"So you slept together last night," Hermione mused, casually leaning against the counter and giving Harry a knowing look.
"Are you going to buy those books?" Harry reached out for the three that Hermione held in her hands.
"Oh, don't be so prissy, Harry. Just tell me what happened."
"I already did!"
"You didn't tell me you slept together!"
"Well, how else was I going to keep touching him so he wouldn't be in pain?" Harry asked, exasperated.
Hermione sighed. "Okay. Well, it didn't look as though Draco was very happy at having to stick close to you."
"Do you blame him?" Harry asked. "He's basically had his autonomy taken away from him."
"I'm sure it won't last long," Hermione handed over the books so Harry could ring them up.
"So are you and Ron back together?" Harry asked, desperate to change the subject.
"God, no!" Hermione said. "In fact, he's interested in Luna."
"Really?" Harry asked. "And that doesn't bother you?"
Hermione shook her head. "We're just friends, Harry."
"With benefits, evidently." Harry reminded her.
"Yeah, well, that probably shouldn't have happened. We had a long talk after you left and agreed on that."
"And he likes Luna?"
"He says Luna makes him feel special." Hermione leaned both elbows on the counter. "If you think about it, it makes perfect sense. She gives him her undivided attention, and she isn't always correcting him the way I am. She kind of…worships him. And Ron likes that. I guess all men like that."
"I don't," Harry said emphatically, counting the money she handed him.
"Well, you're the exception because you've been worshipped enough," Hermione replied. "And Ron's been in your shadow the entire time—not that that's your fault, of course." She shakes her head. "I'm just not the worshipful type, Harry, and Ron needs it."
"I can see that," Harry nodded. "What do you need, Hermione?" He asked, looking at his friend as he handed her the bag of books.
"I really don't know yet," Hermione replied, but Harry thought he saw something flicker behind her eyes. "Why don't you and Draco come over for dinner this weekend? Maybe I'll have Ron and Luna over too."
Harry thought about this. He couldn't manage to think of himself and Draco as a couple, even though that's technically what they were. Still, what were they going to do at home together? Stare at one another?
"Sure, that sounds nice."
Hermione grinned. "I'll let you know the details later."
The rest of the afternoon was busy, and when time came to close the shop, Harry spent an hour or more going over his books before leaving. Something about the thought of going home to Draco rankled Harry, so he stopped at his favourite pub and had a couple of pints even though he wasn't really feeling it. He couldn't seem to get comfortable or enjoy the conversation of others around him.
By the time he arrived home, it was well past dark.
When Kreacher took Harry's coat, he gave Harry a disapproving look.
"What?" Harry asked. "I stopped for a few pints."
"Mr Malfoy-Potter is…"
"Wait, what?" Harry stopped the elf mid-sentence. "Why are you calling him Malfoy-Potter?"
"You is married, isn't you, Mr Potter?" Kreacher sniffed.
"Yes, but we hadn't decided on joining our names…and you didn't call him that yesterday."
"The bond isn't allowing me to be doing otherwise today," Kreacher explained. "Every time Kreacher does, it gives Mr Malfoy-Potter pain."
"You're kidding," Harry breathed. What kind of vile, torturous bond did Lucius Malfoy choose?
"Kreacher assures you he is not." If possible, Kreacher's dour face became more dour. "And what Kreacher be trying to explain to Mr Potter is that it being dark, Mr Malfoy-Potter be in a great deal of agony from the bond."
Harry was immediately hit with a wave of guilt. He hadn't considered that it might happen again tonight.
"Where is Mr…where is Draco?"
"He be in the study, sir."
"Bring my dinner in there, will you? Has M-Draco eaten?"
"He would not," Kreacher said with a bow before disappearing with a crack.
Muttering under his breath, Harry hurried to the study. The door was partially open, and when Harry pushed it wide, he was alarmed at how pale Draco looked curled up on the sofa by the fire.
"Hey," he said, moving forward.
Draco moaned, tucking his face into the velvet pillow.
"I'm sorry," Harry said softly. "I didn't think this would happen again. Here, let me— hold you."
The words sounded ridiculous when talking to his former enemy, yet Harry had held him last night and it hadn't felt so odd. Sitting down, he pulled Draco into his arms.
"Malfoy, you're trembling," Harry automatically fell into old habit in addressing Draco.
Malfoy doubled over. "Don't…"
"What?" Harry asked, perplexed.
"I-I think the bond doesn't want you to call me by my last name," Malfoy said tightly.
"It hurts when I call you Malfoy?" Harry asked, and Malfoy doubled up again with a groan.
"Please, would you just…you don't know how much that hurts!"
"Sorry, sorry. Okay…Draco. I'll call you Draco, and you call me Harry. All right?"
Draco nodded.
"I suppose that's only right anyway; we are married," Harry mused, leaning back. Suddenly realising he was combing his fingers through the soft strands of Draco's hair, Harry stilled his hand. "Kreacher's bringing us dinner in here."
"I can't eat," Draco's breath felt warm on Harry's neck.
