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dracoharry1002019-07-21 11:54 pm
twisted_miracle) wrote in dracoharry1002019-07-21 11:54 pm
Slithering, a sequel. Part 74
Title: Slithering, a sequel - 74
Author: twisted_miracle
Team: death eaters
Word count: 100x5 for honesty, 2 for weak
Characters/pairings: Harry/Draco
Rating: Rated PG-13 today, NC-17 overall
Challenge: honesty
Disclaimer: They aren't mine, they belong to the clever Scottish lady. I just bend them and love them. Please don't smack me for playing. It isn't like I am going to earn any money from this!
Author's note: Comments are love!
Summary: Draco and Harry go their different ways.
Author's 2nd Note: This is a sequel to "Slither In," which starts here: http://dracoharry100.livejournal.com/286839.html
and ends here: http://dracoharry100.livejournal.com/460335.html
Author's third note: I now have a detailed outline that extends all the way to the ending. Expect this fic to be complete in... July? If not July, then August.
Sequel "Slithering"
part 1: http://dracoharry100.livejournal.com/1207586.html
Part 73: https://dracoharry100.dreamwidth.org/292376.html#cutid1
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Draco sat on his bed and forced himself not to cry. Honestly. He was a man, now! A proper Malfoy. Fucking boys was a childhood indulgence he would never again need to entertain.
He levitated his recordings into the air. There was last night’s sex, and last night’s sleep-talk — if he’d even said anything in his sleep last night. He’d rushed Harry away before he thought to ask.
Next to them floated the “porny presentation” they’d crafted so carefully.
Next to them was a set of memories Draco cherished.
Harry, falling asleep with such trust, naked in Draco’s arms.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Harry, looking at Draco with both overwhelming hope and honesty, clear in his eyes.
Harry on his knees, looking up from the floor of Draco’s tiny, utilitarian dormitory shower. Barely fitting in the space, somehow still sexier than anyone had a right to be, but nonetheless looking at Draco like he’d invented magic.
Harry on that terrible, wonderful park bench, quietly admitting “I think... I love you.”
Furious, miserable, and disgusted with himself, Draco cast Reducto and watched, horrified, as all of his memories and recordings burnt to ash in the air of his packed up dormitory bedroom.
Unrecoverable. Forever.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Honestly, Harry already knew he should not watch those recordings, but neither could he make himself destroy them. Classes resumed, days passed. Finally Andromeda owled a dinner invitation.
Draco was not there, and Harry pretended that was what he’d expected.
The next day, hoping for distractions, Harry went to Professor Harnithan, who loved all Harry’s ideas. Soon Harry was running two clubs: basic and advanced, and running two study groups, as well. He learned he still loved teaching, but even better was the way he could once again reliably fall asleep every night without feeling a need to masturbate first.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Eventually, nonetheless, Harry reached an end to his rope. He hadn’t had sex in three long, sad months. The stress of NEWT revision was getting to him (and all his classmates). And, this particular rainy Thursday night, he just could not manage to fall asleep.
So, cursing his weakness, Harry threw a random recording of Draco into his Pensieve and went in after it; prepared to simply masturbate, come, fall asleep.
He had Draco’s permission, he told himself. Therefore he wasn’t doing anything wrong by watching memories of them in bed together.
He was not prepared for what he saw.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
There they were in the dusky half-light of enchantment, the two of them snuggled together in the very center of the bed. There was more than enough room in that damn bed for both of them to stretch out, have their own half. Nonetheless they’d curled together, close as a pair of puppies.
And Draco was talking. Was he sleeping? Probably? Harry couldn’t be certain, but he could make out most of the words.
“Love you, Harry,” Draco murmured into Harry’s neck. “Yr so fuckin’ sexy. Always. M’so gay, Harry. Want you always, y’know.”
How had Harry slept through this?
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Draco had spent thirty minutes murmuring spellforced honesty into Harry’s hair: endearments, words of love, assertions of homosexuality.
Miserable, trying not to fill his heart with hope, Harry ignored his better judgement and listened — rapt — to every word. Draco loved him. Wanted him. Was utterly and completely queer. And yet, they’d not so much as waved at one another from across a large room in three months.
Eventually, Draco stopped murmuring, Harry stopped weeping, and Harry fell asleep right there in his Pensieve.
In the morning he woke with a terrible crick in his neck and a thoroughly broken heart.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
That very day he got McGonagall’s permission to head to London, where he put every single memory and recording of Draco into a double-locked box and secured that box inside his Gringott’s vault.
