Wintry Lover

08-06-03

Title: Wintry Lover
Author: Anu (anubeta@lycos.com)
Pairing: Harry/Blaise, Blaise/Various.
Rating: R
Warnings: MPREG. AU. Character Death.
Summary: Think ice. Think lace. Think of the blue shadows under hills of snow. That always reminds me of Blaise.
Disclaimer: Except for the poem ‘Wy Loy Lover’, none of it is mine.
Beta: Toujours Impur – thanks so much!

*****

Wintry lover
Hard as ice
Cold as stone
I was made for you
And you for me alone.

(Poem: Wintry Lover © Anu)

Prolouge:

Ron Weasley and Blaise Zabini sat silently side by side on the Quidditch pitch. It was a chilly November evening and Ron had already tried to warm his hands twice under Blaise’s robes. Blaise had demurely relocated his hands to other parts of her person and said nothing of it.

They had been kissing heavily, and now Ron broke away, panting. “I want…” He began, and tried again to reach under her robes. “I want to make you come,” he said, then blushed scarlet.

Blaise looked at him a moment, blonde hair falling over her gray eyes. “I think that undertaking would be more than you could handle.” She removed his hand again.

He looked disappointed. Then she said, “There is something.” Hope re-lit his eyes. Blaise knelt and deftly opened his robes and pants. Pulling his boxers down and wrapping one slim, pale, experienced hand around the base of his hard cock in the russet curls, she opened her mouth and sucked him in.

Writhing, sweating and moaning, Ron quickly came to a noisy climax. Blaise swallowed, cleaned him, and tucked him away, smiling. Ron pulled her close and kissed her. His hands went and cupped her buttocks. She moved as if to stop him, but let him instead.

*****

Ron suspected Blaise was cheating on him. He’d discovered a hickey on her neck earlier this evening and said nothing at the time.

He had then gone from shocked to angry, and then he had gone to talk to Hermione as soon as he had calmed down.

So now they were on a spy mission, following her about the school. At dinner, she had sat with the other Slytherins and like the other girls, played sly tricks on Gryffindor. Then she had gone into the bathroom and spent exactly five minutes in there, making use of the third stall from the door, patting her hair and freshening her makeup. She also brushed lint from her robes with a look of disgust as she left.

She then went into the Slytherin common room. Eight minutes later, she made a brief trip up into the girls’ dormitory, then she and Draco Malfoy appeared and stealthily made their way into the depths of the dungeons.

Hermione and Ron followed, but lost them along the way. They found them again, on the floor of the Prefect’s bathroom. Having sex. The sight of long pale limbs attached to slowly writhing bodies seemed startlingly out of place with the gasps and sighs, moans and yelps of bliss. Likewise; although Draco was steadily thrusting between Blaise’s shapely thighs, the sight of a penis rising from the downy curls there, Draco’s hand around it; contrasted oddly with Blaise’s long, thin hands, feminine face and prissy manner.

Ron turned away, disgusted and reluctantly aroused. Hermione followed, but by the time she got to the Gryffindor common room Ron had already shut himself up in the boys’ dormitory room he shared with Harry, Dean, Seamus and Nelville. Harry looked up at her from one of the couches. “What’s wrong with him?”

Hermione sighed and sat down next to him. “Blaise is cheating on him.”
“Oh. Poor Ron.”
“With Malfoy.”
“That bastard!” He started to rise. She stopped him.
“But that’s not the worst part.”
Harry waited.
“Blaise is a boy.”
Harry sputtered in shock. “I…I best go…talk to him, make sure he won’t suicide or something.”
Hermione nodded.

*****

Ron broke up with Blaise the next morning, angry. Blaise had simply looked at him with cool eyes. He hadn’t appeared to have been bothered being called a whore. Ron had stomped off.

Hermione went looking for Blaise after lunch, to talk to him. She found him on his knees under the Quidditch stands, with Marcus Flint. His skirt was flipped up around his waist, and a pair of decidedly feminine panties were wrapped around his left ankle. He appeared to be in utter ecstasy. Marcus Flint was growling and plundering his ass for all he was worth.

Hermione ducked into a hiding place and waited impatiently for them to finish. Flint snarled, and Blaise whimpered. Then everything went quiet. Hermione was nearly about to reveal herself, peeping out cautiously; when they started up again, this time with Flint standing, pants pulled up, zipper open, and Blaise on his knees in front of him.

