Chapter Text
Draco had just finished with the last patient of his shift when he got called to an emergency scene at Kings Cross Station. Dozens of people had suddenly fallen to the ground near Platforms 9 and 10, unconscious, while others in the wider vicinity were left weak and disoriented. Usually the mediwizards handle the field work, but when traces of toxic fumes were found in the air and the victims couldn't be revived, Draco was called in to run diagnostics of the area.
Not only was he one of the top Healers at St. Mungo’s, he was also one of the youngest Potions Masters in Wizarding Britain. Blaise liked to remind him on occasion, usually when alcohol was involved, that nobody liked an overachiever. It was also usually after Draco had called him something along the lines of a vapid hedonist.
However, Draco liked to think of himself as simply thorough since potions and medicine do go hand in hand. That night his two areas of expertise had been put to the test as he stabilised multiple victims and coordinated with his lab team to collect as many samples as possible of the substance that was used to wreak the havoc.
When he had apparated and landed near the platform at Kings Cross, he instantly felt the mark on his left arm begin to burn. The Aurors had tried to keep the panic down by initially calling it an accidental gas leak, but Draco was familiar with the feeling of Dark Magic residue thanks to his cursed mark, and the air had been dripping with it. No matter what propaganda the Ministry and The Prophet liked to push, Draco knew the only place the Death Eaters went after the war was into the shadows to regroup. He knew there would always be young impressionable kids and disillusioned adults radicalised with fear and hate; the same formula generation after generation just rebranded and reused. He should know; it had worked so well on him.
After gathering samples and returning to St. Mungo’s he’d confirmed what had been obvious: that it had been an intentional leak. Illegal potions mixed with Dark Magic to disperse it into a gas form. From there he had begun the tedious work of putting together a counter potion, not moving beyond arm's reach of it until the ten hour brewing cycle was complete. It was a success and they began to administer it immediately to the unconscious victims waiting in beds across the emergency wing. Once he saw it begin to take effect he could breathe again and leave it in the very capable hands of the Healers that had actually been scheduled to work.
Standing in his office, closing the last buckle of his stiff leather healers bag ready to leave for the night, his attention was jolted by a loud commotion coming from the hallway. Groaning, he looked at his wrist, his watch showed it was close to midnight. He'd already done well past twelve hours of overtime and he was having trouble remembering when he even arrived at work, or when yesterday turned into today. Weary with fatigue and that particular sick feeling he always got after being around Dark Magic, he wasn’t sure he could handle another crisis without sleep, but the voices and heavy footsteps continued to get closer on the other side of the wall.
He was used to St. Mungo’s being a constant hive of activity, but this corner of the hospital was fairly low key, mainly staff offices used for research and a quiet place to think. He’d been in the lab most of the day and night and had only stopped by his office on his way out to put his research books away. He hadn’t seen a soul coming in, since his colleague’s offices had long been closed up for the night. The light coming from his own was the only one left that showed any sign of life.
He dimmed the light with his wand, hoping whatever was going by moved quickly past so he could slip out quietly and let somebody else deal with it. He’d be damned if he put himself back in the line of duty tonight. The sick and afflicted, or a colleague looking to pass the buck would have no mercy for a man trying to get home to his armchair and Ogden’s finest.
Standing quietly ready to make his move as soon as they passed, he heard a voice yelling in frustration. “Sir! I told you, this is a restricted area. You can't be back here!”
It sounded like Alex, one of the nurse aides from trauma. He chuckled to himself, surprised anyone made it past her. In the years they’d worked together he'd witnessed her use quite a few stunning spells to subdue frantic and unhinged patients without blinking an eye.
Faintly he heard a different voice. It must be the unfortunate soul she was chasing down. He listened closely. It sounded wrecked, like every word was a struggle to get out.
“But I… I need —to see him…” It was a deeper voice. A voice he knew.
He froze, now knowing why Alex didn't use a stunning spell.
The door to his office slammed open and Harry Potter came stumbling through.
***
Green eyes locked onto silver as Draco's entire body braced on instinct for the confrontation he knew must be coming, but everything happened so fast — Harry rushed toward him, red faced and sweating, wild hair a mess, arms reaching out clumsily toward him, but he didn’t look ready to fight. He looked…
Desperate.
His first thought was Harry must have been one of the victims from the attack at Kings Cross, but that couldn’t be right. He would have known if he was, the entire hospital would have known if he was, and the pressure would have been a hundred times worse while he was working on the antidote.
Taken aback by the man stumbling toward him, Draco reached a hand out to steady Harry — what else was he supposed to do? There was a crazed look in Harry's eyes and the hot skin under Draco’s hand was vibrating. He wasn’t sure if it was Harry’s heart or his own pounding so hard he could hear it echoing in the quiet room. This was a turn of events he didn’t see coming. For one thing Harry Potter did not look at him with desperation; anger, yes, apathy, yes, but desperation…
Fuck no.
He might have seen something close to this look once, through smoke and fire with his arm stretched out, screaming for Draco not to be an idiot and take his hand. It's twelve years later though and in the handful of times he’d seen Harry since nothing had left him with the impression he would willingly seek him out for help. No, the Harry he knew would set himself on fire before voluntarily coming to Draco for anything. He specifically remembered the first time he was a healer on duty in the emergency ward on a night Harry was rushed in, bloody and half conscious. He had taken one look at Draco in his fresh healers jacket and found the strength to spit out, “Fuck no, anybody but him.”
It was common knowledge Harry veered from expectations, eventually becoming a Curse Breaker, and the dangers of the job, and what Draco was sure was Harry's own brazen work ethic, had found him at St. Mungo’s on more than one occasion.
After the second attempt to do his job when Harry showed up and threw a fit at seeing him, he had told Potter to grow the fuck up. That was met with a slashed open Harry rushing him and putting a wand to his throat. Draco had just turned in the other direction and left him dripping out on the sterile floor for somebody else to deal with. There were years in between that when Harry had just disappeared, only to reappear back in Wizarding Britain a few years ago. Draco didn’t know why and he didn’t care to seek an answer.
He tried not to think about Harry Potter.
Now, in his dim office, Harry had fallen over his feet to get to him, his hands finding purchase on a stunned Draco's chest and his body going slack against him, head dropping to Draco’s shoulder as he whispered, “Draco,” over and over in what sounded like a mix of relief and distress. He dug his fingers roughly into Draco’s shirt, holding on — and Draco was completely thrown off balance.
It was distressing being this close to him, practically embracing, feeling the warmth of Harry’s breath when he tilted his head up, the stubble scratching against his cheek, and his magic, which seemed to be oozing out of him in waves and straight onto Draco's skin. Then there was his fucking name coming out of Harry’s mouth like that, which was making him feel a bit panicked.
He gently placed his hands on either side of Harry’s head. The way he was acting made him tread delicately like he might come apart if he was too rough. He lightly shook it, trying to get him to focus. “Potter, what's wrong? I need you to tell me what’s wrong.”
Harry didn’t respond, just looked at him, eyes darting across his face but never focusing, mouth parted, hands moving from Draco’s shoulders down his arms, clutching at Draco’s slim wrists that framed his manic face. This close Draco could see his pupils, glassy and dilated, only the slightest ring of emerald remained.
“Damn it Potter, tell me what's wrong. Let me help you,” he said louder, trying to jar him out of whatever had a hold of him, for him to say something besides panting his fucking name. Draco thought maybe he was just hallucinating from lack of sleep; it was the only reasonable explanation.
Through his buzz of adrenaline, he could faintly make out the muffled voice of Alex. He hadn't even registered that she'd been standing in the room. It roused him from the shock and his healer instincts started to kick in. He began to look for any sign of injury, moving Harry’s face side to side, running his hands down his body, feeling for the wetness of blood, trying to locate any abnormality.
Harry passed out.
***
“So, you want to tell me why your friend,” Draco pointed a finger at Harry who was sleeping soundly in a hospital bed, “decided to get fucked up on an illegal lust potion and stumble into my office.” —and focus all of that unhinged energy on me, he added to himself. He was standing, looking at Hermione, with his arms crossed over his chest trying to make sense of what had just happened.
Harry’s diagnostics and vitals were glowing as they hovered above his bed. One of the numbers was bright red showing he had two times the amount of lust potion a normal person could usually handle in their system without ending up in the Janus Thickey Ward, which explained the high fever and passing out. Giving him something to bring the fever down and a strong sedative helped even out his other vitals and had taken the edge off. All signs pointed to him being out of any real danger long term. Now it was just a waiting game to see what they were dealing with.
“You know he didn't do this on purpose.” Hermione stared back, in a jumper and trackpants, curly hair pulled back in a messy bun on top of her head. After Draco had called she’d rushed out of bed to get there to be with her best friend.
He could admit his bedside manner wasn’t the best right now. He ran a hand over his face. “I know he didn't,” he sighed, turning to face Harry who looked peaceful, his breathing shallow and his wild wavy hair fanned out on the pillow. Harry was only twenty nine but he already had grey hair streaked in with the black on his head and in the stubble on his face. Draco supposed it was fitting for someone who had accomplished more in twenty nine years than most in a lifetime.
“There’s a reason that shit is illegal,” he said. “When people end up at the hospital on something like that, nine times out of ten it’s not self induced.” Alcohol was also found in his system so Draco knew the logical conclusion; somebody had seen an opportunity to target Harry and took it.
“I know,” cringed Hermione. “Ron and his Auror partner are at the pub now,” she said. “They will find out who did this, and if they don’t, I will.”
Draco had seen Ron at Kings Cross the night before with the other Aurors. They had acknowledged each other in their usual fashion, a tight nod of the head. As wild as it was to admit, he was actually quite impressed by how good Ron was at his job, methodical and level headed. He would still put his money on Hermione though.
“He’s so careless sometimes,” she said, looking at her friend with concern and like she wanted to shake him awake at the same time. “I’m always on him about casting detection spells on his drinks when he’s out. You know how many people want a piece of him.”
Draco did know. Hero status and fame aside, Harry had grown into his looks with rugged abandon. He was having his own problems trying to forget the way the fit lines of his body had felt under his hands.
He shook his head at the thought.
“Look, he needs to stay here or with you until this stuff clears his system,” he said. “I can guarantee whoever did this to him didn't have good intentions, plus he won't be in his right mind to keep himself out of trouble, and...”
“Keep from humping everyone he comes into contact with,” she finished for him with a grin.
“Yeah, something like that,” he snorted.
It was also wild that he and Hermione were now friends. After one shame-filled apology and finding common ground in higher education, here they are, and he could admit she was not just a friend, but she was one of his favourite people. Even so, that had never softened him to Harry and he was itching to get home. He didn't know what to expect when Harry woke and he didn’t want to be here to find out. He could also still feel Harry's wand pressed against his throat and the power behind it waiting to be released.
Moving to gather his stuff he said, “I'm heading home. Please do try and resist your best friend if he attempts to hump you when he wakes. I’m not sure your husband would recover.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Yes, I'll try. Although, it seems you're the only person he’s tried that with so far, so maybe that boyhood rivalry —obsession,” she coughed, “isn’t so buried in the past.”
Draco stopped with his hand on the door. “I’ve changed my mind, watching the Golden Trio implode in a sex scandal would be very entertaining, so please, by all means, do whatever you must to make that happen.”
Hermione just shook her head and laughed, but before he could open the door wide enough to exit, she stopped him. “I'm not going to assume to know all of Harry’s feelings,” she said, “or why he was so adamant to get to you tonight. From what the nurse said he made quite a scene. I mean it's pretty straightforward what lust potion does to a person, and since he’s moved home he hasn’t talked about you, but he doesn't get up and leave anymore like he used to when your name is mentioned, so maybe there’s a reason it’s you.” She shrugged.
Draco huffed a laugh at how ridiculous that sounded.
“Boyhood hostility,” he corrected, reminding her exactly what that obsession was on Harry’s part, “is a far stretch of a reason. Let's not overthink this. He’s going to be back to hating me soon enough. Obviously he wasn’t in his right mind so let's just leave it at that.”
Draco still wasn’t clear how this was going to affect Harry when he woke and he’d do what he could to help, but from a distance. For now, he was taking himself off the case.
“Okay, you're right,” Hermione said. “I guess what I'm trying to say is maybe deep down he’s changing his mind about you. ”
Draco couldn't help the laugh that came out. He highly doubted that.
“Are you sure you're not the one who’s been drugged?”
“Would explain why I put up with you. Seriously though,” she said, “thank you for helping him.”
“Yes, well, try and get some rest, and Merlin forbid don't tell Healer Ray how to do her job. She is actually trained to do it.”
She shoved him out the door.
Chapter Text
It was past four in the morning before Draco finally made it to his bedroom. The windows across from his bed had a view of the Thames and the London city lights in the distance. The scent of the jasmine vine that trailed up his brick townhouse came through the crack in the window and he inhaled deeply hoping it would help him relax. After tossing and turning in bed for a while, his body finally fell into a deep sleep only to be cruelly pulled from it minutes later by a loud banging noise. His mind was slow to register that it was coming from his own front door.
“For fuck sakes,” he groaned into the pillow he had pulled over his face, hoping it would go away.
When it didn't he slammed the pillow back onto his bed and sat up, searching for his wand in the rumpled sheets. If this was Pansy or Blaise showing up pissed and enjoying life too much when he hadn’t slept in two days they would suffer. It wasn’t unusual for them to pop in at all hours of the morning after a night out when they wanted to keep the party going by drinking all of Draco’s liquor. Sometimes if he wasn’t in the mood to join in he left them to it and went back to bed, never knowing what or who he was going to wake up to find sprawled across his living room. Their excuse was that his townhouse had the best views for late night drinking, which was bullshit. Blaise had a city highrise, but where Blaise’s flat was to impress Draco’s was to live in, and it had a warmth to it they couldn't seem to get enough of.
“Oh, piss off! I'm coming, you bloody arseholes!” he yelled. Flinging himself out of bed, he straightened the gold pendant tangled around his neck and quickly pulled on the black silk top to his pyjamas, not bothering to button it up. He had only had the energy to put the bottoms on earlier, which sat low on his narrow hips tapering down his long legs to his ankles.
Half asleep he stumbled down the steps to his living room, spelling the wall lights on as he went, the banging only growing more insistent as he made it into the open living room. The tall oak door at his entrance was shaking from the abuse it was receiving.
“I will destroy your entire fucking wardrobe!” he yelled along the way, trying to hit his pain-in-the-arse friends where it hurt. “Every slutty dress and Italian suit you own I will shred to pieces you complete and utter…” he slung the front door open. “Potter—”
It was quite jarring seeing him standing there on his front doorstep. He was completely unprepared to handle another surprise visit from him tonight.
“Hey,” Harry said, breathless, lowering his closed fist, looking wide eyed and a bit lost.
Draco finally remembered what he hadn’t considered during his sleep hazy rush to get out of bed… Pansy and Blaise never used the front door, they always used the Floo.
“No, no, you're supposed to be at the hospital with Hermione,” Draco said, a bit panicked.
“You left,” Harry said. In the flickering light of the entrance he could see the paleness of Harry’s face and the dark circles under his eyes. He looked tamer now at least, less… feverish.
Suddenly aware of his own dishevelled state and that they were standing out in the open, he ran a hand through his hair. “Jesus Potter, get inside. Do you understand how vulnerable you are right now?” Draco moved to the side to let Harry in and closed the door behind him. Harry didn’t go far.
“Yeah, they explained it to me.” He raised a hand to Draco’s waist without thought, like it happened regularly between them, lightly brushing the bare skin before letting it rest there.
Draco's whole body shivered before he turned with a strangled groan. Harry’s hand dropped. He needed to get him back to his friends and out of this house as quickly as he could.
Walking into the living room he spelled his parchment and quill to follow. Whatever delusions he had convinced himself of earlier were falling apart, as it seemed this artificial attraction was focused on him, and it very much felt like Harry was here with intention.
“And Hermione knows you just up and left?” he sat down on the edge of his couch, the parchment landing on the low wooden table in front of him. Bending he started to write.
“I didn’t… I just needed to see you,” Harry said, his voice low.
Draco looked up. Harry was standing by the side of the table watching him, the buttons of his flannel shirt done up in the wrong places, one leg of his jeans partially tucked into his navy blue sock, and the laces of his shoes undone. He wanted to grab a hold of him and straighten him out, didn’t want him standing in his living room in the middle of the night so eager to be here he couldn’t even dress himself properly. He snatched the letter up and walked to one of the arched windows above the kitchen counter to call for his owl, Aries.
When he had first bought the place, Draco had built the owl an open habitat on the rooftop so he could have the freedom to come and go as he pleased. After the war, in the stillness of the cleared out Manor, the reality of his family's choices had really set in. He became detached and numb spending days listlessly walking around the Manor. Until one day he walked past the owls his father had kept in cramped and confined cages. It was something he had seen a thousand times without a second thought. This time, looking at them with only the ability to stand still in one spot was suffocating and it brought him to his knees. The only thing he could see in their malnourished faces was his father's abuse and his own responsibility in it. He saw Luna and Dean and the other victims behind bars who had suffered at their hands and in their home.
How arrogant were they to think they could align themselves with tyranny and still be human in the end. Draco had used people, his father used him, and Voldemort used his father. His father could rot in Azkaban for all he cared and even though it may have seemed like a small gesture after all the harm he had caused, sending the owls to a sanctuary was a small step towards Draco regaining his humanity. There was one small sick owl that wouldn't have survived the journey and Draco made it his mission to nurse the stubborn tawny owl back to health. And now Aries was his closest companion.
He felt Harry close behind as he followed him into the kitchen.
“Who are you writing to?” Harry asked.
Draco turned and Harry’s eyes roamed the naked part of his chest. He crossed his arms as his skin started to flush.
“Hermione, to let her know you're safe and that she needs to come get you, and that I have witnesses if anybody thinks I'm the one who did this to you.” He turned back to the window and let out a low whistle into the darkness.
“Nobody thinks it was you,” Harry said close behind him, too close. His body heat, and the thick magic that accompanied it, was a palpable presence down Draco’s back. He gripped the edge of the counter until his knuckles went white.
“Why are you here, Potter? You don't like me. And what, you were slipped a lust potion and now you can't stay away?”
“I don’t know… —God this is so fucked up.” Harry groaned, frustrated, but he didn’t move back, he moved closer. “I hate this,” he said in Draco’s ear. “Hate that this is happening to me, that this shit has me crawling out of my skin, and…” he growled, “it’s fucking torture having to look at you wearing this—” His voice rose as he clutched Draco’s waist, grabbing a handful of the soft fabric and kneading it, gripping Draco’s skin with just enough pressure to make it bordering aggressive, but not in a bad way.
He wouldn’t say it was a comfort but at least Harry was somewhat aware he didn’t want this, that he wasn’t acting completely as himself. But Draco was only human and a strangled sound escaped him as Harry moved flush against his back, feeling every inch of him through the thin silk of his clothes.
Harry's voice went shaky. “Fuck, is this what you normally wear to bed? …Please tell me it is,” he whispered, his hands roaming freely up Draco’s sides. Draco needed to get a grip on the situation, but he also wanted to push back while he could.
“Yes,” he answered, his head hanging, trying to maintain his sanity, his voice calmer than he felt, “but usually when there’s a man in my house in the middle of the night I'm wearing much less.”
Maybe that wasn’t the best response to give someone in Harry’s state, but his nerves were shot and it was only fair. Harry growled in the back of his throat just as Aries came flying through the window. The owl landed on the counter by Draco then nudged his hand.
Harry was starting to move against him a bit too freely now, and if he let it go on…
“Potter, you need to back up.” His voice was strained, but the second time he said it it had enough force to snap Harry out of his feverish pursuit.
“Okay… fuck, you’re right… I’m sorry.” He moved back, letting go of the grip he had on Draco’s waist. Draco stayed in place, not ready to turn around yet. He focused his attention on Aries who was cleaning his wings, the little guy totally unbothered, unlike his human companion, by their new guest.
“You didn't ask for this,” Harry continued, sounding like his nerves were shot too, “and I tried to stay away, but I… shit, it’s like my entire body has been taken over and the only thing controlling it is this need to be near you.”
“Did the sedative help?” Draco asked, trying to view this through his Healers eyes again. Maybe it would help him be more responsible with his words — more responsible with Harry.
“Maybe. My mind is so fucking foggy it’s hard to tell, but I can talk in full sentences again so I guess that’s something.” Harry smiled weakly, his voice sounding more in control than it had in his office. “When I woke up at the hospital the Healer said they didn’t know how long the, um, lust would take to leave my system,” he said running a shaky hand over his face, “that it should fade over time and they are working on some kind of, what did they call it... purging and purification potion to help speed the process or some shit. I don’t know, you left, I was having a hard time concentrating.”
Draco turned back to him. “They aren’t, I am. I've already started the first step in my lab here.” As tired as he had been when he got home, he had trudged up to his rooftop lab and began putting together the cleansing potion.
He had transformed the glass panelled conservatory that had come with the house into his personal lab at the same time he had built Aries’s urban habitat. Most would argue a potions lab needed to be underground or in a dark place, but they were wizards and witches; the ability to use magic made anything possible. With the right charms and spells the perfect atmosphere could be set anywhere. He learned through the years that most wizards were idiots who like to argue on the side of tradition, but Draco spent too much time working long hours indoors with minimal natural lighting to be stuck underground when he was at home.
“Good, that's good,” Harry was still running his hands over his face. Draco had the urge to hold them still.
“Since it's here I could just stay until it's done,” Harry said, “and you're a Healer so I don't need to go back to St. Mungo’s…” When he dropped his hands, Draco could see that desperate look was starting to take shape on his face again.
“No, absolutely not,” Draco cut in. Harry refused his help in the past and he didn’t want to be responsible for him now. “And, bloody hell, you shouldn't even be standing with how much of that shit is in your system. I think that proves you’re strong enough and definitely stubborn enough to manage a few days of discomfort until it’s done. Because staying true to character,” Draco shook his head, “you couldn’t just be drugged with a normal lust potion could you? So the cleanser needs to stew longer to increase potency.”
He remembered the letter for Hermione on his counter, surprised she hadn't busted down his door looking for Harry yet. He turned to give it to Aries, who had gotten bored and fallen asleep on the window sill.
“A few days?” Harry repeated a bit panicked.
“Well, five more to be exact.” Draco braced himself for Harry's reaction.
“Five! Please Draco, just tonight. I promise I won't touch you. I just… need to be near you.”
Draco looked over his shoulder and Harry’s appearance was beginning to match the panic in his voice, sweat had started to drip down his forehead and his body was trembling.
He felt pity for the man and his own exhaustion was making him weak. He opened a drawer and pulled the quill out again. He had been trying to save Harry from himself because he knew when he was clear headed again he was going to be mortified by this entire night, especially the part where he had begged Draco to let him stay. He scribbled on the letter and Aries perked up, hopping down from the sill when Draco grabbed a treat. He scratched affectionately on his head and attached the letter to his leg, sending him off into the night.
“Only tonight, and you're sleeping on the couch,” Draco said, brushing past him.
Harry let out a heavy exhale of relief.
***
It was midmorning when Draco woke, his body protesting when he turned over, blinking at the bright sun coming through the open window. Most nights he didn't bother closing the curtains since he was the last townhouse on the street and his bedroom faced the river. What little sleep he did get had been broken, even it couldn't shield him from the weight of Harry’s presence in his house. Ever since he’d shown up an uncomfortable ache had settled in his chest. He rubbed at it feeling the lines of his scars. Harry hadn’t seemed to notice them last night. Stretching, he pushed those thoughts aside. He needed to get up and do some more research on Harry’s potion.
Reaching for his wand on the nightstand was when he noticed the sleeping body curled up on the floor next to his bed.
“Shit, Potter,” Draco groaned. Black wavy hair poked out the top of the blanket Harry had hugged tightly around himself; a sight Draco never thought he’d wake up to. He sat on the edge of the bed and ran his hands over his face.
Instead of giving Harry another sedative last night, he had decided to give him a milder sleeping draught and by the time he came back to give him something to sleep in he was passed out on his couch. At some point he must have decided to move locations.
Draco stood, being careful not to get tangled in the legs stretched out the length of his bed. Harry was far from the scrawny kid he knew at Hogwarts. Draco was six two and Harry was only a few inches from that.
He debated leaving him there, but the way Harry’s hand held tightly to the edge of Draco’s comforter hanging from the bed, as if he was reaching for Draco in the night but trying to make good on his promise not to touch, made the ache in his chest tighten.
He levitated him gently onto the bed and the movement caused the blanket to slip from his face. Harry looked tortured in sleep, his brow furrowed and mouth held stiff, but as soon as his body landed in Draco’s spot it lost some of the tension, curling himself around Draco’s pillow, burying his face in it.
Draco looked away and headed to the shower.
Harry found him working in his lab a few hours later.
He was busy taking stock of his shelves, double checking to make sure the order he’d just sent off with Aries included everything he needed from the apothecary, when Harry walked in. He’d been up here since he'd left him in his bed, meticulously working to ensure he got the formula right. There were three cauldrons already bubbling over low flames, now all he had left to do was prepare for the next step and wait.
“I've been looking for you,” Harry said, turning to look around the room in slow circles. The large open space was filled by an abundance of growing vegetation and the complex equipment of a well-used potions lab. The faint hum of magic that made it possible to combine the two potentially combustible disciplines under one roof throbbed quietly in the background — like there was a real possibility of an unwanted fallen leaf or a loose stray petal finding its way into a finicky brew to cause an unpredictable outcome — like a man you’re not sure you trust yourself with showing up on your doorstep, moving around you in an unfamiliar way, and not in control of his own impulses.
“Well…” Draco replied, moving to sit at his thick wooden work table. He opened one of the heavy books scattered on it before continuing, “Given our last couple of meetings, I didn't think finding me would be that much of a problem for you.”
Harry responded with a shy smile. It was sweet. Draco didn’t trust it. Illusions couldn't be trusted, including the ones he could feel in his chest.
“This place is incredible,” Harry said with awe, stopping at a window that was draped with ivy and flanked by tall billowing citrus trees in oversized pots. “It’s got this secret garden, mad scientist feel to it.”
Draco let out a small laugh at the description as he searched the book to cross reference some of the ingredients listed on the parchment he’d brought back from the hospital that contained the detailed breakdown of the potion found in Harry’s system.
“Some people actually did call me mad for trying to turn a glass conservatory in the middle of the city into a potions lab. I must admit, I impressed myself when I pulled it off.”
“It is really impressive. And I can feel your magic in here,” Harry said, bending down to smell a delicate rose blossom. “It's intense, but also… gentle. I like the way it feels on my skin.”
Draco’s hand stilled on the book as he glanced at Harry, who had his back to him and was bathed in the golden sunlight coming through the windows, peering out at the city. Draco had never really had a moment to just take him in since their school days. The times he’d seen him out in public he would never let his eyes linger. Harry didn’t wear the glasses of his youth anymore. In this rare moment of observation Draco almost missed seeing him in them. They would compliment the masculine lines of his face. His shoulders were a bit broader than Draco’s own, and even in the same rumpled clothes from last night he looked good. Calmer.
“You don't find this weird, Potter? You, at my house, talking about how my magic feels?”
Turning back to him, Harry walked closer. Draco’s eyes cautiously tracked his approach, Harry stopped beside the table, leaning his hip against the tabletop and pinning Draco with those green eyes. “It doesn’t feel weird to me, but…what do I know, the only thing I can focus on right now is the way you feel,” he said, leaning slightly forward.
Draco didn’t know how to navigate Harry when he was this close — all animosity absent and full of the warm sincerity of a lover enthralled. It was creased right there in the soft edges of his eyes and in the inviting way he held his body — The posture of a person who’s guard had been completely let down and who was asking you to step into it.
“It will probably do you some good if you can find that part of you I know is still in there that hates me,” he said, clearing his throat.
“You have a scar right above your cheek. What happened?” Harry asked, studying his face, apparently too absorbed in staring at him to register Draco’s words.
Draco reached a hand up, self consciously feeling the crescent shaped mark at the end of his eyebrow. Buried memories of running through the dark forest outside the Manor surfaced, the sound of footsteps in pursuit, a tree branch slicing his skin.
“Not every scar has a story worth telling.”
Harry’s gaze was burning the side of his face. He needed to get up and put some distance between them, but he was having trouble finding the will to.
“God you're so good looking,” Harry whispered, leaning in closer.
Draco’s breath hitched just as the chime for the front door went off. He jumped slightly.
***
“Hey, Peter,” Draco said, surprised to see the sandy haired man on the other side of the door. “I was expecting an owl to make the delivery.” Though he shouldn’t have been surprised, Peter always found a way to bring his deliveries personally.
“You sounded like you needed these as soon as possible, and I had the time,” Peter said with a shrug.
Draco took the wooden crate from him. Harry stayed on the rooftop saying he needed a minute, since both of them expected it to be Hermione.
“You know I'm always looking for an excuse to see you,” Peter added with a grin.
“So you always say,” Draco smiled back, trying to be polite. Peter was handsome, clean cut and stylish. Pansy was always pushing Draco to give him a chance and maybe he should, but his life was too busy, and although he usually enjoyed the flirting during these exchanges, right now was not the best time to be doing this back and forth.
“If my excuses to see you weren’t subtle enough,” Peter’s smile widened, “I also put some extra bezoar and moonstone in there hoping it might persuade you to grab lunch with me.” He raised a brow, hopeful today might be the day Draco finally took him up on his offer
“Thanks, I appreciate it, but maybe next time. I’ve really got to be going,” Draco said, indicating the box in his hands and needing to get back to work. He was about to close the door when he felt the air shift around him —like a sudden crackling on his skin.
At this point he could almost say that he knew how Harry’s magic felt too, or at least how his lust-saturated magic felt. But this was different, this was the air before a violent storm; electric and charged. Harry came to stand next to him, his shoulder brushing against Draco’s.
He no longer looked calm or tame, and his magic felt fucking wild.
Peter looked uneasily between them. “Yeah, sorry, I didn't realise you were with—” Then the recognition hit him. “Oh shit, you’re Harry Potter,” Peter said, awestruck. Draco rolled his eyes at the hero worship in Peter’s eyes. Harry stared back with a cold expression. Now that was a look Draco was familiar with; it was the same one that was usually reserved for him.
“Who the fuck are you?” Harry asked.
So much for moving this along. Poor Peter picked the wrong afternoon to meet his hero.
Draco quickly cut in. “Potter, this is Peter. His family owns the shop I source my brewing materials from when I can't grow them myself.” To Peter he hurried to add, “Potter and I are working together, and we really need to be going. It’s not everyday one gets the honour of working with the legend himself — very important business we must get back to.”
“Okay,” Peter said, sounding unsure. “I’ll see you around then. And let me know if there’s anything else you guys need and I’ll bring it right over.”
There was a loud electric crack and Draco startled when the wooden crate he was holding burst into flames. Harry put it out with a quick swipe of wandless magic, but his eyes never broke from Peter’s.
Leaving a confused Peter on the steps, Draco quickly pushed the door closed with his foot, dropped the smoking crate on the side table and whipped back around to Harry. He was furious and also distressingly turned on at Harry’s fucked up little possessive display.
“Are you done acting like a bloody idiot?” he snapped. “There is no telling what could have happened if any of that shit caught on fire.”
“Are you fucking him?” Harry snapped back, looking seconds away from punching something.
“What the fuck Potter,” Draco exclaimed, completely taken aback by the question. “You don’t get to ask me that. It's none of your business if I am, because let me remind you…” Draco threw his hands in the air then pointed a finger at him, “that you don’t actually want me!” He yelled it so it might sink in.
It didn’t.
“Draco, just tell me.” Harry’s voice was pleading before he abruptly yelled, “FUCK!” Roughly massaging his hands through his hair, frustration radiating off of him. “No, don't answer that. This is bullshit —you're right. It’s none of my business.” His voice shifted to a higher pitch before his face crumpled. “I feel like I‘m going bloody insane.” He slumped against the wall.
“Why is this happening to me?” he asked, deflated, looking at Draco like he might have the answer to why shitty things happen to good people. Draco had a lot of answers but none that would make either of them feel good.
Harry was someone who fought Dark Magic for a living and, in Draco’s opinion, carried himself like he didn’t let the world touch him. Yet here he was falling apart in Draco’s living room. He wasn’t sure at this point if he wasn’t the one going insane, and he didn't have the convenient excuse of being drugged against his will. He decided not to push him.
“Hermione will be here soon. The best thing for you to do is to go with her. It’ll be better for you not to be around me… Hey,” he said gently when Harry turned away, going tense again. “It's just a few days until the potion is ready and then we can speed this up and get it out of your system for good.”
Harry looked on the verge of tears. “I don't know if I can do it. I don't want to be away from you.”
“Potter, this isn't real,” Draco said.
“Why can’t you just help me?” Harry looked dejected, like Draco was doing this on purpose. If only Harry knew how his chest felt right now.
“—if it’s moonstone you want, I'll go to the fucking moon and get it for you, just please… let me stay with you,” Harry pleaded.
Draco couldn't help the manic laugh that came out. “Jesus Potter, I didn’t peg you for a bloody romantic.”
Harry didn’t find it amusing, he still looked like he might break down in tears.
“Look, I am trying to help you,” Draco sighed. “Now give me some space so I can finish this potion without you setting it on fire.”
“That’s just you doing your job,” Harry said, bitterness in his voice.
“Yes,” Draco answered, “and you're lucky I'm damn good at it.” Harry glanced at the crate like he might set it on fire again.
“Don’t even think about it,” Draco said. “You and your fucking wild magic.”
The whoosh of the Floo went off and Hermione came rushing through.
“Harry!” she exclaimed, running to him and pulling him into a tight embrace. Harry wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on top of her head, though his eyes stayed fixed on Draco’s, sad and bitter.
“Don't you ever leave like that again without telling me, you arsehole,” she scolded. “I mean, I was pretty sure I knew where you went, but still, I don't even want to think about what could have happened to you.”
“Oh Harry.” She raised a hand to his cheek when she pulled back and saw the pitiful look on his face, then looked back at Draco, sympathy still there. He wasn’t sure if it was meant for him as well but he could fucking use it too.
“It’s fine, I'm fine,” Harry said flatly. “Let’s just go.”
He turned his back on Draco and didn't look back. Hermione raised an eyebrow at Draco just as they were about to Floo away and mouthed ‘boyhood obsession.’ ‘I hate you,’ he mouthed back, and was then left watching the green flames fade as he rubbed a hand at his chest.
Chapter Text
He had just finished seeing a patient when Hermione found him walking through the corridor toward his office.
“Draco, wait up,” she said, getting his attention.
He looked up to see her walking quickly to catch up with him. It had been two days since she left his house with Harry in tow and he had been trying not to think about any of it.
“I was hoping to catch you on a break,” she said, falling in step beside him. He stopped in front of his office and held the door open.
“Come on then,” he said, beckoning her in, quite sure whatever she had come to talk to him about would be better said behind closed doors.
Hermione took a seat in one of the leather tufted chairs and Draco sat on the edge of his desk across from her.
“How is he?” he asked, deciding to cut to the chase. She stared at him with a curious look on her face.
“What?” Draco said. “I assume that's why you are here.”
“It is. I just wasn't sure if you cared enough to ask.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Of course I care, it’s my job to care.”
“No, you care about him,” she said, with a look that made him uncomfortable.
“Everyone cares about Potter.”
“But you are not everyone.” She shook her head slightly. “You two… with that tortured history.”
“Which you know more than anyone should make me the last person to be in a situation like this with him. Not everyone could forgive me for my part in the war like you, and that's fine. I don’t know why you keep suggesting— ”
“You’re in love with him.”
The air left the room, or maybe it just left his body.
He didn’t know what to say, she had just fucked him up with a sucker punch. If knocking the wind out of him without lifting a finger was the goal of this visit, she had accomplished it.
He knew what he should say. He should be denying it, but hearing out loud what he had held deep down in his chest all these years had taken the words from him.
“I saw the way you looked at him, and Healers don’t look at patients like that,” she said.
Draco turned his head, he couldn't face that knowing look.
Fuck.
His silence was all the confirmation she needed.
“Draco, I'm so sorry. It makes this all the more cruel, doesn't it?”
“Cruel, but no less deserved,” he said, finding his voice and not bothering to deny it, too exhausted to even try. “When this fades, he will go back to resenting me even more than he already did. A fucked up momentary attraction doesn't change anything.”
“You represent a lot of bad things that happened to him,” she said, “...to us, and it’s always been hard for him to see past that when it comes to you.”
“He doesn't remember any of that right now does he?” Draco asked, but he knew how lust potion worked, it was pure desire intensified. You stop seeing the flaws in someone and only act on singular want. But their past was dark; it would be a hard memory to suppress.
“He doesn’t seem to,” she answered. “He knows this isn’t normal, but in his mind right now you're all he wants.”
“That's all the more reason for him to stay away from me,” Draco said. He could sense where this conversation was going.
“The thing is,” she said, lifting a hand to stop his protest as he opened his mouth, “and I do hate to say it, but I don’t know how much longer he can stay away from you before this is over. It’s not leaving his system on its own fast enough. All he’s done is pace like a mad man in front of our Floo, saying your name over and over, and when he isn’t doing that he’s curled up shaking on the floor. He’s been putting up a good fight, but it’s only gotten worse. We’re doing what we can for him, but he will barely let us near him. Whoever the bastard is who developed that potion wanted to make sure Harry had no choice but to stay close to them.”
She confirmed his fears. Besides passing the finished cleansing potion along, he was hoping Harry’s stubborn magical strength would be enough to leave him out of it and that Harry would endure it by himself like everything else life had thrown his way. Looking at Hermione’s worried face reminded him that Harry may be a powerful wizard in his own right, but the reason he had endured all he had was because of the people who had been there to help him through it all. His argument died on his lips.
“You can’t tell him. No matter what,” he said. “How I feel doesn't matter.”
Hermione nodded with a look of pity on her face.
He didn’t want pity, he just wanted this to be over.
***
He was cooking dinner when he heard the sound of his fireplace coming to life. It was followed by soft footsteps and the scrape of a chair being pulled out from his table. He didn’t bother turning from his task of chopping vegetables. He knew who it was.
The house was relatively quiet, with only the low sounds of the wireless and Aries's occasional cooing from where he stood perched on the open windowsill, waiting patiently for Draco to toss him bits of food.
“You put me on your Floo,” a scratchy voice said behind him.
“Mmm,” responded Draco, transferring the vegetables into the simmering pot. “Since you're here you might as well stay for dinner,” he said over his shoulder.
“I'm not hungry,” Harry said, sounding like he was already half asleep.
Draco turned to find him resting with his cheek on the table, eyes closed.
“Potter, you look like shit,” he said, stopping what he was doing and trying to keep the sudden panic from his voice. Hermione wasn’t exaggerating about how bad off he was. If anything, she had under sold it. Harry was a ghost of himself with sunken cheeks and dark circles under his eyes. Draco’s stomach dropped.
“Just need to lay here a minute,” Harry said, sounding like it hurt to talk.
“Okay, why don't we get you to the couch,” Draco said, moving to him then tugging on his arm to get him to stand. When Harry did, his movements were sluggish and he immediately lost his balance, falling forward. Draco quickly reached out an arm and wrapped it around his waist to steady him.
“Jesus, you're burning up.” The heat coming from his body was even more cause for alarm. Harry mumbled something incoherent as they made it to the couch. Draco helped him down as gently as he could. He started to move back, but Harry’s hand came up and grabbed his waist.
“Are you going to make me leave?” he asked, looking genuinely scared that Draco might kick him out again.
Draco smoothed the damp hair from Harry’s forehead. “What's the point? You're just going to come back,” Draco smiled. Harry relaxed. “Potter, when’s the last time you ate something?”
“Can't remember,” he answered, eyes drifting shut. “A couple days maybe.”
Shit, the fool was going to kill himself. He slid his hand through Harry’s hair and down the curve of his neck, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Stay here, I’m getting food.”
He found his wand where he left it on the counter, but his hands began to shake so badly he could barely grip it. Dealing with the ailing didn't rattle him, you put yourself aside and just do what needs to be done. But for whatever reason, this sickness was linked to him, and the man with it, making it deeply personal. It was becoming clear that it wasn’t just lust Harry was afflicted with, but a physical dependency on the person it was connected to. Even mentally preparing himself that Harry would show up after his talk with Hermione, he wasn’t sure he could handle this. There was a small part of him that felt like the selfish boy he had once been because he became the one Harry Potter needed, but his arrogance had faded, and now all he saw was himself being laid bare.
He had never understood his feelings for Harry. They made no sense. Years could pass without seeing him, yet his heart would quicken anytime his eyes happened to find him across a room, even in the hospital when Harry had spit in his direction. They had stayed in each other's peripheral, always on the outskirts, never in the same space; never smiling, never talking, never touching. He should turn him away right now… but he won’t.
Resigned with his choice, he put the knife to his heart. Self preservation be damned.
He sat at the end of the couch’s ottoman. The couch was modern and relaxing with long deep cushions. His home was a collection of things old and new, though he stayed away from anything rigid and stuffy that reminded him of the cold formality of his past. His past home, the one of wealth and namesake and the sins demanded to protect it, had long ago lost its appeal. It was enough now just to have a safe place to land and a retreat to shut the world out from. Allowing Harry in didn’t particularly feel safe, but it could at least be one small act of atonement he could offer a man, who’d once been held captive, while his closest friend was being brutally tortured inside of the home Draco had once held up so high.
“Potter,” he rubbed a hand gently on Harry’s leg. When his eyes opened he blinked rapidly until they found Draco’s. “Can you sit up for me?” With heavy movements, Harry slid his legs off the couch, slowly making his way to a sitting position, still half asleep. “This will help with the fever.” He handed Harry a vial filled with liquid. He tilted it to his lips and swallowed without question. Draco couldn't believe the trust this Harry had in him.
“I take it your friends know you're here this time?” Draco asked, picking up one of the bowls of stew he’d placed on the coffee table then handing it to Harry, the colour in his face already beginning to look healthier.
“Yeah. My magic’s been a bit off,” Harry answered sleepily, holding the bowl on his leg and dropping his head back against the cushion. “I think Ron’s had enough of me setting things on fire. He tried to stop me from bothering you, but Hermione let me come —and I'm not going back to St. Mungo’s so don’t even say it.”
“Of course you're not going to do what's best for you,” Draco snorted. The corner of Harry’s lip lifted as he reached a hand across the couch to brush Draco’s hip.
“Sorry,” he dropped his hand, “I know you don't want…” Draco put his hand over Harry’s, giving it a small squeeze before reaching to pick up his own bowl of food.
“No more talking, you need to eat.” Draco kicked his shoes off and tucked himself into the corner of the couch, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing his ankles. Harry watched, his head still tilted back on the cushion and a furrow between his brows. Draco wanted to smooth it away, but instead reached over and tugged on the side of Harry’s shirt. “Come here,” he sighed, giving in.
He turned up the wireless and they ate dinner together, Harry pushed flush against his side, no space between them, like two people who normally found comfort in each other at the end of a long day.
At some point during the evening they both fell asleep. First Harry, who only managed a few bites of food before drifting off. Draco had to catch the bowl as he slowly slumped down on himself, eventually ending up with his head in Draco’s lap and his legs stretched across to the other side of the couch.
It was hours before Draco followed. He stayed up late into the night trying to focus on the book he had Accio’d. Instead he kept finding his fingers in Harry’s hair, his eyes drifting down to study his sleeping face — needing to reassure himself that this was working, that letting him close was the real help he needed. That every draught and potion he could give him right now wouldn’t be enough to sustain him. That if Draco found himself tracing the line of his brow, the dip of his nose, or the shape of his scar, it was all for the sake of healing. The one time he tried to get up Harry turned and wrapped his arms tightly around his waist before burying his face in his jumper.
***
When Draco woke it was morning. He was stiff and couldn’t move because there was a body curled around him like a cat. He didn’t remember falling asleep, or when he gave into the temptation and curled himself back around Harry, but his face was inches from Harry’s and their arms were wrapped around each other.
He was quietly trying to dislodge himself when Harry's eyes opened to see Draco’s face looking back at him and he smiled softly. He didn’t move his grip around Draco's waist so Draco let his arm fall back over Harry’s back. It had been awhile since he had woken up this close to someone. He would say it was nice, but he was trying not to think things like that, let alone say them aloud.
“How are you feeling?” he asked. Looking at him, there was a huge difference between how he appeared last night and his appearance now, though that wouldn’t have been hard when he’d shown up looking like a corpse.
“Like if I had a few more hours sleep I might feel human again,” Harry yawned.
“I’ve got to go to the hospital today so we are going to have to test if being close all night will be enough to sustain you until I get back,” Draco said. It was a risk especially since it had only taken two days for Harry to be on the brink of death. Harry must have been thinking the same thing as his face fell.
“Okay,” Harry finally replied. Draco caught himself from leaning over and kissing Harry’s forehead. He sat up on the edge of the couch.
Harry lifted a hand from behind him and rubbed it along the length of Draco’s spine. Draco was beginning to understand that Harry’s touch didn’t just involve his hands; his magic moved with it in surging ebbs and flows. This touch was a caressing vibration that seemed determined to work its way deep into Draco’s bones. He had to remind himself while he sat and indulged in the sensation of Harry’s affectionate magic for a moment, that his best plotted course forward while they continued to play house was to try and stay neutral, before standing up, with the not so neutral but tempting thought, to say ‘fuck work’ and curl back around Harry, but his boss had owled requesting his presence at the hospital today, and as much as he liked to defy her, he couldn’t push it too far.
He’d overslept and needed to get ready quickly, but it was hard to leave Harry with that look on his face, which was all the more reason he should. “There’s a vial for you to take on the counter, and help yourself to anything in the kitchen.”
Before he left he found Harry was still in the same spot staring out the windows. Draco rubbed at his face, questioning again how this was happening to him. He sat down next to him, smoothing the hair back from his face. Harry closed his eyes and sighed at the touch.
“I’m only going to be gone for a few hours.” He didn’t need to, but he wanted to reassure him. “If it gets bad, send Aries, but I think it will help you just being here in my house, around my magic.” Harry didn’t look convinced, probably sick of experimenting with the limits of his capabilities, but he didn’t protest when Draco Floo’ed away.
***
He wasn't scheduled to see patients today, but he needed to check in on the lab, train one of the new technicians to get him up to speed, and finally do a consult with Healer Dayal on a high risk surgery. He had stretched the day out as long as he could. Now he was in his office bracing himself for another night with Harry’s begging eyes and lingering hands. The fact he didn’t get a visit from Aries was a sign that maybe his house guest would be moving on soon. He hoped so, since one night was all it took for him to lose his grasp of the situation; even Harry’s scent lingered around him.
“Healer Malfoy, I was hoping to find you in your office.”
Draco cringed at the sound of his boss's voice as she walked through his open door with an air of far too much self importance. He had assumed she was busy and had forgotten about her request to see him today. Of course she refused to set a time for it, instead deciding to come by whenever it suited her, no matter how inconvenient it was for him, and it was always going to be inconvenient because it was her.
They had rubbed each other the wrong way since she rose to the rank of Head Administrator a year ago. If you could call it ‘rising’ when she was only half qualified for the job and her father was knee deep in Ministry politics and wielding far too much influence to call it anything other than nepotism. After she became the boss even the supply of the potions ingredients approved for use were streamlined to companies directly tied to her family's interest. It wasn't hard to see the rot, but nobody cared to look that closely when St. Mungo’s was receiving large amounts of philanthropy and charity, which she made sure to publicise extensively. He had yet to see any of the money raised go to something that actually advanced the hospital, or to people who needed it. Nothing covers up duplicity like the mask of goodwill.
The only thing that has kept him from quitting was all the hard work he had already put into his position. Transferring to France when the opportunity arose had been out of the question. It would have been too close to his mother, and the thought of his parents reminded him that he almost became that person.
“Devois,” he greeted her coldly. There was no love lost between them. The haughty self assured look on her face pinched at his use of her last name. He expected a lecture on respecting your superiors or some shit, but her expression changed to one of knowing the amount of power she possessed as she took her time looking around his office.
“I wanted to stop by and tell you what a good job you did creating the antidote for the attack at Kings Cross,” she said, “and with such speed and precision. What an asset to the hospital you are, young man.” The condescension; she was only a few years older than him.
She idly touched the numerous plaques marking his accomplishments throughout the years, fingering the spines of his valuable medical and potion books scattered across his shelves as she moved around his space.
It was violating.
Draco nodded in response, knowing it was best if he kept his mouth shut.
“Well,” she said a bit too sprightly, “the hospital is just abuzz regarding your new friendship with Harry Potter.”
There it was. It seemed Harry barreling through the hospital desperate to see Draco didn’t go unnoticed. Shocking.
“I hope everyone remembers how seriously St. Mungo’s takes patient confidentiality law,” he said calmly, hating that anyone might know what Harry’s going through. Healer Ray had agreed to not let the nature of what had caused Harry’s visit that night leave the hospital room but there was still only so much Draco could do to help keep it that way, including being cautious enough to do his brewing at home instead of in the hospital lab. He hoped the extent of how much it was connected to him continued to stay unknown.
“Of course,” she said with a sickly sweet smile, coming to stand in front of his desk. “However, it would do wonders for the hospital if he were to attend some of the upcoming charity galas. Just think of all the money that could be raised with a high profile guest like him. Especially if we can get him in a couple of pictures with the… lovely, young witches and wizards from paediatrics.”
“Potter doesn’t do public appearances,” Draco snorted. “You’d be better off sticking to one of those never ending rotating celebrities looking to polish up their image.” It was a well-known fact that Harry didn’t do public events and if she thought Draco was going to help her change that, she had another thing coming.
“What a waste of a wizard that man turned out to be. He could be doing so much good for the world,” she scowled, feigning self righteous disdain.
Draco was trying to keep his cool, but his blood was boiling. “He doesn’t need to smile for some bullshit pictures. When he donates his time and money it actually goes to the people who need it and that's far from a waste in my opinion.”
She smirked like the cat who caught the canary.
“Did you hear who was just appointed to the hospital board? Your good friend Conway. That's right, another board member not so sure about having a Malfoy on staff. So I would be careful if I were you. I could easily expose a Healer who was reviving his ties to the Death Eaters. Oh yes, Healer Malfoy, I can plant a few stories at the snap of a finger that would have your reputation in question. You know how feeble the public is. All they need is a seed of doubt and you'd be ruined. I have board members eager to corroborate any story I put out there. I said you were an asset, but not that you were indispensable, so I would tread lightly.”
With one last predatory smile she turned on her heels to leave. This was a new level to the passive aggressive animosity between them. It was the first time she had said that threat out loud. Whatever she had done, her situation must be dire if she was pushing that hard to get Harry Potter.
Well fuck this bitch, Draco thought. Before he could think better of it, he was on his feet drawing his wand when out of nowhere he felt a hand grab his wrist from behind, stopping him dead in his tracks. Heart pounding, he turned to see who the fuck was touching him, but nothing was there. The pressure around his wrist was still there though and, to his surprise, he could see to the ground through half of his hand.
He was about to lose his shit when he felt a body press against him and a hand rest on his waist.
“Don’t do it,” a voice whispered in his ear, and his wand was taken out of his hand. He would usually destroy a person for daring to touch his wand, but now he simply relaxed with the realisation that he hadn’t been going crazy when he had smelt Harry all over his office.
After the door shut behind Devois, he turned with shaky legs and sat back on the top of his desk. Now that he was looking he could see the slight wave in the air.
“Potter, you scared the shit out of me, you sneaky bastard.” Harry let the shimmering cloak fall to the ground, the pull of the fabric causing his hair to stick out all over the place. His face had a hard edge to it, and the air crackled around him.
“She doesn’t know it yet,” Harry said with a scowl, “but she just gave me a cause. I’m going to destroy her career — it will be the feel good story of the year she’s looking for.” Smoke was billowing from his fingertips like the beginning sparks of fire.
With the belief that this Harry wouldn’t harm him, he put his hands over Harry’s to calm him down. He also believed Harry was quite capable of doing what he said judging by the fierce look on his face, and damn how he had a thing for that look. However, when the time came and Harry wiped his hands clean of him, he may be just as happy to see him fall as Devois. Hell, he may even help her accomplish it. The dark irony of it all was actually kind of comical.
“So, you got to hear all of that, I take it? How long have you been lurking around here?” Draco asked with a raised eyebrow.
Harry smiled, amused at Draco calling him out on his guile. Draco had seen this smile a couple of times so far, it was a crooked one where the corner of his mouth curled up; sheepish, but with a small sparkle of confidence in his eyes making it an absolute wonder in duality. With this at his disposal there was no wonder people followed him willingly into death's open door.
“I came in right before she got here.” His face softened as his eyes roamed Draco’s. “It wasn't easy being away from you.” He moved closer to stand between his legs. Draco reached up to smooth down his hair. Looking heavy with fatigue, Harry let his forehead drop to Draco’s shoulder.
“Actually, it’s been hell being away from you,” Harry said. “And fuck this place, you should quit and stay home with me.”
“I should, should I?” Draco chuckled, rubbing the back of Harry’s neck. “But what am I going to do with myself when you leave me?” he whispered. Because you are going to leave me, and the timer he’d checked this morning for the cleansing potion was a reminder that that time was getting closer.
“I’m not. I couldn’t.” Harry wrapped his arms around him.
The sweet sound of lies.
“You stood up for me,” Harry said.
“Yeah, well, she’s a bitch.”
He didn’t mention the part about the intense protective streak that reared up inside of him the second she mentioned Harry’s name.
“Was today any easier?” he asked, ready to change the subject. His arms wrapped loosely around Harry’s waist, trying to keep his body from reacting to their closeness but trying to give Harry as much closeness as he needed after being away from him for so long. Draco wasn’t the only one giving comfort here. It had been a shitty day, and wouldn’t it be a lovely fuck you to Devois to give in and let Harry fuck him right here on his desk.
But he didn’t want to use Harry… he just wanted him.
Ahh that pesky ache in his chest.
“It must have been, you look better,” he said, pushing thoughts of wanting and fucking to the back of his mind. Harry did look better, still tired and worn down, but better.
“Yeah,” Harry answered, “you were right. It did help being at your house, but you said you were only going to be gone a couple of hours. I stayed away as long as I could.”
Draco shook his head. “Come on. Put that relic of a cloak back on and let's get you home. You’re still sick, and showing up here was bloody reckless. But, I suppose, that’s pretty normal for you.”
***
“Potter, wake up,” Draco said softly. It was late in the night and running a hand through Harry’s hair seemed to be his new favourite hobby. He couldn’t stop himself from smoothing it back any chance he got.
After getting home from the hospital Harry helped him cook dinner, that is he just followed him around like a puppy dog and took any opportunity he could to touch him; a hand on Draco’s waist as he went from the counter to the stove, a chin on his shoulder watching him stir the sauce, a foot wedged against his as they ate together at the table. And Draco, if he was being honest with himself, was becoming lost in it.
He half expected Harry to bring up the Death Eater comment Devois made, but he never did, and neither did he. He was not surprised by the threat. The truth was that his boss and whichever board members had conveniently been elected since she had taken charge couldn’t care less that Draco had been a Death Eater. What they really cared about was him turning his back on their elite club and that he wasn’t playing the game of keeping them all rich anymore. Having Harry there to witness it was the least of his problems. He needed to figure out what he was going to do. His job wasn’t worth it, especially now that Conway was on the Board. If you were pointing fingers at secret Death Eaters, there was your man.
“Mmm,” Harry murmured, lifting his head that had once again found its way into Draco’s lap. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, still slow and groggy from the toll the potion had taken on him.
“I can’t sleep on this couch again,” Draco groaned. “My back is killing me. I need my bed.” He unfolded himself and stood expecting Harry to follow, but his head had fallen back on the couch and his eyes had already shut. He looked content enough so Draco left him to go get ready for bed.
Freshly showered and laying down, he turned to his side and flicked the bedroom light off with his wand. The crick in his back appreciating the relief of finally being able to stretch out.
It wasn't long before he felt a dip in the bed and a warm body sliding in close behind him, a hand coming to rest on his hip.
“Is this okay?” Harry whispered in his ear, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down his spine.
“Yes,” Draco whispered back, not sure if that ‘yes’ had any limitations attached to it.
How easy it was to get lost in the fantasy that this was something it wasn’t, and with Harry pressed against him, tempting but off limits, the bed a new layer of intimacy, Draco had to put himself to sleep by repeating what was quickly becoming his mantra for survival.
…this isn’t real, this isn’t real, this isn’t real…
He said it over and over in his head until he finally drifted off.
He woke in the middle of the night, Harry still tucked in tight along his back, his arm now draped across his waist. He was still too sleepy to have any other thought than how good it felt waking up to being held, and how much he liked that it was Harry. Untangling himself he got up to go to the loo. He was standing, relieving himself when he was startled by arms wrapping around his middle and a head resting against his neck.
“Merlin Potter.” Once he gave Harry permission to touch him he hadn’t held back.
“I didn't know where you went,” Harry said, voice scratchy from sleep as he slid his hands under Draco’s long sleeve cotton shirt to rest on the bare skin of his stomach.
“And once you found me you thought I might need some help,” Draco snorted, feeling Harry's mouth pull into a grin against his skin.
“Do you need help?” Harry asked, letting his lips brush Draco’s neck. “I could hold that for you.” His voice dropped a timbre.
A pained whimper escaped Draco as his cock twitched from the suggestion. “You keep those hands where they are,” he groaned, finishing and hurrying to tuck what was now a very eager cock back in.
When he moved to the sink Harry moved with him, his head still tucked into Draco’s neck, eyes closed, half asleep letting Draco be his leaning post. His hands continuing their torturous slide up and down Draco’s abdomen. Telling him to keep them where they were was the wrong move. In the mirror he saw that at some point during the night Harry had taken off his shirt and tracksuit pants and was now left in only tight black pants. The sight was sexy as hell and not helping.
As they moved back into the bedroom Harry didn't let him go. When Draco tried to climb under the covers he was pulled back as Harry snuck in front of him to slide in first, a lazy grin on his face as he tugged Draco down with him. His eyes already falling closed before his head hit the pillow. Draco laughed. Harry couldn’t even manage to let go of him long enough to walk to the other side of the bed. Harry grinned again and then proceeded to hug his entire body around him, surprising Draco who thought he had already passed out.
“You wretch,” Draco laughed louder. Harry had now draped himself half way on top of him. “I’m suffocating here,” Draco squirmed, trying to talk through the mane of hair getting stuck on his lips, tickling his face. Being dramatic because the weight of this body on top of him was another thing he liked too much.
“But you're not close enough,” Harry whined. There was only one way they could physically get any closer. Harry loosened his grip, but only enough to fall back to his side. Draco let out a shaky breath.
“Why are you like this Potter?” he whispered, his traitorous eyes roaming over this face he kept finding himself too close to, studying it as if it was a private piece of art just for him.
This isn’t real. This isn’t real…
“Like what?” Harry said, his eyes peacefully closed, ready to drift back to sleep.
“Fucking needy,” Draco said… devastatingly was what he'd actually thought.
“I’m under the influence,” Harry answered with a shrug, his eyes still closed. Draco didn’t have to worry about hiding how soft his own face went while his eyes kept roaming.
“Oh, so we’re joking about this now,” Draco snorted.
The corner of Harry’s mouth lifted. “Hermione would probably say it’s because of the cupboard,” he said and Draco cringed.
“Forget I asked, I don’t want to know.” He'd heard the rumours about Harry’s childhood neglect, and it seemed too personal of a thing for him to open up about under the current circumstances.
“Good, I don’t want to talk about it.” Harry’s voice faded as he fell back asleep.
“You're ridiculous,” Draco whispered in the dark, just realising his traitorous hands had been running up and down the bare skin of Harry’s back. He turned and put them securely under his cheek on the pillow to keep them from drifting to places they shouldn’t. He couldn’t trust any part of himself, left unchecked they all had a mind of their own. Harry tugged him against his chest; adjusting him, tucking him in tight along the length of him, putting him where he wanted him. To Draco’s dismay it was another thing he liked too much.
Harry had actually been tame compared to the signals his magic had been sending off. From the moment he showed up there’d been a steady pulse of craving coming from his skin which had now fully settled onto Draco’s, creating an unyielding thick atmosphere for him to wade through. And even with that lust saturating him, Harry had been a gentleman compared to how sober men could be. Draco should know, he had encountered plenty.
He wondered if part of Harry's exhaustion was the fight he was putting up against that drive, not wanting to be like those men even when he was being pushed to. And thinking about Harry’s childhood he wondered if the potion had amplified a part of Harry that desired closeness and touch and not just in a lust filled sexual way, but simply physical affirmation, because deep down he craved it. It would make sense. He had lost his parents, was neglected as a child, given a war to bear on his shoulders, and as a man who had been targeted by hate groups and famed by the masses, maybe he just wanted the closeness, the deep connection to someone who wouldn’t abandon him.
That protective streak reared inside of him again. To think that those parts of Harry, he may not have even known he carried, could have been used by whoever the fucker was who had drugged him. The urge to turn over and hug him tight against his chest was strong.
Chapter Text
“I take it you feel better today,” Draco said, smiling, as he stood in the doorway to his walk-in closet, buttoning the last button of his dress shirt. Harry was just waking up, stretching his long legs and arms across the bed with a look of contentment. The sheet fell loosely around his waist, showing off the sharp ridges of his hip bones and the ripples of his bare chest.
“I feel bloody fantastic,” he said with a wide grin, throwing the sheet back and jumping energetically out of bed. Draco let out a short laugh. After last night he thought Harry might be easier to tolerate in the light of day, but today he was vibrant and just as appealing as he was in the intimate shadows of night.
Draco let his eyes roam over Harry’s body as he walked toward him. He had been trying not to focus too intently on it, but that was an impossible feat with the way Harry moved unashamedly in his skin. His hard nipples and the trail of hair leading to the rather impressive morning bulge in his pants was enough to make Draco want to fall to his knees right here. He had put thoughts of Harry’s childhood aside and gone back to lamenting his own suffering of trying to sleep with that body next to him all night. Having to take matters into his own hands this morning just to be able to make it through the day ahead of him, while hoping Harry wouldn’t wake up and decide to come looking.
“I bet you would feel even better if you go take a shower,” Draco said, scrunching his nose as if he could smell him from a distance before pulling a black jumper over his dress shirt. He yelped when Harry grabbed him around the waist, playfully rubbing his sleep tousled hair against the side of his face when it popped through his jumper.
“Good thing you smell good enough for the both of us,” Harry breathed into his neck.
“Potter,” Draco scoffed, laughing nervously and pushing half-heartedly against him before giving up and letting his hands fall down his back. The truth was Harry was intoxicating. He smelled of earth, citrus and spice and Draco’s head was spinning with it.
Harry laughed, pulling back and straightening the haphazard collar of Draco’s dress shirt.
“Did you know you kept saying my name in your sleep last night?” Harry said.
Draco felt his face flush. He looked away, embarrassed that he kept proving to be the desperate one here.
“Probably because you were smothering me,” he said, trying to lie to himself just as much with his answer. “You’re not the easiest person to share a bed with.”
“You were reaching for me,” Harry smiled, his voice soft. “I liked it.”
“Will you just go take a bloody shower already,” Draco said, pinching Harry’s side causing him to jump.
“Okay, okay, I'm going,” Harry laughed. Draco felt himself becoming weaker by the minute.
***
“I’ll gladly give you the entire content of my vaults if we can lay on your couch all day and do nothing,” Harry said, walking into the kitchen and hopping onto the counter next to where Draco was standing buttering toast.
