The Foundation

The Foundation

By: Newshound

Rating: NC17

Warnings: This fic will contain graphic sex, adult language, spoilers and drug use.

Summary: Harry has defeated Lord Voldemort and the war against the Death Eaters has ended, yet a different kind of war now rages within both Draco and Harry. Harry finds himself battling his inner demons while Draco still contends with the prejudices of Wizarding society. After Draco stumbles on Harry’s most precious secret, both begin a journey that will lead them to discover the secrets that lie within the deep, hidden recesses of their very souls.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and company are the exclusive property of J. K. Rowling. This fiction is entirely for entertainment purposes and no money is being made from it.

Chapter 1 Wasted Days and Wasted Nights

Draco stood in front of the full-length mirror admiring the appearance he’d spent the last few hours cultivating. He looked every inch the prosperous gentleman; all the way from his neatly styled hair to his expensive, designer footwear. He was attired in the latest fashion in Muggle menswear and unless someone at the party already knew he was a wizard, no one would suspect him of being anything other than a finely dressed young man.
He was actually looking forward to the party. One of his closest friends, Davinci Oglethorpe, was his host for the evening and Davinci had never thrown anything but the most lavish and festive parties – parties everyone talked about for weeks. He knew members of the media would be there and he wanted to look particularly dashing, he could always do with a little more press. Hopefully, he wouldn’t end up in the less savory publications like he had the last time he’d attended one of Davinci’s parties. When he’d complained about it, Davinci had only shrugged and said, “There’s no such thing as bad publicity, Draco.”
Their friendship was one of the true unexpected, yet positive events in Draco’s life. Davinci was Muggle-born and still lived in the Muggle world. They had met at a fundraiser and quickly became friends. Davinci possessed all of the qualities Draco found desirable in a friend – he was rich, incredibly good-looking and he thoroughly enjoyed thumbing his nose at respectable wizard society. His parents were investment bankers and he’d inherited a huge fortune when he’d reached his majority and, as if that wasn’t enough, he and another Muggle-born had opened a monetary exchange that had proved to be a goldmine. The exchange not only provided the necessary transactions between Galleons and Muggle money (everything from pounds, dollars, yen, rubles and rupees) but had classes on how to use Muggle money.
Draco had initially floundered after the war’s end, having no real desire to find employment or even any idea of a career he wanted to pursue. He was ashamed to admit it, but at times, he missed the war. Things had been simple then; he knew his purpose and exactly what he needed to do to accomplish that mission. Ridding the Wizarding world of remaining Death Eaters had given him drive and ambition, a clear goal. Now, with them gone, life seemed somewhat empty; an endless menagerie of cocktail parties, one-night-stands, shopping excursions and afternoon teas. He began to spend his days wandering, exploring the Wizarding quarters of nearby cities, eventually expanding his travels to nearby countries.
He was at turns horrified and saddened by what he found. He had lived an insulated life in the manor, surrounded – and protected - by wealth and privilege. It never occurred to him that there were wizards living dismal, dreary lives - lives of poverty, ignorance and illness, some with no hope of things getting any better. He had spent the majority of his life looking down upon those who were less fortunate, and now he couldn’t understand how he’d been so callous and blind. Their faces haunted his dreams, especially the children’s. But when he shyly confessed his concerns to several of his acquaintances, they’d shrugged and replied, “that’s just the way thing are, Draco.”
He’d gotten the idea for his foundation from a conversation he’d had with his father of all people. Azkaban had changed Lucius Malfoy; he’d entered the prison a proud, dignified pureblood and left humble, yet determined to make the most of his remaining years. His parents had sold the manor and now spent their lives traveling to parts of the world Narcissa had always wanted to visit.
When Lucius had arrived at the manor after his release – well after the end of the war – he announced that he would not live one more day doing what anyone else wanted. He informed Draco and Narcissa that he intended to spend the rest of his life doing exactly as he pleased. After his pronouncement he’d dismissed the house-elves and explained to Narcissa that he’d sold the manor.
“But Lucius,” Narcissa had cried. “What are we going to do?”
