silyara: (pirate bunny)
[personal profile] silyara
Title: Songlines
To: [ profile] joanwilder
Author/Artist: [ profile] silyara
Pairing/Threesome: Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione (side), Neville/Luna (implied)
Rating: R (overall)
Warnings: EWE, dom/sub
Word count: 19500+ (overall)
Summary: Draco is assigned to help Harry and Hermione find the Grangers in Australia. But along the way, the two are bonded, which changes everything.
Chapter: 5 of 7
Disclaimer: I am simply playing. JKR has the rights.
Request: Slash, post-war fic, romance, sex toys, consensual BDSM, Dom/Sub roles, sex in odd locations, desperate!sex, forced magical bonding, claiming and marking, EWE, united begrudgingly by a purpose
Author’s Notes: First off, thank you to my beta, C. I tried to fit in as much of the request as I could, but the boys didn’t want to do everything. They had their own ideas, and I followed along for the ride. I enjoyed it, and I hope you will too.

“I don’t get you!” Harry roared as Neville and Luna stormed out via the floo, and Draco glowered from the kitchen counter. Kreacher had learned in little time to avoid the masters when Harry yelled. “You never fight with them, not since you explained that the end of fifth year was like having someone prove there were no crumple-horned snorkacks – prove, not just disbelieve. You related it to her, and she understood and gave you a chance. And Neville, seeing that, did too. And you three have gotten along better than you with any of my other friends, save Hermione. It’s been months! Months!”

He waved his arms in the air, forgetting about the tea in his mug, which spilled on the ground. Draco ignored it – too busy being ashamed. But he had no right to speak until Harry asked him to after punishment. That was part of the rules, so that he entirely understood what he was being punished for. Harry made him keep to those rules. And they had to be rules – guidelines did not work with Draco. He still hated having to whip him, but it wasn’t a matter of choice on his side. He had to enforce the rules.

“I get it with Ron, sometimes, especially as you see him so much at training, though we’re supposed to split into smaller groups of four to work intensively for the next three month unit. And I’ll understand if you don’t want Ron, but we’ll talk about that later. Anyway, Ron provokes you, so I can understand that you sometimes lose your self-control with him, but Neville? He did not mean to insult your mother. It was a comment about Bellatrix, who he has every right to hate. And Draco, I just…I don’t get it. You’re getting better. We see your friends almost as often as mine. You learned! I thought we had gotten better than that!” Harry yelled. He could not help but vent his entire frustration. He was not good with words, but Draco always seemed to pick up the essentials when he rambled.

“Let's go upstairs,” Harry growled, “I’m not whipping you down here.” His feet stormed angrily up to their bedroom, ignoring the redecorations since Draco moved in. It looked much better with his small touches, but he was so angry that he hated them.

He passed Mrs. Black’s portrait (no one had been able to remove that, just as with Sirius’s room), and she shrieked at him, but Harry was in no mood to be humored, “I saved your bloody family! They’d all be dead or rotting if it weren’t for me, and there’s no way I would have lost to Voldemort, so shut your painted trap!”

“How dare you talk – ”

“Blah blah blah,” Harry ignored her. She always sided with Draco no matter what, and that pissed him off. Draco wasn’t always right. He wasn’t either, but that was not the point at hand.

They entered the master bedroom, where their beds were pressed together but still separate beds. Harry could not even look at Draco and see that body and be able to do what he had to do. It hurt him to do it. Why couldn’t Draco see that?

“Take off your shirt and brace yourself against the bed,” Harry ordered, finding a cat o’ nine tails, the original British type that had three braids each split into three. There were no knots or metal to draw blood, but the horrible offense required him to use something harsher than a regular whip.

“Twenty lashes,” Harry stated, “Count them.” His mind fell away during the whipping, reacting only after each number was stated so that he did not have to think about it himself. It took a different kind of strength to hurt someone willingly submitting to the pain despite not enjoying it than to destroy a murderer. He had cried the entire first month, though he denied it to Draco. Pain, such pain – if Harry had not seen its direct effects, he never could have continued after the first three days. He still could not believe Draco was the top Auror student with how sore his body was outside of class. But Draco had, apparently, been used to playing Quidditch in that form and winning most his games. It cheapened his Quidditch victories, but Draco told him that the fact should not make them less valuable.

“Twenty,” Draco gasped, falling down on the bed and merely lying there, not moving. Harry put away the cat o’ nine tails and went to the bed. Gently, trying to avoid the back, the Gryffindor picked up the, currently, weaker body, holding his bare torso to his front, and his arms wrapped around the waist, which had not been hurt as much. Harry held Draco and rocked back and forth, “Sh, it’ll be okay, it’ll be okay. I’m sorry, I just can’t stand it when you do that.”

