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The sun had set slower than it ever had before.
Draco stared blankly out the arched window looming beside him, watching the clouds roll and the stars flicker, grateful that it was finally nightfall. He was restless; his leg fidgeting, his jaw clenching, his nails digging into his palms, his breaths fighting to stay even. Beneath his shirt, the painted skin across his hip prickled, the normally dormant soulmagic harmonizing with his poorly hidden unease. He struggled to swallow down his disquiet sigh.
A hand gently gripped his jittery knee, and Draco spared a glance for Pansy beside him. The exasperation in her gaze only soured his mood more, and he turned away again.
“Darling, you’re being quite obvious. Your state of worry is drowning the rest of us in distasteful concern.”
Before Draco could volley back a cutting remark, Blaise butt in from the other end of the sofa, “Concern for your mental wellbeing, that is.” Draco scowled at his own reflection in the window, peeved at the other Slytherin’s teasing tone. “How you could care so much about him is far beyond our understanding.”
“Leave him alone.”
The tension in Draco’s body eased a bit, and he felt it only right to muster a grateful smile for Greg’s protectiveness. Greg’s stern glare towards the others disappeared when their eyes met, and he nodded simply.
Pansy opened her mouth, most likely to spew some more ridicule, when the common room door opened. Draco became suddenly aware of how crowded the sofas and tables around them were when all conversation halted and the air grew tense. At the entrance, Weasley and Granger paused their whispered exchange once they realized they held the attention of the whole eighth year class. Weasley cleared his throat.
“He’s fine. Staying in the Hospital Wing for observation, but not a scratch on him.”
And with that, conversation grew again. Several people carried their troubled questions over to Weasley and Granger, and the second they were blocked from Draco’s view, he stood.
“Where are you going?” Pansy asked immediately, grabbing his sleeve.
“They said he was fine, Draco,” Blaise added, and it could have been taken as reassurance if you weren’t attuned to the fine subtleties in his expression. Draco knew quite well he was being goaded.
“I’m going to bed. Goodnight,” Draco said firmly. He tugged out of Pansy’s grip and ignored their dramatic sighs, deftly weaving through the common room and climbing the stairs.
As he ascended, the noise below grew muffled and, with his person out of view, his steps quickened. He hurried down the hall and pushed his way into the furthest dorm room.
At the beginning of the school year, Draco had been entirely frustrated with the rooming arrangements Headmistress McGonagall had organized. He had been exhausted and ashamed and lost in the world that used to revere him. Sleeping a bed away from the person who reminded him of his every mistake, who got under his skin like no one else could, who felt it was his responsibility to fix every problem he came across—Draco’s included—had made everything feel so much harder.
He was thankful for such arrangements now. He strode over to the trunk at the end of Harry’s bed and knelt before it, making quick work of the protective wards already attuned to Draco’s magic. He dug through the mess inside with furrowed brows, honestly surprised that what he was looking for wasn’t folded neatly on top. If he owned an invisibility cloak, he would make a secret compartment in his luggage to hide and protect it in. His mind ran off on a tangent, piecing together the wand movements and incantations needed to make just that for Harry’s trunk, and he was grateful for the short reprieve from his worries.
Beneath a crumpled shirt, Draco found it. He had worn the cloak before, and it felt just as soft as he remembered. Harry had presented it to the room when Blaise had challenged his retelling of first year. Ernie had tripped over his blankets in a rush to try it on, Blaise had stared wide-eyed from his desk, and Draco had only wanted to feel it. It was Harry who had thrown the cloak over Draco’s shoulders, and, with a blinding smile Draco had vowed to earn as often as possible from that point on, Harry had told their roommates about the time he had scared Draco half to death in third year.
Draco carefully lifted the cloak from the corner it was tucked in and rose from the floor, pulling the lid of Harry’s trunk shut as he went. The wards around it resealed themselves just as the door behind him opened, and Draco didn’t need to turn to know who it was.
“Stealing, are we?” Blaise appeared beside him, raising an appraising eyebrow at the color-shifting fabric in Draco’s hands. “Solid choice. I would have gone for that map of his, personally.”
