lomonaaeren | Chapter Nine of 'Providence'- What Harry Potter Did

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Chapter Nine—What Harry Potter Did

Draco understood everything now, of course, and so he couldn’t keep his mind from racing even as he danced back from the Cutting Curse Potter used and dropped flat to the floor under the Body-Bind.

Of course.

Potter owned an Invisibility Cloak. Potter was an Auror, and he could brag about killing his share of Dark wizards, including the Darkest of them all. Potter had every reason in the world to despise himself for liking Draco, what with their history. He could plausibly believe that Draco would never want to date him.

Draco had to roll to avoid the Stupefy. As he fought his way back to his feet, he gazed coolly into Potter’s frantic, rage-filled green eyes and remembered all the things his writer had made him feel.

He hadn’t connected them with Potter. He wondered, now, if his mind had consciously tried to prevent him from doing anything so ridiculous.

And he still wondered why Potter, even if he had excellent reason to believe that Draco didn’t want to date him, would push Astoria into his place and then write letters he had to know would tempt Draco more than her weak charms.

Much as he wondered why Potter was fighting so furiously now, when everything he wanted had just walked into the room, and why he had almost kissed another man.

Asking depended on slowing him down.

So Draco moved from the defensive to the offensive, intent on stopping Potter from doing something stupid—as hard as that would be—and asking him those questions.

And perhaps doing other things, he decided, his eyes traveling over Potter and noticing the muscles that he hadn’t quite dared to add to his writer’s imagined body.

*

Harry could feel his mouth working apart in a snarl, especially when Draco ducked around the spells that should have laid him out harmlessly and didn’t even bother with Shield Charms. His own emotions were throwing off his aim, he thought furiously. He forced his mind back to his Auror training and the ways that his instructors had taught him to focus his attention on the immediate goal.

Knock Draco out. Or bind him. Then use a Memory Charm on him, and send him back to Britain. And explain everything to Rodrigo.

That barely dimmed the fury, though. He had done his best to get away. He had recognized the wrong he’d done to Draco, and tried to make up for it by not contacting him again and allowing him to go his own way and live his own life. He’d found someone to take his mind off Draco, the way Hermione had said he should for years. He’d done everything right. For once, he had quieted his conscience with appropriate action.

And then Draco had to show up and try to drag him into everything he’d left behind. Worse, he had to banish Rodrigo and put anti-Apparition charms on the doors and windows, as if he had a right, as if his high-handed interference in Harry’s life was natural.

Part of Harry wanted to throw down his wand and talk to Draco about everything that lay between them.

He crushed that part of him ruthlessly. He recognized it. That was the part of him still in love with Draco, the part that wanted to muck everything up because it was madly convinced that he could be with Draco if he wouldn’t accept Astoria. But that was also the part of him that had come up with the letters plan. Harry couldn’t trust his emotions anymore, and that meant he should ignore them.

React rationally. That’s the ticket.

Which didn’t explain why he was fighting Draco like a madman, but the path to rational action had to wait until he’d won the fight.

This all decided, Harry leveled his wand for the blast that should have laid Draco on the floor, his hands and legs bound together.

Only to have Draco, the right bastard, fight back.

*

Draco knew that Potter wasn’t going to be an easy opponent to conquer, not with his Auror training. And he didn’t want to use Dark Arts in a foreign country where, if the Ministry had heard his name at all, it was likely to be in connection with notorious criminals.

But there was no law against fighting dirty. Potter might know how to do that, but he couldn’t do it as quickly as Draco.

So Draco started with a Transfiguration that altered the floor under Potter’s feet to ice and made him slide and flail for almost a minute; he hadn’t expected an attack under him and had tried to leap over a spell that he must have thought aimed for his knees. His helplessness gave Draco the time to set up a small Shield Charm fastened to his left arm and then consider his next spell.

Potter braced his back against the bed and snarled as he aimed his wand at Draco’s head. Draco took a chance and ducked to the right. The air bowed inwards just above his hair, and he knew that it was the Punishing Blow Hex, which would have laid him out unconscious.

Draco snarled back. So Potter wants to play like that, does he? Fine.

“Incarcerous sapiens!” he snapped, and the ropes shot out of his wand and undulated towards Potter, intelligent ropes that would anticipate his movements.

