Archive of Our Own

“A fetish club?”

“Yes, on Knockturn Alley, between The Moon and Sickle and Shady Reggie’s Pie Emporium.”

“No way, Kingsley,” Harry said. “Send Warburton. No – send Ron.”

“Oh, no, mate. Not me.” Ron looked at Harry from where he sat, feet propped on his desk, reading a copy of Alohomora! magazine and tucking into a large sandwich that was dripping some kind of sauce down the front of his Auror uniform. “I’m flat out with this case about the cursed broomsticks. Can’t spare a moment.” He caught Harry and Kingsley’s expressions, and raised a hand, palm up. “What? Lunch break!”

Harry and Kingsley exchanged looks, then Harry shook his head again. “Really, no. I’m– I’m allergic to rubber.”

“It’s dragonhide we’re after. As you know, the acquisition and sale of dragonhide is highly regulated. We haven’t granted any new import licences for over two years, but suddenly the stuff is being worn everywhere, especially by young wizards.”

Harry frowned, thinking of his last night out. Granted, it was only to the Bat and Billywig, but he hadn’t remembered anyone wearing dragonhide...

Ron held out Alohomora! “S’true. Look at this.” Ron and Kingsley looked at the glossy photo of Incendio, the latest wizarding boy band, all quiffed hair and pouty lips. Four out of the five members were wearing skintight dragonhide trousers. Hmm. Well. They didn’t look bad, if he was honest. Harry could see the appeal. The fifth wore – Harry wasn’t sure what you would call those, really. There wasn’t enough of them to be called trousers, to be honest, and the way the blond boy was shimmying his hips, Harry doubted if they would stay up for long—

“Harry?” Kingsley asked, gently.

“Hmm?” Harry pulled his attention back to the Minister. “I was just... making sure I knew what you were talking about. I’ve got it now. Dragonhide. Everywhere. But why do I have to waste time with this stuff? What about that information you got about a Death Eater hideout in Kent, why can’t I investigate that?”

“Harry.” Kingsley got that patient look on his face again. Harry hated that look. “The last time we sent you out on a raid—”

“I know what you’re going to say!” Harry interrupted.

“Mate, we all know what he’s going to say.” Ron crossed his legs and turned another page of the magazine.

“They had it coming to them,” Harry said stubbornly.

Kingsley didn’t sound amused. “Harry, you brought down most of the building and two of the suspects are still in St. Mungo’s.”

“Yeah. Well. I didn’t actually mean for that to happen, only—”

Kingsley merely raised his eyebrows and all of a sudden Harry felt it would be better not to finish that sentence.

“So, back to the matter of the club. We’ve had a tip off that the patrons there may know something about this dragonhide business.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

“Will Harry have to go undercover?” Ron asked, taking another enthusiastic bite of the sloppy sandwich.

Harry answered before Kingsley could. “I’m not wearing fetish gear for anybody.” He held up his hands. “I mean it!”

Kingsley sighed. “Standard Aurors’ robes are just fine. We’ve got permission from the club to go and take a look round. You go tonight, around 10 pm. That’s when it starts to get busy.”

“Is that an order? I had plans for tonight, and they didn’t include chatting up a load of people with tangerines stuffed up their—”

Kingsley didn’t speak, but his nostrils flared very slightly.

“OK, OK.” Harry shook his head. “Merlin.”

“Thank you. And Harry? Please. Be professional.”

“I’m always professional.”

This time, it was Ron and Kingsley who exchanged looks.

*-*-*

“Nice handcuffs, mate.”

Harry had only just set foot in the door. “I’m an Auror. These are standard issue.”

“The real thing? Ooh, even better!” The boy on the desk looked as though he was barely out of Hogwarts beneath his eyeliner.

Harry felt his jaw tighten. Professional, he reminded himself. “I’m not here to— I’m trying to find out about dragonhide.”

“That what you’re into? Yeah, I can see by the boots.”

“I’m an Auror! These are my work clothes.”

“All right, all right. Keep your hair on. It’s seven Galleons to come in, or twelve if you want to use the dungeons.”

“The dungeons? What’s in the— no, actually. Don’t worry. But I’m not one of your punters, I’m from the Ministry.”

Harry flashed his ID scroll and the boy squinted dubiously at it.

“OK, then, I guess.” He gestured with his wand at the heavy chain which stretched across the entrance and it unhooked itself to let Harry past. “Behave yourself.” He winked, but Harry merely glowered in return.

Inside, the club was decorated in soft, shimmering purples and lit by candles, but Harry could clearly see the groups of people standing at the bar, sitting at tables or making some moves on the dancefloor. At first glance they looked like any other group of people enjoying themselves at the end of the week, but closer inspection revealed a few differences.

The wizard crouched on the floor hadn’t dropped something, as Harry imagined at first – he was wearing a collar and leash, the end of which was held lightly in the beautifully-manicured fingers of a witch as she chatted to her friends.

Two witches on the dance floor wore Healers’ robes, but Harry had never seen anyone working at St Mungo’s with six inch heels and stockings before. In fact, nearly everyone here was dressed to thrill. Harry’s eyes flicked around the room, scanning wizards wearing glitter, witches in uniform, feathers, lace, studs, chains, masks, and skin-tight rubber stretched over a very curvy behind. A noisy group of wizards were crowded into a booth – three were wearing distinctive leather jackets covered in scales: one a soft, rich blue, one vivid green and one bold scarlet.

Bingo.

Harry walked over to their booth and cleared his throat.

Green Jacket looked up and whistled. “Love the boots.”

Harry frowned. “I’m from the Auror Department.”

“Sure you are! And we’ve been bad, bad boys, isn’t that right?”

The other wizards snickered and Harry found himself fighting back a blush.

“Is that dragonhide you’re wearing?” he asked, trying to sound business-like.

“Sure is,” said Mr Scarlet Jacket, holding up an arm for Harry to admire. “Want to take a feel?”

Harry shook his head, but the truth was, it was a rather nice-looking arm. The soft hide clung to the man’s biceps in a way that ordinary leather couldn’t manage, supple and strokable.

“No. But I’d be interested to know where you got those jackets.”

“Fancy one yourself, do you? Yeah, you’d look good, too,” said Green.

Blue leaned in. “They’re from Hyde’s. That’s where everyone goes.”

Harry nodded gratefully. “Where’s that?”

“Just up the road. Off Knockturn, next to Ramshackles. But it’s invitation only. It just looks like a old junk shop unless you know the keyspell.”

“So what’s the spell?” Harry asked. This was turning out to be bloody simple. He could get the information and be home for midnight—

Blue shrugged. “Can’t tell you; each one only works for that person. You’d have to get your own.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “How would I do that?”

Scarlet tilted his head and laughed. “We’ll tell you if you tell us where you got those gloves, mister.”

“I’m an Auror,” Harry said between gritted teeth. “These are standard issue.”

“Knew I went into the wrong career,” Scarlet elbowed Blue in the ribs.

“Look,” Harry went on. “Are you going to tell me, or not? Because I’m quite willing to take you down to the cells and—”

He realised his mistake immediately as a chorus of catcalls and lewd remarks rang out.

“Merlin.” Harry’s fists clenched at his sides and he had to stop his fingers from reaching for his wand. “Listen, let’s try that again. I just need this one piece of information and then you can enjoy the rest of your evening in peace.”

“Pity!” Red hooted, but Blue leaned forward once more.

“Mr Hyde is usually here on a Friday. I’m pretty sure I saw him earlier. He can help you out.”

“OK. What does he look like?”

“Tall, blond—”

“Seriously hot,” Scarlet interjected.

Blue smiled. “Yeah, that too. Wears dragonhide. You can’t miss him.”

“All right.” Harry nodded.

“I saw him heading down to the dungeons half an hour ago,” said a young wizard wearing something that looked like a very kinky Quidditch outfit.

Harry’s heart sank. “Right,” he said again. “Thank you.”

“Any time,” said Blue shyly.

“The pleasure was ours.” Scarlet winked.

“Come back and have a drink when you’ve got your own jacket, why don’t you?” called Green, as Harry walked away.

He squared his shoulders, threading his way through the knots of people.

“Nice boots,” someone said admiringly and Harry had to restrain himself from snarling in their direction.

He reached the bar, which was staffed by a couple of wizards wearing sequined shorts and not much more. “Which way to the dungeons?” Harry asked curtly.

“Take the stairs, over in the far corner.”

“Want company down there, sweetie?” purred a witch holding a riding crop.

“I am an Auror. An Auror carrying out an investigation,” said Harry with as much dignity as he could muster, and stalked off with his cloak swirling behind him, but not before one of the bar staff had mentioned that Harry could investigate him any time.

The stairs were dimly lit and winding, and Harry had to tread carefully to keep his footing. At the bottom of the stairs was a hallway, with plush sofas scattered around, and several doors leading to other rooms. Each room also had a large window, and in most cases the blinds were pulled down to hide the activities within. However, as Harry’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw a couple in the room nearest to him had left the blind up. A woman wearing a business suit sat on a four poster bed, watching a man slowly unbutton his shirt. Harry pulled his eyes away as the man’s toned torso was revealed. Where was Mr Hyde? Was he going to have to knock at all of these doors and interrupt the occupants while they were doing god knows what?

As he stood, wondering how to proceed, another of the blinds flicked up, allowing Harry to see inside a second room. A young wizard with messy dark hair knelt on the floor, facing Harry. He was nineteen years old at most, blindfolded and bare-chested, his hands secured behind his back. Merlin. Harry felt something jolt inside him, but what really caught his eye was the figure standing to one side, with his back to Harry.

Mr Hyde. It had to be. You can’t miss him, they’d told Harry, and this wizard was an undeniably distinctive sight. His white blond hair was cropped close to his head at the back and sides, and Harry’s eyes travelled slowly downwards, taking in every inch of the tall, lean body, wrapped snugly in black leather.

The door clicked open and now Harry could hear as well as see the occupants.

“I think I’ll leave you here for a while,” the tall man announced.

“Oh, please! Let me—” the kneeling wizard protested and Harry’s eyes opened wide at the note of desperate longing in his voice.

“No, you can wait until later.” The haughty voice sounded as if Mr Hyde was used to having everything exactly as he wanted.

“I can’t wait.”

“Of course you can. I’ll only be twenty minutes or so. Are you going to be good, or—”

The boy let out a low moan and Harry stepped through the doorway with his wand drawn. “Auror Department.”

The blond man turned questioningly towards him. He raised one eyebrow, his face somewhere between disdain and amusement, his hide-clad body drawing Harry’s eye over every long sweep of muscle, every jut of bone, and the provocative curve of his arse.

It was Draco bloody Malfoy.

“Potter,” he said, his lip curling. “Well, well. Do you come here often?”

“Auror Department,” Harry repeated stubbornly. In truth, as Malfoy turned to face him, insolent and quite at ease, they were the only words left to him. Everything else had slipped clean out of his head, including what Harry was doing there, and if there was any reason why he shouldn’t allow his eyes to travel down over the taut plane of Malfoy’s stomach to the black-leather bulge where Malfoy’s legs met.

The blindfolded boy on the floor moaned again, and Harry’s eyes darted to him, his Auror instincts kicking in again. Good god, what was happening here? “Are you hurt? Do you need help?” Harry asked the boy.

“Oh, Merlin. Is it a raid?” the boy asked.

“No, no,” Harry assured him. “Just checking you’re OK.”

“I’m fine. Can’t you just...bugger off?” His voice squeaked at the end with frustration.

Malfoy stifled a smirk, and reached out a hand to pet the boy’s rumpled hair. “Sweet, isn’t he?” he asked Harry.

“What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy?”

Malfoy’s lips twitched. “Do you really need me to spell it out?”

Harry blinked. “Right. Is this what gets you off??”

Malfoy stretched out a pale hand and shrugged. “Amongst other things. It’s what he told me he liked, and I’m happy to oblige. Everything happening here is legal, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Well, I’ll be looking into that.”

“Be my guest. I was just going to get a drink, but if you care to come back later, you’re welcome to watch?”

Harry scowled. “I’m here on official business.” He gestured at Malfoy’s outfit. Fuck, those trousers were so tight. How did Malfoy even get into them? “I’m not into all this.” It seemed very important to make that clear. The only reason he was staring was that he’d never seen anything so– so weird. That was it. And the fact that he’d have to write a report later. Kingsley was big on reports.

Malfoy just tilted his head to one side. “All this?”

Harry swallowed. “Leather.” He gestured to the boy. “Whatever he’s doing.” He groped for some words that would express his distaste at the whole situation. “Kinky stuff.”

Malfoy nodded. “I see this a lot, Potter. People whose mouths say no, but the rest of them…”

He let his eyes flick deliberately over Harry’s body, and Harry tensed, his hand tightening on his wand.

“The rest of them is saying something quite different,” Malfoy went on. “Nice boots, by the way.”

Harry’s jaw clenched. He didn’t need to listen to this crap from Malfoy. “The only thing I’m interested in is what you’re wearing.”

Fuck. Malfoy’s eyes flashed with amusement.

“Not like that,” Harry snapped. “It’s dragonhide, yes? Where’s it from? The wizards upstairs are talking about someone called Hyde – do you know anything about that?”

Malfoy smiled modestly. “You’re looking at him.”

“You’re Hyde?”

“That’s correct. But I still need a drink. Let’s go upstairs and discuss this very interesting subject some more.”

Malfoy headed for the door. Harry looked at the young wizard. “You’re not leaving him here like that?”

Malfoy smiled. “Why not? He likes it.” He addressed the boy. “Don’t you?”

This was too much. The idea that someone would just do what Malfoy told them, that the boy wanted to stay down here, waiting, not knowing when Malfoy would come back. That he enjoyed kneeling there, breathless and trembling and wanting— Something about it made Harry feel flushed and furious. “You can get up now,” Harry told the boy, but he remained exactly where he was. He tried again. “You don’t have to wait there – I’ll untie you.”