"But you need to."
There was a crack and Kreacher appeared with a tray of cold cuts and fruit.
"Put it there on the table," Harry directed. When the elf had gone again, he said, "Try to eat a little, Ma-Draco." It was amazing how different Draco was when he was like this—The way he curled into Harry, seeking his touch, brought out all kinds of odd feelings in Harry that he wasn't sure what to do with. Harry felt responsible for Draco, and curiously protective.
Harry finally coaxed Draco into taking a few bites of food before Draco moaned and turned away, leaving Harry to finish the rest.
"Hermione really thought it was a wedding night thing," he said after a few moments of silence where he held Malfoy's unresisting body close to his. "Look, I'm sorry about this…I didn't know your father was going to pick a bond that would make things so difficult for you. Did you speak to him today?"
It took a moment for Malfoy to reply. "He and Mother have gone on holiday."
Harry couldn't believe it. Lucius Malfoy had left, taking the information they needed with him.
"Okay, well, tomorrow before I go in to work, the two of us will go to the Manor and get your potions, all right?" Harry said calmly, although he felt anything but calm at the moment. Having Malfoy—Draco—pressed against him kept his heart rate doubled, and being unable to put some distance between them so Harry could thinkwithout being distracted made him feel helpless.
Draco nodded against Harry's shoulder.
That night was similar to the night before, with the two hurrying to get into bed so Draco would not be in pain; only the pain seemed to be more intense than it had been the night previous, and Draco had to hold onto Harry's arm while he stripped his clothes off so as to keep some of the agony at bay.
Each time one failed to address the other by his first name, the pain that Draco suffered for it was subsequently worse; so both men quickly learned to get it right. Since Draco seemed to require more skin-on-skin contact than he had the night before in order to feel relief, Harry decided it would be better for them to both sleep shirtless.
It seemed to help, and by morning Draco reported all pain had vanished as though it had never been.
Draco seemed tetchy and a little pale, but when Harry mentioned it, Draco just huffed and asked what he expected after a night of waking up every time Harry rolled away from him.
"I didn't mean to roll away," Harry defended.
"I know," Draco sighed. "Are we still going to get my potions from the Manor?"
"Of course."
It took them all morning to go through what Draco wanted to take and shrink it all down to travelling size. Draco spent some time looking for the huge book his father had used to perform the bonding ceremony, but to no avail. When they returned to Harry's house, Draco told him about the room in the basement he thought he'd use to brew his potions.
"That's fine with me," Harry agreed. He didn't use half the rooms the old house contained. "Now, I'd better be getting to the shop."
It was a slow day in Diagon Alley, and Harry spent it cleaning up and shelving new books. Hermione popped in around three to see how the previous night had gone. After Harry described it to her, she frowned in thought.
"It's not so surprising that Draco was in pain again and required your touch—that will probably go on for a honeymoon period. A week or two, tops. But I didn't expect the thing with the names—-that's something new added. I hate to think you'll have something new every day. Are you experiencing any pain at all, Harry, or is it just Draco?"
"I haven't been in pain, no," Harry answered.
"Well, has anything been any different for you?"
Harry thought about it. "I think…sometimes it seems I can sort of feel Draco's emotions. I'm still not sure about it. I just seem to sense things." He shrugged. "I could be imagining it."
"You're probably not," Hermione said. "The more time you spend together, the stronger the bond gets. That insures a successful relationship."
Harry couldn't imagine that happening. The most he imagined was that he and Draco would have a cordial acquaintance, although upon introspection, he could see how being forced to share a bed had made things a bit more intimate for them. It was difficult to hold a person at arm's length, so to speak, when you spent every night pressed against him from head to toe.
"What are you thinking about?" Hermione asked, intuitive as always.
"Nothing, really," Harry lied and smiled at the next customer that entered the shop, effectively ending their conversation.
That evening, Harry went home immediately after closing. It wasn't dark yet, and he didn't want to risk Draco having to spend any time in mortal pain.
When he entered the house, a strange scent hung in the air. Harry thought it might be a mixture of pot roast and…calming draught.
"Draco?" he called, hanging up his coat next to the covered portrait of Walburga Black.
Draco appeared at the top of the stairs leading down to the basement.
"Is that calming draught I smell, or has Kreacher invented a new sauce for the pot roast?" Harry asked teasingly.
Draco looked impressed. "Good nose. It is calming draught. I wondered if it might help—you know, tonight."
"Hermione seems to think this will only last for a 'honeymoon' period," Harry told him, pushing his hands into his pockets. "She also wondered if we'll experience something new today like we did yesterday with the names."
"She also thought it would only last for the wedding night," Draco pointed out wryly. "I haven't noticed anything new today." He put the small bottle he was holding on the table. "I'm tired, but that's from interrupted sleep."
"You're pale," Harry noted.
"I'm always pale," Draco replied sharply.
"Well then, paler than usual," Harry said stubbornly, and Draco glared at him.
Draco didn't eat much dinner, and as darkness fell, Harry could see the lines of pain appearing on his face.