With a sigh of disgust, she waited a while longer, looking away again. At last, Flint grunted and Blaise’s sucking sounds became a bit more apparent. Marcus and Blaise spoke softly for a moment, she couldn’t hear them. Hermione peered out of her hiding place to see money change hands. Blaise tucked away the money and winked at Flint, who patted his head fondly before walking away.

Blaise called “Come out, I know you’re there.”
Hermione obediently showed herself.
He didn’t seem surprised to see her. His hair was ruffled, makeup mussed, skirt tented, blouse open. She caught a glimpse of semen on the inside of his thigh, watched as he wiped more from his lip. “Well?” He asked. “Come to stare?”
“No.” She replied.
“Go away, then.”
She had no more to say to him anyway, and stomped off. He wasn’t worth her time.

*****

End Prolouge

*****

In the formal dining hall at Malfoy Manor, Draco sat like a king, his queens beside him. Pansy Parkinson-Malfoy is lis left, and Blaise Zabini-Malfoy at his right.

Pansy, unsurprisingly, had been caught in ménage la trois with Blaise and Draco on many occasions during school, and had conceived late in their last school year. Draco had also conceived, being more veela-blooded than Blaise, who also had veela ancestry. His was more diluted, but his mother had been a Malfoy.

Harry had heard that when Lucius found out, he had dug up a Dark Arts spell to put the baby in Pansy, but had nearly killed them both in the process. A last ditch effort was successful, and it was Blaise who carried Draco’s son. Pansy, however, had miscarried.

After they healed and came back to school after that eventful summer, the three were engaged. Blaise flourished during his pregnancy, and Harry remembered Hermione saying that he knew no shame. After graduation they had been married, and unsurprisingly, Hermione, Ron and Harry hadn’t been invited. Nor had most of their year.

Draco supposedly took Dar Dark Mark that week, and Pansy announced her pregnancy. Six months pregnant, Blaise had been present at the feast Draco held in honor of his father and the new and improved Voldemort. Now, what Harry knew was heresay, but he imagined it was near enough to the truth.

Draco had ordered Blaise to go and service the Dark Lord with his mouth, as a nice present. Pansy had smirked at Blaise’s dark glare at his new husband. Blaise had gotten up, walked the opposite direction of Voldemort, and stood in the middle of the room. Draco his hissed “Zabini!” and Blaise had smiled slowly, madness glinting in his eyes. Draco and Pansy had at last pushed him too far.

With utter disregard for the room’s inhabitants: various Death Eaters and one Dark Lord, Blaise had gone utterly, insanely berserk. He wrecked the entire hall, from the marble floors to the crystal chandeliers, keeping back those who attempted to stop him. He was tackled and held down, his wand yanked from his hand moments later.

The Dark Lord had walked over. Blaise was jerked somewhat roughly to his knees, showing no fear whatsoever. Voldemort laid a hand on his head. “Spirited little tart. The Malfoys should be glad to have you.” Leaning forward, he kissed the scowling, pregnant blonde, who still twitched with the urge to finish his tantrum.

“If you ever leave off being Malfoy’s broodmare, I would be pleased to see you in my service.” Blaise had bared his teeth, and gotten his head patted. Voldemort had been inclined to deal kindly with him due his strength, spirit, pregnancy, and madness. He was quite attracted to Blaise.

Now Harry sat in the Malfoy dining hall, attempting to talk of hostage negotiation with his old school rival. There were no marks of Blaise’s wrath in either the room or it’s inhabitants.

Blaise sat coolly at Draco’s right, watching he, Ron and Snape dispassionately. His long, beringed pale fingers rested on his lap. Even his dress was sleekly elegant, like him. Yes, Blaise was dressed as a woman like he had been back in school, five years ago, when Harry had seen him last. His hair was longer now, pinned up in a simple, yet elaborate twist, two black sticks similar to chopsticks sticking out of it. Drag seemed to suit him.

At Pansy and Blaise’s sides sat their children, Posey and Blanche, soursource of their rivalry. Blanche was firstborn son, and therefore Draco’s pride, which made both woman and girl insanely jealous and hateful of him and his ‘mother’.

“So, Potter. I see you after we spoke via Floo, which means you have accepted the terms of my trade, having brought yourself and Snape. Why then, did you bring the Weasel? Surely you don’t mean to deliberate?” Draco drawled.

