Rating: Hard R
Pairing[s]: Harry/Draco and others.
Disclaimer: JKR owns. I only play. You do not sue.
Length: 3100 words
Summary: Every harlot was a virgin once. [William Blake]
Concrit: Always welcome and appreciated.
Interregnum - Chapter 12
Potter, still invisible, made no reply. Obviously.
"Accio Invisibility Cloak!" said Draco, but nothing happened. He stepped closer to the bed -- carefully; the last thing he wanted was to trip over Potter and go sprawling right next to him -- and crouched, fishing underneath the bed for Potter's wand. It rested amid a small colony of dust bunnies. "I ought to free that damned elf," muttered Draco as he stuck Potter's wand in his jacket pocket, brushing his hand on his trousers. Blindly he groped in the general vicinity of where Potter had stood, and finally his fingers closed on wispy-light material. He threw the Cloak onto his mother's bed, out of reach, and stood over Potter, who lay crumpled at his feet. A part of Draco was sorely tempted to stomp on Potter's face like he already had once, but they were not sixteen-year-old boys anymore. Potter was an Auror, and Draco wasn't stupid.
"Finite. Before I call the Hit Wizards, care to tell me what in the blue hell you're doing in my flat, Potter?"
"I've got a search warrant," muttered Potter, struggling up into a sitting position. He looked annoyed. "You weren't supposed to be here."
Draco raised both eyebrows, entirely not sure how to address Potter's last remark. He was annoyed at Draco walking into his own flat? "A warrant, you say? On what grounds?"
"Reasonable suspicion," said Potter, and reached into his jacket's inside pocket.
"Slowly," warned Draco, raising his wand. Potter probably had a spare wand. He should've just kept him under Petrificus and let the Hit Wizards sort it out. Reasonable suspicion of what?
But Potter drew out a piece of parchment and handed it to Draco, who snatched it from him. How was he supposed to look at the warrant if he didn't dare look away? "Get up," he said to Potter, jabbing the wand in his direction. "The reading table in the corner. Sit there."
"Just read the bloody thing; I won't--"
"Now," said Draco, raising his wand a bit higher.
With a look of resignation, Potter crossed the room and sat down. Draco bound him to the chair with a quick Incarcerous and turned his attention to the warrant: a boilerplate enter-and-search job, easily forged. Except this one was signed by the chief of the Berlin Hit Wizards, so Draco supposed calling them wouldn't have earned him much besides a few laughs at his expense. The warrant was issued for unspecified "articles relating to an investigation in matters of international importance".
"What the hell is this?" asked Draco, waving the warrant in Potter's face. "What matters of international importance? I've got nothing to do with politics, Potter, and just because you happen to be in Berlin for whatever reason doesn't mean it gives you the right to check up on former Death Eater--"
"My work is none of your business," snapped Potter. "You've seen the warrant, now untie me, give me back my wand, and let me continue the search. Unless you want to be charged with obstruction of justice."
Draco stared at him, perplexed. Potter seriously thought Draco was going to do all that. Trouble was, Draco didn't see any other choice for himself. The warrant was in order -- by law, Draco had to comply. If he tried to prevent or hinder Potter's search, he'd be in trouble with the Hit Wizards. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small child stomped its feet and made Draco want to break things. Potter stared back at him, his glasses askew. He wore the same tight jeans Draco had seen at the Quidditch match.
"Shut up," said Draco and hurled a gagging spell at him. He would probably already get roughed up for restraining Potter anyway, and it gave him far too much satisfaction to see the honest bewilderment on Potter's stupid face. He'd release Potter when he chose, not when Potter demanded it, warrant or no.
Blaise would know what to do. Draco gave Potter a glare and walked to his bedroom next door. He would show the warrant to Blaise and--
He was slammed against the doorframe with far more force than was normal for Blaise, and his mouth was full of Blaise's tongue, and the warrant fluttered out into the corridor. Draco tried to push Blaise away, to tell him to stop, but Blaise seemed to take Draco's noises of protest as encouragement; he lifted Draco off his feet and carried him to the bed without breaking the kiss. Oh, this was new and different and almost enough to make Draco forget Potter's intrusion -- Blaise on top of him, his fingers making quick work of the shirt buttons, Blaise's mouth hot and sinful, rife with promise of being put to better uses than mere kissing, though the kissing was nice...