Lucius had simply smiled and shrugged, “Whatever you like my dear.”
When the shock of his father’s behavior had worn off and he finally tracked his parents down – on an African Safari of all places – his father had encouraged Draco to follow his dreams, dreams that, at the time, Draco didn’t even know he had.
“Draco, there’s more to life than spending money, having sex and ordering people about,” said Lucius.
The comment had followed him throughout his travels, slowly worming its way into his head and finally, his heart. Once again, he sought the advice of his father.
“Find a way to help them, Draco,” his father had said. “You have many wealthy contacts and, like your parents, you can be very persuasive when you’ve set your mind to something. You’d be surprised how many people want to contribute and help the less fortunate, but simply don’t know how. You seem to have inherited your mother’s organizational skills, put them to good use.”
He’d taken the bulk of his inheritance and used it to start his foundation. Getting the foundation off the ground had proved exhilarating and within a year it was more successful than he could ever have imagined.
It was during this time, that he met and married his (now) ex-wife. Daphne had started out as his assistant and after they had completed several successful projects, he knew he couldn’t run the foundation without her. She was beautiful, smart and a genuinely nice person and after realizing that what he needed to make the package more presentable was a doting, involved wife, he asked her to marry him. He wasn’t in love with her, but then again, his parents had an arranged marriage and now they were happier than ever. The sexual aspect of their future marriage presented the only problem. He wasn’t in the least attracted to her and his past had consisted of relationships – if one could call them that – with both men and women. Attraction or not, if the foundation needed him to be married, he would be and he’d sort out the details later.
Their wedding ceremony was lavish and decadent; Daphne was from an old prosperous Pureblood family who considered her prospective groom the catch of the century. Daphne was lovely and gracious and Draco knew he was the envy of most of the men at the wedding. If he had any doubts about the romantic aspect of their marriage, they were completely erased during their honeymoon. Daphne was a ravenous animal in bed and seemed completely unaware of Draco’s ambiguous desires. Two months into the marriage Daphne announced, to the delight of both sets of parents, that she was expecting and no one was happier than Draco. Satisfying the sexual appetite of his wife had proved a daunting and tiring task, and the thought of almost a year off was a tremendous relief. Unfortunately, the pregnancy did nothing to dampen Daphne’s libido – if anything she was more demanding than before – and Draco was privately disgusted by the notion of an ungainly, bloated woman chasing him around the bedroom. His excuses started out with the predictable “I don’t want to hurt the baby” a myth she had her Medi-witch firmly debunk. When that excuse was taken away, he threw himself into work for the foundation, attending and organizing more fundraisers than necessary, arranging meetings with possible donors and keeping up with all the attendant paperwork. He told Daphne he didn’t want to hire anyone to replace her until they were sure she would not return and therefore he needed to keep up with all her duties. She bought it for the first few months and then gradually grew more suspicious and mistrustful.
When Daphne was seven months along, Draco attended the event that would both supply him with his most lucrative benefactor – Davinci – and sound the death knell for his marriage. It was a party hosted by the publisher of The Daily Prophet, a man who was one of Draco’s most strident supporters and he had promised Draco that many wealthy and influential individuals would be there. People from the media as well as business and political arena were on the guest list and it was an opportunity Draco could not turn away. The Prophet had done a series of articles on Davinci and his exchange business, and when Draco was introduced to him, he knew immediately this was a man whose friendship and support were worth cultivating. They visited briefly and exchanged business cards, Davinci seemed impressed with Draco’s philanthropic exploits and he promised to contact him very soon. They were interrupted by the arrival of a tall, dark-haired man and Davinci grudgingly introduced them.
Philippe was an art dealer affiliated with a gallery in Paris. Draco had, on occasion, visited the gallery, even making several purchases during his bored phase, but he certainly didn’t remember meeting Philippe.
The man was incredibly sexy, a warm, deep voice and spellbinding blue eyes. His eyes never strayed once from Draco’s during their friendly conversation. When Davinci politely excused himself, Philippe glanced briefly at Draco’s left hand.