"Come here," he said, opening his arms. "No need to suffer through it."
"I'm going to try the draught first," Draco said tightly, and got up to fetch the bottle.
"How do you feel?" Harry asked ten minutes later as they sat on the sofa. Harry had been pretending to read his book while surreptitiously watching Draco from behind it.
"Like I'm calmly in pain," Draco answered through his teeth and gratefully moved into Harry's embrace. "This is so fucking weird." He wrapped his legs around Harry to get closer and sighed. "Merlin, would you take off your shirt?" He yanked his own over his head.
Harry obliged. That night they slept in their underwear. The fact that it was frigid out made being plastered together rather cozy, Harry thought. For the first time, he thought he could get used to holding Draco in his arms.
The following day, Draco not only looked pale, but he seemed disoriented.
"Draco, maybe I should take you to St Mungo's." Harry watched with concern as Draco tried to remember the simple spell to levitate his dish.
"What?"
"The hospital. You don't seem well." Draco had tossed and turned a lot in the night, but Harry intuitively knew this was more than loss of sleep.
Kreacher placed a plate of toast on the table.
"It be the bond," he said. "Nothing St Mungo's can be doing about it, Mr Potter."
"What do you mean, Kreacher? Why do you think it's the bond?"
"Some bonds be punishing if something's lacking in the marriage. Just like Mr Malfoy-Potter has pain that be forcing him to touch Mr Potter and for Mr Potter to speak to him using his first name, it be making him sick for another reason."
"What reason?" Harry asked, glancing at Draco, who had wilted in his chair and fallen asleep at the table.
"Kreacher not be knowing everything, Mr Potter," the grumpy house-elf muttered before Disapparating with a loud crack.
Harry helped Draco to bed and tucked him in, then stood for long moments regarding him before fire calling his assistant in the shop and asking him to cover for him, and then contacting Hermione to tell her what was going on.
"He's pale, tired, and restless," Harry told her. "And he's barely eating."
"I suppose he could have a stomach virus of sorts," Hermione offered.
"No," Harry said. "I think Kreacher's right; something else is making Draco sick, and it's probably the bond. It wants something from us."
"It wants you to properly bond," Hermione told him. "Everything so far has had to do with the two of you accepting the bond and acting like a married couple: calling each other by your first names, Draco taking your last name, the two of you sleeping in the same bed. So what is it that married people do that the two of you aren't doing?"
"Hell, Hermione," Harry barked, "lots of things—because we don't feel married. We're two people that used to hate one another now forced into a bond." Harry's wrists tingled where the invisible magic bound him.
"So maybe it wants you to get to know one another better. Communicate," Hermione suggested. "Try that. I have to go, Harry. Someone's at the door." She disappeared from the flames.
Harry sighed. He supposed it couldn't hurt. He spent a little time tidying up the house—at least the rooms he used. He hadn't done much with it since he moved in, but he was proud to own it. It was something that was all his—a real home—and that meant a lot.
Draco had certainly been vocal about not wanting to live there, and Harry wondered why that was. It had belonged to his great-aunt at one time; why wouldn't Draco be comfortable there? Perhaps that was something Harry could start with in order to learn more about Draco.
Draco didn't stir from the bed until past seven o'clock. Harry looked up from the book he'd been attempting to read when Draco walked listlessly into the parlour. It seemed Harry was becoming more and more in tune with Draco, and it was almost impossible to concentrate on anything when Draco was suffering. When Draco entered the room and sank into a chair, wincing a little, every nerve in Harry's body went on alert. Draco didn't look as though he'd benefited at all from the rest, and Harry suddenly just wanted to make it all better.
"Merlin, Harry, are these the same chairs that were here twenty years ago?" Draco asked peevishly. "They have lumps!"
"I suppose they are," Harry answered, noting the dark shadows under Draco's eyes. "I haven't changed them."
"Well, don't you think it's about time that you do? And you can't possibly enjoy sitting on that horse hair sofa—it's itchy as hell!"
Harry had to admit that it was. He put his book down, an idea coming to him.
"Would you like to redecorate the house, Draco?" he asked.
Draco looked taken aback.
"Me?"
Harry nodded. "I certainly have no gift for it, and I imagine that you do." He wasn't sure where this was coming from, except that it seemed a good idea, and it might make Draco happy. Harry could feel his own heart easing at Draco's obvious interest.
"You'd really entrust me with that?" Draco asked, his usually guarded expression momentarily open.
"Sure."
Draco appeared to be thinking for a moment. "Yes," he finally answered. "I believe I would enjoy that."
"Fine, then. I'll give you access to my account at Gringotts."
Draco looked as though he didn't know what to say to that and sat for a long time staring into the fire.
Harry cleared his throat, fidgeting with the edge of his shirt, determined to engage Draco in conversation about himself. "Did you used to spend a lot of time here when you were young?"
Draco's eyes darted to Harry and then back to the fire. "Why do you ask that?"
Harry shrugged. "I just wondered. I know it was your great-aunt Walburga Black's house."
