Repost: Draco's Release (H/D, NC-17), post 1 of 4
Title: Draco's Release, Chapter 1-3 (of 10)
Author: ravenna_c_tan
Rating: NC-17
Prompt Set: 50.1 from the 100quills fest
Prompt: Dark
Word Count: 9900 (this segment)
Pairings: Draco/Harry
Warnings: Light bondage, bottom!harry, power games, postwar angst.
Disclaimer: I wrote this fanfic for completely non-commercial enjoyment. All characters are not mine and are copyrighted and trademarked by their owners/publishers.
Beta-reader: kyuuketsukirui

Summary: Sequel to "Draco's Folly." A year after Voldemort's death, Draco Malfoy is still suffering the aftereffects of what happened. Harry Potter has been helping him recover, waiting and hoping that someday, Draco will be whole again. Whether either of them will ever truly be sound is an open question.

Notes:
This series follows the events of Draco's Folly. I recommend you read Draco's Folly first, but if all the non-con, incest, BDSM, and evil in that one is too much, don't. If you do plan to read Draco's Folly, don't read this first as it is full of spoilers. This story is much milder (it would have to be, as DF has just about every warning there is...).



>


CHAPTER ONE


Harry felt the moment when Draco lost his mind.

It was a temporary loss, as it always was, when Draco was seized by something terrible in his memory, but that made it no less terrifying. Harry had been in his back garden, digging out the roots of a long-dead shrub with a shovel when he'd felt the warning, almost like a ringing in his ears, except he felt rather than heard it.

He Apparated to the front steps of Malfoy Manor. The door opened--as always--to his touch. He never knew if Draco had somehow instructed the house to grant him entry, or if the Manor simply knew Harry was there to help. It was magic, after all. He moved swiftly through the foyer and into the main parlor.

There was the lord of the manor now, struggling to right himself, picking himself up off the floor with one hand on the mantel, his arms shaking with the effort.

Harry spelled the dirt from his hands before gripping him from behind, his arms circling his chest. Malfoy wore full robes, two layers, and under that a shirt, waistcoat, and trousers. It was like fighting a load of laundry--and it was fighting, as Draco's body convulsed instinctively, trying to shake Harry off.

Harry wrestled him into a chair and then stood back, panting slightly. Harry felt the loss of contact keenly, as though a blanket had been torn off him, even though the contact had been brief. He wondered what would happen if, instead of letting go, he held on.

Best not to think about that. "Are you all right?"

Draco looked as though he couldn't bear to meet Harry's eyes. He waved a hand dismissively and Harry wondered if perhaps he'd lost the ability to speak as well.

Draco eventually did look up, through the screen of his overlong hair, and said "I'm fine now. You can go."

Harry leaned close, trying to see what emotion was hidden in those grey eyes. "Your pupils are still dilated."

"It'll pass," Draco said, his voice now as dismissive as his gesture.

"Draco," Harry started to say, then stopped himself. Just that one word, just his name, it came out all wrong, too hungry and desperate. Harry nearly moaned as he said it and Draco looked up, spooked. Now you've done it, Harry thought. He'd tried to be so careful. So respectful of Draco's need for privacy and distance and time to heal.

But it was hard, when every night he put himself to sleep with memories of Draco's kiss, Draco's cock, and things they had shared in the dim isolation of Voldemort's dungeon.

It's been a year, Draco, he imagined himself saying. You've been much better lately, haven't you? Instead, he slid down until he was sitting cross-legged at Draco's feet. "I just want to be sure you're okay."

"You should go," Draco said, but his voice sounded soft and unsure.

Harry was not one to let an opportunity pass. "I don't think I will," he said, looking into Draco's face to see his reaction.

Draco tried to stifle his look of surprise. Harry usually fled as soon as he was no longer needed. "Why?"

Harry suddenly knew why. Because the time had come to take the initiative. He kept his eyes on Draco's as he got to his knees, moving his hands with deliberate slowness until his fingers rested lightly on Draco's legs. He could feel the tension in Draco, even through the layers of his robes.

"It's time for this, Draco," he said, one finger tracing the circle of Draco's face and pushing aside a long lock of hair.

He did not say what "this" was, but Draco did not protest, just sat stock still as though too terrified to move. Maybe he was. Harry leaned forward, staring into those terrified eyes, until his lips met Draco's lips.

Draco closed his eyes as Harry began the softest kiss he could manage, not to tease, but to show that it could be done without power, without pain, without pretense.

But not without passion. Draco's closed eyes did not keep tears from running down his cheeks, and as Harry pulled away, Draco took Harry's hands and pressed them to his forehead. Then kissed them and sat back with a sigh.

Harry could see Draco's pulse racing in his throat, but his shoulders relaxed. "Are you all right?" he asked, because he always did.

Draco merely nodded. Good. Harry stood to leave. He had pushed the envelope enough for one day and it was time to go before the pain of holding himself back became too much.

But now Draco spoke. "Will you help me do something?"

Harry nearly did a double-take. It was the first time in a year that Draco had asked him anything. He hardly ever said a word. "What is it?"

Draco looked pensive. "Have you been to my father's grave?"

Harry schooled his face to remain neutral. Lucius Malfoy was perhaps the only person he had hated as much as Voldemort, and he was certain Draco felt the same way about his would-be murderer. But, still. "No. Have you?"

"No. But I think I might... I'll be ready soon."

Harry suppressed a smile. It was the first time he'd heard Draco express any desire to leave the Manor at all. As for why Draco wanted to visit his father's grave, Harry decided to wait to let Draco tell him that. Given the set of Draco's jaw, he suspected Draco wanted to spit on it. Or worse. "Owl me?" he suggested.

"I will," Draco said.