“No Blaise tomorrow?” Draco asked softly.

“No, you know that’d be impossible to see him after this,” Harry replied, ignoring the sensation he felt against his thigh. It was…impossible really. He had to be imagining things.

Draco nodded, his head in the crook of Harry’s shoulder. The latter leaned back onto the beds, so that it was easier to support a strong full-grown adult male, even if the support was necessary. They lay there a long time, so long that the feeling against his thigh could not be imaginary. So calm and peaceful it was that Harry groaned and shook his head to swat at the alarm clock in the morning, confused to find his body fully clothed and with terrible morning breath.

“Ugh,” he groaned, as Draco stood, wincing but not commenting further on the wounds, “How long do we have?”

“You pressed snooze twice,” Draco rolled smoothly.

“Merlin’s inner thigh,” Harry swore, “why did you let me?”

“Um,” Draco looked away, “You wanted to sleep?”

“Ugh,” Harry got up to splash water in his face, “don’t let me do that next time.”

“We get the first pick of what partnership we want,” Draco added, “and we have about half an hour to make up our minds.”

“Right,” Harry replied but then spat out water that ended up in his mouth. From behind him, he heard Draco laugh.

“You are too much fun to watch in the morning,” the blond commented.

“Thanks,” Harry replied, as he wet back his hair, “You like Michael Corner right? Well, he and Boot were both DA members, and Ravenclaws are good. Plus that gives us people from three out of four houses, and we’re the official house unity case. So I would be fine with that.”

“You aren’t even going to bother with making a case for Weasley and MacMillan?” Draco asked, “And when are you going to learn to let me do your hair? I doubt even I could make it perfect, but water is going to do nothing once it dries.”

“How about once I don’t have to whip you for two weeks?” Harry proposed, mostly as a joke, but even in the mirror, he caught the…peculiar look on Draco’s face. He couldn’t quite make out what it meant. He turned around, and his eyebrows dipped downward, “What? Explain that face.”

Draco looked toward the shower stall and did not speak for a few moments, but Harry knew he would. He had to. “So you were wondering why the scene with Neville and Luna happened. And…” Draco began hesitantly, “I…like it, the whipping, I mean. I really like it when you whip me. It…turns me on.” His face had turned almost as red as Ron’s got.

“You got turned on by your father and Snape beating you!” Harry felt astounded.

“Oh Merlin, no,” Draco looked abhorred, “No, it was just punishment with them. But with you, um, I like it. Father was father. And Snape, really, just no. And you hadn’t whipped me for a while, and I really wanted it, so I just…snapped at the first opportunity.”

Harry was confused, “If you want me to whip you, just…ask. I mean, I can do it if you want. You don’t have to hurt my friends.”

“Yes I do!” Draco insisted, “I can’t…I have to deserve it. Otherwise it’s not enjoyable. And as I learned, I stopped being whipped, and then I missed it, so I broke the rules.”

“So,” Harry scratched his forehead, “You can still get along with Neville and Luna. And you just need more rules or harder rules, so that way you still get – deservedly – punished?” Sometimes Slytherins made no sense.

“Yes,” Draco confirmed.

“You should have said so!” Harry happily proclaimed, “that would have saved so many troubles.”

“You don’t mind that it turns me on?” Draco asked.

“It’s probably part of the bond, if it’s not natural,” Harry threw out quickly.

“Warriors get it with each other, so the bond isn’t going to force…sex,” Draco countered with what Harry would have three months before said was confidence, but living together for so long let him know Draco was nervous.

“I suppose not,” Harry agreed.

“That means it’s natural,” Draco stated.

“Yes,” Harry could not deny it, not when Draco looked so easily hurt. Wasn’t he supposed to be the one with the power? Then why was it so difficult to use it just how he wanted?

“But you don’t like whipping me,” Draco continued, his words sure of themselves but his body language not.

“No,” Harry admitted, “but I thought you hated it. And, I like holding you afterwards. It’s our most peaceful moments, when we’re most…us.”

“So, do you like me?” Draco asked, practically holding his breath. Harry looked into his eyes, confused. Like him? Like him, like him? Well, he…Harry compared it to Ginny and Cho, and it was not like that. He had no chest monster, and it was not some broken crying tragedy. But while they flared up as much as he and Ginny had, they always got over it and had that calm period of being together and no longer fighting. Every fight was solved. And that made it better. And he hated hurting Draco. Harry actually wanted to protect him, when before it had been forced accommodations. And he had to admit Draco had an amazing body. They were always men together, and they had agreed not to hide masturbation from each other. And Harry had watched Draco a few times while pretending to read or study, and it really was a beautiful thing.

