The Walls Have Eyes
The Walls Have Eyes
Author: Me, QueenieGalore aka Poietria aka Beck
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: Hard R, verging on NC17 maybe
Warning: Cliche, attempted humour, deus ex machina en large, basic cheating, oh, and angst.
Summery: Harry (the Boy Who Was a Big Fat Wuss) and Draco (That Bastard) are stuck together in a shack in the Scottish Wilderness. Snarking, sex and wackiness ensues!
A/N: This was intended for my song challenge, but the song I picked (Tired of You by The Foo Fighters) and the fic ended up having professional differences and decided to part ways. So, you could say that this was inspired by The Foos, but not really. Also, it's really a one-shot that got out of hand and had to be divided into two.
One
“Jesus, Malfoy!”
The face above him smirked, stopped what it was doing. “Jesus Malfoy? Odd, but has a ring to it I guess. I like it.”
Harry groaned and reached up, twisting blond strands of hair around his fingers and pulling. “Shut up,” he begged, “You’re so fucking annoying.”
Draco smirked again, or maybe it was the same smirk intensified, Harry couldn’t really tell. “And yet, you are so fucking me,” he pointed out helpfully. “Interesting…”
“Oh my God…” Harry pulled harder and brought Draco’s face down to meet his, lips clashing and claiming, and, after a moment, settling down to actually kissing.
Things progressed.
~
Harry stared bleakly at the walls. The walls stared bleakly back. It was a favourite game, but generally the walls won. Harry suspected that he could probably sit still until the house actually fell to ruins around him, if given the opportunity, but Draco was always doing things like bringing him coffee, or transfiguring his nose hair into cabbages, or taking his shirt off, and at times like those he had to gracefully concede defeat and let the walls win another match.
He’d been playing for twenty minutes when Draco stepped in front of him, hands on hips. “Damnit,” he muttered, blinking irritably, “Is there a problem?”
“A problem,” Draco mused, finger pressed to his chin. “You mean apart from being stuck in a derelict shack in the Scottish wilderness with my mortal enemy for the past month? No. None that I can think of, no.”
“Then could you please,” Harry said through gritted teeth, “go away?”
Draco decided to take a step closer instead. “You’re playing with the walls again, aren’t you?”
“Shut up.”
“You will never win that game, Potter.”
“Shut. Up.”
“You’re going mental. More mental.”
Harry lifted his eyes to stare dangerously into Draco’s, which looked back serenely, two glass-smooth grey lakes. It annoyed Harry that he could never cause so much as a ripple to mar the surface, not any more. Not since school.
“Malfoy, for fucks sake, will you leave me to my depression?”
Draco shook his head and advanced another step, hands back on his hips, looking directly down at the seated boy. Who hated having to look directly up. “No. I fancy a blowjob.”
Harry almost had to laugh at this. “Not everything can be fixed by sex, you realise. For instance, we’ve been fucking for two weeks now, and yet we’re still in a derelict shack in the Scottish wilderness, stuck with our mortal enemies. Being mortal fuck-buddies as well hasn’t made any discernable difference to the situation.”
Draco shrugged and made a face. “Yes, but I’m bored and there’s nothing else to do. Come to bed. Come to bed now or I’ll hex you.”
Harry shifted his eyes away, he was getting a sore neck. “Resorting to blackmail? How like a Malfoy.”
He sensed rather than saw Draco stiffen slightly, drawing himself up. But the fight went out of the other boy before it had even fully arrived, and he shrugged again. “This is coercion, not blackmail,” he said lightly, but Harry knew he’d won. Draco stepped away, sighed, and went back into the kitchen, presumably to work on the only weak spot in the wards that they’d managed to find. Having found it three weeks ago, they didn’t hold out much hope in breaking it, but it passed the time.
Passing the time had become a full blown obsession for both of them. Harry liked to drink coffee and have staring matches with inanimate objects. Draco preferred to have sex and work on the wards until he was too exhausted to think. Harry joined him by necessity in the first, but only occasionally in the second. He knew who’d made these wards. He knew that their chances of getting out in the next millennia were somewhere in the minus percentages.
They were trapped, and it was his fault, and Voldemort was going to take over the world and kill all the little puppies and kittens and muggleborns and muggles and blood traitors and everything else he didn’t like, and it was his fault. Because he’d been stupid enough to chase Draco ‘Decoy’ Malfoy into this stupid cottage instead of go after any number of more worthy targets. And Harry should have done so many things. He should have remembered about the Order safehouse warded to the hilt somewhere in the Scottish wilderness. He should have remembered to never enter a building without first checking it for said wards. He should have told someone where he was going and why. He should have gotten over his Draco obsession in 6th year and just let him go. He should, he reflected moodily, have given the whole lark up and become a chicken farmer in Wales. But he’d done none of those things, and now he was stuck with the most irritating person in Britain, whose only redeeming features were not being ugly, not being overly straight, and knowing how to give awesome head.
