Between the Bars

"I hear it's perfectly awful. He's really let himself go," said Theodore Nott, tipping his head forward to drop his fedora into his hand as he smoothly reached for the door of the Leaky Cauldron. "But he's here every night, rambling on about something or other."

Draco was listening with rapt attention, but he was looking everywhere but Theo, taking in the familiar sights that he'd spent too long away from. "Not sure how much further he could've gone. He always looked a bit like he'd let himself go."

Snickering, Theo held the door to let Draco in first. For some, it was a matter of respect to open the door for another person, but Draco expected it to happen, and often it did.

"Have I mentioned how good it is to see you in the flesh?" asked Theo.

Smiling, Draco nodded. Theo had mentioned that a few dozen times in the last couple of hours since Draco returned from Australia. He'd gone a long way to hide out from Voldemort and his cronies. He waited well beyond when it was reasonable to return, but Draco was just trying to be careful.

That was what he told himself, anyway.

"Is he here yet, Tom?" asked Theo brightly as he crossed the small pub to pay for two pints that had appeared the moment Theo entered the door. It was a simple, but effective charm Tom used for the regulars to make them feel important. It worked.

Tom nodded to a dark corner where a robed lump hung lethargically over a table, an open bottle of firewhisky in his hand and not a glass for it in sight.

Tufts of black hair rose up uncertainly around the arm the man had lying over his head. Draco had only a moment's wonder at the back of the man's head before his face rose over his arms.

Still the same glasses, the same scar, but the look on his face was defeated. He no longer had that fiery passion. Harry Potter had the jaded look of a man who was once deeply in love with the world and the people in it, but that world never lived up to his expectations. He stared at Draco for a long wile before he sneered at his bottle, took another swig and dropped his head onto his arm that draped across the table.

Instantly, Draco felt ashamed for wanting to come here and see Potter at his low point. All of the childhood rivalry and even being on different sides of the war melted away, leaving Draco feeling strangely empty inside.

Taking his pint from Theo, Draco swallowed it down in a few quick gulps and said, "Let's get out of here."

Theo looked surprised and a little disappointed, but he swallowed his pint down quickly in turn and followed Draco out of the bar.

--

Though Draco was terribly busy unburying Malfoy Manor from the several layers of red tape the untimely deaths of Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy had left it under, Potter was never far from his thoughts. He met with solicitors, nodding and agreeing to the banalities of the New Wizarding Laws versus the Old Wizarding Laws. Draco tried not to laugh as he imagined Percy Weasley, the new Minister for Magic, explaining the new laws to the Things that came out in the dark to murder anyone who was not of his blood who tried to take control of the property. One already had after the Ministry saw fit to sell the property to them. Now that Draco had returned, he considered the matter settled, but it was never quite that easy and Draco was told that he would need to move back out of the Manor until the matter was resolved.

He could've afforded loads better, but none of that occurred to him. His first thought was to pack a few days worth of clothes and return to the Leaky, pleased with a legitimate excuse to be there while he spied on Potter.

Sitting at the bar, he obtained a room key and a pint and was just turning around on the stool to see if Potter was under the table drunk yet when he found himself eye-to-eye with the speccy git.

"Did you come here to laugh, Malfoy?"

"Potter, we've talked about you harassing the customers before," Tom said, his voice sharp over the slight tremble.

Maybe he should've been scared, but Draco felt an eerie calm of familiarity in confrontation with Potter. He held up a hand to Tom to stop him, slightly amused that in spite of it all, people probably were still afraid of Potter.

"I came here for a pint and a room. If you wish to provide a floor show, I didn't buy any channels on the wireless, so you're more than welcome to entertain me," said Draco, keeping his eyes trained on Harry's. They were green and red from long, hard nights of drinking.

"You can't stay here. This is my place," said Potter. He didn't flinch, didn't care, but he was wobbly and stank of firewhisky. Letting his eyes drift down, Draco noted Harry was working on a bit of a drinker's paunch, as well.

"It's a place for rent, and I need a place to stay," said Draco, standing and moving into Potter's personal space. To his surprise, Potter started to back up, but with purpose--heading back to his table. Draco followed.

