A Stranger Garden

Chapter 9.

2030

"The sale finalises today, Malfoy, and then you will be legally mine."

Harry laughed at the look of horror on Malfoy's face. He really wished he'd hung around to see the look on Malfoy's face when he informed him that he'd be buying the Manor. At the time he'd been too angry with the twat to stay, but he'd regretted it later. He'd still managed to cop an earful of insults the next time he'd visited. Something about what the state of the world was coming to when a mangy half-blood was allowed to roam the streets unrestricted, without a collar and leash and unsupervised. About how they should all be locked up in a cage where good, honest, decent purebloods could poke them with their canes whenever they felt like it. Harry wasn't really sure that was exactly what he'd said but he was too busy trying to control his laughter and pressing the stitch in his side to hear correctly.

"The day I'm yours will be the day that..." Harry grinned at Malfoy's discomfort. "The day that your flaming poofter son, Albus, marries a girl. And we both know that's not going to happen."

"No, that's true," Harry replied. "But who are you calling a flaming poofter, anyway? You're just as much a cock lover as he is. As I am for that matter."

The look of utter astonishment on Malfoy's face was priceless. Harry couldn't have planned it better.

"What? You...I am not...why would you think...?" Malfoy stuttered and protested, while Harry couldn't help himself and laughed harder.

"Malfoy, I've known from the minute I saw that picture of me hanging naked in the dungeons."

"But why would that imply that I'm gay? People are always hung naked in dungeons."

"They are?" That was news to Harry. Then again, he'd never really seen a terrible lot of people chained in dungeons before so he wouldn't know.

"Of course they are." Malfoy frowned as if he were questioning his knowledge of the facts. "Aren't they?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't think so." No point in letting Malfoy have the win when he could get more mileage out of this. "If you have a prisoner, you don't normally take the time to undress them before you chain them to a wall. You might rip their shirt off later if you're planning on whipping them, I guess."

"Well, that's just...fuck!" Malfoy stomped through the portraits to the one in the dungeon. When he got there he whipped off his cloak and tucked it in around Harry's shoulders, the folds draping to his knees and covering him decorously. All the time, Malfoy was muttering about how depraved his father was then if he had all those Muggles down here naked. Harry saw him shiver in revulsion and felt sorry for him, because he understood that Lucius Malfoy had been a sick and twisted deviant and had passed this off as normal to his son who had assumed that his father knew what he was on about.

Harry hadn't minded too much about not being covered over, though now he felt embarrassed by the situation and regretted that he'd teased him about it. He let Malfoy cool down a little before attempting conversation again.

"Anyway, as of next week, I'll be able to visit you every day as I'll be living here."

"Lucky me." Malfoy rolled his eyes and then turned his nose up at Harry. "I bet you wish your boyfriend hadn't dumped you, so you could come in here and throw that in my face too."

"Malfoy, what are you on about?"

"Well, you just can't wait to shove it in my face all the time that finally you've got the big one over me, can you? You've handed me the final humiliation by buying Malfoy property."

"What does that have to do with Jeremy?"

"You can't tell me you wouldn't have come in here and had sex right in front of me, just so you could laugh at me that I can't."

Harry blanched. "I don't know where you're getting your ideas from, Malfoy. Why would I do that? I may like a bit of rough and tumble and a few kinks now and then, but exhibitionism isn't one of them. I wouldn't want anyone watching us let alone you."

"But I'm not just anyone, am I, Potter? I'm not human, just a portrait."

That made Harry think for a bit. He wondered when he'd stopped thinking of Malfoy as 'just a portrait'.

"Well, you're still...you. And I'd still have to suffer a running commentary telling me I was doing everything wrong and I'd never live it down. Most likely, I'd not be able to get it up if you were watching. And trust me, Jeremy would have been most pissed off at that."

"Of course you'd do it wrong, Potter. You're a Gryffindor, what else can you expect?"

"Perhaps thirty years of experience might suggest that I know what I'm doing. I bet you were a virgin when you died, anyway."

Oh, that one hit home, Harry saw. If Malfoy could blush in the portrait, Harry knew he would be blushing right now.

"Not quite, Potter," Malfoy replied. "But I've not had sex with a man before."