Snape would have spoken, but Harry did so first. “Malfoy. While I appreciate that you left your father out of this meeting, I should have also asked about the children. Please send them out before we begin.”

“Why should I? It’s not likely you’ll harm a child, and my son and daughter have every right to watch.”

“Women and children do not watch wars from the trenches, Malfoy.”
“Is that a threat? I could have you imprisoned for violence.”

Snape stopped it before it could get out of control. “Draco, you have seen us. Now we would like to see the hostages.”
“I assure you, they are in good condition. Black hasn’t bitten anyone, and Lupin gets his monthly potion.”
“We either are shown the prisoners or we Apparate right now. Take the children out.” Snape said.
“Fine. Blanche, Pos Posey’s hand and go to your playroom. We will send for you if you are needed.”
“Yes Father,” both chimed, and left as instructed.

Draco eyed them a moment. “Blaise,” he said.
Blaise’s gray eyes slid to him.
“Take Weasel down to the dungeon.”
Blaise rose, and Ron did likewise. Draco cast a spell over them that displayed an image of them on the table like a television. “So you may watch for yourselves, gentlemen.” Draco said. He waved Blaise out.

Blaise left. Harry and Snape followed their progress by watching the image.

Ron was taller than Blaise, who was still small and slim, even though he wore tall heels visible under the hem of his dress when sitting. Harry remembered that Blaise had short legs. He strode swiftly and elegantly along. The image aed fed for no sound, but Harry saw Ron say something.

An undefineable look flitted across hile fle face, and he said something in reply. Blushing in embarassment and anger, Ron sputtered, and shouted something. Now Blaise stopped, turned and pinned Ron to the wall with surprising speed. His ringed hand glinted with a small knife. He said something, then turned and stalked off. Ron regained his balance and followed more sedately.

Harry glanced up at Draco. He was watching them with an amused smirk. Harry looked away. Something about Blaise, the way he walked, talked, pulled a knife as easily as a wand reminded Harry of someone. Snape shifted next to him, and realized that Blaise was very much like their former Professor.

Perhaps it was because both had weathered years of persecution to the Dark they were aligned with. Perhaps it was their natural grace, their hard-luck lives and keen intellect. It was difficult to tell.

Blaise and Ron reached the dungeons, and Harry watched as Blaise apparently spoke the spell that would only admit someone with Malfoy blood and their guests. Harry realized that this was why Pansy hadn’t been sent, and wondered how closely Blaise and Draco were related. Surely not first cousins, step cousins at the very least.

On the screen, Blaise and Ron were standing before a cell in which two prisoners huddled together, shivering in the damp. They saw Blaise, and one stood and rushed to the bars. Harry saw that it was Remus Lupin…and he appeared to be friends with Blaise Malfoy. Blaise held upand,and, elegantly gesturing for silence. Harry watched his mouth move. We are being watched, he said, his French accent twisting his pronunciation a little. He motioned Ron forward.

In the dining hall, the silence was interrupted by Blanche running in.
“Father,” he said with a small bow. “Where is Pere?”
Draco answered insteadre yre you not told to remain apart, my son?”
“Yes Father, but Posey has fallen and broken her nose-” He got no further before Pansy furiously leapt up and swept out of the room.
“Blanche,” Draco said, mild in his anger. “Do go away before you find yourself the victim of some harm, please?”
Wisely, Blanche fled as fast as his five-year old feet could carry him.

Draco turned back to them. “Accio Ron and Blaise,” he said coolly. Seconds later, drug off their feet by an un pon power, the two in question appeared. “Finite Incantatum.” Draco said, before they could get too close. The screen went blank, disappeared. Blaise brushed himself off, nodded to his husband, and resumed his seat.

“Are you satisfied?” Draco inquired.
Ron nodded, as did Harry. Snape remained silent.
“Will you trade, then?”
“No.” Snape answered.
Draco stood, and Blaise beside him. All three gripped their wands in preparation. “Blaise, will you escort them out?” Draco saith pth perfect civility. “I must see to my wife and children. My husband can take you out to the gardens, which you may Apparate from. The house has wards against it.” He showed the card had not been played, bowed, and strode out.

