Funerals and Weddings

For disclaimer, summary, story codes and other information, please see the prologue.

Chapter the Forty-eighth: The Fascinating Life and Times of Draco Malfoy
12 January, continued


Harry awoke to find himself covered by a warm and rather heavy blanket—a blanket otherwise known as Draco Malfoy. He smiled at the blond currently sprawled over his chest—Draco’s head rested over his heart, his right arm was flung over Harry’s upper left arm and his right leg was tossed over Harry’s right thigh and nestled snugly between Harry’s legs. Harry’s own right arm was draped around Draco’s waist, his hand resting partly on Draco’s bum.

‘Either Draco gets very cold when he sleeps and wanted my body heat, or he’s a lot more cuddly as Draco than anyone who only knows Malfoy would ever believe,’ Harry thought, holding himself still, not wanting to disturb his peacefully sleeping boyfriend. ‘It’s nice waking up with someone. It’s nice sleeping with someone, sharing a bed with someone, knowing that someone is there beside you—or perhaps on you—while you sleep. I guess that’s what it’s like for married people—I’m glad wizarding law allows same-sex marriages, even if Muggle law doesn’t. Maybe one day I’ll be able to have a normal life: fall in love, get married—and know that every night when I fall asleep that the first thing I’ll see in the morning is the person I love.’

Harry laughed at himself. ‘Gods, you’re getting sappy! Where did all of that come from?’ He looked down as Draco stirred a little in his sleep. ‘Oh, yeah, that’s where.’

Just then, Harry’s wand began humming. Awkwardly, he tried to reach under his pillow to get it and shut it off before it started buzzing (Harry preferred to wake up gradually and used a charm Neville had taught him that had his alarm start with a hum and eventually cycle through an ever-louder buzz that ended with a shrieking wail if Harry didn’t wake up and shut it off). Stretching his arm jostled Draco and he grumbled sleepily against Harry’s chest.

Draco lifted his head when Harry’s wand started to buzz. Harry finally managed to grab the wand and he quickly shut it off. He smiled at his sleepy-eyed boyfriend.

“Sorry to wake you,” he said, “But I had to move to reach my wand under my pillow.”

Draco blinked at him, then sat up and stretched. Mid-stretch, he seemed to become aware of the position he’d been in when he’d awoken.

He flushed a little. “Oh. And seeing as how I was using you as my pillow, I guess it was a little difficult for you to move. Sorry about that,” he said, flicking a glance at Harry before dropping his eyes.

Harry reached over, pulled Draco back down on top of him and gave him a kiss. “Don’t apologise, you prat. I’ll think that you didn’t like using me as your pillow.”

“Well, obviously I did—I slept like a rock. And I must have felt like a rock, lying all over you like I was. So I just meant that I was sorry if I kept you awake or—”

“No, you didn’t. I slept like a rock too. I guess we were both tired. To be honest, I didn’t mind you using me as your pillow. It was sort of nice waking up that way. So no need to apologise—if you ever do something that really disturbs my sleep, you’ll know it, as I’ll likely give you a shove! See, sleeping peacefully is a bit sacred to me and I apparently don’t react well when I’m disturbed.”

Draco smiled at him. It had given him a warm feeling deep inside that he really didn’t want to analyse yet when Harry had said it was nice waking up with him. So he asked Harry a question instead of focusing on why Harry’s comment made him feel so good.

“Really? So, how do you react when you are disturbed?”

Harry grinned. “Well, one time I smacked Dean in the face when he was trying to wake me. Not that I meant to do it consciously—I don’t remember doing it at all, but that’s what he told me I did. And there was one time when I was younger—I guess I was 12—when Ron and I had to share his bed one night at the Burrow. I don’t remember why—must have had a ton of people sleeping over for some reason. But Ron would never agree to share a bed with me after that, even if it meant he had to sleep on the floor, because he said that I kicked him black and blue all night!”

Draco laughed. “Well, I’m glad I don’t have to worry about Weasley sneaking into your bed at night. That’s a load off my mind.”

“Right,” Harry snorted. “As if that would ever happen! The only way Ron would ever crawl into my bed is if Hermione were there instead of me!”

“Eww…” Draco wrinkled his nose. “Not something I want to think about, Potter. Pick a new topic.”

