Gay Aurors

"Oh... oh God Angelina, your pussy is so wet and hot! It's just dripping for me, isn't it baby?" Jennifer groaned as her fingers dug deep into the hot molten wetness of Angelina's cunt. She sucked her tits hard, pulling back with a nipple between her teeth as she watched those bee-stung lips part with sheer bliss.

"Yes... fuck me... God... it feels so good! I've wanted it from you for so long!" Angelina cried. Her back arched into the eager mouth as she fucked Jennifer's hand ruthlessly. "I wore that cut off for you... I knew you'd love it!"

"Oh yes... I could see your pointy nipples poking through your top all day and all I could think about was wrapping my lips around those fine pointy nubs!" Jennifer whimpered as she worked her way down Angelina's body.

"Wait!" said Angelina as her eyes widened and she looked around the barren cabin in paranoia after there was a low creak like a door opening to let a machete-wielding maniac in.

"What?" Jennifer was drowsy with lust, and didn't seem to care about machetes or creaking doors.

"I thought I heard something..."

Jennifer stayed still for a moment, looking thoughtful as she listened for anything suspicious. "These places are old; they're always making machete-sounding noises."

"You're right." Angelina pushed Jennifer down against her sleeping bag and rolled on top of her. Crawling up her body with her knees straddling Jennifer, Angelina sat her cunt down on the warm wriggling tongue and screamed in pleasure. And screamed again.

"Mm... you taste so good!" Jennifer fingered herself, moaning at the noises Angelina was making, and the noises she was driving her to make. She didn't need a man, she needed this; a warm hot cunt soaking warm juices into her mouth and over her face. She could feel it running down her throat and pooling on her chest and...

Angelina was awfully quiet now, but as wet as she was, she must've come hard.

"You come hard, baby?" asked Jennifer as she grabbed Angelina's hips and pushed her back so she could get up.

It was hard to move her. She was like dead weight. There was coming and then there was coming. Jennifer was quite chuffed and was ready to say so when Angelina fell back onto her legs in a loud, hot slap, her body limp and wet.

"Baby?"

Jennifer sat up to look down at her. Her eyes widened in terror at the machete still sticking out of her ribcage, blood washed over her chest and belly, and Angelina's blank-eyed stare. Then she heard the low, rumbling preternatural growl.

She screamed in the screamingest way that screams might be screamed-- in that way that you might if your entrails were forcing their way up your esophagus thanks to the aid of a large, sharp object.

And everything went black.

--

"What we need is two Aurors who are young in appearance to stake out the camp. We believe two capable wizards should be able to handle one psychotic machete wielding maniac, so it will be just the two of you," said Kingsley. He sat back in his chair and looked at the two Aurors before him.

"Of course I see how Potter would work, he's built like a twelve-year-old boy," said Draco.

"You're skinnier than I am!" Harry protested, shifting his chair further away to increase the distance. He was not going to be goaded.

"I'm svelte!" Draco protested.

"We've chosen you two. It would seem that there won't need to be any acting involved. You have the manner of preteens down pat." Kingsley's lips twitched, possibly in an attempt to keep from smirking.

Draco was having none of it. "Yes, well I don't like the cut of your jib!"

"Yeah, your jib sucks!" Harry added, clueless.

Kingsley's face wrinkled and he looked between the two. "What, precisely, is a jib?"

Harry shrugged and looked away.

"Nautical term for the front past of a ship. It's basically the ship's face. If you say that you don't like the cut of someone's jib, then you're saying you don't like the expression on their face," Draco explained.

Sliding his hand over his face and then over his bald pate, Kingsley asked, sounding a bit hurt. "You don't like my face?"

"I don't like the way you were looking at me! It's one thing to call Potter an immature prat, everyone knows that. But I'm the pillar of proficiency!" Even Draco realized how ridiculous that sounded, and in his defense, he said, "Pfft! I have papers to file!"

With that, Draco hopped up and stalked out of the office slamming the office door so hard that the frosted window pane rattled and Kingsley's coat rack rattled.

"I can get him if you want to finish," said Harry as he looked over his shoulder at the door. It had been a while since he'd had a chat with Kingsley about the spying he was supposed to be doing, and he'd left out big things in his reports, including exactly how they'd gotten out of Kitten Cave and how Draco had managed to get the Johns to accept him.

As much as the Ministry wanted to believe that Draco was all-powerful, Harry had seen very little of this supposed dangerous black magic-- unless you counted the rose petals, which were tacky, but hardly punishable by law. Yet.

"I can sense that you're holding things back from us, Harry. I realize that your trust for the Ministry is shaky at times, but I'd like to think that I've chosen the right man for the job," said Kingsley, staring so hard at Harry that he was grateful for the Occlumency lessons that weren't mind rape.

"You did. I just don't know what to tell you. He's... rather good at covering his tracks, although I still think that perhaps you're underestimating how good Draco looked in those lace ups," Harry said, wincing at how he'd phrased that.

Kingsley perked a brow. "No, we saw him. The concern is that perhaps he was using mind control wandlessly, in which case..."

"I've been able to shrug off even Veela powers of attractiveness since Hogwarts, sir. I'm hardly new at this. It's second nature to throw it off."

Exhaling, Kingsley nodded, looking a bit sad, as if this revelation wasn't actually what he wanted to hear, which caused Harry to wonder if he was hoping that he was under mind control.

"In any case," said Kingsley, breaking a long, introspective silence, "We'll need you both to kit up for camping. We're not risking any more civilians there, so it will just be you two at Grey's Backwoods Camping Site. This should also draw the machete-wielding maniac to you more quickly."

Sighing in resignation, Harry flopped back against the chair and said, "Right, so when are we going?"

"Friday," Kingsley answered, sitting up, seeming quite pleased with himself.

After a moment's thought and a quick consultation with the calendar on the wall, visible over Kingsley's shoulder, Harry asked, "Isn't that the thirteenth?"

Kingsley turned around to consult the same calendar and pressed his finger onto the date and made an amused mouth noise. "So it is!"

