Hard Time

Chapter Twenty One: Mirror Image

Draco paced his room, trying to decide why he felt so angry and yet, for some ridiculous reason, happy at the same time. Not to mention vulnerable. Terribly vulnerable. It was all Harry's fault, these feelings, – words Harry had said, the look on his face. What had that meant, 'care about you'? Did it mean what he so desperately hoped it meant? Or perhaps it meant only care. Not love. Not love at all. Maybe it meant that once Draco was well, Harry would be through with him and off to finer things. On to more novel adventures.

He snarled, throwing one of the law books into a corner, and watching it smash into the wall with grim satisfaction. Harry was going to give him his wand back. Only now that he'd made a fuss about it, not necessarily because Harry wanted to do that himself because he trusted him. The thought should have pleased him. Instead, it made him feel soiled and unworthy. What was bloody wrong with him? Harry should be rewarding him; he was being almost intolerably good, if he said so himself. And yet it still felt like there was a great rift between the two of them. And it was expanding.

"I should sleep in my bed alone, just to show him," Draco said aloud, as he went on to flounce on the bed, and then he groaned. He was talking to himself. This couldn't be a good sign. But really, there was no reason he couldn't sleep here, if he had his wand back. He'd be able to defend himself if needed. In all practicality, he would feel safer than he had in ages with a wand in hand. Right?

Except, he really liked sleeping curled up next to Harry.

Even that thought was upsetting. He was starting to really like Harry. He was starting to form an attachment to the insufferable prat. That would never do; the idea of a Malfoy and Potter together was simply preposterous. It would never work. How could it, with Harry's ridiculous kinship and fascination with all things Muggle; with Draco's pureblood ties or … but then again, his own aspirations and ties were pretty much dead, weren't they?

Draco spent the better part of the afternoon trying to convince himself to stay at his room for the night, but in the end, he decided, however reluctantly, to come down for dinner. He didn't speak much, and Harry didn't pry, leaving him to his thoughts and letting him pick at his food in peace.

At bedtime, Draco stared at the empty bed and fought with the fear that, if he didn't come to Harry tonight, Harry might not ever accept him there again. Obnoxious, well-meaning, hero. Draco sighed. Obnoxious hero, whose strong, reassuring arms he wanted wrapped tightly around him. And why was he so angry with Harry, anyway? Where did that suffocating anger that settled down so heavily upon his heart come from? He had the most uncomfortable feeling that it wasn't really Harry he was angry with at the moment. Harry, well-meaning Harry, was simply the most convenient target of his confusing emotions.

With a growl, Draco burst out of his room and into Harry's room, to find him seated at his desk, reading. Harry looked up and smiled tentatively at Draco’s sudden dramatic entrance. Draco snatched the book away. "Take off your clothes," he commanded.

"Hey, I was reading –" Harry began, but Draco didn't let him finish, pushing him instead towards the bed, attacking the buttons of his shirt to snatch it off, and scratching eagerly at Harry's stomach as it was revealed. A breathless gasp left Harry's mouth as he stared at Draco, dumbfounded. "Er, I guess I can read it later ..."

Draco didn't give Harry chance to argue any further, mashing their mouths together messily, and kissing him hungrily, forcefully. He was in charge here; he could do what he wanted, and he wanted Harry beneath him right now. Harry fumbled as Draco shoved him into the bed, working his shoes off, jerkily, as Draco tore at his jeans, yanking them off and tossing them on the floor. When Harry tried to speak, Draco bit his bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood. Harry whimpered.

There was also the matter of Draco's clothing. Breathing hard, Draco pulled back for a moment, pinning Harry with his gaze while he scrambled out of his own clothing. Draco tried to say it with his eyes. His gaze was fierce and commanding, and it said: Don't you dare speak. Don't you dare move. He was going to take Harry hard and fast. Sear the experience into Harry's brain. Ensure that Harry never forgot.

Harry was lying sprawled on the bed, naked except for his glasses, as Draco dropped his trousers and resumed his position on top. Despite the abruptness of Draco's actions, Harry looked relaxed and affable enough, watching Draco warily but with heated interest in his eyes that seemed to sparkle. There was also no disguising the fact that Harry was turned on. "I think you're enjoying this," Draco said in a low voice, and a sudden thought came to him. "Where's my wand?"

"Oh, it's right here," Harry said, leaning over to the night table, where Draco spotted his dark polished wand at once, laying neatly beside Harry's. Harry picked up Draco's wand and offered it to him. "I have to say, it served me very well."

