A Wizard’s Memory (Harry/Draco, NC-17) 2006

To begin the archiving of my fics on this site, I’m going to repost them gradually, starting with my more popular fics. This one even has a Christmas theme, and well, it is December…

Title: A Wizard’s Memory
Author: Ravenna C. Tan
Word Count: 5900
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: It’s fanfic and we know it.
Beta-reader: TwistedMiracle
Summary: At a big Christmas party, Harry runs into the one person he thinks he wants to forget.
A/N: Written for Charlotteschaos in the 2006 HD Holidays Fest. Her request said: “I like when there’s a lot of magic and banter is even better than sex. I love good banter. I’d be interested in writing and/or reading a good post-break up/getting back together fic.” Written pre-DH, and so only canon-compliant through HBP.


A Wizard’s Memory
by Ravenna C. Tan

There he was.

Draco Malfoy stood at the polished mahogany bar, one elbow against the wood, chatting up a dark-haired wizard, looking utterly relaxed. But Harry knew he wasn’t. Draco was never completely relaxed. The pose was calculated, just like the length of his hair, just long enough to look like he didn’t care about it, as if he’d let it go too long, when really, he spelled it that exact length, just the right length to brush the tops of his shoulders as he turned his head.

The right length to brush his lover’s skin when he was on top.

Harry unclenched his fists and turned away just as Draco’s sharp chin swiveled toward him.

Too late. Draco was coming toward him. his voice was quiet, but easily audible over the background sounds of holiday music on the Wizarding Wireless and cheerful party chatter. “Potter. Wondered if I’d see you here.”

“Malfoy.” He took Draco’s extended hand, feeling suddenly sick to his stomach. Such a charade, this false formality, as if they barely knew each other.

As if they hadn’t spent some seven years hating each other, seven weeks fucking like weasels, and the two years since ignoring one another.

As if Draco weren’t using Harry to impress the wizard at the bar, that up-and-coming Keeper for the Arrows, Harry thought. Harry squeezed Draco’s hand hard, seized with the urge suddenly to crush Draco’s aristocratic fingers. Draco merely laughed, his eyes alight with challenge as he gave as good as he got, “Good to see you.”

Harry just nodded, and went to move on.

Draco did not relinquish his hand, but leaned close and whispered something in his ear. Harry maintained the facade though, that they were not bitter ex-lovers, giving just a short nod, a half-smile, and then Draco let go and allowed him to move away.

Harry had wanted a drink, but there was another bar in the next room, and he made for it as quickly as possible. He had caught a glance of the face on Draco’s target; the stupid tit was impressed with Draco’s acquaintance with The Boy Who Lived. Kildare, Harry finally remember that was his name, and he wasn’t a Keeper, he was the backup Seeker. Right.

Taking a deep breath, Harry unclenched his fists for the second time, inside the folds of his robes. When the bartender asked him what he wanted, he asked for good old Ogden’s, the whole bottle. The man had the nerve to wink at Harry as he handed it over, as if a right chap like Harry must surely be off to share the bottle with his chums in a side parlor.

Harry faked a smile, then threaded his way through an empty room and out onto the balcony, his breath fogging slightly in the December air. The door slid closed behind him and the sound of the mingling chatter and glasses clinking faded. The first swig of the Firewhiskey burned as it went down.

He had learned to tame the part of him that wanted to charge back inside and punch Draco Malfoy in the face. He was twenty-one years old, an investor in the Chudley Cannons, and had learned long since that being The Vanquisher of Voldemort meant that any impulsive action he performed in public, positive or negative, would be in the papers.

That didn’t mean that he didn’t stand there in the chill air, looking down on the manicured gardens, and picture the way the blood would spray from Draco’s nose as he hit him. His hand tingled where Draco had gripped it and he imagined the sensation of his fist meeting Draco’s flesh. Draco would fall back, and that idiot Kildare who had been fawning over him would stare in shock and horror.

And then, what would happen next? Would Draco charge back, tackle Harry and take him to the ground? Would he go for his wand?

The vision was startlingly vivid. Harry shook his head to clear it. Most likely, Draco would just stare at him in disgust, hand over his bleeding nose, and say something cutting and hurtful.

He clutched his stomach, at the cold knot there, as yet untouched by the alcohol. Draco’s tongue could always hurt him more than his wand. Harry reminded himself that there was a reason he broke it off.