“It could have been worse,” he called in the general direction of the kitchen, “You could have been Goyle.”
“This is true,” Draco called back, “Because Goyle wouldn’t have known to do that swirly thing with his tongue.”
Harry blanched. “Oh, gross.” With an effort he stood up, nodded to the wall (‘good match,’ ‘and to you, sir,’) and went to join the other boy.
Draco looked up with a grin as Harry entered the room. He was standing facing the refrigerator, wand aimed at a point of the wall just above it. Silver light shimmered in a fine webbing for about three feet on either side.
“You are going to tell me right now that you have never had sex with Gregory Goyle,” Harry said, standing next to Draco and raising his wand in kind.
“Of course I haven’t,” Draco replied amiably, “Because I am straight.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. They’d had this conversation before. “The stains on the sheets would disagree.”
Draco made a face, but didn’t answer until Harry had performed the spells that would link his wand to Draco’s, so more power could be directed at the wards. They’d done this a million times, the magic had been imprinted onto their brains.
“Extenuating circumstances,” he finally said, as a beam of green light shot from Harry’s wand and joined the silver networking on the wall, “Worse things happen at sea. Or so I heard from the Durmstrang boys.” He paused, studying the patterns of light in front of them. “The weakness has moved again. It’s reached the spider web, now.”
Harry nodded and sighed. “Is it us doing it, though? Or do the wards rotate themselves somehow?”
“No idea. But if it keeps it up, pretty soon it’s going to reach the window…”
They both paused, catching each others eye. For the first time, Harry felt a glimmer of hope. “The window, eh.”
“Yep.” Draco smiled, not the cocky grin, nor the self satisfied smirk - just a smile.
Harry smiled back. “Well, fuck me.”
“I tried…”
~
Now they felt like they had something to wait for. The weakness in the wards situating itself over the window wouldn’t necessarily mean they could just waltz out, but it opened up a few new possibilities. For instance, if they froze the entire area, ward network included, put up a containment spell (so they wouldn’t be blown to China), and then shattered the window, it might just bring the whole system down. Or, they could concentrate the network on the window and simply blow the whole thing out, which was a long shot but worth a try if everything else failed. At the least, they might be able to make a crack large enough to send off a message.
Or they might not. From what Harry could remember, Dumbledore had been the soul secret keeper for the place, and with Dumbledore dead he could only assume that the role hadn’t been passed on to anyone else. The alarms were the kind that keyed to the secret keeper when they were set off by anyone with magic - muggles would just see an old ruin. If Dumbledore were still alive, they would have been out of there within the hour. But it was a moot point, because if Dumbledore were alive they’d never have been here in the first place.
But now they refused to be drawn on such gloomy contemplation, instead spending hours planning, inventing spells and combinations of spells, strengthening their own private protective charms. In short - they spent their time hoping.
It was a novel feeling for Harry, but he thought he might be able to get used to it.
And he thought he was getting a bit too used to Draco all around.
~
“So tell me, what will you do when you get out of here?” Harry asked one night, reaching for his glass of wine. He had to hand it to the Order, when it came to making safehouse-cum-prisons, it certainly knew what it was doing. There was a renewing cupboard and refrigerator, each daily filling themselves with all the things the boys most loved to eat. There was a never ending supply of firewood. And, most impressive of all, there was a large supply of booze.
“I’m going to reassert my masculinity,” Draco replied promptly, “By finding at least three girls and taking them to bed as soon as is seemly.”
Harry snorted. “Whatever, Malfoy.”
“I, Potter, am straight. What happens in the Scottish wilderness stays in the Scottish wilderness.”
Grinning widely, Harry poured Draco some more wine. “You’re drinking Rosé,” he pointed out sensibly, holding the pale pink wine up to the light.
Snatching the glass off him, Draco shrugged. “Any port in a storm, my good man. Any port in a storm.” He took a sip, and then slyly looked at Harry out of the corner of his eye. “You’re gay, aren’t you?”
Harry paused before answering, studying the way the light shone through the glass and left a rose coloured stain against Draco’s neck. “I would never have said so before I came in here,” he said slowly, “But I think it’s starting to grow on me. Men, that is.”
“You’re not going to give it up and go back to girls when we get out?” Draco looked curious, and a little surprised. Harry felt himself blush, and then blushed at blushing, and then drank some more wine.
“Dunno. Don’t think I’ll give up on a good thing, actually.”
Draco’s hand found Harry’s knee, stroking it lightly. Harry’s heart started beating a little faster. “What are they going to say when they find out their poster boy’s a faggot?”
Wincing, Harry pushed the hand away, getting up to put some unnecessary logs on the fire. “Don’t use that word. I hate that word.”
“Poof? Homo? Are those better?”
Harry turned to him and glared, all warm and fuzzy feelings going up in smoke. “Malfoy, shut the fuck up.”
