The Foundation

The Foundation

By: Newshound

Rating: MV

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 3: No One Warned Me about the Flashbacks

Draco woke up bright and early the morning following Davinci’s party. He slowly opened his eyes, taking in the bright sunlight streaming in through the gap in the curtains and smiled. He was warm and relaxed under the covers and he stretched languidly, easing all the stiffness out of his arms and legs. He felt a slight tightness in his muscles and he quickly glanced over next to him, almost expecting to see someone lying next to him. A weird sense of unease spread through him when he noticed the space next to him was empty.

He had the oddest feeling that someone should have been there, which actually was odd in and of itself. He had never had an overnight guest at his home (his apartment definitely) because this was where he kept his daughter and entertained both friends and wizard business acquaintances.

He tried to remember what had happened the night before at the party, but he drew a total blank. The last thing he recalled doing was grabbing his decanter and heading out to the balcony. Everything after that was completely gone. He couldn’t have passed out, though; otherwise he’d still be at Davinci’s.

What in the four hells had happened last night and exactly how much punch had he drunk? He couldn’t have drunk too much because he didn’t feel in the least bit hungover. Maybe he’d had a weird dream or something and that was why he expected someone to be here next to him. Didn’t matter anyway, his “indiscretion” – if there was one - had made himself scarce which probably meant nothing serious had happened.

“Then why did you expect him to be here?” he thought, getting out of bed and walking over to the wardrobe. When he reached down next to it to retrieve his dressing gown off the floor, a wave of dizziness washed over him. He leaned against the wardrobe for support and a fragment of memory drifted slowly into his mind.

He could see himself standing in this very spot; he was completely unclothed and waiting for a response from someone who was on the bed, maybe – he couldn’t tell. All he knew was that he felt insulted somehow; he hadn’t gotten the response he’d expected.
He picked up the dressing gown and put it on, hoping maybe that would jog his memory a bit more. It didn’t. He frowned and glanced around the room, looking for traces of what he had done here the night before.

When nothing came to him, he picked up his wand off the wardrobe and walked out into his parlor. He strode over to the fireplace intending to start a fire. It was warm outside, but he enjoyed his morning routine of drinking tea in front of his fire while reading the Daily Prophet. When he pulled out his wand to cast the spell, another wave of dizziness hit him and more memories flashed through his mind.

“Let’s take this into the bedroom,” he heard himself say. God his voice was sexy when it had that husky tone. He was holding someone firmly, but there was still space between them. He could feel his hands touching the other body, but he couldn’t feel it pressed against his.

“Draco,” he heard the hesitant voice say. The voice was so familiar and he felt like he should recognize it, but he couldn’t.

“What?” he’d teased softly. “You want to do it here, right in front of the fire? Impatient, aren’t we? Why don’t I just conjure us up a bear rug?”

He heard a gentle laugh follow his comment.

“No, I just,” the voice trailed off. He felt hands smoothly sliding up the sleeves of his shirt, the softest of caresses. They moved across his chest and began to unbutton the shirt, shaking a little. “I’m just a little nervous.”

“Because it’s our first time together?” he’d asked kindly. “Me, too. Come on, it’ll be all right, you’ll see.”

Draco tried desperately to see the man’s face, but he couldn’t and the identity of the voice eluded him as well. He cast his spell and when he had a good fire going he walked to the kitchen to retrieve his paper and brew himself a cup of his favorite tea.

He was walking back into his parlor, tea in hand and paper tucked neatly under one arm when he spied two brooms neatly placed against the wall next to the front door. Where had they come from?

“Well that explains how I – or we – got home from Davinci’s,” he thought smiling. Maybe the rest of the mystery would be solved today as well.


He set his tea and paper down on the coffee table and opened the door to the closet nearest his front door preparing to store the borrowed brooms. He had a feeling touching the brooms would bring something back and he wasn’t disappointed. This memory was very different than the previous ones.

He and his companion were on the balcony, standing, Draco close enough to whisper in the other person’s ear.

“Let’s take this somewhere a little more comfortable, shall we? My place perhaps?” again spoken in that same sultry teasing voice. He sensed hesitation in his partner. “I can do things you’ve only imagined in your wildest dreams.”

“Draco,” the other voice interrupted him.

“You want me, I can feel it,” he’d whispered softly, kissing the delicate skin beneath the jaw. “Give in to your desires. You won’t regret it; I promise.”

The memory shifted to the front doors of Davinci’s suite. “I don’t like Apparating,” the other person remarked.