Harry's heart jumped in his chest. It was the first time Draco had promised to contact him. Today seemed to be full of first steps.

And then Draco took one more, hesitantly. "Harry. You could..." He seemed unsure how to ask what he wanted. "Could you stay for dinner? The house elves dote on you, you know."

Harry could barely hear himself the blood was rushing in his ears so loudly. But he told himself to slow down. He had been so careful, so patient with Draco so far, the last thing he wanted to do was rush and ruin everything. Besides, if it really was time to... reconnect... then Harry wanted to be sure he was ready himself. And he wanted to be sure of his own terms. "How about tomorrow?"

Tomorrow it would be. From the front steps of the Manor he Apparated directly to Diagon Alley.


***

Hermione Granger woke in the night, her nightgown damp with sweat and other things. She calmed her breathing and listened to the soft snores of her husband beside her. The sound was comforting, real. The dreams always happened in silence and the gentle night noises of the house were a relief. She wondered if she would be able to get back to sleep.

Ron Weasley was none the wiser, sleeping peacefully, blissfully ignorant of both her agitation and the cause of her distress. She had never told him exactly what had occurred in Voldemort's dungeons. The general story was known well enough. She and Harry Potter, both captives, had plotted with Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy, both jailers, to assassinate Voldemort and end the reign of darkness once and for all. That was the official, simple version of the story. Ron assumed that, because of Snape and Malfoy's protection, Hermione had not suffered in the dungeons the way that Kingsley Shacklebolt and many of the others had.

It was a convenient story. And suffered was not the right word for it, anyway. Voldemort had found a use for Draco Malfoy's talents, making him his erotic inquisitor. It was amazing how few people could resist the persuasion of a blond Slytherin with a few dozen erotic spells at his disposal--Hermione among them. Draco had not been in on their plan to undo Voldemort, but Harry had insisted he be credited as a conspirator.

Most of what Draco had done was have a lot of sex with Harry and Hermione both.

Here it was, over a year later, and although she had put Draco Malfoy almost entirely out of her mind, once in a while, her subconscious would surprise her.

Tonight's dream had been as vivid as ever, to the point where she almost believed herself sore. She slid out from under the covers and went to get a glass of water. In the kitchen, the cuckoo in the clock snored musically as she sat and sipped. Had it been a memory, or had her mind dreamed it up entirely?

She had been in the dungeon, in the cell, as always. And Draco was there, taking her from behind with languid strokes. He worked one finger into her anus and she felt, clear as day, her pulse beating in the membrane between the two channels, one filled with his cock, one with his finger. It must have been a dream, not a memory, though, because she had felt it from his point of view, too--the insides of her anus startlingly smooth compared to her other hole, the twitch of his cock as he realized he could feel his finger stroking its length right through her...

She shook her head to clear it of the ghost of desire. She did not love Draco Malfoy, not in the least. She did not lust after him, either. But these vignettes sometimes surfaced in her mind, sometimes at very inopportune times. Thankfully not while she and Ron were making love. Ron was loving and energetic in bed and wholly unlike the calculating, thorough, and polished Slytherin.

The only person who knew what it had been like in the dungeon, besides Draco himself, was Harry. Last she had heard, Harry was still looking in on Draco from time to time. She had once tried to talk him out of it, but in a way she was glad that Harry took on the burden. She had no desire to see Draco Malfoy ever again. But she felt less guilty if she thought perhaps he was okay. In the end, it was Draco who had been in the most jeopardy, who'd been nearly destroyed. Harry, on the other hand, she wished she could see more often. He came to tea once a week without fail, but other than that, she and Ron had not been able to get him to visit more.

Perhaps it was just as well. Harry sometimes spent the entire afternoon without speaking, just nodding and smiling, silent as a shadow.

It would have to do. Hermione placed her now-empty glass into the sink and padded back upstairs to bed.


****


Draco Malfoy stood at the railing, his fingers gripping the wrought iron as he stared unseeing at the Wiltshire countryside. On a good day, the henge stones at Avebury could be seen from the Manor tower to the north, but Draco was not looking that way. He bent his head, his gaze now running down the ivy-covered side of the tower. Malfoy Manor was built on a hill, such that there was a graceful rise up the drive to the front entrance, but a steep plummet off the back side. The Manor itself was four floors, and the tower rose one more storey. But the drop to the bottom was well over a hundred feet, to a cruel tumble of rock and stone.

Draco sometimes allowed himself to wonder what it would feel like to fall, and whether he would feel it when he hit the bottom or whether his heart would stop before he got there.

He stepped back from the rail and frowned at the flakes of rust on his palms. Time to renew the preservation charms on the iron. Keeping up with a Manor this large was a full time occupation for a lone wizard and a few house elves. And there was still the mess of his father's study to deal with, but he'd been putting that off for months already, what was another few weeks...?

He had the sudden urge to see it, though, and climbed carefully down the narrow stairs out of the tower, and then through the hallways of polished wood, to the sealed doorway. He undid the charms and turned the handle, pushing the door slowly inward.

The illumination charms still worked, despite the devastation in the room. When he was much younger, Draco had decided that it suited him to learn many incendiary spells. The Manor's library was extensive, and he learned almost a dozen different ones, at least two of them not Ministry-approved. He used to practice them on the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts, alone, pretending that Potter was the target.

He'd used every single one in this room, some months ago. There was nothing left of the chair that had once stood behind the desk. The desk itself was still there, though quite blackened and scorched.

The portraits were gone. All the Malfoy ancestors, some Blacks and Rosiers, burned to ash. Not even the frames remained. Draco did not want their voices in his house.

His house. He might have been able to determine whose house it would be, if he ever did fling himself off the tower, if he had not burned all the records as well.

