In the Cottage With the Red Door
Title: In the Cottage With the Red Door
Rating: R
Genre: Romance/General
Length: 4476
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Summary: They meet to exchange information during the war. Soon sex in involved and despite that there's one thing Draco wants the most. The one thing Harry doesn't want to give.
Note: For lire_casander with the prompt 'Today is all you ever have.' Hopefully you don't mind that it's a oneshot instead.
Draco stumbled through the undergrowth. The spindly white trees mostly bare of leaves showed just how wintry it was and Draco shivered, too cold to pull his wand out and cast a warming spell. Or maybe he was just lazy. The cottage was in sight anyway, the sun glistening off the lake behind it and blinding him.
He glared at the bright Gryffindor-red door before opening it and stepping into the shitty cottage. Potter already had a fire going and he stripped his outer layer of clothes off, sprawling next to it. He didn't really have time to meet Potter today because there was a meeting with the Dark Lord in a few hours but Potter rarely had them met and Draco had information this time.
The toilet flushed and Draco looked in the doorway of the loo to find Potter washing his hands. The cottage was so run-down and pathetic that the loo didn't even have a door. At least the toilet was next to the doorway, tucked out of sight. As attractive as Draco was finding Potter lately he had no desire to watch him take a shit. He closed his eyes, enjoying the heat of the flames licking at the wood only a foot away from him.
Low chuckling made him open his eyes. Potter was grinning down at him. Draco offered an irritated grin back. Potter didn't smile nearly as much as he did back in school but they were out of Hogwarts now. Had been for half a year. They were in the middle of a full-fledged war; of course everything had changed.
Truthfully, Draco had been very surprised to discover two months ago that Potter hadn't returned to Hogwarts and set out in search of what Draco hadn't the faintest clue. Potter told him things but never what exactly he was after, and Draco was fine with that because as far as Potter was concerned, Draco was on the opposing side. Draco wasn't sure whose side he was one. Maybe he was playing both sides, like Snape.
Potter told him the Order's plans and Draco told Potter the Dark Lord's plans. That should make him against the Dark Lord, for telling what he knows for the other side. But he was getting information from Potter which he was supposed to run with to the Dark Lord. It was a lose-lose situation. If Draco had been keeping up his side of the expectation both sides would be at each other's necks, never accomplishing anything until they became suspicious and picked off either Potter or himself. But Draco never told, and Potter never asked about it.
"You always surprise me," Potter stated, flopping ungracefully onto the couch so eaten by moths that Draco had tried disguising it with a weak glamour charm and a blanket. "I keep expecting you to be all proper and prim, like rich people. Not lying in front of the fire like a dog."
The flames flickered, sending shadows to play on Potter's face as Draco stood and brushed himself off. "I don't lie like a dog. And you should know what with that mangy godfather you used to have." Potter's eyes flashed and Draco held out a hand. "Let's just cut to the chase. The Dark Lord is staging an attack on Little Winging sometime this weekend. He plans on having a nice amount of Death Eaters there. So, I daresay I'll see you there." He gave a wry smile. "Don't curse me too bad and I'll do the same for you."
Potter rolled his eyes and observed Draco closely. It was the same look he gave each time before divulging information. He had to know Draco didn't tell. The Dark Lord barely thwarted their plans and if they did it wasn't because of Draco.
His gaze also made Draco feel like that first evening when they had crossed each other in these very woods. Somehow both had ended up away from the center of the battle and ended up before each other, wands pointing at each other's hearts. It was with a scrutinizing, hesitant gaze that seemed to pierce through Draco's carefully concealed mask that Potter suggested handing over all the information they knew. The cottage wasn't far away and Potter said he'd get in touch when there was time to meet. They walked away from each other and back into the middle of the battle, Draco closing his mind against his father's probing.
"The Order is going to be in Bristol tomorrow to look for something. Don't attack me too harshly," Potter added, giving Draco a wry smile of his own.
Draco nodded curtly and grabbed his sweater and robes from the floor. He lifted his arms and slid the sweater on, tugging it in place.
"Erm, why do you always leave right after getting the information?"
Rounding in his spot he eyed Potter, who was picking at the thread of the blanket. Why would he stay? To make small chat with Potter of all people? Apparently Potter got it just from his eyes because he shrugged and sighed heavily. "I just thought we could have tea or something," Potter suggested.
"With what? The malfunctioning muggle equipment?" Draco quipped, pulling his robes on and flicking a brier off. It landed in the fire with a sizzle and a pop.
Potter shrugged again and Draco was irritated. Sometimes he wondered why he thought Potter attractive. Then again, it wasn't that Potter looked attractive all the time, just when Draco was bored or feeling mellow.
"I can conjure it. Mrs Weasley showed me how." He grinned again and Draco sat stiffly next to him. It felt like he had to reward Potter for smiling. He was just mad. Potter waved his wand, muttering the incantation and two mugs appeared on the coffee table before them. Draco took one and sipped it carefully. He didn't expect Potter to poison him, though it scared him that he didn't; he just figured it would taste terrible. Grudgingly he inclined his head and took another sip. Not too bad.
They sat in comfortable silence. Draco didn't even feel complied to check his watch to make sure it wasn't soon time for the meeting, but he checked anyway. Better safe than sorry. He had two hours.
"Are you leaving?" Potter asked, misreading his movement. But now that Potter mentioned it...