He might not be able to make himself destroy them, but he could not have them close by. Whatever somnum loqui might do to ‘loosen a sleeper’s tongue,’ however honest the spell might force a sleeper to be, Harry had no choice but to believe that Draco’s actions spoke far, far louder than his words. Especially when those words were spoken only under a spell, while asleep.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
To Be Continued: https://dracoharry100.dreamwidth.org/295230.html#cutid1
Author: twisted_miracle
Team: death eaters
Word count: 100x5 for honesty, 2 for weak
Characters/pairings: Harry/Draco
Rating: Rated PG-13 today, NC-17 overall
Challenge: honesty
Disclaimer: They aren't mine, they belong to the clever Scottish lady. I just bend them and love them. Please don't smack me for playing. It isn't like I am going to earn any money from this!
Author's note: Comments are love!
Summary: Draco and Harry go their different ways.
Author's 2nd Note: This is a sequel to "Slither In," which starts here: http://dracoharry100.livejournal.com/286839.html
and ends here: http://dracoharry100.livejournal.com/460335.html
Author's third note: I now have a detailed outline that extends all the way to the ending. Expect this fic to be complete in... July? If not July, then August.
Sequel "Slithering"
part 1: http://dracoharry100.livejournal.com/1207586.html
Part 73: https://dracoharry100.dreamwidth.org/292376.html#cutid1
Draco sat on his bed and forced himself not to cry. Honestly. He was a man, now! A proper Malfoy. Fucking boys was a childhood indulgence he would never again need to entertain.
He levitated his recordings into the air. There was last night’s sex, and last night’s sleep-talk — if he’d even said anything in his sleep last night. He’d rushed Harry away before he thought to ask.
Next to them floated the “porny presentation” they’d crafted so carefully.
Next to them was a set of memories Draco cherished.
Harry, falling asleep with such trust, naked in Draco’s arms.
Harry, looking at Draco with both overwhelming hope and honesty, clear in his eyes.
Harry on his knees, looking up from the floor of Draco’s tiny, utilitarian dormitory shower. Barely fitting in the space, somehow still sexier than anyone had a right to be, but nonetheless looking at Draco like he’d invented magic.
Harry on that terrible, wonderful park bench, quietly admitting “I think... I love you.”
Furious, miserable, and disgusted with himself, Draco cast Reducto and watched, horrified, as all of his memories and recordings burnt to ash in the air of his packed up dormitory bedroom.
Unrecoverable. Forever.
Honestly, Harry already knew he should not watch those recordings, but neither could he make himself destroy them. Classes resumed, days passed. Finally Andromeda owled a dinner invitation.
Draco was not there, and Harry pretended that was what he’d expected.
The next day, hoping for distractions, Harry went to Professor Harnithan, who loved all Harry’s ideas. Soon Harry was running two clubs: basic and advanced, and running two study groups, as well. He learned he still loved teaching, but even better was the way he could once again reliably fall asleep every night without feeling a need to masturbate first.
Eventually, nonetheless, Harry reached an end to his rope. He hadn’t had sex in three long, sad months. The stress of NEWT revision was getting to him (and all his classmates). And, this particular rainy Thursday night, he just could not manage to fall asleep.
So, cursing his weakness, Harry threw a random recording of Draco into his Pensieve and went in after it; prepared to simply masturbate, come, fall asleep.
He had Draco’s permission, he told himself. Therefore he wasn’t doing anything wrong by watching memories of them in bed together.
He was not prepared for what he saw.
There they were in the dusky half-light of enchantment, the two of them snuggled together in the very center of the bed. There was more than enough room in that damn bed for both of them to stretch out, have their own half. Nonetheless they’d curled together, close as a pair of puppies.
And Draco was talking. Was he sleeping? Probably? Harry couldn’t be certain, but he could make out most of the words.
“Love you, Harry,” Draco murmured into Harry’s neck. “Yr so fuckin’ sexy. Always. M’so gay, Harry. Want you always, y’know.”
How had Harry slept through this?
Draco had spent thirty minutes murmuring spellforced honesty into Harry’s hair: endearments, words of love, assertions of homosexuality.
Miserable, trying not to fill his heart with hope, Harry ignored his better judgement and listened — rapt — to every word. Draco loved him. Wanted him. Was utterly and completely queer. And yet, they’d not so much as waved at one another from across a large room in three months.
Eventually, Draco stopped murmuring, Harry stopped weeping, and Harry fell asleep right there in his Pensieve.
In the morning he woke with a terrible crick in his neck and a thoroughly broken heart.
That very day he got McGonagall’s permission to head to London, where he put every single memory and recording of Draco into a double-locked box and secured that box inside his Gringott’s vault.
He might not be able to make himself destroy them, but he could not have them close by. Whatever somnum loqui might do to ‘loosen a sleeper’s tongue,’ however honest the spell might force a sleeper to be, Harry had no choice but to believe that Draco’s actions spoke far, far louder than his words. Especially when those words were spoken only under a spell, while asleep.
To Be Continued: https://dracoharry100.dreamwidth.org/295230.html#cutid1
no subject
And Harry - I am sad for him as well, knowing that Draco loves and wants him and still is not able to stand by that, it hurts so much.
no subject
no subject
i know. it's very sad!