But he had. He picked a misshapen lump of metal off what had once been a shelf of knickknacks. Lucius had kept various medals and tribute-gifts on display--Draco had never looked too closely at what they were. Now, they were slag.

The door creaked on its deformed hinges and Draco whirled, wand in hand. When he saw no one, he suddenly recalled--Potter. Yesterday, when Draco had collapsed, Potter had appeared, as usual, to make sure he was all right. And then Draco had asked if he could stay for dinner. And Potter had responded no, but that he'd come tonight. Draco's throat felt dry and he swallowed. How could he have forgotten something that just happened yesterday?

"Hullo?" he called, wondering if perhaps it was just the wind that had moved the door. Then he saw a bit of a house elf's ear sticking out behind the door. "Tippy, is that you?"

The elf poked her nose out, and then her bulbous eyes, surveying the scene of destruction and trembling.

Draco sighed. "It's okay, Tippy. I'm not going to make it worse." He pocketed his wand. "Now, did you need something from me? You do remember who's coming for dinner, don't you?"

"Oh yes, master, yes, Harry Potter is coming," she squeaked excitedly. "But that is what Tippy is wanting to ask. Will master and Harry Potter be dining in the formal dining hall?"

A good question, one Draco hadn't considered. "No, Tippy. Let's eat in the parlor where the chairs are more comfortable, Light a fire, too." Once the sun set, the fog off the downs would bring a chill. The elf disappeared before Draco could say more. Not that he had anything more to say. Yes, Tippy, do everything you can to make Harry Potter feel safe and welcome.


***


CHAPTER TWO

Draco suspected that the elves would go all out for Potter and he was correct. What he tasted was divine, and Potter--Harry, Draco corrected himself--dug into everything like a healthy 20-year-old should. If he noticed that Draco barely ate, he said nothing. Draco normally ate quite lightly when he remembered to eat at all, but his stomach was in knots as he fretted over what might happen later.

He had thought he was ready for this, when he asked Harry to dinner. Ready to open the door a tiny crack. Now as he sat, unable to eat, he wasn't so sure. He found himself too rattled to levitate the wine bottle from the other side of the table and asked Harry to pass it instead.

Harry had flown from London instead of Apparating, and his cheeks still bore the flush from the wind. Or perhaps that was the wine. Draco's heart convulsed as he realized Harry was wearing a tailored, button-down shirt that set off the green in his eyes, and also that he'd never seen Harry dress up before. Well, unless one counted the Yule Ball, which Draco didn't.

He had gotten used to seeing Harry in nothing, in the dungeon. The memory made him dizzy.

"Are you all right?" Potter's... no, Harry's hand rested on the arm of Draco's chair.

"I'm all right." Draco took a deep breath and focused on the Moorish paneling on the ceiling. "I just... get overwhelmed easily, you know."

"I know." Harry drew his hand back to his own armrest. They were each in a wing-backed chair, at one corner of the parlor table, the detritus of the meal already cleared by the chipper elves and just a bottle and two glasses sitting within reach. Harry poured the last bit--though not the dregs, Draco noted--into their glasses and set the empty bottle on the table.

"This must be hard for you," Draco said, then, wishing that it were so, that this encounter was a trial for his guest and a mere trifle for himself.

"What do you mean?" He was gratified to hear a note of apprehension in Harry's voice.

"Come on, Potter, I'm not daft. We were enemies for so many years, and my father was nearly as bad as the Dark Lord in the end. It can't be easy for you to walk into a den of evil like this."

Draco was surprised at the vehemence of Harry's denial. "You're not evil!"

Draco raised an eyebrow, and said softly, "Says who?"

"I say." Harry's eyes blazed in the firelight as he stared into his glass. "Everyone did things they regret in the war." He glanced up. "And don't start telling me you don't regret it."

Draco shook his head. "Oh no. Lucius made sure I regretted every moment as a Death Eater. Lucius and Voldemort."

"See, you said it."

"V-Voldemort?" Draco repeated, cursing himself for stuttering over it this time.

"Yeah." Harry smiled and tossed back the last swallow of wine. "That proves it. You're not evil."

A chuckle escaped Draco before he could stifle it.

"I... I talk to Snape, once in a while," Harry said, sobering a bit. "He might be able to..."

"No." Draco wanted no more of Snape's help. His account with Severus Snape was even as far as he was concerned, and he wanted to be in no one's debt. Not Snape's, and not Harry's. "I think it's time I stood on my own two f-feet." Stammering. Potter had reduced him to stammering. He knocked back the wine in his glass and held the stem.

"I want to help you. You know I do." Harry sat back in his own chair. Was he sulking?

Draco focused his attention on his guest. This was the most time they had spent together since the time in the dungeon--the most time Draco had spent with anyone, actually, and his instincts for reading people should have been rusty. But now that he looked at Potter--Harry, he's Harry, remember?--it was all so clear. Harry's fear of rejection, his fear of hurting Draco, the bitterness that came with the long, long wait--he could see it all. For Harry, this was not about putting Draco at a disadvantage. This was about... need. Harry's need.

Draco realized he had stopped breathing. He forced himself to take a gulp of air and press down the edge of panic that threatened to rise. "You must forgive me, Harry. It's just..." That my father tried to fuck me to death. He took another breath and let it out slowly.

"I have an idea," Harry said then, sitting up a little, his eyes guarded. "If you'll hear it."

Draco nodded.

Harry's crimson cheeks were quite a contrast to the green of his shirt. "I know what you've been through. I was there; I saw..." He broke off, changed his tack. "I just don't want this to sound... selfish. But I think we both know..." He blushed harder and Draco suppressed a mad grin.

"It's okay, Harry," Draco said. "I don't think we need any pretenses between us." Not after I made you cry with pleasure while you were chained hand and foot, and certainly not after you spent two months at my bedside while I pissed myself and nearly died. Draco didn't say any of that of course, but it looked like Harry took the point just the same.

