Chapter Text
April 1999
It didn’t bode well for Draco’s chances of getting laid that Harry Potter was at the club without his usual array of glamours on. Draco nursed a glass of shitty wine, watching Potter grind against the girl Weasley looking wholly himself, the golden Boy Wonder.
No mousy brown hair, or corkscrew blond curls. No cobalt or chocolate hue to mask his usual emerald eyes. He hadn’t widened his nose or narrowed his chin. Not even a spell to change or get rid of his glasses for an evening.
Not that any of that hid him from Draco’s eyes. Seventeen weeks he’d been fucking Harry Potter on Saturday evenings in or around this club. Seventeen weeks and never once had he miss-identified Harry Potter, no matter the face he wore.
But this weekend, with Potter’s friends home from Hogwarts for the Easter holiday, they’d gone out together and it would be useless for Potter to attempt to hide. They were all too famous as a group, especially as the anniversary of the war’s end approached and the papers published recaps of the last year.
None of their reports on the doings of the Hogwarts Heroes included Harry Potter fucking a man. Fucking Draco Malfoy.
He watched with disgust as Potter snogged Weasley right there on the dance floor. What sort of sweet nothings did he whisper in her ear? Probably nothing like what he whispered to Draco.
I’m not gay. This doesn’t mean anything. You don’t mean anything.
Whatever. Let him play at heterosexuality for the night. He’d be crawling back to Draco next week, in the dark of night where no one could see them.
And Draco would let him. Even if he went home scrubbing guilt and shame off in the hottest water his shower could manage, he still craved the rush of lust and adrenaline that came with Harry Potter’s cock up his arse or in his mouth. He didn’t care if Potter treated him like the scum of the earth—it wasn’t any different from how Draco saw himself anyway.
He set his empty wine glass on the bar and looked around for different prospects. He considered for a moment a welcoming smile from across the bar. The man had enough muscle to toss Draco around like a rag doll. But his eyes said he was too soft-hearted to manage it. Draco didn’t have patience for that sort of nonsense. He’d hoped for a good, hard fucking and Mr Soft Heart didn’t have it in him.
Honestly, Draco didn’t have patience for anyone in this club. He hated to admit it but if he couldn’t have Potter, he didn’t want anyone at all. Ugh, he fucking hated everything at the moment. Might as well head on home and wait for next week when Potter would sidle up behind him on the dance floor, run a hand up Draco’s shirt, and tell him to put his mouth to good use for once.
The air had chilled considerably while he’d waited for Potter in the club. Draco pulled his wand to cast a light warming charm, and then kept it out when he heard the echoing sound of footsteps behind him. As he reached the alley where Potter liked to fuck him—just a little too far from the club to have other drunken idiots inside—he was pushed deep inside and shoved face first against the bricks with a wand pressed to his throat.
Potter’s familiar voice hissed in his ear, “Going somewhere, Malfoy?” He pinned Draco to the wall with his hips and easily plucked the wand from Draco’s hand, as Draco was too surprised to offer any resistance.
As if he would offer anything more than token resistance anyway. Already his cock was thickening in his pants. Potter had left the Weaselette for him. What had he told his friends about his absence? Did they know he was coming after Draco? Did they know about Harry’s inexplicable secret, shameful longing for Draco Malfoy’s arse?
“Everything all right here?” Draco heard from behind him. A quick peek over his shoulder showed Mr Soft Heart watching from the entrance to the alley. What on earth made him decide to follow Draco? He hadn’t encouraged pursuit, had he?
“Fuck off back to the club, he’s fine.” Potter aimed his wand arm—holding both his wand and Draco’s—and shot something at the interloper to make him leave. “Going home so soon?” he hissed in Draco’s ear. “Without finding a cock to suck?” Potter tucked the wands in his back pocket and began working Draco’s jeans open.
Draco pressed his arse back against the hard ridge of Potter’s erection. “Sucking wasn’t what I had in mind.”
“Of course not. A slag like you is always gagging for it, aren’t you?” He shoved Draco’s jeans down his thighs and squeezed Draco’s arse. Too hard, and yet not hard enough. One of his hands came around Draco’s waist, sliding up his chest to lift his shirt and expose more of his arse. “Beg me for it.”