"She died when I was five," Draco stated. "but yes, I spent some time here before that."
"And you didn't like it," Harry prompted.
"What makes you say that?"
"Because you didn't want to live here," Harry answered.
"It's awful," Draco wrinkled up his nose and Harry saw the suppressed shudder.
"I think it has character," Harry said. "I like it because it's the only home I've ever known that's really mine."
Draco looked at him curiously. "What about where you lived growing up?"
"My aunt and uncle didn't want me," Harry said. "They made it very clear that I wasn't welcome in their home."
Draco frowned but didn't reply. He continued looking into the fire.
Outside the window, the sky began to darken, and Harry watched Draco's face for signs of pain. He didn't have to wait long.
It came on so fast, Draco doubled over with it.
Harry went to him, wrapping his arms around him. It was truly terrible seeing another human being in such agony, and it seemed incongruous that a marriage bond would do something like this. Harry couldn't help feeling that it was his fault somehow.
"When will this end?" Draco whimpered, hands scrambling to get beneath Harry's shirt. "It's worse than it's ever been."
Harry drew in a breath at the feel of Draco's fingers inching up his back.
"I've got to touch your skin," Draco told him apologetically, pressing his face into Harry's neck. "It's the only thing that helps—now more than ever."
Resigned, Harry pulled off Draco's shirt and then unbuttoned his own, pressing their bare chests together. As Harry had noted before, Draco's was almost hairless, nipples a pale pink, abdominal muscles toned and chest broad. Harry knelt in the open V of his legs where Draco sat on the chair and held him, feeling Draco's sigh of relief.
Harry had to admit it felt good. Draco body was firm and his hair smelled wonderful, and those little noises he made when he burrowed close to Harry were very endearing.
"Lie down," Draco instructed tightly after a moment. "On the rug."
More than willing to help, Harry moved back and spread out flat in front of the fire. Draco immediately fell on top of him, pressing their bodies together.
"Merlin, can we just…can we just get naked?" Draco asked, obviously frustrated.
Harry stilled, unsure. He wanted to help Draco, of course he did, but rub up against him naked?
"Potter…oof!" Draco curled in on himself. "I mean, Harry! Oh, gods, please!"
"Okay, okay," Harry sat up. "But let's take this to the bedroom, yeah?" He clutched Draco and managed to Apparate them to the middle of his bed.
Harry began undoing his zipper, pushing his jeans and pants off before helping Draco to get rid of his own trousers and undershorts.
"Here, maybe…" Draco moved so that Harry could spoon him from behind, obviously trying to make Harry more comfortable with what they were doing by not pressing them together front to front. As soon as Harry's body connected with Draco's, Draco let out a long, heart-felt sigh of relief.
"Yesss…so good."
Harry lay very still. Draco's skin was warm and his arse perfectly shaped as it pushed right against Harry's groin, and Harry could feel himself getting hard. He didn't know what that meant—if it was just a normal bodily reaction to another naked person, or…
"Harry," Draco said after a moment of settling down. "Are you sure you're straight?"
Maybe that answered Harry's question.
Harry's cock was as hard as he'd ever seen it and pressed eagerly into the cleft of Draco's pretty, pale arse. He squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment and didn't answer. He could feel Draco's erection where Harry's hands rested on Draco's flat stomach.
"Listen, it's okay," Draco said after a moment, voice soft and so unDraco. "Lots of men like both."
"Really?" Harry asked after a moment, eyes slowly opening to look at the back of Draco's head. He suddenly very much wanted to taste the soft skin at the nape of Draco's neck. He moved a little closer.
"Sure," Draco said, breath catching when Harry's nose touched him.
Without meaning to, Harry found his hips canting inward. In for a sickle, in for a Galleon, he began planting soft kisses on Draco's shoulders and nape. The tremble that ran through Draco's body made Harry pull him closer.
"Yes, so good," Draco murmured, "feels so good, Harry."
It wasn't so odd after that to take Draco's erect cock in his hand—it was soft and steely hard, not so different from Harry's own. Harry stroked it, liking the sounds that came from Draco's throat when he did. Draco pushed his body back into Harry's, and Harry's hard cock nestled itself between Draco's cheeks as though of its own accord. Thrusting, Harry moaned into Draco's neck.
Harry twisted his wrist, running his thumb over the head of Draco's cock, and Draco cried out pushing back against Harry again, tightening his arse cheeks around Harry's erection, bringing a moan from Harry's lips.
They continued on this way, spiraling upward together, lost in sensation, until Harry gasped, pulling back and spurting his release all over Draco's arse. As soon as he was able, Harry dipped his hand in it and used it to finish getting Draco off, watching the reaction on Draco's face with wonderment as he did so.
They lay exhausted together, Harry's head resting on Draco's chest, and fell asleep without even the energy to spell the mess away.