"There's plenty of rooms left for slimeballs like you in Azkaban, Malfoy," said Potter before flopping into his chair. Draco was again surprised by Potter kicking out the chair across from him in invitation for Draco to sit down.

"You really need to work on your bar repartee, Potter. You'll never pull with the 'slimeball' approach," said Draco as he took a seat.

It almost looked like Potter was leering for a moment, but it quickly resolved to a sneer and Draco arranged his dark robes around him to make himself comfortable.

"It worked on you, but maybe you just know what you are," said Potter before he grabbed his firewhisky bottle by the neck and took a long slug.

Surprisingly, Draco had no retort to that, furrowing his brows. He looked glumly at his pint, wondering why he thought talking to Potter would be a good idea. Draco was just about to excuse himself and head to his room when Potter piped up again. "I know Snape testified that he'd put you up to all of it, but I was there when you talked to Dumbledore. I know what you're capable of. Maybe I'm the only one. No one ever believed me that you could be. The greatest lie the devil ever told was that he didn't exist."

Draco looked up at Potter, at the strange expression on his face, at once goading and needy and then he took a long sip from his pint. "You do the devil a great disservice by saying that, but it's nice to know that I wasn't the only one buying my own press."

"You almost killed someone," said Potter, tilting his head up and looking indignant, but comforted that Draco hadn't jumped up and left.

"You did kill someone," said Draco flatly. He wished he hadn't when he saw the darkness pass over Harry's face.

"I did it to protect people," he said after a few more swigs from his bottle.

"I was trying to protect my parents," Draco answered without hesitation. He swallowed the rest of his pint down and tapped it for another. It refilled from a flick of Tom's wand and the money was tallied on the board.

"And they're dead now," said Harry. His face lacked expression again. "Because you ran."

Draco's pulse raced as he wondered if anyone would really care if he punched the Boy Who Lived in the face, but instead, he just said quietly, "I was tricked into leaving. Snape said my duties were elsewhere and by the time I realized I'd been duped, my mother was dead."

"And your father and Snape took the fall for everything you did. You got off scot-free."

"In what universe is losing your parents and mentor getting off scot-free?" asked Draco. He'd officially had enough of this conversation and banged his fist on the table. "No wonder your friends left you to rot here! You're a monster!"

Draco fully expected that to start a proper row and he was spoiling for it, his hands balled up into fists, ready to dodge the first blow and come in with a few hundred of his own. To his surprise and great remorse, Potter started to laugh--that sick, sad, hysterical laughter of the tormented.

"Did you just sort that out, Malfoy?" he asked when he had finished his laughter. Potter's eyes flashed cold and then sorrowful and he finished off his bottle and knocked it on its side. It rolled off the edge and almost crashed to the floor, but Tom was on it, and the bottle vanished, replaced with another. "They have better things to do than to baby sit a hero who's outlived his usefulness."

Though the adrenaline was still flushing through his veins, something twisted in his chest at the sadness in Potter's voice, the bitterness, that Potter was once so well cherished by the Wizarding world and now he was in pain and invisible. "What about Weasley? And Granger?"

"Ron?" asked Potter. He shrugged. "He never liked how famous I was. He won his own accolades in the war, had his own victories. He didn't need me around anymore. Hermione tries, but she's a life of her own."

"And the Weaslette?" Draco didn't know why he was asking, or why he cared, except that since fifth year, when his father could no longer protect him, he knew how cold the real world could be. He'd thought the notion that you could only look out for yourself would've been ingrained in Potter by the way he grew up, but clearly Potter had started to hope.

There was nothing that had the casual cruelty of hope when it was dashed.

"That was forever ago, Malfoy," said Harry, sighing softly. "She just kept going forward and I... didn't."

Draco nodded and took another drink. Though much of Potter's life was a matter of public record, Draco suddenly realized that he knew nearly nothing about what had happened to him in the past few years. "Yeah, I guess it's a little silly to think that who you find interesting at sixteen is who you'll always be with."

"What happened with Parkinson?" asked Harry almost immediately, as if he didn't want to think too much more about Ginny.

"Nothing happened with her," said Draco, sighing at where this conversation was going. It was almost depressing that he was going to have to explain this to Potter, of all people. Potter had never been terribly observant, but he'd thought that surely after following him sixth year he might've sussed things out.

