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“No way!” the woman shouts, shaking her head in spite of the green flames that are coming out of her ears. “I’m not letting him treat me.”
“Here we go again,” Hannah mutters, rolling her eyes, but Harry scowls when he notices the effect that the patient’s words have on the man standing next to him.
Draco’s lips press into a thin line, his face losing what little colour it usually has. His pale eyebrows knit into a frown as his body tenses up.
“Junior Healer Malfoy is one of our best trainees,” Healer Newton states, straightening his glasses as he approaches the bed. He summons the patient’s medical chart with a flick of his wand and studies it in silence for a moment. “May I ask why you will not let him visit you, Mrs Hobbs?”
“He’s a filthy Death Eater!” the woman hisses, pointing her purple finger at him.
“That’s a shame,” Healer Newton replies serenely. “He also appears to be our expert on blood curses, which seems to be what’s affecting you, Mrs Hobbs.”
“I don’t give a monkey’s arse what he specialises in,” the woman replies, turning to look at Harry. “I want Harry Potter to treat me. He’s the Saviour, so I will be in good hands with him.”
“I refuse,” Harry replies, trying to sound cool while anger is boiling in his veins, like acid burning its way up his stomach and tainting his words with venom. “I’m not going to lay a finger on you, unless you apologise to my colleague, you narrow-minded cow!”
“Healer Potter,” Newton drawls, motioning towards the door, “a word, please.”
Harry knows he’s in trouble, but he frankly couldn’t care less. He’s fed up with seeing people treat Draco like shit just because of his past. Harry’s seen how far he’s come since their teenage years, how hard he’s worked to change. Draco has served his sentence, spending two months in Azkaban and then working at community service on the weekends for a year. He’d spent their last year at Hogwarts trying to make amends and getting hexed day in and day out. And now…
Now Draco’s studying, working his socks off to become a good Healer, to show that he’s better than he used to be.
Harry can see it every single day, so why is the rest of the world so fucking blind?
“I know what you’re going to say,” Harry says before Newton even gets to open his mouth once they’ve shut the door behind their backs. “I know I’ve been rude, and that I shouldn’t have called her a ‘cow’, but I’m so fed up! She’s the third patient that refused to be seen by Draco today, and I have no bloody clue what kind of curse hit her, but I’m sure Draco knows what it is and how to treat it.”
“You seem to know exactly what I was about to say,” Newton comments calmly. “So you will probably know that I’ll have to issue an official warning for being rude towards a patient and set you extra homework on blood curses.”
Harry groans, but nods, then notices the way Newton’s lips curl up minutely around the edges.
“I’m sorry, sir…” he murmurs, deflating and thinking that his outburst has made no difference. The patient has a right to refuse to be treated by a trainee, and Draco is probably going to be mad at him as well for intervening.
“That woman was rather rude,” Newton says calmly, “so I shall deal with her myself. After my dinner break. I’m sure she can cope with having her ears on fire for a little longer, since she doesn’t want to be treated by our best trainee. At what time does your shift end, Potter?”
“Two hours ago,” Harry replies, feeling overwhelmingly tired all of a sudden.
“Get the other trainees and leave, then,” Newton says, opening the door. “I’m expecting an essay on blood curses and their treatment by the end of next week.”
“Yes, sir,” Harry grumbles, motioning for Hannah and Draco and scowling at the rude patient, who is still sitting on her bed and glaring daggers at Draco.
They walk in silence towards the changing room, and Hannah smiles at them before she disappears in the female one, wishing them a lovely evening.
Draco doesn’t say a word, but Harry’s used to him, and knows full well that Draco is probably fuming and trying to calm down before he speaks to Harry about his outburst. Draco is so much better than Harry at controlling his feelings. Years of practice and a firm pureblood upbringing have probably shaped his character just as much as having to bite his tongue at the hospital on a daily basis.
Harry stares at him when Draco’s back is turned as he rummages through his bag. He can’t help but admire the elegant lines of his back and Draco’s long legs, the way his hair falls in gentle waves and touches his shoulders when Draco’s fingers tug at the hair band that keeps it tucked into a neat bun while he’s working.
Harry watches him go into the toilet cubicle, used to Draco’s boundaries and his need to change his clothes away from prying eyes, even Harry’s, after they’ve spent four years living together.
It all started in eighth year, when everyone refused to share a room with Draco, and McGonagall had sighed dramatically, clearly losing her patience when she explained for the fourth time that the castle was half-destroyed and they simply didn’t have enough rooms for everyone, so the returning students had to share.
“I’m not sleeping in the same room as him,” Zacharias Smith announced. “It’s simply not safe.”
“I will,” Harry said, exhausted and worn out, just wishing he could sleep in a comfy bed and forget about the travel and all the people who wanted a piece of him, asking for autographs and tales of the war. He had wished Hermione and Ron were there with him, instead of in Australia to find Hermione’s parents and restore their memories. He felt a bit lost without his friends, but at least Hogwarts looked familiar; it felt a lot more like home than Grimmauld Place.
“All sorted, then,” McGonagall announced, asking a prefect to take them to their rooms.
Draco didn’t speak to him that night, nor the following one. He pressed his lips tight and bit back whatever snarky comment was trying to escape his soft-looking mouth, burying his nose in a thick tome on healing magic and refusing to look at Harry’s bed.
“That book looks interesting,” Harry said on the third night, tired of the silence and craving to say something, anything, to break the uneasy atmosphere between them.
Yes, Draco was a knob and had tried to kill him on several occasions. But he had also saved his life, purposely failing to identify Harry at the Manor during the war, as he had admitted in his trial under Veritaserum. He had also spent the summer in Azkaban and was skinny and so pale that Harry started to wonder if he was actually a ghost.
“I-I can lend it to you, if you want,” Draco replied, biting his bottom lip until it was red and sore-looking. “It’s really good.”
“Do you want to be a Healer?” Harry asked, lying on his stomach and resting his face on his hands as he stared at Draco, watching him tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear and cast a furtive glance towards Harry’s bed.
“If they accept me into Healer training,” Draco replied. “But I doubt that will happen. Not with my criminal record…”
“I’m sure McG can put in a good work for you,” Harry replied, winking at him and watching Draco’s cheeks turn the loveliest shade of pink. “If you don’t behave like a twat and get good grades, that is.”
Draco lowered his gaze, his eyes staring at the book in his lap.
“I suppose I will have to, won’t I?” he muttered, and that was the end of their conversation that night.
Harry started watching him, in and out of lessons, and that was nothing new in itself. He had spent a good part of his school career staring at Draco Malfoy, after all. But his renewed interest had a different tinge to it. He found himself captivated by this new Draco, pulled in like a sailor by a mermaid’s song.
Draco was quiet in class, except for those times he was asked a question by a professor and he always gave the perfect answer. He took an orange potion every morning, but Harry had no idea what it was for. He was hexed by other students when no one was looking but never said anything about it, just treated his own wounds and limped his way to the library or their room. He didn’t eat much, sometimes skipped breakfast or just grabbed something for lunch and then disappeared Merlin knew where (the library, Harry later found out). He had developed an arrangement of nervous habits in the year they had spent apart, like biting on his bottom lip until it bled, tapping his fingers against his thumb, picking at his eyebrows. Harry was fascinated by each habit and couldn’t stop staring. He was actually glad Hermione and Ron were not there to tell him off or to notice.
Then one day Draco didn’t turn up for dinner, so Harry went to look for him. He found him in the library, fingers trembling as they flicked through the pages of a thick tome on healing spells while clutching his bleeding leg.
“What happened?” Harry asked, sitting down next to him and wincing at the wound. “That looks bloody sore. I’m sure Madam Pomfrey would be able to treat you in no time.”
“No need to,” Draco replied, his voice laboured and skin pale as his eyes skimmed across the page, his bottom lip bitten raw.
“Give it here,” Harry muttered, turning around the book and looking at Draco’s injury. It had an odd serpentine shape and was bluish at the edges, so Harry ignored Draco’s protests and quickly searched for curses that involved snakes. “Bingo!”
He offered the book back, but Draco’s hands were shaking too much to get the spell right, huffing in pain and frustration as his wound remained pretty much the same after the third attempt.
“Shit,” Draco cursed, a lock of blond hair clinging to his sweaty forehead.
“Here, let me,” Harry murmured, reading the spell and then casting it with confidence.
It worked.
Harry felt elated, smiling at Draco and finding him smiling back at him, his face still drained of all colour, but more relaxed, relieved.
“Th-thank you,” Draco muttered. “And…I’m sorry.”
“What for?” Harry asked, watching Draco cast a neat little spell that stitched back his robes and pressed them so they looked impeccable again.
“Everything,” Draco breathed out. “Do you want the whole list, Potter?”
“Start from the beginning,” Harry teased, getting a couple of sandwiches wrapped in a napkin out of his bag. “Eat something in the meantime. But if Madam Prince sees you, I’m not taking the blame for smuggling food into the library.”
“How very Slytherin of you,” Draco drawled, but he accepted the food and started listing what he was sorry for.
It was late by the time they left the library that night, but Harry didn’t feel too tired. He felt lighter, happier than he had been in such a long time.
Of course, Draco still behaved in an extremely reserved way, never changing in front of him even if they shared a tiny room. Harry figured it was probably the Sectumsempra scars and felt a pang of guilt when he thought about them.
But then he accidentally opened the en-suite’s door one morning, thinking that Draco was already at the library, and found him casting a Glamour at his face to hide the scars there.
There was a thin, pink line creeping up from his neck, crossing the right side of his chin and splitting his bottom lip. Another scar under his right eye, silvery and straight. Draco held his breath and stared at him, wand raised as his eyes widened in shock.
Harry knew he should have apologised, should have said he was sorry for not knocking or for using that spell on him in sixth year.
“You should lock the door,” he said instead, and then softer, in spite of himself, “You don’t have to hide those scars. They make you look hot. I bet the girls would love them.”
“I’m gay,” Draco replied, his face going red, and Harry had just gaped at him, because that was news. Harry didn’t know anyone who was openly gay and had always felt anxious about the fact that gender did not matter to him when it came to liking someone.
“Oh,” he simply replied. “Well, I’m sure blokes would like your scars too. Everyone likes a redemption arc. You know? Scarred git showing off he’s repenting kind of thing.”
“Shut up,” Draco muttered, shaking his head and casting the spell on his face to get rid of the imperfections.
It felt like a shame, Harry thought.
He liked them.
They made Draco look more human and less unreachable. More vulnerable, in a way that Harry felt like he could protect, not because he had to – no one would expect him to protect Draco Malfoy – but because he wanted to.
Draco continued changing in the bathroom, but his scars started making a tentative appearance on his face. Just the one on his neck first, then the part that covered his chin. After a month, Harry spotted the one under his eye, and by Christmas there was a new one on his forehead from the chandelier that fell on Draco at the Manor.
Harry wanted to tell him well done, but he just nudged his shoulder instead, saying that he looked like a bad boy. That he finally looked the part.
He didn’t know why he was such a twat to Draco that autumn and winter, why he took pleasure in being unnecessarily snarky and brutally honest. He assumed he was tired of being always good, of being the bloody Saviour. He was just exhausted.
But Draco didn’t seem to mind; he actually looked pleased about Harry’s honesty.
“What’s that book you’re reading?” Harry would ask as they were relaxing in their beds after dinner, and Draco would read him the title in his posh tones. “Read it aloud.”
“I can lend it to you,” Draco would always point out. “I’m sure you can cope with the big words, Potter.”
“Nah, I would prefer if you read it to me. Come on,” Harry always replied.
So he started to learn about healing magic, because that’s what Draco was always reading in eighth year. And Harry started to find it interesting, getting to practise spells on Draco every time he got hexed. They were always together after Christmas anyway, and it became a competition between them – who would get the correct spell to treat Draco’s injuries in the shortest amount of time.
“Are you trying to steal my job?” Madam Pomfrey commented when she caught them doing their weird game.
“Er…” Harry replied (eloquent as always, Draco would add).
“Come and see me on Saturday morning,” Madam Pomfrey said. “I’ll show you how to do it properly.”
Draco was scared of getting told off, but Harry dragged him to the Medical Wing, and they sat with Madam Pomfrey as she tutored them through a variety of spells, moving on to ointments and potions the following weeks.
“I can write a recommendation letter for Healer school for both of you,” she announced around March.
“I don’t have…” Draco murmured, his cheeks going red.
“What?” Harry asked, turning to face him. “You want to become a Healer; what’s the problem?”
“He doesn’t have enough Galleons for the tuition fees,” Madam Pomfrey explained, pointing at the Prophet lying on her desk, the news that the Malfoys had been stripped of all their riches and properties on the front cover.
“I’ll pay for it,” Harry declared, without even thinking, because he had too much money to even know what to do with it, and Draco had to be a Healer, had to train with him to achieve his dream. He had been working so hard on it.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Harry,” Draco hissed, but Madam Pomfrey shook her head.
“There’s no need to,” she replied serenely. “There are bursaries for exceptionally gifted students, and I’m sure you could qualify for them. You’ll probably have to stay in student’s accommodations, though. The Manor has been sold, and we can’t keep you at Hogwarts. I can contact Healer school and ask for all the forms and help you fill them in. Let’s get things started as soon as we can.”
“That’s…” Draco mumbled, his lips wobbling as tears started falling down his cheeks. “Th-thank you…”
Harry felt like hugging him, but he took his hand under the table instead, pretending that nothing was happening when Draco leaned into him and hid his face in Harry’s shoulder to sob some more.
They filled in all the paperwork together, and Draco helped Harry pass his Potions N.E.W.T.s because he was still pants at potions.
They both got admitted, and Draco spent the last couple of weeks at Hogwarts stressing about the flat he was going to have to share with someone he didn’t know.
The thing was, Harry had a house. He had asked Draco to simply move in with him, but Draco said he couldn’t accept his charity, that he couldn’t set foot in the Black household anyway. Draco said there was a chance Grimmauld Place would recognise him as its rightful owner due to blood magic and might kick Harry out.
So Harry had a house, but he hated it. It was big and scary and empty. It reminded Harry of all the people he had lost, of Sirius and Remus and Tonks. He didn’t want to move back to Grimmauld without Draco, not after spending so many months sharing a room with him and enjoying it so much.
The plan took shape in his brain on a Sunday morning, when Draco was away at community service. Harry just had to ask for McGonagall’s help, Floo from the Hog’s Head, visit a few places and then go to Healer school to speak to the board.