Potter moved his wand down and then abruptly sideways, and the ropes fell, slashed by a nonverbal spell. He focused on Draco, his eyes wide and murderous, before his lips lifted into a smirk and he began to chant the opening syllables of a human Transfiguration spell.

He wants me as a ferret. He’s so obvious. Draco’s heart beat faster with rage, and he stepped forwards instead of backing away in fear as Potter would expect him to. “Expelliarmus!”

Potter’s wand trembled in his hand. He maintained his hold on it, but it did ruin his spell, which made the idiot scowl in the moment before he had to fling himself sideways. Draco had hurled a curse that would have compressed his chest and distracted him if he’d stayed still; as it was, it shrunk the bed.

From the floor, Potter chanted his next spell in a rough voice, too low to be heard, and Draco’s personal gravity reversed, his feet flipping up to where his head had been. He gagged against the sensation of all the blood rushing to his head.

Still, he had enough wherewithal to strike back, and he suspected that Potter wouldn’t expect that, so overconfident was he. “Vomitus,” he hissed, and the yellow-orange light encircled Potter. Draco smiled grimly as he heard the sound of violent retching a moment later. That ought to hold Potter long enough for him to figure out the counterspell for the magic holding him; he knew a simple Finite wouldn’t do it.

Amazingly, Potter managed to cast in the midst of the vomiting. “Rictusempra!” he said.

Draco experienced an instant of startled displeasure before the sensation of tickling fingers ran all over his body and he began to shake with laughter, which rather distracted him from not hanging upside-down.

*

Harry had to feel a grim admiration for Draco; not many untrained wizards could have held their own against an Auror as long as he had, and especially not without casting Dark Arts, which Harry had thought he would resort to at first.

But the admiration was rather tempered by the burn of bile in his throat and the vomit on the floor, which he banished with a wave of his wand. If it stayed, the smell would tempt him to start throwing up again. He climbed shakily to one knee and watched as Draco revolved upside-down, vibrating as he tried desperately to cast.

There, you bastard, Harry thought, and his anger began to calm. I beat you. You’ll have to admit that you don’t have the right to barge in here and take over my life the way you tried to. In your own code, being beaten is a weakness, so now you’ll go away and—

Draco gave a wrench to the side and wriggled his wand in a motion Harry had never seen before, and the Tickling Charm and the charm that reversed his gravity both stopped at once. He flipped to his feet and managed to land kneeling, rather than on his head, which Harry would have expected. And then he nearly caught Harry gaping by flinging another Incarcerous before he even stood up.

Harry whirled in a circle, which confused the ropes, and then Vanished them the way he had the vomit. “Couldn’t know when to give up, could you?” he muttered viciously. He cast a series of precise, firework-like flashes, which should blind Draco—

If he hadn’t had his eyes closed already, as if he’d known what Harry was going to do. Harry backed up with a curse, and slipped on the part of the floor Draco had Transfigured into ice. That turned out to be fortunate, because it carried him under the nasty-looking jinx that flew past his ear with a buzzing sound.

“I don’t give up someone I want as badly as I want you,” Draco said, gasping slightly, but otherwise not looking the worse for wear.

Harry had to swallow at the jolt the words gave him. But then he shook his head. Hadn’t he been right when it turned out that he was the wrong one for Draco?

On the other hand, Draco didn’t think like him. He knew that. Maybe this perspective hadn’t occurred to him, and he would go away when Harry suggested it.

The thought of Draco leaving felt like a knife stabbing him under the ribs, but he had to do the right thing for Draco’s sake. He had to ensure that Draco was happy, no matter how much it hurt him personally, and that meant getting him away from Harry.

“Someone who really loved you, someone you should want, wouldn’t have come up with the letters plan in the first place,” Harry said. He conjured a Shield Charm that repelled the next curse Draco flung at him, but otherwise didn’t move. He’d obtained good results before when he was working with criminals, making eye contact and speaking in a low voice, so he did that now. “You should find someone actually worthy of you.”

Draco sneered, as unimpressed by good sense as he ever had been in school, Harry thought. A stir of anger returned to him as he watched Draco turn his wand over between his hands. Harry knew he had made a mistake, knew he had done something unforgivable. Why did Draco have to act as if he hadn’t?

“Someone worthy of me excites and arouses me,” Draco said. “The way you did. The way your letters did.” He shook his head, eyes fastened to Harry’s as if he also knew that Auror technique and was trying it out on Harry. “I want you. At the very least, I’d like to see how much you please me before I decide on giving you up.”

