Title: One Night At the Leaky

Disclaimer: I like to take J. K. Rowling's characters and turn them into slutty little whores. They like it.

Rating: R, NC-17. M.

Pairing: Harry/Draco, some Harry/Ginny, Draco/Astoria

Warning: Infidelity, sort of. Sex. Slash. Language. Did I mention sex?

Summary: Harry gets thrown out by Ginny, and stumbles into an old acquaintance in Diagon Alley. They end up rooming together for the night. Slash ensues. Lemon. Not suitable for children; so if you're underage go cry to your mommy and eat your cookies.

A/N: I dislike infidelity but this thing just kind of happened. It was supposed to be a HC for the Drarry FB page where I'm an admin, (not a trial admin anymore, I'm a full fledged admin, now!) and it kind of got out of hand. Oops. So I'm posting half there and the whole thing here, for the grown ups. lol Please read and review!

Harry sat in the Leaky nursing a tumblerful of firewhiskey, on the rocks. He wondered if it was safe to go home yet. Probably not. There had been an air of finality in Ginny's throwing out that he couldn't deny, not even to himself. He sighed, knowing that he would probably end up staying here tonight.

Divorce. The word blared around in his head like a foghorn in a storm. They hadn't exactly said it out loud. But he knew it was coming; he could feel the inevitability rushing on towards him with the certainty and finality of death. The death of his marriage.

As he took another swig of his firewhiskey he wondered if he and Ginny and ever been truly happy together. Their getting back together after the war had been the expected thing to do; as had their marriage. But had his heart ever been truly in it?

He wondered if that made this all his fault.

But then, Ginny disliked many of the things about him that were simply a fundamental part of who he was. She complained bitterly about his sexual orientation – as if he could help being attracted to men as well as women – and he eventually learned that he simply could not confide in her. His dreams of having a soul mate who would accept everything about him were quickly shattered by her closed-mindedness.

Harry sighed deeply and downed the rest of his firewhiskey. He decided to wander about Diagon Alley for a little while before coming back to book his room. He checked his glamour; it was still holding, thank Merlin. Even fifteen years after the war, he couldn't go anywhere in peace without a glamour to disguise himself. He kept it a relatively simple glamour; close friends and family could still recognise him, but the wizarding world at large ignored him. That was the way he liked it.

He trudged along the street, pausing now and again to examine a window display, but didn't go into any of them. He was lost in thought, and almost got knocked over outside Quality Quidditch Supplies. One man shoved another out of his way with a hissed insult that Harry didn't quite catch, and the second man crashed into Harry, falling on his rump in front of him.

"I'm so sorry!" came a muffled voice from the man, who was attempting to rise. Harry helped him to his feet, and the man thanked him. He stood and brushed his robes off, managing to look dignified despite the circumstances. It took Harry a moment to register who he was helping.

"Malfoy?" He was floored. The blond was wearing a glamour, but like his own, it was one that could be seen through if you looked closely. He looked good; less pointy than he had in school, his features were almost aristocratic. His blond hair was still perfect, not a hair out of place, and his eyes were a piecing grey; almost silver. He was, Harry admitted to himself, bloody gorgeous. His mouth went just a little bit dry and he inwardly screamed at himself to snap out of it; this was Malfoy.

Malfoy stared at him intently. "Potter?" he asked incredulously.

"Not so loud!" hissed Harry, glancing around fearfully, green eyes wide. Malfoy pursed his lips, looking slightly amused. "Afraid of the press, are you, Potter?"

"Well, I've never been fond of them, but considering my wife threw me out today," Harry replied dryly, "I'd say so, most definitely." He winced, wondering what had come over him to hand his former rival such incriminating information on a silver platter. He ran a hand through his disorganized mop of black hair and sighed.

"That's rough, Potter," Malfoy's voice was oddly sympathetic. "My wife threw me out last week. I'm staying at the Leaky until the lawyer gets me control of the Manor back."

Harry was surprised at the blond's candor. "I'm planning to stay there as well."

Malfoy gave him a smile; a real smile, not a smirk, and Harry was struck by how beautiful he was. "Care to join me for a drink, then?"

"I think I would," Harry smiled.

They made their way back to the Leaky and took a table in the corner. Malfoy ordered a bottle of Ogden's Finest sent to their table, and two glasses with ice.

"So why the glamour, Malfoy?" Harry was genuinely curious.

"Some people don't care for an ex-Death Eater very much," Malfoy replied, giving Harry a look that implied that much should have been obvious. "Even now I occasionally get death threats. I just find it more prudent to hide my more noticeable features from the public at large and not risk some crazed buffoon trying to finish me off."

Harry growled. He had testified at Malfoy's trial, and they had parted amicably enough. He hadn't realised how many people out there would be less forgiving of the Slytherin's perceived faults.

"That's stupid," he informed Malfoy. "You shouldn't have to put up with that."