Harry awoke sometime before morning. It was still dark, but Draco rested easy. They'd pushed the sheet down to the bottom of the bed, and Harry ran his eyes down Draco's naked form, admiring the long, pale legs and handsome feet. He had to admit, Draco's cock wasn't bad to look at, either. It was long, thick, and uncut, and lay against Draco's thigh, a nest of blond curls at its base. His nuts were large and Harry had the sudden urge to feel their weight against his tongue.
Where the fuck is this coming from?
Harry moved away from Draco onto his own pillow.
Draco didn't waken, and Harry sighed with relief. Staring at the ceiling, he tried to remember what it had been like with Ginny.
She wasn't a voluptuous girl—more boyish than anything, really. And what did that say, that Harry had been attracted to her? He'd never been one to notice big-breasted or big-hipped girls. Ginny's breasts were no more than small mounds that fit in the palms of his hands.
Their sex life had been good.
Pretty good.
Okay.
Harry frowned. He couldn't remember being as satisfied after sex with Ginny as he'd been just rubbing off on Draco.
He glanced over at Draco again.
Draco's hair, so whitish-fair, was unbound and trailed onto the pillow in long, soft tendrils that Harry suddenly wanted to run his fingers through. His facial features were masculine and fine, lips full, lashes gold-tipped. Although Draco's eyes were closed, Harry knew them to be a beautiful grey-silver, and Harry wondered if they'd been that beautiful in school and how he could have been so blind not to have seen it. Or had he seen it, and only lied to himself about the reasons Malfoy captured his attention so fully right from the start?
And now they were married. Bound. Draco was his. It had been unwelcome at first, but now Harry had to wonder. Propping himself on an elbow, he stared down at his husband, so amazingly beautiful in sleep. Could they possibly make this into something real?
Draco woke to the odd sensation of being stared at, although when he opened his eyes, Harry was sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to Draco.
He took a moment to admire the lean muscle of Harry's back. Had the night before been a dream?
Draco remembered the feel of Harry's thick cock sliding on his skin, and Harry's firm fingers working over Draco's erection—he started getting hard again and forced his mind elsewhere.
Harry stood abruptly, and walked across the room to the cupboard, He was admiring Harry's pert arse and when Harry turned, Draco looked away quickly.
"Good morning," Harry said cordially. "How are you feeling?"
Draco took a moment to assess. "Good," he said, relieved not to feel the lethargy of the day before. He stretched leisurely in the warm bed.
"Would you like to go out to breakfast?" Harry asked.
Draco shrugged, sitting up. Realising that he didn't even have a sheet covering him, he reached for it with a blush. "Sure, if you'd like."
They cleaned up, dressed, and walked to a Muggle establishment nearby. The food was passable; Draco could tell Harry really liked it, so he didn't comment on the grease or the lack of real butter. After they ate, Harry took Draco to Gringotts where he made arrangements for Draco to have access to his vault.
"I want you to be able to buy whatever you want and need for the house," he told Draco. "I know you have money of your own for personal items, of course."
Draco nodded. He needed to get in touch with his solicitor soon and get all that ironed out. He thought about what Harry had told him the night before.
"Is there anything in particular you want me to do?" he asked. "Do you want your study a certain way? Or the bedroom?"
"I trust your judgment," Harry said, his words filling Draco with warmth. Draco decided then that he would do his best to please Harry with his choices. And frankly, he couldn't wait to erase all vestiges of Auntie Walburga from the place.
"I probably can't get started on this until we're able to be apart," Draco said ruefully as they walked home from the Leaky Cauldron.
"We'll get some catalogues," Harry replied. "Oh, and I forgot to mention—Hermione invited us to dinner Saturday night. Ron and Luna will be there."
Draco made a face but didn't say anything.
"What?" Harry asked. "Don't tell me you have issues with eating at Hermione's."
"No, it's fine," Draco replied, probably unconvincingly.
"Well, it'd better be. She's one of my best friends," Harry stated.
"I'm aware of that, Potter," Draco sneered, and then immediately doubled up as excruciating pain hit. When he felt Harry's hand on his back, some of the pain eased.
"H-harry," he amended, and was able to stand upright again. "Fuck!"
Harry stroked Draco's back soothingly and then did something surprising. He kissed Draco, right on the mouth.
Draco stiffened, surprised, but then quickly melted into it. Harry's lips were soft, his mouth pliable and warm. They stood on the pavement, Harry's hands on Draco's biceps holding him still, a brisk breeze running past them and pulling Draco's hair from its leather thong, whipping it into their faces.
When Harry pulled back, Draco stared at him with shock.
"What was that for?" he asked.
Harry looked unsure. "Um. I thought if a touch was good, a kiss would be better?"
"Oh," Draco whispered, and they continued walking.
Draco's lips tingled, and he forced himself not to cover them with his fingers. When they arrived home, Harry had to go to work, but before he left, he ordered the catalogues from the shops Draco chose. Draco spent some time chatting with Kreacher, who really wasn't all that bad for a house-elf. He made Draco laugh with some of his stories about Walburga and her eccentricities.
