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Harry stared at the painting of Lucius Malfoy. The painting stared back. Harry wasn’t entirely certain that paintings couldn’t curse the living, and so wasn’t about to take his eyes away and give Lucius a clean shot at his back.
“Draco,” Harry murmured, cringing when Lucius narrowed his eyes dangerously at Harry’s use of Draco’s first name. Draco moaned something unintelligible and slid further under the covers, burrowing closer to Harry. Lucius looked positively murderous.
“Draco,” Harry persisted, a bit more urgent now…was Lucius reaching for a wand? “You’re father’s watching us.”
“Are you off your rocker?” Draco muttered into Harry’s chest. “My father’s dead.”
“No, look,” Harry insisted, tilting Draco’s chin back. Draco blinked wearily, rubbed his eyes, and followed Harry’s pointed finger across the room. Draco tipped his head to the side, made a “hmm” noise of mild curiosity, and flopped back down. “Draco!”
“It’s just a painting, Potter,” Draco sighed.
“But how did it even get there? I’m pretty sure it wasn’t there last night.”
“I don’t know,” Draco said, sounding very exasperated. “We are wizards, you know, Harry. He very well could have just gone from frame to frame til he got here.”
“Yes, but that’s his frame…from downstairs. How did it get here?”
Draco looked at the frame consideringly, and shrugged. “Why don’t you ask him?” Harry made a strangled sound of distress. Draco sighed again. “Father,” He greeted in a somewhat civil tone.
“You’re sleeping with Harry Potter,” Lucius said with surprising calm.
“Very observant, for a portrait,” Draco drawled. He didn’t seem too intimidated by Lucius violent reaction, and so Harry, deciding Draco probably knew best, resolved that the portrait couldn’t curse them with any success. “Father, Harry is curious to know, and I’ll admit I’m a bit, too, how you came to be hanging there.”
“I had one of the house-elves relocate me, when I discovered what you were up to in here,” Lucius explained, checking his nails.
“You wanted to watch?” Harry demanded with a squeak. “That’s really sick.” He glanced at Draco, “Do mental instabilities run in your family?”
“Oh, we’re not on that crazy thing again, are we?” Draco asked, rolling his eyes. “If Father wants a show, he can have one.” Harry didn’t have time to protest before he was flat on his back and Draco was straddling him, quieting him with a deep, hard kiss. For a moment, all Harry could do was respond helplessly—Draco was a really good kisser. And then he became very aware of the heated glare Lucius was casting their way.
“Draco! Get off!” Harry shrieked, bucking under his lover and jerking his face away from Draco’s persistent kisses. He pushed at Draco’s chest, but his hands were caught and pressed back into the sheets, held firm.
Draco arched a devilish brow and rubbed his hips against Harry’s, licking his lips. “I plan to,” He murmured, lowering his mouth to nibble at the base of Harry’s neck. Harry gave a little moan of distress and pleasure, and tilted his head back, much against his will. His head fell to the side and his eyes met Lucius’. The elder Malfoy seemed none too pleased.
“Draco,” Harry said weakly, “this is really just wrong, and freaky, and creepy.”
“Well,” Draco said, hurt, “that’s nice.”
It was Harry’s turn to sigh. “I don’t mean…Not that…It’s just, your dad is watching us.”
“How many ways can I tell you: my father is dead, that is merely a painting,” Draco said, as though Harry was a particularly slow child. Lucius made a sound of outraged protest.
Harry wriggled uncomfortably beneath Draco, his breath hitching when their erections met. “But it’s still weird.”
Draco smiled sweetly, brushing his lips against Harry’s. “Yes, I explained that already,” Draco conceded. He sat back, releasing Harry’s wrists, but not getting off entirely. He looked very pretty as he sat there, dressed only in white girl’s panties and a button down shirt largely unbuttoned. The early morning sunlight from the window behind him made his hair shine blindingly white, and made his skin seem even paler than usual. His bright blue eyes were soft with sleep and affection. Before Harry knew what he was doing, he’d pulled Draco in for another kiss, this one gentle and searching.