But Potter was next door, and as tempted as Draco was to forget, he couldn't. As Blaise's mouth moved to his neck, Draco said, "Blaise."
With a sigh, Blaise lifted his head to look at Draco. "What is it?"
"I've got Harry Potter tied up and gagged in the next room."
Blaise laughed softly. "Will he be joining us, then?" He brushed Draco's hair out of his face. His hand was warm, and all Draco wanted was to lean into the touch.
"I'm serious. He's got a search warrant. I, uh, dropped it in the corridor."
Blaise sat up, straddling Draco, and drew his wand, pointing it at the wall that separated the two bedrooms. Draco twisted around and saw the wall become transparent. There was Potter, who had managed to move several feet away from the table, still bound to the chair. He was struggling towards the door, Draco guessed, and he gave no indication of seeing them, though he glanced at the wall a few times as he inched sideways.
"This is bizarre," said Blaise. Draco looked up at him, and a plan of sorts formed in his mind.
Why not have Blaise use that spell to make Potter see inside this bedroom? It would shame and embarrass him to watch Draco and Blaise together, and right now, this looked to be the only way of inconveniencing Potter without attacking him outright.
He'd let Potter go after they were done. He'd apologise for the delay and be the picture of helpfulness. He'd even offer him tea, for fuck's sake. But not before he made sure Potter never forgot the consequences of his intrusion. Draco knew full well how revolting gay sex was to straight men; his father had educated him quite thoroughly on the matter.
"I think you should reverse that spell," he said before he had a chance to lose his nerve. "Make him watch us."
Blaise grinned down at him. "I thought you didn't like being on display."
"I don't," said Draco, starting to work on Blaise's buttons. "But I want him to regret having come here. Really regret it."
"I don't know anyone who'd regret watching us fuck." Blaise looked a bit offended.
"It's Potter. He's straight and an Auror. He'll be disgusted, not to mention shamed for life."
Blaise's smile returned, a bit uncertain. "Yeah?" He glanced at the wall.
Neville peered at the map in his hands and sighed, about ready to give this whole trip up as a bad job.
School would be starting in just a few weeks, and he had really wanted to give his NEWT students something fun to do, for a change -- usually, NEWT-level students dealt with dangerous plants, and the constant fear of having an arm gnawed off really put a damper on one's love of Herbology. But his plan to use Egyptian Snapdragons instead of Venomous Tentacula would never be approved if he couldn't get the Snapdragons to survive longer than a few months.
It had been pure chance that he'd read a Modern Herbologist article about a South Oxfordshire hobbyist who'd managed to make an entire colony of Snapdragons thrive. Now he stood at the crossing of two country paths, wondering if he'd taken a wrong turn. According to the map, he ought to be standing right on top of Mary Ogden's greenhouse, but all he could see for miles was grassland. Neville scratched his head.
Two figures emerged onto the knoll to his right, and Neville brightened. "Excuse me," he called to the newcomers, shielding his eyes from the setting sun, "But would you know where to find the Derrygate Farm? It belongs to the Ogden family."
The pair stopped, as though hesitating to come any closer. Neville hurried towards them, not caring if they thought him odd. He didn't want to return to Hogwarts empty-handed. Then he realised that he was face to face with none other but Patrick and Millicent Vaisey, whose wedding he had attended barely a week ago. "Uh. Aren't you supposed to be in South Africa?"
"South America," said Patrick with a glum look on his face. Millicent looked like she was trying not to laugh.
"What happened?" asked Neville. "All the presents you got--"
"We couldn't go," said Patrick. "An outbreak of, er, Valetudinarian Fever. In the area."
