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The Fight

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“He’s dying,” Draco said.

“He’s not dying! That man will never die—he’s like a—”

“Like a what?” Draco’s voice was very low. “Please, tell me what my father is like.”

Harry opened and closed his mouth. His face was so hot. He was burning up. He couldn’t think. “Your father is not a nice man.”

“He’s made mistakes! We all have made mistakes! I have made the worst—”

“But you have apologized. You have spent the last twenty years owning up to them. What has your father done to repent? Nothing!”

Draco squinted at him. “You don’t know what it’s been like for him—he secluded himself after the war—”

Harry couldn’t take it anymore. He had to be honest with his husband. “Love, that man has brainwashed you—”

“Stop. Just stop.” Draco put his back to Harry, his shoulders hunched. Harry tried to come closer, but he jerked away. “Get away from me!

Harry blinked. “Please don’t be like this. I’m only trying to be honest with you.”

Draco laughed cruelly, and turned around to face him again. “You are trying to turn me against my own father just because you don’t want him to live with us.”

“No! That’s not what I’m doing!” He flushed with angry outrage. “I would never—how could you—”

Draco laughed again, and he was very cruel. “God, I hate you like this. You just love being on your high horse!”

“I’m not fucking on my—why are you refusing to listen to me?”

“Because you are wrong!” Draco was yelling. “All Gryffindors are like this! You are so concerned with being morally right that you don’t even realize when you twist things, when you lie!”

“I’m not lying!” Harry hated when Draco got like this too. “Why must you be so childish? We are grown men, and yet you bring up Hogwarts houses?”

Draco scoffed. “I’m not being childish. You know damn right that house affiliation follows every witch and wizard in Britain, and frankly I’m hurt that you are choosing to ignore how hard it was for Slytherins after the war.”

“I’m not ignoring that.” He took a deep breath. “Draco, please. Try to see this from my point of view.”

“I do see it from your point of view! You hate my father, you don’t want him living with us, and you will say anything to get your way.”

“Jesus Christ.” He rubbed hard at his face. “You are willfully choosing to be obtuse.”

“And you are willfully choosing to be an arsehole!”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. He needed to take a different tactic. “I know things have been hard for him since your mum died, but he would be better off surrounded by older people like himself.”

“You want to put him in a home where he’ll be mistreated, abused, overlooked, but that’s fine because he was a Death Eater!”

Frankly yes, Harry thought, but didn’t say this. He sighed. “I’m not saying that. Not all retirement homes are like that. We will vet them . . . choose the best one.”

“No. He will live with us.”

Harry made an angry noise in his throat. “I can’t live with him! Please—try to understand. He reminds me of things . . . terrible things.” He gulped thickly. “When he’s around me, I remember what it was like to be trapped by Voldemort in that graveyard . . . I remember Gin possessed by Voldemort . . . and she almost died in that chamber.”

Draco’s face twitched. “I must only remind you of Voldemort as well.” He pulled up his sleeve and shoved his faded Dark Mark in Harry’s face. “I’m surprised you can even get a stiffy with me!”

For some reason this angered Harry the most. His vision blurred, his head pounding. “You are so fucking ridiculous! I tell you that your father reminds me of trauma, and you—you choose to be a fucking bastard about it!”

“HE’S MY FATHER!” Draco’s face was red and ugly. “You want me to pick sides, but I will always pick his side!”

“BECAUSE YOU’RE FUCKING BRAINWASHED!”

Draco pointed his wand at Harry. “Stop saying that.”

Harry laughed. “Are you seriously going to attack me? Your husband?”

“Only when you deserve it.”

“Wow. That’s fucked up.” He was suddenly very numb. He shook his head sadly and went to his wardrobe to collect some clothes.

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving.” He Summoned a bag to put his clothes in and then went to their en-suite to get his toothbrush.

Draco followed him. “What do you mean?” he whispered.

“Exactly what I just said.” He was feeling savage. He wanted Draco to worry.

“Where are you going?”

“The Leaky.” Harry left their bedroom and descended the stairs to the Floo.