"Fabulous," said Harry flatly.

--

The camp was furnished with what might be charitably called cabins, but Draco more aptly named "pits of despair." Still, it was better than a cupboard, and had more spiders, which Draco found so unpleasant that he headed outside for a walk. Harry decided to unpack a few things, although he hadn't brought much, figuring the lure of it being Friday the thirteenth should be more than enough to lure a knife-wielding maniac out into the open after two teenagers.

Not that they were really teenagers, but twenty-somethings. But the knife-wielding maniac would hardly know that so long as they were convincing as being young. Harry had been quite keen that a good way to achieve a good, youthful look was to dress them up in Catholic schoolboy uniforms. Draco said little about his costume, but had slipped into the shorts and tightened his tie, sneering at Harry.

Harry reminded himself strongly that he was not going to shag Draco on this assignment. They'd actually accomplished a few stakeouts without sexing each other up and he was convinced now that perhaps that part of their partnership was over. The thought left him with an uneasy feeling of emptiness, but Draco had made it abundantly clear that He Was Not Interested by Not Bringing Up their almost-kiss in front of his flat.

Though Harry had also failed to mention it was hardly the point.

Once outside, Harry was surprised to see Draco sitting at the end of a small pier with a fishing pole that was obviously transfigured from a branch. Next to him was a paper plate with bits of hot dog broken, cut into perfectly even slices to be used as bait.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked as he approached. Already, he regretted the stupidity of the question, as it was pretty obvious what Draco was doing and Draco was the sort of man who would take great pleasure in mocking.

As Draco murmured an incantation, the clear fishing line reeled itself up revealing an empty hook. "Feeding the fish, obviously."

Emboldened at the lack of catty retort, Harry decided to take a seat next to him and taking note of how Draco had pulled off his sandals to drop his feet into the water, Harry removed his trainers and copied the action. The water was pleasantly cool and he fancied he could feel fish nibbling his toes, even though he could see his pale feet in the murky water and no fish. "What kind of fish are you trying to catch?"

"Not much here but carp." Draco said.

"Should I ask how you would know that, or is it classified information?" Harry sat back on his hands as Draco placed another piece of hot dog on the end of his hook and cast the hook a few yards away from them.

"I know all about London lakes and what is in them," said Draco.

His expression was hard to read, but Harry thought he caught a faint smirk. "Did you charm the water clear to see?"

Draco freed his smirk and shrugged. "Perhaps."

"So you're catching us dinner?"

Sighing as if he were burdened by the densest partner on the planet, Draco said, "You don't eat carp, Potter. It's too bony."

"So what do you do when you catch carp?"

"I've no idea what I'd do if I caught one. There might be screaming." Draco cut eyes at Harry and he started to reel his line in.

"From you or the carp?" Harry teased back.

"That would be telling." The line came up empty again and Draco pushed another slice of hot dog onto the hook before casting the line out.

"So what do normal people do when they catch a carp?" Catching Draco's look, Harry added, "Aside from screaming, of course."

"If it's big enough, they might have it stuffed and mounted on their wall as a trophy." Draco peered out along the shoreline, for a moment looking pensive and distant.

Harry sat up, squinting along the line of shore, just to make sure that Draco hadn't spotted anything he'd missed, but it appeared just as it had a moment before. "Would you hang a fish on your wall?"

"Hardly."

"Know someone who does?" Harry wasn't sure why he was asking. Technically, he was supposed to be gathering information for the Ministry, but he hadn't exactly been telling them everything he knew, which was precious little, but still. There was something going on in Draco's head that made Harry again long to be a better Legilimens.

Draco's brows furrowed a moment, and then he turned his head to peer at Harry curiously. "Are we adding game fishers to the list of people the Ministry might have questions about in regards to who their Aurors socialize with?"

"You're dating a fisherman?" asked Harry, his eyes wide. Already he could feel the jealous knots in his stomach tightening. "I hate fish."

There was laughter in Draco's voice, but to his credit, he didn't actually laugh out loud. "No, still just a musician."

"You're still seeing him?" Harry jumped up so fast that Draco dropped his pole and then glared up at Harry. "Has he moved in?" Harry snapped.

Draco wandlessly summoned the pole back and snapped in irritation, "Yes and no."

"Yes, he moved in?" Harry asked, glaring down at Draco, feeling horridly betrayed and confused by the multitude of answers, forgetting that he'd asked two questions.

"No, he has not moved in, yes I am still seeing him," said Draco, returning the glare like a challenge.

"Are you shagging him?" Harry asked, immediately regretting the question as soon as he asked it. He wondered what he was hoping to accomplish with a question like that. Surely they hadn't been seeing each other this long and hadn't.

Calmly, Draco pulled his feet out of the water, turning to the side so that his back was to Harry and shook them out. Releasing the magic on the pole, it turned back into a bent branch and Draco dropped it into the water. Then, he pushed up to stand up and pushed his feet into his sandals. Finally, Draco turned around and moved closer to Harry till they were practically nose-to-nose. "That is none of your concern, Potter."

The tone could've been more hostile, Harry noted, but instead it was soft and even. Harry blinked, feeling a surge of electricity that Draco was so close-- close enough to kiss, and yet... Draco had side stepped him and was now heading to the cabin in long, non-committal strides.

Harry exhaled and looked down at the old, grey wooden plank of the pier. Draco hadn't said no, and somehow, that hurt. Biting his bottom lip, Harry squeezed his eyes shut and tried to center himself. He had no right to ask Draco not to. It hurt, but it wasn't the end of the world. He took a few long, calming breaths, blanking out his mind.

All at once, a vision of Draco's face, flushed and panting with Kirley Duke's hands all over Draco's chest as he fucked him invaded his consciousness. Before he could control it, there was a loud crack and a branch fell into the lake, taking out the end of the pier.

"FUCK!"