He nodded and leaned across the couch to place the mug on the coffee table and move his legs from underneath him. Before he realized what had happened Potter's lips fluttered over his. Draco jerked back, tumbling to the dirty floor.
"What the fuck?" he gasped.
Potter was hiding his face in the tea. He garbled something into the drink. Draco stood, rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head that had connected with the blasted table. Potter had just kissed him! Who cared if he though Potter was attractive sometimes. He didn't wan the little shit kissing him.
It wasn't until Potter started choking on the tea that he emerged from it. Draco held no sympathy, waiting impatiently for him to finish.
"You kissed me," he accused.
"Not really," Potter protested. "I kinda brushed my lips on yours."
"That's kissing!"
Potter replied mostly to himself, "Not really." Draco stared aghast at him. "Can I do it again?"
Draco jaw nearly hit the floor. The nerve of the fucking little Gryffindor! Just because he was the Boy Who Lived didn't mean Draco would fawn at his feet like some of his pathetic fan girls. And he certainly wasn't going to -- Potter's gay?
"Not if that's what you call kissing," Draco shot back without realizing what he was saying.
Potter leaned forward, eyes trained on Draco's. He placed the mug on the table, knocking Draco's off. Out of the corner of his eyes Draco noticed the hot liquid scorch the table and pooled on the wooden floor. Potter kicked his shoes off and they landed in the mess. "Then show me better."
Draco was well aware of what Potter was doing. Did he think Draco was that thick? Nevertheless Draco pinned Potter to the couch and kissed him. He wasn't sure why. Potter had to be better than the nothing he was getting otherwise.
It turned out Potter definitely was better.
Almost instantly Potter wrapped his legs around Draco's waist and thrust up into him. Before long Draco's cock was hard and erect, grinding down feverishly. Their lips smacked together, teeth pulling and nipping them out of the way so tongues could search and lick. Their clothes were flung to the floor and Draco's groin was tingling so much it was impossible to ignore.
"Fuck me," Potter moaned, grabbing Draco cock and shoving it down further. One of Draco's knees sunk in a foamy hole and dug into a spring as he spread Potter's legs and used the rapidly cooling tea as a lubricant. He shifted and pushed into the tight heat. The pressure was so great Draco was afraid he was going to come before he was even the whole way in.
It was fast and hot and Potter was arching below him, crying out. Draco thrust once more before his balls tightened and he spilled in Potter. He rested his forehead on Potter's knee to catch his breath, watching the tea and their come soak through the rumbled blanket and into the couch. Well, the couch already looked like shit. What was the use of Scourgifying it?
Potter sat up and Draco got to his feet, ignoring the way his legs wobbled. He had just shagged Potter. He glanced at the other man, gauging his reaction. Potter was grinning shyly and cleaning himself off. He looked delicious all flushed and stretched, a light sheen of sweat covering his skin. Draco cleaned and dressed.
"How's next Saturday?" Draco asked and he tied his shoes, deciding to ignore what had just happened between them. War made people lonely and they were simply acting upon that.
Potter hesitated and Draco groaned, shaking his fringe out of his eyes. Potter was going to go again. "I'll contact you when to meet."
Draco nodded curtly and stormed out of the cottage, too angry to contemplate Apparating. He didn't want to splinch himself. But Potter always did that. It was always 'I'll contact you, can't plan ahead, oh no.' All Draco wanted was a little reassurance; something that he knew was going to happen. Everything with the Dark Lord and fellow Death Eaters was unsure. Potter had always been a constant in his life, an annoying one but a constant anyway, so why couldn't he stay that way?
As Draco fumed he glanced at the time. He should take a shower to get the scent of sex off him. Sex with Potter. He scoffed. It was most definitely because of the loneliness and it would never happen again.
After the return of his Patronus, who gave a nod of its stag head, Harry Apparated into the cottage to find Draco already there. Harry kicked off his shoes and dropped his glasses on the couch. It was easier without them as they just got in the way. He headed towards Draco.
"You don't beat around the bush," Draco muttered before Harry kissed him, leading him up the narrow stairs to the bed. Draco had refused the past three times to use the couch and Harry wasn't going to argue. Not when it had been almost three weeks since their last meeting.
Afterwards Harry dropped onto Draco and sighed heavily. For some reason having sex with Draco cleared his mind. Now that the first reason for calling Draco here was done with he moved onto the second reason. "What's going on? Why's it so quiet since the attack on Little Winging?"
Draco shrugged absently and cast a Scourgify. He slipped out from under Harry and padded down the stairs to grab his pants that had somehow gotten tossed off the edge. Harry grinned in satisfaction. Sex wasn't something he was experienced in -- Draco was his first, not that he would admit so -- but Draco never mentioned anything about it. He liked it, and Harry always felt pride at acts that looked like raw passion. Raw passion was good, right?
"I don't know," Draco replied curtly, walking back up the stairs with his pants in place. Harry frowned, wishing they were off. He loved to just watch Draco's skin move, especially his arse. "The Dark Lord doesn't tell me everything."
It registered with Harry that Draco was being awfully aloof. He must be up to something. And that wasn't fair; Harry kept his end of the deal. "What is it? He asked, springing up from the bed. Draco diverted his eyes. Probably so he could lie without being distracted!
"It's nothing, okay. I mean, I'm sure it's something but I don't know the something." He sneered irritably and tugged his socks on. "I'm not exactly in his inner circle, not since I wasn't able to kill Dumbledore."