“Shut up, Blaise,” Draco intoned dully. He wasn’t up for pretenses at the moment. He turned, making to leave the room, but a hand on his arm stopped him.
“You know we don’t care all that much, right?”
Draco’s jaw clenched in antsy irritation, but he looked over at his friend. He could at least give the courtesy of attentive listening, and perhaps it would end this conversation faster. Blaise could read him like an open book, the flat look made that obvious, but then his gaze grew far too close to sincere for Draco’s comfort.
“I’m serious, Draco,” Blaise said, and then he added, tone decidedly unserious, “and that's a very rare occurrence, as you know.”
Draco rolled his eyes, his impatience growing. “Will you get on with it?”
“Merlin, you’re whipped, aren’t you?” At Draco’s glare, Blaise grinned. “I see we’re past denying it now. How delightful.” His tone fell earnest again. “Like I said, though, we don’t care. You don’t have to hide whatever it is you have with him.”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“Draco, we share a room,” Blaise deadpanned. “I’ve seen and heard more than I would have liked to. Including those soulmarks you both try to hide.”
Whole body tensing, Draco looked away. His skin warmed despite himself, his fist clenching tightly around the cloak. Blaise released his arm with an exaggerated sigh.
“Go on, then. Shouldn’t keep your love interest waiting any longer.”
Draco ignored the deepening flush of his cheeks, meeting Blaise’s eyes with a hard stare.
“Don’t tell anyone,” he said sharply. “Not even Pansy.”
Blaise raised an eyebrow and went to speak, but Draco cut him off, “I don’t care if others may have figured things out. Don’t confirm anything.”
They held each other’s stubborn gazes until Blaise rolled his eyes. Draco turned towards the door, carefully unfurling the cloak, and before he threw it over his shoulders, Blaise spoke again.
“Tell Potter I mourn his absence greatly.”
Draco refused to entertain his teasing, wrapping himself in the cloak until he was fully covered and leaving the room without another word.
The common room wasn’t as occupied as it had previously been, yet was filled with just as much conversation. He swerved his way to the common room entrance and his footsteps went unheard. The castle corridors were empty and echoed the heavy fall of his feet. He pulled his wand, casting a wordless Silencio around himself as he steered his way down the hall. The Hospital Wing wasn’t far, but Draco hurried, nonetheless.
The almost deafening, spelled silence made it impossible for his mind to stay present.
It had happened so quickly, as it normally did. Draco had his back turned from the unused hallway as he passed, his History of Magic textbook open between his hands, and then there was a mumbled curse, the poorly lit corridor suddenly far too bright.
Harry had come out of nowhere.
Biting his tongue to shake himself from the memory, Draco descended the last staircase and his gaze zeroed in on the grand doors of the Hospital Wing. He cast another silencing charm over the whole entryway before tugging hard on the handle. The moment he was able, he slipped inside, letting the door close soundlessly behind him.
The large room was awash in pale moonlight. Only one of the many beds was surrounded by privacy curtains, and Draco was pushing them aside before the observation fully settled.
Harry immediately sat up, his eyes promptly finding Draco’s even despite his current invisibility. Draco took him in, checking the other boy’s movements and breathing for signs of impairment, observing what little skin was bare for any hint of injury. He seemed alright, but Draco needed more to be sure. He wanted to check Harry all over, to run the few diagnostic spells he had been practicing and monitor his vitals, to press his fingers to the other’s pulse and count it for hours on end.
Harry made an impatient sound, and Draco quickly pulled the cloak off.
“Lay down, you damned halfwit,” Draco chastised in a whisper. He blindly tossed the cloak towards the visitor chairs and closed the distance between them. His hands pushed gently at Harry’s shoulders, while Harry’s pulled Draco closer. Calloused fingers slipped beneath his shirt and grazed the sensitive soulmark at his hip. Draco suppressed a shiver as he tugged Harry’s hands away. He added sternly, “Hands to yourself, Potter. Tell me what Madam Pomfrey said.”
Harry fought off his half-hearted grip and his hands burrowed back beneath Draco’s shirt as he spoke, “She said the curse was botched. I was only hit with a few of the lesser aftereffects.”