“Fine! Leave! I always knew you would!” Draco yelled after him.

*

Old Tom took one look at Harry’s expression and grabbed a room key from behind the bar.

“Thanks,” Harry said. “Can I get a bottle of Ogden’s sent up to my room?”

Tom nodded grimly.

Harry felt the eyes of the other patrons on him. He kept his head down and went up the rickety stairs. He glanced at the number on the key, and smiled a little when he realized Tom had given him the nicest room.

Inside the room he set his bag down and fell into one of the mismatched chairs in front of the fireplace. He’d be sobbing if he was the crying type. He was so damn hurt. He punched the arm of the chair. Draco’d actually pointed his wand at him.

There was a knock on the door and Harry accepted the bottle of whiskey from the attendant. He poured himself a glass and settled in front of the fire again. He stared unseeing for a long time, his mind a hot blur. He wished he could go back in time. He wouldn’t lose his temper; he’d figure out a way to change Draco’s mind about Lucius living with them.

Harry scoffed. He couldn’t imagine living under the same roof as Lucius Malfoy. The man had stood by and watched as Voldemort tried to kill him.

His wedding ring caught the firelight, and he held his hand up to examine it. They’d been so young when Draco had proposed. Harry had barely been out of Auror training and Draco had barely told his parents about being bent. He knew that Draco had married him to rebel, to strip himself from his Death Eater past, and he in turn had said yes mostly because he knew he’d never want to give up the fantastic sex.

He remembered their first time together. It’d been in the kitchen in Grimmauld Place, and he’d invited Draco over more out of curiosity, almost as a challenge. He hadn’t thought Draco was brave enough to show, let alone kiss him. Draco had dropped to his knees and sucked his cock, his eyes so very dark, his mouth still managing to smirk even as he choked and drooled.

Harry hugged himself. He just wanted Draco next to him. He wanted to take Draco to bed and kiss him over and over until he gave up this nonsense about Lucius.

He hated when they fought. It left him feeling so damn cold. He took a deep drink from his whiskey.

Their marriage wasn’t perfect. Of course it wasn’t. They fought, perhaps too much, but they both could be stubborn as hell. He couldn’t imagine it any other way. He loved that Draco was feisty, pushed back, challenged him. If he was being honest, really honest, he loved it mostly because it aroused him. He admired Draco’s tenacity, his charismatic ways of winning a fight, but seeing Draco in a rage would always give him a little of a stiffy.

He covered his face. Maybe that was the problem. He needed to focus more on Malfoy family dynamics or whatever instead of focusing on the sex. Because he thought about the sex a lot.

He scoffed and removed his hand. He’d always liked sex. That was who he was! The problem here was that Draco was loony for thinking it would be a good idea for Lucius to live with them.

He finished his glass in record speed, then refilled it. Soon his face became numb, his vision blurring. His fight with Draco became less important, less traumatic.

Who cared if Draco had pointed his wand at him? He’d always been so damn dramatic.

He staggered from the chair, suddenly not wanting to be trapped in the room anymore. He went downstairs to the bar. Tom greeted him with a knowing smile and served him some water and chips. Harry snorted and ate the chips slowly.

Thankfully the Leaky wasn’t too busy tonight. Harry always felt on display when he drank in public. People watched him no matter where he went.

Again he spent long minutes lost in thought. Their marriage hadn’t been easy, especially in the beginning. It had confused their loved ones and left both of them feeling alienated. There was a good five years when Harry felt like the only person who truly understood him was Draco. Everyone else was too busy having their heads up their own arses. Sure, he’d been happy during that time and professionally fulfilled, but it’d also been emotionally taxing to be the sole person Draco could turn to about family problems, especially when the problems involved the bloody Malfoys.

Harry sighed and chewed on another chip, his head still swimming nicely. He’d been married to Draco for almost twenty years, and in the last decade or so things had gotten better. Their friends and families had mellowed out. Draco could finally sit at the Weasley dinner table without people frowning at him. Harry could . . . have a chat with Lucius without . . . oh, bloody hell, who was he kidding? Things were definitely not better with Lucius. They would never be better.