Evidently not.

"So you're still with her?" asked Potter. He hadn't had much of his new bottle of firewhisky and Draco turned to order two coffees, hoping that Potter would take the hint.

But then, maybe keeping him tipsy was a better plan.

"I was never with her, exactly," said Draco. He tipped cream into his coffee after it had floated over and sipped it daintily.

"I thought... well, she did your homework and..." said Potter. He eyed the coffee and then looked at his frewhisky but didn't drink either.

Draco closed his eyes and inhaled. He could probably avoid this line of questioning by changing the subject, or maybe he could just make something up, but then, he wanted to know what Potter would say to it. He'd always wondered if Potter knew, how much he'd seen and what he thought if he did know. Now he would find out.

"I'm gay," said Draco after opening his eyes to watch Harry's reaction.

He fully expected Potter to sit back, to shift away slightly, to laugh too loud and say that was great, really great. That it was fantastic, in fact, and that he knew several gay men and women and that he liked them all and thought that they were really brave and great and to be quizzed about hot pants or asked if he was wearing knickers.

Instead, Potter just said, "Oh." He picked up his cup of coffee and sipped it. "So Nott, then?"

Draco blinked in surprise and nodded slowly. "For a little while, yeah."

"I'm taller," said Potter.

For a long time, Draco just stared at Potter, watching him continue to sip his coffee, trying to fathom what that meant. Finally, he said, "No, you're not."

"He's married," Potter pointed out, looking at his bottle of firewhisky.

Draco took it away and set it on the seat next to him and ordered another coffee for Potter. "Like I said, it was for a little while. It was a long time ago."

"What happened?" asked Potter as he summoned the bottle into his lap and wrapped his arms around it like a lover.

Blushing, Draco cleared his throat. "You mean..."

It took Potter a moment to resolve what Draco was asking, and when he realized what needed clarifying, he blushed brightly, too. "No. I mean... you two aren't still together..."

"Oh! Oh. Right. Well," Draco babbled, not sure whether he was disappointed or relieved not to have to relate the intimate details of what happened between him and Theo, but he focused on what the question was. "It was only ever a bit of fagging to him, I suspect."

"So you were the... you umm..." said Potter, making hand gestures that Draco didn't think should be made in public, and certainly not in his presence.

He looked around to see if anyone was watching their strange conversation, but no one else was in the bar just yet. "I'm not sure that's any of your business, Potter, and it's not something I care to discuss in public."

Nodding, Potter said, "I understand."

Draco was relieved by that answer and reached for his coffee to take another sip, but instead, Potter's hand circled his wrist and he was being dragged up the stairs. "We can talk in my room."

--

Leaning against the closed door of the motel room, Draco watched Potter frantically dig through weeks worth of clothes and copies of the Daily Prophet to try and find the floor to make a path for Draco to walk in.

Potter was mumbling about how the cleaning staff refused to come in anymore after a few of them had been hexed for waking Harry up unexpectedly, but Draco wasn't really listening. Instead, he was appreciating the view. Whatever paunch was happening at his midsection was filling out Potter's bum rather nicely, filling Draco with a mad urge to swat it.

Had it been nearly any other man than Harry Potter who had dragged him up to his room, Draco would've assumed that the gesture would be more than welcomed. As it was, Draco folded his arms and wondered exactly why he had been pulled up here.

Potter stood up and put his hands on his hips, face flushed, his breathing a bit erratic from the exertion. He dragged his wrist over his glistening forehead, revealing the scar and making his hair stick up. It was almost cute.

"Y'know, Potter, for all of that work, you seem to only have left the bed clear enough to sit on. If I didn't know any better--" Draco's words broke off as Potter grabbed the front of Draco's robes and swung him around, throwing him off balance enough to toss him onto the bed.

Now that he was this close to Potter, Draco wondered if maybe Potter had grown taller than Nott. He Potter definitely outweighed the other man.

"I really need to stop letting men drag me to their rooms," Draco rambled, looking around shiftily, as he tried to reach for his wand, wincing in anticipation of Potter throwing a hard punch at his jaw, but what he felt instead was a hard prick jabbing against his thigh and Potter's warm mouth closing over his. Or maybe I should let more of them drag me to their rooms.