“Which were?” Draco ignored Harry’s roaming hands, sitting on the side of the bed to look at him closer. He slid off the other boy’s glasses and inspected his eyes as best he could in the dim lighting. They were just as beautiful as always and luckily held no sign of concussion.
“Some numbness in my hands and legs, some trouble breathing, a pounding headache,” Harry listed, easily allowing Draco to maneuver him however he pleased. His hand on Draco’s waist brushed a soothing thumb across his soulmark and back again.
Draco pursed his lips, sitting up with a glare. Harry tried to sit up with him, but Draco held him down with a firm hand on his chest.
“You’re an idiot,” Draco muttered angrily, his hand clenching onto Harry’s shirt. “That curse could have done serious damage. You could have been paralyzed for the rest of your sorry life. If that botched spell took after other, darker parts of its true incantation, you could be fucking dead. What were you thinking?”
“Better me than you,” Harry replied with far too much nonchalance.
“No!” Draco growled instinctively. He lowered his voice again, “No. That curse was directed at me for a reason—”
“Speaking of,” Harry interrupted, his hand on Draco’s hip tightening, “you wouldn’t happen to know who cast it, would you? No one will tell me.”
Draco glared harder, pointedly ignoring his question. “Never do shit like that again. I’ll kill you myself if you wish to die so badly.”
“How romantic.” Harry smiled, his eyes dancing.
This was driving Draco insane. He hated how thoughtless Harry was being. Out of the two of them, Harry was the good one. He was the kind and gentle one, the just and courageous one. He was the epitome of light, the hero who fought against evil, the prophesized and revered savior of the wizarding world.
Harry was the one who didn’t hesitate to jump in front of dark curses to protect someone who had used that curse before.
“Never do that again,” Draco repeated, his voice deathly quiet. His words cracked at the end, and the overwhelming weight of his anger and fear and frustration felt entirely constricting. His throat grew tight, and Harry’s gaze softened.
“I’m sorry,” Harry muttered, pulling at Draco’s waist to bring him closer. Stubborn as always, Draco resisted. He knew Harry wasn’t apologizing for what he should be sorry for. “I’m sorry you’re being treated this way, and I’m sorry I worried you. I wish I could do more—to help you more—”
“Shut up,” Draco snarled, pained. His hand slid from Harry’s chest to his neck. He applied no pressure, only kept it there to keep Harry’s full attention. “You are good. I am bad. That is how it is. That is why—” Draco had to swallow as his throat tightened more and his eyes began to sting. He gestured from himself to Harry, “—why this was a terrible twist of fate. We’ve been over this.”
Draco held his left arm up, the wretched brand marring his skin chafing against his sleeve. He was desperate for Harry to understand, and his tone hid none of it as he continued, “I am marked for a reason. I chose to receive this. Everyone is right to loathe me, and they always will.”
Green eyes held a heavy sadness, too sympathetic for the message Draco was trying to get across. With a frustrated noise, Draco leaned forward and held Harry’s face between his hands.
“What don’t you understand?” he said, teeth gritted. His vision was starting to blur. “I was a follower of an evil Dark Lord. A willing follower. I did his bidding. I had people locked up and tortured in my basement and did nothing about it. I let Deatheaters, fellow Deatheaters, into a school full of children, and one of them was a fucking werewolf. I nearly killed several people that year, one of them being your best friend. I watched Dumbledore die and did nothing to stop it from happening. I’ve cursed and hexed and jinxed countless innocent people, even doing so before that homicidal bastard came back. Just for fun. Simply because I enjoyed it. I am a self-centered, cruel, belligerent, injudicious, bigoted Deatheater, and I deserve every punishment handed to me for it.”
A tear escaped him, but he ignored it. Harry didn’t. The thumb that brushed across his cheek was so heartbreakingly tender. The eyes that held his were shimmering with an understanding that made absolutely no sense. Draco felt like he was falling to pieces, and he knew no matter how much he fought against it, Harry would stop at nothing to put him back together.
“But you,” Draco continued, his voice a faint whisper. Harry’s hand at his cheek gently brushed back his fringe. Draco felt his bottom lip quiver as his heart ached. “You’re everything I’m not.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed, and before he could argue, Draco pressed their lips together. The kiss was soft and lingering, and Draco kept close as he spoke again.
