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Title: Cornbread and Sweet Tea (1/3)
Author: sor_bet
Recipient: femmequixotic
Characters/Pairings: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warnings (highlight to view): AU, AU, AU.
Wordcount: Total: 20,655 (*facepalms*). part 1: 4657 words
Summary: Harry and Draco living together in a house in the North Georgia mountains, and how they got there.
Author's Notes: The first time I read the term “crackfic”, it was only a few years after I’d moved to the South and I read it as “crackerfic”. The resulting fic idea was supposed to be a simple little story about kitchensex, but I never got around to really writing it until kennahijja came up with ownficfest and femmequixotic chose the prompt. Thanks go to them, to my betas lash_larue (who gave me the last line) and yesido (who assured me repeatedly :-D that it all made sense), and to the fanfic authors on lj who write so well and have set such high standards for all fics, crack or not.

Draco wakes up with his hair stuck to his face and neck and a sheen of sweat between his body and Harry’s, and he wonders what happened to spring. Winter had seemed almost endless, and now it feels like summer already. He takes his wand off the bedside table and casts a quiet Cooling charm, then peels himself away from Harry, who snorts, rolls over and kicks the quilt down to the foot of the bed, making the dogs whine in protest. “Sorry, guys, but he’s got a point,” Draco murmurs, giving each dog a quick scratch around the neck before nudging them onto the floor so he can pull the quilt off of the bed and take it outside. He’ll let it air for a day or two, and then put it away until next winter.

The dogs are whining for their breakfast and Harry still isn’t awake, so Draco makes them sit and fills their bowls. It still amazes him that they obey him, almost as if he’d cast Imperius on them. He waits while they eat, then lets them outside again and goes to take a shower, passing the bed on which Harry is still sprawled, naked, asleep. He looks so vulnerable and innocent, but Draco knows better.

He takes a cool shower, sluicing off the sweat and thinking about jerking off to the image of Harry on the bed just now – smooth skin, dark hair and soft lips all on display -- but he decides to save it, just in case.

When he’s done, he can hear Harry up and moving around, so he wraps the towel low around his hips and saunters back into the bedroom. Harry has pulled on a pair of overalls so old and worn that the denim is nearly white, and the soft fabric smooths over his ass as he bends down to pick something up off the floor. When he straightens, one corner of the bib flops down over his chest, revealing a dark pink nipple. Harry lifts the corner of the bib, preparing to reattach the metal button that has come off, until he sees Draco watching him. He blinks, then smiles a little and drops the button into his pocket, leaving his chest partially exposed, one strap hanging down the back of the overalls, swinging back and forth like a teasing tail as he walks out of the room.

Two could play at that game, thinks Draco. He digs through the clothes on top of the chifferobe until he finds a pair of cut-offs and a T-shirt that looks clean enough. The cut-offs are too short to wear out in public, but they’re comfortable, and he knows that Harry likes seeing him in them. He leaves the top button undone and uses a Shrinking Spell on the T-shirt so it’s just a little too tight, then follows Harry out of the bedroom.

* * *

The first time I ever saw Harry, he was wearing old, faded jeans and a ripped T-shirt. No big deal; lots of wizards wear Sanmage clothing. He didn’t seem like anything that special, a small guy, even kind of scrawny, slouching in a booth at the back of the wizarding bar, a glass of beer sitting untouched in front of him, but something about him caught my eye. Maybe it was the black hair sticking out every which way as if he’d just gotten off of a broom, or the fact that his eyes were the exact color of the Appletinis I’d overindulged in the night before. I liked the look of his arms and the muscles under his shirt, and I began to think that a bit of rough trade might be just the ticket to cure my hangover.

Maybe it would also help dull the memory of the previous night’s tryst with Pansy. One moment we’d been in that new club, the next, we were in her bedroom. I nearly lost that last Appletini when I heard her whisper, “I’m ovulating,” but a blowjob is a blowjob, and I was drunk enough that if I squinted, it could have been her cousin Roger LeStrange riding my cock until I came and then passed out.

Not that Roger would ever get anywhere near my cock; the man is deplorably straight, not to mention boring, and I had a feeling that the stranger in the bar that day was neither of those things. I’d also heard that small, scrawny guys had the biggest dicks, but I’d never yet had a chance to verify that. I carried my Bloody Mary over to his booth and sat down next to him.

“Hi, there. I’m a John Deere fan, too,” I said, indicating his T-shirt. Actually, I’d never heard of John Deere – who could keep up with every flash-in-the-Floo wizard rock band – but a flimsy excuse to hit on him was better than none.