While Draco was not nearly the slag his roommates and certain Australians had made him out to be, he was no virgin, either. He knew exactly what that push in his thigh meant. Potter was packing. He must have a huge prick and Draco was curious about it. He had no current attachments, and Potter was so blasted on who knew what, that he figured, "why not?"

That is, until Potter started to kiss him in earnest. It was pleasant in some ways, needy and passionate, but he'd had the technique of an overexcited dog and Draco wasn't sure he'd ever get hard again after that floppy-lipped monstrosity. Potter pulled back to look at Draco's face and Draco suddenly thought: The savior of the Wizarding world wants to fuck me. That's got to be good for bragging rights, at the very least!

"All right, Potter, but we're going to have to do this my way since you clearly have no idea what you're doing." Draco grabbed Harry's chin and pushed his lips together to more of a pucker. "If you start drooling, suck it back. If you haven't brushed your teeth, do it. In fact, wash your whole body. Don't come into my bed unclean," Draco barked, pushing Harry off of the bed.

"This is my bed!" said Harry as he strutted off to his bath.

Draco heard the water running and got up, slowly undressing himself and having a look at the scattered and tatty collections of Potter's things. There were a fair few toys--probably to make up for his ruined childhood. Draco fancied that he still played with them. Then there were games for adults, like Wizard's chess. Then there was a large stack of magazines.

He didn't need to dig far to find a copy of a gay men's magazine. As he tried to pull the sticky pages apart, he amended his mental note of finding a used a copy of a men's magazine, and then dropped it to the floor.

So Potter played for both teams, with perhaps a bit more interest in homosexuality--at least tonight. The alcoholic gay went out in the early 90s. Someone really should've given Potter the memo.

Once Potter was out of the shower, Draco stood stark naked in front of Harry's bed. He started pulling his cock and instructed Potter to pull off his towel and jerk himself off as he walked towards Draco.

Holding out his empty hand, Draco started to lower it, indicating to Potter to get onto his knees as he walked closer and closer. Draco cursed his two drinks and a dry spell before leaving Australia for making him horny enough to go this far with Harry fucking Potter, but then, maybe this was just what he needed.

It looked like it was something Potter needed, too. Friends gone, moved on, just like the laws and life had moved on for Draco. Pansy was married. He'd never had any interest in her, but she was still meant to be his, to bear his children. But life, when you're not looking at it directly, keeps moving.

It brings tired heroes and weary deserters together again.

Before he knew it, Potter was crouched on the floor and pushing Draco down to sit on the edge of the bed. He thrust his head between Draco's legs and he was nuzzling his balls, flicking his tongue at them occasionally. He wasn't quite the overeager puppy he'd been before, but he didn't have much finesse. Sliding a hand through Potter's hair, he held him still and Draco moved his hips against him, the thrill of sensation almost as heady as he thought, fucking Harry Potter's mouth!"

It was so wrong that Draco wanted to laugh, but then, it wasn't that funny when he really thought about it. He wasn't the same person he'd been before and clearly the war had changed Potter. The truth was, Draco always had an odd affection for the nosy prat, liked that he would get to the bottom of things, even if he did it in the most inefficient manner. But that seemed like the person that Harry didn't want to be around anymore, someone that he didn't want to know.

Draco wondered who Harry did want to be. He petted his hair and smiled down at him, nodding. "Not so much like a dog now, see? I knew you'd be a good little cock sucker."

He loved watching Harry's concentrated expression, how he believed he could do this, to make it good for Draco, and if he did, maybe things would go back to normal.

That, Draco could not give to him. No one could.

Draco fucked his mouth almost brutally, but Potter was moaning and loving it, squeezing Draco's arse cheeks, leaving finger bruises before he slid a finger between the cheeks to that silky rubbery muscle. Draco felt the teasing, and hissed when Harry dipped his finger into his arse.Harry seemed more curious than nervous.

"Ever fucked a man before, Potter?" he asked, grunting because he was getting close. Potter pulled his mouth away and then shook his head, looking a bit sheepish.

"I wanted to, I just..."

Groaning at how ruthlessly Harry had pulled away, Draco had just enough wits to say, "Well with Ron and Neville to choose from, I don't think it was in the cards for you. But I'm going to let you fuck me, but you mustn't make a sound, no matter what I do," he said, rolling them over so that he could lie in the middle of the bed.