"Ah," said Neville, who had never heard of Valetudinarian Fever before, but he knew little of human illnesses. "So, uh. Nice to see you again."
"You, too, cousin," said Patrick. He put an arm round his wife's waist and began, "Well, we should--"
"No, wait," said Millicent.
Patrick sighed. "It's not a good idea."
"Sod your good ideas. He practically walked into us. I saw you with Eva Kay at our wedding. Is she a friend of yours?" she asked Neville.
Neville blinked at her. "No, she's Gran's friend. My grandmother, Augusta Longbottom," he added, and immediately felt silly. She was Patrick's grandmother, too. And why were these two interested in Eva, anyway?
"Have you noticed anything off about her?" Millicent persisted. Patrick's eyebrows were in motion, as though trying to communicate wordlessly with her, but she didn't seem to notice.
"Off?" asked Neville, watching Patrick out of the corner of his eye. He hadn't realised his cousin was so twitchy; he'd always seemed quite cool and composed, before.
"Yeah. Anything strange."
"Well, she doesn't like Muggles, apparently," said Neville. "Though I'm not sure that's strange. Lots of wizarding folk don't like Muggles, especially lately." As the shock of discovery faded, Muggles were beginning to try and find wizarding places. Some reporter was running a special series, offering rewards to people who knew families whose children didn't go to any nearby schools. Anti-Muggle enchantments still held, however, and most wizards were in no hurry to dissolve them.
Millicent looked Neville in the eye. "I remember what you did in seventh year," she said. "And I know, from Patrick's mum, what happened to your parents. You've got no reason to love Death Eaters, do you?"
Death Eaters? "No, I-- but-- Death Eaters are all..." stammered Neville. He didn't understand what was going on. All he'd wanted was to get advice on raising Egyptian Snapdragons, not walk into some kind of a Death Eater intrigue.
"Patrick and I suspect that Eva Kay is a Death Eater," said Millicent. "Will you help us get information about her?"
"No subtlety whatsoever," muttered Patrick, but Neville was looking at Millicent. He had not known she cared either way about Death Eaters. Still, Eva? A Death Eater? The idea was preposterous -- no one that beautiful could be a Death Eater.
"What makes you think she's a Death Eater?"
Millicent gave him a considering look. "Long story. Won't you come round for tea?"
Harry was ready to roar with frustration as he made his laborious way across the bedroom floor. It was useless to try and struggle out of the bonds -- the invisible ropes would hold forever if need be. He didn't know what Malfoy was playing at, leaving him tied up, but he managed to get quite pissed off over it already, and he had every intention of making the local Hit Wizards rough the pointy little bastard up. Some things never changed. Though Harry supposed he ought to be grateful Malfoy hadn't trod on his nose this time.
How had Malfoy known Harry was here? He had immobilised the house-elf and there had been no protective enchantments Harry could detect, and he knew Malfoy went out every Wednesday and didn't return until well after eleven. Berlin Hit Wizards had routine surveillance on every foreigner living in the city. After their head had called Harry a stiff-necked peacock, under his breath, in German, they had been so terrified of an international incident that they'd let him have everything: surveillance data, personal information, and all the search warrants he could ever need.
Harry had understood the insult thanks to George's Translation Edition Extendable Ear, and he was going to persuade Kingsley to place a large order with Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Just as soon as he wrapped up Berlin. Which, if he couldn't get out of these damned bonds, might not happen for a while.
So wrapped up was Harry in his thoughts that he didn't immediately notice that the wall he was facing was no longer a wall. He realised he was looking into another bedroom, bathed in soft light from lamps worked into the ceiling. On the bed were Malfoy and Blaise Zabini, and they were kissing. Harry shook his head. Malfoy had tied him up and went off to... Malfoy was gay?
Zabini sat up, and Malfoy slid his hands up to open Zabini's shirt, pushing it off. Zabini's chest was broad and hairless; Malfoy's hands seemed almost unnaturally white against it. Zabini settled backwards and helped Malfoy out of his shirt, his enormous hands covering Malfoy's shoulders completely. They kissed again, and Harry saw that Malfoy's fingers were busy at the front of Zabini's trousers. Harry looked away, aghast.