--

If Draco had heard the commotion outside, he didn't say a word. He was sitting on the floor in the lotus position with incense burning. It was a stronger version of the way that Draco smelled when he passed and did little for Harry's frustration. Still, sitting there on the floor with his eyes closed his shirt off and his hair pushed back by that black band, Draco looked almost innocent. His hands lay open, palms up on his knees.

"I'm going to make dinner, if that's all right," said Harry, nervous to fill the silence. Draco didn't speak, didn't move a muscle. Harry had needed a bit of a walk after he'd fixed the pier and by now it was starting to get dark. He wondered if Draco had been meditating this whole time. Secretly, Harry hoped he had, hoped that he'd disturbed Draco's irritating calm enough to force him to need hours and hours worth of meditation.

Those thoughts proved what Harry had suspected; the walk hadn't helped to clear his mind much. Again he tried to remind himself that he wasn't going to sleep with Draco again, so it didn't matter if he slept with his boyfriend. Draco hadn't exactly wanted Harry to start with, so it was ridiculous to feel rejected or betrayed. Draco Malfoy was Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter didn't need or want him. He was there to do his job just like Draco was, and that was the end of the story.

"So, right. Making dinner now," Harry babbled to fill the silence.

How Harry made dinner usually depended on his moods. He wasn't afraid to use magic or take short cuts, but at the moment, he wanted something to occupy his hands. Then again, they'd just brought cans of soup, which didn't take much work anyway. He wished he'd brought something more labor intensive now. Maybe he could've shown off the fact that he could cook.

Then again, for all he knew, Draco was a five star chef along with being the sort of wizard who seemed to know everything and didn't need Ministry training. Still, he stirred the soup on the little electric stove that came with the cabin. At least stirring gave him something to do.

This was better. This he could handle. Just stirring as it got darker in the cabin. Harry used his wand to turn on a couple of the lights, which gave the cabin a terribly unfriendly fluorescent glow that showed all of the chips in the glossy white paint in contrast to the dark wood accents around the window frames. Obvious cords stretched up to the ugly, exposed lighting fixtures. Something about it screamed abattoir, even though it couldn't have been the intent. Harry decided he'd seen one too many campground horror movies.

Hearing Draco move, Harry turned to see what he was doing, happy to have finally gotten his thoughts somewhere other than on Draco and sex. Such relief was short-lived as Draco's arse was up in the air, his legs straight and spread and his head down with his arms holding him up. Harry opened his mouth to comment, but then Draco moved one foot next to his hand and stretched out his leg. It took Harry mere moments to recognize that Draco was practicing yoga and not simply being a cruel bastard.

Perhaps he was doing both, but in Harry's estimation, Draco didn't need any further practice in being a cruel bastard.

Harry watched in awe for a few moments as Draco moved from position to position with a cat-like grace. His flexibility was as mesmerizing as the way his body managed to glisten, even under the harsh light of the cabin. Had his soup not started to smoke, Harry might've watched him all night.

"Did you warm enough for two?" asked Draco, straightening up and turning. His hands were up over his head and he brought one leg up, foot flat against his upper thigh. His hands lowered together, palms flat together as if in prayer.

"I think I burned enough for two," answered Harry sheepishly.

"Ah, well, never mind then." Draco's lazy grin was so cocky that Harry would've slapped him had he not been so charmed.

Harry pulled his wand and banished the scalded soup and he opened two more cans, charmed them to empty into separate bowls and floated them to the tacky nod to 50s dinette furniture sporting broken laminate of faux marble on the top. "It's easy enough to fix."

Draco stretched onto his toes after completing the previous position in its inverse and then dropped his arms down and shook out. "Mmm, just like mum used to make."

As Draco sat down, Harry said, "I'm sorry I was asking about..."

Draco waved him off and shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it."

Nodding, Harry tried to think of something else to talk about. "So did you learn yoga at your monastery?" asked Harry.

"Hm... are you asking, or is the Ministry?" Draco shot back as he summoned spoons for them and tucked into his soup.

"Are you afraid that there's only one monastery that teaches yoga and your secret will be spoilt?" asked Harry who likewise started in on his soup, grinning at having restarted to banter.

"Perhaps." Draco did not look up at Harry, but instead stirred his soup before taking another bite.

Harry noticed a small silvery ring around Draco's left pinky in the shape of a dragon coiled around him. It wasn't terribly unusual, as Draco's name would lead to dragon jewelry, but Harry couldn't remember if he'd seen it before. "I haven't told the Ministry about your Asian friend..."

"Japanese," Draco said. He gave Harry a curious and calculating look as he spoke, and didn't seem to notice or care that Harry had been staring at his hand.

"Japanese?"

"I'm assuming that you're calling him Asian because you are not attuned to the visual differences between Asian faces. An Eskimo could be a Chinese person for all you know, right?" said Draco, keeping his eyes on Harry's.

Harry got the feeling that he was being told something important, that he was being trusted, and he didn't want to spoil it by being defensive or dishonest. "Yes, although I also thought it was more politically correct."

Draco nodded, "It would be unless you happened to know."

"And now I do." It went unsaid that he wouldn't say anything further to the Ministry about that. "They asked me to watch you."

"I flattered myself that you just liked me," said Draco. "But I figured as much. Why else assign me the one gay Auror on the force?"

"Right, well..." Harry thought to point out that no one seemed to think he was gay but Draco, but decided against it. If Draco truly was an enemy, it wouldn't do to have the other Aurors, including his best mate, looking stupid. "Some people think I'd be powerful enough to take you out should it become necessary."

Draco nodded and pushed the bowl away, sighing. "I wonder how many nights we're going to have to stay out here before someone tries to kill us."

--

Harry started at the sound of a baying wolf. They had been here for a couple of nights with nothing out of the ordinary happening. Just a lot of yoga and Harry wishing there was a less-than-conspicuous place to watch from where he could toss off at the way the yoga pants clung to Draco's muscular thighs and arse. He'd studiously avoided any questions about Kirley or Japanese men, though they were always on the tip of his tongue.

