Possessive much, Potter?”
Harry grinned. “You betcha.” Planting a sloppy kiss on Draco’s lips, he added, “So when will you start calling me Harry? After all the nightly shagging, I’d think it’s about time.”
“Hmpph,” Draco said vaguely, his eyes falling to the bottle of wine and the basket of food spread on top of a picnic blanket. The thought of calling Potter Harry made him feel as if he was stepping across a line his heart wasn’t prepared for. It felt… scary.
“Come on,” Harry said, tugging Draco’s hand toward the laid out picnic. “I got your favorite food.”
Over the past two weeks Potter had demonstrated how knowledgeable he was about Draco’s habits and preferences. Draco found this slightly disturbing and flattering all at once. Potter clearly had stalking tendencies if he knew Draco liked to eat toast on odd days and yogurt on even days for breakfast, and that Draco spent every Friday night in the Prefect bathroom for two hours for an extensive personal grooming session. But then again, as Pansy pointed out during what she dubbed ‘bonding time’, Draco apparently obsessed over Potter as much in return. But truly, who could not notice Potter had an annoying habit of gnawing the tip of his quilt while he took notes, or that he had a little dimple on his left cheek whenever he let out one of those rare, half-smiles. Really, everyone must have noticed how Potter always picked out the onions in his food and sneaked a piece of treacle tart out of the Great Hall every time they had it for dinner.
“Your parents talked to me today,” Potter said as he opened the bottle of wine and poured them both a glass. Draco recognized the brand and wondered if his parents had anything to do with Potter’s choice.
“What for?” Draco asked, still ambivalent on his feelings regarding his parents’ easy acceptance of Potter’s presence in their lives, especially when not over a year ago they were standing on the battlefield shooting sparks and dead set on killing one another.
“They wanted to invite me over for the holidays,” Potter said casually, setting out the food. Draco choked on his wine.
“Draco!” Harry exclaimed, patting his back. “You okay?”
Draco waved him away. “Fine,” he wheezed. “Do you want to?”
Potter gave him a meaningful look that Draco didn’t quite understand. “Do you want me to?”
Yes. “Considering how mother takes it personally when people say no to her, I’d say it would be in your personal wellbeing to accept their invitation,” Draco answered. Beating around the bush was his forte, and he was on a roll tonight.
Potter’s gaze was unnerving. Draco looked away. “I like crème brulee,” he stated when he saw what Potter had placed in front of him.
“I know,” he said simply, handing Draco a spoon.
Silence fell upon them. In the distance, music played as if through a window. From ghoulies and ghosties and long-legged beasties, and things that go bump in the night, Mad Morgane mourn us! The latest song from the Weird Sisters echoed, miserable like a funeral parade.
Draco was content to sit and watch the shifting shadows danced in the airborne lights. There was a beauty in this frightfully decorated night that Draco appreciated, regardless of the bloody ghosts breezing past them now and then, whining for lost lives. Draco had to give it to them, they certainly knew how to play the parts of pitiful and pathetic.
When Draco turned back to Potter, bored by the prancing ghosts, his heart almost stopped.
Potter was licking the whipped cream off his fingers. Whipped cream off his fingers. When Potter flicked his eyes toward Draco, green and dark and seductive, Draco could have sworn he felt Potter’s tongue on his skin. His cock was instantly at attention.
“Draco… are you okay?” Potter asked, eyeing Draco nervously. “You’re looking at me sort of… hungrily.”
Draco didn’t even bother to reply. He pounced.
“Eep!” Potter squealed, falling backward with Draco on top of him, kissing him as if he would love nothing more than to eat Potter alive. Potter’s skin was feverish under his needy fingers, and his mouth was as wonderfully hot.
“Fucking suit –“ Potter groaned in frustration while Draco ran his hands down Potter’s chest to grab his cock through the stretchy pants. “Oh bloody hell get it off–“
Draco growled and sat up. With a wave of his wand, the suit vanished, leaving him gloriously naked. Potter stared at him, eyes shining with heat and admiration. Draco would never know how gorgeous he looked in Potter’s eyes, straddling him, his body illuminated by lights and shadows, cock red and hard, balls pressed again his abdomen. The places that they touched were electric.
In a heartbeat Potter had Draco on his back, mouth set on ravishing him. Draco twisted his hands in Potter’s hair, impatiently pulling the stupid headband off his head. He wrapped his legs around Potter’s waist, urgently trying to get some friction on his throbbing cock, but Potter pushed him down, forcing him to stay still. Draco glared at him, hating the fact that his attempt to derive some pleasure was thwarted by the very source that got him so fucking aroused in the first place.
