Chapter Text
Harry and Draco hated each other at first sight. Unfortunately, they were in the process of getting married at the time.
‘Please hold hands,’ the priestess said, and Harry clasped the hands of his husband-to-be, who looked thoroughly displeased with Harry — as if it’d been his idea to marry a stranger. The priestess murmured a spell and green vines bound the two men’s wrists together. At her instruction, they repeated the vow (‘to be a pillar and a lake; to support and to encompass; to be strong in adversity and infinite in love’) and the vines dissolved in a cloud of fragrant mist.
‘You may kiss.’ The priestess smiled.
Prince Draco leaned in and whispered, ‘Don’t expect me to ever love you.’
Harry brushed Prince Draco’s cheek with his lips to whisper back, ‘Not in a million years.’
A dry peck on the mouth, and applause rang out in the elaborately decorated temple. Crown Prince Harry of Gryffenland had married Crown Prince Draco of the island kingdom of Slytherdom.
‘I don’t suppose you expect me to comply with this!’ Harry had told his father a week before, when the alliance with the island kingdom had been arranged — as well as Harry’s expedited nuptials to seal it.
‘If you don’t, the treaty is invalid,’ King James said. ‘Look, I’ve been told he’s not an unattractive man… perhaps a tad cold— Well, maybe a lot cold, but the islanders are like that, I suppose. A result of living on those godforsaken rocks, battered by the ocean.’
Harry’s mother was of no help either. ‘The consummation of the marriage can take place as far as nine days later. But it has to take place. The magic holding the alliance together depends on it. I suggest you take the time to get to know him, and maybe you’ll find him… to your taste.’
Arguing about it was futile. Harry knew that war was upon them. He’d seen the pillaged villages at the north border. Refugees arrived at the capital every day, bringing word of Emperor Riddle’s atrocities. The sorcerers Riddle had at his disposal exceeded the power of any practitioner of magic in Gryffenland, but the island kingdom of Harry’s betrothed was renowned for their magical knowledge. Stories abounded about underground libraries, built into the rock of the main capital, the shelves brimming with books of arcane spells.
Magic alone, of course, wouldn’t suffice. While the Slytherdom’s navy was a force to be reckoned with, they didn’t have the numbers to resist Riddle. They needed Gryffenland just as much as Gryffenland needed them.
Harry had spent the days before his wedding drinking with a fervour that resembled someone going to the gallows. Meanwhile, he enquired about his future husband. Every report described Prince Draco as a scholar, a man of learning and discipline. Draco sounded like the type of person who spent nights bent over parchment, a single candle by his side. The exact opposite of Harry, who enjoyed hunting, horse riding with his knights, and drinking in taverns till oblivion. Harry commanded troops; he knew how to wield a sword and how to kill a man with it. At his most pessimistic, Harry pictured his betrothed as a weedy man, sallow-skinned from being indoors all the time, dull as paint.
The night before the wedding he couldn’t take it any longer. The wedding party had arrived, but custom dictated that the two men not be allowed to see each other before the ceremony. Pacing in his chambers, his temper rising at the unfairness, Harry threw all caution to the wind. He visited Luna, the palace’s resident mage, for a quick face and voice glamour, borrowed his servant’s clothes and left the palace through the back door. His bodyguards followed him to the tavern at the edge of the town, but with strict rules not to enter. Harry wanted anonymity. He wanted — well, he wanted a shag. He wanted to pull a man of his own volition.
The tavern was known for turning a blind eye to the casual encounters of men in the loos and the back alleys. Harry’d been there before with some of his knights to drink and mingle with the commoners, but never to indulge his carnal desires. Now he sat at the bar among farmhands from the fields around the capital, potters and painters of the city’s ceramic workshops, and fishermen from the villages half an hour’s ride away. Drinking his ale, he idly examined the men until bright red hair snagged his attention.
At first Harry assumed his friend, Ron, had followed him to the tavern, but the red hair belonged to a stranger in dark grey with a freckled face. There was something about his posture and the tilt of his head that pleased Harry. He ordered a goblet of whatever the man was drinking to be sent to him.
When the waitress brought the wine to the stranger, pointing at Harry, the man ran his eyes slowly over him. The uninhibited gaze pleased Harry some more, sending sparks up his spine. The stranger invited him over and Harry sat with him, heart beating fast. He’d never been desperate enough to sleep with a commoner, but tonight the idea of rutting with one of them was like a ‘fuck you’ to his parents, the alliance and the ridiculous marriage he was being forced into.