Harry growled and took a step closer. The air between them seemed to have thickened like one of the Incarcerous ropes Draco had tried so hard to bind him with, drawing them together. Harry couldn’t have walked out of this room as he’d walked out of Britain even if the locking and the anti-Apparition charms had both dropped away. “You arrogant bastard.”

“Yes,” Draco whispered. “That’s me.” He had a peculiar smile on his face.

“Only concerned about sex,” Harry said, almost spitting the words now. “Or should I say, your own pleasure? With whether I please you, not with whether you please me.”

Draco arched an eyebrow. “Of course I can assume you’re pleased with me, or you wouldn’t have sought me out in the first place.”

“That’s changing rapidly.” Harry couldn’t believe how soft his own voice had got, or how furious he was. It was making him shake as he stood there, the contradictory desires to pounce on Draco and make him shut up about things he knew nothing of, or to force his way through the anti-Apparition spells and into the street to apologize and explain things to Rodrigo.

“Why?” Draco made his tone coaxing, the way he might have called to a feral dog. Harry moved forwards a step before he could stop himself, his hand twitching to hit. “Just tell me what made you change your mind, Harry. That’s all I want to know. I promise.”

“Because of what you said in your last letter,” Harry said. “You don’t want me, not as I am. You want some degraded version of me, someone you can turn into a pet. And you’re arrogant enough to reject Astoria, and try to capture me, and dump Rodrigo outside the door, and all to secure someone you should hate anyway.”

“Hogwarts was a long time ago, Harry.” Draco’s eyes and smile both widened, and it took Harry a moment to realize that he had shuddered when Draco spoke his name, as if the word pulled on a cord connected to his groin. Harry bared his teeth, but Draco didn’t change his expression. “I don’t hate you now. I’m stunned, oh yes. Surprised, oh yes. Lustful, oh yes.” He looked down Harry’s body then, with lazy contentment in his eyes. “But not hateful.”

“You should hate me for trying to manipulate you into falling in love with Astoria,” Harry whispered. He couldn’t have raised his voice or moved away from Draco to save his life, and he didn’t know why. He wanted to tear his eyes away from Draco and look out the window to make sure Rodrigo was all right. At least, that was what he told himself. “That’s a wound that can never be forgotten or forgiven. And if you can’t forget or forgive me, how can you be with me?”

“Would you never forget or forgive someone who did that to you?” Draco had admitted a jot of intense curiosity into the expression on his face.

“I would,” Harry said, after a moment of uncomfortable silence when he realized he didn’t really know the answer. “I think. But I know you, and you’re different.”

Draco shook his head and clucked his tongue. “I think we’ve established by now that you don’t know me that well, Harry.”

And for all that Harry had told himself to anticipate it, it still came as a shock when Draco flicked his wand and bound Harry from head to foot with a nonverbal Incarcerous, strapping his wand safely behind his back. Harry kicked hard, twisted, struggled, arched his shoulder until a rope was near his mouth and tried to bite through it, and tried to get enough give to dislocate his shoulders and slip out that way.

When he discovered that he was well and truly caught, he settled for glaring.

Draco approached in a leisurely manner.

*

Draco was working hard to keep from breathing in pants. The fight had aroused him uncontrollably, and so had the emotions showing as clearly on Potter’s face as cracks in an enchanted mirror. And then Potter had come nearer and nearer to him, and lowered his voice each time, as if he imagined that would make him less attractive in Draco’s eyes.

It was time, Draco thought, to test some of the differences between a male lover and a female.

He stopped a few feet away from Potter, eyeing him and the fury on his face in appreciation, and then came closer. Potter stared at him, surprised and disbelieving until Draco was near enough to slide a knee between his tied legs.

He hadn’t mistaken his target. How could he, when it had drawn his eyes from the time he’d Apparated into the room? Potter’s mouth fell open and he groaned breathlessly as Draco’s thigh rubbed against his erection.

“I do want you,” Draco said. The shock of leaping into the room with sympathetic magic and finding Potter there was still with him, but he was overcoming it, and it helped that he knew Potter was his writer now. He could focus his attention on his writer’s words and personality if he needed to. Indeed, at the moment the most difficult thing was holding himself in one place instead of stepping the rest of the way forwards to grind against Potter. “I can forgive what you did to me—or claim payment.” He increased the pressure and the force of his rutting, and Potter threw his head back, gasping and bucking his hips. His legs clamped around Draco’s thigh as much as they could, given the ropes that constrained them. “This is the kind of payment I like.”

