Title: The Golden One

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.

Pairings: Harry/Draco

Rating: R

Warnings: Sex, fluff, profanity. Ignores the epilogue.

Wordcount: 4000

Summary: Draco is, finally, ready to give himself to Harry.

Author's Notes: This is the fourth fic in my 'Seasonal Processions' series, and the direct sequel to 'Cue the Sun.' This fic is for Lammas/Lughnasadh. Reading the other fics up to this point is probably required for it to make sense.

The Golden One

Most of July had been stormy, but the last three days had been perfect, Draco thought: close and hot and golden. When he looked up from his work, he saw the enchanted window in his office, gazing straight at the view he had chosen weeks ago. The cornfield in the window swayed back and forth, the corn full and heavy, the wind visible in the way it ruffled their sheaves.

Draco could feel his body settling and changing and ripening with the weather, with the world, spinning towards an inevitable conclusion.

He thought he knew what that conclusion was, but he didn't rush or hurry it, letting it rise from the depths of his mind on its own. His family didn't have as close a connection with the old holiday of Lughnasadh as with Beltane, or as many private ceremonies, but Draco thought he would know by then.

And he did. He knew, actually, when the sun rose on the thirty-first of July, the birthday of Harry Potter, his boyfriend and his lover, but he ignored the conclusion for the moment and simply gave Harry a book on elementary potions knowledge and a set of pale grey robes for his birthday. He would put his decision into action tomorrow.

Some traditions should be kept.

Draco knocked on Harry's door promptly at sunrise, and grinned at the lingering yawn that came from the direction of the bedroom. Harry had asked for the thirty-first and then the first of August as holidays—a good decision, given the way the party with the Weasleys had gone and then the private party he and Draco had had when they got back to his house. Draco had taken the day off as well.

It was the first of August, the traditional date for Lughnasadh, and time for him to make his decision real.

Harry took ten minutes to come to the door. Draco helpfully started every minute with a knock, and then celebrated the ninth with such a storm of pounding that he could barely hear Harry's curses before he actually arrived. He jumped back just in time when Harry swung the door open and glared at him through sleep-glazed eyes.

Draco felt his mouth become dryer than it already was. Harry hadn't bothered to put on a shirt. His chest was brilliant with the flush of sleep, he was breathing shallowly, and Draco could see almost every dark hair.

He lifted his eyes to Harry's face, and waited patiently for him to recognize who was here and how unusual it was for Draco to come somewhere on his own, without Harry having to coax him along first. Draco had been ignored and stepped on for years by the victorious anti-purebloods. It had taken Harry to give him back his strength and confidence, and since they had officially become lovers on Midsummer's Eve, this was the first time Draco had tried to initiate anything.

It takes time, he thought defensively to silence the derisive chuckle in the back of his head. He could conjure up the chuckle all too easily now, given how many times he had heard it over the years. He carried his enemies' voices around with him, while he sincerely doubted they ever heard his.

"Draco?" Harry murmured. "Is something wrong?"

Draco shook his head and leaned forwards for a kiss, though he prudently cast a Breath-Sweetening Charm first. Harry responded enthusiastically to that, at least, fisting his hands in Draco's hair and robes. Draco broke away before the fragile thing he held crumbled and held it up so that Harry could see it.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked.

Harry still had trouble focusing his eyes, and Draco proudly imagined that that was partially because of the kiss, rather than just because of sleep. "It looks like a little man made out of bread," Harry said at last, his voice confused.

Draco nodded and grabbed his hand. "Exactly. This is Lughnasadh, and we're going to fulfill tradition."

"By—baking people?" Harry sounded cautious.

Draco laughed, and stopped when he heard the laughter getting shrill. He would lose his nerve and bolt if he wasn't careful. But no, he wanted this. What he needed was just to make sure that he controlled the exchange as much as possible, and that Harry did what Draco directed him to. That would soothe his fear about surrendering control and then once again being spurned and mocked.

"No," he said, and tugged on Harry's hand. "Come on."

They stood behind Harry's house, in the small patch of smooth grass that Harry owned. Draco would have worried about being out in public with a half-naked Harry Potter, but strong privacy wards protected the whole property. Draco was glad. He didn't want the press intruding until he and Harry were good and ready for them.

Sometimes he wondered if he ever would be.

He shook that thought away for the minute and turned Harry to face the sunrise. Harry squinted obediently into it and muttered something about how no one had told him that Lughnasadh was for baking people.

"This is the sacrifice," Draco said, and held up the man of bread. "Different families and different people have different traditions, but in my family, we break him up, feed him to the wind and the animals, and cast one specific problem off with him. What do you hate more than anything right now? What do you want to get rid of?"