Sometimes Draco would catch the elf looking at him with something akin to pity on his ugly, gnarled face, and Draco got the feeling that Kreacher remembered the days when Draco used to visit and Auntie Walburga would lock small Draco in the cupboard and tell him his parents had been murdered by evil wizards. Lucius had not believed Draco when he'd told him that and had forbidden him to tell such fanciful stories to his mother about her aunt.
Draco didn't want Kreacher's pity, so he went off to the basement to work on potions.
Draco was thankful that Harry arrived home before dark. Kreacher prepared a light dinner, and Harry chatted about his day in the book shop. As dusk approached, Draco's body began to anticipate the coming pain, coiling up in tension. He could feel Harry watching him, waiting.
This night was much like the night before—no increase in pain, but still intense. He and Harry lost no time stripping themselves of clothes and spooning on the bed. However, this time Draco wanted more than just Harry getting off on his back. His body wanted more.
"Harry—-I want you to fuck me," he said, eyes pinned to the wall opposite, embarrassed and inflamed at once.
"What?" Harry's voice cracked. Draco could feel the dark hair on Harry's chest tickling the smooth skin of Draco's back.
"Please…will you?"
When Harry still hesitated and Draco felt the fire begin to burn him in spite of their contact, he spat out, "For Merlin's sake, Harry, I can feel your cock poking a hole in me—it's not like you can't do it! Pretend it's a fucking cunt if you have to! Do you want me to put on a long, red wig?"
He heard Harry growl and then mutter a spell, and Draco gasped at the feel of his entrance being magically coated with something slick and rather cold. Harry positioned his cock and pushed into Draco with one swift, angry lunge, impossibly hard and incredibly large. Draco cried out and clutched the mattress, moving his leg up and back so that it draped over Harry's hip as Harry began to viciously thrust, their surprised cries of pleasure mingling together in the otherwise quiet room.
"Oh, sweet Salazar!" Harry swore, pounding into Draco with abandon.
Draco reached up and grabbed the bedpost, hanging on for dear life. It hurt, but it also felt incredibly good, and Draco knew he'd asked for it. Harry was fucking him within an inch of his life, and Draco wasn't petty enough to deny he loved it by stifling his moans of pleasure.
It went on and on, the bed shaking with the pounding Harry gave him. Draco heard himself grunting with every thrust, felt Harry's hand come round to smooth over the expanse of his chest, thumb brushing a sensitive nipple. It all felt so deliciously brilliant—Draco was going to come untouched for the first time in his life…
"F—U—UCK!"
Harry shivered behind him, caught by Draco's clenching inner muscles, and whimpered before filling Draco. Draco quivered, his monstrous orgasm still running through him.
"H-harry!" he sobbed.
Exhausted, they fell into another messy sleep, Harry's cock still embedded inside Draco; his body draped over his.
The next day, Draco found he couldn't sit without wincing.
"Sorry," Harry said at breakfast
Draco ignored him, unsure of what to say, seeing as how he'd demanded that Harry fuck him like a senseless rag doll. He felt good, actually. Not lethargic at all. The catalogues sat on the counter, and Draco thought he'd spend the day looking through them.
"Harry," he said, sipping his tea, "I'd like to send a letter to my solicitor. Where's your owl?"
"I don't have one," Harry answered, not meeting Draco's eyes.
Draco put his cup down, bewildered. "You don't?"
"I haven't replaced Hedwig. She died—was killed. She was a gift from Hagrid when I started at Hogwarts... I just haven't been able to bring myself to replace her." Through this explanation, Harry never looked up from his plate.
Draco thought about this. "My owl was confiscated by the Ministry. All of our owls were. We were supposed to get them back, but in all the red tape—we didn't. I think something happened to them… they were given away or killed."
"I'm sorry," Harry said, glancing up, green eyes sad.
Draco looked down at his plate. "They weren't really pets to us. Not like yours—-I'm sorry about Hedwig."
Harry nodded, sighed, and got up to go to work.
Draco spent the day working on the parlour, keeping Kreacher busy answering the Floo to receive deliveries. The first thing Draco did was get rid of that awful horsehair sofa that prickled the backs of one's legs if one didn't sit on it just right. He replaced it with a dark burgundy leather sofa with two sections and a dividing table of dark wood. He found some reading lamps in dark burgundies and blues, which he thought would appeal to Harry, and purchased a luxurious rug to match. He replaced the old wooden mantel with a new one made of rich mahogany, and found a gorgeous rendition of the Potter crest to go over it. After brief thought, he Floo-called Tetchy to bring the framed Malfoy crest from the manor and he arranged it beside the Potter crest.
A gorgeous over-large chair and ottoman replaced the raggedy one from before, and a bookcase of dark wood housed Harry's collection of favourite reads, of which there were quite a few. He had to order several volumes in order to create full sets—no need to be plebeian about it.
Exhausted, Draco lounged on the new sofa with a spot of brandy, admiring his work, when the Floo activated and Hermione appeared, asking to step through. When she stood in the parlour, taking in all Draco had done, her mouth fell open.
"This is…brilliant, Malfoy!" she breathed.