Harry sat on the bed and pulled the blanket to cover himself. Draco didn't have the right to talk about it. Not after his role in the whole affair. But before he could say anything Draco snapped, "Don't look so fucking put down, Potter. All I did was mention his name. It's not like I'm standing here telling you how I much I hated him and don't care that he's dead!"
The bloody buggering arse! Harry jumped up, intent on beating the shit out of Draco, but was knocked onto the bed, hands pinned above his head. Draco's breath felt hot and cold on his face.
"I know it's so terribly hard for you to listen," Draco drawled, pressing his knee into an erection Harry was embarrassed to note he possessed. "But you'll do well to. I'm Draco Malfoy. I'm a Malfoy in all sense of the word. I hate people and I wish them dead. I'm a Death Eater, and I am by choice alone. I pride myself on money and my social status, which is in shreds by the way. I'm a fucking Death Eater and you give me inside information and you know it and you're an idiot!"
Shamelessly Harry rubbed his erection against Draco's leg. He shouldn't be turned on. Not only because they just had sex but because of what was coming out of Draco's mouth.
"Look at you, you're a little slut," growled Draco, releasing Harry's hands in favour of capturing his lips. "If I wanted to I could kill you right now, couldn't I? You wouldn't know what hit you."
Harry stilled, blinking through the haze his arousal created. It was true. God, what was wrong with him? Ron and Hermione trusted him. The Order trusted him. Fuck, witches and wizards all over were expecting him to save them. And what was he doing? He was spilling information to a Death Eater in exchange for more information and a shag.
And he couldn't stop.
Besides, "You never told Voldemort anything I told you."
Draco sat and rubbed his face wearily, as if they did this every time, which they so didn't. "How do you know?"
"Because!" There were so many little reasons. The way Draco only ever half-listened to what he was saying. The way he changed the subject whenever Harry brought up the fact of him saying something. "Voldemort barely ever attempts to stop our plans and when he does it's because it leaked out some other way. I've checked."
In a flurry of movement Draco was off the bed and searching for the rest of his clothes. His voice shook with anger. "What do you want me to say to him? Oh, yes, when Potter and I were shagging earlier he told me the Order was going to blahblahblah! I'm sure that would be a sure-fire way to get myself killed. Shagging the enemy.
"And even if I do come up with an excuse the Dark lord will weasel it out of me. I may be good at Occlumency but he's a skilled Legimens. He's already almost found out numerous times, and those times he wasn't even searching for anything like that!"
When he finished he was breathing harshly, waving his trousers in the air to punctuate his point. Harry felt stones plunk in his stomach and weigh him down. So Draco would tell if he had a chance of living through it. He wasn't really on their side, as he had come to think.
Harry stood and fished for his clothes. Draco finally stopped waving his around like a lunatic and put in on. They dressed in silence. "I'm going," Harry mumbled, not really sure if he had to say anything. They may have never gotten along in the earlier meetings but never had they partaken in an argument this monumental.
Draco seemed to be looking to pick a fight because he leapt in front of the stairs and sneered, "So soon? Not going to try and get the real reason the Dark Lord's been so silent? Or do you believe me? Let me guess," -- his nose scrunched up in what Harry could only suppose was revulsion -- "you'll tell me to await another Patronus. And god only knows how long this one will take."
"No!" Harry yelled, striking out at Draco's arm. But Draco didn't budge and only shoved him. "I'm never meeting with you again! It was mistake, one I'll never make again."
"That's good," Draco screamed, taking Harry's attack and turning it back on him. "Because I'm sick of you and your meetings. Today is all you ever have! Never tomorrow, next week, a few hours. It's always a letter that says to meet straight-away. You can't plan anything, can you?"
Harry stopped and stared, chest heaving from exertion. Draco didn't appear to be stopping anytime soon, though he also ceased any type of touching.
"But no, that's not right, is it?" he sneered, eyes flashing and daring Harry to disagree. "You plan things with the Order. I'm just not good enough, am I? That's it, isn't it?" He broke off, his face in Harry's.
Harry shook his head. It had nothing to do with Draco himself, but it did. Just not the way he meant. Harry didn't know what would happen to them in the time between each meeting. He could be killed or held back from attending the meeting. Draco was with Voldemort; anything could happen there. Harry hated to break promises, after having so many fall through with him.
Besides, planning stuff with the Order was different. If he disappeared there were still plenty of others to follow through with it. No one would follow through with meeting Draco.
"That's it, isn't it?" Draco croaked, and Harry could see he was trying to hold onto his previous anger. "You can't plan anything with me."
And suddenly Harry saw through it all to the center. Standing before him wasn't an angry Death Eater. It was Draco Malfoy, broken and for some ungodly reason needing a date beforehand. Slowly Harry felt his composure dissolve.
"How does this Sunday sound? Around noon?" He gulped and looked over Draco's shoulder, down the rickety stairs and at the red door. It looked like blood, an omen. Of what? He shouldn't be making a promise.
"Promise?" Draco breathed, looking torn.
Harry gathered himself and looked into Draco's eyes. "Yes."
It was with irritation and excitement that Draco passed the red door and sat on the bench at the table. The cottage was unusually quiet. He looked around and noticed the fire wasn't lit. Morosely he peeled his robes off and draped them on the table to dry. It was raining outside.