‘I’m Godric. A potter,’ he introduced himself.
The man smiled. ‘Hello, potter. My name is Salazar. Fisherman.’
Harry sipped his drink, his eyes on the man. ‘Are you not from around here? I detect a hint of an accent.’
Salazar shifted. ‘Was born and raised far from the capital. But this is my home now.’ The resentment tainting Salazar’s last words would’ve baffled Harry if he hadn’t been distracted by the glimpse of his collarbone through his open shirt. Although the man’s face was nothing to write home about, he made up for it with his broad swimmer’s shoulders and his long legs.
Harry licked his lips, his skin becoming hotter. ‘What brought you to the capital?’
‘Family obligations.’ Salazar’s voice hinted at suppressed bitterness.
Harry knew how that felt. ‘Fuck the obligations. Fuck the motherfucking rules.’
‘Fuck the motherfucking rules.’ Salazar raised his goblet and saluted him.
They ordered a carafe of wine and a platter of cheese and grapes and the more they talked, the more Harry felt entranced by the man. Salazar exhibited a wit that entertained Harry. His sharp mind was accompanied by sensuality in the way he licked his fingers after bites of cheese. Harry’s desire for him increased as the night progressed, every muscle tense with the effort not to jump over the table and kiss him.
‘Sword fighting is like meditation.’ The conversation had moved to the things they loved. ‘You let go of everything that burdens you and become one with your weapon. Every movement is calculated, but also unpredictable. Sword fighting isn’t about strength, like people think, but about mental agility.’
‘Sailing does it for me, especially in bad weather,’ Salazar said. ‘It’s just you against the forces of nature, battling something far more powerful than yourself. Knowing you might not make it, but giving it your best.’ His eyes burned with passion as he spoke.
Harry had just about had enough. He set his goblet down. ‘Want to go somewhere more private?’
‘Yes.’ Salazar stood immediately, as if he’d also been barely restraining himself until then, and threw some coins on the table.
Harry’s feet couldn’t take him to the back door fast enough. He led the way to the alley where couples in dark corners moved against each other. Heading to a narrow lane on their right, Harry found a quiet spot and turned to speak, but Salazar pushed him against the wall and kissed him hard, rubbing his erection against Harry’s hip.
‘You’ve had me hard for an hour now,’ Salazar said. ‘I thought I’d go mad from wanting to touch you.’ His beautiful, strong hands travelled all over Harry’s body, sliding under his shirt as they kissed like men condemned to death. ‘I’ve never met anyone like you,’ Salazar growled, sinking his hand inside Harry’s trousers and grabbing his cock. ‘You’re pure fire.’
Harry moaned at the touch, breaking their messy kiss to suck Salazar’s neck. ‘I’ve wanted you since I sat down.’ He buried his nose in the crook of the man’s neck and inhaled, while Salazar’s hand did delightful things to Harry’s cock. ‘Your scent… I’ve never met a commoner who smells like this.’
Salazar tensed a little. ‘It was time for my yearly bath today.’
Harry didn’t want to make him feel bad; he knew commoners didn’t bathe as often as the nobility so he applied his mouth to Salazar's neck, licking and sucking, biting gently. ‘Your taste is driving me crazy.’
Salazar gasped and stroked him harder, his pace matching the abandon in their kisses and caresses, the desperation in the way they clung at each other. Before long, Harry came in Salazar’s fist with a groan, his body shuddering at the explosive orgasm. He leaned his head back against the wall, trying to catch his breath, while Salazar kissed his neck.
Feeling Salazar’s erection against his thigh brought Harry out of his post-coital bliss. He pushed Salazar against the wall. ‘Let me taste you.’
Salazar’s eyes heated up and he shakily undid his trousers. Harry knelt on the dirty cobblestones and touched Salazar’s cock. He wished he could see it properly, but the lane was dark and their corner darker. So Harry explored it with his mouth, running his tongue along the shaft and slowly sucking on the head. Salazar moaned loudly, which excited Harry. He took the throbbing cock in his mouth and sucked it with much enthusiasm. Salazar tugged Harry’s hair and stilled him, and when Harry looked up, he started fucking Harry’s mouth with his cock.
‘I wish…’ Salazar breathed. ‘I wish—’
But he never said what he wished. Closing his eyes and leaning back, Salazar allowed Harry to resume blowing him, his legs quivering as he came in Harry’s mouth.