“Married?” he asked. “That’s too bad.”
“Why too bad?” Draco responded innocently.
“Because,” he drawled, staring hungrily at Draco’s lips. “That means I can’t take you out on that balcony and kiss you the way you need to be kissed.”
A million thoughts raced through Draco’s mind warning him of the possible consequences of such an action, but the attraction was too strong and when Philippe took his hand and led him out to the balcony, he went willingly.
It was passionate and quick. They had no sooner stepped out onto the balcony when Philippe pushed him up against the cold, hard wall, kissing him with such passion and intensity that Draco felt breathless and exhilarated all at once. When he dropped to his knees and began unfastening Draco’s trousers, everything around him seemed to disappear. The next five minutes flew by in a haze of licking, biting, nipping and full-on sucking.
“I can’t stand up anymore,” Draco whispered. He felt dizzy and faint and the tension was almost unbearable.
“Don’t worry,” Philippe whispered back. “You won’t have to.”
He quickly unfastened his trousers, and pulled out one of the largest erections Draco had ever seen.
“It feels even better than it looks,” Philippe assured him. He reached over and roughly yanked Draco’s trousers and boxers down, turning him around and shoving him firmly up against the wall. Draco heard a softly spoken spell and not a second later felt Philippe pushing into him. It was fulfilling in a way that sex with Daphne had never been.
Philippe left without saying a word to Draco. He slid down the wall, his wet arse resting uncomfortably on the cold, unyielding floor. He put his head between his bent knees and tried to get his breath back. His hands were shaking and he felt the twinges of an oncoming headache. His head snapped up when he heard the balcony doors open and a man’s voice calling for him.
“Draco?” It was Davinci.
He stood up, quickly pulling his trousers and boxers up, but Davinci had already walked out, closing the doors behind him. Draco gave him an apologetic look and continued dressing.
“I thought you were married?” Davinci said confused.
“Fuck,” it was the most intelligent response Draco could think of. He leaned up against the wall, his hands rubbing his forehead gently, and then massaging his temples and eyelids.
“Yeah, I’d say so,” Davinci said smiling. “Come back inside, the party’s winding down.”
“Thanks, but I probably should be heading home,” Draco said with a heavy sigh.
“You might want to get yourself together before you do that,” Davinci said gently, opening the doors.
Draco let himself be led back inside and after a few awkward minutes excused himself to use the restroom. When he got there however, he couldn’t even look in the mirror. What the fuck had he been thinking? He cleaned himself off and, taking a deep breath and setting his shoulders, returned to the party.
He spent the rest of the night at Davinci’s. They talked for the longest time and when Draco started to yawn, Davinci offered him a room for the night.
“Draco, you’re not in any condition to go home,” he offered warmly. “I’ll tell your wife you had too much to drink and I didn’t feel comfortable letting you go home.”
Draco was too tired to put up much of a fight and he gladly accepted the invitation to sleep in one of the guest rooms.
His escapade with Philippe was only the first of many casual sexual experiences. He stuck to men, believing it wasn’t really being unfaithful unless it was with another woman. He thoroughly enjoyed every one of the trysts, becoming more adventurous and bold as the days went on. He was in bed with one of his latest conquests when his wife was taken to St. Mungo’s for an emergency delivery. Since no one knew exactly where Draco was, he didn’t find out about his daughter’s birth until she was two days old.
When he arrived disheveled and exhausted at his wife’s bedside, she calmly informed him their marriage was over and he was now free to fuck as many men as he wanted.
“Oh wait,” she said nastily. “You’re already doing that.”
“While you’ve been busy availing yourself of every male over the legal age, I’ve been busy consulting with a divorce attorney,” she said, a sickly-sweet expression crossing her face. “You’re going to give me a divorce and full custody of our daughter or I’m going straight to the tabloids. I’m sure they’d be interested in how the great philanthropist Draco Malfoy likes taking it up the arse every night. Just imagine what’ll happen to your precious foundation then!”
