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“So, what do you think?”
Harry looked up from the folder in his lap, to the expectant expression on his boyfriend’s face. “You’re serious about this?” he asked incredulously.
Draco’s smile faded slightly. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“Honestly? It is a little, yeah. You’ve never said anything about it before now.”
Draco sat down on the sofa at the side of Harry and gently tugged the folder from his hands. “I want a family, Harry. More to the point, I want a family with you. Now, considering that between us we are missing several vital pieces of equipment, this is the next best thing.”
“I just…I wish you had talked about this with me first.” Harry kept his eyes on the floor, refusing to acknowledge the hurt expression on Draco’s face.
“I don’t understand. You want children; I’ve heard you say so. Is it because they won’t be biologically yours? Because we could always look into surrogates.”
“No! It’s got nothing to do with that. How can you even think I would care about that?”
“Well, until a few minutes ago, I thought you’d be jumping for joy at this news, so forgive me if I’m a little confused about how you’re feeling.”
Sensing the hurt in Draco’s tone, Harry reached out and took hold of one of his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “You’ve obviously gone to a lot of trouble with this; I don’t mean to seem ungrateful.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Draco asked earnestly. “Have you changed your mind about wanting children, is that it? I can see how spending time with the junior Weasels would do that to you.”
Harry smiled slightly and shook his head. “I haven’t changed my mind,” he admitted slowly. “But wanting kids, and actually having them are two entirely different things. I don’t know anything about babies.”
Draco gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Who does? You think women are born with some innate knowledge of how to rear children? Did you actually see Pansy with her baby that first month?”
Harry smiled again; Pansy had certainly not been the image of doting motherhood. “But she had her mum there to help her, and Greg’s too. Who’s going to help us?”
“We’ll figure it out,” Draco said, in a tone that brooked no argument. “You fought a war and took down a Dark Lord; don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little baby.”
“I’m not afraid of them, I’m afraid of what we’ll do to them. Draco, you were raised by house-elves, and I was raised in a cupboard. What the hell do we know about being parents?”
Draco shuffled closer to his boyfriend and slipped an arm around his waist. “I’m not my parents, and you certainly aren’t those vile Muggles.”
“I’m just scared that we’ll mess them up,” Harry admitted. “I couldn’t stand that.”
“I think everyone feels that way, Harry. It’s perfectly normal.” Draco placed the folder back into his boyfriend’s hands. “At least have a good read of this,” he coaxed. “It will explain everything better than I can. Promise me you’ll at least think about it?”
Harry’s fingers curled around the edges of the thick file. “I will,” he promised, his voice slightly croaky.
Draco nodded in satisfaction at having elicited this promise. He got to his feet. “I’ll make a start on dinner. I thought we could have salmon tonight.”
Harry wasn’t listening; he was staring down at the folder, his fingers clenched tightly around it. Draco paused in the doorway, watching him for a few moments. When Harry slowly opened the file and settled back to read, Draco nodded in satisfaction and left the room.
“Oh, Harry! That’s wonderful!”
“Yeah, that’s great news, mate.”
Harry looked at his best friends, more than a little dumbfounded by their reaction. He had been hoping that they would understand his reluctance, that they would agree with him that he and Draco were the last people who should be raising a child.
“I guess,” he said finally, uncertainty clear in his tone.
For once, it was Ron who picked up on it; Hermione was rather busy removing her small daughter’s sticky hand from her hair.
“You don’t sound very sure. What’s up? You having trouble convincing Draco?”
Harry’s eyes widened. “No! This was all his idea. He went to the adoption agency by himself; he wanted it to be a surprise for me.”
“Oh, that’s so lovely,” Hermione cooed, whilst shooting her wriggling daughter a warning look.
“He said he didn’t want to get my hopes up in case nothing came of it,” Harry admitted.
“And yet you still don’t look very happy about it,” Ron commented, reaching over and rescuing his daughter from her increasingly frustrated mother.
Freed from distractions now, Hermione narrowed her eyes in the direction of her friend. “Ron’s right,” she stated. “You don’t look happy.”
“There’s no need to sound so surprised. I’m not completely stupid,” Ron protested.
“Of course you’re not, dear,” Hermione replied, her eyes not leaving Harry’s face. “So, come on, what’s the problem?”
“It’s nothing,” Harry said weakly, not for a moment expecting that this would put Hermione off the scent.
He was right.
“You never could lie very well. Now, something is obviously bothering you about this whole adoption thing, and you’re going nowhere ‘til you tell us what it is.”
Harry shot a pleading look at Ron, who simply chuckled in reply. “Don’t look at me,” he said. “I’m with her.”
“I thought you wanted children,” Hermione said. “When you told us you were gay, you said that was your one regret; that you would never get to have your own family.”
Harry nodded. “That’s true.”
“So what changed?”
Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat; he never felt at ease when discussing his feelings. That was one of the great things about being with Draco; he just knew -- he didn’t have to be told.