Draco lifted his legs up, folding half with his knees against his ears, presenting himself to Harry. He felt dirty by how long that Harry stared at his hole. It wasn't exactly Draco's best side and he found it humiliating.

To Draco's great surprise, Harry leaned down and drew a warm, wet line of saliva from the crack of his arse to his hole in a few long, slow stripes that cooled in the drafty tavern room. Then he slowly pushed his tongue into Draco, making him take the soft warmth inside of him. His tongue thickened and pulled out, swiping daintily along the rim before plunging in again, pushing it as deep as he could go.

Draco hooked his index finger into his mouth, biting down on it to keep from making noise himself. It wasn't part of the game initially, but Draco wanted to play, too.
The movement of Harry's tongue inside of him was maddeningly and he reached down to pull his prick, pulse racing with the thrill of it, toes curling at the exquisite feel of warmth, the touches so light that he could barely keep from giggling or moaning.

Again, Draco was left to groan when Harry pull his mouth away. When Draco looked up at him, Harry mouthed, "Slut."

Draco's whole body broke out in a brilliant blush. He couldn't argue the point lying on Harry's bed, holding his knees up so that Harry could take him, so he could do whatever he wanted to with him.

Suddenly, Draco felt incredibly vulnerable. He watched Harry settle in below him, felt his prick pushing at him and the sting of that first hard entry, especially with nothing but saliva for comfort. He whimpered as Harry thrust solidly into him and Draco slapped his arse cheek hard for making a noise.

Back arching off of the bed at the slap, Draco drove Harry further into him, too deep to really be comfortable, but Draco didn't fight it. His adrenaline was pumping too hard for him to really feel the pain. He felt little other than the glorious sting of his skin from where Harry slapped him.

"Are you only doing this because you're drunk?" Draco asked, hoping that didn't bypass the rules, because he wanted to feel that sensation again. But he did want an answer.

"I don't know," said Harry before slapping the side of Draco's arse again, harder this time. Draco rocked against him and moaned and Harry hit him again.

The spot where Harry kept hitting him got warmer and warmer each time Harry slapped him and each time he reacted by driving himself onto Harry's cock again and again.

Harry dragged his nails down Draco's thighs after tearing at the enflamed skin.

All Draco could do was react, let his body shift and convulse under Harry's command, to feel the pressure of his body, to feel the harsh invasion and the way that Harry reminded him that it wasn't all about pleasure.

After a few minutes, Harry finally lost control and sunk his fingers into Draco's thighs to hold him still as he slammed into him. Draco grabbed his prick and pulled harder and faster, trying to keep up with Harry's erratic fucking, wanting to experience it with him. Draco had never been fucked this hard. No one would ever dare hit him like this, and yet Draco was taking it and loving it.

All he could feel was the tingle of his skin and the greedy need of his cock to release and after the pressure built to where all he could feel was touch, rubbing and need. He came on himself and on Harry's chest, surprised that things were winding down with Potter as well. He held himself up long enough for Potter to milk the last of his release and then braced himself for Harry flopping on top of him.

He wanted to tell Harry how great that was, how great he was, how much he'd needed that, but what came out instead was, "You should stop drinking."

"Really? I hadn't heard that one before," Harry snapped back. He started to pull away, but Draco held onto him tightly.

"If you stop for tomorrow, I'll come back and you can fuck me again. How's that?" asked Draco.

"One day?" asked Harry. His face was tucked against Draco's neck, making it impossible to read his expression.

"Yeah. Just tomorrow. If you get through that, I might let you fuck me again," said Draco, petting Potter's back.

"Meet me for a date, then. A proper date. At seven," said Harry. "Downstairs."

Draco smiled and nodded. "I've some things to tend to, but I'll be back by then. It's a date."

"A date," said Harry and then he smiled and kissed Draco sloppily before passing out next to him.

--

Draco really should've known better than to believe that the bumbling idiots that served as the Ministry would have managed to extract their heads from their arses in a timely manner. What had been originally slated as a time for Draco to stop by the solicitor's office to sign a few documents turned into an all day affair in which several Ministry officials showed up confused as to whether they were supposed to arrest him or give him back his property.