What it resulted in was a lot of silence, but an otherwise convivial living situation. Draco had offered several times to teach Harry yoga, but Harry said he was quite content to watch, which resulted in an impish grin from Draco.

Now that he was awake, Harry debated a glass of water or whether he was just going to roll over and try to sleep again. He heard Draco stirring in the rickety cot on the other side of the room and turned his head to see the blurry Draco-shaped form of his partner sitting up.

"Sorry, bed's loud," said Draco. He sounded nervous and for whatever reason, Harry thought about the way that Draco had looked at Fenrir Greyback that fateful night in Dumbledore's office.

"Oh, no, it wasn't that. The wolf woke me," said Harry as he reached for his glasses. After he'd pushed them on, he made out Draco's anxious moonlit face staring out the window.

"Me too," said Draco. His hair was askew, but came into control as Draco slid his fingers through it. Hair charms; not difficult, but most wizards weren't vain enough to employ them. "Full moon."

Harry carded his fingers through his hair in a mad attempt at making his hair a little neater, but he knew it was pretty hopeless. "Wolves can be pretty scary," Harry observed. It was true enough, but he didn't harbor any particular fear of them. In fact, the whole situation reminded him that he hadn't written to Remus in a while and he stared at the cheap cotton sheets wondering just what he'd say to him.

"Pfft. They're just dogs." Prompted to stand by another mournful howl, Draco squinted out of the window, his nose all but pressed against it. "Sounds like a werewolf though, doesn't it? Did it sound like a werewolf to you?"

In truth, Harry had been too fixated on sussing out Draco to have been listening that carefully, but in retrospect, it could have been. "Maybe that's what happened to our knife-wielding maniac. He got eaten."

He regretted saying it the moment he saw Draco's terrified eyes and winced. "I'm sorry, Malfoy. That wasn't funny, was it?"

Draco let out an awkward, obviously forced laugh. "Of course it wasn't. Wit was never your strong suit." He crossed his arms and sniffed, trying to appear more irritated than afraid, but his eyes kept roving to the window.

"I know loads of defense spells against werewolves, you know," said Harry as he scooted back on his cot. He patted the empty space, not sure if Draco would laugh in his face over it, but he did feel horrid for scaring him. "Between dealing with Bill and Remus... well, I'm quick with them, anyway. I won't let you get bitten."

"I've been bitten by every fucking other thing out here." Draco absently scratched his arm, looking once more out of the window and then back over to Harry and the cot. "You would've thought the Ministry would've looked into this and warned us. Or at least have sent us out with the proper apparatus to secure the cabin."

Draco looked at Harry and the cot again and then dropped his arms. Much to Harry's surprise, Draco clambered into it on his knees. He looked down at Harry for a moment, and then lay on his side, allowing Harry to spoon him. "Anyway, I don't need you to protect me. You're not half the wizard I am anymore."

"That's what I keep hearing," said Harry as he pushed Draco's hair to the side and out of his face. He wrapped an arm loosely over Draco's abdomen and curled in against him. Now that they'd been here together the past few days, Harry smelled like the incense as well, but there was still something distinctive about how Draco wore the scent, and the warmth of his body.

"You doubt it?" Draco drawled drowsily.

"Not as such. It's just always been about what you do with the power, isn't it?" Harry whispered against Draco's neck. He felt Draco shiver and grinned at the goose bumps that prickled over Draco's skin.

"I'm doing good things with my magic now," said Draco as he subtly wriggled back against Harry. "I'm a good guy now, didn't you notice?"

"Are you?" The question came out of Harry's mouth before he had a chance to really think about it. He froze the soft kisses he was placing on the back of Draco's neck, not sure what sort of response the question would elicit.

Instead of throwing a fit, Draco turned around in Harry's arms and gazed intently into his eyes. "You doubt me?" he asked, blinking slowly as his hand skimmed up over Harry's bare side. "You've definitely gotten smarter since school."

In retrospect, it should've narked Harry off and he should've thrown Draco out of the cot and possibly out of the cabin and run to the Ministry to tell them everything he knew. Instead, he grabbed Draco by the back of the neck and kissed him with punishing force, their bare chests mashed together as he curled a leg around Draco's to pull him in closer.

Only Harry's boxers and Draco's sheer silk pyjama pants stood between them and Harry was about ready to tear even that away. Draco returned the kiss with as much force, if not more. His hand wound through Harry's dark, shaggy hair and tugged hard as he pushed his hips forward. Being poked by Draco's erection seemed to wake Harry up to what was going on.

Harry had sworn to himself that he wasn't going to do this again. He promised himself in the lift.

"Stop. We can't... it's... we can't... stop!" Harry protested as Draco kissed over Harry's chin and sucked softly on his neck.

"What?" Draco asked. His face was lulled with lust, lips puffy from Harry biting them. "We've done it before."

"But that was because of the job; because we had to." The look on Draco's face was hard to read, somewhere between disappointment and hurt. Then it seemed to rally back to a sneer.

"That's what we're doing now," said Draco, his eyes shifty.

Harry wasn't sure if he was offended or if it was just best to play along. Then again, he was the one who stopped it. "We are? There's no... I mean... why would this... help us with a knife-wielding maniac?"

Draco slipped a hand down between them and deftly bypassed the little button on the front of Harry's flannel boxers. Though Harry realized that Draco stroking his shaft like this probably had more to do with Draco winning the argument than attraction, he couldn't really be arsed by details like that. "You've never seen those camp out movies? Knife-wielding maniac in the woods, hormonal teenagers distracted by sex? It lures the maniac out. That's why he hasn't come for us, yeah? So this is part of the job."

"Right! That's brilliant," Harry whimpered as Draco took his cock full into his hand to stroke him harder. And maybe it was brilliant, not that Harry really cared any more. He jammed a hand down the front of Draco's pyjama pants to stroke his hand over Draco's cock. He hadn't really gotten to look at it either time before and he was quite anxious to now.

Harry rolled on top of Draco and pulled away long enough to drag Draco's pants off, then he reached to his nightstand for a torch.