“No–oo,” begged the boy. “Don’t do that.”

Malfoy just laughed, and headed for the stairs, every muscle of his arse outlined by the clinging hide as he walked away. After a moment, Harry followed him.

*-*-*

“So you’re calling yourself Hyde now?” Harry stood rather stiffly at the bar, while Malfoy perched on a barstool with his long legs stretched out in front of him.

“That’s one of my professional aliases.”

“And you’ve got a shop? Here on Knockturn?”

“I’d call it a workshop, myself. You should drop in sometime and take a look.”

Malfoy took a long swallow of his drink, and as Harry watched the movement of his throat, an older wizard tapped Harry on the shoulder to get his attention. “Nice boots,” he rasped.

“Oh, piss off,” Harry snapped, and then winced. He’d forgotten for a moment that he was on duty.

“Are you sure you don’t want a drink? Seems like you could do with one,” Malfoy said.

“No. But I will be calling at your ‘workshop’, certainly. I’ll need to see your import licence and all the documentation you have regarding the sale of dragonhide.”

“I don’t need an import licence,” Malfoy said, every inch the arrogant aristocrat.

Harry felt his pulse quickening with the anticipation of making an arrest. “Well, that’s where you’re wrong, Malfoy. The penalties for importing dragonhide without a licence are pretty stringent. I think we’d better Side Along to the DMLE right away and take a statement.”

Malfoy took another slow pull at his drink. “I’m not going anywhere.” He gave Harry a sly smile. “Apart from anything else, I’ve got some unfinished business downstairs, remember?”

Harry’s hands clenched at his sides. Why did nobody in this bloody place show him any respect? “You’re coming with me, Malfoy.”

“I assure you I am not. I don’t need an import licence because I don’t import dragonhide.”

“Well, where’s it coming from, then? The dragon reserves in the UK are strictly off limits for hide dealers. The dragons here are all protected by law – you’re not telling me that hide you’re wearing is British.”

“Oh, am I not?” Malfoy ran a hand over his knee. “Lovely stuff, isn’t it, Potter? The patina is stunning.” He caressed the leather, his long fingers stroking over his own thigh, and gave a small sigh of pleasure. “So supple, too. Go ahead and touch if you want.”

Harry could imagine all too well what Malfoy’s thigh would feel like, firm and warm under the soft dragonhide. He tried to distract himself by thinking of some imaginative Hexes he’d like to use on Kingsley, but it didn’t help. If he’d known being an Auror would be like this, he’d have joined George in the joke shop. “Malfoy. I’m not pissing around here. Where did you get that hide?”

Malfoy looked up. “A dragon called Mirianth. Gorgeous creature.”

“You’re keeping dragons to slaughter them illegally for their hide?” Harry’s eyebrows drew together at this fresh evidence of Malfoy’s iniquity. “And you name them first?”

Malfoy laughed out loud. “Merlin, Potter, you should see your face. How thrillingly fierce you look. The leather I wear is sourced quite humanely. Mirianth is a friend of mine, and I’m proud to wear her hide. Don’t you think it suits me?”

That was not the point. “What the fuck are you talking about, Malfoy?”

“Why would I slaughter anything, when I can get hide from dragons without harming them?”

“Bullshit.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“What you’re saying makes no sense.”

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Bringing in a warrant to search your workshop and seize all the illegal hides.”

“You’ve no proof.”

“Maybe not, but I will have tomorrow after I’ve gone through your place.”

“Forget that. Come with me to Wales.”

“What?” This was the most ludicrous thing he’d heard yet.

“I’ll show you. Have you been to the reserve at Ynys Draig?”

“No.” But he’d heard of it. Charlie had spoken about that place with respect. Surely there was no way that they would let Malfoy harm any of their dragons?

“I’ll take you.” There was an eager light in Malfoy’s eyes that spoke to the reckless streak running through Harry. His gut instinct was to say yes. But he also remembered endless bloody meetings with Kingsley about Harry letting his instincts lead him into danger.

“Why the hell should I trust you?”

“Oh, OK. I see. You think I’m going to take you out to some remote spot and… what? What’s your worst case scenario? You and me and a deserted Welsh hillside. Hmm.” Malfoy snorted. “The possibilities.”

Harry felt himself flushing for no good reason. “I’m not worried about anything like that, Malfoy.”

“No? Then what’s the problem?”

Harry hesitated. He didn’t know why he found the offer so intriguing. Because you want to see more of Malfoy, said a little voice in his head, but that was just—

At that moment, something flew through the air towards them. Harry threw his wand arm up in defence, but Malfoy just laughed, and offered a shoulder to the flying thing. There was much squeaking and flapping of wings, but once settled, it turned out to be a compact, leathery-winged little creature, about the height of a kitten, which perched on Malfoy’s shoulder and stared at Harry with large, opalescent eyes.

“Where have you been, then?” Malfoy asked it. “Out hunting, or did you persuade them to let you take a nap in the fireplace again?

“What is that?” Harry demanded.

“This is Ethelinda, sometimes known as Ethel. She’s a Peruvian dwarf dragon, about two years old. Ethelinda, meet Harry Potter. He’s awfully rude, but just ignore him.”

“You can’t keep a dragon as a pet!”

“No, they do say that, don’t they?” He nuzzled the little dragon with his cheek until she made a curious sort of sound which was half purr, half growl. “Such a shame. Ethel would make a lovely pet, too.”

Harry shook his head. “I’m sure this is illegal, Malfoy.”

“Wrong again, Potter – there are no laws regarding dragons being kept as pets. Everyone knows that you can’t tame dragons, so it would be a pointless law, wouldn’t it?”

The dragon blinked smugly at Harry from her perch, and Malfoy teased out a small pellet of something from his pocket and held it out to her between finger and thumb. Harry gawped as tiny, razor-sharp teeth appeared, but Ethel took it quite delicately and swallowed it with obvious relish.

Harry felt irritation rise in his throat. Fucking Malfoy, poncing around in leather, feeding treats to dragons as if they were Pygmy Puffs. “I should report this to the Department of Magical Creatures.”

“Mm. Perhaps you should. But you won’t, because you’re going to come with me tomorrow and meet Mirianth, so you’ll be far too busy.”

Fuck it. There was only one way to get to the bottom of this. And Malfoy certainly knew something about dragons, that much was clear. “All right.”

“Call for me, then, and dress warmly – it can get bitter out there. Your keyspell for the workshop can be wyvern, with the wand movement like so.” Malfoy traced a small spiral in the air. “Not before midday, though. I’m planning to stay here and relax a while longer, so it might be a late night for me.”

He smiled his sly smile again and Harry remembered, with a jolt, the young wizard downstairs, kneeling and blindfolded, waiting for Malfoy to come back. It made his cheeks heat and something in his stomach turn over.

He was regretting saying yes already, but he couldn’t back down now. “Right. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He’d tell Kingsley he had a lead on a possible dragonhide ring. He wouldn’t mention the bit about Draco Malfoy, dressed head to toe in leather.

Malfoy finished his drink and slid from the barstool. “Well, Potter, this was a pleasure.” His eyes glinted as if he found something amusing.

Harry thought again of the boy. He wondered what Malfoy was going to do to him when he returned and found his mouth was dry enough to wish that he’d accepted Malfoy’s offer of a drink.

“Behave yourself,” Harry said sternly. “I don’t want to get a call back here to deal with any trouble.”

“You should come back later when you’re off duty,” Malfoy suggested. “See if you can find a little trouble of your own.”

As Harry looked from Malfoy to Ethel, two sets of pale, knowing eyes looked back at him, and he could feel a vein throbbing at his temple. It was definitely time to go.

As Harry made his way towards the exit, someone tapped him on the shoulder. “‘Scuse me, mate—” they began.

“Yeah, yeah, I know – nice boots,” Harry growled, and stomped out into the street, his cloak billowing behind him.

*-*-*

When Harry got home, he was still wound up. The whole thing had been so annoying. Kingsley making him investigate this kind of tedious stuff in the first place. The idiots at the club. And Malfoy, flouting Merlin knew how many laws and just being so bloody irritating, standing there in skintight leather, making everyone stare at him. Standing there like he didn’t care that anyone could see every inch of his body outlined in sleek, shiny leather, the insolent curve of his arse on display, and even the thick bulge of his cock, blatant, obscene. Harry had no choice but to look, when it was right there in front of him. Merlin. Malfoy had such a fucking nerve.

Harry showered quickly, trying to wash away the tension of the day along with the sweat and grime. He took a palmful of soap and rubbed it across his body, letting the hot spray beat down over his skin. How he wished he’d been assigned to that raid in Kent. Then he wouldn’t be here thinking about how Malfoy had looked, petting the boy’s hair with that fond, indulgent look on his face. A decent bit of combat was just what Harry needed to let all of this frustration out – it wasn’t that he wanted to hurt anyone, just that… well, he was trained for it, wasn’t he? He was a bloody Auror, for god’s sake. He imagined himself and Malfoy with their wands out, poised in the delicious moment of tension before a duel began.

Harry soaped himself almost roughly, his hands squeezing and rubbing over his weary muscles, and then down to his cock. It was filling out, thick and heavy in Harry’s hand as he took the shaft in his palm and stroked. Uhhhhh, yes. That was it. That was what he needed. He put one hand flat on the shower wall and used the other to wank his foreskin back and forth, slow, firm strokes in a steady rhythm. Fuck, he felt ready to go off almost straight away, the pleasure building hot and fast as if he’d been waiting all day for this.

Malfoy’s sneering mouth flashed into Harry’s mind and he jerked faster, almost angrily, bracing his legs as an urgent rush of heat washed over him. The arrogant git. He thought he could do just what he liked, he thought he could walk around like he owned the fucking world, looking like that and wearing those bloody dragonhide boots…

When his orgasm hit, it was fierce and furious and— oh, yesss. Harry arched his back and let his breath out in a long hiss as his spunk hit the tiled wall. That was better, that was so much better.

*-*-*

The next morning was spent finishing off paperwork for a case which was about to go before the Wizengamot. Two wizards had been found stealing supplies from the Ministry stationery cupboard and the whole matter was pretty much the dullest thing Harry had ever dealt with. Again he thought of the Kent raid and he could feel the restless length of his wand lying against his thigh in its holster.

By midday he was feeling twitchy and watching the clock. It made sense to eat before leaving for Knockturn, so he sent a memo down to the canteen for a bowl of tomato soup. When it arrived, it was rich and warming and after he had finished, he felt ready for anything.

Ron had brought sandwiches from home, as usual, and had his long nose stuck in another copy of Alohomora. “Seen this?” He held it out, open at a double spread of photos which showed people at a rather decadent-looking party.

A bright flash of hair caught Harry’s eye straight away. Malfoy was dancing with another man, their eyes intent on one another. He was wearing dragonhide again, this time in a deep blue, and Harry let his eyes linger on the compelling motion of Malfoy’s narrow hips as the photo looped, over and over and over again.

“Huh. Malfoy. At some party.” Harry hoped his voice conveyed all of the disinterest he felt.

“He’s always in this thing.” Ron tapped the magazine with the back of his hand.

“Is he? I never read it.”

“Nah, nor do I,” Ron said, settling back with his feet on the desk and flicking to the next page. “Load of rubbish; I don’t know why Hermione buys them.”

Harry got to his feet and reached for his cloak. “Well, I’m off to Knockturn.” He didn’t know why he wasn’t telling Ron who he was going to see. Nor why his stomach tightened at the prospect. “This dragonhide business.”

“No rest for the wicked.” Ron crossed his long legs into a more comfortable position on the desk. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

What, like stare at Draco Malfoy’s arse? Harry’s mind supplied, and he had to blink rapidly to clear the mental image. “I won’t.” Harry swung his cloak around his shoulders and fastened it. “Don’t accidentally get any work done.”

Ron looked as though Harry had hurt his feelings. “Lunchbreak, mate. I’ve been rushed off my feet.”

*-*-*

Harry Apparated to the steps of Gringotts, having learned the hard way after an incident with a Hag and a crate of fish that Apparating directly into Knockturn could lead you into situations you hadn’t bargained for. The sights and sounds of Diagon were comfortingly familiar, and he paused for a moment to breathe in a lungful of air scented with herbs from Slug and Jiggers, and savoury pasties being served from Gladys’s stall, before ducking into the narrow entrance of Knockturn.

His boots immediately stumbled on the uneven stones underfoot. Even the cobbles at Knockturn are crooked, Harry thought, his brows drawn together as a tiny, stooped witch caught sight of his uniform and scurried into a doorway. Here the air was heavy with the intrigue of the forbidden. He wrinkled his nose at something wafting from a cracked pane of glass as he walked by – probably the fumes from an illicit potions den. He’d check it out later, if he had time…

Ramshackles turned out to be a lopsided little place selling secondhand books. Next to it, as promised, was apparently a junk shop, the glass grimed with dust and one window boarded up. Out of curiosity, Harry tried the door, but as he suspected, it was locked. Stepping back into the street, he drew his wand and traced the shape Malfoy had demonstrated. “Wyvern,” he said, and the dilapidated shopfront melted away to reveal a smart black-painted door in a white-plastered wall. The sign above read Hyde’s and bore the image of a dragon’s curving tail.

This time, as Harry approached, the door swung open in welcome. Keeping his wand at his side, he glanced around the empty hall before taking the narrow stairs up to the first floor.

There was a landing with several doorways at the top, and Harry stood hesitating, not knowing which way to go, when he heard a soft chirruping noise from the room on his left and had to duck suddenly as a small determined shape flew a couple of inches over his head.

“Fuck!” Harry said. He’d forgotten about Malfoy’s so-called pet. Ethelinda circled and flew back, this time grazing Harry’s shoulder with her claws and almost getting a wing caught in his hair. “Oi! Watch it!” he complained, and the small dragon perched on a nearby shelf and made scolding noises at him.