Blaise watched him go, then turned to them. “Follow me.”
They did as instructed. Walking the maze of corridors, Harry realized that they were heading deeper into the mansion. He stopped abruptly. “Where are we going, Zabini?” he demanded. Blaise turned. “It’s Malfoy, now. I suppose here is safe enough.” He replied cryptically.

He pulled off a bracelet, flung it at Harry, who caught it. “Touch it.” He said to Snape and Ron, who obeyed the tone of voice before they could consider the command. Snape scowled and started to remove his hands. Blaise stopped him, and laid his hands overall, then the Portkey activated. Angry and unprepared, they pulled their wands as soon as they arrived. Blaise seemed unconcerned, and put his bracelet back on. They were in a large bathroom, suspiciously close to the toilet.

Harry raised a brow, but Blaise offered no explanation. He put his wand away. Blaise pulled his hairpins free, his long platinum blonde hair falling free to his hips. He shook it out, tugged at it as if wanting to chop it off, and stalked ovo tho the corner. Lifting the pin, he stabbed it mercilessly into a button camera. The second pin went into a second camera.

Then he bent over the bath and turned it on loudly. The mirror fogged up, and the paintings on the wall complained. Blaise turned to the group. “You have thirty minutes. I’ll take you down into the dungeons and then show you the way out. You then put me under Crucio as you leave. I’ll delay screaming long enough to let you get away, then when Draco comes and casts Finite, I’ll lie and claim I was forced.”
Harry wondered if Blanche and Blaise hadn’t worked together to buy the thirty minutes.
Blaise turned to Ron. “You. Bruise me.” He offered his arm.
Ron stepped back. “No.”
“Do you really want me dead, Weasley?”
Ron reached out and grabbed his arm roughly. Blaise laid his own hand overtop and squeezed with surprising strength, stomaching the pain well. He jerked around a minute, then pushed Ron away. Ron let go.

“Let’s go.” He said.
From the bathroom it was a good distance down a flight of evil-looking stairs to the dungeon level that Ron recognized. Blaise let them in, as before, and unlocked the cell. “You may have to help Black.” He told them. Harry entered.

The cell was small, cramped and filthy. Sirius was emaciated, looking like a skeleton with his hollow cheeks and pale skin. Harryped ped him up, noting that his eyes were placid as if he had lost touch with reality. Remus was no better, but he was able to stand at the very least.

Blaise had led them along at a fast pace before, but Harry noticed him slowing down. Concerned, he glanced at Ron, carrying Sirius. Ron didn’t appear to have notice their guide’s flagging. Snape, however, caught his eye and then glanced back at Blaise. Remus stumbled along, leaning on the dank walls. Suddenly Blaise stopped and leaned against the wall. He was pale, and sweat beaded on his brow. “Blaise?” Harry asked. “Are you alright?”

Just then Blaise’s knees buckled, and he would have fallen, but caught himself an stood carefully. Harry saw him reach for the bracelet, but let it go again. He opened his mouth to reply, but it was Snape who spoke. “Blaise Alexander Zabini Malfoy” Snape put extra emphasis on Malfoy, with a sneer, “suffers from anemia, and being in the first trimester of prncy ncy has been known to make even the hardiest of individuals swoon.” Anemia, a low count of red blood cells that deliver oxygen to the muscles resulting in fatigue and heart problems, Harry’s brain offered definition; and pregnancy…Blaise was pregnant? Now the Portkey to the toilet made sense.

Harry looked at the blonde, who was still leaning against the wall, pale face rising from his hair like a phantom, sucking in air and glaring at Snape. “What, having one of Malfoy’s kids wasn’t enough for you, Blaise?” Ron snapped. “Do you like having his babies in you, eh? His cock just not enough sometimes?”

“Better than your pathetic five inches, needledick.” Blaise said, standing up.

Ron huffed and stalked off. Snape followed. Blaise then turned to Harry, face unreadable as ever. “What is it about me that makes me so difficult to relate to, Potter?”
“You’re one of those unfathomable beauties. You can’t quite be touched, and that discourages most people.” Harry answered honestly.
“And then some people are like Draco, and they have to control what they can’t own. Tell me, Potter-”
“Harry.”
“Harry, then. Do I discourage you?”
“Quite the contrary, Blaise. You attract and fascinate me endlessly.”
“Pity you’re not a fucking bastard like Lucius and Draco and Narcissa and Pansy and Pansy’s bitch daughter too, Harry.”
“Why?” Blaise began walking again, and Harry stayed with him, now holding up Sirius. Remus tagged along.
“It’d be much easier to kick you out on your ass with a scathing retort if you were.”
Remus chuckled and Blaise favored him with a small smile.