The stars were burning steady in the dark sky and Harry suddenly did not want to be there. He wanted to be on a broom, flying hard and fast until the cold made him numb.

Only flying never made him completely numb. The feel of the broom between his legs often brought on other reactions.

It was then that Harry realized he was half-hard under his robes, stiffening further the more he thought about wanting to put Draco in his place.

He snorted. And just what place would that be? Draco Malfoy had always been a privileged brat with questionable morals. He belonged in a place like this, the spacious estate of a retired Quidditch star, surrounded by the rich and influential figures of the Wizarding world.

He didn’t, apparently, belong pinned under the Chosen One, even though Harry could swear that the only times Draco looked truly happy were at those times when they were the most intimately, physically connected. That and in the moments afterward, before he recovered his mask, his poise.

The first time had been at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. When Draco and Snape had appeared there–with the information needed to destroy the final Horcrux in hand–more than a year had passed since Harry had seen either of them. The last time had been at Hogwarts, on the grounds outside, as the Death Eaters fled. Had Draco been that tall in sixth year? Surely not. War and intrigue had added no more meat to Draco’s frame, but he seemed different. Harry caught himself staring.

Malfoy was certainly humbler, more cooperative with Lupin and Moody, deferential to McGonagall and Shacklebolt. And almost shy around Harry.

Harry had eventually vented what anger and spite he still harbored for his former rival, one afternoon in the kitchen when no one else was around, only to find, much to his chagrin, that Draco seemed to have long since moved past those old, tired, schoolboy feelings. The outburst had led to an apology, and one thing had led to another.

It wasn’t a week after that Harry took him to bed.

Draco was in the library, seated at the writing desk, studying a thick tome written in a cramped hand, his eyes close to the page as he hunched over the book.

He jerked as Harry slid his hands onto Draco’s shoulders. “God, Potter! Make some noise the next time you come into a room!”

“Sorry,” Harry said, but didn’t take his hands away. Instead he stroked his thumbs along the cramped muscles of Draco’s shoulders. “You shouldn’t hunch over like that.”

Draco took a breath, then slid the book onto the desk, straightening his neck. “I hadn’t pegged you as the touchy-feely sort.”

Harry increased the pressure and was gratified to hear Draco hum in his throat. “A lot can change in a year,” Harry said.

“Is that so?” Draco let his head fall back and rest against Harry’s stomach. “What else has changed about you?”

“You first.”

Draco smirked, but closed his eyes as Harry moved to the knots under his shoulder blades. “Perhaps I should tell you what I think’s changed about you, and you can do the same.”

“All right. Go ahead.”

“Mm, let’s see. You’ve gotten taller and filled out a bit. You’re not a scrawny kid anymore. You’re more cautious. You’ve learned to question authority.”

Harry was surprised. “Wasn’t I always a rule-breaker?”

“Yes, this is different. You used to break rules, but you still… believed what you were told. You believed in the order of things. That doesn’t seem true anymore.”

Harry’s hands kept moving, but his brain felt frozen. “How do you know that?”

Draco shrugged and Harry felt his muscles slide under the fabric of his robe. “Just an impression. I could be wrong.” He tilted his head back a bit and opened his eyes, looking up into Harry’s face. “Am I wrong?”

“Well, maybe about one thing,” Harry said, looking into the grey of Draco’s eyes. “This doesn’t seem very cautious of me, now, does it?” And he leaned down and pressed his parted lips to Draco’s. Draco twisted in his chair, his mouth sliding against Harry’s, his arm snaking around to pull Harry down.

Harry pulled Draco up out of the chair, into a deeper kiss, and then Apparated them directly to the bedroom. Ron was at the Burrow, Lupin upstairs sleeping off his latest transformation, Snape at Hogwarts building up the medical potions supply. They had the place to themselves.

Harry cast a few charms for discreetness’ sake on the door anyway and then began undoing the clasp of Draco’s robes. Draco shrugged them off and Harry tugged at his shirt, pulling it out of Draco’s trousers and sliding his hands against the bare skin of Draco’s back.

“And what about me?” Draco whispered, into his ear.

Harry crooked his head puzzledly. “This is all about you.”

“No, I mean, what’s changed?”

Harry slid his hands around the front, still under the linen of Draco’s shirt, until his thumbs ran back and forth over Draco’s nipples. “I don’t know,” Harry said, moving his mouth to Draco’s neck. “Something must have changed because I never wanted to fuck you before.”