“I found a flat for myself and Draco Malfoy,” he announced. “I know he is supposed to move into student’s accommodation in September, but…the place I found is bigger, and he would have his own room. I’ll pay for the difference. Could you please…not tell him?”
He stood in front of the board, his palms sweaty and leg jittery as the witches and wizards in front of him just stared back at him with furrowed eyebrows.
“This is a very unusual procedure,” one tried to argue, shaking his head.
“Mr Potter, are you asking us to lie and tell Mr Malfoy that his student accommodation has been changed and upgraded? What would the other students say?”
“I kind of saved everyone’s arse last year,” Harry blurted out. “I died, and I didn’t want anything in return. They tried to give me the Order of Merlin, and loads of Galleons, but I said no to everything. This is the only thing that I want. Please.”
He felt a bit shit for playing the war hero card, but it worked. The board agreed to his mad proposal, and Harry went back to Hogwarts with a letter for Draco announcing his new flat would be ready as soon as he finished school.
Of course, Draco saw through Harry’s scheming in literally two minutes. He was a Slytherin, after all. But he didn’t get mad—not much anyway—and he seemed pleased to be able to continue living with him, so they moved into the flat when school was over and have been living there ever since.
The flat is lovely, and Draco keeps it clean and tidy. Harry always makes sure the fridge and the cupboards are well stocked, and that there’s always something nice and healthy on their plates.
Harry’s happy—happier than he’s ever been in his life, really. He loves living with Draco, studying with him and cooking together. He likes spending the little free time they have playing Quidditch or going for a walk in the countryside. Draco is still oddly mysterious about the potion he takes every day, even though Harry is a bloody Healer in training, and he still never changes in front of him, but that’s fine. Harry respects his boundaries, because he has his own too. He’s just secretly gutted because he would love to see more of Draco, to find out if his skin is milky white under his clothes too, if he has any freckles or moles. Harry is curious, and spends an inane amount of time trying to picture Draco’s legs or his shoulders or…ehm…somewhere else.
And he is probably - or most likely - a little enamoured with the blond git, if he has to admit it to himself, but it’s fine.
A ‘little’ enamoured or an ‘awful lot’? Hermione’s voice in his head asks.
“Shut up, Hermione!” Harry mutters out loud, wearing his t-shirt and stuffing his lime-green robes inside his satchel bag.
“Are you still arguing with the Hermione in your head?” Draco asks with a raised eyebrow, emerging from the cubicle with dark blue robes. Harry loves those robes; the fabric is shimmery in a way that makes Draco look like a charming prince with his pale complexion and silvery eyes. He sighs wistfully, and Draco tilts his head at him.
“What?” Harry asks.
“Don’t think I’m not still mad at you for intervening with that patient,” Draco says, and Harry groans.
“Tell me off while we go to Tesco’s,” Harry replies. “I need to get some stuff for dinner. I want to make a stew.”
“Why did you not tell me before I changed?” Draco asks, clearly losing his patience. “I can’t go to the Muggle supermarket in wizarding robes!”
He flicks his wand at his clothes and transfigures them into a Muggle shirt with a black tie and a waistcoat.
“Draco, we’re popping to Tesco’s, not to Buckingham Palace,” Harry reminds him, secretly loving the way Muggle suits hug Draco’s slim body in the most delicious way, making him look like a model from a fashion magazine. He eyes Draco’s perfect bum when he turns to close his bag.
Definitely an ‘awful lot’. Why do you have to always be so fucking right, Hermione?
When Draco looks ready to leave, with his duffle coat on and his hair loose and shimmering in the most beautiful way, Harry grabs his wrist in a familiar move, Apparating them both to the little side-street next to the supermarket.
“I can defend myself,” Draco announces, making Harry flinch as they start walking. His bollocking is finally coming. “I’m not a damsel in distress, Harry. And I certainly don’t need you to get in trouble in an attempt to save me from a rude patient. We all deal with them on a daily basis.”
“She was being an absolute dick,” Harry insists, “and you would have just stood there and taken her insults like you usually do, because you think you deserve them. Well, you fucking don’t, and I’m fed up with standing there to watch people being rude to you!”
“Oi, mate!” a man calls from behind them, his voice slurred and slow. “Stop shouting at your girlfriend! Need to treat the missus well, you know?”
Harry turns, finding a man in his fifties, clearly completely drunk by the way he staggers and smells like liquor. He considers casting a sobering charm on him, but then he turns and notices Draco’s face.
He’s frozen in shock, his lips parted and eyes wide as he stares at the man. His lips open a few times, like a fish out of water, and then his face turns the deepest shade of red, looking at Harry, then at the man again.
“Girlfriend?” he breathes out, his voice coming out like a shaky whisper.
“Oops, sorry,” the man replies with a laugh, pointing at Draco’s shirt when his coat opens to reveal the suit he’s wearing. “’s the long hair, mate. Thought you was a girl.”
“I’m not…” Draco mumbles, then he grabs a lock of his hair and stares at it, dumbfounded, until Harry brushes his hand against his shoulder, startling him.
“Hey, you okay?” Harry asks, frowning when he notices the expression on Draco’s face, wondering what’s wrong.
“I’m going…”Draco mutters, then shakes his head. “I’m going home. See you later.”
He quickly ducks into the side-street where they came from and disappears behind a bin before Harry can say anything.
“Do you need me to take you to the hospital?” Harry asks the man, who in the meantime has decided to sit on the floor against a shop window.
“Nah, I’m fine,” he replies, waving his hand in front of his face to dismiss Harry’s concerns. “Waiting for my mate John to pick me up.”
“Alright,” Harry replies, still confused about what happened. He considers just going to the supermarket on his own, but he has the unnerving feeling that something is wrong with Draco, that he needs Harry to be there for him.
He goes back to the dark street and Apparates home.
The flat is quiet, but Harry can hear a soft sound coming from the bathroom. He rushes there, opening the door without knocking, and finds Draco staring at the mirror, a lock of blond hair in his hand and a puzzled expression on his face as he stares at his reflection. Harry notices a pair of scissors on the sink and gasps.
“No!” Harry shouts, making Draco jump. “No, no, no! Don’t cut your hair just because of an idiot!”
“Circe’s tits, calm down, Harry,” Draco mutters, raising an eyebrow at him. “I was just…contemplating my options.”
“Draco, that man was completely pissed,” Harry says, slowly moving closer and letting his hand brush against Draco’s arm, then moving along it, featherlight, until he reaches Draco’s wrist. “You don’t have to cut your beautiful hair just because a drunkard thought you were a girl.”
“You don’t get it,” Draco mutters with a frown, averting his gaze and looking at the mirror instead.
“He saw you from behind,” Harry insists. “You know Muggle fashion is different, and they’re not used to men having long hair.”
“This is not about fashion or about what that drunkard thought,” Draco says slowly, his voice soft in a way that makes Harry take a step closer, as if he were about to say something important that Harry couldn’t possibly miss. “This is about me. About the way I feel about myself.”
He takes the scissors, inspecting them as if they were a foreign object before he tilts his head and studies his hair in the mirror.
“Would it make any difference?” he mumbles.
“Pardon?” Harry asks, confused, wanting to help but unsure how.
“Would it change anything if I cut my hair short?” Draco asks out loud, but it feels like he’s actually talking to himself. “Would I regret it tomorrow? I’ve always liked my Father’s hair when I was little. It wasn’t as long as it was during the war. It just reached his shoulders, and I…I always wanted to look like him.”
“Because you loved him?” Harry ventures, thinking that there wasn’t a single moment in his life where he wanted to look like Uncle Vernon. But he did want to be like Sirius.
“You don’t get it…” Draco repeats unhappily, but then their eyes meet.
“I’m sorry,” Harry replies, genuinely upset that he can’t be a better friend. “I wish I could help, but…you look absolutely perfect as you are. And I know that my opinion doesn’t matter, but I like the way you look. And I love your hair. And I don’t think it makes you look like a girl, not even remotely.”
Draco turns his head the opposite way, and Harry can hear his breathing getting faster, can see the way his hands shake, so he takes a step closer and carefully places his hand on Draco’s back, rubbing it soothingly as he whispers to him.
“Breathe with me, slowly. In through your nose and out through your mouth,” Harry murmurs, letting his hand move lower, lingering on the small of Draco’s back. “You’ve had a shitty day, and it’s okay to be upset.”
“That’s not…” Draco mumbles, shaking his head and turning to look at Harry, his grey eyes wet and sad.
“Draco, you’re the most gorgeous man I know, with or without long hair,” Harry says, feeling his own cheeks warming up at the confession.
“You’re only saying that because you’re a Gryffindor,” Draco argues, “and because you’re my best friend.”
Harry’s eyes widen in surprise. Draco’s never said it out loud before. Has never even acknowledged the fact that they are friends, let alone best friends. And part of Harry feels ecstatic, because he always needs reassurance, always craves knowing that people love him and feel that he is worth having around. But there’s a tiny part of him that cracks at the thought that Draco only considers him a friend and nothing more.
“I-I…” Harry mutters, wetting his lips with his tongue and watching Draco’s eyes as they lower to stare at his mouth, as if mesmerised by it. “I genuinely think you’re hot.”
“What?” Draco breathes out, blinking a few times.
Harry swallows loudly and tries to remind himself that he’s a Gryffindor, that he has defeated a Dark Wizard in his teens, for fuck’s sake.
“I think you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever met,” he confesses with a trembling voice, watching Draco’s blond eyelashes flutter as their eyes meet again and Draco’s lips part in surprise, probably in disbelief. “And I’ve had a dream or two about sliding my fingers through your hair while I…while I kiss you…and…”
“Are you making fun of me?” Draco asks, his eyebrows creasing, mouth opening and closing. “Because you probably already know that I like you a lot, so it’s not fair to-”
Harry cuts him off with a kiss, cupping Draco’s cheeks with his hands and moaning into his mouth as Draco instantly relaxes against him. And at the beginning it was probably an instinctive gesture to get Draco to calm down and stop panicking, but then Draco lets out a little whimper against his mouth, going all loose and pliant against Harry, so Harry licks along the seam of Draco’s soft lips. Once Draco opens his mouth to moan, Harry slips inside, deepening the kiss until they’re both panting and rocking against each other.
Draco has firm boundaries, and Harry has heard him a hundred times telling people not to touch him, pretty much everyone except for him and Pansy. So he keeps his touches featherlight, sliding his fingers through Draco's silky hair and stroking his face tenderly while he kisses him, slow and open-mouthed. Every time he tries to venture southward, he asks a sheepish, "Can I?" And Draco nods every time. So Harry traces the sharp line of his jaw, the perfect shape of his delicate ear, the length of his spine, making Draco shudder against him.
"Can I?" he asks before sliding his hand down towards his buttocks, and Draco whispers yes, nodding enthusiastically. Harry groans against his lips at how absolutely divine Draco's arse is, letting his fingers dig into the firm flesh while he kisses him hungrily and wet.
“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Harry groans, claiming Draco’s lips again and again, relishing the little needy sounds he makes, the mewling cries that escape his lips when Harry starts kissing his way down his neck. “Are you still going to cut your hair? Because I have a few fantasies of burying my fingers in it while you suck me off or while we fuck.”
“Shit,” Draco moans, reaching for his lips again, until they’re both panting and Harry’s so hard that he thinks he might explode. “I don’t think I’m ready to have sex while standing in the bathroom.”
“Good point,” Harry says, kissing him one more time, then readjusting the uncomfortable bulge in his jeans. “Yes…sorry, I kind of got…carried away.”
“Me, too,” Draco replies with a little smirk that makes Harry grin back at him, elated and happy beyond words.
He has just kissed Draco. And Draco kissed him back!
Fuck.
"So…what about your hair?" Harry asks, holding a silky lock of white-blond hair and tucking it tenderly behind Draco’ ear. “Still going to cut it?”
"I think your argument was rather convincing," Draco replies coolly, regaining his usual composure. “But the jury’s still out.”
"Can I kiss you again?" Harry asks, watching him blush in delight, loving the way he can make Draco lose control so quickly.
"You've been kissing me for the past half hour at least," Draco points out.
"I mean later...or tomorrow," Harry explains, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to the corner of Draco’s lips, lingering there for a few seconds just to feel Draco’s breath hitching in his throat and then coming out in a surprised little puff of air against Harry’s skin.
"Yes...” Draco replies when their eyes meet again. “You may kiss me whenever you like, Harry."
And Harry does straight away, because he’s already missing the feel of Draco’s mouth against his own, the delicious taste of him, his warmth.
They only part because Harry’s worried he might come in his pants like a horny teenager, and Draco looks like he’s about to combust.
“Dinner,” Harry blurts out, giving Draco a chance to straighten his clothes and comb the mess Harry’s made of his hair with his fingers. “I’m going to…go to the kitchen…right…I’ll see you there, I guess.”
“Yes, we still live together,” Draco points out, and Harry feels his cheeks aflame when he realises that he’s just snogged his flatmate – and best friend – in their bathroom.
Merlin, fuck…
Does that mean that Draco fancies him too?
Harry can’t stop thinking about Draco’s mouth while he makes pasta using some random ingredients he finds in the fridge. He can’t stop remembering the way their lips fit perfectly, how incredibly soft Draco’s fine hair was, how hot his mouth was.
They eat in silence, until Draco clears his throat and starts telling Harry about the latest article he’s read about Spattergroit’s treatments, and Harry breathes out in relief.
Everything is fine between them, he tells himself.
“I have to write an essay on blood curses for Newton,” Harry admits when they’re both sitting on the sofa and testing each other on potions ingredients to cure bacterial infections.
“Serves you right,” Draco comments, but still summons a couple of tomes from his room and gives them to Harry. “These books should do it. I’ll proofread it before you submit it to Newton.”
“Thanks,” Harry mutters with a smile.
Draco said Harry could kiss him again, so he starts with a goodnight kiss before they go to bed, Draco’s eyes shining in the darkness while he says goodnight and hesitates before disappearing into his bedroom. Then there’s a morning kiss when Draco emerges from his room in his pyjamas, still sleep-rumpled and soft, his hair all over the place in a way that makes Harry's heart clench in his chest as he cups Draco’s cheeks and kisses him until Draco’s melting in his arms.