“No,” Potter growled. “Not yet.”
Draco couldn’t believe it, he whimpered. There was a wildness to Potter’s expression, as if it was causing him physically pain to hold back. Draco didn’t want him to, he wanted Potter to lose control and fuck him already.
Draco wrapped his hand around Potter’s cock, arching up and meeting Potter’s heated gaze with one of his own. “Fuck me,” he snarled, biting Potter’s lower lip. “Stop being a bloody Gryffindor and fucking do it!”
Potter moaned, loud and desperate. He took Draco’s words to heart and the next time he touched Draco, it was rough, hard, fingers digging into flesh and body pressing hard against body. Draco couldn’t get enough of the feel of Potter, all smooth skin and lean muscles, couldn’t get enough of the sight of him, lost in the passion, blinded by his need. And all for him. His heart was ready to burst at the thought.
And then Potter took him into his mouth, effectively shutting down his brain function and leaving a clear path for pleasure to take over. Potter looked so hot, with his mouth around Draco’s cock, sucking as if he was made for it. Draco spread his legs and thrust his hips up to meet Potter’s downward motion, twitching violently when Potter squeezed his balls and moved lower.
He heard a whispered incantation, and then there it was, the slick slide of Potter’s fingers against his opening, seeking entrance.
“Hold up your legs, Draco,” Potter commanded, and it was the way he said it, no-nonsense and dominating, that got Draco to pull his legs up to his chest, exposing himself to Potter.
Draco closed his eyes, biting his lip when he felt the first of Potter’s finger pushing in past the ring of muscles, felt it in his arse, probing, searching. Before Draco could yell at him to hurry the fuck up, Potter sucked him down to his throat and curled his finger right at the place where he loved, setting every nerve ending on fire. His entire body arched off the ground, his hands slipping off his legs helplessly.
“Shit,” Potter said hoarsely, pulling off his cock. “You have no idea how you look, Draco… gods…”
Draco couldn’t ask him what he meant by that, because Potter had another finger inside him, this time more urgently, and much faster. He wanted to tell Potter to stop playing around, that he was about to come and Potter hadn’t even gotten his cock inside him yet (a serious crime, in his opinion), but then Potter began wanking him and added another finger inside his arse, and all protests slipped his mind.
Shit, there were three fingers in him. They felt thick, rough, deep. Draco was breathing harshly, his hands gripping at the blanket in hope to hold out until Potter did what he needed to do instead of playing with his arse like it was the most fantastic thing on earth (which it undoubtedly was, but this was not the time to dwell on that).
“Hurry,” Draco urged, his voice wrecked, desperate. Potter sensed his need – took him long enough – and rose up on his knees.
“Turn over,” Potter whispered, hands on Draco’s hips. Draco readily complied, wanting nothing more than for Potter to stop dilly-dallying and proceed to satisfy Draco’s desire.
Once Draco was lying on his front, he realized how vulnerable this position placed him in. It left Potter to watch the expanse of his back, the swell of his undulating arse without him knowing. Potter could do anything and Draco would only be able to feel, not see. The knowledge made him shiver in anticipation.
Soon enough, he felt Potter’s weight on top of him and his hands, pulling Draco’s legs apart.
“Ready?” Potter whispered into his ear, making his heart flutter like a little bird. He felt the man’s hard length against his cleft, and had to bite his lip to stop himself from pushing back onto Potter’s cock. The man was irritatingly slow.
With one hand Draco reached back and placed it on Potter’s arse cheek. “Do it,” he murmured, neck stretched, arse raised, wanting Potter to get the hint.
He did. Without warning he pushed into Draco, and the sensation made them both groan out loud. For a short moment they held still, with Draco panting at the knowledge that Potter was balls deep inside him, and Potter breathing loudly, his breaths dampening the back of Draco’s neck. And then, when Potter couldn’t stand it anymore, he began fucking him, setting the pace, slowly at first, intending to let Draco get used to having a cock in his body.
Draco rested his head against Potter’s shoulder, allowing himself to adjust to Potter’s length, and though Draco was eager for it, the sensation was still overwhelming. His arse clenched uncontrollably around Potter, and the sounds the man made were as arousing as the hard cock inside him.
“I can’t, Draco, fuck,” Potter groaned, thrusting hard and deep. Draco almost screamed at the sudden movement that propelled them both forward. Potter did it again, driving into Draco as if determined to make him feel it for days to come. He wouldn’t dream of telling Potter, but he loved the feeling of the other man inside him, of his cock sliding in and out, stabbing that particular spot that never failed to push him closer to the edge. Potter was very good at this, getting Draco hot and bothered, getting Draco off. With one hand Potter pulled Draco up a little, allowing space for his other hand to find Draco’s cock. The double stimulation made Draco twitch in surprise, turning him on so badly and making him so desperate for more.
