sweet subtle alchemy

Title: Shepherds' Pie (revised 2/18/07)
Author: anthimaeria
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Harry and Draco's relationship deepens as they discover the joys of domesticity.
Word Count: ~4000
Beta: audancerboy (Daniel), and what a fabulous job he did...
Notes: Sequel to Dragon Adrift and #3 in my Spark, Tremble & Sigh series. This takes place at Spinner's End, directly after the end of Dragon Adrift.
Disclaimer: All characters are the copyrighted works of J.K Rowling. No profit was made by the writing of this story, nor was any malice intended in any way, shape or form to the author.



The only transformer and alchemist that turns everything into gold is love.
- Anais Nin

Harry looked down at his hand in wonder. It was only a tarnished curtain ring that Draco had swiped from Snape's sitting room downstairs, but once Harry had said yes and allowed Draco to place it on his finger, both their lives had changed forever. Without warning, Harry's face crumpled into tears.

“Draco,” he sobbed, needing to explain but not knowing quite how to do it, “I love you, I really do.”

Draco looked perplexed. "I know," he said. "Why else would I ask--?" He gathered Harry into his arms, stroking his back, clinging to Harry as much as Harry was clinging to him.

"It's not you," Harry wept, his chest heaving against Draco. "S'everything, isn't it? Everyone dying. I mean Sirius, Cedric, Dumbledore. The war. And what I've got to do. Some days, I'm so fucking ready for it, I say bring it on now, and other days --and other days--"

He couldn't see through his tears, but he felt Draco reach over and take his dripping glasses off his face, and then heard the soft tap against wood as Draco placed them on the nightstand.

Draco was breathing oddly, taking in air in little gulps. His body quivered, and Harry held him more tightly. "Oh, not you too," Harry whispered, and Draco simply lost it, his own hot tears streaming onto Harry’s neck and shoulder.

For the longest time, he and Draco simply nestled together, not breaking contact even after their tears subsided and their exhausted bodies finally lapsed into peaceful silence. Just being next to each other was the safest, most comforting place that either of them had ever known, and neither wanted to be the first to break the spell.

"All this time," Draco choked out, "I thought you were dead!"

Harry swallowed. "Why did you think that?"

"Snape told me."

"Bastard."

"No... I think he didn't want me to get hurt... if I couldn't see you again."

"Interfering bugger," Harry muttered, stroking the back of Draco's head.

He took a corner of the sheet and lightly dabbed Draco’s eyes and his own. “There, now that's better," he said huskily, the words coming out slightly shakier than he would have liked. Steeling himself, he blew his nose for a final time. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

Draco rubbed his swollen eyes with his fists, making them even redder. “Bloody starving, now that you mention it,” he wheezed, pulling himself to a sitting position.

“Let’s see what Snape has in his larder,” Harry said, his spirits beginning to brighten again. “I’m in the mood to do some cooking.”

“You cook?” Draco glanced at Harry in surprise.

“As a matter of fact, the Dursleys had me cooking their meals for years,” Harry assured him. “I’m sure I can toss something together.”

Draco cleared his throat. “'Toss something together,' Potter? That doesn't sound promising,” he said, managing a small smirk.

Harry smiled back. "Guess you don't get any, then," he said, and rolled off the bed before Draco could swat him.

*~*

Rustling about Snape’s small kitchen, Harry managed to collect some possible ingredients for their supper; a pound of minced mutton, a tin of beans, a handful of garden peas, a large onion, a few rather old carrots, and lots of potatoes.

“Hmm… what shall it be?” he pondered, not really waiting for Draco’s response. It wasn’t hard to reach a decision, given the limited items available. “Looks like it’s going to be shepherds’ pie for us tonight,” he said.

The art of cooking, magical or not, wasn’t taught at Hogwarts, and Draco had always supposed that it was something that only girls and house elves really knew how to do. He certainly didn’t consider Snape’s dubious ability to conjure wilted cabbage and overcooked meat to be cooking. He nearly told Harry that his father always said that Muggle cooking wasn’t fit for a flobberworm, let alone the consumption of wizards, but he left this thought unvoiced. All that sex and crying had left him increasingly famished, and he was also curious to see what Harry would make. Even if it was a common, Weasley-sort-of dish that never would have graced the menu at Malfoy Manor.