Draco looks nervous and skittish as he gets ready for work, and Harry knows that if he left it to him, Draco would probably pretend nothing happened to give Harry a chance to take it all back and forget, to blame it on the shitty day he had and on the fact that Harry was simply trying to console him. So Harry corners him on their way out, just as Draco is about to put his coat on, pushing him gently against the wall and kissing him full on the mouth. A deep and open kiss that leaves nothing to misinterpretation or misunderstanding. Draco lets out a tiny little moan, then huffs a laugh against Harry’s mouth and tells him they are going to be late.
“I’m in Spell Damage again today,” Harry whispers against the corner of Draco’s lips, pressing another kiss there while he watches Draco’s cheeks flush. “I can take a break around 1 o’clock. We could have lunch together.”
“Yes…” Draco replies, out of breath and with wet, puffy lips. “Lunch sounds…good…”
“Good…”
“I’m in Magical Bugs today. I’ll see you later, then,” Draco replies, before Apparating to the hospital.
It’s a struggle to focus all morning with Draco constantly on his mind, the hurricane of butterflies in Harry’s stomach making him feel giddy and like he’s walking on clouds while he tries to get on with work instead of constantly checking his watch.
Harry ends up having to assist a more experienced colleague in a complex procedure at the end of the morning, panting as his magic soothes and heals, trying to focus on the spell he’s casting while his mind tries to drift elsewhere. When he can finally lower his wand, he spots a familiar white-blond head in the corridor, waiting for him to be done with his patient.
Harry can’t stop the grin that blossoms on his face, then nearly runs out of the room as soon as he’s given permission to have his lunch break.
“Hey,” Harry says, happy beyond words when Draco just stares back at him, arms folded on his chest and eyes sparkling with something new.
They end up in a spare cupboard, snogging each other stupid and breathless instead of eating, but it’s worth the look of debauchery on Draco’s face and the way his hair sticks out messily when he leaves the cupboard.
“You have a…” Harry mumbles, feeling a wave of arousal washing through him while he contemplates the love bite on Draco’s pale skin, the bruises he’s left there. “On your neck…”
“Oh, bloody brilliant, Potter!” Draco huffs in indignation, charming his robes so they cover his neck with an embarrassed expression on his face.
“You look…” Harry starts, wanting to say well fucked, but biting his tongue. He really wants to have sex with Draco, but has no idea what the blond wants. He doesn’t know how much experience Draco has, since he’s always so reserved and has never brought anyone home. Not that Harry has – all his conquests have been one-night stands that ended with a walk of shame and a burning disappointment in his stomach come morning.
“I look…?” Draco mumbles, eyebrows creased.
“Gorgeous,” Harry simply replies. “Simply breath-taking.”
“Fuck, Harry…” Draco mumbles, covering his face with his hands. “You’re going to kill me.”
Harry kisses him again on the sofa when they get home, because it seems that kissing Draco Malfoy is properly addicting. And then again before going to bed, and in the morning, and at work as soon as they manage to sneak into a cupboard.
Harry catches Draco staring at his own reflection in the mirror with a critical eye in the days that follow. He wears suits and ties; keeps his hair in a neat bun. Draco doesn't shave for a couple days, uncharacteristically, until he gets irritated and trims his blond stubble with a precise little spell that never ceases to amaze Harry.
He wonders if Draco is okay, if he’s still thinking about the incident with the drunk man and why he’s so worried about it.
"You look absolutely stunning," Harry says, seeing the grimace on Draco's face as he stares at the bathroom mirror. "Can I kiss you? Merlin, you're so hot. I can’t believe I get to kiss you."
Draco's cheeks flush, but then he lets Harry pull him closer, undo the bun at the nape of his neck and release his hair as Harry kisses him breathless and slides his fingers through it.
"Always so greedy," Draco murmurs.
"You're so good at kissing," Harry mumbles, overwhelmed. "How are you so good at kissing?"
“Practice makes perfect,” Draco replies, and Harry feels a wave of jealousy burning its way through his veins, making him frown and kiss Draco a little more desperately, pulling at the front of his robes to get him a little closer. Draco pants against his mouth when they part, looking down at him with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t tell me that you’re jealous.”
“I’m sorry, I…” Harry mutters, feeling his face heat up. He knows it’s stupid, that he shouldn’t feel jealous of Draco’s past. But he can’t stop wondering who on earth has Draco been practising with and when. Is he seeing someone?
“I’ve only ever practised with Pansy, you jealous moron.” Draco deadpans, kissing the tip of Harry’s nose playfully before he takes a step back and sorts out his hair again, the green hair band between his lips.
“Pansy? But…” Harry starts, his brain slowly processing the information he’s just received. “You’re both…gay. Really gay, may I add.”
“We didn’t want to be unprepared when it would finally come to snogging the person of our dreams, so we used to practise together back at Hogwarts,” Draco replies with a shrug. Then he turns to wink at Harry and produces his best shit-eating grin. “It appears all my efforts paid off, judging by how hard you are right now.”
Harry blushes, pointlessly covering the bulge in his trousers with his hand.
Draco’s words circle in his head as he watches him brush his teeth and then dry his sinful mouth with a fluffy white towel.
If Draco’s only ever kissed Pansy when they were at Hogwarts, Harry muses, then maybe he’s never…
Surely not, he tells himself as an irrational hope starts blooming in his chest.
“So…have you ever…you know,” Harry starts, wiggling his fingers. The thought that Draco might have never had sex with anyone is so arousing that Harry’s cock grows harder than ever. “With Pansy or anyone else?”
Draco shakes his head, finally staring back at him.
“Never. Is that a problem?” he asks, and Harry groans, capturing his lips for another hungry kiss that leaves them both panting while Harry whines against his mouth and ends up coming in his pants in an embarrassingly short amount of time when Draco starts stroking him over his trousers. “Look at you, Harry. All hot and bothered because I’m still a virgin. You’re such a possessive brat, hm? You want me all to yourself, don’t you?”
Harry moans, coming down from his high as he pants against the soft skin of Draco’s neck, burying his nose there to inhale Draco’s intoxicating scent.
“Can I touch you?” he murmurs, feeling Draco shudder in his arms. “Please, I want to make you feel good too.”
“We’re going to be late for work,” Draco replies, then checks his pocket watch and curses under his breath. “Shit, we’re already late. Come on.”
He casts a quick cleaning charm on Harry and tugs him to the kitchen to get their lunch bags and coats.
“I’m in Serious Bites today,” Harry mutters, and Draco lips are on him again, tender and featherlight this time, reassuring in a way that melts Harry to the bones as he chases them when they part.
“I’ll come and get you at lunchtime,” Draco promises before grabbing his hand and Apparating them both to St Mungo’s.
They end up both skipping lunch that day because there’s a big explosion in a potions lab and everyone is running frantically, trying to find the right antidote for the different potions that have injured customers and potioneers alike.
It’s past nine o’clock by the time they both manage to stumble back to their flat and order a takeaway for dinner, feeling exhausted and drained.
“I can’t fucking feel my feet anymore,” Draco groans from the sofa, a charmed eye mask cooling his eyes as he swears in delight when Harry grabs his left foot and starts massaging it. “Shit, don’t stop, please. Oh, Merlin, you have magical hands.”
“Practice makes perfect,” Harry teases.
“You practised on Ron Weasley,” Draco points out. “I wouldn’t exactly boast about it. Oh, fuck, there! Please don’t stop…”
Harry wonders if Draco is making these obscene sounds on purpose just to arouse him, or if he realises the effect that he’s having on him. Harry didn’t even think he had enough energy to get it up, but his dick clearly likes to prove him wrong.
“Draco…” he mumbles, unsure how to ask if Draco feels like moving this to the bedroom.
“At least tomorrow’s my day off,” Draco mutters with a sigh.
“What?” Harry asks, his hands abruptly stopping, to Draco’s clear disappointment. “That’s unfair! I have to wait until Tuesday to have a day off; why do you get Sunday to yourself?”
“Pansy’s birthday,” Draco replies, removing his eye mask and finally looking at him. “I swapped with Hannah so that I could take Pansy out, remember? I planned lunch in Diagon Alley’s new French restaurant, then a stroll in Kensington Gardens, followed by dinner at Blaise’s and finally the opera. We talked about it a couple of months ago.”
“Bummer, I forgot,” Harry grumbles, realising that he hasn’t even bought Pansy a present and she’s going to be an absolute nightmare about it. He definitely has no time to go and buy something now. Maybe he could recycle an old present, he thinks. Luna’s singing socks, perhaps?
“I got you a present for her,” Draco says with a raised eyebrow after watching Harry’s internal debate for a good five minutes. “A very lovely scarf from that Muggle shop that we found together just before my birthday.”
“Oh, thank fuck!” Harry exclaims, resuming the foot massage and making Draco collapse on the sofa as he clearly experiences nirvana. “You’re the best.”
“I beg to differ,” Draco mumbles, then groans when Harry moves on to his other foot, pressing his thumb under the arch and making Draco whimper softly. “Your hands are divine.”
“Imagine what I could do with them elsewhere…” Harry suggests, but then he gets interrupted by a loud knock on the door as their dinner has arrived.
They’re both too tired to even entertain a snogging session before going to bed, but Harry still slides his fingers through Draco’s hair and kisses his lips tenderly, making Draco sigh and wrap his hands around Harry’s hips.
“Sweet dreams,” Harry murmurs against his mouth, and Draco smiles that disarming smile that has the same effect of a Jelly-Legs Curse on Harry. “I start a little later tomorrow morning. We could have breakfast together.”
“That would be lovely,” Draco replies, brushing an unruly curl off his forehead and gently running his fingers along Harry’s scar. “I’ll miss you tomorrow,” he adds softly, as if it were a secret, and Harry thinks he might melt there and then, bringing their lips together for another kiss before Draco disappears inside his room, leaving Harry in the corridor like a lost puppy.
Harry sets an alarm for earlier than usual, planning to surprise Draco with pancakes, but when he enters the kitchen on tiptoes, he finds Draco dressed to the nines in shimmering dark green robes that hug his slender figure in the most delicious way and make him look even taller. Harry would pay to be able to take those robes off, but unfortunately for him Pansy Parkinson is also there, scowling at him from one of their kitchen chairs in her miniskirt and stiletto heels.
“Circe, Potter,” she drawls. “You look like you just fell out of bed. I didn’t think that hair of yours could get any worse, but you clearly like to surprise me.”
“Happy birthday, Pansy,” Harry grumbles, earning a couple of air kisses from her as Draco smirks and offers Harry a cup of tea.
“I like your bed hair,” Draco whispers in his ear, making Harry blush, “especially after I’ve kissed you for a bit and it sticks out in all directions.”
“Draco…” Harry murmurs, wanting to break the short distance between them to claim his lips.
They haven’t discussed their relationship yet, haven’t decided whether to tell their friends or what to even say. Harry still doesn’t know if Draco is his boyfriend. He’s afraid to break the perfect little bubble that has been making him float on cloud nine for the past few days. But Draco is looking at him in such a way, eyes hungry on Harry’s lips, his body so warm and close, fingers tapping on the counter and moving an inch closer.
“Were you going to make us breakfast?” Pansy asks with an expectant look on her face, and Harry nods.
“I was going to make Draco pancakes,” he admits, and the smile on Draco’s face makes something melt in his chest, fireworks going off in his stomach.
“Well?” Pansy asks, and Harry turns to look at her, a little irritated by her presence when he was expecting to have Draco all to himself this morning. That’s when he notices her red lipstick, the way it makes her lips shine.
He remembers that she’s the only person who’s ever kissed Draco before. When she sneers at him, something snaps inside Harry.
He turns around to look at Draco, finding him staring back with an unreadable expression on his face, and Harry suddenly can’t take it any longer. He breaks the distance between them, giving Draco a chance to pull away as Harry cups his cheek, looking him straight in the eyes, and then runs his fingers through Draco’s fine hair.
“Harry…” he murmurs, and then his eyelids flutter shut as Harry presses their mouths together and lets his tongue tease the seam of Draco’s lips, feeling them open with a soft sigh. He gently tugs at Draco’s hair to deepen the kiss while his other hand moves down to rest on Draco’s waist, his thumb brushing against the smooth fabric of his robes.
Draco lets out a helpless little moan, and Harry kisses him hard, wanting to taste all of him and drown in the feeling that is making his heart beat madly in his chest.
“Salazar,” Pansy tuts behind them. “I thought Draco was going to have pancakes for breakfast, not your face.”
Harry lets out an amused little huff against Draco’s lips, finally letting go of him and relishing the desperate little whimper that escapes Draco’s mouth when they part. He’s uncomfortably hard, and is worried Pansy might realise and tease him until the end of his days.
“I’m going to go get changed,” Harry mutters, hoping against hope Pansy won’t notice the tented front of his pyjama trousers. “And then I’ll make you breakfast.”
Harry winks at Draco, noticing his wet, puffy lips, the way he’s panting after their heated kiss, and then he quickly sneaks back into his bedroom. He takes his top off in one swift move when the door suddenly opens, and Draco steps inside, locking the door behind him with a quick spell.
“Merlin, you’re an impossible man,” Draco mutters, grabbing his face and crashing their lips together, pushing Harry against his wardrobe as he moans against his mouth.
“Hmm,” Harry hums, and he lets Draco kiss him hard and wet. He moans loudly when Draco lets his tongue slide along his upper lip in the most indecent way, until Harry groans and swears under his breath.
“Want you,” Draco mumbles urgently. “Now.”
Harry nods, stupidly, because Draco is all he wants, all the bloody time, and he’s been craving him for so long that he thinks he’s gone stupid with need. He’s still not expecting Draco to kiss his neck and then abruptly go down on his knees.
“Fuck,” Harry swears when Draco lifts his face with a devious smirk and starts working on Harry’s trousers, lowering the elastic band of his pyjama bottoms with ease and then humming in appreciation when he notices how hard Harry is under his boxers.
“Happy to see me?” Draco teases, making Harry groan and then gasp when Draco unceremoniously tugs his boxers down, freeing his cock and nearly getting hit by it in the process. “Fuck, you’re so hard. You’re leaking already.”
“Draco…” Harry whimpers, eyes glued to the blond. Draco simply stares at him for a long moment, his bottom lip trapped between white teeth, and then he flicks his tongue out and gives Harry’s cock a tentative lick. “Shit…”
Draco seems to take it as an encouragement, so he does it again, this time starting from the root of Harry’s cock all the way up to the tip, swirling his pink tongue around it and carefully wrapping his lips around the head to give it a gentle suck. Harry moans helplessly, his fingers sliding through Draco’s loose hair.
