
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10062335.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Draco_Malfoy/Other(s)
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Other(s)
  Additional Tags:
      Explicit_Language, Slash_sex, Sexual_Content, Angst, Tragedy, Bonding,
      Drama, First_Time, Romance
  Collections:
      HPFandom
  Stats:
      Published: 2008-04-24 Completed: 2008-04-28 Chapters: 8/8 Words: 7430
****** Don't Get Caught ******
by fbowden [archived by HPFandom_archivist]
Summary
     Professor Harry Potter and Slytherin Scorpius Malfoy are playing a
     dangerous game. The pairings in this fic are Harry/Scorpius, so if
     you don't like cross-gen, please don't read.
Notes
     Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally
     archived at HP_Fandom, which was closed for health and financial
     reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its
     works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I
     e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but
     may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator,
     please contact me using the e-mail address on HP_Fandom_collection
     profile.
***** One *****
It takes Scorpius six minutes and forty five seconds to get from the Slytherin
Common room to Professor Potter’s quarters. He is still annoyed that he wasn’t
made Head Boy, because that would have given him free rein to walk the
corridors at night, but he has the next best thing; an Invisibility cloak.
Scorpius remembers it being thrown at him as he was pulling his trousers up
after their first time together, his first time ever. He recalls the words
‘Don’t get caught’ that accompanied it’s flight across the room and whispers
his thanks every time he slips it over his head for the part it plays in
enabling their clandestine meetings. He still wonders why Professor Potter
entrusted it to him instead of Al, though the benefits are plainly obvious on
the man’s face every time he slides into Scorpius and fucks him through the
headboard, desk, or floor.
Tonight he hopes they will make it to the bedroom, but usually, they don’t.
Usually, Scorpius knocks quietly, heart hammering in his chest as he waits for
it to swing open. More often than not, he barely has time to pull the heavy
fabric off before he is pushed up against the door, mouth assailed so quickly
his head hits the wood in surprise. Typically, he leaves his pyjama top
unbuttoned to allow the warm, calloused hands immediate access to the contours
of his chest.
Scorpius likes all of these things. He also likes Professor Potter flirting
with the elastic of his pyjama bottoms. Sometimes, he slips one finger just
inside and runs it back and forth along Scorpius’ toned stomach, dipping down
to stroke the light blond curls and teasing until Scorpius begs to be touched.
Occasionally, he hurries them down with his teeth until his nose is buried in
the sparse thatch of hair, his breath glancing off Scorpius’ leaking prick
before he swallows it whole.
Scorpius doesn’t mind that they never speak. Who could form a coherent sentence
when their mouth is filled with nine glorious inches of hard, damp flesh,
convulsing against their tongue? Who wants to make small talk when their
entrance is quickly prepared and thrust into, giddy pleasure interlaced with a
delicious hint of pain? What should you discuss when someone closes a fist in
your hair and draws your head back, puncturing the skin of your earlobe, neck,
shoulder with their teeth? If that counts as worthy of conversation, then
Scorpius is guilty of asking for ‘more,’ and ‘harder’ and ‘now’.
But above everything else, Scorpius loves returning to the common room, his
arse still dribbling Professor Potter’s warm fluid. He loves saying goodnight
to Al as it drips down the insides of his slender thighs; Al who remains
blissfully unaware that his best friend has just been roughly fucked by his
father. Scorpius finds it amusing to write a letter to his own father as he
lays on his green satin counterpane and idly explores his stretched hole,
bringing away a finger slick with come. Sometimes, he licks it off.
Occasionally, he smirks to himself and lets a drop of it smudge the ink.
*** TBC***
***** An Eye for an Eye *****

Author's notes: Draco isn't happy.
===============================================================================
Draco Malfoy is no fool. He recognises the significance of the blush that
affects Scorpius’ throat whenever ‘Professor Potter’ is mentioned. The thought
of Potter defiling his son evokes tidal waves of fury and leaves him physically
shaking. He is under no illusion that his childhood adversary feels anything
other than insufferable smugness; that Potter no doubt believes his actions to
be justified, probably in light of whatever debt he presumes the Malfoys still
owe. Draco refuses to entertain the idea that Potter might, just might, have
developed genuine feelings for Scorpius.
Coloured cheeks in themselves are not damning evidence, but Draco now has
irrefutable proof that Potter is fucking the Malfoy heir. Since the war, he has
developed a slightly neurotic tendency to scan and evaluate every single letter
he receives, even those from Scorpius, in case they have been intercepted by
grudge-bearers. The spell, one which Draco devised personally and is eminently
proud of, detects traces of powder, liquid and many other substances capable of
causing irreparable damage to delicate skin. The spell, when cast over several
items of correspondence from his son, revealed semen residue identified as
Potter’s. It pains Draco to consider how the semen might have got there, so he
doesn’t; instead, he concentrates on devising an effective form of retribution.