Harry shut his eyes and held his breath. Draco stared, fascinated, at his face, at the lightning bolt scar and the dark fan of eyelashes.

Then Harry opened his eyes and said, "The way people treat you."

Draco had to blink quickly and look at the ground as something apparently stuck in his throat.

"Well," he said with some forced lightness, "that means that we'll be able to make the same wish." He lifted the man of bread and blew on it, then held it out to Harry, hoping like fire that this would work, that he wouldn't feel stupid or silly or embarrassed—

Harry held his eyes and didn't smile as he, too, blew out gently. The bread trembled in Draco's hand, and crumbs flaked off and flew. Draco turned, ripped off the man's arm, and whirled it into the air.

The rest of the limbs followed, and then the head. Harry stood by his side the entire time and looked attentive and far more alert than he had when he opened the door. Draco thought that was the best he could hope for when Harry didn't really know about Lughnasadh or understand the traditions.

When he faced Harry again, he held out his hands. Harry clasped them without being told, staring so deeply into his eyes that Draco flushed and began to fidget in place. Then he made himself stop. No one here wants to embarrass you, he thought again, and met Harry's eyes.

"I've decided that today should be a day for new beginnings," he said. "Celebrating the change of seasons." He thought about explaining that it was the seasons of their lives rather than seasons of the year, but stopped. He would feel stupid saying that aloud, and he had to trust that Harry would understand the reference.

Harry only nodded. "What do we do next?"

Draco swallowed. This was it, far sooner than he had expected. It wasn't as though he had expected the ritual to take a long time, but subjectively, it felt shorter than he had thought it would.

"Go to a place I found and decided would be the one we visited today," he said simply. He tightened his hold on Harry's hands. "Come with me?"

Harry didn't even ask questions. "Of course."

Draco couldn't help leaning forwards to kiss him again, to feel the heat of Harry's chest beneath his palms, the warmth and solidity of him as he gave back as good as he got in the snog. Draco was shaking, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that he had someone to rely on, at last, someone who was never going to desert him or turn his back on Draco the way so many people had in the last few years.

You think, said the laughter in the back of his head.

I know, Draco said fiercely, and apparently the voice was more impressed than it let on, since it shut up.

Harry gaped when they came out of the Portkey swirl, and slowly turned in place as though he assumed that would make the sights surrounding them less overwhelming. "Draco," he breathed, and the thrum of confidence that shot through Draco made him grin in reaction. "This is beautiful."

"Isn't it, though?" Draco asked smugly, grabbing Harry's hand to tow him along. "And perfect for a holiday that's meant to celebrate the harvest."

They were walking through a field of corn, golden and swaying, ripe and heavy. It might have been the same field that Draco's enchanted window looked out on, except that he knew that was only an imaginary place and existed nowhere else. He had arranged with Porlo's Portkeys, a service that provided Portkeys to destinations all over the world, to take them to a field that looked as like it as possible, though. Draco didn't know exactly where they were, and he didn't care. What mattered was the green and gold around them, the leaves and the corn and the rustle of it all, and the heat that hovered in the air.

And which we're soon going to duplicate, Draco thought, turning around in the middle of the corn to take Harry's hands again.

With an effort, Harry pulled his gaze away from the blue sky and focused on him. Draco stared at him patiently and waited for him to catch up. He did think that he would stammer and embarrass himself if he tried to speak his decision aloud.

Harry swallowed suddenly and moved forwards to hold his face instead of his hands. Draco raised his eyebrows.

"You—you're ready to make love," Harry whispered.

"Yes." Draco didn't think he needed to say more than that. He stood there instead, head tilted into the fall of sunlight, and knew that he looked wonderful, his hair golden, his skin pale, the green wrapped around him.

Harry was kissing him fervently in the next moment, his arms clasping Draco so tight that he had to restrain a grunt of discomfort. Then Harry turned and laid him down among the corn, which crackled and broke around them, and Draco was no longer uncomfortable at all.

Harry couldn't seem to stop kissing him, couldn't pull his mouth away even to get the shirt over Draco's head. Draco laughed and finally broke off the kiss to help him, though he lipped and mouthed at the corner of Harry's mouth so that it took twice as long as it should have.

He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this way, to be so fiercely desired. Maybe he never had. He'd had his share of lovers, mostly swiftly and anonymously, or in Hogwarts before he was an adult and knew what real feeling was. He had almost accepted, without thinking about it, that other people in the Ministry who taunted him were right and that someone would have to be drunk to want him.