“Did you like that?” Draco asks, his tone teasing but face clearly showing how insecure he actually feels about it.
“It felt fucking amazing,” Harry replies heatedly. “Please, don’t stop.”
Draco nods and then gives him a little smile before swallowing him whole and making Harry swear out loud. His last working brain cell suggests that maybe they should cast a silencing spell, but then Draco starts sucking him off with so much passion, using his hand to stroke where his mouth can’t reach, and Harry’s brain is filled with cotton wool.
There’s no technique to Draco’s licking and sucking, just raw lust and so much enthusiasm, but Harry’s never been more aroused in his life as he slides his hand through Draco’s silky hair and tries his hardest not to buck his hips and fuck that delicious mouth for all it’s worth.
“Hmmm,” Draco hums around his length, lips slick with saliva and eyes shining as their gazes lock.
“So good, my darling,” Harry mumbles incoherently between whimpers. “You’re doing so well, pet.” He’s never called anyone those names before, never felt the need to, but he loves doing it with Draco, and it seems to have the same effect on the other man, whose cheeks turn red as he sucks harder, hollowing his cheeks and making Harry gasp. “I’ve never been so hard in my life, sweetheart. You make me feel so good.”
Draco lets out a little whine, then his left hand starts fumbling with his own clothes, sliding inside the trousers of his posh robes. Harry stares down at him, but the fabric is too bulky for Harry to see anything, and he groans in frustration when Draco’s eyes flutter close and his hand starts moving rhythmically under the fabric of his robes.
Draco moans desperately around his length, blond eyebrows creased in pleasure, and Harry feels so close to the edge.
“Draco,” he mumbles, panting as he feels the familiar tingling of his orgasm and his muscles tensing. “Love, I’m going to…” he warns, but Draco just takes him deeper with a soft mewling sound, and Harry comes incredibly hard, gasping and moaning through his orgasm as he fills Draco’s mouth with so much come that he feels almost embarrassed by it.
“Fuck…” he breathes out, whimpering as he comes down. “That was out of this world…I’ve never come that hard in my entire life, love…”
“Mhhh,” Draco says, licking his lips after Harry’s cock slips out of his mouth with a wet sound. “I’m glad you liked it.”
“Come here,” Harry murmurs, fingers reaching for Draco’s arms to pull him up. “My turn. I want to make you feel good. Please…”
Draco’s hand slides out of his trousers and he casts a quick cleaning charm on himself before pulling Harry’s pants and trousers up and getting back on his feet.
“I must remember to cast a cushioning charm next time,” he says absentmindedly before kissing Harry fully on the lips. “And I’m afraid I’ve already come. But you can still make me breakfast.”
“That’s unfair!” Harry says, but his protests are cut short by Draco’s lascivious kiss, by the way Draco tastes like him. “Fuck, your mouth should be illegal. I’ll never get enough of kissing you.”
“Good,” Draco replies with a satisfied smile, then he kisses the tip of Harry’s nose and unlocks the door with a flick of his wand. “Breakfast now, before Pansy decides that she’s had enough of waiting.”
Harry must admit that he completely forgot about Pansy, but she clearly hasn’t forgotten about them.
“Circe’s tits, you were loud,” Pansy says with her arms crossed in front of her chest as she glares at Harry, making him squirm. “I thought you said you were going to change, but you’re still wearing your pyjamas.”
“Er…” Harry replies, realising he’s only wearing his pyjama bottoms, his shirt still lying discarded on the bedroom floor. “I should probably go and…”
“Most definitely,” Pansy says acidly. “Otherwise Draco won’t stop ogling your naked chest and we’ll never get out of this flat.”
“Hey,” Draco says in protest, but Harry’s already caught him staring at his chest a couple of times since they walked back into the kitchen, so he smirks as he heads for the bedroom again.
“Are you taking hair advice from Potter now?” he hears Pansy tease. “Just because he’s your boyfriend doesn’t mean that he knows what’s best. You look thoroughly shagged, darling.”
“Shut up, Pansy,” Draco says, but Harry can’t help but think that he didn’t deny it.
Is Draco his boyfriend?
He nearly burns a few pancakes because he can’t stop staring at Draco and wondering if they’re together now. He steals another kiss before he leaves for work, basking in the way Draco looks at him with a little smile before he tucks a wild curl behind Harry’s ear and wishes him a good day. And then when he’s at work, all he can think of is Draco’s eyes, and his mouth, and what they did together in Harry’s bedroom, the way Draco’s lips looked after sucking his cock.
“Earth to Harry!” Hannah calls, waving a hand in front of his face, but Harry simply lets out a huge sigh and wishes Draco were here, so that he could ask if he wants to be his boyfriend and maybe go on a date together.
Harry’s always conscious of the paparazzi lurking, which is also one of the reasons why he doesn’t date. The couple of times he tried in the past ended up in disaster, with people either trying to go out with him just to end up on the front page of the Prophet, or refusing to because they feared it.
Harry knows Draco’s had his fair share of public shaming in the papers after his trial, and he doesn’t want to make his life worse. At the same time, he just wishes he could live his life like a normal person and take Draco out on a date.
“Do you reckon he’s going to realise if I draw a moustache on his face with a sharpie?” someone says in front of him, and Harry frowns, realising that one of the other Junior Healers is pointing at him with a Muggle pen.
“Fuck off, Ryan,” he replies, making Hannah laugh.
“He speaks!” she says, stealing another one of Harry’s chips.
“Oi, buy your own,” Harry says, realising in dismay that he only has a couple left. “Fuck, I miss Draco. You never steal my chips when he’s around.”
“That’s because he’s a possessive brat, and he never lets anyone touch your food,” Ryan replies with an eye roll.
Harry gapes at him. He’s never noticed before, but now that he thinks about it, Draco is always very defensive when it comes to him and he gets particularly angry when someone takes Harry’s things. Harry remembers telling him about the Dursleys back in eighth year. He confessed about his grim childhood little by little, one morsel at a time, because it was simply unbearable to do it all in one go. Draco always listened in silence, his fists clenched tight, lips pressed into a thin, angry line. He never said anything afterwards, and Harry was grateful for it because there were no words that could have made him feel better. The only thing he needed to do was tell someone. Tell Draco.
When he finally manages to go home, after a day of getting told off for being distracted, Harry stumbles through the Floo to find the flat still empty. He wonders how long the opera will go on for, ends up taking a shower and then reheating some leftovers in the microwave to eat them on the sofa. He falls asleep there, a book open on his chest, wishing Draco were home with him.
“Hey.” A warm hand strokes his forehead much later, when the room is dark and only the Lumos on the tip of Draco’s wand casts a faint light in the living room. “You fell asleep on the sofa.”
“Missed you,” Harry mumbles, his voice thick with sleep and mouth dry. “How was your day?”
“Good,” Draco replies, kissing his forehead and grabbing his hand to haul him up. “Let’s get you to bed, come on.”
Harry would like to protest, to say that he wants to spend time with Draco now, because they’ve missed their evening together and he wants to know all about his day, but he yawns loudly and lets Draco drag him to his bedroom instead. Draco tucks him in and kisses his lips tenderly, wishing Harry a good night.
The night is still dark when he’s awoken again, by a loud scream this time. Harry sits up in bed, his heart beating madly in his chest as he hears Draco shout again, the noise sending a shiver down his spine. Harry stands up and runs to Draco’s bedroom without even grabbing his glasses. He finds Draco frantically kicking off his duvet and crying, his eyes open wide and scared in the dim light. The curtains are drawn and the moonlight is filtering in, casting shadows over his few possessions, and Harry can see the expression of anguish on Draco’s face, the way he’s shaking like a leaf.
“Hey,” Harry says, his voice soft as he sits on the bed next to Draco, running a hand down his back and finding him soaked in sweat. “It was just a nightmare, Draco. You’re safe now. Shh, I’m here with you.”
Draco shakes his head and lets out a little whimper that makes Harry’s heart clench painfully.
They’ve both been here so many times. Waking up screaming in the middle of the night or in the first light of day, the dreadful images still haunting them until they cry and shiver and pant.
They used to tell each other stories when they were still sharing a bedroom, to calm each other and try to get back to sleep. Draco used to sing to him, his voice low and melodious, and Harry always loved it to bits, sometimes wished Draco would do it in the light of day too. Harry doesn’t know any lullabies, so he used to chat about inane things, until Draco’s rhythmic breathing would make his heartbeat settle again.
Now that they’re no longer sleeping in the same bedroom, Harry misses Draco’s company when his nightmares are not so loud and he only wakes up crying. He knows Draco would come to him to console him, if Harry only asked, but he doesn’t want to bother him. And yet Harry still sleeps with his bedroom door open, ear attuned to Draco’s dreams and ready to go to him if Draco is in distress.
“Harry…” Draco whimpers, covering his face with his hands.
“Let me get you a clean t-shirt,” Harry says, standing up to open one of Draco’s drawers. He hears the rustling sound of fabric behind him, wondering if he can turn around or not. Draco throws something into the laundry basket next to his chest of drawers, and Harry spots his grey pyjama trousers and the black t-shirt he was wearing. He swallows loudly as he realises Draco is probably just wearing his underwear. “I-I found your old Puddlemere t-shirt. W-would that be okay?”
“I’m warm,” Draco mutters behind him, his voice still shaky. Harry hears the sound of Draco’s duvet being rearranged on the bed. He takes a deep breath, wondering if he should leave. “Harry? Will…will you come here…with me?”
“Yes,” Harry breathes out, relieved and anxious at the same time.
His eyes are getting accustomed to the darkness, and he can spot Draco’s light eyes staring back at him, his white-blond eyebrows creasing in apparent concern as Harry looks at him and pauses for a moment before lifting the covers and sliding under them.
Draco’s bed is big enough for two people, but not massive, so their shoulders touch when Harry lies next to him. Harry tries to breathe in and out regularly, to calm the frantic beating of his heart. Draco’s body is so warm next to his, and he suddenly doesn’t know what to do with his hands or what to say.
“I dreamed about him,” Draco mumbles, and Harry instantly knows that he means Voldemort. He turns around, facing Draco and admiring his lovely profile, the straight line of his nose, longing to trace it with the tip of his finger. “Greyback was there too…he was trying to get me, to…to take me…”
“It was just a dream,” Harry says softly, stroking Draco’s arm under the covers, feeling his hot skin under the palm of his hand and craving more, to be under his skin, inside his veins. “You’re here with me now. You’re safe.”
“Sometimes I wonder if this is all a dream,” Draco whispers, a deep frown appearing between his eyebrows. “If I’m going to wake up and find myself in my bedroom at the Manor, with the Dark Lo-…I mean, V-Voldemort…waiting outside of my door.”
“He’s dead,” Harry insists, letting his hand slide down slowly, until it reaches Draco’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “He can’t hurt you anymore.”
“Will you kiss me?” Draco asks, turning his head to face him, his eyes shining in the darkness, lips partly open. “Harry, will yo-”
Harry doesn’t even let him ask a second time, his lips instantly pressing against Draco’s soft mouth, muffling a little moan as he licks at them, asking for permission to deepen the kiss and sighing when Draco lets him inside straight away. Harry’s fingers slide through silky strands as he licks into Draco’s mouth, slowly and carefully, trying to make him relax and feel safe again. He feels Draco’s hand sneaking under his pyjama top, his fingers digging into the soft skin of Harry’s waist and then moving to explore and map his skin, counting his ribs, skimming over a nipple and making Harry groan into his mouth.
“Draco…”
“Will you touch me?” Draco asks tentatively when they part for air, and Harry nods, desperate and keen, feeling a sense of elation at finally being allowed to touch and look at Draco like he’s always wanted to. Harry catches a glimmer of uncertainty in Draco’s eyes, so he kisses him again, sucking on Draco’s bottom lip as his fingers start exploring, tracing the line of a scar from Draco’s chin down his neck, crisscrossing its way across his chest. He brushes against a nipple, his thumb dipping into smooth scar tissue just under it, whimpering at the thought of the pain he’s caused, at the irregular pattern of scars across Draco’s chest.
“I’m so sorry I hurt you,” Harry mumbles against Draco’s lips. Warm hands pull him closer as Draco shakes his head and reaches for his mouth again.
“You’ve apologised already,” Draco whispers. “I was going to hurt you, too. We’ve talked about it.” He takes Harry’s hand where it lies still on his sternum and urges it to move, down his stomach, around his waist, to the smooth planes of his back, free of scars and soft like silk. Harry sighs and lets his hand trail down Draco’s spine as he kisses his chin, then sucks on a sensitive spot under Draco’s ear to make him moan in the most delicious way. “Touch me, Harry. Please…I need to feel you…”
Harry grunts, fingers sliding under the elastic band of Draco’s boxers to grab at the perfect globes of his arse, moaning at how perfect it feels against his skin. Harry is so hard that he feels like he could come with the smallest friction. He’s mad with need, with the taste and feel of Draco’s skin.
“Want you,” he mutters, sucking another bruise on Draco’s skin and wondering what it will look like in the light of day, come morning when he will be able to see it red and blue on Draco’s porcelain skin, the shape of his desire materialised on Draco’s body. “Need you so badly, Draco.”
“Yes,” Draco pants, little needy sounds escaping his lips as Harry lowers his boxers and then slowly moves a hand across his thighs, wanting to wrap it around Draco’s cock, to feel it hard in his palm, but then he stills when his fingers find coarse hair and wet folds of skin instead of a hard cock.
Draco freezes, and Harry moves to look him in the eyes, finding them wide and unblinking, staring back at him in the dim light.
Harry stops breathing for a second, still confused and slow in the syrupy buzz that envelops his brain.
It suddenly dawns on him, all the little clues that he failed to notice.
Draco’s orange potion, the fact that he never changed in front of him, the scars under his nipples, that time the drunk man called Draco his girlfriend and Draco saying Harry didn’t understand.
Harry just stares at him for a few seconds, his heart beating madly, with love and need and realisation, until he feels Draco moving under him, pulling his hands up against Harry’s chest, maybe to push him away, as his eyebrows crease in panic. Harry doesn’t think, just breaks the distance between them and kisses Draco fully on the lips, open and wet, moaning against Draco’s mouth as he rocks against him, wanting Draco to feel how incredibly hard he is. How much he wants him.