“Excuse me,” Lucius said icily, clearing his throat.
Harry broke the kiss with a groan. “Draco, please let’s go to another room.”
“I don’t see how it would matter,” Draco whined, trailing kisses over Harry’s cheek and up his jaw to nibble on his earlobe, “Father could just go frame to frame, as you say.”
“Don’t you have any rooms that don’t have paintings in them?” Harry asked. Draco’s expression told him not to be absurd. Harry fell back on his hands with a sigh of annoyance. “Well, we’re just going to have to go somewhere else.”
Draco was having nothing of it. His kisses had reached Harry’s shoulder, leaving more than a few bruises in their wake, Harry was sure. “I just told you, it won’t do any good. Honestly, all Gryffindors can’t be this slow.”
“N—ah…no, Dra—dra-c-oh!” Harry flopped back on the bed as Draco’s teeth closed over one of Harry’s nipples and began to suck and tease. “No!” Harry said, pulling Draco’s chin up. “I can’t do this, Draco,” He said desperately.
Draco punched the comforter beside Harry, an expression of childish rebellion on his face. “I want it,” He said, rubbing their erections together again. Both of them let out little sounds of pleasure. “I want it, Harry. I want you inside me,” He murmured, their mouths close again, “and I always get what I want.”
“I…I want you, too,” Harry said, panting, and trying hard not to be swayed by the image Draco’s words conjured, “but this place, Draco…your dad.”
Draco cast a look of the purest loathing across the room. Lucius seemed quite pleased by this, straightening up and brushing his hair back with a flick of his wrist. “You betrayed me,” he said to his son, “and you killed me,” he said to Harry. “Do you think I’m going to give you a second’s peace?”
“That’s cinched it, Draco, we’re leaving,” Harry said, trying vainly to get out from under his lover.
“But where are we going?” Draco asked, wide-eyed. Then, as understanding came over him, he sat up, finally sliding out of Harry’s lap, and his eyes narrowed. “No. No way will I be caught dead at the pitiful excuse for an apartment that you share with the Weasel and the Mudblood.”
Harry let out a long breath, but didn’t bother correcting Draco. At least he didn’t call them that to their faces anymore…so often…or, at least not every time he addressed them in person. “It’s not so bad,” Harry said, but even he wasn’t convinced. Though he and Hermione had plenty of money for a nicer place, Ron had insisted that they all pay equal shares, and as such, they’d ended up in a rather cramped, dirty, crumbling building on the bad end of Diagon, where it met with Knockturn.
“Not so bad,” Draco demanded haughtily. “There are cockroaches the size of people.”
“I’ve asked you not to call Ron a cockroach,” Harry said wearily. “Look, at least we don’t have House-Elves with cannibalistic tendencies.”
Draco crossed his arms and tossed back his hair, “All House-Elves do that,” Draco said defensively. At Harry’s look (which said “oh yeah, name one.”), Draco hurried on, “And at least I have House-Elves.”
“Draco,” Harry sighed, “what do you want to do then? Because I’m not having sex with you while your father…or his painting, or whatever is staring at us. That’s a kink I’m just not into.”
Draco’s eyes lit up and he wound his arms around Harry’s shoulders, sliding close again. “But there are kinks you are into?” He asked, his voice low and sexy. Harry shuddered.
“We can talk about those later.”
“I suppose we’ll just have to get our own place, then,” Draco said, switching gears suddenly and completely. He released Harry and jumped out of bed, going to his wardrobe. Harry could only blink in surprise for a moment. Draco pulled on a pair of trousers and a fresh shirt, and threw a robe over his shoulders.
“Well, get dressed, Harry. I’ll have to call my lawyers and have them get me in contact with someone who can show us some flats. I really want to fuck you senseless, so you’d better get moving, now.” Harry started into action, putting on his clothes from the night before, now wrinkled and strewn around the room.
“Draco, I forbid you to leave this home,” Lucius said commandingly. “Least of all to live in sin with Harry Potter.”