Ten minutes later Draco stormed outside and glared at the lake, rippled and bumpy from the raindrops. Potter was always there before him, except for the last time. There was no way he would forgot to attend because how could he forget the fight they had last week? It wasn't until he had wondered around for an hour that Draco lit the fire. He was angry and, he wasn't going to dwell on it, a little scared. What if something happened to Potter?
He stretched out on the lumpy couch, remembering the first time they'd had sex. To his immense irritation the thought of Potter being dead disagreed with him, and not just because he wouldn't have anyone to shag.
A shadow fell over him, making everything darker. Draco cracked his eyes open to find Potter standing there, stroking hair out of his face. Draco mumbled something and Potter sat down beside him, shifting his legs out of the way.
Draco sat up, cursing the sun. It shone through the opposite window, blinding him. He was still too groggy to form a thought.
"Were you here the whole time?" Potter asked and Draco noticed a bruise under his left eye. Not to mention his lip was split and threatening to open up.
"You look like shit," Draco managed, sitting and tucking his legs under him.
Potter waved a hand at him and leaned forward, licking Draco's lips. Draco was awake now, and furious. Here Potter was, sitting there all innocent-like, as if he hadn't just blown him off. He moved his head so the sun wasn't shinning in his eyes. How long had he slept? "You're late," he said instead, flatly.
"Yeah, I know." He leaned back and crossed his legs, reaching a hand out to grab Draco's ankle. Draco only let him because he was otherwise occupied.
"We agreed to meet here at noon. You were the one to pick it, and you couldn't even find the time to be on time." He huffed and folded his arms, shaking Potter's hand off.
Potter threw his head back and groaned. "This is why I didn't want to plan ahead."
"I bet you didn't come on time just so you could say that and not make plans anymore!" Draco accused.
Potter snatched Draco's hands and pulled him close so he had so lean awkwardly across the distance. Draco contemplated biting Potter in the face but decided against it. His face already looked like shit.
"I didn't come on time because you Death Eaters had attacked us at the headquarters. We don't know how they got in, probably Snape, the good for nothing two-timer." He frowned and Draco caught his breath. Potter could have been killed. "There were so many, Draco. I think almost all of them. You're probably the only one who wasn't there. We escaped with only a few scraps but they completely ransacked the house. We didn't stand a chance against them."
Oh, bloody fucking shit! Draco's heartbeat sped up and his eyes grew wide. He needed space. He tugged out of Potter's grip and fell against the back of the couch. He was dead. It must have been a spur of the moment attack or one that the Dark Lord told barely anyone until a few minutes before they left. No one even knew he had taken off. He must have slept right through the Dark Mark burning, as insane as that sounded. He was in so much trouble.
Potter's eyes softened into concern. "You really didn't know about it, did you? I thought you just hadn't told me." Now he looked hurt and was practically begging with every movement for Draco to tell him he was wrong. That he hadn't heard anything about it and if he had Potter would have been the first one to find out. It was the truth but Draco was too worried to care about reassuring Potter.
"Bloody hell," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. Hot air burst on his face and Potter's lips fluttered over his own. Soon they were a tangle of limbs, tussling for dominance. Potter's lip broke open and blood seeped out. Draco was too busy trying to take his mind off what would happen when he returned to the Dark Lord to care much about the nasty metallic taste entering his mouth with every kiss and lick.
"What side are you really on?" Potter asked at the same time he wedged a hand between Draco's trousers and pants, completely spoiling the mood.
Draco grimaced and moved to the other end of the couch, taking Potter's hand with him. Awkwardly, with a blush, Potter removed his hand and settled back. Draco regarded him closely. Potter's face was earnest and determined. Draco betted this question mattered to Potter as much as deciding beforehand (and arriving at the correct time) mattered to him.
"Does it really matter?" he asked cryptically. It was payback for Potter denying him what he wanted. Plus he didn't know. He wanted to be on the winning side. It was impossible to know who would win. Besides, he couldn't join Potter's side if he wanted, not with the Dark Mark on his forearm. The Dark Lord's side sounded like the most obvious choice, but then there was Potter. Why should Potter hold so much sway when he couldn't even think of Potter by his first name?
"It does to me."
Draco nodded and sighed heavily. He crawled across the couch, his knee sinking into the dratted hole, and slipped his tongue in Potter mouth. He pulled back and said, "I'll send a Patronus this time. And I'll send it this Saturday. That sound good for you?"
Potter scowled but dragged his fingers through Draco's hair, messing it up. "I'll find out when I receive the Patronus."
Swiftly Draco grabbed his robes from the table and slipped his shoes on. A quick glance out the window to make sure it wasn't raining and Draco headed to the door. He would walk a bit, clear his mind and get a story in order.
"Be careful," Potter's voice rang out, crisp and clear. He grinned and the blood on his lip caught Draco's eye. It was the same shade as the door, maybe not so Gryffindor-ish as he had thought.
"I always am." Then he was closing the door behind him. He didn't know anything and the unanswered questions swirled about in his head. Hopefully he could come across an excuse that was good enough for the Dark lord. An excuse so believable that the Dark Lord wouldn't pry through his mind and stumble upon what he'd really been doing.
He glanced through the white trees, completely bare of leaves now. He saw a shadow pass the window and wondered how much longer Potter would stay in the cottage. He wondered what was happening between them. It had started out as just an information source. Then they were shagging and then caring. Whatever it was, Draco realized he didn't want it to stop.