“Really,” he replied, like he knew I was lying.

“Oh, yeah. Saw them open for the Thestrals.”

“Uh huh.” He nodded, then looked past me at the door. What the fuck? Maybe I wasn’t being obvious enough.

“So you’re visiting New Orleans?” I asked, pouring on the Malfoy charm and moving my leg up against his under the table.

“Um. Yeah.” He quirked an eyebrow at me, but he didn’t shift his leg away.

I took it as encouragement. “You can have a good time here, if you know the right people.” I slid one hand up his thigh, feeling the hard muscles under the soft fabric. “I can help you there,” I murmured in my sultriest tone, leaning into him and breathing on his ear. I moved my hand higher, rubbing his dick through his jeans. He caught my hand and moved it away, and I heard a twangy, mountain accent when he said, “I think I can find the right people myself, thanks.” And then he looked at the door again, ignoring me completely.

I was furious. My head throbbed from the hangover, I’d practically been assaulted by Pansy the night before, and to top it all off, this cracker was rejecting me? Before I knew what I was doing, I stood up, grabbed his beer, and threw it in his face, or I tried to, only it never got there. It was as if a pane of glass had appeared in front of him, because the beer just stopped and splashed down onto the table, and he was just sitting there staring at me – no wand in sight, no shouted countercharm; who the hell was this guy? I grabbed my own drink and flung it at the wall and this time it hit, glass shattering, tomato juice spraying, very satisfying. Behind me, Tomas shouted, “Dammit, Malfoy, I warned you,” and yeah, it wasn’t the first time I’d pitched a fit in his place. I turned to see him reaching under the bar for the wand he kept there, but before I could duck, something slammed into me from behind. I tried to move away, but whatever had hit me was stuck to my back and it took a few seconds for my head to stop spinning enough to realize that the cracker had thrown me onto the table. Without hands, words, or a wand.

It didn’t hurt as much as it should have; the gris-gris I wore under my shirt had probably absorbed most of the malice in the jinx. I started to sit up, but then the tabletop came alive, the wood growing right out from the surface and bending around my arms and chest, and wow, he had a lot of power. I felt it surging around me like a storm and it was a little scary, but exciting, too, just what I’d been looking for. I didn’t mind it rough on occasion, although I didn’t usually go in for public sex. Father could ignore my behavior as long as I kept it semi-private.

The cracker looked down at me and snarled, “You’re Malfoy?”

“Yeah, what’s it to you?” I snapped back without thinking. The magic coming off him was distracting. I wasn’t sure I could have fought him off, even if I’d had my wand. I should have been panicking – I was being eaten by a fucking table – but instead, his magic was making me horny in some weird, twisted way. I’d never been a power queen like some of the wizards I’d known; in fact, really strong magic usually turned me off, so I didn’t understand my reaction at all. But I liked it.

He leaned over me, narrowing his eyes, peering into my face. “You related to Lucius Malfoy?”

Fuck. Just another guy trying to get to Father. “I’m his son. Play nice with me,” I said, writhing and tilting my hips up, “and maybe I’ll introduce you.”

“Goddammit. Are you in on it?”

That didn’t make any sense. I started to think that I’d misunderstood something, that maybe this wasn’t his idea of foreplay after all. I turned my head to see if I could free myself from the reshaped table, but he grabbed my jaw and forced me to look at him. “Are you in on it?” he shouted, leaning in even closer

“In on what?” My breath fogged up his glasses.

“Wrong answer,” he said. His glasses went clear, and then I felt like my mind was being rapped with a stick. He was trying to get to my memories.

Now, it’s one thing to give a new friend a hand job under the table, but to perform Legilimency on someone, right out in public? That was a little too kinky, even for me.

But I’d been well-trained by my Tante Bella. I slammed up as much of a barrier as I could manage without a wand, and he blinked. I wasn’t sure how long I could keep him out, but the clumsy way he was going at it made it easy to block. He grabbed my head with both hands and pushed harder at my mind, the rapping stick turning into a smashing club, but I could tell he wasn’t getting anything.

I, however, was getting an enormous hard-on.

It wasn’t at all my usual response to Legilimency, but something about his magic was going straight to my cock. His hair was brushing my face, his breath was on my mouth, and I could smell him; not cologne or aftershave, but just warm skin and clean sweat. Even the pounding he was giving my mind felt rhythmic, almost sensual.

I exhaled and tried not to sound like I was begging when I said, “Let’s take this somewhere private, and I’ll let you in. Anything you want.”