“Nothing’s changed, not really. I would still love to have a family with Draco, but…”
“But what?” Hermione demanded, tucking a strand of frizzy hair behind her ear.
“I just don’t think that we should,” Harry admitted softly.
A stunned silence greeted his admission, until it was broken by the sound of a derisive snort from Ron.
“Don’t talk crap,” he said. “Is this about you being gay? Because no one gives a toss about-”
“Ron,” Hermione snapped. “Watch your language in front of Emily. You know she picks up everything you say.”
Ron grinned sheepishly. “Sorry.” He pressed a soft kiss to his daughter’s head, hiding the smirk on his face.
Hermione rolled her eyes at her husband before turning her attention back to Harry. “This isn’t about you being gay, is it?” she asked shrewdly. “Are you worried about the notoriety your children will face, because of who their parents are?”
“That’s a part of it,” Harry agreed. “Being the children of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy is going to come with a lot of attached baggage. Rita Skeeter will have a field day with them.” Harry shook his head sadly. “I know what it’s like to have your whole life splashed across the papers. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy, let alone my own kids.”
“She’d have to get past Malfoy first,” Ron put in. “I’ve seen what he’s like when those photographers get too close to you.”
“That’s true,” Hermione agreed. “And you’d be just the same, Harry. You’re awfully protective of those you care about.” She paused and sat back in her seat, one hand rubbing her swollen tummy as she gazed at Harry with a thoughtful expression on her face.
Harry squirmed under the intensity of her gaze. “What?” he asked defensively.
“You’re not your Uncle Vernon,” Hermione said finally.
“What? Of course Harry’s nothing like that bloody Muggle,” Ron cried in outrage.
“I know that, Ron,” Hermione answered with exaggerated patience. “But I’m not so sure that Harry does.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ron muttered. But when Hermione nodded in Harry’s direction, her husband was surprised to see an uncomfortable flush on his best friend’s face.
“Mate, you don’t really think that, do you?”
“Harry,” Hermione prodded, after a moment’s silence. “Just because the Dursleys treated you…well, the way they did, that doesn’t mean that you will treat your own children that way. You and Draco are nothing like them.”
Harry shrugged. “But what does either of us know about raising a kid?”
Ron snorted. “Probably about as much as I did before Emily was born. You just have to figure it out as you go along. Even Hermione didn’t know what she was doing, and she knows everything.” He shifted quickly out of the way, as Hermione made to elbow him sharply.
“But at least you two grew up in normal families, so you have some idea.”
Ron laughed outright at this. “Normal? You have met my family, haven’t you?”
Hermione leant forward and took hold of one of Harry’s hands. “There’s no such thing as a ‘normal’ family, Harry. There are no hard and fast rules, no instruction manual. Everyone’s scared, or else in denial. You just have to love them, care for them, and then cross your fingers and hope for the best.”
Harry didn’t look convinced. “That’s easier said than done.”
“Well, of course it is. No one said having children was easy. I can promise you there will be days when you could quite cheerfully strangle them, or Draco for that matter. But I can also promise you there will be days when you’ll wonder how you ever lived without them.”
Hermione paused here for a moment, waiting to see if her words had made any impression. Satisfied with the brooding expression on Harry’s face, she continued. “You should really be talking about this to Draco. I’ll bet he has no idea what you’re thinking.”
“It’s not that easy. Draco doesn’t really know that much about my childhood. I mean, he knows the Dursleys weren’t very nice, but I’ve never gone into detail.”
“I know you don’t like talking about it,” Hermione said gently, “but I really think you should tell him.”
“I tried to, once. But he got so angry when I told him about my cupboard, that I was worried he would try to hunt them down.”
“Wouldn’t be such a bad thing,” Ron muttered.
“Ron,” Hermione chastised. “That’s not helpful.”
“Well…” Ron quailed in the face of his wife’s glare.
“Just tell him, Harry. Don’t let your past dictate your future.”
Harry remained unconvinced. “Just promise me you’ll at least think about it,” Hermione pressed.
Harry nodded. “I promise,” he said flatly, mentally noting that he seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.
“They put what on your windows?” Draco repeated in appalled tones.
“Bars,” Harry muttered reluctantly, watching the rattling picture frames warily.
Draco didn’t reply straight away. Harry could see he was taking deep breaths and trying to regain his control. After a few moments, the vibrating of the room ceased and Harry relaxed slightly.
“And you didn’t think to tell me this why, exactly?” Draco’s voice was now dangerously calm.
“I did try,” Harry protested. “I told you about the cupboard.”
Draco’s grip tightened on the mug in his hand, his knuckles whitening. “You made it sound like they put you in there for misbehaving. You said it was no big deal. What you didn’t say was that it was your fucking bedroom for ten years. How could you not tell me something like that?”
“I didn’t think there was any point,” Harry mumbled, concentrating on stirring his tea. “It’s in the past.”
Draco leant forward and placed a hand on top of Harry’s, stilling the repetitive stirring motion. “Stop that,” he said gently, taking the spoon and placing it on the table. He then cupped his hand under Harry’s chin, forcing his boyfriend to face him.
