Fan Fiction - Harry Potter - Drabbles
The first time Harry saw Malfoy after his escape from Hogwarts, he felt spite and anger. He didn’t like the idea of relying on Malfoy as their source of information from Voldemort’s camp. But Snape was dead and Malfoy was their only chance. Harry hoped Malfoy would be more loyal to the Order than he’d been to his previous master.
When he faced Malfoy and met his eyes, Harry had the impression that he’s looking at a man who’d been to hell and back. Like many times before, Harry felt a brief touch of what could have been pity seeping through his malice, and wondered what Voldemort had done to Malfoy… and what he’d made Malfoy do.
The first time Harry kissed Malfoy, his heart was thumping and he tasted blood – not because the kiss was so passionate, but because they had wrestled seconds before and Harry had punched Malfoy and broken his lip. The kiss was just another blow in the little personal war they kept fighting, although in the real war they were allies now.
The first time Harry fucked Malfoy, nothing went according to plan. He had thought he’d fuck Malfoy from behind, not once looking at his face, that he’d make him beg and scream, then leave him spent and humiliated. Instead, he found himself looking at Malfoy’s blissed out face as they fucked, Malfoy’s thighs wrapped around his hips. Malfoy didn’t scream and beg, he merely let out a few quiet gaps. He clutched at Harry’s bicep with one hand, the other buried in Harry’s hair.
When Malfoy came, he mumbled something that Harry couldn’t quite make out. It sounded a whole lot like his first name, though, and, for some reason, that made Harry’s stomach tingle with a thousand butterflies.
He’d planned to get up and go right after the sex. Instead, he collapsed on top of Draco after he came, pinning him down with his weight. The arms that hugged him were warm, the hands that began to stroke his back lulled him into a state of oblivion – and before he realized what was going on, Harry fell asleep in Draco’s arms.
The first time Harry dared to whisper “I love you”, it was too late. Draco was dead in his arms, a limp puppet, a lifeless heap of flesh. He had thrown himself in front of Harry and the killing curse meant for him hit Draco instead.
Harry stared at Draco’s dead face for several moments, then carefully laid his corpse down and stood up. He tightened the grip on his wand and stepped forward, determined.
After Harry Potter had destroyed Voldemort, the press was full of headlines like The Boy Who Lived Saves the World and Potter’s Revenge and The Chosen One Strikes Back. Harry alone knew the truth. When he killed Voldemort, it wasn’t for the good of the wizarding world, nor was it a revenge for what Voldemort had done to his parents, to Sirius, Dumbledore and all the others who had died fighting the Dark Side. No. It was for Draco. It was for love.