"A woman, then?"

Malfoy nodded. "Pansy. Summer between fifth and sixth year. Just after I'd been given my 'assignment'. It was a comfort thing. We were just friends, neither of us wanted anything more, but we were so scared and holding each other wasn't nearly enough comfort."

Harry remained still; not wanting to interrupt perhaps the first time Malfoy had ever confided anything personal to him. He thought perhaps that if he moved he might frighten him off like a deer. The constant changes in the atmosphere of their discussions of late left him confused and unsure of just what their relationship was. If anyone had asked him to put a label on it, he wouldn't have been able to. 'Friends' wasn't right - how could you be friends with a portrait when you'd hated the real thing? 'Acquaintances' was wrong, too. They'd known each other too long for them to be merely acquaintances.

Perhaps 'friends' was as close a category as was available.

Sometimes they'd have almost friendly conversations about whatever was in the newspaper, sometimes there'd be heated discussions and sometimes Malfoy would storm out of the room and head into the garden, secreting himself behind a huge tree where he would refuse to speak to Harry. At other times, Harry would throw his hands in the air and leave the Ballroom, usually to Malfoy's taunts about being a coward and running away.

But he always came back and Malfoy always left the security of the garden and they never spoke of the arguments again. Harry was fairly sure that no matter what Malfoy said, he appreciated Harry's company and therefore would try and forget the argument just to make sure that Harry would keep coming back. Harry always returned because Malfoy was growing on him. He kept his mind active, kept him on his toes, something neither Ron nor Hermione understood, a fact they kept reiterating every time Harry mentioned Malfoy. Of course, no matter what Harry said, nor how many times he tried to explain, the two of them refused to accept it, and they both adamantly refused to come and visit with Malfoy to see for themselves.

Harry had tried once to have Pansy come and visit Malfoy, too, seeing as how he knew they'd been such good friends at school, but she had reluctantly refused when her brutish husband had stepped in and forbidden her to set foot in Malfoy Manor. Pansy's eyes had shown their distress and Harry understood that given her choice she would visit.

He'd even tried to contact Theo and Blaise. Theo said he'd all but forgotten the freak and it didn't surprise him that he'd had portraits painted of himself. Blaise politely declined, but Harry could hear the sneer in his voice that someone had tried to get him to visit a portrait.

Harry hadn't told Malfoy about those attempts. It would be much easier if he thought that everyone had moved on with their lives. He'd be so angry to hear the way Pansy was being treated by her husband.

After several long moments, Malfoy looked up at Harry, eyes haunted. "It didn't make any difference, sixth year was still a nightmare."

Harry nodded. "It was for everyone."

"If--"

"None of that." Harry shook his head and spoke firmly. "Nothing can change what happened, nothing. It was all so long ago now anyway, so don't go on carrying 'what if' around your neck like an albatross."

Malfoy had a twinkle in his eyes and his mouth curled up in amusement.

"What I was going to ask was if you could find me some wizard porn, I'd appreciate it. I had magazines painted in but they lose their movement in portraits. And they're more than twenty years old now I could do with some new material."

"You were not!" Harry insisted.

"Are you calling me a liar?"

"Damned right I am."

"What if I tell you that it wasn't what was actually going to come out of my mouth, but that I have been thinking about it?'

"I might believe that," Harry agreed.

"So, will you?'

"You want me to find you some porn? Gay porn?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Yes, Potter. I want some really hard-core fucking. A huge stud fucking some pretty blond senseless, if you please. Seeing as you won't take advantage of my offer to watch you and your last paramour in some hot, live action, I shall have to settle for professionals."

Malfoy didn't leave Harry speechless in shock a lot these days, but occasionally like now he pulled off a ripper. Speechless in rage, definitely, but not shock.

"Close your mouth, Potter, you're making me wish that I could put it to good use."

Where had this Malfoy come from? He'd gone from confiding secrets and appearing pained to flirting and horny in the space of a breath.

"Right," Harry finally managed to say.

"Don't look so shocked, Potter. I am always going to have the body of an eighteen-year-old. I get a hard on just thinking about a thick, juicy cock slamming into me and seeing as that's not likely to happen, wanking is the next best thing. Don't tell me you don't wank?"