Smirking, Draco delicately set his glass on the table and sat back on the couch, legs spread ever so slightly. “Make me.”
Harry was almost quivering with irritation. “You think you can get everything you want, don’t you?”
“I can.”
“Really?” Harry walked back to the couch and sat on the coffee table in front of the other boy, leaning forwards. “You think so.”
Draco’s head was tilted back, but while Harry, in a similar position, would have just gotten a crick in his neck, Draco looked - well, like that. “I do, yes,” the blond agreed, “Because it has worked so far. You can’t deny that.”
“Mmmm,” Harry agreed, leaning in closer, “Because Draco…”
Draco blinked at the use of his given name, but covered his shock admirably. “Yes?”
Harry’s voice came out in a breathy little whisper. “You’re just so…strong and brave and handsome…”
Draco’s head dropped back against the couch, and he let out a small groan. “You complete bastard.”
“And dreamy and smart and kind and funny and-” but by now Harry was laughing too hard to go on.
“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” Draco growled, but a slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, despite his best efforts to rein it in.
Harry nodded. “Stop being so vain, Malfoy. You’re fit, you know that, and I know that, and fucking you is incredible, but you can’t just snap you fingers and have me on my knees.”
Draco pouted. “Why not?”
Standing and stretching, Harry looked down at him, all hint of amusement disappearing from his face. “Because it’s not fair. When you go find your three girls, Malfoy, think about me thinking about-” he waved his hand in a gesture that seemed to take in the entire country, “all this. I’m not going to be looking for girls.”
Draco flushed and looked away. “You don’t mean that.”
“You don’t know me,” Harry shot back, “You don’t know what I do and do not mean.”
And then he paused, because when it came to it, he wasn’t sure if he had meant it…or rather, he wasn’t sure what it had meant. Getting used to Draco was one thing, and deciding boys had certain things going for them was another, but…but…
“I know you some,” Draco said very quietly, and Harry looked at him in alarm. This conversation had started going in places Harry hadn’t charted, on the little map in his mind all he could read were the words ‘here be dragons!’, and the irony of that didn’t escape him, either. He floundered slightly, looking around the little room, wondering where the escape hatch was.
Frivolity must be the key.
“Well, you certainly know how to give a decent blowjob, I’ll give you that,” he said lightly, or at least attempted to say lightly. It sounded forced to his own ears, which wasn’t surprising considering he was a complete hypocrite who’d just done a total about face. “Not that I’ve had much experience, you know. You either, I guess, because of you being straight. Which was the point. Er. That is to say… I don’t know what I’m saying, actually.” Stop! Just stop talking! His inner monologue was screaming and waving red flags, and his vocal chords finally got the hint and shut themselves down.
Trouble grey eyes met his, blinking. “Well, that at least is obvious.” Draco stood, mimicked Harry’s stretch, and wandered out of the room. “I’m going to bed. When you get over whatever strange little crisis you’re having Potter, you may join me.”
Aaah. That was the Draco he knew and…
Harry tripped over the table as he completed the maxim.
Oh. Shit.
Being in love was not on the Harry Potter Daily To-Do List. In fact, if he was going to start talking about lists, then being in love with Draco probably topped the All Time Things Never Ever Ever To-Do List, which was a list he’d managed to invent purely for the occasion. He wasn’t only sailing in waters marked ‘Here be Dragons’, he was going scuba diving in them, flippering up to said dragons, and attempting to give them a big hug. Also, his metaphors were suffering horribly.
He was completely insane. In love with Draco. It made having staring contests with walls seem positively natural.
Desperately, he cast his mind back to the Draco he knew of old. Pointy. Spiteful. Snide. Vindictive. Vile. Revolting. Ferret-esque. He got himself worked up and continued in this vein for quite some time, rather amusing himself. Then he realised spending half an hour thinking even unpleasant thoughts about Draco was better than half an hour of doing almost anything else in the world, and knew, knew, for certain, that he was hopelessly, desperately, stupidly besotted. And that if he didn’t get the hell out of this house soon he was going to do something ridiculous like tell him so.
He didn’t even want to imagine how that conversation would go. “Draco, I love you.” “I’m straight you idiot. As soon as I get out of here I’m setting up a harem of beautiful, nubile young girls. Now, there’s an hour left before tea, let us shag like crazed bunnies.”
Harry shook his head wildly, and then jumped as the very boy himself appeared in the doorway, looking very sleepy and rumpled in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs.
“What the hell are you doing? Why aren’t you in bed? It’s cold. I’m bored. I can’t sleep. Are you still having a crisis? Stop it. You should come to bed right now.” And Harry was left staring and blinking as Draco turned on his heel and disappeared back into the bedroom.
You love that, he thought to himself in wonder. Call St Mungo’s. This. Instant.
He got up and followed.
TBC