But Harry did. Harry Potter, Hero of the Wizarding World, who could have had anyone. Harry had stood up to his beloved Weasleys when they bullied Draco. He had apologized for his mistake in taking Draco to the Burrow too early, when the Weasleys still weren't ready to reconcile. He had made up for his errors and coaxed Draco into dating him, sheltered him until he was ready to stand on his own, and never, ever pushed.

Yes, Draco was ready now.

And happier than he had been in a long time.

Harry stared at him with burning eyes and missed the bottom of his own shirt twice when he was trying to get it off. Draco, sprawled naked before him, corn crackling under him, legs falling open more naturally than they had ever done before, grinned and waved his wand, whispering an incantation.

Harry yelped as his clothes all flew off at once and looked wildly around. Draco chuckled and pointed to the nearest row of corn. Harry's clothes draped them so that they looked like odd scarecrows. Draco wondered if that would help make up for some of the (inevitable) damage that they were about to do to the corn.

"That's been a useful spell several times," he said.

"Has it?" Harry's voice was low as he stalked forwards, eyes so crazy that Draco didn't understand why he was angry until he spoke the next words. "Not anymore, I hope. Not with anyone other than me."

Draco found himself having trouble breathing. He leaned back and closed his eyes. The smell of bruised corn leaked into his nostrils, a strong contrast with the way that Harry's hand closed down on his thigh, massaging, gripping, and then releasing slowly, as if he was uncertain of his welcome.

"Draco? Are you all right?"

Draco popped open one eye. "Anyone would think that you were the one who didn't have that much experience," he said irritably. "Yes, of course I am. I just think it's wonderful that you're jealous over me, that's all."

Harry began to grin. He dropped down to kneel between Draco's legs, pulling them wider still. "Like that, do you?" he asked. Draco once never would have imagined such words being spoken to him, but then again, he hadn't imagined the rough massage that Harry's hands pressed on him, either, or the way that Harry's teeth closed on his throat. Harry drew back to blow cool air on the place where he'd bitten and spoke again. "You want me to challenge other people who might take you away?"

"Oh, yes," Draco said, tilting his head back further so that Harry could get to all the skin he might desire on Draco's neck. "Although I think I'm the one who would have to beat other people off, more than you would." His hands grasped greedily at the flesh of Harry's back, taking up handfuls where he could, slipping and sliding where he couldn't.

"How can you say that?" Harry's voice was choked with pleasure. "Look at yourself."

Draco opened his eyes and looked down.

It had been a long time since he looked at himself with an approving instead of a critical eye, but he could see why Harry might think him handsome right now. His skin looked golden, though it was probably only sunlight and corn that gave it that color. His hair spilled over his shoulders and added another touch of gold. His limbs were well-defined, his chest lean and tough, his stomach still flat. He looked up with a lazy smile and met Harry's eyes, reveling once more in the greed there.

"I'm handsome," he whispered. "No, I'm beautiful. Are you beautiful enough to match me? People who look as good as I do have to have standards, you know."

"I'll show you standards," Harry said, and bent down and started sucking his cock as if this was something they did every day.

No, wait, Draco thought, arching his back and gasping silently as he felt that warm, wet mouth work down his length. Not like something we do every day. It feels so much better than that. It is so much better than that. There's nothing routine about this.

Maybe it would become routine in time. Draco didn't want to think about it, but he did, because he was a pessimist after the experience of the last few years. Maybe someday they would drift apart, the passion between them would flare out or simply stop burning, and Draco would again be part of the dark, lonely existence that he kept being tempted to think Harry had helped him escape.

But it seemed impossible to believe that when he watched Harry sucking his cock, face bright pink with dedication, eyes closed but blinking open occasionally to afford Draco a glimpse of incredible green, his eyelashes dark and his hair black and his skin red and tan and deep gold and brown. Draco reached out and touched his hair, not trying to move, but simply stroking it, marveling at the colors.

Harry looked up at him and smiled, and sucked hard. Draco let his head fall back. The smell of corn was around him again, and the sheaves bobbed and rustled and sang a soft, peculiar song. The ground prickled beneath his shoulders. The taste of saliva and joy was in his mouth.

When he arched his hips up and came, it made only for an intensification of his joy, not a difference in it or a displacement of it.

Harry climbed back up beside him and kissed him with a sticky mouth. Then he lay down, stretched full-length across Draco, and murmured, "Do you know that you're the most splendid lover I've ever been with?"

"Define 'splendid.'" Draco bit Harry's fingers where they spread across his lips, and Harry hissed in pleasure. Draco told himself to remember that. "I've hardly done anything to you yet but let you suck my cock."