“Yes, well, I’d like to see you try and stop me,” Draco said with a trace of humour. He glanced over at Harry and gave his lover a tragic expression. “Harry, you can’t see my lawyers looking like that.” He went again to his wardrobe and drew out a long, complex looking robe that reminded Harry of the sort Professor Snape always wore, along with a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. That seemed a little incongruous, but Harry donned the clothing without question. He hadn’t fallen in love with Draco because the things Malfoy did made sense.
“You will stop, because of your duty to your house, and your name. It’s one thing to sleep with this Mudblood filth. It is quite another to make a home with him,” Lucius explained.
Draco seemed lost in thought. “Perhaps we should just go straight to their offices,” He said, more to himself than to either of the others, “rather than have them here.”
“You won’t make it a day without servants,” Lucius muttered. “Not an hour.” Draco ignored him. Harry agreed with the portrait, but remained silent and obedient, sitting on the bed to pull on his shoes.
“Come on, Harry,” Draco urged, tapping his foot impatiently. “There is something of a time issue.”
“What?” Harry asked, smirking, “You stop wanting me after a certain time.”
Draco began a slow smile, but Lucius muttered something under his breath before Draco could speak. “I’ll have no more from you,” Draco said crossly, “or I’ll have you hung in Hagrid’s hut.”
“Oh just try it,” Lucius challenged, eyes narrowing dangerously.
Knowing that look, from having been on the receiving end several times, Harry stood up quickly, rushing to Draco and putting a hand on his lover’s chest in calming. “Now, let’s not say anything we might regret later,” He said hastily. Draco and Lucius were having quite a staring contest, and Harry shifted nervously from foot to foot. “Draco,” He said, nervous.
“Yes, right,” Draco said, waving his hand dismissively. “It’s only a portrait. Let’s go.” He breezed out of the room without another word, and Harry found himself astounded to be giving Lucius an apologetic smile before following Draco. Well, Draco had warned him at the beginning of their relationship that things would be weird.
Draco’s lawyers (if they really were lawyers, which Harry doubted, because he didn’t see any diplomas on the wall, or anything in their office that screamed ‘lawyer,’ and why would a lawyer help them find a place to live, anyway?) were Madame Booksworth and Madame Webber, and kept an office above a jewellery store on Diagon Alley. It was prime real estate, so Harry knew they were expensive, even if they weren’t strictly lawyers. Maybe they were crooked lawyers. It wouldn’t really surprise him.
“Of course there are several places available for immediate inhabitation, Mister Malfoy, but might we inquire as to why you are leaving Malfoy Manor?” Madame Booksworth asked, flicking through a pile of folders on her immaculate desk.
“No you may not,” Said Draco at the same moment Harry said “Evil painting.” Draco scowled and rolled his eyes, and Harry shrugged his shoulders in apology.
“I see,” Madame Booksworth said slowly, giving her colleague a knowing look.
Madame Webber cleared her throat. “At any rate, there are both flats and two-storey and up homes to choose from, and we can have them shown for you at once.”
Draco flicked a glance at Harry and asked, “Well, which would you prefer?”
Harry shook his head. “Look, I have an apartment,” He protested.
“Yes, and I have a two-hundred room mansion, but obviously, that’s not good enough for Harry Potter,” Draco muttered.
Harry decided he didn’t want to argue about his fame in present company. “Fine, whatever. I don’t care, Draco, it’s your money, you pick.”
“We’ll only be looking at the homes, then,” Draco informed the women. And then with a sigh, and a half-affection, half-annoyed glance toward his lover, he added, “And only those in he immediate area,” knowing Harry’s preference to be close to his friends. That earned him a smile and a squeeze of the hand holding his.
“Very good,” Madame Booksworth agreed, setting aside a large pile of folders, and taking up the remaining five or six. “Then we can go now, if it pleases you.”
Draco nodded and Madame Webber gathered her cloak and a thick key ring, and the lawyers led the way out of the building. Harry trailed behind uncertainly, feeling a tug on his hand when he moved too slowly. “You know, Harry,” Draco murmured when the women were far enough ahead that they wouldn’t be overheard, “if you’re really desperate, we could always duck behind the dumpster in my alley.” Harry flushed brilliantly and walked more quickly after that.