Such deliberations led him to invite Scorpius’ best friend for a sleepover
during the summer holidays. The phrase ‘an eye for an eye’ came to mind when
Draco smiled at Potter through gritted teeth. By sheer force of will, he did
not choke on the words they exchanged when Al was dropped off. And if Draco had
needed his resolve boosted, then the heated gaze between Potter and Scorpius
was more than sufficient.
After Potter leaves, Draco watches the boys sunbathing in the garden. Al is
certainly not unattractive, and despoiling him will be no hardship; in fact,
Draco is rather looking forward to it. His toned, tanned body will tremble
beautifully beneath Draco’s when he screws his flushed cock into the tight,
wrinkled hole. He imagines the boy will flutter those long, dark eyelashes and
arch his back as Draco plunders his arse, filling him with inch after
unyielding inch. He can almost taste the musky scent of sweat and sex that will
pervade the air when he pounds him into the mattress. He can visualize Al’s
face with startling clarity, radiating gratitude as Draco grasps the engorged
shaft and pumps him to completion. He grinds his teeth in anticipation of
sinking them into the boy’s smooth skin, leaving violent marks in places that
will be impossible for Al to hide from his father. Draco can picture his own
orgasm, the moment when it will be ripped from him by the moaning, writhing boy
he has impaled. He can smell the arousal that will barely recede before he does
it all over again. Oh yes, Potter will be well and truly fucked. Draco is sure
the boy will be begging to lick his come-coated prick, and if Draco is
reasonably satisfied, he might consider letting him.
Smiling to himself, Draco opens the conservatory door and beckons to the two
friends.
“Who wants to sample the drinks cabinet?”
TBC
***** Mine *****

Author's notes: Harry formulates a plan.
===============================================================================
Harry is nothing short of furious. Not only has Draco taken Scorpius away on
business instead of dropping him off for the weekend as planned, but Al
returned home from his stay at Malfoy Manor decorated in purple love bites.
Harry is shocked at how little flesh remains skin coloured; Al is one great big
walking bruise. No amount of tugging his collar up can cover the livid marks,
and Harry knows he has no right to pry; Al is seventeen and legal after all;
but Harry wants to know which worst case scenario he’s dealing with.
Either Draco has charmed his son into the bedroom, or Scorpius is cheating on
him. Neither prospect is appealing, but while the former reignites a hatred for
Draco that has long remained dormant, the latter leaves him wiping bile from
his lips. He has never had a conversation with Scorpius about the exclusivity
of their relationship; it honestly never occurred to him that he might need to.
Harry mentally kicks himself for not having told Scorpius sooner how
dangerously besotted he is; how the freshly washed smell of the boy’s hair is
an aphrodisiac, how the musky scent between his legs intoxicates him. He hasn’t
told Scorpius how tracing the defined ridges of his finely sculpted abdomen
leaves him hypnotized, making him so hard he cannot physically walk to the
bedroom. Watching Scorpius’ hand on his own cock, hearing him moan loudly when
Harry insists on replacing it with his mouth, only fuels his desire. The
slurping noise his tongue makes, piercing Scorpius’ hole, the way the youthful
thighs quiver when locked in position by Harry’s arms, the glorious, blissful
feeling of Scorpius’ flesh giving way as Harry pushes his cock into tight,
welcoming heat; all of these things confirm what he has known all along; he
cannot and will not give the boy up.
He doesn’t want to share Scorpius with his son; doesn’t want to imagine the
pale beauty looking at someone else the way he looks at him. He wants to
believe that the numerous times he has growled ‘Mine’ against a fevered cheek
or damp forehead will have left the boy in no doubt Harry was staking his
claim. He is disgusted with himself for hoping it was Draco who left a pattern
of teeth marks on Al’s neck, and equally ashamed to admit he has no idea what
his reaction will be to the unthinkable alternative.
Harry groans out loud and tries to shut his brain down, but a torrent of
unbidden images flood his mind; Scorpius fucking Al, Al riding Scorpius,
Scorpius on his knees sucking Al off; Harry has to fight back the rising
nausea.
Three weeks of summer holiday left. Harry doesn’t think he can wait until they
return to Hogwarts, the exasperation he feels at not knowing will only increase
with each passing day, and it’s not as if he can question Al. If Draco wasn’t
so obsessed with security, he could sneak in and ask the boy outright, but
getting through the various wards and protections on the Manor is about as easy
as breaking into Gringotts. Still, he’s been there and done that, so it should,
by comparison, be a piece of cake.
***
***** The Price of Pleasure *****

Author's notes: Harry is desperate to see Scorpius, and even the risk of
running into Draco cannot stop him.
===============================================================================
Dismantling the wards surrounding the Manor had been far easier than Harry
imagined. So easy in fact, that he wonders if Scorpius deliberately sabotaged
the protective spells, though how the boy could have known his intentions
remains unclear.