“Of course there’s a point. You know everything there is to know about me, my family, and my childhood. How do you think it makes me feel knowing there’s this large portion of your life that I know nothing about?”
Harry shrugged; he’d honestly never thought of it from Draco’s perspective before.
“As for it being in the past,” Draco continued, “it clearly isn’t. You obviously still haven’t come to terms with what happened to you.”
Harry pulled his head away from Draco’s hand. “You’re making me sound like some kind of child abuse victim; it wasn’t that bad.”
“Harry, what they did to you, it was abuse.”
“I wasn’t abused.” Harry shook his head stubbornly. “They weren’t very nice, but they never touched me, not like that.”
Draco slid closer on the sofa, until he was nuzzled up against Harry’s side. “You lived in a cupboard for ten years,” he said softly, slowly stroking his hand along Harry’s thigh. “They bullied you, ignored you, locked you in a room and practically starved you. Just because they didn’t beat you or molest you, doesn’t mean it wasn’t abuse. And even though your Aunt and Uncle may never have assaulted you themselves, they certainly never stopped your cousin from doing it, did they?”
“No,” Harry whispered, so quietly that Draco could barely hear him.
Draco pulled Harry in close, wrapping him in a tight hug; he could sense the distress that these memories were causing his boyfriend. “This is why you’re nervous about the adoption idea, isn’t it?”
“I just don’t want to be like him,” Harry replied, his voice muffled in the crook of Draco’s neck.
“You won’t be,” Draco replied firmly, running his hand soothingly down his boyfriend’s back.
Harry pulled back from the embrace, and looked at Draco with suspiciously bright eyes. “How do you know that? You can’t be sure.”
“I’m as sure of that as I am of my own name. Harry, you couldn’t be cruel if your life depended on it; you just don’t have it in you. You’re the most loving, caring person I know. You’ll make a wonderful father; I’m certain of it.”
“But-”
“But nothing,” Draco interrupted. "I said I'm certain, and I'm always right. Have you learnt nothing these last few years?”
Harry couldn’t help but smile at his boyfriend’s haughty reply. “Okay,” he agreed, insinuating himself back into Draco’s arms. “You’re right, as always.”
Draco smiled smugly as he cuddled up with his boyfriend; the pieces of the future he so desperately wanted were starting to come together. He just needed to give Harry a gentle push.
As he felt Harry’s hands slide under the back of his shirt, cold against his warm skin, a grin curved the edges of Draco’s mouth -- a hint of an idea was taking shape.
Harry picked distractedly at his lunch, before finally setting it to one side. A brief look at the kitchen clock told him what he already knew: Draco was late.
They were supposed to be going shopping in Diagon Alley that afternoon; Ron’s birthday was coming up, and Draco was always better at choosing presents than he was.
It was nearly half-past one, and Draco had promised he would be home by twelve. It was becoming something of a habit with him lately, Harry reflected. This caused a knot of worry to form in his stomach.
Draco was never late. He prided himself on his punctuality. And, yet, this last week or so -- Harry tried to ignore the voice that pointed out it had been ever since that conversation -- Draco had been late more times than he could remember. And now that Harry thought about it, the excuses were always flimsy at best.
Harry took a few deep breaths and mentally chastised himself for not trusting his boyfriend. Draco had never given him any reason to suspect that he would cheat. He promised himself that he would talk to Draco, rather than jump to conclusions -- if he ever came home, that was.
Meanwhile, Draco left his Law Wizard’s office with a smile of satisfaction on his face, and a spring in his step. Tucking a scroll of parchment into his cloak pocket, he pulled up his hood to protect himself from the slowly drifting snowflakes, and Apparated home.
He landed neatly in their hallway, quickly shedding his cloak and casting a Drying Charm on it. He hummed happily to himself as he checked his reflection in the mirror -- thankfully, the inclement weather hadn’t affected his hair.
Draco turned around, intending to seek out his boyfriend, only to start with surprise at finding Harry standing behind him, a less-than-happy expression on his face.
“You’re not dressed,” he observed, ignoring Harry’s expression. “It’s snowing outside; you’ll need more than that thin jumper on.” Draco took a moment to admire the way said jumper clung to Harry’s toned torso.
“I was ready,” Harry replied shortly. “About two hours ago. Where the hell have you been?”
Somewhat surprised by his boyfriend’s reaction, Draco glanced briefly at his watch. The smile quickly fell from his face.
“Shit!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t realise it was that late.” He stepped closer and placed one hand on Harry’s arm. “I just lost track of time.”
Harry took a step backwards, away from his touch. “You seem to be doing that a lot lately.”
“I know. I‘m sorry.” Draco appeared genuinely contrite. “It’s not anything like you might be thinking; I promise. Just put this on.” Draco passed Harry his thick winter coat. “And I’ll explain everything.”
Harry slid into his coat grudgingly and watched as Draco donned his own. “We’re not going to Diagon Alley?” He knew that Draco would never been seen wearing Muggle attire in the wizarding world, however much he might wear it at home.