Draco glanced up and was momentarily frozen when he saw Harry’s freshly showered hair and flushed cheeks. And to really sell the morning after look he had put on Draco’s grey cable knit jumper and black tracksuit bottoms. The jumper that was loose on Draco fit Harry’s broader shoulders and chest perfectly.
His hand reached up, with that mind of its own, and brushed a bead of water from Harry’s forehead. Harry leaned into the touch and with a sly grin grabbed the piece of toast from Draco’s other hand, taking a large bite. Draco wanted to lick the butter from his lips.
“As lovely as that sounds,” Draco said, “Madam Pomfrey needs my assistance with a student's Quidditch injury that’s not healing correctly. She sent a message this morning. It seems they’re just as stupidly reckless with the game as we used to be.” He stiffened when he realised this was the first direct reference that had been made to their past. He accidentally overfilled the tea cup as he was watching for Harry’s reaction then hurried to clean the scalding water spilling onto the counter once he realised.
“I didn’t know you helped at Hogwarts,” Harry said, face tilted in question, unfazed by the mess Draco had made. With a flick of his wrist the water disappeared before Draco had a chance to get his wand or a rag. Harry reached over, taking the kettle from Draco’s tense hand and set it down, then pulled Draco’s arms around his waist and held them there.
Draco relaxed against him. “I get called in every once in a while when Pomfrey needs help,” he answered as he grabbed the kettle again with one hand to finish making the tea, still half embraced in Harry’s arms.
“Hey, I could go with you,” Harry said, his face lighting up, a hand now softly rubbing the back of Draco’s neck. “I haven't been to Hogwarts in ages, and I bet McGonagall would even let us use the Quidditch pitch. We could show those kids what stupidly reckless really looks like,” he grinned.
Reckless was having Harry here invading his morning routine. He handed him a cup of hot tea and went to sit at the table. Harry grabbed his hand when it slid from his waist and hopped down to follow.
“And what, just stroll in hand and hand?” Draco said, lifting their linked hands. “I don’t think so, Potter.”
“They won’t care that I’m with a man,” Harry scoffed. Draco dropped his hand to sit opposite him and Harry reluctantly let him go. “And if anybody does they can fuck off,” he added, hooking a leg behind Draco’s under the table.
That wasn’t exactly what Draco was thinking. It was more who the man was, but even so he couldn’t help the question that came out. “Are you even gay? I’ve never heard so much as a whisper about your sexuality, and Merlin, if people did know you were dating men surely no one would be able to shut up about it.”
“I want to fuck you,” Harry answered matter-of-factly. “So yeah, not exactly straight.” He continued putting jam on his toast, casual, like the words didn’t just go straight to Draco’s cock.
Draco had to squeeze himself under the table. So much for wanking in the bathroom to take the edge off. Harry didn’t seem to notice the distress he was causing, he was too busy looking deep in thought.
“I’m trying to remember… I don’t think I’m much of a dater,” he said, still with that strained ‘thinking’ look on his face. It seemed the potion had messed with certain parts of his memory, or maybe it was just Harry’s thing to fuck and forget.
“But I did fuck around with Charlie when I lived in Romania,” he added.
Oh look, he found something he remembered.
Draco shook his head. “Sex with a dragon tamer,” he said with a low whistle. “You should have stayed in Romania.” Of course the lucky bastard discovered he was gay or bi or whatever he was and immediately started fucking Charlie Weasley. Who could forget that. If men are your thing, Charlie Weasley was as manly as they came.
“He’s got nothing on you.” Harry looked across at him like he wanted to eat him up. “Do you have any idea what you look like in those trousers? Fuck, Draco.”
Draco felt a surge in Harry’s magic against his skin, a reminder there was something else at work here. He tried to brush it off with his hand.
“Apparently good enough to make someone forced against their will to want me.” Draco rolled his eyes. “And that’s exactly why you're not coming to Hogwarts with me,” he added. “I can’t trust you to play it cool, and you're supposed to be laying low.” He gave Harry a pointed look. “And I’m telling Hermione to come get that cloak of yours.”
“You're probably right,” Harry said, sipping his tea, “my cock would be hard all day watching you work.”
Just casual morning chit chat with a relentless foot rubbing against his leg.
Draco was going to lose his goddamn mind.
“Merlin, Potter,” he groaned. “I need to get out of here.”
He was thankful he had something to keep himself busy today. He needed it, especially with the new openness that was happening between them.
He got up to go to the fireplace, less worried about Harry making it through the day and more worried about himself.
“Wait,” Harry called behind him. When Draco turned to see what he wanted he was engulfed in a tight embrace.
“Promise me you're coming back,” Harry whispered against his neck. There was worry in his voice, the flirty sureness from a moment ago gone.
“Of course I‘m coming back,” Draco answered. “This is my house.” Harry huffed a shaky laugh. Draco rubbed his hands up and down Harry's back to reassure him when a glint of gold around Harry’s neck caught his eye. He didn't remember seeing him wearing any jewellery. He reached up to feel for his own necklace and realised he forgot to put it back on after his shower.
“You're wearing my necklace,” Draco said, putting a finger under the gold chain and untucking it from Harry’s jumper, watching the familiar round pendant fall to his sternum.
“Oh, yeah,” Harry answered, looking down at it. “You left it in the bathroom and I could feel your magic coming from it. I thought having something of yours on my skin would feel good, and since you're abandoning me again, I wanted to keep you close.”
Harry quirked that damn crooked smile and plucked at the jumper and tracksuit bottoms he was wearing, indicating his decision to be fully clothed in Draco's stuff. Draco decided not to make a big deal about Harry wearing his necklace and let his curiosity at what else Harry might have on guide his hand to dip just below the waistband of Harry’s tracksuit bottoms. Draco lifted an eyebrow. “You must be feeling pretty good then,” he said. Harry also had his pants on. This was why he shouldn’t be curious, his cock couldn’t take it.
He let go of the waistband, letting it pop back against Harry‘s skin. Harry laughed before his face shifted to a dejected puppy dog look.
“I’m actually in quite a lot of agony because you're leaving me,” he said. “This is me trying to cope.” He tucked Draco’s necklace back against his skin.
Draco couldn’t take it anymore — he pulled Harry against him, embracing him back just as tightly. “You can wear all of my shit and lay on the couch and do nothing all day. Whatever you need,” he said in his ear. “And since I won’t be here to join you until later I’ll only take half the contents of your vaults.”
Harry chuckled before he brushed his lips against the side of Draco’s neck. This time when those lips touched his skin there was more pressure and a wet slide that hadn't been there when Harry held them against his neck last night. He finished with a soft nip at the end, using his teeth and a tiny swipe of his tongue. Quick movements but Draco’s brain tracked every heady detail.
It was an act of a higher power that he was even able to pull away. Picking up the Floo powder, throwing it in the air and letting it take him away — was an act of saving himself.
***
“Do come in, Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall greeted, holding the door open. She had sent a message for him to join her in her office when he finished in the Hospital Wing.
“Tea?” she asked, moving toward two wingback chairs and a low table set with a full tea tray.
“Thank you, that would be lovely,” he answered, taking a seat.
“I take it Mr. Righton will walk away with all of his limbs intact.” She looked up from pouring steaming Earl Grey into two delicate cups with a raised brow.
“Not for lack of trying on his part,” Draco answered. The boy he'd just left in the Hospital Wing was lucky to be walking again. “And the accident happened in a practice match.” He shook his head. “I would almost be impressed with the commitment to the game if I didn't just help piece his leg back together.”
“Doesn't it bring back memories of other students who once played the game as if it were life and death,” she chuckled.
If only she knew that one of those former students was lying on his couch as they spoke. He was tempted to tell her just for the shock value. “I don’t know how anyone survives adolescence,” he said instead.
“Well, you did, and you seem to be thriving now. Speaking of which, how are things at St. Mungo’s?” she asked, taking a sip of her tea.
“Bureaucratic, tedious and exhausting,” he answered. Leaving out the part about blackmail, threats, and ghosts from his past re-emerging. “I’ve recently started to scale back my hours,” he continued. He’d begun doing so before the arrival of said ghosts from his past. “I used to thrive in the fast pace of the hospital. Now, I wouldn’t mind slowing down a bit, and focusing on my brewing. But who knows, I go back and forth… I think I might have a problem moving on from things.”
The last part he said without thought and like it was a new self revelation. He smiled self consciously, feeling stupid for whinging. She’d probably only asked the question to be polite, but there was something about the woman that made you feel like she genuinely cared about your well being. Probably because her actions had always proven that to be true.
“It’s understandable to want a change of pace,” she said. “And that might make the timing of my proposal all the more promising.” She smiled. He had no idea what she was talking about.
“I asked you to stop by because I wanted to ask if you would be interested in a new career path.” She ignored his confused look and continued. “Madam Pomfrey is speaking of retiring soon, and the current Potions Professor will be moving on to other opportunities as well. That’s two positions that will need to be filled, and I would like to officially offer you first pick. I must admit, when Poppy first suggested asking you I was surprised I hadn’t thought of it myself,” she said. “She respects you greatly, you know, and your reputation in potions speaks for itself. I know it may be viewed as a downgrade from your current employment, but it never hurts to ask. You never know where someone might be in their life.”
“No, it’s an honour to even be thought of. I don’t know what to say,” he said honestly. This was the last thing he had expected on this visit. And the timing, confusingly, couldn’t be better. Even if just to have the options.
“You don’t have to give me an answer just yet,” she said. “Think on it.”
“Thank you, Headmistress. I am interested, and also in a bit of shock,” he said with a nervous laugh.
She smiled and held up a hand. “Please take some time to think about it, Mr. Malfoy, but do let me know when you have an answer.”
***
He didn’t usually linger around the castle grounds when his work was done, but today he decided to take a walk around the campus before leaving. He needed the fresh air and some time to think before heading back to his all consuming house guest. How long had it been since he had walked around the grounds? His last memories of it weren’t pleasant ones; eighteen years old and reeling from the darkness he helped unleash.
He had spent years after the war throwing himself into academics and then his profession, always trying to stay one step ahead of that darkness, fearing if he slowed down it would consume him again. It worked to an extent. He hadn’t suffered a panic attack since he made the decision to leave the Manor behind. At least until he received the first letter from McGonagall asking him if he would be the Healer-on-call for when Madam Pomfrey was in need of outside assistance. He had accepted because there was a part of him that needed to face the place, the people, he had wronged so deeply.
They had welcomed him back with open arms, though he didn't feel he deserved it. The first day he arrived at the castle had been a challenge, with the shadows of his past always close by to keep him on the verge of bolting. It was when the day had finally been over and he’d found a moment alone that the panic attack had surfaced, leaving him heaving behind a statue in the courtyard. After that, he had made himself come back the next time, and the next, and soon it wasn’t hard anymore. Eventually he even found himself looking forward to working with Pomfrey and catching up with McGonagall. To think he now had the opportunity to be a permanent fixture here was something he still didn’t feel he deserved, yet something he didn’t necessarily want to pass up.
Deep in thought, he passed a group of seventh years laughing and carrying on. He vaguely overheard them chatting about meeting up at the Three Broomsticks later that night. It reminded him of the good times he’d had there with his friends, the times they had had a chance to just be young carefree idiots.
Oh shit. He stopped in his tracks. It was Friday. He was supposed to meet up with those same idiots tonight for drinks. He had been so anxious about going home and distracted by wanting to bask in the bubble of Harry’s attention as long as he could, that he’d forgotten about the plans he’d made before his life had shifted. His friends were merciless, so if he didn’t show up, they would come looking for him, and he was not ready to tell them about the temporary new role he had found himself in — the object of Harry Potter’s desire.
Chapter 5
Notes:
*Warning for dubious consent* while Harry is under the influence of the lust potion
Chapter Text
“So this is really happening,” Draco scoffed, waving a hand between the two girls sitting across from them. Blaise lounged leisurely in the booth by his side. They were at a posh wizarding pub tucked into downtown London. It was adorned in colours of pastel pinks and deep burgundys. Across from them, Pansy sat dressed like she had coordinated with the place. Signature red lips and blunt bob, her arm draped around a smirking Ginny Weasley.
“Oh, it’s already happened, Draco darling. Twice before we even got here,” Pansy replied with a wink.
“For fuck’s sake Pans,” he groaned, “I’m trying to decide if I’m going to be supportive of this or not, and that is not helping.”
“Don’t be a wanker, Malfoy,” Ginny said. “You can deny it all you want but we all know you secretly love Gryffindors.”
Draco cringed. Did everybody fucking know? Surely Hermione hadn’t spilled the secret she so deftly picked up on.
“You and Hermione are practically best friends now,” Ginny continued, “and I think Neville might be a little in love with you ever since he helped you with that greenhouse of yours. Your list of Gryffindors is just growing.”
His body relaxed, glad Hermione hadn’t laid him bare and that his list wasn’t about to shrink.
“It’s a conservatory,” Draco said flatly.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Ginny rolled her eyes.
“You knew about this?” Draco turned to Blaise who looked amused about the whole thing.
“I happen to know about a lot of things, my dear Draco,” Blaise said with that lazy grin of his.
Draco just held up two fingers.
“Calm down,” Pansy said. “He found out right before you got here.” She was losing her patience with his little act, and honestly he wasn’t even sure why he was acting this way.
“I, for one, think it’s brilliant,” Blaise said. “You ladies have my full support. In fact, I think we need a round to celebrate.”
“Cheers to that,” Draco said. Finally agreeable to something as he tilted back the rest of his firewhiskey.
“Yes,” Blaise said, lifting his own drink. “To secret relationships and getting pissed.”
After another firewhiskey Draco was feeling nice and relaxed. It was early in the evening but he was ready to call it a night, if only Pansy would stop droning on about how Ginny and her had first hooked up after running into each other at a Quidditch event a few months back when she had been another player’s date.
“...and before my date could even sit next to me, Ginny walked in and swiped her chair. Poor Amber didn’t know what to do,” she laughed. “Her first season as a rookie and there she was so starstruck by Ginny Weasley she didn’t know whether to ask her to move or start waiting on her hand and foot. I guess I could have been the one to get up, but the power move was just so sexy.” She kissed Ginny hard on the lips.
“Hey, what can I say,” Ginny said after Pansy let her breath again, “I didn’t see a ring on your finger, and that’s fair game in my opinion.”
Draco’s alcohol-loosened tongue almost chimed in that Pansy didn’t know the half of it when it came to enduring the sex appeal of a confident Gryffindor throwing themselves at you when the sudden prickling of his skin caused him to sit up bolt right. Fully alert. He knew before he turned to see whose magic he was feeling.
It was hard to say, since Draco’s every sense locked onto the man and everything else around him faded to the background, but if Draco had to guess, he would say the entire room froze with Harry’s entrance. That Gryffindor confidence was on full display as he strode toward them, eyes locked onto Draco’s. Mouth turned up in a cock-hardening smile just for him. It was sex appeal all right, and the melodic beat of the music with the soft red and gold lights of the pub cast warm pulses over Harry’s body.
The effect was like a fever dream.
Draco’s mouth parted as he looked Harry up and down. He was wearing perfectly worn black jeans and Draco’s casual tan button up, untucked and rolled up at the forearms, the top few buttons left undone, which left a sliver of his chest exposed and Draco’s pendant perfectly displayed right there on that golden skin.
What on Earth made him think placating his friends with alcohol was a good idea.
“Potter—” he somehow managed to get out through the lust in his throat. Ginny spotted his surprise arrival at the same time.
“Harry!” she exclaimed in excitement. The activity in the room came back to the forefront.
Harry grabbed a chair from a nearby table and took a seat at the end of their booth, his eyes never leaving Draco’s — still smiling, still cock-hardening. He leaned forward and pushed his leg firmly against Draco’s under the table. And, as if that wasn’t enough contact, he slid his hand onto Draco’s thigh.
“Hey,” Harry said, squeezing — and Draco had never been so aware of his thigh before.
“Hey,” Draco said back, his voice catching. He cleared it in an attempt to try and be a normal fucking human who could talk. “What are you doing here?” he asked, voice still not normal, but less — something. It was a completely different experience being the centre of Harry’s undivided attention in public. He needed a second to adjust. But Harry shouldn’t be here.
“Harry, I'm so glad you could make it,” Blaise cut in with his posh drawl, as if he expected him to show up. It snapped Draco out of his Harry-induced haze, not sure if he could even blame it on the alcohol. He whipped his head around to find Blaise looking far too pleased with himself.
“I stopped by your house on my way here,” Blaise said to the confused look on Draco’s face, “and to my surprise, and delight I must say, look who I found. He just looked so lonely and neglected lounging away on your couch. I thought it only polite to invite him along.”
Draco did a quick assessment to see if he could handle carrying the extra guilt if he murdered his best friend, who sometimes liked to treat the world as if it was his personal playground. His conclusion: yes, yes he could.
“A drink sounded like a good idea,” Harry said, his fingers now rubbing small circles on the inside seam of Draco’s trousers.
“Oh no, you’re not drinking anything,” Draco said, whipping back around, interrupting the murder he’d been about to commit. Did Harry’s fucked up memory already forget what happened the last time he had a drink?
“Well well,” Pansy said, tapping one of her long fingernails against her cheek, “isn’t this an interesting turn of events? It seems I'm not the only one who's been harbouring a Gryffindor.”
“Wait a minute…” Ginny said, looking thoroughly confused at the scene playing out in front of her. “Since when do you hang out at Malfoy’s, Harry? Or with Malfoy, for that matter?”
Harry finally broke his gaze from Draco to look around, seeming to notice everyone else for the first time. “Hey Gin, Pans, good to see you again. And yeah, thanks for the invite, Blaise.”
‘Pans,’ Draco mouthed to her. Since when did Harry call her ‘Pans’? Pansy sneered at him before turning a sweet smile to Harry.
“Don’t you clean up nicely, Harry,” she said, really drawing out the first name familiarity. “That’s a lovely shirt you have on. And that necklace, it looks so… familiar.”
Harry touched the necklace and opened his mouth to say something but Draco quickly cut in. “What the fuck?” he scoffed at Pansy. “Does everybody know about you two but me?” He tried to change the subject back to himself by throwing a fit about the relationship in front of him, which he didn’t actually oppose. He was simply annoyed she had kept it from him. He should have been understanding, but his situation was different — drastically different, and becoming more chaotic by the minute.
He should have skipped tonight and told them about Harry from the beginning. The situation would have been much easier to control in private, away from prying eyes and ears. Now, if only he could keep Harry’s mouth shut while he tried to explain that would be fucking great. There was no telling what pining nonsense would come out of it.
“Glass houses, Draco,” Pansy said pointedly.
He scoffed. Then he turned to Harry with a small smile, giving his hand a gentle squeeze under the table to stop the movement on his leg. He couldn’t think straight with that going on. “Hey,” he said, “I could really use another drink. Would you mind getting another round from the bar?”
“Sure,” Harry replied. He stood up then Draco stopped him with a hand on his forearm before he could move too far.
“Stay where I can see you,” he said gently, “and, for fucks sake, please don’t drink anything.”
Everyone was staring with their mouths hanging open. He could hardly blame them. He was quite aware it was fucking ridiculous to see him speaking gently to Harry, and even more ridiculous that Harry would agree to do anything he asked just to please him.
Once Harry was far enough away everyone began to talk at once. Draco finally remembered he was a wizard and threw up every privacy charm he could think of.
“—fucking hell, Draco,” Blaise whistled, “Potter is bloody hot. Please tell me I can have a piece of that—”
“—here you are throwing a hissy fit over my relationship with Ginny,” Pansy fumed, “and Harry shows up wearing your clothes, and the necklace you haven’t taken off since we left school… you total fucking hypocrite— ”
“—okay seriously, what is happening?” Ginny said, still thoroughly perplexed. “Harry’s been pretty adamant all these years with sticking to the hating you thing—”
Draco took a deep breath.
“If you all shut up,” he said over them, “then I can explain.”
They all went quiet, eager for an explanation. Draco continued. “Potter’s been heavily drugged with a lust potion. We suspect it was originally meant to exploit him in some nefarious way. Instead, he’s now infatuated with me and gets sick if he’s away from me for too long — Merlin knows why. We’re working on it.” He looked pointedly at Blaise to say, “No, you can’t have him.” Then added, “And, no, we aren’t fucking.” He didn’t look at Pansy as he said it but passed his gaze to Ginny. “And he does still hate me, he just doesn’t remember that detail at the moment.”
“—which reminds me, we really need to start checking our drinks when we go out,” he continued rambling. “And Merlin, please don’t fucking tell anyone.”
“Fuck,” they all said in unison.
“Draco, mate, I'm sorry. I was just having a bit of fun,” Blaise said, putting his hands up.
“Yeah, you should be,” Draco wheeled on him. “He shouldn't even be out in public, you absolute arsehole. Especially not with me.”
“Shit, you really care about what happens to him, don’t you?” Ginny said, understanding finally dawning on her face. Draco ignored it.
Harry was making his way back to the table with the drinks bobbing along in front of him. Everyone went quiet, but Pansy reached a hand across the table and gave Draco’s a small squeeze. He couldn’t look at her yet. The alcohol had done a good job of dulling the ache he’d carried around in his chest, but now it was back, and in full force.
“As riveting as this night has been,” Blaise said, tilting his drink back and draining the rest of it, “I just so happen to have a sweet little Ravenclaw waiting for me. So, in the spirit of all this inter-house unity, I shouldn’t keep her waiting any longer.” It was typical Blaise to stir up trouble and then leave.
“Pans, Gin.” Blaise leaned over and gave them each a kiss on the cheek. “You two truly look stunning together.” Draco stood to let him out.
“Goodnight Draco,” Blaise said with a purr. He stopped in front of him. “You look quite stunning tonight too,” he added with a smirk, then leant in as though he was going to kiss Draco on the cheek but totally by-passed his cheek and planted a wet kiss right on his lips. To everyone's surprise Harry jumped abruptly to his feet with a growl. His chair crashed with a loud bang behind him and his fist balled tightly by his sides, staring at Blaise like death himself. Draco pushed Blaise back and put a quick hand on Harry’s forearm to calm him and prevent the pub going up in flames.
“Stop fucking with him, Blaise,” Draco said through clenched teeth. Harry’s arm shaking under his hand.
“Sorry,” Blaise said innocently. “I couldn’t help myself. I just really needed to see it with my own eyes.”
“Okay Blaise, that’s enough,” Pansy said. “You’ve had your fun, now off you go.”
Blaise shook his head slightly as his face shifted into something close to sympathy, whispering in Draco’s ear, “You truly are fucked, my friend.” Then he strode off.
Draco had to tighten his grip on Harry’s arm to keep him in place.
“Harry, maybe you and I should go,” Ginny said quickly in an effort to help her friend. “We can go back to yours, or to Ron and Hermione’s—”
“I'm not going anywhere without Draco,” Harry cut her off.
“It’s fine,” Draco said. “Let's just sit back down.” He wanted to keep everything calm, keep Harry calm. He retrieved Harry’s chair and nudged his shoulder. They both sat. Harry relaxed but slid closer.
“Blaise is such a child,” Pansy said. “Don’t let him rile you up.”
Harry nodded and put his elbows on the table, hanging his head in his hands. “I just need a second,” he said, his voice rough. Draco had been so distracted by how good he looked that he hadn’t noticed the tiredness etched on his face, or maybe he had, he’d just been too stupefied by him showing up to worry about that too. He knew he’d pushed him too far by being away as long as he had today, and that little adrenaline rush just now didn’t help.
He threw his drink back, really needing to stop, but wanting to feel the burn of the firewhiskey. And having something to do with his hands kept them from brushing Harry’s hair back from his face, or rubbing his palm up and down his back.
“Of course Harry,” Ginny said gently. “Let me know if you need anything.” Her hand made comforting motions on Harry’s back the way Draco wanted to.
Ginny looked over at him with a grin. “I think Blaise might be a little in love with you too, Malfoy.” She teased, her hand going back to her lap, completely picking the wrong topic for the moment.
“Oh everyone is,” Pansy said, waving a hand at Draco. “It’s the whole forbidden fruit, hard-to-get thing he does. Drives all the boys mad.”
“And who could deny those cheekbones,” Ginny said admiringly, “…and those eyes, and those lips…”
“Shit,” Pansy waved a hand in front of her face. “Not you too.” Ginny swatted at her hand giggling.
“Here’s an idea,” Draco said, “how about we don’t talk about things that will provoke another jealous outburst.”
“Right,” Ginny said, cringing, glancing at Harry, who still had his head in his hands, then back to Draco apologetically.
“It doesn't bother me when Ginny talks about you,” Harry said, lifting his head, voice sounding clearer. “And I agree with her.” He smiled softly at Draco, eyes roaming over all the features Ginny had just complimented.
“So are we allowed to talk about this?” Pansy said. “This is pretty fucked up.”
“I told them about your, um… situation… with me,” Draco said to Harry.
“What, that I'm losing my mind over you?” Harry said, his roaming eyes stopping at Draco’s lips. There was that pining nonsense again.
“Yes, that,” Draco rolled his eyes, unable to keep the smile off his face.
“I don’t care. Talk about whatever you want,” Harry said. “I just want to be here with you.”
“This is so fucking bizarre,” Ginny said, “seeing you like this… and I dated you.”
“Did we…? That’s right, we did date… didn’t we?” Harry looked at her with a furrowed brow.
“Okay, I’m going to try and not be offended by that,” Ginny laughed.
Draco almost brought up the fact that Harry didn't have much of a problem remembering her brother, but she did just practically drool over him so he decided to cut her some slack, plus Pansy kept watching him with a worried look on her face.
Hermione might have called Draco out recently over his feelings for the man, but Pansy had seen through them at eighteen. She had tried to call him out back then, and when denying it didn’t work, he had told her he couldn’t talk about it. Talking about it out loud made it seem like he thought it might happen. He never thought it would back then, and he still didn’t now. It had just been a silly crush that grew into something he had to find ways to push to the side. The few occasions after, when she had tried to bring it up again, he would always shut her down. And the times they had run into Harry while they were out, he always knew what she was thinking.
When he finally made eye contact with her, he gave a small shake of his head at her spoken, and unspoken, question. What was there to say anyway? No, he wasn’t okay. Yes, this was fucking with his head — and could they just pretend it wasn’t and that he could handle it. He didn’t have a choice. Harry needed him. She nodded in quiet understanding and turned to Ginny, letting it drop for now. The new couple leaned in to each other, happy to start their own private conversation.
“So, everybody’s in love with you, huh?” Harry said. He didn’t look jealous, his tired eyes looked amused and content to have Draco’s attention back. His head was leaning into one hand, with his elbow propped on the table, gazing at Draco softly. He slid his other hand back under the table onto Draco’s thigh and started that maddening caressing again.
“Blaise really isn’t, and you're one to talk, boy wonder.” He nudged Harry’s leg with his own. “Doesn’t everybody want you?” He was probably being paranoid, but he felt uneasy, and now that Harry was calm he wanted to get him out of here. Knowing that everybody did want Harry, and not all for the right reasons.
“You’re the only one that matters,” Harry said, holding on to Draco’s thigh a bit tighter. “Are you glad I came?” he asked, his voice dropping in a mix of bashfulness and anticipation for Draco’s response which made Draco go weak.
Before he could stop himself he was leaning in closer, trying to stay on the task of leaving but easily distracted. He wasn’t sober enough to handle this.
“Haven’t you figured it out yet… that I always want to see you,” he whispered, unguarded. His eyes flicked to Harry’s lips. He couldn’t stop thinking about how they would feel against his own.
It didn’t go unnoticed. Harry groaned.
“Why don’t you Apparate to my house?” Draco said quickly. That uneasy feeling of needing to get Harry out of here ran up his spine. The weight of responsibility to keep him safe sat heavy on his shoulders. They could stare at each other at home, there was no reason to be in public. “I’ll meet you there.”
“No, I already told you I’m not leaving without you.” Harry shook his head. “I can’t just sit there again waiting for you to come back.”
“There’s too many eyes here, Potter,” he said, close to begging. “And it’s not a good look for us to leave together.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” Harry said stubbornly.
“I know you don’t, but I’m trying to look out for you.” He knew as soon as he said it that it wasn’t going to do the trick, and begging would take too long. So, in a moment of rash thinking, he did the one thing he knew would motivate Harry and guarantee that he would leave. Thankfully they were sitting in the end booth. He strengthened his privacy charms and leaned in closer until his own head shielded Harry’s from any lingering eyes just in case. Mostly it was to shield him from the girls on the other side of the table, hoping they would continue to stay too distracted with each other to notice his rash behaviour.
Draco cupped a hand over Harry’s ear and whispered, “If you go home and wait for me...” He put his other hand over Harry’s under the table and slowly started to slide it up his leg. Harry’s mouth fell open and his breath hitched against Draco’s cheek when it became clear what Draco was doing. The buzzing need of Harry’s magic instantly became a heady thick bubble surrounding them. Draco went light headed from the sudden force of it.
“—I’ll let you really touch me,” he gasped as he moved their hands together higher up his leg until they reached his cock, then squeezed Harry's around it, panting, fully hard. A needy sound fell from Harry’s mouth.
“Jesus, Draco.”
“Will you do that for me?” Draco said against Harry’s cheek. “Will you go home and wait for me?”
“I will,” Harry said roughly, “but this entire pub is about to see how hard you make me.” Draco was trying to keep Harry’s hand from finishing him off right here under the table as he pulled out his wand and cast a quick concealment charm on the front of Harry’s jeans. Harry groaned when Draco’s magic touched him. In the background he could faintly hear the sounds of Pansy and Ginny also taking full advantage of his privacy charms. They were in the middle of a heated snogging session. He was just glad they were occupying themselves.
“Go,” Draco said, letting his lips brush Harry’s ear, “or I’m going to come in the middle of this pub.”
“You’re maddening,” Harry groaned.
“The feeling is mutual, now go,” Draco said again, grazing the tender skin of Harry’s earlobe with his teeth.
“Don’t keep me waiting,” Harry growled. “Because I might not be able to stop myself from coming back here and carrying you home.” He gave Draco one last squeeze before he stood and headed for the door. Leaving Draco sitting there with his head down, trying to catch his breath, flushed and on fire.
He let out a shaky exhale and put his elbows on the table to hang his head in his hands. It was his turn to need a moment to collect himself.
Eventually he looked up to find Pansy and Ginny still going at it. Pansy had practically draped herself over Ginny’s lap now, unaware of the crisis he had just created in his attempt to avoid another. And right now he was trying to remember exactly what it was he needed to protect Harry from in the first place. Was it from this Harry who wasn’t in control of himself? Was it from the person, or people, who did this to him? Who could still be out there, waiting for any opportunity to get to him. Was it from the backlash of public opinion if the two of them were seen together? Was it to protect the real Harry who was going to have to deal with whatever aftermath was left behind? Or simply from Draco himself.
At this moment it all seemed inconsequential to the fact that in just a couple of hours the potion he was brewing would be complete and the lust that was driving Harry would begin to leave him faster than without it. And then that would be it; the last time he would get to see that look of desperate want, or that stupid playful quirk of a smile, or gaze into those expressive green eyes.
It could be that Harry’s magic had finally consumed him and he wasn’t thinking straight. Or it could be that there had been a small part of him that was hoping deep down the real Harry could have possibly wanted him this whole time, and if one night was all he had…
Could he really go back on his promise now? He had set the wheels in motion. Harry would lose his shit if he pushed him away now. And sitting here he knew the real reason Pansy and Ginny’s relationship bothered him so much. Because he’s a jealous arsehole. It was nice to see Pansy happy, somewhat off putting with the way they were still groping at each other, but sweet, and he liked Ginny. His own doomed feelings shouldn’t have anything to do with his support for them.
He got up and left them to it. Stopping by the bar on his way out to order two of the most expensive drinks he could find on the menu; something obnoxious, that glowed in the dark and might erupt like a volcano, plus one said to grow a bouquet of edible flowers. Pansy would love the spectacle. He sent it to their table, making sure to put it on Blaise’s tab.
***
Harry was pacing on the other side of the door when Draco finally walked through.
“Oh, thank fuck,” Harry groaned. Draco barely had time to get the door closed behind him before Harry rushed him, hand on the back of his neck and pulling him in. “I thought you were just going to leave me here.” He kissed the length of Draco’s neck, his jaw, went for his mouth but Draco turned at the last second and it landed on the corner of his lips. He should have left him here because he couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t recover.
Draco pushed him back with just enough force to give himself some space. He hadn’t figured out what he was going to do once he got here, or maybe he was still lying to himself. It was all a blur in the dim light of his living room with Harry standing there — losing his mind for him.
“Take that goddamn shirt off,” Draco growled, frustrated, mad at everything. Even his own garment was offensive at how sexy it looked on him. Harry wasn’t ruffled. He just gave Draco that damn smile he loved so much (and deeply despised) and started the slow burn of unbuttoning. Every piece of skin he uncovered made Draco want more.
“You too,” Harry said. But Draco waited until Harry had his shirt all the way unbuttoned before he pulled his own jumper over his head and untucked his dress shirt. He didn’t want to miss a single second of Harry's teasing reveal before he started his own.
“No kissing and no fucking.” Draco felt juvenile saying it, but he needed to; to feel like he was still in some type of control. But he knew he wasn’t and never had been. Especially right now when he was threatening to melt under the heavy, anticipating cloud of Harry’s magic.
He undid the last button of his shirt as Harry let his own shirt fall from his shoulders to the ground; taking a hold of Draco’s shirt tails and pulling him in.
“I’ll do whatever you want,” Harry said, his skin vibrating, his mouth back on Draco’s neck.
Draco wanted to laugh, because he wanted… everything.
“Take me upstairs,” he whispered.
Harry grabbed his hand. Now in full eager haste as he pulled Draco to the stairs and they began to stumble their way up them in a tangled mess of limbs. Stopping along the way to push into each other's space and pull at each other's trousers. Rattling the sconces as they fell roughly against the wall when one had an urgency to feel the other’s body against their own. Feet tripping over stairs when Harry tried to pick Draco up in an attempt to go faster. Hands grabbing onto skin when they lost their balance and fell backwards; laughing and panting. Harry kept having to catch himself each time he forgot and reached for Draco’s lips, and Draco kept having to push his face away when Harry didn't — It was complete intoxicating madness.
They finally made it to the landing and Draco pushed Harry through his bedroom door, backing him up until his legs hit the bed and he fell backwards. Harry’s jeans hung loose on his hips and his cock strained the fabric of his pants. Draco stood staring, both of their chests showing the effort of their breathing. The moonlight coming through the open window cast a glow over them, giving just enough light for Draco to see his fill.
He bent to pull Harry’s jeans the rest of the way off and did the same with his own. Draco could feel Harry’s magic radiating from him, and knew he was still holding back. That he was still trying to keep a firm hold on what was pulsing through his system pushing him to take without asking. Draco was tempted to throw his arms out and tell him to unleash it all, to fucking go for it, just so he could feel what it was like to be wanted that badly, at least once before he died.
“Leave those on,” he said instead when Harry went to take his pants off, his eyes still looking to Draco for permission.
“I know I said whatever you want,” Harry reached for him when Draco started to climb on top of him, “and I’m really trying, but I’m not always good at following the rules.”
Draco sat flush on Harry’s hips, their cocks finally coming together between the thin cotton of their pants. They both let out a loud gasp at the contact. Harry wasn’t lacking in size (of course he wasn’t) and Draco’s hole clenched at the thought of being stretched on it. Harry’s hands gripped his waist.
“You might not be,” Draco said. It was a mistake to look him in the eyes right now so he leaned down to rest their cheeks together and whispered in his ear. “But you ask, you don’t just take, and that’s good Harry, you’re good — you’re so fucking good.”
“I love this,” Harry whispered, his hands now running up Draco’s neck and into his hair, “…you finally wanting me back.”
Draco almost laughed again, but Harry’s hands were making their way down his back to his waist, dipping below the waistband of his pants and onto the bare skin of his arse. Everywhere he touched burned with his magic. The intensity of it was almost unbearable. It turned every thought Draco had into nothing but buzzing need as he began to rock his hips.
“Fuck,” someone had grunted loud into the room; he didn’t know who; it could have been either of them or both of them. It was hard to tell when Harry was kneading the flesh under his hands, spurring Draco’s hips on, pushing their cocks firmly together. His fingers dipped closer to Draco’s crease with each roll of their hips until they brushed his hole.
Draco sat back with a gasp. He wanted those fucking fingers pushed deep inside of him, but if he let that happen this wasn’t going to stop until he was impaled on that cock. Harry sat up, moving his hands to rest on the small of Draco’s back under the open shirt he still had on.
“Sorry,” Harry panted, sensing Draco’s discomfort. He had dropped his forehead to Draco’s collar bone. “It’s hard to remember to ask when your arse drives me fucking crazy.” He sounded ashamed that he might have pushed too far. Draco didn’t want him to sound like that. He tilted Harry’s head back with a hand and gave him a smirk.
“So you're an arse man,” he said with a chuckle before he licked the long line of Harry’s neck.
“Yeah,” Harry said with a short laugh, body relaxing. “And I really want yours grinding all over me.” And in another life wouldn’t they be a perfect fit, because that was exactly what Draco wanted to do. Draco gave him what they both wanted with a deep roll of his hips. Harry grunted against Draco’s neck, his hands moving around to Draco’s chest, pushing his shirt down his arms until the sleeves caught on his elbows.
“Your entire body drives me mad,” Harry groaned, kissing Draco’s shoulder, biting his chin softly, and rubbing his thumbs over his hard nipples. Draco’s hips were moving steadily now and his cock was dripping inside of his pants, wetting the fabric.
Having Harry here, underneath him and in his bed was like one of his fantasies had come to life. The truth of why he was really here fell to the side when it was his real hands, not some imagined version of them, moving over Draco’s body. His real eyes, not a late night’s dull counterfeit that Draco’s mind had had to work at to get the colour just right as his hand worked over his own cock on a lonely night. Those eyes took Draco in now like Draco was a gift some unknown magic had conjured for him too. And Harry’s very real mouth, hot and gasping, saying Draco’s name like it was the last name it would ever gasp.
“Harry,” Draco began to moan. Their magic came together; both craving the other, making the simplest act of rubbing against each other feel like deep penetration. “Take the rest of our clothes off,” Draco said as his breath shuddered and his hands clutched onto Harry’s muscular shoulders, any remaining control he’d possessed abandoned. The only thing driving him now was how much more he wanted.
“Yeah?” Harry panted, his face lighting up now that Draco was finally matching his level of consuming want.
“Take them off… I want you… I’ve wanted you…” Draco said, breathless, his words tumbling out. He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. And Harry didn’t sound like he was either as he grunted and yanked Draco’s shirt the rest of the way from his arms. He tossed it to the side then fell back against the pillow; looking, admiring, pupils blown impossibly wide. Harry’s hands quickly dipped back into Draco’s pants in an effort to rip those down too before they pulled back suddenly.
There was an abrupt shift in his magic.
Draco knew he had spotted it as he felt the heated desire turned into cold disgust. The open look Harry had held for him shut away like a door slammed shut. Draco mourned it instantly. He wanted to howl, beg for Harry to come back to him. Instead, he hugged his left arm to his chest, like hiding it again would help.
How could he have been such an idiot?
He tried to get off Harry, move away, but Harry grabbed his wrist and wrenched his bare arm from his chest, so the marked and scarred skin of his forearm was exposed.
“Malfoy,” he spat, disgust palpable. “You piece of shit, what the fuck are you doing? Why the fuck are you on top of me—” He was fuming, staring daggers into Draco’s face.
“Let go of me,” Draco said weakly, trying to pull away, but Harry's grip only tightened. The room around them began to spark with the unpredictable electricity of wild magic. Draco wouldn’t be able to calm this — this wanted to hurt him.
“What is wrong with you? Why would you possibly think I would want…—After everything you did,” Harry spit, “every person you hurt—”
“Then why did you speak for me!?” Draco spit back, the question falling out of his mouth of its own accord. If Harry wanted to hurt him there was nothing he could do about it. He stopped trying to pull away. “You should have just let me rot in Azkaban!” he yelled, adrenaline pumping yet feeling completely numb.
“Because I thought it was the right thing to do!” Harry yelled back, his spit landing on Draco’s skin. Draco winced.
“—but I never forgot,” Harry continued lower, baring his teeth, face red with fury. It was sobering having the full force of that hatred back directed at him, and made even worse being half naked, straddling him, with the wetness of their desire sticking heavy to his skin.
“—you may not have killed anyone with your own hands, but your father, your entire family enabled everything Voldemort did, so the blood is still yours—” Harry looked Draco up and down, taking in their position again.
“How could anybody want you?”
The room was quiet, only Harry’s rough breathing and the dripping weight of every word he’d just said filled it — and how long had he wanted to say those words to him? He had finally got his chance. Good for him for taking the opportunity when it came, as unfortunate as it was for Draco.
Harry let go and shoved him off. Draco stumbled back, pushing himself from the bed and grabbing for his shirt, needing to cover his nakedness. When he found his footing, even though he stood in his own bedroom, he felt disconnected from it. Harry watched him, his magic had receded and he was rubbing an agitated hand over his face like he was trying to scrub away a fog. How foolish had the man at the pub been, thinking he could have one night consequence free.
“You’re right. Everything you said is right,” Draco said. He didn’t know why he didn’t just leave. When you live the first part of your life dedicated to such evil, no matter how much you try to be better, it always leaves you feeling like a fraud. Whatever hopes he had of Harry seeing something more in him were gone.
“—and you know what's fucked up? Is that men do want me because of this Mark,” he continued. He couldn’t stop. A piece of him had been ripped open by Harry’s reaction to what had been left on his body. “—good looking men, respected men, men with a twisted fetish of wanting to fuck a Death Eater. After the war, to punish myself, I wouldn’t even stop them when I figured out their sick little perversion — living out a fantasy and getting off on the worst part of my life. And it wasn’t some hate fucking, no, they worshiped me. Not because they liked me, mind you, but because my body had been branded by their idols hands. So Potter, your reaction to this is the correct one.”
Harry’s body went slack. The anger fell from his face and the openness returned. The warmth of his magic settled back onto Draco’s skin, caressing it. Draco nodded his head, accepting the reality that had just been thrown his way and turned to leave.
“Draco, wait, I’m—”
Draco didn't want to do this anymore.
“Your potion will be ready by morning,” he said, back still to Harry. He had thought that was Harry coming out of it on his own, but clearly the lust was still waging war on him. The darkness of their past had been enough to break through for a moment. “Just a warning,” Draco added, “you're going to want your friends around when you take it.”
“But… you can’t go —I need you…” Harry scrambled to his knees, pleading. Draco wanted that shit out of him. That man shouldn't have to feel this way about him.
“You can’t leave me!” It came out of Harry in a pained cry. Draco winced as it sliced at his chest.
“I can’t stay,” Draco’s voice broke. “I always take too much.”
The door shut behind him and he could hear nothing but anguish on the other side. He made himself Apparate away before Harry came barreling through.
***
He crumbled to the ground as soon as his feet hit the floor of the modern London flat. The cold stone felt good against his cheek. The hard unforgiving surface a welcome ache digging into his bones. It helped distract from the ache inside. He didn’t want comfort, and he wasn’t mad. If he was mad, it was at himself for knowing this was coming and still letting it rip him apart.
He didn’t know how long he stayed there, but the need for warmth eventually won out. He pulled himself up and found his way to the bedroom. Blaise’s eyes cracked open at the creaking of the door. He didn’t say anything, just pulled the covers back and let Draco crawl in. Draco turned to lay on his side and stared blankly out the seamless window that spanned the length of the room. The sky was dark and vast this high up; empty, like him. Blaise scooted in close behind him and draped an arm around his waist.
“You're a shit friend,” Draco said, pulling Blaise’s arm tight around his middle.
“I know,” Blaise replied, half asleep.
“Ginny thinks you're in love with me,” Draco said flatly. He meant it to come out in a way to make them both laugh.
“As if I would ever do such a tedious thing as fall in love,” Blaise huffed.
Draco envied him.
“I'm a fool.” His voice shook.
Blaise hugged him tighter.
“You don’t owe him anything,” Blaise whispered in his ear.
“He’s good, Blaise. Everybody owes him.”
“Of course he’s good, but so are you. And you are equally as worthy as him, my love.”
A sudden broken sob escaped Draco as he clawed at his chest, an ache so deep he wanted to pull it from his body. Blaise let him have his moment to breakdown, keeping him in a firm embrace. It was why he had come here. There was never any judgement with Blaise’s comfort. His breakdown was over as quickly as it had started.
“If you need to break shit, I know a place we can go,” Blaise said when Draco quietened.
“Of course you do.” Draco relaxed against him, his voice raw, his body sore, but accepting it.
“I’m quitting my job,” he said. He’d made the decision the second McGonagall had made the offer.
“Look at you making good decisions,” Blaise said. “Just think of all the scandals we’ll have time to get into now. I can’t wait to get started.”
“You keep your scandals to yourself. I’ve had enough. I’m tired.”
“I’m clearly going to have to fuck him, aren’t I?” Blaise sighed. “Give him the best sex of his life and then take it away. It truly is the only guaranteed way we have to destroy him.”
“You really are the shittiest friend.”
“I just offered to sacrifice my body for your honour. I’m the best friend you could ever ask for.”
“Go to sleep.” Draco nudged him with his elbow. Blaise chuckled and nuzzled the side of his head.
“When you love, you love deep, Draco,” he whispered next to his ear. “Nobody deserves you.”
Chapter Text
By early morning Draco had left a sleeping Blaise behind and Apparated to his own rooftop. His wards had indicated Harry was still inside. He felt better knowing Harry was here and that he was still safe. In his lab he found the finished potion sitting under stasis. The cauldron had been set to turn off automatically when the stewing time had finished. Draco was relieved to see it had reached the correct shade of blue. After double checking he had calculated the stewing time correctly, he transferred it into vials and attached instructions to take one vial a day for three days. He sent Aries inside with it.
That was it. There was nothing left for him to do.
Next, he went to St. Mungo’s to request some time off. With all of the annual leave he had accumulated there was nothing anyone could do to stop him. He had wanted to tell Dayal and his lab team before he put in his official notice, but he didn’t have the energy to deal with any of that right now.
He just needed to get out of London.
That’s how he and Aries had found themselves at Blaise’s Italian villa in a small town along the coast of Tuscany. After checking his wards again, he’d found Harry was still taking refuge inside of his home. He decided not to kick him out but give him the space to work out his shit. Giving up his home for a few days was a price he was willing to pay to avoid being a part of it.
The calm sunbathed Italian landscape was the opposite of the cold dense city. The open villa, filled with the sounds of the ocean and the fragrance of wild rosemary, was a welcome retreat; free from the turmoil one person’s presence could fill a space with. A presence he was still trying to free himself from.
The first two days he had found himself swimming in the ocean trying to wipe away the feeling of strong soft hands: he swore he could still feel them; reaching, grabbing, wrapping around his waist, holding him by the hips. He jogged the vineyard’s rolling hills to clear his head of a deep timbre he swore he could still hear whispering against his skin.
In the evenings, he drank wine and tried to distract himself with thoughts of the future. He wrote lists of pros and cons to assist with his decision about which position he should accept; Head of the Hospital Wing or Potions Professor. At the end of each list he came close to abandoning the idea of Hogwarts all together and started a new list on opening his own private apothecary, only to find himself about to abandon them all and write instead to find out how he was — was he still in my house? Still wearing my things?
At night he laid in bed with the windows thrown open listening to the crashing waves, trying not to touch himself when he closed his eyes and saw an endless expanse of golden skin, becoming sick when it was replaced with raging green eyes.
On the third day, he returned from his jog to find Peter waiting for him. He was surprised to see him sitting under the veranda. Peter stood when he noticed Draco approaching.
“I heard you were in town on holiday. I thought those were supposed to be relaxing,” Peter smiled, eyeing Draco’s workout attire. It was hot out and Draco was dripping with sweat. He pulled the hem of his shirt up to wipe his face and caught Peter's eyes roaming when he dropped it. When Peter saw he'd been caught he gave a low whistle. “Don’t listen to me, you should definitely keep doing whatever makes you sweat.”
Draco laughed. “Who told you I was here?”
“Pansy,” Peter answered. “She said you were spending some time in the area. And since you're a potions guy, I thought you might like to see my family's farm.” He shrugged. “It’s just on the other side of town if you're interested.”
Even in another country Pansy had a way of involving herself. He had already told her in multiple letters there was no need to show up and check on him. He wasn't interested in having his peace interrupted. But he also wouldn’t mind seeing where some of the ingredients he used for brewing were harvested.
“Sure, I’d be delighted to see your family’s farm,” Draco told Peter.
The farm was a beautiful patchwork of rolling crops, orchards, and greenhouses set around a large Tuscan farmhouse. With the sun setting over the valley, Peter took him around and explained the different things they were growing as they walked. He tried to answer as many of Draco’s questions as he could but eventually he admitted that he had never really liked farm life. He much preferred his role as the pretty face running the Diagon Alley shop. Draco wasn’t surprised. He had London city boy written all over him; attractive, yet so well put together it could be perceived as trying too hard. Draco wasn’t judging him, he liked a well cut suit as much as the next person, but he couldn’t imagine Peter getting his hands dirty. His thoughts wandered to how natural and sexy someone; with lazy confidence and a smoldering temperament, would look working the fields, getting his hands dirty— he stopped that train of thought quickly.
He should give Peter a chance.
Eventually, they ended up in a large building where they stored the rarer inventory collected from around the world. Aries, who had been following overhead, stopping to hunt or perch in a tree, now rested on Draco’s shoulder. Draco looked up at the rows of perfectly organised shelves that stretched at least three stories high.
As Draco browsed, he read the different labels that glowed in front of him. When he read ‘Moonstone’ his memory triggered— ‘if it’s moonstone you want I’ll go to the fucking moon and get it for you…’ Draco couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips, especially as he was now with the man who had caused that fictitious jealous outburst. His thoughts were interrupted when Aries pushed off his shoulder to land with a tawny brown owl that had flown in low and landed on the shelf in front of him. A rolled up parchment was attached to its leg, which it stuck out for Draco to retrieve. Assuming it was from Pansy, he opened it without much thought.
Dear Draco,
I’m sorry to have to interrupt your holiday and ask again, but Harry is not doing well. The cleansing potion is really taking a toll on him and we are at a loss on what to do to help him get through it. A bit of warning about what to expect would have been nice. Since you are who he wants, it would be lovely if you could come back and check on him as soon as possible.
Hermione
He could feel Peter's eyes on him as he looked around for a quill and parchment. Guilt pulsed through him as he thought about that last night with Harry. He had already tried to help and he failed to keep his emotions out of it. Hermione should have known that he couldn’t. Peter, seeing him searching, pointed him towards a nearby desk where he found what he needed.
Dear Hermione,
Healer Ray is more than qualified to look after Potter. I did warn you, or maybe it was him, that the potion would be similar to the withdrawals of a long term drug addict. I understand it’s hard to see your friend like this, but I’m otherwise occupied and won’t be able to help. It should have only taken a few days to clear his system. I’m surprised the withdrawal hasn’t settled yet. My advice is to take him to St. Mungo’s if it gets worse.
Draco
“Everything okay?” Peter asked, coming to stand next to him.
“Yeah, I, um… just something for work.” He lifted the parchment, attached it to the owl’s leg and watched it take off. “Thank you for showing me around,” he turned to Peter. “It's been nice, but I really need to go.”
“Oh, yeah, sure,” Peter said politely, though Draco could tell he was disappointed.
Draco wasn’t someone who lasted long in relationships. He’d had them, enjoyed a few, but usually he found he couldn’t wait to get out of them. However, it might not be a bad idea to give someone, anyone, a chance as Pansy liked to insistently advise him. And having someone to fuck around with might be what he needed. Or at least the attention of someone that wasn’t twisted up in loathing. Before he left with Aries, he turned back to Peter. “You should ask me to dinner when we are both back in London.”
Right now, he needed to go drown in the ocean.
When he finally emerged, he was sundrenched and waterlogged. He hadn’t even had a chance to drain the water from his ears when he saw a different barn owl perched on a low stone wall next to Aries.
Dear Draco,
I know where you are, and if you don’t come home right now, I will come and get you. It took us almost two days to even convince him to take the potion in the first place so if you think we can get him to go to St. Mungo’s, you’re kidding yourself. We can’t even get him to leave your house. Please. He needs you.
Hermione
Fuck.
***
He had planned to rant about being dragged back into this emotional mess, but the anger died on his lips as he walked into his living room. A frazzled Hermione sat cross legged on what was now his scorched wooden floors. A shell shocked Ron perched on the edge of what used to be Draco’s favourite lounge chair with his head in his hands. The back of the chair was now blown off and the arms were hanging on by a thread. They both appeared as if they hadn’t slept in days.
He thought he’d known what to expect, but it was quite a shock to find his belongings broken and thrown across the place. Everywhere he turned smoke rose off different surfaces, dying embers burned around the edges of his furniture, and energy cracked and popped weakly in the air — the aftermath of a strong wizard's outburst.
On the singed rug in the middle of it all was the wizard responsible, bare chested and curled in on himself, body wrecked with tremors.
Draco took a deep breath and set his travel bag down.
Ron looked up at the sound. “Welcome home,” he said flatly, spreading his arms out wide at what was left of it. The smoke from the tattered chair he sat on billowed around him. When a spark set off a small flame next to him, he didn’t flinch, just lifted his wand and put it out with a lazy flick of his wrist. Hermione whipped her head around and exhaled a breath of relief when she saw Draco and rushed up to embrace him.
His presence must have broken through Harry’s distress. The green eyes opened and began to frantically search the room, his magic spiking out to Draco in warm bursts and Draco’s name escaping his lips as he tried to get up but a tremor stopped him as it crashed through his body. He cried out and collapsed back to the ground, his spine pulled tight as he shook from the onslaught. “Alright,” Draco said, turning away from Harry with a wince. He was already tired of standing around. “You got me here, you can go now.”
“We can stay and help. We don’t have to go,” Hermione said. She looked at Ron to back her up but he continued to appear as if he couldn’t leave fast enough.
Draco reached for the stone vase he kept the Floo powder in and handed it to her.
“He’s not going to want you to see him like this.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she huffed. “We've already been here with him like this, and we’ve been through much worse together. We can help you. You don't have to do it alone.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Draco said. “He’s not going to want you to see him like this — with me.”
“Mione, he’s right.” Ron put a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “And the sooner we get out of here, the sooner I don’t have to hear him say your name like that.” Ron shuddered. “No offence.”
“None taken,” Draco agreed, wholeheartedly.
“And yeah, sorry about your house, mate.” Ron scratched the back of his neck, stopping on his way to the fireplace. “We tried to contain it… wasn’t easy.” He shook his head.
“Just catch the bastards who did this to him,” Draco said.
“Working on it. Oh, and good call getting him out of that pub the other night. A friend overheard some blokes, who were acting kinda shifty, going around asking about him. Could be nothing, but when Harry’s involved, it’s usually something.”
He disappeared into the green flames before Draco had a chance to respond. His heart was pounding from how reckless that night had been.
“Draco, are you okay?” Hermione asked, she didn’t follow her husband. She stood with her head tilted, staring at him with a look of concern and curiosity. “You left so quickly. Something happened between you and Harry, didn't it?“
He gave her a look that screamed ‘are you fucking kidding me?’ He had just walked in to find his home in shambles, but more importantly, had she already forgotten the details of this little arrangement.
“Yes, something happened,” he snapped, the rant his shock had stifled coming back to surface. His name being whimpered in the background was not helping. “Harry thinks he’s in love with me, and I’m just supposed to torture myself by playing along. And yes I let things go too far and I’m not fucking proud of it. I know he’s not acting of his own free will, but don’t worry, in a moment of clarity he remembered exactly how he feels about me…” He rubbed a shaky hand over his face and looked up at the ceiling. At least that was still intact.
“We both just need this to be over,” he sighed, exhausted, not ready to deal with the ticking time bomb curled up on his rug.
“I know it’s not much, but I do trust you with him,” she said with a look of guilt on her face.
He hoped she did feel guilty. He couldn’t help but feel this was being done in spite of him. But Harry being taken care of outweighed his own well-being.
A short cynical laugh fell from his mouth. “Then you might be more of a fool than I am. Now off you go.” He waved her out, but she didn’t budge. What else was there to say? “Unless you would rather stand around talking about feelings that don’t matter instead of letting me help your friend… who’s not doing so hot at the moment.” The body trembling on the ground proof enough.
“Okay, but send Aries if you need us,” she said, stepping into the green flames.
After she left, Draco’s feet stayed fixed to the spot, reluctant to close the distance separating him from his personal patient. Eventually he had to move when Harry began to say his name and attempted to stand again. Draco pushed aside broken bits of furniture and debris with his foot as he approached him. He kept some of the distance between them when he knelt down to check his vitals.
Harry reached out towards Draco and dragged himself closer. His weak hand grabbed onto Draco’s trousers and tugged him down. Draco relented and sat, lifting his arms in defeat and letting Harry crawl in. Whatever thoughts he had of staying removed were short-lived. Harry burrowed his face into Draco’s shirt, wrapped his arms around his waist and curled his legs around his back until his body was a tight ball around Draco. He was shivering, childlike and vulnerable in his need for Draco’s comfort. Draco almost felt guilty for leaving.
How could anybody want you.
“You arsehole,” Draco whispered. “You couldn’t just leave me alone, could you?” He wanted to squeeze his hands around him and add to his pain. They found purchase in his hair instead; smoothing it back, tucking it behind his ear, tugging on it softly to let him know he was there.
Harry curled in tighter.
“You're going to be fine, Potter,” he sighed. If it was comfort he needed then he would give it to him. “Your body is strong. Soon this will just be another thing you survived.”
***
It was a night full of broken sleep. Draco had continued to let Harry cling to him on his singed rug; Harry’s eyes clenched tight with tears and his body hot with fever. Draco had held him tight against his chest and tried to ease his pain with every spell and potion he could think of. Eventually, Draco had made the decision to move him to the bedroom, ignoring Harry’s pained protests as they went.
When morning came Draco had tried to leave his side to get some space and start cleaning the mess downstairs, but after giving Harry his last dose of the cleansing potion, stomach spasms had set in and gripped him well into the afternoon. There had been a short period of relief where Harry had quieted down; exhausted, but content as long as Draco stayed in sight. Pleased, as long Draco stopped whatever he was doing to caress somewhere along his skin. His tired bloodshot eyes would find Draco’s whenever he did.
Lack of sleep and Draco’s own weakness was his excuse for when he had leaned down and brushed Harry’s forehead with his lips after Harry whispered “You came back to me.” It was the only thing Harry had said to him besides his name since their reunion. And it was spoken with such sincerity, with such conviction, that he had sounded like a man ashamed of having caused someone he cared about any pain and was just grateful to have them back. Draco was glad Harry had drifted off straight afterward. He didn’t want to have to hear this Harry saying all the right things — he didn't want him to say anything.
But he wouldn’t be so lucky because a sleeping Harry does, and the next twelve hours would leave Draco wrecked.
He barely had a chance to catch his breath before Harry began to mumble something from the bed. It came out distressing enough to get Draco’s attention from where he now stood at the window. He’d thrown it open to let the cool breeze wash over him, needing a moment to collect himself after Harry had drifted off from another episode of spasms. At the sound of Harry’s distress Draco went back to his side and knelt next to him. Harry was still asleep but his face was pulled tight with tension and his eyes fluttered furiously behind his closed eyelids.
“Potter, wake up,” he said softly, wiping the sweat from Harry’s forehead.
“No, No… please…” Harry’s voice came out in a low, keening cry. “Don’t go,” he gasped, eyes closed, breathing laboured. “Please Mum,” a sudden sob ripped from his throat. “I need you…”
At the window Draco had thought the distress was for him, but now it was clear that was not what this was. He’d witnessed similar things with other patients withdrawing and had hoped it wouldn’t happen to Harry. But the substance coursing through his blood stream, the body clinging to what it had become addicted to in such a short amount of time, had trapped his fatigued mind somewhere and it was painful.
Draco, having lived with nightmares plaguing his sleep for years after the war, instinctively pushed the covers back, climbed into bed, and cupped Harry’s face with his hands. Doing what he wished he could have had someone do for him back then.
“Harry, you need to wake up,” Draco said, gentle but loud enough to pull him from sleep.
“Mum, nn…no, please, don’t go…”
Seeing Harry like this was almost more than Draco could take. It was on the tip of his tongue to call for Aries and get Hermione back here immediately. But he didn’t. He moved his hands to Harry’s shoulder and tried to shake him awake. It took a moment but Harry’s eyes flew open as he gasped. He looked around in a panic as he tried to get a hold on where he was.
Draco caressed the back of his neck. “Hey, look at me. It was just a dream.” Harry’s eyes focused on Draco’s and he moved a trembling hand to rest on the side of Draco’s face.
They laid on the same pillow with their arms entwined. Their hands on each other's cheek and their eyes holding on to one another until Harry’s breathing settled. “I’m here,” Draco said softly, knowing already that this would be the picture of the two of them that would stay with him the longest.
Harry nodded and stroked his thumb over the crescent scar by Draco’s brow. His other hand found the necklace that still hung around his neck; he absentmindedly moved the round pendant between his fingers, anchoring himself with it the same way Draco had for years. Draco tried to remain unaffected.
“Talk to me,” Harry whispered. “I don’t want to think right now.”
Draco didn’t want to think either and he didn't want to talk. Wasn’t it enough that he was here holding it together for a man who hated him. If he started to talk he may spill over.
“Let's read a book,” he said quickly. It was the only thing he could think to do. “It always helps me when I need to keep from thinking.”
Harry nodded. Draco sat up, propped a pillow against the headboard, and reached for the book he had left on his bedside table. It was one he had started on the collapse of the Roman empire and wasn’t exactly the light distraction he was looking for. He dropped it to the side and shuffled around the stack he kept on the floor until he found one that looked innocent enough. He had a habit of tossing books on the growing stack and forgetting what they were. When he settled, Harry burrowed into his side. Draco pulled the comforter tight around him when he felt him begin to shiver.
He supposed laying in bed about to read a book to Harry Potter wasn’t the most absurd thing to happen in his life, but it still felt pretty fucking absurd as he cracked the book open and began to read. He wouldn’t be retelling this story at pub night when he and his friend were half pissed trying to outdo each other with stories to make the others laugh.
A few chapters in and the subplot had become painfully clear. He should have stuck with the tedious but enlightening three hundred year fall of Rome. Unless one thought a story about being enamoured from afar was a good choice for Draco’s sanity.
‘Must be some form of self hatred to cherish someone so deeply who’s every interaction with you is a dismissal; and each done with such sharp and casual disdain.’
His friends wouldn’t laugh. They would cringe with pity.
Harry hugged his waist tighter.
It was late in the evening when Draco finally closed the pages. His eyes were heavy and his voice was beginning to go hoarse. He dozed off a few times while reading before jerking awake to uncover Harry when he overheated or covered him again when he began to shiver. Besides his body temperature going from hot to cold, Harry had been relaxed. His eyes were closed but he had let Draco know he was still listening when he snuck a hand under his shirt to gently stroke the soft skin above his hip bone and lightly squeezing Draco’s waist on parts of the story he liked. Only now had his hand fallen still.
Draco needed to get out of the bed and have a hot shower. His skin felt grimy and his body ached from holding tension. But a shower also felt like a laborious task that would require too much energy. Maybe he could check on his lab instead. It had only been a passing thought, but now he itched to see if Harry’s destruction had extended to it as well. Harry didn’t stir as he unpeeled himself.