No, the hard part, now he is inside the sprawling residence, is locating which
bedroom Scorpius is in. His interrogation of Al regarding the layout of the
Manor, which he believes he disguised cleverly as casual interest, narrowed the
search to four rooms in the East Wing. Standing in front of one, Harry presses
his ear to the wood.
Muffled grunts and gasps can be heard, interspersed with the sound of flesh
frantically slapping flesh. He imagines Scorpius on the other side of the door,
prick in hand and jerking himself off to thoughts of his Professor. If this is
Scorpius’ room, Harry wants to replace that hand with his mouth. If it isn’t,
he’s going to have a lot of explaining to do.
He hesitates a moment longer, in which time he argues internally that he’s come
this far and if he retreats now he’ll be no closer to knowing the truth. He
grips the door handle and turns it slowly, pleased that it makes no sound when
the heavy wood swings open. Harry quickly slips inside and closes it just as
carefully before turning around.
His mouth dries out instantly and within seconds he is painfully hard; Scorpius
is at the far end of the palatial room, sprawled beneath a Slytherin green
canopy. His toes are curled and his heels dig into the rucked-up counterpane.
The blond head is tossed back, exposing creamy, lickable skin. The bicep in his
right arm flexes every time he squeezes his cock. Like a moth destined for a
fiery death, Harry begins to walk. He gets within a foot of the bed before
Scorpius realises he is there. The boy is startled and his hand flies away from
his swollen length but he doesn’t attempt to cover himself up. All too quickly,
his surprised look turns predatory and he shuffles over in silent invitation.
Any questions Harry planned to ask are forgotten. Whilst he strips off, he
notices Scorpius’ toes are still curled. More blood, as if any were needed,
surges to his groin. Scorpius murmurs something about locking his door but he
doesn’t manage to retrieve his wand before Harry is on top of him, settling his
full weight and attacking his mouth hungrily. Scorpius wraps his hands in
Harry’s hair and thrusts his hips up to intensify the natural rhythm their
cocks have found, but it’s not enough for Harry, and his hand slips between
Scorpius’ legs to tease his entrance. The boy’s moans are like a drug; Harry
cannot get enough of hearing the sweet sounds Scorpius makes when his fingers
slide into him, the short gasps when his prostate is teased. Most erotic of
all, is the low growl Scorpius lets out when Harry lines his cock up and drives
into such tightness that a man could go mad if he were denied it.
Harry buries himself as far inside Scorpius as it is possible to go before
resting their foreheads together. Scorpius’ powerful legs are locked around his
waist, and he gazes at Harry with unwavering intensity.
“You’re mine, aren’t you?” It is not really a question but Scorpius smiles and
answers anyway.
“Yes, yours. Only yours.”
The admission forces Harry to the brink of orgasm and he pulls out and slams in
while Scorpius tugs his own cock, both of them coming almost immediately. It’s
been too long since they were last together, and neither makes any apology for
the swift reunion.
However, Harry does take his time licking the strips of bitter fluid from
Scorpius’ hard stomach, working his way across the firm chest and up under his
chin until he finds his mouth.
Their kisses become lazy, and eventually Harry pulls back to look Scorpius in
the eye. He says he cannot bear to think of anyone else doing this with him,
that if Scorpius doesn’t feel the same way he should tell him now. Scorpius
responds by dragging Harry down for a rough kiss, and Harry is sure he can feel
the boy smiling against his lips.
It doesn’t matter how much he wants to stay and hold Scorpius in his arms until
morning, he knows it is out of the question. Scorpius is quiet while Harry
dresses. The look between them when he leaves, promises an immediate repeat of
what has just occurred the moment they return to Hogwarts.
Back out in the hallway, Harry is distracted by the fresh memories he is taking
home with him. He doesn’t see Draco at the foot of the long staircase until a
familiar icy tone cuts into his thoughts.
“Potter. To what do we owe the pleasure?”
***
***** Revenge is sweet *****

Author's notes: Harry faces Draco.
===============================================================================
At the door of his study, Draco steps aside to let Harry past. What he is about
to do leaves him feeling slightly queasy, but it is necessary, and there is
unlikely to be any retribution because Potter is trapped; trapped like the
animal he is. Draco feels a surge of triumph that after so many years, he is
finally about to gain the upper hand.
He gestures to the ostentatious sofa, all the sweeter to watch Potter sink
nervously into it after what he did to Al there, less than a week ago. Draco
moves gracefully to the drinks cabinet and extracts two glasses. He picks the
finest blend of scotch he has, and pours equal measures of the amber liquid
with controlled precision.
When he turns around, Potter is staring at him. Draco sees fear, anger, and the
remnants of spent passion suffusing his cheeks. It turns his craving to
humiliate into the kind of hunger that begs to be satisfied without delay. He
silently hands Potter one of the tumblers and returns to lean against the
sideboard, evaluating how long he has until the potion laced drink begins to
work. If Snape is worth his salt, then Draco has less than five minutes between
Potter finishing his drink and the effects kicking in, then another three
minutes before it wears off again. The speed with which his uninvited guest is
gulping down the whisky, it may even be less.