“No, we’re not.” Draco stepped in closer, until he was toe-to-toe with his boyfriend. He reached out and began looping a silver and green scarf around Harry’s neck. “It’s freezing out there,” he offered by way of an explanation.
When the matching hat was tugged onto his head, Harry couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Even after all these years, Draco still found it amusing to dress Gryffindor’s Golden Boy in Slytherin colours.
Once Draco had pulled on his own fully-coordinated outerwear, he slid a mittened hand into Harry’s, raised his wand hand, and turned slightly.
The surprise Apparition disoriented Harry. So much so, that it took him a few minutes to process his new surroundings.
His eyes widened as they took in the familiar, grey-stone building, with its numerous windows, and old clock tower. The playground looked different, devoid as it was of small children playing. But then, as Harry remembered, he had rarely ventured outside at break times if he could avoid it.
He turned a stunned expression on his boyfriend, who was, in turn, grinning madly back at him.
“Draco, this is…that’s my…”
“Primary school?” Draco suggested. “At least, that’s what Hermione called it.”
“Yes, my primary school. So would you mind telling me what the fuck we’re doing here? This is hardly a happy trip down memory lane for me.”
Draco gave his boyfriend an almost predatory grin, and began walking closer. “Well,” he said. “Ever since our conversation last week, I’ve been thinking about your childhood.”
“That must have been depressing for you,” Harry muttered, edging backwards, away from his slowly advancing boyfriend.
“It occurred to me,” Draco continued, as if Harry hadn’t spoken, “that in order to help you deal with your past, we ought to treat it as if it were a Boggart.”
“I don’t think casting Riddikulus at my childhood will make it go away,” Harry replied mulishly.
Draco rolled his eyes. “I know that, Harry. But the principle is the same. You take something that scares you and turn it into something funny.”
Draco was only inches away from him now, but as he tried to step backwards, Harry almost fell over the swing behind him. Draco’s hand shot out to balance him, and then firmly pushed him into the swing -- which was definitely made for smaller bottoms than his, Harry decided.
“So you, what? Brought me here to make me laugh?” Harry’s tone was slightly incredulous.
Draco smiled smoothly. “Not quite. My comedic skills aren’t what they could be. I thought, in your case, we should start somewhere that reminds you of bad memories, and then utilise another of my skills to ensure you leave with happier ones.”
“You’re not making any sense,” Harry snapped, looking at his surroundings with a hunted air. “Let’s just go home.”
Draco slowly shook his head and placed a stilling hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder.
“What I’m trying to say, is that at the moment, when you think of this place, all you have is bad memories of being bullied, right?”
Harry nodded reluctantly as he ran his gaze over the abandoned playground, taking in all the places he had cowered as a small, frightened child. “I don’t-” he started to protest, but Draco lay a finger on his lips.
Harry’s eyes widened slightly as he watched his boyfriend drop to his knees, so that they were almost on the same level.
Draco held Harry‘s gaze and began smoothing his hands along his boyfriend‘s thighs. “What if, instead of those memories, every time you think of this place, all you can think of is me, on my knees, with my lips wrapped around your hard cock?”
“Draco!” Harry’s voice came out as almost a squeak, and he looked around nervously.
Draco couldn’t help but smile at the adorable flush of embarrassment on his boyfriend’s face. “Relax. I’m reliably informed that it’s school holidays; there’s no one here.”
“But we’re still in public,” Harry protested weakly, feeling his resolve weaken as Draco palmed his cock through his trousers.
Draco gave a negligent wave of his wand and cast a well-practised Notice-Me-Not Charm. “There,” he said smugly, his fingers toying with the fastenings of Harry’s trousers.
“It’s cold,” Harry objected, his voice rising a notch as he felt Draco’s cold fingers against his heated flesh.
Feeling the definite stirrings of his boyfriend’s interest, Draco knew that Harry was making only token protests now. With another flick of his wand, they were bathed in the gentle, rolling heat of a Warming Charm. Looking upwards, Harry could see the fluttering snowflakes simply vanishing as they neared them.
“Lift up a bit,” Draco instructed, bringing Harry back to the realisation of what was happening.
“Draco, I really don’t think this is a good idea.” Despite this, Harry raised his bum off the swing, allowing Draco to tug his trousers down slightly.
“Don’t think,” Draco advised, slipping his hand inside Harry’s boxers. “Just enjoy.”
Any further objections that Harry had planned to make were totally forgotten as he felt the wet heat of Draco’s mouth engulfing his erection.
Draco looked up and watched as Harry’s head tilted backwards, his cheeks flushed, and lips parted in a silent groan. The sight of Harry in the throes of passion did far more for Draco’s own arousal than any amount of porn ever could; it was the most incredibly erotic thing to witness.
Raising his other hand to gently massage Harry’s balls, he was rewarded by the sound of a needy whimper. Spurred on by the noises his boyfriend was making, Draco tilted his head back slightly, and swallowed around Harry’s shaft.