He stepped out onto his rooftop to the low sounds of the city at night. He found Aries perched on a tree branch that grew from his habitat. The little guy had probably worn himself out going back and forth to check on Draco all day. Offering tender nudges of support and doing the same for Harry. Harry had always managed to lift a tired hand to stroke his feathers when he did. Draco was relieved to find that Harry’s outburst didn’t extend past the first floor. Inside the glass building he checked to see that his charms and wards were still working properly. He knew they were when he heard the watering system kick in from outside and he could feel the low hum of his magic. He missed it out here so he took the liberty to walk around and stretch his legs.
The conservatory was an extraordinary place at night; with the moonlight streaming in through the glass paned windows, the Thames glistening in the distance and the city lights peeking through the layers of hanging foliage. Harry had mentioned how strong Draco’s magic had felt in here, but it was Harry Draco could feel now. Even when Harry was long gone and this moment in time would feel like nothing more than a fever dream, he didn’t know if he would ever be able to wipe him from his home. He was everywhere now, and it was fucking exhausting.
Back inside, he passed his bedroom and went to the kitchen to find something to eat. His own fatigue sat heavy on his shoulders. After Harry’s nightmares, intrusive thoughts of his own parents had begun to creep into his quiet.
As devoted as his mother had been to his survival during the war, that meant nothing when all the years before she had followed her husband’s cold pureblood style. Encouraged by his father, sick children were left to be dealt with by the house elves, and even they were told to do the bare minimum. “Suffering creates strength,” Lucius would say, and in the end his mother had always bowed to his word. To maintain their proximity to power, turning a blind eye was a trait women learned quickly. His parents could have left on holiday for all he knew during those times he fell ill; days and nights spent crying for his mother, falling into fitful sleep and waking alone. There were few warm feelings left in him for his parents. He hoped his father was getting every lesson he needed on strength in the cell where he was living out his days. As for his mother, she still painted the picture of victimhood, hiding behind petty excuses, and Draco didn't have the patience for that. He didn’t need Harry to tell him who his family was, he already knew. But maybe he and Harry weren’t so different from each other; different origins, different circumstances. But if they were being honest with themselves, maybe the things they craved in a partner weren’t so different.
Harry would laugh in his face at the comparison.
Walking amongst the debris in his living room to his kitchen was when he spotted the letter that had been pushed through the small slot of his front door. He was surprised he noticed it in the middle of the chaos.
Dinner? P
It took a moment for him to realise who it was from. Was that only yesterday? He didn't have the energy right now to decide if his hasty request to Peter still seemed like a good idea so he tossed it to the side. It was late and he didn’t want to disturb Aries’s rest with a reply.
He listened for any potential sounds that might come from his bedroom while he made a quick dinner in his crumbling kitchen that he didn’t eat. It went cold sitting on the floor next to him as he stared at the lone picture left hanging on his wall. It was the only picture he had put up with himself in it; only because he loved that picture. It was a black and white of him, Pansy and Blaise from that first wild month after Draco had left the Manor. Every day back then had been terrifying and an adventure in self discovery. He had been lost and hanging on by a thread during that first year. But even through the crippling self doubt, the plaguing nightmares, and on his worst nights, the kind of demeaning sex that he used to reaffirm his own hollowness, he was also free and alive. You could see it on his face. It was the only thing left in the room that had been untouched by Harry’s magic.
If his calculations were correct, by morning the cleansing potion should have completed its job and Harry could finally be free from this unwanted disruption in his life. Draco continued to sit, knowing the end was approaching and wanting distance from it. When he leaned back against what used to be a nice couch, but was now a sad version of itself standing on two legs with a sagging bend in the middle, it finally gave in, breaking in half and crashing to the floor with a loud crack. He couldn’t be bothered to move. He could relate to the broken furniture — Harry had done the same to his insides.
After putting it off long enough, the quiet began to worry him. His mind was a mess of thoughts as he made his way back upstairs. The same thoughts that had gotten him in trouble before but didn’t stop him from having them now.
—maybe he should spend as much time next to Harry as he could get. Let the feeling of his hands burn through his skin until it was over; to leave a punishing mark that time wouldn’t fade. Did he want it to fade? Hadn’t he learned his lesson about being branded? He mostly just found he despised himself for still being desperate for crumbs.
Harry wasn’t in bed.
The bedding had been pushed to the side but Harry wasn’t in it. Draco tried not to panic. He searched the room but didn't find him. He was halfway out the door to retrace his steps to his rooftop when a noise coming from the bathroom attracted his attention.
“Harry!” he yelled, running and slinging open the door. Relieved to have found him, he took in the scene in front of him. Harry was on his knees, hunched over, as he retched onto the tiled floor. His body convulsed with each wave of nausea that hit him.
Draco knelt beside him to clean up the mess with his wand. There wasn’t much to clean, Harry’s stomach had been empty from lack of eating, but Draco couldn’t stand to see him kneeling in it. Draco pushed back the long fringe that fell into his face and held it back as Harry continued to vomit and Draco continued to cast it clean. His hand rubbing Harry’s back, his neck, his shoulders. He conjured a hair tie and tied back as much of the thick sweat-dampened hair as he could get into a messy knot on top of his head. He stayed there weathering it with him until the worst of it died down and Harry collapsed onto the ground. His body going limp with exhaustion, his tears leaving tracks down his red cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” Harry said lifelessly. “I tried to make it.” He heaved again but nothing came out.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Draco said, going to wet a cloth at the sink and coming back to sit in front of him to gently wipe it across his forehead. “I’m just impressed you made it this far.” He gave him a small smile and stayed with him on the floor, continuing to wipe the cool cloth over his face until another wave hit him. Harry tried to move back onto his knees but only managed to prop himself up on an elbow.
“You’re really going to have to eat something soon,” Draco said. Harry groaned and collapsed back onto the floor. Draco went to stand again to get the draughts Harry needed, regretting the decision to let him rest instead of giving them to him earlier. He was stopped when a hand gripped his leg. Reluctant, he sat back down and leaned his back against the wall opposite him. Close enough to have to bend his legs at the knees not to hit Harry. Draco made do with casting a round of nutrition, hydration and a few cleaning spells over him to help him feel human again. Harry hummed quietly in approval when the magic hit him. When it looked like he was about to nod off again Draco asked, “Do you want to move back to the bed?”
“No, leave me here,” Harry answered weakly, his eyes closed. “I don’t want to move.”
“Okay then, we will stay here.” Draco let his head fall back against the wall. Harry slid the hand that wasn’t gripping Draco’s leg across the narrow distance of the floor, then opened it, palm up. Draco hesitated but took it into his own. Harry pulled Draco’s hand back to hold it against his heated cheek.
Then the hallucinations began.
It started out gradually with low mumbling sounds. The noise was enough to grab Draco’s attention. His eyes had been closed as he mindlessly caressed Harry’s cheek, his hair, his neck, soothing touches for Harry but also to keep himself awake. When Draco realised Harry was lost in another dream he tried to bring him out of it, but it only escalated. Nothing he did was working, and soon the mumbling turned into Harry crying for his mother again. Then it quickly shifted into desperate pleas for both of his parent’s lives, begging for them not to be slaughtered in front of him. It was painful for Draco to witness.
Taking Harry’s thrashing face in his hands Draco tried to gently shake him awake. “Harry, come back— ” He wouldn’t open his eyes, “—It’s just a dream, come back.”
Harry reached up abruptly and frantically grabbed at Draco's hands. He ripped them from his face and gripped his slim wrists so tight Draco cried out when the bones began to crush together. Harry was lost behind clenched eyes, rambling incoherently and unaware of what he was doing. Draco managed to get his arms free and scrambled back against the wall. The heavy atmosphere of Harry’s wild magic became thick in the air between them and the tiles of the floor began to crack.
“Harry! Wake up!” he yelled. “You’re okay, just wake up!”
Harry’s eyes snapped open, but they were glassy, jumpy, unfocused. Still somewhere else.
“I can’t do it...D..D..Dumbledore...please...anybody else...I can’t…I shouldn’t have too —I’m just a kid…” His voice was a pleading sob and tears were streaming down his face. The room vibrated around them.
Draco could feel the tears begin to fall down his own face now; down his neck and wetting his collar. He couldn’t get Harry to snap out of it so he tried to meet him where he was, hoping he could calm him down enough to come out of it on his own.
“Harry, you did it,” he said softly. “You did everything Dum—” It was hard to say his name. “Dumbledore asked of you. You did it. We don’t deserve what you did, but you did it because you're you. Now please come back… come back to me.”
Draco shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be the one witnessing this. He briefly thought about stunning him, knocking him out, anything not to have to see him like this. He went to stand, Harry needed the fucking sedative. He might even join Harry and take some himself. Before he could make it out of the room he heard his name. He would have ignored it, the draughts being more important at the moment, but it was said so calmly that it made him turn back around. Harry was sitting up, haggard and still, so different from the tormented mess he had been just seconds before. The sizzling static in the air settled around them.
Relief washed over Draco as he fell back against the wall and sunk to the ground to sit. “Oh, thank fuck,” he said, the breath he’d been holding coming out heavy. “Fucking hell Harry, don’t you dare go away like that again.” His voice came out angrier than he intended and a vibrating tremor went through the room. “Okay, shit,” he held up a shaky hand. “We both just need to calm down.”
“No,” Harry whispered, the desperate sound was back in his voice and back on his face. Draco’s heart sank. ”No, no,” Harry said louder. The tiles began to crack around him again and behind him the cracks splintered up the wall. The light fixtures rattled in their bases. “No, no, no.” His eyes were on Draco but they were jumping around his face. If Draco had looked closer sooner he would have seen how unfocused they still were.
Harry had never come out of it. It had only shifted. He looked unpredictable and the energy around him was aggressive. His face quickly went from desperate to manic. Draco froze against the wall; he didn’t know what to expect and his wand was on the floor an arms length away.
“Draco, no, no, no…” Harry scrambled towards him. Draco quickly grabbed for his wand then pushed his body flush against the wall; ready for a fight or to stun him, depending on how fast he was. Harry grabbed at Draco’s shirt and pulled at the fabric.
“I’m sorry...I didn’t— Draco…no, no, no...what have I done…no, no, no, no...I didn’t mean…—please, Draco…” Harry’s eyes searched Draco’s chest, his hands shook uncontrollably, and his voice was a rapid fire of panic.
Draco’s wand dropped from his fingertips when he realised what Harry was looking for.
“I’m okay,” he said gently. Harry was on his knees straddling his legs, his body was a trembling ball of energy. “I’m okay, here… look.” Draco pulled the hem of his shirt up to reveal his bare chest. “Look, I’m okay.” Harry’s eyes searched the skin as he ran his hands up and down Draco’s chest as if he didn’t believe him. He was still stuck back in time, looking for the damage Draco had antagonised him to release.
“That was a long time ago,” Draco said. “Look, I'm healed.” He took one of Harry’s hands and ran it along the scars. “It’s just a bit of scarring, that’s it.” Snape had healed most of it; a few long lines of raised white skin that ran across his chest and the length of his torso were the only reminders left.
“I'm sorry, I’m so sorry,” Harry kept saying, running his fingers back and forth over the skin. Draco thumped his head back against the wall, his body buzzing from the whiplash of emotions.
“Harry, I was an idiot. I deserved everything I got.” Harry’s hands had gone still and he dropped his forehead to Draco’s shoulder.
“But I don’t want you to hurt,” Harry said, his voice quiet and sad.
“Oh, darling,” Draco sighed, caressing the back of Harry’s head, letting the thick strands of his hair run through his fingers. “You’ve got to quit saying shit like that to me or I’m going to start believing you mean it.”
Harry nuzzled the side of his neck before he sat back against the opposite wall. They had to bend their knees to give each other room in the narrow entrance. Their legs touched flush against the other’s. They both looked completely wrecked but Draco could see the glassy mile long look in Harry’s eyes and knew they were still seventeen in the sixth year boy’s bathroom.
“You already took the mark didn’t you?” Harry said, his face serious, his voice full of concern. “It’s okay if you did. I can keep you safe.” He put a hand around Draco’s ankle and held on to it. It was a bittersweet ache to listen to Harry say what their younger-selves never did. Even being half in love with him at the time, Draco would have raged over the audacity that Harry thought he needed help.
“You did keep me safe,” Draco said softly. “You killed him and you saved me.”
Harry didn’t respond, his heavy eyes were slowly beginning to drift shut, exhaustion was finally taking its toll. But even as his body started to slump he kept trying to keep them open. Holding onto Draco’s as if he was going to fail him by falling asleep.
Not even sure if Harry could hear him anymore, Draco said softly, “I was so stupid and proud to think this mark made me better than anyone.” He ran a hand over his face. He hadn't talked out loud about this with anyone but Pansy and Blaise and that had been a long time ago. One of the only times he had forgotten to cast a silencing charm and they caught him on Pansy’s couch in the middle of a nightmare. They had talked about the war when one of them needed to, but some of the details were better left forgotten.
“When I got marked I was visibly scared. I thought I knew how to hide being scared. Apparently, like a lot of things, I was wrong. It was too much,” he continued. “And Voldemort mocked me for it. He wanted to make sure I felt small for being weak, for showing any signs of doubt. So, afterwards, as a little game, he let the Death Eaters who wanted a piece of me have at it.” He laughed low and dark. Two grown men sitting in his bathroom reliving their trauma. Harry hadn’t fallen asleep. He was listening so Draco kept talking. He didn’t know why, as chances were Harry wouldn’t remember; maybe that was why he did.
“You asked where I got this scar,” he touched the crescent moon shape on his face. “It’s from a branch that sliced my skin as I ran. When Voldemort gave them the go ahead they chased me through the woods of the Manor, the same woods I played in when I was a child. They laughed and taunted me while they hunted me down, and when they finally caught me they held my face in the dirt and took their turns. My father knew what they were doing and did nothing. And I know Conway was one of the masked men who stood by and watched me get used. I never saw his face, he was always a sneaky bastard keeping it covered at the meetings, but I smelled his cologne, and I know he enjoyed every second of it. He’s the only person I’ve ever known who smelled like that. I could have killed Devois for throwing him in my face, for giving him power over me again. So you see,” another dark laugh fell from his mouth, “you keep saving me.”
Harry's eyes were heavy. He was still trying to keep them open; still trying to be strong for somebody else. Probably thinking if he took his eyes off Draco he would be lost to Voldemort, but the past couldn’t be rewritten.
“I tried to get rid of it,” Draco continued, rubbing at his forearm, speaking more to himself now than to Harry. “I wanted it gone. I almost cut off my own arm to get rid of it, but I was saved by a book I found hidden in the Manor library when I was under house arrest. It had something akin to a removal spell in it that seemed promising. So I studied it and obsessed over it, then cast it on my arm in an attempt to rid myself of the mistakes I had made without thinking twice of the consequences.
“However, I shouldn’t have underestimated Voldemort’s commitment to marking his territory, or been so naive to think there would be an easy way out. His mark was never meant to be removed. Something he did to punish anyone who tried, I suppose. Turns out the book of spells I found had been some pretty dark barbaric shit too, and not a great combination when combined with Voldemort's magic. It felt like I’d fallen into a trap. And who knows if Voldemort was the one who left it behind or if it had always been a part of my family's collection. Needless to say, the mark stayed and became even more grotesque than before, but it also started to ache. Now it aches all the fucking time, and if I’m around any Dark Magic it can get excruciating. Instead of removing the mark, the spell I used seemed to have activated it to recognize the same type of magic as it — Dark. And when it comes across a kindred spirit it comes alive and revels in its torment. I’ve made potions to help, but I should have just cut the fucking thing off. And yes, you would think as a Healer I would have the resources to figure out how to get rid of the curse the spell attached to me, but I haven’t. And I can’t bring myself to ask for help, so I bear it. I cursed myself after all.”
Harry gave Draco’s ankle one last squeeze before his eyes drifted shut and he finally lost his battle with the exhaustion.
Worn out and sick of his own voice, Draco eased Harry onto the floor with a steady arm around his shoulder, a gentle hand behind his head. He wanted to stay close to him; to push their bodies together until there was nothing separating them, to drown in every last drop of affection for him that was slowly being removed and bottle it up and drink from it. Instead he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.
***
Draco hated having to attend St. Mungo’s charity galas, rubbing shoulders with wizarding’s finest and most nauseating. In these crowds everybody had an agenda, which usually involved hiding corruption with empty shows of philanthropy while making dirty deals under the neatly decorated tables. Ethics alway seemed to vanish when galleons and power were involved. They all assumed Draco was one of them, a confidant they didn’t have to hide around.
“Nobody can blame your family for sticking with their own and siding with wizarding purity,” Joris Conway, a slimy wizard with beady eyes, said with an arrogant tilt of his head as he continued to stuff his face with decadent hor d'oeuvres. The man looked like a skeleton with sagging skin, similar to the effect of wax melting down the side of a candle. He claimed to be an old friend of the family who had just returned to England after living abroad. Draco had only been introduced to him that evening and he already despised him.
“I mean who really believed a scrawny boy, with the help of a decrepit old wizard, could have taken down the greatest wizard of our age.” Draco was moments away from losing it. He was all too familiar with Joris’s kind. They spent their lives playing both sides to feign innocence but their gallons always left a trail to their true allegiance. This fucker shouldn’t even be allowed to speak Harry’s name, or Dumbledore’s for that matter.
“Though I always thought your family played it too ambitious,” he continued, spitting bits of food out as he spoke. “Your father should have stuck with the more subtle approach.”
Draco looked on with disgust as ricotta oozed out of the corner of his mouth. He didn’t even stop to swallow as he spoke haughtily, like he was giving out some valuable life lesson. And the way he kept eyeing Draco up and down made his skin crawl. He had been given specific instructions to welcome the man, but entertaining arseholes at parties wasn’t a part of his job that he was particularly invested in.
“Chipping away slowly to consolidate power works far better than being arrogant and announcing your plans aloud, my boy. Not that I would know from experience of course,” he chuckled, causing the sagging skin of his face to jiggle. “That's just my unbiased observation.”
Draco opened his mouth to let the man know exactly how subtle he could be when a dancing couple knocked into him from behind. It almost knocked him into Joris. He stopped himself short, but not before he caught a whiff of his cloying cologne and almost vomited on the spot.
His vision had gone spotty and he saw red.
He backed up quickly only to catch the stern eyes of the new head administrator boring into his from across the room. He was on thin ice as it was. This wouldn’t be the first ego he had bruised at an event, but this was different, and he didn’t just want to leave a bruise — he wanted blood.
Conway had stood there, relaxed, knowing what he knew. Boiling over, Draco grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and tilted it back, placing the empty glass back on the tray and grabbing another before the waiter had a chance to drift back into the crowd. He didn’t even like champagne. The overly sweet and sour bubbles that hit the back of his throat offered nothing compared to the kick of a firewhiskey.
Draco fingered his wand, contemplating the merits of revenge when a warm deep voice came from beside him.
“Who’s this arsehole calling scrawny?”
He nearly dropped the champagne flute he was gripping when he looked over to see the man connected to that heart-stopping voice.
Harry Potter was looking at him with the corner of his mouth upturned and a twinkle in his eye, not even seeming to acknowledge Joris’s presence. Joris, to Draco’s satisfaction, was nearly choking on his prosciutto wrapped fig at the arrival of the famous guest.
Draco couldn’t be bothered with the bastard either, he was too busy getting lost in green eyes.
“Sorry I’m late,” Harry said, tugging at the collar of his stiff dress shirt. “You know how much I hate these things.”
He did know how much Harry hated them, but not from personal experience, only in the way every other person in the wizarding world knew. Yet somehow, without understanding how, he did know, and he was sure he knew every personal thing about him. Like right now he knew how much Harry was enjoying the discomfort of the red faced man next to them. It felt familiar when he replied. “Yes, you hate them as much as I do. They always seem to attract all the pathetic jackals.” Harry's grin widened and Draco couldn’t take his eyes off of him.
“I’m glad you came,” Draco said, knowing he was grinning stupidly back but not being able to help it. He also somehow knew he had lived this before without Harry showing up. Where he drifted back into the crowd, went home and drowned himself in firewhiskey and an empty fuck he picked up somewhere along the way. Hating himself during every second of it. In this version, with Harry by his side, he felt like he could tell the whole world to go fuck themselves.
With heavy lids, Harry leaned close to Draco’s ear as if he was being discreet. “You don’t think I’m scrawny anymore, do you?” he asked, lowering his voice to a suggestive tone. A shiver licked over Draco’s body, he bit his lip and looked Harry up and down.
“Not at all,” he said in awe of the solid form in front of him. “This body has slain Dark Wizards and beaten death… and I want every inch of it.”
He could hear the shocked whisper of the crowd but all he saw was Harry, backing up slowly with a sly grin on his face, and reaching a hand out to him. “Come on, let's get out of here,” he said. Draco reached for it, and fuck did it feel good. Harry made him feel alive, like he could face the worst parts of life as long as he was by his side. With the excitement of where the night was leading he went to wrap his fingers around the hand in front of him, but it slipped through.
Confused, he tried again, but he was grabbing air. Panic seized his chest as he kept grabbing, willing his hand to find purchase on something solid only to slip through again and again like attempting to grab on to one of the ghosts at Hogwarts. He looked at Harry for an answer, but all he saw was that same sly grin as if nothing was wrong. Then to his horror he watched as Harry slowly started to fade until he disappeared into nothing, leaving Draco alone grasping at air in the middle of the packed gala. All eyes had turned on him.
Quickly the crowd had started to narrow in, and what was only background murmuring became loud roars of taunting laughter directed at him. The disgusting voice of Joris the loudest of all.
“You pathetic fool!” he roared. “You actually thought Harry Potter wanted you.” His face beet red and ready to pop with enjoyment, laughing at Draco’s distress.
“As if you would ever be good enough for him,” Joris continued, enjoying being the leader of the mindless crowd. “You’re nothing but used goods, my boy. A pathetic jackal just like the rest of us.”
All around him the laughter began to change into the deafening yipping sound of a rabid pack of jackals snapping and hungry for blood. He covered his ears with his hands as they began to close in on him. He pushed through the crowd, their clammy hands grabbing at him and their faces distorting like fun house mirrors, twisting until they were replaced with that familiar black mask. He grabbed for the door handle, it fell open, jerking him forward.
***
Draco jerked awake. His hand slipped jarringly from the leg it had been resting on. He blinked to see Harry across from him, in the middle of sitting up. It took Draco a moment to clear the heavy haze from his mind. He was leaning against his bathroom wall, disoriented from the dream he’d just been pulled from. The soft light coming through the window let him know it was early morning; it shone on the cracked walls and floors surrounding them. The scent of ozone still lingered heavily in the air.
His sleep weary eyes came back to land on Harry’s. He was sitting stiff against the opposite wall, his legs pulled up tight to his chest. His ashen skin, dark circles under his eyes, and dry cracked lips gave him the appearance of a patient who had just fought a long battle with an illness and barely made it out to the other side. He was staring back at Draco, his face scrunched tight in confusion — the openness once again gone. And Draco knew that this time it was permanent. If he were to ever see that openness again, it would only be as a memory, or as a witness to somebody else receiving it.
“Malfoy.” It came out hoarse and crackly. A night of vomiting would do that, but Draco could still hear the disdain dripping from it.
“Right,” Draco said in understanding, wiping any emotion from his face. Harry must not have thought he looked too threatening because he didn’t so much as flinch when Draco retrieved his wand from the ground and stood to leave.
“I’ll send for Ron and Hermione,” he said, turning his back to him.
“What’s going on?” Harry asked roughly. “I feel like absolute shit. What did you do…Whatever it was I swear—”
“I didn’t do anything,” Draco said, voice listless. Harry’s voice, his own, the room, his body — it all felt distant. He was already separating himself from it. “You came to me for help and I tried. Talk to your friends. They can tell you what happened to you.”
It wouldn’t end well if he was the one to tell Harry what had happened to him. Before he could make it out the door Harry’s voice rose behind him. “Is this your house? Why the fuck am I at your house?”
“It’s not anymore,” Draco said. “I'm not coming back here.”
“What the hell, you're just leaving?” Harry spit. “I’m not staying in your fucking house Malfoy.”
“Then don’t. Burn it to the ground for all I care.” The house was already halfway there. Harry might as well have some fun now and finish what he had started.
Draco knew he was being cold, but he wasn’t a Healer right now. He was a man standing in a room he didn’t want to be in, tired, and as much as he’d prepared himself for this, he was just sad. Sticking around to bear the brunt of Harry’s rage wasn’t something he could do right now. The only ending for this Harry and this Draco would be curses and fists.
The irony of leaving Harry behind in a broken bathroom was not lost on him.
Chapter Text
He didn’t stop off at Blaise’s this time to have some pathetic breakdown. He would be damned if he was going to do that again. He just Flooed straight back to Italy, without telling his friends that he’d left there in the first place. They were probably hoping he was well on his way to getting over these inconvenient one sided feelings by now. The ones that had laid buried for a decade only to be awoken again like a vengeful tease. But he knew how to bury feelings, and he planned on burying these — again.
First, he needed to scrub Harry from his fingertips. His nerve endings were buzzing from the loss of him — the image of Harry, sweet and pliable, his questing fingers drawing a pattern on Draco’s skin as they lay in bed reading. Another image; his hand slipping through Harry’s like a phantom ghost, snatched away to leave him craving something solid. Then the hostile Harry that waited for him on the other side, sitting in his broken home. The debris caused by his hands were the only remnants left behind of his desire for Draco. Without an outside influence there was nothing left inside the man for him. No wild magic surges, but a panicked need to flee. His breathing picked up, but he wasn’t going to crumble — he was going to bury these fucking feelings.
Harry wasn’t the only person who could stubbornly bulldoze his way through things.
Draco made himself spring into action. His first stop was the writing desk in the corner. He saw Aries' arrival through the glass paned windows and opened it for him. His presence was a welcome comfort along with the pink and orange of the Tuscan sky at daybreak that illuminated the open room. He wrote a letter to McGonagall asking for a meeting to go over her offer. Maybe having something new to stress about would help occupy his mind. Next he wrote his letter of resignation. He was finally in the right mood to burn his life to the ground.
He had a tendency of becoming absorbed in anything he was doing. Especially when he was feeling the need to reestablish some type of control over his life, which he tried to keep as neatly contained as possible. So he continued the practice of distracting himself with physical activity. During a trip into town to restock the kitchen he overheard a few tourists talk about the stunning views they saw when hiking the rocky coastline. Then he saw a bike in a local shop and purchased it on a whim, adding to the list of activities he could use to occupy his time.
So he spent his days in Italy doing various combinations of swimming, jogging, biking and hiking. He only stopped when he was physically unable to keep going and he could surrender to exhaustion. It wasn’t healthy, but it felt good to push his body. He jogged the London parks at home, but he couldn’t remember the last time he had had the time to dedicate to this much physical activity. Maybe as far back as the long practices and games of Quidditch at Hogwarts. His thoughts unwelcomingly shifted to the vision that a young Harry made on a broom. The intense focus that would consume his face when he hunted down the snitch.
He chased the thought away with a ten mile bike ride. If sweating someone from your system was a possibility then he was damn well going to try it.
He continued this routine, venturing out to explore the town and every neighbouring area he could get to. He all but ignored the correspondence from his friends. He only sent them short replies and quick updates to keep them at bay. They didn’t mention Harry once and he was grateful for it. He hoped they could pretend for the rest of their lives that these past couple of weeks had never happened. They were a group who had a lot of things they wanted to pretend never happened, so they would likely accommodate him, for a while.
A few unopened letters from Hermione sat on the desk. He knew she wouldn’t indulge his coping mechanisms so he intended to ignore her for as long as he could get away with. He wasn’t interested in any updates on how Harry was doing, or answering any questions about how he was doing. He didn’t even want to know if she was writing to tell him Harry wanted his head on a pike and the whole Auror department was out on a witch hunt for him. Technically, it was her and her Auror husband's fault he was dragged into this in the first place, and she had pulled him out of his solitude one too many times already.
His solitude lasted two weeks before a letter arrived one afternoon. He had just finished his afternoon laps, the salt water still dripping from his hair when the owl caught him. He didn’t recognize the letter as being from any of his friends and was about to toss it next to Hermione’s when the writing on the back caught his eye; Black ink in a messy scrawl read Harry J. Potter.
He swore he meant to toss it, but his hands were already tearing it open.
Malfoy,
It seems I'm still a popular target for people’s cruelty. It never ceases to amaze me how low people can go. At least they say you weren’t the cause of it this time. I’m having trouble remembering any of it. I can only go by what Hermione and Ron tell me, and can only assume it was an uncomfortable and unpleasant experience for you to be around me like that. Unless you still find joy in my suffering then fuck you I’m sure you found it to be very entertaining. They say you are the reason I was able to get past this so quickly, so thanks for that, I guess, and sorry you had to be involved in this mess. I trust them and I trust that we can be mature adults about this and forget it ever happened.
Harry
All Draco could do was laugh. Because yes Harry, it had been very fucking entertaining holding your hair back while you vomited on yourself. Or holding your fevered body next to mine while you rocked violently with tremors. And my favourite part, oh yes, my favourite part was reliving the worst moments of my guilt ridden life while you pleaded with the ghosts of our past. He scrunched the letter up in his hands and threw it across the room.
Harry had no fucking clue just how mature he could be.
He was finally ready for some human interaction.
***
“I knew Blaise loved you more than me,” Pansy said, loud enough to be heard over the music and the hum of chatter. She pouted her red lips at Draco. “He’s never offered me one of his houses as an escape before.” She was leaning against the kitchen counter in tight black trousers and a low cut blazer, her tall stilettos crossed at the ankles, watching Draco mix martinis with a deft hand.
“As if you could stay away from your social life long enough,” Draco replied. “We all know you get antsy stepping a foot past West London.” He finished off the drinks with an olive and handed one to her.
Blaise disentangled his tongue from the attractive man he had pinned against the wall long enough to pipe in. “When Ginny finally realises what a wretch you are it’s all yours,” he said, gesturing blasély to the room.
When Draco had told his friends he wanted them to visit for a night out, a gleeful Blaise had wasted no time, eager and ready to reunite with some of his favourite local flings. Draco had thought they would keep it low key and find something in town, but Blaise and Pansy had arrived in a frenzy. They had thrown open the french doors that ran along the back wall of the villa facing the ocean and immediately started filling the place with music and people.
Three hours later and the house was packed. Draco had instantly started missing his solitude and initially had the urge to bolt for his bedroom as soon as everyone started to arrive. Sensing this, Pansy had moved the furniture out of the way and pulled him into the living room to dance. It didn’t take long for him to relax on the impromptu dance floor. Feeling the gaze of an attractive man on him had helped tremendously; he hadn’t stopped giving Draco appreciative looks since he had arrived with one of Blaise’s play things.
Draco vaguely recalled that he might be a player on the Italian ‘futbol’ team. When the introductions were made he’d already been on his third drink. He didn’t care either way, the man was fit, and he knew what the look on his face meant. A fun game of cat and mouse had added some much needed electricity to the evening.
Pansy lifted two fingers at Blaise. “Speaking of...” she said looking around the room, “Where is my deeply devoted girlfriend? She was supposed to be here already.”
“Oh,” Draco’s voice went flat. “Ginny’s coming?”
“Don’t start that shit again, Draco. You’re going to have to get used to us being together. She’s not going anywhere.” She plucked the olive from his drink and tossed it at Blaise’s head with a giggle. Blaise returned the two finger gesture without breaking away from his groping session.
Draco rolled his eyes. “It’s not that,” he sighed. “Forget it… Come on, let’s go dance.” The only thing Pansy was going to hear was him rejecting her girlfriend no matter what he said. She wiggled her eyebrows at him.
“Or why don’t you go talk to that adorable man you’ve been eye fucking all night?”
“Fuck no,” Draco cringed. “I don’t want to talk to him. Making bad decisions with a stranger should not be ruined with a conversation.”
Pansy had tried to invite Peter, but Draco had quickly shut that down. He had the sense that Peter wanted to have feelings and conversations and that wasn’t what he wanted tonight.
“I’ve been there,” Pansy said. “And lots of bad decisions with strangers were made.” She clinked her martini glass to Draco’s.
“I know, I witnessed it,” he laughed.
“Witnessed what?” Ginny said, coming through the kitchen archway and hugging Pansy’s waist from behind. Pansy whipped around and threw her arms around her.
“Ginny! You finally made it!” she squealed. Draco cringed again at the high pitch.
“Sorry I'm late. I’ve been with Hermione and Ron —” she said then looked up at Draco. “Hermione says hi by the way. And thanks for letting her know you're still alive.”
He really needed to write her back.
“That's what took me so long,” she said to Pansy. “We’ve been at Harry’s. Poor mate’s still not coping well with what happened and has all but locked himself up at Grimmauld Place.”
Did she not realise he was standing right there? He felt his mood shift the instant he heard the name.
“And what part exactly is he having a hard time with?” he said sharply. “The part where he got drugged? Or the part about me? It was hard to tell from the lovely thank you letter he sent me.” He gave Pansy a pointed look. This was why he wasn't thrilled with Ginny coming. He knew who would be brought up, and look, it took less than a minute.
“Ginny, love, why don’t we go get you a drink?” Pansy cut in. “You do have a lot of catching up to do.” She steered Ginny in the opposite direction toward the excessive amounts of bottles scattered across the dining table, looking back over her shoulder to give Draco a mixed look he didn’t care to decipher.
One mention of Harry and that insufferable ache, that insistent buzzing under his skin, was back. He laughed darkly. Here he was coping so well.
He summoned back that loose and easy feeling and went to look for Blaise. He found him outside on the veranda in the middle of a group of people that Draco didn’t know. The lively group was swaying with their glasses lifted towards the night sky while they sang along to some beautifully tragic Italian song at the top of their lungs. They sung it like it was a national anthem every Italian must stop to pay homage to when they heard it. He could only vaguely make out the lyrics. When Blaise spotted him he pulled him in close and draped an arm around his shoulder.
Fuck it, Draco thought, deciding to go where the night took him and joined in.
The soft hanging lights danced across their faces. They laughed watching Draco attempt to get the lyrics right. He let himself get lost in their merriment and tried not to think too hard on the lyrics that spoke of lost moments and probably something deeper he couldn’t understand. You can’t lose what you never had you sad fucking fool. His sad thoughts only made him laugh harder. They thought he was fun.
When the song turned into something with a beat he decided to actually be fun and started dancing again. Pansy and Ginny joined him. He silently forgave Ginny for her choice in friends and grabbed their hands. The three of them moved around each other, getting lost in the music.
He was sweaty and breathless when he zeroed in on the attractive man, sitting on the stone wall at the edge of the party, who had set his sights on Draco earlier in the night. He was talking to a group of people but Draco could tell he wasn’t listening — he was busy watching him. When their eyes held long enough to be anything but intentional, Draco broke free from the crowd and moved into the house. He didn’t look back to see if the man was following. He knew he was.
The door to the bathroom closed behind him with a click and a warm body crowded him against the wall. The voice in his ear spoke something in Italian. The only word Draco could make out was want as he was turned around by hands on his hips and a mouth crashed against his.
He was glad for the language barrier.
His eager make out partner didn't waste any time before dropping to his knees and pulling at Draco’s trousers in a rush to get his hands on him. Draco let his head fall back against the wall as his cock was engulfed in heat. It was sloppy and fast, but it had been awhile, and it felt fucking good.
He rocked his hips, pushing his cock deep into the back of the willing mouth in front of him. Putting his hands on top of the head bobbing at his hips, wanting to run his fingers through the hair. Soon he felt his orgasm coming. His moans of pleasure echoing in the small room. The closer to his release the tighter his fingers clutched at the thick strands. It was long enough to wrap his fingers around just like—
“Harry…”
He cried the name out as he came, panting loud, his voice a distant sound to his own ears. He didn’t open his eyes as the feeling subsided — he was somewhere else.
A thick scratchy accent came from the ground. “That was hot,” he said, pulling Draco back to the moment. So he does speak English, Draco thought, letting out a small laugh and opening his eyes. He looked down at the man still on his knees, almost surprised at his appearance, since he’d already forgotten.
“I take it you don’t want to continue this in the bedroom?” the stranger said, standing. Draco gave him a sheepish smile and shook his head, doing up his trousers, relieved he didn’t have to reciprocate the favour when he saw the proof on the floor that the man had already pulled himself off. He liked sucking cock, really liked it, but moaning another person’s name kind of kills the mood. At least being strangers they didn’t have to make a big deal about it. Draco kissed him on the cheek before he walked out to not be a completely dismissive arsehole. He wanted to take a shower and crawl into bed.
Solitude was calling.
***
“Why do we do this to ourselves?” Ginny groaned from the couch.
“Because, my dear, we know there is always hangover potion waiting for us on the other side,” Pansy answered, walking in with a handful of vials to pass around. “And Draco here, brews the best. It’s one of the only reasons I continue to be his friend.” She tossed one out to him, hitting him square in the stomach. He let out a pained whimper.
He was lying on the rug on his back with a pillow covering his face. One by one they had woken up, made their way down to the living room and fallen into an array of misery. Blaise had seen his guests out before he had draped himself across the linen settee and immediately started snoring. Draco wasn’t sure what time the party had ended last night, but from what he’d just heard at the front door, Blaise had shared his bed with multiple partners. No wonder he was passed out.
Draco sat up, holding the pillow above his eyes to shield them from the unbearably bright sunlight coming through the open windows and tilted the vial back. He swore the Italian sun was brighter than the English one.
“Oh wow,” Ginny said. “This hangover potion is good. Teenage Ginny would have never believed it if you'd told her she’d be sitting here sharing hangover potion with you lot one day,” she chuckled.
“Neither would teenage Ginny’s boyfriend,” Draco couldn’t help but add. His potion hadn’t kicked in yet, so he was still grumpy.
He lay back and let it take effect, enjoying the feeling of relief pulsing through his veins. He really was a genius. The tingling sensation of the alcohol leaving his system and the lightness that washed over him was almost as good as sex. Harry may have viewed him differently if he could have managed that same effect with his cleansing potion.
Ginny chuckled. “Teenage Ginny would have also never believed her boyfriend would have some weird relationship with Draco Malfoy one day.”
“Potter is weird, isn’t he?” Draco mused, now that he was feeling light, talking shit about Harry seemed like a pleasurable way to start his morning.
“You and Potter are both fucking weird,” Pansy said, always right there to ruin his fun.
“So, he’s pretty upset then?” he asked. He was always going to, there was no use pretending he wasn’t. He lay staring at the ceiling.
“Yeah, you could say that,” Ginny answered. “I don’t think seeing the picture in The Prophet helped.”
“What picture in The Prophet?” Draco sat up on his elbows.
“You haven’t seen it?” Ginny asked as if it was on a billboard in Diagon Alley (which it might be for all he knew).
“No, self isolation going on here.” He waved a hand around the room.
“Um, well… It's from the night we were at the pub. It’s nothing crazy, but… the way you two were looking at each other,” she whistled. “You could practically feel the heat coming off the page.”
“Oh.” Draco fell back against the floor.
Wasn’t that just fucking great. It must have been before he had put the privacy charms up, before he’d put Harry's hand on his…
He hoped whoever had taken that picture and sold it to The Prophet was enjoying the galleons they’d made from it. He was certain he never wanted to see it. There was no telling what unguarded look had been captured on his face.
“Honestly, the article wasn’t that bad,” Ginny said. “It was mainly just speculating about your ‘budding’ new friendship and rehashing the past. Of course, like usual, they got most of it wrong.”
“Mmm,” Draco replied. “Weasley… Ron, mentioned someone had been there that night asking about Potter after we left.”
“Yeah, Ron can’t say much with the ongoing investigation, and he’s trying to work on it quietly to keep it out of the papers,” Ginny said, “but a girl he plays with in the local Sunday Quidditch league was at the pub that night and overheard two guys talking about Harry. She thought they seemed suspicious enough to let him know.”
Draco put the pillow back over his face.
“What did he say about me?” he asked. This was the part of the morning where he started hating himself again. “—Potter, what is he saying about me?”
“Draco, darling…” Pansy said gently.
“—just tell me.” Maybe hearing what Harry thought was what he needed to be done with this.
Ginny cringed. “Well…” she said hesitantly. “…he said it was bad enough being tied to Voldemort against his will and now that he’s been tied to a Malfoy as well, he doesn’t know which was worse. Then mentioned something about it feeling like a ferret was crawling around in his head and needing to be obliviated to rid himself of it.”
He tuned out after hearing he was apparently worse than the Dark Lord. Whatever she said after that didn’t matter. At least she hadn’t tried to sugar coat it. He respected that.
“Hey, forget about Har… Potter,” Pansy said, putting a hand on Draco’s leg. “None of that is for you to worry about anymore, and Hermione and I repaired most of the damage to your house. The rest we can sort out as soon as you get home.”
“I'm not going home.”
“What? Draco, don’t be ridiculous, you can’t not go home,” Pansy said.
“I’m not. I’ve already hired someone to pack up my stuff and clear out my lab. It should be listed on the market any day now.”
“Because of Potter?” Pansy's voice rose with disbelief. “Draco, you're selling the home you love because of this?”
“Does it matter why? People sell homes everyday.”
“And where are you going to live?” she asked, still in disbelief.
“I was hoping Blaise would let me extend my stay here until I leave at the end of summer.”
“…and what about your job?” she continued. “You know Apparating isn’t good for everyday long distance commuting.”
“I quit that too. Well, I gave them my resignation letter at least. Dayal begged me to stay long enough to finish training the new lab team. It’s just like the administration to hire a bunch of new graduates to underpay instead of paying a little more to staff a few seasoned veterans amongst the mix,” he grumbled to himself.
“Fuck, Draco.” Pansy threw her hands in the air. “Don’t you think this is a bit drastic? You hate change. You lost your shit when the place you bought your tea from closed down.”
“How dare you bring that up,” he said, highly offended. “That was devastating.”
“Look,” he rubbed a hand over his face, “you know how stressful my job can be, and it's something I’ve been thinking about for a while. My boss, with her stellar personality, made the decision pretty easy.”
“Okay,” Pansy said. “I get it, and of course I support whatever you do. I just want to make sure it’s what you really want and not… Wait, what do you mean until you leave at the end of summer?”
“Oh, I’m also the new Potions Professor at Hogwarts starting this autumn.”
Pansy’s jaw dropped to the floor.
“Yeah, I know. Pretty wild right?” he said to the stunned silence. “Who would have thought they’d invite me back to live there again.”
Chapter Text
The weeks flew by once Draco returned to St. Mungo’s. It helped tremendously that his last month had also happened to fall into perfect alignment with Devois being out of the country on business. He’d spent most of the time in the lab working with the new techs in an effort to bring them up to speed. Before he’d left on holiday he had passed his research and formulation for the antidote to revive the Kings Cross victims to the young lab techs he’d helped train previously. They had been overwhelmed by the responsibility and were relieved to see him walking through the doors on his first day back.
Everything moved at a fast pace with magic. You had to constantly be on your toes, ready for whatever new horrors were unleashed. The business of striking fear and chaos never sleeps, so the work to eliminate and minimise the damage caused by it would always need to be built upon on all fronts, especially the medical field. The older generation at St. Mungos weren’t always interested in being as adaptable, becoming complacent after already enduring so much. Draco would not miss how exhausting the push back at every suggested advancement was, nor the political side of the job. If he could train the new team so they felt confident with their abilities, they would be more than ready to take on the responsibility that comes with the job. They deserved every galleon they earned and more, and if he were being honest with himself, working with the young professionals fresh out of university, eager and willing to learn from him, was getting him excited to teach at Hogwarts.
He was in the middle of a discussion with the trainees on his opinion about combining Muggle technology within the magical lab processes when there was a knock at the door and a nurse poked her head in.
“Healer Malfoy, sorry to interrupt, but the nurses in Spell Damage would like you to stop by before you leave for the day,” Nurse Eleanor said. She was one of the best nurses here and at times her kitschy bohemian flair reminded him of his Aunt Andromeda; even if she had a completely inappropriate and wicked sense of humour. “We’ve got a little going away present we want to give you.”
The nurses in Spell Damage were a good natured bunch who had a knack for keeping things lively around the hospital.
“Should I be worried?” he laughed.
“Very,” she replied with a wink.
When he arrived at Level Four later that afternoon the nurses were gathered around the welcoming desk.
“There he is. The Healer we all love to see coming off that lift,” Greta, one of the younger nurses, greeted him with a grin and an approving sound. Her long hair shifted gradually from light blue to bright pink. After years of working together it never ceased to be a jarring reminder of the cousin his own actions had prevented him from getting the chance to properly know.
“And walking towards it,” another nurse behind her piped in with a wolf whistle.
Draco smiled fondly at them. “Hello, and how are my favourite witches doing today?”
“Lousy since our tall drink of water is leaving us,” Ruby replied with a pout.
“I'm not leaving yet. I’m still here a bit longer… but maybe I should stay just for the regular ego boosts.”
“I can give something else a good boost for ya,” Greta piped in. Draco laughed and shook his head. He should probably stop seeing his family members in this bunch.
“You do remember I’m gay, right?”
“And I’m a bi trans woman, what’s that got to do with anything? Last I checked, fine is fine,” Greta said. Then added, “And you're going to make some lucky chap very happy one day, but don’t forget about the little people who kept you going in the meantime.”
“As if I ever could,” he said. “It really has been lovely working with all of you. I’m especially going to miss all of this work place sexual harassment.” He grinned.
Eleanor chuckled and reached under the counter. “It has been fun objectifying you,” she said. “Speaking of which, we couldn’t just let you leave without a proper farewell gift.” She pulled out what had to be the most ridiculous thing Draco had ever seen. “I even made it myself,” she added proudly, handing the heavy object over to him. He turned the white marble statue around and cringed. A figure of what he assumed was supposed to be himself in the style of the statue of David looked back at him; in its fully naked glory; there wasn’t even the addition of a tiny fig leaf.
“Eleanor, there is nothing proper about this,” he said with a shudder. “It’s absolutely terrifying.”
Eleanor was an eccentric soul but he hadn't taken her as one who appreciated Renaissance art. Once, during a high risk surgery, she had been assisting him, but he had had to ask for her to be removed because a handmade pair of winking Gilderoy Lockhart earrings she’d worn had been such a distraction he had almost lost his wand in the abdominal haemorrhage he’d been trying to keep from bleeding out. It had also been an absolutely horrifying revelation for Draco to find out that some witches and wizards, who hadn’t been exposed to the man up close, still considered the vintage fraud of a wizard to be a heartthrob.
Draco looked back at the marble statue and saw that engraved at the bottom of the ‘Draco’ read ‘St. Mungo’s Most Desirable Healer 2004-2010’ He burst out laughing. The craftsmanship was admittedly quite impressive but there was nothing Renaissance about this. He really should introduce Eleanor to Luna; they may have found a kindred spirit. The muscle mass was a bit generous and he wasn’t even sure he could accomplish that pose — it was absolutely hideous and he loved them for it. “Which one of you cheeky witches has been spying on me,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Because this is exactly what I look like starkers.”
“It’s brilliant isn’t it,” Greta grinned. “And you earned it honey, especially with the way you’ve been giving the fingers to the dress protocol all these years and blessing us daily with those tight muggle trousers of yours. Now that’s been the gift that’s kept on giving,” she said wistfully.
“You're mad,” Draco chuckled. “Are you sure you don’t want to keep it?” He held it out and offered it to them. Where the fuck was he going to put this thing?
“Oh, don’t worry sweetie, Eleanor made one for us to keep as well.”
***
He was in a good mood when he exited the lift, still shaking his head with amusement from the nurses on Level Four. This may honestly be his biggest accomplishment yet. Nurses are the backbone and anchor to any hospital and winning their affection was no easy feat. Before he headed back to the lab he decided to stop off and see if he could find Dayal. He was his closest friend here, and had been an ally and confidant when Draco had needed one. He wanted to rub his official, branded on a statue, title in his face. The Spell Damage nurses flirted with Dayal just as much as they did him. Dayal was easy on the eyes and if there wasn’t that pesky inconvenience of him being straight with a wife and kids, Draco too would be all over that.
However, it wasn’t Dayal who caught his attention when he rounded the corner.
It was a flash of unruly dark hair that stopped him dead in his tracks.
Before Draco had a chance to turn and make his escape they had already locked eyes; Harry, seeming to have sensed his arrival, looked up at the exact moment.
He was being ushered into an exam room by a nurse, and by the way he was cradling his arm, and the clenched look that was on his face, he must have been back to playing his reckless game with curse breaking. Draco, having already forgotten why he’d even come to this floor, only remembered to move his feet when the click of the door shut behind Harry.
He turned on his heels and quickly back tracked to the lift, then rapidly started hitting the button. He had been doing well pretending the days with Harry had never happened. It was a real blow to his self-delusion that it only took one look down a long corridor to have his heart beating out of his chest. The slow-moving lift couldn’t come fast enough. Before the doors opened he caught a glimpse of the nurse coming out of Harry’s room and immediately made a beeline for him. Draco tried to act as if he hadn't noticed his approach, continuing to hit the lift button, but the bloody thing was in no hurry to save him.
“Good evening, Healer Malfoy,” the nurse said in greeting, as he stopped beside him. If Harry had sent him out here to complain about Draco the joke was on him. You couldn't get somebody fired who had already quit. Well, maybe he could. Guess the joke was still on Draco. “Mr. Potter has requested to be seen by you today,” the nurse continued. “He’s in room 212 down the hall.”
A small noise of distress fell from Draco’s mouth; he covered it up with a cough. Why the fuck did Harry want to be seen by him? Was the chance to finally have a confrontation just too good to pass up?
“I’m afraid I’m no longer seeing patients — and I’m far too busy,” Draco answered, still hitting the bronze snidget shaped button to the lift like a maniac. Aren't these things run by magic? This was all very inefficient. “He’s going to have to make do with another Healer.”
The nurse crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Draco like he didn’t have patience for this. “It’s Harry Potter sir. You unbusy yourself for Harry Potter.”
Draco stopped just short of rolling his eyes. He groaned, then added pointedly, “Well, I don’t.”
“But sir, he asked for you specifically. I can’t just go back and tell him no after he saw you.”
This time Draco did roll his eyes. “Fine.” He heard the traitorous ding of the lift open behind him as he started to make his way to whatever hell laid behind door 212.
***
Taking a deep breath he braced himself. He had hoped it would be years, many years, not barely a month before he ran into him again. The only thing he wanted to do was get through his last weeks here in peace.
Here goes nothing, he thought as he gripped his wand and opened the door, anticipating his peace to be momentarily blown up in his face.
He barely stepped a foot through the door when he started to feel a familiar, painful ache in his cursed left arm. He had to stop himself from grabbing it, as he often did when he unexpectedly found himself exposed to Dark Magic. Whatever Harry had gotten himself into must have been some pretty dark shit if Draco could feel even the residual magic coming off of him. He was scared to ask.
Harry sat on the exam table gritting his teeth. He was dressed in what must be his curse breaking attire; worn leather and utilitarian; like an earth tattered archeologist. To add to the effect a blood soaked bandage had been wrapped around his forearm, his fingerless gloved hand held it close to his body. It was obvious he was in pain and didn’t appear happy about it, but no curses had been thrown yet. Draco took that as a good sign and was just glad he could busy himself with the task of being a Healer. If not for that, he would have been losing his bloody mind — that fucking uniform.
“What is that?” Harry scoffed, looking down at Draco’s hand as he kindly took it upon himself to break the ice. “Ever the one with an ego, huh Malfoy?” he added mockingly. “I see not much has changed. You must still think pretty highly of yourself to carry that around with you.”
Draco had forgotten he was still holding the ridiculous statue. He immediately shrunk it down and shoved it into his pocket. “It was a gift,” he scoffed back, suddenly feeling protective over the stupid thing. At least it was a reminder that people actually liked him now that he was faced with the one person who could make him feel so small; the one person who could take the air out of a room just by being in it. Who, at the moment, needed to be worrying about his own damn problems. Harry just glared, determined it seemed to make this as uncomfortable as possible.
Draco cleared his throat.
“And I see it didn’t take long for you to get back to business as usual,” he said in an effort to move the focus to Harry’s injury. But he knew as soon as it came out that it was a bit too close for comfort to acknowledging the dark spot in Harry’s memory that they both knew had been spent tied to him. He was just fine upholding Harry’s request to forget it ever happened, and if Harry wanted to fight about it, he picked the wrong time with the shape his arm was in. Draco would at least give him the courtesy of being the one to bring it up if he did.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Harry scowled.
Draco sighed. He should just turn around now and walk out of the hospital and never come back. There would be no winning here.
“It doesn't mean anything,” he said calmly. “Only that you have a reputation of being a frequent visitor around here.”
“Don’t talk about me like you know me, Malfoy,” Harry said through clenched teeth.
What were they? Kids again, baiting each other? There was clearly something very wrong with him that this was the one man who had wedged himself under his skin.
“The bloody street vendors outside know that about you — and I wasn’t even supposed to be in here. You requested me… So do you want me to do something about that,” he pointed to Harry’s arm, “or not?”
Harry slumped. “It’s broken,” he said, some of the bite in his voice receding.
“Really? I couldn't tell from the way it’s being held together by that poorly wrapped bandage.”
Harry huffed something under his breath as Draco cast sanitation spells on himself and moved around the room to familiarise himself with it. It had been awhile since he’d been in one. “It’s also dislocated,” Draco added with his back to him.
“Yeah, that too,” Harry said, grunting when he tried to move back to lean against the wall.
“You really should learn some basic stabilising and healing spells, especially with a job like yours,” Draco said, turning back to him and holding up a hand when he saw Harry gearing up for a retort. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I’m just saying that it would at least save you some pain on your way here,” he finished, coming to stand next to the exam table, his voice losing some of its edge. Against his better judgement this arsehole's comfort still concerned him.
“I’m shit at healing spells,” Harry said, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wall.
Draco stopped himself from returning that comment with a sarcastic jab. He cast a few spells over Harry to take the edge off as much as he could until he could get him put back together. He expected a protest, but Harry relaxed a fraction when he did. Draco couldn’t help but to take the moment to closely inspect him; checking to see if his skin looked healthier — he had looked so worn down the last time he saw him; the morning he’d left him behind on his bathroom floor. Draco wondered if he was taking care of himself, getting enough rest. He couldn’t help but see a different Harry — the one who sighed at Draco’s touch, and carried that same pained vulnerable look around while he’d constantly searched out Draco for comfort.
He couldn’t think about him. He had to keep him out of this room.
Draco needed to get this Harry’s shoulder back into place before he performed the Brackium Emendo spell for the broken part of his arm. Since the bone mending incantation would require Harry to hold his arm still while Draco repaired the break it would be easier for Harry to do without having his arm hanging loose from his shoulder socket during the procedure. He stabilised the broken part first with a few spells to keep it from becoming worse when he was ready to make the shift.
“This is going to hurt,” Draco warned when he was ready. He didn’t need to put a hand on him, the spells did the majority of the work, but he found it there anyway. Maybe touching him was an anchor for himself, being this close again. It seemed wanting to comfort him was also an instinct he couldn’t shake. To drive the point home he realised he’d been stroking Harry’s arm with his thumb, tiny soft strokes back and forth. He pulled it away quickly when he realised what he was doing.
Harry didn’t seem to notice the touch or if he did he was being uncharacteristically quiet about it. Draco didn't know what he was playing at by requesting him, but so far, familiarity hadn’t been well received.
It only took a few seconds to get the shoulder realigned. Harry grunted through it. His eyes watering and his forehead beading with sweat.
“Bloody hell, Malfoy. That really fucking hurt,” he snapped when it was over. “I thought you were supposed to be gentle.” He scoffed out the last word as if the very thought that Draco could be was a joke. “I’m trying to give you a chance here,” Harry added with an indignant huff.
“It could have been a lot worse,” Draco snapped back. He thought it had been a smooth successful shift. “And you're trying to give me a chance for what exactly? To prove I'm good enough to be your Healer?” He shook his head and ran a frustrated hand over his face.
So this was why Harry requested him, for a fucking trial — a test.
There may be things he deserved, but when it came to his work he didn’t need to prove himself to anyone. He had spent years doing that, and he wouldn’t do it now when he was on the verge of putting it behind him.
“You know what, I don’t need this,” he said, turning to leave.
“Oh, come on,” Harry said behind him, “Will you just stay and fix the rest of it?” Draco thought he may have heard a slight tone of desperation mixed in with Harry’s impatience but it was the way his voice dropped all hostility at the end that made him reluctantly turn back around.
He didn’t need to do much after casting the spell to knit the bones in his arm back together. Most witches and wizards didn’t even come to St. Mungo’s for broken bones when it was such an easy fix. He broke the silence they had established to tell Harry this. Who told him, through gritted teeth, riding out the unpleasant experience of having your bones mend themselves back together, that Bill usually took care of the easy fixes for him when they were on the job but he was on holiday and Hermione was busy, and he wouldn’t let Ron anywhere near him with healing spells. Draco snorted softly and they went back to the silence until he called the nurse back in. Busying himself in the meantime with writing up the medical report until he could make his retreat — his eyes involuntarily looking up, catching Harry looking back.
***
It wasn’t long after the night of the party that Draco finally had his dinner date with Peter. He had wanted to let it go, but Pansy refused to leave him alone about it, stubbornly digging her heels in when he made any attempt to dismiss her match making efforts. He had begun to settle in for the longer stay at the villa when he had decided to write to him. He apologised for not getting back sooner and asked if he was still interested. Peter had replied the same night.
On their date Peter had admitted he had been surprised to hear from Draco after seeing the picture from The Prophet. Draco had shrugged it off with a “You know you can’t always trust what you see in the paper,” before going to the bathroom to loosen his tie.
It was nice. Peter was lovely. And the couple of dates they had gone on after had been nice too. So was the evening he had let Peter fall to his knees in front of the sofa in between his spread legs. He didn’t even cry out someone else's name when he came, plus he returned the favour, eagerly. And being upfront about wanting to keep things casual helped ease Draco’s conscience about starting something with one foot already out the door. He couldn’t help it, it was his way of easing into things. But he liked Peter. There was nothing not to like about him. It was… nice.
He had been supposed to meet him again for drinks tonight, but there had been another neo Death Eater attack near Gringotts that put those plans on hold. Draco had been tied to the hospital ever since he was called from the lab into the hectic hustle of tending to the injured. There weren’t as many victims this time but the effects were stronger and the window to revive the patients shorter. The lab team had worked fast to aid in the recovery effort and Draco was now overseeing the potions being administered when Alex pulled him from an exam room to tell him he was needed in the hallway. When he got there she pointed to a prone figure being swiftly levitated down the corridor on a stretcher.
His heart stopped.
Harry looked lifeless.
Draco’s eyes quickly went to his chest to see that he was breathing. He needed to see that he was breathing.
Nothing he had faced in the emergency wing tonight had stopped him cold like seeing Harry in a critical condition, battered and unresponsive. Alex gave him a small nudge from behind, effectively yanking his body out of its shock and pushing it into high gear. He took off with quick steps and fell into line next to the stretcher. It had been a week since he’d treated Harry’s broken arm and now here he was with his head wrapped in a bandage soaked in blood — why was there always so much fucking blood when it came to Harry?
Unconscious or in a coma, Draco didn’t know yet, and once again he could feel the Dark Magic radiating off of him, taunting his Mark.
He studiously took in every detail; assessing the damage, casting spell after spell over Harry as he read the glowing diagnostics that hovered above his head.
“Was he part of the Gringotts attack?” he asked the mediwitch guiding Harry down the hallway with her wand, her eyes fixed straight ahead with an intense look of concentration on her face. She shook her head curtly and Draco was momentarily relieved.
“Job injury, spell backfire, passed out shortly after arrival,” she stated matter-of-factly as she continued to navigate the stretcher down the busy corridor, focused and efficient on delivering her patient to the correct destination safely.
Draco took in the information and then looked back down. “Potter, you idiot. Are you trying to get yourself fucking killed?” he scolded his unconscious form.
“Get him to the fourth floor,” he said louder. “He needs to see Healer Sojourn immediately.” She was the best surgeon there was when it came to spell damage.
Harry’s head abruptly snapped up and his eyes flew open. On instinct Draco’s hand shot out to cradle the back of his neck to keep it steady and from further injuring himself. Harry’s unfocused eyes darted around; searching. When they found Draco’s he relaxed back against the stretcher. It was a familiar scene Draco had experienced before.
“Malfoy.” His last name fell out weakly from Harry’s mouth in what sounded like whispered relief as his eyes drifted shut again. The way Harry was acting had Draco briefly questioning what state he was in but the use of that name had at least let him know that Harry was in his right mind.
They were still moving at a fast pace down the corridor as Draco slid the hand that was still wedged under Harry gently out from behind his neck. But Harry raised a heavy arm from the stretcher toward him when he did, his fingers held loosely open, reaching out for something. Draco didn't know what.
“You can forget about using your wand right now,” Draco leaned down and said. “And don’t even think about trying to cast wandless in this shape,” he added for good measure, knowing exactly what Harry was capable of.
Harry didn’t pull back, he just turned it. Palm up.
Another familiar scene…
Not knowing what else to do Draco hesitantly, or stupidly, took it into his own and was stunned when Harry's fingers curled back around his. His grip was weak — but solid.
Draco wanted to press it to his mouth.
“Sir, he asked for you to be his Healer before he passed out.” The medwitch stated, still focused straight ahead, clueless to the earth shattering actions that just occurred.
“Okay, okay,” Draco said, collecting himself, his grip tightening around Harry’s. “Find a free room and get Nurse Eleanor.” He at least wanted the best spell damage nurse with him.
***
It turned out that Harry had taken a nasty slash to the side of his head. It was so severe that Draco had seen exposed bone underneath the blood and flesh when he had unwrapped the bandage from it. He didn't know how the spell backfired, or ricocheted, or whatever the fuck had happened, but he did know Harry was too good of a wizard to be making these rookie curse breaking mistakes. Even with his reputation for brazenness, this was just negligence.
Harry was now peacefully sleeping off the surgery Draco had painstakingly accomplished. His body needed to stay still to let the blood replenishing potion do its work. It was a good thing he had had the right mind to come to the hospital, because whatever spell had caught him had also caused the wound to reject the standard methods used for closing up wounds and the blood loss had been extensive. It had been touch and go even for Draco to get the wound to mend back together.
Now that he was coming down from the evening’s adrenaline, Draco wondered if this was his actual curse in life, to spend endless moments worn out, watching Harry sleep off another near death experience. He was the one who wanted to shake Harry awake this time and yell at him for putting him through this, for putting him through everything. The bastard was completely unaware of what he was doing to him.
“He means something to you?” Eleanor asked from across the room. “You know, and not just because of who he is or because you two went to school together.” She had finished cleaning the surgery area and came to stand next to him by Harry’s bed.
“Only as much as any other patient,” he lied. She hummed, knowing he was lying.
He supposed she may have found it a bit excessive the third time he had asked her to help him look over a patched up Harry to double check and make sure he hadn’t missed anything. Or the way he kept hovering over his bed, like now, to make sure the wound hadn’t re-opened even though she had set the charms to notify them if it did. Or maybe it was the fact that he had called in Healer Sojourn to check over his work, twice. However, the most likely explanation was that she had seen The Prophet photo like everyone else.
“Alright then,” she said, patting his arm. “I’ll get him set up in a recovery room and keep an eye on him for now. Why don’t you step out for a minute and get some air. Your muscles are stiffer than the drinks I order at two for one night at the Leaky.” She squeezed his arm and shook her head slightly.