“Ethel? Are you bothering my customers?” The voice came from his right and Harry ducked under the low doorframe and into a spacious, airy room full of light. Shaped sections of dragonhide were draped over a large table and a couple of larger pieces were hanging from the ceiling.

Ethel chirped a reply, then followed Harry into the room, skimming his shoulder again and complaining noisily when he put up a hand to shoo her away.

Malfoy walked in, rubbing a towel over his hair. Harry frowned to see he was wearing dragonhide trousers again, this time paired with a white cotton t-shirt and bare feet. “My apologies, she doesn’t usually— Ah, Potter. What on earth are you doing to my dragon?”

“Me?” Harry asked indignantly. “I didn’t do anything, she keeps flapping at me.”

Malfoy walked to where Ethel had landed and rubbed along her spine ridges with his knuckles, making soothing sounds. “Does she? Ethel, have you been harassing Harry Potter?” He laughed softly. “Protecting me from the big bad Auror, were you? Clever girl.” He gave Ethel one of the treats she seemed to enjoy, then sank down in an armchair and carried on drying his hair.

Harry could feel his face knitting into a scowl, but he didn’t speak, just took out a quill and began to make a couple of notes. Malfoy operates from a concealed building on Knockturn Alley. Several hides in evidence on the premises, clearly originating from dragons.

Harry glanced over at Malfoy. He was fresh out of the shower, the longer hair on top of his head hanging in pale, wet tendrils, with the occasional trickle of water escaping from the towel and running down his neck onto his t-shirt. Hell. The shirt skimmed Malfoy’s body, the neck scooping low over his collarbones and then cut close to his torso, showing off lean muscle. Malfoy even smelled good, the fresh smell of soap and then some fancy cologne or other on top.

Hell and Fiendfyre. This wasn’t the first time Harry had noticed that a suspect was – well. Bloody attractive, if you looked at it objectively. But just because his cock liked someone, didn’t mean that Harry himself had to approve. Not one bit. He pulled his attention back to his notes. Keeps an unlicensed creature at the same address.

He heard the beat of wings and put up an arm to ward off another attack from Ethel. “Call your bloody pet off, Malfoy!” he complained, but Malfoy just sat laughing.

“Oh my god, Potter, I think she likes you!”

“Likes me? She nearly had my eye out!”

“She’s trying to land on your shoulder.” Malfoy tutted and held up his own arm in the same way one would beckon to an owl. Ethel landed on it with a leathery flurry. “Ethel, you little tart. Can’t resist a man in uniform, is that it?” Malfoy smirked at Harry over Ethel’s head, and she snorted crossly, a little jet of smoke shooting from her nostrils.

“Merlin. That’s got to be a fire risk.”

Malfoy made a wry face. “Well... “ He let his gaze wander to a distinctly singed patch of wall in one corner. Underneath it stood a wooden chair with a charred back. “We do have the occasional incident. She’s usually quite all right as long as you keep her in a good temper and let her do more or less whatever she likes.”

“Right, that’s OK then.” Harry meant it sarcastically, but Malfoy seemed oblivious.

“Yes. So if she flies at you again, Potter, don’t squawk and bat at her. Just let her settle on you – like you would an owl. Just remember that the claws are a fair bit sharper. And the breath can be rather on the warm side.” Ethel made as if to nibble on Malfoy’s ear and he screwed up his face. “That’s quite enough.” He dug for a treat in his pocket, and Harry couldn’t help noticing it took him some effort to work his hand past the skintight leather. Ethel accepted the treat and flapped away to perch on top of a tall cupboard.

“I didn’t come here to get cosy with your menagerie, Malfoy. I want some answers about the dragonhide.”

“Yes, of course. We can head out to the reserve. I just need… “ Malfoy looked around. “Where did I put my coffee?”

Harry glanced around and saw a mug on the table. He gestured to it and Malfoy threw the towel down and got up. “Of course.” He drained the rest of the mug with satisfaction. “That’s better. It was a late one last night, like I said.”

Harry felt himself flushing under his collar. He didn’t want to know anything about what Malfoy had got up to after he’d left. About how the boy must have felt when Malfoy returned to the dungeon, the anticipation of it, and how he would hear Malfoy’s boots clicking across the floor towards him. It was cruel to be blindfolded, though, so he couldn’t see how Malfoy looked, tall and snooty, his sharp, clever face watching him carefully... Harry frowned and shook himself. It was ridiculous to keep getting distracted this way. “Can we go now?”

“Of course.” Malfoy reached for a pair of tall boots which were standing by the door. Dragonhide, of course. Harry watched as he sat down to pull one on, tugging and twisting to persuade the narrow boot over the bulge of his calf. It clearly wasn’t easy – they were slim-fitting, almost up to the knee. He made a face, the muscles of his arms standing out. Then it was on, and Malfoy began to deftly fasten the buckles. He glanced up and Harry looked away in a hurry, but it was too late, he had been rumbled. Malfoy let out a soft, amused exhalation. “Nice pair of boots, these, I always think. Worth the effort to get them on.”

Harry arranged his face into something non-committal. He didn’t give a shit what Malfoy wore on his feet.

Malfoy let his eyes trail slowly down Harry’s legs, to the polished Auror boots below. “Although yours are not bad.” His gaze flicked up to Harry’s face again, and Harry struggled to meet it with a neutral expression. “Not bad at all.”

Harry cleared his throat and stared at his notes again, but he couldn’t think of anything relevant to add. Suspect looks unfairly good in dragonhide and seems to have a lively appreciation of the Auror uniform didn’t quite meet Kingsley’s request that he remain professional, dammit.

Malfoy fastened the other boot, pulling the buckles taut around his calf, and got to his feet. “Right.” Ethelinda made a dive for his shoulder but he dodged and she flapped down onto the table instead. “I know you think you’re coming, but you have to stay here,” Malfoy told her. Harry was close enough to see the different facets in her eyes, almost kaleidoscopic, and as Malfoy chided her, the colours whirled around, apparently showing her displeasure. “No. It’s not safe for you.” He threw open a window and gestured to Ethel. “Go and have a fly round Diagon, you should be all right there. Just keep away from that wizard down the road who runs the pet shop, I know perfectly well he’s got his eye on you.”

Her scaly nostrils flared alarmingly, but only a small puff of smoke emerged. Ethel was gone with two swift flaps of her wings, leaving only a faint smell of sulphur behind.

Malfoy, meanwhile, was examining the hide spread out on the table, and Harry noticed a needle and thread working away steadily, moving nimbly through the air and joining two pieces of leather with neat stitches. “Not bad,” Malfoy said. “Best leave the rest till later when I can keep an eye on it.” He muttered a Finite at the needle which poised obediently in mid air, apparently awaiting further instructions, while Malfoy began to pull on a snug dragonhide jacket. Harry, remembering what he had said about it being cold on the reserve, fastened his cloak up to his chin and slipped on his gloves.

When Malfoy was ready, he extended a hide-clad arm to Harry. It was only the expectation of the cold, sick feeling of Apparition that made an odd shiver run over Harry’s skin as he took Malfoy’s arm in his.

*-*-*

It was bloody freezing, and Harry thought the wind was going to knock him over at first, until he got his footing on the uneven stones. Malfoy had apparently Apparated them right next to the edge of a cliff, and Harry staggered backwards onto a patch of scrubby grass that stood among the craggy stones, away from the brutal-looking fall where the sea battered against the rocks below.

“Merlin’s balls, Malfoy!”

Malfoy stepped pretty sharply away from the verge, too, but he forced a laugh. “Thought you’d appreciate the views from this side of the island. Since you’ve never been before.”

Harry’s brows knit together. “I thought we agreed you weren’t going to try anything funny.”

Malfoy ran a hand through his hair, which was blowing in every direction at once. “Yes, well. I may have misjudged the spot very slightly.” He waved a hand towards the sea. “Still, quite something, isn’t it?”

Harry planted his feet firmly against the buffeting wind and took in the view. He had to admit, it was spectacular, in a bleak sort of way. The horizon stretched out endlessly, clear skies meeting nothing but grey-green sea, and the ceaseless pound and smash of the waves against the rocks. There was something exhilarating about standing there, the wind whipping around them, tugging at Harry’s cloak as if it wanted to snatch it away. He was so focused on the scene before them that it startled him when Malfoy spoke close to Harry’s ear.

“The dragons will mostly be inland on a day like this,” he said. “You might see a few foolhardy ones take to the air.”

“Come on then.” Harry nodded once. “Let’s go.”

Malfoy turned and started to pick his way around the jutting rocks towards some rough grassland, where the footing became much easier. They had only gone a few hundred yards when a smallish gold-green dragon flew into sight from over a ridge.

“Wands out,” Malfoy snapped. They both stood, tense, as the dragon made a large circle around them in the air, smoke surging from its nostrils, apparently deciding whether they were worth bothering with.

“I don’t know this creature,” Malfoy said quietly. “Welsh Greens aren’t that likely to attack wizards unless provoked, and the dragons here on the reserve are used to humans, anyway. But young dragons, especially, can be quite unpredictable.”

The dragon circled once more and then landed on a promontory about a hundred yards off, where it sat gazing at them inhospitably and letting out the occasional snort.

Malfoy let out a breath. “If we walk around the hill in that direction, I doubt it will bother us. Gorgeous specimen though, isn’t it? That hide is quite light for a Welsh Green… I think this could be one of Franae’s offspring. She's a Green, too but with a stunning golden tone to her scales. I’d love to breed a dragon like this with an Opaleye and see—”

“Breeding dragons is illegal, Malfoy.” Harry spoke sharply, still keeping a wary eye on the dragon.

He laughed. “I know that, Potter, but you can’t stop dragons from fucking, no more than you can wizards.” Harry glanced at Malfoy, and wasn’t sure if he imagined the heat he saw flaring in his eyes. “When a dragon chooses a mate, it can be rather single-minded about getting what it wants.”

“Yeah, I can imagine.” Harry frowned. “You’d have to be pretty stupid to get in the way of that.”

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. “You would, Potter, you certainly would.”

They walked on in silence, but there was something odd in the air since they had seen the dragon. Harry was in a state of constant expectation of seeing another set of wings beating towards them, and Malfoy’s magic seemed to be giving off a weird excitable tension, too. The terrain turned rougher as they made their way up a slope, but Malfoy seemed quite sure-footed in his knee boots. Auror training had its uses though, and Harry was having no problem keeping up when Malfoy said, “That’s what brings us here, of course. Fucking.”

Harry stumbled on a loose rock and Malfoy shot out a hand to steady him. Harry found himself held tightly by the elbow, Malfoy’s silvery eyes on his.

Harry straightened up, but he didn’t shake Malfoy’s hand off. “I– What—?”

Malfoy looked amused. “Fucking, Potter. The sex lives of dragons. What did you think I meant?”

Harry glared, flushing, and pulled his arm free. “What are you on about? Is this all some kind of wind up, Malfoy? Because I know as well as the next bloke that you can’t somehow persuade a dragon to give you its skin just because you want to make a pair of poncy boots out of them.”

Malfoy gave a superior smile and Harry briefly considered punching him. “You’ll see,” Malfoy said. “But look.”

He took a few more quick strides to the peak of the hill, and Harry followed him, cursing under his breath. But his words were stolen when he came level with Malfoy and saw below them a wide valley, dotted about with the unmistakable shapes of dragons. Harry felt his skin prickling with awe at the sight. Some were prowling, their muscular tails sweeping across the ground, while others were apparently sleeping with their spines curled in sensuous arcs. Most were slender Welsh Greens – the type Harry remembered Fleur fighting – but Harry also spotted a stocky black dragon and a pair of young gold-greens of the sort they’d seen on the hillside, and as they watched, these two took to the air, wings beating furiously as they lifted into the sky.

Malfoy stood quietly, apparently as fascinated as Harry, his eyes following a sleek Green as it swooped up and around and let out a narrow jet of flame.

“How close can we get?” Harry asked.

“Well, we’re practically up against the wards as it is.”

Harry sent out a feeler of magic and found a strong barrier just ahead of them. “Is that to stop the dragons getting out, or Muggles getting in?”

“A little of both, although the dragons find the weak spots in the wards and break through whenever they want to. As you saw from our friend back on the hill. But it’s not just Muggles they need protection from. Egg dealers, people trying to get hold of dragon’s horn without paying the proper import taxes—”

“People selling dodgy dragonhide,” Harry said grimly.

“Oh, for Salazar’s sake, there isn’t any dodgy dragonhide. Look, there’s the reserve HQ.” Malfoy indicated a small stone building in the dip of the valley below, set among a natural rocky incline so that it blended into its surroundings. “You might want to cover your ears a minute.”

“Why?” Harry asked, but Malfoy didn’t explain, merely fished out a long silver whistle from a pocket of his long coat and put it to his lips.The sound that emerged was not particularly loud, but Harry could feel a piercing vibration in his ears all the same, and clapped his hands to cover them. The dragons in the valley shifted and stirred as if unsettled, but after a few seconds, Malfoy put the whistle away and waited, eyes on the stone cottage.

The dragons settled back down and then Harry could see the door of the cottage opening and a figure peering out. The person squinted around and seemed to spot them up on the ridge, because a hand shot up to wave and then Harry could feel the air before them shimmering.

“Come on,” Malfoy said, beginning to walk down into the valley.

Harry followed, grimacing at the thick, treacly sensation of the wards parting to let them through.

“Just don’t threaten their territorial instincts and we should be fine,” Malfoy told him. “No shouting. No sudden movements. Basically keep calm.”

Harry felt anything but calm – walking into the lair of dragons was pretty thrilling stuff. And, well, just a little bit nerve-racking, if he was honest.

Malfoy looked him over. “Hmm. At least try to act relaxed. Think you can handle that, Potter?”

“I can handle anything you can,” Harry said. It came out sounding more like something from third year than he’d intended, but Malfoy just grinned.