“You are brave and generous and selfless to a fault. You’re a hero, for Merlin’s sake.” Draco pulled back as far as the hand in his hair would let him. “Anyone else would understand. I do not deserve you.”
Harry’s voice was pained. “Don’t say that. We’re—”
“It must be a mistake, Harry, how can you not see that?!” Draco beseeched, and Harry turned his head away. Draco urged it back and felt his heart break upon seeing Harry’s eyes glisten. “Please, for once in your life, see reason. I am—I’m tainted. I’m no good. The universe must have made a mistake, or perhaps it was just me, some mistake I made...”
Harry’s gaze hardened despite his unshed tears. “I’ve made mistakes, too, Draco. I’m not perfect—”
“Merlin— please, Harry,” Draco pleaded, uncaring about the wetness in his eyes, on his cheeks. He pulled further away, tugging at Harry’s unwavering hold on him. “You are meant to be with someone as kind as you. Someone who actually cares for others and fights when they need to and—and isn’t a fucking criminal like I am!”
“Stop. Please...” Harry whispered. His own cheeks were being slowly lined with tears, and Draco felt all the fight in himself drain away.
Harry sat up and wound strong arms around him, burying his face into the crook of Draco’s neck. Draco went slack in his hold, nuzzling into dark curls despite knowing he should be pulling Harry off and leaving. He should start keeping his distance and ease back into his old self again, the version most people expected. He should insult Harry for showing weakness or boast about his inherited wealth or vow to revive the very man Harry had killed only months ago. Something, anything to sever himself from all of this before the other boy got too attached or fatally wounded for Draco’s sake.
But the longer Harry held him, the weaker Draco’s resolve got. His hands fisted onto Harry’s shirt, his face burrowing deeper into Harry’s hair. It smelled of Draco’s shampoo, and the urge to tell Harry off for using it only made him lean further into Harry’s embrace.
Draco was so desperately torn. He was trying to be rational. It didn’t make sense, him and Harry. After only a week of trying to get used to sharing a room with the other boy, Draco had caught Harry staring wide-eyed at his bared hip. The git had no problem manhandling Draco into the ensuite bathroom and showing him his own soulmark, perfectly identical to Draco’s. It had taken him weeks to fully comprehend what it meant, weeks of enduring Harry’s shameless stares and hopeful small talk. And when Draco had finally pulled Harry away for a private scolding, it had ended with their lips swollen and panting, Harry’s arms wound tightly around him. Draco had gotten used to Harry’s near-constant company quite quickly after that, encouraged greatly by warm smiles and shared beds.
But even then, Draco was cautious, uncertain. They had been at each other’s throats for years now, had been on opposing sides of a war, for fuck’s sake. How could they possibly be fated for one another? How was that fair? Who decided to match the bloody Boy Who Lived with a fucking Deatheater?
Harry’s arms tightened around him as he pressed his lips gently to Draco’s neck, and the warmth in Draco’s chest that he often tried to ignore refused to go unnoticed.
It made his heart beat in time with the other boy’s pulse. It made his body sing every time they touched. It coursed through his cold veins, quieted his mind, made him feel lighter than air and tempered with support.
A hand slid beneath his shirt again, caressed the hidden mark of swirling greens and pale greys, and Draco never wanted to be proven wrong more than at this very moment.
He wanted to be everything Harry needed. Everything he desired. He wanted to care for Harry when he was sick and scold him when he did stupid shit. He wanted to steal Harry's toast in the mornings and kick his ass at Wizarding Chess and wear his dumb Muggle hoodies that Draco refused to admit were comfortable. He wanted to read on the common room sofa with his feet on Harry’s lap. He wanted to curse the git out for catching the snitch first, then snog the life out of him beneath the stands. He wanted to console Harry when he woke up in a sudden sweat and hold him until he fell back asleep, to be comforted by the strong arms around him when he panicked through a flashback.
He didn’t want to be destined for anybody else.
Desperately, Draco hoped he was wrong. He hoped there was no mistake. His mind hastened to believe that fate had made them soulmates for a reason, eternal in every definition of the word. He hoped that no matter how loud his insecurities were, Harry’s willful stubbornness and affection always won out.