Draco wasn't sure how to respond to that. He reached for the wand that lie in Harry’s open palm slowly and, when it was close enough to touch, snatched it back to himself eagerly. It felt different somehow. He wasn't quite sure in what way yet, but it did. "Thanks." He aimed it at Harry. He'd see if Harry really trusted him. "Incarcerous," he said in a clear voice, and ropes flew out from the tip of his wand to wrap around Harry's wrists, securing them to the bed post. Harry's eyes widened in disbelief and a little bit of fear.

It made Draco smirk in satisfaction. It was somehow empowering to watch somebody else fear him, to know that he had at least a little of his old strength back. And he had no intention of harming Harry; quite the opposite. Setting down his wand again, he covered Harry with his body and began ravishing his mouth, kissing him hungrily, hands moving over Harry's skin, hungry to touch; fingernails leaving red scratches on Harry’s skin, all in his desperation for more sensation, more of Harry. Harry moaned, relaxing and becoming more pliable beneath his weight.

Draco lubed up his fingers and began teasing Harry with two of them, sliding them in and out in rapid tempo, biting a path down Harry's throat to one nipple and seizing it between his teeth to roll and suck on hard. There were other things he could have shown Harry tonight now that he had his wand back, things that required the assistance of magic. But he didn't want to. Hands, mouth, cock, body – he wanted it visceral. Real. He bit down hard, harder even, smelling the blood just under the surface as he twisted his fingers inside Harry. Harry gave a ragged cry, bucking and struggling in his bonds.

Satisfied that Harry was as ready as he needed to be, Draco slicked just a little lube on himself and spread Harry wide, letting him read the urgency in his face. There was a confusing mixture of emotions inside Draco at the moment: lust, desire – certainly, but also anger, some fear, as well as something dark and nameless, something that he didn't want to contemplate too closely right now. Draco thrust in, enjoying the look of pain-pleasure on Harry's face as he cried out. He sank deep into the tight heat, trembling. "How do you like it, Potter?" Harry's wrists were red from pulling at the ropes, though he didn't seem to be pulling at them in consternation, but rather simply as an unconscious, sensual act. Maybe he even liked them. Did he like them? "How do you like not having all the control for once?" Draco snarled the words.

Harry let out a shaky breath, wriggling his arse a little as Draco slowly pulled out and thrust home again. "It's kind of nice, now and then," he exhaled in a low, breathy voice, and gave Draco a half-lidded sultry stare that sent heat coiling straight down to Draco's balls. That wasn't what he had expected at all; even on the bottom, even tied up, Harry seemed to be more the one in control. Draco growled and began thrusting harder, silencing Harry from any further remarks with a hard, ruthless kiss that made the blood sing in his veins.

From there it dissolved into urgent kissing and thrusting, with a lot of scratching and biting from Draco’s part. He couldn't get enough; it was as if there was some dormant beast under his skin, clamouring to get out. He peppered Harry's chest with small bite marks and clawed at Harry's hips, all the while fucking him hard, brutally hard, until both of them were coming with loud cries, covered in hot, sticky sweat.

Even after the climax, the beast was not tamed. Draco rested on his elbows, body still joined with Harry's, fuming at the fact that he hadn't purged Harry from his system at all. If anything, he felt even more addicted to him than ever. It infuriated him; why should he suffer with this enduring affliction, when to Harry it was nothing more than some philanthropic way to pass the day?

Draco pulled out, snatching up his wand again. "Wha…?” Harry asked in a sort of post-orgasmic haze, hands hanging limply from their bonds, hair damp and falling into his eyes. He looked too delectable; wild and debauched.

That wasn't how Draco wanted to think about him at the moment. Always in control, even when he wasn't, always brave, always confident. Draco hated him in that moment. And felt something else he did not want to name. It simply wasn't fair. Harry would cure the piteous Death Eater and proceed to even more fame and glory. And Draco would forever on continue struggling in shadows and fear. "Incendio," he whispered, and the point of his wand flared up in heat. He pressed the point against Harry's chest and watched the flesh burn, struck with a sudden cruel desire that Harry never forget him. Then, in a flash, he was done; and there now lay a dark, scorched "D" emblazoned on Harry's chest. A great deal more sophisticated-looking and artful that his own crude scar, Draco reflected.

And then the realisation struck him with horror. He'd just burned a scar into Harry's flesh. He raised his eyes to meet Harry’s and stared at him. Harry was staring back with a look of shock and pain. "I –" Draco began, going pale and starting to shake all over, all of a sudden breaking out in cold sweat. Everything seemed like a slowly unravelling nightmare. "Oh Merlin – I didn't mean –" He noticed, belatedly, that Harry's hands were still tied, and dispelled the ropes frantically, then dropped the wand on the floor as if it might bite him. "I'm sorry!"

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TBC

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