"Okay." Harry pushed his chair back from the table and he stood. "I've been told it's customary to bring a gift to dinner." His eyes were on Draco's as his fingers went to the top button of his own shirt, hesitating a moment.

Draco's expression did not waver, and Harry undid the button. Then the next, and the next. Draco felt his mouth go dry and he suppressed the urge to lick his lips. What are you plotting, Harry? he thought, his back taut with anticipation.

When Harry had the shirt completely undone, the cuffs as well, he slid it off and let it fall to the floor. Draco reminded himself to keep breathing, again. In the warm light of the fire, Harry's skin seemed to glow. He'd never looked so silk-soft in the dungeon, a dusting of dark hair shadowing the dip between his pectoral muscles.

Draco longed to run his fingers down Harry's chest.

Harry then dropped his eyes as he fumbled with his buckle. Draco's ears strained to hear the sound of the metal tapping metal as he undid his belt. Harry kicked off his shoes and then let his trousers fall, stepping out of them to reveal white socks, white Y-fronts, and a considerable erection.

He then slid his glasses from his face, folded them, and placed them on the table.

"I, um..." He cleared his throat. "I figured since me touching you seems like such a problem, that maybe if I, um, if I..."

Harry fell silent as Draco slid from his seat. Draco indulged his desire, reaching out to run two fingers along Harry's collarbone. Goosebumps came up on Harry's skin and he watched Harry's eyelashes flutter.

"Look at me, Harry."

Those eyes, so green. The light in the dungeon never did him justice. Draco couldn't remember if Harry had ever looked at him with such hunger and longing before, either.

Yet he found himself asking Harry for permission. Draco slid his hand along Harry's jaw. The last time Harry had been in Draco's hands, he'd had no choice. Draco had not thought he would submit so willingly again. "Are you sure?"

"Quite," Harry replied. "If you think it would help, I also brought, um..." Harry fell silent, helpless in the face of his own embarrassment, and instead Summoned something from the bag he'd left with his broom by the door.

Draco could not suppress his smile completely as Harry handed him a set of neatly coiled, silky ropes.

"Um, they're Charmed," Harry said, by way of explanation.

"Oh, are they," Draco said, nearly a whisper, into Harry's ear.

"I, um, I figured you'd feel safest, if I, you know..."

"I know. You're brilliant, Harry." Draco pressed a kiss against Harry's neck, then opened his mouth and had to catch Harry behind the back as his knees buckled. "Hold tight."

Draco Apparated them to his bedroom, and then pushed Harry back onto the bed with a string of insistent kisses and licks down Harry's neck and chest. He kicked off his own shoes and climbed up after him, shooing Harry to the center of the bed.

He slid his fingers into the waistband of Harry's underwear and reveled in the newness of this. Harry had always been naked before, chained to his pallet. This was the first time Draco had the pleasure of unveiling him. He lifted the elastic up and over Harry's erection, then slid the cotton briefs down Harry's legs and tossed them to the floor.

"Harry..." Draco breathed, settling one hand against Harry's hip and picking up one of the ropes in the other.

Harry bit his lip.

Draco looped one end of the rope around one of Harry's wrists and the rope coiled itself into a firm knot, while the other end wrapped itself around the nearest post of the bed. All four limbs were quickly bound, Harry spread-eagled on the coverlet.

"What about my socks?" Harry asked, as Draco sat back and admired him.

"They don't bother me," Draco said. "They don't get in the way of what I want."

Harry shivered and Draco felt a surge of familiar power. How had this once-naïve Gryffindor known just how to inflame him, to awaken instincts that had lain dormant so long? He slid his fingers around Harry's cock, easing Harry's foreskin all the way down to reveal the red length, the tip glistening with precome. Draco ran one finger around the sensitive crown, then gathered a drop from the slit.

He put his finger in his mouth and saw Harry's eyes widen before he let his own eyes fall closed. "God, you're sweet."

Harry's only reply was an increase in the trembling tension in his arms and legs.

But Draco wasn't sure if he could take Harry in his mouth. Instead he licked his hand and took hold of Harry's cock once more. Harry pumped his hips, sliding through the tunnel of Draco's fist, and Draco felt a ripple deep inside him. His inherent power was erotic. Even the Dark Lord had recognized that and--like everything else he'd touched--had twisted it for his own ends.

"I want you, Harry," Draco said, inducing a whimper from Harry, whose eyes were shut tight as he strained into Draco's hand. The desire flaring in his own belly felt to Draco like a miracle. "I owe you so much. I can't believe you're giving yourself to me like this."

"I... Draco..."

"Shh, it's all right, Harry." Draco increased the pressure and speed of his hand. "I take very good care of my gifts."

"Please, Draco..."

"I know. I can feel it. You want to come." Draco teased Harry's nipple with his free hand. "I know, Harry." Isn't that why you fell for me in the first place? Draco slowed for a moment. Isn't that why you're here? Because I know what you need better than you know yourself? "I promise it won't be the only time. Now come for me, Harry." He slowed his stroke even more, and Harry arched off the bed, nearly screaming as Draco squeezed him. "Come for me, Harry," he repeated, as Harry's cock began to spasm, and now Harry was screaming, straining, fucking Draco's hand furiously, kicking his bound feet and making himself hoarse.

When Harry at last lay still, Draco held up a hand covered in spunk and was amazed to see Harry straining toward it against the bonds. He moved the hand to Harry's mouth and Harry began to lick eagerly. Draco joined him, until their two tongues were touching each other more than the hand between them.

Then he lay down next to Harry, and it felt strange to lie down fully clothed, but he ran his fingers through Harry's hair and sighed.