They made their way over the rough ground, keeping a respectful distance from the dragons, until they were forced to pass quite close to a craggy old Green which was apparently dozing under the shelter of a rock. Harry walked by without incident, but as Malfoy followed, the dragon reared up and snorted, sending a plume of white smoke into the air. Harry’s wand flew to his hand, but Malfoy stood quite still and faced the dragon, hands at his sides.

“Easy there,” he told the beast, which responded by baring its teeth, and Harry had a sudden flashback to the image of a thirteen-year-old Malfoy sneering at Buckbeak. Harry gripped his wand tighter and ran through all the defensive spells he knew that might help with a dragon attack, but, fuck, if either of them cast at one of these beasts, it was sure to enrage the others, and there were about a dozen of them in this valley alone....

“OK,” said Malfoy, “OK now. You know me, don’t you, Tassilth?” He spoke softly, almost solicitously. “How are you, old boy?” The dragon snorted again, but settled its chin back on its front feet and merely glared at the two of them from under the scaly ridges of its brows. “Best to move away slowly, I think,” Malfoy said out of the corner of his mouth, and he and Harry both kept a careful eye on the Green as they made for the stone hut.

“Draco!” The waving figure, at close hand, turned out to be an energetic old wizard with a luxurious grey beard and a moustache that stuck out in two points, protruding several inches on either side of his face.

“Gwyn,” Malfoy greeted him, wincing as the wizard slapped him vigorously on the shoulder. “This is Harry Potter.”

“Oh, never?” He grasped Harry’s hand and shook it with enthusiasm. “Well, that’s a surprise, now. Will you come in and have a biscuit?”

“We’re fine, Gwyn, thanks.”

“Well, you know you’re welcome any time, Draco. Sit down for a minute and enjoy the air.”

There were some large white stones arranged outside the cottage and they each settled down on one.

“What’s up with Tassilth? He’s not usually like that,” Malfoy said.

“Yes, what it is, I think he can’t see so well now. I was walking the boundary yesterday and he came up behind me and had me cornered against the wards before I knew what he was about. It was only when I called out, like, that he seemed to know me.” Gwyn turned to Harry. “One of our most senior residents, Tassilth is. A good bit older than me. He didn’t go for you, did he?”

Malfoy shook his head. “No. Though it would have been my fault if he had – we came too near when he was sleeping, didn’t give him any chance to warn us off if he was in a bad mood.”

A gust of wind swept across the valley, and Gwyn tucked his beard inside his cloak to stop it blowing about. “So what are you lads doing by here?”

Harry recollected with a start the answer to this, and fumbled in his robes for his ID scroll. “Auror Department. Can I have your full name?”

“Certainly. Well, so long as I can remember it. Gwyn Dafydd Gareth Tecwyn Rhodri Taliesin Goronwy, then there’s a bit I always get stuck with. Is it Emrys or Hywel next, I wonder?” Gwyn asked. “I never can be sure. But after that it’s Ffion Arthur–”

“Er, that’s fine,” Harry told him. “So, do you keep records of all of the dragons who live here?”

“Well, not records as such, but it’s all up here.” Gwyn tapped the sleek white hair at his temples. “Better memory for things that matter, you see.”

“And how many dragons go missing each year?”

“Missing?” Gwyn’s forehead wrinkled in surprise. “Why would they go missing? They live a fine old life here, got the island to themselves, regular food and as many sheep as they fancy gobbling up. The occasional one flies a bit too far, maybe settles up in the mountains to the North, but…” He twisted one of his moustache ends thoughtfully between his fingers. “I’d say we haven’t lost one for a good while now. Brinthassa was the last to go. I don’t think you’ll remember her, Draco. She was always a flighty one, never really settled in here and when I saw her bust through the wards I thought, ah well, there she goes. Never saw her again. Four years ago, that would be.”

Harry frowned. Ynys Draig clearly wasn’t the source of all the suspicious hides. Unless Gwyn was in on the whole thing...

“Why do you ask, then? Have you got a dragon on the run?” Gwyn asked, his eyes twinkling.

“I’m investigating illegal dragonhide trading,” Harry told him.

“Ah, now who would be doing a wicked thing like that?” Gwyn seemed quite pained by the idea.

Malfoy looked amused and Harry shifted uncomfortably on the spot. “He thinks I’m killing off your dragons,” Malfoy announced. “To make myself – what was it? Poncy boots.”

Gwyn let out a loud laugh and slapped Malfoy on the arm again. “Oh, I see, dragonhunting your line now, is it? Nice pair of boots, those, mind.” He gestured at Draco’s feet. “That’s Mirianth’s hide?”

“That’s right,” Malfoy nodded. “Where is she?”

“Oh, up along by the trees at the top, I’d say. She’s been proper crotchety these past two days. But she most probably won’t mind you wandering up there for a visit.”

Malfoy got to his feet. “Right, we’ll head that way. Want to come, Gwyn?”

“Not me. I must have walked a good six miles today already, shoring up the wards to the South.”

“Do you look after the whole island by yourself?” Harry asked in surprise. Gwyn must have been pushing a hundred, for all that he seemed hale and hearty.

“Well, there’s a couple of lads who come in to deal with the sheep. And Myfanwy helps a lot – my granddaughter, you know. But she’s in Sweden, this week, having a look at the reservation near Kopparberg. Very modern-minded they are out there – research and all sorts. Here, we just try to keep the dragons happy, really, and stop them terrorising the locals.” He laughed again, a wheezy, startling sound. “Well, take your time, have a good look round. If you find any dragonhunters, you send them to me, and I’ll let Tassilth have a bit of a chat with them. Sure you don’t want a biscuit?”

Malfoy declined the offer and led the way along a narrow trail which wound gently behind the cottage and then up the other side of the valley, Harry following behind. Once again, they kept their distance from any dragons they passed. Harry thought back to their encounter with the elderly Tassilth and the respect Malfoy had shown in dealing with the old creature. He still didn’t know what Malfoy was up to, but there was no denying that he was no longer the same boy that Harry used to know.

Harry watched Malfoy take the hill with long strides, noticing the taut muscles of his legs under clinging leather, and the compelling shift and clench of the tight curves of his arse. Malfoy seemed to have matured since Hogwarts, in more ways than one. And Harry would have to say that, so far, it didn’t seem like a bad thing at all.

After about half a mile, the trail flattened out and they could walk side by side again. Harry cleared his throat. “So tell me. About the dragonhide, and how you get it.”

Malfoy wore the trace of a smirk. “Dragons are reptiles.”

“Yeah, I know that.” It seemed like Malfoy hadn’t lost his habit of being an annoying, superior—

“They shed their skin, as all reptiles do.”

“Sure, it flakes off.” Harry tried to avoid showing his irritation. “Charlie’s talked about how they care for them in Romania. They rub them down and then oil them, and their skin looks fine again.”

“You’re right, for most dragons. But a couple of breeds experience a full body shed a few times a year. The whole skin sloughs off, in the same way a snake’s or iguana’s does.”

Harry shrugged. “OK, but so what? When a snake sheds, it’s just papery and dry. You couldn’t use it for anything.”

“That’s true. But as we discussed earlier, dragons interbreed freely in the wild. You’ve seen there are mostly Welsh Greens living here at the reserve, but a Portuguese Long-Snout flew in a few decades ago. It had an injured wing – who knows what it was doing over Europe, but they guess it got too close to one of those Muggle flying machines, and—” Malfoy made a whistling sound and gestured a rapid descent with his finger. “After its wing healed, it settled here, and has been mating with the Welsh Greens.”

Here the path split into two, and they took the left fork.

“So the offspring,” Harry asked. “They’re a new hybrid?”

“Yes. They call it the Cambrian Razorhorn. Welsh Greens don’t go through full body sheds, but Portuguese dragons do, and it turns out the Razorhorns do as well. The skin they shed is fairly thin and papery, just like a snake or an iguana.”

Harry was interested in spite of himself, but he felt no nearer to getting to the bottom of this. “What’s that got to do with your Knockturn Alley dealings?”

They were approaching a knot of trees which stood out starkly on the bare hillside. “This is where Gwyn said we might find her…” Malfoy said quietly.

“But the hides?”

“Yes, Potter, the hides. Well, a few years ago one of the Razorhorns – the new hybrid – it mated with a Hebridean Black. They only have a couple of them here, but the Hebrideans have exceptionally thick skin. And the result was a clutch of dragons that go through a full body shed a few times a year, sloughing off a thick layer of hide that can be used for all the same purposes as normal dragonhide. Not only that, but the hide is particularly fine quality.” They were within fifty feet of the trees now, and Malfoy stopped, scanning the landscape.

“Those dragons are adults now – the Ynys Draig Black. A type of dragon not found anywhere in the world except right here where we’re standing, and Mirianth is one of them.” Malfoy stroked a hand over the jacket covering his own stomach. “This is made from the results of her last shed. The trousers, too.” He pointed to his boots. “These, I’ve had a little longer, but they’re all from the same dragon, and— ahh, there she is.” His voice was hushed and reverent as he gestured to a dark shape emerging from behind the trees. “As you can see, she’s very much alive and well.”

It was not the largest of the dragons they had seen so far, but she was bigger than the Greens, a powerful, sleek creature that stalked towards them purposefully, her shoulders rolling and tail brushing over the ground as she came. Harry’s mouth went dry at the sight: her strength, the grace of her movements, and the sheer gut-clenching savagery of her teeth and her claws at close range. Each breath brought a little hoosh of smoke with it, which wreathed around her as she came. Her eyes were a brilliant purple ringed with gold, but her scales were not the glossy black Harry had been expecting from Malfoy’s description. They looked dull and dusty, and as they watched, Mirianth stopped and rubbed her spine against the trunk of a tree, making a low growling sound in her throat.

“Shedding her skin again,” Malfoy murmured to Harry. “It makes them terribly uncomfortable.”

Mirianth scraped herself against the tree bark, twisting herself to and fro in an effort to get the friction she craved.

“I don’t know if she’ll let us approach or not,” Malfoy said. “Dragons are so irritable when they’re in shed, and she doesn’t know you. But we can try. If you want to, of course.”

Harry nodded. “Sure.” It had been a while since he’d been up close with a dragon, and he thought he might as well make the most of the opportunity. He certainly didn’t want to show Malfoy that he was apprehensive at all.

“Just hang back for a minute while I speak to her, then.” Malfoy seemed a little on edge, too, for he took a deep breath before taking a step forwards. “Mirianth,” he said, pitching his voice low.

Her head twisted to face him and she let out a peevish grunt, still rubbing herself against the tree.

“I know, I know. Poor old girl.” Malfoy took a couple of steps closer and Mirianth snorted crossly, a small jet of flame issuing from her nostrils. Malfoy halted immediately, his body tense, but when the flames died down, he took out a phial of something from his coat. “I brought some oil, in case you needed it,” he told her. She writhed against the tree, scraping with deep, vicious movements, and as Harry watched, her hide seemed to rip apart across her shoulder, a great jagged tear appearing in the skin.

“Merlin,” Harry said, alarmed, but Malfoy merely took another step forwards, holding out the phial.

“Look, girl. Look what I brought you.”

The dragon turned again, as if wondering why he was still bothering her, but then when she spotted the phial, she let out a low mewling growl.

“Yes. Will you let my friend and I come over there to see you?”

Harry felt startled at this description of himself, enough to remember that he was meant to be conducting an investigation here, not mooning over dragons with Malfoy. But he needed to see with his own eyes if what Malfoy said was true. He could write it all up properly later. Not that it seemed very likely anyone was going to believe this.

Mirianth dragged herself across the tree trunk again, and a flap of hide seemed to cleave away, dangling down from her shoulder and making her hiss with either pain or relief, Harry couldn’t tell. Plumes of smoke billowed out around her, and Malfoy made a cluck of concern. “Oh, nasty. Let me help, will you?”

Malfoy stepped closer again. He was now well within reach of even a small blast if the dragon breathed fire again, but she merely whirled her eyes as Ethelinda had done and snorted, apparently calmer. Malfoy took the remaining steps forward, keeping eye contact all the time until he was at her side, his hands busy uncorking the phial. Mirianth snorted again and Malfoy flinched and spilled some oil on the ground. But after one more snort, the dragon quietened, and Malfoy was able to pour some oil into his palm.

Mirianth obviously knew what was coming, abandoning her frantic scratching to watch Malfoy’s hands intently, her tail twitching across the ground. It seemed safer for Harry to step towards them now, and he chose a spot where he had a clear view of Malfoy stroking an oily hand along the uneven rent in the dragon’s hide. Malfoy moved tentatively at first, keeping his eyes on Mirianth’s face all the while, but when she showed no resistance, he poured a more generous quantity of oil into his hand and began to smooth it on with firm, sweeping strokes.

Mirianth let out another hiss, her wings starting to unfold, and Malfoy tensed, but as he continued to massage her dry and itchy skin, she closed her eyes and settled her wings back into place. When Malfoy added more oil, she leaned into his touch, and as Malfoy’s hands moved over her scales, she began to make a low rumble of satisfaction in her chest.

“Potter. Come closer,” Malfoy said quietly, and Harry took another few paces nearer. “This is Harry Potter,” Malfoy told Mirianth. “He’s come all the way to the island to make sure no-one’s hurting you.” Her eyes whirled, the colours shifting as she seemed to take in everything about Harry and decide that he would do, for she made no protest as he came to a halt at Malfoy’s elbow.

“Go around to her other side and make yourself useful,” Malfoy told him. “Two of us can reach more places than one.”

Harry’s eyes widened, but he found he liked the idea of helping, and he did as Malfoy suggested. Malfoy passed him the oil over Mirianth’s back, and Harry let a good glug run into his hand before pressing it gently to Mirianth’s side. She was warmer than he had expected – he knew that lizards were cold-blooded, as a rule, but of course Mirianth breathed fire, and as he let his hand move gently over her back, he felt an intriguing warmth pulsing inside her.