He jerked back, his eyes going wide behind his glasses, and another pulse of magic nearly made me come in my pants. He glanced around the bar, then narrowed his eyes, and the air between us and the rest of the customers shimmered and went opaque. I thought, okay, yeah, now we’re getting somewhere. Then his power, well, it smoothed out, is the only way to describe it. It went from slamming at my head to a slow hum all over my body, and that’s when he leaned down and kissed me.

I lost my concentration for a second and that’s all he needed. I felt a whisper of silk across the edges of my thoughts; a needle-thin stiletto sliding quietly into my mind, and then I watched, horrified, as my worst memories floated up, one after the other, parading through my mind. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t fight back, and the cracker took his time, sliding smoothly from one memory to another, sifting through all the times Father had told me I was a disappointment and every other humiliating experience I’d ever had. Meeting the Big Boss when I was 14 and nearly peeing my pants in fear. Vomiting on father’s shoes the first time he took me along on a job. Losing my nerve just before my initiation assignment and the punishment I’d received because of that failure. Hearing Father express his disgust last time we’d spoken, which was nearly two years ago. The blur of pointless days spent getting drunk and trying to avoid Pansy. The last memory I saw was that of green eyes, staring down into mine.

Then he was out of my head, and when I could focus, I saw an older wizard in a shabby white linen suit and an honest-to-god bow tie, his hand on the cracker’s arm. “Let him go, Harry,” he said quietly, and the younger wizard nearly fell on the floor in his haste to get away from me.

“Oh, god, I’m really sorry. I didn’t know.” He sat down hard on the bench, and put his head in his hands while the older wizard drew his wand and waved it over me and the table. It took him three tries to get the wood to melt back enough to free me.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he said, helping me off the table and onto a chair. “Are you hurt?”

I didn’t answer, because the cracker had taken off his glasses and was scrubbing his face with his other hand, and that’s when I saw the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead.

“You’re Harry Potter.” The shock froze me for a second, and suddenly all I could see was that scar. The Boy Who Lived. The man who had reduced The Big Boss to a pile of ash on the floor of my father’s warehouse five years ago.

“Yeah.” He said. He looked miserable. Bow-tie sat down next to him and put his arm around his shoulders, and I felt an irrational surge of jealousy. I stood up, ready to storm out before I could humiliate myself again, but Potter said, “Wait!”

I braced for his magic to slam into me again, stopping me, but he’d gotten up off the bench and touched my shoulder. “I am so sorry. I just...I assumed you were as much of a bastard as your dad.”

“I am. Just more of a coward. As you saw.”

“I’m going to get us something to drink,” said bow-tie, jumping up off the bench and heading toward the bar.

Potter didn’t seem to notice. “No. You got nothin’ to be ashamed of. It ain’t cowardly to refuse to do evil. You knew it was wrong, what they wanted you to do, that’s why you couldn’t do it.”

I stared at him. He had to be joking; no one with that much power could be that naive. But he looked absolutely earnest. I shook my head. “Yeah, right. You keep on believing that.”

“You weren’t afraid of me when I nearly took you apart just now.”

“You weren’t anywhere close to taking me apart,” I said, and realized it was true. Somehow, I’d instinctively known that he wouldn’t hurt me. “And you weren’t scary. If you want to intimidate someone, sending out sex vibes isn’t the way to do it.”

“I wasn’t...that’s what it felt like?”

As if he didn’t know. “What, that’s not how you get laid?” I sneered.

“No! I don’t—I wouldn’t....That ain’t never happened before. Ever.” His face went red and I almost believed him. “People usually…most witches and wizards, they’re just scared of me. I ain’t always got real good control over my magic,” he muttered, looking at the floor.

“You don’t say,” I drawled, raising my eyebrows at him.

He looked at me then, and his lips curved up, just a little.

* * *

“It’s already hot out,” Draco says, wandering into the kitchen.

Harry’s measuring coffee into the filter. “Mm,” he agrees. He looks up at Draco and drops the coffee scoop on the floor when he sees the cut-offs. He tries to Banish the scoop to the sink, but it bounces off the window and lands on the floor again. This time, Harry picks it up by hand and rinses it off.

“So I thought I’d make some iced tea,” Draco continues, as if nothing had happened.

“Sounds good,” Harry says, filling the coffee carafe at the sink and not looking at Draco’s legs.

“You want cornbread with breakfast?” Draco asks in the most casual tone he can manage. He starts pulling ingredients down from the cupboard: corn meal, baking powder, canola oil. When he sets the bottle of oil on the counter, Harry blushes, right on cue.