“Can I touch you?” Harry asks, diving in again and again to taste Draco’s lips, feeling him relax little by little and nod, once, then twice. “Fuck, I want to touch you so badly.”
“Harry…”
Harry lets his fingers slide down again, finding Draco hot and wet for him, his legs opening to let Harry’s hand nestle there and feel him.
“Want to suck your cock,” Harry whispers, rubbing his fingers against it, stealing a whimper from Draco’s puffy lips before he sucks at them again. “Want to make you come in my mouth…Merlin, I bet you taste divine.”
“Fuck,” Draco gasps, spreading his legs wider, his breath hitching in his throat when one of Harry’s fingers presses inside, curling up while his thumb still rubs against Draco’s slick cock.
“I’m going to make you feel so good, love,” he murmurs against the scar on Draco’s neck as he arches his back and keens. “God, you’re so hot I could come just looking at you. Let me touch your cock, Draco. Please, I want to feel how soaking wet you are for me, love.”
Harry has never used that word with anyone before, has never told anyone those three tricky little words, because they never felt real enough.
They do with Draco, in a way that makes Harry’s heart feel cracked open.
That last word seems to make Draco’s defences crumble as he nods, then moans loudly when Harry strokes him languidly, until Draco is panting against his mouth, his grey eyes shut as he lets Harry take him apart with his hand and his mouth and his words.
“Aah…”
“So good for me, darling. So fucking hot, Draco. You’re the hottest man I’ve ever laid eyes on. You have no idea how hard you make me, love. I want to fuck you so badly.”
“Harry…” Draco whimpers, biting on his bottom lip as he squeezes his eyes shut and tenses up, little whimpers escaping his lips as he comes in Harry’s arms, rocking his hips against his hand. Harry drinks it all in, the mind-blowing sounds Draco is making, the overwhelming realisation that he just made him come, that Draco let him touch him and kiss him and make him feel good.
Draco shudders, nestling closer, his eyes still shut.
“I’ve got you,” Harry says, wrapping him in his arms and pulling him closer. Draco can probably hear Harry’s heart beating madly against his ear, but Harry doesn’t mind. He’s so full of love that he thinks he might overflow with it.
“You’re still hard,” Draco mumbles, sounding both surprised and impressed as he suddenly cups the front of Harry’s pyjama bottoms and makes him gasp.
“Fuck, you’re going to make me come if you keep on stroking me like that,” Harry whines, hissing when Draco unceremoniously pulls his trousers and pants down, wrapping his hand around Harry’s cock to pump him hard and fast. “Shit, Draco…”
“Lubrico,” Draco whispers, a wandless spell that would have normally made Harry call him a show-off, but that he finds ridiculously hot right now, with Draco’s mouth claiming his and his grip so perfect and indecent that Harry soon spills his come in Draco’s hand and all over his stomach with a desperate moan.
“Fuck…” Harry says, burying his face in Draco’s pillow and sinking into the scent of his shampoo and something so intrinsically Draco that Harry feels like he might come again as he inhales Draco’s smell.
“I was worried,” Draco confesses a moment later, voice low and hesitant.
“Hm?” Harry hums, opening his eyes to look at him, his brain still fuzzy and relaxed after his orgasm. The familiar caress of Draco's magic cleans his skin and makes him hum softly in contentment.
“I was scared,” Draco repeats, torturing his bottom lip with his teeth, “that you would…that you wouldn’t want me anymore, when you found out that I’m trans.”
“Hey,” Harry whispers, kissing his frown, willing to smooth it with his mouth to make Draco smile and relax again. “It makes no difference to me. It doesn’t change anything.”
“It doesn't?” Draco breathes out, his nostrils flaring.
“It doesn’t change the way I feel about you,” Harry replies calmly, brushing a loose lock of hair from Draco’s face, tucking it behind his ear and letting his fingertip slide over the line of his jaw, up his chin and over his bottom lip. “It doesn’t change how much I want you, Draco. You are still you—my best friend and extremely sexy former school nemesis,” he adds, and Draco lets out a little snort. “It doesn’t change how much I love you, Draco. So, so much.”
“Harry…”
“You don’t have to say anything,” Harry hurriedly adds, pressing his index finger against Draco’s lips to seal them shut. “Please don’t feel like you have to say anything back. I just…I love you, and I wanted you to know. I’ve been in love with you for a while…”
“Come here, you ridiculous sap,” Draco says, cupping his cheeks and kissing him hard on the lips, pressing their chests together until Harry feels like he’s melting against him, safe and cherished in Draco’s arms.
“Can I sleep here?” he asks, hopeful, and Draco chuckles, tucking the duvet over them both before he wraps his arms around Harry and lets him rest his head on his chest, close to Draco’s beating heart.
When he wakes up in the morning as the first lights of dawn make the room glow, Harry finds Draco asleep next to him, his face serene and relaxed in a way it rarely is. He looks younger, Harry thinks as he brushes a lock from his face and marvels at how beautiful Draco is, how lucky Harry is to have him in his life.
Harry realises it’s the first time he’s slept in Draco’s room, in spite of the fact that they’ve shared a room for a whole year at Hogwarts. He looks at the walls, the “Don’t panic” sign and the “Oh no, not again.” poster of a whale and a bowl of flowers that Draco seemed to find hilarious and bought on a sunny afternoon in Camden Market, telling Harry about The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and how much he loved it. Harry smiles as his eyes wander over Draco’s desk, admiring the nearly arranged books and stationary. He spots the poster of a UFO and the sign “I want to believe” and smiles, remembering when he showed Draco The X-Files and Draco was so outraged by it all, kept on saying the Muggles were ridiculous, pinched his nose and groaned every time Mulder came up with a new theory, making Harry laugh so hard that his stomach hurt. Harry got the poster for Draco’s birthday, watching him unwrap it and barely containing his mirth at Draco’s appalled expression.
“What are you looking at?” Draco murmurs against his neck, his fingers twitching as they spread over Harry’s chest, then slide down his ribs and wrap around his waist. “Mhh, you smell so lovely.”
“We probably need to get up and get ready for work,” Harry says, unable to move and unwilling to. He lets Draco’s hand caress his skin lazily, tracing intricate patterns on his chest as Draco’s relaxed breathing tickles his skin.
“Will you sleep with me again?” Draco asks, his voice low but clear. Harry smiles, kissing the top of his head and stroking his hair.
“Of course,” he replies, feeling his heart soar, weightless and warm. “I’d love to, Draco. I…I missed sleeping next to you…”
“That makes the two of us,” Draco comments, kissing the pulse point on his neck and wrapping his legs around Harry. “I don’t want to go to work.”
“Me neither,” Harry says with a sigh, but then he hears his wand buzzing from his bedroom, followed by Draco’s own wand vibrating the alarm on his bedside table.
“We could shower together,” Draco suggests tentatively, and Harry nearly bolts out of bed to drag him to the bathroom in his excitement.
Draco looks a little sheepish in the light of day, watching Harry undress in their small bathroom while he stands there in his black boxer shorts, hands tucked under his armpits and feet bare on their white rug.
“I feel a bit self-conscious when you stare at me like that,” Harry confesses, knowing full well that he’s still a bit skinny and probably too hairy, wondering if Draco will still want him after he’s seen all of him.
“Shut up, you’re ridiculously gorgeous,” Draco says, looking affronted. “Circe’s tits, Harry,” he says, pointing at his chest and legs and then swallowing loudly when Harry finally lowers his underwear and it hits the floor.
They both stare at Harry’s hard cock for a handful of seconds, Draco’s eyes widening as a familiar smirk appears on his face.
“I’m going to turn the shower on,” Harry says, feeling a bit silly and stupidly embarrassed before he turns and then hears the rustling sound of fabric sliding down skin, then the warm press of Draco’s naked body against his.
“Let’s get in together,” Draco murmurs, and they stumble inside in a clash of limbs and lips, as Draco pushes him against the cold tiles for a bruising kiss, his hands grabbing Harry’s wrists and pinning them over his head, pressing their chests flush.
“Want you again,” Harry mumbles, already overwhelmed as he lets his eyes roam over Draco’s scarred chest, the possessive urge to trace the lines his own magic has left there seizing him and making him buck his hips, his cock hard and leaking. “Need you, Draco.”
“Come here,” Draco says, even though he’s pinning Harry to the spot with his body and his hands. “Want to suck your cock.”
“I want to do it first,” Harry whines, but Draco is already on his knees, mouthing at Harry’s length and suckling on the head, making Harry hiss at how mind-blowing it feels to have Draco’s delicious mouth wrapped around him, bobbing up and down. Harry sinks his fingers into his soft hair, watching it darken under the stream of the shower, and he tries to last for a little longer this time, but he soon comes with a strangled moan down Draco’s throat.
“Mhh,” Draco hums around his softening cock, grey eyes still locked with Harry’s, making him feel safe and owned.
He loves belonging to Draco.
“Am I your boyfriend, then?” Harry asks, watching Draco’s eyebrows arch in surprise. He stands up and kisses him sweetly, a perfect balance to the bitter saltiness of Harry that he can taste on Draco’s tongue.
“Yes,” Draco breathes out, then nods a few times. “You’re my boyfriend.”
“Good,” Harry says with a smile that turns into the biggest grin. “God, I’m so happy.”
“Fuck, Harry…” Draco murmurs, kissing him hard on the lips, needy and desperate.
“My turn to make you feel good,” Harry says, kissing his way down Draco’s chest, tonguing at his nipples to feel him shudder and hear the amazing sounds he makes when Harry sucks on them. He sinks to his knees, sliding his hand under Draco’s thigh to lift it over his shoulder as he keeps eye contact and checks that Draco is fine.
Harry flicks his tongue against Draco’s cock, finding him wet and hot, moaning as Draco groans and slides his fingers into Harry’s thick curls, tugging him closer and letting Harry lick and suck at him until Draco is drenched and breathless, his orgasm shaking him to the core.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” Draco mutters, caressing Harry’s head and letting his thumb trace the shape of Harry’s ear. “Fuck, you’re so good with your mouth.”
“You taste lovely,” Harry mumbles, and Draco snorts, calling him a dork and pulling him up.
“We probably have five minutes left to shower and get out of the house before we end up in trouble,” Draco says, passing him the soap and turning his head away when Harry tries to kiss him. Harry does his best impression of puppy eyes, looking wounded as Draco lathers his body quickly and swats at his hands when Harry tries to help. “Wash yourself and hurry up. We don’t even have time to eat.”
“But breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” Harry argues, and gets bonked on the head with a soap bar.
By the time they Apparate to St Mungo’s, hair still wet and stomachs empty, their supervisor is already waiting for them with a raised eyebrow and a Tempus glimmering menacingly over his head.
“You’re both late,” he declares flatly. “Which means you get the night shift next week.”
“Nooo,” Harry groans, catching Ryan and Hannah sharing a high-five behind the Senior Healer’s back.
“I’m really sorry, sir,” Draco says, looking at the floor with a frown on his face.
“It’s my fault,” Harry blurts out. “Seriously. You know Draco and I live together. I…hogged the shower, and Draco was late because of me, so…”
“Nonsense,” Draco hisses, glaring at him. “I’m the one who was in the shower for ages…enjoying myself…so Harry was late because of me.”
“Were you both in the shower at the same time?” Ryan teases with a snigger, and Harry’s about to say yes, when Draco elbows him in the ribs.
“Night shift,” the Healer repeats. “Both of you.”
Harry grumbles that it’s unfair as he gets ready for the day, following Healer Newton to Artefact Accidents for his first round of patients. He catches glimpses of Draco throughout the day, and can’t help but think that Draco is his boyfriend, that they’ve had sex, and it was Draco’s first time, and it was amazing.
“You’re really out of it today,” Hannah comments at lunch, shaking her head as she stares at him with a curious expression on her freckled face. She reaches for one of Harry’s strawberries, but Draco promptly slaps her hand, making her glare at him.
“Hands off Harry’s food,” Draco declares, moving his chair closer to him and resuming his orange peeling ministrations. It’s a process that never ceases to fascinate Harry. Draco peels oranges like he performs careful medical procedures, with a level of concentration and precision that always amazes Harry.
“Are you eventually going to eat that poor orange or are you simply torturing it?” Ryan asks before he stuffs his mouth with a spoonful of sponge pudding and custard.
“Mind your own business,” Draco replies with a raised eyebrow and an incinerating look.
“Harry, by the way,” Ryan says, ignoring Draco completely, “I have a date with my girlfriend tomorrow. We were supposed to go out on Sunday, but she had to cancel because her mum was unwell. Anyway, I know your day off is tomorrow, so can we swap? I have Friday off.”
Harry’s about to say yes, when Draco shakes his head and places his hand on his under the table.
“Absolutely not,” Draco declares. “Harry’s due some time off. He already swapped with you last week and with Hannah the week before, so he hasn’t had time off in ages. Ask someone else.”
Ryan looks affronted, but he grumbles a fine, and stands up to empty his tray and leave, followed by Hannah.
Harry turns to look at Draco, finding him fuming as he finally starts eating his perfectly peeled orange.
“You okay?” Harry asks, rubbing his thumb against the soft skin of Draco’s hand.
“They always try to take advantage of your kindness,” he mumbles angrily, offering a few slices of orange to Harry, who gladly accepts it and hums at how sweet it is. He suddenly feels the overwhelming need to kiss Draco, to taste that citrusy sweetness on his lips. He’s always so grateful when Draco protects him, when he takes control of the situation and doesn’t let Harry act like a martyr or a hero.
Harry feels safe with him.
“Can I kiss you?” he whispers, leaning into Draco’s space and resting his head on his shoulder. “I’m really dying to kiss you.”
“Let’s find a quiet place,” Draco replies, his pink cheeks the only sign that he’s perturbed by Harry’s request. “I know you hate cupboards, but I stumbled upon one in Spell Damage the other day that seems completely out of use.”
“Show me,” Harry says, grabbing his hand and pulling Draco up, ignoring the curious looks of people in the canteen, the flash of a camera that surely means trouble. He tries to forget about it and lets Draco take him to the nook where he can finally thread a hand in Draco’s hair and kiss him open-mouthed and with a storm of butterflies in his stomach.
“Hmmm…” Draco hums against his lips, long fingers sliding under the hem of Harry’s robes to find heated skin.