Harry laughed again. “Yeah, well—me neither! So, hmmm…new topic. Oh! I know! You owe me a story. Feeling up to telling it today?”

“A story? Oh—my childhood,” Draco said, frowning a little. “All right, but it’s not very interesting and it will likely put you right back to sleep. Mind if I order some coffee and something to eat first?”

“Are you kidding? I never mind having coffee!” Harry said.

The Room answered Draco’s request with a pot of coffee, two mugs and a plate of croissants.

“Draco, it’s almost four in the afternoon—are we having breakfast?” Harry asked, amused.

Draco lifted a brow as he poured the coffee. “Is that a problem?”

Harry took the mug and croissant Draco offered him and inhaled deeply. “Nope, not at all!”

“Well,” Draco said as he settled back against the propped-up pillows, “here goes: The Fascinating Life and Times of Draco Malfoy, by me, Draco Malfoy.

“Once upon a time, a beautiful little baby was born to a happily married witch and wizard. Everyone oohed and ahhed over what a gorgeous baby he was and told his beaming mother just how lucky she was to have such a lovely, perfectly behaved baby.

“As the baby grew older, he became even better-looking—of course—and visitors were always commenting on his amazing intelligence in addition to his impeccable manners. His parents were quite wealthy and spoiled him by giving him every material thing a child could ever want.”

Draco paused to take a bite of his croissant. Harry had almost protested the tongue-in-cheek way Draco had started his story, but a few key words and Draco’s carefully neutral expression had him keeping silent.

“Time passed and the baby became a little boy. The little boy loved magic and would often beg his nanny to let him use her wand to do silly things, like make flowers grow in the dead of winter or change the colour of his pony’s mane to purple. His nanny would let him sometimes, but would always remind him they had to be very careful to keep it a secret, as the little boy’s father likely wouldn’t approve. So the little boy never told anyone, because he knew that having a handsome, smart, perfectly behaved little boy made the father proud and the little boy wanted to make the father proud.

“There were times, though, that the little boy wasn’t perfect. Sometimes he made mistakes. Sometimes he wouldn’t be careful and he would get his robes dirty. Sometimes he would forget the rules and run through the house or talk with his mouth full. Then the little boy’s father would be forced to take the little boy over his knees and firmly remind him of the proper way to behave. Luckily, the little boy was quite good at learning his lessons and didn’t have to be reminded very often.”

Harry’s soft Gryffindor heart clutched and he reached out. “Draco…”

Draco shook his head and wouldn’t meet Harry’s eyes. “Just let me finish.”

Harry nodded, but shoved some pillows out of the way and climbed behind Draco. Settling the blond in the vee of his legs, he began to massage Draco’s shoulders.

“So. When the boy was about six, the father took him into his study for a man-to-man talk. The father told the boy all about What It Means To Be A Malfoy. He told the boy about the family history and the importance of keeping the blood pure. The father told the son about how a Malfoy was meant to behave, what he was meant to say, and what he was meant to believe. He told the boy that one day he would become the lord of Malfoy Manor, wear the Malfoy ring, and inherit all of the Malfoy estate—because the boy was the Malfoy heir.”

Draco twisted the heavy ring he wore on his right hand as he spoke. Harry pressed a soft kiss to the back of Draco’s head as he continued to massage his neck.

“Then the father told the story of a powerful wizard who had sadly lost his power and apparently died just a short time after the little boy had been born. The father told the boy that no one knew exactly how the wizard had been defeated or what had happened to him, but that the blame rested on two people: a crazy old wizard who not only didn’t think having pure blood was important, but believed Mudbloods were the equals of Purebloods, and another boy who happened to be of an age with the father’s little boy.

“This other boy’s name was Harry Potter. His name was not to be spoken in the father’s presence; the father was only telling the son the story so that he would understand the truth and not listen to lies that other people told about that boy being a hero. That boy was no hero; he wasn’t even a Pureblood! Some people believed that little boy wasn’t even alive any more; some others said he was alive, but hidden away.

“The point of the story, the father said, was that he had proudly served this powerful wizard and would serve him again if he ever returned. And now that the son was old enough, he was to learn the way to be a proper Malfoy and the ways of the Dark Lord as well.