Draco makes a show of reaching for spoons and measuring cups instead of Summoning them, stretching so that the T-shirt pulls up, showing skin. After Harry has poured water into the coffeemaker and hits the “on” button, Draco hands him the bowl and a wooden spoon and tells him, “Stir,” then fills the kettle and sets it on the stove. When he picks up his wand, he hears the spoon drop into the bowl. Draco usually heats up the water with magic, but this time Harry stops him, grabbing his wrist and pinning it to the edge of the counter. He uses his other hand to turn the fire on under the kettle, then he drops to his knees and slides both hands up and down Draco’s thighs, under his shirt, across his chest.

Draco’s breath hitches. He drops his wand on the counter and pushes his shaking hands into Harry’s hair. Harry smiles up at him, then tugs on Draco’s frayed cutoffs, just enough to widen the space between the top of the waistband and the bottom of the T-shirt. He runs his thumbs over Draco’s hipbones, curves his fingers over his ass. He slips his fingers past the top button that Draco left undone and rubs them over the soft blond hair on Draco’s stomach before undoing the zipper.

Draco didn’t underestimate the power of the cut-offs, but the slow pace is killing him. With the burner set on high, the water will come to a boil in three minutes, but he’s not sure he can wait even that short amount of time. He gasps with relief when Harry finally slides the cut-offs down and starts sucking him. It’s still too slow, but Draco doesn’t push it, doesn’t grip Harry’s head, only curls his fingers through his hair and falls into the rhythm, sucking his breath in each time that Harry goes all the way down. His hips are starting to thrust, as much as he tries to hold back, and when the kettle starts to rattle, Harry looks up, green eyes under dark lashes.

He pulls off, and before Draco can complain, a small bottle flies into the kitchen and lands in Harry’s outstretched hand with a smack. He opens it, pours some of the best lube in the world onto his right palm, and then wraps that hand around Draco’s cock.

Harry leans in and kisses him, tongue going deep, hand gripping and sliding, and Draco comes on the third stroke. He’s gasping for air against the counter when the kettle starts to whistle. Harry reaches past him with his clean hand and turns off the stove, then turns back to Draco and kisses him again, long and soft. They stay there for a moment, forehead to forehead, before Harry sighs and goes to wash his hands.

Draco picks up his wand and spells himself clean while Harry pours boiling water over teabags in a thick glass pitcher. He can see that Harry’s half hard, but when he reaches for him, Harry steps away. “I’m good,” he says, shaking his head as he takes coffee cups down from the cupboard. Draco lets him move away. He’s still catching his breath, his legs rubbery. He takes the bowl to the table and sits down to finish mixing.

* * *

The spell Potter had cast in front of our booth had faded away, and now the rest of the customers were trying (and failing) not to stare at us too obviously. Bow-tie came back to the booth with drinks and introduced himself as Remus Lupin, an old family friend of Potter’s (which I really hoped was not a euphemism), and then spent the next ten minutes trying to convince Potter to go home or at least to cool off. “Sirius contacted his cousin, the one who’s an Agent, and she’s on her way. Please just talk to her before you do anything. Do you even know where to find Malfoy?”

Potter frowned into his drink. “No. I didn’t really think much past gettin’ down here.”

“So you jumped on your broom and flew from North Georgia to New Orleans, figured one of the drunks in the first wizarding bar you walked into would know where he was, and then,” Lupin said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “you thought you could just place him under wizard’s arrest and that would be the end of it?”

“You flew all the way here?” I didn’t know anyone else who preferred to fly long distances rather than Apparating or using a Portkey.

“Sure. Didn’t take that long. I like flyin’.” He smiled for the first time since I’d met him, and a wisp of magic stretched out to me like a caress. I couldn’t help smiling stupidly back at him.

“Harry....” Lupin snapped his fingers in front of Potter’s face, breaking whatever warm, comfortable thing had been flowing between us.

Potter’s mouth tightened. “Remus, there ain’t no way Shacklebolt appointed him on his own. I said it before and no one wanted to take me seriously. So I can try to stop Malfoy now and be ‘that craaazy Harry Potter,’” he sing-songed, “Or I can wait until after he’s been sworn in and be thrown in Buldyr for assaultin’ a public official.”

“What reason are you going to give him for arresting him? For that matter, what reason can you give the MBI? You can’t just go around randomly accusing people—”

“He’s a criminal.”

“—who have never been convicted of anything—”

“He’s slippery. Le Mort even said so, eight years ago in that graveyard.”

So the rumors were true, about how the Big Boss had been brought back to corporeal form. I shuddered at Potter’s casual use of that name. Most of the wizarding world was too afraid to say it, even though he’d been dead, truly dead, for five years. Destroyed by the man standing in front of me. A frisson of fear went up my spine, but it wasn’t fear of Potter, it was fear for him. I knew he was going to go after Father, no matter how dangerous it was, just like he had with the Big Boss.

