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 2 Draco and the Deep Blue Sea

Harry took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the trip home. He glanced over at the brooms propped up against the wall next to the door and gave an involuntary shudder. He hated Apparating, but he sure as shit did not want a hard, cylindrical object shoved between his legs right now. Deciding that Apparating was the lesser of two evils, he quietly opened the front door and gingerly stepped through.
It was pitch black outside and Harry guessed it to be around two o’clock in the morning. Actually, that was a good thing; no one would know what time he’d arrived home or be a witness to the state he was presently in. The air was cooler than it had been earlier and a slight breeze had picked up - even more reason to Apparate. He shivered slightly; he was shirtless, carrying his jacket and shoes – with the socks neatly tucked inside – in his arms.
The nauseating Apparition home seemed the perfect ending to his evening. He recalled wondering earlier – after he’d met Draco – if the night could get any worse. Well, it had; except right now, with the pounding headache he had, he couldn’t summon up a word descriptive enough for exactly how bad the evening had turned out.
He stood facing the door to his small cottage, trying to will the nausea and chills away. He threw his bundle of clothes and shoes down, hoping he’d remember to retrieve them in the morning.
Suddenly, he felt a telltale lurch in his stomach and backed away from the door, kneeling over some flowers he’d planted near the front walkway. When he felt the urge to throw up, he gave in to it fully, hoping the flowers would recover.
“They’ll probably recover sooner than you do,” he thought.
He pulled his wand from his back pocket, amazed he’d had the foresight to bring it home with him. “Alohomora,” he said weakly, motioning toward the front door. The door obligingly sprang open for him and rather than try to stand, he crawled in, collapsing in a heap in front of the deserted fireplace.
He couldn’t make up his mind whether he wanted a fire or not, so he took a few moments to gather his strength and started crawling toward the bathroom. The medicinal potions were in a cabinet, so he’d have to stand up sooner or later, but he wasn’t sure how long he could manage himself on his feet, so he crept slowly, but surely into his bathroom, using his Lumosed wand now clutched between his teeth for light.
He grabbed onto the sink for support and hoisted himself to a standing position. Having already emptied the contents of his stomach, it gave only a weak flip and acquiesced to the persistent throbbing of his head. He managed to stay up, placing his wand on the sink and opened the cabinet, where to his relief; he immediately spotted the pain potion.
He reached for the vial, carelessly pulling out the cork stopper and took a healthy swig of the surprisingly sweet liquid. It gave welcoming warmth to his throat, soothing the headache immediately and quieting the churning of his stomach.
He backed up against the wall and slid down, resting his head between his knees, waiting for the potion to take full effect before he chanced a return trip to the fireplace. It took only a few minutes before all his symptoms began to abate. He stood up, finding the stopper and resealing the potion before placing it back in the cabinet.
He walked into his parlor, lit a fire in the fireplace and then immediately warded it. The last thing he needed right now was visitors. He knew from experience that in about 30 minutes, the potion would put him to sleep, a dreamless, heavy sleep that he wanted to fully appreciate.
He flopped down on the sofa, curling up against the back and Accioing his pillow and a light blanket from the bedroom. He nestled his head into the pillow pulling the covers securely about his unclothed shoulders and tried –unsuccessfully – to keep his morose thoughts at bay.
All his grand plans for the evening had come crashing down and he had no one to blame but himself.
When he’d intruded on Draco’s party on the balcony, he’d immediately recognized an opportunity to resolve a dilemma he’d wrestled with since, well, since forever it seemed. Harry had spent his school years battling Voldemort and after defeating him – finally – he’d decided to pursue his goal of becoming an Auror and fighting dark wizards, including the remaining Death Eaters. For several years he gave himself wholeheartedly to this task, but in the last year or so, he’d felt himself losing interest.
He supposed it was watching everyone else move on with their lives. He watched Ron and Hermione and most of his other friends, find employment and start relationships. He felt like he lived in limbo; to the Wizarding world, he would always be Harry Potter, “The Chosen One,” the powerful wizard who defeated Voldemort, the savior of the Wizarding world.
He recalled a remark his defense teacher, Gilderoy Lockehart had once made, “Fame is a fickle friend, Harry.”
“Fickle, my arse,” he thought. “I wish it was fickle. I wish it would go away and leave me alone for a change.”
He was the savior all right - a savior who had sacrificed everything. Right now he had no real job to speak of, no social life and especially, no love life. He hadn’t had a date in years. Who had time to date? More important, once he’d realized he was a marked man, to associate himself romantically with one person put that person in grave danger.
He knew that even Ron and Hermione had sacrificed their own feelings to support him in his battle against Voldemort and the Death Eaters. He didn’t want to keep imposing on their friendship, but he had so few friends. The people he’d considered his friends, Neville, Luna, Cho, Seamus and Dean, had all moved on and most of the time he felt like a third wheel.
They all teased him about finding the right person and his undeserved – at least he felt it was undeserved – reputation as a confirmed bachelor. Truth was, he was reluctant to go on dates, to even approach people he found attractive. Sooner or later the subject he dreaded was going to come up – sex.
“The question on everyone’s mind,” he thought sarcastically. “Does he or doesn’t he? Will he or won’t he? Has he or hasn’t he? God, if they only knew.”
Actually no one knew. Ron and Hermione suspected, Harry was sure of that, but only he knew the sad truth. Before tonight, he’d kissed only three people and had sex with none. The media had openly speculated on his tastes and Harry found it amusing – at times – that even he didn’t know what he liked. He wasn’t even sure what to speculate about.
Tonight had seemed like a golden opportunity to rid himself of the private albatross of virginity he carried around his neck. He knew Draco would be willing – probably a lot more than willing - and then there was the matter of his drunken, inebriated state. Just hop right in and out of the sack with Draco, and “presto, chango,” problem solved. Draco wouldn’t be in any condition to notice Harry’s lack of experience, or care probably and he could head out into the world of dating and relationships, hang-up free.
“Really brilliant idea, Harry,” he thought caustically. And then the potion took over, blacking out every miserable thought and feeling and catapulting him into a dark sea where, unexpectedly, he relived every miserable minute of an evening that would come to change his life.
End Chapter 2