Potter wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. Draco is disgusted to imagine
it touching his son, the damaged nails raking across smooth, delicate skin,
calloused fingertips sullying the perfection that is Scorpius. Ugly, stubby
fingers forcing their way...Draco almost takes a slug of his own drink before
he remembers the entire bottle has been contaminated.
“Draco – “
Draco silences him with a glare. He is in charge here, not Potter. Potter whose
mouth has done Merlin knows what to his son, likely in the name of debt
recovery. Potter whose dirty, middle-aged prick has defiled Scorpius and
undoubtedly claimed his virginity. Draco is finding it difficult to formulate
words. Potter fidgeting on the sofa is not helping and the palpable tension
makes him want to scream. When he speaks, he enunciates carefully, concise
enough that even a moron like Potter is left in no doubt as to his meaning.
“Tell me, Potter, what are the laws regarding teacher student relationships
these days? No. No matter. I have already been fully informed. As will the
Headmistress if you so much as look at my son again.”
Potter’s mouth opens to protest, the formed but unspoken word, ‘Al’ resting
heavily on his lips. Apparently he considers Draco to be hypocritical, but
Draco isn’t breaking any laws and Potter knows it.
Rather suddenly, his lips go slack and his pupils dilate so wide Draco can no
longer see the green of his irises. A flash of panic crosses Potter’s face and
Draco smiles as the potion infiltrates every muscle in his body and renders him
immobile. Draco knows he has no way of making sure Potter keeps his grubby
hands to himself at Hogwarts, so a small insurance policy is required.
Draco rips his shirt open, enjoying the look of abject horror on Potter’s face.
He draws his wand and with a few waves, a set of fresh bruises appear around
his neck and face, two particularly nasty ones on each wrist. He dishevels his
hair by running a rough hand through, then trips the intruder alarm on the
study. The sound is loud enough to wake the dead, and Potter looks like he
would cover his ears if he were in control of his body. Draco saunters over to
the couch, and sits down next to him, seizing Potter’s limp wrists with a
maniacal grin. He pulls him down until he is trapped beneath, surprised at how
heavy Potter’s body is, and how wonderfully unresisting the potion has rendered
it.
When Draco hears footsteps thundering down the stairs, he starts shouting,
pleading, begging Potter to stop, no, and get off. He hears Scorpius barrel
into the study and draw in a sharp, shocked breath. Seconds before Potter is
roughly pulled off of him, the green eyes slide back into focus, confirming the
potion is indeed wearing off just as quickly as Snape promised him it would.
Draco enjoys the sound of Potter’s nose crunching under Scorpius’ fist and
straightens himself out before pulling his son away from the crumpled form of
his Professor. He revels in the concerned expression on Scorpius’ face, and
murmurs soothingly, assuring him he is unharmed, just a little shaken. They
both take a step back as Potter staggers to his feet, glasses askew, a dark
river of blood meandering from his nose. The sight fills Draco with delight but
the mixture of hurt and betrayal on Scorpius face – well, he tells himself the
boy is resilient and will get over his inappropriate crush on Potter. He is a
Malfoy, after all.
***
***** Innocence *****

Author's notes: What will Harry do when fate comes knocking?
===============================================================================
Harry feels like his insides have been dipped in acid and then set fire to. It
takes every ounce of self-control he possesses not to open the door. Scorpius’
knocks began quietly, the way he remembers them being before his entire world
crashed down, but now they are louder, more insistent, and if the boy isn’t
careful, someone will hear. Harry paces his living room, fists alternating
between clenching and carding through his hair.
Since the new term started just over a week ago, he has seen Scorpius exactly
seventeen times; in three Defence lessons and at fourteen mealtimes. Not one of
those occasions did the boy look him in the eye. In all three defence classes,
Scorpius went out of his way to cause maximum disruption. He should have given
the boy detention but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Harry walks towards the door, reaches for handle, pulls his hand back. Malfoy’s
threats weren’t idle; even if Scorpius is here to kiss and make up which Harry
seriously doubts, the slightest suspicion that their relationship has resumed
would find him unemployed and in the custody of Aurors. New Ministry rules are
strict regarding teacher student relationships, and with good reason, he knows.
But he has never taken advantage of Scorpius and the boy was most certainly not
unwilling.
None of this detracts from the physical ache in his chest, aggravated further
with every passing second and each increasingly angry thump on the solid wood.
Harry should have known better than to get involved with a Malfoy, but from the
moment he laid eyes on Scorpius, all rational thought flew out the window. The
boy would stare at him relentlessly, no matter where they were; Quidditch
pitch, the hall, class, corridors. The eyes, a warmer shade than Draco’s, did
not mock him. They appraised him, flirted with him, dragged him in until he
thought he might drown in the silver pools and be glad of it.