Draco had no choice but to agree. He threw himself into his work, avoiding any contemplation of the demise of his marriage. He separated the two areas of his life by immersing himself in Muggle life, something he’d always been secretly curious about. He rented a small Muggle apartment next to Davinci’s and relied on him to navigate the alternately confusing and fascinating world of Muggles. He limited his romantic pursuits to the Muggle world alone – in the beginning anyway – and his wizard contacts only to foundation business.
In the ensuing year, his foundation had grown and helped hundreds of needy wizards everywhere, mixed and pureblood alike and Draco was proud of what he’d achieved in such a short time. He’d also earned the privilege of visiting with his daughter on the weekends after six months of good behavior. He wasn’t exactly sure whether it was his behavior or Daphne’s growing interest in developing a social life. She was a beautiful, intelligent woman and since their divorce had seemed amicable, it in no way reflected poorly on her as a woman. She soon realized that an infant could put a serious cramp in a young lady’s love life – and future marriage proposals – and so she generously agreed Draco could have the weekends to get to know his daughter. He purchased a small home in a respectable Wizarding neighborhood, one with a small room he converted into a nursery for his daughter. He kept his Muggle apartment and he brought his lovers there, preferring not to mix the two situations. His daughter was permanent, his men temporary.
He smiled broadly at the image in the mirror. His face, as always, revealed none of the inner turmoil he had felt for the last month or so. He had wrestled with that same empty feeling – the one he’d had before he’d found his calling and established his foundation - before. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what was missing, but something definitely was. “Time to seek more advice from Father,” he mused.
He Apparated to the opulent Wizarding hotel where Davinci kept a penthouse suite, the site of all his famous - or infamous depending on whom you were - parties. He could hear the sound of music and conversation as he approached the large double oak doors.
The doors were suddenly opened by a small, thin servant. “Invitation, please,” he requested politely, holding out his hand, palm up.
Draco withdrew the invitation out of the inner pocket of his coat and presented it.
“Please come in, Mr. Malfoy,” the servant said ushering him in with a wave of his arm.
He escorted him through the foyer into the large ballroom, where a crowd of people mingled while waiters threaded their way among the guests serving drinks and hors d’oeuvres.
“Would you like to try an appetizer, sir?” an amazingly attractive young waiter asked him, showing him the treats displayed on a silver tray.
“No, but I’d love a taste of you,” Draco thought smirking.
“Ah, Draco,” Davinci said, rushing over. “I thought I recognized that look of unbridled lust. I must warn you though, my servants are exclusively mine to debauch.”
“Come,” he continued, taking Draco by the arm. “Let me introduce you to one of my guests of honor. He’s quite generous and I’m sure he’ll be more than sympathetic to your cause.”
He guided Draco through the throng of partiers and over to a corner near the stage where musicians were setting up their equipment.
“I’m sure I’ll be totally embarrassed when I find out you two already know each other, but, Draco, I’d like you to meet my new partner, Mr. Harry Potter.”
* * * * *
“Oh, come on, Harry,” Hermione pleaded. “You simply must go. Mr. Oglethorpe will be devastated if you don’t show up. And besides, who will be my escort now that Ron’s sick? I have to attend this gathering. Mr. Oglethorpe hinted there would be several people there who are very supportive of elf rights. We’re getting short of funds and I need to find new sources as soon as possible.”
“Hermione, you know how I hate these things,” Harry answered sullenly. “He promised me I could be a silent partner and I wouldn’t have to attend all these social events. He needs my money, not me.”
“Well, I don’t need your money,” she argued. “I need you.”
“Oh, all right,” Harry snapped irritably. “But I’m not staying for more than an hour. After that you’re on your own.”
He picked her up at the small cottage she and Ron shared, admiring the way Hermione could go from frumpy elf-rights advocate to stunning executive. Ron was lying on the couch covered in a blanket, suffering from a cold.
“Oh, very nice, Harry,” Hermione said, complimenting him on his Muggle outfit. “I’m glad you remembered this was a mixed crowd. I was worried I would be the only one not wearing robes. I hate wearing them all the time; they can be so uncomfortable.”