Harry’s head snapped forward, glazed green eyes staring at his boyfriend in wonder. “Fuck,” he gasped in awestruck tones.
Somehow, even with a mouthful of cock, Draco managed to smirk smugly.
Slowly, Draco eased off, allowing Harry’s cock to slide through his lips. Harry made a soft noise of discontent at the loss of suction. Draco didn’t reply. He just wrapped his hand firmly around the base of Harry’s shaft, and began lapping at the head of his cock, savouring the tiny drops of pre-come.
When Draco finally took Harry's cock back in his mouth, Harry couldn’t help but thrust upwards into the enticing heat. Draco made no effort to still his boyfriend’s movements. Instead, he began bobbing his head in time with Harry’s thrusts, aided by the gentle sway of the swing.
Suddenly the swing chains jangled loudly, almost drowning out Harry’s cry of “Draco,” as he bucked wildly and flooded his boyfriend’s mouth with his seed.
Draco swallowed every drop with satisfaction, watching as Harry slumped bonelessly in a post-orgasmic daze. Licking his boyfriend’s spent cock clean, with almost worshipful reverence, Draco gently tucked Harry back into his boxers and clambered to his feet.
“C’mon, lover boy,” he teased, tugging Harry’s limp body upright.
He chuckled softly as Harry fumbled with the fastenings on his trousers, before finally taking pity on his dazed boyfriend and helping. Once Harry was dressed, Draco slid his arms around his boyfriend’s waist and tugged him in close, pressing their lips together in a lazy kiss.
Harry willingly submitted to his boyfriend’s plundering tongue, relishing the taste of himself on Draco’s lips.
Still swept up in the pleasure of his own release, Harry no longer cared about their surroundings. Eager to return the favour, he insinuated his hand between their bodies, cupping Draco’s rather prominent erection.
Draco, however, had other ideas. He stepped back quickly.
Harry looked at him in confusion. “Don’t you want to…?” He gesticulated in the direction of his boyfriend’s tented trousers.
“Oh, I want to,” Draco replied. “Just not here.”
“But it’s okay for me to risk getting caught with my cock out in a school playground?”
Draco couldn’t help but chuckle at that; there was a sound bite that Rita Skeeter would sell her own family for.
“It’s not funny, Draco.” Harry pouted slightly. “They lock people up for that sort of thing.”
Draco pulled his boyfriend close again, nuzzling the soft skin of his neck. “I wasn’t laughing at you. Promise.”
Harry huffed slightly. “I know,” he murmured. “Must be this place making me moody.”
Draco pulled back slightly and gazed searchingly at his boyfriend’s face. “But you have better memories of it now, don’t you?”
Harry gazed to the empty swing, which was still swaying slightly. A slow grin spread over his face. “Yeah, I do. The best, in fact.” He leant forward and pressed a chaste kiss to Draco’s lips. “Thanks for doing this.”
Draco held Harry tightly and raised his wand. “I’m not done yet,” he answered, before the familiar sensation of Apparition swept over them both.
If Harry had found their first destination a surprise, it was nothing to the shock he felt upon seeing number four, Privet Drive, again.
Over the years, Harry had managed to convince himself that he didn’t care about the Dursleys -- and in large part, this was true. But seeing that prim house, with its middle class delusions of grandeur, Harry realised, with a sickening lurch, just how much their rejection still stung.
As he looked round the orderly back garden, where he had toiled, unappreciated, for many summers, Harry felt a distinct tightening of his chest.
“Let’s go. Now,” he said, turning to his boyfriend. Draco, however, was busy casting Alohamora on the back door. Harry watched in horror as his boyfriend turned the handle and slowly eased the door open.
His hand shot out to grab Draco’s arm. “What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded in hushed tones. “I don’t want to see them.”
“They aren’t in.”
“How can you be sure?” Harry persisted.
Draco paused on the threshold of the Dursleys’ house and shot Harry an impish grin. “I might have arranged for them to be elsewhere this afternoon.”
Harry regarded his boyfriend incredulously, not entirely sure what to say. Draco simply took hold of his hand and dragged Harry into the house after him.
“What are we doing here?” Harry questioned, trying his hardest to focus on Draco, and not on the unpleasantly familiar surroundings.
Draco merely stepped closer, one eyebrow raised, and a broad smirk on his face.
It took Harry a moment to understand the implications of that expression. “No.” He shook his head and backed away, only to find the kitchen table in his path.
“Draco!” he protested, as hands began pulling at his trousers again.
“Harry!” Draco mimicked, not pausing in his actions.
Harry squirmed, but found himself firmly pinned against the table. “You’re not going to suck me off in the Dursleys’ kitchen,” he said, the words not sounding as firm out loud as they had in his head.
“You’re right,” Draco replied, pushing down Harry’s trousers and boxers. “I have no intention of giving you a blowjob.”
Harry would have felt relieved at this, were it not for the fact that his trousers were currently round his ankles.