Harry’s hand covered the expanse of Draco’s soulmark, holding it firmly as if keeping it there. Gently, Harry rested his forehead to Draco’s.
“You need to stop berating yourself like that,” he whispered, brushing their noses together. “You get enough shit from other people. You grew up around hateful ways of thinking and were taught to detest anyone who thought differently. You were praised for unkindness by the ones you cared for the most. Of course you went along with it. And we suffered through a war. All of us were victims, no matter what side we were forced to fight for. You were a kid, just like me... and I hate that you see yourself that way. So negatively…”
“I don’t see myself that way, I am that way,” Draco couldn’t help but mumble.
“I disagree,” Harry replied, pressing an unhurried kiss to Draco’s cheek. “You're still hard-headed and contrary whenever you’re able to be—spoiled, too, and you’ll remain so for as long as I’m alive—but you are not bad or tainted or even a criminal. You were found not guilty on all charges, in case you've forgotten.”
Draco opened his mouth to disagree but Harry kissed him quiet, and then again for good measure.
“Your past does not define you, Draco,” Harry whispered. He shifted, and Draco’s left forearm was held carefully, pointedly. “This does not define you.”
Draco swallowed tightly. “It does. It always will. I will never be rid of it.”
Harry sighed. “By your logic, then, what about your soulmark?”
“What about it?” Draco replied. He felt tired, his thoughts too jumbled to piece things together himself at the moment.
“You will never be rid of it.”
It was Draco’s turn to sigh then, and he let his head fall to Harry’s shoulder. Fingers tangled delicately into Draco’s hair, brushing their way through and back again.
“You will never be rid of it,” Harry repeated firmly. “And, if that brand on your arm supposedly defines you, so does the soulmark on your body, yes? Which means,” a soft kiss was pressed to Draco’s ear, “you’re a walking contradiction—by your logic, still.”
Draco huffed again, his eyes scrunching as he wrestled with Harry’s words.
“If you are bad because of the brand on your arm, and I am supposed to be with someone good, what does that make you?”
“...Exhausted.”
Harry made a noise of acknowledgment, but continued anyway, “This is what defines someone. Our choices. You are marked by both bad and good—again, by your logic—so you get to choose. Which are you?” There was a moment’s pause. “If you had to choose, which means more to you: the Dark Mark or your soulmark?”
“That’s not fair,” Draco said, raising his head. Harry’s eyebrows furrowed at whatever look was on his face and a thumb brushed across his cheek. Draco leaned into Harry’s palm as he pressed on, “This isn't about which one holds more meaning for me, or even what they mean at all. Not entirely. This is about me as a person, and about you, and how none of this between us makes any sense at all.”
“Entertain me,” Harry replied, eyes pleading. “Please, try. Pick one. His mark or mine.”
Draco pursed his lips, before whispering, “I’d pick yours.”
“Then pick me.” Harry’s hands cupped Draco’s face, and his gaze began to glisten again. “For the love of Merlin, Draco, pick me.”
“I’d pick you a thousand times over,” Draco added, feeling his own eyes tear up again.
“You just spent the past few minutes trying to convince yourself not to,” Harry said, his tone dashed with teasing exasperation.
“I never said I was smart.”
Harry chuckled, sniffling, and Draco wiped his tears away with a sleeve.
“What did you say?” Harry muttered to himself, letting his hands fall to Draco’s neck, his fingers playing with the ends of Draco’s hair as he thought. “‘I’m a self-centered, cruel, belligerent, injudicious, bigoted Deatheater.’ Isn’t that right?”
Draco felt a strong urge to roll his eyes, and his body began to untense from the familiar impulse.
“Well, you aren’t a Deatheater anymore. Voldemort is dead, and all that’s said and done with.” Draco winced at the name still, but not as intensely as he used to. Harry, thankfully, didn’t acknowledge it and went on, “I have not once this year heard you call anyone a slur or throw around insults based on blood purity, social status, or any other thing, really. You’ve held back on insulting people in general. Well... except me, of course, but I quite like it, so I think that counts as foreplay now.”