Harry realized that this was as close to a compliment as he likely would ever get from Blaise Malfoy.

Ron and Snape were just ahead, talking, when they appeared around the corner. “Snape, I really haven’t the time to fight with your synapseless boyfriend right now, so if you’ll kindly leash and gag him, I’ll save your lives.”
Snape scowled, but wisely did silence Ron’s retort by laying a hand over Ron’s mouth.

Blaise went on. In a darker, narrower corridor, Blaise tried the handle on a door. It appeared to be stuck, so he leaned on one foot and let the door have it, kicking it in. The hinges gave before the door’s wood, but just barely. Blaise walked over it into the room. “This was once the original part of the house. It was built with knowledge of magical currents and power, as well as muggle Feng Shui. This used to be the atrium and arbory at the core of the house, and still is. As you can tell by the musty smell, no one goes down here anymore.” He announced wryly. He pointed to a dry lily pond. “If you stand in there and cast Apparato, you can get out through the drain. It leads off the property, so you can’t be tracked. If I lay over there,” He pointed at a corner garden “I won’t hurt myself too badly flailing under Crucio.”

Harry spoke up. “But your baby-”
“The baby is Draco’s. I fathered it, because he was too stupid to be bothered with a preventative charm and I neglected to remind him. It’s my own fault, and I don’t really give a damn about bearing a litter of Malfoys.”
Harry fell silent in shock. Only a cold Slytherin could willingly harm or kill and unborn child, even if it was Malfoy’s. What kind of person was Blaise, to be so callous about murder? He hated himself for noting that Blaise smelled like wintergreen, standing this close.

“The last of you to leave should cast it. I suggest someone go with Black and Lupin, as they can barely stand under their own power.”
And so that was the way they did it. Ron went first, with Remus, then Snape with Sirius.
Harry was the last, and Blaise went and lay down in the flowerbed. Jaw clenched tightly, Harry said, “I don’t think I can do this.”
“Harry, if you don’t do it, I’ll have to.” Blaise said quietly, almost gently.

Harry cast and Apparated without looking back, unable to bear the idea of Blaise in pain, let alone the sight. He didn’t hear Blaise scream. Harry supposed he had a high pain tolerance from having lived with the Malfoys. He realized, as he felt himself jerked away, that he felt pity for Blaise.


A/N: Pere is French for Father.

*****

Four Years Later:

Harry looked up as the dungeon door clanged open. He couldn’t see much pahe bhe bars of his cell in the dark, but he could hear the guards and the new person talking. He hoped it wasn’t Draco. He hadn’t seen that bastard since Voldemort had stuffed him in here last night, and then he had been under one of the leering masks. Funny, how he wound up in the same cell his godfather and Remus had shared.

Funny, how he wondered every time a Death Eater was reported killed he wondered if it was Draco, or Blaise. Harry couldn’t do anything but hope Blaise hadn’t died or been given to Voldemort all these years since he’d last seen him.

At school, he hadn’t known Blaise. Now, after the events four years before, he still didn’t know him. He didn’t know whether he was in love or obsessed with a man who’d never been much more than polite to him. And why was he thinking about Blaise when he was sitting in this place, waiting for Voldemort to come at dawn and torture him to death?

Yesterday, he had been captured in battle, and today foundselfself waiting to die. He hadn’t been given anything to eat or drink, not that he would have eaten or drunk anyway. Mostly he had sat on the floor, living in the memories the damp smell brought back.

“Do you have permission?” One of the gaurds asked the new arrival.
“Je n\'ai pas la permission pour voir le prisioner.” Replied a strikingly familiar voice.
“Speak English, you dumbass!” The other said.
“Why should I let you in?” The other asked with a definite leer to his tone.
“J\'ai snuck hors à fuck lui déchiqueté. Mon mari ne sait pas que je suis ici. Le me permettre de voit, ou je couperai de votre coq.”
“Fuck it Sam, maybe he doesn’t speak any English. Let him in.”
“Alright, but only for a little while.”