Harry found an oddly patterned apron on a hook in the back on the pantry, and Draco watched him idly as he set to work, chopping onions and carrots and peeling potatoes. As Harry browned the meat in a pan, Draco hung around the stove, stealing little tastes with a spoon despite Harry’s repeated attempts to shoo him away.

Draco admired Harry's lovely forearms as Harry mashed potatoes and spread them over the top of the casserole in sure, steady strokes. Harry looks so fucking sexy when he cooks,he marvelled silently, and then corrected himself- Harry looks so fucking sexy doing absolutely anything. He was particularly transfixed by the sight of Harry’s luscious bum, the loose trousers incapable of concealing its ripe contours and faultless symmetry.

“Right then, this needs to cook for a while. They say the longer and slower, the better,” Harry said. He placed the casserole dish in the oven and shut the door.

Draco approached him from behind, seized by a naughty idea. “Longer and slower... what would you like that’s long and slow, Harry?” he murmured, running his tongue indolently up the length of Harry’s neck, inhaling him.

Harry swallowed. "What.... ohhhh... Draco! Didn't we just... two hours ago?"

“I told you there was something I wanted to do later, remember?” Draco nuzzled his ear.

“I'm cooking.”

“But I want to fuck your tight little arse right now,” crooned Draco. He reached around Harry’s waist and grabbed his crotch.

Harry looked around uneasily, as if hidden witnesses lurked within the walls. “Shouldn’t we go back to your room?”

“No, let’s stay right here.. you have to watch the oven, right?”

“But what about Snape? Isn’t he supposed to come home soon?”

“Who knows? I don’t give a fuck. Come on, Harry, comeoncomeoncomeon,” Draco coaxed, running his hands under Harry’s shirt and tweaking his nipples. So fucking sexy, he thought again. As far as his seduction was concerned, it was time to seriously step up the pace.

What if I just take each earlobe into my mouth for a good sucking…like that, Harry? Oh yes, he does, based on all those noises he’s making, Draco confirmed to himself. No doubt about it, he was definitely getting closer to his goal.

Harry melted, in full thrall to Draco’s hot breath on the back of his neck. He leaned forward and braced himself against the counter, hips stuck out in an intentionally provocative manner.

Exhilarated with victory, Draco reached around and unbuttoned Harry’s trousers, feeling him hard against his hand. He pushed his trousers down and kneeled behind him, parting Harry’s buttocks to brush his tongue across his wrinkled opening, breathing in his powerfully male, ruttish scent and slight sour taste. The tip of his tongue darted inside, and Harry moaned almost involuntarily, clutching the edge of the counter for dear life.

Draco noticed how stiff Harry was getting. He spotted a flask of cooking oil on the counter and poured a measure into his palm, rubbing both hands together to heat and distribute the liquid. I know he loves it when I cram my finger right up- there! he thought, his point proven when Harry quivered against him, signalling his readiness to be ravished. His slicked hand slithered underneath Harry’s erection, the blunt heaviness filling his palm. Draco curved his fingers around it, gliding his fist upward in smooth, thorough strokes. A thrill of excitement ran through him as he sensed what he was doing to Harry, and he grasped himself in his other hand, just maintaining his grip. Steady now, Malfoy, he told himself sternly.

Harry's body quaked, as though he were struggling to keep his balance. He drew his breath in, closed his own hand securely over Draco’s, and thrust himself forward, shooting in spasms all over the kitchen cabinet.

“Wonder… if that… will ever... come off?” he managed.

Draco blithely ignored his concern. His own cock was throbbing so hard he thought he might erupt with the slightest touch. With great concentration, he urged Harry further down on the counter to ease his passage inside, one hand on each hip as he slowly and deliberately began to penetrate his taut cleft. Even relaxed and lubricated, Harry was a wonderfully snug fit, and Draco found it a bit difficult to manoeuvre inside him.

“Just lie back and think about England, Harry,” he suggested breezily.