They left the cottage after much tucking in and mothering of Ron, who coughed and sniffled for great effect. “Have fun,” he called good-naturedly.
They arrived at the penthouse suite of Davinci Oglethorpe, Harry’s new partner, a few minutes later. Harry dreaded the next hour, but Hermione seemed excited over the prospect of securing new funds for her elf rights organization. She chatted amiably with him while the waiters served drinks and small appetizers.
“Harry, I’m going to mingle a bit, there’s a gentleman over there I think I recognize,” she said. “I’ll meet you back by the stage in about an hour, agreed?”
“Fine,” Harry murmured. As soon as Hermione left, he headed directly for the doors leading to what appeared to be a balcony. He desperately wanted some fresh air and quiet.
He lost track of time gazing at the stars and the full moon from the large balcony. It was so peaceful and quiet out here, he never wanted to leave. He was interrupted by the doors bursting open and a laughing couple stumbling out onto the balcony.
“Oops, sorry,” the girl said, giggling. “I guess this balcony’s occupied.”
“No, it’s all yours,” Harry said, regretfully vacating his new-found haven so the couple could enjoy the night air and moonlight.
He walked back into the party, searching for Davinci. He found him by the stage, organizing the musicians.
“Davinci, listen, I’m really sorry – ” Harry began.
“Don’t you dare try to leave yet,” Davinci answered with a gentle smile. “I’ve several friends I’d like to introduce you to, Harry. They’re very nice people and I know you want to stay out of the picture, but they’re most anxious to meet you.”
Davinci called several couples over and introduced Harry. They had a pleasant conversation, discussing current events, the abysmal weather, and finally their children. It was actually enjoyable to Harry, nothing serious, no personal questions or war stories.
Davinci excused himself to greet several guests who had arrived and the couples soon left in search of the punch bowl.
Harry entertained himself watching Hermione diligently and methodically work the crowd. He had the impulse to duck behind a large marble statue when from a distance he saw Davinci approaching, but instead, he turned around, bent over and pretended to be tying his shoe, hoping Davinci would lose sight of him and inflict his guest on someone else.
He resolved that this would be the last introduction for the night and, courage in hand, he stood up to greet the latest of Davinci’s “dearest friends.”
“Why am I not surprised?” he thought as he looked at the latest potential client and realized it was none other than Draco Malfoy. Could the night possibly get any worse?
* * * * *
Draco felt the faintest flush slowly creep up his neck and warm his cheeks. No matter what he tried to do to control his response to Harry, he was powerless to stop the rush of nervous excitement. And always accompanying this response was the conflicting sensation of every muscle in his body relaxing and his mind becoming clear and calm.
He knew he couldn’t hide how he felt when he was near Harry, and this both pleased and disconcerted him.
“Harry, good to see you again,” Draco said warmly, smiling and offering his hand. He couldn’t help the frown that crossed his face when Harry ignored the outstretched hand and simply nodded back at him. He pulled his hand back, embarrassed; steeling his features, not wanting to reveal the hurt the slight had caused.
“Ah, you do know each other,” Davinci said, slightly apologetic.
“We attended Hogwarts together,” Harry said curtly. “And of course, Draco was a prominent member of the Order.”
“Yes, unfortunately I was living in another country, continent to be precise, during that awful time,” Davinci said. “So, you two worked together?”
“You might say that,” Harry said.
“And he’s still refusing my offer of friendship,” Draco said, staring pointedly at Harry.
“Is that what that was?” Harry answered rudely. “I thought you were trying to tell me who I should be friends with.”
Nevertheless,” Davinci said, cutting in and adopting a no-nonsense tone Draco had never heard from him before. “Now that we’re all adults I’m sure we can put the past behind us – where it belongs - and get along splendidly. This is a party after all, gentlemen, not a boxing ring. Save the sparring for later.”
“Yes, I agree,” Draco offered. “Truce, Harry?”
“Sure, why not?” Harry said as he glanced around looking for Hermione. “I can put up with you for the few remaining minutes I’m going to be here. Now, if you’ll both excuse me, I’m going to find Hermione.”