“Not on your life.” The harsh words had almost no impact, with how breathlessly Draco managed them. Already he could feel Potter’s cock sliding against the cleft of his arse, seeking entrance. “Spells first, idiot.”
Potter pulled a wand from his pocket, and the other clattered to the ground. He pressed it into Draco’s hand, having long since refused to learn anything so gay as spells for safe sex. Fine, just one more thing he needed Draco for. Well practised by now, Draco cast his spells in quick succession.
These tiny, intimate moments fucked with Draco’s head. He hated that his brain would store away the feeling of Potter’s fingertips brushing against his palm as he took the wand back. Draco tried not to read too much into it when Potter’s head rested against Draco’s nape and his hand moved lower on Draco’s abdomen, pulling his hips back even more. He held his breath as two of Potter’s fingers drifted low enough to just brush the base of his cock, tangled in the short blond curls there.
Seventeen weeks of fucking Potter and never once had he touched Draco’s cock. Helping Draco to orgasm in any way would be entirely too gay for the painfully closeted Potter. No, he fucked Draco and let Draco suck him off, but if Draco wanted to come, he was on his own.
Potter’s cock prodded at Draco’s entrance. “I fucking hate—” Potter’s breath hitched and his words cut off on a sharp moan as he slid inside Draco’s slick heat.
He didn’t need to finish speaking anyway. Draco hated himself just as much as Potter did and had heard the like often enough from Potter and in his own head. He exhaled on a long sigh, willing his body to relax and accept the delicious intrusion.
As Potter bottomed out, his fingers crept tentatively along Draco’s cock. “I fucking hate what you make me feel.” His words, jagged and broken, tore through Draco. He bit hard on Draco’s shoulder and lightly worked his fist over Draco’s cock.
A small spark of hope lit inside Draco as Potter snapped his hips in a clumsy counterpoint to his hand. Should he continue to smother the moans begging to fly free? Should he let Potter hear how much he enjoyed it? Or would that just startle him into stopping? Was this the beginning of something different for them?
Faster and faster Potter went until he whispered against Draco’s skin, “Draco…” and came with a soft, deep groan.
Hearing his name… moaned in a way he hadn’t even dared to dream of… The spark of hope exploded into a wildfire that burned through Draco.
“H-harry,” Draco responded before spilling over Potter’s trembling fingers.
Still in the midst of sweet release, Draco’s body was too lax to brace himself for the hard shove against the unforgiving bricks, separating their bodies with a painful lurch.
Through his own groaning at the burning abrasions on his forehead and nose, he heard Potter growl, “You don’t get to call me that!” He shoved Draco again and then the loud crack of Disapparition sounded in the alley.
“What the fuck?” Draco whispered, carefully trailing fingers along his forehead to test the edges of his injury. He pulled his jeans up and fumbled them closed with shaky fingers.
The flame of hope died away as Draco stared in bewilderment at the empty space that used to hold Potter. They'd been so close to something new and Draco had fucked it up. As usual.
His disjointed thoughts came into focus as he picked up his wand from where Potter dropped it. His own hawthorn wand.
That meant the wand he'd used before was Potter's. He'd used Harry's wand, just as easily as Harry used Draco's wand. Surely that meant something? He took a deep, calming breath as the thought tumbled through his mind but it wasn't enough to relight the spark of hope. Fine, it was easier to maintain the cold, empty husk anyway.
Draco staggered towards the street, thankful that his flat was near enough for walking. He didn't even have the energy to heal his forehead, let alone attempt to Apparate. Just around the corner, he almost stepped on a large mass huddled on the ground.
Mr Soft Heart. Unconscious. What was he doing here? Why hadn't he returned to the club?
Draco rolled him onto his back, thankful to find the man was still breathing. A little blood leaked from his left ear and that had to be a horrible sign. Injured and unconscious. What had Potter hit him with?
Knowing he was in no fit state to heal the man, Draco cast the very first spell he learned when his magic came in as a child—an emergency beacon to St Mungo's. He'd practised under the watchful eye of his mother, his tutor, and the visiting Healer from St Mungo's until casting was as easy as breathing, a fact his half-inebriated mind appreciated now.
As expected, the emergency team arrived in moments.
Less expected was the team of Aurors that soon followed.
And then it all went to hell for Draco.