Rating: R
Genre: Romance/General
Length: 4476
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Summary: They meet to exchange information during the war. Soon sex in involved and despite that there's one thing Draco wants the most. The one thing Harry doesn't want to give.
Note: For lire_casander with the prompt 'Today is all you ever have.' Hopefully you don't mind that it's a oneshot instead.
Draco stumbled through the undergrowth. The spindly white trees mostly bare of leaves showed just how wintry it was and Draco shivered, too cold to pull his wand out and cast a warming spell. Or maybe he was just lazy. The cottage was in sight anyway, the sun glistening off the lake behind it and blinding him.
He glared at the bright Gryffindor-red door before opening it and stepping into the shitty cottage. Potter already had a fire going and he stripped his outer layer of clothes off, sprawling next to it. He didn't really have time to meet Potter today because there was a meeting with the Dark Lord in a few hours but Potter rarely had them met and Draco had information this time.
The toilet flushed and Draco looked in the doorway of the loo to find Potter washing his hands. The cottage was so run-down and pathetic that the loo didn't even have a door. At least the toilet was next to the doorway, tucked out of sight. As attractive as Draco was finding Potter lately he had no desire to watch him take a shit. He closed his eyes, enjoying the heat of the flames licking at the wood only a foot away from him.
Low chuckling made him open his eyes. Potter was grinning down at him. Draco offered an irritated grin back. Potter didn't smile nearly as much as he did back in school but they were out of Hogwarts now. Had been for half a year. They were in the middle of a full-fledged war; of course everything had changed.
Truthfully, Draco had been very surprised to discover two months ago that Potter hadn't returned to Hogwarts and set out in search of what Draco hadn't the faintest clue. Potter told him things but never what exactly he was after, and Draco was fine with that because as far as Potter was concerned, Draco was on the opposing side. Draco wasn't sure whose side he was one. Maybe he was playing both sides, like Snape.
Potter told him the Order's plans and Draco told Potter the Dark Lord's plans. That should make him against the Dark Lord, for telling what he knows for the other side. But he was getting information from Potter which he was supposed to run with to the Dark Lord. It was a lose-lose situation. If Draco had been keeping up his side of the expectation both sides would be at each other's necks, never accomplishing anything until they became suspicious and picked off either Potter or himself. But Draco never told, and Potter never asked about it.
"You always surprise me," Potter stated, flopping ungracefully onto the couch so eaten by moths that Draco had tried disguising it with a weak glamour charm and a blanket. "I keep expecting you to be all proper and prim, like rich people. Not lying in front of the fire like a dog."
The flames flickered, sending shadows to play on Potter's face as Draco stood and brushed himself off. "I don't lie like a dog. And you should know what with that mangy godfather you used to have." Potter's eyes flashed and Draco held out a hand. "Let's just cut to the chase. The Dark Lord is staging an attack on Little Winging sometime this weekend. He plans on having a nice amount of Death Eaters there. So, I daresay I'll see you there." He gave a wry smile. "Don't curse me too bad and I'll do the same for you."
Potter rolled his eyes and observed Draco closely. It was the same look he gave each time before divulging information. He had to know Draco didn't tell. The Dark Lord barely thwarted their plans and if they did it wasn't because of Draco.
His gaze also made Draco feel like that first evening when they had crossed each other in these very woods. Somehow both had ended up away from the center of the battle and ended up before each other, wands pointing at each other's hearts. It was with a scrutinizing, hesitant gaze that seemed to pierce through Draco's carefully concealed mask that Potter suggested handing over all the information they knew. The cottage wasn't far away and Potter said he'd get in touch when there was time to meet. They walked away from each other and back into the middle of the battle, Draco closing his mind against his father's probing.
"The Order is going to be in Bristol tomorrow to look for something. Don't attack me too harshly," Potter added, giving Draco a wry smile of his own.
Draco nodded curtly and grabbed his sweater and robes from the floor. He lifted his arms and slid the sweater on, tugging it in place.
"Erm, why do you always leave right after getting the information?"
Rounding in his spot he eyed Potter, who was picking at the thread of the blanket. Why would he stay? To make small chat with Potter of all people? Apparently Potter got it just from his eyes because he shrugged and sighed heavily. "I just thought we could have tea or something," Potter suggested.
"With what? The malfunctioning muggle equipment?" Draco quipped, pulling his robes on and flicking a brier off. It landed in the fire with a sizzle and a pop.
Potter shrugged again and Draco was irritated. Sometimes he wondered why he thought Potter attractive. Then again, it wasn't that Potter looked attractive all the time, just when Draco was bored or feeling mellow.
"I can conjure it. Mrs Weasley showed me how." He grinned again and Draco sat stiffly next to him. It felt like he had to reward Potter for smiling. He was just mad. Potter waved his wand, muttering the incantation and two mugs appeared on the coffee table before them. Draco took one and sipped it carefully. He didn't expect Potter to poison him, though it scared him that he didn't; he just figured it would taste terrible. Grudgingly he inclined his head and took another sip. Not too bad.
They sat in comfortable silence. Draco didn't even feel complied to check his watch to make sure it wasn't soon time for the meeting, but he checked anyway. Better safe than sorry. He had two hours.
"Are you leaving?" Potter asked, misreading his movement. But now that Potter mentioned it...