"Wait, no!" Draco gasped, reaching for it just a second too late.

"What's wrong?" asked Harry. He was gazing down at Draco's bright pink erection resting against his abdomen, surrounded by dainty blond curls. As much as he knew he should look up at Draco's face, all he wanted to do was stare at this vulnerable part of Draco.

"Don't... look at it... it's... you don't think it's...." Draco sat up on his elbows and Harry looked up, bringing the torchlight with him. Throwing his arm over his face, Draco huffed loudly. "Potter!"

"Oh, erm... sorry. What should I think about it?" he asked, realizing that this was definitely outside of job duties... if it was ever really about that anyway. "It's beautiful, Malfoy. Really."

"Beautiful?" Draco asked, still muffled by his arm over his face.

"Yes," said Harry. He leaned down to press a kiss over the glossy tip and then dragged his tongue along the shaft, reveling in the quieted moan Draco made.

"Not... small?"

"Erm... I'm not exactly an expert... but it looks... well...." Harry pulled his boxers off and straddled Draco so that he could rest his cock next to Draco's and shined the light on it. "See? It's about the same size as mine."

Draco pulled his arm away and sat up to look at the two aligned cocks. He stretched out his index finger to press across the tips and then to the base and tilted his head. "Well, you could be small, too."

"Thanks," Harry sighed, shaking his head.

"I didn't mean..."

Harry was still looking at their cocks, but he could see enough of Draco's abdomen and chest to see that he was blushing bodily. "I know you didn't mean anything by it, but look, I don't really have anything else to compare to. So if we're both small, then it doesn't much matter, does it? At least not for me, as you're the only person I've done this with."

For a moment, Draco was quiet and Harry dreaded what was going to come out of his mouth next. Kirley Duke was probably huge and Harry was about to hear All About That. Instead, Draco said, "Me too."

"You've only done this with me?" It seemed obvious, but the obvious seemed too good to be true.

"Yeah," said Draco distractedly. He appeared mesmerized by their cocks lined up together and spat on his hand and wrapped it around both of them.

"Has he... even... seen it?" asked Harry. He was caught by surprise by all of it, but was far too carried away in his fantasy and the bliss of the ridges of their cocks moving together and Draco's hand around them to think too hard about it aside from how arousing the idea was that only he had seen this.

"No."

Harry thoughtlessly shined the light at Draco's face, too distracted by the notion that this was all his, even still. "Has he touched it?"

"Potter!" Draco tried to knock the torch from Harry's hand, but Harry moved his hand back to fast, keeping the light trained on Draco's squinting, blushing face. "Is this an inquisition or are we going to fuck?"

"Are you evading the question?" Harry stuck his fingers in his mouth; taking the cue that Draco wanted this much, at least. Maybe it was because he just wanted to get the job done, but Harry didn't think so. Or maybe he just chose not to think so. He plunged his fingers into Draco, curling them forward as he watched Draco's face go from annoyed to a surprised pain. With the light shining on his face like this, he couldn't have seen what Harry was doing and Harry took some satisfaction in the look on his face.

Though the position was awkward, leaning forward like this as Draco pulled on them both with his wrist pinned between their bodies, watching Draco's struggling, flushed face while he fingered him made it well worth it.

Inside of Draco felt strangely hot and weirdly dry. It was a small wonder that he wanted lubrication before. Pressing the torch into Draco's free hand, Harry grumbled, "Keep it on your face, I want to watch you taking me."

Draco grunted disdain in response, but nevertheless took the light and rested it on his chest, holding it with his left hand so that it illuminated him in spooky shadows from beneath. Harry grabbed his wand and cast a lubrication spell to coat his fingers and he worked it deep into Draco. When he set his wand down, Harry scooted back on the bed, pulling his cock from Draco's grasp.

"What are--" Draco started, setting his hand on the bed so he could sit up on an elbow. The light was still lighting up his puzzled face. It took a moment for realization to dawn on his face as Harry breathed heavily over Draco's cock. When it did, Draco dropped back to the bed and stretched out his legs.

"Hold the light up properly, or I won't do it," said Harry. To prove that he fully intended to follow through, Harry slid his tongue along the side of Draco's shaft.

In response, Draco picked up the light, nearly dropping it at the liquid warmth of Harry's tongue, but dutifully held it up so Harry could watch his face. Draco looked down at Harry even though he couldn't see anything, clearly enjoying the idea of giving him a show.

Harry had never really done this before, although it seemed easy enough to understand how it worked. He'd been a bit worried about how Draco would taste, but he really didn't taste like anything, perhaps a little salty, but until he dragged his tongue over the tip, there was little to really taste. Feeling the moisture on his tongue, Harry pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, trying to consider the texture, memorizing everything about it. It was slick and tasted mellow. It was livable, besides, the loud moans it was eliciting from Draco made whatever unpleasantness worth it.

Licking his lips, Harry opened his mouth, careful to cover his teeth and sucked the head of Draco's cock into his mouth. He could feel the heat of his blush on his cheeks. He was sucking his first cock. There was a cock in Harry Potter's mouth. He shuddered at how shocked people would be to see him like this, mouth wide, cock poking his cheek out as he fingered Draco Malfoy, drooling down the shaft as his hand worked at twisting the base of Draco's cock.

Harry pressed his elbows into Draco's thighs to pin him down, as Draco's writhing was threatening to lodge Draco down Harry's throat too hard. Harry concentrated on the feel of Draco's hard cock against the roof of his mouth, twisting his tongue over the shaft that filled him. He'd never really worked this hard to bring someone off before, and his chest felt tight with his heart racing at the exhilaration of Draco's thrashing and the loud protesting squeals of the cot springs.

He looked up at Draco's shadowed torso flexing, his chest heaving and up to his face half-buried against the pillow with one arm up over Draco's head, hand in his own blond hair, tugging hard. Harry sucked harder, feeling the strain of Draco's body trying to force more of his cock into Harry's mouth. Draco's cock felt as if it were swelling inside of him, the walls of his sucking insides tightening around Harry's fingers as Draco cried out in a broken sob as Draco's thighs fought to close in around Harry.