"That's enough," Harry said. "That's more than enough. Maybe you have some idea of how you look, but you have no idea of how you feel. Or taste." Draco made a wry face and opened his mouth to say that yes, he did, after the last kiss, but Harry was riding on, heedless. "You're my lover. My golden one."

Draco swallowed, because that was the way he was thinking of himself, and it seemed to prove that he and Harry were more attuned to each other than he had ever known. He reached out one hand, and Harry took and squeezed it before he grinned, reached down, and picked up his wand, speaking a spell that Draco didn't know.

The air around Harry's hand shimmered, and he had a large palmful of a glittery, oozing substance. Draco blinked. "You like lube that glitters?" he asked, since it was the only question he could come up with right now that made sense.

"Shove it, or I won't fuck you," Harry murmured.

Draco gulped back the next words he might have spoken at once, and hoped that he was gulping back his nervousness, too. He didn't know how well he was going to put up with this. Fucking had always seemed vulnerable to him. It didn't help that some of his lovers in the past who had betrayed him had done it right after fucking him.

But there was Harry, rubbing the sparkling stuff between his hands with a leer, and Draco had to trust him, as he'd done so far. So he lay back, pillowing his head on the corn, and spread his legs further, and nodded.

Harry kissed him on one shoulder before he began to ease his fingers into Draco. Draco remembered the way this went, but he found that he still had to breathe for long moments before he relaxed completely. A combination of that old nervousness and the fact that this really was big, he thought. If he and Harry had been fucking from the beginning, it wouldn't have been. But it had taken them months to get as far as wanking, so this was enormous.

Harry seemed to sense that, because he caught Draco's eye, and his face was suddenly still. "I promise," he said softly, "I'll probably hurt you, but I'll put you back together again."

Draco licked his lips and nodded.

Harry bent down and kissed him again, keeping up the kiss until Draco didn't know whether to concentrate on the sensation in his mouth or the sensation in his arse. The fingers went deeper, exploring, and then found his prostate. Draco broke the kiss this time, tossing his head back so he could gasp and pant and moan his pleasure to the air.

Harry rubbed his cheek against Draco's chest and probed deeper, then pulled back. Draco blinked at him in a daze. Harry gripped his cock, which Draco hadn't touched yet. He would have remedied that, except that Harry's expression was urgent.

"Do you need any more preparation?" he asked. "I can wait, if you do."

"But you won't wait easily, will you?" Draco smiled and shook his head when Harry started to respond. "No, go ahead."

And it was all right. This was more exciting than it had been with any other lover in the past, in fact, because Draco trusted Harry, and that trust meant he was willing to take more risks.

Harry slid in slowly anyway, continually studying Draco's face. Then he let loose a grunt of relief and went still. And then he continued, deeper, deeper, until Draco felt as if he were being hollowed out from the inside.

Harry paused at last, panting. Draco gazed up at him, enthralled. Harry's sweaty hair clung to his cheeks. His eyes were wide and wise, and his skin was so flushed that Draco thought there was a touch of gold in the red.

"Ready?" Draco asked, feeling as tender and protective as though he were the one fucking instead of the one being fucked.

Harry opened his eyes and smiled at him. "Yes," he said, and threw himself forwards.

Draco opened his arms and legs to welcome him, and in moments the hot, still air was full of the sound of their movement.

Draco felt heat settle on him like a tent. The sweat burned under his arms and in his groin, where it was partially pinned under Harry's legs and stomach. Harry dripped sweat on him and breathed effort into his face. Draco's muscles ached and sang their own private songs of particular labor. The sun was high enough to shine on them now. Draco writhed through it all, not yearning for one moment for the coolness of Malfoy Manor, or his upbringing, or the scorn of some of his lovers of the past, as he had thought he might.

He went into the fire that Harry stirred up in him and was willingly consumed. The orgasm that he had was almost an afterthought, and he cried out more in surprise than pleasure—surprise, more than anything else, that the heat could still increase.

Then he had a second or two to watch and feel Harry rocking into him before he shot himself deep and wet and sticky. Harry's eyes rolled back in his head, and he briefly dropped his eyelids as if he was trying to shield that from Draco's sight. When he fell, it was hard; he barely caught himself in time so that he could rest his head on Draco's chest instead of crashing into it.

His voice still worked, apparently. "My golden one," he whispered.

Draco wrapped his arms around Harry's back, lifted his legs around his hips, and squeezed down with the muscles of his arse, which made Harry groan.

He had begun to wonder recently, as he agonized over this decision he'd made and thought about the past, whether he might really be in love with Harry.

In this moment, heat and gold and sun and summer blazing around him, he believed it.

The End.