The gaurds appeared, Blaise with them. Harry fought his urge to look up. They let him in, then went back tord trd the door.
“Fucking bâtards.” Commented Blaise.
“Imperio. Sleep.” He cast on them, then knelt beside Harry.
“Harry-” he began.
“Blaise! What are you doiere?ere? Come to save me again?” He hugged the slighter man.
Reluctantly, Blaise peeled him off. “No, mon ami, I cannot save you. He will kill you, and I cannot stop it.” He breathed in suddenly, as if in pain.
“Blaise,” Harry started, then saw a single tear run down Blaise’s aquiline nose. “Blaise…are you crying? For He He was touched.
Blaise looked him in the eye. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you will die alone, without friends or family, you have no children to remember you; and because I think I love you.”
Harry’s breath caught. “I don’t know you, Blaise…but-” He didn’t know how to finish.
“But something ties you to me, fait accompli.” Blaise took both of his hands. His fingers were cool, rings cold.
“Yes.” Harry replied having understood that bit of Blaise’s French.
“I too, have felt it. And because it is all I can give, I have one last thing for you, the only thing I can spare.” He pulled out his wand and cast Finite Contracepto. Harry’s brows pulled together. Blaise pulled a tiny cot out of his pocket, set it on the floor, and engorged it back to full size.

“Sit, while I explain.” He said, sitting on it.
Harry sat next to him. “Won’t Draco miss you?” He asked.
“Tonight he’s fucking Pansy.” Blaise explained.
Harry nodded. What do you say to that, anyway?

“Draco has been threatening to impregnate me again, because it appears Pansy is barren.” Blaise did not hide his smile. “His father aquired knowledge of a spell to impregnate me directly, instead of just switching hosts for the fetus. I suspected he would use it soon, and cast Contracepto over myself. When he did, I would have simply kept the charm, but you were captured. I have mourned your loss since you left, if that makes any sense. Now that you are here, I see my chance to make amends to you, and to the forces of good, for my appearance of enemity. Harry Potter’s son will be safe in the heart of the enemy, until he is old enough to destroy Voldemort once and for all, I swear it to you.”

Harry blinked, trying to understand what Blaise had said. “You want me to give you a son?”
Blaise nodded, seeming shy.
“Oh, Blaise. What if he finds out and kills you for it?”
“He won’t. I could kill him easier than he could kill me. Harry, please, let me do one good thing with my life.” He begged, taking Harry’s hand again.
“How will your son react?”

“Blanche is nearly old enough to go to school at Hogwarts.”
Harry remembered suddenly that it would only be two years before his grade year’s children would begin arriving at their old school.
“Remember how concerned you were, last time we met, for my baby?”
“Yes.” Harry replied, remembering Blaise’s casual approach to murder of an innocent vividly.

“I had a daughter. I named her Bianca. She’s beautiful.”
“Italian?” Harry said in surprise.
Blaise shrugged. “Harry?” He asked for the answer to his question.
“Let me think for a moment, Blaise.” Harry held his hand gently.

Harry was silent so long that Blaise reached out, cupped his chin, and kissed him tenderly. When he pulled back, it was with the question in his eyes again.
“Yes.” Harry whispered, for the first time feeling sorrowed that he was going to die.
Blaise kissed him again, and Harry let his hands roam. Blaise was small and frail seeming, but when he pushed Harry over and laid him on his back, Harry could feel the compact strength of him.

His hands went to the buttons on Blaise’s robes, even as Blaise went for his. His fingers were more skilled than Harry’s, and by the time Harry had removed Blaise’s dress, he was naked. Blaise wore small lace panties Harry could see his cock through, hardness cupped by clean black silk. A small spot of dampness pulsed even as he watched. Harry rea for for it, to hold and to touch. Blaise cried out and leaned back, his seatbones pressing Harry’s member, arousing him nearly unbearably with the silk.

Harry stroked it, played with it some. He’d only ever had sex with women, and was going on personal experience here. Blaise batted him away a moment after he started squeezing it with his palm through the fabric. Harry realized that Blaise had done it because he’d nearly come, and the revelation dawned on him with a little awe and shock at himself. Blaise pulled a small jar of oil out of a hidden pocket in his discarded dress.