He should've known what all of that would mean, but Harry was so lost in rutting madly against the bed that he missed it all and was caught by surprise at the flood of molten come that flooded his mouth. It tasted like the now-familiar saline-sweet scent and felt warm sliding down his throat as he swallowed as much as he could before it spilled out over his lips, down his chin and onto the bed.

Somewhere along the line, Draco had dropped the torch, which was just as well; as Harry wasn't sure he could look at him right now. As much as he wanted to get the come off of his face, his he ached to be inside of Draco, to fill him, to reap the reward for how humiliated he was with seed dribbling down his neck.

Harry crawled up Draco's spent, panting form and he slid into him easily, fitting so warmly inside of him in spite of their jutting bones and hard muscles coming together. He dug his arms under Draco and clung tightly to him as he moved in and out of him. He kept his eyes squeezed tightly shut and was about to hide his face against Draco's neck when he felt Draco's hands cup his face.

He started to protest Draco not mock him with come on his face when he felt the soft press of lips and tongue wicking away the sperm from his throat, up his chin and to the corners of his mouth. Harry melted into the soft kisses, tilting his head back and then leaning forward, preparing to kiss Draco back, wanting to share the taste of him, to really show him how he felt.

The onslaught of emotions overtook him before he could get their lips into place and he gasped and shuddered against Draco's mouth, his balls and body going rigid before he released into Draco, clinging and practically sobbing in frustration of not being able to reach out to him... to connect in that most intimate moment.

Opening his eyes to gaze down at Draco's sweat-stained, sated face, Harry took a deep breath, deciding that though it was horrid timing to fuck someone and then declare feelings he was going to do it anyway, he said, "Draco..."

All at once, Harry found himself on the floor of the cabin staring up at a large, hairy figure holding a machete that caught the torchlight.

"Stupefy!" Draco shouted. A red light hit the figure, which slowed it, but didn't stop it.

Harry turned to see Draco standing on the cot, pressed against the wall. In the middle of the cot was a huge, dangerous-looking machete gash. Grabbing his wand, Harry tried to cast another stunning spell on the beast-man, but to no avail. He had no idea of he was missing, or what. All he could hear was the shrill sound of metal connecting with the wall and a few hard slaps of kicks and punches connecting. "Lumos!" Harry shouted, deciding casting light on the situation might help.

The room filled with magical light revealing Draco pressed against the wall with a hairy hand wrapped around his throat. Both of Draco's hands were engaged around the killer's wrist, keeping the machete from stabbing him in the chest. The killer turned his shaggy head to glare and growl at Harry. He licked his chops as his golden eyes fixed and narrowed on Harry's forehead. "You're next, Potter."

"Greyback?" Well, that at least explained why the spells didn't have any effect; magic didn't work on magical creatures. "I thought you were dead."

"Dogs have nine lives," said Greyback before Draco landed a vicious kick to his stomach, sending him sprawling backwards. The machete dropped from his hand with a loud clang.

"That's cats, you twatwaffle," Draco rasped, rubbing his throat with his right hand as he stretched out his left.

Before anyone could ask what exactly a twatwaffle was, Draco's silver dragon pinky ring shot from his hand, gaining size and ground till it was large like a more tangible Patronus. It curled around Greyback, pinning him to the floor.

Harry lowered his wand and looked around the room in confusion. "I don't understand, what are you doing hereat a campground?"

"You know how I love children, Potter," said Greyback, licking his chops.

"Didn't you say that to Dumbledore at Hogwarts, Greyback?" asked Draco as he hopped down from the bed and grabbed his shirt from the floor to cover himself with.

"Just goes to show you can't teach an old dog new quips," Harry retorted, sparkling that he'd made a brilliant pun.

The room fell silent.

Harry huffed. "Well I thought it was funny, anyway."

Harry raised his brows and then shrugged. "But I don't get it. You liked biting children, and now you just... chop them up?"

Greyback sighed and wriggled against the transfigured ring that had effectively slowed him down. "Well, yes, but then there were so many werewolves running about, it was hard to feel special anymore. At a certain point, your pack gets to be too much."

"So you're the lone wolf type?" asked Harry, grinning and nodding at his own wittiness again.

Draco rolled his eyes, but grinned affectionately before he threw Harry's boxers at him. "Get dressed, funny man."

Missing it entirely, Greyback said, "You could say that."

"Why a machete?" asked Draco as he summoned it into the air and encased it in a magical binding labeled 'Evidence.'

"Saw it in a movie once, back when I was prowling theaters to bite oversexed teenagers." He paused and looked between the two and shrugged. "After the war, I'd managed to embezzle enough to buy myself some prowling ground here and brought my pack out to retire."

"What happened to your pack?" asked Harry as he pulled on the rest of his clothing, and started to make notes for his report.

"Got bored and ate them. I'm not very good at retirement."

Draco finished clothing himself and was making magical imprints around the cabin for the trial.

Harry watched him longingly for a moment, but now wasn't the time. He couldn't say what he wanted to say in front of a perpetrator, Greyback in particular.

"So what's going on between you two? Last I saw you both, you were hardly... well, fine line between love and hate?" asked Greyback.

For a moment, Harry thought about answering, but Draco cut him off. "Strictly business. We'd been in this cabin for a few days and you hadn't shown."

"Ah, right." Greyback appeared dubious, but left it. "The scent of sex," he said, sniffing the air, "calls to me."

"Yes, well, there you go. It was part of the job. I suppose it's good that you'd gone the machete route, as I recall last I saw you, you found me too old to bite," said Draco as he summoned their personal effects into a bag.

Greyback laughed in a mirthless, maniacal way that sent chills up Harry's spine. He'd forgotten how frightening the man-beast could be. "Last I saw you, you were crying like a bitch over your mummy-- rmf!"

"You need a fucking muzzle."