“Granger’s here?’ Draco said.
“I see you’ve stopped calling her ‘Mudblood,’” Harry said sarcastically. “You really have turned over a new leaf.”
“I don’t use that term anymore, Harry,” Draco said. “I find it thoroughly offensive.”
“Really?” Harry said feigning surprise. “You sure used it a lot during the war.”
“I probably would not have been well accepted among the Death Eaters had I not used that term, Harry,” Draco threw back. “That was my role as I’m sure you well remember - as much as you commented on how untrustworthy I was.”
“Will the opponents return to their neutral corners, please?” Davinci said. “Draco, if I could have a word with you?”
Harry took the hint and walked away in search of Hermione, and Davinci pulled Draco off to the side.
“What in heaven’s name was all that about?” Davinci said, thoroughly confused.
“I’ve tried to be friends with him, Davinci,” Draco said. “He just doesn’t like me, no matter what I do or say.”
“I guess I should have told you earlier,” Davinci said. “Harry’s my new partner, silent of course, just the way he requested.”
“Silence seems to be his thing,” Draco commented. When Davinci gave him a confused look, Draco elaborated.
“He’s pretty tight-lipped about his activities; his businesses, finances, love-life, that sort of thing. All the personal details the press seems enamored of. There’s always been rampant speculation about him and you know how the Prophet is, if you don’t give them the story, they’ll make up a perfectly reasonable one themselves.”
So, you’re saying his well-guarded privacy should prove lucrative for our business?” Davinci suggested with a smile. “Encourage even more interest?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Draco answered with a matching smile. “I know how you hate attention.”
* * * * *
Draco headed toward the balcony after Davinci left to minister to his guests. He stopped at the bar, retrieving a large decanter from the cabinet off the counter. He wandered over to the punch bowl and scooped the decanter in, filling it almost to the top. He lifted a glass of champagne from one of the waiters and made a beeline for the balcony. A private party was exactly what he needed right now.
After tossing the contents of the glass onto the ground beneath, Draco set his now-empty glass down and placed the decanter directly beside it. He sat down, his back up against the wall, the view of the night sky still visible over the stone railing.
What the hell was Harry’s problem? Their rivalry had been settled long ago and Draco didn’t understand why Harry still held a grudge over events that had taken place when they’d both been in school.
He’d tried throughout his time in the Order to make peace with Harry; to establish at the very least a working relationship, but Harry either ignored him completely or made denigrating, sarcastic remarks.
What he really didn’t understand was why Harry was not interested in him. Everyone else seemed to be and he had certainly given Harry enough hints that an offer of friendship –and more – would not be rebuffed. He was attracted to Harry, but he was also honest enough to admit that his ego would get a nice jolt out of bedding the man who had eluded his attentions for so long. No one seemed to know anything about him romantically, either. His preferences and experiences were closely guarded secrets – making them even more appealing – and Draco wanted to be among the few who knew Harry intimately.
“For all you know he’s straight,” Draco thought, although rumors about Harry’s interest in men exclusively had been circulating for years. He didn’t exactly do a whole lot to squelch those rumors, either. He had never been seen dating a woman, but Draco knew lots of people who liked their partner’s identity (male or female) securely under wraps. It was entirely possible Harry might be protecting someone else’s privacy.
Draco jerked around when the object of his speculation threw open the French doors that led to his “private” balcony and burst in, not even noticing Draco sitting on the ground. He strode over to the railing and heaved a beleaguered sigh.
“Party’s down here if you’re interested,” Draco threw out, anxious to see the reaction from Harry.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” Harry asked angrily. “Are you following me?”
“Following would imply you doing something first, and seeing that I was out here first, I believe the obvious answer to that inane question is no,” Draco answered. “The answer to the first question is obvious as well, I am drinking punch.”
“You’ve got a smart answer for everything don’t you?” Harry replied frowning. “And I was out here earlier in the evening; perhaps you noticed me then and came out here thinking you would wait for me here.”
“Self obsession is an extremely unattractive personality trait, Harry” Draco mused. “Why would I follow you?”