The ropes released themselves and Harry very slowly closed his arms around him. "All right?" Harry asked.

"So far," Draco said. He tucked his head against Harry's shoulder feeling exhausted even though he himself had not come. "Let's sleep now."

Harry's arms around him felt good. Warm. "Whatever you want, Draco," Harry murmured, sounding as sleepy and happy as Draco felt.

"I want to fuck you, later," Draco said, then yawned. "I hope I can."

"I hope so, too."

"Mmm." Draco wanted to say something more, but his mouth had already gone to sleep. Whatever it was would have to wait.

***

The panic came like a ghoul in the night. First to Draco, then to Harry, then to Hermione. For Draco it began with screaming, as it often did.

The shriek had Harry up and feeling about for his glasses and his wand before he remembered he was not in his own bed. Both were downstairs, somewhere. Harry wasn't even sure if the bedroom was on the second or third floor. Draco had Apparated them there, and Harry didn't know which way to go. The house was pitch dark, and Harry ran from Draco's side to the doorway of the bedroom, back to Draco, and then back to the door as his mind spun in indecision. Could he leave him alone like this? Draco thrashed as if someone were stabbing him, ripping at his own clothing as if it burned him.

"Tippy!" Grabbing Draco around the arms to stop him from flinging himself off the bed, Harry called the house elf, but she was not his, he could not summon her magically. And being grabbed agitated Draco even more. Harry considered the ropes, still lying on the bed, but Draco would probably pull his arms out of their sockets if he tried to bind him. His robes had fallen loose and he had torn a hole in his shirt where the sleeve met the yoke and Harry could make out the paleness of his skin in the wan moonlight from outside.

In desperation, Harry ran to the fireplace and felt along the top of the mantel. Yes, yes, thank god, there was a can of Floo powder. He flung a handful into the flames and called the first person he thought of.

Hermione was there in the room, wand in hand, in a light blue dressing gown and slippers, within moments. Harry ran ahead of her, back to Draco, just in time to keep him from falling to the floor.

And then Draco slumped into Harry's arms, as Hermione's Stunning Spell took hold.

Harry's breathing suddenly sounded quite loud in his ears, now that the screaming had stopped. He lowered Draco gently to a pillow and then sat cross-legged on the floor as Hermione used her wand to bring up the room's illumination charms.

She then stood at the side of the bed, watching Draco sleep. "I take it that was one of his attacks," she said, resisting the urge to brush Draco's hair from his eyes. It was too long; it had never been like that when he had served Voldemort.

Harry nodded as he tugged his fingers through his own hair. He then blushed as he realized he was starkers, while Draco was fully clothed, and that Hermione was examining the ropes rather curiously. "Um, yeah."

Her eyes asked all the questions he didn't know how to answer, but her mouth started with one he thought he could. "Harry, where's your wand?"

"Downstairs. It was stupid of me to leave it there, but that's where I, um, took off my clothes." He explained how Draco had brought them there, though he figured the why was obvious. "He did really well tonight. Not a twitch or a wince the whole time."

Hermione had not really asked Harry for much detail about Draco's condition. Harry had told her he "looked in" on him, and she knew he suffered some kind of flashbacks, still. But this was the first time she'd seen it since Draco's recovery at Grimmauld Place. "Is it usually this bad?"

"Sometimes," Harry said, coming to stand by her at the bedside. She didn't seem to mind he was naked and really, she'd seen it all before. "This was worse than it has been lately. I'm afraid I did it."

"Because you had sex?"

Harry's cheeks got hotter. "If you can call it that. I was afraid to set him off, so I didn't even touch him. Just he touched me."

Hermione held up the rope and her voice sounded unhappy. "He tied you up."

"I tied myself up," Harry said, though that wasn't strictly true. "Look, it's Charmed." He wrapped one end around his wrist and the other dutifully attached itself to the bedpost, then released. "I bought the ropes, and I wanted them, so don't even start with me, Hermione, about how he's taking advantage of me, abusing me."

She frowned. "That isn't what I was going to say at all."

"Yes, you were. You get that line between your eyebrows whenever you're about to accuse someone of something."

"Well, that may be true, but I wasn't about to accuse him of anything. It's you, Harry." She Summoned a chair and sat, crossing one slippered foot over the other. "Are you sure you aren't suffering from Stockholm Syndrome?"

"Is that one of Snape's potions or something?" Harry sat on the edge of the high bed, his bare feet hanging.

"No. It's a psychological term for when a captive falls in love with their captor."

"It's a crime for me to want Malfoy, now?"

She sighed. "Not a crime, Harry. But it's..." She broke off. "It's a psychological term for a reason."

"You think I'm crazy." Harry leaned on his thighs and shook his head.

"I think you haven't had many other experiences to compare..."

"Hermione!" He wondered if he could shout loud enough to wake Draco up. "Will you get off your self-righteous horse, quit judging me, and just fucking listen to me?"

She raised a skeptical eyebrow but said nothing.

"Do you think I haven't tried? Do you think I haven't given it a go with other lovers this year? I've tried witches and wizards both, and I don't want them." Harry clenched his fists. "Besides. He would have helped me against Voldemort if I'd asked. He nearly died--and would have if I hadn't gone back to rescue him."

"I know all that, Harry."

"Are you going to listen?" Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm the only chance he's got to get back to normal. I owe him that for what he did for our cause."

"Harry, don't rewrite history. He didn't sacrifice himself for us..."

"But we used him as if he did." Harry found she had no answer for that. "Which is why I couldn't leave him to die, and why I can't leave him here to rot, either."

"But, Harry, replaying your roles as captive and captor? Isn't that a bit...?"