Draco was silent for a few moments, letting Harry have at the tender places on his neck, but then pulled at Harry’s shirt as he said, “And why would it be me that changed, then?”

Harry made a nose of frustration and banished their clothes with a growled spell, gripping Draco by the hips and pressing their groins together.

Draco licked his lips. “So, you’ve done this before.”

Harry licked Draco’s lips. “Yeah. Here and there.”

Draco nodded, as if he understood this answer, and climbed backwards onto the bed, Harry following as if tethered by a rope to him. Covering Draco’s body with his own, Harry rubbed his cock against Draco’s and moaned.

Draco pressed a hand against Harry’s shoulder, forcing his head up. “What is it about me, Harry?”

Harry nuzzled against him, and Draco’s mouth was sweet as he took another kiss. “I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

Draco nipped him on the mouth. “If I weren’t here, if it were… oh… Terry Boot out there reading a book tonight, would he be in your bed now?”

Harry shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving Draco’s. “I can’t even remember what Terry Boot looks like. I want to. Fuck. You. Draco. Malfoy.”

“Fair enough,” Draco had replied.

Fucking then became a regular occurrence for the two of them, one that no one else in the Order dared mention, except for Ron and Hermione whom Harry told about it privately. Two weeks later had come the final confrontation with Voldemort. Standing over the Dark Lord’s corpse, Harry had not felt happy, merely tired. He felt happy that night, when he had stripped Draco naked and discovered the Dark Mark gone.

He had held Draco’s pale forearm with both of his hands. He had rubbed his erection against the silk-soft skin of the underside, as if he could etch his own mark there, pressing the scorching shape of his flesh against the veins and tendons as if he could brand Draco with the heat of his desire.

The fighting had started that night, as they’d lain together spent, but unable to sleep. Had it been the subject of Lucius they’d fought over? Probably. That and so many other things.

Harry blinked, confused suddenly by the fact that nothing more was coming from the mouth of the bottle. He examined it carefully.

Empty.

He couldn’t bear the thought of going back into that room. Draco Malfoy belonged at these kinds of parties–Harry didn’t. He wondered if there was a way he could get to his broom without going back through the house. It was racked on the roof with a few dozen others; it was common for Quidditch people to have the best brooms and to take great pride in flying them to these types of soirees. Even if it was cold this time of year. The landing area on the roof would almost certainly be deserted at this time of night, though.

Harry looked above him with bleary eyes. If he could get up to the next balcony, he could probably pass unnoticed through the house, up the stairs, and just leave. His fingers felt cold despite the Firewhisky in his system, and he figured he had been standing out here so long probably everyone thought he had left already anyway.

Well, he could levitate himself up a few feet, then grab the railing, and hoist himself up, couldn’t he? That seemed like a fine idea.

It was some minutes later, when he rolled on his back on the other side of the balcony railing above, that he realized that what had been hampering his efforts to climb was the empty Ogden’s bottle in his hand. His wand was in his other hand. He lay there looking at the molded brown glass, the label not at all legible to his foggy eyes.

How much memory would fit in a bottle like this? He twirled his wand while looking at it.

He sat up. Would every painful memory of Draco fit?

He set the tip of his wand against his temple. What should he pull out first?

“God, I want you.” He had caught Draco coming out of the shower, his skin still damp and steamy hot as Harry wrapped his arms around him. The heat of Draco’s body soaked through the worn T-shirt and ratty pajama pants Harry wore. “Come here.”

Draco twisted in Harry’s arms until their mouths touched. “My father won’t like it if I’m late.”

“I don’t care,” Harry breathed, pulling the towel off of Draco’s hips and flinging it aside. “I need to be inside you.”

Draco laughed and stroked Harry’s morning erection through the thin cotton. “You want to mark me with your scent like an alpha wolf?”

Harry pressed his forehead against Draco’s and nodded. “I’m not joking.” He cupped Draco’s balls and then drew his hand up to Draco’s quiescent cock. He stroked it several times and was surprised that it did not harden to his touch, until he felt a thin squirt of liquid into his palm. He looked down and saw a bit of come, pearlescent and stringy as he ran his thumb through it.

“Harry…” Draco started.

But Harry pressed him back against the bed with a hand on his chest, insinuating himself between Draco’s feet which were still on the floor. “You tossed off in the shower?”