“Probably because I have no interest in being friends – or anything else - with you, no matter how much of a show you put on,” Harry said. “And considering how important the chase is to you, I present quite a challenge.”
“You flatter yourself, Harry,” Draco said calmly. “Now, either join me or do me the courtesy of returning to the party. I would like to enjoy my privacy.”
Draco poured some punch into his glass, taking a small sip and, pronouncing it “not bad,” set it back down. He reached into the inside pocket of his coat and withdrew a small pouch. He pulled a set of papers out of the pouch, pulling a single sheaf off and stuffing the remainder back in the pouch.
“What are you doing?” Harry asked curious.
“I am about to embark on a journey to transcend the mortal plane and find a place of universal knowledge,” Draco said. “More commonly known as smoking pot.”
“We’re wizards, we can’t ingest Muggle drugs,” Harry said shocked. “That’ll make us sick and possibly affect our powers.”
“Is that right?” Draco replied amused. “And if you wank too much you’ll go blind. I don’t know about you, but my vision is as good as ever. However, you are the one with glasses.”
He licked along the edge of the paper and gently reached into the pouch withdrawing something that looked like tobacco to Harry. After sprinkling it on the paper, he rolled it up and held it up for Harry’s inspection.
“Come on, Harry,” Draco offered, patting the spot next to him. “Better health through chemistry, that’s my new motto.”
“Are you sure this is safe?” Harry asked. Why he had agreed to this he had no idea.
“I’ve been doing it for years,” Draco assured him. “Do I look sick? Have I lost any of my powers?”
“I’ve never done this before,” Harry said, examining Draco’s face to see if he was teasing.
“Have a drink of punch while I light this,” Draco said. “You’ll find my sharing skills have improved dramatically since school. Go ahead and pour some more in the glass.”
Harry poured more punch in the glass, staring warily at Draco. He couldn’t believe he was out here, sharing drinks and well, whatever that was that Draco had talked about. He took a drink from the glass. As far as punches went it wasn’t bad, but it had an odd salty tang.
“What do you do with that?” Harry asked.
“You smoke it, like a Muggle cigarette,” Draco explained. “Watch me.”
“You certainly are familiar with Muggle behavior,” Harry said surprised. He watched Draco take a long drag from the cigarette, inhaling deeply and making smoke rings in various sizes.
“Here, try it,” Draco said holding out the joint. Harry took it, placing it between his lips and inhaling slowly. The smoke burned all the way down, making him cough and sputter.
“What’s so great about that?” Harry said frowning and taking another drink of the punch.
“You’re not doing it right,” Draco said gently. “Here let me show you. I’m going to blow it in your mouth, just let it filter down through your lungs slowly, don’t breath in so deep. Open your mouth for me.”
He took the joint back from Harry, taking a short drag, leaned in close to Harry and blew the smoke into Harry’s mouth slowly and evenly, their lips barely touching.
Draco sat back and took a long, slow sip of the punch. He closed his eyes and leaned up against the wall, willing his body to relax. He loved letting the sensations wash over him, especially recalling those firm, slightly chapped lips pressed so softly against his.
His reverie was interrupted by a waiter opening the French doors.
“Anyone out here?” he called gently.
“We’re down here,” Draco replied. He wouldn’t have answered, but they would soon need more punch and there was no telling how long it would be before the next round of offers.
“Sir?” the waiter said, staring down at him. “What can I get for you?”
“We need more punch,” Draco said, holding up the carafe. “Just fill it up. Get an extra glass, too.”
“Yes, sir,” the waiter replied politely, accepting the carafe offered. He left, closing the doors quietly behind him.
“Wouldn’t mind a taste of that,” Draco commented, taking another long drag, blowing the smoke directly up above him.
“God, Draco,” Harry said. “He’s seventeen if he’s a day!”
“I like them young,” Draco replied smiling. “If you can’t find a good man, raise one. That’s what I say.”
“I didn’t realize your inclinations ran toward young men,” Harry said. “I thought you were married, with a kid.”
“Were being the key word there, Harry,” Draco said. “Want me to give you another hit?”