He nodded and leaned across the couch to place the mug on the coffee table and move his legs from underneath him. Before he realized what had happened Potter's lips fluttered over his. Draco jerked back, tumbling to the dirty floor.
"What the fuck?" he gasped.
Potter was hiding his face in the tea. He garbled something into the drink. Draco stood, rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head that had connected with the blasted table. Potter had just kissed him! Who cared if he though Potter was attractive sometimes. He didn't wan the little shit kissing him.
It wasn't until Potter started choking on the tea that he emerged from it. Draco held no sympathy, waiting impatiently for him to finish.
"You kissed me," he accused.
"Not really," Potter protested. "I kinda brushed my lips on yours."
"That's kissing!"
Potter replied mostly to himself, "Not really." Draco stared aghast at him. "Can I do it again?"
Draco jaw nearly hit the floor. The nerve of the fucking little Gryffindor! Just because he was the Boy Who Lived didn't mean Draco would fawn at his feet like some of his pathetic fan girls. And he certainly wasn't going to -- Potter's gay?
"Not if that's what you call kissing," Draco shot back without realizing what he was saying.
Potter leaned forward, eyes trained on Draco's. He placed the mug on the table, knocking Draco's off. Out of the corner of his eyes Draco noticed the hot liquid scorch the table and pooled on the wooden floor. Potter kicked his shoes off and they landed in the mess. "Then show me better."
Draco was well aware of what Potter was doing. Did he think Draco was that thick? Nevertheless Draco pinned Potter to the couch and kissed him. He wasn't sure why. Potter had to be better than the nothing he was getting otherwise.
It turned out Potter definitely was better.
Almost instantly Potter wrapped his legs around Draco's waist and thrust up into him. Before long Draco's cock was hard and erect, grinding down feverishly. Their lips smacked together, teeth pulling and nipping them out of the way so tongues could search and lick. Their clothes were flung to the floor and Draco's groin was tingling so much it was impossible to ignore.
"Fuck me," Potter moaned, grabbing Draco cock and shoving it down further. One of Draco's knees sunk in a foamy hole and dug into a spring as he spread Potter's legs and used the rapidly cooling tea as a lubricant. He shifted and pushed into the tight heat. The pressure was so great Draco was afraid he was going to come before he was even the whole way in.
It was fast and hot and Potter was arching below him, crying out. Draco thrust once more before his balls tightened and he spilled in Potter. He rested his forehead on Potter's knee to catch his breath, watching the tea and their come soak through the rumbled blanket and into the couch. Well, the couch already looked like shit. What was the use of Scourgifying it?
Potter sat up and Draco got to his feet, ignoring the way his legs wobbled. He had just shagged Potter. He glanced at the other man, gauging his reaction. Potter was grinning shyly and cleaning himself off. He looked delicious all flushed and stretched, a light sheen of sweat covering his skin. Draco cleaned and dressed.
"How's next Saturday?" Draco asked and he tied his shoes, deciding to ignore what had just happened between them. War made people lonely and they were simply acting upon that.
Potter hesitated and Draco groaned, shaking his fringe out of his eyes. Potter was going to go again. "I'll contact you when to meet."
Draco nodded curtly and stormed out of the cottage, too angry to contemplate Apparating. He didn't want to splinch himself. But Potter always did that. It was always 'I'll contact you, can't plan ahead, oh no.' All Draco wanted was a little reassurance; something that he knew was going to happen. Everything with the Dark Lord and fellow Death Eaters was unsure. Potter had always been a constant in his life, an annoying one but a constant anyway, so why couldn't he stay that way?
As Draco fumed he glanced at the time. He should take a shower to get the scent of sex off him. Sex with Potter. He scoffed. It was most definitely because of the loneliness and it would never happen again.
After the return of his Patronus, who gave a nod of its stag head, Harry Apparated into the cottage to find Draco already there. Harry kicked off his shoes and dropped his glasses on the couch. It was easier without them as they just got in the way. He headed towards Draco.
"You don't beat around the bush," Draco muttered before Harry kissed him, leading him up the narrow stairs to the bed. Draco had refused the past three times to use the couch and Harry wasn't going to argue. Not when it had been almost three weeks since their last meeting.
Afterwards Harry dropped onto Draco and sighed heavily. For some reason having sex with Draco cleared his mind. Now that the first reason for calling Draco here was done with he moved onto the second reason. "What's going on? Why's it so quiet since the attack on Little Winging?"
Draco shrugged absently and cast a Scourgify. He slipped out from under Harry and padded down the stairs to grab his pants that had somehow gotten tossed off the edge. Harry grinned in satisfaction. Sex wasn't something he was experienced in -- Draco was his first, not that he would admit so -- but Draco never mentioned anything about it. He liked it, and Harry always felt pride at acts that looked like raw passion. Raw passion was good, right?
"I don't know," Draco replied curtly, walking back up the stairs with his pants in place. Harry frowned, wishing they were off. He loved to just watch Draco's skin move, especially his arse. "The Dark Lord doesn't tell me everything."
It registered with Harry that Draco was being awfully aloof. He must be up to something. And that wasn't fair; Harry kept his end of the deal. "What is it? He asked, springing up from the bed. Draco diverted his eyes. Probably so he could lie without being distracted!
"It's nothing, okay. I mean, I'm sure it's something but I don't know the something." He sneered irritably and tugged his socks on. "I'm not exactly in his inner circle, not since I wasn't able to kill Dumbledore."