“Actually, I’d much rather think about you,” Harry rejoined, smartly rising up on his toes so that Draco could push in further.

Once Draco got going, being inside Harry felt bloody amazing and it was all he could do to keep up the slow pace he’d promised. He looked out the kitchen window while he leisurely ploughed into Harry, watching birds scatter and laundry blowing in the breeze, accompanied by the distant drone of traffic. Perhaps it was just his hunger, but the pie baking in the oven was really starting to smell heavenly.

Living in the suburbs might not be half bad, he thought. I want a cat. And maybe a few rosebushes in front of the house. And later on, there’d be children, at least two, filling their home with gleeful noise. He and Harry would have such fun bringing them up together. Draco smiled, remembering what a great leader his own father had been to his neighbourhood cabal of Junior Death Eaters. And soon enough, the little ones would be off to Hogwarts, of course. How would they be Sorted? He considered the possibilities. One thing was certain; no child of his would ever be a Hufflepuff.

“Draco, finish up, please, I need to take this out of the oven,” Harry gasped, catching sight of the browned potato topping through the glass window. He squeezed his gluteal muscles in encouragement and Draco let out a small cry of delight, releasing his seed into Harry. He laughed, wrapped his arms around Harry’s chest, and kissed the nape of his neck.

“Harry, let’s get a cat!” he said impulsively.

Underneath him, Harry turned his head sharply. “Malfoy, what are you on about?” he asked.

For the very first time in his life, Draco Malfoy blushed. He hadn’t realized that he had spoken aloud. “Oh- er- nothing, Potter,” he said in a small voice as he slipped out of Harry. He swiftly pretended to busy himself looking for flatware in the kitchen drawers, while Harry adjusted his own trousers and took the pie out of the oven to cool.

Draco deposited an uneven collection of knives and forks on the counter and turned his attention to the kitchen cabinet that Harry had violated. “Believe it or not, there’s a spell just for this,” he commented, taking his wand and obliterating the gooey mess with several choice Anglo-Saxon words.

“I won’t ask where you learned that, but I suspect it wasn’t at Hogwarts,” said Harry. He snatched up the few dusty bottles of butterbeer he could find in the back of the pantry and looked about for plates.

*~*

Since neither Harry nor Draco knew any table decorating spells, they did their best with what Snape had around, spreading the table with a faintly musty embroidered tablecloth that looked as though it had seen better days. In the back of a kitchen drawer, Draco found black candles that he stuck in a tarnished silver candelabrum and illuminated with his wand. A hermetic vase retrieved from Snape’s basement laboratory and filled with some weedy-looking daisies from the largely barren front yard completed their efforts.

Harry summoned the pie from the kitchen, finding magic to be far more useful than pot holders for this purpose. He cut the casserole into slices and prepared two plates.. Without planning to, he lightly kissed the top of Draco’s head as he set a steaming plate down in front of him.

Even though Draco and Harry were extremely hungry, they ate slowly and cautiously at first. Despite the intimacy of their relationship, they had never shared a meal together at the same table, and each was acutely conscious of the other’s presence. Harry had a hard time taking his eyes off Draco as he watched him eat the meal he cooked. Draco’s enjoyment was evident in the way he thoughtfully chewed, his grey eyes shining with contentment. There was something so wonderfully precise and aristocratic about the way he nimbly separated each bite of food, pierced it with a fork, and placed it in his mouth; that same sensual mouth that had kissed and bit and sucked and swallowed every part of Harry himself.

Harry felt irrepressibly happy. He began to eat, savouring the taste of creamy buttered mashed potatoes and rich, filling meat, punctuated by the bright flavours of sweet tender peas and carrots. Sometimes I look at you, and I just can’t believe we’re together, he thought, reaching under the table and squeezing Draco’s gaunt, familiar knee.

Draco put his fork down and gave him a roguish, lazy smile. “Eat your dinner, Harry,” he admonished, the fondness in his voice belying the neutrality of his offhand comment.

The door opened, and Snape walked into the dining room. He was clad as usual in head-to-toe black, his mouth pursed in a sour expression that turned downright caustic when he saw that Draco was not alone.