Harry shook his head. There was no way to make her understand that there was a kind of emotional safety, for both of them, in doing it the way they did. "I want him, Hermione. I've been waiting for over a year for this. Besides, plenty of lovers play at roles." At least, according to the witch in the shop where he bought the ropes.

"Yes, Harry," she said, her voice soft. "But most of them were never really captured."

He sighed. "You forget. Unlike you, I never really was, either." If there had been some other way to penetrate Voldemort's stronghold, they would have done it. But they had gambled and it had ultimately worked, with Snape on their side. "Draco never felt like a jailer to me. He was as much a prisoner as I was. And he was good to me."

She made a snort of frustration. "Just because he was good in the sack doesn't make him a good person."

"Why can't you be happy for me, Hermione? Tonight's the first time I've felt happy in I don't know how long. I was starting to believe that... it might work." Harry reached a hand toward Draco, then thought better of it. "Until the attack."

Rolling her wand in her fingers, she took on a thoughtful look. "I'm not sure I can help you with this."

"Because you object to me sleeping with him?"

"No. I mean if Snape couldn't cure him, I'm not sure I'm going to do much better. But you said he was doing better overall, right?"

Harry hopped down from the bed and looked at Draco. "Yeah. The blackouts have less frequent the past few months, and they've been shorter."

She stood up and placed a hand over Harry's. "Do you want to hear my theory?"

"As long as it doesn't involve any references to Switzerland."

"You mean Sweden, but point taken." She took a deep breath. "I think when he has an attack, from his point of view, he re-experiences what happened. It causes the same nerve endings to fire, returns his body to the same state it was in at that time. Sex magic, for some reason, is more likely to leave lasting traces like that in the recipient than many other kinds of spells."

"You mean the way Cruciatus does?"

She cocked her head. "Not exactly. The Cruciatus Curse damages the nerves, so sometimes someone who suffered prolonged exposure will feel a phantom pain. This is more like the spell left little time bombs in his system, which you can set off accidentally."

Harry frowned. "Why does sex magic do that more than other kinds?"

She shrugged. "No one knows. I'm quite sure of my research, though."

"And you're researching sex magic... why?"

Now it was Hermione's turn to blush. "Just something I've seen mentioned a lot, that's all."

But Harry was never as dim as the Slytherins made him out to be. "You think the magic that Draco used on us had a lasting effect, too. That's it, isn't it?" He turned to face her directly. "You think that's why I'm still following him around after all this time, and because it still affects you, that's why you're trying to figure out how to get rid of it."

She looked down at their clasped hands. "Yes, all right. I still have dreams about him, you know. Not normal dreams. These silent, lucid dreams, where there's no sound but I can feel everything."

Harry squeezed her fingers.

"Do you have them, too?" she asked, a bit too eagerly.

"No. I don't. I just think about him all the time. But he was with you much longer, remember. I was only there at the end."

"Oh." She sighed and then pulled away. "Well, from what I've found, there's no way to hasten it. It either wanes with time, or, it doesn't."

"So, you're saying just be patient."

"Yes. I guess so."

"Hermione, I may be thick, but even I can see you're dying to say something."

She looked angry then. "You've made it clear you don't want to hear my feelings about certain matters." She went to the Floo. Then she said, "Oh, Accio Harry Potter's Wand." She tossed it to him and was gone before he could thank her.

Harry went back to the bed. Draco appeared to be asleep. He curled onto his side and nestled back against Harry when Harry climbed in behind him, as if he were chilled. Harry resisted the urge to slide his hand through the gaps where Draco had rent his clothing. Instead he Summoned a blanket to lay over them both and soon the rise and fall of Draco's chest lulled him into sleep himself.

***

Draco woke in the morning feeling like a Hungarian Horntail had trampled him in the night. Harry was there with a glass of water, and Draco was amused to see Harry was still completely naked--except for his glasses. So he'd gone down to the drawing room to get his glasses, but not put his clothes back on? Draco pondered that while sipping gratefully.

"Did something happen last night that I don't remember?" Draco asked, when the glass was half-empty. "We only drank the one bottle of wine..."

Harry climbed onto the bed and sat cross-legged facing Draco. "You had an attack last night. A bad one. Had to Stun you." For some reason he didn't feel like mentioning Hermione just yet.

Draco leaned his head back against the headboard. It was the bed he'd slept in since he was a child, with dragons carved into the dark wood. When he was eleven, after he got his first wand, he'd been able to animate the dragons into fighting each other. When he got older, he'd made them do... other things.

"I know what you're thinking," he said to Harry then.

"You do?"

Draco nodded. "You're thinking you're not sure if it's a good idea to keep on this course. Because it might be bad for my health."

"Um..."

"Don't lie to me, hero."

"Well..." Harry blushed that delicious shade of red.

"You wouldn't take back a gift, would you?"

"Well, no, I...."

Draco sat up a bit. "You gave yourself to me. Was it only for last night? Tell the truth, Harry."

"I... I..."

"Is that why you're still naked this morning?" Draco crawled out from under the blanket and pressed his forehead to Harry's. "I think you like being mine."

With that, Draco tipped Harry's chin up and kissed him. Not a teasing kiss, nor a demanding one. Draco gave Harry the gentlest kiss he could. Harry had kissed him this way, just days ago, as his way of pushing things forward. Now Draco gave it back, every motion of his lips, his tongue, slow and sweet and somehow perfect.

Harry felt tears gathering at the corners of his eyes and he drew in a breath as if he could hold them in.

Draco merely kissed them away, asking "What are those for?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted.

"Some people cry when you hit them." Draco grazed his cheek against Harry's. "I don't think you do, though."