The first house they came to was quite impressive; narrow, but three storeys high, and complete with a small lawn, which, they had been told by Madame Webber, was rare in Wizard London. It was situated between Diagon and Juniper Alleys, on Spring Street, and was only a ten minute broom ride to Harry’s apartment. Before they’d even reached the front door (which was an impressive contraption of silver and glass, yet somehow completely opaque), Draco had said, “We’ll take this one,” much to everyone’s utter surprise.
“But, Draco,” Harry protested, squinting in confusion, “we haven’t even looked around inside! What if the floors are falling down? Or there’s a ghost? Or a disappearing room. Or…or…” He trailed off, searching his brain for something that not even his lover, with all his weird quirks, could possibly interpret as good.
“I assure you, Mister Potter,” Madame Webber said, all business, “that Mister Malfoy is our best client, and we would not dream of showing him any home that is not entirely fit for someone of his stature.”
Draco sighed impatiently, tapping his foot on the front walk, and held out his hand. Sensing what he was requesting, Madame Webber took a single key from her chain, tapped it with her wand once, creating two more, and handed two of them to Draco, putting the other back on the chain. Draco handed one to Harry and unlocked the front door, Harry following a bit more cautiously, the two lawyers on his heels.
Well, the place looked alright. There was a chandelier hung in the hall above the stair well, and all Harry could see above was a hall and a door, and more stairs going further up. The room to his immediate right seemed to be a dining room, complete with table, chairs and sideboard. The room to his left was, best he could tell, a study, with a desk, several bare bookshelves and a dormant fireplace.
Madame Booksworth went to the desk, sorting through the files til she found the one she was seeking. “Mister Malfoy, if you’ll sign, we can be out of your hair.”
“Of course,” Draco said, sounding bored, and read the paper lazily before taking a quill from the woman and signing his name at the bottom with a flourish. Harry stood in the entrance hall, holding his hands in front of him, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “Harry,” He called, and Harry started, looking at Draco, “you need to come sign this.”
The lawyers exchanged a meaningful glance, but Harry couldn’t tell exactly what it meant and went over to the desk, staring at the paper before him. There, beneath a bunch of fancy writing he couldn’t even read, was Draco’s signature, and two other blanks. “What is it?”
“It just says that you are the co-owner. That if anything were to happen to me, you wouldn’t be evicted,” Draco explained, with a negligent wave of his hand. Harry frowned at the implication, but took the quill from Draco and hastily scrawled his name beside his lover’s. After a moment of quiet conversation with Draco, Madame Booksworth nodded to her companion, and the two women left, closing the door behind them.
Draco followed them slowly, locking the door with a wave of his wand, then looping his arms around Harry’s neck and pulling him in for a slow kiss. Harry relented, slightly bewildered by the whole process, when only an hour ago he’d still been in bed, and now they were in their new home.
Harry gently disengaged himself from the kiss and frowned down at Draco. “You just bought a house.”
“Mmhmm,” Draco agreed, nodding. “Actually, we just bought at house.”
“Draco, people don’t just buy houses,” Harry protested, arms flailing about.
“Really, Harry, they do. How else do you think it works? Besides, you didn’t want to stay at the Manor, and there is no way I’ll ever step foot in that…apartment of yours, again. Neither will you,” Draco said the last bit with finality, and a little glare to show he was serious.
Harry gave an exasperated sigh. “I’m not some kept boy, Draco.”
“Of course not,” Draco said reassuringly, patting Harry’s chest with an obvious amount of affection. “Now, take me upstairs so we can have sex,” He ordered, putting his arms around Harry’s neck again and jumping into Harry’s arms before Harry had time to protest. Harry staggered for a moment and thought about refusing, but then Draco had the most promising expression on his face, and besides, he wasn’t so heavy, and the apartment was awful, and the sex was fantastic…Really, it was about time Harry resigned himself to the fact that Draco was every bit as weird as he’d promised he’d be.