He could use the fresh air and she was right, his body was tense. It’s default state whenever he was around this insufferable man.
“Thanks, I think I’ll do that. And thank you again for your hard work tonight.”
“I’m just glad I could be of service in saving the life of Witch Weekly’s most eligible bachelor,” she said, with nothing but honour in her voice.
Draco shook his head. “Yes, because that’s the most important reason to save his life.”
“Oh yes dear, it would be a shame not to see that face in print anymore.”
She had definitely seen the photo.
“Such a lovely man,” she added fondly, “I may or may not have a gold statue of him on my shelf too.”
“You have more of those things!?” Draco said, horrified, trying to keep his voice down as to not wake Harry.
“I'm a woman of many talents, and capturing the forms of my favourite wizards just happens to be one of them. And, as a gay man, I think you would rather appreciate my collection. I’ve worked especially hard in perfecting my bum sculpting.”
“Mine did have an amazing bum,” Draco grinned, giving Eleanor a kiss on the cheek, then collected his things and headed for the door.
“Wait,” he said, turning back to her. “Please tell me you don’t have a Ron Weasley.”
“And what kind of witch would I be if I didn’t? Even made him out of copper,” she said with pride.
With a shudder, Draco left a sleeping Harry and a chuckling Eleanor.
***
Once outside he decided to walk to the patisserie a few blocks from the hospital. It stayed open late, which was good for long shifts and a semi decent cup of tea. The stuff the hospital served was shit. He tried to let the night air clear his head. It wouldn’t do him any good to read too much into anything Harry Potter did. Over the course of the long evening he had already convinced himself that he had read the hand holding wrong. That it was of his own doing and not what Harry had intended at all. Draco would rather he just stick to being an arse and not blur the line between the Harry he was and the one Draco was trying to forget.
That still didn’t stop him from scanning the glass displays to see what was on offer tonight, and before he could think better of it he was adding a treacle tart to his order. In his experience, patients always woke with a ravenous appetite after undergoing blood replenishing treatment. The offering would simply be a part of Harry’s recovery. If memories of meals spent at long Hogwarts tables observing a wire framed bespeckled teenager came to mind — well, he wasn’t going to share his thoughts.
On his way back, he stopped by to see how the neo Death Eater attack victims were doing. Unfortunately, he learned a few hadn’t survived. The ones that had were expected to make a full recovery. Nights like these almost made him wish he had chosen the path of an Auror because wouldn’t it be satisfying to go after these bastards and not just pick up the pieces they left behind. However, he also knew he wasn’t the law and order type and he would end up using his own methods to hunt them down. And that would only lead him down a dark path. Even if it was in the name of good. Plus he couldn’t stand to be around a group of Aurors for long; surrounded by all of that entitled toxic masculinity, their egos usually causing more problems than they solved.
Speaking of Aurors, the voice of one he knew actually did the work for the right reasons was coming from the open door to Harry’s room as Draco made his way back down the hallway. Of course he would never tell Ron that, because what kind of relationship would they have if they didn’t keep up the pretence of finding the other insufferable.
The sliver of a red uniform could be seen sitting in the chair next to Harry’s bed. Draco decided it would be wiser to leave and avoid the awkwardness of being in a room with those two. But his steps faltered when he heard Ron’s voice through the crack in the door.
“Mate, it wouldn’t be a bad thing if you took some more time off. You know Bill wouldn’t mind, and it sure would put Hermione's mind at ease if you did. Ever since the thing with… um, you know, your head’s been, well… a bit off, wouldn’t you say?”
Harry groaned. “Yeah, I suppose,” he said. “But didn’t you two also say I needed to get out of the house?”
“Did you see the state you were in? You would have told yourself the same thing. And that doesn’t mean throwing yourself back into long hours with Dark magic, you daft idiot.”
Draco turned, feeling foolish for standing around listening when Harry's voice rose abruptly.
“Why the fuck did I have to drink that drink?!” he scowled. “Merlin, I wouldn’t wish that shit on anyone — well, maybe Malfoy,” he added with a bitter laugh. “It would serve the bastard right to know what it feels like. You would think having to put up with him in school would be punishment enough, but nope just keep the punishment coming.”
“I told you, you need to give him a break,” Ron said, exasperated. “Taking care of your arse wasn’t easy. I should know, I was there. If it would have been me in his place you better believe I would have left your lusted up arse locked up in the hospital without blinking an eye.”
“So you keep reminding me.”
“And you keep reminding me we’re done talking about Malfoy. Come on, it’s over. Shit happens. Stop beating yourself up over it. You don’t see me having a mental breakdown every time Romilda Vane’s name is brought up —Oh, don’t roll your eyes at me. I was a victim too,” Ron added petulantly, then mumbled something under his breath that Draco couldn’t make out but sounded like, “Maybe there’s a reason why you still can’t get Malfoy out of your head.”
“What did you say,” Harry said.
“Nothing,” Ron said irritatedly, adding, “You’ll get there eventually. You’re so close.”
There was nobody who wished Harry had never drank that blasted drink more than Draco. He didn’t ask for any of this. It was the ‘it would serve the bastard right’ comment that made him say fuck the awkwardness, let Ron see who his friend was still insisting take care of him. Draco’s sudden arrival in the room disrupted whatever Harry and Ron were bickering about.
Ron let out a surprised sound at his entrance. Harry didn’t show any sign of emotion, just lifted his head slightly from the pillow he was resting on. The same pillow that Draco had taken extra care to place gently under his head to support him after the surgery just hours before as he had whispered reassuring words to him everytime Harry’s eyes had cracked open before they would fall back closed. All of the work that Draco had put into the surgery and Harry would probably turn his head the wrong way and undo it all. Harry looked at him then laid back against it with a heavy sigh. If he was irritated Draco hoped it was at himself for being an arsehole. Draco put on his best air of professionalism.
“Good evening Ron. How’s your wife?” he asked, knowing she was fine as he’d just had lunch with her the day before. Ever since he had apologised for his little stint of avoidance, they were back to their regular routine of weekly lunches and occasional dinners. He had chosen not to tell her, or anyone, about what he had thought was Harry’s one time request for him to be his Healer. He would rather not have one more meal interrupted by a look of pity occasionally crossing her face.
He moved to Harry’s bed and made a show of checking his vitals.
“Hey, she’s, um… good. Thanks for asking,” Ron answered, glancing at Harry with a baffled look on his face.
“Lovely,” Draco replied.
“I’m glad to see you're recovering,” he said to Harry, avoiding the eyes he could feel on him. “All of your levels are back to where they should be and everything else looks good,” he continued, closely inspecting the fading gash on Harry’s hair line. “Nurse Eleanor will set you up with some vials in case of any anaemia or dizziness, but other than that, if you don’t have any questions, you’re free to go when you like.”
“Um, yeah, thanks,” Harry said, the irritation in his voice from minutes ago gone. If Draco didn’t know any better he would think that Harry actually felt guilty for being walked in on talking shit about him. He finally glanced down, needing to see if it was indifference he would see. The slightly downturned eyes he found looking back at him just made him angry. “I thought you left,” Harry whispered. The softness in his voice made him angrier. Draco had thought maybe Harry had woken up and didn’t remember who did his surgery tonight, but the fact that he did only made it worse.
“No, just stepped out for a minute,” Draco said and tossed the pastry box he’d been holding like an idiot onto Harry’s lap. “Here. You’re going to need the energy.”
Harry looked at the box, then back at him. He was about to say something but before he could Draco leaned in. “The next time you get yourself in some fucked up situation don’t ask for me,” he said in a near whisper. “I’m not here to be your personal caretaker whenever you feel like it.”
Draco turned on his heels and gave Ron a passing nod who in turn gave him an awkward half wave.
“What the actual fuck mate!?” Ron’s voice rose down the hallway. “Malfoy’s been the Healer looking after you!? When were you going to tell us!?”
***
That night he fucked Peter. He had him stripped naked on all fours, face down and arse in the air. Draco usually preferred to be the one with his rim wrapped around a cock but that had felt too… soft.
When Draco had given the signal that he wanted more than just half dressed blow jobs Peter had excitedly offered to let Draco lie back and to ride him after his long night at the hospital. But Draco had wanted to feel the raw physical exertion of snapping his hips and breaking a sweat. Not the kind of sex filled with soft gazes and whispers.
After they’d both come and fallen onto the bed next to each other, Peter in exhaustion, and Draco in frustration disguised as exhaustion, Draco didn’t linger long. He had left a sated Peter dozing off and endured Apparating the long distance back to Italy for a night filled with restless sleep in a large bed, alone.
Peter had tried to get him to stay with breathy promises of morning sex. It wasn’t that the offer wasn’t tempting, it was that after all of the roaming he had just done with his hands, of warm pliable flesh, and the work he had put into stretching out the pounding pleasure, he could not shake the nagging presence of dark hair and green eyes, and the weight of a hand wrapped around his own.
It was infuriating.
Chapter Text
The Italian summer was at its peak with colourful wildflowers, warm ocean air, and the chirping of crickets at night. Draco had worked his last days at St. Mungo’s and he now had the last weeks of summer to himself before the new term at Hogwarts began.
He continued to meet with McGonagall to train for his new job and with each visit she sent him home with a wide range of textbooks and past lesson plans he could use to aid him in creating his own. He had also begun to send some of his belongings ahead of him to set up his new living quarters and coveted lab space. The home and lab he had left behind in London had already begun to feel like a past life.
McGonagall had suggested he wait until after the house elves did their end of term cleaning and preparations for the new school year before he took up residence. They didn't take kindly to early arrivals showing up ahead of schedule and disrupting their well-oiled operation. One of the many lessons about the castle he would learn with time.
He was spending another warm day outside, lounging on the veranda surrounded by heavy books and scribbled notes, when Pansy stopped by on a surprise visit to ecstatically share the news that she and Ginny were now engaged. It wasn’t shocking news, she had been talking about it for weeks. It may have seemed rushed to some people, but who was he to judge?
They invited Blaise over to toast the occasion then ended up in their swim gear and moving the celebration to the beach. They spent the late afternoon laid out on long beach towels while Pansy, in an obnoxiously oversized hat and sunglasses, talked until their ears bleed about wedding plans. Draco was laying on his back, arms crossed behind his head, enjoying the ease of having his friends around. Faintly, he listened to Pansy tell them that like her siblings, Ginny wanted to have a garden wedding at The Burrow. He thought Pansy really did have it bad if she had agreed to a homely Burrow wedding. His mind drifted, wondering if he would ever find someone he would want to tie himself to with that kind of commitment. He wasn’t sure he would and wasn’t even sure if he believed in it.
He might be more like Blaise, who kept sporadically interrupting Pansy with shock and horror that she was actually spending money to throw a party that would only accomplish her having to sleep with the same person for the rest of her life since her and Ginny had agreed on monogamy. But that wasn’t really the problem for Draco. It was more that when you're a pureblood, rejecting the institute of marriage is rejecting your entire belief system and he had turned his back on that a long time ago. So why bother to do it at all? However, Pansy and Ginny were doing it on their own terms, without the support of Pansy’s family. And he could always get behind a good ‘fuck you’ to the sacred twenty-eight families that continued to uphold their well-aged and daily dusted off bigotry. That he found bloody romantic.
***
It was quarter past nine in the evening when Draco finally glanced up. He had been due back at the villa hours ago but had kept losing track of time, distracted now that he was finally able to spend time in his new lab space. When he had received the letter that morning to let him know he was welcome to begin setting up, he had wasted no time in Floo’ing straight over. It had taken him a few deep breaths to feel comfortable being in this part of the castle again; a part he hadn’t stepped foot in since he was a student. The overwhelming shadow had threatened to return and momentarily caused him to question his decision. But he knew what he’d signed up for and the peace of having an empty castle to confront his past with before it was overrun with students was a small mercy he was grateful for. Once he had made it into his lab and shut the door to the rest of the castle it was like finding a sanctuary. He had spent hours that morning and late into the afternoon unpacking and carefully setting everything up the way he liked it. Then he began the work of brewing Pansy and Ginny’s engagement gift to bring back to the party.
It had been Blaise’s idea to throw their party on the beach. The day Pansy had come over to share the news of their engagement she kept mentioning how beautiful Ginny thought the villa was. And as the three of them had looked out at the rocky cliffs, rolling hillsides and sparkling emerald water under the setting sun, Draco had to admit it was. Of course they had both accused Blaise of only wanting an excuse for a repeat orgy, which had caused him to jump up from his beach towel in faux outrage, his open shirt billowed in the breeze, his hands lifted to his heart as he shouted over the wind and waves, “How dare you accuse me of such things! This is strictly the offer of a pure heart and nothing more!” Blaise had tried to keep a straight face. Pansy and Draco laughed at his dramatics. “My only intention is to celebrate the true love of my dearest friend,” Blaise continued, then tilted his sunglasses down. “And if that so happens to mean that I too get to partake in some dirty, kinky love myself… isn’t that part of the celebration?” he had finished with a grin. Pansy and Draco booed him and threw sand at his feet and the party planning had begun. Draco had left them to it and laid back to enjoy the sounds of summer; he had known his time in Italy would soon be coming to an end and wanted to soak up as much of it as he could.
Draco could hear the sounds of the party through the open french doors when he Floo’ed in from Hogwarts. He was glad to find the villa empty of people so he could make a quick change before he made his way out to join in the festivities. Through the large windows of his bedroom he could see the blazing bonfires and floating lanterns that lit up the beach in the distance. He stripped out of the clothes he’d been wearing all day and freshened up before he threw on some linen trousers that were loose, but tight in the right places. He put on a white, low cut tank top and tucked it in, buttoning the waistband of his trousers that hugged his slender waist. Then he grabbed a lightweight button down cardigan to put over it. He left it open and pulled the sleeves up to the edge of his Mark. Like he often found himself doing when he dressed, he reached for his necklace to put on before remembering that he had never gotten it back. Something that was priceless to him, but he suspected had probably been tossed in a bin. He looked in the mirror and ran a hand through his hair, the front fringe falling in a wave to the side. Satisfied, he made his way out.
There was no denying that Blaise and Pansy knew how to throw a party. A live band had it well underway as he walked the path from the house to the beach, taking in the atmosphere as he went. A wooden dance floor had been constructed in the middle of the open sand with the rest of the packed party going on around it. From this distance he could see Pansy and Ginny in the midst of their guests, and by the way they were dancing he could see why they had wanted this to be a parent-free occasion. Mrs. Weasley would have had a heart attack on the spot. Floating lanterns and driftwood bonfires lit up the night, casting a glow on the numerous people who mingled and lounged on the layers of vintage rugs and low cushions in muted jewel tones that were tossed on top of the sand with the glittering ocean as the backdrop.
He would be happy enough to grab a drink from the bar and collapse back onto one of those cushions for the rest of the night. He stepped out of his loafers at the end of the cobblestone and onto the cool sand. The bass of the music thumped in his chest.
He greeted a few people as he passed, skirting the dance floor on his way to the bar when he heard his name being shouted. When he looked over, Pansy had broken off from her dancing and jumped the short drop from the wooden platform into his arms. It caused Draco to stumble back as he caught her, both of them laughing at her ridiculousness as he set her down on her feet.
“Draco Malfoy! The nerve of you showing up late to my party!” She tried to glare at him but was too high on the endorphins from the occasion and intoxicated to properly pull it off. “You’re about to get x’ed off the wedding list, Mister.” She wagged a finger in his face.
“Good, that means I can return all the gifts I got you,” he said, biting playfully at the fingernails threatening to poke his eye out.
“Gifts? As in multiple? Okay, you can stay on the list.”
“Damn, I thought I was getting out of that,” he chuckled, smoothing the front of his shirt and trousers down.
And that was when he spotted him.
He was off to the far edge of the party away from the crowd, sitting on a cushion with one of the large fires blazing behind him. He was wearing a black pullover and jeans, probably dressing for the evening with zero thought. His hair was windswept from the steady ocean breeze and he kept lifting a hand to tuck it behind his ear. His body language was relaxed and easy as he talked to his friends. Dean leaned back against Seamus’s chest on the rug in front of him, both of them laughing at something he was saying. A spike of jealousy went through Draco when an attractive raven haired girl, who sat on the rug next to him, too close to be casual, was also looking up at him. Batting her long lashes and touching his leg, giggling at whatever stupid thing he must be saying. Her hand fell away when he stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles. When he lifted the bottle he was holding back to take a long swig, his eyes went past the crowd and landed on Draco’s just as his lips wrapped around the rim.
Draco's ears pulsed with the beat of the music as he took in the long line of his stretched neck and the way his Adam's apple bobbed with each swallow of his drink. He wasn't the only one stuck ogling; the raven haired girl couldn’t take her eyes off of him. The spike of jealousy was replaced with a sting of embarrassment that he’d been caught staring. He quickly turned away.
“—Potter’s here.” It came out low and a bit in shock, saying it more to himself than Pansy, who was still standing close but happily basking in the attention of her guests. When he had asked her if Harry was coming, in what he tried to pull off as casual indifference, she had assured him that he was far too busy working to have any fun, but of course they had to invite him. He was one of Ginny’s closest friends after all. And Draco had left it at that.
Pansy must have heard him because she replied. “Oh yeah, I was going to warn you about that, three hours ago. You know, the time you were supposed to be here.”
He groaned. “I hate this night already.”
“Well, good thing tonight’s not about you then,” she said with a sweet fake smile, the one that was a warning not to do anything to fuck up her night. His unpleasant reply back was interrupted by an arm wrapping around his own, a body pushing against his side, and warm lips placing a wet kiss on his cheek.
“Peter,” he said, the night continuing to be full of surprises. He wasn’t expecting to see him here. And he may have already lost his mind but he swore he could still feel Harry’s eyes on him. He couldn't resist a glance to see that they were.
“Hey there,” Peter greeted him with a slur to his voice, a sign he was well into the night and feeling good. He pushed closer into Draco.
“Hey,” Draco unlinked the hand Peter was trying to hold and used it to take the half empty drink from Peter's other hand, then swallowed the remainder of its contents. He needed it more than Peter. “I thought you were working tonight?”
“One of the guys is covering for me,” Peter shrugged. “You couldn’t expect me to pass up the rare opportunity to be at a party with you and your friends could you? And when I ran into Pansy she insisted I come.”
“Ah, of course she did,” Draco said. Why couldn’t everybody who was supposed to be busy working tonight be at fucking work?
“Surprised to see me?” Peter asked with a grin.
Before Draco could answer Peter was already distracted when he spotted someone over Draco’s shoulder. “Hey, I think that might be my cousin that Blaise is talking to,” he said, waving a hand in their direction. “I'll be right back. Don’t disappear.” He kissed Draco quickly on the cheek before moving through the crowd of people. Draco hated to break it to him, but Blaise was probably going to fuck his cousin tonight.
As he continued his long trek to the bar, he was continually stopped by different people. He got a kiss on the cheek from a wistful Luna. A tight hug from Theo, who was a welcome surprise because he rarely made it around anymore. A couple of friendly slaps on the back from George, Dean and Seamus, and a few people he didn’t know. He regretted not paying attention when they were planning the party because the bar was much too far away from the entrance. And why didn’t he think to ask Theo for some mallowsweet? He hoped his friend still stuck to his never be caught empty handed approach to the stuff. He made a mental note to ask him later as he continued to pass familiar faces, nodding his head in greeting but keeping his feet steadily moving to his mark. His eyes constantly roaming for the shock of black hair he’d lost track of. It was familiar curly brown hair that grabbed his attention now.
Hermione had been cornered; laughing, cringing, and shaking her head profusely at Ginny and Luna, who were trying to pull her onto the dance floor, which was massive. He’d been trying to get to the other side of it for what felt like ages now. He came up behind her and grabbed her hand to pull her away from their cheerful onslaught.
“My hero,” she laughed when she’d made her escape and saw who had helped her out of it, smoothing a hand down to pat her ruffled hair. “Those are some persistent bitches,” she chuckled, shaking her head.
“Oh, I do love it when party Hermione comes out and starts calling people bitches,” he snorted.
She waved the wine glass she was holding at him. “You better be careful or I might have a few names for you too,” she grinned.
He put his hands up. “I’m just a man innocently trying to make his way to the bar.”
Hermione opened her mouth to reply but went quiet as her eyes shifted to something by their side. He didn’t have to look to know who she saw, but he did anyway, because why would he stop now.
Ron, George, Lee, and Harry were standing around engaged in an animated conversation. Ron was in the middle of a committed re-enactment of something, putting his full body into it for the amusement of his friends.
Hermione leaned in close. “He wanted to come,” she said.
“It's at least nice to see him enjoying himself and not on the cusp of death for once,” he said, trying to make light of it but she didn’t laugh. That look he knew so well now was starting to make an appearance on her face. He was about to tell her nope none of that tonight when Ron yelled and waved her over. When he saw Draco he waved him over too. Draco pointed in the direction of the bar indicating that was where he was headed, though he was beginning to think it may just be a mirage in the distance at this point. He was proud of himself for not glancing at Harry once during the exchange. He considered that a real victory.
With relief he was finally standing at the bar with his second firewhiskey in hand, savouring the deep smokey flavour as it slid down his throat. The first one had gone down fast; it hadn’t been for savouring. It was doing its job too. He leaned into the mellow feeling settling over him as he thought if he could just stay here watching the rhythmic motion of the waves break across the shore this night might not be so bad.
“I’ll have one of those too,” a relaxed timbre said to the bartender next to him, breaking Draco’s reverie. He supposed it was inevitable that he was going to have to hear that voice before the night was over. Harry was standing an arm's length away, leaning against the bar and looking out at the water like he had been. Draco wondered if he willed him to come stand this close just so he could feel a spike of that familiar buzzing of Harry’s magic under his skin. Even when he was elbow deep in Harry’s blood, stitching his skull back together, Harry’s precarious condition hadn’t stopped his magic from permeating through Draco. He must be a masochist. It would explain a lot.
Draco continued to sip from his drink. He thought about leaving, but dammit he had been there first. Neither of them acknowledged the other, and he would say it almost felt like quiet companionship but he didn’t know what it was. However, he was curious. He wanted to see if they were going to add their last interaction at the hospital to the list of things they were pretending never happened, wanted to poke and see if he was going to get yelled at, or ignored, like Harry always did before when he would see him out and treat him like he didn’t exist. That Harry would never voluntarily stand this close to him in public. So it was either he wanted to make sure Draco knew he was ignoring him, or…
Draco blamed it on the firewhiskey when he turned his head.
“Is that your girlfriend?” he asked, nonchalant, as if he didn’t care either way.
“My girlfriend?” Harry said like he was daft and clueless. “I don’t have a—” Draco cut him off with a nod in the direction of the raven haired girl who hadn’t strayed far from Harry’s orbit. Harry’s eyes followed the movement.
“Oh, her,” he said, sounding amused as he turned back to Draco. “She wants to be,” he added, still amused.
The smug bastard.
Draco just hummed in response.
“Is that your boyfriend?” Harry returned the question, nodding to the other side of Draco.
Draco turned to see Peter heading in his direction. Instead of cringing he embraced the opportunity. He turned back to Harry with a small smirk.
“He wants to be,” he answered, and then swore he saw a flash of emotion cross Harry’s face as they continued to stare at each other in what almost felt like a challenge. Harry fidgeted with the firewhiskey glass that was set down in front of him. Draco wasn’t sure if it was jealousy he saw, or if that’s just what he wanted it to be.
“Hey beautiful,” Peter said, sliding in on Draco’s side and resting a hand low on his back.
Draco was reluctant to turn away from Harry’s observing face. So he didn’t.
“I wondered where you got off to,” Peter breathed into his neck. And Draco was an arsehole because it felt heady having Harry this close to witness someone else's attraction to him. “Come dance with me,” Peter nuzzled his neck, oblivious. “Your friends keep telling me what a great dancer you are and I have yet to witness it.” Peter finally noticed Harry's presence and straightened up.
“Hey, Harry, good to see you again.” He lifted his hand from Draco’s back to shake Harry’s. Draco held back a laugh.
“Have we met?” Harry tilted his head and asked, his eyes breaking from Draco’s to give Peter a sceptical look.
“We met at Draco’s when you guys were working together.” When Harry still didn’t shake his hand Peter dropped it back down awkwardly.
“Riight,” Harry replied, obviously trying to work out when that would have happened. His eyes came back to Draco’s. “Right,” he said again. “Working together.”
Draco wanted to say don’t look at me, that shit wasn’t my fault, but the heat of the firewhiskey and what might have been heat in Harry’s eyes gave him the urge to poke some more. He hadn’t brought it up, what was the worst that could happen?
“You will have to excuse Potter here. He has a terrible memory. Sometimes it can even be like he’s an entirely different person.” He was speaking to Peter but saying it to Harry, never breaking eye contact.
“Yeah, it’s really the worst,” Harry said coolly back. He wasn’t giving any indication that he was uncomfortable. He seemed completely at ease with their back and forth. “Sometimes I lose entire weeks.”
Peter must have picked up on the fact there was something he was missing because his hand slid possessively around Draco’s waist. Draco barely registered it. He couldn’t believe they were playing whatever this little game was right now. He gripped his firewhiskey glass tighter.
“Must be from all the spell damage you take to the head,” he said, voice low.
“Must be,” Harry's voice matched Draco’s when he replied, low and with the undertone of unspoken moments resting between them. “Good thing I had someone there to keep me steady when I couldn’t think straight.”
Did he really just fucking say that to him?
Draco's mouth parted but instead of words coming out he narrowed his eyes and tilted his head in question; imploring Harry — silently asking a thousand questions. The main one: was he actually acknowledging him? Harry simply continued to hold his gaze. Draco cleared his throat and somehow broke away from him to turn to Peter. He gave him a small smile. “Give me a minute,” he said. “I'll meet you out there.” Peter looked between him and Harry. Draco wanted to say I don’t fucking know either, trying to relay it through his facial expression and after a second Peter relaxed.
“Okay, but grab me a drink before you come over.”
Peter had barely stepped away when Pansy and Ginny found them, interrupting Draco’s plan to keep Harry’s attention for as long as he could. The girls were standing at the edge of the dance floor closest to the bar, yelling louder than necessary at him and Harry to quit hogging the alcohol and get their arses out there. Pansy made a point of adding a comment about Draco being late, hoping the guilt trip would help. They both begrudgingly agreed, satisfying the couple who slinked back into the moving crowd. The unlikely bar companions both let out a groan at the same time.
“What the fuck is the deal,” Draco muttered, “with drunk people always trying to force everyone to dance with them.”
Harry snorted. “Yeah, it’s fucking obnoxious forcing people to have fun.”
The corner of Draco’s mouth lifted. He didn’t want to dance. He wanted to stay right here. “I’m not fun enough or drunk enough for this party.”
“You and me both,” Harry said, grabbing his drink from the bar he had yet to touch and lifting it to his mouth, about to take a sip when Draco raised a brow.
“Don’t you think you should check that first?” he said, feeling bolder in continuing their game of alluding to past events.
Harry turned his whole body to face him and flashed him that quirk of a smile. The one that reached his eyes, the one Draco still saw when he closed his eyes at night. Harry downed the drink, discarded the empty glass, then lifted his hand and wrapped it around the glass Draco was holding in his own. The one Harry knew he’d just ordered for Peter. He let his fingers linger over Draco’s longer than what could be purely innocent in Draco’s opinion, but who knows, he stopped being able to think at that moment, his brain malfunctioning from the voluntary touch.
Harry pulled the glass away from Draco’s grip, slowly. Draco didn’t resist, the caress of skin had set him on fire. Harry leaned in close to his ear, the warm breath from the firewhiskey on Draco’s cheek, his closeness going straight to Draco’s head. It sucked the oxygen from the air between them.
“I would have,” Harry said, barely above a whisper, “but you already checked it for me. I felt your magic when you did it.” He pulled back from Draco and walked away without a backwards glance, sipping from Peter’s drink as he went. Draco's body swayed on the spot from the loss. And Harry was right, Draco had checked his drink for tampering, with a discreet flick of his wand under the bar the moment it landed in front of him. As if he could trust the lunatic to take care of himself. Now Draco was left watching his retreating form disappear into the crowd, wondering what the fuck had just happened.
He was still looking at the spot Harry had disappeared into when Hermione and Ron crossed the path in front of him. They had their arms around each other's waist. Ron was whispering something in Hermione's ear that made her blush. It was fucking adorable, and, well, they chose the wrong path for that. Harry’s ambiguous teasing had left him feeling spiteful again at having lived an alternate reality where Harry’s single focus had been his desire for him. He knew it wasn’t their fault, but he was also well on his way to being drunk. He pushed off the bar, wedged his way in between their personal space and slung an arm around both of their shoulders, successfully stalling their pursuit of a private moment.
“Hello friends,” he said, as cheerfully sweet as he could muster.
“Hello Draco,” Hermione said with a confused chuckle. “How’s your night going?”
“Oh, you know,” he answered, “the usual party standards of mixed signals and lowered inhibitions.”
“Alright then mate,” Ron said, trying to shrug him off. “We’ll just leave you to it. We’re headed for a stroll down the—”
“Oh, no, no,” Draco tsk’d and tightened his grip around their shoulders. “The brides-to-be have insisted that everyone join them on the dance floor.” He turned them slightly and gave them a nice little shove onto the platform, ignoring their protests. Right on cue a party-drunk Pansy and Ginny spotted them and grabbed Hermione and Ron’s hands in excitement. Draco leaned in and whispered in Hermione's ear. “Sorry love, if I have to suffer, so do you.” Hermione gave him a death glare as they sucked her in.
Succumbing to his own fate he followed behind. Once he was in, he saw Neville and Hannah, Cho, Millicent, the Patil twins, and a host of other people he hadn’t seen from the outskirts. Everyone was lost in celebration, moving in and out between each other to the upbeat rhythm. Being pulled onto a dance floor wasn’t as much suffering as he made out, and on a good night he even quite enjoyed it. Pansy lived for this shit, so it wasn’t a surprise that this was where she wanted the heart of their party to be. But he had felt like rebelling against a night that seemed set out against him.
In the thick of the bodies he didn’t need to search to know exactly where Harry was. He couldn’t not know now that they’d been so close and every one of his senses had tuned into him. He saw his profile and had a moment to observe him unnoticed. Harry looked out of place on the dance floor. He had great rhythm, but he made it seem effortless and so relaxed compared to the liveliness of everyone dancing around him. There was a small smirk on his face; like he was casually observing everyone around him and found it all amusing. As he spotted his friends suffering, his amusement seemed to increase to the point that he stopped dancing and was doubled-over with laughter. Ron obviously didn’t think it was amusing as he lifted two fingers at him.
Draco had the vague thought that maybe he and Harry could become friends through this marriage, or at least the kind of people who had shared some fucked up bonding thing and could now make somewhat banter about it at bars. And wasn’t that something? However, that also meant Draco had to witness attractive raven haired girls whisper into Harry’s ear and slide their hands around his neck, hanging on and trying to get his attention. It wasn’t any of Draco's business what Harry did so he ignored it, but not before he brushed past him, bumping into his shoulder with just enough pressure to cause Harry to turn slightly and take notice. If anyone asked, the rowdy crowd made him do it.
He kept walking.
Finding Pansy, he grabbed her attention, indicating he wanted to dance and making a point to show her he was here and having fun. Their club days came out when they were together and to her delight he didn’t disappoint. He loosened his limbs and let the beat take over. Knowing who was near and might be watching only added to the pulse of the music — and he gave a little extra just in case. At some point there was a brief push of a hard chest flush against his back that felt like a counter move to a bumped shoulder; like another move in the game of: are we acknowledging each other or are we ignoring each other? Draco was trying to keep up with the rules. But he knew the shape of that chest well, had studied the lines of it lying awake in the dim light of his bedroom when it had been beaded hot with fever. It was gone before he could push back. He had to close his eyes at the familiar masculine scent left in its wake, knowing when he opened them Harry was to his left only a few bodies away. He could stalk him with his eyes closed at this point. He didn’t have the willpower not to look, and when he did, they shared a half lidded gaze that had him questioning his goddamn sanity.
He’d made his appearance, had some fun, and now if he were smart he would go find Peter, where they both knew exactly where they stood, quit indulging in Harry’s proximity, and seeing things that might not be real.
Abruptly everyone started cheering. Draco looked over to see Blaise making his suave grand entrance back onto the platform. He was the centre of attention with his arms outstretched wide, working the crowd that parted for him with a grin on his face as they cheered louder. He had an oversized clear bottle of liquor in his hand that he started to liberally pour down the mouths of anyone willing to partake, like he was the fucking messiah of the dance floor, christening his subjects. Nobody could say Blaise wasn't a generous host. Draco laughed at Blaise’s theatrics as he came up to him and didn’t really give Draco an option of joining in before he was tilting the bottle and pouring the liquid down his throat. Some of it made it into his mouth but most of it ended up down his shirt, burning like shit as it went down. Draco winced and put a hand to his throat. Blaise laughed at the agony he’d just induced and patted Draco on the back.
While Draco was still catching his breath Blaise had become a little too excited when he set his sights on Harry. He stopped in front of him and let his eyes do an approving once over before he raised the bottle up in a question to him. Harry smiled uncomfortably at the attention but shrugged a shoulder and played along. Blaise sauntered in close and put a hand on Harry’s bicep and tilted the bottle up for him, pouring it down his throat. That spike of jealousy in Draco flashed and the extra alcohol kicked in when Blaise lowered the bottle down, eyes full of mirth and mischief as he ran a finger through the liquid running down Harry’s panting lips from the burn, then crooked that finger at him and, to Harry’s surprise, leaned in and planted a kiss right to his lips to help clean him up.
Harry pushed him back laughing, wiping at his mouth in mock offence and good humour. Draco, however, would not describe what he felt as humorous. Before he could think better of it he’d already brushed past the people dancing next to him and bumped into Blaise, giving him a nice little shove to the side. He didn’t want to make a scene, he just wanted him out of Harry’s personal space. And again, if anyone asked, the fucking rowdy crowd made him do it.
However, he didn’t take into account the effects of whatever he’d just consumed and overstepped, losing his balance and stumbling forward with the momentum. A strong hand reached out and caught the side of his waist, his own hand flying up to clutch onto the soft black fabric in front of him. He was only vaguely aware when Blaise gave him his own little shove from behind, causing Draco to stumble even closer into the chest he was clutching onto before Blaise moved along to his next victim.
“Easy there,” Harry said with a chuckle, his other hand sliding beneath Draco’s open cardigan and onto his waist, bracing Draco’s body with his hands to stop him from swaying. Their cheeks brushing before Draco leaned slightly back to catch his breath.
Harry didn’t drop his hands.
“What was that shit we just drank?” Harry said with a shudder, leaning in closer to Draco’s ear to be heard over the crowd and music. “It was bloody lethal.” The green of his eyes were bright and shiny, his cheeks flushed from the night air and alcohol. He looked youthful and alive, a look Draco had only seen on him briefly before then.
“Don’t ask,” Draco said with a small laugh to hide his racing heart. “Blaise will probably just spin some wild tale about his family ancestors bottling the tears of ancient dragons or some shit.”
Harry laughed. The movement caused his cheek to brush Draco’s again. Draco wanted to keep making him laugh, wanted to rub his cheek against his rough stubble, and only barely stopped himself from doing it.
He was in dangerous territory.
He dropped the hand he realised was still clutched onto Harry’s top and started to back away but a soft squeeze of pressure on his waist kept him there.
“Your boyfriend was right,” Harry said into his ear. “You are a good dancer.” There was an undeniable heat in his voice that sent a fresh wave of want through Draco. The lively party going on around them was weak compared to the pulse he felt standing like this with him. Harry was trying to undo him, and only alluding wasn't working anymore.
“You’ve been watching me since I showed up,” Draco said, turning back into his cheek. “Why? Is this you giving me a chance again?”
When he lifted his eyes Harry had a look on his face as if he was trying to figure something out; like Draco was a puzzle to be solved.
“I haven’t decided yet,” he finally said.
Draco let out a cynical laugh and shook his head. “You’re fucking with me, Potter.”
Harry didn’t stop him this time when he pulled away and pushed through the crowd. Everyone seemed distracted enough by the shadowed light and loud noises not to have noticed the once, or maybe still, enemies standing nearly embraced in the midst of them. The only thing Draco knew was that he was too drunk now to not let it show how much Harry affected him, and he didn’t want to ruin Pansy’s night. But fuck Harry for flirting with him like he was mocking him.
He passed Peter who looked happy dancing with Blaise and the girl Draco assumed must be his cousin. Peter tried to get him to join them when he passed, but Draco said he wasn’t feeling well. Peter insisted on walking with him back to the house but Blaise intervened and without much protest Peter stayed.
On his walk up the cobblestones Draco had the thought of another night and another kiss where Blaise had instigated a reaction. He grumbled at his friend’s antics and grumbled some more at how easy it was to provoke him.
The villa was empty when he walked in, the quiet a welcome retreat. At the kitchen sink he splashed cold water on his face and washed the alcohol stuck to his skin away with his wand. The ocean air was cool tonight but he felt overheated and flushed. It only took one blinding smile tossed his way and he’d lost his senses; he needed to regain them, to not forget that the thought of being forced close to him had also caused Harry to lock himself away in his home in anger.
“So, this is where you live now?”
The quiet was broken by the man he was trying to get some distance from.
Draco didn’t reply. He turned and leaned back against the sink, cautiously tracking Harry, who was narrowing the distance as he walked in through the open french doors; hands in his pockets, casual and unassuming. Draco knew better.
Harry came and stopped a few feet in front of him, mirroring Draco’s pose as he leaned his back against the island. With that same assessing look and tilt of his head directed at Draco. He opened his mouth to say something, closed it, then looked away with a frustrated crease in his brow. Draco wanted him to just spit it out, whatever horrible thing he wanted to say to him just get it fucking over with.
“You really sold your house then?” Harry finally said. It was so far from what Draco had expected him to say that he was taken aback by it.
“That’s what you want to ask me?” Draco scoffed.
When Harry didn’t answer, Draco added, “Yeah, it seemed like the right time for a change of scenery.” He couldn’t read the emotion on Harry’s face. It was evidently clear how little they knew each other.
“Were you really that disgusted with me,” Harry said, “that you had to get rid of your home because I was in it?”
He almost sounded hurt. Draco couldn’t help the disbelieving laugh that escaped him. That was what Harry thought? That he was disgusted? The fool had no idea what the intimacy of having him in his home did to him. If anyone should be hurt it was Draco. He was the one who was rejected at the end of every scenario when it came to Harry so why did he even care?
“Are you sure you should be asking me this?” Draco said with a raised brow. “I thought you wanted to be mature adults about it and forget it ever happened.”
“Did you?” Harry asked, his voice heavy. “Did you forget?”
Draco wasn’t sure if Harry knew what he was asking, and he wasn’t sure how to respond. He wanted to shout that of course he didn’t, how could he when Harry wouldn’t stop showing up. Draco held his gaze, he didn’t know what he was looking for in it either. Maybe it was to see if he thought Harry could handle an honest response.
Time stretched between them. Each assessing the other.
“I tried,” Draco finally said, his voice low when he broke the silence. He turned to look out the windows at the party that felt miles away. “I’m not an idiot, I know when we were— I know that wasn’t you, and I don’t know what you want from me.” He ran a hand over his face. “I’ve left you alone. I don’t talk about it with anyone. I went back to the way things were before and stayed out of your way. I don’t—”
“Were you fucking him there? Were you laughing at me and fucking that guy while I was sick at your house?”
Draco whipped his head back around to look at Harry like he had lost his bloody mind. A punch to the face would have been more expected than this again. Did he not remember that this was exactly what he had asked him the last time he’d been around Peter. This hurt jealous lover's act or whatever this was was completely throwing him off balance. He almost opened his mouth to ask what exactly was going on but instead he found himself yelling.
“No, Potter. I wasn’t laughing, and I wasn’t fucking him —I was too busy trying not to fuck you!”
A low growl escaped the back of Harry’s throat as he pushed himself from the counter and stopped just short of Draco. For a split second a fevered look passed over his face, he had it pinned to Draco’s lips before it shifted into something Draco thought might be close to concern when he broke his heated gaze and looked up. “He isn’t using you because of…” He waved a hand at Draco’s arm.
“What? He isn’t using me because of what?” Draco said, the words coming out through his laboured breathing, Harry continuing to unbalance him with every jarring turn he took. But whatever Harry was getting at now he was going to make him say it. He wasn’t going to fill in the uncomfortable gaps for him.
“You know…” Harry said, “the, um… what you told me.”
“I told you a lot of things,” Draco said back. Hoping you wouldn’t remember, he added to himself.
“The… Death Eater fetish.”
“You remember that?” Draco scoffed in disbelief, backing up and cradling his arm to his stomach reflexively. He had suspected that’s what Harry had been referring to but it was still a shock that out of everything that was what Harry remembered. And he was slightly fucking pissed about it too, especially since that confession came after the reaction Harry had had to seeing his mark.
“I didn’t know if I did. It only became clear just now. But that did happen, right?”
“And you care if it did?” Draco was still cradling his arm, trying to figure out if this line of questioning was coming out of concern or offence — and who was it for; for him, for Peter, or for Harry himself.
“Forget it.” Harry scrubbed a hand over his face and shook his head. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here.” He turned to leave but wherever this was coming from Draco wanted to remind him of their own fucked up relationship. Harry didn’t get to just unmoor him and leave.
“Maybe he is using me,” he said to Harry’s retreating back, his feet stopped at Draco’s words. “But I haven’t let him see it yet to really know. However, there was this one time I tried to get off with a guy so fucked up on lust potion the real him wasn't even present.” Harry turned back to face him, his face held tight. “That's right, that guy fucking despised me, and still does as far as I know. But there he was consumed by nothing but pure, empty, want — and I felt all of it.” Draco let his arms fall to his sides and continued, feeling a bit manic now that he was saying it out loud.
Harry moved closer. “His desire for me on the surface and his disgust for me still sitting right there on the inside.” He pointed a finger at Harry’s chest. “And I didn’t care, I still wanted it.” Harry's jaw clenched and his eyes were dark. He reached a hand out to take hold of the hem of Draco’s cardigan, fingering the knitted fabric, pulling Draco slightly closer to him with it, the tension tight on Draco’s back. “Even when my mark reminded him of who I was and he couldn’t stand the sight of me, I still wanted it. So maybe, Potter…” both of their breathing picking up again. “I need to feel like shit when I'm fucking.”
A throat cleared in the background and the tension broke. Harry didn't so much as flinch from the heavy look he had focused on Draco. But whatever spell had come over Draco to push back was broken. His breath shuddered and he backed up. Harry’s hand fell from his cardigan.
“Bloody fucking hell. I knew I should have sent Hermione in here,” Ron groaned, standing in the doorway uncomfortably looking between the two of them. “Um, Pansy sent me to find you, Malfoy,” he lifted a hand toward him, “and she said to hurry your arse up.”
Draco ran a shaky hand over the back of his neck and didn’t say anything as he walked out. He could hear Ron saying something in a high pitched tone to Harry behind him, but he didn’t know what they were saying because he wasn’t even sure he was in his own body at the moment.
The full moon had set high in the night sky and the party had begun to die down. Most of the guests were lounging around the open seating now. A slow song played for the few remaining couples embraced on the dance floor. Draco hugged his cardigan tight around his waist as he walked. He was going to have to burn it now too. Another casualty of Harry Potter. Harry had left him in a swirling contradiction of emotions. Speaking of his Mark and the men that used him for it had left him to push down the shame and insecurity that rose in the pit of his stomach; it whispered that every look between them had been nothing but a spiteful judging gaze. Then the way Harry kept responding to him with that flicker of fire left him disoriented, like he might just find his hands pushing Harry into a dark corner to see how far he would let him take it. He hoped whatever Pansy needed wouldn’t require much energy. The beginnings of a headache had started to set in behind his eyes.
When Pansy and Ginny spotted his approach they waved for the music to be lowered. They were standing on the platform, the floating lanterns moving in tight above their heads; a flickering of dancing light that made them the centre of attention. Draco eyed Pansy suspiciously, to which she gave an innocent shrug in return, then gestured for him to join them. Hermione, the only other person singled out from the crowd, stood next to him. By the look on her face, she was just as confused as he was. Her head came just above his shoulders, he leaned down to whisper “What the fuck is going on?” in her ear. She didn’t have time to respond before Ginny started to speak to their onlooking guests, who had gathered close in front of them. Using a Sonorous spell to amplify her voice, she thanked everyone for coming and quickly the emotions started to flow when she began to speak about how much tonight meant to her and Pansy to have the people they love the most around to celebrate their engagement. She then directed a fond gaze to Hermione and began to speak about how she had always wanted a sister, and how grateful she was that Hermione had decided to settle and marry Ron. Ron protested good naturedly, but adamantly from where he stood in the crowd and everyone laughed. The tears finally fell when she finished by asking Hermione if she would be her maid-of-honour. Hermione squealed with delight and accepted with her own tearful speech in return. Draco could see where this was going.
He moved in close to Pansy. “Are you sure you picked the right person?” he whispered.
She gave him a small nudge with her hip as she looked up at him. “You're the only person, Draco Malfoy… and I need Blaise to plan the wedding. So seriously, you are in fact the only person left.” She grinned and patted him lovingly on the cheek.
“I guess I won’t be able to say no in front of all these people. A bit dramatic don’t you think?” Pansy rolled her eyes at him and then it was her turn to talk.
When she spoke of him she spoke of chosen family, about how they shared a deep understanding of each other that didn't require words. About knowing so many secrets they would have to off the other if their friendship ever ended. She added some more sweet stuff that broke through the melancholy in his chest and left him with warm affection. He nodded his head agreeingly, and shrugged with a ‘hey, she’s not wrong’ when she ended her speech with her own quip of how she wanted someone strong and reliable by her side on her wedding day but Bill couldn’t do it so Draco would have to make do. All eyes turned to him when it was his turn to respond. He grabbed a nearby champagne flute and downed the horrid drink to gather his thoughts. Everyone laughed at his need for alcohol. They had no idea how merciless the night had been.
He looked out at the faces of the guests for the first time since he’d been dragged up. He saw Harry standing to the side next to Ron, Bill, and Fleur. Having to go from the private moment with Harry to being made the centre of attention in the matter of minutes was a lot. Pansy was watching him, waiting expectantly. He cleared his throat and pulled his focus back to the moment. He had never seen her happier or more settled than she was with Ginny and he would do anything to make it last for them.
“As most of you know,” he began with a small smirk, “when we were younger, it was me that Pansy tried to convince to marry her.” She huffed and shoved at his arm to everyone's amusement. “Hey,” he laughed, “the nineties were a very confusing and misguided time for the both of us.” They shared a smile and he took her hand in his own and gave it a light squeeze. “The two of us have survived a lot together, and we both have made a lot of mistakes along the way. Some of those were unforgivable mistakes, and at times it’s been hard for each of us to live a life of happiness when we haven’t always felt like we deserved it.” It hadn’t been easy for Pansy to forgive her younger self either and the fact that her party now was filled with the people she had been determined to make amends with was a testament to her own willingness to face her wrongs. He looked around at the different faces he had wronged so deeply, and each in their own way had found a way to forgive him. Hermione, Dean, Luna, Bill. He couldn’t look at Harry.
“It would have been easy for Pans and Ginny to dismiss each other for who they knew when they were younger, but I’m glad they didn’t and that they now get to be some of the lucky ones who get to experience life with the love of someone they choose for themselves and in return were chosen back. Because fuck, life is mostly shit and we don’t always get what we want… but sometimes we catch a break along the way. And if that happens you should always take it--” His eyes met Harry’s and he stopped, nervously clearing his throat again when he realised he’d been rambling. He turned his gaze from Harry and with a conjured bright smile he lifted his empty flute in the air.
“So here’s to the unexpected yet perfect brides-to-be for getting a fucking break in life. You absolutely deserve it. And I’m honoured to be your second…” he counted on his fingers with a chuckle, “third choice for a best man. I promise you that I will put as much effort into it as the third runner up should. But it will be a nice change to actually go through with a wedding for once instead of being partners in sabotaging the many marriages our families have tried to arrange for us.” They laughed as he lifted his flute again. “Cheers. And seriously Gin, let's not kid ourselves here, your future wife is still a spoiled brat. You’d be wise to get out while you can.” He covered his head as Pansy playfully pushed him out of the way while shouting at Bill to please reconsider.
It was Blaise who kept the party going after the remaining guests had said their goodbyes. The small group left now were gathered around the last low burning fire. Draco sat in the sand with Peter’s arm draped over his shoulder, enjoying having a warm body to lean against. Dean, Seamus, and Luna passed around a bottle of firewhiskey. Pansy and Ginny were laughing at a story Ron was telling about a young stubborn Ginny. Hermione leaned against her husband with Harry’s head in her lap, her fingers stroking softly through his hair. Harry was laying on his back with his face turned up to the stars, quiet and contemplative, as if he were at peace when the three of them were connected. Draco’s hand clenched beside him as he watched the movement, envious of the hand that got to know that texture. He wondered if Harry had any memories of the times it had been him who had brushed back the sweat drenched strands from his face.
“I do believe we have finally arrived at that anticipated time of the night when we all start to take our clothes off,” Blaise announced with a smirk, standing up and already beginning to unbutton his top.
“As yummy as you are, my dear,” Pansy laughed. “You aren’t exactly the right kind of stripper for a lesbian party.”
“Nonsense! Let the man finish!” Seamus piped in excitedly, whistling and raising the bottle of firewhiskey. It only spurred Blaise on. He gave a little swivel of his hips as he stepped out of his trousers.
“Come on you boring lot,” he said, standing with his fingers in the waistband of his pants, ready and willing to drop them. “Who’s up for some late night skinny dipping?” He wiggled his eyebrows.
Seamus, Ginny, and Luna all jumped up thrilled with the idea. Everyone else groaned in protest. Everyone was also surprised when it was Hermione who stood up and egged the rest of them on. “…but I'm keeping my undergarments on,” she said, like she was being forced to participate.
“Shame,” Blaise and Pansy said in unison. Ron wrapped a possessive arm around his wife laughing.
Draco watched it all unfold with amusement as one by one they all joined in on the action and pieces of clothing began to shed. Blaise, Dean and Seamus were already splashing at the water's edge, laughing and hollering with enthusiasm as they pulled their pants off and slung them to the side. The moonlight glowing bright on the exposed mounds of their skin before they dove into the water.
“I'm off duty tonight if any of you drunk arseholes decide to drown!” Draco yelled out from where he was perched, content to observe from the sidelines. Peter was down to his pants and undershirt when he was finally able to convince Draco to join in and pulled him to his feet.
“Okay, okay,” Draco groaned. “Shit, if it’s not dancing, it's skinny dipping that some drunk idiot is trying to force you to participate in.” He heard Harry snort from the side. He looked over and caught his eye. They shared a small grin — It was simple, brief; a smile at a stupid remark from the night and an unremarkable moment to anyone else but him.
Draco followed to the edge of the sand as Peter ran into the water, his bare arse on display. He had a moment to admire it, because the moonlight and its reflection bouncing off of the inky water really did do wonders for that part of the human anatomny, before his brain began to short circuit as he caught a glimpse of Harry pulling his jumper over his head. They were the only two left not in the water. Ron had just left him to follow Hermione in and they were now off swimming and splashing with everyone else.
It was like Draco’s every wet dream was playing out in front of him and he couldn’t help but turn to get a better look. The moon, and it’s perfect lighting, cast the most delicious shadows over Harry’s exposed chest as he finished getting his jumper off, dropping it to the side with a shameless toss of his hand — and his jeans sitting on those hip bones Draco wanted to graze his teeth on —don’t stop, he wanted to tell him — and do you know you’ve done this for me before? But it was the glint of gold that caused his breath to hitch when he saw the familiar pendant fall back into place against Harry’s skin.
His necklace.
Harry was still wearing his necklace.
“You coming?” Harry said with amusement, unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them to the ground. Draco’s eyes darted up, knowing he’d been caught staring. He didn’t care — he wasn’t trying to hide it.
Harry was left in nothing but a pair of boxers, walking slowly backwards into the water that was now lapping at his shins, the muscles of his thighs contracting with every step.
“Jesus,” Draco whispered, and started to take off his own clothes. Harry was too far in the shadows now for Draco to see the look on his face, but he stopped and watched as Draco unbuttoned his trousers and dropped them to the ground before he turned and disappeared into the water.
Draco stayed in his pants and tossed his cardigan to the side before transfiguring his shirt into a long sleeve black rash guard. The night sky was bright enough to pick up every dark line on his arm if you were looking — and nobody needed to be reminded of that, nor did he want to end his night with another conversation about it.
The water was freezing, even Blaise didn’t last more than a few minutes in the deep. The only ones left splashing and tossing a ball someone had conjured between them were Seamus, Ron and Harry. Peter was swimming to the shallows with Draco when the ball came toward him and he left Draco to join in. Draco was more than happy to be left alone with his thoughts.
He floated on his back and pulled out the mallowsweet joint Theo had discreetly tucked into his pocket earlier. The waterproof spell he cast on it had held up nicely. He lit it with a small flame at the snap of his fingers, the only wandless magic he had mastered. He closed his eyes, inhaled the smoke and let it fill his lungs deeply before exhaling it in lazy smoke rings. He did it again and again until he was out of his body. Theo did not disappoint; it was strong and he could feel the effects of it as the light graze of a hand brushed against his thigh and a shadow drowned out the moonlight from behind his eyelids.
He wanted to keep his eyes closed and let the world play out around him, but water droplets hit his face. His eyes parted lazily just as Harry plucked the joint from between his lips with a smirk and moved back, but not far. The water was shallow enough to stand and Draco watched it hit Harry’s chest in small waves — his hard nipples disappearing and reappearing with each ripple.
“Nice speech,” Harry said, taking a long drag. His wet hair clinging to his neck. Draco’s eyes tracked the fall of a water droplet from Harry’s temple, down the stubble along his jaw to the line of his neck, then following the delicate gold chain down his collar bone, clinging to the round pendant before it dropped back into the water.
Draco wanted to scoop it up and lick it from his palm.
The mallowsweet had him hyper aware and in slow motion at the same time, and the man in front of him was completely unaware of the erotic display he was making. His lips wrapped around the joint — wetting the tip in the same place Draco’s had.
“Don’t listen to me, I’m full of shit,” Draco said, surprised his voice worked, already forgetting what he was responding to. It could be the response to so many things.
“Didn’t seem like it.” Harry handed the joint back to him, letting his fingers graze Draco’s in the same way he had earlier at the bar before he pulled them away and dropped his hand in the water. Draco couldn’t take it anymore…
“Harry…”
It came out breathless — like he was asking him a question; like he was giving him a warning. The rolled up paper dropped from his hand and sizzled out in the water. He stretched his fingertips under the water to brush the tips of Harry’s, to bring them back to him, desperate for them not to pull away this time, but the night refused to be on his side.
“Oi, watch out!” Seamus yelled. A heavy splash of water drenched them from out of nowhere, their fingers pulled apart, the moment broken. Seamus, Ron and Peter were swimming toward them, oblivious to the fact that for mere seconds beneath the surface of the water Draco’s fingers had been completely entwined in Harry’s.
He was on his feet now, toes gripping the sand. He and Harry both went for the ball that landed by them at the same time. Draco's plan was to hit somebody in the face with it, but Harry got to it first and held it out of Draco’s reach with a mischievous grin on his face, instigating and teasing.
Playful Harry.
He really really liked playful Harry.
He took the challenge, his movements slow from the mallowsweet when he dove for the ball. Harry easily tossed it to his other hand to keep it out of his reach. Draco didn’t care, he pushed into Harry’s space, both of them laughing and breathing hard as Harry held it up high, passed it behind his back, and continued to keep it just out of Draco’s reach. Draco poked his side, used Harry’s shoulder for leverage and tried to buckle his knee with his calf to get to it. To the bystander it was just two friends horsing around — to Draco… it was any excuse to touch him.
Their friends made their way over. Harry tossed the ball to Ron and the game continued, but Draco backed up from Harry to put some space between them. With everyone close again he became self conscious of the way he’d been acting, as if he’d expected to play out some desperate public display of affection with him.
Exhausted, everyone eventually trudged their way back to the house, spelling themselves dry and redressing to some degree or another. Draco vanished his rashguard. Disregarding his shirt to only put his cardigan back on, buttoning it up as high as it went. The faint raised skin of his scars visible with the extra exposed skin of his chest. He couldn’t be bothered to care, and maybe Harry needed the sobering reminder.
“Looks like someone's making a new friend tonight,” Hermione said, smiling and coming to join Draco on the walk back to the house.
“Is that what's been happening?” Draco replied, voice cynical.
“He said he was going to try with you,” she shrugged, “…to be your friend.” Draco gave her a side-eye, unconvinced. “I don’t know,” she chuckled at the look on his face. “He surprised me too when he said it. But something shifted in him and he seems more open to it than he did before.”
“He said that?”
“Yeah, he did,” she answered. “You know when Harry left to stay with Charlie in Romania a few years after the war he was so lost,” she continued casually, as if she and Draco often found themselves talking freely about Harry, and not like in all of the years that he and her had been friends Hermione had said very little about him. As if she was a loyal protector of Harry’s privacy. He had never been a subject of their conversations until recently. “The pressure he’d been under to be an Auror and to marry Ginny — to be everything to everyone. And, my god, the way the press treated him. Harry was crumbling under the weight of expectations. The best thing he could have done for himself was to get away and have a chance to find himself.”
“Did he?” Draco asked. “Did he find himself?” Hermione looked back at him.
“For the most part. It’s where he learned he had a knack for curse breaking. Bill trained him there. Ron and I used to visit and Harry and Bill would spend hours working together to hone his technique. Harry had thrived learning one on one like that and away from everyone following his every move.”
Draco could picture Harry in the Romanian mountains, wild and free. The image suited him.
“Do you know why things didn’t work out between him and Charlie?” Hermione said, stopping their walk to face him.
No, he wanted to say, I hardly know any-fucking-thing about him, but he sensed it was a rhetorical question and let her continue.
“It’s because Harry can be a bit of an emotional recluse and opening up isn’t easy for him. He has these episodes where he retreats inside of himself — he disappears. And Charlie didn’t know how to break through. Or maybe Harry didn’t want him to. It can get lonely trying to love someone like that, and Charlie was in love with him, but Harry couldn't let him in. It takes a lot for Harry to really let someone in, and I think it freaks him out to know he wasn’t in control with you — especially with you,” she emphasised, as if he needed to hear it again. “—that maybe he revealed too much, or that you saw some part of him that he normally keeps to himself.”
“He shouldn’t worry,” Draco said, wanting to laugh because he’s the one who revealed too much. But that wasn’t completely true. Under the influence or not he thinks he did see a part of Harry, and Harry was right, it was a part not meant for him.
“It was only a few days,” he said, “and he was barely coherent half the time he was with me. You know, you saw him.”
“Yeah, it was intense,” Hermione shook her head. “Afterwards, he was so angry and humiliated… and convinced you would find a way to use it against him.”
“And in return someone tried to convince him I was gentle,” he looked at her pointedly.
“He was the one who said it — I was only trying to jog his memory when he did,” she said, inspecting her nails innocently.
“I don’t know how to be his friend,” he said suddenly and turned away from her. Asking that of him right now just seemed like too much when he was so tangled up and helpless against his own feelings. “I want to throttle anyone who touches— I don’t think I can do it.”
“Okay, that’s okay.” She threaded her arm through his as they began to walk again. “You know I love Harry like he’s a part of me, but it doesn’t matter what anyone says to him, he has to work it out for himself if he can trust someone. The war made him like that, and it’s not a bad thing. I just want him to see the person you are, the person who worked hard to overcome his demons and who protected him when he needed it.”
“Mmm,” was all the response Draco had. He supposed Harry’s lack of trust in him wasn’t completely unwarranted. He’d been a cruel kid.
“Our friends are only getting more intertwined,” she continued, “and I don’t think you’re going to be able to continue avoiding him.”
Draco huffed a laugh. “You underestimate my ability to avoid things.”
“Yeah,” Hermione snorted, “I’ve experienced it, you ice cold bitch.” Draco laughed and kissed the side of her head.
“Less alcohol and an actual conversation might help,” she said, continuing their conversation about his new ‘friendship’. When he didn’t reply she added, “Peter’s nice.”
“Who…” he said, distracted before he realised what she said.
“What the fuck is wrong with me?” he groaned frustratingly. “Why do I have to be this way about him?”
“You’ve always wanted his attention,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It makes you a bit mental.”
“I wish he’d stayed in Romania.”
“No you don’t.” She gave his arm another sympathetic squeeze. An image of Charlie and Harry working things out and living a rugged sexy leather clad life came to mind.
He groaned again.
Chapter Text
Harry was nowhere to be seen when Draco and Hermione made their way back into the house from the beach. They found their friends lazily sprawled throughout the living room. Draco tossed Pansy and Ginny their shrunken engagement gift to where they lounged on the rug; a hefty supply of hangover potion freshly brewed. He then proceeded to fall back onto the couch. His conversation with Hermione, which had pieced together some of the mystery that was Harry Potter, was still running through his head. He barely heard the eruption of cheers from everyone's excitement because their hangovers would now be short lived.
He was leaning his neck against the backrest of the couch, eyes half closed facing the ceiling, the chatter of his friends continuing around him. Someone had put on a record that played low in the background. They spread the leftover party food out on the coffee table and were picking at it while they laughed and talked. It was that time after a long party when everyone was too tired and pissed to be self aware, or care about things like clothes, boundaries, or utensils. Conversations really started to get interesting but he was having a hard time interacting.
There was a part of him that was disappointed Harry had disappeared without so much as a glance — and then his thought was interrupted by a familiar voice from behind him. “I’m taking off for the night.”
He opened his eyes to see Harry standing directly behind him. He wasn’t looking down at Draco but his hand gripped the cushion next to where Draco's head rested, so close the weight of it shifted his head ever so slightly until Harry’s fingers rested just under the curve of his neck.
Everyone tried to convince Harry to stay and keep the after party going with them, and Draco couldn’t help but silently wish he would listen. However destructive it might be for himself, he didn’t want the potential of the night to end. But Harry begged off with the excuse that he would rather sleep in his own bed. Disappointed, Draco closed his eyes again. He didn’t want to watch him disappear.
After he heard Harry say his goodbyes to the others and before he felt the crack of his Apparition, there was a quick stroke of fingers that ran up the short hairs on the back of his neck and a scratch of fingernails on their way down, which sent a shiver down his spine, and then they were gone. His eyes flew open. Harry disappeared in a swirl.
His disappointment with Harry quickly turned to irritation, and more so when Luna made an appearance by his side. His closed off body language wasn’t enough of a deterrent when she began to dreamily go on about how the evening had been full of sand fairies — And did he know they sang their starlit songs to awaken new beginnings? And wasn't it so romantic on a night like this? Also, did he know some still lingered around him?
When he cracked an eye open to tell her what he thought, she gave him that look only Luna could. The one that looked like she was reading your soul, aloofly picking apart your secrets and finding them… charming. He just grunted. He loved her but Luna’s mystic eyes and sand fairies needed some fucking boundaries.
Later, in the dark hours of the night, long after everyone who was too pissed to go home had found a place to crash, Draco sat up — wide awake, restless, staring out at the ocean through the windows of the dark living room and nursing another firewhiskey. Harry’s presence still lingered in his thoughts. Like the hand that had held his at the hospital, Draco was half convinced he’d made the whole night up. The last touch when Harry let his fingers graze the back of his neck before abruptly Apparating away had to be a figment of his imagination.
