For Cloud 646
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
19
Views:
7,952
Reviews:
94
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
19
Views:
7,952
Reviews:
94
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
For Cloud 646
(cloud646 suggested a story along these lines—I’ve taken some of his/her suggestions, and here is the result. Unlike my other multi-chapter story, this one is complete; I'm just going to add a chapter a day until it's all here. Hope you enjoy.)
“Draco?”
“Fuck you.”
“Draco, we……”
“Fuck you.”
“Draco, PLEASE!”
Draco’s response this time was distinctly nonverbal, and, back at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, Harry hastily pulled his face out of the fireplace, coughing and spitting out the ash Draco had flung into his face.
The problem was that Harry had absolutely no one to blame for Draco’s anger but himself. The war, terrible though it had been in the main, had at least brought Draco and Harry together, as they realized their love (and, let’s be honest, lust) for each other. For two years, things had been idyllic between them, and though Harry had kept the Grimmauld Place house he’d inherited from Sirius, and Draco had inherited Malfoy Manor upon the deaths of his parents, neither had felt any rush to move in together. They had years and years for that.
Or so they thought.
Harry cursed his own stupidity. He would have liked to have told himself that he’d been Confunded, or under the Imperious Curse, but the plain and simple fact was that Harry had strayed. He’d slept with another man—and had had the insanely bad luck to do it the night before Draco paid a surprise breakfast visit. The ex-Slytherin had taken in the scene—Harry alarmed, the other man (Harry couldn’t even remember his name) sleepy and confused, and both of them completely naked—and then had turned on his heel, marched back to the fireplace in the living room with Harry stumbling after him calling his name, flung some Floo Powder into the grate, and stepped through. The next day, Draco had sent an owl post saying that he was leaving the Floo Portal open, since they would have to arrange times to return stuff each had left with the other, but if Harry used it to visit Malfoy Manor without permission, he’d wish he were fighting Voldemort again.
That had been four months ago. Now, on the eve of Draco’s 20th birthday, Harry was determined to make it up to him, no matter what.
Harry cleaned the last of the ash off of his face, stared at the fireplace, and made a decision.
“Draco?”
“Fuck you.”
“Draco, we……”
“Fuck you.”
“Draco, PLEASE!”
Draco’s response this time was distinctly nonverbal, and, back at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, Harry hastily pulled his face out of the fireplace, coughing and spitting out the ash Draco had flung into his face.
The problem was that Harry had absolutely no one to blame for Draco’s anger but himself. The war, terrible though it had been in the main, had at least brought Draco and Harry together, as they realized their love (and, let’s be honest, lust) for each other. For two years, things had been idyllic between them, and though Harry had kept the Grimmauld Place house he’d inherited from Sirius, and Draco had inherited Malfoy Manor upon the deaths of his parents, neither had felt any rush to move in together. They had years and years for that.
Or so they thought.
Harry cursed his own stupidity. He would have liked to have told himself that he’d been Confunded, or under the Imperious Curse, but the plain and simple fact was that Harry had strayed. He’d slept with another man—and had had the insanely bad luck to do it the night before Draco paid a surprise breakfast visit. The ex-Slytherin had taken in the scene—Harry alarmed, the other man (Harry couldn’t even remember his name) sleepy and confused, and both of them completely naked—and then had turned on his heel, marched back to the fireplace in the living room with Harry stumbling after him calling his name, flung some Floo Powder into the grate, and stepped through. The next day, Draco had sent an owl post saying that he was leaving the Floo Portal open, since they would have to arrange times to return stuff each had left with the other, but if Harry used it to visit Malfoy Manor without permission, he’d wish he were fighting Voldemort again.
That had been four months ago. Now, on the eve of Draco’s 20th birthday, Harry was determined to make it up to him, no matter what.
Harry cleaned the last of the ash off of his face, stared at the fireplace, and made a decision.