Did they know he could see them? What the hell was Malfoy doing, snogging his boyfriend whilst he held an Auror captive? He would pay for this. Harry certainly wasn't going to watch any more -- he was going to make his way out of here and over to the other bedroom; he didn't care if he surprised them. Shirt-lifters. Pathetic. And so embarrassing to watch.
One of them laughed, and Harry looked over on instinct. Both were naked now, Zabini on top, Malfoy's legs wrapped around him. Harry couldn't see Malfoy's face, for Malfoy lay on his back, but he could see Zabini, his face hidden in Malfoy's neck, one of his hands in Malfoy's hair, the other busy near Malfoy's waist. Disgusting. Malfoy arched up suddenly, and Zabini lifted off him a little, staring down at Malfoy with a horrible, love-struck expression. Ugh. Harry made a face and turned away, shutting his eyes for good measure.
"I wanted to ask you something about the interview," said Harry as he stepped into Kingsley's office an hour after his official Auror pre-screening.
"Sure," said Kingsley, looking up from a thick report.
"Mr Donegal asked me if I ever had homosexual urges. Is that a standard question or--?" Harry knew it had made him incredibly uncomfortable, and he didn't want to assume the worst about Donegal, who didn't seem to like him much.
"Yeah, that's standard, but only a formality in your case. The Auror office doesn't employ homosexuals, so an affirmative answer to that would've meant an instant refusal."
"So it's not written policy?"
"We don't need to make it written. The fairy types are all too limp-wristed and delicate for our line of work, but if we get one with delusions of grandeur, we can cull them quickly. This is a job for real men and women, not freaks of nature."
One of the freaks of nature next door groaned, and Harry, against his better judgement, looked. Malfoy lay on his side with Zabini behind him; his head was twisted at an awkward-looking angle and Harry could see their tongues sliding against each other. Warmth trickled into his lower belly, and he stared, transfixed, as Zabini moved behind Malfoy, and his hands slid all over Malfoy's chest, and Malfoy's right hand flew over his cock. Zabini moaned and broke the kiss, throwing his head back as he started thrusting faster. The trickle in Harry's belly became a torrent, and he was hard, hard from watching this... abomination. Anger mingled with arousal, and he strained harder against his bonds, to no avail. Malfoy's mouth remained slack for a few moments, but then he closed it and opened his eyes. He seemed to be staring straight at Harry, and fucked if that wasn't a smirk playing across his lips.
He knows I can see him.
Harry turned away sharply. Malfoy was going to pay for this. The noises Malfoy and Zabini were making grew louder, more frantic, and each one made Harry want to look again, each one made his cock twitch unhappily. He refused to look, though. He would not play Malfoy's game.
It didn't mean anything, of course it didn't. He'd have to be made of stone not to get turned on by sex, especially considering that he hadn't had sex in years. The moans from next door were subsiding, and soon it was quiet again. Harry looked up and saw Malfoy walking towards the wall, still naked, hips swaying like a girl's. His limp cock was a sorry little worm, just like Harry knew it would be.
Malfoy pulled a set of robes from the wardrobe and slipped them on, and then walked out of Harry's field of vision.
There was muffled conversation Harry couldn't make out, but then Zabini's voice said clearly, "See you tomorrow." Really, what was wrong with these people? Fuck and part ways, like animals. Deplorable.
Malfoy murmured something in reply, but Harry was no longer trying to focus: so Zabini very likely hadn't known that Harry was here. It really was typical that Malfoy would pull something like that; the man didn't seem capable of normal feelings like shame and discretion. Zabini leaving also meant that Malfoy would be coming back to gloat, and Harry quickly began running through the usual mental exercises to regain his composure. He'd been caught unawares twice tonight, but that was only because he'd underestimated Malfoy's alertness and cunning. He wouldn't make the same mistake again.