The fingers on his neck could have been an accident — but they felt intentional. Intentional like Harry’s hand grazing his at the bar, holding his waist on the dance floor, gripping the edge of his cardigan and reaching back to him under the water.
The more he thought about it, the more agitated he became. Whatever Harry was trying to work out, Draco was sick of him showing up out of nowhere only to leave him on the back foot. And every time Harry invaded his space — touched him— it lingered on his skin for days before he was able to shake it off. Tonight was even worse; Draco could still feel the ghost of Harry’s magic on his skin at every point of contact. He kept lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck, wondering if this was what being connected to Harry had left him with; a hypersensitivity to his magic. Even being subtle and not forced into overdrive like it had been before. And he didn’t know if it was worse for him this time because of that, because it was Harry — all of Harry, and not some drugged or pain-altered version of Harry, or if he was just at his breaking point.
Harry had said he wanted to sleep in his own bed tonight. Well, fuck that! If Draco couldn’t sleep then neither could Harry.
He grabbed his overcoat. The quick pull of Apparition took him before he could change his mind.
It wasn’t a smooth landing. He immediately fell to his knees, doubled over, then vomited into the small patch of grass next to the lone tree he’d landed behind. The half bottle of firewhiskey he’d just consumed had made its way up and left his throat painfully scorched. Fuck. He was a bloody healer. He knew better than to Apparate pissed, and to a different country on top of that. The things one will do when wound up and vindictive.
It took him a moment to push back the nausea enough to be able to stand. When he did it was on shaky legs. How the fuck did Harry manage to Apparate home after a night of partying? The bloody idiot's magic was so strong Draco suspected he managed it quite easily.
He looked around the street to gather his bearings, casting a few freshening charms on himself and clearing the mess he’d just made. It was a typical boring London street with rows of nearly identical aged brick houses. The only thing that set them apart were the bronze house numbers neatly nailed onto the black wooden front doors. When he was able to focus enough to see clearly again he was actually impressed with himself at how close to the mark he’d landed; only a few doors down.
He had worked himself up enough that he didn’t think twice before stumbling up the small stoop and banging on the door marked number twelve. He was only slightly aware of how deranged he looked. The need to disrupt Harry’s night was more important than his dignity at the moment. His fist began to ache by the time the door flew open in front of him.
“Bloody hell, knock it—” Harry grumbled, before his face shifted to surprised when he realised who it was on his doorstep causing the commotion.
Harry looked sleep dishevelled and was wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, a thin light blue robe that hit just below his knees and Draco’s necklace. Draco ran his eyes over him before he pushed past, knocking his shoulder, beyond caring if his boldness in entering Harry’s home so cavalierly led to a broken nose.
“Malfoy, how did you— what the fuck… are you okay?” Harry reached a hand out as a wave of vertigo hit Draco and he swayed forward a step past him.
“No, I’m not fucking okay.” It came out raspy and broken. He winced at the soreness the firewhiskey had left on his raw throat and fell back to lean against Harry’s entryway wall with a thump. The room felt like it was tilting and he couldn’t trust his own legs to keep him upright.
“Um, you don’t look so good. Can I get you something—”
“No.” Draco pointed a finger at him. “You stay right there.” He was still fucked up from the Apparation and if he had to move from this spot he might pass out, and Harry would probably disappear never to be found again if he left his sight.
Harry leaned against the wall opposite him. “You're still drunk. Are you sure—”
“It's fun having somebody show up at your house in the middle of the night out of their mind, isn’t it?” Draco cut him off. Harry didn’t get to just stand there and act like Draco was the crazy one here when he’d been fucking with his head all night, and for three months now if one were counting. Harry’s jaw clenched, he opened his mouth to say something, then closed it and looked away.
Draco huffed a small laugh at his reaction. They were finally alone. He could say anything, but should he, or should he just enjoy the moment of having Harry on the back foot for once — or… he could just take the moment to stare.
Why choose when he could do them all?
“Do you remember how much you wanted me?” Draco said with a slight tremble, his voice almost a whisper. There was only a small space separating them, his hands on the wall beside him, gripping the moulding at his hips. Harry’s breath hitched slightly as he turned back to face him — and the way he looked half naked in the low flickering light of the sconces made Draco want to throw himself at him and use him instead of the wall to keep himself steady. But it was Harry who pushed off first, stepping closer, a foot apart, his eyes pinned on Draco’s.
He looked threatening, but Draco couldn’t tell just how yet.
It was thrilling.
“How absolutely fucking sick you were with it,” Draco continued, his heart pounding, Harry's closeness only spurred him on as he lifted his hands from the wall and started to undo the buttons of his overcoat from top down. It was warm out and stifling in the narrow entryway. The only reason he’d put the coat on was to cover the black silk pyjamas he wore underneath in case anyone saw him on the streets. He was glad he did as he watched Harry’s eyes go heavy, tracking the slow movements of his fingers continuing down to release each button. “—and the only thing that made you feel better… the only thing you wanted was to be near me.”
Harry’s face was strained, and if he wanted to shut Draco up with his fists this was probably the moment it would happen. But, like the trend of the night, Draco couldn’t stop poking.
“What a disappointment that must have been for you when you learned why you had been at my house—” He shrugged his coat from his shoulders and let it drop to the floor. He had left the buttons undone to his silk top and Harry’s eyes traced the naked chest down to his waist. When Draco had pulled the slim cut set of pyjamas out from where he’d buried them in the back of his dresser, the only thing he could think about was how much Harry had liked him in them.
“…that you were tied to me—” He jabbed a finger at his own chest. “Draco Malfoy…” With one quick stride Harry closed the distance between them and crowded Draco into the wall, grabbing his hips so hard it made Draco’s mouth fall open. “—somebody no better than Voldemort,” he said through the breath Harry pulled from him, repeating the words Harry had said about him only a few short weeks ago, wanting to provoke him further.
“Malfoy,” Harry growled in warning, burying his face into Draco’s neck, breathing him in deeply, as if he couldn’t help himself. “Stop talking,” he said through clenched teeth.
Draco couldn’t.
“Are you ashamed you're attracted to a Death Eater?” he whispered into Harry’s ear — because wasn't that what this was all about.
“Fuck you,” Harry hissed. He ran the side of his face roughly up Draco’s neck and gripped his earlobe with his teeth, biting down hard enough to draw blood.
Draco gasped. “Now that’s it,” Draco said, breathing through the pain. “That’s what it feels like you’ve been trying to do all night — or is this what you're like with everyone you're trying to be friends with?”
Harry pushed off of him with a grunt and leaned back against the wall opposite him again, both of them breathing heavily in the narrow space.
“You’ve been talking to Hermione,” he said flatly.
“She talked to me,” Draco said, raising a shaky hand to his forehead. He was still trying to stop the room from spinning and even more so now.
“It always amazed me how she could forgive all the horrible things you said to her,” Harry said, resentful, scowling. “That your family did to her.”
Looked like he could say anything too.
“Trust me,” Draco said, wincing at the throbbing ache from Harry’s bite. It only added to his overall feeling of nauseous sick misery. “It amazes me just as much, and probably more.” He reached a hand back to touch the small drip of blood on his neck.
With a quick flick of his wrist Harry’s magic washed over him. Draco closed his eyes at the familiar heightened feeling that pulsed under his skin from it. And then, just like that, the sting of the bite was gone, the blood vanished, and he felt steadier on his feet.
“I never wanted to listen to her,” Harry said. “All the times she tried to convince me of how much you’ve changed. The only thing I could think of was — was if during the war, if things had turned out the way you had wanted them to, if Voldemort had won… then it would have stripped everyone you thought deserved it of hope and everybody I love would be dead — including me— and it was hard for me to look at you and not see someone who wanted that… who cheered for that.”
“And now…” Draco said, his voice barely above a whisper. “What do you see now?”
“Right now,” Harry snorted, “I see someone who was about to pass out in my hallway.”
“Oh, piss off,” Draco said, with no real bite, pushing himself from the wall. “I should go.” He had accomplished disrupting Harry’s night, and after that little speech he just wanted to leave him in peace. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Why did you help me?” Harry said. “Why didn’t you just tell me to fuck off when I showed up at your house like that?” Draco paused his retreat. There was a sincerity to Harry’s voice that he couldn’t seem to be able to deny.
“Well,” Draco said, “you don’t remember — or maybe you do, I don’t know… but I did try and tell you to fuck off, multiple times, but you were just so pathetic about it all.” He tried to give Harry a small smile to let him know he was joking, but Harry didn’t return it or appear to appreciate it.
“Fuck, Potter,” he threw a hand up, caving to that look. “I just wanted to keep you safe.” He went to pick up his coat from the floor, but with another flick of Harry’s wrist it flew to the opposite end of the hallway and out of Draco’s reach.
Draco groaned and leaned back against the wall. “You have really got to stop doing that,” he said. Harry doing wandless magic was still one of the sexiest things he’d ever encountered, and even more so when he was doing it to keep him here.
Harry scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know what I see now, Malfoy,” he said, wary, reluctant, but also like he might give an honest answer, so Draco let him continue without interrupting.
“It’s confusing — you’re confusing. And I thought I could ignore it, but I keep having these vague, fucking insistent thoughts of you. They won’t even leave me alone when I’m bloody sleeping. That feels like they might be from… then. And in my chest it feels like I’m bloody mourning something and it’s like it’s happening to somebody else because I can’t even remember what I fucking lost. It's just a vague blackness that I woke up with, and… you.” He waved a hand at Draco. “And it’s maddening because it’s… us, and we don’t even—” He stopped himself, looking down, his hand coming back to run over his face. “But then I'm around you and I want— I guess I thought if we could be friends it would… Fuck — I don’t know what I thought.”
Draco took a breath, nodded, and began to toe off his loafers and loosen the tie of his pyjama bottoms.
“What are you doing—” Harry said through a strangled breath.
“Well, Potter, it’s simple. You're someone who values their privacy intensely and you feel like it was violated without your permission, which it was. So I'm going to make things even between us. If you’re embarrassed or upset that you think I saw some vulnerable side of you that you didn’t give away freely, or you think that you were weak in front of me and that I’m now having some teenage ego trip over it, then I’m here to make a fool of myself and give you something so you can get this… me, out of your head and move on with your life, and also… I’m just really fucking turned on.”
Harry let out what could only be described as a primal growl and reached for him, but Draco got to him first this time; crowding into his space, taking his wrists and pushing them flush against the wall. Holding his body back just a hair's breadth away from being flush against Harry’s. Draco felt Harry’s magic, had felt it all fucking night — he knew Harry wanted this. But he wasn’t about to make it that easy for him.
“No, I don’t want you to touch me right now,” he said into Harry’s ear, softly. He wanted Harry to take from him, wanted him to stop being so melodramatic about everything and see that Draco didn’t even need to be on lust potion to lose his shit for him. And wasn’t that truly the most embarrassing and weak thing here. But he also wanted Harry to have to hold some of that tension like he’s had too.
“What? Why can’t I touch you?” Harry said, confused.
“I just don’t want you to.”
“Malfoy, this is crazy. We’re not doing anything if you’re—”
“I’m about to go to your room, lay on your bed, and get naked. Do you want me to stop?”
Harry’s hands clenched into tight fists against the wall. His jaw working, his nostrils flared slightly.
“No.”
“Good.”
Draco looked around the foyer into the house, taking in the surroundings for the first time since he’d shown up here. He could vaguely recall that he’d been here before as a kid. The house had been depressing as fuck back then. Now, it just felt like Harry — a bit brooding, a bit threatening, a bit like there was a give and take that needed to happen to be allowed to peel back the weathered layers to get to its heart — but warm. Black family home or not, somehow Harry had put in the work and made it his own — and it had submitted.
“I take it your bedroom is upstairs?”
Harry nodded. Draco let go of his wrists to push his silk bottoms to the floor. He was left in only his unbuttoned top and pants now. Harry stared at the bulge straining the material with hooded eyes. Draco smirked and turned, but he was quickly stopped when Harry put his hands on his hips and pulled him back flush against his body. Their arrangement of not touching hadn't lasted long.
Draco let him walk him forward a few paces, enjoying the proof that Harry was just as turned on as he was by the hard cock pressed against him before he pried his hands away and moved up the stairs ahead of him. “I told you, you don’t get to touch,” Draco said, looking over his shoulder, low and teasing.
Harry let out a groan and what Draco could only describe as a charming little pout which reminded him so much of another Harry it made him smile. Harry dropped his hands to his side, but he didn’t move back far. Every step Draco took Harry’s body heat followed. It was a testament to Draco’s resolve that he didn’t stop and fall to his knees right here. But he was determined to make it to the bedroom because he wanted to leave Harry with the picture of him in his bed, to remember the way he looked in it, to have one clear memory of wanting Draco that he couldn’t deny was real.
Draco vibrated, the house pulsed and Harry’s magic licked at his skin.
Harry cut through the pent up tension at the top of the stairs.
“Is this going to make you feel like shit?” he said.
It was an unexpected question, and said with such soft concern that it made Draco halt their ascent to consider it. He remembered where it was coming from; standing raw and open in the villa kitchen with Harry’s dark gaze on him just hours before. ‘Maybe I need to feel like shit when I’m fucking.’ He could answer truthfully, that yes, a part of him did feel like shit, because he knew some vague thoughts Harry had of him would never be enough to overcome the baggage of their past, and Harry letting this happen was just him scratching some left over itch.
“I don’t want you to feel like shit,” Harry continued, “and I need to know if you do because I’m not going…”
Draco turned to cut him off. He had to look down at Harry who was standing a few steps below him. Harry glanced up and gave a sheepish smile, like he’d been caught staring at his arse. Draco let out a small laugh. Even when Harry had been under the influence that had tempted him but he never pushed Draco to do anything. He had asked if he could touch him, looked to him for permission, apologised if he felt he’d crossed the line. And he may still be just as infuriating, but it was at least a comfort to know that this is who Harry really was, even though he knew exactly who he was looking at.
“What I want,” Draco said softly, “is to get off with you. So unless you're taking that off the table, quit trying to be noble and let's just do it.” He put a hand on Harry’s cheek and looked intently into his eyes. Whatever game Draco was playing right now about not touching, and whatever he had said earlier in Italy to push back at Harry, he needed him to understand this now. “You’re nothing like those men I told you about, okay? You’re so much better than them.”
“I really want to kiss you,” Harry whispered.
Replay those words in a pensieve and Draco would drown in it.
He dropped his hand. “No, no… don’t do that.” He looked around. There was a room with an open door and an unmade bed across the hall. Draco backed slowly into it, holding Harry’s half lidded gaze as he ran a hand over the bulge in his pants. “It’s been a long night, Potter. Now let me show you how hard I am.”
“Merlin Malfoy.”
It was intoxicating being in the room Harry had slept in. It smelled like him and felt like him. Draco summoned the chair from the corner and moved it closer to the bed. Harry's work uniform was draped messily across it. He wasn’t even sure he’d had the thought to do it when his hand was gripping the material and lifted the worn leather that had cloaked Harry’s body to his nose, eyes never breaking from Harry’s as he inhaled it deeply before tossing it to the side. A strangled sound fell from Harry’s mouth.
“Sit,” Draco instructed.
Harry did without question.
He leaned down to put his hands on either side of the chair caging Harry in. “You can still tell me to leave,” he said, giving Harry one last chance to tell him to fuck off.
“Don’t you dare leave,” Harry replied, sitting with his knees spread, his hard cock poked through the slit of his boxers. He followed Draco’s gaze down and smirked. “If you like what you see, you can touch it. I don’t have any rules.”
Draco had to brace his hands on the armrests so he didn’t come on the spot. “Well, I do,” he smirked back. “You can look, but you can’t touch. Think you can handle that?” Draco said it in an attempt to be committed to the rule he’d set in place, because he was also seconds away from straddling him, and only barely holding himself back.
“If that's what you want,” Harry said, licking his lips. Their faces were so close Draco could feel the wet heat from it, his tongue could easily reach out and… He let out a low growl, leaned in and roughly nudged his nose against Harry’s before pulling back.
Let the show begin.
Their legs were only inches apart when Draco sat on the edge of the bed across from him. He let his unbuttoned top fall loose down his shoulders to his elbows, pushed the sides of it behind him and leaned back on his hands. Letting Harry see every line of exposed skin he was willing to show, which was most of it, and drank in the heated look on Harry’s face.
“Fuck, I think I like you like this Malfoy,” Harry snorted, his eyes blown wide. And there was no place Draco would rather be than right here — back in Harry’s undivided attention.
Draco let his knees fall open and slowly started to run a hand up his chest, tweaking each of his hard nipples, mewling sounds falling from his mouth as the sensitive nerves sent sparks down his spine. Beads of sweat began to form on Harry’s forehead as he tracked Draco’s hand moving teasingly lower down his abdomen to dip into his waistband. Harry’s hands gripped tight to the arms of the chair. Draco smirked at Harry’s whimper when he finally uncovered his long cock and it bounced free, slapping against his stomach. This was basic shit, he hadn’t even got to the good stuff yet, but watching Harry watch him — was just fun.
“Take your clothes off,” Draco told him. “I want to see you too.”
“You’re incredibly sexy, Malfoy. It makes it very difficult for me to just sit here,” Harry huffed a laugh and shook his head, slipping his arms free from his robe and tossed it behind him, then pulled his boxers down and slid them to the side with a foot. His hard cock sprang up and Draco couldn’t respond to what he’d just said; he could only salivate at finally seeing that impressive shape uncovered. But he didn’t have long to admire it before the hand he’d been stroking himself with abruptly stilled and the neediest sound he wasn’t even sure he had even made before fell from his mouth. An unexpected, overwhelming burst of crackling electricity had spread across the surface of his skin, down the length of his body, and hitting deep to his core. It brought up images of a smoking crate, broken furniture, cracked tiles, and the thick ozone of uncontrolled magic — and none of that chaos felt like this — all of that singular wild energy focused on him. He had to squeeze his cock because either the room was about to burst into flames — or he was.
“Potter, your magic — are you about to lose control…? I’m going to–” He was having trouble getting the words out past his open mouth gasps.
“I’m in control,” Harry said calmly. “You won’t let me touch you, but if we’re going to do this, I at least want you to feel me.”
Draco had to close his eyes to focus. He didn’t think he could get any more turned on and then Harry went and said shit like that. “Tone it down a bit,” Draco gasped, “or this is going to be over before it starts.”
Within seconds the intoxicating feeling on his skin and deep inside his core faded, only the faintest vibrating hum remained. It was warm and weighted. If he had to describe to someone what Harry’s magic felt like to him he would say it was like stepping under a hot shower to feel the steady beat of water drumming against your muscles when they ached. It was the luxury of being draped in heavy soft velvet. It was having the weight of a comforting body pressed just against your skin, no surface left untouched. And it all being forced onto you at the same time. Draco felt more intimate with it than the man across from him.
“Jesus…” Draco shook his head and said through a heavy exhale. “You’re really fucking good at foreplay.”
Harry laughed. “Who would have thought the two of us would be good at something together?”
Draco tilted his eyes up and grinned. He liked everything about this moment; being naked together, smiling, neither of them talking about anything other than how much they wanted this, no mixed signals being sent to deny that they did, and nothing here to interrupt them from having it.
“Well then Potter, let's see how good we can be.”
Stroking his cock was out of the question right now so Draco shifted to his knees and turned to move towards the headboard to give himself more room. He glanced over his shoulder and watched Harry’s mouth part as he pushed his pants the rest of the way down and slung them to the side.
“Do I get to touch myself?” Harry said with a smirk, saying it just to be a smart-arse because his hand was already stroking his cock, his eyes never leaving Draco’s arse.
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” Draco snorted.
“Your arse… I want it,” Harry groaned.
I know, I remember, Draco almost said. “Yeah? You want me to spread my legs for you?” he purred instead.
“Yes. Show me, Malfoy.”
Draco placed his hands on the bed and spread his legs wide, putting himself on display, showing him. Harry’s eyes feasted.
“What do you think?” Draco asked, in a sultry tone. The answer was clear on Harry’s face, but Draco couldn’t get enough of his voice and wanted to hear more of it. “Is it good, Potter?”
“Good?” Harry replied, with a short disbelieving laugh. “Yeah, you could say that. But don’t sell yourself short,” he said, his voice breathy and amused. “Because ‘good’ is an understatement to what I’m thinking right now.”
Draco grinned and pulled the edges of his top up as high as he could and bent his back into a deep arch, showing off the narrow curve of his waist to give Harry the view he wanted. Harry moved to the edge of the chair, ready to pounce if permission was given as he fisted his dripping cock. Draco made a show of putting his fingers in his mouth and getting them wet before sliding them down his crease and slowly began to circle his rim with teasing strokes; rubbing and tapping it, slipping the tip of one finger in and pulling it out. It had been awhile since he’d been fucked and he was tight. He startled when a small bottle zoomed across the room and into Harry’s hand which Harry then tossed on the bed next to Draco. Draco raised an amused brow and Harry looked cocky as hell, naked with nothing but a smirk on his face.
“Get yourself wet for me,” Harry told him. So Draco did, with enthusiasm — one finger in, two fingers in, fucking himself hard until he was loose and dripping wet. His cock hung heavy between his legs and his balls pulled up tight. In between thrusts he pulled his fingers out so Harry could watch his stretched hole clench. Harry told him to push it out, to rub the now puffy rim; he asked him if it was as soft as it looked and told him he wanted to taste it — filthy and unguarded, just how Draco liked him. The room filled with their joint moans and pants, with the occasional fuck and Jesus that slipped from their mouths, and the explicit sounds of two people getting off together.
“—I’m about to come,” Harry groaned first.
“—me too…,” Draco groaned back. “—but I want… I want… your magic on me —do it, Potter. Put it on me.”
In an instant Draco’s entire body erupted as he desperately, clumsily grabbed at his neglected cock and started a frantic pace. He tried to keep his head turned so he could watch Harry when he was pushed over the edge too, but he had barely touched himself when his vision blurred and white starbursts flashed behind his eyelids — the culmination of all the years spent wanting hit him at once. His orgasm and Harry’s magic were so consuming he could only faintly hear Harry cry out his own release. Draco fell forward onto the bed; boneless, body blissfully rippling in the aftershocks, completely drained and heavy with exhaustion. His eyes drifted closed and he was beginning to slip peacefully into sleep when the bed dipped beside him.
“I should have known you’d be a fucking tease,” Harry said next to him. He sounded just as ragged as Draco felt. Draco mumbled incoherently into the pillow, his brain telling him he needed to get up but it was such a soft pillow and it smelled so good.
“I feel like we’ve done that before,” Harry said. “Have we?” he asked, the bed shifting again when he turned onto his side behind him. Draco could feel his breath against his neck. “You said we tried to get off together, or I assume that was me you were talking about,” he snorted. “Did we fuck?” he asked again, his voice taking on a serious edge to it. It was enough to clear the afterglow of Draco’s well spent orgasm and pull him back to earth, bringing back to the forefront exactly who they were. He just wanted to enjoy one single moment with Harry that lasted more than fifteen minutes without the circumstances of what brought them together hanging over them.
“No, we never fucked,” Draco said, taking a deep breath. “It was only one time that things went too far, and I shouldn’t have let it happen. I knew it wasn’t something you would have chosen. But all those things you said about what you see when you look at me, it was brief, but you remembered — remembered that’s how you feel and you stopped it.” Draco could feel how close Harry was next to him, the length of his body inches away from his own. He turned onto his back to look at him; naked, sweat covered, soft. A furrow between his brows as he listened. Draco was rubbing a hand over his silk covered forearm without even realising until Harry noticed the movement, winced slightly, then looked away as if Draco was going to pull the sleeve back and shove it in his face.
“You know who I am, Potter. It was a surprise then but not now.” Draco wrapped the tangled sheet around his waist and pulled himself out of bed.
“You were so messed up on that shit you barely knew your own name, and I tried not to take advantage of you,” Draco continued, looking around the room for his pants. He couldn’t remember where he’d tossed them. “You were just so…” his voice trailed — open, needy, intoxicated — take your pick, he was all of them.
He found them on top of Harry’s uniform and slipped them on. Harry watched from the bed. He had moved onto his back, his soft cock nestled in the curve of his thigh. Everything in Draco wanted to crawl back and curl into him; to see if he could unlock the secrets of who Harry is in the fit lines of his body, to learn what kind of give and take it would require to peel back the layers and be let deeper into its warmth. But if he was going to leave, it needed to be now. The act of falling asleep and waking up next to him felt more reckless than what they’d just done. The tension had been satisfied, it was best to call it a night before the impending regret set in.
“Goodbye, Potter. Don’t beat yourself up over tonight. You don’t have to like someone to want to fuck them.”
“Wait…,” Harry said, but Draco had already closed the door behind him.
“Malfoy.” Harry was coming down the stairs in his boxers. Draco stood in the entryway putting on his overcoat. “Will you just fucking wait a minute.”
“Potter, I’m tired. I just want to—”
“Can I touch you now?” Harry stopped in front of him and cut him off.
Draco looked up, his fingers still working on closing his buttons.
“You always could,” he said. “I just wanted to be difficult.”
“You little fucking brat,” Harry groaned, right before he pounced, disrupting Draco getting dressed to push him flush against the wall and crashing his mouth against his, dismantling Draco’s quiet resolve to end this night with a single devastating kiss. It didn’t take long for Draco to regain his senses and give back just as good as he was getting. His head slanted and his mouth softened, his hands in Harry’s hair — grabbing and tugging. Their lips moulding together until they found the perfect rhythm — biting and sucking — giving and taking. Draco had been right when he said he wouldn’t survive kissing him. Harry kissed exactly how Draco thought he would — as though he were daring you to pull away from him.
“You say this is you making things even,” Harry pulled back and said against Draco’s lips. “But I think you’re punishing me.” He took Draco's kissed plumped bottom lip between his teeth and softly bit down.
Draco gasped. “So you’re not as clueless as you act then.” He huffed a laugh through the grip Harry had on his lip. Harry bit down harder and went in for another rough kiss but Draco dodged it. “Maybe I am trying to punish you,” Draco said, trailing his mouth back to Harry's neck instead. “Because you won’t stop showing up...” He scraped his teeth down its long line. “Asking for me…” He bit down softly. “Looking at me…” He licked over it. “Touching me…” He sucked on the soft skin. “Driving me fucking insane.” He went in for another kiss but Harry pulled away this time, denying Draco his mouth to look him intently in the eyes.
“I’m driving you insane?” Harry snorted, taking Draco's hand into his own. He brought it to his mouth and licked each of the fingers Draco had just had inside of himself before sucking them into his mouth. Draco growled and grabbed him by the back of the neck, needing that mouth on him, needing to taste him one more time before he pulled back panting.
“God, Potter, you need to stay away from me,” he said, closing his eyes and shaking his head to try and have a clear thought. “It’s you who's the bloody tease. So don’t come around and flirt with me and then say it’s you trying to be my friend so you can work out if you can trust me or not. I can guarantee you it wasn’t entertaining having you throw yourself at me for days. It fucked with me too, and I don’t know how to be around you anymore now either.”
Their chests moved heavily against each other. Harry rested his forearm on the wall next to Draco’s head and dropped his forehead against it.
“Fuck, you’re right,” Harry said, his voice going slack. He lightly knocked his forehead against his arm a few times before letting it rest there. “Why does my head still feel so fucked up?” he groaned, his face was hidden now, framed by his hair. His body still pushed tight against Draco’s but the tension had deflated. Why Draco had decided to take a stand now when he had him right here, he didn’t know. He wanted to pull his face back to him and tell him to forget about what he’d just said and get back to the business of being reckless, using his body, the only thing he was sure Harry liked about him, and convince him he could like the rest. Thoughts like these were exactly why he needed to leave.
“Maybe you're just having side effects from the potion,” Draco said, letting his head thump back against the wall. It was the only reasonable answer to why Harry had let tonight happen. “I’m sure it will wear off soon.”
His chest ached.
“Yeah, maybe you're right. That makes sense,” Harry said. “I’m just surprised you actually care. I never thought you would.”
“Potter, haven’t you ever heard of letting your one night stand sneak out without all of this bloody talking.”
“You know you shouldn’t Apparate again,” Harry said, his face still hidden in his arm, his body still heavy against Draco’s. “It’s almost six in the morning. You don’t have to go.” Draco knew he shouldn't make the jump again. He had barely survived the first time, his body would probably splinch in half if he did it again. But this was him trying to maintain a shred of self-dignity.
“The list of things I shouldn’t be doing tonight is adding up,” he said.
Harry turned back to face him with a small smile, his head still resting on his forearm. “You bought me a treacle tart,” he said softly, unexpectedly, and with a hint of amusement. Would he ever stop being so jarring? Draco had a sudden overwhelming feeling of mourning that he may have missed his one opportunity to see what shape this face took on when it climaxed. What would he have called that private piece of art he would have stored behind his eyelids? Probably something to grind his self-dignity even further into the ground like… erotically breathtaking.
The tired, underlying weariness etched on it now brought back the instinct he couldn’t seem to shake; to want to take care of him, to run diagnostics over him, to tuck him away and keep him safe from the things that wanted to harm him.
“It’s a good dessert,” Draco shrugged, as though it really had been just a simple offering of recovery and not Draco’s own hang up of doing what Harry had thought him incapable of and caring too much. He wanted to remind Harry that he had been an arsehole that night, but instead lifted a hand to trace the faint line of the scar that ran along Harry’s hairline. It was probably only noticeable to someone who knew it was there; knew the exact length of it, the exact shape. Knew how it had felt to stitch it back together under the harsh lights of a surgery room. Someone who used a delicate hand to make sure what was left behind of it would be as unobtrusive as possible. And, right now, it was a reminder of how serious the consequences of Harry’s job could be.
“Hey,” Draco nudged his side to get his attention. Harry's eyes had fallen closed as Draco’s fingers had traced his skin. “You do know your job is dangerous, don’t you?” Draco said. “You shouldn’t be dealing with Dark Magic if you're having trouble concentrating. You need to listen to your friends and take some more time off.”
“Yeah, I’m thinking of going back to Romania.”
“Oh,” Draco said.
All of his talk about one night stands and Harry leaving him alone and it only took one sentence to break it all down. This was why he had decided to take a stand in the first place. He knew that this one night was going to be it. One night to get it out of their systems. And when the last move of the game they’d played tonight was finally made he would still be the one left on his back foot.
“Good for you,” he said, untangling himself. The bone weariness from too much alcohol, too little sleep, and too many emotions spent crashing down on him at once. “I’m sure Charlie will be happy to have you back.”
Harry leaned against the wall and watched him straighten his jacket and shrugged. “Yeah, he can’t wait. Being back in the mountains sounds nice, and they always need the help. I miss taking care of the dragons. Maybe it will help clear my head,” he said, like Draco wasn’t standing there gutted, or that he wasn’t the thing that needed to be cleared from his head.
“Right. Yeah, that’s probably what you need.” Draco felt sick. “Well, sounds like you have it all worked out.” He needed to go.
He let the door shut behind him before he had to hear anything else about the reunion Harry was about to have with the man who had never wanted him to leave and that Draco was sure was counting down the days until he had him back. He stepped out onto Grimmauld Place to look for a spot to Apparate in the shadows. The early morning sun was just beginning to break over London.
***
Draco spent his weeks since leaving Italy becoming comfortable in his new surroundings at Hogwarts. It surprised him how quickly he had started to think of the castle as home again. It was small things that made it feel that way, warm and embracing. Like the game he had started with his new house elf friends where they would leave pastries and fresh fruit in his room and in return he would surprise them with potions he brewed especially for them. And drinking night caps in Pomfrey’s office while they amused each other with medical horror stories. On each occasion he would learn more about the witch, who, like himself, had quit a nice paying job at a wizarding hospital to return to the school she had loved as a child, which was something he had never had the chance to learn before. Even Hagrid extended a welcoming hand and invited Draco to his hut. He finally had the chance to experience the infamous rock cakes Hermione had talked about with equal parts of horror and fondness. A part of him had been thrilled with the gesture, which seemed to be a sign that Hagrid had accepted him, though Draco only pretended to eat the inedible things.
McGonagall herself thought he had gone half mad after she discovered his rigorous daily routine of morning swims and evening runs around the Scottish landscape. He didn’t disagree — you had to be half mad to voluntarily swim with the Giant Squid or run the edges of the Forbidden Forest — but it had become a settling routine at this point, ever since he had left his townhouse in London, one he was reluctant to give up. His new life was a far cry from life at the hospital, but the nerves he’d felt at this huge change had mostly settled. For now at least, though the students’ arrival was fast approaching.
***
It was Saturday night and Draco found himself sitting at a new pub in Diagon Alley. There were only two days left until the students arrived and he had been itching for a night out with his friends. They had only managed a few firecalls as he had been too busy for anything else. Now they sat together crammed at a small table, where Pansy, Ginny, Blaise and himself each took turns keeping the pints full. The apothecary themed pub was lively and overcrowded with witches and wizards looking for a night out. Being a Healer turned Potions Professor, he was amused with the over the top theme. The wizarding world was never one to be shy about keeping things on the nose. And as ridiculous as it was, he had to admit that it did make for an enchanting atmosphere, beaker glass cocktails, test tube shots and all.
He was in the middle of deflecting another barrage of questions about how friendly he and Harry had looked at the engagement party. As pissed as everyone had been that night he was surprised anyone noticed, or remembered, or continued to bring it up three weeks later after he had shrugged it off the last two times they had brought it up. Like Hermione, Ginny thought it was ‘nice’ they might be able to be friends now. He rolled his eyes and stopped himself short from asking her what her expat older brother had been up to when, out of nowhere, he was confronted with a different potentially hostile ghost from his past.
The last time he’d seen Gregory Goyle was a few years back when they had run into each other at the Ministry’s Portkey office. Draco had been travelling to New York to work with a highly regarded Potions Master, and Greg had been on his way back to France where he’d been busy over the years working his way up in the culinary world. It had been a brief encounter, but it was friendly enough that it had left Draco with the feeling that maybe one day, when they weren’t just crossing paths in life, that they might be able to find their footing as friends again. Or at the very least that the burning anger Greg held for him had possibly turned more tepid.
Greg had never forgiven Draco for Vince’s death, or for the part that Draco had played in pushing him deeper into their parents' ideology. When Greg had confronted him about it after the war, Draco had been too broken by his own disillusionments to give him a proper apology. He could only numbly tell him the truth; that his father had encouraged him to find the idiots who could easily be manipulated to do his bidding, because the idiots were always the most loyal. All you had to do was make them feel special, make them feel like they were a part of a group, and give them a purpose. The purpose being something or someone to hate. That had been another of his father's brillant big lessons on power.
At the time Draco had thought the best thing he could do was to be honest for once in his life and that Greg would understand the truth of it; that Draco was his father's idiot, and his father was Voldemort’s idiot. But his numbness had come off as callous, and Greg had let him know with a punch to the face before he had stormed off. Years later when Draco was thinking clearer and had a better grasp on life, he wrote to Greg to apologise properly for everything, but he never received a reply. The few times he’d seen him afterwards, Greg had been cold and indifferent. The message was clear and Draco never pushed it. Pansy and Blaise stayed on good terms with him so he kept up with him through them, and when Draco had found himself standing in line with him at the Portkey station it was Greg who had engaged him. He had even cracked a few jokes. Draco had been shocked.
Now Greg was walking into the pub with Theo heading to their table, smiling and ready to share a pint with the group. He slid in next to Draco and gave him a nod before falling seamlessly into banter with everyone else, becoming looser the more drinks were poured. Draco sat back and listened as everyone caught up and carried on, only offering an occasional remark or chuckle. Now that Greg was here he didn’t want to impose himself. A few hours later and he was ready to return to the castle. He had a busy day ahead of him, but before he could make his quiet exit he was taken by surprise when Greg leaned in his direction and gave him an amused, curious look.
“You’re different,” Greg said. Greg was exactly the same as he had been when they were kids, only bigger in size and lighter in spirit.
“Yeah, I’m old,” Draco snorted.
“We’re old,” Greg chuckled. “No, that’s not it. You're less…” He searched for the right word. “Edgy, cagey, high strung. Merlin, you used to love to control the conversation. You’re more observant now, and your laugh is less… mocking… It's nice.”
“You being here must be throwing me off my game,” Draco said, nudging his arm, hoping Greg’s easy posture was a sign they could do that now. Greg chuckled and nudged him back.
Draco took it as a sign, and an opportunity to be honest again. He didn’t want to be weird about it, he just wanted to get it out there. “I'm trying to be someone better than that shit person you knew before.”
“You must be if you're shagging Harry Potter,” Greg said matter-of-factly, without any hint of irony. Draco nearly spit out his drink. “He would never date that arsehole from before,” Greg added, chuckling deeply. Draco didn’t think it was that funny.
“He actually still didn’t like you that much a couple years ago when we saw each other at one of Luna’s parties right after he moved back to London,” Greg continued, seeming to enjoy having a story to tell about Harry, and by the start of it, Draco was pretty sure he was going to hate it. “Luna knows how to throw a bonkers winter solstice celebration and we were both a little heavy handed with the spirits that night,” Greg went on. “Halfway through the party we both looked down and Luna had us in ivy crowns with our shirts off and some mediaeval tunic on. I still don’t know how that happened. But the only thing he and I did was sit around talking shit about you,” he chuckled. “He was really into it too — he kept going on about you always strutting around in your bloody tight suits… and when did Draco Malfoy become an expert on Muggle fashion? And he was really fixated on your ungelled bloody swishy hair as he put it, and your picture always being in the Prophet with your bloody Muggle boyfriends, that one really threw him —Hey, now that I think about it, there was a lot of sexual tension in his shit talking, the dating thing really makes sense now.”
“And what makes you think we’re dating?” Draco asked. Greg’s story hadn’t turned out that bad. Two people bonding over their hatred for you wasn't ideal, but it just sounded like Harry had been thinking about him.
“I saw the ‘bloody’ picture in the Prophet.” He chuckled at his little joke. “Talk about sexual tension —You know, the following each other around at school thing really makes sense now too.”
Of course that was what caused Greg to jump to that conclusion. That damn picture Draco had never even seen would haunt him for the rest of his life.
“Potter and I have an interesting relationship,” Draco said, “but we aren’t dating. Sorry to break it to you.”
“Well, then that’s his bad luck,” Greg said. “You're very pretty, Draco.” He gave him a good natured pat on the back that nearly knocked him into his drink.
Even though he had lost his Harry Potter endorsement, and being called pretty by Greg was a bit weird, it was as though this was just another exchange in another pub between two friends. Draco couldn’t help the small smile that spread over his face. But he also sure the fuck wanted to know how Harry went around getting pissed and friendly with every Slytherin from their grade. If Draco’s memory served correctly, they too were on the wrong side of the war, and hadn’t some of them actually tried to give him up. It seemed he and his ‘Muggle suits’ were the only ones to be given the cold shoulder over the years.
While his thoughts were busy being invaded by Harry, the headache inducing boy who lived, the table thinned out. Theo stood up to talk to a group of people he knew and Greg and Pansy went to the bar to refill the drinks.
That was when it happened — and it happened fast.
Within the blink of an eye there was a deafening boom that came from outside and blew the glass windows of the pub in with such a force that it shook the very foundation of the building.
When Draco would look back on this night, he would remember very clearly that seconds before the explosion had happened the air had gone still around him, and an eerie coldness had run up the length of his spine. How he had to grab the edge of the table when he’d felt the deep ache of his left forearm flare up. In the blinding moment before the explosion hit he’d had enough of a mind to quickly throw up a shield to protect Ginny and Blaise as they were knocked back from the blast. Draco had landed on his own back with a deafening ringing in his ears. The sound of screams and shattering glass around him were muffled as though it were happening in the far off distance. And time seemed to have slowed as he took in the chaos unfolding around him. But even as his mind was trying to grasp the night shifting into something unforeseen, he knew what he was witnessing — another senseless terrorist attack by the neo Death Eaters.
Now, as he tried to get up from the ground, blood trickled freely from a gash on his head, but it was the blood on his clothes that sent a rolling wave of panic through him. It wasn’t his blood. His healer pragmatism came quickly to the forefront and he went into full crisis mode, immediately sending out an emergency alert to St. Mungo's with his wand while hoping that ability hadn’t been cut off. He swiftly surveyed the room and became overwhelmed with the amount of injuries he saw. The closer to the windows and the front of the pub he looked, the less it looked like injuries and the more it looked like death. With a quick look back to see that Blaise and Ginny were shell shocked but otherwise unharmed, he pushed his way past fallen debris and through what could only be described as carnage. Full blown panic set in — Pansy, Theo and Greg had all been at the front of the bar. Alarms blared, people shouted, and the injured cried out. It created a frenzy of sounds around him as he rapidly went to work doing what he could for the people he could reach while desperately trying to find his friends.
Chapter Text
Draco paced, his chest was still clenched tight with panic as he waited for Dayal to come back from the surgery room with any news. On arrival, he had begged his former colleague and friend to allow him to go back and help, but of course Dayal had said no. No healer in their right mind would let someone who wasn’t an employee of the hospital anymore anywhere near a patient. Draco was a liability, not to mention he was in no shape for that kind of concentration right now. Dayal had still leaned in with an apologetic whisper and told him he would if he could, but he would be in a shit ton of trouble and he needed his job right now so all he could do was help Draco’s friends. It was hell having to wait behind when Draco was so used to being on the other side of those doors; fixing people, being useful.
The images of the night continued to play as torture in his head; of Pansy, unconscious, covered in blood and glass, and barely recognizable. He had found Theo, somehow managing to escape with only minor cuts and bruises, leaning over her as he tried and failed to get her to wake up. Then there was Greg, his large unmovable body had been thrown halfway across the building, his legs bent awkwardly out at the side and a piece of splintered wood protruded from his left shoulder. And the countless other bodies — suffering, barely hanging on, and some he had known without a question were never waking up. Even now, behind his eyes, he could still see the blinking sign of the only thing that had been left to light up the eerie scene that had unfolded before him, of what the owners must have thought was a cheeky addition to the pub: ‘Concoct your Poison; two shots for Bliss, three shots for Oblivion’ it read where it swayed loose by a creaking thread and flashed in a neon glow above the bar.
In the waiting room Ginny was distraught and had been since she’d seen Pansy’s prone body being lifted from the wreckage. Her parents had rushed immediately to the hospital to be by her side and had been a comforting presence ever since their arrival. Even Blaise and Theo stuck close to them. But Draco — he paced. The thought of losing Pansy was excruciating. The sounds of Greg’s wife and Ginny’s wailing cries were unbearable. He handled it the only way he could; shoving it all to the background, his body reverting to a numb state to block it out and he paced. Until he stopped.
The feeling of eyes on the back of his head became so intense it felt like a silent alarm trying to get his attention, or maybe it was just the spike of adrenaline that rushed over him from being in the same room with his magic again. Draco turned, and when their eyes met the ones looking back were unexpectedly tender.
He was supposed to be in another country, but he was here. Seeing his gentle eyes made Draco release a small sigh of relief in what had otherwise been a crushing night. Draco watched as he embraced a sobbing Ginny and whispered what must have been words of comfort in her ear. He put a hand on Blaise and Theo’s shoulder, shook Mr. Weasley's hand and kissed Mrs. Weasley and Hermione on the cheek, but his eyes kept coming back to find Draco’s. Just as he was pushing down the disappointment that he wouldn’t be on the receiving end of that Harry Potter benevolence, Harry gave a small tilt of his head, indicating for him to follow and turned to walk back through the brick archway that opened into the hall.
Draco followed, his feet moving before his brain could tell him he shouldn’t.
He didn’t find him when he stepped into the brightly lit corridor. There was a brief moment of feeling foolish thinking he had misread the exchange when out of nowhere a hand reached out and grabbed his arm from a side alcove. Draco knew the small offshoots that scattered the hospital well. They purposely led to a large window overlooking the spacious outdoor gardens; a peaceful retrieve to anyone in need in what can be a difficult place. He had found himself in one, a time or two when he had needed a moment to regroup after performing a difficult surgery, or after the task of delivering bad news to a waiting family. Now he was being pulled into one, and in the dimly lit space warm hands cupped his face and green eyes looked over him carefully.
Draco knew he was a mess, the quick cleansing spell he had cast over himself hadn’t been enough to wipe away the feeling of the explosion’s thick dust from his skin; he still felt it clinging to him heavily. But it was only now that he was aware he’d never properly healed the cuts and bruises scattered over his body or repaired the ripped pieces of clothing which had caught on debris when he had shuffled through the aftermath. Harry didn’t seem to mind. He pulled him in and wrapped his arms around him in a tight embrace. Draco couldn’t nestle in close enough, couldn’t believe Harry was here, and wasn't even sure this was really happening. Then a cry of pain escaped his mouth and made it real when the arm he’d been holding against his stomach was pressed too tightly between their bodies. The pain had been another thing he had shoved to the background.
He just shook his head after Harry quickly pushed him back by the shoulders and gave him a concerned questioning look. At Draco’s refusal to speak, Harry didn’t force the issue, he just smoothed a hand through Draco’s hair. It was all the permission Draco needed to melt back into him, giving up the stiffness he’d been carrying to press in close. He was careful this time to keep any pressure from touching his arm. Harry leaned back against the wall and brought Draco with him, letting his body become a warm cocoon for Draco to rest against. Neither of them said anything as they stood holding onto each other.
But Harry’s hands spoke for him; they were in constant soft motion. They cradled the back of Draco’s head, his neck, and his shoulders. Gentle strokes, soothing and caressing, treating Draco like he was something delicate. Every touch penetrated the numbness that had settled over him. And Harry might not know why he was doing it, but Draco didn’t want to try and figure out why anything was anything right now, instead just wanting to cling to him for as long as possible. Harry was here, and as long as he was acting this way he was Draco's — and they were back to that brief moment in time when it had just been the two of them.
Only when Draco heard his name being called from the waiting room did he make any attempt to dislodge himself. His face was buried in the curve of Harry’s neck. Harry’s hands had slipped under his shirt and were rubbing circles on the small of his back; his fingers kneading, trying to help ease some of his tension. They moved higher up Draco’s spine, ran his fingertips back down, and repeated.
Draco didn’t want to miss an update so he left the sanctuary of Harry’s body to rush back in. Harry followed close behind then stopped to lean against the wall next to Mr. Weasley. Draco missed him instantly, and without thinking past his own need had almost reached back to take Harry’s hand into his own to keep him near, where Harry’s hand could be a firm anchor that Draco could hold onto. But he stopped himself. If anyone had been paying attention it would be obvious they had been together. And he couldn’t personally care less about that right now when he didn’t know if his friends were alive or dead, but Harry might. Draco didn’t know where the extent of the comfort he’d been given tonight ended so he kept walking to join the others next to Dayal.
Pansy was in a stable condition. She had a list of broken bones, a concussion, and serious internal bleeding, but she was past any real danger and recovering. Relief washed over him. Pansy was his family, he didn’t know how he would make it without her. But before Dayal could say it Draco already knew that Greg was gone. The words coming out of his own mouth before Dayal’s, who solemnly nodded his head in confirmation.
Greg’s wife crumbled to the ground at the news. Draco had to stop the manic laugh that wanted to escape from his own mouth because of how fucked up the situation was — how absolutely fucking ridiculous it was that Greg had been here talking, laughing, living life with his big booming voice and childlike ease which Draco had only been able to briefly witness twice since they had shed their childhood anger and grew up, and one of those times had been on the last night of his life. Now he was gone, nothing, only another memory for Draco to torment himself with. His wife was a stranger to him, and she probably wouldn’t accept comfort from someone who had been such a dark part of her husband's life anyway. He felt out of place standing there watching as Theo picked her up from the ground.
Voldemort and his fucking blood supremacist bullshit. His infamy was even greater in death. Used by the power hungry to stoke, push and inspire new idiots to do their bidding. Greg had overcome that shit and it had still taken his life. Draco wanted to scream with rage, he wanted to punch something, he wanted to sob uncontrollably. But most of all he wanted to resurrect Voldemort so he could be the one to kill him this time.
He stood frozen to the spot and watched as Mrs. Weasley embraced Blaise, his friend who was unaffected by most things in life looked broken. Draco took solace that Blaise was standing there broken, but alive.
Someone tried to hug Draco and someone else was shaking his shoulder, but he shrugged them off without a glance. He didn’t want to be touched right now. He wanted to be alone. He wanted Aries. He wanted the cold water of the ocean. He wanted to go home and crawl into bed and breathe in the jasmine — before he remembered that he had sold the home he was thinking of in a stupid fit.
“Draco.” It was Dayal’s hand on his shoulder. “There's nothing you can do here now. Come back tomorrow and visit Pansy, but for now you should get someone to take you home and go get some rest.”
He wanted...
He lifted his head and searched the room. His heart dropped when he didn’t spot him in his initial sweep and thought he had left already. But another look found the lone figure still leaning against the wall in the same spot as when they’d re-entered the room, tender eyes ready and waiting. His presence set Draco at ease once again, snapping him out of his self-preserving need for isolation. Draco took a moment to hug everyone; Ginny and Blaise held on to him tightly together. Bonded again in tragedy.
Harry pushed himself from the wall to meet Draco when he began to walk towards him. However, Draco was momentarily caught off guard when Peter came rushing through the archway, speeding past Harry unaware.
“Are you okay?” Peter asked Draco in a heavy breath, his face full of concern as his eyes searched the room. “I came as soon as I heard.” He pulled Draco into an embrace. Draco tried to hold Harry’s gaze over Peter's shoulder, knowing that Harry would think Peter was here for him. He didn’t know that Draco had ended things with Peter the night after Pansy and Ginny’s engagement party. Or that Peter had told him that he already knew he hadn’t stood a chance when he had seen Draco and Harry together again. Peter had said that he didn’t blame Draco, because how could anyone not become an afterthought in the shadow of Harry Potter. Draco had felt like a jerk, but he didn’t argue the point. Even though Peter didn’t know the whole story, or that it was Draco who didn’t stand a chance. But none of that mattered right now when Harry was here giving and Draco so desperately wanted to take.
“I’ll be okay,” Draco said. “Just take care of Blaise tonight.” Peter nodded and rushed past him.
Harry was already walking away.
“Potter,” Draco called after him, stepping out into the corridor to see his retreating back.
At the call of his name Harry stopped and turned, his posture stiff. Draco walked the rest of the distance between them. He hadn’t thought past stopping Harry from leaving, and now that they stood facing each other, awkwardly in the bright lights of the open corridor, Draco was hesitant on what he wanted to say.
“I’m really glad Pansy’s okay,” Harry said first, rubbing the back of his neck. “And shit, I’m so sorry about Greg. I didn’t know him very well, but from what I did he turned out to be a pretty decent bloke.” He dropped his hand and sighed, “...and I’m just really sorry. —And I know I should have stayed away from you tonight like you asked—”
“Can I go with you?” Draco said, the question falling from his mouth; quiet, nervous and rushed. He just wanted to stop whatever misguided and stupid thing Harry was in the middle of saying.
There was a beat of silence where Draco was sure rejection was coming, but then some of the tightness in Harry’s posture eased. Draco glanced over his own shoulder to follow where Harry's line of sight had gone; to see Blaise with his arms around Peter. On the night that Draco had ended things with Peter he wasn’t surprised when Peter had confessed that he was into Blaise. Blaise could be an electric pulse when his attention was on you. But he was surprised that Blaise had actually started to call it a relationship. It was an open relationship, but for someone who claimed to be allergic to the very word that was a big deal.
Harry reached a hand out to brush Draco’s. “Your place or mine?” he asked.
“Yours.”
Harry pulled his hoodie over his head and stayed careful not to bump into Draco’s arm as they made their way through the hospital and outside onto the busy London thruway. Draco was still holding it stiffly by his side, bent in slightly at the elbow to keep it from moving. After spending hours without taking anything to help relieve the pain it was beginning to take its toll. He silently cursed himself for not making the tedious brew he used for any unexpected flare ups a priority once he had his lab set up. He had held it together inside the waiting room knowing they would have made him get checked out if he had shown any signs of an injury. He had even forced himself to let it hang naturally by his side. But it couldn’t be ignored any longer. The blaring pain was now aggressively at the forefront of his mind and he was starting to see spots in his vision with every slicing wave that hit him. His body wanted to give in to gravity and fall to the ground in protest. When Harry let the hand he’d been holding on the small of Draco’s back slide around to hold him by the waist, Draco willingly let him take some of his weight.
When they finally arrived at Grimmauld Place, with his arm still tightly around Draco’s waist, Harry led him into the kitchen, pulled out one of the wooden dining chairs with his foot and helped ease Draco down. Draco fell back into it with a groan.
Outside the hospital Draco hadn't wanted to be difficult and had tried to tell Harry he could Apparate, but Harry had just given him a look like he had lost his bloody mind and said no. Then to Draco’s relief Harry had hailed them a cab. The cab ride wasn’t smooth, the driver had seemed to take extra care to hit every pot hole and bump he could find, but it was better than what the aftermath of Apparating with an injury could be. And when Harry had tugged Draco close to him in the backseat and told him to lay his head in his lap, Draco had tried to distract himself from the pain by watching the passing city lights dance across Harry’s profile, while Harry’s hand was running through Draco’s hair as he had peered out the window.
Draco was still distracting himself by watching Harry move through his home and performing his magic with ease. The lights flickered on, the hearth roared to life, and the kettle hissed with a few easy flicks of his wrist. Draco just sat, his body heavy with exhaustion, as he tried to breathe through the pain and grief that threatened to takeover.
“You're hurt,” Harry said. “You need to let me see it.” But Draco wouldn’t budge.
It was the third time Harry had tried to get Draco to show him his arm since they had arrived. The first time had been when they had initially walked in the house and Draco had accidently knocked it against the corner of the dimly lit kitchen doorway and Harry had to catch him before his knees buckled. The second was when Harry had placed a steaming hot cup of tea in front of him.
“I already know what’s under there,” Harry said when Draco still wouldn’t respond. Harry went to pick up a beat up duffel bag from the floor and tossed it onto the wooden dining table. It landed with a thudding clank. He stood close by Draco and rifled through it, pulling out random artefacts, inspecting them, then tossing them back into the bag until he found the one he was looking for. The objects looked intricate and expensive. Draco assumed they must be some kind of curse breaking gadgets he used on the job. He had to laugh to himself at the thought of Harry coming home from work and tossing the bag of valuable items onto the ground, in a fucking canvas duffel bag, then carelessly tossing them onto whatever surface was available at the time when he needed them again.
“I know you do,” Draco said.
“Then why won’t you let me help you?” Harry stopped tinkering with his object to turn back and face him. Draco didn’t answer. Harry waited. The softness from the hospital was still present on his face, but now that they were alone Harry wasn’t letting Draco’s injury go. Draco dropped his forehead onto the table with a groan, too tired to say anything but the truth.
“Because you're not going to want to touch me afterwards.”
A small laugh escaped Harry. “That’s why you won’t let me help you? Fuck, Malfoy, it hasn’t stopped me yet tonight.”
Draco tried to lift his head and return Harry’s smile, but his effort quickly devolved into a grimace when a slicing pain shot through his forearm. He had to clench his eyes shut to bear it.
“Knowing it’s there,” he said through gritted teeth, “and seeing it, are two different things. And you didn’t like it so much the last time you saw it.” He took a deep breath. “It’s fine,” he added, “I just need a minute to let it pass.”
Harry greatly underestimated the wilting power of his Mark when it had been exposed to Dark Magic. It wasn’t the standard ominous tattoo he was used to anymore, but an open oozing wound that didn’t hide the snake and skull, but inflamed it, melted and expanded into it, only adding to the grotesque monstrosity. Draco could feel the wetness of the wound it had morphed into now sticking to the encrusted fabric of his shirt. It hadn’t been this bad often but when it had, he just had to let it run its course. The only thing he wanted to do until it settled was peel the stiff layer of fabric off, sit under a hot shower, and let the scolding water beat over it.
“Fuck that,” Harry said, “I’m not going to just let you sit here and suffer. You’ve got a curse on you and it’s strong — I can feel it.”
Draco hung his head, trying to think clearly through the unyielding assault on his body. It was a wonder that any of them had survived tonight with the magnitude of Dark Magic that was used in the blast. They didn’t want to just leave bodies passed out this time, they wanted to leave a scene of destruction, and probably for no other reason than because they could.
Harry put a hand under Draco’s chin and tilted his face up so they were making eye contact. “Okay, you’re right. I don’t like your Mark, and I’m not going to pretend otherwise or apologise for it. But I can help you,” he said softly, cupping Draco’s jaw. Draco leaned into it. “It is what I do. You know… Professional Curse Breaker and all.” He flashed Draco a self-assured smile and waved a hand at his gadget.
“You are the curse, Potter,” Draco groaned. Why couldn’t Harry just be like he was at the hospital; speaking to him with his hands and not pushing him?
“I’m going to vanish your shirt if you don’t take it off,” Harry said, losing his patience.
“Kinky.”
Harry didn’t look amused.
It was absolutely insane that he was sitting in Harry’s kitchen trying to ride out the curse he had unleashed on himself when he was eighteen. It had just felt so good to be held in Harry’s arms at the hospital that he hadn’t taken into account that his Mark would once again demand to be the centre of attention between them.
“Fine, vanish it,” Draco gave in. “I’m not sure I can even move right now anyway. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Harry didn’t waste a second. Draco’s shirt vanished into thin air and he felt instant relief at having the heavy material removed from his skin. At the same time as Harry knelt down in front of him, took his arm into his hands, and gently pulled it away from where Draco still held it stiffly against his stomach. Draco ground his teeth and his vision went spotty when Harry turned it over to expose his forearm.
“Dammit Malfoy, what the fuck did you do to yourself?” Even with Draco’s warning there was still shock in Harry’s voice as he took in what Draco knew was going to be a stomach churning scene.
When Draco’s eyes could focus again and he looked down, it was worse than he had ever seen the Mark before. He felt a wave of lightheadedness, and his stomach did a turn. He had to bite back the nausea.
“I was problem solving,” he said. “Turns out I wasn't very good at it.”
Harry carefully laid Draco’s arm face up on the long table then turned back to where he had left his metal gadgets haphazardly thrown together and immediately started back to his not so gently jabbing at it. “This is happening to you because of the Dark Magic used in the explosion, isn’t it?” he asked.
Draco snorted tiredly, “So you remember me telling you about my curse now too, do you?” He leaned his head back, letting his eyes fall closed again and tried to keep from moving his arm. His instinct wanted to tuck it back against his stomach.
“I wasn’t sure if that conversation actually happened or if I dreamt it,” Harry said, then added with a touch of sarcasm, “That seems to be happening a lot lately when it comes to you.”
“It happened,” Draco confirmed. “And now you get to be the first person to see my cursed Mark up close with all of the bleak shit it soaked up tonight.” He refrained from adding that maybe this was what would actually make things even between them after they had sat in his broken bathroom and he had to helplessly watch Harry hallucinate their past on the same night that conversation had happened. At least Harry remembering the event saved him from having to retell the horror story of how he turned what had only been a visual reminder into a physical reminder of the darkness Voldemort had thrived on every time his Mark reacted to Dark Magic. A retribution to remind Draco that a part of him would always belong to the Dark Lord and there would never be an easy solution to free him from it.
Maybe his attempt at telling Harry what he had done to himself was his own way of letting Harry know that he wasn’t alone in his hatred for the Mark, or in being haunted by the past. Or maybe Draco had just simply been taking his chance to finally say to him — the war fucked me up too. Can’t you see that? Can’t you see that I’m not just a selfish bastard who got to walk away unscathed?
Harry’s voice brought Draco back to the present. “You should have come to me.” It was said so absolutely that it made Draco laugh at its absurdity.
“Okay, you should have gone to Bill,” Harry said, seemingly realising the absurdity himself and knowing that he would have slammed the door in Draco’s face if he’d shown up to ask him for anything.
“The guy whose face got maimed because of me?” Draco huffed a short laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. I did this to myself. Nobody else needed to deal with it.”
“Merlin, you were such an arsehole,” Harry muttered to himself, probably wondering again how he had gotten himself into this mess with the little shit from school who had betrayed everyone, the proof of which could always be found in the scarring on one of his best mate’s and Curse Breaking partner’s face.
“Having regrets about this already, Potter?” Draco snorted.
Harry looked down at him. And there was such a fierce look of sureness on his face that it took Draco’s breath away.
“No,” Harry said. “We’re dealing with your curse right now. Together.”
And at that moment Draco was so in love with him it hurt.
“I need to force the curse to move out of your arm and into an object before I can destroy it,” Harry said, walking slowly around the kitchen while he cast spell after spell around the room. His magic was emanating from his fingers as light blue streaks that formed a grid shape pattern which spanned the perimeter of the room from floor to ceiling before it faded and he moved on to the next section. “That’s what this is for.” He pointed to the golden orb shaped object that had been emitting a soft hum ever since he had finished shoving it together. “In my experience, a curse that has taken up residency and become comfortable for that long is going to be righteously pissed off at being fucked with. And, if this is Voldemort's making, it's going to be some pretty chaotic shit,” he added.
“Once I have the curse isolated away from you this will contain it until I can destroy it. The hardest part is going to be getting it out of your arm and into the orb.” Harry explained, as he continued to focus on what he was doing, which Draco assumed were the necessary protection charms to prepare the area to be a hub for the chaotic Dark Magic. If Draco had thought the provocative display in Harry’s bed would leave a mark on his personal space, that had been nothing compared to this complete madness.
“You should feel relief as soon as it exits your body,” Harry continued. “But I don’t know what state it’s going to leave your arm in once it's out so you need to be ready to close the wound or whatever it needs. I can ask Hermione to come if you—”
“No, I can do it,” Draco said. Allowing Harry to be this close was already too much, he didn’t want to bring anyone else into it.
“Okay, good. Because I need to work fast.”
Draco could see Harry’s profile as he stood next him and seemed to check his charms one last time to make sure everything was set to go. Draco liked that he was getting to see this side of Harry; the renowned Curse Breaker who was confident in his ability but still authentically himself in his approach, and somehow made it all work. But chances were this curse wasn't going anywhere. Draco had accepted that a long time ago. Maybe this was just Harry needing to take the opportunity presented to him to go to war with Draco’s Mark to be able to better accept him; a chance for Harry to battle a visible symbol and blatant reminder of their past as a way to help soften the blow that it had been Draco he had lusted after and begged for help. And, despite his best efforts, it was still Draco who he couldn’t seem to shake. Although, whatever Harry’s reason was for doing it, to Draco, it still felt like he cared.
Draco reached out with his right hand and placed it at Harry's waist as he worked, just wanting to touch him. After all the time he had spent living with and coming to terms with the curse he had inflicted on himself, he never thought in a million lifetimes that it would be Harry who would one day face it with him. Maybe they actually were making some progress in this fucked up relationship.
Draco didn’t feel remotely attractive right now. He was beaten down and drained from the night, his body pale and soaked in sweat with the disgusting shame of his forearm on blaring display. Yet Harry hadn’t recoiled.
“Is this how our relationship is going to be from now on, Potter?” he said quietly. “Us helping each other when the other is in need?” The good arm he was holding up to Harry’s waist started to feel heavy so he let it fall down the curve of Harry’s hip, down the side of his well toned thigh and around the back to squeeze the denim covered muscle gently in his hand.