“What are you doing here, Potter?” he snapped, staring at Harry as though he were something he thought he’d scraped off his boots before coming inside. “Isn’t there a world out there you’re supposed to be saving?”

Draco stared back at Snape, meeting his gaze. “Harry is here as my guest,” he said coldly. “Any problem with that?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. When your guest selfishly decided to drop in for a visit, he put me in extreme danger!” Snape griped. His voice rose as he continued to rant. “The fact that I am now harbouring the notorious Harry Potter, however unwittingly, would be an excellent reason for the Dark Lord to question my loyalty – something that your guest no doubt overlooked!”

Harry looked levelly at Snape. “There’s no cause for alarm, Professor. I’ll leave tonight,” he said, rather formally.

Draco’s face fell. “You’re leaving, Harry?” he blurted out, trying to keep any trace of panic out of his voice.

“Oh, Draco, you know I would never leave without you,” Harry promised, clasping his shoulder reassuringly. “There’s no point in me putting anyone’s life at risk by being here, and I do know a safe place we can go.”

Harry turned to Snape, the teacher he had hated most since starting at Hogwarts, and did something that surprised both of them. He smiled. Even Snape’s dark, mirthless presence couldn’t disturb his expansive mood. After all, it was his very first night as Draco’s fiancé.

“Please, won’t you sit down with us? Try a slice of shepherds’ pie. It just came out of the oven a few minutes ago,” he said generously, ignoring Draco's slightly shocked expression at his politeness.

Snape paused. He grudgingly pulled up a chair , sitting himself across from his two students.

“Well, what have you done with yourselves today?” he asked, scanning their faces.

Draco flashed him a sleepy, secretive smile. His fine clothes were rumpled and his usually immaculate hair was mussed up, plastered across his forehead in pale clumps. Harry looked even more dishevelled than Draco. His shirt was untucked and haphazardly buttoned, and he was grinning like mad, apparently unconcerned that his glasses were filthy and tilted markedly askew.

Snape frowned, his black eyes focused on the prominent bite marks marring Draco’s otherwise pristine neck. “Actually, I would rather not know,” he quickly amended, permitting Harry to serve him a slice of pie.

“Well, I do have the pleasure of announcing that dear Harry has agreed to be my husband,” said Draco in his very poshest voice, reaching for Harry’s hand across the table. He couldn’t avoid smirking at how much their obvious display of affection was annoying Snape.

Harry cringed slightly, realizing that Draco sounded exactly like his mother when he said “dear.” He fervently hoped that Draco was not expecting a traditional Malfoy wedding, whatever that was.

“We’re planning to wed next summer... we’d be pleased if you attended,” he put in.

“I’ll have to ... check my busy schedule. Surely you realize I may be occupied with more pressing concerns than your impending nuptials, at this point.” Snape said acidly.

He tucked in to the pie. “Not as quite as dreadful as I would have expected from you, Potter,” he said. Harry did not fail to notice that he consumed no less than three full servings.

Tongues loosened by the excellent meal and (in Snape's case) by more than one glass of mead, the conversation turned to Harry and Draco’s post-Hogwarts career plans, which Snape seemed very interested to know.

Draco spoke first. He looked at Snape, attempting to gauge his reaction before he spoke. “I haven’t told this to anyone so far, not even Harry,” he said unhesitantly. “But I think I’ve figured it out; I’m going to train to be a master alchemist. I expect I can find a suitable position in the Department of Arcana at the Ministry of Magic. But please, don’t tell anyone just yet. I know my parents will take it hard. They’ve always had ... different intentions for me.”

As much as he tried to hide it, Snape was unable to conceal the half-smile that almost creased his lips. “I’ll certainly support you in that endeavour in any way I can,” he said softly.

Harry was ecstatic. If all went as planned, he and Draco would now build their careers together, working side by side at the Ministry. He felt so proud not only that Draco had rejected the Dark Side, but that he refused to yield to his family’s pressure to conform to their evil expectations.

“Good for you! You’ll be the best the Ministry’s ever had,” he said, hugging Draco with enthusiasm.

“Right, because I’m the best you’ve ever had,” Draco affirmed, his long fingers snaking through Harry’s unmanageable hair as he submitted to his fiancé’s clinches.