Draco nodded.

“Without me?”

“I was in a hurry.”

Harry stroked Draco’s limp cock with the slippery stuff. “But not in so much of a hurry that you couldn’t wank yourself.”

Draco tried to joke. “God, Harry, you sound jealous of my hand…”

Harry’s answer was to take Draco by the wrist, raise that hand to his mouth, and lick the palm liberally. Then he guided it to his own cock, which Draco began stroking without hesitation, a wary look in his eye.

Harry reached for his wand on the bedside table. He flicked it and Draco felt the lubrication charm–momentarily cold before his body warmed it. “Knees up,” Harry whispered his command.

Draco’s arse on the edge of the high bed was at just the right height for Harry to plunge in. “I’ll make this quick,” Harry said, “since you’re in such a hurry.”

“Oh-no-you-won’t,” Draco snapped back. “You do me right or not at all, hero.”

Harry grinned wickedly. “Well, in that case…” He still had his wand in his hand and he touched it to Draco’s cock, which sprang to life.

Draco groaned. “Oh, fuck…!”

Harry licked his own hand and began stroking Draco’s new erection in time with his thrusts. “A little sore?” He quickened his pace. “Want me to stop?”

“Yes! I mean, no! Don’t stop…” Draco clawed at him, eyes fluttering shut. “God, Harry…” Draco didn’t come–it was too soon for that despite the spell–but when Harry did, Draco cried out Harry’s name anyway.

When Harry pulled free and kissed Draco dizzily on the forehead, Draco said, “The war changed you.”

“Aren’t you late to breakfast with your father?”

“Fuck you, Potter, and the broom you flew in on.” Draco climbed from the bed as if his limbs didn’t quite work.

Well, hmm, that memory wasn’t so bad. He thought maybe he should keep that one. Except that was one of the ones that made him miss Draco, and the whole point of this exercise was to stop thinking about Draco, wasn’t it? Well, there were other memories to choose from, too. The argument they had after Draco returned from the Manor that day, for example, that one should definitely go.

Harry drew his wand slowly from his temple out into the air, watching the silvery strands like they were soap bubbles. He maneuvered the bottle closer, and once the barest edge of the memory touched the lip, the entire thing slid inside, pooling at the bottom and sloshing faintly.

Let’s see what else? He half-wished there were one soul-searing apocalyptic break-up fight to erase. That would have made it so simple. But there wasn’t. There were a thousand little jabs at each other, the miscommunications, the hurt looks. Strand after strand dripped from Harry’s wand into the bottle.

As the scenes flashed by, Harry began to wonder. If he dumped these memories in a Pensieve and someone else watched them, what would they think? Looking at how it had all happened, he wasn’t sure which thing he struggled more to do, to possess Draco or to be free of him. Was it possible to want both of those things at the same time?

Of course it was. Right at that moment Harry wanted Draco as much as ever, and yet here he was trying to erase him from his thoughts. His head was starting to ache. Ogden’s was a fickle friend. In fact, he was having trouble remembering exactly why he was so angry at Draco.

Time to go. Time to get on his broom and head for home. Somewhere surely he’d find a good spot to let the bottle fly and smash to bits far below. He tightened his grip on the neck of the bottle. Time to go.

He went through the balcony doors and then tiptoed through an empty bedroom. The hallway outside was deserted as well, the sound of the party from downstairs wafting up the staircase. He went up, away from the sound and toward the roof, where all the brooms awaited.

He stepped out onto the landing deck, then pressed back against the doorway when he heard a voice from the other side of the gable. “This one’s Potter’s, ‘ere. Masters & Twigbottom made this model special for ‘im, not available to the public yet.”

And Draco’s voice answering. “So I see. Now, Kildare…”

“Not so fast, not so fast. You didn’t let me show you mine.”

Harry heard the distinct sound of a zip being lowered.

“Really, Kildare, I did not come up here under a pretense of…” And then Draco being silenced by a fleshy, breathy sound.

The rustling noise increased. God, Draco was making out with a second-string player for the Appleby Arrows… Harry shook himself. It didn’t matter who Kildare was or what he did. Harry wanted him off Draco. And he wanted him off now.

Harry charged around the corner to find Draco of a similar opinion. He had one hand pressed against Kildare’s chin, trying to push him away, even as he flailed in his robe with his other hand seeking his wand. “Get. Off. Me…! Harry?”