Draco clicked his tongue, smacking the other boy square in the chest, and Harry continued with a smile, “That eliminates ‘bigoted,’ and ‘cruel’ as well. I would say ‘belligerent,’ too, but you are not a morning person—”
“Are you done?” Draco asked flatly, trying hard to keep down his traitorous smile.
“As for ‘self-centered,’” Harry went on, his eyes dancing, “you do realize how often you help Ernie even out his robes, don’t you? Or how many times you’ve suggested a book for whatever research Hermione’s currently conducting? I’ve seen you lend Padma your spare ink well and brush Pansy’s hair out of her eyes and help Neville tend to his plants—which are frankly taking over the common room. We need to give him a special corner or something...”
Draco wanted to deny all of those instances, but he knew Harry’s amused smile would only grow wider, and he was already fighting down the blushing warmth across his skin. Then Harry’s smile grew anyway, and Draco silently cursed his pale skin.
“I’m not even going to pretend to know what ‘injudicious’ means,” Harry added before kissing Draco’s reddening nose. He met Draco’s gaze again and his words were dripping in conviction as he said, “Whether you like it or not, Draco Malfoy, you have become a better person. An incredible person.”
Draco bit his tongue when his instinctual denial threatened to spill out. Harry noticed his struggle and rested their foreheads together again, keeping their eyes locked.
“Do you trust me?” Harry asked.
The words fell from Draco’s mouth easily, “More than anything.”
“Then trust me,” Harry said with finality. “You. Are. Good.”
Draco exhaled deeply, and he wrapped his arms around Harry’s shoulders, overwhelmed and needing him close. Harry’s hand found Draco’s soulmark again, and he kissed him over and over as he spoke, “I’ll keep telling you. Every day, I’ll tell you until you understand. You are not bad. Or evil. Or cruel. You are good. You are kind.” The hand on Draco’s hip tightened possessively. “And you are mine.”
Draco’s breath caught in an instant. He had never been held like this before; not by anyone, but especially not by Harry. It had always been gentle caresses and soft words. This new tone, deep and visceral, was affecting Draco in ways he had not at all anticipated.
Harry felt his full-body shiver and must have mistaken it for something else. His gaze softened, his hold on Draco loosening just barely, but he stayed close, nonetheless.
“You are mine,” Harry said again. There was vulnerability in his words, and Draco pulled him impossibly closer. When Harry spoke again, he sounded more sure, “and I am yours.”
“You are mine,” Draco whispered, in awe of how the claim tasted on his tongue.
“Yes,” Harry melted into Draco’s embrace, relief loosening his features. “I am yours. And you can’t ever question that again, or you’ll drive me insane.”
“I quite like driving you insane,” Draco replied reflexively. Harry’s lips curled, and Draco wanted to kiss him for the millionth time. He wanted to shove Harry onto his back and make him really lose his mind.
Then Draco remembered where they were, and why they were here.
“You can’t jump in front of any more curses,” Draco stated firmly, leaving no room for argument. “Things like that are going to happen, and you need to keep your self-sacrificing bullshit out of it or I’m going to go insane.”
“I won’t promise anything,” Harry said simply.
“And I can’t promise I won’t question why you’re with me every second of every day.”
“We’re soulmates. You have my soulmark on your skin.”
“And a Dark Mark as well, hence the curses.”
Harry narrowed his eyes at Draco, who narrowed his right back.
“Are we going to continue going around in circles?” Harry asked, his tone deceptively even.
“Up to you,” Draco replied flatly.
Harry’s jaw clenched, his glare playful, and Draco couldn’t help but feel amused by their back-and-forth.
“You know,” Harry brushed a strand of hair out of Draco’s eyes, a slow smirk forming, “You’re quite hot when you’re like this.”
It caught Draco incredibly off guard. He felt his cheeks warm again, and Harry teasingly added, “And when you blush.”
Contrary to what apparently turned Harry on, Draco felt a strong motivation to unravel Harry completely whenever the git got cocky. That motivation found him then, and his focus sharpened. He had Harry pressed down on the bed a second later and basked in the other boy’s gasp of surprise as he shoved the blankets out of the way and straddled his hips.
“Fuck...” Harry breathed. His hands slid reverently up Draco’s thighs and wrapped around his waist as they so loved to do.