"Of course I do," Harry retorted. "I'm surprised that I haven't walked in here and caught you wanking."

"You nearly have on several occasions. I can arrange it for you if you'd like to watch me." Malfoy's eyebrow rose in suggestive amusement and his hands slid up the leg of his trousers to the belt at his waist.

Harry blushed. Thinking about a naked Malfoy wasn't a nice thought at all, he told himself. No, he did not want to watch Malfoy wanking.

"No, that's quite all right, Malfoy, I can do without seeing your pale, skinny body in the throes of passion, thanks."

"Prude," Malfoy replied, laughing.

"Oh, I'm no prude, I just don't think it appropriate for me to be watching you wanking."

"You watch porn?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then how much different would it be to watch me? Just something you can only ever watch and never touch."

"You want me to watch you? Are you the one with exhibitionist tendencies?"

"Only for you, Potter," Malfoy's mocking tone rang through the Ballroom. He laughed then and Harry growled softly, becoming frustrated and unaccountably uncomfortable.

Malfoy flicked open the belt on his trousers, pushing his hips forward as he did, revealing to Harry very clearly that Malfoy was indeed feeling horny. The bulge in his trousers was noticeable and sizeable, Harry noted. Then he blushed and looked away when he realised what he was doing.

"It's all right to watch, Potter," Malfoy crooned. "But you can leave at any time."

Malfoy's voice had taken on a seductive soft tone. Harry knew Malfoy was deliberately provoking him but whilst Harry was still looking at the far wall, telling himself he should be leaving, he was not moving. He heard the tell tale fizz of the zipper being pulled down and Harry's heart rate inched up a notch.

"Do you want to leave, Harry?" The sound of clothes rustling reached Harry's ear, along with a soft sigh and a barely breathed 'oh, yes'. Harry couldn't help himself; he looked up at Malfoy.

Shirt half unbuttoned, pants down round his knees and with a long, pretty erection standing proudly pointing towards his navel, he looked beautiful. It was the first time Harry had ever considered Malfoy beautiful. With his eyes closed and a look of bliss on his face, Malfoy began to stroke himself.

"No, I want to watch," Harry whispered and moved closer to the portrait. He was a bit surprised at himself for staying. Not because he was uncomfortable watching people wanking - he'd watched his partners enough over the years - but that he wanted to watch Malfoy in particular. He felt vaguely like a pervert, seeing as he was over forty and Malfoy wasn't even twenty. That didn't stop him, though; he did like his partners younger than himself.

"Thought so," Malfoy said. "Merlin this feels good, Harry, more exciting knowing you're watching."

Harry's eyes alternated between Malfoy's face and his erection, fascinated how breathy and husky Malfoy's voice had become, then riveted watching how fast Malfoy's hand was moving and how his stomach muscles were jumping sporadically.

"Tell me how it feels," Harry commanded.

"It feels...hot in my hand the friction is burning my palm..." He groaned. "But I love the extra roughness over the...head...fuck...the way it pulls the skin is...just how...how I want it right...now."

"Do you wish it was my hand?" Harry had to ask and he used a tone that he was used to employing when he required an answer.

Malfoy's eyes snapped open and pierced Harry's where he caught the admission and the desperation as Malfoy teetered on the edge of orgasm. The thrill of victory tingled through to Harry's groin as he watched Malfoy begin to tremble and his movements become jerky.

"I said; do you want it to be my hand?" Harry demanded again.

"Yes," Malfoy exhaled right before he tensed and climaxed, eyes still boring straight into Harry's.

After several moments when neither of them moved, Harry finally took a deep breath. "Well, that was certainly entertaining," he said, trying to keep the atmosphere light.

"I'll try and let you catch me wanking more often," Malfoy replied, giving Harry a small, self-conscious smile that was trying to be a smirk but didn't quite make it. "That way I might drive you crazy at not being able to touch me."

"You were the one who admitted you wanted me to touch you."

"You could have left."

"Just because I didn't doesn't mean I wanted to touch you," Harry pointed out reasonably, and saw Malfoy's face fall slightly.

"Tell that to your hard on, Potter." Malfoy sneered at him, pulled up his trousers and slipped into the garden portrait, finding his tree to hide behind.