Draco had a hard time saying the last words. His cock throbbed to the point where he did have to push forwards now, involuntary little humping thrusts that made his need spiral up into his stomach like a rising summer wind. He leaned closer still and kissed Potter for the first time, wondering if that would center him.

It made his excitement worse. Potter’s mouth opened to him, and the heat, whilst different from the warmth boiling in Draco’s belly, and slick in a new way, piled on top of what he was already feeling. Draco snarled softly. He could sense the lust working like a flame on the threads of his control, burning through them one by one.

And then Potter clamped his teeth down, holding Draco’s tongue still, and flipped forwards, using the magic of the Incarcerous spell that kept him floating above the floor and his grip on Draco’s thigh to put Draco on his back beneath him. Draco blinked, dazed, as his head struck the floor. By the time his swimming vision cleared, Potter had already settled himself in a new position and was riding his thigh, his eyes screwed shut and his breath ragged as a running werewolf’s.

“Can’t resist me even when you think it’s wrong, can you?” Draco whispered, because he still thought words might hold the flame at bay.

“God,” Potter said, opening his eyes. They were glazed, drugged. He dragged at his arms, trying to bring them forwards, but they were securely bound behind his back. Draco experienced a moment’s smugness that Potter couldn’t get off unless he allowed it.

And then Potter whispered, “Damn you, damn you, I want it,” hunched down as much as he could with the magic supporting him, and rubbed himself against Draco’s leg desperately.

The flame had its way. Draco reached up, slung his arms around Potter’s neck, and snogged him again, panting as he did it, so that his breaths flew down Potter’s throat. He shifted to the side, flattening the leg Potter wasn’t riding.

Potter wasn’t stupid, no matter how much he might seem like it with his lack of foresight and his talk of wounds never healing. He dropped his own thigh into place, and Draco shuddered all over, because there was pressure against his cock, at long last.

And so they rocked back and forth, awkward as mating dragons, with the heat twisting tighter and tighter in Draco’s belly, his body’s jerking more important than the spasms of pain running up his legs and throbbing from his head, all his sophisticated plans for vengeance falling down in black and red ruin—

And the green, green blaze of Potter’s eyes.

*

What are you doing? You’re mad. You’re stupid, Harry’s mind chattered at him. You shouldn’t be doing this. You should pull back and Memory Charm Malfoy whilst you have a chance, whilst he’d distracted.

But Harry couldn’t stop. He’d already tried, and his body went on seeking its satisfaction without him, dragging his mind down into a gulf of desire.

Something about the way Draco’s eyes had rolled shut, the way his body flopped and pressed and rubbed beneath Harry, the desperation in the creased corners of his mouth, wouldn’t let him stop.

Then the orgasm struck, and Harry screamed. It was as though someone had caught him on a hot pitchfork and tossed him up; his body jackknifed, and the wild motions the pleasure forced him into actually hurt.

Beneath him, Draco came, too, a moment after. Harry found himself staring avidly at his convulsions, and even savoring the way Draco clamped and curled his body around Harry’s thigh as if it were his most precious possession.

And then, of course, rationality returned.

Harry shut his eyes and swore softly. He would have liked to bang his head against something, but he was far from his pacing room and he didn’t think Draco would understand if Harry pounded against him.

Well, any more than I already have, anyway.

Harry cleared his throat. “Could you take off these ropes, please?” he asked.

Draco let his head fall back and laughed. Harry rolled his eyes and didn’t interrupt. Draco was still the one who had to cancel the spell; it was just as well not to anger him.

Draco pushed him back slightly, and Harry let go of his tight grip on Draco’s leg, so that he floated back into the upright position the Incarcerous spell had first tried to put him in. He winced as intense pain passed through his shoulders and arms like a heat shimmer. “Hurting a bit here,” he said.

“You’re not too proud to admit that, then?” Draco stood in front of him. He reached up and touched the back of Harry’s head, combing his fingers through his hair as if trying to decide how in the world it had ended up that tangled and curly. His eyes were half-lowered, his eyelids concealing his emotions from Harry.

“Not now.” Harry tried to twitch his arms in their bonds, but he couldn’t move them. He attempted to look as miserable as possible.

