Haha! The dragons keep coming in! Thanks everyone who sent me one last night/today!
You inspired me again. Draco felt he didn’t get enough screen time in the Charlie/Harry/Draco fic I posted yesterday. So here’s one that focuses on Draco more!
Author: Ravenna C. Tan
Pairing: H/D with a side of portrait!snape
Warnings: none other than this isn’t beta-read…
Summary: After the war, Draco’s still not right.
Voices are hushed, as if the manor walls might be listening. Perhaps they are.
“Thank you so very much for coming, Mr. Potter.”
“Harry, please, Mrs. Malfoy.”
“Harry, then, Please call me Narcissa. As you gathered from the owl… I am so very reluctant to trouble you. But it is about Draco. And, well, you are already familiar with the lengths to which I will go for him.”
“Of course. Is there some way I can help?”
“I honestly do not know. He wakes from nightmares. His behavior is… very… odd.”
“Odd in ways that I would not want the public to know. He cries out your name in the night, Mis– Harry.”
“When I saved you from the Dark Lord, I did not know you had rescued him. He would not tell me more than the barest outline. I… I have no one else to turn to. And when you lent your support to Draco’s campaign to have a portrait of Severus Snape installed at Hogwarts, well… I was hopeful you would be sympathetic.”
“I’ll see him, if he’ll let me.”
“He’s right upstairs.”
I am only a portrait. I cannot be responsible for Draco Malfoy’s madness. It is not I who disrobes him. It is not I who bids him tug upon his naked flesh until he is chafed and weeping and unable to reach release. It is not I who gives him nightmares.
I can only suggest potions he might brew. One for dulling mental trauma. One to aid in sleep without dreams.
I most certainly did not tell him the formula for the lubricant he used upon the broom handle which he then used in a most unwholesome manner. To no avail, I might add; he still did not come.
It is a damnable state, this portraiture. Were I a being of flesh and blood I might be able to help him move past his demons. But I am only a creature of ideas, of words and expressions. Someone else in the real world will have to help Draco escape the past.
Fortunately there is one person who might accomplish such a task.
Potter comes into the room, tiptoeing like a fool. Draco is in full view, seated by the french doors to the balcony, and he watches curiously.
Potter startles as he realizes Draco is watching him. “Oh, er, hello.”
“Hello,” Draco says, one bemused eyebrow raised in a flattering imitation of one of my old expressions. “Can I help you?”
Potter laughs nervously. “Well, actually, your mother’s hoping I might help you.”
“I feared as much.” Draco yawns. “Unless you’re a mediwizard or a healer, there’s nothing you can do.”
“Draco, look, I’ve had a lot of experience since the war with helping folks get over stuff…”
“Nearly being burnt to ash by my former friend is hardly ‘stuff.'”
“I didn’t mean it that way. I mean, get past… things. Issues. Memories. Whatever.” Potter grits his teeth in frustration. “Talking about what happened can really help.”
Draco flicks his wand and a second chair scoots forward close to his. “Very well. Talk.”
Potter sits. “It’s you who… oh, all right. I’ll start, okay? I couldn’t just leave you to die.”
“Even though you tried to kill me in sixth year?”
“Oh God, I wasn’t even thinking about that. I… I never intended to hurt you that badly. I didn’t know what that spell would do.”
Draco has him at a disadvantage and I see his eyes sparkle. “You didn’t? Oh, well, it would certainly help me get past my traumas to hear my attacker properly apologise.”
“Shit, Draco, I really had no idea. Not only that Sectumsempra would do that but that you were… you know… so in over your head.” Potter is no doubt avoiding using the word ‘victim.’
“I want you to see the scar.” Draco rises to his feet, smooth and poised.
Draco slips his light outer robe from his shoulders and then unbuttons his shirt, undoing the cuffs, and the removing it entirely. His chest is pale and thinly muscled.
Potter squints. “Um, where?”
“Give me your hand.” Draco takes Potter’s hand and guides it to a spot on his shoulder, then slides it diagonally across his chest.
Potter does not need to be encouraged further. He explores the hair-thin line with his fingertips all the way down to Draco’s hip.
That’s when Draco’s poise breaks. He clings to Potter then, his arms around his neck, one sob wracks him but he holds the others in. Potter, for his part, awkwardly hugs him with one arm, patting him on the bare back.
“I dream of flying, but the dreams always turn to nightmares,” Draco says. “I can’t even mount a real broom without seeing the flames. I used to love flying, but now… I can’t.”
“Um, well, maybe we should try it together,” Potter says. “You know, have a nice afternoon flight, put some nice memories on top of the bad ones?”
“Yes, we could try that,” Draco allows, but does not loosen his hold. They stand that way for long moments. Potter does not try to pull away. Then Draco goes on. “Flying isn’t the only thing that I can’t do.”
“Oh?” Potter asks innocently.
“But perhaps we should work on one thing at a time,” Draco says, coy as an ingenue.
“Why? Is there something else I could do? I’ll do anything to help,” Potter says.
Draco whispers the next bit into Potter’s ear, and I can imagine how that seductively warm breath must feel, as Draco says, “I’m ashamed to admit it, but I… on that broom ride, when you rescued me, I was stiff as a broomhandle myself. They say fear is arousing, but that… I never felt like that before. And haven’t since.”
“You mean you’re… impotent?”
“Sometimes the flesh refuses to rise. Other times it rises, but I cannot reach release.”
“Ever?” Potter squeaks.
“Not in three years,” Draco admits.
Potter squeaks again as Draco humps his leg with his currently stiff cock. “Do you think… d’you think we need the broom for this?”
“This?” Draco echoes.
“Never mind,” Potter says. “Let’s just give this a go.” He kisses Draco like he’s been waiting three years to do it. Draco kisses back just as needily. All grace is lost as they tear at each other’s clothes. Draco at least is half naked already, but it takes a bit more to get Potter disrobed. Finally Draco resorts to his wand and merely Vanishes or perhaps Banishes every stitch Potter is wearing.
They end up with Draco bent back on the bed, his feet still upon the floor and Potter between his legs, rubbing his cock against Draco’s and then slicking them together with a slippery hand. Draco pushes at Potter’s hand until that hand slips lower between Draco’s legs, and Draco takes over the mutual stroking.
“Have you…?” Potter tries to ask.
“Never been fucked by a man before, if that’s what you’re trying to ask,” Draco says.
“Do you think this’ll work, then? Are you even gay?”
“Gay for you, Potter, isn’t that what matters?”
“Oh, er, yeah, I suppose.”
“Put it in, then, will you?”
“Hey, I’m doing the rescuing here. I’ll get to it,” Potter complains, but he complies.
The sound Draco makes when Potter penetrates him makes me wish I had been painted nude, instead of robed. Though think what a scandal that would have caused in the headmaster’s office.
But now comes the true test. Will Draco achieve orgasm? Potter fucks him slowly at first, both of them shuddering and shaking with the intensity of either the pleasure or the situation. Perhaps both.
As it turns out, neither of them lasts very long, though Potter, ever the hero, manages to wait until Draco has found his release and spattered voluminously all over his own chest before he grunts and groans to his own completion.
My work here is done.