The Sun in Summer (Presto Pizzicato)
Cannibalschism @cannibalschism
Chapters: 16/16
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Luna Lovegood/Ron Weasley, Background Ginny Weasley/Blaise Zabini - Relationship
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Luna Lovegood, Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott
Additional Tags: HP Bodice Ripper Fest 2022, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Victorian, Drama & Romance, Musicians, Classical Music, Violinist Harry Potter, Crossdressing, Musical Composer Luna Lovegood, Romantic Fluff, Romanticism, Drama, Historical Dress, Historical Fantasy, Victorian Attitudes, Luna Lovegood and Draco Malfoy are Cousins, Family Drama, Pining, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Bottom Harry, Top Harry, Switch Harry Potter, Top Draco Malfoy, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Switch Draco Malfoy, Power Bottom Draco Malfoy, Violins, Musical Instruments, Boys Kissing, Boys In Love, First Time, Masturbation, Light Petting, Drinking Games, Drinking to Cope, Excessive Drinking, Legilimency (Harry Potter), Occlumency (Harry Potter), Undressing, Voyeurism, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Praise Kink, Body Worship, Crying, Men Crying, Love Letters, Love Confessions, Enemies to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Blow Jobs, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, First Time Topping, Marriage Proposal, Grief/Mourning, Fluff and Smut, Porn with Feelings, Ballroom Dancing, Falling In Love, Draco Malfoy Has a Large Cock
Summary:
Harry Potter is an orphan. Everyone knows this, him most of all. Taken in by the agoraphobic and ancient Dowager Viscountess Cassiopeia Black, Harry's musical aptitude was evident even from a young age. He has trained all his life to perform in front of a noble audience and step upon the shoulders of giants. To be known for his accomplishment and skill. To be great. And he will do anything to achieve that goal.
Draco Malfoy is an orphan. He hasn't been as such for very long, however. Known as the Instrumenteur, Draco runs a modest shoppe in lower Diagon Alley where he creates and repairs musical instruments. The Viscountess Cassiopeia Black stole everything from him the night of his parents' fatal accident. When Harry Potter, the orphan that wretched woman took in even as she cast out her own blood, proposes the most ludicrous of schemes that might just get Draco his stolen title and life back, who is he to decline?
In a time of galas, secrets, corsets, and symphonies, can love prevail over all else?
Excerpt:
Malfoy stepped to the centre of the circular terrace and turned to face Harry, his hands casually in the pockets of his suit. In the sunlight, his grey eyes glinted with that lavender hue that made him appear more than human. His coiffed blonde hair was styled back, but that one lock of stray fringe slid into his face yet still. He did not speak. Harry looked around, confused.
“You wished to show me my own gardens?” Harry asked.
“Yes, Harry,” Lord Malfoy tilted his head, an unamused expression upon his face, arching one dark blonde eyebrow at Harry. “Lovely lilacs this year, don’t you think?” Harry knew it to be sarcasm, but he still had no earthly notion of the true reason for this tryst. Malfoy huffed a thin lark at Harry’s confusion.
“I never got your answer last night,” he said, taking a step forward to reduce the distance between the two of them to a scant metre at most. “But I do not think my heart can bear the idea of going to a royal ball with a man who cannot even waltz.”
“No.” Harry gaped. “No, you can’t honestly be serious.” His face contorted into a pained sort of cringe. “Please, don’t make me, my lord. Have I not suffered enough?” Lord Malfoy chuckled lightly, but even his winning smile could not relieve the dread that brewed in Harry’s belly at the idea of having to bloody dance.
Malfoy took another step forward, and Harry’s breath stuttered as the man took Harry’s right hand in his left, bringing his right hand up under Harry’s left shoulder to his back. The man’s position.
“Draco,” he murmured in the mere inches that separated them then. Lord Malfoy stood tall, looking down at Harry as he spoke. “And, truly, there are worse things in the world, I should hope, than dancing with me.” He stepped into Harry, forcing Harry to take the corresponding step backward. Their hands were bare, skin upon skin, and Harry’s mind whirred attempting to coordinate his feet while all of his worldly focus seemed to be on the feeling of the lord’s fingers laced into his own.
“The first three steps are rather simple, and I know I do not need to explain the tempo or time signature to you,” the lord explained, taking the next two steps until both men had their feet planted together once more. “But the fourth, fifth, and sixth steps are where the artistry lies.” Before Harry could protest, the lord stepped back , pulling Harry forward into him, and then turned towards his left, moving them in a clockwise circle while they rotated anti-clockwise.