“Well, let’s fly then,” he’d answered. “Davinci keeps plenty of spare brooms, here, try one.”

“I’d don’t know if I’m in any condition to fly,” the mystery voice answered with a gentle laugh.

“You?” he’d replied. “Come on, it’ll be fun. It’s been so long since we’ve flown against each other. Aren’t you even the least bit curious as to how I handle a broomstick? How good it would feel to put yours between my legs? Believe me, I’m a better ride than your Firebolt.”

This was getting weirder and weirder. He sat back on the sofa, staring at the Prophet that lay on the table before him, barely recognizing the words. He shook his head, desperately trying to clear it. What he needed to do right now was drink his tea, eat his toast and get his thoughts together.

He didn’t have any firm plans for this morning. He’d given several Ministry officials his card and promised to call on them today and he also wanted to visit the office to review next week’s appointments. He had arranged to pick up his daughter early tomorrow and he didn’t want any interruptions.

He forced himself to drink his tea and eat his meager breakfast, his earlier good mood all but gone. The Prophet had absolutely no news of any value whatsoever and in an effort to distract himself from those memories. He headed into the bedroom to dress before heading off to the ministry.

He opened his wardrobe and immediately the memories began once more.

“Look at me.” he’d commanded. He was somewhat angry that the figure on the bed was not paying much attention to him. He was completely undressed and he grasped his erection firmly, stroking himself in an effort to get a response from the seemingly disinterested party on his bed.

“Do you want to pass up a chance at having the most incredible fuck of your life? I swear I’m better than all the others. Do you have any idea how good you look spread out on the bed like that? You are truly a sight for sore eyes – and a hot, hard cock! Do you know how much I’ve wanted you – and for how long? How many times I’ve fantasized about taking your cock in my mouth and sucking you dry? Would you like that? I’ll do that for you if you want.”

He backed up against the wardrobe trying to catch his breath and stop the hammering of his heart. Then he noticed a slip of white material peeking out from under the bed.

He reached under the bed pulling out a crisp white cotton dress shirt. He looked at it, desperately hoping he could identify its owner. He was shocked to discover all the buttons were missing and he fingered the cloth, awaiting the onslaught of yet another memory. He wasn’t disappointed.

He straddled his partner who lay submissively beneath him. They were both fully dressed, but he could feel the almost overwhelming desire to taste and kiss the man’s chest; to touch and explore the warm skin. His fingers weren’t cooperating and the buttons seemed too small and finicky.

“Why do you have so many fucking buttons on this shirt?” he’d asked, irritated. “And why the fuck are they so small?”

It was the laugh that had enraged him and made him pull on the shirt, tearing off all the offensive buttons. He’d originally thought the laughter was at his impatience and ineptitude, but now he recognized the nervous, strained quality. He’d been mad about this last night and he’d taken it out on the body beneath, being rougher and more demanding than he normally was. He wanted to devour that skin, lick and bite and kiss it till belonged completely to him.

He put his hands in his head, thoroughly ashamed of his behavior and sank down on the foot of the bed. A final memory assaulted him.

He knelt between his partner’s legs which trembled slightly. “Is it cold in here or something?” he’d asked not even waiting for a response. His fingers were already slickly coated with lubricant and he forced two fingers inside the man’s body. He did it in the most perfunctory, casual way he could manage. He could feel his irritation at the man; at what seemed to be his boredom and disinterest. He was completely unmindful of the other man’s pleasure and he felt totally justified in this for some reason. He continued thinking only of his own satisfaction and enjoyment; stroking and squeezing himself.

He grabbed the muscular bum and spread the cheeks roughly apart. He took great pleasure in plunging himself all the way in, shoving hard and fast. He grabbed the hips, thumbs and fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he’d moaned. “So tight, so warm. Bet you hear that all the time, huh?” The last was followed by his sharp laughter.

He looked down and the man’s face was turned to the side, eyes closed, apparently unaware he had spoken. He released his anger by pounding into the body and when he felt his orgasm growing near, he pulled almost completely out and shoved himself back in as hard as he could.

Then he heard something. He hadn’t heard this last night, but now it seemed as loud as voice under Sonorus. It was a short, breathy gasp; a sound he’d heard only once before - one that he himself had made and one he instantly recognized. He’d made that very same sound when they had burned the dark mark into his arm and he’d felt a bright, searing pain. Accompanying the gasp was the rush of his release, followed immediately by the weak, tepid orgasm of the man who lay beneath him. Harry Potter.

He remained sitting on the bed, his hands shaking and heart pounding. He wasn’t going anywhere today.

The end Chapter 3