"No?" smirked Malfoy, with a little self-deprecating laugh. It didn't suit him, Harry thought. Malfoy should never be self-deprecating. Proud? Yes. Arrogant? Of course. Vain? For sure. But self-deprecating? Never. He said as much and Malfoy laughed again, this time a clear, ringing laugh that had nothing to do with self-deprecation and Harry smiled.

They spoke of Quidditch and inconsequential things, and drank a lot. Finally the conversation grew more serious. They spoke about their wives, and the reasons their marriages were falling apart.
Harry told Malfoy – Draco, he'd been asked to call him – all about Ginny and their problems, and even admitted his sexuality crisis and the effect it had had on his marriage. He described the frigid woman his wife had become and went on to speculate that he wasn't sure he ever even really loved her.

"I don't think we even really knew each other when we got married," he said. "Once we got to know each other we just didn't like each other very much. I think we would have been fine if we'd just stayed friends. But trying to be lovers? It was too much."

Draco in turn explained the reasons for his marriage break-up, which had a lot less to do with emotions, at least on his part.

"It was a marriage of convenience," he explained. "I'm gay, and Astoria knows this. We did what we had to do to get Scorpius, and then we went on to have our own lovers and enjoy our own affairs. It would have stayed that way forever, had she not decided she wanted to marry the bloke she's with, and for that she needs to get unmarried to me." He shot the bottle of firewhiskey a glare. "I wouldn't have minded so much if she hadn't decided to try to take the Manor, and Scorpius."

Harry nodded. That was the hardest part – the children. What to say to them. What to do to make this easier. He had no idea where to start.

They moved their conversation back to more cheerful topics, and finished polishing off the bottle of firewhiskey by the time the bar closed. They stumbled over to the counter, helping each other walk, giggling like children. Harry tried to book a room, only to hear that they were full. He was much too drunk to apparate, and the floo was closed for the night. He stood there dumbly, his mind shut down, trying to process what his options were and drawing blanks.

"You could shtay with me," slurred Draco. "I don't mind." He ran his hand along Harry's arm and murmured, "You're very fit."

Harry's mouth went very dry and somewhere, in the back of his rational mind there had to be a little voice screaming that no, this was a very bad idea, but Harry's rational voice was buried underneath a great deal of firewhiskey and all his managed to do was squeak, "Okay."

He followed Draco upstairs to his room, and once they were inside he began nervously wiping his hands on his jumper, not knowing what else to do. Draco shut the door and turned, grabbing Harry so suddenly he stumbled and pining him to the wall so forcefully it took his breath away. He could feel the whole, hard length of Draco pressed against him through their clothes and he groaned at the contact, because it had been so bloody long since anyone had touched him and Draco felt so very fit and delicious next to him.

Draco seized his mouth in a fierce kiss, passionate and deep. His tongue plundered Harry's mouth like a pirate searching for treasure, prizing the moans and whimpers he drew from Harry like galleons or jewels. He aimed to take Harry; to own him. Harry allowed himself to be taken, more forcefully and violently than anything he'd ever experienced in his life.

They broke apart, gasping for air.

Harry's fumbling fingers caught at Draco's robes, and he growled, wanting them off. Draco chuckled and lifted Harry's jumper, pulling it over his head and forcing him to stop messing about with Draco's robes while he pulled the other man's arms out.

They kissed again, and once again it was like nothing Harry had ever known. Draco was hard and rough, nothing like the softness of a woman, even a frigid one like his wife. He tasted of vanilla and cinnamon, and he smelled of spices and something so distinctly male that it made Harry's knees weak.

Harry finally figured out his robes and soon they were on the floor along with Harry's jumper. Draco was fumbling at Harry's trousers and they dropped to the floor, forgotten. Harry hooked his thumbs into the waist of Draco's pants, pulling him forward and pressing against him and they let out twin moans as their erections rubbed together through their pants. Harry was unbearably hard and felt he might die if he didn't get more delicious friction, and soon.

Draco pulled them back towards the bed, stumbling as they went. They toppled down, Harry on top of Draco, and he reached for the waistband of Harry's pants. Draco began tugging at them, trying to pull them off; Harry quickly figured out what he wanted and proceeded to aid him in removing the offending article of clothing.

He stared at Harry's naked body, drinking the sight of him in. His body was tanned, Quidditch toned and muscled; his abs standing out in sharp relief through his six-pack and his biceps bulging slightly as his body flexed. His thighs were thick and firm. A trail of coarse black hair led down from his stomach to his erection, which was throbbing and red, large, thick, and full. Drops of precome glistened at the tip. Draco leaned forward and licked them off and Harry cried out, knees buckling under the sudden wave of sensation. Draco smiled; a predatory gleam in his eyes. He stuck his tongue out and teased Harry's slit, smiling at the wanton sounds that escaped the brunet's mouth.

He licked up and down the shaft experimentally, as if exploring it with his mouth. Then he took the whole cock in his mouth, swallowing it down to the hilt, proud of his lack of a gag reflex. Harry threw back his head and mewled, bucking his hips, his hands fisting in blond hair. Draco bobbed his head up and down a few times while Harry thrust his hips, letting Harry fuck his mouth.