They cleaned themselves with Salazar’s scarf, which he then discarded on the ground. Salazar remained looking at it, thoughtful and solemn, and Harry wished once again for light so he could read his expression. He held Salazar close and kissed him softly, and Salazar responded, cupping Harry’s cheek.
‘Will you come here again?’ Harry didn’t know what the hell he was asking. Although his father had assured him that eventually he could take a lover, during the first year of the precarious alliance Harry couldn’t start an affair to ensure rumours didn’t reach King Lucius, a man as proud as he was wrathful. Besides, a prince couldn’t associate with a fisherman. This had to remain what Harry’d aimed for: one night’s foolishness.
Salazar broke away from their embrace. ‘I’m leaving tomorrow for — for somewhere new.’
‘I’m glad I met you before you left,’ Harry whispered, leaning his forehead against Salazar’s.
‘I’m glad, too.’
With a last brush of lips, Harry left the alley and took a little-travelled path to the palace, his bodyguards following discreetly behind him.
During the wedding reception, all Harry could think of was Salazar, who had been vastly more exciting to be around than Harry’s husband. Sure, Draco didn’t turn out to be the sallow, skinny man Harry’d expected; in fact, he was handsome, tall and nicely-shaped, with hair so bright it looked silver. But he was also icy cold, entitled, and seemed to hate Harry.
Wanting to make an effort for the alliance’s sake, Harry forked a piece of duck confit and offered it to Draco. What he received for his effort was a frightfully condescending look and the response: ‘I’m a pescetarian.’
Harry sighed and ate the bite himself. Glancing sideways, he observed Draco as discreetly as he could. Indeed, Draco sampled nothing of the roast boar, the spicy chicken wings, or the pork stew with plums, instead taking small, neat bites of a pan-seared snapper. Everything about him screamed restraint and fussiness. A man like this would never fuck someone wildly against the wall of a smelly back alley. Harry recalled Salazar licking his fingers after eating, and he ached with a longing quite unexpected for someone he’d met so briefly.
Harry’s mother caught his eye and nodded in his spouse’s direction, so Harry sighed and picked up the carafe. ‘Some wine?’ he asked Draco.
Draco gave him a withering look. ‘I only drink on joyous occasions.’
Later that evening, in Harry’s — now their — royal apartments, Draco pronounced the decoration garish, the view dull, the bathroom small. After discovering a lavish bedroom two doors down from Harry’s, he said goodnight to Harry and shut the door in his face.
Fuck you! Harry wanted to scream at the door, but returned to his bedroom, managing not to slam the door behind him. He tossed and turned in bed until he finally shoved the disaster of a husband he was saddled with out of his mind. Salazar popped into his head, like he had all day. Reaching down to grasp his cock, Harry stroked himself slowly, savouring the memory of every minute they’d spent together, and the intoxicating way Salazar had smelled.
Three days later and the Fountain of Marital Joy remained dry. Harry sometimes really hated magic, especially the spells binding the royal family in embarrassing ways to the land they governed. The Fountain in the central courtyard of the palace would spring with water upon the marriage’s consummation, symbolizing prosperity and a bunch of crap that Harry now despised, because every sight of the bone-dry Fountain reminded everyone that he hadn’t managed to sleep with his husband yet.
Queen Lily summoned Harry to her solar that morning and stared down at her son. ‘You need to make an effort. I realise you two didn’t hit it off. However, intelligence has reached us that Riddle is unhappy with the alliance. He has plans to attack — we don’t know where. We need to know whether we can trust Slytherdom to aid us.’
Wooing his iceberg of a husband in six days constituted a challenge, but challenges were what Harry thrived on. He had little success at first; flowers and gifts didn’t thaw Draco’s frosty demeanour, and suggestions to go to the tavern or a spa were met with stone cold refusal. Draco seemed to want to avoid being alone with Harry; he spent most of his time in the war council room and the rest in his bedroom, studying or whatever it was that scholars did and asking for food to be sent in.
A week passed and Harry hadn’t managed to spend time alone with Draco — until an incident serious enough to warrant the presence of the prince took place in the plaza in the middle of the crafts neighbourhood.
‘You want to come with me? It’s just a dispute,’ Harry said, stunned at Draco’s insistence.
Draco’s face remained impassive. ‘I wish to visit the area. Gryffenland’s pottery is famous. Can I not come?’
Harry shrugged. He supposed it was a sign of progress that Draco wanted to see more of the place he’d be spending the rest of his life in.