“It’s better than when we were trying to break each other,” Harry responded, pulling out a well aged book from his bag that appeared to be only a few rough turned pages away from falling completely apart and started to thumb through it, stuffing the pages back in that actually did fall out as he did. Draco thought to do a preservation spell on it when he could focus again and fix what seemed to be something important for Harry’s job.
“Now stop touching me,” Harry added. “Your hands…” he shook his head slightly. “I need to concentrate.”
Draco let his arm fall back to his side; distracted, lightheaded, and not as careful with the movement as he should have been. He nearly doubled over when another slicing pain went through him. It was focused on his forearm but it radiated out — everything hurt. Harry joggled his chin to get his attention when his eyes had involuntarily closed tight again.
“Ready to get started?” Harry said. There was a fire in his eyes that was undeniable. He was in curse breaking mode; serious and confident. It was a sight to behold, if not also a bit terrifying.
“Hold on, not yet,” Draco said quickly, reaching out for the half empty bottle of firewhisky he had spotted earlier sitting on the table. He uncorked the top with his teeth, spit it out, then took a long swig from it, wincing as the familiar burn went down. He lowered the bottle and cracked an eye open when the sound of low bass and moody instruments began to fill the room. Harry stood waiting. “Radiohead?” Draco raised a brow. “You listen to Radiohead when you break curses? A bit tragic, don’t you think?”
“Helps me focus,” Harry snorted, taking the bottle from Draco’s hand and bringing it to his own lips to tilt it back.
“And the alcohol?!” Draco said, his voice rising slightly.
“Gotta stay loose,” Harry grinned, then proceeded to take another swig from it before he dropped it back down on the table, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders.
“I’m really starting to reconsider putting my trust in you,” Draco groaned. “Maybe this is why you keep getting injured on the job.”
“Having regrets about this already, Malfoy?” Harry chuckled.
“So many,” Draco picked up the bottle one more time. “But Merlin help me, I do trust you.”
Harry’s face turned serious again, and with that rugged confidence and slightly unhinged focus, it made Draco believe that this might actually work.
“Don’t pass out,” Harry said, giving Draco’s chin one last little joggle before the music swelled and he went to work.
***
Draco couldn’t tell if it was seconds, minutes, or hours before it was over. The curse proved itself to be one ornery beast. He had never felt any other pain like it — dark and consuming, both mental and physical. The fight the curse put up was the darkest parts of the world laid heavy on his chest until he couldn’t catch a breath — and he did almost pass out. He had already lost count of how many times his mind almost slipped into darkness. It took all of his strength to keep holding on while Harry tried to break the thing down and coax it out.
Harry was a steady force throughout, never once did he break his grip on it. When one thing failed he quickly moved on to the next before the curse had a chance to regroup. His face was focused and held tight in concentration; he was brute strength and sharp finesse — Draco was fascinated by him.
The skin on his forearm bubbled and spat, thick blood oozed down his arm and was dripping into a puddle onto Harry’s table. The snake and skull of his Mark vibrated and writhed in what looked like violent protest. He had to stop looking when the dead eyes of the skull seemed to come alive to stare directly at him with blinding rage at the same time the snake's mouth opened wide and let out a high piercing scream. He wanted to pull at his ears and scratch out his eyes. He wanted to finally finish the job of just hacking his arm off.
Harry never flinched, and somewhere in the back of his mind Draco wondered if this was his moment of hallucinations. He felt every heartbeat and pulse of his body on an almost micro level but hovering outside of it at the same time. And it all happened to the abstract soundtrack of rattling bass, electronic synth, and an edgy falsetto while he tried not to slip into the black spots that flashed before him.
He had to find a point to focus on, to hold it together, as the feeling of a living organism being ripped from his body intensified. With that awareness his world narrowed to what was in front of him — a scar beaded with sweat in the shape of a lightning bolt. The room shook and his body trembled. He continued to swim in and out of consciousness, but his eyes kept coming back to hold onto that symbol etched onto the forehead in front of him.
‘When it gets hard, try to hold onto something good,’ Harry had told him before they had started. In Draco’s experience symbols hold a lot of power, and while this one was branded on Harry's body by Dark forces, it was a mark of love prevailing. And as Harry warred with the symbol on Draco’s arm, Draco held onto the symbol that was good, the one that was Harry.
When the intensity of the struggle reached the crescendo and he didn’t think he could keep from falling into darkness -- it was over as quickly as it had begun.
Chapter Text
He was lying on the floor when he came to, his cheek pressed against something soft. When he cracked his eyes open he saw that Harry’s hoodie was tucked under his head.
“Here, drink this,” Harry said. He was sitting on the ground next to him, one leg bent up at the knee. Draco took that as a good sign that he was not in fact dead like he felt.
“No more alcohol,” he groaned groggily, trying to push himself into a sitting position but his body feeling too weak and heavy just fell back down, and he buried his face into the smell of warm summer.
The last thing he remembered before the world went black and he had slid to the ground was catching the wand Harry had effortlessly flicked into his hand while never breaking the hold he had over the abomination he’d been pulling from Draco’s arm. The pain had been so intense as he watched the smooth pivot Harry had made with the curse when he brought it out of him and into the orb that it had felt like he was watching the scene play out from a distance. Once it had been released from his arm, black smoke swirled in front of him; snarling, aggressive, and violent. It had been pure agony feeling the ripping exit, and, with the world fading before him, Draco had blindly cast healing spells at his arm, hoping one would stick before everything had gone black.
“It’s water,” Harry snorted and put an arm under Draco’s shoulder to help him sit up. Draco took the glass and swallowed it down greedily; parched, like a man who had just gone to hell and back. It ran down his chin and his bare chest. Harry wiped it away with his hoodie and refilled the glass.
“Holy shit,” Draco said in disbelief, lowering the glass and looking down at the arm he’d been holding himself up with. “I can't believe that actually worked.” He lifted it up to examine it. The open wound and blood had vanished and the slicing pain was gone, only a light throbbing beat lingered. The lines of his Mark were still visible, but even they had faded. You had to really look to see the familiar shape that had been a part of his body for longer than he liked to think about.
“I know,” Harry said. “I can’t believe it did either. I‘ve actually never removed a curse from a human subject before. I only deal with objects.” He took a sip from the whiskey bottle he’d just picked up from the floor and then rested his arm on his knee, letting the bottle dangle from his hand.
“You’re fucking insane,” Draco half groaned, half laughed. Harry just grinned and shrugged, appearing quite pleased with himself that his cocksure plan of ‘guns blazing and hope for the best’ paid off.
Draco couldn’t stop looking at the smooth skin of his arm. “I don’t know what to say, Potter.” He was still in disbelief. There were so many things that could have gone wrong, but Harry had saved him once again. How do you thank someone who hasn’t always wanted to, but continued to take risks for you.
“Don’t say anything,” Harry said, knocking his leg softly into his. “But now that we have that out of the way, do you want to talk about tonight? About Greg?” he asked. Draco rubbed a hand over his face. Oh, that was the grief that still sat on his chest. No, he didn’t think he wanted to, but he did anyway.
“It doesn’t seem right that I’m freed from this on the night he died.” He looked back down at his arm. “You know how he felt about me. Not much different than you,” he continued. “I don’t even feel like I have the right to be sad that he’s gone, that he wouldn’t want that from me. And here I am once again the privileged arsehole responsible for so much, getting another fucking break — and from you of all people--” His words suddenly felt lodged in his throat and he was overwhelmed with a feeling of despair that Harry had beat his curse.
“—I don’t think you should have helped me...” he stuttered out. His curse was his; his reminder, his fucked up form of self hate, his — punishment. The answer to the question he had never examined too closely was clear in this moment to why he had never tried harder over the years to seek help to get rid of it.
“—I should have to live with it…I need it—” His voice shook, a bit manic. He could feel himself beginning to panic at not having his safeguard anymore; the aching, long suffering pain that was a reminder of who he could become if he wasn’t careful. But the panic quickly faded and he was only left drained.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said— I think I’m just tired,” he scrubbed a hand over his face. “I should just be saying thank you.”
“Hey,” Harry said, rubbing a hand on Draco’s leg to get him to look up. “First of all, the life Greg made for himself seemed to have turned out pretty well so don’t give yourself too much credit for ruining him.” He smiled, trying to hold Draco’s eyes, trying to get him to smile back. “Listen, you made some fucked up choices, and yeah, you hurt people because of it,” Harry continued. “But so have I, and so did Greg, and that’s on him. Everybody is responsible for themselves. It’s hard to come back from that but he did and so did you. I see that now Malfoy, I really do. And if you need time to grieve him then grieve, but Greg’s at peace now and your guilt isn’t going to do anything for him, and it’s not going to do anything for you either. So get that shit out of your head about needing to live with the curse. Didn’t someone once give a nice little speech about life being mostly shit but sometimes you get a break along the way so take it when you can?”
Draco finally looked up and gave him a small smile and a half-hearted eye roll at Harry remembering his off the cuff speech from the engagement party. Harry was relaxed and open, you wouldn’t think he had just gone head to head with a Dark curse, or that just a few weeks ago he didn’t know if he could trust Draco enough to be like this with him. It relaxed Draco.
“You should keep drinking,” he said, nudging the bottle in Harry’s hand toward him with a finger. ”I like you like this… all sage and wise.”
“Oh, so you're back to being a little punk are you?” Harry chuckled. “See if I ever share any of my wisdom with you again.” He stood and put a hand out to help Draco up. “Come on,” he said, “you’re exhausted. You can barely hold yourself up and I need a shower. Voldemort's magic made me feel gross,” he shuddered. “I feel like I’m sixteen again.”
He left Draco to walk to the door at the opposite end of the room. “You can use the shower in my room,” he said behind him. “The water pressure is better up there.” He looked back over his shoulder, “I take it, you remember where that is?” He lifted a brow.
“Nope, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Draco said. “I’ve never been here before.” He was already moving in that direction.
Harry laughed. It filled the room where conflicting magic still lingered and made it feel lighter.
Draco didn’t want to be away from that laugh. He wanted to follow it under the hot water and get lost in the steam with it, with him; to thank him with his hands for being so kind.
“Potter,” he stopped at the bottom of the stairs before Harry closed the door behind him. “Thank you… for giving me another break.” He lifted his arm slightly. “Why did you do this for me?”
Harry shrugged. “I didn’t like seeing you hurt.”
Draco had to look away with the emotion that got stuck in his throat and threatened to spill from his eyes. It was the same sentiment that Harry had expressed to him on his bathroom floor when Harry had actually thought that they were sixteen again, and was distraught over what he had done to Draco, and saying things that weren't real. Until now, when they were.
The longing that Draco carried was becoming harder to contain. It was Harry’s fault, for making him feel like he fucking mattered. Space to be alone would do Draco some good.
***
He wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out into the connected room. Harry was already in bed with one arm tucked behind his head, a pair of glasses on, and a dusty blue cotton sheet pulled loosely around his waist. When he heard Draco enter he laid the book down he was reading and glanced up. It was quite a nostalgic feeling for Draco to see him wearing a similar pair of glasses to the thin gold frames he wore when they were younger, only more modern and better fit. It was also intimate. He wondered if Harry only wore them now in his quiet alone time when his eyes were in need of a break from the charms he must use. The confident focus behind those frames from earlier was now replaced with quiet contemplation as he took Draco in; standing before him shower damp and a bit unsure. Now that Draco had been away from him he felt awkward standing in his bedroom, like he had pushed himself on him tonight and was now invading Harry’s personal space.
“I’ll just get my things and—”
“I put something for you to sleep in over there,” Harry nodded toward a dresser against the wall. Draco looked over to see a pair of boxers folded on top of it. He decided not to question it, he just took it as the invitation he had needed to hear to put him at ease. So at ease that he let the towel around his waist drop to the floor, not bothering to go back behind closed doors to get dressed.
A heated flush washed over him as his eyes tracked the quick inhale of Harry’s breath, the slight parting of his lips, and the hand that clutched the sheet as he watched Draco’s naked body slip into his boxers then shrink them down to fit his slimmer frame. A part of Draco felt ashamed that his cock was half hard, and had been for longer than it was appropriate on a night like this. But it was Harry, and he had been so sweet, and so fucking brazen putting Draco back together — Draco wanted him to see what he does to him.
“It hasn’t worn off,” Harry said, his voice low and thick. Draco didn’t understand what he meant at first, he covered his faded Mark instinctually, self consciously thinking that’s what Harry was saying, that after everything it was still too much.
“You said it would wear off,” Harry continued, “but when I heard about the explosion — that you were there… I just needed to be close to you and see that you were—”
Draco was across the room and on him before he had a chance to get the last word out. He shoved the sheet to the side and spared only a second to appreciate the way Harry looked spread out in his bed — each of them reaching out for the other as Draco pushed Harry back against the pillow and straddled his hips. Harry’s hair fanned out like a halo as Draco pressed their bare chests together, unleashing the want he had felt all night as he melted into him completely and kissed him deeply.
The only thing Draco wanted right now was to feel Harry alive and under his hands; to cradle him in between his legs and suck on his pulse point to feel it beat with life. He was still undone by the night and how close to home it had hit. He was depleted and drained. The carnage of the pub and the agony he had gone through with the curse had left him hollowed out and at the same time like a single exposed nerve ending, like the insides of his body were sitting on the outside; sensitive and brittle. All he wanted was for Harry to take him apart until he couldn’t remember his name. And having a hard cock pressed against his own had him chasing it, grinding down hard, his hips rocking back and forth. With his hands braced on Harry's chest he wanted to get lost in it.
Harry tried to slow Draco’s hips with his hands gripped at his waist. “Draco, slow down…” he groaned. “I didn’t bring you here so you would have to sleep with me.” Every word was a struggle for him to get out. “You’ve been through a lot tonight. You don’t have to do this…”
Draco didn’t slow down. He continued to pull loud gasps from Harry who dug his fingers roughly into Draco’s skin — and the only thing Draco could think right now was that he had just heard his name come out of Harry’s mouth when he never thought he would again. He wasn’t sure anymore if it was an orgasm he was chasing or if he was just trying to push deeper into that sweet void that only Harry could fill and only Harry could rip away from him. There was never a guarantee that anything would last when it came to him. It was a longing that ached, replaced with a pleasure that burned. It was the world narrowing down to just the two of them, and if he couldn’t get there again for just a few minutes he was going to scream. Instead he pleaded into the crook of Harry’s neck.
“I don’t want to stop — please… don’t make me stop.”
With soft hands Harry lifted Draco’s face up to look him in the eyes; he searched them, smoothed the pale blonde hair back that fell into them. “Okay, Draco. If you’re sure.” Draco nodded to give Harry the permission he was seeking.
In one smooth motion Harry sat up, wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist and with a grunt flipped them over until he was on top. Then hungrily, as if he too needed to feel Draco alive under him, kissed up the length of Draco’s neck until he was back to his mouth, his hands cradling and smoothing across Draco’s skin. Draco’s legs fell open so Harry could slot in closer. This was what Draco needed — the solid weight of this body on top of him to keep him from floating off. The comforting pressure of Harry’s broad chest, the heat and heaviness of Harry’s want against his own — they were together in this now; in the pursuit of chasing pleasure from each other.
Harry wedged a hand between them and pushed Draco’s boxers down enough to free his cock and then did the same with his own. He tried to get a hand around them like a vice, but Draco’s arms were wrapped so tightly around his back that Harry couldn’t find the space and abandoned that plan to meet Draco’s pace with his hips. They ground their bare cocks together, the drip of their precome sliding down with each thrust, creating the perfect wet friction of skin. Their breath came out heavy against each other's lips and the hard tips of their nipples were in constant friction. Draco let his hands slide down Harry’s back, feeling every ridge and indent with his fingertips, pushing Harry’s pants lower and squeezing the soft mounds of his arse, feeling the muscles clench with the grind of Harry’s hips and the soft fleshy bounce with the release of them. It was the first time he had touched this much of his skin with Harry’s unaltered permission and Draco’s hands were greedy in their exploration.
Harry panted against Draco’s neck, mouthed soft bites against his jaw and sucked on the delicate skin of his earlobe. Pushing his mouth hot against Draco’s ear he whispered, “I love…”
“I love you too...” Draco moaned. The words falling from his mouth as natural as breathing.
“...the way you feel,” Harry finished saying at the same time as Draco.
Draco was too deep in the pleasured filled void to realise his slip, a place halfway between reality and escape — a place you shouldn’t go when you're trying to walk a delicate balance with the one person who sets you on fire and you're nothing but a nerve ending. He only came out of it when Harry went still, confused at why Harry had stopped moving when moving felt so fucking good. But he could sense the shift in the air right before the words he’d said out loud, and the words Harry didn’t, came rushing back.
When he opened his eyes Harry was staring down at him, breathing hard, his eyes wide behind his crooked and fogged glasses. Draco wanted to immediately shove the words back into his mouth or find a clever way to crawl out of them, but they already hung heavily in the space between them. The tension of flirting and sex, mixed with the confusion of wanting to be close was one thing, but confessions of unrequited love put a weight on things you couldn’t come back from. He couldn’t look him in the eyes to see what was written on his face. Before he had wanted his weight on top of him, now — it was suffocating.
He turned to dislodge himself. Harry, seeing his discomfort, leaned to the side to let him out. Draco pulled his boxers back up as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed, his bare feet hitting the cold floor. Everything throbbed — his head, his eyes, his cock. He put his elbows on his knees and hung his head in his hands, trying to pull it together and not be as ridiculous as he felt.
“Do you want me to leave?” he said, needing to hear Harry’s rejection to give his body the momentum to move.
“No,” Harry said, the bed creaking as he moved close behind Draco and put a hand on his waist.
“Can I just suck your cock then and we can pretend that didn’t just happen?” he said with a small laugh, now that he wasn't being stared at he tried to go back to the easy banter they had earlier.
“No,” Harry snorted.
“Ouch.”
“Stop,” Harry said, tugging on his waist. “It’s okay. Come on, let's just lay down.”
Draco rubbed the heels of his palms in his eyes. “I shouldn’t be around you,” he groaned. “I’m constantly saying the stupidest shit.” He sat back, knocking into Harry who had moved closer than he thought.
“Hey, it’s really okay,” Harry said softly, placing a kiss on his shoulder. “It surprised me to hear you say it, but to be honest… I think I already knew.”
Harry’s words echoed in the open room, echoed in Draco’s ears. “What…?” Draco said. “How?”
“I don’t know, just a feeling… and something Ron said.”
“You three really need to find something better to talk about besides me.”
“Whatever, you like it,” Harry snorted. “Remember how bad you wanted to be in our business at school?” He stretched his legs out on either side of Draco’s to hang them off the bed, wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist and pulled him close. Still feeling exposed Draco begrudgingly leaned back against him, surprised again that Harry wasn’t pushing him away but only bringing him closer.
“The night in Italy he just told me to get my head out of my arse when it came to you and pay attention to the way you look at me when you didn't think I was looking,” Harry said against his neck, “and see if I didn’t see something else there.”
“And what?” Draco said, leaning forward again to put his elbows back on his knees, the movement causing Harry's arms to slip loose from his waist. “You come to the conclusion that I'm in love with you so you let me come here tonight and think you might care? Why, Potter? Do you just pity me? Or is it for cruelty? Are you trying to find my weaknesses to punish me now because you were forced to be tied to me? Or is it that you're so used to people falling over themselves to be near the saviour that you just assume everyone is in love with you,” Draco finished uncharitably. He had just handed Harry all the power he needed to dismantle him with three words. Draco didn’t trust so easily that he wouldn’t take it. And it was hard not to feel like it was condescending to be constantly observed by Harry and not just talked to like a human being. The conversations had only started when Harry decided he was okay with acting on his want to fuck him.
“Don’t do that,” Harry said, his body going stiff behind Draco. “I don’t like that saviour shit. I know I can be an arsehole, but I wouldn’t do that for any of those reasons.” He took a steadying breath and relaxed. “Fuck, I wasn’t even sure what Ron meant when he said that. I thought he was full of shit. I never thought you would feel anything for me. But then all of these pictures that I keep having of you, that I can’t get out of my head, and you showing up at my house, and at the hospital — it was just a thought I had tonight when you kept looking at me like you needed me —and to be clear, I can’t say… you know, that back,” he added. “I’m still coming to terms with this… thing between us myself.”
“It was just a bloody slip of the tongue in the moment —nothing more,” Draco said, unable to keep the defensiveness out of his voice, furious that everything had to be so complicated between them and nothing straightforward. “But also don’t you think that's a problem. You shouldn’t have to come to terms with wanting someone.”
“That’s not fair. You know it’s not that easy with us.”
Draco scrubbed a hand over his face. “Then why was it me? Why the fuck did that potion make you want me?” He was finally asking the question that had been sitting on the tip of his tongue for months. “And I swear, Potter, if you say something like boyhood obsession I will hex your balls off. I wasn’t anywhere near you the night that you got drugged. The last time I even saw you was months before at some pub, and like usual you didn’t acknowledge my existence. Even when I was talking to your friends within inches of you you turned your back on me and walked away. Now here you are comforting me, pulling curses from me — and still wearing my fucking necklace.” Draco said the last part as if it was the most offensive thing of all, and it was when Harry was halfway draped over his back and he could feel the taunting brush of it every time he moved.
“Do you want it back?” Harry said, not even questioning if it was Draco’s.
Draco sighed, the night wearing thin on him, his mind scrambled and fatigued. “No, it was yours first anyways.” He regretted the words immediately. He couldn’t seem to stop asking to be stripped bare tonight.
“What—? I don't remember having this before you.”
There was the questioning. Why couldn’t Draco just keep his damn mouth shut for once?
“I'm tired of talking, Potter.”
“No, tell me,” Harry said, nudging his side. “It was days after I left your house that I even noticed that I had it on and then I just left it because, I don’t know… I just liked it.”
“You know, for someone who’s supposed to be an emotional recluse you sure do ask a lot of questions,” Draco said. Harry let out a small huff of indignation, then Draco added, “That’s right, your friends tell me shit too.”
“We need new friends,” Harry groaned and Draco couldn't help the small laugh that escaped him, but he was getting to know Harry well enough to know that he wasn’t going to drop it about the necklace.
“Since you like observing things,” Draco said, because he hadn’t mis-spoken when he said it had been Harry’s first. “You should take a closer look at the necklace. You might see something else there,” he repeated Ron's words back to Harry.
Harry slid his arms the rest of the way from Draco’s waist, leaned back and took hold of the round pendant on his chest to examine it closely. “I don’t see anything,” he said, flipping it back and forth. “Just looks like a beat up old gold coin.”
“It is.” Draco turned in the bracket of Harry’s legs to face him for the first time since those loathing words fell from his mouth. Harry put a hand on one of his legs and pulled it over his own thigh so Draco could turn closer. It pushed the fabric of Draco’s boxers higher to the crease of his inner thigh. Harry left his hand resting on the soft skin, his fingers absent-mindedly stroking it as he studied the pendant.
“Look,” Draco said, his voice losing any agitation. All it took was being this close to Harry again and the look of curiosity on his face; a face that was both stoically masculine and endearingly boyish at the same time — and completely unaware of how tragically attractive it was. It was enough to break and pull confessions from anyone. Draco took the pendant from him and turned it over, they were so close their foreheads brushed. An orb of light appeared to hover above their heads at the flick of Harry’s wrist and the ambient glow cast a warm light around them.
“Do you see that,” Draco pointed to a few small lines with his finger that could connect into the shape of something discernible to a studying eye or they could just be distressed markings that meant nothing.
“Yeah,” Harry said, sounding unconvinced that it was anything of significance, his hair brushing the side of Draco’s cheek.
“And that,” Draco traced the long line that ran deep and aggressively through the centre, like someone had tried and failed to carve the pendant in half. When Harry looked up at him in confusion Draco braced himself.
“Dumbledore’s Army,” he whispered.
There was a long pause.
“You’re fucking with me,” Harry said eventually.
“No, look. D.A. It’s right there.”
“Where did you get this?” Harry said, there wasn't anger in his question, but there was suspicion. This was something that meant a lot to him and his friends, and to think that it might have been taken from him couldn’t have sat well, especially by someone like Draco. Draco dropped it back against Harry's sternum and looked away.
It was twelve years later but he could still remember the way the blades of grass had felt slipping through his fingers on that fateful day. When he had laid on the ground of the Forbidden Forest with the warmth of the sun beating down on his face after Harry and his friends had accomplished the unimaginable. The war had only been over for a few short hours but Draco could feel the pulse of life beginning to return around him, sharp and bright, as if the world itself had stood still and knew that it was safe to breathe again. The details were as clear now as they had been on that day. How the sun's rays had parted through the hovering darkness that dampened everything around them during the mournful battle. The crisp breeze that filled the air, the sounds of the forest reawakening, the soothing smell of the earth re-emerging beneath him, and the blades of grass that had held Harry's body running through his fingers right before he felt the metal brush them.
“After the school was cleared of Death Eaters, I went to the spot in the forest where you laid when they thought you were dead. I don’t know how long I stayed there. Time felt strange then, but that was where I found it.”
He didn’t look up to gauge Harry’s reaction, but if Harry was still observing, which he could feel that he was, there was a lot to be taken from a young Draco disappearing to be alone, and choosing the place that he did. And an older Draco, who was still holding on. His weak, face saving denial from a moment ago was only becoming thinner as he spoke.
“It was still warm to the touch when I picked it up from the ground, and there was smoke coming from its surface where the gash down the middle is. I always thought it must have caught one of the curses he threw at you and then fell from your pocket when you hit the ground. And then I saw…” He felt Harry’s movement behind him and glanced over to see him rubbing a hand at his naked chest. A faint circular scar rested just under his fingertips, pushed into his skin with the force of a blast. “…that,” Draco finished. He had felt the shape of that scar when Harry had laid against his chest the night of his withdrawals. Draco had kept his arms tight around him, his fingers had gone from the pendant Harry wore around his neck to the shape of it on his skin, a confirmation to what Draco had always suspected. The scar was bigger than what the pendant was now, but it was the right size for what it had been, and in the right spot if it had been kept in a shirt pocket. He couldn’t help but to lean in close now to inspect the faded mark, another scar on Harry’s body barely visible to the eye.
Harry didn’t say anything.
“I was going to give it back…” Draco continued, looking down, suddenly feeling the need to explain himself. “I looked for you, but I couldn’t find you — you were probably already off chasing Death Eaters, or… I don’t know, but I kept it with me with the intention to, then eventually made it into what it is now.”
It was at the Manor during the long months of his house arrest that Draco had shrunk the Galleon down and polished it clean. It would be hard to recognize what it had been from the damage it received during the battle. And then he took it and transformed it even more. He had made sure to preserve the character of its battle scarred history, replating it with gold and giving it the appearance of a spiritual token to be passed down and worn sacredly. And that is what it was to him. It represented brave acts with perilous consequences, something that he had failed at every turn, and keeping it close reminded him that he could be brave too. Thinking about how easily things could have gone differently that day, and the lore that he had created in his own head of the coin he wore around his neck being a part of protecting Harry’s life and the ultimate defeat of his oppressor. Even later when he had learned the shocking news that Harry had been a Horcrux, Draco still held on to that lore. Did having a token of loyalty from the people who had stood behind him help Harry have the strength to make his final stand? If whatever spell fired would have hit a centimetre either side could that have been a moment that had weakened him enough for Voldemort, or even one of his blood thirsty followers, to eventually be able to dismantle Harry and become his undoing so all would have been lost? The thought even now made Draco’s breathing pick up.
“When you were on the lust potion you wanted something of mine close to you when I was away from you,” he said in between trying to keep his breathing from getting away from him. “You found it and put it on so you could feel me, and I wore it because I could feel—”
Harry continued to stare at him like he was seeing him for the first time, or like he was seeing a ghost. That exposed feeling spiked over Draco’s skin. Was this what would finally cause Harry to push him away for good? Speaking this openly about the past.
“I wanted to but I never found the nerve to give it back to you,” Draco said, the silence between them unbearable. His speech was rushed now and he began to rub a hand on his own chest. The familiar beginnings of a panic attack that had threatened to grip him earlier, making its comeback as he was losing his battle to keep his breathing even. There was a sharp pain in the middle of his chest, a throbbing in his ears and lung. The events of the night and the events of the past colliding to finally push him over the edge.
“I wanted to when you spoke for me at my— I know I shouldn’t have taken it after going to Umbridge like I did —and everything.” His words came out in a flood. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry for everything... I broke your nose and I…” His voice wouldn’t stop shaking now and he couldn’t stop the tears that began to fall down his face. “I didn’t want him to win, to kill— You said if I had gotten my way that you would be dead, but…” He gasped for air. The picture of Harry’s motionless figure in the Forbidden Forest in his head. Draco didn’t admit it then, but he had pinned all of his hopes on Harry succeeding. It had been devastating when he heard about his lifeless body on the ground. His mind now put Harry in the place of Greg at the scene of the explosion, bent and impaled, so broken that nothing Draco had studied as a Healer could have put him back together. “I didn’t want you to die… —you can’t, you can’t…”
In an instant Harry turned Draco’s face back to him, didn’t push him away as he had expected, but pushed his mouth against his, kissing Draco hard before breaking off at Draco’s gasp for air. Harry rested his forehead against Draco’s and told him to breathe with him. He wiped the tears that fell down Draco’s cheeks with the stroke of his thumbs. Reminded him over and over that they were both here and safe. The tips of their wet lips touching with each inhale and exhale Harry made them take together, coaching and guiding Draco through it. He placed small kisses, one at a time, on each of Draco’s lips and each corner of his mouth until Draco couldn’t take it anymore and pushed their mouths back together with an urgency to devour him. His tears dried and his breathing evened with the movement of their mouths and the brushing of their tongues. It turned into something wet and rough, but still soft and tender, something that was filled with past regret and current longing. Draco twisted his body the rest of the way around to straddle Harry, needing to get the friction back from earlier, but Harry scooped him up with his hands under his arse and turned, dropping Draco back onto the bed with a small bounce.
“Are you okay?” Harry asked, voice soft. He leaned over him to kiss along Draco’s cheek and run a hand down his side.
Just keep doing that, putting me where you want me and I will be, Draco wanted to say. But he didn’t trust what unguarded thing might fall from his mouth so he nodded and hooked a leg around Harry’s hip trying to pull him down. Harry didn’t budge. He stayed where his weight wasn't on top of Draco, reluctant to smother him again. He moved the hand he held on Draco’s waist down the length of his long leg that was still hooked around his hip in a slow grazing slide. “I want to make you feel good,” he said, his voice a timbre that sent a tremor through Draco’s blood. “I want your cock in my mouth. Do you want that?” he asked.
Draco answered by pulling off his boxers, tossing them to the side and letting his knees fall open, letting Harry see what was his for the taking; his long cock and round balls, the curve of his arse, the shadow of his crease. It was all Harry’s to sink into.
Harry licked his lips at the visual before him and leaned down to do some exploration of his own. When he lifted a hand to take his glasses off Draco stopped him with a touch to his wrist. “Keep those on,” he whispered, not ready yet to give up his own visual of Harry; timeless and classic, but here in the present where he was so… touchable.
Harry raised an amused brow, wiggled his eyebrows, and made a show of straightening his seductive little glasses until they sat just right with a playful grin that made Draco laugh. Then with a heated groan he leaned closer and took his time to trace Draco’s chest with his lips. His tongue followed the lines of Draco’s scars, acknowledging what had been in front of him for the first time with his lips as he kissed them tenderly, his eyes holding Draco’s as he did. And in them Draco thought he saw Harry's own regret that it was his hands that had put them there. Draco brushed his cheek, nodding silently back to him that it was okay, that you don’t remember but you’ve already said it with words. Harry continued to kiss his skin, he sucked his nipples in between his teeth, and grazed his sharp collar bone. Doing exactly what he said he wanted to do; making Draco feel good. Draco was already a mess; moaning, whimpering, pushing his neglected cock in the air trying to find any piece of Harry to rub against. Harry chuckled at his neediness, but Draco kept his mouth shut, not risking ruining another orgasm with any more confessions.
Harry’s hands and lips were everywhere at once, leaving searing spots like a destination across Draco’s skin. Harry’s magic always caused Draco to feel too much of him, an experience he hadn’t had with anyone before and wasn’t sure he would want to. It wasn’t natural to feel this much of someone. It was a dizzying sensation to be wrapped this close and to feel that vividness.
He shuddered when Harry finally dropped to his knees and hungrily sucked down his cock. Draco tried to hold back; everything was right between them when they were doing this, he wanted it to last forever. He propped himself up on his elbows to watch Harry’s sexy lips wrapped around him, his lovely eyes blown wide and half lidded locked onto his, his broad shoulders and toned chest flushed with his effort. But Draco couldn’t make it last, within minutes he was crying out his orgasm. Harry milked him through it then took it as Draco gave a few rough finishing pumps of his hips. Harry didn’t stop there; he unabashedly licked Draco clean, mouthed kisses across his balls, up the underside of his cock and back around to push his nose into the base of him to breathe him in. Draco fell back and savoured it, running his hand through Harry’s hair as Harry continued to pull needy mewls from him. Draco tugged on the soft locks to get his attention.
“Let me do it for you now,” he said, languid and satisfied. “I want to make you feel good.”
Harry moved up Draco’s body, a body that was still throbbing warmly from its release, kissing him to let Draco taste himself on his lips while whispering how much he liked the way Draco tasted before he moved higher up the bed and plopped down on a pillow.
“You already did,” Harry said, still breathing hard from the work he’d just put in.
Draco had to tilt his head back to see the sated look on Harry’s face and chuckled. “Potter, did you just come in your pants from sucking my cock?”
Harry grinned lazily. “Yep, like a bloody teenager.” Draco laughed again and Harry tugged on him. “Now get over here. I want to sleep next to you.”
He pulled Harry’s boxers back on and slid his worn out and relaxed body next to him. Harry lifted the comforter with a hand to beckon him close.
“You keep surprising me,” Harry whispered, pulling Draco closer with an arm around his waist, his eyes heavy with sleep. Draco would argue that he was the least surprising one here, but he was also too exhausted to do much else besides lay there.
“Thank you, for taking care of this,” Harry added, touching the pendant around his neck before his brow furrowed and his head rose slightly off the pillow as though a thought had just occurred to him. “Do you think Hermione knows what this is?” he said. “She was the mastermind behind the D.A. Galleons.”
“Of course she knows,” Draco snorted. “She does see all and know all, remember?” Harry let out a small laugh and then his face took on that soft look again, the one where he was about to ask or say something that Draco didn’t have the energy to navigate right now. Draco stopped him before he could by putting a hand over his mouth.
“Please, I can’t do it anymore,” Draco groaned. “No more talking.” Harry chuckled and nipped at his palm. Draco smiled and moved his hand up to remove Harry’s glasses for him, carefully folding the arms down and setting them to the side. He stroked Harry’s hair back and dragged his fingers over his scalp. Harry gave a hum of approval, his eyes had already drifted shut. Draco kept running his fingers lazily through his hair to lull him to sleep until his own eyes were too heavy to stay open, but when he shifted to curl in closer and give into sleep he felt something dig into his back, reaching a hand back he found the hardcover of a book. He picked it up to move it next to Harry’s glasses, but he knew this book. It was the one from his house, the book he had read to Harry on a night that wasn’t so different from this one. A night when he had been the one to hold it together for the man next to him, who tonight had held him.
“This is what I keep dreaming about,” Harry said quietly, his eyes still closed, the words coming out barely above a whisper, which surprised Draco who had thought he had already fallen asleep. “...us laying close. Your hands in my hair. I always see your hands... They took care of me…” his voice drifted and his breath evened out. Draco set the book aside and with a hand in Harry’s hair he followed not long after.
Chapter Text
Heaven is the gentle pressure of soft lips cascading down your back in the early morning fog of waking. The sensation of someone’s wet lips and warm breath so close, and the body responding to slowly pull you from sleep. The sound of a kiss on bare skin was fucking intoxicating in the quiet stillness of daybreak; when the mind hadn’t fully bent to the pressures of the day, or rehashed the failures of the previous and was thrilled just to be given this simple pleasure at waking.
Draco wanted to fight back at the daylight shining through his eyelids threatening to pull him back to Earth and instead stay in the stillness, with these lips mapping a trail along his back. A hand joined the lips and slid across his waist, up his abdomen and squeezed softly at his chest. Fingers brushed a nipple and gave a teasing tug. He reached back and found thick hair to grab onto as he whimpered at the assault of being blissfully tortured this early in the morning.
“Harry…” he breathed, his mind catching up to what his hand had instantly known of whose bed he was in.
Harry’s lips continued their trail up to his neck, adding delicious little nips of his teeth. Draco moved his lower half back to find a hard cock waiting for him. He pushed against it, wanting it to slide between his arse and light up his nerves, but something was just there in the back of his mind, persistent and important, trying to get his attention.
“Good morning,” Harry breathed into his neck. “Did you know that you have the sexiest back? I could spend all morning with my mouth on it.” He was inching a hand into the front of Draco’s boxers to palm at his cock. Draco could only manage to make small moaning sounds of appreciation at how Harry had chosen to start their day.
“What time is it?” he eventually gasped, the nagging still there in the back of his mind as Harry slid a finger down his perineum, teasing before moving back up. Draco draped a leg over Harry’s thigh to give him better access.
“Who cares,” Harry said, his voice low and rough from sleep, still placing kisses across Draco’s neck and shoulders, picking up the pace he had started by rolling Draco’s balls in the palm of his hand before dragging it back up his cock and repeating.
“Wait… Harry, what time is it?” His mind knew he needed to focus, but his body couldn’t stop pushing back. With a deflated groan Harry stopped their movement, dropped his forehead against Draco’s shoulder, and lifted a hand to cast a tempus above them. The glowing number that hovered above them showed it was eight forty-six.
“Fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck.” Draco jumped up quickly. “I’m going to be late.” The arm Harry had around his waist dropped to the now empty spot left with Draco’s shape in it. Half awake Draco frantically began to search the room for the trail of clothes he’d left behind.
“You seriously have to leave?” Harry mumbled into the pillow his face was half buried in, one eye cracked open watching Draco stumble around his room.
“Yes, and where are my bloody socks,” Draco said, hopping around pulling on his trousers one leg at a time. Harry lifted a lazy hand and pointed to a pair of black socks sticking out from underneath the dresser next to the towel Draco had discarded. Oh, Draco thought, the fragments of events and conversations of the night before coming back to him in a rush.
Harry turned onto his back and stretched. “But I was going to eat you out and then feed you breakfast,” he said, yawning.
Draco halted the search for his shoes to pinch the bridge of his nose. Harry and that fucking mouth. “You can’t say filthy shit like that to me right now,” he said, “I’m trying to be a responsible adult here and make it to my meeting on time, and I like filthy shit coming out of your mouth way too much.”
Harry chuckled. “Shouldn’t you cancel or reschedule? I mean, after last night, you’ve got to be feeling a bit beaten up.”
Draco stopped in front of Harry’s wardrobe and opened the doors. “I feel like I was in an explosion, then tortured by a Dark Wizard's curse for hours until someone brutishly ripped it out of me,” he answered. “But life goes on… and I’m stealing one of your shirts. The brute vanished mine.” He smirked at Harry as he continued to rifle through his slim and lacking closet. Harry wasn’t known for his fashion choices, but he made casual look so good that Draco let the lack of options slide.
“Excuse me,” Harry scoffed, “but that brute has been told his curse breaking skills are an art form, a marvel to behold. You're lucky you got to witness it.” Draco eyed a button up tucked in the back and pulled it free just as hands slid around his bare waist and a hard body pressed flush against his back. That impressive cock and warm lips on his neck back to remind him of what could be his right now.
“Oh, your skills are an art form Potter, and whoever was trying to kiss your arse or suck your cock by telling you that wasn’t lying.” He turned into the bracket of Harry’s arms and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Watching you defeat my curse was one of the hottest things I’ve ever witnessed.” Harry groaned and somehow Draco found the strength to stop him from taking things further by putting his hands on Harry’s shoulders, walking him backwards to the bed and pushing him down so he sat.
“You stay right there, and this is my shirt,” Draco raised an eyebrow, lifting the tan shirt in his hand to put it on and remembering the way Harry had looked in it the night he had shown up at the pub. A thrill ran through him that Harry had taken some of his stuff when he had left his house. It seemed they both had a habit of holding onto things of the other.
“You're really cute when you're losing your shit,” Harry snorted from the bed, watching Draco begin his frantic search for his shoes again. He was leaning back on his hands in only his pants with his knees slightly spread. Draco regretted glancing over. He wasted a full minute taking in how wanton Harry looked, sleep dishevelled and turned on in the morning. He sat in the chair in the corner to put his shoes on and let out a small laugh.
“McGonagall isn’t going to think it's ‘cute’ when I show up late for the meeting I asked for when she’s already busy with the beginning of term.”
“McGonagall? You’re going to Hogwarts?”
Draco nodded. It was easy for it to slip his mind of how little they really knew of each other, and if he didn’t think this meeting was important he would stay and get to know him a bit better.
“I could go with you,” Harry said, his face lightening up.
The deja vu of the conversation made Draco laugh. “And what? See if we can use the field to play a game of Quidditch?”
Harry grinned. “How did you know I was going to say that?”
“Honestly, you're not that much different from when you were sloshed on lust potion.”
“Well, that's terrifying,” Harry cringed, pulling another laugh from Draco.
“No, you can’t come with me. The students arrive tomorrow and I’ve still got too much to do to get ready. Plus, I need to go check on Pansy. And yeah, just like before, you're nothing but a distraction.”
“Wait, you’re telling me you work at Hogwarts now?”
“That seems to be the case,” Draco answered, chuckling at the confused look on Harry’s face.
“I was offered a job and I took it.” He shrugged, as if quitting his life’s work and moving back to the scene of his crimes wasn’t a big deal. “So no more barging into St. Mungo’s asking for me to be your Healer,” he added, “because I go by Professor Malfoy now.”
“Okay, that’s really hot.” Harry put a hand on his cock and gave it a taming squeeze. Draco had to will his own hand not to reach out and help.
Draco stood, tucked his shirt in and smoothed it down. Even in his haste to get ready, and the ease of the morning, his mind kept drifting back to last night.
He was at the door, not believing he was capable of leaving Harry sitting there alone after the morning that had been offered and the future of when he might see him again was unknown. He wanted to ask, but it felt presumptuous to do so.
“Thank you for last night,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what I would have done—” The grief came back to the forefront. He took a deep breath. “You made it bearable.”
He didn’t know how a goodbye was supposed to go between them now. They hadn't made any promises to each other, but there was no denying that something had shifted. The ease between them became awkward in the unsureness. “I guess I’ll see you around…” He hesitated, then turned to leave.
“I was thinking about you,” Harry said to his back. “You asked why it was you. Why it made me want you. I think that’s why.”
Draco turned back around to what Harry had just said.
“I saw you the night the neo Death Eaters attack happened at Kings Cross,” Harry continued. “The attack happened the night before I got drugged. Ron called me to the site to scan for any curses that might have been involved. I never work those types of cases. I don’t like being in crowds for that long. Bill and I made a deal that he would work any public cases we take on, and in return I promised to go to St. Mungo’s if I get myself in trouble and he’s not there. He was in France that night and they were having trouble finding another curse breaker free to do it at such short notice, so I did it as a favour to Ron. It wasn’t until I was leaving that night that I saw you… and fuck, Draco, you really are something to watch when you’re focused and saving lives. It’s you who’s the fucking marvel. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. And the next night… at the pub… I was still thinking about you. I was drinking to not think about you… and that’s when it happened.”
Harry laughed a short self-deprecating laugh. “You were right. I am—” he stopped himself. “…I was ashamed. I didn't want to want you. It’s why I’m always an arsehole when I see you — you’re just too bloody good looking… Are you sure you’re not part Veela? Because it’s not fair the way you look. It’s impossible to ignore, and also very fucking annoying. I always knew you’d feel amazing.” He shook his head slightly, as if he couldn’t believe he had found himself caving in to something he had been so adamant about never finding out, and probably never would have crossed that line to find out for himself if Draco did feel amazing if it hadn’t been forced on him. “See, you made me uncomfortable. It felt wrong to want you, so I avoided you. But that night, it probably saved my life.”
Draco didn’t know if he was shocked or even surprised by Harry’s confession. He had received a little insight from his last conversation with Greg that Harry had found himself with a begrudging thought or two about him. It was probably taking a lot for Harry to admit this out loud. It shattered the illusion that it had just been a random act that had attached him to Draco.
Draco looked up at the tempus still hovering above the bed; two minutes to get to Hogwarts. He groaned and crossed the space between them in a few long strides, grabbed Harry’s face and kissed him hard before he leaned back to look him in the eyes.
“Your timing for another round of honest conversation couldn’t be worse, and I’m not sure how I feel about it, and it doesn’t sound like you do either.” Draco shook his head and kissed him again. When his mouth parted, Harry’s tongue slipped in before Draco pulled back from him.
“You’re upset,” Harry said.
“No, I’m late,” Draco answered, then paused. “Actually, yeah, I am a bit upset,” he continued. “Because you put me through all of this… just because you couldn’t admit to yourself that you were attracted to me, and Merlin forbid, just got to know me again.”
He lifted a hand when Harry opened his mouth to respond. “I’m very painfully aware of who we are, Potter, and why you didn’t. But bloody fucking hell.”
“I’m trying to get to know you now, Malfoy,” Harry said, a bit sharper, seeming to come from a place that was years of pure instinct between them in the making.
Draco huffed a laugh at how quickly he had forgotten the bite his name could have.
“Are you trying to get to know me?” he asked. “Because to me it seems like you're trying to stay away from me, then seeking me out against your better judgement hoping you can still blame it on some side effects of a potion that’s long gone, or Merlin, now some bullshit creature lineage.”
“You asked me to stay away from you,” Harry scoffed.
“Of course I asked you to stay away,” Draco said. “What did you expect me to do? I can’t trust how you feel. Only a few months ago you could barely even let yourself look at me. And now you’re so confused trying to weigh who I used to be, against some vague memories you have of me being decent to you, against being attracted to me. That you don’t know what you want, or if you can be okay with what you want.” Draco sighed. “Look, you're not saying anything wrong, and trust me, you’re not doing anything wrong. But I'm not perfect now. I still fuck up. And what about then, when I say or do something that you don’t like. Will that finally prove that you’ve been right about me all along? If you need to constantly be looking for some proof of my redemption to make you feel better about me, then I don’t know if I can live up to that.
When Harry didn’t say anything Draco leaned down to place a small kiss on the top of his head. “It’s okay, Potter,” he said. “I guess you were right when you said it’s not that easy between us.”
Harry lifted a hand and touched Draco’s waist as Draco turned to leave, his hand falling back to his lap when Draco kept walking. He left Harry with a look on his face like he was at war with his own feelings. And even if those feelings for Draco had changed, there would always be a part of him that hated himself for wanting him. Draco needed to reel in his own expectations at that reality. Potion or not, lust faded, and there was too much stacked against them for one night of openness to get his hopes up.
***
In the weeks that followed, Draco’s life became an endless cycle of classes, students, and the teething process that comes with starting something new and trying to find your footing. Every time he thought he had found a rhythm with his new profession he was thrown an unexpected curveball. But even with the new challenges he faced, he was starting to find his place, and life at the castle had taken on an interesting beat now that he was experiencing what it was like on the other side of the student professor dynamic. He found a new appreciation for Snape's cold detached teaching style as he felt himself becoming too invested in his students' future. He found that especially true in the extra class Mcgonagall had given her approval for him to start. It was a balancing act and he found himself drawing on some of his experience as a Healer to maintain some emotional safeguards. And he had to continue applying them to his personal life as well.
He thought he might run into Harry at the grand opening of Neville and Hannah’s new pub in Hogsmeades, but he wasn’t there. At Greg's funeral, Draco had stood under an old English oak to pay his respects from a distance, and for a brief moment he thought he was there when he caught a familiar scent. To his surprise it had been Ron who had come to stand next to him, and the only explanation Draco could think was that Ron must have just been with him because nobody smelled like Harry.
Weeks passed and Draco still carried that last night with Harry around with him as baggage. He felt the tenderness of it, remembered the want that was expressed between them; with voices, with bodies, with words confessed and words taken back.
Was this what Hermione had meant when she said that Harry could be an emotional recluse? When you were with him he was all consuming, but when he was over and gone he became a phantom you only thought had happened. A simple thought of that night and Draco would lose his footing. It was the most disorienting when it happened on a good day, when he had been too busy to hear it echoing in the recesses of his mind, and then unexpectedly, it would come out of nowhere…
‘I was thinking about you.’
***
It was an early Tuesday evening when the first owl arrived. Classes had long since finished for the day and Draco and Aries were on their way to visit Neville in the greenhouses. Between his wife's new business expansion and his own position as Herbology Professor, Neville could be a hard man to come by, although today had been an exception. As Draco was the only other person on campus who shared in Neville’s enthusiasm for plant life, he had been very excited to share the progress he had made with his experiment in cross breeding.
Neville had reminded Draco twice of the early dusk blooming time of his hybrid floral creation and the importance of being prompt; once by sticking his head into Draco’s classroom with a broad smile and a friendly "Don’t be late", and then again in the Great Hall during lunch just in case Draco had forgotten the time. Draco didn't want to disappoint Neville’s infectious excitement about sharing his first blossom's reveal and made sure to arrive on time. He still wasn’t sure what he was here to witness, so as a precaution in case something happened to go awry, he kept a firm grip on his wand, but held it just out of Neville’s sight up his robe sleeve to not dampen his confidence.
Standing under the glass gable roof of the greenhouse, both he and Neville were staring at a small pot placed in the centre of one of the rustic work tables. In the pot was a large green bud at the end of a swaying stalk that seemed to be reaching out towards the fading light. As the sun dipped low in the western sky the first petal emerged. It was shades of deep violet with stark black edging and a shock of blue veining that radiated light and cast a glow around the room as it bounced off the glass panes the more it opened.
He and Neville both leaned forward and simultaneously let out a small gasp. It was exquisite, the colours reminding Draco of an exotic tropical bat plant he had once admired on holiday, and the shape was similar to that of an Egyptian water lotus. But the slow, almost shy blooming of Neville’s prize was abruptly interrupted when an unfamiliar owl swooped into the greenhouse in a puff of down feathers, only just avoiding a fatal collision with the door frame. The creature then proceeded to carelessly tumble through a neatly organised row of hanging gardening tools before clipping a set of terracotta pots stacked on a shelf to send them crashing to the ground. The unexpected commotion shocked the two wizards out of their mesmerised trance, both jumping slightly at the ungraceful entrance of the post owl, which finished by landing proudly, as if that had been one of its more successful landings, on the stool next to Draco.
Draco should have known with the foreshadowing, disruptive entrance of the rough and tumble post owl, who the letter it was carrying would be from.
Dear Draco,
I keep thinking of the name Aries? Am I hallucinating, or did you grow up to be the owner of an adorable barn owl?
Harry
---
Draco couldn’t help the small smile that spread across his face. Next to him Neville looked devastated, and slightly sick, as he watched his blossom quickly close from the shock and potential threat to its delicate makeup. They watched it shrink in on itself, then start to shrivel down until nothing was left but a violet puff of smoke. Draco offered Neville an apologetic, keep-working-at-it pat on the back, then left him to mourn his vanishing experiment for the privacy of his room.
---
I made a rule about you hallucinating again, Potter. The rule is: Don’t do it. I also told Aries you called him adorable. I hope you still have all of your fingers intact after retrieving this letter from him. But he will be pleased you remembered him. He was very invested in your recovery. And, by the way, you owe Neville an apology. Your letter’s arrival just vanished months of his hard work and possibly vanished a few years from his life.
Draco
---
And so began a three day exchange of brief scribbled replies. Of owls finding Draco in between classes, at meals, and before bed. The way they had left things and the long period of silence since made Draco want to ask why Harry was writing to him now, but since it was Harry who had initiated the correspondence, he decided to let him take the lead and just continued to look forward to each letters’ arrival.
---
Hallucinations?? Yikes. It was really bad wasn’t it? I knew it had to be bad. My fingers are intact. I’m sending another owl back with this letter so Aries can rest, as he is happily perched on my shoulder at the moment. For a little guy with such a fiery name he’s very comforting. I might have to keep him. What do you think I can do to make up for whatever just happened with Neville?
How are you?
Harry
---
It was rough, and hard for me to see you like that. And will you please send my owl home?! I can’t believe he stayed the night with you. Maybe you could just pay Neville a visit and encourage him to try again? What he made was priceless. Award winning even. Neville’s ‘Botanist of the Year’ award was gone in an instant before his sad little eyes.
I’m doing well. I had forgotten how beautiful Hogwarts is in the Autumn. I’m enjoying it more than I thought I would.
Draco
---
I’m really sorry you had to see me like that, but thank you for helping me get through it. I guess you could say it’s kind of my thing. I like to go hard from the start with traumatising the new people in my life. It really sets the tone of what to expect from having me around. Just ask Neville.
I’m glad you're happy. Being happy suits you. You should keep doing that.
Harry
---
The tone being the need for a lifetime of therapy and self-medication?
And I'm not someone new in your life, Potter.
Draco
---
No, you’re not. But you’ve changed so much since our years at school, it feels new. And new is good. I like new. But speaking of that therapy, you do know that you should have been protected by the adults in your life when you were younger, don’t you?
Harry
---
I don’t know why you would think I need that. I’m a very well adjusted adult wizard who just happens to have the occasional mild panic attack during stressful events. Now I'm thinking these letters were just an excuse for you to tell me to get therapy? But yes, I’m aware they should have. The tragic tale of innocence cut too short by the people who should have had your best interest at heart. And only realising it’s happening to you about a minute too late.
And I do have a therapist, a self appointed one but one nonetheless. I actually think you might know her. Curly hair with an easy grace and an obnoxiously large vocabulary, who will cut you open with a few choice words, but also doesn’t mind digging in deep to get to the heart of the matter. And only for the price of whatever expensive pasta and wine pairing is on the menu that night.
Draco
---
That may have been part of my agenda, but the other part was simply to make up for the last letter I sent. What an arsehole that guy was. And I think I do know her. She slapped me across the head once and said, ‘Harry Potter, you need to get your shit together, you dense and impossible jackass. You’re going to wish you would have boarded that train to the peaceful other side when you had the chance because I am not someone who has the time for your contrarian bullshit.’ Then proceeded to only talk to me through Ron for the next forty-eight hours. I guess you get what you pay for with a pint and some pub pretzels.
By the way, she was standing up for you, and she was right. I hope she's helped you to not be so hard on yourself.
Harry
---
Oh my, she is good. But let’s just say that I’m still a work in progress.
Draco
---
Funny, she tells me that I’m a hopeless case. Guess I’ll just have to steal your owl since my best friend likes you more than me.
Harry
---
Get your own emotional support creature. But if you're in the area you should stop by. Aries could introduce you to his new friends in the Owlery that he has abandoned me for and now spends all of his free time with.
Draco
---
The next day Aries came home empty handed.
***
Two weeks had passed since the letters stopped and the break couldn’t have come fast enough. Draco had been too busy in the last week of teaching to think about the silence from Harry yet again. He had taught the Fifth Years how to brew the Draught of Peace, and finished the tedious task of marking the Sixth Year's essays on Golpalott’s Third Law. If Draco had given more thought to a future filled with the endless chore of marking papers, he may have rethought the brilliant idea of becoming a Professor.
Today he had decided to spend his afternoon in Hogsmeade, where he was browsing the shops at a leisurely pace, picking up a few supplies here and there, and having the occasional run-in with students who would prefer not to have a Professor lurking about to ruin their fun. It was a pleasant afternoon and confronting nervous students didn’t give him any thrills so he avoided them just as much as they avoided him. He wasn’t interested in ruining anyone’s free time, especially his own.
After he had worn out his time in the village he decided to stop by Hagrid’s on his way back to drop off some essentials he had purchased. If he was going to have tea with the Giant throughout the week he would at least like to have something edible around to eat.
“Oi, Draco, whatcha got there?” Hagrid greeted him from where he was stacking wooden crates behind his hut, sniffing the air as if he had just caught something’s scent.
“Just picked up a few things from Honeydukes,” Draco chuckled, holding up his boxes of offerings. “I’ve got some pumpkin pasties, cauldron cakes, treacle fudge, and a few others I’ll share if you have some tea on hand.” He didn’t want to offend the man, who seemed to take pride in his delusional baking skills, so he planned to just conveniently forget the boxes on his way out.
“Yeh don’t hav’ ta tell me twice, lad. Let's go put the kettle on.”
Draco followed behind him to the front of the hut. It had already become a sort of homely refuge in his short time back at the school. He took a moment to scratch an ageing Fang behind the ears, who trudged along beside him, eagerly sniffing at the bag draped across Draco’s shoulder. Draco pulled out a comically oversized dog bone and tossed it for him to fetch. He wouldn't dare leave his slobbering buddy out.
“Too bad Harry couldn’ stay,” Hagid said over his shoulder. “He would’ve loved that treacle fudge.”
Draco stopped. “Har— Potter was here?” His heart was in his throat at the simplest mention of his name, but he was doing his best to act like it wasn’t.
“Yep, just missed ‘im. An’ he was lookin’ for yeh too. Said he couldn’ find yeh up at the castle.”
“Such a good lad that Harry,” he said fondly, leaning against the doorframe. “An’ he’s doin’ me a real favour transferin’ the… Well, let’s just call it ‘fragile’ cargo for me, since he’s already on his way outta town again. He’s headed to Hogsmeade now to Portkey. Can’t be Apparatin’ and harmin’ the, er… ‘cargo.’ I would tell yeh what it is, but was illegal for me to have it in the first place.” He chuckled heartily, as if that was the part Draco cared about. “Surprised yeh didn’ pass him on yer way here.”
“I’ve got to—” Draco shoved the boxes in Hagrids hands and took off in the direction he came without a backwards glance, his bid to act normal forgotten in his haste to catch Harry before he left.
In his hurry, he broke out into a jog halfway there and almost ran into the group of students he had just seen in town, faintly hearing them calling out to ask if he was okay as he passed them in a rush. He was hoping he would have a few more years at least before there were rumours of him being a professor who had lost his mind. Leave it to Harry to push him over the edge before his first year was complete. After he nearly tripped over a fallen log he cursed himself for not keeping his broom on him. As soon as he passed the school’s no Apparition zone he disappeared in a crack, landing in an alleyway across from the Portkey Station.
It didn’t take long for Draco to spot him. He just had to look for the small crowd gathered on the street. To his surprise none of the gawking onlookers were invading Harry’s personal space. They kept a respectable distance, but the staring and pointing let you know they couldn’t believe their luck at spotting the legendary Wizard. It was the first time Draco could say he sympathised with them.
Even with all the attention Harry looked at ease, and before Draco could think too much about how Harry might feel being seen with him in broad daylight, Draco smoothed his hair down with his hand and stepped out onto the busy street. It had felt like so long since they had been around each other he was embarrassingly fucking nervous to see him again, so nervous he wasn’t paying attention when he accidentally walked into a witch passing in front of him. He reached out a quick hand to keep her from falling forward and rushed out an apology. When he looked back up Harry was about to open the station door when suddenly someone called out his name from the back of the crowd. Harry stopped, and a wide open smile broke out across his face.
Charlie Weasley; broad, muscled, handsome Charlie Weasley was walking through the crowd, who were making way for him, toward Harry and then wrapping his very well defined arms around him; beaming, leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek, and not pulling back until he took an extra moment to whisper something into his ear. During it all Harry never stopped beaming back.
Draco froze as the question in the back of his mind about whether Harry had taken that trip back to Romania was answered. He wondered how Charlie must be feeling to have that phantom back in his life as he watched Charlie, with a similar travelling bag to the one Harry carried slung over his shoulder, open the door for them and put a hand on the small of Harry’s back to lead him into the station. By the look on Charlie’s face he felt pretty fucking amazing. Their blended, reunited laugh faded as the door closed behind them. How lucky Draco had been to be here to witness it. He nearly knocked into another passerby as he turned to go.
He thought it was finally safe to say that Harry hadn’t come to terms with it.
Chapter Text
When Draco had met with McGonagall the morning he had left Harry’s house it was to propose a class teaching the history of the two Wars and how the Dark Arts were more than just wizards wielding Unforgivable Curses and Dark Magic. He had emphasised to her how in only twelve short years he had witnessed the watering down and erasure of the war they had lived through, and how dangerous it was when people had short term memories of how atrocities happen. It was a ripe recipe for them to be repeated. Greg's death and the recent rise of the neo Death Eaters had only cemented Draco’s desire to educate the younger generation further.
McGonagall had strongly supported his idea for an extra curricular course and reinforced that she would back him when outside forces would try to shut it down, because they would. He was daring to educate the next generation on how the dominant power structure operated. When Draco had used himself as an example during the first class, the students had barely reacted when he had walked around the classroom to let them see his faded Mark. It had only made him feel stronger about his decision to start the class.
Draco had begun to weave together a re-telling of the War to the students who had joined his course from his own first hand experience. He expanded his lectures to include the years and decades before that had led to it and that made waging it possible. How history isn’t dots on a timeline neatly set in stone but a linear line connected and ever breathing. The present can still be reeling from the past; the future is always wavering in what direction it will go. Victories require safeguarding and defeats can still be resurrected.
He didn’t steer clear of the darkest parts of the war either, the parts adults might want to protect their children from. Because adults also don’t mind creating wars and wastelands then allowing the children to carry its burdens.
In his lessons he talked about how history can be manipulated and biassed. It can be rallying and used as a weapon. It can be the Dark Arts used to reignite the image of Voldemort as a great legacy to those weak souls looking for a strong man and a glorious false past to rally behind.
The Dark Arts aren’t just curses that come from the end of a wand or have to have anything to do with the way we think about Magic at all. It's playing the long game in a game of pure power. It’s psychological. It’s controlling people's thoughts and opinions with the information they consume. It’s pure and simple propaganda.
He turned from the class and wrote the word ‘propaganda’ in the air and underlined it with a slash of his wand, so it illuminated next to him. “When you control the narrative of what people consume you can shape the history they will learn from and the future they will inherit.” He wrote that out under ‘propaganda’ along with the names of the books he wanted the students to pick up from the library. “And don’t be so naive to think you're not susceptible to it,” he continued to speak as he wrote. “Everyone is a victim to it, and by the time most people catch up so much damage has been done it can be hard to reverse. It’s the reason why when I was younger I was willing to participate in the mass genocide of Half-Bloods and Muggles, and at the same time be arrogant enough to think I was on the right side of history. To think I was preserving some mythical Pureblood Wizarding standard that was being encroached upon by outsiders. Because propaganda works.”
His voice faltered when he turned back to the class to see McGonagall standing there. When the students noticed his attention had been averted they followed his eyes to the back of the room, their heads turning. The excited murmuring started up immediately when they spotted who was standing next to her. Harry looked out of place as he gave Draco a small smile and shrugged his shoulders.
“Sorry to interrupt, Professor Malfoy,” McGonagall said, bringing his attention back to her. “But I was just telling Mr. Potter here about the new class you’ve started. I thought I might seize on this rare occasion to try and convince him to return and do a guest lecture for you sometime this year. With some convincing he’s agreed to sit in for the rest of today’s class and observe. I think he would have a lot of wisdom to offer the students if he decides to come back. With your permission, of course, Professor.”
She was beaming up at Harry and the students were too. A frenzy of cheering broke out at the possibility of having Harry Potter here. Harry at least had the decency to look embarrassed about it. Draco couldn’t say no with everyone nearly jumping out of their skin at the prospect.