Harry didn’t hesitate. He swung the heavy thing in his hand at Kildare’s head. The poor sod saw it coming at the last moment and tried to deflect the blow, but Harry cocked him squarely on the side of the head even as Kildare’s hands grabbed at him. They went down like two sacks of bricks and the bottle went flying.

“Harry!”

Harry scrambled to his feet, ready to hit Kildare with his bare fist if he had to, but the man appeared to be out cold. It was only then that Harry realized that his wand was clenched in his fist and he was breathing very hard. “Are you all right?” he said to Draco.

Draco merely nodded, his eyes guarded. “You didn’t have to hit him quite that hard. He was already drunk.”

“Speaking of that…” Harry folded his arms, trying to look composed. “Do you remember that Sobering Charm Lupin taught us after the celebration?”

Draco raised his wand but Harry held up a hand. “I’m going to say something now, and you’re going to say it’s just Firewhisky talking, but let me say it, and then do the charm and we’ll see what I say then, all right?”

Draco’s hair seemed to glow in the torches that lit the landing circle on the roof, and he pressed his lips together. “Your logic is that of a drunkard, but… all right. Say what you’re going to say.”

Harry took a deep breath. “I miss you. I do. And right at this moment I can’t for the life of me remember why I broke it off with you.”

Draco’s eyes were mere slits. “Broke what off, Potter?”

Harry rubbed his forehead. “The Sobering Charm, Draco, please.”

“No, I don’t think so. Not until you answer my question. What, pray tell, did we have for you to break off?” Draco’s half-smile was not kind. “I was under the distinct impression that I was just a convenient lay for you. Isn’t that what you said when you kicked me to the curb?”

Harry pressed both hands to his head. “Oh, God. I was an idiot, all right? I know I started it. I know it started as… I don’t know. Something convenient. A release valve. You were right, that first time, you know that? You asked me if I would have fucked… someone else if they’d been there. And I said no, but I lied. But you knew that, right?”

Draco nodded slowly.

“It was… after that. When I started to feel jealous. I knew I was in deep. And it was too much. So I ran away. I pushed you away.” Harry sank to his knees, clutching his stomach. “Didn’t I? Is that what happened?”

Draco nodded again, and took a step forward.

“I can’t remember…” Harry said, hugging himself in the chill wind on the rooftop. “I remember being really angry at you. But now that the details are gone, I wonder if maybe I was really angry with myself.” He sucked the cold night air into his lungs. “All I remember is… how much I want you. How much I want you back.”

Sobrius Mentis” Draco intoned, with a wave of his wand. “Now say it again and maybe I’ll believe you.”

Harry swallowed hard. The sudden clarity of the charm set his heart hammering and then he began to laugh. Then he laughed so hard he had to double over for a few moments. When he lifted his head, tears glittered in the corners of his eyes. He beckoned for Draco to come closer.

Draco quirked his lips bemusedly at Harry’s hysteria and came another step closer. Harry took his hand and pulled him gently down, and Draco squatted, then tucked one foot under himself. “Well?”

Harry kept Draco’s hand in his, in both of his, as if to protect it from the wind. He looked at Draco’s fingers in the shelter of his palms and then looked up. “I tried to forget you tonight.”

“Oh, really.”

“That whisky bottle? After I emptied it, I put all my bad memories of you in it. I’d decided to fling it from my broom.” Harry looked into Draco’s eyes. “Dumbledore told me once that he put his thoughts in his Pensieve when his mind was too full. He said he could think more clearly when there weren’t too many of them cluttering the place up.”

“Is that so…?”

“Yes.” Harry bit both his lips a moment. “But I see what he means. I was a fool, Draco.” Harry squeezed Draco’s fingers and reached out to touch his cheek with his other hand.

Harry had to look away, then, when Draco’s hand did the same, then slid into the hair behind Harry’s ear. Harry did not need to be encouraged any more strongly. He pulled him close and brushed his lips against Draco’s. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” Draco answered, his breath warm against Harry’s mouth. “But I think we ought to make sure you didn’t kill the Arrows’ backup Seeker.”

“You’re the one who learned all the battlefield healing charms.”

“So I am.” Draco disengaged himself just enough to get his wand free. A few muttered spells later, he kissed Harry again. “He’ll be fine. Touch of frostbite maybe. But you know, Harry… I heard that bottle smash on the patio.”