Harry sat on the bed and pulled the blanket to cover himself. Draco didn't have the right to talk about it. Not after his role in the whole affair. But before he could say anything Draco snapped, "Don't look so fucking put down, Potter. All I did was mention his name. It's not like I'm standing here telling you how I much I hated him and don't care that he's dead!"
The bloody buggering arse! Harry jumped up, intent on beating the shit out of Draco, but was knocked onto the bed, hands pinned above his head. Draco's breath felt hot and cold on his face.
"I know it's so terribly hard for you to listen," Draco drawled, pressing his knee into an erection Harry was embarrassed to note he possessed. "But you'll do well to. I'm Draco Malfoy. I'm a Malfoy in all sense of the word. I hate people and I wish them dead. I'm a Death Eater, and I am by choice alone. I pride myself on money and my social status, which is in shreds by the way. I'm a fucking Death Eater and you give me inside information and you know it and you're an idiot!"
Shamelessly Harry rubbed his erection against Draco's leg. He shouldn't be turned on. Not only because they just had sex but because of what was coming out of Draco's mouth.
"Look at you, you're a little slut," growled Draco, releasing Harry's hands in favour of capturing his lips. "If I wanted to I could kill you right now, couldn't I? You wouldn't know what hit you."
Harry stilled, blinking through the haze his arousal created. It was true. God, what was wrong with him? Ron and Hermione trusted him. The Order trusted him. Fuck, witches and wizards all over were expecting him to save them. And what was he doing? He was spilling information to a Death Eater in exchange for more information and a shag.
And he couldn't stop.
Besides, "You never told Voldemort anything I told you."
Draco sat and rubbed his face wearily, as if they did this every time, which they so didn't. "How do you know?"
"Because!" There were so many little reasons. The way Draco only ever half-listened to what he was saying. The way he changed the subject whenever Harry brought up the fact of him saying something. "Voldemort barely ever attempts to stop our plans and when he does it's because it leaked out some other way. I've checked."
In a flurry of movement Draco was off the bed and searching for the rest of his clothes. His voice shook with anger. "What do you want me to say to him? Oh, yes, when Potter and I were shagging earlier he told me the Order was going to blahblahblah! I'm sure that would be a sure-fire way to get myself killed. Shagging the enemy.
"And even if I do come up with an excuse the Dark lord will weasel it out of me. I may be good at Occlumency but he's a skilled Legimens. He's already almost found out numerous times, and those times he wasn't even searching for anything like that!"
When he finished he was breathing harshly, waving his trousers in the air to punctuate his point. Harry felt stones plunk in his stomach and weigh him down. So Draco would tell if he had a chance of living through it. He wasn't really on their side, as he had come to think.
Harry stood and fished for his clothes. Draco finally stopped waving his around like a lunatic and put in on. They dressed in silence. "I'm going," Harry mumbled, not really sure if he had to say anything. They may have never gotten along in the earlier meetings but never had they partaken in an argument this monumental.
Draco seemed to be looking to pick a fight because he leapt in front of the stairs and sneered, "So soon? Not going to try and get the real reason the Dark Lord's been so silent? Or do you believe me? Let me guess," -- his nose scrunched up in what Harry could only suppose was revulsion -- "you'll tell me to await another Patronus. And god only knows how long this one will take."
"No!" Harry yelled, striking out at Draco's arm. But Draco didn't budge and only shoved him. "I'm never meeting with you again! It was mistake, one I'll never make again."
"That's good," Draco screamed, taking Harry's attack and turning it back on him. "Because I'm sick of you and your meetings. Today is all you ever have! Never tomorrow, next week, a few hours. It's always a letter that says to meet straight-away. You can't plan anything, can you?"
Harry stopped and stared, chest heaving from exertion. Draco didn't appear to be stopping anytime soon, though he also ceased any type of touching.
"But no, that's not right, is it?" he sneered, eyes flashing and daring Harry to disagree. "You plan things with the Order. I'm just not good enough, am I? That's it, isn't it?" He broke off, his face in Harry's.
Harry shook his head. It had nothing to do with Draco himself, but it did. Just not the way he meant. Harry didn't know what would happen to them in the time between each meeting. He could be killed or held back from attending the meeting. Draco was with Voldemort; anything could happen there. Harry hated to break promises, after having so many fall through with him.
Besides, planning stuff with the Order was different. If he disappeared there were still plenty of others to follow through with it. No one would follow through with meeting Draco.
"That's it, isn't it?" Draco croaked, and Harry could see he was trying to hold onto his previous anger. "You can't plan anything with me."
And suddenly Harry saw through it all to the center. Standing before him wasn't an angry Death Eater. It was Draco Malfoy, broken and for some ungodly reason needing a date beforehand. Slowly Harry felt his composure dissolve.
"How does this Sunday sound? Around noon?" He gulped and looked over Draco's shoulder, down the rickety stairs and at the red door. It looked like blood, an omen. Of what? He shouldn't be making a promise.
"Promise?" Draco breathed, looking torn.
Harry gathered himself and looked into Draco's eyes. "Yes."
It was with irritation and excitement that Draco passed the red door and sat on the bench at the table. The cottage was unusually quiet. He looked around and noticed the fire wasn't lit. Morosely he peeled his robes off and draped them on the table to dry. It was raining outside.