“Don’t be too gentle with her,” Malfoy said. “Be as firm as you can. The hide is so thick that it’s hard for the oil to permeate, but the pressure will soothe her, too.”

The oil was scented with something comforting and masculine, maybe sandalwood, or cedar, and although the dragon’s scales felt dry at first, as Harry rubbed more oil on, they became beautifully smooth and sensual, and began to turn the rich, inky black of the hide that Malfoy wore. Mirianth moved on the spot, her muscles shifting beneath his hands, and the thought occurred to him that this was how Malfoy’s body would feel if Harry were to touch him through all of his leather – warm and sleek, and rippling with life.

He glanced up at Malfoy and found he was already watching Harry. Their eyes met as their hands moved in unison over the dragon’s sides, the warm scent of the oil filling the air and the resonant sound of Mirianth’s humming vibrating against their hands.

“It seems dragons like you,” Malfoy said, his mouth curving into a smile.

“Well.” Harry wet his lips. “Seems I like them, too.”

Malfoy worked his oily hands under the flap of skin where Mirianth had made a tear. “Mmmm,” he said, “is that better, old girl?” He closed his eyes, for a moment, concentrating, his hands kneading at the dragon’s flesh. “No, that’s not ready to come away yet,” he told her. “No more scratching or you’ll hurt yourself badly.” He moved back towards her flank, his hands still moving in a firm, slow rhythm. “Sometimes I can help her remove some of the old skin and then it’s much more comfortable for her.” He gave Harry a conspiratorial smile. “And she’s no use for the hide once it’s shed, so…”

Of course, Harry thought, and it felt like a shock of cold water through his veins. What a fool – he had almost been taken in by Malfoy’s respectful attention towards Mirianth. “You come and do this for the dragons so you can get the hides to sell. And Gwyn thinks you’re coming just to help out,” he said. His voice sounded sharp and accusing and Mirianth bristled under his hands.

“Steady.” Malfoy ran his hands over her side again, in long, slow, strokes. “It’s all right, girl. Just Potter being an arse,” he said consolingly. To Harry, he said, “Either side of a dragon is no place to be having an argument, unless you want to get us both killed. But if you honestly think that this is all about the Galleons then you can piss off now.” He kept his voice low and even right until the end, when it shook with anger.

Harry bit down a retort. Malfoy was right, this was no place for a fight, much as he was spoiling for one. He could feel Mirianth’s breath jittering under his hands.

“I could get the hides anyway,” Malfoy told him, his voice cold and quiet. “There’s a huge patch down here along her belly which is all new skin. If you feel, the scales are smaller and they lie much flatter. There’ll be a great length of leather lying around here somewhere that she’s torn off herself in her discomfort, probably in among these trees. Enough to make new boots for the whole sodding Auror department.”

“Aurors don’t wear dragonhide,” Harry said. “And I thought we weren’t going to fight here.”

“We’re not,” Malfoy hissed back. “We’re only talking. Quietly. If we’re going to fight, we’ll do it outside the Ynys Draig wards, because otherwise Mirianth will gut you like a fish. Because she’s loyal like that, and I know you’re going to say a dragon can’t be loyal, but I know this dragon, Potter, and I know you’re wrong.”

Mirianth reared up a little in between them, and Harry stepped away. He tried to keep the same low tone as Malfoy. “So, does Gwyn know you take the hides?”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “You’re calling me a thief now? Who do you think pays for all of those sheep on the bloody hillside? The Ministry?”

“What? You’re saying you do?” Harry’s voice rose again and it was an effort to bring it back down. “Some kind of bribe, I suppose?”

Now Malfoy stepped sharply back from Mirianth as well, and she let out a snort of disappointment and began to rub her neck along the tree bark again.

“Listen carefully, Potter. I don’t need to grub around for gold like some people do.”

“You’re always ready to sneer. Just like the old days.”

“Oh, the old days, is it? Well, you’re just as stubborn and—”

Mirianth snorted out a small jet of flame and lashed her tail.

“We seriously need to stop this now, unless you want to end up as toast,” Malfoy warned.

“Like you’re concerned for my safety.”

“I’d be fine. Dragonhide is flameproof. But Aurors don’t wear dragonhide, remember? More fool them.”

Harry forced himself not to answer, but to take a deep breath instead. Malfoy stepped back towards Mirianth and put his hand on her neck again, rubbing his knuckles along the ridges there, as Harry had seen him do to Ethel. Malfoy made low soothing noises and Mirianth let her eyelids droop, although she still kept a watchful gaze on Harry.

Malfoy looked at him, too, his expression haughty, his voice more even again. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, Potter, but if you want to know, I don’t need to sell hides. Gwyn originally let me visit the place a few times because I wanted to see the dragons. And even to me, it was obvious how they struggled to keep the place going. Do you know how few wild spots there are on the globe for dragons to live in peace? Muggles blundering everywhere and calling it progress and civilisation. The dragons on Ynys Draig are thriving, and more of them settle here every year. But the Ministry provides hardly enough to keep Gwyn in tea and biscuits, let alone feed a pack of hungry dragons.”

His voice appeared to be lulling Mirianth to sleep. “That’s it.” Her head nodded as he spoke. “Much more comfortable now, aren’t you?”

Harry stared in surprise at the sight of a twenty foot long dragon apparently dozing off next to a human. If only Hagrid could see this.

“So, what, you mean you give them money? Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I like this place. What else would I do with my gold, other than spend it on enjoying myself?” He smirked at Harry. “I do that as well, whenever I feel like it, obviously. I’m no bloody saint.”

Harry looked at Malfoy, at his hand moving over Mirianth’s scales as he spoke, her eyes now closed. He certainly didn’t look like a saint. Merlin, no. Not with his lean body outlined in hide and his shameless smile. Everything he had said could be a pack of lies, but Harry didn’t believe that he could fake the trust which shone out between him and the dragon. Her massive body lay at his feet, relaxed and peaceful, and Malfoy stood quite at ease, his fingers rubbing small circles between her ears.

But Harry had a report to write. How could he ever put this into words? Malfoy looks like he belongs here and the dragons treat him as a friend. I think I was wrong about this – which means maybe I was wrong about him, too. He couldn’t write that on his little scroll.

He dragged his mind back to the plain facts of the investigation. “Selling the dragonhide, though?”

“That fetches a tidy sum of Galleons for the reserve. Which means we can keep plenty of livestock here for the dragons. Not just sheep – there are lots of deer in the wooded area over there.” Mirianth smacked her lips in her sleep, perhaps dreaming of fresh venison. “It pays for things like Myfanwy’s trip to Sweden, to see if we can pick up any ideas from how they manage things over there. And Gwyn never runs out of biscuits.”

Mirianth let out a deep, rumbling snore. “Right, that’s it,” Malfoy said, straightening up. “You can believe me, or not.”

“What if I don’t?” Harry asked, trying to sound stern. Why shouldn’t Malfoy sweat for a bit longer?

“You know the old Hogwarts motto?”

“Draco dormiens… something or other?” Harry tried to dredge up the Latin from his memory. “Never tickle a sleeping dragon, right?”

“That’s the one.” Malfoy moved his hand under Mirianth’s head and cocked one finger, as if poised to wriggle it under her scaly chin

He looked at Harry, his eyes glinting. “If you don’t believe me, I may feel inclined to test it out.”

“That would be a spectacularly stupid thing to do.”

“Yes. So wouldn’t it be best to admit that you believe me? Which I can see that you do, even though you’re fighting against it.”

Harry felt his cheeks colouring, but he didn’t deny it.

Malfoy took his hand away from Mirianth’s chin. “Oh, and in the interests of full disclosure,” Malfoy went on, not bothering to hide his smirk, “more dragonhide on the market means more people wearing dragonhide for me to look at.” He shrugged. “It’s a win/win situation.”

Harry laughed despite himself. “OK. I definitely believe that, at least.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “Shall we let sleeping dragons lie, then?”

“For now, I guess,” Harry said. “Just for now.”

*-*-*

They walked back around the ridge. The view was spectacular, the sea churning ceaselessly back and forth against the cliffs, and the sun sinking low and bathing the whole sky with streaks of pink.

The wind had dropped down, and up ahead, a pair of dragons took to the air, swooping and diving around one another in a way that reminded Harry of Quidditch moves.

“Looks like a pair of Seekers,” he told Malfoy. “Both trying to get the Snitch.”

Malfoy nodded. “You know they’re mating?” he asked, and suddenly Harry could see that what had looked like rivalry was actually an elaborate dance, each dragon trying to get the other’s undivided attention. Malfoy stopped walking and Harry stood beside him, gazing up at the dragons. “They can dance around one another like that for days before they mate,” Malfoy said. “They sometimes spar together – might even injure each other. It only ever leads to one thing, though.”

Harry didn’t say anything. The dragons’ movements were fierce and strangely stirring. He started to feel the unwelcome restlessness that he had experienced the previous day after returning from the club.

“Sometimes they just fuck, of course.” Malfoy said quietly, close to his ear. “Cut out all the messing about and get right down to it.”

Harry could feel his blood beating in his veins. It felt strange to be standing here with Malfoy, discussing such a random topic as the mating habits of dragons. He realised that he’d been silent for ages. “Yeah. That must be… quite a sight.”

“One dragon pins the other, and then… “ Malfoy shrugged. “Some breeds are much larger than others, as you can see. Physically stronger.” His eyes swept over Harry, lingering on the jut of his biceps. “None of that makes a difference. Not when a dragon is ready to submit.”

Harry didn’t know why his body was reacting this way to Malfoy’s words. It was just a matter of Magizoology, not anything to get all bothered about. He’d bet Charlie had seen the dragons behave this way loads of times. But he still couldn’t think of anything remotely sensible to say. It didn’t help that Malfoy was standing close enough for Harry to feel his magic pulsing furiously. It seemed like Malfoy was about to speak again, when a shout came from behind them and a figure appeared, gamely struggling up from the valley. It was Gwyn, carrying a huge bundle of something in his arms.

“Nearly forgot to give you this,” he puffed as he reached them. “Godric’s bones, that hill doesn’t get any easier, does it?”

Malfoy’s face had clouded over at the interruption, but his eyes lit up as he relieved Gwyn of his load. “Ahh, I was wondering where this had got to. The piece from Mirianth’s belly?”

“Yes. She shed it yesterday and I put it aside for you. Lovely piece of hide, isn’t it?”

Malfoy used his wand to shrink the bundle to a more manageable size. “Wonderful. I’ll get to work on this as soon as I get back.”

“Ah, no rush. We’ve plenty of Galleons to keep us going for the time being.” Gwyn patted Malfoy’s shoulder as he confided to Harry, “He is a marvel, our Draco. The gold that people will pay for what he makes!” To Malfoy, he added: “But Myfanwy would love another pair of trousers like the last ones you made her. She said, now what was it? She said they’re proper lush.”

Malfoy laughed. “It will be my pleasure. And how about a pair for you, Gwyn?”

“You’ve got to be kidding. The day I squeeze my body into a get up like that is the day I hand over my wand to the Mind Healers for safekeeping.”

Harry took one last look around at the valley as Gwyn began lowering the wards for them. “This is an amazing place. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome here any time. Will you have a biscuit before you go? I’ve just opened a new packet.”

Harry could see Malfoy suppress a smile as he shook his head. “Thanks, Gwyn, but we’ll be off.”

Harry didn’t even know why he did it – he could Apparate himself to Diagon Alley or Knockturn as easy as Accio, but still he reached out his hand to take Malfoy’s arm. The leather of Malfoy’s jacket was soft under his fingers, and Harry could feel the lean strength of him, and the knob of bone at the elbow. He made a mental note to cast Aguamenti as soon as they arrived, his throat was so dry, and then the lurching squeeze of Apparation carried them away.

*-*-*

Knockturn Alley was revoltingly grubby and loud after the peace and clean air of Ynys Draig. Two startled pigeons flew up, flapping their wings and reinforcing Harry’s belief about it being a terrible place to Apparate to.

“A drink?” Malfoy asked.

“Yes,” Harry croaked, without really stopping to think what it was he was agreeing to. After that it seemed rude to refuse to go up the narrow stairs to Malfoy’s workshop. Besides, it was quiet in there, and, unlike the rest of Knockturn, it didn’t smell of frog’s innards.

It did, however, smell of singed wool. After sniffing around suspiciously, Malfoy left the room for a while before coming back to report that he had found Ethelinda snoozing in an open drawer in his bedroom, surrounded by a nest of lightly-charred socks.

“This whole place will go up in flames one day,” Harry told him, but Malfoy just waved a hand vaguely.

“I have protection charms on most things. I didn’t know she liked socks. Beer or whiskey?”

Harry opened his mouth to say, “Just water,” but then stopped. What time was it, anyway? From the dusk falling outside he was pretty sure he was off duty now, and he didn’t feel like checking in case he was wrong. He could write his report tomorrow.

“Whiskey,” he said, and even the word tasted good in his mouth. He unfastened his cloak and tossed it over the burnt chair, then took a seat on one of the fat armchairs by the open window. It seemed as though there was a hint of frog innards drifting in, after all, but when Malfoy passed him a tumbler containing a generous measure of Emberwhiskey, Harry found he didn’t care.

Perfect. Smoother by far than Firewhiskey, it slipped down, warming his throat with the gentle spices and, as the name promised, left him glowing pleasantly all over. “Ahh. This is good stuff, Malfoy.”

Malfoy set his own glass down and lit a lamp in the corner by the worktable. It cast a flickering, intimate light across the room and illuminated Malfoy’s pale hair, making it look almost silver. He closed the window with a flick of his wand and shrugged off the leather coat. Underneath was the fitted white t-shirt and the sharp lines of Malfoy’s collarbones. He looked strangely vulnerable without his leather, his throat pale and elegant and his shoulders narrower than the jacket made them appear. But his hands were strong and skillful, his graceful, efficient movements compelling to watch as he cleared a space on his worktable. Harry took another gulp from his glass and blinked, unsure how he had ended up back at Malfoy’s, sharing a drink together after hours, and admiring him in this distinctly unprofessional way.