“I don’t care. I want to start over.” He stood then, pulling Draco into an embrace. “Please tell me we can start over?”

Draco nipped at his neck. “I suggest if we’re going to start something that we do it in a bedroom and not on the roof.”

“Fine.” Harry considered going back down to the empty room he had just been through, but with magic there were so many other possibilities.

No, really there was only one possibility for this moment, and he knew it. “Hold on.” He Apparated them to the library at number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

Draco broke away when he recognized where they were. He took off his outer robes, lay them over the back of the chair, and sat down at the writing desk.

Harry came and placed his hands on Draco’s shoulders. He let them sit there, soaking in the heat coming through Draco’s shirt, suddenly afraid that he was going to screw everything up again. “I…” His heart beat so hard he could barely speak. “What’s changed, Draco?”

Draco got to his knees in the chair and turned to face him, sliding cool fingers along Harry’s jaw and neck. “I haven’t changed. I’m sure I’m just as infuriating and self-centered and high-maintenance as you think I am.”

“And me?”

Draco’s eyes seemed to grow larger as he stared into Harry’s. “Are you the same anti-social, traumatized slut you were during the war? I don’t think so.” He pressed his forehead to Harry’s. “I think you’ve grown up.”

Harry closed his eyes as he tipped his lips toward Draco’s. He wanted this kiss to be different, as different as he felt, as different as he wanted this to be between them. But as he felt Draco’s mouth open, as Draco’s tongue went soft and inviting, as Draco sagged in his arms, the desire that surged was wholly familiar. The feeling of Draco’s ribcage in his arms, the flavor in his mouth, the silky hair under his fingers, was all achingly known to him.

Draco broke away then, saying, “Isn’t this the part where you Apparate us to the bedroom?”

Harry tightened his embrace as if he were about to do so, then whispered, “Why bother? The house is mine, now. I want you right here.”

Draco raised his wand and with a flourish they were both suddenly naked, their cocks touching over the back of the chair.

“Done this before, have you?” Harry smiled.

“Oh, a few times.” He squeezed one of Harry’s biceps. “I used to, with this hunky hero type during the war.”

As Harry reached out and stroked Draco’s cock with soft, slow strokes, he added, “Recently?”

Draco’s lashes hid his eyes a moment, no longer joking. “No.”

Harry thought about the implications of that. “I’ll take my time, then.” He eased Draco back onto the leather blotter on the desk.

If Draco minded being flattened onto the polished wood, his nipples teased, his cock lovingly worshiped by Harry’s tongue, he did not say so. He moaned and trembled with anticipation when Harry spoke the lubrication charm and cautiously slid one finger inside.

He took his time stretching Draco, readying him, until Draco was nearly incoherent. Then he took Draco by the hand and said, “I want you on top.”

“All right.” Draco followed Harry to the rug in front of the hearth, then went back for his wand, lit a fire in the grate, and then sank down with one leg on either side of Harry’s hips.

Harry closed his eyes as Draco leaned down to kiss him again, that hair tickling his neck and making him arch in pleasure. Draco teased him then, rubbing his slick crotch against Harry’s straining cock, licking his nipples and blowing gently on them, reaching back to fondle Harry’s balls, until Harry gripped him by the hips and said “I put you on top so you could… set the depth. But if you keep doing that I’m going to forget…”

Draco said nothing, just gave one long, slow blink of his eyes, gripped Harry around the base of his cock, and lowered himself.

Harry shuddered as the head of his cock suddenly jumped through the ring of muscle, that first inch or two swallowed whole by Draco’s body. He could feel Draco quivering above him, adjusting, accommodating. “How’s it feel?” Harry asked.

“Like I remembered,” Draco whispered, and sank down a bit more, his eyebrows drawn together as he concentrated on taking Harry in. “God, I’ve missed you.”

For some reason, hearing Draco say that now came as a shock. “Why?”

Draco didn’t say anything right away. He waited until he had worked Harry completely in and he could breathe deeply, hands on Harry’s chest and his hair hanging down around his face as he looked Harry in the eye. “Why did I miss you? Why did you think I wouldn’t miss you?”

Harry smoothed the skin on Draco’s flanks. “You could have any wizard in Britain. Quidditch stars…”

“Shut it.” Draco lifted up and then pressed himself down with a deep shudder. “I didn’t want any wizard in Britain. I wanted you.” He lifted up again, then paused. “Did you really think I wasn’t going to be lonely and hurt after you dumped me?”