“Draco, I don’t know about all this,” Harry said nervously. “I really should be getting back to the party.”
“Oh, come on,” Draco said. “One more. Now, open your mouth again.”
He was so tempted to just lean over and kiss Harry, but he was afraid Harry would get angry, so he settled for repeating his earlier action. He could feel the effects of the marijuana, and the alcohol (or whatever they’d added) in the punch was heightening the sensation. It reminded him of the feeling he occasionally had after a particularly engaging bit of sex. An endorphin rush was what Davinci had called it and Draco wondered why the Wizarding world hadn’t found a potion to mimic it.
Probably because we’d all be drinking that potion instead of fucking – or doing anything else for that matter – and then nobody would have any baby wizards and we’d all die out.
He found that thought hilariously funny and laughed aloud, wondering why Harry was staring at him.
“What’s so funny?” Harry asked.
“Weird thought,” Draco said smiling. “More punch?” He held out his glass, hoping Harry would take it from him.
A knock on the doors interrupted him. The young waiter entered and set down a filled carafe and two fresh glasses.
“Gentlemen,” he said. “Can I get you anything else?”
“Any more at home like you?” Draco said winking at him. “Unless of course, you think you can handle both of us?”
“Draco, leave him alone,” Harry said, glancing apologetically at the waiter and then smiling indulgently at Draco. “We’re fine, thank you.”
Harry poured punch from the carafe into the two glasses and raised his, taking a small sip.
“Not bad,” he pronounced. “Has a funny aftertaste, though. Have you noticed that or is it just me?”
“Davinci tries all kinds of weird concoctions on his guests,” Draco said, shaking his head. “I think that’s why he has parties, so he can experiment with new food and drink.”
“This is weird, sitting here with you,” Harry said quietly. “I don’t even know why I’m doing this. I should really get back to the party.”
“I thought we declared a truce,” Draco answered. “You wouldn’t want to break your word, now would you?”
“That’s me,” Harry said ruefully. “A man of my word.”
“Harry, we are out here basking in the warm night air, sipping punch and smoking the finest blend of marijuana,” Draco replied gently. “You simply are not permitted to be depressed or sad.”
“Did you ever just want to be someone else, Draco?” Harry mused, staring intently at him. “Do and say things no one expects of you?”
“No self examination, either,” Draco said sternly. “Your mission, while you’re with me anyway, is to enjoy all the sensations you’re feeling. You have no name, no age; you don’t even have to be a wizard if you don’t want to be. No yesterday, no tomorrow, just this very minute. No friends, no enemies, just you and me. Two wickedly handsome, virile young men without a care in the world, enjoying all the physical pleasures the world has to offer.”
“That’s bizarre, Draco,” Harry said laughing. “You’re fucked up aren’t you?’
“I’m getting there,” Draco said. “But I would much prefer to be just fucked. The up part is highly overrated I find.”
“Isn’t everything?” Harry said scowling.
“So you prefer to be just fucked as well?” Draco said. “Or did you mean that’s overrated, too?”
“Draco,” Harry began.
“Tell me Harry, speaking of preferences, which do you prefer?” Draco said, taking a long slow sip of the punch. “To be the fuckee or the fucker?”
“That’s disgusting, Draco,” Harry said looking away.
“You find sex disgusting?” Draco said confused. “Or the language?”
“No one wants to have sex with me, Draco,” Harry said emphatically. “With Harry. They want the public persona, the image. Besides, they just tell everyone they had sex with me whether they did or didn’t and what’s the difference really?”
“You know Harry, I’m perfectly willing to make the supreme sacrifice and actually fuck you,” Draco offered.
“How noble of you,” Harry answered smiling. “You just want to add me to your collection.”
“As vast and eclectic though it may be,” Draco said, somewhat insulted. “I would never consider you merely an addition to ‘my collection’ as you politely term it.”
“No, just another name on your list,” Harry replied smartly.
“Ah yes, but at the top of the list,” Draco answered. “More punch? Another hit?”
“Yes,” Harry said.

End of Chapter 1