Malfoy spelled the bundle of hide back to its proper size and began to unroll it. He ran his fingers across the scales and made an approving sound. “This is very fine hide indeed. If I cure it tonight, it will be nearly ready to work with by morning, and—”

“I should go,” Harry said, putting down his glass.

“Why?” Malfoy asked, looking surprised.

“You’re working.”

“So?” Malfoy shrugged. “No reason you can’t stay.” He took a sip of whiskey and looked at Harry over the rim of his glass. “I like to mix business and pleasure.”

Harry felt something stir inside him at the way Malfoy said pleasure. A little voice told him that he hadn’t had enough of that, not lately.

“Anyway,” Malfoy continued. “I thought you were working.”

What the hell. Why not stay a while? Harry took another drink and felt the heat ripple through his belly. “Not any more. Off duty.”

Malfoy looked at him appraisingly, his eyes flicking over Harry’s face. “Oh,” Malfoy said, his eyebrows lifting up. “Off duty.” A slow smile pulled at his mouth, and Harry had to fight the urge to shift in his seat.

“Well,” said Malfoy, turning back to the worktable. “This will only take a moment.” With a few movements, he had the fresh hide suspended from the ceiling. “Oi, Ethel. Off!” he ordered, as the tiny dragon flew into the room and tried to perch on the topmost edge of the hide. Instead she went to sit on the chair where Harry’s cloak lay, obviously a favourite spot of hers.

“If your dragon sets my cloak on fire, Malfoy…” Harry threatened.

“What?” Malfoy asked, looking over his shoulder with interest. “What will you do?”

“I’ll report you.” Harry took another drink. “And have both of you locked up.” Then he remembered Malfoy in the dungeon, and felt himself go red. Malfoy would probably enjoy that.

“Do you hear that, Ethel?” Malfoy moved his wand in sweeping arcs across the surface of the hide. “You’re a corrupting influence. I haven’t been in trouble with the Aurors for a long, long time.” He cast a sly look at Harry over his shoulder.

“Why do I find that hard to believe?” Harry asked, and maybe he’d drunk enough now, because his voice sounded hoarse.

Malfoy used his wand to reach the top of the hide. “Such cynicism. You should try to be more accepting. It would be a lot more pleasant than all this denial.” His shirt was taut over the muscles of his back as he stretched up, and Harry didn’t stop his gaze from running down to Malfoy’s arse and over the long lines of his legs.

A distinctive smell started to fill the room, a far cry from frogs or singed socks. It smelt expensive, seductive, and highly masculine. Harry took a deep breath and found that he was almost dizzy with it.

“That smell—”

Malfoy looked round. “It’s the stuff I use to cure the hide, to keep it in good condition. All decent hide will smell like this, but it’s strongest when I first work on it.”

Harry had a sudden flash of what it would be like to bury his nose in Malfoy’s jacket. Of how Malfoy’s skin would smell after wearing it, the scent layered over his cologne and the warmth of his skin. Bloody hell, his head swam just at the thought.

In an effort to distract himself, Harry asked the first thing that came into his head. “So why dragons?”

Malfoy looked as if the question surprised him a little. “Well... a few different things. My name, for one.”

“Oh, right. Of course. What else?”

Malfoy shrugged, and stretched out a hand to Ethelinda, who flew eagerly to perch on his forearm. Malfoy winced as her claws scraped against his bare skin, and as he guided Ethel up to perch on his shoulder, Harry noticed the criss cross lines of old scratches along Malfoy’s arm.

“You little brute,” Malfoy told her, scratching gently along her snout until her eyes closed in pleasure. “They are rather wonderful creatures, don’t you think? You enjoyed visiting the reserve, didn’t you?” he asked Harry.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

“You can see the attraction, then,” Malfoy continued.

Harry almost grimaced at the desire coiling hotly in his belly. He certainly could see the attraction, not only of dragons. And it wasn’t helping one bit to watch Malfoy stretch up with his free arm and start to work on the other side of the hide, his t-shirt riding up to reveal a pale slice of flat stomach, and hipbones sharp as Diffindo.

There was more to this than noticing Malfoy’s physical charms, though. Harry found himself admiring the deft way Malfoy worked on the piece of leather. Malfoy did this not just because he enjoyed it, although his pleasure in the work was evident. The dragons at Ynys Draig could fly free and hunt and then lay down to sleep, safe from Muggles who would most likely try to shoot them or put them in a zoo. That was what Malfoy worked for, rather than any monetary reward. Harry leaned back in the armchair, noticing how intent Malfoy was on his task, how his eyes darted across the hide, checking the effect of his spells, and how the thin shirt stretched over his biceps as he raised his arms. Harry found that he approved, very much – and it wasn’t just the way Malfoy looked in leather that appealed.

Ethelinda seemed to dislike Malfoy moving around while she perched on him, for she stretched her wings and shook them back into place with a dissatisfied grunt, her feet shifting on Malfoy’s shoulder as if to find the most comfortable spot. “Ow,” Malfoy complained, and Ethel flew up to the top of the cupboard and peered down at them, her serious eyes shimmering with iridescence.

Malfoy rubbed his shoulder. “Did nobody tell you that I’m a terrifying dragonhunter?" he asked her. "Why don’t you go for one last fly before bed?”

Ethel took his advice and swooped out of the window into the dusky dark of Knockturn Alley.

Malfoy, his wand steady, made one last arc across the hide and then examined it closely, looking for something which was not apparent to Harry. “There,” he said. “Looks like that’s taking effect nicely. There are spells I can use to change the colour, but I’m tempted to leave this piece just as it is.”

He topped up their glasses, then sat down in the other armchair next to Harry, bringing the bottle with him. “That will be a dream to work on, tomorrow.” He crossed one leg over the other, drawing Harry’s attention again to their length, the firm, tight muscles of Malfoy’s thighs, the jut of his calves, and the soft sheen of the dragonhide as it clung there. “I hope you can see now that it’s not my main interest in visiting the reserve, not by a long shot. But I can’t deny it’s a bonus to find a source of top quality hide.”

“You’re... really into leather,” Harry said. He cursed himself for stating the obvious, but Malfoy just smiled.

“Among other things.” There was a silence while Malfoy let his gaze run over Harry’s body.

Harry felt a raw heat in his stomach, more intoxicating than the whiskey. It spread through his body, warming him, sparking along his nerve endings and making him feel reckless. “What other things?”

Malfoy looked as if the question delighted him. “Oh, there are so many.”

“Name one.”

Malfoy’s eyes glinted a challenge. “I like men.”

It sent a jolt of excitement through Harry to hear it stated so plainly. With such relish. He had to swallow before he could reply. “Yeah. I noticed. Last night.”

“Oh, him? He was only a boy, really.” Malfoy laughed. “Something about him just caught my eye. But I prefer men’s bodies.” His eyes ran shamelessly over Harry’s chest in the fitted tunic, then down, and Harry wondered if Malfoy could see that he was more than half-hard. “I like the things they do.”

“What things?” Harry’s lips were warm with whiskey and spices, and the words just tumbled out.

“I like their strength. The way they feel underneath me. All that struggle and fire and resistance.”

Harry remembered his thoughts about Malfoy. About duelling him, taking out all of his frustrations. “That sounds more like a fight.”

“Yeah. I like it that way, sometimes.” The smile that twitched at Malfoy’s mouth was shameless.

“That dungeon… what’s that about? Pain? Are you into that?” Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about that, not at all.

“That can be diverting, if both of you want it. But mostly I like the way a man looks when he’s on his knees for me. Not because he has to. But because he wants to, because he wants to lay down that strength before me like a gift and let me do whatever I will with him.”

Malfoy’s words were making Harry’s body throb with a strange recognition. The thought of how it might feel to surrender in that way made a shudder of longing flicker right through him. The memory of the one time he’d picked up a guy in a pub, a Muggle, and back at Harry’s the man had simply pinned him down and fucked him hard. Harry felt indignant at first, and then… there was a point where he just went with it, let go completely, and afterwards, he felt so peaceful. Possibly more sated than he’d ever been.

He never saw the man again, though he went back to that pub a few times. And though, over the years, he had dated his fair share of people, he didn’t ever feel he could ask. Not for that.

Malfoy sipped his drink, watching Harry the whole time. “What about you, Potter?”

Harry took another gulp of his drink. “Yeah. I like men.”

Malfoy didn’t speak, but his eyes flashed with interest.

“I like women too.”

This time Malfoy raised an eyebrow, and something about it encouraged Harry to continue. “But yeah, what you said.” He’d never tried to put it into words before. “Sometimes, the strength – and I’m not saying women can’t be strong. But… men are… They’ve got…” Malfoy’s silvery eyes rested on him steadily and Harry’s words trailed away.

“Cock.” Malfoy said bluntly, the word sounding irresistibly filthy in his haughty voice. “You like cock.”

Harry wet his lips. “Yeah.” Bloody hell. What even was this conversation?

Malfoy regarded him for a moment, his gaze lingering on Harry’s mouth, then flicking back up to his eyes. “Do you like getting fucked?”

Harry couldn’t answer at first, but he wasn’t ashamed. He tried not to care that his voice croaked a little when he finally managed to speak. “Yeah.”

“You like a man holding you down, giving it to you.” Malfoy’s pupils were wide and black, and it didn’t even sound like a question, more like Malfoy was telling him what he wanted. “You like taking it. Taking his cock.” Something about it pissed Harry off, except he was right, the bastard was right.

“Yes.” It came out defiantly.

“I knew it.” Did Malfoy have to sound so bloody exultant? He let the words drip from his lips as though he were savouring them. “You’d look so good on your knees for me, Potter.”

There was no reason for that to be about the biggest turn on Harry had ever heard. None at all. His cock twitched painfully, trapped against the seam of his uniform. But something about Malfoy reminded him of the past. His look of triumph, maybe, or the cruel twist to his mouth. It really fucking riled him, and he didn’t know if he wanted to Hex Malfoy, or rip those bloody tight trousers off him. “Fuck you,” Harry heard himself say.

Malfoy laughed. “Yes. Yes, just like that. Fighting me every step of the way. Perfect.”

Now the tosser was laughing at Harry. The old anger swelled within him even as he imagined exactly what it would be like to do what Malfoy asked. “I said fuck you, Malfoy.”

“I heard you. But it seems like you’re not going anywhere.” Malfoy didn’t wait for Harry to respond. “You like that, don’t you? You like the idea.”

He could lie. He could stand up and walk out. He could. “I— Well. What if I do?”

“You’re hard, aren’t you? Just from this conversation.”

There seemed little point pretending otherwise. Harry’s erection was so solid he could probably cut diamonds with it. “Fuck, Malfoy, yes. OK?”

“So what are you waiting for?” Malfoy got up from his chair and stood with his hands held out, his face insolent.

Harry swallowed hard. His mouth was still dry, and he threw back the rest of his drink and let the glass bang down roughly on the table. Standing up didn’t feel like a conscious decision; he only knew that he couldn’t sit there and do nothing while Malfoy taunted him like this.

Malfoy leaned back against the wall, his body one long, delicious provocation. “Are you always this wound up?” Malfoy asked. “When you walked into the club last night, I thought, There’s a man who needs a good hard fuck.”

Hell, Malfoy was so arrogant, presuming to know anything about what Harry needed. Malfoy stayed exactly where he was, but his eyes gleamed as Harry stepped closer until they were toe to toe and Harry could smell the freshness of his cologne over the luxurious scent of leather that still hung in the air.

Malfoy tucked his thumbs into his belt loops, his hips jutting forward. He breathed the words out. “When was the last time you let yourself have something you wanted?”

Harry inhaled sharply and then his mouth was on Malfoy’s, rough and hard. Malfoy made a small noise in his throat and brought his hands to Harry’s hips to steady himself, but Harry was already nudging forward so that Malfoy was flush against the wall and Harry was covering every inch of his body with his own.

You couldn’t really call it a kiss. Not at first. It was more like some sort of assault, all teeth and tongues and Harry’s hands in Malfoy’s hair, gripping so tightly that it must have hurt. It felt so good to have him pressed up against the wall like that, Malfoy pushing back against him with relish and a bright hot longing which seethed inside Harry, as if someone had lit the fuse of a firework. Harry groaned at the friction, the addictive taste of Malfoy’s mouth and all of his harsh angles as he dug his fingers into Harry’s flesh.

Ahhh, yes, it was good. But it wasn’t enough. Harry grabbed Malfoy’s arse and squeezed, the leather soft and supple against his palms, the firm curve of Malfoy’s backside beneath, and felt his cock leap in approval. Malfoy’s breath came hot and fast into Harry’s mouth, and Harry found himself pulling Malfoy closer so that his cock lay hard against Malfoy’s hip, wanting him to feel what he did to Harry. He wanted more, rougher, harder. He wanted Malfoy to yank at Harry’s hair so it made his scalp burn, he wanted to bruise Malfoy and mark him with his teeth, to rut against him until they both cried out.

Harry’s hands were all over Malfoy, wanting to touch every inch of him, and he could feel Malfoy’s magic crackling with satisfaction, sparking against his own. Harry groaned at the heady bliss of it; already he could feel his balls tightening, and intense shivers of heat building in his thighs. He dived at Malfoy’s mouth and started to grind up against him in earnest.

But Malfoy pulled away and wiped his mouth with his hand. “So you’re not made of stone, after all.” He sounded out of breath and Harry wanted more of that, wanted to see Malfoy start to lose it. He lunged for his mouth again but Malfoy forced him back with both hands on Harry’s chest. He was surprisingly strong, his body wirier than Harry had been expecting.

“Slow down.”

Harry glared at him, but Malfoy just moved his hands to Harry’s hips and held him in place. His pale face was pink now, his jaw reddened from the stubble on Harry’s chin, and his eyes smoky, as he began to move against Harry, watching him carefully as he rocked their hips together, slow and dirty and impossibly good.