“I love you so much,” Harry says, a breathless moan on the tip of his lips as Draco starts kissing his neck and palming his cock through his trousers.
“We can’t be late again,” Draco mutters, pulling away after a moment and watching Harry chase after his hands and lips with desperate need. “Come on. Do you want me to cast a cooling charm on you?”
“Ugh,” Harry says, rubbing his eyes under his glasses and groaning loudly. “Please. Otherwise Ryan is going to take the piss.”
Ryan does take the piss in the end, asking if a Hippogriff tried to make its nest in Harry’s hair when they emerge at the very end of their lunch break.
“You’re just jealous because you’re losing your hair,” Draco hisses under his breath, making Ryan flip two fingers at him behind Healer Newton’s back.
When they come home that evening, they’re greeted by Ron and Hermione and a copy of a special edition of the Daily Prophet.
“What kind of tosh have they published this time?” Draco asks, stretching his arms in a feline move that makes Harry stare at him in a mixture of love and fascination. He still can’t believe Draco is his boyfriend.
“That you two are together,” Ron replies, showing them the photos of Harry with his head on Draco’s shoulder, of them holding hands as they leave the canteen. Harry’s jaw drops as he looks at them. “Fuck, it’s true, then! Merlin, Hermione. Harry finally found the guts to confess!”
“What?!” Harry splutters, spotting Hermione’s amused snort and Draco’s eye roll. “How did you know?”
“Mate, you’ve been so obvious about your crush on the ferret that even Neville realised,” Ron comments. Harry groans, finding Draco’s arms around him, circling his back in a soothing way. “Anyway, ‘Mione and I thought we’d give you the heads up. I bet St Mungo’s is going to be packed with paparazzi tomorrow.”
“It’s Harry’s day off luckily,” Draco replies, kissing him on the cheek and moving towards the fridge to contemplate its contents and decide what to make for dinner.
“I spotted some sausages in there,” Ron says eagerly, earning an elbow in the ribs from Hermione. “Harry could make them with potatoes in the oven like last time. They were super nice.”
“Ron!” Hermione says with a frown, hands on her hips.
“Harry’s tired,” Draco replies with an icy look. “How about you cook, Weasley?”
“How about you all help me?” Harry says with a sigh, catching Hermione’s wink.
“I’ll help you cook while these two continue their chess match from last week,” Hermione suggests calmly. “Ron and Draco can sort out the table and do the washing up later.”
“I’m going to beat you this time, Malfoy!” Ron announces, pulling his sleeves up.
“Dream on, Weasley,” Draco replies airily.
Hermione smiles at Harry, and he relaxes instantly as they start preparing dinner together. He doesn’t tell her anything about finally getting with Draco, about how happy he’s feeling at the moment, because he can’t find the words and he reckons it’s written all over his face anyway.
He spends the evening finding every possible excuse to touch Draco, now that he can. He slides a hand under the table to interlace their fingers together while they wait for dinner to be ready. He places a hand on the small of Draco’s back when he’s explaining Hermione how to perform an appendicectomy with magic, then he cards his fingers through the soft and short hair at the nape of Draco’s neck when they’re chatting on the sofa after dinner, making him shudder and lean closer.
When Hermione and Ron finally leave, Draco takes his hand, kissing the back of it, and then leads him to his bedroom, where they undress in the dim light cast by Draco’s Lumos and climb into bed together. Harry takes his time exploring Draco’s body this time, tracing old scars with his lips, mapping all the perfect imperfections on his skin, the moles and hidden freckles. He drinks in Draco’s gasps and desperate moans. Draco spreads his legs open wide and lets him take him apart with his fingers and mouth, whispering his name like a prayer in the darkness.
When they’re lying together, spent and sated, Harry’s fingers trace the intricate patterns of scar tissue on Draco’s warm skin, his fingertips dipping featherlight into the ones on his chest. Draco flinches and Harry stops instantly, lifting his head to look him in the eyes.
“I’m sorry, love. Did I hurt you?” Harry asks, but Draco shakes his head.
“No, it just…” he mumbles, staring at the ceiling for a moment. “I was remembering something…”
“Bad memory?” Harry asks. It’s a question they ask each other sometimes, when they’re caught in the grip of the past, swallowed by a distant memory that makes them suddenly maudlin or upset or angry.
“Good and bad,” Draco replies with a grimace. “I was thinking about wearing a binder at Hogwarts.”
“Oh,” Harry says, waiting for Draco to share what he feels like telling Harry about his past. It’s always a slow process for both of them; the memories are hard to pull out and lay in the open for the other to see. Harry always feels like he’s cracking his heart in half and offering it to Draco when he talks about the war or his childhood, and he figures it must be the same for Draco, with the added guilt of being on the opposite side of the war.
“Mother used to get confused and forgot to call me Draco for the first couple of years when I went home for the holidays,” Draco mumbles distractedly, as if he were talking about the weather, but Harry can feel the tension in his body, can see the way his fingers flutter nervously on his thigh. “Father used to tell her off. He always wanted a son, you see. He was happy when I told him I felt like I didn’t belong in my skin. But Mother…it was harder for her.”
“Hmm…” Harry doesn’t really know what to say, so he snuggles closer and kisses the soft skin of Draco’s neck, where his pulse point is, then he murmurs that he loves him against Draco’s cheek, letting his fingers stroke silky hair.
“Pansy is the only other person who knows,” Draco adds a moment later, turning around to sink into Harry’s arms. “Father’s in Azkaban, Mother in France. All the others are dead.”
Harry realises the other Slytherin boys don’t know; that Draco managed to keep it a secret throughout school. He wonders what that must have felt like.
“Thank you for telling me this,” Harry whispers in the darkness, when Draco’s breathing has evened out and the movements of his fingers on Harry’s skin are slowing down. “It must have been so hard for you, love.”
“It was, and sometimes it still is,” Draco admits, placing a kiss on Harry’s arm, “but I have you now. I never thought I’d get to have you, Harry…”
Harry holds him in his arms until Draco drifts to sleep, and then he lies there, considering how lucky he is to have Draco in his life, to be able to love him and be his boyfriend.
He spends the following days thinking about the difficulties Draco’s had to face in the past, like sharing a dorm with the other Slytherins without ever undressing in their presence, hiding his body and his binder for years. He notices things, like the fact that Draco always uses the cubicles when they go to the loo at work or at the pub, with people like Ryan teasing him sometimes about it, asking if he needs a number two. But Harry also marvels at Draco’s resilience, at his positivity in the face of people’s harsh treatment when they realise they’re facing an ex-Death Eater. He admires Draco’s determination, is in awe of his intelligence and wits, finds him adorable and funny and unbelievably kind and protective.
Harry loves him so much that it feels like his heart is about to burst.
Draco has no support from his parents since neither of them are around, and all his fortune was taken away during the war, so Harry wonders where he finds the Galleons to pay for his testosterone potion. He knows it’s not exactly cheap. He finds the courage to ask one afternoon as they’re trying to revise for an exam in Draco’s room, and discovers that Draco has been working as a ghost writer for a wizarding publishing company.
“I thought you were writing to your mum when you disappeared in your room to work at your desk,” Harry says, feeling confused but wanting to help, to offer Draco his money to pay for his potion.
“Sometimes I do owl her,” Draco replies with a shrug, fiddling with a piece of parchment and folding the corners distractedly. “But most of the time I’m just writing silly little stories that pay for my potions. And I know you’re dying to offer me your help, but it’s okay, Harry. I want to do this on my own. I feel…it makes me feel good to know that I accomplished this without anyone’s help. Besides, you’re already doing a lot.”
“I’m not doing anything!” Harry complains, his chest constricting at the thought of how little he’s doing to help Draco.
“Merlin, you can be so blind sometimes,” Draco says with a sigh, standing up to pull him closer and kiss Harry on the lips until he stops worrying and all he feels is the pool of heat in his stomach and the overwhelming need to tumble into bed with Draco and feel his skin smooth and warm against his.
“Need you,” Harry murmurs, feeling Draco’s hands on his shoulders, pushing him onto the bed and straddling his hips. “Draco, I want you so badly, darling.”
“Want you, too,” Draco murmurs between kisses, pressing against Harry and rocking his hips against his straining erection. “You’re overdressed.”
“I thought we were going to study together,” Harry points out distractedly as he struggles to undo the intricate buttons of Draco’s robes.
“We could revise anatomy,” Draco replies with a smirk, and Harry can’t help but laugh at the stupid joke, wrapping his hand around the back of Draco’s neck to pull him down for a heated kiss.
With a flick of Draco’s fingers all their clothes are gone, and Harry gasps, feeling skin on skin in the most delicious way.
“You’re the hottest show-off I’ve ever met,” Harry mumbles, hands touching every inch of skin he can grab, moaning into Draco’s mouth when his hand closes around Harry’s length and starts pumping it lazily, his tongue doing indecent things to Harry’s neck.
“I want you inside me,” Draco whispers, and Harry nearly comes on the spot, a strangled moan escaping his lips when Draco leaves his skin to stare at him, his steely eyes determined and unblinking. “Harry, I want you to fuck me.”
“We…” Harry starts, swallowing loudly and trying to think unsexy thoughts to prevent himself from coming before he even gets to touch Draco. “We don’t have to.”
“I want to,” Draco replies quickly, capturing Harry’s bottom lip with his teeth and pulling a bit, making him groan before he lets go. “I want you inside me, Harry. Please…”
Harry nods, once, twice, then reaches for Draco’s lips again while he runs his hands down Draco’s back, reaching his buttocks and squeezing them.
“Where do you want me, love?” Harry asks, his voice husky with want, pulling Draco down to feel the whole length of his naked body against his.
“I don’t know,” Draco replies, suddenly blushing. “We could…can we try from behind?”
“Whatever you want, darling,” Harry replies softly, caressing the silky skin of his waist, kissing Draco until he’s a whimpering mess and he’s rocking against Harry’s thigh, wet and hot.
Harry gets Draco to lie on his back, kisses his way down his pale body, sucking on his nipples while he teases him with his fingers. He summons some lube from his room and starts working a finger inside Draco’s hole, finding him tight and hot and wondering what it would feel like to be inside him. Draco tenses up and winces when Harry adds a second finger, then bites on his bottom lip and looks upwards, tears welling up at the corner of his eyes. Harry stops immediately, pulling both fingers out slowly and casting a cleaning charm on them.
“What…” Draco mumbles, his voice sounding strained. “Why did you stop?”
“Because I’m hurting you,” Harry replies, moving up the bed to thread his fingers through Draco’s hair and kiss his furrowed brows. “Because we don’t have to do this if you’re too sore to enjoy it.”
“I was just…” Draco starts, white teeth torturing his bottom lip. “I think it might take a bit for it to feel good. You can keep going at it. It’s okay if it hurts a bit.”
Harry shakes his head and kisses the corner of his mouth.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Harry says resolutely, resting his forehead against Draco. “You’re very tense, and I don’t want to risk making it worse. It’s the first time we’re doing this, love. We don’t need to rush it.”
“But I want you to feel good,” Draco mumbles, looking vulnerable and a little lost.
“This is not just about me. It’s about both of us. Besides, you always make me feel good, Draco,” Harry says, looking at him with all the love and affection and want that his heart is desperately trying to hold in and is now threatening to spill out. “It always feels amazing, every time you touch me or kiss me. But we don’t need to do this unless it feels good for both of us.”
“I…” Draco starts, avoiding his gaze and then coming back to it, as if attracted by a magnet. “I wanted to feel it…having you inside me…”
“I know, but we have time,” Harry says with a soft smile. “We could try another day. I could go down on you again and make you come first, if you want. This way you’ll be nice and rel-”
“I want you in here,” Draco blurts out, taking Harry’s hand and bringing it right underneath his cock, to the folds of skin that are wet and inviting and welcome Harry’s fingers instantly, pulling a moan from Draco when he sinks inside with two digits. “Want you inside me, Harry. Please…”
“Are you sur-” Harry asks again, feeling Draco groan impatiently against his mouth before he parts his legs and grabs Harry’s cock, sliding it sensually against his own wet cock, then underneath, rubbing it there with a startled gasp at how good it suddenly feels.
“Fuck, yes,” Draco murmurs, sounding overwhelmed already. “Fuck me here, Harry. Want you so badly.”
“I’ll get a condom, wait,” Harry says, trying to think straight and failing when Draco starts rubbing his cock against his hole again, whimpering at how impossibly good it feels.
“Want you raw,” Draco murmurs, lifting his legs up and guiding Harry inside him, stroking his length as he lets out a little moan when the head slides inside. “My potion contains a contraceptive, ahhh…and I’ve never…I know you’re clean, and I want to feel you so badly. Want your come inside me, Harry…”
“Fuck, Draco…” he groans, taking a deep, steadying breath as he tries not to move and to go slowly. This is Draco’s first time, and Harry doesn’t want to ruin it. “Am I hurting you? I can pull out if it hurts, love.”
“You’re a ridiculous man,” Draco says with a smile, wrapping his legs around Harry’s waist and pulling him closer, deeper, until they’re both gasping.
“Because I’m in love with you and want you to feel good? There’s nothing ridiculous about that,” Harry murmurs, kissing Draco’s brow, his cheek, his lips. He pulls out until only the head is inside, then stares at their joined bodies, at his hard cock slowly sinking inside Draco, feeling a wave of arousal washing over him.
“I need all of you inside me,” Draco says, sounding overwhelmed as he reaches for Harry and pushes him inside that wet heat that feels so delicious and promising. Harry finally bottoms out with a shuddered gasp and closes his eyes.
“Fuck, you’re so wet and hot, love. Merlin, you feel so tight…” he mumbles, hearing Draco’s whimper and opening his eyes to find steely irises staring back at him. “Are you okay, darling?”
“Yes,” Draco breathes out, and Harry reaches for him, for the place where their bodies are joined, and casts a healing charm with his fingers, making Draco shudder and grip at his waist, fingers digging into the soft skin of Harry’s side. “I want you to move. Harry, please…start moving…”
“Draco…” he murmurs, pulling out and then slowly pushing back inside. Harry focuses on the tiny noises Draco is making, the breathless moans and needy whimpers that escape his lips. Draco’s eyelids flutter closed when Harry reaches between them and starts stroking his cock, thumbing at it slowly, until Draco’s moans grow louder and his back arches, legs trembling in a familiar way while pleasure washes through him for a long moment that leaves Harry in awe. Draco is so beautiful and lovely, coming undone in his arms while Harry is inside him, desperately trying to last a little longer, just a few more minutes while Draco’s still coming and calling his name like a prayer.