“What I plan to do,” Draco continued, deftly turning Harry around to face the table, “is bend you over this offensively ugly piece of furniture, and then rim your delicious arse until you feel like you’re losing your mind. Once I’ve done that, I then plan to fuck you so hard that you’ll be remembering it every time you sit down for a week.”
Despite his horror at their current location, Harry couldn’t suppress the surge of arousal that swept through him at Draco’s worlds. Suddenly, scorching hands were on his body, skating over the warm, golden skin of his torso, pausing only to pluck gently at his nipples. Whatever his earlier objections had been, as Harry felt Draco’s erection pressing snugly against his bare buttocks, he realised he no longer cared. All that mattered now was that Draco followed up on his promise.
Draco dropped to his knees and allowed his eyes to feast on Harry’s arse; it was smooth, perfectly rounded, and the most beautiful sight. He stroked his hands over Harry’s buttocks covetously, kneading the soft flesh, and relishing the breathy moans this elicited from his boyfriend.
Finally, he took hold of one cheek in each hand, and spread them wide, revealing Harry’s puckered entrance to his feasting eyes. Unable to hold back any longer, Draco dipped his head and trailed his tongue along the furrow of Harry’s arse, before pulling back and blowing on the wet flesh. Satisfied with the gasp this elicited, he circled his tongue teasingly around the edges of that enticing hole.
Harry whimpered; he couldn’t help it. The feel of Draco’s breath, hot against his skin, his tongue, slick and wet, trailing over his flesh, was more than he could bear. “Draco, please,” he begged, not entirely sure what it was he was begging for.
Draco didn’t speak, but replied with short, jabbing motions of his tongue, allowing the tip to penetrate Harry’s body, causing his boyfriend to gasp loudly and grind himself backwards.
The sensation of Draco’s furled tongue steadily breaching his entrance had Harry humping frantically against the table’s shiny surface, desperate for any kind of friction on his neglected erection.
When he was fairly certain that his boyfriend could no longer remember his name, Draco pulled away and quickly got to his feet. Before Harry had time to register his protests, the head of Draco’s cock was already pressing inside his loosened hole.
Draco placed his hands firmly on Harry’s shoulders, pressing him forward until he was practically sprawled on the table. He leant forward and began pressing gentle kisses along Harry’s spine, before finally sheathing himself in the tight heat of his boyfriend’s channel.
“Fuck,” he groaned, feeling Harry’s muscles stretch to accommodate his width. Without pause, he began to thrust, hard and deep; the sight of his cock burying itself in Harry’s welcoming body only caused him to speed up his strokes.
“You feel incredible,” he murmured, pressing his lips to the glistening skin of Harry’s back. “Love you so much.” Each word was punctuated with a forceful thrust, causing Harry to arch up off the table, almost sobbing with need as his prostate was hit every time.
Draco slid his hands under Harry’s torso. One wrapped around his chest, holding him firmly in place, while the other slid lower, smacking Harry’s hand away from his own cock.
“No,” Draco growled. “That’s mine.” His fingers curled around Harry’s shaft and began stroking firmly in time with his own thrusts.
“Feels so good,” Harry whimpered, his senses almost on overload. He pushed back against each of Draco’s thrusts, burying that length deeper inside him than ever before.
“Look at you,” Draco murmured, his lips close to Harry’s ear. “Grinding back on my cock, begging for it. So greedy. Come for me, Harry.”
Draco’s grip tightened on Harry’s cock, and the strokes became firmer, quicker. It took very few strokes before Harry was shooting his seed all over Draco’s hand, and the table top, too.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Draco gasped, as he buried himself in Harry’s pulsing hole one last time, the spasming muscles milking his cock, as his own release rolled through him like a wave.
Draco slumped forward, his chest pressed against Harry’s back; both of them struggling to catch their breath.
“Fuck,” Harry commented at last.
“That was the general idea,” Draco replied wryly.
Harry grimaced slightly as he felt Draco slide from his body, and felt the familiar sensation of his boyfriend’s seed trickling out of his arse. He pushed himself back up off the table. “I could use a Cleaning Charm,” he commented.
Draco obliged quickly, waving his wand over both their torsos, removing all traces of their earlier activities. “I suppose we had better get dressed,” he commented reluctantly.
“Yeah. Somehow I doubt the Dursleys would appreciate naked dinner guests,” Harry agreed, tugging his pants back in place.
“So, happy memories then?” Draco asked, once both of them were fully dressed.
Harry looked to that table, which had been Petunia’s pride and joy -- a table he had served, cleaned, but rarely been allowed to sit at. Now all he could see was the sticky mess decorating its surface, evidence of his own release. “Yes,” he agreed. “Very happy.”
Draco smiled in contentment, and then levelled his wand in the direction of the table.
“What are you doing?” Harry asked, placing a stilling hand on his arm.
“Don’t worry; I’m not planning to blow it up or anything. I just thought I should clean up that mess you made -- unless you want to leave a farewell gift for your relatives?”