The first time Harry slipped his hand inside the black silk pyjamas, hesitating
only briefly before wrapping his fingers around solid pink flesh, Scorpius
moaned and came instantly. Grey eyes, wide open the entire duration of his
knee-jerking climax, locked onto green and bled with intensity as his cock
filled Harry’s fist with warm semen.
The memory fades and it startles Harry when he realises the knocking has
stopped, legs automatically transporting him to the door. Some part of his
brain tells him it is an exercise in futility to look for someone wearing an
Invisibility cloak, but Harry isn’t listening. As soon as the latch clicks
open, a breeze and a swirl of magic rush past him. A hefty kick slams the door
shut, barely missing Harry’s nose before his shoulders are seized. He is half
expecting to punched in the face again, but the clawed fingers relax slightly
and the laboured breaths beneath the cloak compliment the erratic beating of
his heart.
The fingers move down to grip his biceps and a weight settles on his shoulder
in their place. It is Scorpius’ forehead; Harry can feel the warmth of his
breath against his skin. He doesn’t want to get aroused by this; he shouldn’t
be getting hard but the boy is so close, and he can no more control the most
natural of reactions than he can the tides. He feels Scorpius tense against
him, and doesn’t realise the boy is upset until his shirt becomes moist.
Harry carefully runs his fingers over nothing until he finds the fabric edge
and slips the cloak off. He puts his arms around Scorpius, closing his eyes as
he noses the blond hair and inhales deeply.
Scorpius’ whole body shakes harder, and in an act that seems almost begrudging,
turns his head until their lips brush; a tiny, tentative kiss. The boy’s face
is wet and Harry can’t bear to feel his misery pressing damp streaks into his
skin. He takes Scorpius’ cheeks in his hands, wipes them with his thumbs and
forces him to meet his eyes.
“Your father – I didn’t, I wouldn’t – “
Scorpius nods, blinks, two more tears squeeze from the glassy gaze. He says it
doesn’t matter and Harry doesn’t know whether to be angry or flattered; the boy
doesn’t believe him but he’s here in his arms regardless.
He tells him again, forcefully denying what Scorpius thinks he saw. He presses
kisses along the boy’s jaw, threads his fingers through the fine blond strands
and insists Scorpius is the only person he wants, needs, has to have and can’t
be without. The pyjama top falls open to his touch and he mouths his innocence
around a firming nipple. Fingers slide from hair to rub the back of Scorpius’
arched neck as Harry’s tongue licks down the neat trail of chest hair, mouthing
his version of events as he nears the elasticated waistband.
Scorpius gasps and hooks his thumbs inside them, dragging them down to let his
aching erection spring free. Harry is so close; he can smell the boy’s arousal,
his frustration, his impatience. He grips Scorpius’ slender hips and sinks to
his knees, mouth watering in anticipation of taking the ramrod-straight cock
into the tight, wet heat of his throat.
He whispers to the shiny head in between chaste licks, missed you, God, I
missed you so much and Scorpius jerks and moans, threading his fingers into
Harry’s hair as he repeats the words back to him.
Now is the time for proving it, Harry knows that, but later, later he will
leave the boy in no doubt that he is innocent and he will take great pleasure
in outing Draco as the manipulative bastard he really is. But now, now he just
revels in the slide of soft-hard velvety flesh slipping down his throat.
***
***** A Time for Action *****

Author's notes: Harry makes some decisions about his life.
===============================================================================
Harry’s chest apparently makes a comfy cushion for Scorpius’ graceful head. His
deep, even breaths are those of a person without a care in the world. Harry
gently tangles his fingers in the sleek blond hair, regretful that he must wake
the boy and send him back to his own bed. Already he has let him stay far
longer than is wise given the circumstances, but Harry is weak when it comes to
refusing Scorpius something he wants, and he has made it patently clear that he
wants Harry.
Harry’s desire is yet stronger. It isn’t just the primitive urge to lose
himself in Scorpius’ high-pitched cries as his cock is sheathed in unbelievably
tight heat, because an action as simple as stroking the boy’s cheek affects
Harry with similar sentiments, ones he fears may be too powerful to ignore for
much longer.
As tremendously relieved as Harry is to have Scorpius back in his arms, he
knows he must make a choice, and make it soon. Things cannot continue as they
did before; Draco is now fully aware of Harry’s relationship with his son, and
has already proved the lengths to which he is prepared to go in keeping them
apart. But during that time apart, Harry came to realise just how deeply he has
fallen for Scorpius, and after the shocking knowledge the young Slytherin
seemed prepared to ignore, Harry is convinced Scorpius feels the same. Part of
him doesn’t want to show Scorpius his memories of what happened in the study
that dreadful night, because it will destroy the boy’s relationship with his
father, but better that than obliterating what they have together; after all,
Draco brought this on himself.