They rode in silence amidst the hustle and bustle of the city. ‘I had no idea you had an interest in pottery,’ Harry said.
‘Must we talk?’ Draco replied, looking ahead.
Harry finally snapped. ‘For fuck’s sake, Draco. You behave as if this was my idea. I didn’t ask for it either!’ He clenched the horse’s reins, trying to stem the frustration that threatened to choke him. ‘I’m as much a victim here as you are.’
For a few minutes, neither of them broke the silence — until Draco cleared his throat. ‘I apologise. You’re right. I‘ve been upset. You are burdened with a husband you didn’t want, but, unlike me, you’re at home. I’ve had to leave my life behind.’
Harry deflated. If he’d had to marry a stranger and exchange his home for Slytherdom’s rocky capital, he’d have been furious. ‘I’m sorry you were the one to abandon your life for this alliance. It’s a crappy situation,’ he agreed. ‘But we’re stuck in it, and we should learn to work together. Is there something you like to do? Something you miss from home?’
They’d reached the potters’ neighbourhood and were riding along streets lined with urns and jugs in a dozen different sizes outside small workshops. The smell of clay wafted through the air. As they followed the angry shouting that came from the plaza where the incident had taken place, Draco turned to Harry. ‘The sea. I miss the sea.’
The presence of both princes caused a great deal of fuss at the plaza, with mothers asking them to touch their babies’ heads for a blessing and barefoot children tugging their tunics for a coin. While Harry dealt with the two rival potters, Draco stayed quiet by his side, his eyes roving the crowd, examining every face.
‘What are you looking for?’ Harry asked, but Draco shook his head quickly.
‘Nothing, just looking around.’ He set off down the main street, checking the wares and chatting with the locals until Harry had settled the matter.
The evening was drawing to a close and the sun gilded the roofs and spires of the city as they headed back to the palace. ‘You look unhappy,’ Harry dared to say.
Draco said nothing. His expression betrayed a great deal of disappointment, and for the first time in a week Harry experienced a pang of sympathy for him. Thinking of how he could make Draco happy, he had an idea. ‘Want to go to the coast tomorrow ?’
‘Sure.’
Harry couldn’t get another word out of Draco. When they reached the palace and before Draco disappeared in his chambers like he had every other night, Harry grabbed his wrist. ‘Have a glass of wine with me tonight. Just the one. On the balcony. It’s a lovely evening.’
Draco hesitated. But he met Harry’s eyes and finally nodded.
Harry had no idea why he’d suggested it, or why he felt nervous as he set a carafe of sweet red wine and two glasses on a marble table and waited for his husband. Draco arrived a few moments later, holding a platter of cheese. ‘I took the liberty of ordering some food from the kitchens. You have a lovely mature cheddar that I’m quite partial to.’
With a pang, Harry noticed that it was the same cheddar he’d eaten in the tavern before kissing Salazar. He hoped that eventually such small things would stop reminding him of that night.
The city glittered below them as they sat next to each other. ‘Did you have a lover back home?’ Harry asked. He hadn’t bothered to consider that Draco might‘ve had to break up a relationship to marry him.
Draco set his glass down. ‘Nothing serious. Did you?’
‘No,’ Harry echoed. ‘Nothing serious.’
‘So there’s no one in particular you think of when you wank.’
Harry choked and Draco laughed. It was the first unrestrained image of him that Harry had witnessed. It suited Draco; it made him look softer and more carefree, and at that moment Harry wondered for the first time what it’d be like to kiss him.
‘There’s someone I think of actually,’ Harry confessed. ‘A casual encounter, nothing more, but—’
‘But he was hot.’ Draco smiled.
‘Yes,’ Harry said. ‘He was hot.’
They drank in silence for a while. Harry glanced at Draco, hoping for more glimpses of his unrestrained side, but he’d withdrawn into himself again.
‘Er…’ Harry said, ‘tonight is the seventh night we’ve been married. And— as you know— or maybe you don’t—’
‘I know,’ Draco assured him, eating a piece of cheese. ‘I got a letter this morning from my mother complaining that the bells haven’t rung.’
‘The bells?’
‘There are three special bells that ring at the exact moment of the royal consummation.’
‘Gods, I wish we had bells. Here, there’s the Fountain of Marital Joy, which… spurts a jet of water at…’
Harry didn’t finish, because Draco had started laughing so hard that tears formed in his eyes. ‘A… jet of water… oh my spirits… that’s so crass.’