It was on the tip of Harry’s tongue to tell Draco to leave it; the thought of Vernon finding his morning paper stuck to the table was almost too good to resist. “Better not,” he said reluctantly, lifting his hand of Draco’s arm. “It would be just like Aunt Petunia to call the police, and I don’t want them finding my D.N.A.”
“D. N. what?” Draco asked, wrinkling his nose in confusion.
Harry shrugged. “It’s a bit like a Muggle equivalent of our magical signature. You’d have to ask Hermione to explain it to you.” Harry paused here and thought for a moment. “On second thoughts, better not. You know how she gets. You’ll ask her a simple question, and before you know where you are, she’ll have got the whole story out of you. And there are some things she doesn’t need to know.”
Draco grinned a little sheepishly.
“What?” Harry demanded suspiciously.
“Oh, it’s nothing much,” Draco replied airily. “Only that she might already know quite a bit about today. How did you think I knew where to Apparate us to?”
Before Harry had chance to open his mouth, and voice his horror at Hermione being a party to the day’s activities, Draco’s wand hand was in the air again, and they were spinning.
Gathering his bearings after their latest bout of Apparition, Harry took in their new surroundings with a growing sense of alarm.
“No!” he said firmly, stepping away from Draco’s embrace. “Absolutely not.”
Draco turned to look at him, a tiny wrinkle of confusion creasing his brow. “What?”
“There is no way we are shagging in front of my parents’ graves; I don’t care how traumatised by their deaths you think I am.”
Draco’s frown cleared instantly, to be replaced by a broad grin. “Merlin, Harry,” he chuckled. “I’m all for a bit of exhibitionism, but even I draw the line at bending you over the nearest headstone.”
Harry scowled slightly. “Well, what was I supposed to think?” he huffed.
Draco reached out and pulled Harry in close to his side, fighting to control his laughter as he did so. “I promise that I have no intention of debauching you further. Not today, at any rate.”
“Then why are we here?” It was Harry’s turn to frown in confusion.
Draco leant in and pressed a soft kiss to Harry’s temple. “We’re here, because you are an amazing person. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I wanted to thank the people who brought you into the world. Since I’ll never be able to do that in person, the least I can do is pay my respects.”
Draco stopped and picked up a stray twig off the ground. A quick swish of his wand later and he was holding an enormous bouquet of lilies, of the deepest purple. Harry watched slightly misty-eyed, as his boyfriend placed the flowers carefully by his parents’ headstone, and stood silently, head bowed, for a few moments.
Harry stepped forward and slid his hand into Draco’s, squeezing softly. “Thank you,” he murmured.
Draco turned to face Harry, his own eyes suspiciously bright. “There was another reason I brought you here,” he confessed.
“Oh, really?” Harry asked. “I hope it doesn’t involve either of us removing our clothing.”
Draco smiled and raised his hand to brush a dusting of snow off Harry’s shoulders. “No. Your virtue is safe, for now.”
“We’re here,” Draco said, digging in his coat pocket, “because I wanted to give you something, and I couldn’t think of a more appropriate place to do it.”
Harry’s eyes widened with curiosity as Draco produced a scroll of parchment and handed it to him. Cracking the wax seal, Harry unrolled it eagerly, his brow creasing slightly as he took in the official-looking document.
“Draco,” he said slowly. “This is some kind of deed.” Harry tore his eyes away from the parchment to look at his boyfriend. “Did you buy a house?”
Draco shook his head slightly. “Not a house as such. I bought a plot of land.”
Harry looked nonplussed. “Why?”
Draco resisted the strong urge to roll his eyes. “To build on,” he explained patiently.
Harry shrugged. “That’s great, I guess.”
Draco wondered for a moment if his boyfriend was being deliberately stupid, but a quick glimpse of Harry’s expression told him otherwise. Harry had so many Slytherin tendencies, that sometimes Draco forgot he was dealing with a Gryffindor at heart.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking this last week or so,” Draco explained. “About us, and our future.”
Harry nodded in agreement. After the ‘adoption’ conversation, he had been able to think of little else himself.
“We neither of us particularly like living at Grimmauld Place. It’s dark, and dingy, and I know it holds bad memories for you.”
Harry gave a slight nod, wondering where exactly Draco was taking this.
“Then, there’s the Manor. Don’t worry,” Draco reassured, as he noted Harry’s alarmed expression. “I have more sense than to suggest we live there. You would hate it, and we both have some less-than-pleasant memories from there."
Harry squeezed Draco’s hand; he knew he wasn’t the only one who still bore the scars of his childhood.
“The land I bought is a large plot of many acres, and it’s just on the edge of the village.”
“Here?” Harry asked in surprise. “You bought land in Godric’s Hollow?”
“Yes,” Draco replied. “It really is a beautiful spot. I’ll take you to see it later.”
“You think we should build a house there,” Harry said; it was a statement, not a question.
Draco watched his boyfriend’s expression warily. For once, it was neutral and he was unable to discern Harry’s feelings on the subject. “I think we should build a home there,” he corrected. "The location really is perfect. It’s out of the way, without being completely isolated, and the views along the valley are just breathtaking.”