“Is this seat taken?”

Harry glanced up, and there was Draco, his expression tense, distrustful. Harry ached.

“No.”

Draco sat down. He was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry I pointed my wand at you.”

“You were being a ridiculous sod.”

Draco’s eyes flashed. “I’m apologizing. You don’t need to call me names.”

“Yes, I’m sorry.” For some reason Harry couldn’t stop grinning. He was just happy that Draco had come after him.

“I’m worried about him,” Draco said softly. “My parents aren’t perfect, but they’ve always been my rock. It was hard losing Mum . . . and now Father . . .” He choked up a bit, and Harry reached for him.

“I know that your parents are very important to you.”

Draco leaned into his touch. “I lose my damn mind when we fight about them.”

“Funny enough I already knew this.” Harry watched Draco, waiting for him to bring up what started their fight.

Sighing, Draco said, “I understand . . . your concerns about my father. And I understand if you don’t want him living with us.”

Harry let out his breath. “I’m relieved.” He ran his fingers through Draco’s gorgeous long hair. “I also understand why you want to make things comfortable for him. Isn’t Blaise’s mum living in a nice retirement home? Maybe we can look into there.”

Draco’s eyebrows rose. “Father has always had a bit of a crush on Mrs Zabini.” He took Harry’s hand and kissed it. “I’m sorry for being a sod.”

“Please,” Harry said, grinning, “don’t call yourself names.”

Draco rolled his eyes and pulled Harry to his feet. “Did you end up getting a room?”

Harry’s grin widened. “Yeah. Tom gave me the best one.”

Knowing which room Harry was talking about, Draco paid for the chips and guided Harry upstairs. Inside the room he pushed Harry against the wall and kissed him deeply. Harry moaned and clutched at his back.

“I’m sorry,” Draco repeated, wreathing Harry’s face in warm kisses.

Harry nibbled on his neck. “I’m not going to leave you.”

Moaning, Draco whispered, “I know, I know.”

Harry spelled the blanket and pillows to the floor in front of the fireplace. “You’re ridiculous,” Harry said, kissing Draco deeply. He lowered Draco to the blanket on the floor, his skin licked by firelight, his beautiful long hair spread out, more silver than blond in the gloom.

They helped each other undress. Draco trembled against his hands.

“Please,” Draco said, positioning Harry between his legs. “I need you.”

“Yes,” Harry said, still unsteady from drink, his head spinning even more with arousal. He muttered a lube spell and carefully opened Draco up with his fingers.

“God,” Draco said, his back arching, his nails biting into Harry’s shoulders. “More.”

Harry guided his cock into him, and they both moaned softly. “Draco.” Harry couldn’t think, his eyelids fluttering, the suction of Draco almost unbearable. “Draco.”

Draco was squirming. “Darling.” He wrapped his legs around Harry’s hips. “Fuck me.”

Harry quickened his thrusts, whimpering. He buried his face in Draco’s lovely hair, smelling him. He turned his head and opened his mouth to Draco’s cheek. “I love you.”

“Harry.” Draco shuddered. “Fuck.”

“Touch yourself,” Harry said, his thrusts faltering, his toes curling. Sweat licked under his arms, the warmth of the fire almost too much. He was burning up.

Draco sneaked a hand between them, his knuckles working against Harry’s belly. His thighs trembled, his arse clenching hard. “I’m going to come,” he whispered.

Harry couldn’t respond, his world narrowed to only his quick thrusting, his breathless arousal. His orgasm came on swiftly, and he bit down on Draco’s shoulder. Draco was coming too, wetting their stomachs, moaning and twisting.

They kissed as they came down, their hands roaming over each other. Harry sucked on Draco’s tongue, loving his taste. He rested his head on Draco’s chest and dragged his hand through the mess on his stomach.

“My back,” Draco said, laughing quietly. “Why didn’t we do this on the bed?”

Harry kissed his pink nipples. “You old man.”

“Oh, shush. You wouldn’t want me any other way.”

Harry smiled. “I wouldn’t.”