‘Hey.’ Harry poked him, smiling. ‘That’s your crass Fountain now, too.’
Draco nudged him back, Harry retaliated and soon he found himself holding Draco’s arm, his face close to his husband’s. Draco’s breath fell on Harry’s cheek and Harry, heart beating, leaned in to kiss him. To his surprise, Draco kissed back. The kiss was lovely, making Harry’s veins tingle with gentle anticipation, but the taste of cheese and wine on Draco’s lips reminded Harry of Salazar. They broke away and sat back, the ice between them having thawed. Perhaps there was hope for them still.
‘Tell me about the hot man,’ Draco suggested. He took Harry’s hand and stroked his palm.
Harry lifted his glass for a sip. ‘Not much to tell. Didn't know him very well. He liked to sail.’
‘I love sailing!’ Draco said. ‘You obviously have a thing for sailors, Prince Harry.’
Harry smiled at his playful tone. Whatever mood Draco had entertained on the way home persisted in his eyes, but he seemed determined to make an effort. Harry intertwined his fingers with Draco’s. He had beautiful hands. ‘He was just a fisherman,’ he explained. ‘It thrilled him to sail in stormy weather. Said “it was battling something far more powerful than you” and “knowing you might not make it, but still giving it your all”. He—’ Harry shook his head. ‘You know, I think he might’ve been a little mental.’
Silence. Harry glanced at Draco, sitting still with a frozen expression of shock on his face. ‘Everything alright, Draco?’
‘Out of curiosity,’ Draco’s voice squeaked and he coughed to clear it. ‘What did the man look like?’
‘Salazar? Red hair and freckles. Why? Do you know him?’
Draco stood, his face stormy. ‘I need to talk to someone. Excuse me.’
‘What—?’ But Draco had dashed out, leaving Harry confused, tipsy and a little horny.
Odd as it had been, it was nothing compared to Draco’s complete personality change the following day.
‘Come, sleepyhead.’ Draco dragged Harry away from his breakfast. ‘You promised to take me to the coast.’ Draco’s face radiated joy in a way that made no fucking sense. Harry considered visiting Luna and asking her if someone had cast a spell on his husband or if it was severe mental illness. With Harry’s luck, it’d be the second.
‘Race you?’ said Draco when they’d left the town behind them. Before Harry could agree, Draco had already whipped his horse and was flying down the road. Well, that bookish man wasn’t allowed to beat Harry in a race, so Harry spurred his horse and galloped, leaving their escorts behind in a cloud of dust.
They raced for several miles neck and neck until the coast appeared in the horizon. Draco led his horse to a copse of trees and dismounted.
‘You’re a good rider,’ Harry said.
‘You sound surprised.’ Draco grinned at Harry. He looked lovely, all flushed and sweaty, his damp hair falling on his forehead. ‘Here, I got us a snack.’ Draco pulled out a parcel from his leather bag. ‘Your famous cheddar.’
‘You really like the stuff,’ Harry said, tethering his horse. He took the piece of cheese Draco offered and sat beside him on the grass. ‘Um, what’s got into you?’
Draco fed him another piece of cheese. ‘The first time I sampled your local delicacy,’ he said, eating a piece and licking his fingers, ‘was at a tavern at the edge of town. I had a casual encounter, too, dear husband. Someone that I couldn’t take my mind off for days.’
‘Yes?’ Harry asked politely.
‘A potter,’ continued Draco — and just like that Harry’s heart stopped. ‘A potter called Godric. A blond man with a crooked nose. A commoner who smelled like a noble and kissed like the devil himself.’ Harry’s chest rose and fell as he stared at Draco, unable to believe what he was hearing. ‘You see, I was there under a glamour — one more piece? No? We’ll have it later.’ Draco wrapped the rest of the cheese in the cloth and smiled at the shock on Harry’s face. ‘I’d gone to your palace witch and asked her for a face and voice glamour. She’s the one I went to see last night, who informed me that she’d performed two glamours on the eve of our wedding: one for me and one for Crown Prince Harry.’
Despite his shock, Harry managed to shuffle closer to Draco and smell his neck. ‘It’s you,’ he breathed. ‘It can’t be.’
‘It is, Godric,’ Draco whispered, then kissed him. Their escorts maintained a discreet distance when they arrived and saw what the princes were up to, and twenty minutes later in the palace courtyard, the Fountain spurted a jet of water the likes of which had never been seen before.