Snape looked at them both, his gaze steady. “For whatever it’s worth,” he said stiffly, “you two have my blessing.”

*~*

After Harry and Draco collected their scant belongings, they accessed Snape’s fireplace and stepped hand in hand through the Floo Network to 12 Grimmauld Place, Harry telegraphing a password with his wand as they walked into the bright green flames. Brushing ashes from their clothes, they walked into the dark, chilly entrance hall of the Black family’s ancestral home.

Draco was looking around with interest. Passing the snoring portrait of Sirius Black’s foul-mouthed mother, he put a finger to his lips, surprising Harry who was about to do the same. “ Don't look at me like that- I remember this place!” Draco said in an excited whisper. “I know I’ve been here before, but it hasn’t been in years.”

Upstairs in the drawing room, he gestured at the wall tapestry depicting the Black family tree. “I remember this too! Look, here’s my parents and me,” he said, pointing out his family with pride.

Catching sight of a detail he’d never noticed, Harry moved in for a closer look. “Draco, that’s my grandfather Charlus Potter on the tree, and my grandmother Dorea! Are we--?”

“Blood relatives?” Draco finished. “Yes, we’re second cousins once removed,” he added. “Thought you knew that. Most wizards with any pure blood in them are related somehow. Even me and the bloody Weasleys.”

Harry chose not to comment on his beloved's unfortunate choice of adjectives to describe his best friend's family. “I didn’t know that, but it doesn’t bother me… actually, it almost seems to make sense. Another way we're linked,” he said.

Draco suddenly thumped him on the shoulder, eyes alit with inspiration. “I’ve just had the most brilliant idea!” he exclaimed. “Remember how we talked about our married name: you know how I’m not all that keen on becoming a Potter, and how you, for some absolutely unimaginable reason, aren’t interested in assuming my noble family name?”

“I think you might imagine the reason if you thought a bit harder,” said Harry pointedly.

“Forget about it, I’ve solved that issue. What about us taking the name Black? After all, we’re both Blacks, really.”

Harry nodded, pleased by the impeccable logic of Draco’s solution. Becoming a Black would make a fine tribute to his dearly loved godfather, and naturally Draco would be comfortable adopting his own mother’s maiden name. “That’s genius! We’ll be Harry Potter Black and Draco Malfoy Black. You are definitely brilliant!”

Draco drew Harry close for a kiss, and didn’t stop there. Their ensuing antics soon became loud enough to wake the portrait of Mrs. Black on the floor below, and only the cloth hastily thrown over her frame put an end to the obscenities screeched at the two descendants who would once again bear her name.

*~*

Harry awoke in the night. It was still and dark, and for a second, he couldn’t remember exactly where he was. Beside him, Draco rolled over and curled against Harry, his body warm and trusting. Moonlight streamed through the window onto his well-defined features, painting a stark tableau in black and white. Draco’s face was softened by sleep, and he appeared almost innocent, though Harry knew better.

The mere fact of Draco's presence beside him in bed was a miracle in itself. Harry decided that finding him was undoubtedly the best thing that had happened ever since he had entered the magical world. He felt a wave of tenderness wash over him and almost felt like crying all over again. Sleeping, Draco looked so fragile and delicate, almost unearthly. Harry wanted to cover him with kisses and never let him go. Of course we can get a cat, if that’s what you want, you dear, silly thing!

Harry folded his arms around Draco and closed his eyes. What a long journey we’ve shared, he reflected. Draco Caduceus Malfoy of Wiltshire, scion of Lucius, lately of Slytherin House, wanted by some for attempted murder, very much wanted by me for my own indecent purposes.

My enemy. My rival. My duelling partner. My obsession. My passion. My solace. My sin. My sweet betrothed.

Draco, my own precious love.


-The End-

...Continued in White Lace & Dragon Meat...

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NOTES: The shepherds' pie recipe that Harry follows was adapted from this site, as well as the "longer and slower" cooking instructions.

And by the way, movie!Draco, aka Tom Felton, really does love shepherds' pie! Though I'm sure he wouldn't love this story.