Draco winced. It wasn't the all-enveloping pain he got when Harry called him by his last name, but it hurt just the same. "Draco. Please."
"Oh, sorry," Hermione cringed. "Draco. Really, the room is lovely. Did you do all this yourself?"
Draco couldn't help but puff up a bit with pride and nodded. "I've spent all day on it. Do you think Harry will like it?" He couldn't help asking, because he really wanted to please Harry—it must be the bond, he told himself.
"I know he will!" Hermione's smile widened. She continued looking around until her eyes fell on Draco's surprise for Harry in the corner.
"I'm not sure how he'll feel about that," Draco said quickly, "but I'm hoping when he learns the story behind it, he'll be pleased."
Hermione nodded and turned to him, eyes soft.
"The reason I came by is to ask you a favour. I suppose Harry mentioned dinner at my flat tomorrow night?"
When Draco nodded, she continued, her cheeks pinking, "Well, I was wondering if…that is, could you, um…"
"Spit it out, Grang—oof!" He held his aching middle. "Hermione." Would he never learn?
Hermione took a deep breath. "Could you possibly invite your friend Blaise to come?"
Draco stared at her. "You want Blaise Zabini to come to your dinner party?"
Hermione blushed even more deeply. "I'd ask him myself, but I hardly know him."
"Then why do you want him to come?" Draco asked, confused.
Hermione groaned and sat on the leather sofa, taking up the glass of brandy Draco had abandoned and tossing it down in one gulp. "I fancy him, alright?" she sputtered, voice hoarse from the drink. "Now, will you ask him?"
"Sure," Draco agreed, lips quirking.
"Shut up." Hermione stood, nose in the air. "Tell him six o'clock. I'll see you then." She left in a huff.
Draco barely had time to get over that surprise when Harry arrived home.
"Sorry I'm late," Harry said, almost tripping over the new rug as he stepped out of the Floo. "It's almost dark! How do you feel?"
"Hm?" Draco asked. "Oh, fine. Good, actually." Absently, he reached out and combed down Harry's crazy, errant hair with his fingers. Harry looked about the room.
"Merlin's balls!"
Draco found himself suddenly nervous.
"I hope you like it…I can return any of it. I made sure of that."
Harry turned around in a full circle.
"This is…this is…wow."
Draco bit his lip. "But do you approve?"
"Approve? Draco, of course I approve! I can't believe you did all this! I didn't expect it."
Draco's stomach fluttered. "Is it too much?" Why the hell was it so important for Draco to please Harry Potter?
The way Harry's face lit up as he noticed little details made Draco even happier than the Christmas he received his first broomstick. Would this bond never stop tormenting him?
Then Harry's gaze fell in the corner and he walked towards it.
"What's this?"
Draco's stomach twisted. "We can send her back, but I thought…I got her at the Owls' Recovery Outreach for owls that were hurt in the war and rehabilitated. She's a Spectacled Owl, and she…well," he chuckled faintly, blushing, "she reminded me a bit of you. Her name's Lucy."
Harry stared at the owl with the big yellow eyes sitting in the golden cage.
"Hello, Lucy," he said.
Draco couldn't stop talking, it seemed. He'd suddenly and inexplicably turned into his prattling Aunt Estelle. "I just thought we'd need an owl, since neither of us have one, and I thought the biggest part for you not getting a new one was actually going and picking one out—feeling like you were replacing your old one…" Draco, shut up! Draco clamped his mouth shut and watched Harry as he put out a tentative hand and lightly stroked the owl's head.
Lucy let out a series of short, rattling hoots and shook her feathers, tilting her head to the side to allow Harry to pet her more fully. A delighted smile spread over Harry's face, and Draco finally felt himself relaxing.
"She's gorgeous, Draco," Harry whispered after a moment, and then, turning to meet Draco's eyes, "You're gorgeous."
Draco's chest tightened and he shifted nervously from one foot to another, stepping back when Harry would have moved toward him.
"I—I put your books in this bookcase," Draco gestured to the wall, and Harry went to dutifully examine them. Next, Draco showed Harry the crest, saying he hoped it was all right that he hung his own beside it. Harry just smiled with approval, eyes pinned on Draco in a way that made Draco squirm. After Draco insisted on having Harry try out the sofa, Harry took Draco by the hand and led him to their bedroom—when had it become their bedroom and not just Harry's?—carefully removing Draco's clothing piece by piece between kisses to Draco's mouth, jaw, and throat as Draco trembled in his arms.
Naked, Draco gasped as Harry dropped to his knees, still fully-clothed, and took him into his mouth. So far gone was Draco in his pleasure that he barely noted that it had been dark outside for well over an hour without either of them having noticed.
Just as Draco imagined, being at Hermione's was uncomfortable. Ron Weasley was belligerent from the get-go, casting suspicious glances Draco's way and doing his best to start something until Hermione finally told him off.
"If you can't act like an adult, Ronald Weasley, then leave!"