The boy stirs against his torso, stretching and wrapping an arm tighter around
Harry’s waist. He murmurs sleepily, nothing intelligible but it makes Harry
smile anyway. He could get used to this, could get used to falling asleep with
Scorpius beside him, could happily become familiar with waking up to find
hungry grey eyes watching him. Harry thinks about all he stands to lose in
place of that perfect scenario.
His career as a teacher, the respect of his peers, his children, the tarnishing
of his reputation and quite possibly the loss of his freedom. The list is
endless, but what frightens Harry most of all, is that he doesn’t actually care
and he knows, he knows he should.
As Scorpius’ warm, lethargic hand caresses his thigh, Harry tells himself he
doesn’t need to earn a salary from teaching anyway. When the boy’s fingers comb
through the wiry hair cushioning the base of his cock, Harry shrugs off the
notion that he will care what his colleagues think, for without a tenure he
won’t have any to pass judgment on him. While Scorpius gently cups his balls
and rubs a thumb along the underside of his stiffening length, Harry convinces
himself the children will come round, given time. He doesn’t even bother to
apply rational thought to the defamation of his public image when Scorpius’
sleep-mused head disappears under the covers, the talented young mouth making
obscenely loud sucking noises as it works around the weeping head of his cock.
And as for his liberty; Harry cries out and thrusts his hips, fucking the boy’s
throat faster and faster until his orgasm and insanity spill over; one kiss
from Scorpius would be worth suffering a thousand from the Dementors.
Harry’s fingers weave into the boy’s hair, tugging it gently and guiding him
back up so he can lick the swollen lips clean. Scorpius presses his face into
the crook of Harry’s neck. He is lost in thought and seemingly uninterested in
achieving his own satisfaction. Harry tilts the boy’s chin up, always stunned
anew by the power those eyes possess to make his breath catch. Scorpius quietly
confesses he wants more, needs more than this; that snatching a few minutes
here and there like they have been for months now isn’t enough anymore. Harry
smiles and kisses the pale hairline, murmuring his agreement. Very carefully,
he suggests that were he not a teacher, and should they initiate a bond, no one
and nothing could ever divide them again. Harry is surprised but elated at
Scorpius’ vehement agreement, pulling him tightly into a hug and kissing the
length of Harry’s jaw. Somehow, now the decision is made, Harry doesn’t feel
quite so nervous about the future. There is Draco to deal with, of course, but
for Scorpius’ sake, Harry is prepared to allow the older Malfoy a hand in his
own fate. Whether he chooses to grab it or let it slip through his fingers,
remains to be seen.
***
***** Never Say Never *****

Author's notes: With no regrets, Harry takes control of his future.
===============================================================================
Harry takes one last look around the living room, now devoid of his personal
belongings, and briefly closes his eyes. He really does love teaching, but he
loves Scorpius more. Giving Minerva his resignation was far harder than
expected, especially since he had no answer to her bewildered demands for an
explanation. She would find out soon enough, anyway. Part of him wanted to tell
her face to face, but he didn’t think he could bear to witness her
disappointment. Perhaps after the bonding, given time, she might come to
understand.
James did not understand, and now refuses to be in the same room as Harry.
Harry holds onto the hope that his first born will prove the love he has for
his father is stronger than his homophobic attitude; something Harry is at
least confident he had no part in gifting the boy. He has always encouraged his
children not just to exert tolerance, but actively support such minorities. It
hurt Harry profoundly when James accused him of only holding such beliefs to
further his own ‘sick cause’. He has to believe his oldest son will come to
realise you cannot choose who you fall for.
When Harry sat Al down to explain, he choked up. Squeezing his son’s hand
tightly, his words were stilted and painful until Al squeezed back and told him
he wished he’d known sooner; that it wouldn’t change anything between them, or
himself and Scorpius. Al even promised to help Harry arrange the bonding; a
simple gesture of kindness that left him unable to speak. He hadn’t dared to
hope Al would be any more forgiving than James, perhaps less so considering his
closeness to Scorpius, so his support touched Harry far deeper than he could
adequately put into words.
Lily managed to extract a weak smile from him with her down to-earth-attitude.
Like Al, her only concern was for his happiness; that and how much allowance
she would get to spend on an outfit for the bonding. She did tell Harry with
great seriousness that she had no intention of referring to Scorpius in any
paternal manner, because that would just be plain gross, and Harry found
himself wholly inclined to agree with her.
There remains a knot of anxiety as he thinks about his friends’ reactions, but
the press of soft lips to his neck leeches away most of the tension. Strong,
buoyant arms wrap around him from behind as Scorpius surveys the room with his
chin on Harry’s shoulder. He motions a nod to where the sofa used to be, and
murmurs wicked reminders of how they made excellent use of it. He steps
backwards, pulling Harry with him until his back finds the wall, teasing that
they’ve done more in this position than everywhere else added together.