“The boy was full of pride that the father felt him old enough to learn such important things. When a tutor was hired and the boy started having proper lessons, he worked very hard to learn everything the tutor set for him. He worked very, very hard because once a week, the father would call the boy into his study after dinner and question him about what he’d learnt. The boy almost always answered the questions correctly; on the few occasions that he answered incorrectly, he was punished and sent from the study with a stinging red bum. When he answered correctly, however, he was rewarded: the father would spend the rest of the evening teaching the boy about the ways of the powerful Dark Lord. This was the boy’s favourite time of the whole week.

“The years went by and life went on much the same way for the boy. The boy grew older and he learnt harder lessons from his tutor and the father, but he always worked very hard because making the father proud was still very important to him. He listened carefully to every word the father would say about being a Malfoy or the ways of the Dark Lord. The boy adopted the father’s beliefs and made them his own; he watched how the father behaved and modeled his own actions accordingly; he listened to the father’s words and memorised them so that he could say them correctly.

“Of course, the boy was still a boy and not yet perfect, even though he tried very hard. So there were times when the father had to re-teach the boy some lessons with his wooden paddle, his leather strap or his walking stick.”

Harry sucked in a breath but couldn’t keep the words from spilling out of his mouth: “He beat you? Whipped you? Used his walking stick on you? Good gods, Draco! How did you survive growing up with such a man?”

Draco shrugged and kept his eyes facing forward; he wasn’t ready to see Harry’s face yet. “I almost didn’t,” he said softly. “He only used his walking stick once, but he nearly killed me when he did. I was in St. Mungo’s for over a week. Mother stayed with me everyday, but he never once came to see me. I used to think that perhaps it was because he felt guilty for hurting me, but…” Draco’s voice trailed away and he sighed.

Harry wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist and hugged him tightly. “I’m sorry, Draco.”

Draco laid his hands over Harry’s, but didn’t respond otherwise. Taking a deep breath, he continued his story:

“One day, when the boy was 11, he overheard the father arguing with the mother. He knew he shouldn’t eavesdrop and he knew the risk he was taking should he be caught, but he listened anyway because he’d only heard the mother yell at the father one other time. That was the time the father had beaten the boy with the walking stick and the mother had screamed at the father that she’d kill him if he ever did it again. So the boy was curious.

“This time the father and the mother were arguing about where the boy was to attend school. It seems the father had made plans to send the boy to a school far away—a school that believed in and taught the ways of the Dark Lord. The mother did not want the boy to be sent so far away—she said she didn’t care who ran the school in Britain and what was the point of the boy learning about the Dark Lord when the Dark Lord was never coming back? The father slapped the mother—and the boy wanted so badly to leap out from his hiding place to defend her—but the mother didn’t back down. She argued and made all kinds of threats—including hexing off the father’s bits while he was sleeping. But what finally made the father give in was the mother’s threat to divorce him and take the boy away from him. She said she’d take away his heir and raise him as a Black instead of a Malfoy. It was only then that the father stopped arguing and said the boy would be sent to Hogwarts.

“The boy was a little disappointed—despite everything, he still wanted to please the father and he knew the father wanted him to go to the other school. And there was a secret little part inside him that wanted to go to the other school simply because it was so far away from the father. But the boy prepared to go to Hogwarts and he was determined to make the father proud of him, even if he wasn’t attending the school the father wanted.

“One day, the mother and the father took the boy shopping for his school things in Diagon Alley. The boy was so excited to be finally going away to school. But he knew a Malfoy never showed emotion, so he didn’t act as if he were excited. When the boy was being fitted for his school robes, another boy was brought in to be fitted as well. He could tell this other boy, who had very dark hair, was going to be starting at Hogwarts as well and he so wanted to ask the boy if he were excited too. He couldn’t ask that—it wouldn’t be proper—but he could make conversation about school. So the boy asked the dark-haired boy questions, but the other boy didn’t seem to have much to say. So the boy started talking about one of the father’s favourite subjects—Purebloods vs. Non-Purebloods—hoping that the other boy would join in, that they would have something in common, but the other boy didn’t get a chance to answer because his robes were finished.

“The next time the boy saw the dark-haired boy from the robe shop was on the school train to Hogwarts. By now he knew who the other boy was; the enemy, the one who had caused the mighty Dark Lord to fall, the one whose name was not mentioned at home: Harry Potter. This hero was sitting with a redheaded boy from a family that the father detested. But the father had told the boy to try and befriend the enemy because knowledge is power—and no one knew very much about this enemy. So the boy offered his hand to the enemy—but the enemy turned him down! The boy was stunned. Did this hero not know who he was?