He laid down alongside Harry and brought his head to his nipples. Harry cried out at the first flick of warm tongue, then fell silent, his hand stroking Blai smo smooth skin. Blaise worked him up, sliding down his belly and tongue-fucking his navel, leaving damp trails all over Harry’s broad chest. When Harry found and began sliding off Blaise’s dampened panties, Blaise stilled and moaned against his neck. It felt odd, Harry reflected after he tossed them onto the floor, to have another man’s leaking cock pressed against your leg.

He kissed Blaise again, not really for much reason other than Blaise was a good kisser, he tasted nice, and he wanted to. Blaise seemed to appreciate it when Harry’s hands found his nipples, and moaned. Then he pulled away, and before Harry could think to slow him or stop him, he was watchins cos cock disappear between Blaise’s lips. “Oh god, oh god!” He breathed. Blaise’s skillful mouth continued for a moment more, then he drew off, licked a few escaping drops from the head, and began spreading warmed oil on him.

He then crawled up and lay beside Harry, who rolled over atop him. Blaise handed him the little bottf oif oil. Harry tentativelychedched down and stroked it onto Blaise’s cock, his testicles, and finailly to the small opening. It seemed too small to take anything, let alone a cock but, Harry reasoned, Blaise had borne two of Malfoy’s spawn through there, as he didn’t have any scars on his belly. With a lot of oil and twice as much courage, Harry lay atop Blaise, who welcomed him with open arms as he pressed inside.

He sunk into wet, grasping hot velvet to the root and groaned at the blissful sensation. Blaise also groaned, and ground against his belly, inner muscles clamping as he did. “Shouldn’t I low?low?” Harry asked.
Blaise shook his head, and began to writhe under him.
Harrry started with a deep fast pace, but soon lost himself in it and drove in hard short bursts as he spent. Blaise’s knuckles brushed his belly in rapid short strokes, until fluid spurted between them. Harry saw brilliant white light, soft cream, glowing gold. He saw himself in an open house on the shore. He heard Blaise singing in French to thier babies. He saw himself waking up to Blaise\'s smile every morning, Blaise forever at his side in a future that never could be, a past that never was, a present that was fading away, leaving him heartbroken as orgasm ended.

They lay tucked tightly, Blaise’s legs pressed to his buttocks to keep Harry inside him. “Now I know I love you.” Blaise teased, but Harry knew he was serious. Harry leaned up and kissed him to show that, he too, felt the same way. “Did you see it?” He asked.
Blaise nodded, eyes tranquil. “The home of all my dreams.”

Harry held him tighter’d b’d been wrong, four years ago. Blaise smelled like vanilla and wintergreen; ever young, peaceful, welcoming, and coldly bitter like winter. He licked Blaise’s neck on a whim. Blaise tasted faintly of the sea, honestly salty and generous. He kissed him there, on the lick, and fell asleep.

He woke not long after. Blaise was also awake. Harry wondered that they weren’t hard yet, but being twenty-five years old, their libidos would be tamer than they were as teens. Blaise stroked his hair. “Tell me something about yourself.” He suggested.
Harry sat up on his elbows. “I live with my godfather and his boyfrien hav haven’t had a girlfriend in eight years. What do you want to know, Blaise?”
Blaise sighed. “We’re so very different, my love, you and I. But I think we’ll both miss the forever we would have had together.” Harry didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t reply. After a while, he fell asleep again.

When he woke, it was to Blaise stirring. For the first and the last time, he was waking up to the one he loved. Harry laid a hand on Blaise’s belly, wished he could see his son grow up. “What will you name him?” he asked.
“Luke Harris Potter.” Blaise said impetously.
Harry raised a brow at him.
“Lucian Malfoy.” Blaise said.
“Lucian? Latin for lightened?” He smiled. It was a rather good name.
“He’ll be Luke, though. I may get away with saying I named him after Lucius, but I’ll be damned if he a are are both reminded of that man every time I say his name.”
Harry laughed aloud at Blaise’s angry glare, which softened as he watched Harry laugh.

“Time to get up and get dressed, Harry. They’ll be here very soon.” He said, rising.
Harry felt a little sad at the thought of his upcoming death, but not nearly as much as he would have. Blaise made things easier to bear.
He got up and dressed. Blaise did likewise, shrinking the cot and tucking it back into his pocket. He turned to Harry. “I can’t help you with any charm against pain, nor can I be merciful. A potion might also be detected.” Blaise caught his hands. “I’m sorry Harry.”
Harry leaned forward and kissed him. “It’s alright. I’m not afraid to die, Blaise.”
“Yet.” Blaise said softy, and kissed him again.