For a few hours in the early afternoon, it looked as if Draco was having Azkaban signed over to him, much to his amusement. Alas, someone caught the glitch and by seven, not one single thing had gotten done, aside from making Draco late for his date. He tried desperately to detangle himself from the paperwork, but he wasn't released until nine, at which time he desperately Apparated to the Leaky, praying that Potter had held on and not lost faith.

His answer was in the corner of the tavern. Potter stood with his wand drawn on a rather tall blond woman whom he was telling off quite thoroughly. She looked surprised that he wasn't going to shag her again. Her husband, however, looked murderous.

Suppressing his irritation that Potter evidently thought Draco was a woman, Draco intervened before things could get too nasty and grabbed Harry by the front of his shirt to drag him up to his room.

Draco propped Harry against the bathroom door as he started a cold shower to try and shock Harry into a less inebriated state. There were charms and potions, but at the moment, Draco was too angry with Harry to be more merciful. Swinging Potter under the cold steams of water, Draco growled, "This is not two hours worth of drinking, is it? Did you even try?"

Potter screeched at the water, but quickly relaxed into it, weighed down by his shame. "I started to get nervous around four. I worried that you wouldn't show. I just thought a drink or two... just to take the edge off, you know?"

"No, I don't know," said Draco as he stripped Harry's clothing off.

"I guess you wouldn't," said Potter, a bit helplessly. "No one really does." He slouched and shook his body free of the clothes and reached for Draco's face, stroking it roughly, but Draco knew he meant to be gentler with it.

"You were worried I wouldn't show up?" asked Draco. He watched Harry curiously, trying to figure out how he'd gotten to this place, but then, all of those losses, a world that has no use for you... it had to do things to a bloke. "You don't even like me, Potter."

"I didn't like you," said Potter, after a long silence. "I didn't like a lot of things then. I didn't understand things. I understand more, but all that brings me is this. The more I know, the fuzzier everything becomes and it hurts. It hurts so much," said Harry. He wasn't sobbing, but his eyes were wet. His face was pulled up with emotion and he started to pull at Draco's robes. "I killed someone... "

Draco pulled off his robes and slipped into the tub with Harry, pleased that the comfort of their bodies touching seemed to soothe him. "I know."

Potter sobbed once and then exhaled. "I don't know if it was the right thing to do."

It was clear that Harry had wanted to admit that to someone, but he couldn't say it to just anyone. He had to say it to someone who wouldn't judge him for his doubts, someone who could see it for what it was. "You had to. He would've kept coming back. It's not your fault."

Draco paused and then leaned forward to press his lips to Harry's forehead. "You are forgiven."

Immediately, Potter grabbed Draco's hips and pulled him on top of him. It was a rough, cold, watery entry, but Draco didn't mind the sting, because Harry needed him and Draco was the only one who could help.

Potter held Draco's waist tightly in the bottom of the tub, pumping into him slowly, his expression a million miles away as he thought about all of the pressures, all of the things he had to do, that he didn't do, how differently things could've been. The images were stuck on replay in his head. He didn't want it anymore. He wanted all of it gone.

Draco arched his back as he rode on top of Harry, watching how Harry touched him, what it felt like. He brought Harry's fingers to his face and kissed them each softly, anointing his skin. He dropped that hand onto his prick, helping Potter find a rhythm, to pull him as he needed to feel it. Draco fucked himself on Harry's cock while he thrusted into Harry's hand.

"Am I really forgiven?" Harry gasped.

Draco nodded, pressing kisses over his face. "You did your best. You did what you had to, and you did it because it's all you knew how to do. That's all you can do." As Draco said it, he realized it was true. Maybe he wasn't cursed as a deserter of the Death Eaters. He'd done what he was told; he'd done what he needed to do, just as much as Harry did.

"You are forgiven," Draco rasped again. Harry's body tightened up and Draco felt the slickness running back out of him, wetting his thighs. It didn't take much of Harry's hand to get him off and he came on Harry's chest. They both rubbed it into his skin.

After a few minutes of just laying together and relaxing, as both reviewed what they'd done, they both smiled and felt understood, at least in that moment, and in that moment, there was hope that they could both be forgiven and that this would be enough.