Draco gave him a faint smile that could have hidden several different sarcastic remarks, but flicked his wand. Harry dropped abruptly to his knees on the floor as the magic holding him up and the ropes dissipated both at once. Tenderly, he brought his wrists in front of him and rubbed at them.

“I do hope that you don’t attempt to Obliviate me again, Potter.”

Harry looked up. Draco had his wand trained on him, and his expression was intent and amused and alert. Harry stood up, deliberately tucking his wand into his back robe pocket. His mind churned with plans, but he doubted that any one he could select was equal to whatever plot Draco’d had time to formulate.

But there was still the simple old tactic of telling the truth and hoping that would do.

“Look, Malfoy,” he said, because if Draco was going to call Harry by his last name they should be on even terms. “You can’t really want to be with me.”

“In fact,” Draco said, “at the moment I’m not sure I want to. But I do know that I want the time and space to make that decision.”

Harry let out a deep breath. “You’re going back to Britain, then?”

“Not unless you come with me,” Draco said, his voice so soft it might have sounded shy. Harry had heard threatening growls before, though, mostly from Kingsley, and he recognized one now. “You’ll explain things to my satisfaction, Potter. You’ll be as honest as you can be with that thick skull and that noble nature of yours. But you aren’t leaving my sight until I’ve figured out whether I can tolerate a male lover, let alone one as dim-witted as you are.”

Harry stiffened and didn’t care if Draco saw him doing it. “I’ll be more than tolerated,” he said, “or I won’t stay with you, Malfoy.”

Draco chuckled in delight and stepped towards him so fast that Harry only aimed his wand at Draco’s midriff after Draco’s hand had cupped the back of his neck and his mouth hovered an inch from Harry’s face. “I know that,” he whispered. His lips and the tip of his tongue scraped Harry’s own lips. “But you must understand, now. We’re too deeply snared in this. We’re not letting go of each other because neither one of us can, not until we work this out. And not after that spectacular orgasm.” He shifted so that his hip rested on Harry’s.

Harry half-closed his eyes as he felt himself trying to get hard again.

*

A sharp spike of pleasure passed through Draco. What he had from Potter was not surrender, but, in the tiny nod that brushed hair and sweat-slick skin against his palm, the next-best thing: the promise of engagement.

Potter was smart enough to see the truth of Draco’s statement: neither one of them could walk away now. And that boded excellent things for the future.

Draco didn’t think the shock of discovering his writer was Potter had subsided yet. But now his excitement was on the wax, and other emotions would follow. Any fear that this might have been simply a plan to humiliate him was fading.

This was deeper. This was more complex.

This could be, possibly, the future he had hunted in all the women around him and failed to find.

Draco could make the accommodations he’d been thinking about when using the sympathetic magic. If Potter needed an equal relationship with Draco, then Draco could give him one.

As long as Potter gave him that passion that he’d kept hidden behind the exterior of ‘perfect Auror’ for so long. And it was obvious now that he wouldn’t be able to help himself, wouldn’t be able to give less than his full emotions to anyone he got involved with.

A pounding on the door made Draco start back from Potter. “Harry?” called a voice that was probably that of the Spanish man in the room when Draco appeared, trying to claim his writer.

Potter rolled his eyes. “I’d better go reassure Rodrigo,” he said, and stepped away from Draco, ripping himself harshly free when Draco wouldn’t let him go fast enough for his satisfaction. He gave Draco a narrow-eyed glance, shook his head, and faced the door, undoing the locking spells with a few swift passes of his wand. He could do it easily enough when he was concentrating—or not facing Draco.

Draco eyed Potter’s arse in contentment. Not complacency; there would be very little of that in his life from now on.

But what he got in trade was more than worth it. There was a deep satisfaction in his heart, a languid relaxation of the emotions that corresponded to the post-orgasmic glow in his body.

Draco had never felt anything like it before. He would make sure to experience it many more times.

Not that he would let desire for Potter control his reactions or cloud his thoughts. That would be simply stupid.

But the chance that he would let Potter leave him now—male body and irritating devotion to “good” and all the rest of it—was one in a thousand.

Chapter 10.

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From:

helenadax.livejournal.com

The fight was awesome, I could imagine everything. Draco's thoughts during the fight were very amusing, and I love how they're able to duel and communicate with each other at the same time XD And they're together now! ^^ How many chapter are left? Are they going to have more problems?

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Chapter Nine of 'Providence'- What Harry Potter Did

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