“Harry…” he murmurs, and it almost sounds like a moan. “Please…come inside me…I want it…”
“Fuck,” Harry groans, finally allowing himself to close his eyes and thrust a little harder, a little deeper into Draco’s wet heat, until he comes on a breathless moan that shakes him to the core, filling up Draco with his release.
Harry kisses him, his lungs still struggling for air but needing Draco more. He feels long fingers threading through his messy curls, pulling him down to deepen the kiss, until they’re both panting against each other’s mouth and Draco whimpers when Harry moves.
He pulls out slowly, watching his softening cock slide out with a wet sound. He stares in awe as his come trickles out of Draco’s hole, wanting to commit it to memory, to buy a Pensieve and watch it again and again while he touches himself.
“Enjoying the show?” Draco teases, and Harry feels himself blush, but Draco’s looking too, a curious expression on his face before he lowers his legs and reaches for his wand to cast a cleaning charm on both of them.
“I love you,” Harry blurts out, feeling like his heart is about to spill or crack, like he’s about to cry and can’t stop the tears. Draco pulls him down with a soft hum, rolling them around so that he’s lying on top of Harry and kissing him sweetly, carding his hands through Harry’s thick curls. “I want you to fuck me next time. I’ve never been fucked before,” Harry confesses, watching Draco’s eyes widen in surprise. “I want you to be the first, Draco.”
“Merlin, Harry…gods, yes…” Draco mumbles, stroking his hair and kissing him again, a heated drag of lips and tongues that makes Harry’s cock stir with interest again.
“I’ll buy you one of those magical strap-ons that feel like a part of you,” Harry promises, loving the way Draco’s cheeks flush when they lock gazes again.
“Harry, those cost loads…” Draco murmurs, shaking his head.
“What if I want to spoil my gorgeous boyfriend rotten?” Harry says with a smile, nuzzling their noses together. “What if I want to get you something nice that we’ll both get to enjoy? A present for me, because you make me so happy that I feel like I might faint sometimes.”
“Harry…”
The next day they end up going to one of those wizarding sex shops that are hidden in one of the side streets next to Diagon Alley. They feel a little silly because they’re both wearing the weirdest Glamour to avoid the paparazzi and they look like an elderly couple of funky wizards. Harry’s rainbow robes shimmer in the most eye-catching way, and the shop assistant keeps on looking at them and sniggering.
“Maybe we should have picked a different Glamour,” Draco mumbles, touching Harry’s long white beard before tucking it inside his belt with a grin.
“Are you trying to imply that we won’t have sex with fancy toys when we’re a hundred years old?” Harry asks, looking all serious as Draco’s fake bushy eyebrows go up in surprise.
“Oh no,” Draco replies. “I’m going to fuck you until you scream even after we retire. Watch this space, Potter.”
“Shh,” Harry says, covering his mouth with his hand. “Someone could hear you and recognise us. Can you imagine the front page of the Prophet tomorrow?”
“Harry Potter And The Majestic Dildo,” Draco announces seriously. “No, wait. I have a better one. The Boy Who Lived To Be Dicked Down.”
“Ha ha,” Harry deadpans. “Very funny. Let’s get you a nice toy and then go home to try it. I’ve been hard for the past twenty minutes, and I’m desperate for you to fuck me.”
Someone walks behind them and chokes on their drink as they hear Harry’s statement.
“Elderly people these days, eh?” Harry says, wiggling his bushy eyebrows and making Draco laugh.
They choose an expensive toy, much to Draco’s dismay when he checks the price with a groan. However, it’s the best one on the market, with a series of spells interwoven in the silicone that allow the person who wears it to feel it as if it were part of their body, providing stimulation to Draco’s actual cock.
Draco casts a cleaning charm on it as soon as they get home, staring at the toy in his lap for a moment with a mixture of fascination and anxiety painted on his face.
“We don’t have to use it now,” Harry says softly, sitting next to him on the bed and taking his hand. “Or ever. We can take it back if you don’t like it.”
“Are you joking?” Draco asks, steely eyes staring back at him. “I’m just…you know…excited, nervous, worried I won’t know how to use it properly and I will fuck up…that I won’t make you feel good.”
“We can learn together,” Harry says sweetly, bringing Draco’s hand to his lips and kissing his palm, finding it slightly sweaty. “We’ll take things slowly. Okay?”
“Yes,” Draco says, leaning in for a kiss, cupping Harry’s face with his hands and making him shiver in anticipation as Draco’s other hand starts working on his shirt, unbuttoning it slowly, as if Draco wanted to take his time unwrapping a lovely present.
Draco lets out a startled gasp when he puts the harness on, looking down at his body with wide eyes and a parted lips. He gingerly runs his fingers on the dildo and moans in surprise, looking at Harry and blushing.
“How does it feel?” Harry asks, craving to touch him too, waiting for Draco to be ready.
“It feels…real,” Draco says, grey eyes shining as he takes a step closer and holds Harry’s hand, bringing it to his cock. “Fuck, it feels…intense. Merlin, keep on touching me, please. Oh gods, Harry…”
“Want to suck your cock,” Harry mumbles against Draco’s neck, kissing that spot under his ear that never fails to make Draco shudder and bare his neck for more. “Please, love…”
“Yes,” Draco moans, and Harry’s knees hit the soft carpet of Draco’s bedroom in an instant, his breath ghosting over Draco’s cock, making him pant and look so overwhelmed before Harry even licks him. He starts with a kiss on the tip that makes Draco let out a needy sound that goes straight to Harry’s cock. Then Harry licks a stripe from the root all the way up, suckling on the head while he keeps eye contact with Draco, wanting him to see how much Harry loves him and wants him to feel good.
“Hmmm,” Harry moans around his length, bobbing his head up and down in the most indecent way, letting his saliva coat Draco’s cock to make it nice and slick. And Merlin, Harry’s dying to have Draco inside him, on top of him, pinning him down to the bed and making him fall apart.
“Shit, you feel amazing,” Draco groans, his fingers sliding into Harry’s curls and tugging at them gently to take him deeper.
He looks so beautiful, Harry thinks, so lost in his own pleasure but still attentive of Harry’s needs, whispering little nothings at him, saying how good Harry feels, how much he wants him, until he’s shaken by a shudder and his eyes flutter shut as he moans and comes, the ripples shaking his body for longer than usual.
“Was that nice?” Harry asks, kissing his way up Draco’s cock and hearing a whimper escaping Draco’s pink lips.
“Want to make you feel good now,” Draco mumbles, pulling him up for a kiss that leaves them both breathless and desperate for more.
By the time Draco’s done fingering Harry, they’re both flushed and desperate for more. Harry’s never done it before, not like this, and there’s a mixture of excitement and nerves that make his muscles clench and his back arch when Draco finally lines up and starts pushing inside him.
He feels full and stretched and so overwhelmed when Draco begins to move, panting above him as he whispers his name, over and over again, as if it were the only word he could remember while he falls apart inside Harry. He can’t tear his eyes away from Draco’s body moving above him, staring at his cock sliding in and out smoothly.
Harry feels owned, and wanted. Loved, even though Draco’s never said it with actual words. He can see it in his grey eyes, staring lovingly back at him.
“Draco, please touch me,” Harry begs, and he knows they’ve barely started, but he can tell that Draco is close to his second orgasm already and he won’t last long either. “Please, love…”
“Harry…” Draco chants, his hand wrapping around Harry’s cock and stroking once, twice, until Harry cries out Draco’s name and spills his come all over his own chest and Draco’s hand. “Fuck, you’re so tight…”
Draco stills, cheeks flushed and mouth open on a shuddered gasp as he comes again, looking debauched and so gorgeous with his hair falling in gentle waves around his face and his body glistening with sweat, his scars almost silvery under Harry’s fingers.
“I love you,” Harry murmurs, pulling him down for a tender kiss. “I love you so much, Draco.”
“Harry…”
Draco pulls out slowly, casting a wandless cleaning charm on both of them before he carefully puts the toy back in its box and places it in one of his drawers. Harry watches him from the bed, a besotted smile on his face when their eyes meet.
“You look well-fucked,” Harry comments with a grin, and Draco rolls his eyes.
“Please, you should see your hair,” Draco comments, sitting on the bed beside him and kissing Harry’s shoulder. “Would you like a snack? Something to drink?”
“Are you offering room service?” Harry says with raised eyebrows. “What about lobster and champagne to celebrate?”
“You can get some water and crisps,” Draco says, swatting his hands as Harry tries to pull him down for another kiss. “But not cheese and onions.”
“Spoil sport,” Harry says with a pout, admiring Draco’s glorious behind as he goes to the kitchen naked to retrieve some food for him.
Harry feels something expanding in his chest, something he’s never experienced before.
He’s never been in love, and it’s scary, mind-blowing and exciting all at the same time. He thought he had been before when he was much younger, but he realises now that this feels a million times stronger. Intense and all-consuming in a way that makes his eyes tear up by the time Draco returns from the kitchen with a tray full of food and drinks.
“Hey,” Draco says, putting the tray on the bedside table and lying on the bed next to him, pulling Harry into his arms. “Are you okay, darling? I’m sorry I left. We should have had a cuddle.”
“I just…” Harry mutters wetly. “Love you a lot.”
“I know,” Draco says, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he wipes the tears from Harry’s cheeks and kisses him tenderly. “I know, pet.”
Draco holds him close, and Harry gradually relaxes and eventually drifts to sleep, feeling safe in his arms.
He keeps on thinking about it in the days that follow. About how much he loves Draco and how he wants to make him happy. Draco seems to smile a lot more than usual, to touch him without thinking even when they’re at work or at the pub with their friends. And Harry doesn’t care anymore what the papers say about them, because Draco doesn’t seem to mind, so why should he?
He feels like a bubble floating higher and higher, so light and happy that sometimes he struggles to fall asleep at night because he’s dreading the moment his happiness will pop and burst, leaving him alone like he’s always been.
He knows it’s probably just his anxiety playing up, that his Mind Healer said it’s normal because of all the trauma and his past, but it’s hard sometimes to stop himself from taking Draco’s hand and squeezing it hard to make sure that all of that is real. That it won’t be taken away from him like most of the people he loved when he was younger.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Draco whispers in his ear one evening at the Leaky, holding his hand under the table. “I’m here, Harry. Just breathe with me, pet. I’ve got you.”
Harry rests his head on Draco’s shoulder and closes his eyes, feeling the pressure of Draco’s palm grounding him. He feels safe with Draco in a way he’s never felt before.
“You look besotted,” Hannah tells him on a Friday afternoon after a lecture on healing salves. Harry’s eyes immediately find Draco in the room, still sitting at his desk to sort out his notes with a serious expression on his face. Harry smiles, loving the way Draco’s pale eyelashes look almost translucent and his brows knit in concentration. “Merlin, Harry. You have heart-shaped eyes for Draco!”
“Shut up,” Harry says, his cheeks on fire, but then he notices Healer Newton approaching Draco’s desk and sitting down next to him.
“May I have a word with you, Draco?” Newton says, and Draco suddenly realises his mentor is there, nodding as he rolls up his long parchment with a flick of his wand.
“I bet it’s the Australian internship,” Hannah comments with a sigh. “I heard Newton mentioning it to Healer Dickens earlier.”
“What are you talking about?” Harry asks distractedly, watching Draco as his eyes open wide and he blinks a few times while Newton speaks to him, readjusting his glasses before he smiles and pats Draco on the shoulder.
“Every year the St Mungo’s board of Healers select the best trainee and offer them a conspicuous scholarship to complete their training in one of the most prestigious wizarding hospitals in Australia,” Hanna explains. “This year they selected Draco.”
Harry’s stomach drops.
Draco has been offered a scholarship to go to Australia?
Something in Harry’s chest cracks and immediately hurts like hell.
“What?” he asks feebly, turning to look at Hannah and finding her staring back at him with pity painted on her face.
“Oh, Harry…” she says, her fingers rubbing his arm soothingly. “I’m so sorry. It’s only for a year, though. He will be back to finish his last year’s training here. Time flies, and you can always take an international Portkey to visit him.”
Harry turns to look for Draco, but he’s no longer there and neither is Newton.
Harry starts feeling his chest getting tighter, his breath coming up short as if there wasn’t enough air in the room all of a sudden.
He Apparates to Tesco’s because he was supposed to go shopping for dinner, but he aimlessly wanders through the supermarket aisles like a lost child, clutching at his t-shirt and trying to get oxygen into his lungs.
Draco is going to leave him.
Use your brain, the Hermione in his head suggests.
Think about Draco first, not yourself.
Harry stops in front of the tinned soups and sighs.
It’s a brilliant opportunity for Draco, and he would get a chance to have a fresh start, in a country where no one knows him and treats him badly, where he can be his brilliant self and finally be appreciated for his skills. Harry knows that.
He wants Draco to be happy, to have the best things in life, even if it means being apart for a whole year.
He is going to be a good boyfriend.
He’s not going to be selfish, he tells himself.
Harry grabs two cans of tinned tomato soup and hurries to the till to pay. When he Apparates home, he finds Draco in the kitchen, putting the clothes in their Muggle washing machine as he hums a soft tune under his breath.
“Hey, pet,” Draco says absentmindedly. “Sorry I didn’t wait for you. I managed to pour my whole pot of ink all over my robes and dashed home to wash them. Cleaning spells never get rid of ink spots properly.”
“Hm,” Harry replies, half a grunt and half an incoherent mumble.
He wonders when Draco is supposed to leave. How much time do they still have to spend together? Will Draco let him visit soon?
He starts pacing around the house, wondering if he will need to find a flatmate for a year to save on money and be able to visit Draco more often. International Portkeys cost a fortune, but he can’t stomach having someone other than Draco in their flat. Someone else in Draco’s room, where they had sex for the first time.
“Harry?” Draco calls, and Harry bites on the soft skin around his thumbnail as he grabs some parchment to owl Gringotts and ask for an appointment to discuss the state of his finances. “Hey, are you okay?” Draco asks, suddenly appearing behind him.
“Yes,” Harry lies, hiding the parchment behind him. He doesn’t want Draco to worry about how much it’s going to cost Harry to visit him in Australia.