Harry sighs quietly as Scorpius finds a nipple, louder still when the boy
presses his interest into the cleft of Harry’s arse. Harry turns in the circle
of arms, raising his own above his head so that Scorpius can pull his shirt
off, before bringing trembling fingers to the collar of Scorpius’ school robes.
As he slips each button from its fastening, he kisses the pale skin it exposes,
working his way down the smooth chest with a patience he doesn’t feel.
Apparently Scorpius doesn’t feel it either, because he suddenly rips the few
remaining buttons, revealing his flushed and swollen cock to Harry’s gaze.
Harry drops to his knees and stretches his mouth around the shiny head, smiling
at the deviousness of the boy for wearing nothing under his robes. He angles
his face to count every twitch of Scorpius’ lips, each silent hitch of breath
and all the beads of perspiration that form along his brow. He sees as much as
feels the approaching orgasm; sees it in the increased agitation of Scorpius’
facial muscles, feels it in the fat vein pulsing frantically against his
tongue.
Harry lets Scorpius fuck his mouth, sucking with ruthless determination until
salty fluid glazes his tonsils. His own cock is screaming for release, begging
to be allowed to claim the boy’s arse, and as soon as the last drops are
swallowed, Harry drags his trousers down and kicks them off.
Scorpius recites the charms Harry taught him for stretching and lubrication,
and Harry adds one of his own; a Featherlight charm that makes it effortless to
lift Scorpius up and guide him down onto his sweaty, messy cock. The
preparation means he can slide all the way in, and Scorpius’ urgent cries and
clutching hands spur Harry on; Scorpius needs this as much as he does. Grasping
the slender hips, he pulls out and slams back in, driving the boy back into the
stone wall.
Scorpius’ legs are wrapped tightly around Harry’s waist as he meets the
frenzied thrusts, alternating his grasp between Harry’s broad shoulders and the
damp nape of his neck. Harry loses himself to the intensity of their coupling,
swearing pledges of ‘mine’ and ‘always’ against the defined muscle of Scorpius’
upper body. Scorpius’ fingers lace through his hair, demanding he look up and
Harry does, pierced instantly by the silvery eyes locked onto his own. Scorpius
silently mouths the words ‘I love you’, and Harry cries out and kisses the
declaration from smiling lips, fingernails digging into the soft flesh of the
boy’s hips as he fills him with his own affirmation of worship.
Harry never wants to let go, hates feeling himself soften inside the slick
walls and rues the completion of their potent love-making. Scorpius sighs when
Harry’s cock leaves his body and he is set down on shaky legs. Harry pulls him
to the floor and into an embrace, uncaring of the cold stones beneath them. He
doesn’t want to face the next twenty-four hours, leaving the school and his
children, watching Scorpius return to the Manor as the boy has insisted on
doing before the bonding. He has all but begged him not to, but Scorpius’ mind
is made up. He has things to discuss with Draco and despite his assurances that
his father will not come between them again, Harry cannot help but worry. With
all the enthusiasm of a man approaching the gallows, Harry tells him it is time
they left.
***
Al is staring at him. Harry wishes he would stop because he doesn’t have pre-
bonding jitters and he doesn’t particularly want to start experiencing them
now. For once, Lily is quiet as she sits by his side and fiddles with the
golden organza, smoothing it out with her fingers. Harry tells her she looks
beautiful, amused to see the blush it invokes. He adds that she looks like
she’s the one getting bonded and that rewards him with a chuckle. Al doesn’t
laugh, nor does he stop staring at Harry. Lily notices and says she shouldn’t
really be sat on so many Galleon’s worth of dress anyway, standing up to take a
walk down the Ministry corridor.
Harry wonders how his children grew up so quickly and became mature, sensitive
young people. He still likes to think of James in those terms, despite the
older boy refusing outright to witness the bonding. Harry understands it, he
really does, and as sorry as he is that James has not come, he refuses to live
another day of his life at the mercy of others. Harry has always felt like
someone’s puppet, tool or toy, and he wants more than that now, something
equal. A life in which he chooses to please himself and not warring, tyrannical
Wizards or the general public, his ex-wife or gossip columnists.
“Dad?”
Al’s concerned voice cuts through the chaos of his thoughts. Harry’s eyes slide
back into focus and register the worry on his son’s face. Al says softly that
perhaps they should find an official and have them send an owl to the Manor;
that Scorpius is now over an hour late and wouldn’t it be best to know if he
had changed his mind. Harry looks away and observes Lily talking to the
nameless, faceless Wizard due to conduct the ceremony. With a weak laugh he
tells Al not to be so ridiculous; that Scorpius isn’t late and they have not
been sitting here for more than an hour, it just feels like it in the dim
bowels of this building. Harry continues to watch his daughter’s interaction
until the man glances over Lily’s shoulder at him with an expression akin to
Al’s. It’s pity, and it makes Harry angry. Everything is fine. Scorpius will be
here soon.