Before Harry could move, the dragon's tail was stuffed into Greyback's mouth. His mouth foamed at the contact of silver inside of him. Harry looked up at Draco's eyes; his hand was spread out, his eyes shining with a vicious mania. His body was rigid and there was a haze of dark magic around him like a shimmering net, Harry could feel the rage radiating off of him. Lest Harry forget, the Ministry had him watching Draco for a reason. "Malfoy!"

Draco's fingers curled forward and Greyback started to gag, his eyes rolling back in his head. Greyback convulsed, being tortured by the burn of the silver. The dragon's claws were out and sinking into Greyback's skin and Draco showed no sign at all of stopping.

"Stupe--!" Harry was cut off by a wave of Draco's other hand, silencing him as his wand was knocked from his hand.

"Malfoy!" Harry mouthed, unable to speak. He lunged at Draco, but was stopped mid-air with another wave of Draco's hand. Harry kicked and struggled, not sure what he would do or say if Draco killed Greyback. Certainly Greyback deserved a horrid, gory death for his war crimes and pedophilic biting alone, but Harry wouldn't stand idly by and let it happen.

He stared hard at Draco's face, at the determined and dark expression, the way his eyes seemed to glaze over in sheer hatred, his jaw flexing. Harry willed him to look at him, to just look at him for one moment. Maybe he should've been afraid for himself, but somehow he knew that even in his madness, Draco wouldn't hurt him.

Draco turned his head to look at Harry's flailing and their gazes locked.

I'm scared, Draco. You're scaring me. Harry thought the words so intensely, he thought he might well be broadcasting it.

Draco's gaze lowered and with it, Harry was dropped gently to the ground and the dragon released its claws, and its tail slid from Greyback's mouth. Greyback had long since passed out and his bodyweight dragged him to lay flat on the floor.

Harry crossed to Draco, who suddenly appeared wobbly and weak. He took him up in his arms and found his voice along with his ability to move. "What happened? You looked possessed."

Draco looked up lazily at Harry, and opened his mouth to say something, but his eyes rolled back and went completely limp.

Something told Harry that taking Draco to St. Mungo's would be a very bad idea, so instead, he summoned the waiting team to come in and take Greyback in and took Draco to his home. The wards seemed to recognize Draco, making it easy to get inside and lay him down in his bed. Harry was tempted to climb in with him, to hold him until he woke up, but somehow he had the impression that that would be overstepping the boundaries of their partnership, so instead he walked around the flat.

His first exploration was to the loo where he relieved himself while peering around the sink and medicine cabinet for evidence that Kir was spending nights. There wasn't so much as an extra toothbrush, which pleased him. Even if Kir had spent a night or two, he was given his things and made to leave by morning, and thus there was less attachment on Draco's part at least.

The rest of the flat was bereft of many of the cozy niceties that made a flat a home. There were no personal snapshots, but lots of modern art on the walls with track lighting to highlight it. None of the paintings were signed, leaving Harry at a dead end about who the artist was. It was as if the flat had been set up to purposefully throw anyone in it from gleaning any inkling about who Draco Malfoy was or what he wanted; a study in enigmatic home decor.

Unable to riddle out Draco's flat, he headed back into the bedroom, dragging a chair from the dining area in with him to sit on. He cast around for something to read and found Art of War by SunTzu on Draco's nightstand.

Harry sat back on his chair with it, flipping through the chapter names, "Laying Plans," and "The Use of Spies." It outlined everything from the conditions of the ground to evaluating the stance of a soldier in how to wage a proper war. He stared at the section on spies for rather a long time, wondering if the Ministry was right. Were they, he would certainly seem to be a "doomed spy."

Having doomed spies, doing certain things openly for purposes of deception, and allowing our spies to know of them and report them to the enemy.

Closing the book, Harry looked at Draco's limp form snuggled under the covers, resting like a peaceful angel. "Who are you waging war against, Malfoy? And why?"

--

"Talk about sticking your head in the lion's mouth!" said Ron as he drank down half his pint and set it on the end table. There were endless rings on that end table from countless pints Ron had carelessly set on it. The Weasley residence was always a clutter of kid's toys and smelled of diapers and spittle. There was a large screen television that featured prominently in the room, but it couldn't compete against the din of the three toddlers screaming from room-to-room throughout the house.

Harry nudged his toe against a worn spot in the dull tan carpet that barely covered the concrete beneath. It was no wonder Ron didn't want to spend much time in this squalor, but any time Harry started to feel sorry for him over his living conditions, he just looked up at the large screen television and sighed. Ron always did love his objects of expense and his sports. It made sense that he'd put such a high priority on a luxury item, but he could've done something better with the money. But then, Ron had never been particularly practical.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, taking a quick sip of the tepid beer. He rested it on his knee, even though saving the end table seemed pretty pointless now.

"Going to Malfoy's flat! Was it full of dark materials? Christ, did you see what he did the Greyback?" Ron paused to swallow another loud gulp of his pint and then nodded. "Well, I mean, of course you did, you were there when it happened. I bet it was fast. Malfoy's pretty quick and vicious."

"Mm... well, Greyback did come at us with a machete. He was throttling Malfoy at one point. Maybe he overreacted a bit, but it was pretty intense." Harry took another sip, but he could tell from Ron's expression that he wasn't buying being blown off like that.

"Harry, after what that twat did to Bill, the damage done to Greyback was but a good start, if you ask me. But I can't believe that was all done in an instant. Powerful as Malfoy is, it takes time to be that devious. There were burn marks on his tongue, and evidently the silver poisoned Greyback's blood. Even if he recovers, he's going to be sick as a... well... a dog and miserable. That was methodical, not blind fear." Ron finished his pint and tapped his wand on the edge of the glass.

Behind them a Guinness can started to crumple, drained from the inside as it emptied with a perfect, full head into Ron's glass. Then Ron turned to Harry's. Seeing it was mostly still full, Ron took Harry's glass, finished it for him and refilled it with a fresh one, smirking. "Waste not in this house, Potter."