So did he? Yes, why, when had that happened? “Yeah,” Harry replied surprised, “Yeah, I do.” He laughed, so amazed that he could see the truth. It was true! How many times had they laid in each other’s arms? How many times had Harry tried to ‘kiss things better’ because he had heard mothers did that? But it had stopped being about feeling guilty for hurting and turned into caring somewhere. How had he not noticed? How had he been so blind? “Merlin, I really like you!” he exclaimed.

“Try to get my name right in the future then, Harry,” Draco commented wryly, “It’s Draco, not Merlin.” But he was smiling.

“So you…too?” Harry asked, suddenly worried for a second, though he was still floating on a high about realizing he liked Draco.

“Git,” Draco replied, “you clearly don’t have your glasses on, or you wouldn’t be so blind as to have to ask.”

Harry groaned, “Can’t you just say it? I’m a Gryffindor.”

“Picky, picky,” Draco rolled his eyes, “Fine then, Harry: I like you.”

“Thanks,” Harry grinned stupidly.

“If you walk in there like that, everyone is going to think you got laid this morning,” Draco commented.

Harry scowled, “Fine then. I’ll just glower at everyone until they all hate me.”

“You saved their arses. They don’t have the right to hate you,” Draco pointed out.

“That never stopped anyone before,” Harry argued playfully.

“Either way, we need to eat breakfast now if we aren’t to be late,” Draco pulled at Harry.

Harry came forward, but an arm wrapped around Draco to keep him from going anywhere. He was slightly shorter, true, but he was the more dominant one – that they both knew. He looked into the grey eyes fiercely before his eyes closed, and his other hand reached to Draco’s face and pulled it to him. Their lips touched, softly, and Draco’s back was so sore, but the blond reacted fiercely to any attention there, so that it soon after no longer deterred Harry.

They fell toward the bed, their shirts coming off, though Draco had the self-control to force Harry to keep their pants on. But he resisted nothing else, so Harry made everything his. The flesh was so beautiful and tasty and Draco. He had, subconsciously, wanted it, but finally, at last, his lips and teeth covered everything. The sweet spot near Draco’s ear, the neck, the chest, and his nails scratched everywhere. Harry lost sense of time and place – of everything save Draco – oh Merlin it had been too long since he had been with someone else, and Draco was so much better than Ginny. Ginny had to be in control, but Draco let him have his way.

“Masters?” a small voice called from the door. Harry stood immediately and grabbed his wand, not expecting the intrusion. Kreacher stood there, looking at the floor, “Masters need to be at work in five minutes.”

“Bloody hell,” Draco moaned, “damn it. Shirt, where’s my shirt?”

“Over here,” Harry growled, not in a mood for training. But he pulled his shirt on anyway without saying anything.

“No breakfast, masters?” Kreacher asked.

“I can heal some of those,” Harry offered to Draco, “oh, no Kreacher. Leave us.”

“You better not,” Draco replied, “I want them. I’ll hex you if you cure a single one.”

“Um, right,” Harry had no time to try to understand Draco’s mind, “Corner and Boot for the rest of our small group?”

“Sounds good,” Draco answered, as they went to the bathroom to fix their appearances. Thoroughly snogged was not a good look when they were Auror training partners; Harry was supposedly reforming Draco, and everyone knew they lived together.

“At least my hair always looks this bad,” Harry joked as Draco struggled to make his perfect.

“Yes, yes, but I will tame it another day,” Draco called out as they ran down the stairs.

They were the last pair in the room, just fifteen seconds late to a cross-looking Williamson, who managed it despite the scarlet robes and long pony tail that reminded Harry of Bill. He glared, but Draco spoke first, “We fell asleep without having discussed which partnership we wanted to have in our group, and you know how hard it is for Potter and I to agree on something like that. We figured it out only at the last minute before coming here. We apologize for being late, but we did make a decision when we needed to.”

Williamson sat on the main desk, next to which a paper and quill were waiting. “So who did our darling house unity societal rebuilding duo choose?” he asked sarcastically, though the quill stood at attention.

“Terry Boot and Michael Corner, sir,” Harry offered up, which the quill wrote down. A few people groaned – Draco and Michael were still the two highest scoring students in the class, and they worked better with their partners than many others.

“Quiet down students,” Williamson ordered, “You do well so that you may choose well. If you’ve dug yourself into a bad situation in the field, you have to dig yourself out. This is just part of the training. So deal with it or get out. Life isn’t fair or pretty.”

Harry and Draco looked at each other with a small grin. Sometimes life was pretty.
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