“Harder,” Draco begged, lifting up even more so that he could meet Potter half-way. The wantonness in his gesture made Potter tighten his hold on Draco’s hips – he was going to be bruised tomorrow, he just knew it – and drive in harder, deeper, faster. They were practically thrown forward with every rough thrust Potter gave, hunched half way off the blanket. The glass of wine was knocked over when Draco reacted to a particularly accurate shove of Potter’s cock, one arm slipping from its grip on the blanket.
“Draco, close,” Potter warned, clearly too far gone to even complete simple sentences. Draco wasn’t so better off, either. He was so horny he didn’t even care that he was alternating between grinding into Potter’s fist and ramming back onto his thick cock, torn between two torturous pleasure points. He couldn’t hold on any longer, not if Potter kept up with his aggressive thrusting and pulling.
When Potter came, he came with an unrestrained shout, both his hands on Draco’s bony hips, gripping tightly. He held still, his pelvis flushed against Draco’s arse, while his cock pulsed inside Draco. At the warm sensation that flooded his inside, Draco let out a shameless moan, twisting uselessly under Potter’s steadfast hold. When the man came down from his orgasm, Draco gave a startled shout as Potter slid his hand over his cock and squeezed. Before Draco could register what was happening, Potter had flipped him over, mouth sealing over his cock and fingers stuffed in his arse.
Now Draco did scream as cock spurted thick ropes of come. Potter was relentless; he didn’t stop sucking until Draco’s cock had softened, and his fingers never stopped their rubbing until Draco began to moan helplessly and push at his head, too weak to move.
“Too much,” Draco whined breathlessly, the overstimulation making his arse spasm almost painfully. Potter eventually came up for air, slithering up his body, and Draco gasped quietly at the sparks that lit up his nerves where they touched. Their lips met, and Draco was certain his heart was going to jump out of his chest at the tenderness Potter put into their kiss.
There was a strange softness in Potter’s expression as he gazed at Draco, making him feel fluttery feelings, making him want. He hated that Potter was so gentle when he brushed Draco’s hair out of his eyes and kissed his temple, that he looked at Draco as if he was the greatest person to ever exist, like he couldn’t imagine that he was lucky enough to be with him, Draco Malfoy.
Potter’s feelings for him were overwhelming, they took hold of Draco’s heart and in turn, made Draco feel things. Things that he had no words for, but suspected, from the familiar way they settled in his chest, that perhaps these emotions might not be as strange as he believed.
It was a conflicting thought, and Draco’s head hurt trying to rationalize it out.
But what if it’s all just a game?
Everything Potter’s done up to this point should prove that he’s not playing around.
Yet everything in our past has the potential to ruin our future.
“Sorry we didn’t get to a bed again,” Potter apologized, his lips against Draco’s throat, one arm flung across his chest. “Good thing I casted a Notice-Me-Not Charm, huh?”
Oh fuck it, Draco thought exasperatedly, tired and annoyed at the way the voices in his head were yelling at one another.
Turning to Potter, Draco curled a hand around his neck and leaned close.
“Harry,” Draco said, the name foreign on his tongue. Potter stared at him as if he couldn’t believe what Draco had just said. Draco swallowed, this was harder to say than he’d ever imagined, but he had to plunge on. He wasn’t blind, every day that passed that he evaded Potter’s prodding gaze and expectant questions was another day that Potter would walk away, looking hurt and uncertain, like Draco had taken a knife and stabbed him in the heart or something. It was admittedly not pleasant for him to watch Potter like that.
“Harry,” he repeated. “I want you to come for the holidays.” Draco kissed him softly on his lips, dimly aware that it was the first time he had initiated anything so tender between them. “I want you to spend the holidays with me.”
Potter understood his implications, if the light that lit up his face was any indication. Quick as a cat Potter grabbed him tightly as he devoured Draco’s mouth, his happiness seeming to seep out from every pore on his body.
When they broke apart, both were flushed and breathless. Potter was grinning at him, his cock hard again and nudging insistently against Draco's thigh.
“Of course,” Potter replied, his eyes shining with affection as he brushed his fingers across Draco’s cheek. “I’d love nothing more.”
Draco felt his face break into a silly smile. Potter kissed it, matching his curved lips with a sappy smile of his own.
Potter’s hand found Draco’s hardening cock, and slyly he murmured against Draco's mouth. “You up for another go?”
Draco, overcome by the unexpected joy that seemed to have taken over his entire being, could only kiss Potter back in reply.