“You’re strangely quiet,” Draco says, studying him with a piercing stare that makes Harry squirm. “What’s on your mind?”
“I…I’m just…” Harry mumbles, then he feels a wave of anxiety. What if Draco doesn’t want him to visit? What if he wants to concentrate on his studies? Harry loves him so much, but he has no idea about Draco’s feelings, not really. He’s never said it out loud. No one ever has to him. “I’ll wait for you, if you want me to. I have enough savings to come and visit you at least twice a year, I think. If you would like to see me.”
“What?” Draco asks, looking extremely confused.
“The Australian internship,” Harry explains, and Draco’s grey eyes widen, his lips parting as he stands in front of Harry completely frozen. “W-we can make it work. I know you’re going to be brilliant, Draco.”
“Are you trying to tell me that I should go to Australia for a whole year and leave you here?” Draco asks, his voice trembling a bit, silver eyes never leaving Harry’s.
“I can wait,” Harry says, clenching his fists in order not to falter under Draco’s gaze. He has to be strong, for Draco’s sake.
“Maybe you can, but I can’t,” Draco replies with a frown, “you utter moron.”
“What…” Harry blurts out.
“Harry, I’m not going,” Draco declares, suddenly looking furious and breaking the distance between them to grab the front of Harry’s t-shirt and pull him closer. “It’s been a no for me from the moment Newton asked. I have no intention of leaving England, of leaving you. How could you assume that I would without even talking to you about it first?”
“B-but there’s long distance…” Harry mumbles, tears prickling the corner of his eyes, threatening to fall and make all his resolutions crumble under Draco’s intense gaze. “You would finally have a chance to get a fresh start. People would beg to be treated by a brilliant Healer like you.”
“Harry, I can’t,” Draco insists. “It would feel like cheating, like taking a shortcut in a country where no one knows me and my past. I want to show people that I’ve changed, not run away. I don’t want to be a coward anymore. But most of all, I finally found you, and you love me. I’m never going to give up on you. I can’t be without you, Harry.”
“Draco…” he mumbles, his lips trembling, fingers reaching for Draco’s t-shirt. It feels like a dam breaking spectacularly, fat tears rolling down his cheeks as a hiccup shakes him. Draco’s shoulders sag, his grip on Harry’s t-shirt loosening as he slides a hand through Harry’s curls and places a tender kiss on his forehead.
“I love you,” Draco whispers, and Harry clutches at him, letting out a broken sob before he Apparates them to his bedroom, feeling Draco collapse above him with a surprised little huff.
“You love me,” Harry repeats, his voice brittle and insecure. He hates how broken he sounds, but Draco is smiling back at him now, kissing the tip of his nose, then his top lip.
“Of course I love you,” Draco repeats. “I’ve been in love with you since eighth year. Probably earlier, if you consider how much in denial I was.”
“I need you,” Harry murmurs, voice thick and wet, tears falling down the corners of his eyes and wetting the pillow. “Please, darling, please, please, please. I need you right now, Draco.”
“Shhh, I’ve got you,” Draco murmurs soothingly, vanishing their clothes with a wandless spell that leaves Harry gasping when their skin comes in contact. Draco is always so warm, his skin smooth and lovely to the touch. Harry closes his eyes and hums at the feeling. “What do you need, pet?”
“Anything,” Harry confesses, his fingers shaking over Draco’s chest, planting his palms there to feel him close, wishing he could feel Draco’s heart pulsing under his skin. “Need to feel you. N-need you…”
“I’m going to take care of you, pet,” Draco promises before he kisses him on the lips, a sweet and delicate thing at first, the tips of their lips barely touching as Harry gradually calms down and his heart stops beating madly in his chest. Draco summons his strap-on with a wandless and wordless spell, making Harry moan against his lips at how smart and competent Draco is, how hot.
“Draco, now, please,” Harry begs, his lips quivering as he realises that he was about to lose Draco, that he hasn’t. That Draco loves him and is going to stay. “Cast a spell, please. I can’t wait. Need you inside me now. Need to feel you, Draco. Please…”
Draco lets out a shaky breath, looking overwhelmed by Harry’s urgency. He casts a spell that makes Harry wet and loose for him, then spreads his legs and nestles in between them with a soft ah that makes Harry shudder in anticipation.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to finger you first?” Draco asks, his cock already rubbing against Harry’s wet entrance, so deliciously hard. Harry shakes his head and pulls him closer, running his hands down Draco’s back and settling on his waist.
“Please…”
Draco sinks inside him with his mouth open on a shuddered gasp, the slow drag of his cock making Harry sob and close his eyes. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. It’s the first time they’ve used a spell, and Harry gasps as Draco starts moving with a grunt, his fingers sinking into the delicate skin of Draco’s sides, knowing full well that he will bruise later.
“Shh, don’t cry, my love,” Draco whispers against the fluttering skin of his neck, where Harry’s heart beats and his magic flows. “I’m not going to leave you. I’m here with you, pet. I’ve got you.”
“Draco…”
The shallow and tentative thrusts are soon replaced by Draco’s moans as he fucks Harry deeper and harder, looking wrecked and gorgeous while he closes his eyes and shakes with an orgasm that makes him bite on his bottom lip until it’s red and sore.
When he comes down from his high, Draco looks down at Harry, lovingly, and starts kissing him, a swipe of his wet tongue over Harry’s top lip while Draco’s fingers wrap around his length and start stroking him, faster and faster, until Harry is a whimpering mess and comes with a startled gasp, spilling all over Draco’s hand and his own stomach.
Draco won’t stop looking at him as Harry tries to catch his breath and whines when Draco eventually pulls out. He runs his fingers through Harry’s messy hair, in a soothing way that makes Harry snuggle closer and close his eyes.
Merlin, he feels loved.
He could lie like this forever, safe in Draco’s arms.
“Are you okay?” Draco asks softly, resting the palm of his hand on Harry’s cheek. Harry nods a couple of times, opening his eyes.
“Thank you,” Harry whispers when he feels that his voice won’t crack. “Thank you, love.”
“You’re very welcome,” Draco replies with a cheeky smile, taking the abandoned strap-on from the bed and casting a cleaning charm on it.
Draco seems lost in his thoughts for a moment while he looks at it and says, “Do you ever wish this was real? That it was part of me, blood and flesh?”
“Draco?” Harry asks, sitting up on his elbows to check on him. “What’s the matter, love? You know I love you, all of you.”
“I…I just…” Draco says, shaking his head and then lifting his gaze to look at Harry. “Sometimes I wonder if I should get…you know,” he mutters, gesturing vaguely between his legs.
“You know I support whatever decision you want to take,” Harry says carefully.
“I know,” Draco replies, suddenly looking small and lost. “The problem is that I don’t know what I want. That I’m…sometimes I feel like a coward…”
“You got your top surgery done,” Harry says with conviction, taking Draco’s hand and kissing his palm. They both know that the surgery will be painful, in spite of the potions and the magic. That there’s no going back and it’s a life-changing decision. But Draco’s had surgery before, and Harry knows how hard that must have been, especially as a teenager. “That must have been scary. And you’re anything but a coward, my love.”
“There’s something I haven’t told you,” Draco confesses with a small voice, shaking his head and staring at his hands. “I didn’t…I didn’t get my top surgery done the normal way…”
“I’ve been wondering about the scars,” Harry admits, letting his fingers gently touch them, needing to feel them under his skin while Draco trembles and moves closer. Harry has performed the magical procedure himself, only once, but he didn’t leave any scars. Healers have potions for that, so he wondered why Draco still had scar tissue, but didn’t dare to ask who had performed the surgery.
“He did it,” Draco whispers, eyes finding Harry’s and fingers threading with his.
“He?”
“The Dark Lord,” Draco explains, and Harry’s mouth opens in surprise. “He knew I was…he searched in my mind and found my weakest spot, and exploited it, like with every single one of us.”
“What?” Harry asks, confused and horrified, but Draco shakes his head and summons Harry’s wand.
“I…” Draco starts, then shakes his head. “Could you use Legilimens on me? I want to show you.”
Harry nods, feeling the familiar uneasy prickle at the bottom of his spine at the thought of using Legilimens. He’s been trained to use it for work. He’s actually surprisingly good at it, but he doesn’t like it, finds it uncomfortable to slip into other people’s minds like an intruder. He’s never done it with Draco, though, but if it helps him, then Harry’s up for it.
They both sit up in bed and Draco pulls the duvet over his lap, as if he suddenly feels self-conscious about being naked. He takes a deep breath, then closes his eyes and nods.
“Legilimens,” Harry casts.
Draco’s mind is open, and Harry glides in smoothly, finding himself in a memory.
It’s a dark and cold room, with a big chair in the middle.
Voldemort is sitting there, Greyback at his side.
“Draco,” Voldemort says, his voice like cutting glass. Harry shivers as Draco starts to shake like a leaf, his teeth chattering. He looks so young, probably fifteen, his hair still short and slicked back, eyes terrified.
“M-my Lord,” he stutters, his knees nearly giving away.
“Undo the front of your robes,” Voldemort commands, and Draco lets out a little whimper, shaking his head but moving all the same, his fingers trembling so much that it takes him a good minute to undo a couple of buttons, revealing an inch of his white binder under his robes.
Harry’s heart feels like it’s about to shatter.
“What?” Greyback barks, his eyebrows going up as he stares at Draco.
“As I thought,” Voldemort drawls with a smile, gesturing for Draco to button up his robes and take a seat on a chair he summons out of a corner of the room.
“My Lord, let me have her. She could carry my pups,” Greyback says, and Harry feels a wave of anger and disgust seizing him, sees the pure dread and horror in Draco’s eyes. He wants to kill them both, all over again, the anger making his blood boil, but then Voldemort tells the werewolf to shut up and leave. Greyback growls under his breath but obeys, leaving Voldemort and Draco alone in the cold room.
“Your Father disappointed me greatly, Draco,” Voldemort declares. “But I know you’re different. You’re smart and skilful, and there’s something you desperately want. We could strike a deal. I will let your useless parents live, if you kill Albus Dumbledore.”
Draco starts crying, a sob escaping his lips as he clutches the chair he’s sitting on.
“D-Dumbledore?” he asks feebly.
“In return, I’m going to offer you something no one else can,” Voldemort says with a sly smile on his snake-like face. “I can make you a man, truly. Turn your body into what you’ve always wanted it to be with my magic. The only thing you have to do is kill our enemy. If you fail, I’m going to kill your mother, but if you succeed your biggest dream will come true. It’s a fair deal, isn’t it?”
Harry’s breath hitches in his throat, but he suddenly feels a push as Draco’s consciousness pulls away from him, so he releases his magic and returns into his own mind, finding Draco staring back at him with stormy eyes.
Harry takes it all in, Draco’s pale face and the scars on his chest, wondering what happened but waiting for Draco to speak.
“I didn’t complete the task, so he didn’t either,” Draco simply says. “He got rid of my breasts, but left the rest. He left the scars as a reminder of what happened if you didn’t show enough dedication to him.”
“Draco, I…” Harry whispers, trying to find the right words to console him and coming up short.
“Being a man is what I’d always wanted, what I craved more than anything else, and that was my only chance to get it,” Draco declares.
“That’s not true,” Harry argues, taking his hands again and squeezing them. They’ve talked about his dysphoria before, and Harry thinks Draco is being irrational right now. A body doesn’t make a man. “Having surgery is not what will make you a man, Draco. You know that having bottom surgery might fix part of your dysphoria but never all of it, and that's because anatomy isn't everything. You taught me that.”
“What if…what if I decide to have surgery one day because I want it?” Draco mumbles, staring into Harry’s eyes with an uncertain look. “No one will do it, not with my past. I could barely find a Healer that was willing to prescribe me the testosterone potion.”
“I will,” Harry declares, his voice probably too loud and forceful. Draco’s eyes widen, and he blinks a few times. Harry adds softly, “I’ll learn how to do it, if that’s what you want. I’ll do it for you if you want me to, love.”
“But…you like me there…” Draco murmurs, his cheeks blushing. “You like fucking me and touching me and licking me…would you still…”
“Draco Malfoy, I love you in any shape or form, strapless or not. It makes no difference to me.” Harry says, and he believes every single word he’s said, craves for Draco to believe him too. “I love you.”
“I…I love you too,” Draco confesses, his voice low and tentative. “And I like it when you touch me there. I spent so long wishing to be different, to have a different body, that now I don’t know what to do with the feeling that I might actually like myself like this, incomplete and covered in scars, because you love me as I am, in spite of everything.”
“You’re not incomplete,” Harry says, pulling Draco closer to kiss him softly on the lips, to watch a timid smile appear on his beautiful face, his eyes staring back at him with so much love in them. “And I love you because you’re wonderful, and smart and kind. Not to mention funny and so bloody hot.”
Draco lets out a wet, shaky laugh and pulls him closer for a tender kiss that turns languid as their tongues slide against each other.
“So you’re happy either way,” Draco murmurs, and Harry nods, smiling against his lips.
“I’m always happy as long as I have you in my life,” Harry confesses.
“You’re such a sap,” Draco says with a smile on his face, squishing Harry’s cheeks and then laughing at how comical he probably looks.
“I know I’m going to sound even more of a sap,” Harry says, scratching his head as Draco waits for him to continue with a delighted expression on his face, as if he loved seeing Harry all embarrassed and soft. “I’ve been thinking about all the grief you’re getting at work just because of your surname, and…well…”
“Spit it out, Potter.”
“You could…” Harry mumbles, then finds the courage to continue, his cheeks on fire. “If you wanted to…one day…you could take my surname or a double-barrelled.”
Draco just stares at him, his pale eyebrows going up comically.
“Harry…”
“I mean…I didn’t mean to assume that you would accept, because I love you but I’m not expecting you to…you know…fuck, I wasn’t supposed to say this now,” Harry rambles, getting more embarrassed by the second. “It’s supposed to be something carefully planned, because you deserve a beautiful ring and a field full of flowers or a unicorn, not me blabbering in the bedr-”
“Harry,” Draco interrupts him, wrapping his arms around his neck. “It’s okay…I’d say yes, if you ever were to ask. Even without a ring or flowers. There’s certainly no need for a unicorn, Circe.”
“No unicorn, then,” Harry replies, taking a mental note. “What about Nargles? Luna says they can be dreadfully romantic.”
“Salazar save me…”