They looked at Draco expectantly. He cleared his throat. “Of course, Headmistress,” he said, “and actually the timing couldn’t be better. I’m feeling a bit under the weather this afternoon and since Mr. Potter is already here, I’m sure the students would be thrilled if he could stay and finish the class for me today.” Another round of cheers broke out. “He can take questions if he’s not prepared for anything more. I’m sure he can handle that,” Draco finished. The classroom erupted into a rapid-fire of chatter, begging Harry to stay.
“That’s a lovely idea,” McGonagall said, already pulling Harry towards the front of the room without even allowing him a chance to answer for himself. If Draco knew Harry as well as he thought he did, Harry was hating every second of this.
“Now off you go to get some rest,” McGonagall said. “And please do let me know if you need anything.”
Draco gathered his things without any attempt to quiet the students or remind them to read the text he had given them for the next class. He would let them enjoy their special guest while they had him.
***
“What the hell was that?” Harry said behind him.
“I came out here to be alone, Potter. Didn’t you hear me when I said I wasn’t feeling well?” Draco said. “And how did you even find me?” he added, trying to keep his emotions about Harry showing up today in check. Wasn’t he right on schedule though? Waiting for enough time to pass and then suddenly popping up out of nowhere.
“Yeah, I heard you,” Harry said, sitting down on the bench next to him. “And all I had to do was look out a fucking window. Your hair practically reflects the sunlight. It’s kinda hard to miss.”
Draco had wandered outside after leaving his classroom and found himself in one of the courtyards, sitting on a bench next to the large statue commemorating The Battle of Hogwarts. It was the same statue he had vomited behind on his first time back to the Castle years ago when he had been called to assist Madam Pomphrey in the Hospital Wing.
He had been enjoying having a rare quiet moment to himself on the castle grounds, and being out here had made him think that it might be a good idea to bring the students out here for a class at some point. There were lessons to be found in this statue — about monuments being resurrected and destroyed throughout history. How they could be used to enforce a national myth or honour a monumental victory that changed the course of history. He would have to organise his thoughts on it, but he did hope that this particular statue would never be torn down. He supposed his mission to educate them was him trying to do his small part in contributing to that effort.
He glanced over at Harry next to him, he hadn’t really taken him in before, but now that they were sitting close together he could see fresh markings from several small cuts and a few purple bruises scattered across his face. They looked half healed and just begging to be properly treated. Similarly, with a partially bandaged, deep slash that ran behind his left ear, down the length of his neck and disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt. Draco looked away and didn’t ask.
“Did you enjoy the class?” he asked instead.
“You mean, did I enjoy being thrown in front of a bunch of bloodthirsty teenagers on my own for an hour? No, I can’t really say that I did… Because it was a fucking nightmare.”
“It was only twenty minutes,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “And if you're trying to make a decision on whether you should come back and do a guest lecture or not, experience is better than observing.”
“You're an arsehole,” Harry muttered.
Draco just shrugged and only let the silence go on a moment longer before he began to stand and leave.
“I didn’t actually come here to interrupt your class,” Harry said. “McGonagall found me outside waiting by your door and dragged me in.” He glanced at Draco and gave him a small smile. “I wanted to see you,” he said, “and tell you that they finally caught the people who spiked my drink.”
Draco leaned back against the bench to listen.
“Well, the actual network is bigger,” Harry continued, “and always a fucking thorn in my side, but they finally caught the two guys who executed it. And, honestly, I had already tracked them down weeks ago. I was going to handle it myself, but Ron is working within a lot of red tape and he made me promise I wouldn’t interfere with the larger investigation he’s been trying to put together, and sometimes I listen,” he snorted, before he huffed an impatient sound. “I swear it took bloody Robards long enough to do anything though. That’s another lesson you can teach your class; justice is usually bullshit.”
“Let me guess,” Draco said, “It was just a couple of random blokes who also happen to have very suspicious and questionable ties to the neo Death Eaters?” There had always been the chance that it had just been a crazed fan acting out on some deranged fantasy, but Draco had seen the complex breakdown of ingredients that were used to make the lust potion found in Harry’s system. And a fan, or even your average pub-stalking predator who was out on the town looking for an unwitting victim, would have been hard pressed to pull off a brew like that without money or connections to provide it. “And if Ron wasn’t there to keep it quiet and your name out of the press,” Draco continued, “then there would have been the usual Ministry shill’s at the Prophet whose headlines would have read something like, ‘Chosen one target of disturbed lone wolves fervour strike’, along with an article spinning that well crafted narrative they always use to suppress the link between the sudden rise in home grown terrorist attacks and their own political alignments with the group?” He purposely ignored the part about Harry almost doing something stupid by going after them alone, and the way his stomach had dropped at the thought of him in danger.
“Yeah, well funded ‘lone wolves’,” Harry let out a cynical chuckle. “Apparently they thought the potion would attach me to the guy who’d been posing as the bartender and handed me the drink. Then they could control me for blackmail and whatever other sadistic shit they had planned,” he grimaced. “I try not to think about it. But as soon as the potion kicked in it seemed I became a bit gone for you and Apparated on the spot,” he looked over and smiled. “The poor suckers never stood a chance.”
Even though Draco’s hypothesis had been correct about who was behind Harry’s drugging it was still unnerving to hear it confirmed. He shook his head slightly. “Shit, we really need to stop going out to pubs,” he said, which made Harry laugh. Draco could only imagine the kind of havoc that could have been wrecked with them having the influential saviour at their mercy. He suspected that eventually Obliviation and the Imperius Curse would have also been used against him once they had weakened his system enough. Or at least they would have tried to get to that point, until Hermione stepped in and took over the case.
“I haven’t been out here since they put that thing up.” Harry nodded in the direction of the memorial, a sombre shadow crossing his face. “It’s kinda emotional seeing it up close. I'm at least glad I was able to talk them out of it being of me. Besides that being just plain horrifying, I never wanted to be special or the face of anything.”
They sat quietly and looked at the stone representation of the future he had fought for. A future where every wizard, witch, creature, human, and in between could have a place and a voice on equal footing. Harry may just be a simple man made of flesh and bones, but whether he wanted it or not, he carried more than just his own hopes and dreams on his shoulders. And because of that there would always be a war against him. Mankind just couldn’t help themselves.
“Well, the sad truth is, Potter… that no good deed goes unpunished. Haven’t you learned that lesson yet? You changed the world and became the symbol for good, and evil will always be there to knock you down for it. You may like to keep to yourself, and you may not want to be special, but your story alone gives people too much hope and you know they can’t have that. Just you being you calls people in power to task. So some will use you to cloak their own causes in nobility,” he thought of his old boss, “and some will try to stain your reputation as being the virtuous hero to the public. It doesn’t matter if it's contradicting, they work from all angles and do whatever is convenient for them at the time.”
Draco looked over and cocked an eyebrow, “What those useful idiots at the pub didn’t know… is that you weren’t so virtuous after all, seeing as you were already obsessing over a Death Eater when they tried to get to you.”
“Sounds like another lesson you could teach your class,” Harry said.
“What?” Draco snorted. “That you secretly fancy Death Eaters.”
“Not that,” Harry said, nudging his leg, “and stop calling yourself that.”
Draco shook his head. “No, that's a lesson for you to teach the class. It’s your story to tell. And McGonagall will get to you eventually. You know she’s nothing if not persistent.”
“It's more than just a guest lecture,” Harry said. “She’s been trying to get me to teach Defence for years.”
It made sense. Harry would be an asset. But if he only showed up for one class Draco could avoid him, however to run into him everyday…
“I need to go.” Draco stood. “I’m going to be late for my next class.”
“I thought you weren’t feeling well,” Harry said from where he still sat on the bench.
“And I thought you were in Romania.”
“I was.”
Draco ignored Harry’s response and before he made his way back into the castle he said, “For what it’s worth, I’m glad their plan didn’t work. But you have to be careful. Don’t let yourself get distracted because they won’t stop coming after you.” His blood started to pump with an itch to root out the problem himself, to take up the mantle on what had caused him many restless nights throughout the years as he watched the familiar patterns of power grabs and resurgences happening around him. When he felt like trying to be a better person would be better served in pursuing a dark path of vengeance and justice in the night, instead of the path he had chosen of university classes and healing the ailing during the day. “Darkness will always look for a loophole, and you're a loophole, Potter,” he said. “I have half a mind to go after them— Just, please, take care of yourself.”
Caution provided, he went to leave, but turned back to say over his shoulder, “It’s funny, isn’t it, how when you first found out what happened to you, you thought I would somehow use it to exploit you. That I would use it to hurt you like those guys intended to. I, at least, hope you know now that I could never do that to you.”
He was inside, pushing through the crowded hall of students hurrying to their next classes, before Harry could respond.
***
Walking through the freshly painted doors of ‘The Abbott at Hogsmeade’ it appeared as though Neville had found another reason to put his green thumb to use. Every surface of the new pub was decorated in candle lit floral arrangements and garlands wrapped in twinkling fairy lights that draped across the oversized fireplaces, and down from the wood beam rafters and heavy iron chandeliers. Minus the touch of crafted romance Neville had accomplished here, it somewhat reminded Draco of his old conservatory and made him smile.
After Pansy’s near death experience, the wedding had taken on even more meaning for the Brides-To-Be, and everyone who was involved was as equally invested in making it special for them. Their rehearsal dinner was no exception.
When Pansy arrived she was dressed in what Draco was sure was her own interpretation of demure bridal white, but the racy body hugging dress was probably more suited for the club, or better yet the bedroom, than a family dinner party. She fawned over the beauty of the room, which made Neville blush pink given the effort he had put into it. However, she was equally as stressed over something to do with the upcoming wedding. Draco thought it was trivial and would work itself out, but he listened dutifully and then to really nail his role as the supportive Best Man he promptly steered her in the direction of the open bar.
With his Best Man duties in mind, he had even arrived early to this event and had already spent a good twenty minutes in the pub's back kitchen assisting Neville with the food preparation when he could have been lounging in his room with a book in hand like he had wanted to spend his evening. He even stopped himself from suggesting they shouldn’t waste a perfectly decorated evening and a questionable see through white dress and prolong this gathering of friends over two weekends when they could just get the nuptials over with here and now. Surely they could find someone in here who was qualified to oversee that.
Despite Draco’s effort, the thing to actually turn Pansy’s mood around was Ginny finally walking through the front doors in a sharply tailored ochre suite, strappy heels, and long dangling gold earrings that caught the flickering fairy lights and brought out the sparkle of excitement in her eyes when they landed on her fiance. It had the potential to do the opposite for Draco when Ginny’s, chiselled from the side of a Romanian mountain, older brother walked in behind her, solo, but there was no real question as to who would be following soon.
Seeing Harry earlier had prepared Draco for the possibility that he would see him tonight. He was relaxed even, as the mix of family and friends began to arrive. He decided to stay out of the way in the corner of the pub where he looked out the windows to see Hogwarts in the distance. Its stone turrets looked massive and gave the illusion of being carved from the landscape. Its lights cast a golden glow over the village; a beacon lighting the way of an escape route if he needed one.
Draco had made the conscious decision that he was going to be happy for Harry after their, heavy is the head that wears the crown, moment in the courtyard. But with the evening still ahead of him, he couldn’t decide if it was callous or not to have to spend the night with Harry and Charlie’s rekindled relationship in his face, or if he even had the right to harbour those kinds of ponderings. Whether relaxed or not, there was still the slight feeling of being cut to the bone that said it was. But more importantly, he genuinely wanted to be happy for Harry. Harry deserved that. And the part of his brain that could think rationally when it came to him knew that he cared enough for him to be able to put himself aside and do that.
He had only spoken to the second-oldest Weasley maybe twice in his life, but his refuge was soon encroached upon when he found himself being engulfed into a firm embrace by the impressive man. Charlie had taken it upon himself to walk over with a broad smile and cheerful greeting. Draco somehow found it in himself to stay happy for Harry throughout the encounter. Because who in their right mind would pass up a second chance to climb atop that every night.
Draco had assumed a meeting with him might have been a tad less friendly seeing as the role he had played in Harry's little lust incident. But maybe Charlie was just a good fucking guy, grateful that Draco had helped Harry through it. Or maybe his gratefulness was how that lust incident, and everything that followed, had only clarified to Harry that it was Charlie he had wanted all along. Either way, Draco was happy he could be of assistance.
When he was let free from the solid embrace that had trapped his arms by his sides, he straightened his maroon suit jacket and gave a polite nod as a sufficient enough greeting in return. He was only slightly pained, and also possibly aroused, to see that Charlie was even more rugged and handsome up close. The effort Draco was going to have to put into being fun at another party was going to be a lot to tackle in one night. Especially when his retreating back overheard Charlie replying to Bill, who had just inquired where his boyfriend was. “He’s running late,” Charlie answered, “but he’ll be here soon.” Then the brothers both laughed when Charlie added, “You know how he is when he’s rushed. He can’t remember how to dress himself.”
Where was Hermione when Draco needed someone to acknowledge what a good job he was doing at being a good person?
Neville and Hannah had closed the pub to the public for the private event. They had moved the individual tables into the centre to create a single long table, draped in linens, that spanned the length of the room. When most of the remaining guests had finally arrived Draco once again found he wasn’t quick enough in establishing refuge when he turned from retrieving a glass of water from the bar and the group had already begun to sit for dinner. The only spot left was at the end of the table next to Ron, who was sat across from Charlie, with the empty chair across from Bill.
So it looked like it was going to be a family style dinner with the Weasley brothers. It was time for the real drinking to begin. And he would take it upon himself to man that operation. He grabbed a dark amber bottle, a set of tumblers, and his good humour, and went to settle in for a night of brotherly bonding.
“Shots anyone?” he said to the brothers, lifting the bottle as he approached the table and took his seat. Three eerily similar faces grinned back and agreed whole-heartedly. If only George and Percy had been able to make it to join in on all this family fun. He lined the glasses up and poured a small measure into each from the Ogden’s he’d just swiped.
Just as they finished their cheers and tilted their drinks back, Harry's casual timbre came from beside him. “I’ll take one of those,” he said, making his entrance and giving everyone at the table a small wave in greeting before he pulled over a chair to the empty spot at the head of the table to sit between Draco and Bill.
And why didn’t Draco think to make that move at the other end of the table? He poured Harry a drink and, with the bottle in hand, looked down the length of the table as he prepared to stand. But it appeared Mr. Weasley had already taken that place. With no other choice, he settled back into his fate just in time to catch Charlie give Harry a wink.
Somehow, Draco had managed to escape a death cult only to find the real trap to be a dinner party with limited seating. Once you're locked in, you're in it for the long haul. He made a mental note to tell Pansy the wedding next weekend would need to be assigned seating and he was putting himself in charge of it. She would be thrilled with him taking the initiative.
Calling this a rehearsal dinner was a bit of a stretch. It seemed to be just an excuse for another party. However, Pansy and Ginny did try to make it somewhat informative when they briefly called for quiet so they could go over the plan for the ceremony. They finished by lifting their glasses to toast the evening before the group resumed the loud chattering.
Hannah kept the food coming and Neville hovered to make sure everyone had what they needed until the large table cheered for the couple and their generous hosting then demanded that they sit down and enjoy the evening with them all. Draco gave a small huff when the table extended on its own accord to add more seating for them.
It hadn’t taken long for Harry to invade the short space between them.
“So much for us avoiding pubs, huh?” he said with amusement, leaning forward in his chair.
“Let's just hope none of this lot are out to get us,” Draco snorted. Look at them just exchanging some casual friendly banter at a party.
Harry leaned even closer into Draco’s space. “I’ll watch your back if you watch mine,” he said, his breath ghosting across Draco's cheek. Draco swallowed. Apparently he’d been a little hasty in giving himself that mental pat on the back. “At least this party's tamer than the last one,” Harry added as he leaned back in his chair.
“Yeah, I hate it.”
“Didn’t you say something like that at the last one?”
“No,” Draco scoffed, “I’m nothing but fun at parties.” He could feel Harry grinning and he couldn’t help but slant one back. Harry took a sip from his firewhiskey and when their eyes met Harry licked the remnants from his lips.
“Yeah, you are,” Harry said, his voice dropping, his eyes roaming Draco up and down, which felt completely inappropriate with Charlie sitting right there. It caused Draco’s skin to flush. Draco looked away and poured everyone another round to make it a group activity as he tried not to think about the last party they’d been at together and how it had ended — with him in Harry’s bed — touching himself for Harry.
He chose to give Harry the benefit of the doubt that maybe he too was trying to figure out how the two of them were supposed to be around each other now and open teasing was just how he was.
Draco's world narrowed down to surviving this end of the table. He was already going to fuck up Pansy’s wedding because he hadn’t heard a word they had said. But at least the Weasleys were there to help keep Harry occupied. It gave Draco enough time to settle into this new dynamic between them; of being near him and trying not to be affected by Harry’s overreaching, invasive magic faintly assaulting his senses like a swarm of unwanted flies that he had to constantly swat at. He wasn’t long settled and Harry had been busy listening to Bill tell a riveting curse breaking story when both of them went for the bottle of firewhiskey at the same time; fingers touching, Harry’s lingering. He glanced over at Draco, lifting a curious brow at Draco’s reaction of pulling his hand away as if he’d been burned. Draco couldn’t help but roll his eyes.
Not this shit again.
Easy going friendly teasing was one thing, but touching wasn't something this casual friendship was going to involve. Draco turned to his side to see what Ron was doing and found him red-faced and passionately waving his hands in the air, well into a heated debate with Charlie regarding their opposing Quidditch team's latest match. Draco wasn’t sure he could match the needed enthusiasm to engage but found he wasn’t fast enough to steer away before Ron pulled him into the conversation. But Draco found Quidditch easy enough to talk about no matter who it was with. He could practically go on autopilot. That was until he felt a leg push against his underneath the table and he had to clear his throat when his words suddenly stumbled over themselves, forgetting whatever bullshit statistic he’d just been in the middle of reciting. Harry’s face was turned away from him as he continued to chat with Bill, but his leg stayed a warm pressure against Draco’s. Draco shifted his away.
“How are the baby dragons doing since I last saw them?” Harry asked Charlie some time later. “I know Hagrid can’t wait for you to stop by and give him an update.”
“The fire breathing troublemakers are healthy and growing fast,” Charlie answered with the fondest of smiles. “But they already miss you and can’t wait for you to come back, and neither can the rest of our rag-tag crew,” he chuckled. “They’re jealous that I get to spend more time with you here.”
Draco looked past Charlie to Luna, Cho, and Millicent to see if he could get in on their conversation, but the girls' heads were held closely together, busy chatting amongst themselves. He looked further down the table, then leaned back behind Ron to see if there was anyone he could talk to and not have to watch these two gazing and smiling at each other like they were posing for a featured photo spread in the quaint new magazine ‘Dragons and Domesticality’.
He finally found Bill across from him free to chat so Draco asked after his lovely wife. Bill replied that she and the kids were visiting family in France. Draco’s mother was in France, and he wasn’t crazy about his mother, but he was fond of Fleur, and France, so he spent a good ten minutes laughing and egging on Bill’s horrible French speaking skills while showing off his own. Unlike the Italian language, this one he knew well. He even laughed at Harry when he decided to join in their conversation and immediately butchered the language with his attempt to speak it. Draco tried to help correct him, but Harry kept being cute about it and smiling at him. It was making Draco want to punch him in the face. They kept chatting until the shadow of a broad chest leaning over the table interrupted them.
“I know you're not going to eat that,” Charlie said, grinning at Harry and pushing the uneaten grilled fish from Harry’s plate onto his own with a fork. “Harry hates salmon,” he added to the table, as if everyone here needed an insight into how well they knew each other.
“Do you want to switch seats so you can eat it from his plate?” Draco said, setting his tumbler down with a bit more force than he’d intended to.
“No,” Charlie chuckled, “I’m good where I’m at, thanks.”
“Harry, Draco! Lean in close to each other and let me get one of the two of you together,” Luna called out, her voice sparkly. The sound of her camera’s shutter had been steadily clicking in the background as she was making her way around the table to take pictures; some candid and some forced. “The colours you're wearing tonight look so lovely together! You look like Christmas!”
The deep green of Harry’s jumper had been fucking with Draco’s head all night with the way it brought out the colour of his eyes behind the thin gold framed glasses that Draco had a very vivid memory of (that involved a mouth wrapped around his…) Harry’s decision to wear them tonight almost felt personal. But Draco supposed having a weakness for a man with gently tousled waves in a cable knit jumper and a slutty little pair of glasses wasn’t a very original kink. His boyfriend must be very proud of Harry’s ability to dress himself properly.
Draco opened his mouth to decline the photo, but Harry put a hand on his leg under the table and leaned in to whisper in his ear, “What the fuck is the deal with drunk people always trying to force everyone to take awkward photos at parties?” Draco let out a small laugh right as Luna snapped their picture.
“I don’t know, Potter,” he replied, “I’m not one to question the absurd things people do at parties.”
Harry leaned back and scoffed in mock protest. “I’ve no idea what you’re trying to imply.” He smirked and gave Draco’s thigh a light squeeze to punctuate his words. Draco tried to resist but caved and gave him a smile in return. Harry seemed to be waiting for it, waiting to see if he could get Draco to let his guard down, and Harry’s smirk turned into a smile when he’d accomplished it. Harry turned back to Bill to answer the question he’d been asked before they were interrupted, but his hand stayed on Draco’s leg. The weight heavy.
And all of a sudden Draco didn’t know what to do with his own hands. He wanted to put one on top of Harry’s and hold it there. He wanted to pull him closer with it so nobody could take him away from him. He wanted to move it slowly up his leg until it covered his cock and they could play that game they had both liked so much — the one under the table, the one that had only been between them. Finally finding something to do with his own hands he pushed Harry’s from his leg and stood up. He just needed a moment.
He hadn’t had a chance to greet Hermione, and since the school year had started it had been weeks since he had seen her. He kneeled down next to her chair and pushed aside every other thought that was trying to cloud his head. “No wine tonight?” he asked, observing the empty hand that was usually accompanied by a large wine glass on occasions like this. She gave him a nervous smile and he caught the way her hand had protectively gone to her stomach. When he raised a knowing brow she gave a short nod.
“Shh, we’re waiting to tell everyone until after the wedding,” she whispered. “Let Ginny and Pansy have their moment.”
“Smart lady,” he chuckled. “Your new sister-in-law is vicious.” She nudged his shoulder with a laugh and they continued to chat.
“That kid doesn’t know how lucky they are to have you as a mother,” he whispered in her ear before he stood to leave, then turned back and added, “But don’t even think about making any medical decisions without me. On second thought, I’ll be going to all of your hospital appointments with you. Actually, let’s just plan on having your delivery in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing,” he finished with a chuckle.
“Oh, I’ve already planned to have you locked down for the next eight months,” Hermione laughed. “Ron will be grateful to know someone else we trust can be my support when he’s tied down with work.”
He left her to mingle with a few more familiar faces then stopped by the bar to swipe another bottle of firewhiskey before Neville caught him and ushered him back to the table to sit. In Draco’s opinion, Neville was a bit over excited when serving the dessert he and Hannah had prepared, which was some kind of chocolate something. The way Neville went on about made it sound rather sexual, so he was sure Pansy and her party planner, Blaise Zabini, had been in on the process. Draco was probably going to have to watch Charlie lean across the table and feed it to Harry.
When he returned to his seat, he found his fellow table mates in the middle of a very hushed and serious conversation judging by the grim looks on their faces. And since they all went quiet at his approach then each of the brothers, in their own way, tried to change the subject at the same time, it was so obvious the topic involved him it was comical.
“I leave the table for five minutes,” Draco scoffed lightly, sitting and refilling everyone's glasses with his fresh score. If it was his presence causing this side of the table to be awkward he might as well lean into it. “And you blokes can’t even manage to maintain this end of the party without me.” He shook his head in mock disappointment. “What is it we’re in the middle of discussing now? Taxes? Inequality? The new Minister of Magic’s delusions of grandeur? The inevitable extinction of the wampus cat? Whatever it is, shit’s taken a real nosedive down here boys.”
They laughed, a bit uneasily, but it was enough to break the awkwardness as Neville and Hannah went around placing plates of melting chocolate cake in front of them.
“Oh, yummy, sex cake,” Draco said in his old posh drawl. “Just the pick me up we needed down here.” It at least got another, less awkward, laugh from everyone.
“I know, right!?” Ron’s eyebrows shot up to his forehead. “Did you hear the way Neville was describing it?” he said through the large amounts of cake he was already shovelling into his mouth. “He was making me sweat, and… I think I might want to fuck this cake now.”
That phrase alone was the gift that kept on giving when it came to shifting awkward energy. And it was quite entertaining to sit back, sip from his glass and watch the brothers go all in on Ron all at once for it, even Hermione got in on the action of teasing her husband.
Harry had been sitting quietly back in his chair when he put his elbows on the table and leant forward to get Draco’s attention through the noise. “Hey….”
“I don’t actually want to know what you guys were talking about, Potter,” Draco said.
“Yeah, I kinda picked up on that,” Harry snorted. “But you do know I wasn’t trying to take over your class earlier,” he continued. “I hope you’re not upset about that.” He must have also picked up on Draco shoving his hand from his leg.
“You think I care about that?” Draco said. He couldn’t care less. He did care if he was going to have to change his entire work schedule to include avoiding Harry in the near future. Or just quit. “I actually think having guest speakers is a brilliant idea,” Draco said truthfully. “Hell, I wish I’d thought of it. And when I’m sufficiently pissed I’ll probably go around and start asking everyone here if they would come in and speak. I mean, just think about all of the stories and lessons in this one room alone; what everyone has experienced and could share. Well, maybe not your best mate Ron there,” he snorted, watching Ron’s eyes roll back in his head as he licked his dessert plate clean, really hamming it up while Luna snapped his picture.
Harry chuckled and lifted the bottle Draco had placed on the table to top up Draco’s drink for him. “Better keep drinking then,” Harry said. The corner of Draco’s lip lifted. “When I was outside of your classroom I listened to what you were saying,” Harry continued, the room humming loudly around them with the sound of their friends' voices and laughter. “It’s really important what you're teaching those kids. What made you decide to do it?”
Draco felt himself starting to buzz again from the way they kept having to lean in close to hear each other over the noise and because Harry was showing interest in something important to him in that way Harry does when he gives his full attention to someone; intently and with focus. It was putting Draco so on edge that he couldn’t seem to stop the warmth from spreading no matter how hard he tried, no matter how light he tried to keep the evening.
“Well, Potter, the shitty world started to make a lot more sense when I started to learn how things really work. So if I can use myself as an example then I will. So, just maybe, those kids won't turn into brain washed neo Death Eater’s one day, but instead grow up to be people who can understand the lessons that history can teach us enough to make better choices than to let themselves be used as pawns in someone else’s game. So, just maybe, they won’t make a decision in life that involves blowing up innocent people to make themselves feel bigger. Or carry out some sick cultish allegiance to a dead wizard by drugging the man who went through hell to give them their freedom —the man that I lo…”
There always seemed to be a single moment in every encounter with Harry when Draco broke. He turned away, but he could still see the soft look on Harry's face.
“Draco—”
“Don’t,” Draco said, turning back to say it in Harry’s ear. He didn’t want to hear Harry’s voice filled with pity. “I know you’ve moved on from this…” He didn’t know what to call what had been between them or if it should be called anything. “So do whatever you want —teach here, move away, continue to slice yourself open on the job. I don’t care. Just leave me out of it. Because I need to put this— you, behind me.”
“Is that why you kept trying to avoid me today?” Harry said. “Because you think I've moved on?”
“I haven’t seen you in over a month, Potter. I would say that’s a pretty clear sign. So don't come here and tell me that I'm avoiding you. And we shouldn’t even be talking about this.” The room that had faded around them quickly came back into sharp focus. Draco glanced at Charlie who looked their way but was otherwise occupied, since dinner was over and everyone had started to stand and move around.
“But I want to talk to you,” Harry said. “And I came to tell you I was leaving again but I couldn't find you, and writing was too dang—”
“Don’t worry, Hagrid told me you came looking,” Draco cut him off. “And I saw you at the Portkey station with…” Draco leaned back into Harry’s ear, “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. It’s finished. You don’t owe me anything. You came to tell me they caught the guys who drugged you and you did. Now we can be done with each other. Because I can’t be somebody you fuck around with on the side when the mood strikes if that’s what you’re expecting to happen here.”
“Can we go somewhere?” Harry said frustrated. “I can’t think straight with all of this fucking noise.”
“Oi, mates,” Ron said, cutting into their conversation. “Stop talking about your taxes over there,” he chuckled.
The interruption was a cold splash of water to remind Draco they weren’t the only ones in the room. He backed up from Harry.
“These two,” Ron continued, jerking his thumb in their direction and shaking his head. “Can’t take ‘em anywhere.”
Draco felt flushed and irritated; with Ron for putting the attention on them, with Harry for pulling him into a conversation that he didn’t want to have, and with himself for not being able to control his emotions.
“Don’t mind me,” Ron continued, reaching an arm over Draco. “I’m just going to get this out of your way.” He grabbed Harry’s untouched plate of dessert. “What the actual fuck?” he groaned through a mouthful. “Neville, how is Harry’s even better than mine!? You talented bloody lunatic! Malfoy, you have to taste Harry’s, it’s so fucking good.”
“I’ll pass,” Draco stood. “I seem to have lost my appetite for it.” The party was over as far as he was concerned. “Here,” he pushed his own untouched plate in front of Harry. “You can have mine. If I remember correctly, you liked the way it tasted.”
He found Blaise sitting at the other end of the table chatting with Mr. Weasley. He looked up at Draco’s approach.
“Are we already having a Friday night crisis? It isn’t even past nine-thirty yet,” Blaise asked with a chuckle, inspecting his friend's tense body language.
“Yes,” Draco grumbled, sitting down on the other side of him. “I lost control of a lame sex joke.”
“Damn, you know I love it when that happens,” Blaise snorted. “It seems as though I got stuck at the wrong end of the table. No offence, Arthur,” Blaise said to Mr Weasley, who was smiling as he seemed to casually gaze out into the room. “Our discussion on microwaves has been fascinating,” Blaise added to the man, “but if you could find a way to add some erotica in there then you’d really be on to something.”
“I’ll take that into consideration, lad.” Arthur patted Blaise on the back.
Blaise looked back at Draco. “I’m practically a Weasley now, and Pops here is losing his hearing.”
“When did you even get here?” Draco asked. He hadn’t seen him come in and he could have used his friend tonight. What the fuck was he thinking? Blaise generally made a point to make everything that was uncomfortable worse, just for fun.
“Not that long ago,” Blaise answered. “Your ex-lover there…” He nodded his head admiringly at Peter who was standing next to Pansy. Whatever they were discussing must have been very dramatic because Pansy was using a substantial amount of hand gestures, which was known to happen when she was excited and drunk. “...really knows how to make a blowjob last,” Blaise finished with a whistle.
Does he? Draco thought. It was hard to remember details like that ever since Harry’s abrupt arrival into his life. It had robbed him of things like the pleasure of receiving blowjobs from people who weren’t Harry, which was another important reason he needed to move past him. So he could go back to enjoying things like that.
He glanced over and caught Harry’s eye at the other end of the table. It seemed Draco now had an entire reference library of looks, not just apathy and anger, he could attribute to the man. The one Harry was giving him now was a lot like the look he had that same night Draco had shown up at his house and they’d sized each other up in Harry’s entryway, or was that eye fucking they were doing? Either way, it was right before Harry pushed into his space, right before he had bit his ear.
Harry leaned back in his chair, narrowed his eyes and cocked his head slightly. But before he broke their eye contact and looked away, the puzzled expression he had pinned on Draco shifted, and the set of his mouth turned up into a small smirk. Draco thought he could pinpoint that look too. It was the one where Harry was observing something… and found it amusing.
Socialising was easier when Draco had limited knowledge.
Draco groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. He had endured the night; it was now time for the sobering walk back to the castle. He refused to do anymore goodbyes that left him feeling like shit, or sit around being smirked at. The only problem with his plan came when Ginny pulled a chair out from the table and proceeded to stand on it to get the room's attention.
“The night’s not over yet!” she announced enthusiastically. “Everyone will be very excited to hear that ‘Professor’ Malfoy, with some true wizarding sorcery, somehow convinced McGonagall to let us use the Quidditch pitch tonight. So, for old times’ sake, who's up for a late night game of kicking arse!” She pumped her fist in the air.
Shit. He did do that, didn't he.
Everyone was beside themselves with excitement. Ron and Seamus embraced Draco together in a bear hug where he sat, lifting him and his chair from the ground to a raucous round of cheering. Draco supposed he had no choice but to accept the decision he had made a month ago when he had asked McGonagall if she would be okay with them using it.
He put on a mock air of smugness as he was lowered to the ground. “Just try and top that, Best Man Bill,” he said across the room to the easy going Weasley brother. When you’re trying to accept the circumstances you’ve made, making stupid quips about it was the only way forward, especially when you realise the brother standing next to Bill was going to be a fucking god on a broom.
“Draco, you know I hate playing Quidditch,” Pansy protested.
“Yeah, well, this one’s for your future wife,” he said, wanting to join Pansy in her protest to try and get out of having to play himself. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but it may have also been the way Harry’s face had lit up both times he had asked Draco if they could play Quidditch at Hogwarts that had given Draco the idea in the first place after Pansy had told him about their Hogsmeade dinner plans. When he and Harry had been in the middle of exchanging letters, he still thought they might mean something more than just the gesture of friendship that they were so part of his suggestion had been because he’d selfishly wanted to put that smile back on Harry’s face.
“Come on, Pans,” Hermione said, putting an arm through Pansy’s. “We can sit in the stands and gossip about all of the hot Quidditch players for old times’ sake. We never did get a chance to do it back in our day.”
Pansy’s eyes lit up. “Now someone is finally speaking my language.”
***
The picture they all made huddled together on their walk from the Village to Hogwarts reminded Draco of a group of carefree teenagers; laughing, joking, and holding hands. It was a bizarre time warp to see the older versions of themselves together like this. He hoped the next generation of kids he watched claim this well worn path as their own would never know the same life or death weight that this group had carried on their shoulders when the castle grounds had felt like it belonged to them. He was just glad he had made amends with it, because on this cool autumn night it felt good to know that they had survived and could be here together again like this, minus that weight.
Well, some of that weight, he thought as Harry fell back from the group to come and walk beside him.
“It’s a nice night, isn’t it,” Harry said. “Way too nice to keep ignoring me, don't you think?”
Their hands brushed. It would be nice to share these overly sentimental thoughts he was having with Harry, to pull him closer and see his fingers intertwined with his once rival would be a perfect metaphor for what he was feeling inside.
He put his hands in his pockets.
“That’s still the plan,” he said. “So if you would kindly fuck off now, you’re interrupting a weirdly nostalgic moment I’m having.”
Harry snorted, unbothered by Draco’s dismissal. “Yeah, you back here thinking about that one time you took my coin and carried it around with you?” He bumped his shoulder into Draco’s.
Draco flinched slightly as if he’d just been slapped. He should have kept his mouth shut about that goddamn necklace. It being out in the open between them now made his connection to it feel childish.
“Will you stop?” Harry grabbed his arm when Draco picked up his pace. “I was only teasing, Draco.”
“Don’t touch me,” Draco said, stopping to wrench his arm free.
“Okay, fine,” Harry laughed, putting his hands up, walking backwards in front of Draco with a smirk. “But you're about to feel like a real arsehole.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“I would tell you,” Harry shrugged, “but you’re probably just going to cut me off or walk away, so I think I’ll let you figure that out on your own and just do as you wish and fuck off now.”
He turned away and called out to his friends to wait up, leaving Draco behind to watch him wedge in between Charlie and Ron, who both threw an arm over his shoulder. They were in the middle of a lively conversation that Harry seemed to seamlessly join into as he placed a hand on the small of Charlie’s back and said something into his ear that made Charlie laugh.
Draco felt a flash of anger that he was nothing but a joke to Harry now. When it was all said and done did Harry just believe him to be nothing but a silly fool who was no longer the threat that he used to see him as? Draco now couldn't wait to get in the air. Because give him a broom to ride and a snitch to chase and he could still be a fucking threat.
***
“I’m just going to throw this out there,” Blaise said with a look and tone that usually meant nothing good would come from it. They were standing on the Quidditch pitch with brooms in hand, clothes transfigured and teams set in place, itching to get the game underway. “But naked Quidditch could be a thing,” Blaise continued. “Uncomfortable, I suppose. Dangerous, absolutely. But skinny dipping was such a success. Why not keep a good thing going?”
Draco rolled his eyes and cut him off. “Absolutely not,” he said, killing that idea before it could take off. “I have to see the kids on Monday that we all know are breaking curfew right now to watch.”
“Oh, come on, Mr. Spoilsport,” Blaise chuckled, undeterred. “We have the rare opportunity here to provide those kids with a once in a lifetime formative experience. I mean, to see me naked would be enough, but to have a professional Quidditch star, multiple famous war heroes, a dragon tamer, the reformed bad boy turned Professor, and mister Golden Boy himself all in one night… How could we, in good conscience, deny them such a profound coming of age moment.”
“You're an idiot,” Draco said flatly. “But take your shirt off if you can’t help yourself. I know you can’t. —No! Not you!” He groaned when a flash of more bare skin than was necessary appeared in front of him. Ginny already had her shirt halfway over her shoulders and wasn't wearing much underneath.
Draco pressed his fingers to his temples. “You arseholes really aren’t going to be happy until I’m unemployed, are you?” Ginny stuck her tongue out at him and mumbled something about misogyny as she transfigured her shirt into a full coverage sports bra. If any teenagers were truly watching Draco was quite sure she had just added a few more names to her fan club.
“Just a reminder,” Harry cut in to say to the group beside him. “That this is a friendly game. My body isn’t what it used to be. So let's try and take it easy out there, okay?”
“Feeling old and shy, Potter?” Draco said when everyone had dispersed to finish getting ready and Harry couldn’t seem to help himself but stay close. They were in the few of the bunch who had kept their shirts on. Draco had asked Cho to transfigure his own outfit into something more appropriate for the game when he realised he had forgotten his wand back at the castle. He wasn’t about to ask Blaise to do it or he was sure he would have ended up in little to nothing, and asking Harry to use magic on him… well, that was out of the question.
“No, but I don’t want you to blame me if you lose your job. You?”
“I'm not desperate,” Draco said, pulling on his borrowed riding gloves.
Harry walked behind him and stopped. “Too bad,” he said next to Draco’s ear. “I rather liked it when you were desperate,” he whispered. “And yeah… I liked the way you tasted too.”
“You’re really having fun aren’t you?” Draco groaned.
“I mean, didn’t we both?” Harry shrugged, with that same smug smile on his face as he mounted his broom and took off to join Charlie and his team who were calling out to him in the distance.
Chapter Text
It wasn’t that Draco wanted to hurt him. He had just wanted to wipe that smug look from Harry’s face. And Harry had been right when he said that Draco would feel like an arsehole. Because walking back to the castle that was exactly how Draco felt, and then some. He felt like the kid who broke things when he couldn’t have what he wanted. And there was nothing like a decade of trying to be better than that kid for it to come crashing down on the Quidditch pitch of his youth.
Even through the guilt from letting his emotions get the better of him, he was still fuming at Harry for fucking with him. Maybe he would always jump to the conclusion that Harry was rejecting him because that was the dynamic he had known best between them for the majority of his life. But now, as he walked back to the castle, alone, and covered in Harry’s blood, had his own insecurities just made the rejection a reality? Because Harry couldn’t have been clearer that he didn’t want anything to do with him anymore.
Everyone had been having a good time until Draco had to go and ruin it. All the extra time he’d spent working out since his escape to Italy had really come in handy in the air. It had felt effortless to be on a broom again; chasing the snitch, reading the rhythms of the wind, and tracking his opponent. And it didn’t take long after the match had begun for it to quickly come down to a game between the Seekers.
Harry had said he wanted to take it easy, but Harry wasn’t a defensive player, he was all offence. Even taking it easy he was in constant momentum. He didn’t sit back and wait for shit to happen, he made it happen. But Draco wanted to be the one in control of this game. He couldn’t help but taunt Harry; cut him off, clip his broom, and try to distract him in any way he could think of.
Harry had seemed to enjoy the rivalry at first; taunting Draco back, flying circles around him, dipping and diving and laughing at every attempt Draco had made to disrupt him, seemingly happy to just be in the air again. Draco had enjoyed it too, it was infectious, his own smile and laugh had been as big as Harry’s throughout it. But he still couldn't stop himself from taking things too far.
At one point, because he was nothing but a desperate fool who couldn’t just stay focused on the game, he had flown directly into Harry’s flight path, sat up straight, pulled his shirt off over his head and let it fly loose from his hand in the wind. When he had glanced back, Harry was swatting at the billowing fabric that had flown into his face. Draco had laughed and leaned his torso back down parallel with his broom, feeling his back muscles flex with the movement and hoping that Harry was thinking about the way he had worshipped them with his mouth in the early morning light of his bedroom. It may have been playing dirty — but Harry had been playing dirty all night.
Finally, after not letting each other far from the other’s sight, they had both spotted the Snitch at the same time and were neck and neck in chasing it down. When Harry had inched out in front of Draco to hold the slight advantage, he had glanced over and gave Draco that smirk again — the one that felt like it was saying; I know the power I have over you, and I relish teasing you with it
In that moment the only thought Draco had was of winning. But the problem with needing to beat your competition is that it can turn you into a maniac.
The next thing he knew he was pushing his broom into Harry’s. At first it had only caused a slight wobble, but he kept at it, trying anything he could to give himself the advantage to push ahead. Soon elbows were flying between them and body contact was made. Harry had yelled at him to stop, but that had only egged Draco on. It wasn’t in either of their nature to give up. The Snitch was within both of their reach now, but neither of them had been able to get a hand around it when they were both too busy shoving at the other; elbows, hands, legs, whatever they could use to get the advantage.
Draco had been so blinded by the final chase for the Snitch that he took his broom and angled it to ram his entire weight into Harry’s side. Not once, but numerous times. Only the final collision when Harry’s yelling suddenly turned into a cry of agony and he began to slip from his broom, his hands frantically grasping at the wooden handle to try and stay atop it, did it snap Draco out of his I-need-to-smell-the-blood-of-my-rival-to-feel-alive insanity. Harry had quickly begun to lose control, and it didn’t appear like he was going to regain it anytime soon.
It was a quick descent to the ground for Harry and his broom from there, and by the way he moved, Draco hadn’t been sure if he was still in control of the top half of his body. Draco had gone into full panic with that realisation and didn’t think twice before he pointed his own broom straight towards the ground to dive after him. The game and the bloody Snitch were long forgotten, because as if the prize of a mass produced fucking toy was worth more than Harry’s life.
It was during his nose dive that Draco remembered he didn’t have his wand on him and couldn’t do any magic to slow Harry’s fast descent. The only thing he could do was hope that someone had been paying attention and had enough sense to do something.
Just as he was able to angle in close enough to wrap a hand around Harry’s arm he felt the magic of his friends begin to slow their momentum enough for him to pull Harry to him. Harry didn’t make it easy though, since his legs still held tightly onto his broom. Draco had shouted at him to let it go, but Harry wasn’t responding. The broom whipped around and knocked into Draco's, throwing them into even more of a frenzy that he couldn’t pull up from. He quickly had to switch tactics and attempted to level his broom out so he could at least have it aligned in the right position to land, but that was a challenge when Harry kept going in and out of consciousness. Draco could admit he had been aggressively stupid during the game, but it shouldn’t have caused this — something else had to be wrong.
Eventually he was able to kick Harry’s broom free with his foot, but having all of Harry’s weight to carry without any assistance from the man himself continued to pull them sideways, which meant he wouldn’t be able to get Harry onto his own broom properly in time to have any hope of a clean landing without significant impact. He looked down and everyone on the ground had their wands pointed at them in unison, doing what they could to help slow their momentum.
Even with the extra aid from their friends, the ground came up fast and hard, and when Draco couldn’t stop the impending collision, he used the last of his strength to kick his own broom free and rolled Harry on top of him so that he would take the brunt of the impact when they crashed. To his immense relief someone had cast a very strong cushioning charm. It had been enough to soften the blow, but with Harry’s weight crushing him from above it knocked the wind out of him and for a few seconds it had left him out cold.
When he regained consciousness he didn’t have time to worry about himself. He quickly rolled Harry’s unmoving weight off of him with a laboured grunt. It didn’t require a lengthy inspection from Draco to pinpoint where the problem was. He could see immediately that the deep slash he’d spotted earlier running down the side of Harry’s neck had reopened. Blood was now running freely from it, seeping through the collar of Harry’s shirt and it didn’t stop there. The side of Harry’s shirt was covered in fresh blood til just below his rib cage. Draco ripped it open and gasped at what he found underneath. The thick cut that started at the top of Harry’s neck, and Draco was now applying pressure to with a firm hand, continued down his chest and the length of his side. And the skin over his rib cage on either side of the cut was covered in purple and blue bruising, which was swollen and feverishly hot to the touch. Draco knew that this kind of laceration wasn’t caused by a juvenile scuffle in the air, and the signs that something else was wrong with Harry had been right in front of his face all night.
It had been in the way Harry had cringed slightly every time he had leaned forward to talk to Draco at the dinner table. How Harry had held himself stiffly when he pushed in close together to Draco for the photo. It was the way he had lifted his hand to hold his side after he had nudged Draco’s shoulder teasingly on their walk from Hogsmeade to the pitch. The movement had reminded Draco of how he used to hold his own arm when it flared with pain from his curse. It was the way Harry’s back had gone rigid when Ron and Charlie had both thrown an arm around his shoulders. It was the slight pallor of Harry’s typically golden skin tone. And that Draco had counted three small cuts when they had sat on the bench together in the courtyard; one that would probably leave a scar because it hadn't been properly healed in time, and two scrapes and three bruises scattered across Harry’s face and down his neck. All of this Draco had subconsciously tracked but hadn’t wanted to care about. But if he had known the severity of the injury going on beneath Harry’s jumper he would have made him stop pretending like he was fine and immediately sent him to the Hospital Wing. And whatever shoddy healing spells Harry had performed on himself to keep his body held loosely together, Draco had just undone, and possibly made the injury worse.
Draco didn’t need the assistance of a wand to see that Harry had at least four cracked ribs, and two or more of those were probably broken, but he did need a wand to regain control of the situation. The shouts of their friends became louder as he’d searched Harry for his wand and yelled at him to wake up. When Harry’s eyes had finally opened, with relief Draco asked him where his wand was. He needed to stop the bleeding at his neck then set his ribs. He feared that they had already or would puncture an artery or one of his organs. Harry had tried to respond but it was broken and unintelligible. The pounding of footsteps could be felt approaching and thank Merlin, since Draco’s search continued to come up empty handed.
Just as he was about to yell for someone to throw him a wand he finally made out what Harry had been trying to say. “Get… away from me—” Harry wheezed out in a bloody cough; harsh and rough, a sign that there might be lung damage. But it had been Harry’s look of absolute fury that made it crystal clear what he’d been trying to say. It flashed in his eyes and in the sneer of his mouth. Draco dismissed it. Harry’s well-being was more urgent than worrying about his anger, or that they were back to the beginning — where he would rather bleed out than let Draco help him.
“Get the fuck away from me!” Harry yelled again, causing him to erupt into a fit of violent coughing, the cries and bellows of his pain that followed filled the pitch. Draco had backed away from him on his knees when Harry started to yell again. The pain it caused hadn’t been enough of a deterrent to stop him from letting Draco know his presence wasn't wanted, and that his presence was only making things worse.
Draco got unsteadily to his feet. His friends rushed to him and then passed him to where Harry was still lying on the ground in an alarming state. Draco couldn’t say anything as they yelled with worry and shock, their questions flying at him all at once about what the fuck had happened up there. He passed them and went straight to a panicked Hermione who was approaching from the stands. And because he knew the medical spells like the back of his hand, he was able to recite to her what she needed to do to get Harry into a stable condition before taking him to Madame Pomfrey. He made her recite it back to him before he let her rush to Harry’s side. He shrugged off Blaise and Pansy when they tried to follow after him, telling them to stay and help Hermione when they had refused to abandon him. His bare torso was covered in Harry’s blood as he walked off. He found his shirt lying on the edge of the pitch near the exit where it had fallen after his embarrassing display in the sky.
It didn’t occur to him until he was passing the Owlery, almost to the castle, that there had been someone new amongst their group of friends, and the striking Pacific Islander man had been holding Charlie's hand as they’d run past Draco in a rush to get to Harry.
***
Back inside the castle Draco focused his attention on finding his wand. His mind had been somewhere else ever since Harry had walked into his classroom and he could hardly remember the events that had followed — teaching, staff meeting, getting ready for dinner, and every place he had ventured to in between. He could count on one hand how many times since receiving his wand at the age of eleven that he’d gone without it.
There was no need to panic, he told himself. He knew his wand was here somewhere. But that still didn’t stop it from feeling like a monumental crisis, and the security of having it back in his hands felt like the only solution to pulling himself together. It’s amazing how the mind will latch onto something you can control or fix as a way to cope after it knows you’ve just blown something to pieces that you might not be able to fix. And right now, his mind was fixating on finding his wand. As if that was the actual problem sending him spiralling.
He had already been through his living quarters, his classroom, and his personal lab. Tearing each room apart looking for the blasted piece of Hawthorn wood. His body was making quick long strides as he retraced his steps, but his thoughts were on the Fourth Floor at the Hospital Wing.
He felt territorial over the broken body he had caught a glimpse of from the hallway windows when he’d left his living quarters. The lights cast from his friends' wands had drawn his attention, illuminating their hurried approach to the castle and the prone figure they’d been levitating between them.
He was the Healer who knew the details of that body, who would still be able to trace it on parchment when years had passed between them without a single glance shared. He trusted Madame Pomfrey more than he trusted half the Healers at St. Mungo’s, but that still didn’t stop him from having the urge to go and hover. A mistake could be made, Healers were only human. A mistake could be being made right now that he could stop if he were there.
On his walk through the covered outdoor corridor to the Professors Lounge he had to stop, brace his hands on the railing and lean over it to get a grip on himself. “Calm the fuck down,” he scolded himself aloud.
It was in the Professors Lounge that he finally tracked down his wand. It was tucked in the inner pocket of his suit jacket right where he had left it draped over a chair he’d sat in earlier that day during a mandatory staff meeting he’d attended. Where he’d listened to the same shit he had heard a dozen times since his short time here on staff. Schedules, budgets, proper student disciplinary, upcoming events, school safety and security protocol, and so on. At the end when the floor had been opened for anyone to voice feedback, he had thought that he should have never told McGonagall he was feeling better and skipped the tedious task of listening and nodding to every trivial complaint and concern that, like clockwork, would be voiced. He was certain at next week's meeting it would be him who’d be brought up as a security risk and concern when word inevitably travelled that he had attempted to take out Hogwarts' most treasured alumni.
He clutched the precious Hawthorn wand protectively in his hand, relieved to have it back in his possession, then gathered his jacket to leave. Now that he had his wand he should find his friends. He owed them an explanation for what had happened out there. Before he had walked far, the movement of a man and woman pictured on the cover of that morning's edition of The Daily Prophet, which had been tossed haphazardly on a side table, caught his attention.
Businessman and recently appointed St. Mungo’s board member Jorge Conway has been arrested and imprisoned in Romania on dragon trafficking charges. An anonymous source tipped off the authorities to his suspected crimes and whereabouts. Conway was severely injured when he was apprehended near Negoiu Peak of the Carpathian mountain range in Sibiu County, Romania. St. Mungo’s head of staff Erica Devois, daughter of notable politician Barden Devois, has also been arrested alongside Conway in connection to a larger scale trans-national crime syndicate that’s been involved in a slew of recent activity. Along with dragon trafficking, the charges include; money laundering, blackmail, bribery, charity fraud, and the harvesting and selling of materials used for illegal Dark Arts. Romanian authorities have declined to release the apprehended back into British custody and will proceed with holding them to account locally. The two intelligence teams will continue to work closely together. Other arrests in connection with the syndicate are expected to be made soon.
Story still developing.
***
Harry looked peaceful as Draco sat in the chair next to him, back in his familiar spot of watching Harry sleep off another life threatening injury. He had told himself he wouldn’t come, that he would let Harry have his space. But after he’d paced the campus to allow Pomfrey time to finish what she had needed to do, then waited for the room to quieten and the lights to be turned off, he had found himself sneaking into the Hospital Wing to find Harry tucked comfortably into a small bed in the corner of the large communal room.
The first thing Draco did to put his mind at ease was to closely examine Harry. He cast a few of his own medical spells to scan his progress and he noted the only remainder of the severe slash that had been on his neck was a faint line. However, Draco’s diagnostic spells helped him identify an infection in Harry’s ribs. Draco suspected the cause of the infection had been through Harry taking multiple hits to the torso from Dark Wizards’ spells and then having broken bones whose healing was prolonged because they were never properly treated. Healing bones was child’s work, but battling an aggressive infection that kept the bones from mending properly was another challenge entirely. But Pomphrey knew what she was doing and, though not there yet, she had him on the right track to recovery.
Once he had established Harry was okay, Draco sat.
He was watching the soft rise and fall of Harry’s chest, and just barely resisting the urge to shake him awake. The only thing that stopped him was being overly conscious of how much damage he had already caused him by touching him recklessly tonight. He wouldn’t even allow himself to reach out and smooth the hair back that hung in Harry’s face, though his hand shook slightly with the need to. Or maybe that was the pent up itch he felt to give him a piece of his mind.
They weren’t the only ones in the large room. Draco had already counted three other students scattered throughout it, tucked in and sleeping off their own ailments in identical beds to Harry. Madame Pomfrey had already retired for the evening, but he knew she was close by, always diligent and watchful over the patients in her charge. It was only when one of those patients knocked something from their bedside table in a fit of restless sleep that caused a loud clanging noise to echo throughout the open room, did Harry stir.
Draco cringed at the noise and slid down low in his chair. The narrow screens that separated each patient's bed only offered a small shield of privacy to hide him from view. And being Pomfrey's colleague and friend wouldn't go far in providing him with any special treatment for breaking visiting hours. If anything, she would find it more offensive.
Draco put a finger to his own lips when Harry glanced over, his heavy eyes groggy with sleep when he saw Draco slouched down in the chair next to him. Draco hoped Harry would pick up on his clue to stay quiet, but he half expected him to throw a fit, just to be an arse. Harry didn’t say anything, but there was enough moonlight streaming in through the large diamond paned windows for Draco to see the cold look on his face. Draco held Harry’s gaze, and imagined that he was giving him back a look of his own that was quite similar, while he continued to keep an ear out for any approaching footsteps. When the room fell back into silence, he sat up straight in his chair again, but before he had a chance to say anything, Harry broke the silence, his voice coming out low and rough; an abrasive scratch in the quiet.
“Here to finish the job?” he said, with all spite and sarcasm, rubbing at Draco’s pent up annoyance.
“Please, do spare me the dramatics,” Draco said derisively back, leaning forward in his chair and trying with great effort to keep his voice down to not wake anyone. “You were already injured and had no business even being on a broom in the first place. Let alone playing a dangerous contact sport.”
“If you didn’t notice, I was playing just fine until you couldn’t be fucking chill about it,” Harry scowled back.
“Well, does this finally prove your long held belief that I'm an unredeemable bastard?” Draco said sarcastically. He felt like shit, but he wasn’t ready to show it yet.
“Oh, come off it,” Harry scoffed, sounding more awake as he tried to sit up but failed and fell back against his pillow with a grunt. “It was just a bloody game,” he said through clenched teeth, holding a hand to his rib cage. “It felt like shit that you wouldn’t let up from trying to knock me out when I kept yelling at you to stop.”
“Trust me, Potter, if I’d been trying to knock you off there would have been a lot more precision involved, and not just my pure dumb luck of having a daft enough opponent who’d already done half the work for me,” Draco said, then added, “And what about you then? Were you just going to continue amusing yourself all night by letting me believe the two of you were back together?”
Harry let out a small laugh. “You finally figured that out, did you?” Draco couldn’t see it but he was sure it was said with an eye roll. “And here I thought you taught an entire class about not jumping to conclusions before gathering all the information,” he finished.
“Fuck you,” Draco said at the slight. “If I have learned anything when it comes to you, it’s to expect the absolute opposite of what is logical.”
“Like you’re so straightforward and easy to read,” Harry said. “I only figured out at the end of dinner that that’s what you had gotten into your head. And you seemed so committed to believing it, I thought I should just let it play out. I knew Charlie’s boyfriend Rowan was coming. I only regret that I missed seeing your face when you finally did figure it out.”
Draco felt like an idiot, who also very much wanted to strangle the man in front of him. “You lay there and act like we’re two people who actually talk about shit,” he said, “and you expect me to have some nuanced thoughts about seeing you all over your ex, a man who probably goes around giving out free sexual awakenings to poor unfortunate souls as a fucking hobby on the weekends. And who, by the way, makes a lot more sense than this does.” He waved a hand between them.
“Charlie is still my friend —and I wasn’t all over him,” Harry added with a scoff. “What we had was years ago and we’ve both moved on. But yeah, his family is my family, we’re always going to be in each other's lives.”
“Well, good for you, you've fucked half your family.”
“Oh, grow up. Like you and Blaise don’t share boyfriends.”
“Peter isn’t— wasn’t…” Draco pinched the bridge of his nose until he felt like he could speak again without shouting. “If anything I was using poor Peter to get over you and your…” Draco put on a mock mimicking voice, “Oh, Draco, I need you to touch me and never leave me or I’ll die, episode. Turns out it’s kinda hard to get over someone who’s still too much of an idiot to leave you alone afterwards,” he finished, and would have shouted it if they weren’t in the middle of a bloody whispering fight in the Hospital Wing.
Harry had the nerve to grin at him.
“Okay, I think we’ve firmly established that we’re both jealous arseholes,” Harry said. “Will you just come here already? I’m tired of arguing.” He reached a hand out towards Draco. “I’ve been miserably trying to get close to you all night. Because yes, I am still too much of an idiot to leave you alone,” he finished, his grin turning into a tired smile. And as relieved as Draco was to see that smile, and to hear those words after Harry had yelled the opposite at him just hours before, plus the spike they gave his heart rate, Draco wasn't quite finished with him yet. He slapped Harry’s outstretched hand away.
“I guess that’s a no,” Harry said flatly, sighing and dropping his hand back onto the bed.
“And this?” Draco said, tossing The Prophet he had rolled up on the chair next to him face up on Harry’s stomach. “Was this you?”
Harry’s jaw clenched as he glanced down at the moving images of Conway and Devois on his lap, then shrugged dismissively. In the background, one of the students could be heard beginning to stir awake in their bed, both he and Harry were trying, but failing, to keep their voices down.
“Dammit, Harry,” Draco leaned forward and whispered harshly. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
“I was thinking I was going to kill that piece of shit Conway. And I would have too if Charlie hadn’t intervened,” he answered, and with a flick of his wrist the newspaper vanished.
“Because of me?” Draco asked, the question coming out so sincerely and quietly that he wasn’t even sure he’d said it out loud. “Did you do that for me?”
Harry's eyes held Draco’s; righteous, protective, and sharp with conviction, just like the night he’d been so determined to set Draco free from his curse. And Draco could pull back further in his book of references to a decade before and see that look on Harry’s face. When Draco had briefly witnessed it on the day Harry had faced off against Voldemort — a stubborn brave boy trying to protect the world. And then the first time it had been directed at Draco the night before the final battle when Harry had rescued him from the raging fiendfyre in this very castle. Draco had held on tight to his body on the back of a broom with his face pressed into the curve of Harry’s neck while the wind had whipped violently around them. It was the moment Draco had let himself acknowledge clearly the truth of what the feelings he’d held deep inside of him for the boy in front of him he had clung to were. But if he were being honest, the actual moment his obsession had turned into something deeper happened even before that, when his father had looked him in the eyes and forced him to be the deciding voice in calling out Harry’s identity at the Manor. Draco had let his disdain for ‘Potter’ run so freely on the surface that they would have never guessed the undercurrent that swirled just beneath it, and that even then Draco didn’t know if he would be able to bear a life without Harry somewhere in the peripheral of it. If his father had known he would have never let Draco be the one who held Harry’s fate that day, and in the end, their ultimate demise in that one demanding question.
Draco felt that something deeper now, running strong and with devotion inside of him. It was terrifying how much you could feel for a single person. Is this healthy? Draco asked himself.
“What they did to you when you were a kid was not okay,” Harry’s voice was grim. “And the way it was thrown in your face… and then to threaten you, and your job, the job you worked your arse off for because you wanted to fix people when they were broken. When my sources tipped me off I had to go after them. You know they would have gotten away with their crimes in Britain. They have too many connections here in positions of power who could protect them. And you can call it a saviour complex or whatever you want, but I don’t like it when the people I care about get fucked with.”
It wasn't healthy, Draco thought, answering his own question. It was physically painful when one person’s life meant more to you than even your own. If they would have killed Harry, Draco’s path would have been cemented and paved — it would have become vengeance. He would have hunted them down and spent the rest of his life gladly rotting in Azkaban. Because it wasn’t that Draco, in his own life, didn’t want to burn corrupted systems to the ground like Harry. There were many times he had fantasised about doing just that, and had even been on the brink of it. But once he had been given a second chance, and had found a way to make an atoning life for himself that hadn’t been handed to him by his family's influence, he couldn’t risk losing it.
He went to his knees by Harry’s bed, finally running his hands through Harry’s hair. “You could have gotten yourself killed. And you can’t do that,” he half scolded and half pleaded, looking Harry in the eyes, needing Harry to hear him. “You can’t risk your life for me.”
Harry lifted a hand to Draco’s cheek and stroked the crescent moon scar by Draco’s brow with a thumb. “It’s what they deserved, Draco,” he said gently, achingly. “You see why I couldn’t continue to write to you? I needed time to scout them out, and if something had gone wrong… I couldn’t risk it being traced back to you, and then possibly being used against you.”
The student that Draco had heard stirring earlier was now making clear sounds of discomfort on the other side of the room. Draco should get up and go check on her, but he wasn’t sure he could stand right now, and she sounded like she was going to be fine anyway, not like she was in the middle of an existential crisis for caring too deeply for a reckless vigilante with a death wish like himself.
“Fuck them,” Draco rested his forehead against Harry’s. “You matter. Only you.” He kissed him firmly, pushing his emotions into the soft slide of their lips before he pulled back to whisper against them. “I’m fucking furious at you for putting yourself in danger for me.” He pushed their mouths back together, the warm graze electric, then pulled back again. “And on top of that you’ve just been carelessly walking around with half healed injuries just waiting to come undone. With a bloody bone infection. Do you even realise how serious a bone infection can become?” Wet lips pushed back together. Harry was waiting for Draco this time, eager and hungry. “At least tell me you left him in worse shape than he left you?”
Harry huffed a small laugh, breathing hard. Draco had him on edge with the way he kept pulling their lips apart every time the pace had started to pick up.
“That paranoid arsehole cheated,” Harry said. “He didn’t go anywhere without having at least a dozen hired hands on guard to protect him. I’ll admit it wasn’t one of my prettiest takedowns, but I got the sneaky bastard in the end.” He lifted a hand to firmly hold onto the back of Draco’s neck to keep him from pulling away again. “And I thought when I got here,” he whispered against Draco’s lips, “that I could talk you into fixing me. I didn't know you wouldn’t want me anymore.”