“So the boy and the hero became mortal enemies for several years and the boy took every opportunity to make the hero miserable. He played tricks, told lies, hexed him, insulted him. But he was never able to keep the hero down long—somehow the Boy-Who-Lived always managed to come out on top. Even when the Dark Lord returned and the father was so pleased, the hero always seemed to win. Then something happened that completely turned the boy’s life upside down: the father was arrested and put in prison. And the hero had played a part in his capture.”

Draco paused and sipped some coffee. Harry kissed the back of his neck, then dropped his forehead to rest on Draco’s shoulder. He wasn’t sure if he really wanted to hear whatever Draco was going to say next.

“By now the boy was 16 and had finished his fifth year of school. The father escaped from prison, but had to remain in hiding with the Dark Lord, until the time was right for the Dark Lord to take control. The father visited the boy at home a few times during the summer, but the boy dreaded his visits. There was something wrong with the father’s eyes. The boy couldn’t put it into words, but it made him very nervous. The boy was very confused—so many unexpected things were happening to him at once. But then something happened that truly shocked him.

“The father came home one morning and summoned the boy to his study. The father said the Dark Lord was impressed with the boy’s O.W.L. marks and was considering allowing the boy to join his army before he fully came of age. The boy could see how proud the father was and the boy was proud as well. The Dark Lord wanted to mark the boy himself—a high honour! The boy was so excited that he made a mistake: he spoke without considering his words. He said he hoped the Dark Lord would allow him to serve as a spy at Hogwarts, so perhaps it would be better for him not to be Marked just yet—after all, it would be difficult for him to be a spy if everyone knew he was a Death Eater.

“The father was furious—he misunderstood the boy to mean that he did not wish to be Marked at all! The boy tried to explain, but the father would not listen. He berated the boy, told him he was ashamed to call him his heir. Then the father took out his wand and did the unspeakable: he cast the Cruciatus Curse on the boy. He cast it again and again, until the boy passed out from the pain.

“The boy never saw the father again.”

When Draco said that Lucius had used the Cruciatus on him, Harry’s arms tightened around Draco’s waist. A part of Harry had known what Draco was going to say, but it was horrible to hear it said out loud, in Draco’s flat, emotionless voice.

“Draco,” Harry whispered against the back of his neck. “Are you all right?”

Draco nodded, then twisted around in Harry’s arms to look at Harry for the first time since starting his story. His eyes were a dark, haunted gray, but they met Harry’s without wavering.

“Yes, I’m all right. Lucius using the Cruciatus on me was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me—but it was one of the best things that’s ever happened to me as well.”

Harry stared at Draco. “I…I don’t understand.”

Draco gave Harry a half-smile. “If Lucius hadn’t done that to me, I would have likely taken the Dark Mark and I would be a Death Eater right now. It was because of what Lucius did that I woke up and started thinking for myself for the first time in my life. That’s when I realised just how much of a carbon-copy of Lucius I’d become. I spent a lot of time re-thinking everything last summer. It was hard, but I pretty much threw out everything I believed and decided to start from scratch. That’s when I realised Lucius was mad—truly insane. And that’s when I decided to go to Dumbledore and join his—your—side. So, in a way, it was Lucius’ own actions that saved me. Ironic, don’t you think?”

Harry had no idea what to say. What did one say in response to such a story? Draco’s quicksilver eyes seemed to be roiling with emotions that the Slytherin wouldn’t or couldn’t express. So Harry once again trusted his gut and said nothing. Instead, he lifted a hand to Draco’s face, tilted it slightly, and then brought his lips to Draco’s in a very soft kiss.

Pulling back, Harry looked into Draco’s eyes and said, “It’s time to let go, Draco,” then crushed his mouth against Draco’s in a hard, almost painful kiss.

Something inside Draco seemed to snap. All of the anger, all of the pain, all of the hurt, all of the hatred that he’d kept bottled up inside for so long burst open and geysered up through his body, rushing through his veins and overtaking his conscious thought. Instinct took over and he simply reacted: grasping Harry’s hair in both hands, he dove into the kiss, matching Harry’s intensity and taking it further.