"Oh, gods, Draco- fuck- Merlin, this is – oh Godric!" Harry babbled, his head thrown back and his eyes closed, with his sculpted body making him look like an Adonis in the moonlight.

Then he broke away and Harry cried out in frustration, and Draco laughed breathily. "Patience, love," he purred. "I don't want you to come just yet."

Harry seized his mouth with a growl, any earlier hesitancy on his part completely overridden by desire. Their mouth crashed together in a frenzy of need and want, giving and taking pleasure without barriers. Harry could have crowed from the knowledge that he was tasting himself on Draco's tongue, and swiped his own tongue through Draco's mouth to get more of the flavour.

Harry pulled impatiently at Draco's pants and he divested himself of the garment. Harry stared at Draco hungrily, greedily drinking the sight of him in.

He was pale, pale and smooth and perfect. His body was lean and his muscles well defined. A line of soft blond curls led straight down past his navel to where his cock nestled among them. It was long and slender, a little more slender than Harry's own, but just as long, if not a little longer. It was a pale pink with a bright red tip, beads of precome pearling at the top. Harry leaned forward and gave an experimental lick of his own, having never done this before.

He reveled in the foreign taste, which was slightly more bitter and less salty than his own. He lapped at Draco and enjoyed the moans that tore through the blond's throat as he did so. He gave Draco's cock a few experimental sucks and pulled away. Draco growled and he chuckled.

"Turnabout is fair play," he said, cheekily.

Draco kissed him again, pulled him down so that their erections brushed and they both groaned at the contact. Draco thrust his hips up at the same time as he grabbed Harry's hips and forced them down, and Harry gasped at the friction.

Draco pushed him back, and lay with his legs spread wide, baring himself before Harry. Harry's eyes went wide at the wanton display, and he eagerly gazed at the man opened in front of him.

Draco whispered a wandless lubrication spell, and began to slick a finger in his entrance. Harry's eyes widened even more, looking impossibly green in the moonlight. Draco added another finger, thrusting them up as hard as he could, never taking his eyes off of Harry. Harry thought it was the single most erotic thing he'd ever seen in his life, and his breath hitched. Draco added a third finger, moving faster and harder, breathing hitching slightly, finger-fucking himself to get ready for the main event.

"Fuck me, Potter," he growled.

"Harry," Harry murmured, still not taking his eyes off of Draco. "It's Harry."

"Merlin, Harry, just do it, please!"

Harry didn't need to be told twice. With a wandless lubrication spell he slicked his cock, and lined it up at Draco's entrance.

"Harry," Draco whined. "Now!"

Harry thrust forward slowly, gasping as he felt tight, hot heat surrounding him. Draco thrust his hips back and Harry continued to move, slowly, surely, not stopping again until he was completely sheathed within Draco, his balls flush against Draco's skin.

He moaned, Draco gave a jerk of his hips and Harry began to move. He started slowly, angling until Draco cried out and arched his back and then he began to move in earnest, keeping to that position.

It was like nothing he'd ever felt before. Indescribable. Everywhere was tight, hot, wet, heat, and everything was white, white behind the lids of his eyes as he clenched them, willing this not to be over too soon, and he was thrusting madly. Draco was screaming, babbling his name, over and over and he could hear himself in the back of his own mind chanting, "Draco, Draco, Draco, Draco."

Suddenly Draco was coming, shooting hot white streams of come all over his chest and stomach and the clenching was too much for Harry, and with one last thrust he was coming too, filling that tight channel with his own fluid.

He collapsed onto Draco's chest, spent, and the two of them lay there, panting in the dark, only the moon for lighting. He remained sheathed inside the blond, too tired to move.

After a while, when the afterglow began to fade, Harry began to think. He was slightly sober now, and felt slightly ashamed of himself. He knew there was no going back now; he would ask Ginny for a divorce the next day and begin the steps to make it official.

He also wondered where this thing with Draco was going; if it was even going anywhere at all. For all he knew this was just a one off; another in a long list of Draco's conquests.

The thought made him wince, and he got up, pulling out of Draco and sitting up. He cast a wandless cleaning charm on them both and Draco looked suitably impressed.

"Nice, Harry," he observed. "That'll come in handy."

"Will there be a next time?" Harry blurted, almost regretting the words but not quite, because he needed to know. Draco laughed softly.

"Do you know how long I've wanted you in my bed, Potter?" he asked, going back to Harry's surname. "I was mad about you from the time we were eleven years old. I've wanted this for a very, very long time and I'm not going to let you go that easily."

Harry laughed, slightly wondering. "I thought you hated me." He leaned over and nuzzled the blond with his cheek, playfully.

"I did, because you rejected me and I couldn't stop wanting you."

Harry was silent for a moment, allowing the magnitude of what Draco told him to sink in. "Well I'm not rejecting you anymore," he whispered, finally, not knowing what else to say.

"So I noticed," said Draco dryly.

Their laughter was the only sound in the night as they snuggled together and drifted off to sleep.