“Oh, hell,” Harry moaned. It felt so good, so hot, but it was too slow, the maddening friction just making him crave more. Malfoy was smiling and Harry wanted to bloody punch him for making him feel this way, for making Harry want him so badly and for being such a smug fucking bastard. “Malfoy,” he breathed. It sounded something like a threat, something like a plea for mercy, but Harry wasn’t going to beg, no way. Malfoy kept up the leisurely slide of his cock over Harry’s, but he also brought one hand to the back of Harry’s neck and pulled him in for a slow, open-mouthed kiss.

Harry moaned into Malfoy’s mouth, and now he was worried he would beg. Malfoy’s lips were so fucking lush, and his tongue was hot and clever. Harry made helpless sounds and grabbed at Malfoy’s arse with possessive hands.

Malfoy pulled away from this kiss again and Harry almost growled in displeasure, but Malfoy seemed to like that best of all. His pupils were so wide, and Harry could feel his magic pulsing, hot and eager. “Fuck, Potter, yes.” Malfoy sounded completely unwavering. “I want you on your knees.”

On your knees. Why did that make Harry feel the way it did? The thought of it was so unbearably erotic that Harry moaned just imagining himself sinking down in front of Malfoy. The image set a wild heat coiling in his gut, an irresistible pull to the groin. Malfoy was watching him so intently, Harry knew he would be able to see the effect of his words reverberating through Harry’s core.

“All this fretting and fighting,” Malfoy said softly. “You’re so keyed up all the time. And I’m not saying I’m not enjoying it, but…” Malfoy’s face wore an unfamiliar look of sympathy and he spoke almost gently. “Let yourself have what you want. Why not give yourself that pleasure?”

Harry imagined it again, the inexorable slide to the floor, and this time, his body took over and followed through with what he was picturing so clearly. His knees met the ground with a satisfying thud and the rush that came with it was almost overwhelming. At first it was as if his body flooded with relief, like giving in to a need that he’d been resisting for a long time. But as he looked up at Malfoy, his breath caught in his chest at the expression on Malfoy’s face. God, he hadn’t expected this. Malfoy looked both fierce and tender, and Harry felt a moan rise up in his throat just at the sight of him, standing over Harry like that.

Malfoy’s hand reached out to Harry’s hair and lay gently there. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, his lips parting, face tilted up towards Malfoy, and Malfoy made a small sound, just a brief oh of surprise. Harry looked up again and Malfoy cupped his cheek in his hand. “Oh,” he breathed. “Harry,” he said, and his name on Malfoy’s lips made Harry ache.

Harry leaned forward, edging nearer so that he could nuzzle into the crease of Malfoy’s groin. Fuck, Malfoy’s cock was straining at the dragonhide, a glossy, hard length pressing up against Harry’s lips. Malfoy’s hand tightened in his hair and when Harry glanced up again, Malfoy was biting at the fullness of his bottom lip.

“Yes,” Malfoy said. “Yes, do it. Merlin, yes.”

Harry’s hands trembled a little as he reached for the buckle of Malfoy’s belt, but Malfoy waited, just watching, as Harry slipped the prong out of its hole and let the ends of the belt hang loose.

“That’s it.” Malfoy’s voice sounded a little uneven. “Do it, Potter.”

Harry reached up to Malfoy’s hips and let his thumbs stroke over the cool softness of the dragonhide, then pressed his mouth against the bulge of Malfoy’s cock. Malfoy let out a hiss of surprise, his hand clenching painfully around a fistful of Harry’s hair, but Harry just opened his mouth and let his lips glide wetly over the leather. Fuck, it felt good, slick and pliant, clinging to every hard inch of Malfoy’s body, with just a hint of drag as Harry’s tongue ran over the texture of the scales. Malfoy’s cock twitched powerfully against Harry’s mouth, the scent of leather filling his nose, and as Harry reached for his flies, he let out a low hum of encouragement.

Malfoy’s zip made a slow growl as Harry pulled it down, and then Malfoy’s cock sprang out in Harry’s face, and Harry forgot everything except the heavy, mouthwatering length in front of him. Merlin, but Malfoy’s prick was beautiful.

Malfoy slid his fingers over Harry’s cheek again, his thumb rubbing over Harry’s bottom lip, pulling it down. “Ohh. You’re going to be so good. Aren’t you?”

Harry couldn’t answer, but as Malfoy’s cock jerked in his face, pre-come collecting at the slit, he took hold of the base and guided it towards his mouth. Hnngh. Malfoy felt so fucking good. Harry let the smooth, heavy weight of him slide over his tongue and moaned at the taste of leather, of salt, of arousal, of Malfoy.

He’d sucked guys off before, of course he had. But somehow nothing had ever felt quite like this, the stillness in the room as his lips took Malfoy in for the first time. Hands in his hair held him steady as Malfoy’s narrow hips shifted forwards. Harry’s own hand wrapped around one leather-clad thigh for support, as the soft wet sounds of skin on skin and Malfoy’s breaths and sighs filled his ears.

“Yes, deep. Deeper,” Malfoy urged him, throatily, and Harry tugged Malfoy's trousers down around his thighs to get better access, nuzzling at his balls, at the soft fuzz of hair around the base of Malfoy’s prick, before sucking him down again, so deep his eyes stung with tears.

“Fuck. Yes.” Malfoy leaned back against the wall for a moment. “Want to come in your mouth, Potter. Oh, hell, yes.” Malfoy’s voice had softened a little from his usual imperious tones. He sounded almost wondering. “You just want someone to – uhh – to tame you a bit, don’t you?”

Malfoy cupped Harry’s jaw in his hands and thrust in, Harry’s eyes watering as he groaned around Malfoy, relishing the strain of it. “Not completely,” Malfoy went on. “No. How dull that would— uhh. Be. But just a little.”

Ugh, he’d love to show Malfoy that he understood nothing about Harry. That he was so wrong to think he knew what Harry needed. But there was no way on earth that he was going to stop and argue. Not when Malfoy seemed on the verge of losing it. Not when Harry’s whole body was glowing, a hot elation rippling right through him. Instead, he contented himself with pulling off until just the head of Malfoy’s cock was in his mouth, and giving him a look that was part mutiny, part heat and hunger.

“Oh my god. Look at you.” Malfoy let out a low groan. “Going to come. Going to come in your mouth.” He arched his back, driving deep, then deeper, and Harry tightened his hands around Malfoy’s thighs, feeling his muscles tensing, his whole body ready for release. Malfoy cried out loudly, and the first spurts of his orgasm hit Harry’s throat, his cock jerking fiercely. Harry’s hand went to his own cock, palming it roughly as his mouth filled with the taste of Malfoy’s come. Malfoy’s head fell back against the wall, his mouth open, his hips still thrusting as he emptied himself.

Harry carried on sucking until Malfoy’s thighs started to quiver. “Fuck, Potter.” He pulled out and sagged against the wall, panting. Harry felt like he was burning up, hot shivers coursing through him. His Auror tunic suddenly felt unbearably restrictive and he unbuttoned it quickly and stripped it off.

Malfoy looked at him with sleepy, sated eyes. “Uhh. That’s very nice. Don’t know why I didn’t get you to undress beforehand.”

Harry stood up on shaky legs. He could feel the restless neediness returning. Like something inside him might stretch too far and snap if he didn’t get to come soon. If he didn’t get to touch Malfoy some more, and suck him, and a whole lot of other things he could think of.

Malfoy smiled lazily. “I need to lie down.”

“Hell,” Harry stuttered. “I need— I need—” It came out almost like a growl, but Malfoy just nodded.

“I’ll give you what you need, Potter. Let me catch my breath.” Malfoy zipped himself up, then pushed off from the wall and walked away, his high, round arse flexing with every haughty stride. He paused at the door. “Well? Are you coming?”

Harry followed him across the landing and into a narrow room which was mostly filled with a generously-proportioned four poster bed. Malfoy gestured with his wand and a couple of soft lights flickered into life, illuminating soft brown walls and dusky gold bed linen. It was warm and quiet and felt very much like a private retreat.

Malfoy made straight for the bed and sat tugging his boots off, then lay propped up on his elbows, lounging against a pile of the fat pillows lying there. Harry unbuckled his own boots, then stood for a moment, feeling like an intruder in Malfoy’s sanctuary. Malfoy gave him an appreciative smile. “Why don’t you take the rest off?” His eyes were warm and smoky. “Let me see you.”

Harry swallowed thickly. His cock twitched at the thought of Malfoy watching him undress, but he also felt himself flushing with heat.

“Merlin, are you shy?” Malfoy breathed in amazement. He sat up and peeled off his own t-shirt, then lay back, his legs stretched out on the bed, the sheen of the leather catching the glimmering lights. Harry’s hand went to his belt buckle and Malfoy palmed his own crotch, squeezing his balls and letting out a contented grunt.

Harry unbuttoned his flies with clumsy fingers. His erection was hard enough to hurt, and the mere act of pushing his trousers down over it made him want to moan at the friction.

Malfoy rubbed a thumb over the bulge of his own prick and gave Harry a frankly filthy smile. Harry stepped out of his trousers and stood in his underwear, wondering if he might come just from watching Malfoy stroke himself. The thought made him more worked up than ever, and he tugged his boxers down quickly, letting his cock jerk free with an eager bounce.

Malfoy’s smile spread, his face predatory as he unzipped and wriggled out of his trousers, more smoothly than Harry would have imagined possible, considering how tightly they fitted. Malfoy’s prick wasn’t hard, but it was getting there, and as Harry stared, it twitched upwards.

“Come here.” Malfoy looked such an arrogant bastard, lying there on his nest of pillows and stroking himself. Harry felt hollow with wanting him, a fierce mix of need and anger rising up inside him, and he climbed onto the bed and bent his head to Malfoy’s throat. Their legs brushed together as Harry’s hands moved wonderingly over Malfoy’s stomach and down, feeling his cock stir from its nest of blond curls. Malfoy’s bare skin was softer than Harry had been expecting, but there was nothing soft about the rest of him as Harry bore down and started to suck at Malfoy’s collarbone, his nose nuzzling into the shallow V just above it.

Fuck, the smell of Malfoy’s skin was going to drive Harry crazy. There was more than a hint of leather, sensual and spicy, but it was mostly Malfoy’s own scent, so warm and rousing. Harry pressed his lips to Malfoy’s neck and started to rut against him.

Harry could hear a low rumble of pleasure in Malfoy’s chest, and the edgy, desperate feeling reared up inside him. He grabbed Malfoy’s arse with rough fingers, his teeth scraping over Malfoy’s shoulder and the tender skin of his throat. He felt almost savage, the urge to maul Malfoy resurfacing, his hands and mouth intent on marking him.

Malfoy seemed to enjoy the skirmish, his face lit up as he dug one hand into Harry’s hip, one in Harry’s hair, tugging hard enough to make his scalp flare with pain and meeting Harry’s mouth in a kiss that was almost vicious. Harry shifted above him until he had one knee on Malfoy’s thigh, pressing him into the bed with Harry’s cock dragging pre-come, slick and sticky, across Malfoy’s flat stomach. Oh, yes, Harry could come like this. Was going to, any minute, the pressure building in his balls, ripples of heat tightening in his thighs, his hands gripping the cheeks of Malfoy’s arse and pulling him closer.

Harry groaned, and closed his eyes, which was probably why he didn’t see it coming at all when Malfoy managed to flip them both right over, rolling so that Harry was on his back with Malfoy sitting on his chest.

Fuck. Harry’s cock twitched into empty air and Malfoy grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head. Harry’s mind went instantly to his Auror training. He could think of at least three ways to get Malfoy off his chest and at his mercy… but he was pretty sure he didn’t want to. Instead he lay there panting, his body fizzing with confusion and need.

“That’s enough of that,” Malfoy told him, the lines of his face sharp in the shadows cast by the low light. “Are you going to behave nicely, or shall I make you?”

Harry’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’d like to see you try.”

Malfoy smiled, but there was a cruel edge to it that made Harry’s mouth dry. “I see. I think you do want to be good for me, though, don’t you?” He traced one finger over Harry’s lips. “Like you were before.”

Harry strove upwards, the head of his cock just skimming the crease of Malfoy’s arse, but he couldn’t get half as close as he would have liked. Rebellion simmered in his chest. ”Why would I want to do that?”

Malfoy bent lower so that his mouth was resting hot against Harry’s ear. He spoke low and dirty, making quite sure Harry heard every word. “Because you want me to fuck you, of course.”

It was like a shivering stab of desire, deep in Harry’s guts. He didn’t mean to speak, but the words came involuntarily. “Oh, god.”

“Yes. I thought so. You want me to pin you down and make you take it, don’t you?”

Hell. He hadn’t known, until he heard Malfoy say it, quite how much he wanted that. The need for it tugged at him, his stomach clenching.

But that didn’t mean he wanted Malfoy to know.

“I can wait, while you think it over.” Malfoy leaned forward, holding Harry’s wrists, so that Harry could feel his full weight pinning him down. He whispered into Harry’s ear, setting shivers along the back of his neck. “You see, I came already, Potter. So I’m in no rush. None at all.”

Harry squirmed, his legs shifting on the bed. He was stronger than Malfoy, he was sure. He was stockier, broader-chested… he could easily throw him off the bed, and then…

Malfoy nuzzled along the line of Harry’s jaw, letting his lips brush against Harry’s stubble, and Harry’s body arched up towards him. “Any time you like. All you have to do is say it.”

“Say what?” Harry asked stubbornly, but he could already taste the sweet release of giving into Malfoy, felt it flooding his body like a drug.

“You do want me to fuck you, yes?” Malfoy’s face gleamed in the flickering light. His body was all angles, shadows playing over his pale skin, revealing the crest of his shoulder, the ridges of his rib cage.