Ron looked as though she'd slapped him. His fair skin turned a shade of red that definitely didn't go with his ginger-coloured hair, and he pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes before retorting, "I can't believe you're taking his side!"
"There's no side to take, Ron!" Hermione shot back. "Draco hasn't said anything! We're not in school anymore, for heaven's sake. Draco is married to your best friend, so get over it!"
"And since when is he Draco?" Ron bellowed. "Last time I checked, the git's always been Malfoy!"
"No, Ron!" Draco heard Harry protest from across the room just as a hot stab of pain shot through Draco's belly, and he winced.
"Ron!" Hermione yelled exasperatedly.
Luna began explaining to Ron about how the marriage bond worked, although how she knew, Draco wasn't sure. Then again, she was a Ravenclaw. Then several things happened at once: the Floo activated; Harry's comforting arm came around Draco's shoulder; Luna gently took Ron's hand and pulled him aside; and Hermione morphed from a screaming banshee into a cool, collected hostess.
Draco's muscles had just stopped twitching when Hermione returned from the living area with Blaise in tow. "Look who's here, everyone!" She called pleasantly as if pandemonium hadn't reigned just moments earlier.
Oddly, dinner was a relatively civilised affair.
Until Ginny Weasley showed up.
"I didn't know you were having a party," Ginny said, looking around at the group at the table in surprise. When her eyes hit Harry, they brightened.
"Harry! I've been trying to get in touch with you!" She grinned. Noticing Draco sitting beside Harry, the smile faded.
"Hello, Ginny" Hermione said, getting up from her seat. "Would you like to join us for dessert?"
"I just came by to return this book, but that pie really does look delicious," Ginny replied, snagging the empty seat on the other side of Harry and scooting closer to him. "I hated the way we left things, Harry. Why haven't you answered my owls?"
Draco's bite of pie stuck in his throat. He really didn't like Ginny sitting beside Harry, and he wondered if the bond worked to give him this awful feeling of jealousy and possessiveness. He'd never felt this way about any of the people he'd dated in the past. He cast a glance Ginny's way to find that she was talking avidly to Harry, who had turned her way.
Draco glanced around the table. Blaise chatted with Hermione, the two of them hitting it off more than a Slytherin and Gryffindor had any right to on a first date; Luna and Ron fed each other pie—a frankly disgusting sight; and Ginny leaned in toward Harry, talking about something broken in her flat, and would he please come have a look at it?
Draco slipped his arm around Harry's waist, anchoring him in case Harry got any ideas about following Ginny to the Floo.
"I'm sure George could fix that for you," he heard Harry say, and Draco couldn't hide his smile.
"George is out of town," Ginny replied. "Harry, are you saying we aren't even friends anymore? I'm sorry for getting so angry last time we talked." She pouted in a way Draco supposed might be considered pretty, if you liked the look of having sucked a lemon.
Draco could feel Harry's guilt washing through him—she'd hit him right where it hurt, and the bitch knew it. And why should Draco care, really, if Harry went to fix something in her flat? Draco shouldn't care. Two weeks ago Harry had been nothing to him, and now it was only the bond that made him burn with desire for the idiot…yearn to hear the sound of his voice…smile at his laughter…ache at his pain.
Shut up, Draco! You sound like a bad romance novel!
A sudden wave of light-headedness swept over him, and Draco clutched Harry more snugly to him.
"Harry, I need you to take me home."
Harry turned and looked at him, eyes concerned. "What's the matter?"
"I'm not feeling well." Draco kept his face stoic. Along with the feeling that his head floated above his shoulders, his stomach suddenly objected to all he'd consumed in the past hour. Hermione's dinner obviously tasted better than it digested.
"Harry…"Ginny whined.
Draco took Harry's hand under the table and squeezed it. "Please," he whispered.
"You do look pale," Harry said, getting up from the table. "Hermione, it's been lovely, but I'm afraid we'll have to be going. Perhaps we'll have all of you over soon. Ginny, I'm sure you can find somebody in the Floo-book who can fix that."
The look Ginny gave Draco was pure hatred, and Draco might have enjoyed it if he didn't feel so awful.
Draco covered his mouth with his hand, and Harry led him to the Floo.
As soon as they made it home, Draco ran to the bathroom and sicked-up every bit that he'd eaten that night.
"Are you all right?" Harry asked from outside the door.
Draco hung over the commode, feeling ghastly. He didn't even have the strength to answer.
Harry pushed the door open and walked in. A moment later, he pressed a wet cloth to Draco's head.
Was this the wretched bond? Had it gone from torturing him with pain at night to giving him nausea after every meal? And why? He had Harry in close proximity, and Harry's touch wasn't alleviating it.
With a moan, Draco allowed Harry to lead him to the bedroom, undress him, and put him to bed with a wastebasket close at hand. Before Harry exited the room, Draco grasped him by the wrist.
"You don't suppose Hermione poisoned me, do you?"
Harry laughed softly. "No. She actually likes you, you wanker."
"You're not…going anywhere, are you?" Draco asked uncertainly.
Harry smiled gently. "No. I'll be to bed soon."