“I…” Was that what he’d thought? “I don’t remember.”

Draco slid down, grunting softly as the penetration deepened. “And I thought I was the self-absorbed one.” Then he was quiet for a while as he rode Harry slowly, his lips brushing Harry’s forehead from time to time.

Breathless with pleasure, Harry luxuriated in the feeling of Draco’s hair brushing over his skin. “I’ve missed this,” he said, when he could, his fingers playing with the blond edges.

“Who do you think I’ve kept it that length for all this time?” Draco whispered. “Or is that one of the memories you tossed off the roof?”

The stab of guilt Harry felt was soothed away by Draco’s gentle fucking, though. He pulled Draco closer to him, chest to chest, rocking his hips upward and pushing soft sounds of surrender out of Draco’s throat.

But even as they fucked, Harry couldn’t stop his thoughts from wandering in the now spacious and free confines of his mind. “How long has it been?”

“Since you were last inside me? Almost two years to the day.”

“No, I mean, since anyone…”

“Harry, listen. Do you really want to know just how desperate I can be? How low I might have sunk? Low enough that I don’t want you to know.”

Harry kissed him then, that sweet mouth that said such things. “So the thing with Kildare…?”

“The thing with Kildare?” Draco stopped moving and sat up, a look of puzzlement on his face. “Did you forget I was trying to get away from him, no thanks to you?”

“What do you mean, no thanks to me? I’m the one who clocked him.”

Draco licked one corner of his lips as he thought. “When we spoke earlier, do you remember that?”

“Yeah, that wasn’t one of the memories I tossed. You were chatting him up something fierce, and then you tried to impress him with me.”

Draco laughed. “You didn’t hear a word I said, did you.”

“What are you talking about?”

Draco lifted up, squeezing tight as he slammed himself back down. “When I whispered in your ear, what did I say?”

Harry held Draco by the hips, trying to stop him from moving, but Draco had too much leverage. “It… it’s hard to think when you’re doing that.”

“Think, Harry. A wizard’s memory isn’t like a Muggle’s. Think.” And he doubled his pace.

Harry closed his eyes. He could hear the sounds of the Christmas party, see the look on Kildare’s face as he had only eyes for Draco. Draco, taking his hand in his, and saying “Good to see you.”

He’d meant it. And then Harry struggling to get away, but Draco’s breath warm in his ear…

“A favor, Harry? Don’t leave me too long with this git, all right?

“You…” Harry had to break off speaking as Draco pinched his nipples and the sensation jumped like sparks straight to his cock. His world felt upside down for a moment.

Then he shook his head and decided that reversal had its advantages. It was Draco’s turn. Harry wrapped his arms around Draco and reversed their positions, covering Draco’s mouth and neck and collarbone with kisses as he took charge of the penetration.

“Oh, yes, Harry…” was all Draco could say from that point on. And Harry, Harry couldn’t say anything at all, as he lost himself in the sensation and the reality of Draco under him, around him, in his arms.

“You first,” he rasped, as he slid his hand around Draco’s cock. It was only a few seconds before Draco cried out and spilled hot and slippery all over him, and mere moments after that Harry reached his own completion, deep inside Draco. They clung to each other for long moments after that, even after Harry’s slippery soft cock slid free.

Harry then propped himself on all fours and looked into Draco’s face. “So, should I apologize?”

Draco smiled. “For what? Being a frightened, immature git who didn’t know what you wanted? Or for leaving me all evening with Grabby Kildare?”

Harry just kissed him. Let Draco decided which. “You know, we left our brooms there.”

“So we did.” Draco pulled him down to kiss him again. “We could go back, you know. O’Hare’s parties never end until dawn.”

Harry shook his head. “I’d rather be alone with you.”

“I couldn’t agree more. Besides, it’s too bloody cold to fly. Damned Quidditch snobs.” Draco felt for his wand which was laying at the edge of the hearth stones. “I don’t know about you, but mine’s got a homing charm on it.”

In the morning, when Harry opened the front door to take the Prophet from the delivery owl, he found the two brooms. They lay together, one crossed over the other on the front stoop, as though they’d flown side by side, then come to rest in exactly the same place at the same time.

-end-

2 thoughts on “A Wizard’s Memory (Harry/Draco, NC-17) 2006

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