Harry didn't know what to say to that. He knew, from experience, that Draco was one of those who cried when hit. Draco's mouth searched his skin tenderly, behind his ear, his neck, the hollow of his collarbone. Harry really hadn't known what Draco's reaction would be when he gave himself over. He had thought that Draco might withdraw, or might have been angry with him. He wondered if Draco would hurt him, and if he didn't deserve to be hurt for the way they had used Draco. Someone, surely, would need to bear the brunt of Draco's revenge for what had been done to him?

But Draco had been gentle and generous thus far. Harry felt himself dissolve under Draco's hands. Harry gave himself over to sensation, to lying there under Draco's touch without fear of discovery or the need to hide his motive.

"So," he said, when he thought he could trust his voice. "When are you going to show me the rest of the Manor?"

Draco looked up from where he had been teasing Harry's balls. "Hm?"

Harry blushed, but forged ahead as was his way. "Are the rumors true? That you’ve got... catacombs underneath?"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Dungeons, you mean," he said, coy as ever.

"Yeah, dungeons." God, Hermione's right. I'm completely off my rocker.

But Draco did not tease as he kissed Harry again. His voice was entirely serious as he said, "I might show you the dungeon. When I'm ready."

Harry merely nodded and succumbed to a kiss that was not in the least gentle.


***


CHAPTER THREE


Harry came to dinner every night for a week. Every night Draco would bind him with the ropes and... play with him. Draco never disrobed, but Harry never got bored. Draco's mouth and hands were more than enough for him at this point; he had never known there were so many ways to make a man come without using magic.

Draco began using his magic on the seventh night, when Harry begged. Harry had already come twice, but he had not wanted to sleep, and Draco had not felt tired, so still they played. Harry was face down, his wrists bound to his ankles and his arse in the air, two of Draco's fingers well-lubed and planted therein, when Harry pleaded for it.

Draco obliged, sending a jolt of magic through his fingers that enveloped Harry in a spreading warmth that began deep inside him and radiated outward. By the time it reached the tips of his fingers and toes, Harry was coming so hard he bit the inside of his cheek.

Draco healed the bite with a touch of his wand, followed by a kiss that Harry swore tingled with Draco's power. He clutched Draco to him, wondering once again when Draco would follow through on his desire of that first night and whether now would be the time to ask for it.

But he once again fell silent. Rushing would only trigger another attack, he felt sure of that. Draco would take that step when he was ready.

Harry nestled into Draco's robes, and Draco pulled a blanket over them.

"Harry..." came his voice, questioning.

"Hmm?"

"You still seem restive."

"You know, that's one of those words that confuses me," Harry said. "After all, it's got the word 'rest' in it. But it means the opposite, doesn't it?"

Draco smiled against his hair. "Yes, it does. It means that you ought to be near unconscious after what I've put you through tonight, yet you're still..." Draco gave a push with his magic against Harry's. "Strung taut." Harry felt like a plucked string, vibrating in tune.

"I’m fine," he said, but without thinking about it he rubbed his limp cock against the fabric of Draco's trousers. "I'm fine with whatever you want."

Draco rolled him onto his back and trapped his hands over his head, lying chest to chest and looking into Harry's eyes. "You think I can't hear that self-sacrificing tone in your voice? Hero?"

"I'm really okay, Draco." He knew if he admonished Draco not to push himself, that would be the first thing Draco would do.

"You're not." Draco smacked his lips as if he could taste Harry's thoughts. "You're... not satisfied. Tell me."

But Harry's mind just then was on the sensation of Draco's cock growing hard against his hip. When he tried to speak, he whimpered.

"I thought so," Draco said, as if to himself.

"You haven't..." Harry tried, his eyes squeezed shut as he went rigid under the lengthening erection. "You haven't come," he pleaded. "Not once this whole week."

"I know," Draco said, his voice teasing, completely masking the pang of fear he felt in the bottom of his stomach. "Do you want me to?"

Harry felt as though Draco had plucked that string deep inside him again. "Yes, oh yes."

"You don't think it's too dangerous? I'll hurt myself?"

"Draco, please." Harry rubbed against Draco's cock as best he could. "I do think it's dangerous. I do worry. But it's been getting worse and worse."

Draco nipped at his ear and whispered, "What's been getting worse and worse?"

"H-how much I want you. How m-much I want you inside me. How much I want you to come inside me. Oh god..." Harry broke off as Draco thrust against him.

Well, if Harry could get over his fear, so could Draco. "You know," Draco said, thrusting again, "I created a charm that could make a person feel exactly as you feel, Harry. Like they weren't complete until I'd come inside them."

Harry held his breath as Draco slid into an easy rhythm of frottage.

"But I didn't use that charm on you, Harry."

Harry pressed his head back into the pillow as he arched into Draco. "It doesn't take a charm," Harry said. "Please, Draco. I've been waiting so long... I don't need to come again. I don't want to come again. Ever since that time in the..."

Draco put his hand over Harry's mouth then, saying "Enough." He took a deep breath to give himself a moment to think before he spoke next. "I'm not ready for that yet. But I suppose I should give you something."

Harry's eyes widened hopefully.

Draco rolled off him and folded his arms behind his head. "All right. You choose. I'm going to come. You choose whether it's in your hand, in your mouth, or against your leg."

He could see Harry weighing the options as he sat up.

"What are you thinking?" Draco asked.

Harry blushed, but began to answer immediately. "God, any one of the three would be great. I mean, if I jerk you off, I get to watch your face. If it's my mouth, then I get to finally taste you. And if you come against my leg, well, I probably get to watch you, but it might be too much of a tease compared to the... the real thing."

Draco felt the ripple in his innards that was his power and his lust coiling together. Harry was so... consumed. It was intoxicating. "Choose quickly, Potter," he warned.

Harry's reply was to undo Draco's fly and take the newly-freed erection in his mouth, lying sideways across the bed so that the two of them made a T.