Harry nodded weakly and eyed the spot on the glass where Ron's lips had been. At one point he would've relished placing his lips in that same spot, but lately he was starting to see the cracks in his best friend; finding some of his antics less than amusing even if they hadn't really changed much. Still, he was his best mate and he owed him at least some of the truth. "Greyback said something about Malfoy crying over his mum, but I don't remember what happened to her."

A crafty look settled on Ron's face as he fought through the drunken haze to see if he remembered anything, which he seemed to. "They never found her body," said Ron after his pause. "She and Malfoy vanished about the same time and everyone assumed they were both dead. Loads of Death Eaters and suspected Death Eaters vanished without a trace and were presumed dead. Some bodies were recovered, but not all of them."

"Right." Harry remembered this, of course, but he hadn't really thought about it in regards to Narcissa before now. He hadn't even though about what became of Draco very much until his return. "Greyback knew something about her, then. Something Malfoy didn't want him to say in front of me."

"Could've just been embarrassed about being caught crying again," said Ron, blue eyes shining with mirth and drunkenness. "What a sniveller, right?"

Harry sighed and gave a half laugh so as not to alienate Ron's gloating, which was somewhat annoying, but he was more concerned with why Draco chose to shut Greyback up at that moment. Had Greyback done something to Draco's mum? Was Narcissa Malfoy a werewolf? Or did Draco flee with her to find safe harbor and he was hiding her now?

His thoughts were interrupted by Ron barking, "Oy! Neville! Get off of daddy's telly!"

The eldest of the infants, who bore a striking resemblance to his namesake, was trying to crawl up the side of the telly. The shock of Ron's voice made him freeze and he lost his grip and toppled backwards, his weight enough to unseat the telly enough to make it fall forward with him.

Without hesitation, Harry pulled his wand, halting the television and setting it back while he slowed Neville's descent to a twirling float to the floor.

"Good man, Harry," said Ron as he slapped Harry's back. "That was close, wasn't it?"

Ron appeared breathless, eyes wide, his wand out. He just hadn't been quite as fast as Harry, but Harry was sure it would've been fine either way.

"Yeah. Where's Hermione?" he asked as he pocketed his wand. Neville crawled up into Harry's lap to give him a sticky kiss of thanks on the cheek.

"Oh..." Ron gestured vaguely. "Shopping."

"At half ten?" asked Harry incredulously. He snuggled Neville a moment and then sat up a bit straighter. "Shouldn't he be in bed?"

"Erm, probably. She usually puts them down, I guess." Ron held out his arms for Neville. "The other blighters are a little too quiet for our own good, aren't they?"

Michael and Justin were, indeed, rather quiet, but that was because they had fallen asleep on the kitchen floor. Again Harry noted the resemblance to other Hogwarts denizens but said little about it. After the war, Hermione had spent a summer with her parents and when she'd returned, she had suddenly been hyper aware of her hair, and wore shirts that showed off her midriff more than Harry thought a chubby girl should.

Around that time she seemed to "forget" spells a lot and otherwise acted the part of a ditzy cow who had returned from a summer with a makeover and a new attitude. Ron had been too enamored with the New Hermione to notice that she wasn't herself at all and when she'd gotten up the duff, assumed it was his and married her. Irksome as he'd found the whole debacle, they were still his friends, so Harry turned a blind eye to the whole thing.

After the kids were tucked in bed, Harry finished his pint and started the process of his goodbyes.

"Thanks, mate. You're the best, you know that?" asked Ron, patting Harry's shoulder a few times as the headed for the door.

"It's nothing, Ron, really. I just... just be happy, all right?" Harry looked around the cluttered dingy house, wondering if he popped off a few cleaning charms if Ron would be insulted. He decided to leave it.

"Sometimes I think you're the only one who cares if I'm happy," Ron slurred in weak drunk speak. He looked almost lovesick, but Harry knew it had nothing to do with him. In spite of his roving, he knew that Ron truly loved Hermione and didn't understand her change. Harry couldn't help him there. It was as if some outside evil force was pushing Hermione into being a tart against her bookish will, turning her into a mockery of the beautiful, wise and intelligent girl she'd once been to run about in short skirts and track pants and drool all over anyone that would have her.

"Loads of people love you, Ron. I love you. Your family loves you... your partner..." Harry tried.

Ron's eyes widened and he exhaled slowly. "Tonks wants reassigned. Shacklebolt's not told you? He's going to put me with Malfoy for a while. I thought he said he mentioned that...."

Mouth dropped open in utter shock, Harry stood stock still as the feeling of ice water splashed in his face ebbed away and he was left with feeling nothing but a hard, cold emptiness inside of him. If Ron hadn't looked so pathetically like he was going to cry Harry might've screamed at him about cocking up things with Tonks to the point where she demanded a new partner.

"No. He didn't mention that," Harry said, feeling the coldness come out of him as if it frosted the breath his words came out on.

Ron definitely noticed the change and stood up straighter. "Yes, well, now you know." He gave Harry a hard, suspicious look. "Maybe it's a good thing for the Ministry. They might get more complete reports on what Malfoy's up to."

"Excuse me?" Harry could hardly believe his ears. Ron had gone from love to war in the mercurial speed of inebriation, and as much as Harry worked to rationalize that Ron wasn't in full control of his faculties, it struck deep.

"You heard me. You know, some people at the office think you get off on the way he looks at you," Ron said, leaning against the door as Harry backed out onto the porch.

"The way he looks at me? He doesn't look at me in any--" Did he?

"You should just shag him and get over it, Potter!" Ron snapped and then slammed the door in Harry's face.

Harry stared at the matte brown door, cheaply painted with a lacquer that was already starting to peel even though they'd painted it only two years ago. Ron had been so excited then, thinking he was going to have this family all to himself and that Hermione had finally loosened up to try sex "the other way." The complete ridiculousness of the situation made Harry laugh in that demented, hysterical way when you aren't sure if things could get any more confusing. And once he started, it was hard to stop.