“Draco,” Harry blurts out, “Why, Al?”
It wasn’t exactly the change of conversational track he’d been planning on, but
it suddenly seems important to know. Al’s face rotates between mortified,
embarrassed and indignant. Eventually he mutters something about Malfoy charm
and Harry can only nod awkwardly.
“Besides,” his son adds wryly, “you took the good one.”
They both smile at that and Harry is relieved to feel the tension ease again.
Lily rejoins them, informing Harry that the world’s Wizarding press is camped
outside the Ministry. Well, he can hardly pretend it was unexpected, but
unfortunately for them, Harry has no intention of leaving the building any
other way than Apparating himself and Scorpius straight into their bedroom.
Harry passes the time by counting the spots of dirt on the wall above Al’s
head. For people equipped with magical skill, it really is just pure laziness
that they don’t make more effort with the upkeep of the place. He makes a
mental note to inform Kingsley next time their paths cross.
“Dad.”
Harry ignores Al and closes his eyes.
“Dad.”
He doesn’t want to be told this is the opposite of a horrific nightmare; where
instead of waking to something better, he will fall asleep tonight to escape
the something worse.
“Dad!”
Harry forces his eyes open but Al isn’t staring at him with pity anymore, he’s
pointing along the length of the corridor and Lily’s acute shriek jars Harry’s
head in its direction.
The official has an arm around Scorpius’ waist, which Harry finds rather odd,
until they step under a brighter light and the blood flecks become visible.
Harry doesn’t realise he’s moved until Scorpius is in his arms, smiling weakly
and trying to assure them he’s okay. He’s not convincing; the blood is
splattered over the dark green robes and under his chin, streaks of it stand
out garishly against the white-blond hair.
Harry is frantic as he searches for the wound, the mass of wounds he expects to
uncover, but Scorpius grabs his hands and tells him to stop. His breath is
still laboured as he relays the events that made him late; how Draco threatened
to disown him and Scorpius just laughed in his face and said he wished he’d do
it quickly, because the sooner he became a Potter, the better. His voice cracks
slightly as he recounts the terrible things Draco tried to make him believe
about Harry, how each accusation only made him hate his father more.
Scorpius’ own allegation that Draco’s sick plan to break them up was borne out
of jealousy propelled the older Malfoy to attack him; but that it was Scorpius’
own quick reaction that caught Draco smartly in the face and caused the pattern
of red spray across his clothes. Harry winces internally; he’s been on the
receiving end of that devastating anger and his memories are still painfully
raw. Ever the practical one, Al casts cleaning charms while Scorpius catches
his breath and finally the Wizard official asks if they still want to go ahead
with the bonding. Lily says if they don’t, she will happily spill their blood
herself.
***
The small, bright room, and guests he can count on one hand are so entirely
different from his first marriage. A world away from the flashbulbs and entire
Wizarding populace that made up the circus of his and Ginny’s betrothal.
Another huge difference, Harry knows, is how much his heart is in this one. How
each word he has to force around a lump of emotion in his throat, is spoken
with the conviction and promise Scorpius deserves. He hears the vows repeated
back to him, his own name cited in Scorpius’ tremulous voice. Harry is glad
only Al and Lily are witnessing this; the moment is far too personal to share
with anyone else. Their hands are bound tightly by invisible cords of magic
while they recite word for word everything the official asks them to, anchoring
themselves in each other’s eyes.
When the binds begin to dissolve, Harry laments the loss; he could happily be
tied to Scorpius this way for ever. Scorpius seems less concerned; with his
hands freed, he wastes no time pulling Harry into a life-affirming kiss. Harry
hears Lily giggle and the official clears his throat. Apparently they still
have parchment to sign before getting to ‘that’ part.
Scorpius grins and snatches up the quill, bending over the table to sign his
name and legally declare himself Harry’s. Harry tries very hard not to imagine
the curved, toned buttocks beneath his robes and how they would look if his
clothing suddenly disappeared. Scorpius hands the quill to Harry with a sly
wink and he wastes no time adding his name alongside. The official smiles and
congratulates them, adding with a smirk that now they may kiss. Harry thanks
him and says if he could just allow them to Apparate out, they’ll happily go
somewhere a little more private.
Al is already up on his feet and dragging Lily to the door, having already been
informed of Harry’s post-bonding intentions. Harry thanks Merlin and any other
deity that might be listening for his wonderful, precious children.
“You know what this means,” Harry whispers in Scorpius’ ear as he takes his arm
in anticipation of the wards lifting.
Scorpius smirks then pretends to look concerned, as though he has just married
a wicked old witch in disguise.
Pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, Harry murmurs, “Your arse is mine.”
Scorpius turns his head to capture Harry’s lips more fully, “It always has
been.”
***
End
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