The two of them glared at each other, until I spoke.

“Don’t do it.”

Potter smiled a little, but he didn’t look happy. “I’ll be all right.”

“There’s no way he’ll go with you. He’s taking vows of office in two hours, he’ll...He won’t think twice about killing you and making your body disappear.”

“You think he’d attack me rather than take a trip to MBI headquarters?” His eyes lit, and he looked slightly happier. “Because if we got arrested for, say, disturbin’ the peace, they might have to give us both Veritaserum to get to the truth of the matter.”

“Harry, don’t even think about it!” Lupin snapped, and I agreed.

“I’m not kidding! You could be dead before you even get a word out.”

You’re forgettin’ one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m the goddamned ‘Boy Who Lived’,” he said, and huffed out a laugh.

“That’s not funny!” I nearly shouted.

“It never is,” Potter muttered, then he pushed himself off the bench and stalked towards the bar and Tomas, pulling out his wallet and pointing at the ruined table.

I turned to Lupin. “Don’t let him do this.”

Lupin just spread his hands and shrugged. “Once he gets an idea in his head....”

I sighed. Potter was still arguing with Tomas, who shook his head and grinned, waving away the money Potter was trying to give him. Potter finally shoved the wallet back into his jeans and marched back to our table. He reached underneath it and pulled out a broomstick, then pointed a finger at me. “You’re gonna take me to your dad. Now.”

“And why would I do that?” I answered, hoping he wouldn’t have an answer ready. He reached out with one hand and traced his fingers over my cheek. There was no magic behind the touch. Yet.

“Because if you don’t,” he said quietly, “I’ll just get the information outta your head and go anyway. You know I can.”

He’d already seen me at my worst, but I didn’t feel up to a repeat performance. I jerked my head to the side and stumbled away from him. “No. And I’m not going to take you to get killed.”

Potter blew out a breath. “I told you, he ain’t gonna kill me. And why do you even care?” He sounded both annoyed and curious.

I couldn’t answer that, so I said, “I don’t. Go on and get yourself....” But I couldn’t even say it. “Fuck. I need to borrow your wand,” I said to Lupin. He hesitated, looking between me and Potter, but he handed it over. It felt serviceable enough. I took the gris-gris off from around my neck and laid it on the table. Lupin seemed very interested in it, but Potter just scoffed. “My mother likes to hedge her bets, all right?” I snapped. Then I held my breath and used a non-verbal spell to slice my finger open.

Lupin gasped, and Potter shouted, “What are you doin’?” I ignored him and let the blood flow onto the gris-gris, then used Lupin’s wand to seal up the wound. My finger stung, but I felt calmer.

“Here,” I said, putting the gris-gris around Potter’s neck, and settling it under his T-shirt. “I don’t know for sure if it’ll help, but it might give you some protection against him.”

“You’ll be in trouble if he notices.” Now he looked worried. No one besides Maman ever worried about me. It was an uncomfortable feeling.

“He won’t. I don’t think he’s noticed anything about me for years now.”

Potter rubbed the gris-gris through his shirt. “Ready?” he asked.

Lupin put his hand on Potter’s arm. “No. Harry, you’re going to wait for Sirius and the Agents. There’s no reason to make this more dangerous than it has to be.”

Potter hesitated, then he nodded. “You’re right.” He held his hand out, a peace offering, and Lupin took it, smiling. A moment later, Harry carefully slid his hand out of Lupin’s grasp. Lupin had gone as still as a statue. “I’m really sorry, Remus, but I don’t want anyone else gettin’ hurt. I’ll meet you at MBI headquarters. Let’s go,” he said to me, picking up his broom.

“You’re just going to leave him like that?”

“It’ll come off as soon as I’m gone. So let’s go. Please!” he added. I mentally shrugged and took him out the back exit. It led to a walled courtyard from which we could leave, unseen by any Sanmages who might be walking past the front of the bar.

I didn’t want to take him to Father, but I didn’t want to let him down, either, and where had that come from? I’d gotten so used to fucking up, I didn’t think I’d ever bother trying to please anyone ever again. He threw one leg over his broom and I got on behind him. I felt the coolness of a Disillusionment spell pour over me. “Remus taught me not to take chances. But it don’t always stick.” He laughed and kicked up into the air. “Hold on, now.” I wrapped my arms around his waist, torn between worrying about him and enjoying the physical contact, and we took off.

Continued in Part 2


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