“If we weren’t in this room,” Draco leaned in to whisper in his ear, “I would have already had you naked with your cock buried inside of me. So who’s the one getting the information wrong now?” he finished with a smirk.
Harry growled and tried to tug Draco down on top of him, but a small cry of pain fell from his mouth and his hand dropped from Draco’s waist to clutch at his ribs. Draco untangled the hands he had clutched in Harry’s hair and backed away from him, instinctually pulling out his wand.
“I’m okay,” Harry mumbled unconvincingly when Draco made to check him over. ”But this is your fault,” he added with a shaky laugh, submitting to his restraining injuries and falling back against his pillow as the noise of a sick student in discomfort continued to pick up on the other side of the room. He and Harry had a habit of shutting the world out around them when they pushed into each other's space, but right now, it was causing a disruption for everyone.
“Shit, I need to go,” Draco said, when the coughing and groaning in the background didn’t fade.
“No— you can’t leave me like this!” Harry’s voice rose slightly, waving a hand at the tented thin blanket at his hips.
Draco shook his head, reminding himself that going down on someone in the middle of the school infirmary was not good decision making. “Pomfrey’s going to kill me if she finds me in here,” he said, “and I would rather not get on her bad side this early on. Especially when I'm so close to getting her to finally confess to me who her secret lover is, who I know is someone in this castle. Plus, I really want to finish that bottle of vintage Elf-made wine she’s sharing with me. And I think you can take care of that…” he pointed to Harry’s rather large problem, “by yourself,” he finished, shaking his head again before turning to make his quiet retreat.
“Wait—” Harry said quickly, reaching a hand out and grabbing the hem of Draco’s shirt before he could get too far away. “Tell me— Do you… Are you… Are you really in love with me?”
“What?” Draco scoffed. “Am I in love with you?” he repeated, surprised that Harry even needed to ask that question. Because what more did Harry need from him? Even through a flimsy denial and stopping short of actually saying the words, hadn’t the answer been loud and clear in every look and touch shared between them for months now? Draco thought the subtlety of his feelings had left the equation the last night they had spent together. He turned away from the earnest look Harry was so good at giving to look out the large window, Harry’s hand stayed clutched to the hem of his shirt as he turned. If Harry needed to hear the answer to that question, Draco needed a moment to see if he could say it. The vulnerability the first time those words had slipped from his mouth had almost undone him, and he wasn’t sure if he could do it again.
“I thought you had already figured that answer out,” he whispered. He supposed there were other ways to say it.
“It wasn't just me, Draco. You acted unsure too.”
A quiet laugh escaped him. What an absurd thing to say. It was absolutely fucking absurd for Harry to confuse his hesitation with being unsure. And what? He needed a glimpse? A glimpse into what was too much for even Draco to think about together at once. Well, if Harry needed an insight into the depths of his feelings then he could have it.
Draco picked a spot in the distant mountainous horizon and prepared himself to let his words fall out. The vast Scottish sky, that was a mixture of blue, green, and black melting together; the endless twinkling constellations, the dark silhouettes of the forest's treeline and the ancient magic of the land all seemed to be telling him that it would help carry the weight of his words; that there was safety in its infiniteness and in the landscape that had connected him through decades to the boy, and now the man, who was waiting for an answer to that weighted question. But like one of the shooting stars he was watching dart across the sky, the words already left a burning trail, scraping raw in the back of his throat before they had even made their exit.
“Only because you hold all of the cards,” he finally said. “So don’t act like you don’t know the answer already. You barged into my office that night begging me to want you and within seconds I was consumed with you again. Wanting you isn’t even a question because I can’t see straight with how much I do. You keep showing up in my life and then disappearing and each time I want to fall to my knees and beg you not to turn your back on me —I sold my home because you filled it up and I couldn’t bear to be there without you in it. You were at my fingertips… but I couldn’t hold on to you because you weren’t real, and then you were, and I—” His voice was cracked, scraped and hushed. Fingertips brushed against his own. He held his hands clenched into fists by his side. He hesitated, but like he had wanted to so many times tonight he opened a hand to let the one seeking his in. “How can you not see that I’m skin and bones when it comes to you,” he continued on a shaky breath. “That all I’ve been trying to do for months now is not fall apart —That it’s you who needs to tell me what this is...”
“Draco,” Harry’s hand tightened around his. He tried to tug Draco back to him, but Draco resisted, reluctant to leave the safety he had found in the view from the window. It wasn’t Harry’s earnestness that caused him to move suddenly, but the clicking of shoes, sharp and rapid in the quiet. The moment to say anything vanished with the abruptness of the interruption. Draco’s head whipped around just as Madam Pomfrey approached in her night dress and bonnet, a stern look on her face, but also one of regret at having to break up what was clearly an emotional moment.
“Professor Malfoy, I’m sorry, but I think it’s time for you to say goodnight to Mr. Potter,” she said.
“I was just, um… sorry, Poppy —Madam Pomfrey,” Draco said, feeling like a nervous student who was about to get a week's worth of detention and deducted house points.
“I expected you to know better than to disrupt the Hospital Wing at this hour when everyone here is in need of a peaceful night of sleep,” she said, then looked down at Harry sternly.
“Right, you're right… um, good night, Potter,” he said quickly before he turned to leave without a backwards glance, forgetting that his hand was still in Harry's. He was stopped when he was pulled back by the hand still holding onto his. When he turned to dislodge it from Harry’s grip he stumbled forward from the momentum of another tug. He threw out his other hand just in time to stop himself from falling completely on top of Harry. However, it wasn’t close enough for Harry, who reached out and put a hand on the back of Draco’s neck, bringing him back down to kiss him hard on the lips before whispering, “I’m yours, you sweet fucking idiot.”
Draco couldn't find his voice before Pomfrey was clearing her throat. “Okay, gentlemen,” she said, “as lovely as it is to see the two of you getting along, the children do need their rest, and so do you.” She gave Harry another pointed look. “Goodnight Professor,” she shooed Draco out with a knowing smile and a glint in her eyes, as if some question she had wondered about Draco in the back of her mind had clicked into place too. “—and no Mr. Potter,” she tsk’d when Harry threw his covers back to make another attempt to sit up and get out of bed with great effort but little results. “You’re staying right there,” she scolded. “Your treatments aren’t even close to being finished yet, and now I’m going to have to reset the blood replenishing spells. Now lie back, dear. You can see him in the morning.”
Chapter 16
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Draco needed to hear Harry say it again to make sure he had heard him correctly; to hear it said over and over until he could hold on to it long enough to push away the doubt that was creeping into the corners of his mind when he was alone. It was everything that he had wanted to hear from Harry. Although it was funny how whenever something felt too good to be true Draco couldn’t stay in the moment, he could only think about how it could be taken away from him.
Draco shook his head. It wasn’t funny. It was irrational. And in a way, believing that Harry was with Charlie had almost been a relief, because Draco would always be more comfortable in his position of being rejected by Harry than being hopeful of something more. The thought that he was back together with Charlie had been the final push Draco had needed to let go of that uncomfortable, unanswered hope — what a crushing effort it had become to be constantly stuffing it down. Because hope springs eternal… until it’s enough to drown you.
He had thought all of his remaining questions had been answered in front of the Portkey Station. Even the part of him that had started to question if he had been wrong about their relationship throughout the night he had extinguished. Because whatever flimsy claim Draco felt he had over Harry he had already begun to let go of it, and he couldn’t stomach the thought of having that hope reawakened only to have to dismantle it all over again.
But here it was, ignited. And this time that spring of hope was filled with promise and possibility. Yet, in the quiet of his room, Draco was finding it a little hard to breathe.
As he worked to control his breathing he noted the time on the clock. It was well past one in the morning but sleep felt far from coming. He had only been back in his room for fifteen minutes, though it felt like longer and he wanted to go for a jog. These contradicting feelings left him shaken and unsure, and moving his body felt like the only answer he had to stop himself from going back to Harry, but to do what, he didn’t know.
With his jogging gear on and plans to be as far away from the castle and Harry’s staggering declaration as he could get, he left his living quarters. But those plans were quickly halted as soon as he stepped out and caught sight of a hunched figure down the long stone hallway, pacing in front of Professor Sinistra’s door in a pair of dishevelled cotton hospital pyjamas. At the sound of his name falling from Draco’s mouth, Harry’s head whipped around and relief washed over his pale face.
“Merlin, how many living quarters does this bloody castle have?” Harry grumbled, his hand clutched at his ribs as both he and Draco moved towards each other. “Could somebody please put a fucking name plate on a door, for Merlin’s sake,” Harry continued, panting and letting out small grunts with each strained step as they both reached an arm out towards the other then quickly shortened the distance that separated them. Draco’s hand went straight into Harry’s hair and Harry’s free hand cupped Draco’s jaw as their mouths crashed together.
In their haste to be close, Draco tried to remember to be careful with Harry’s still injured body. Already forgetting his own weary feelings that had him conflicted just moments before. Harry was his magnet, and right now, Harry’s soft mouth against his own was the only thing Draco needed to wipe away any doubt.
Harry continued to kiss him eagerly, moving lips across his cheek and down his neck, any place he could get his mouth on before they had to pull apart slightly so he could catch his breath. He rested his head against Draco’s neck. “Do you remember that night at the pub when you told me that you always wanted to see me,” he whispered through his laboured breathing from the pain he had just put his body through to get here. “An army of Dementors wouldn’t have been able to keep me away from you that night,” he snorted softly.
Even through Harry’s discomfort Draco could feel him smiling against his neck. And he sounded quite pleased with himself that he had another memory to share with Draco as the hand he held around Draco’s back moved lower to hold onto his waist. Draco had a sudden urge to weld it in place there forever and to shove it away at the same time. Because of course he remembered the night Harry spoke of. Those memories were alive and throbbing in his chest. They weren’t coming back to him in snippets and snapshots like they had been for Harry. Draco remembered everything. How he had lost himself in the fantasy of Harry wanting him when he had said those unguarded words. And then the disgust Harry had returned them with later that night when the fantasy had come crashing down in Draco’s bedroom in the crystallised moment when Harry had shoved Draco off of him; the spit from Harry’s disgust clinging heavy to Dracos’s skin. Draco remembered everything. And like when he had returned to his room moments ago, he started to lose control of his own breathing although this time he was having trouble swallowing too. He had to bend over and put his hands on his knees.
“Draco, what's wrong? Talk to me… Are you okay?” Harry asked, his voice suddenly filled with panic and worry at Draco’s reaction. The hand that held Draco’s waist moved up to rub his back. Harry continued to ask him what was wrong but Draco could barely hear him through the throbbing in his ears. He felt like he was under water.
“I don’t know if I want this,” Draco finally said, interrupting Harry’s panicked line of questioning. He was still bent over with his hands on his knees. “I can’t do this.”
Draco hated the way his body sometimes responded to stress and being overwhelmed. The unavoidable meltdown of his system that would overtake him and remind him that as much as he wanted to be in control that he couldn’t always be. He was only aware now that in the past when he would feel the beginnings of a panic attack approaching he could shift his focus to the faint ache in his cursed arm to help keep the panic at bay; replacing one form of pain with another. But then Harry had taken that ache away from him and by doing so had only made Draco love him more.
Draco tried to breathe.
“Um, we’re adults,” Harry said with a small nervous laugh, still unsure of why Draco was acting this way. “Pomfrey can’t actually make me stay in the Hospital Wing. You’re not going to get in trouble because I left.”
“No, that’s not what I meant,” Draco said, breathing heavily. He stood up straight again and backed up from Harry, “I don’t know if I can do this… with you.”
“What? What do you mean?” Harry said, confusion in his voice. He took a step towards Draco but when Draco stepped back from him again Harry halted. “But everything you just said when I asked you if you loved me,” he said, the confusion in his voice replaced with hurt. “You can’t be serious.”
“You don’t get it, Harry,” Draco said, tears threatening at the corners of his eyes, the lump in his throat making the words hard to get out. “You will destroy me. When you get tired of this… of me, I will be the one destroyed.” There was pain and frustration on Harry’s face. Draco had to look away. “I never apologised for taking things too far on the pitch tonight and hurting you. I am really sorry,” he continued. “But I can’t do this.” He knew it was a weak dismissal after everything they had exchanged, but it was all he had. Harry stared at him speechless.
Draco made his feet move, resolved to finally walk away from him.
He hadn't made it far when a solid weight crashed into his back. The surprise of the unexpected impact knocked the breath from him. Harry wrapped his arms tight around Draco’s waist and pulled Draco back to hold him against his chest. Harry’s breathing was heavy from his still mending lungs and fragile ribs, but he seemed to have momentarily pushed the injuries aside in his need to keep Draco from leaving.
“No, you don’t get to do this right now,” Harry said rough against his neck. “I just walked across this fucking castle to get to you, and now you’re going to push me away because you’re scared. Stop being a coward, Draco. I’ve made up my mind and I’m not going anywhere.”
A noise escaped Draco. It was a mix between a sob and a growl, because he could punch Harry in the face for calling him a coward, even as he reached a hand back to clutch his hair instead, his grip rough in the long strands. Even trying to push Harry away he couldn’t help but touch him, push his body back flush against him. Why couldn’t Harry just make this easy? He didn't know the amount of strength it took to walk away from him — a coward wouldn’t be able to do it. And it was a calculated move on Draco’s part, because he could possibly survive walking away if it was him making the decision. It was when he let his guard down and gave everything just for it to be snatched away from him that he wouldn’t be able to come back from.
“I know what it feels like when you change your mind,” Draco said. “And I can’t — you're just lonely, that’s all this is.”
“Don’t tell me what this is,” Harry said. “Did you plan this? Did you wait until I was ready for something more to reject me? Because if this is you making things even again Draco, I swear—”
“As if I could plan anything with you. You're completely unpredictable!” Draco said, a bit unhinged, pushing at Harry’s arms. “Just let me go, Harry.”
Harry’s grip only tightened around him. “No, I’m not letting you go. I’m sorry for how I treated you — for not giving you a chance and then crashing into your life uninvited. And that all of that has convinced you that this won’t work. I can’t change how it happened, but I’m not fighting this anymore — I don’t want to fight this anymore.”
“But how…? How could you want me?”
“Because I’m falling in love with you too, Draco.”
Draco’s breath left him in a heavy exhale. Harry held on to him to keep him from swaying. It was impossible. That was fucking impossible. He turned around in Harry’s arms to clutch Harry’s face with his hands, looking him in the eyes, searching to find the truth there.
“Don’t say that,” Draco said through clenched teeth. “Don’t you dare fucking say that to me, Harry.”
Harry just smiled. “Not saying it won’t change it,” he said softly. “So will you just give me a chance? I’m desperate here.” Draco didn’t answer, he kept searching, still in a state of shock from Harry’s words. “I know you're scared,” Harry said gently, but with relief in his eyes that Draco's plan to leave might have been deflated. “And you have the right to be. It’s okay.”
“Do you really want to fuck me that bad?” Draco said with a sceptical laugh. Shaking his head and looking down he added, “This is fucking mad.”
“Hey,” Harry lifted Draco’s face back up to look at him. “I just want you,” he said. “I mean, yes, I want to rip your clothes off, carry you to the nearest surface and lick every piece of your perfect fucking body whenever I see you,” he added with a small laugh. “But I also just want to sleep next to you, to talk to you, to argue with you… and to hear you say my name in that sweet way you do whenever your guard is down. I know it’s scary, but can’t we at least try?”
“Do you mean that?” Draco asked, he couldn’t help but need the reassurance.
“I’m here aren’t I?” Harry’s arms tightened around Draco’s back and he leaned his weight against him, burying his face into Draco’s neck. His brazen trail through the castle to find Draco had finally caught up to him. He could barely hold his own weight up anymore without help. “I've just woken up half of this castle looking for you,” he continued, “and I would really just like to have you to myself now, and possibly lay down. So, if it’s okay, can we please get out of this fucking hallway?”
When someone down the hall opened their door, Draco unhooked Harry’s arms from his back, held his hands and pulled him the short distance into his living quarters. Harry fell back against the door when it closed behind him with an ungraceful grunt. His breathing coming out short and laboured through his nose, his eyes clenched shut and beads of sweat had started to run down his forehead. Draco stayed close in front of him, Harry’s hands held loose on his hips.
“I want you to be okay with this… with me,” Harry said, his voice strained, his eyes still clenched tight. “And I know I’m not doing a very good job of making you feel that way, but can you at least let me get some sleep first if your plan is to keep pushing me away. I promise I will do better at convincing you to keep me in the morning,” Harry finished, then cracked an eye open. “Unless…” he gave Draco a tired grin. “You want me to try and convince you with my cock. I think I could find the energy for that.”
“Merlin, help me,” Draco groaned with a small laugh. “You were actually doing a pretty good job at it until you went and said that.”
Harry chuckled. “Not my best work, I admit, but my head hurts,” he frowned.
“When exactly did you get home from Romania?” Draco asked, his hand gently massaging the stiff muscles at the back of Harry’s neck.
“I haven't even been home yet,” Harry answered, his voice heavy with misery. “I wouldn’t listen to everyone when they tried to make me go to St. Mungo’s. I came straight here to see you. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in, fuck, I don’t even know.” He eyed the rug in Draco’s sitting area like he might just collapse on it, probably regretting the decision he’d made to leave behind the bed he’d been tucked into.
“You poor darling,” Draco said with a doting and teasing worry, putting it on thick and sweet for him as he caressed Harry’s cheek with his thumb. Harry smiled, seeming to enjoy the affectionate tone of Draco’s teasing. It was another sign that Draco was relaxing. Harry took Draco’s hand and held it in place against his cheek, leaning into its warmth. “You must be exhausted,” Draco continued. “Are you sure you're going to make it?” he asked, still light and teasing. He felt worn down himself, from the mild panic attacks and too many emotions spent in one night. Sleep sounded like a good idea.
“No, I don’t think I am going to make it,” Harry whined, pouting, his bottom lip out. “I need you to take care of me.” Draco chuckled at the pitiful look on Harry’s face. He loved this man so much the risks were crippling. But he knew the truth of it, and had said it at every turn he’d caved into him, which was — how could he deny him of anything?
“I don’t think Pomfrey would approve of the way I want to take care of you,” Draco said, leaning in and kissing Harry’s plump pouting bottom lip, letting it slide between his teeth before he dropped down to his knees in front of him.
“Draco…” Harry groaned, standing up a little straighter.
“Take this off,” Draco said softly, his fingers already working on the buttons of Harry’s top. Once it hung open, Harry didn’t hesitate in shrugging it loose from his shoulders. Draco helped by pulling it the rest of the way free from his arms and tossing it to the side. He then gently began to run his hands across Harry’s stomach and up the length of his chest, intently examining the still fragile and bruised, but fading, area of his ribs.
“How does this feel?” Draco asked. “Does it hurt?” Draco looked up at him through half lidded lashes from his position on the ground, taking his time to graze the delicate surface of Harry’s side with his hand. He wasn’t down here on his knees to beg Harry not to turn his back on him. He was here because this body was precious to him. And weren’t the injuries that marked it now the ultimate act of Harry showing his devotion to someone? When your enemies become his.
“No,” Harry whispered. Draco placed soft kisses over the light blue and purple surface of his skin.
“Does this hurt?” he asked, with a scrape of his teeth.
“No,” Harry moaned, running a hand through Draco's hair.
“What about this?” He squeezed Harry’s side with just enough pressure to really test it, and to remind them both that they still needed to have boundaries. Harry let out a small groan of pain and tugged on the soft strands of golden white hair clutched between his fingers.
Boundaries or not, Draco thought something had to give.
With a final kiss to Harry’s hip bone Draco stood, and with his wand in hand cast some quick diagnostics over Harry to see just how much his healing had regressed. It was the first set of diagnostics Draco had performed while the patient's hand roamed down his backside. The reading, that hovered next to them, showed that Harry’s ribs were close to seventy-five percent healed, which was almost past the dangerous stage and into the strengthening. Not bad. Draco could work with that. And Harry seemed to be a glutton for a little pain anyway.
“You know you're not supposed to be moving when your body is still in the process of healing something like this,” Draco said, moving back to sit casually on the arm of his overstuffed tweed couch facing Harry. Draco stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles and folded his arms across his chest. He had said it like he was chastising Harry, but Draco knew it didn’t matter. He wondered what percentage of the advice Harry was given that he actually followed. Harry was nothing if not his own man; he did what he wanted. And didn’t that simple truth make his declaration for Draco even more fucking meaningful? He couldn’t be persuaded to be Draco’s friend when his own friends had said that he should. So would he be persuaded when a big part of the world would try and tell him that he shouldn’t? Had he already thought about all the consequences of being with a Malfoy, both privately and publicly, and said fuck it, this is what I want?
“See how committed to you I am,” Harry said, staring at Draco with hunger across the small space that Draco had put between them.
“I do,” Draco answered truthfully. Harry was brazen, and he wanted to be brazen too. And being brazen right now was trusting that this could be real.
“You have me to yourself now,” Draco said. “What are you going to do about it? Just go to sleep?”
“I already told you what I wanted to do.”
“Yeah,” Draco snorted, “what was that you said again…? That you wanted to… convince me with your cock?”
Harry smiled and shrugged. “I liked your previous suggestion too… about us being naked with my cock buried inside of you.”
Draco chuckled. “Go lay on the bed,” he said, nodding his head in the direction of his bedroom. “We’ll figure out what to do with your cock from there.” Harry moved to the other side of the room, but turned back to reach for Draco’s hand with a questioning look when Draco didn’t follow. Draco whispered, “Give me a minute.” Harry nodded, but his eyes conveyed the message; please, don’t keep me waiting long.
Harry was lying on his back, relaxed and motionless, content to simply take Draco in when he finally walked into the room. It was different seeing Harry in his bed this time. He didn’t have to dread the night ending and with it Harry. Draco stood next to the bed to take off his shoes and unzip his track jacket. He only just remembered that he had planned to go for a jog, and he honestly still felt like he might need one. He let the rest of his clothes fall to the floor, left naked and wanting for the man gazing up at him so achingly it could melt the most steadfast of hearts. Draco bent down and worked the rest of Harry's clothes off for him, gently tugging his pyjama pants down past his hips and feet to land next to his on the floor before he carefully climbed onto the bed to straddle his thighs.
“I would say you’re already doing a significantly better job at taking care of me,” Harry said softly, and full of reverence, his heavy eyes roaming over the porcelain skin in front of him.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Draco asked, inspecting the way Harry’s body reacted to his weight, then moving his inspection a little further by lining his cock up with Harry’s and canting his hips down to slide them together, mouth falling open when they were flush. “I could just give you a hand job and we could call it a night.”
Harry was moaning from the stimulating pressure Draco was creating with the soft rocking motion of his hips. Draco noticed Harry was holding his body stiffly beneath him and he knew it was because of the pain from his injuries as his hands were clutching, knuckles white, the thick green comforter he was lying on top of. “Don’t stop… harder… I can handle it,” Harry said between shallow breaths, “...and if I break… I know you will be here to put me back together again. I trust you completely, Draco.”
Draco was already becoming lost in the feel of Harry’s nakedness against his own. A small whimper fell from his mouth at Harry’s words, and Harry must have become lost in it all as well because he tried to sit up and reach for Draco, quickly forgetting that he still didn’t have the full mobility of his body and let out a strangled groan, proving Draco’s point that physical activity, no matter how wanted, might still be too much.
“Don’t move again,” Draco said with a small chuckle, moving up and getting onto his hands and knees over Harry’s torso while being careful not to touch his side. “Let me do the work,” he leaned down and kissed him. “I mean it. If you want it harder, just tell me. Don’t move any part of your body that’s injured or I’ll stop.” Harry may have been okay with it, but Draco wasn’t going to let him break.
“Are you going to let me lay here and watch while you put on another show for me?” Harry asked, his voice a husky vibration against Draco’s lips.
“I’m thinking about it,” Draco purred back, “But this time if you follow the rules I’ll even let you touch me.” Harry didn’t need to be told twice, he kept his torso still but reached a hand up for Draco’s cock to start a maddening tease of cupping it loosely, sliding his hand down the length of it, then letting his fingers trail back up, ending with a swipe of his thumb over Draco’s slit.
“Is this how sex with us is going to be,” Harry said, seeming to enjoy his languid position of lying back and watching the blissful look he was putting on Draco’s face, “just an endless game of teasing?”
“I sure fucking hope so,” Draco moaned as Harry continued to stroke him, using only enough pressure to keep him needy and on edge, a look Harry apparently liked a lot on him. “Because isn't teasing half the fun?” Draco finished. “But not so fast there…,” he added then caught his breath after another teasing stroke from Harry’s hand, “I don’t recall committing to an ‘us’ yet. You still freak me the fuck out.”
“That’s okay,” Harry snorted, “I plan on putting a lot of time into convincing you otherwise.” He continued his stroking tease. “Isn’t that half of the fun?” he added, “...and also really fucking exciting,” he finshed, with a half grin through the strain on his face, likely from the effort he was making to keep his hips from bucking up.
Draco put his hand on top of Harry’s to stop the movement on his cock and leaned back to sit on Harry’s thighs again. “I don’t want exciting,” he said, the teasing and aroused tone to his voice shifted to part-exasperated and part-serious. “I just want you to be boring Harry. I want you to be so fucking boring I don’t have to worry about you going off and getting yourself killed, or…,” he hesitated, feeling a bit foolish to say his other worry which sat heavily in the back of his mind. He looked down, took Harry’s hand in his and covered his face with it to hide his embarrassment. He silently chastised himself for not being able to just stay in the moment. He took a breath and forced himself to say it, his voice muffled by Harry’s hand. “Or be worried that you might negligently get yourself drugged again and then… want somebody else.” He couldn’t help but feel that with Harry that outcome was a real possibility. Maybe it was the stress at having to deal with Harry's confusing ups and downs over the past months still coming out, but he didn’t feel confident yet.
Harry lowered the hand Draco was using to self-consciously cover his face and brought Draco’s hand down with it. “Merlin, Draco,” Harry snorted softly, kissing Draco’s palm, “you're just so fucking cute. You’re really doing a number on me tonight. And I don’t think we have to worry about that happening because don’t I have you now to check my drinks for me?” When Draco let out a small huff, unamused, Harry chuckled. “You’re really overthinking this,” he said, nudging Draco’s knee, his voice gentle and patient, as if he couldn’t help but be smitten by Draco's continued need for reassurance. “I promise you that I’m not that great,” Harry said. “Just give it a few weeks and you’re going to be so sick of me. You’re going to be wishing somebody else would take me.”
“I’m sick of you already,” Draco said dryly.
“Well, I thought we had more than one night in us, but, I guess we tried,” Harry sighed dramatically, and made as though he were trying to dislodge himself from underneath Draco even though he could barely move his own body and was obviously putting in minimal effort to push Draco off him. “So much for that fantasy I had of fucking my childhood rival in a Hogwarts bed.”
Draco couldn’t keep a straight face and finally laughed. “Oh no, I don’t think so,” he said, grabbing the hands that were playfully pushing and nudging at his legs and moving them up to pin them to the bed over Harry’s head, the tension in his chest relaxing at Harry’s ease. Draco was filled with affection at Harry picking up on the lightness that he had needed to help stifle his doubts. “You finally made your way into my bed, Potter. I’m not letting you go anywhere. I will be fucking my childhood rival tonight, and while I’m doing it… I’m going to make him admit he was an annoying little shit back then too.”
“Never,” Harry laughed.
“That will be two hundred points from Gryffindor,” Draco said sternly.
“Oh, so you're one of those hard arse Professors, are you?” Harry laughed again. “The only thing I'm admitting to is that I checked your arse out once in the showers after Quidditch practice.” Draco raised a brow. Harry chuckled and shrugged. “What can I say, the nineties were a confusing time for me too. And can you blame me?”
Draco grinned, his arousal increasing at that insight. He raised up slightly and slid his hips down to roll them against the hard cock waiting patiently for him to resume its owner's request of; harder. Then he lifted up to turn around and straddle Harry’s hips with his back to him, kneeling up with his legs spread on either side of Harry's thighs, to show off the same pert arse Harry had checked out when they were younger. In Draco’s opinion, it had only improved with age. “At least now you know what to do with it,” Draco said, low and seductive, as he moved his hips to make it bounce a little. “And I take back what I said earlier,” Draco added, “don’t ever be boring when we’re doing this.”
“How could I be,” Harry said, with awe in his voice, lifting his hands to grip Draco’s fit waist, his hands fanning out over his skin. “Just look at you.”
Draco looked over his shoulder to see Harry’s mouth parted; his eyes glassy and heavy with that feverish look of pleasure. His hands slid down the side of Draco’s narrow waist, caressing Draco’s slender, but well-curved hips, then lower down to cup Draco’s muscular hamstrings, before they trailed back up to squeeze the focal point he had just framed with his hands; the soft mounds of Draco’s arse. Harry’s touch and his provocative gaze had Draco desperate to be filled as Harry’s hands continued their journey up his body to smooth over the lean muscles of Draco’s back as far as his arms could reach, following the sensual line of Draco’s spine on their way back down. When they arrived back at Draco's waist again, Draco bent forward on his hands and knees, still trying to be thoughtful of Harry’s injuries through his body placement. Harry's hands had followed the movement of Draco’s body. His thumbs dipped into Draco’s crease as he squeezed the flesh of his cheeks to spread them wide. The new position had left Draco open and exposed, which was just where he wanted to be.
Harry tugged on Draco’s hips to try and pull Draco back and move his position from straddling Harry’s hips to straddling his face. Draco resisted, keeping his body firmly planted where it was. He turned his head to look at Harry. “I think we’re already pushing your injuries far enough,” he snorted, sitting up to lean his arse cheeks gently on top of Harry’s length and twisting his body to look back at the man under him. “This is as close as I’m getting.” He then took Harry’s hand from where it rested on his thigh and raised it to his own mouth. Harry watched with heavy eyes and his bottom lip clenched between his teeth as Draco slowly swiped his tongue out to lick across Harry’s fingers and suck two of them into his mouth. He took the time to get them nice and wet before he leant forward again and guided them to his hole, rubbing them over the furled sensitive skin that pulsed with the overdue need to be filled. Harry groaned, using his other hand to grab the base of his own cock and hold it tight, a look of laboured strain and concentration on his face to keep himself from spilling over so soon. “Now put your fingers in me,” Draco moaned. “You can eat it later.”
“Later might come sooner than we planned because I’m not going to last much longer,” Harry groaned, taking his time to trace a thumb over Draco’s delicate rim. “You have no idea how many times I’ve gotten myself off thinking about you like this,” Harry added. Draco couldn’t help but let out a small laugh that his drunken plan to leave Harry with the vision of him in his bed had actually induced such an outcome, because the thought of Harry, alone, wanking with him in mind, was pretty damn satisfying.
He lifted his wand and summoned a vial of lube that landed on Harry’s lap, determined to get to the fucking part of the evening. But he was going to need more than spit to take even the girth of Harry’s tip. “Get me ready for your cock and tell me about it,” he said. “I like to hear that mouth of yours.”
“Speaking is kind of difficult right now,” Harry snorted and then whimpered when Draco rolled his hips to encourage Harry’s fingers to get to moving. “I thought about the way you looked spread out on my bed,” Harry rasped out, attempting to give Draco the verbal stimulation he desired. “...your long cock, and your arse… fuck, you have the sexiest hole I’ve ever seen. I came everytime just thinking about it.” Harry let the lube drip down Draco’s crease, the cool slide that spread over his rim made Draco clench. Harry moaned a few expletives at the sight and began to work the tip of a finger in as Draco’s hole gripped it and then pushed the muscle out to help the finger slide in with ease. “I like that,” Harry groaned, “keep doing that. You’re so tight… I can’t wait to feel you around me.”
Draco gasped at the new pressure and Harry’s lust driven mouth; it was poetry to his ears. “So you being an arse man has really held up I see,” Draco chuckled. Harry slapped his cheek lightly and squeezed the flesh in an affirming response. “What else did you think about?” Draco asked, his mouth falling open at the arousing contact as he relaxed to take more of Harry’s fingers in.
“How sexy you look when you’re wet, and… fuck Draco, how you had looked playing with yourself… getting yourself loose for me… and how much I wanted to be the one to open you up.” He was panting the words out now, fucking Draco with two fingers. “I want to see my cum dripping out of you, lick you clean and then do it all over again. But what really turns me on is hearing what you like… keep telling me what you like… I’ll do anything— fuck- I’m going to-”
“Me too-” Draco whimpered. In a moment of clear headedness he picked up his wand again from where he had tossed it onto the bed and pointed it over his shoulder to perform a quick stabilising spell on Harry’s side. The stiff pained sounds that also fell from Harry’s mouth were a reminder to Draco to not lose himself in the moment. “Now you can come without your infection causing a rib to pop back out of place,” he answered through heavy breaths and a smirk to the questioning look on Harry’s face.
“Don’t you think that would have been helpful when we started this?” Harry snorted and went back to fucking Draco’s hole with his fingers.
“I got dis…oh, fuck… distracted,” Draco whimpered, as Harry found just the right angle and began to hit that delicious bundle of nerves with each thrust of his fingers, wreaking havoc on Draco’s already overly stimulated system. Draco had to find his words to tell him to stop so they could finish this right.
Draco shifted to kneel upright onto his shaky knees. “Hold your cock straight for me,” he told Harry. Harry lined himself up as Draco began to sink himself down on it. “Fuck, you feel so good,” they both cried out in unison when Harry finally breached him. Draco added a few more fucks and Harry added a few more grunts. The initial stretch of his hole was almost unbearable, but Draco craved it, wanted it. He worked his hips slowly up and down, taking his time to let his body relax and take him in further. Draco pulled back up when he was adjusted and kept his rim gripping just at the tip of Harry’s cock. He didn’t trust himself not to be too rough so he began to work himself only on the top half of Harry’s cock, which was plenty to fuck himself on. The sounds of pleasure coming from Harry’s mouth spurred him on, but the stiffness of Harry’s movement kept him cautious.
When Draco’s orgasm hit him, it was in an all consuming blast of pleasure, but he forced himself to stay relaxed in it. His ears stayed tuned to Harry behind him as he grunted out his own release shortly after Draco in a mix between ecstasy and pain. Draco let his constricting muscles massage Harry through it, indulging in the thick feel of him; of his own body holding on to him. When he finally pulled up, Harry’s spent cock slid out of him with a wet squelch. Draco fell to his side, languorously moving up the bed to rest next to Harry, his body still pulsing in the pleasant aftershock of his orgasm. Harry’s eyes were closed tight as he panted out his own uneven breaths, his hand clutched at his side.
“How much damage did we do?” Draco asked with a small laugh when both of their breathing evened out, casting another diagnostic spell over Harry with a lazy flick of his wand. Harry’s healing had dropped, but it wasn’t significant enough to cause alarm. However, Draco still needed to get him back on track soon so no unexpected shifts occurred during the night.
Harry turned his head and cracked an eye open. “Not nearly enough. I still want you,” he said, tugging on Draco’s hip with the hand that wasn’t holding his side. “Come here and kiss me.”
“You’re unbelievable,” Draco snorted, brushing Harry’s hair back as he pulled the comforter over him, tucking him in attentively. “You can’t even keep your eyes open, let alone endure a round two.”
Harry scoffed halfheartedly, his head tilting up to beckon Draco in for the kiss he wanted.
“We’ve put you through enough tonight,” Draco said, kissing Harry’s tempting lips with a quick peck. “But I did really enjoy those little grunting noises when you were restraining yourself,” he kissed Harry’s cheek then nuzzled it with his nose. “I might just have to tie you up and ride you sometime,” he whispered against his skin. “And if you're a good boy, I’ll even use a Gryffindor tie instead of a Slytherin one when I do it. Maybe I’ll even wear some lingerie,” he continued with a musing tilt to his voice. “I don’t know if you're into that but my legs do look fantastic in fishnets.”
“Yes. God, yes. I’m into that… all of that,” Harry groaned, determined to keep his eyes opened though they were still drooping heavily. “So my plan to convince you to keep me must be working,” he grinned lazily, wiggling his eyebrows, his body still in the same position on his back and unmoving, but his face was full of mischief as the hand he had placed on Draco’s hip slid lower down to reach for Draco’s cock.
Draco laughed and grabbed Harry’s questing hand, holding on to it to keep it from starting something Harry was in no shape to finish. He shook his head no when Harry kept trying to dislodge it out from his grip to move it where he wanted. Draco’s insistence that Harry needed to rest and Harry’s own exhaustion eventually won out. His head fell back against his pillow with a groan, a laugh, and a heavy exhale, relaxing his hand back onto Draco’s hip, his eyes instantly falling closed. Draco took it as a compliment that he had fucked him so well that he had passed out. Before his own eyes had a chance to follow, Draco slid out of bed, his cock going half hard again when he stood and felt Harry’s cum leak from his used hole. He chose to forgo a cleaning charm and left it.
“Harry, wake up,” Draco said softly next to Harry’s ear, climbing back under the covers after he had returned from rifling through the medical bag he still kept fully stocked in his wardrobe. When Harry’s eyes opened, sleepy and unfocused from being awoken only minutes after he had fallen into a deep sleep, Draco held a vial out for him. “Here, take this. It will help.” Harry took the vial into his hand but before he tilted it back he pulled Draco down and kissed him like it was the first time he had seen him tonight; the kind of kiss you give someone you haven’t seen in over a month and missed desperately. Draco’s breath stilled.
With a tug on his arm Harry encouraged Draco not to retreat to the other end of the bed but to stay close and curl into his uninjured side. Tucking his arm securely under Draco’s neck and around his back when he did. “I’ve missed you,” Harry whispered against the top of Draco’s forehead, his lips brushing the skin. For how long, Draco wanted to ask. But the sweetness of Harry’s words stuck in his throat. He tilted his head up and kissed the top of Harry’s jawline, the hair of his beard had grown longer and unkept, like a man who had spent a month on a mission without a thought for himself.
“I’ve missed you too,” Draco whispered back, resting in the crook of Harry’s shoulder, his fingers running through the soft trail of hair on Harry’s stomach. The two of them relaxed and content to just lie next to each other. Sex was phenomenal, but these quiet moments before sleep were the ones to cherish. When the space still felt open from the physical connection that had just been made, and being soft and vulnerable with each other when both of your hearts lie in sync, felt like that connection was deepening.
“This might sound crazy,” Draco said into the quiet room. Harry’s own fingers continued to trace small circles into the tender skin of Draco’s lower back, dipping into the shallow divots on either side of his spine to let Draco know that sleep hadn’t taken him yet. Draco decided to take the moment to lean further into the space that was beginning to close between them and into the intimacy that Harry was asking for. Harry wanted a chance, and Draco himself knew that he had long been leaning over that space every time they had ended up in the same bed together. Where each time they had revealed pieces of themselves, while left trying to make sense of who they were to each other now; an enemy, a healer, a friend, a saviour, a lover. “...But you’re one of the reasons I became a Healer.”
“Hmm… Me? How?”
“You probably don’t remember the day of my trial, or the way you had barged into the middle of it,” Draco snorted softly, remembering a still-fresh-from-the-war Harry bypassing the Wizengamot’s pompous decorum by interrupting the Chief Warlock mid-speech when he made his late and disorderly arrival into Draco’s trial. Harry had hastily entered the cavernous intimidating chamber with a look on his face, and an edge to his body language, that some at the time had written headlines about, accusing him of being arrogant, but looking back now Draco would say Harry had simply been a battered young man who was tired of the bureaucratic bullshit and was just daring someone in so-called authority to challenge him on it. “I didn’t even know you were coming that day,” Draco continued. “At the time I had trouble keeping up with the details and everything had felt foggy while I sat there in the spotlight. I could barely pay attention to what they were saying. But then out of nowhere there was a loud bang from the chamber’s main doors being shoved open, and then everyone was shocked to see that you were rushing in. I remember watching you walk to the centre of the room in front of everyone with blood coming from a cut on your cheek and your arm in a sling that looked like it had been made out of shirt rags, with even more blood seeping through your dress shirt.” Draco let out a small laugh at how little had changed when it came to Harry. “I will say this about you,” he added, “you’ve been quite consistent in making memorable entrances. I think you gave the entire Wizengamot a heart attack with the state you arrived in that day.”
“Yeah, they almost didn’t let me speak,” Harry snorted at the memory, “and they actually tried to stop me from doing so.” At the time Draco had been surprised that they had let him, they had wanted the deed of putting him away to be quick and easy. He was one of the low hanging fruits and, to the public, his sentencing had been meant to make it look like justice was being served without them actually having to do any of the heavy lifting, and risking Pandora's box being opened to expose their own incompetence or complicitness in Voldemort’s rise. Harry Potter showing up and speaking on Draco’s behalf had ruined their plan of sweeping the war neatly under the rug with a few ‘good for ratings’ show trials.
“When you were up there speaking,” Draco continued, “I couldn’t stop staring at your wounds, and watching the small trail of blood that kept dripping down your face, your arm, and onto the stand. My brain latched onto that trail of blood and I couldn’t stop staring… and just willing it to stop, willing your cuts to close up. You stayed up there for I don’t know how long, it felt like hours, even though you looked like you were about to pass out… you kept talking on my behalf. You were steadfast and you wouldn’t let them push you around even when they tried to turn your words around on you or convince you that I wasn’t worth risking your reputation for. And the only thing that I wanted to do during it was fix you. You had every reason not to, but you showed up for me… and I just wanted to make your bleeding stop.”
Teaching his new class now had forced Draco to take a close look at the dark days of his past, but there were still a few memories in his life that he would rather keep from coming back into sharp focus. Talking about it now brought back every detail of that day, which at the time he had accepted would be his last as a free man and that his future would contain cold stone walls and the company of Dementors. But nothing was clearer than a young Harry that he could still clearly see in the one lying next to him.
“I remember,” Harry said, his hand moving up Draco’s spine to gently cup the back of Draco’s neck, his fingers massaging the muscles there. “After the war a group of us spent months going after Death Eaters on the run. On the day of your trial we had just finished chasing down Yaxley and his gang who had been moving north trying to outrun us. By the time we made it back to Grimmauld Place, Hermione was furious at me for forgetting it was the day of your trial. I don’t think you were even friends yet but she had been determined to get me there. The only thing I had time to do was throw on some of Bill's dress robes so we could make it on time. The shirt sling… that had been Ron’s work. It was shit,” Harry snorted. “My arm had been too mangled up to fix before we left… because Merlin Yaxley was such a fucking… —Wait, did he?” Harry said at the way Draco’s body had automatically stiffened at the name, as more details came back into sharp focus.
Draco nodded against Harry’s chest and tried to put the haze back over it. He couldn’t decide if he regretted telling Harry the details of Voldemort and his men, who’d been presented to Draco throughout his life as trusted allies, using violating methods to break his will or not. But it didn’t matter, it was already out there, and it was probably best that it was.
“Fuck,” Harry sighed, resting his cheek on the top of Draco’s head. “And there I was aggravated because I had to leave the fight to go and speak for you. I knew after the sentence they gave your father that they were going to treat you unfairly and let the Malfoys take the brunt of it. By the way, he must have really pissed off the wrong people seeing as how they were letting other high ranking Death Eaters get off with little to no punishment. I couldn’t let them try and make an example out of you. But the way you just kept glaring at me while I was on the stand, though would never look me in the eyes… I kept thinking, this ungrateful arsehole doesn’t even care that I’m doing this for him and has the actual nerve to be angry that I'm here.” They both went quiet as Harry's hand massaged across Draco's shoulder. The movement was comforting. He was comforting. “I really got it wrong didn't I?” Harry whispered eventually.
“Not all of it,” Draco lifted his head and turned back slightly to look down at him. “I was angry at a lot of things then, but not you. I just couldn’t believe that you were there. I could hardly form a clear thought that day and I would have sworn on that stand with my life that you had been a figment of my imagination… I’m still not sure that you're real now,” he snorted, poking Harry’s jaw and pinching his cheek as if to test that he was. Harry scrunched his nose and chuckled. “And look, I'm not trying to say that I became a Healer for you,” Draco continued. “Seeing you that day just put the thought in my head, and when my name was cleared and I left home without anything but Aries… it became something for me. And who knows, maybe highlighting a clear path to work towards was another thing you did that saved my life.” Harry lifted a hand up to stroke through Draco’s hair.
“So, what I’m hearing,” Harry said, with a small grin, “is that my injuries have the ability to inspire life changing revelations.” He joggled Draco's head affectionately. Draco resisted the urge to pinch his side because fucking Harry and his damn injuries.
“Boring, Harry. Just be boring,” Draco groaned, picturing a life lived on edge everytime that Harry went away.
Harry laughed before his expression turned soft again. “As much as I would like to be able to tell you that things could have been different between us back then,” he said, “I wouldn't have been able to be your friend, or anything more. Because I was angry too.”
“I know,” Draco said, resting his head back on Harry’s chest. “That’s not why I’m telling you this. I guess what I’m trying to say… is that I’m glad it was me… I’m glad that you were thinking about me that night… and that I finally got to help you.”
“Do you know how lovely you’ve turned out to be, Draco?” Harry whispered, his voice tender. “I would ruin my reputation a thousand times over for you. Because you are worth it. I know it took me longer than it should have to get here with you,” he continued, “but let's make a promise right here to stop getting things wrong about each other, okay?”
“Okay,” Draco whispered, tilting his head back up to kiss Harry softly. “But if we do…” he purred against Harry’s lips, “at least we know how to get it right in bed,” he finished, using what was left of his restraint to resist the urge to crawl back on top of Harry and put some action behind those words. Because he was sure he could find a bit more of a clever way to ruin whatever was left of Harry’s ‘wholesome’ reputation.
“Fuck yeah we do,” Harry nipped at Draco’s bottom lip.
“Go to sleep,” Draco snorted. “I still have until tomorrow to decide if I’m going to keep you,” he teased, wrapping his arm snuggly around Harry’s waist and placing a kiss on his chest. Harry mumbled something about Draco being naked and sexy as he drifted off.
***
The dip in the bed and rustle of the sheets woke him. It was still dark out when Draco’s eyes snapped open. Through the haze of sleep, he noted the moonlight was washing his bedroom in shadows of pale colours as Harry’s naked figure crawled back into bed. During the few hours they had slept they hadn’t been able to keep from touching one another. There had been a gentle hand on Draco’s hip that had moved down his thigh as the night had drifted on. His own leg had draped across Harry’s after he had woken up cold and too far away from Harry; his forehead pushed flush against Harry’s shoulder while one hand cupped Harry’s bicep and the other held his hand. There were other moments when Draco had tucked a hand in between Harry’s warm thighs or shifted to drape an arm across Harry’s shoulders; anywhere he could touch except his fragile ribs. There were moments when Harry had briefly woken and tugged on him, placing Draco’s arms and legs back into place across his body anytime they had slipped away during the night, his hand always somewhere on Draco’s body. There had been flashes of wakefulness in between sleep, of both of them reaching and touching. And each moment had been a reminder that they had both needed for them to be only inches apart and not miles. Harry hadn’t switched positions since sleep had taken them; staying still on his back. The new movement with the bed shifting and the absence of a weighted hand on his body had caused Draco to jerk awake, his heart racing as he sat up on his elbows. “Are you okay?” he rasped out, his still sleep heavy mind immediately jumping to the conclusion that something was wrong.
“Yeah, I just needed to use the loo,” Harry said with a small chuckle at Draco’s reaction. He was lying on his side now with his elbow propped on his pillow and his head in his hand, gazing at Draco with a fond smile.
Draco let out a shaky laugh of relief, his head falling back against his pillow. “How does your side feel?” he asked, his heart rate slowing down.
“Better,” Harry said softly, sliding a hand across the sheet and over Draco’s bare abdomen under the covers, caressing the smooth skin he’d found with his fingers.
“Let me see,” Draco said, knowing that he would only feel better if he looked Harry over with his own eyes. He went to reach for his wand and to sit up to examine Harry’s side, but before he had a chance to even lift his head again, Harry had gotten to his knees on the bed, pushing the covers away with his hand to reveal Draco’s naked body and started to crawl over him. Draco felt instantly more alert at the sight of Harry looming broadly before him; stripped bare and golden. His heart rate picked up again for a different reason.
Harry nudged Draco’s long legs apart and moved between them. “See,” he said, low and raspy. He ran a slow hand down his side that only hours before had been mottled with bruises, past his hip bone and along the tantalising piece of the body where the groyne meets the thigh, putting himself on exhibit to show Draco the proof that he was once again intact. Harry’s eyes were half lidded and his cock jutted out hard and impressive and just asking to be touched as he looked down at Draco. Draco lifted a hand and ran it down Harry's side, following the same path that Harry’s had just taken. By the way Harry had been moving, Draco knew that he was better, but there was no reason not to examine him further with his own hands.
“I do see,” Draco whispered, his eyes drinking Harry in. He bit his lip and let his hand run across Harry’s chest, it was scattered with almost as many scars as his own was. His fingers traced one now that slashed in a pale line over Harry’s pectoral and ended at a dusky hard nipple. Draco pinched it. Harry’s mouth parted as he let out a low moan. “I guess you don’t need me to take care of you anymore,” Draco said, letting his hand fall down Harry’s abdomen to his cock. Draco’s fingers grazed the hard thick length of it, only just now realising that this was the first time that he had touched it and wondered how that was. He had been teasing, but Harry's head tilted at his words and the small lines of concern appeared between his furrowed brows. He leaned down to place his forearms on either side of Draco’s head and nuzzled into Draco’s neck. Draco stretched it out for him.
“But I like the way you take care of me,” Harry whispered, kissing the tender spot of skin just below Draco's earlobe, which instantly became his new favourite spot to be kissed. “...it’s so delicate and so careful,” Harry continued, his mouth moving down the length of Draco’s neck, “and so unexpected — I feel it right here,” he gripped a hand at his own chest right over his heart. “But if you think the only reason I'm here is so that you will take care of me… that's not it, Draco,” he continued, his mouth still moving across Draco’s skin, his hands taking Draco’s into his own to lace their fingers together and hold them against the bed just above Draco’s head, “I’m here because when I held you in that hospital I never wanted to let you go. And if you try to push me away again… it will be me on my knees begging you not to turn your back on me.” Draco gasped against his cheek. Harry was practically laying on top of him now, their skin flush and heated where it touched. “I'm not always good at expressing how I feel, but I will beg,” he finished, and continued to do a better job at expressing himself than he was giving himself credit for.
“Do you remember when I told you how good you are?” Draco whispered, hot and rasped against Harry’s cheek. “Because you are, Harry. And right now… I really need you inside of me.” He turned to liquid when Harry finally pressed their mouths together. He wasn’t even sure he could move his own limbs to make his request happen, but Harry was eager to be the one to do the work this time. He raised up slightly and moved his hands under Draco’s knees to lift Draco’s thighs and spread them wide while he whispered how much he liked Draco on his back where he could kiss his addicting mouth, and look into his striking eyes; stormy yet calming, reminding him of silver waves crashing against the cliffs of the misty and craggy Scottish coastline. His voice didn’t just drip with bawdry sex this time, it was besotted with fervour.
“Oh Merlin, you’re still wet,” Harry groaned, as he sat on his heels and his gaze travelled further south to take in the way Draco looked beneath him, running a finger along Draco’s hole to dip inside of it. Draco gasped. He was still tender from earlier, stretched out and glistening with Harry’s cum. Harry licked his lips, his eyes heavy as he watched Draco’s body take his fingers.
“You can lick it clean now,” Draco said. Harry’s nostrils flared as his eyes slanted up and they shared a heated smile as they both remembered Harry’s earlier words.
There wasn’t a rush to Harry’s movements, as if they could finally slow down to savour the moment and he was determined to make it last. And he did; he took Draco apart, inch by inch and with detailed precision — with his tongue and with his hands, with open affection and whispered declarations. What he did to Draco in the hour before the first morning light wasn’t the restrained fucking out of a pure need because they finally had each other that they had done earlier. This was slow and luxurious. It wasn’t playful teasing — it was reverent and worshipful. It was taking the time to properly ruin someone for anybody else. But when Harry, passion filled and deliberate in the way he plucked a symphony across Draco's body, tried to whisper his earlier admission onto Draco’s lips, the one with the words falling and love, Draco stopped him with the sweetest of kisses.
“No, don’t say it yet,” he whispered onto Harry’s lips, clutching onto his back as his cock pushed inside of him. Draco didn’t want those words to be rushed, and if he were to ever hear them again he wanted it to be more than just falling. He could give Harry time for that. “Tell me that this is real instead,” he whispered, as he pressed the heels of his feet into Harry’s arse to urge him on. “Tell me that you’re mine again.” Harry rocked into him, a deep and steady pace. “…tell me it’s me you want,” Draco moaned.
Harry obliged, replacing the words that Draco had told himself as a mantra all those months ago to survive — this isn’t real turned into something new and Harry kept saying it, in between kisses and thrusting hips. “I’m yours,” Harry said, with so much conviction that Draco finally felt like they were taking root inside of him. “It’s you, baby. It’s only you,” he panted out with soft puffs of breath across Draco’s skin, pushing them deep beneath his protective layers until they hit his heart.
And with the weight of this body on top of him, and the words this is real, this is real falling from Harry’s mouth, Draco crumbled beneath him.
Ruined.
***
They lay facing each other, panting, limbs entwined and tangled in the sateen sheets they had just gotten lost in as soft hues filtered through the ancient Gothic windows of Draco’s bedroom. The early Sunday morning moved slow and easy like the motion of their hands over each other's bodies. Both of them lay lazy and spent from the way they had just come together, but still luxuriating in the feel of each other. It was familiar, but they were still learning the different ways in which they fit together as they held on with no restraints, and listened in the way you do with your entire body when you're becoming intimate with someone.
Harry was tracing the dip of Draco’s nose, the defined ridge of his cheekbone, and the line of his sharp jaw with a finger. The room was quiet and still, their gazes heavy and soft at the same time. Draco’s leg was thrown over Harry’s thigh, his hand ran up and down the length of Harry’s spine, their faces lay close on the same pillow as Harry’s finger moved to trace the outline of Draco’s lips.
“What changed?” Draco asked quietly. “The last time I saw you, you were just coming to terms with wanting me. What changed?”
“I supposed being on the side of a mountain with life threatening injuries thinking that if I didn’t make it down that I might not get to see you again,” Harry answered, caressing Draco’s naked thigh as he leaned in to kiss all of the places on Draco’s face that his fingers had just traced. “...or get any more chances to try and figure you out,” he snorted softly. “But mostly it’s because I also know what it’s like to be in a home that you fill up.”
“You remember everything don’t you?”
“I think I do,” Harry said, laying his head back down on the pillow. “And I know now the reason I felt like I lost something is because I did. When I was on the lust potion it didn’t even matter because it only took hours for my heart to find a place for you and after that it never stopped longing for you. And with every memory that was unlocked of the time we spent together, remembering you and getting to know you again at the same time, made it clear that a part of me has been falling in love with you ever since that night you let me into your home. I just had to get out of my own way and let myself see it… see you.”
Draco rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, taking in what Harry had just said. He had wanted it to be so real then, and to learn that a part of it might have been when he was certain that it wasn’t was a lot to take in. Harry was a lot to take in.
“I don’t know if I will ever get used to hearing you say that,” Draco said, “but even if deep down you were, you still hated that it was me.” As many times as he had tried to overcome that thought tonight it still wedged its way into the back of his mind; that Harry was giving Draco his heart in spite of his soul. “It’s hard for me not to think that you still might,” he continued. “And I don’t want you to hate yourself for having feelings for me, even if it’s a small part. Because in the end it will only make you hate me again.”
Harry pushed himself up on his pillow, resting on one elbow, and turned Draco’s face back to him with a gentle hand but before he could speak Draco whispered, “I thought you regretted it.” His voice was cracked and moisture collected in the corner of his eyes. “You were so angry… I thought you regretted speaking for me and that you wished I’d gone to Azkaban.”
“No, Draco.” Harry shook his head. “I need you to listen to me. I thought the war had broken something inside of me and that I would never be able to feel this deeply about anyone. But just like you said before, life is mostly shit but sometimes you catch a break along the way and you should take it when you can. You’re exactly that for me. Do you understand that? Do you understand how lucky I am?
Draco closed his eyes. Has anyone else ever had this effect on him? Throughout the years, Hermione was the only other person whose friendship and unconditional belief in him could affect him like this. There was something about being the absolute worst version of yourself to someone and them still choosing you.
Fucking Gryffindors.
“You let me in,” Harry continued. “You didn’t have to and I know it wasn’t easy for you but you did. And I know I had a bad reaction when I saw this,” Harry lifted Draco’s arm and kissed the faint mark left behind. A mark that they were bonded with forever now no matter what the future held. Like the marks on Draco’s chest, and the ones that littered Harry’s body that Draco knew so well. They would never be able to tell the stories of their scars without thinking of the other. “Yes, I needed to make peace with who you were and the things you did,” Harry continued, “but when I see this on your arm, I don’t see it as being what defines you anymore. It’s just something that happened to you. And the more I see you the smaller it gets. That’s because of you Draco, just you. —And I’m going to get your house back for you.”
Draco turned the rest of the way back onto his side to face Harry again. He had begun to learn that jarring turns in conversation was something that happens quite frequently with Harry. And he instantly knew he was being serious by the look on his face.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Draco said. “I don’t need you to do that for me.”
“I know you don’t. But you quit your job taking a stand for me and the only thing I did was destroy your home.”
“I quit my job for me.”
“Okay, good,” Harry smiled. “So what if I get your house back for me?” he shrugged. “Because I miss it and I want it to be a home for us. And I want to do it for the incredibly handsome man who’s been so kind, and thoughtful, and brave, and so fucking patient putting up with me. I want to be able to give it back to him. Plus, it's basically already a done deal. I just need you to sign the parchments,” he grinned innocently.
Draco laughed and shook his head, lifting a hand to cup Harry’s cheek. This was his for the taking now, he’d been given a chance to build a life with the one person who had always had him in the palm of his hand. “I love you, you do know that, don't you?” Draco said. “I’ve never loved anyone the way that I love you. But just like you said you're not here just so I will take care of you, I’m not here so you will keep having to save me.”
“You finally said you love me again,” Harry said, and the way he grinned so stupidly back at Draco and ignored everything else Draco had said made Draco laugh. Harry leaned in and cupped Draco’s face with both hands and smothered the sound of his laugh with another breathless kiss, pushing a leg in between Draco’s before he pulled back, stopping the grinding momentum that was beginning to pick up.
“I almost forgot,” Harry said suddenly, sitting up. Draco’s head fell back against the pillow with a small groan at the abrupt stop to the warm, pressure building movement between his legs. “I had something made for you while I was gone.”
“Speaking of,” Draco said, sitting up to lean against the headboard, “I still have a lot of questions about your little, taking the law into your own hands, trip of yours.” Draco was starting to suspect that Harry didn’t just spend his free time breaking curses. And the strange unsolved disappearances of high ranking Death Eaters, who had walked free over the years, was starting to take on a new light. Harry moonlighting as a vigilante with a death wish may have more truth to it than Draco had first suspected.
Harry did a sexy flick of his wrist and a small black velvet pouch flew effortlessly into his hand. “I told you ending her career was going to be the feel good story of the year,” he snorted, and quirked that smile — the one that Draco could now call his own. “Or at least it made me feel good,” Harry shrugged. “But later, I’m trying to have a moment here.” He dangled the small bag in front of Draco’s face. Draco snatched it from his hand with a chuckle.
“Hey, I wondered where this went,” Draco said, when his, Harry's, or whoever's necklace it was slid into his palm. “So you had something made for me… that I had already made?” Draco said, confused.
Harry rolled his eyes and nudged him. “Turn it over.” When Draco did he started to laugh.
“Fucking hell Harry, you really are a bloody romantic, aren’t you? I can’t believe you did this.” In the bottom left corner of the polished gold coin was a small gem, roundly cut. A moonstone that had been delicately inlaid into the coin’s rough surface. Draco moved the coin back and forth so the morning rays could bring out the pearly stone’s subtle iridescent shades of its colour. Yet another layer added to a lost, fake galleon that had been found and cherished.
“I love you so fucking much,” Draco said when they had both caught their breath from laughing so hard. They had fallen back onto the bed.
“Can I say it back now?” Harry turned to his side and whispered against Draco’s shoulder, his arm going around Draco’s waist to pull him in close.
“No, not yet,” Draco said with a soft smile, his hand smoothing the hair back from Harry’s forehead to tuck it behind his ear.
Harry had clasped the necklace around his neck while they both shook from laughter as Draco had retold the story of Harry’s jealous outburst and his ridiculous desperate plea of… ‘if it’s moonstone you want I’ll go to the fucking moon and get it for you.’ At the time it had broken a piece of Draco’s heart that he had to make him leave that day. Now he couldn’t stop touching the pendant he held between his fingers, rubbing them back and forth over the raised surface of the small gem — something that was familiar, but new, and Harry couldn’t stop his own fingers from doing the same to Draco’s skin.
The pulse Draco had become accustomed to feeling under his skin when he was close to Harry was still alive and well. However, it no longer felt like a curse of what he couldn’t have and needed to rid himself of, but like a response to the affection of Harry’s magic from his own. How many days and nights had he spent trying to scrub the torture of the taunting, lingering effect of it from his skin. Now he wanted to wrap himself in it. He lifted the pendant to his lips and kissed it before letting it fall back against his chest.
“… but I do feel it when your magic touches me,” Draco whispered.
***
One week later at Pansy and Ginny’s wedding.
Pansy: “So, this is really happening?”
Ron: “About bloody time. I, for one, was not looking forward to the intervention this lot was planning.”
Blaise: “I’m almost sad it's official. Meddling was such fun, and very effective I must say. Mother was right, I am a genius.”
Peter: “Wait, you mean to tell me that you guys are just now becoming a thing? What the fuck have you been doing?”
Ginny: “I guess now we should expect rubbing against each other under tables and thinking that nobody else notices is going to become a normal part of pub night.”
Hermione: “I just knew if you two could get over yourselves something beautiful would eventually happen.”
Draco: “What do you think, Potter? Are we over ourselves yet?”
Harry: “With the way you look in that suit tonight, I don’t care if you're over me or under me, just as long as you're coming home with me. The rest is up to you, baby.”
Luna: “It was inevitable. The sand fairies told me.”
Draco groaned. Harry looked confused, and fucking adorable.
~ the end ~
Notes:
Thanks for sticking with this to the end! I still have so much to learn about building a story. It’s great to be a part of a fandom where I can keep playing, trying and learning. I appreciate all of you who gave my first story a chance ❤️🌹
Comments and kudos are very welcome and so lovely to receive! Please feel free.
I also made some fun little mood boards with pictures that inspired this story. If you’re interested you can check it out at my tumblr ghostofnoir
‘Touch Me Like a Lover’ epilogue coming soon…
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NoxNoir on Chapter 2 Mon 19 Jun 2023 12:30AM UTC
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Nothing13 on Chapter 2 Wed 25 Oct 2023 06:15PM UTC
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DrarryMyHeart on Chapter 2 Thu 29 Jun 2023 03:53PM UTC
Last Edited Thu 29 Jun 2023 03:54PM UTC
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happystingray on Chapter 2 Mon 24 Jul 2023 11:19AM UTC
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NoxNoir on Chapter 2 Mon 24 Jul 2023 04:21PM UTC
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cosvagooz on Chapter 2 Sun 17 Dec 2023 03:43PM UTC
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neonponders on Chapter 2 Thu 21 Sep 2023 07:14AM UTC
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Nath_Gavi on Chapter 2 Wed 04 Sep 2024 07:41PM UTC
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