There was nothing to lose by admitting it, and everything to win. “Yes,” Harry told him. It sounded mutinous, but even Harry knew that was pretty much just for show.

Malfoy’s face glowed. “Well then.” His voice was gentler. “You need to stop all this fussing, and do what I tell you.”

Harry felt indignation rise up inside him as Malfoy climbed off him. But god, he looked so elegant, just kneeling there on the bed.

“Roll over.”

Harry tried to think of a smart reply, but all he could think of was how it would feel to have Malfoy’s cock nudging into him. Malfoy wrapped his fingers around his erection, stroking it to full hardness until it was curving upwards, then sat back, waiting, a smug smile on his face.

Harry couldn’t think of a way to roll over defiantly, so he just rolled over anyway, his head resting on one of Malfoy’s soft pillows.

“That’s it. Arse up,” Malfoy said, clearly expecting to be obeyed, and Harry found himself lifting his bum in the air while Malfoy pushed a couple of pillows beneath him.

“How do you like it?” Malfoy asked him. “I could take my time, if you like. Get you ready.” He skimmed his fingers over the base of Harry’s spine, brushing the pad of his thumb just above the cleft of Harry’s arse. “That’s it, oh yes, that’s it.”

Dammit, Harry had spread his legs without realising, anticipating Malfoy’s touch. He scowled at Malfoy over his shoulder, but Malfoy only laughed.

“So what do you want, Potter?” He pitched his voice lower. “Slow? Lots of lube?” He muttered a spell into his hand and Harry felt a fat drip of something slick splash against his skin.

“Uhh.” Fuck, this was actually going to happen. Malfoy was going to finger him open and then—

“Not too much prep,” Harry grit out, desire thickening his voice. “Lots of lube, yes. But— I want to feel it.”

Malfoy made a soft sound and then Harry buried his face in the pillow beneath him, because Malfoy was holding him open, his slick, smooth touch ghosting over the tender pucker of Harry’s arse. “Oh, hell,” Harry panted, squirming beneath him, and Malfoy grunted and pressed his finger inside Harry, up to the knuckle, and Harry was gasping into the pillow. It just felt so fucking good already. He pushed his arse back against Malfoy’s hand, hungry for more, and Malfoy muttered the spell again, and then again, so that Harry could feel himself drenched inside, the lube cool and wet and slippery. He moaned, a long desperate sound, and Malfoy pushed in deeper and twisted his wrist, resting his other hand on the small of Harry’s back.

“Yesss,” Harry sighed. “Oh yes. Ohhh.”

“Merlin.” Malfoy slipped his finger out, slow and lingering, then quickly in again and Harry arched to meet it. “I want you, Potter. Have you any idea how hot you look?”

Harry could feel lube dripping out of him and Malfoy stroked across the furl of his arse again and pressed two fingers against it.

“No, dammit,” Harry panted. “Just the one.”

Malfoy pushed a single finger in so swiftly that it took Harry’s breath away. He made a sound between a grunt and a sigh. “Uhh. Going to be inside you.” Malfoy’s voice was hoarse. “Yeah? That what you want?”

It was too much. Harry’s cock was leaking against the pillow, Malfoy’s finger twisting and stroking, and— “Why don’t you stop bloody talking and get on with it?” Harry growled, his fingers tightening into fists around the sheets.

Malfoy pulled out, leaving Harry empty and aching while he shifted on the bed until he was behind Harry. He yanked Harry’s arse up and back so that it was high in the air, and then Harry could feel Malfoy’s thumbs pulling his arse cheeks apart as he lined himself up. Harry twisted round to look and almost let out a moan at the sight of Malfoy’s face, completely intent on the sight of himself about to push into Harry. A trickle of lube spilled wetly down Harry’s thigh and then Malfoy’s cock was pressing inside, slow and inexorable.

Harry’s head sank down into the pillow, the air leaving his body as Malfoy slid deeper and deeper. The burn was intense, but fuck, so satisfying, and as Malfoy pressed in – another inch, then another – Harry heard himself panting for breath in a way that almost made him feel ashamed. Malfoy stilled, then, and Harry could feel him holding himself taut, his legs trembling against Harry’s.

“Uhhh,” Harry groaned, long and hungry. It vibrated through his chest. “Just do it, Malfoy.”

Malfoy placed one hand on Harry’s back, just resting there possessively. “Say please,” Malfoy said, and part of Harry wanted to knock him off the bed and Hex him into a crumpled heap on the floor. But Malfoy’s cock was twitching inside him, Malfoy’s breath was hot on his back, Malfoy’s scent was all around him, and Harry wanted him so badly, wanted to be fucked into oblivion, until he couldn’t move or speak or do anything other than take it.

“Please,” Harry moaned, and Malfoy’s hand pushed down firmly between his shoulder blades, pressing him into the bed.

His voice was a low drawl close to Harry’s ear. “Just in case you felt like getting up again.” Then Malfoy drew his hips back and, oh, hell, he slammed in again hard and fast, and Harry made a noise like he’d never heard himself make before.

Malfoy didn’t stop, but drove in to Harry again and again and, fuck that was deep. That was really deep. Harry struggled for a moment, trying to control the depth or the rhythm – trying to take charge of something – but Malfoy’s hand held him firm and Harry sank back down with a whimper.

Oh, god, it was perfect. Malfoy was fucking him with long, punishing strokes, and he could hardly move at all except to push back against Malfoy, and it was absolutely perfect. Harry let go completely, more completely than he’d thought possible, and something in him ignited with joyful heat at the sensation of letting Malfoy do exactly what he wanted.

His jaw had been clenched, but now it fell open in a long, grateful moan. Malfoy seemed to feel the change in him and slowed his movements, angling his hips to drive deeper until he had access to the last, most intimate inch of Harry’s body.

Malfoy curled his body over Harry’s, flush against his spine, his lips near Harry’s shoulder. His voice sounded gravelly and not quite steady. “I like being inside you, Potter. Like - ahh - fucking you.”

Harry moaned, pushing back against Malfoy. “More.”

“Yes.” Malfoy pulled out and slammed back in, breathless. “Yes.” There were half a dozen more strokes like that, Malfoy’s body slapping against Harry’s, slow and deliberate, and then Malfoy seemed to lose all self-restraint and simply pounded into Harry as hard and fast as he could.

Harry thought he had been pretty near the brink for some time, but now he realised this wasn’t going to be any average orgasm. His eyes fell closed and all he could see was a blazing flicker of red behind the lids. Flames, he thought, Malfoy’s fucking was like flames. Beautiful, but, god, devastating, too. Harry had never ached for release so intensely, his balls swollen and heavy as Malfoy rammed into him, fanning the flames.

Malfoy was making sounds, disjointed and fierce, his rhythm never faltering. His hand threaded into Harry’s hair, almost tenderly. “Harry,” he said. “Fuck, Harry,” like he couldn’t believe it, and Harry’s body flooded with a torturous sweetness as he dived over the edge.

*-*-*

He lay on his front, slumped on a sticky heap of pillows, while Malfoy lay next to him, motionless. Merlin, Malfoy had pretty much fucked him senseless. Harry felt as if he were swimming in a syrupy sea of contentment, his entire body was warm and loose and blissfully sated, right down to his toes. It was amazing how warm his toes felt, in fact. Really, really warm – or actually… really hot. Harry twisted around to lay on his back and saw— holy hell.

“Your bed is on fire, Malfoy.”

Malfoy lay supine and slightly sweaty, eyes closed and an expression of great satisfaction on his face. “Fuck, Potter, that’s one way of putting it.”

Harry partially regained the use of his limbs and sat up, feeling slow and hazy. “No, I mean it’s actually on fire.” He was trying to remember where his wand was, when Malfoy opened his eyes and gave a sudden shout at the sight of flames dancing around the foot of the bed.

“Shit! Ethel, you little tosser! What have you done now?”

Harry finally found the energy to get moving and scrambled off the bed, searching in the pile of clothes on the floor for his wand and snatching it up. “Aguamenti!” A small trickle of water dribbled from the end of it. “Hell. Aguamenti Maxima!” He braced himself as a jet of water gushed out. The bedclothes were extinguished in a moment, but the flames licking at the bedpost took another few seconds, by which time the bed – and everything on it – was drenched.

Malfoy stood up slowly, looking rather damp, and quite furious. “Buggering crap.”

Harry looked at the sodden, singed mess that was Malfoy’s bed. “I— Oops.”

“Sodding great. Best sex I’ve had for a fuck of a long time and I’m lying there enjoying the afterglow when someone sets my bed on fire. Three guesses which bloody miniature arsonist we have to thank for that.” Malfoy wiped his face on his arm, shaking water out of his eyes. “Then the Saviour of the Wizarding World tries to drown me.” He cast his eyes around the room. “Ethel! I know you’re in here somewhere. Come out and own up, you ungrateful wretch.”

Harry saw a puff of smoke coming from the door of Malfoy’s wardrobe, which stood ajar. Malfoy saw it too. “Right, you little—”

Harry started to laugh. He couldn’t help it. Malfoy looked so cross, and also bloody gorgeous, standing there naked, pointing his wand at a wardrobe. “She knows you’re not going to do anything to her. You’re too bloody soft with her, you know you are.”

“Serve her right if I made a fucking pair of shoes out of her,” Malfoy announced.

Another small plume of smoke billowed out from the wardrobe. Harry fancied it had an apologetic air to it.

“Rather a small pair,” Harry pointed out, and Malfoy snorted despite himself. Ethel evidently took this as a sign it was safe to come out, because her scaly snout peeped round the wardrobe door.

“Oh, there you are, you traitorous little vixen. That bed’s been in my family since the thirteenth Century. And you decide it would be a good moment to set light to it while I’m balls deep in Harry Potter’s arse?”

Ethel took no notice of Malfoy, but flew to Harry and tried to land on his shoulder. “Ouch.” He shook her off. “Not now, Ethel. Wait until I’ve got some clothes on.”

She gave one of her curious little chirrups and flew to perch on the curtain rail instead where she glared balefully at them both.

“Maybe she was jealous?” Harry suggested to Malfoy. “Does she do this every time you bring someone home?”

Malfoy rubbed a hand through his hair. “Well. I don’t normally bring anyone back here, to be honest.”

“What?”

Malfoy shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “I’ve seen you in those gossip columns. You pick up blokes all the time.”

“I’m no saint." Malfoy held his hands out, palms up. "I told you that. I just... don’t normally bring anyone back here. OK?”

Harry thought about this. “Well, I’m very glad you made an exception this time.”

“Oh, really. And why’s that, Potter?” Malfoy's eyes sparked with interest.

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Because I would have hated you to miss out on the best sex you’ve had for a fuck of a long time.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, but his chest and throat turned a very fetching shade of pink.

Harry padded barefoot to where Malfoy was standing. Malfoy looked even better bare-arsed than he did wearing dragonhide. And that was saying something. Harry slid a hand over Malfoy’s waist, letting his thumb rest on Malfoy’s hip bone, feeling the slight dampness of the skin there. “Personally, I thought it was fucking awesome.”

Malfoy’s lips twitched into a smirk. “It wasn’t bad, Potter. I’ll give you that.” His gaze roamed over Harry’s body.

“Ready for round three?”

Malfoy’s eyebrows quirked upwards. “You think I’m some kind of sex god or something? I didn’t even get a post-coital nap. And I’d definitely earned it.”

“Yeah, you had.”

Malfoy stretched, his body stretching into fascinating lines. “I need a shower.” He looked around the room. “And... a new bed.”

Harry snickered.

“And possibly a new pet,” Malfoy said pointedly, glaring up at Ethelinda, who lashed her tiny tail in response. He turned back to Harry, his eyes soft and silvery again. “Want to come and shower with me?”

Harry nodded. Malfoy in the shower. All wet, and soapy, and long hard limbs and the intriguing sleekness of soaking wet blond hair.... “Yeah. But then... I have a problem. My clothes are wet. And probably a bit burnt, too.”

Malfoy reached for Harry’s arse, giving it a sly squeeze before dropping his head down to press his lips against Harry’s shoulder. “No problem.” Harry could feel Malfoy smiling against his skin. “Stay naked. No problem at all.”

“It’s a problem when I have to leave, you know?”

Malfoy just smirked. “Don’t worry about that. I’m sure I have something lying around the place that you can borrow.”

*-*-*

Ron let out a heartfelt sigh as he regarded Alohomora! “Malfoy. Dancing again.”

Harry looked up from his report, but not for long. “Is he in there every day?” He said it lightly, as if he couldn’t care less about the answer.

“In leather. Always in leather.” Ron turned another page. “Huh. More photos.”

Harry’s quill hesitated over the parchment as he waited to see if Ron would continue.

“Got some new bloke with him…”

Harry’s chest tightened, but he did his best to sound bored. “Oh, really?”

“Harry… this looks like….” Ron turned a page, then back again. He put his sandwich down and sat up, gripping the magazine with both hands. “This looks like you. Were you at a club? With Malfoy?”

“Who? Me?” Harry twirled his quill between his fingers, then flinched as a memo sailed into the room and hit him squarely on the chest. “Ow.” He unfolded the message and groaned.

“What’s up?”

“Kingsley.” Harry imitated the Minister’s deep voice. “A word, in my office. Immediately.”

“Harry. This is you right here. Wearing leather. And dancing. Dancing with Draco Malfoy.”

Harry got to his feet in a hurry. “I’d best go and see what Kingsley wants. No point putting it off.”

“Malfoy’s groping your arse in bloody leather trousers, Harry! Harry?”

“Got to go, Ron.”

*-*-*

Ron watched the door bang shut behind Harry, then squinted at the photo spread again. “Yeah, good luck explaining this lot to the Minister, mate,” Ron said aloud, and shook his head.

He had to admit, though, Harry looked kind of all right in leather. Not half as much of a prick as he would have imagined. Ron lounged back in his chair again. No point wasting his valuable lunch break worrying about stuff like that. Now, where had he put his sandwich?