Draco turned to face Harry, taking hold of both his hands. “Just think: we could build whatever we wanted. There’s plenty of room to add on a Potions lab and library for me, plus you could have that games room you’ve been hinting after for months.”
“Would there be room for a nursery, too?” Harry asked softly, gazing intently at his boyfriend.
“A nursery?” Draco repeated.
Harry smiled, pleased for once to see Draco totally stumped. “Yes. I mean, I know initially that the baby will probably sleep in with us, but eventually he or she is going to need their own room.”
Draco stared silently at Harry for what seemed the longest time. So long in fact, that Harry began to worry he had said the wrong thing. Finally, just as Harry was on the verge of taking it back, Draco flung himself into his boyfriend’s arms, squeezing him so tightly that he could only just breathe.
“Are you serious?” he squeaked excitedly -- not that Draco would ever admit to anything so unmanly. “I don’t want you to feel like you have-”
Harry silenced his boyfriend effectively by pressing his lips to Draco’s in a brief but tender kiss. “I’m serious,” he said finally. “I’ve thought about nothing else all week, and I think we can do this.”
“Of course we can,” Draco replied confidently, his hands smoothing up and down Harry’s sides. “What changed your mind?”
Harry shrugged. “It took a while, but I finally realised that I’m not Uncle Vernon.”
Draco wrinkled his nose in distaste. “I should hope not.”
Harry laughed. “Be serious. You know what I mean.”
Draco nodded solemnly. “I do. You’re no more your uncle than I am my father. The man you become isn’t dictated by who raised you; it’s about the choices you make.”
Harry smiled a little sadly, hearing the distant echo of Dumbledore telling him something very similar. “I realise that now. There’s no other explanation for how my mum and Aunt Petunia turned out so differently.”
“So we’re really going to do this?” Draco demanded, almost bouncing on his toes.
Harry grinned at his boyfriend’s excitement and nodded.
“We’re really going to have a baby?” Draco pressed.
“Yep. Looks like it,” Harry replied, his voice sounding a lot calmer than he felt.
Draco, on the other hand, let out something that distinctly resembled a squeal of excitement -- which he would later deny vehemently -- and flung himself at Harry again. Only this time, he decided to leap up as well, locking his legs around Harry’s waist.
Unfortunately for both of them, Harry had not been expecting quite such an enthusiastic reaction. No sooner had Draco’s legs locked behind his back, than Harry began to lose his footing on the snow-covered ground. After struggling, in vain, to maintain his balance, Harry fell backwards, taking Draco with him.
The force of the fall knocked the wind out of Harry, and it took him several moments to get his breath back. When he finally opened his eyes, it was to see Draco’s clear, grey irises, only inches from his face, watching him with worry.
“Are you okay?” he asked tentatively, running his hands gently over Harry’s head, searching for bumps.
Harry reached up and pulled Draco’s hands to his lips, pressing a light kiss to each of them.
“Marry me,” Harry said suddenly.
Draco spluttered in shock; the ink was barely dry on the same sex marriage legislation, and he and Harry hadn’t even discussed the possibility yet. “I’m taking you to St Mungo’s,” he said finally, moving to get up. “You’re obviously concussed.”
Harry hooked his own legs around Draco, effectively holding him in place. “I don’t have a concussion,” he said calmly.
“Then what’s with the sudden marriage proposal?”
Harry sighed. He was never at ease with discussing his feelings, but realised that the situation called for it. “It’s hardly sudden, Draco. We’ve been together for seven years. I love you, and have every intention of growing old with you. Plus, I figure if we’re having a baby, I really should make an honest man of you.”
“You really know how to make the perfect proposal, don’t you, Potter?” Draco teased. “The location and timing is perfect.”
“I’ve not exactly had any practice. I’ve never done this before, and I don’t intend to do it ever again. Now shut up and say yes.”
Draco gazed down at his boyfriend, the intensity shining in Harry’s eyes nearly taking his breath away. “Yes,” he answered softly. “I’ll marry you.”
Harry snaked one hand round the back of Draco’s neck and brought their lips crashing together.
Draco willingly submitted to the intensity of the kiss, feeling Harry’s tongue sweep across his bottom lip, demanding entry. His tongue plundered every inch of Draco’s mouth, causing soft moaning noises to escape from both of them.
Finally, they parted, both dazed and breathless. Draco took in the sight of his boyfriend – no, fiancé, he corrected himself. Harry lay back against the snow-covered ground, his black locks in their usual state of disarray. His eyes were a more vibrant shade of green than Draco had ever seen before, his cheeks were flushed a very pretty pink, and his lips were swollen and shiny.
Suddenly, all his earlier promises not to debauch his boyfriend seemed very hard to keep. Raising his wand, ready to Apparate them straight back to their bedroom, he smile devilishly at Harry. “Of course I’ll marry you,” he repeated. “But I hope you realise that you’re wearing the dress.”