This time the warmth started in Draco's center, when he realized that the way Harry sucked him was so much the way that he had done it to Harry so long ago, in the dungeon. Like Harry had memorized every technique from that time. When Harry moved to rub the head of Draco's cock into the flesh of his cheek, his teeth grazing the crown, Draco could not hold back any longer. He came in a rush that made his skin suddenly hot, then cold, then hot again. His diaphragm convulsed, and he curled around Harry, who was sucking and swallowing for all he was worth.

Draco dragged him up then, wanting to taste his own come on Harry's tongue. Which he did.

The seizure that followed was a mild one, several minutes later in the bathroom. Mild enough that Draco thought he might be able to hide it from Harry. But Harry knew.

When it was over, Draco put on a pair of warm pajamas and cuddled a still-naked Harry in the center of the bed. "No harm done," he said, trying to assuage Harry's guilt. "No harm done."

But he knew Harry wouldn't ask for that again. If Draco wanted to go further, he was going to have to push those boundaries himself.

***

Harry returned home after breakfast, as had become customary, changed his clothes, checked for Hedwig--yes, she was there--and penned a note. Then he settled down to wait for the reply, all the time worrying that he should not have sent it. He read the Prophet--from whose pages he had been mercifully absent of late--and then the previous issue of Quidditch Weekly which had been sitting on the kitchen table waiting for him for the better part of the week.

He was startled by a knock at the door and went to find Severus Snape standing upon the stoop.

Harry pulled open the door. "I thought you'd send Hedwig back with an answer."

"Ever the gracious host," Snape noted, with a raised eyebrow.

Harry shuffled out of the way. Snape was one of the few who not only knew where he lived, but who could find his home, of course, as the secret of its location could now never be passed on. "Er, would you like some tea?"

"That would be lovely, Potter." Snape led the way to the kitchen and then sat quietly at the table while Harry fussed with the pot and cups.

When they were both seated, Snape spoke. "I take it your inquiry was on behalf of Mr. Malfoy?"

"Not exactly," Harry said, wondering how to phrase this. "I mean, yes, it's about him, but he doesn't really want... I mean... he doesn't know I contacted you."

"Tell me."

"He's not well. He doesn't eat enough. And he had these seizures. He seems to be getting better, but then sometimes, it's worse than ever."

"What times?"

Harry found himself reddening under Snape's cool gaze. "We've been... intimate," he finally said.

Snape gave one of his slow nods, as if Harry had affirmed something Snape had already known. Harry went on to describe the seizures, their varying severity, and ended with Hermione's contention that Draco was re-experiencing the assault, but there was naught to do but wait.

"And you dislike waiting," Snape said.

"Yeah." Harry had not touched his tea and now he forced himself to pick up his cup and sip from it. "And I think he's started sleeping more, though maybe that's understandable--what we do is pretty... um... tiring."

Snape ignored Harry's blushing, sipping his tea as well. "I admit, it surprises me that you have come to me for help."

Harry shrugged. "I didn't know who else to go to. I know you know all about what happened. And I know you care about him, or used to. And you probably know more about the healing arts than half the wizards in St. Mungo's."

Snape suppressed a smirk. "All true."

"I know we haven't always gotten along, you and I," Harry continued, "but I'm not so stubborn as to ignore the facts."

Snape set down his cup. "Mr. Potter, I do believe you've grown up."

"So you'll help?"

Snape held up a hand, as if to forestall Harry's enthusiasm. "I shall look into the matter. But I do not know if a solution exists. This is a magical malady and treating it without damaging Mr. Malfoy's essence may be difficult."

Harry hated the feeling that he was a clueless student again, but he had to ask. "Essence?"

Snape, fortunately, did not react to Harry's ignorance the way he would have in class, which made Harry think that perhaps Snape had grown up a bit himself. "Draco's magic is very closely tied to his sexuality, his power to his eroticism. Lucius did not merely attempt to kill him, the ritual he undertook was damaging to Draco's magic on several levels. Because it was rape, it assailed not only Draco's power, but its source."

Harry could not help but shiver, remembering the way Lucius and Voldemort had turned Draco into a doll, into a thing to shove their cocks into. Bleeding him of his magic and his lifeblood.

"You do realize," Snape said softly, "that it is a miracle he survived at all."

"You're trying to tell me not to get my hopes up, aren't you."

"Yes." For a moment, Harry saw something that looked like sympathy in Snape's eyes. Then Snape stood, twitching his robes away from the chair. "I will owl you when I know anything worth telling you. Meanwhile, do keep note of the frequency of his attacks and their severity. And by that I mean write it down, Potter."

"Not a problem," Harry said as he followed Snape back to the front door. "I can even tell when it happens if I'm not there."

"You've put some kind of surveillance spell on him?"

"No. No, I just know."

Snape turned on the threshold of the door. "What do you mean?"

Harry stopped short. "I mean, when he seizes up, it doesn't matter where I am, I can feel it in my head. That's how I've been taking care of him all along."

Rubbing the tips of his fingers together, Snape narrowed his eyes. "And has this feeling increased since you and Mr. Malfoy... became intimate?"

"I don't know." Harry suppressed the urge to rub his head. "I never really thought about it that much."

"It never occurred to you that this might be somewhat out of the ordinary?"

Now Harry did rub his forehead, and the place where his scar no longer hurt or prickled. "No, not really. Should I be worried about that?"

Snape settled his mouth in a thin line. "No. No need to be worried. Not now, anyway. Do note it in your log, though, please."

"Of course." Harry was already thinking of a blank book he had in the library that he could use to keep track. It would have to stay here, of course, so that Draco wouldn't suspect.

Snape reached out and clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Good day, Potter."

Harry was too surprised by the gesture to say anything other than "Good day, Snape. And thanks."

***

(More to come.)