“Will you be there?” Harry asked. He could bear it if Blaise were there.
“You’re trying to break my heart, aren’t you, Harry?” Blaise said sadly, meeting his eyes.
Harry was about to cancel his request when Blaise laid long, thin fingers over his lips.
“Yes. I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be.”
Suddenly feeling that he might cry, Harry embraced Blaise and kissed him again.
The dungeon door clanged open.
“Go, Blaise!” Harry said.
Blaise kissed him again, touched his face, and pulled his wand. “Finite Incantatum!” He hissed at the gaurds, who remained asleep despite the spell’s end. Footsteps started down the corridor to Harry’s cell. He turned, kissed Harry one last time, and activated his Portkey bracelet. Harry was waiting for the Death Eaters when they opened his cell.

A/N: More French.

Je n\'ai pas la permission pour voir le prisioner. = I do not have permission to see the prisioner.

J\'ai snuck hors à fuck lui déchiqueté. Mon mari ne sait pas que je suis ici. Le me permettre de voit, ou je couperai de votre coq. = I have snuck in to fuck him ragged. My husband does not know I am here. Let me in, or I will chop off your cock.

Fucking bâtards. = Fucking bastards.

Fait accompli = a thing irrevocably done.


*****

Epilouge:

Dearest Harry,

I miss you so. I find I ct het help but to remember you when I look at our son. Perhaps I’ve grown melodramatic in my old age. I sometimes imagine what you would say to things, like just now, you would have told me that thirty-six isn’t old.

When Luke was five, he used Voldemort’s wand against him while he was in a meeting with Draco over Lucius’s accidental death. Truth is, Harry, you would be horrified like any good Gryffindor over the true nature of Lucius’s death. I got sick of him assaulting and harassing me in the hallways, so I agreed to sleep with him. As soon as he got his pants off I stuck his own wand up his arse and said Avada Kadavra. This will be one of those carefully-concealed family secrets, I can see already.

I speak more French than English these days, as my children all know it, so I find it hard to write in English as I’ve forgotten a lot of it. Blanche is twenty this year, and Bianca fifteen. I worry about her. She was sorted into Gryffindor, but gets along with her brothers at home. She has my sense of humor, as I like to call her penchant for sly violence. Luke looks like you. He went to Hogwarts this summer for the first time. He’s a Gryffindor, no surprise. Why is it all my children you have known before they were born become Gryffindors? I’ll have you know, I raised two proper Slytherins.

Yes, Posey stayed with me. Pansy and Narcissa were having an affair, no surprise, and when Lucius died a messy death and Voldemort was wiped off the planet, they took it as their cue to Apparate off, leaving Posey behind. She was thirteen then, and my Blanche had just turned fourteen. Needless to say, her teen years were hell. Even Bianca cannot compare. Just so you know, I don’t let them cnue nue the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin war here. It amuses them when I say: “I have a wand. I have used it. Do not make me do it again.”

Draco…well, he’s still around. I think I’ve come to terms with him.
You see, when Luilleilled Voldemort, Draco was wounded. How Luke got off unharmed is inexplicable but for the reason that he is your son. For a while, everyone thought Draco would be unable to move anything from his chest down. I went and talked to him, and he decided to let me help him. With Pansy and his mother fluttering about as the alternative, he was quite willing.

I taugim tim to walk again, helped him do everything from bodily needs to eating to writing, and spent countless hours talking with him and reading to him. We became quite close, and although sometimes he can’t get out of bed, he does quite well and has been nice to me ever since I killed his father. I suppose I’m finally getting some respect.
But you know, all this wouldn’t be the same with or without you, Harry. I don’t know if you made it possible for life to get better, but you certainly didn’t make it any worse. I think I’ll always remember you screaming in death, remember how you smelled when we lay entwined after making love. I’ve come to the conclusion that I did love you, and I just didn’t know it yet. I’ve also found that I could never love anyone but you.

I’m going to burn this letter, because my mother taught me that words have power, and if you want something to reach someone dead you have to kill the paper and ink the same way they were, so that only the essence shines through. Maybe it’ll reach you, maybe it won’t. I’m not so sure I believe my mother. She did believe in casting stones to remove warts say saying rhymes to find marbles.

- Blaise Alexander Malfoy

*****

The End