Then they were rolling over the bed in a heated give and take of pleasure. Hands were everywhere, constantly moving, stroking, rubbing, pinching, inciting flames wherever they touched. Teeth nipped at swollen lips and tender flesh, eliciting moans and cries for more. Tongues fought each other for dominance, then explored hot, damp flesh in long sweeps and teasing flicks. Mouths and fingertips marked their possession as sweat-slicked bodies slid against one another, bringing aching erections into contact over and over.

Then Harry was licking and biting at Draco’s ear, begging him for more: “Take me, Draco. Fuck me now. Fuck me now before I die from wanting you.” Harry’s mouth left his ear and the next thing Draco knew, Harry was on his hands and knees in front of him. Draco never remembered asking for it, but suddenly there was a phial of lube in his hand and he was pouring it over his fingers, down the crack of Harry’s arse, and over Harry’s puckered entrance.

He was hardly aware of what he was doing—sheer lust and animal instinct seemed to have taken him over. Draco worked one, then two slicked fingers into Harry, Harry moaning and pushing back against him as he did. He twisted and wiggled his fingers, marvelling at the slick, tight feeling of Harry’s channel. He curled his fingers a little and immediately had Harry bucking back against him, begging him for more. Draco added a third finger, pumping them in and out of Harry’s clenching anus, stretching him for what was to come.

Draco’s fingers were driving Harry mad. The feel of them inside him, moving in and out and in and out—he thought he was going to die from the pleasure each time one of Draco’s fingers brushed against his sweet spot. Unable to wait any longer to feel Draco buried inside him, Harry panted out, “Now, Draco, now! Please, gods, Draco take me now!”

Harry felt empty when Draco withdrew his fingers and he moaned at the loss. But then there was the unmistakable feeling of Draco’s lube-slicked cock pressing against his entrance and Harry’s moan of disappointment turned to one of delicious anticipation. Harry dropped to his forearms and bit down on the duvet to keep from screaming as Draco breached the tight outer ring of muscle and slowly pushed his way inside.

Draco bit his lip to keep from ramming himself to the hilt inside Harry. He’d never felt anything as amazing in his life as the feeling of Harry’s tight passageway surrounding and squeezing his cock. He gritted his teeth as he moved in and out of Harry, thrusting himself deeper each time. At last he was fully seated within his lover and he stilled for a moment to savour the sensation of being completely sheathed within Harry’s body.

“Oh, gods, Draco, please!” Harry groaned after a few seconds. Moaning, he pressed back into Draco, wordlessly urging him to move.

Draco withdrew almost completely, then thrust himself back in. He repeated the motion and soon had Harry crying, “More! Harder!” as he arched his back, trying to take more of Draco inside himself. Draco picked up the pace and his thrusts became ragged as he plunged in and out of his lover, harder and deeper each time. Harry’s nearly incoherent babbling spurred him on: “Yes! More…right there…oh…yes, again…harder! Ah, gods…that’s so…yes…good…oh please…Dray—oh YES! Draco…that’s so good, don’t stop…oh gods…fuck! Oh gods, oh yes, oh gods, ohyesohyesohyesohyes…AH! DRACO!”

Harry came hard, his seed spurting out onto the mattress below him as he screamed Draco’s name in ecstasy. The muscles surrounding Draco’s cock began clenching and squeezing as Harry’s orgasm flooded through him. Feeling that channel tighten around him, Draco gave a final hard thrust before he climaxed as well, back arched and head thrown back, filling his lover with his essence.

Chest heaving, Draco collapsed on Harry’s sweat-covered back. Harry felt his knees tremble so he slumped over onto his side. Draco rolled with Harry, flopping onto his back with his arm flung off the side of the bed as he took gulping lungfuls of air. Harry shifted onto his stomach and his back rose and fell as he fought to catch his breath and get his galloping heartbeat back to normal.

After a few minutes, Draco turned his head to find Harry watching him through half-closed eyes. Very slowly, a smile started to spread across Harry’s face; the smile was contagious and soon Draco wore the exact same shit-eating grin as Harry.

The only thing either of them could think to say was: “Damn!”

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A/N: Hope you enjoyed it! Especial thanks to my most loyal reviewers—Jodine, Ali, thrnbrooke, snapesgirl, Mordyn, amessis, mis, hazel, thunder—y’all know who you are!

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