“Stay close,” Lord Malfoy advised. “I don’t need Legilimency to see your mind is on steps and timing when it should be on your partner.” How deep the irony truly ran that Harry’s mind was, indeed, on his partner. On the clove scent that lingered upon his garments, on the stray lock of blonde hair that fell into his face, on the nearness of their bodies, the difference in their height. While Harry’s mind counted one-two-three-turn-two-three his heart sang Draco, Draco, Draco.
“My apologies, my lord,” Harry stammered. Malfoy’s hand moved from the back of his shoulder down Harry’s side to rest upon his waist, such that he could better guide him.
“Draco,” Lord Malfoy spoke softly. They were so near that even whispers would not be lost between them. “And I require no such apologies.” Draco moved with flawless grace, with an ease, and poise that Harry found enthralling. While he was no ballet dancer, it was easier to keep the steps with Lord Malfoy leading him so smoothly.
He could feel the lord’s step just from the small twist of his shoulder, the slight tug of his hand. Harry had never truly realised the connection dance partners forged when they danced. He never cared. But after several measures with the lord, he felt they were not two people dancing, but indeed, partners.
Malfoy, as usual, had been right. Harry felt no need to count steps with the man. He only needed to feel where the lord led, and follow him. As with the performance the night prior, what began uncertainly had calmed and then blossomed. Harry felt more sure of himself with each silent measure. The only music was the clack of their shoes on the terrace’s stone.
With each sliding step backward that the lord took, shifting their ever-rotating circle around its axis, the man drew Harry in closer, until only a whisper of space separated the two men’s chests. Harry startled lightly as Lord Malfoy spoke into the air just above Harry’s incorrigible hair.
“It was not my intent to reserve the news of our invitation to Versailles until today,” the lord revealed. Harry’s heart tripped in its tempo just as he stumbled a careless step, requiring Lord Malfoy to draw him in tightly, lest Harry tumble to the stone floor.
They stilled like that for a long moment, the rise and fall of the lord’s chest pressing against Harry’s with each breath, the grip of the man’s arm encasing Harry’s back, drawing him tightly against the hard lines of his toned body. How had Harry once viewed this man as so very soft when pressed as he was against his form, the lord seemed a Botticelli sculpture?
“My apologies, my l—”
“Draco,” Lord Malfoy whispered in a bassy rumble, closer to the sounds of a distant storm than a man’s voice. Harry’s heart stuttered, and his pulse raced as if his very blood wanted to flee his veins. “And it was my initial determination to seek your presence upon my return,” the lord explained, his voice a low purr that seemed to stroke Harry, absent of touch. His head throbbed with the surging of his hammering heartbeat.
“I-is that…so, my lord?” Harry felt paralyzed in the lord’s arms. Unable to look anywhere but directly forward, at the long line of the man’s throat, only centimetres before Harry’s face.
“Draco.” Harry’s entire body started ever so slightly at the name, more a growl than a whisper, now, but as bound as the two were, he knew the lord had felt it. “And, yes, it is so.”
“W-what,” Harry’s voice was little more than a rasping croak as though his throat was lined with every word that burned to ash before it could be spoken. He wanted to scream, wanted to cry out stop this, pray, I beg you, my lord. But it was his aching heart that won the war with his proper mind. Indeed, it was his want, his desire, that cast his reason to the dirt. “S-stopped you?”
“And here, I thought you ill-capable of using my given name,” the lord remarked, all but confirming Harry’s greatest fears, his strongest hopes. “I did not realise that you had simply reserved it for a more intimate purpose.” Lord Malfoy untethered his hand from Harry’s, sliding his fingers beneath Harry’s chin to draw his gaze upwards.
The heat beneath Harry’s cheeks was Hell’s own inferno as their eyes met. The unaffected charm of the lord’s silver stare had Harry’s mind begging to know the man’s inner thoughts. He had heard. He knew. But if that was so, then why—
“My lord, I—”
“Draco,” the lord breathed, only audible due to their unfathomable nearness. Lord Malfoy leaned forward ever so slightly, and Harry felt his consciousness might abandon him.
“Draco ,” Harry gasped, only a moment before the lord’s lips were upon his own. Oh, how the world melted away in that instant. Draco tasted of cloves and heat. He turned just so, and when Harry sipped the lightest breath of air between parted lips, Draco invaded him. His tongue slid over his own, causing Harry’s body to ignite with passion.
Harry’s hands gripped the shoulders of Draco’s suit coat, feeling as though letting go would send him spiralling into the infinite abyss. He had never been kissed before, and he only had notions of what it might feel like, but every idea, every picture, had paled so remarkably in comparison to this plain reality. At the instant their lips met, everything had changed, and Harry knew beyond any doubt that it could never return to the way it once was.
For better or for worse.
꒰˘̩̩̩⌣˘̩̩̩๑꒱♡
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