Ten minutes later Draco stormed outside and glared at the lake, rippled and bumpy from the raindrops. Potter was always there before him, except for the last time. There was no way he would forgot to attend because how could he forget the fight they had last week? It wasn't until he had wondered around for an hour that Draco lit the fire. He was angry and, he wasn't going to dwell on it, a little scared. What if something happened to Potter?
He stretched out on the lumpy couch, remembering the first time they'd had sex. To his immense irritation the thought of Potter being dead disagreed with him, and not just because he wouldn't have anyone to shag.
A shadow fell over him, making everything darker. Draco cracked his eyes open to find Potter standing there, stroking hair out of his face. Draco mumbled something and Potter sat down beside him, shifting his legs out of the way.
Draco sat up, cursing the sun. It shone through the opposite window, blinding him. He was still too groggy to form a thought.
"Were you here the whole time?" Potter asked and Draco noticed a bruise under his left eye. Not to mention his lip was split and threatening to open up.
"You look like shit," Draco managed, sitting and tucking his legs under him.
Potter waved a hand at him and leaned forward, licking Draco's lips. Draco was awake now, and furious. Here Potter was, sitting there all innocent-like, as if he hadn't just blown him off. He moved his head so the sun wasn't shinning in his eyes. How long had he slept? "You're late," he said instead, flatly.
"Yeah, I know." He leaned back and crossed his legs, reaching a hand out to grab Draco's ankle. Draco only let him because he was otherwise occupied.
"We agreed to meet here at noon. You were the one to pick it, and you couldn't even find the time to be on time." He huffed and folded his arms, shaking Potter's hand off.
Potter threw his head back and groaned. "This is why I didn't want to plan ahead."
"I bet you didn't come on time just so you could say that and not make plans anymore!" Draco accused.
Potter snatched Draco's hands and pulled him close so he had so lean awkwardly across the distance. Draco contemplated biting Potter in the face but decided against it. His face already looked like shit.
"I didn't come on time because you Death Eaters had attacked us at the headquarters. We don't know how they got in, probably Snape, the good for nothing two-timer." He frowned and Draco caught his breath. Potter could have been killed. "There were so many, Draco. I think almost all of them. You're probably the only one who wasn't there. We escaped with only a few scraps but they completely ransacked the house. We didn't stand a chance against them."
Oh, bloody fucking shit! Draco's heartbeat sped up and his eyes grew wide. He needed space. He tugged out of Potter's grip and fell against the back of the couch. He was dead. It must have been a spur of the moment attack or one that the Dark Lord told barely anyone until a few minutes before they left. No one even knew he had taken off. He must have slept right through the Dark Mark burning, as insane as that sounded. He was in so much trouble.
Potter's eyes softened into concern. "You really didn't know about it, did you? I thought you just hadn't told me." Now he looked hurt and was practically begging with every movement for Draco to tell him he was wrong. That he hadn't heard anything about it and if he had Potter would have been the first one to find out. It was the truth but Draco was too worried to care about reassuring Potter.
"Bloody hell," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. Hot air burst on his face and Potter's lips fluttered over his own. Soon they were a tangle of limbs, tussling for dominance. Potter's lip broke open and blood seeped out. Draco was too busy trying to take his mind off what would happen when he returned to the Dark Lord to care much about the nasty metallic taste entering his mouth with every kiss and lick.
"What side are you really on?" Potter asked at the same time he wedged a hand between Draco's trousers and pants, completely spoiling the mood.
Draco grimaced and moved to the other end of the couch, taking Potter's hand with him. Awkwardly, with a blush, Potter removed his hand and settled back. Draco regarded him closely. Potter's face was earnest and determined. Draco betted this question mattered to Potter as much as deciding beforehand (and arriving at the correct time) mattered to him.
"Does it really matter?" he asked cryptically. It was payback for Potter denying him what he wanted. Plus he didn't know. He wanted to be on the winning side. It was impossible to know who would win. Besides, he couldn't join Potter's side if he wanted, not with the Dark Mark on his forearm. The Dark Lord's side sounded like the most obvious choice, but then there was Potter. Why should Potter hold so much sway when he couldn't even think of Potter by his first name?
"It does to me."
Draco nodded and sighed heavily. He crawled across the couch, his knee sinking into the dratted hole, and slipped his tongue in Potter mouth. He pulled back and said, "I'll send a Patronus this time. And I'll send it this Saturday. That sound good for you?"
Potter scowled but dragged his fingers through Draco's hair, messing it up. "I'll find out when I receive the Patronus."
Swiftly Draco grabbed his robes from the table and slipped his shoes on. A quick glance out the window to make sure it wasn't raining and Draco headed to the door. He would walk a bit, clear his mind and get a story in order.
"Be careful," Potter's voice rang out, crisp and clear. He grinned and the blood on his lip caught Draco's eye. It was the same shade as the door, maybe not so Gryffindor-ish as he had thought.
"I always am." Then he was closing the door behind him. He didn't know anything and the unanswered questions swirled about in his head. Hopefully he could come across an excuse that was good enough for the Dark lord. An excuse so believable that the Dark Lord wouldn't pry through his mind and stumble upon what he'd really been doing.
He glanced through the white trees, completely bare of leaves now. He saw a shadow pass the window and wondered how much longer Potter would stay in the cottage. He wondered what was happening between them. It had started out as just an information source. Then they were shagging and then caring. Whatever it was, Draco realized he didn't want it to stop.