“Not in the Hospital Wing,” Draco replied cheekily, and he tugged up the hem of Harry’s shirt, pushing it out of his way.
Draco nearly groaned at the meal laid out before him. He wanted to lick every inch of Harry’s skin, wanted to tease his nipples and hear him moan. He settled, however, for caressing touches. His hands traversed Harry’s torso hungrily; palming his toned chest, scraping nails down his sides, brushing through the coarse trail of hair below his belly button. He traced the top of the soulmark at his hip, desiring strongly to touch the rest of it hidden by Harry’s pajama bottoms.
Harry made little noises throughout all of it—a shaky breath here, a muffled moan there—and he could barely lie still. His body arched into Draco’s touch, his hips near-trembling with restraint under Draco’s weight. His hands couldn’t decide whether to wander beneath Draco’s shirt or grip hard around Draco’s thighs, and Draco craved more.
But he knew patience well.
“You’re so beautiful, Harry.” Draco splayed his hands across Harry’s stomach, using the leverage to roll his hips down just so. He felt Harry’s arousal before he heard it; a deep, resounding moan. Draco swore under his breath. “Merlin, you sound beautiful, too.”
Draco barely heard the small whine that left the boy beneath him at his words. He hummed, always pleased by Harry’s weakness for praise, and rolled his hips again.
“Look at you.” Draco leaned forward, resting his weight on a hand beside Harry’s head. Blazing, green eyes watched with bated breath as Draco brushed a knuckle across Harry’s cheekbone, then across his jaw. With a teasing thumb, Draco traced Harry’s bottom lip. “So perfect...”
“For you,” Harry insisted, and Draco didn’t feel like fighting over it anymore. Not when, despite his attempts at convincing himself Harry deserves better, he would mean the words.
“So perfect for me.”
Harry kissed his thumb, his hands sliding up Draco’s back beneath his shirt, and Draco shivered. Then those hands pushed him down further, and his lips fit easily with Harry’s. The other boy’s mouth opened without a fight and Draco couldn’t hold back his groan at the submission. He tangled a hand into Harry’s hair and tugged the way he knew Harry liked it. Draco savored Harry’s moan alongside the taste of his tongue, grinding his hips down again, and then again. Harry whimpered against his lips. His hand quickly dragged to Draco’s lower back, pressing and encouraging and urging for more.
Draco allowed only a few more seconds of delicious friction before settling his weight down firmly. He felt Harry’s hardness beneath him and, as he pulled away from Harry’s panting mouth, he couldn’t help but circle his hips just once, biting back a moan.
“Draco...”
Harry already sounded wrecked, and Draco hummed, languidly trailing his lips across the other boy’s jaw.
“Fuck, please don’t stop,” Harry moaned, tilting his head to bare his throat for Draco’s mouth. His hands gripped Draco’s hips, pushing and pulling to get them moving again. “Feels so good...”
Draco bit down just below Harry’s ear and soothed the skin with his tongue. Harry shivered beneath him, his hands more insistent in their wish for Draco’s stubbornly stagnant hips to move. Draco gripped Harry’s hair harder and felt the other boy’s groan through every point of contact between them. He nipped at Harry’s ear before whispering, “Feels good, hm? Could you come from this?”
“Yes,” Harry breathed, swallowing hard. “Fuck—yes, I could. I can.”
“Is that what you want?” Draco asked. He was becoming breathless himself, his prick straining against his trousers. With a lingering, messy kiss to Harry’s throat, Draco pushed himself up, caging Harry in between planted hands. He stared down at Harry with lidded eyes, taking in his reddened cheeks and blown pupils with pride. Draco pointedly rolled his hips again, and Harry’s eyes fluttered, his breath leaving him. “You want to come like this?”
“I’ll come any way you’d like,” Harry confessed. His eyes shone with heated fervor as he held Draco’s gaze. “Any way you’d like. Anything.”
Considering, Draco sat up fully. His eyes trailed down Harry’s body and his hands followed their path. His earlier thoughts resurfaced; he still wanted to mark him up, to replace all of the bruises Madam Pomfrey had obviously healed. And just like before, his attention caught on the painted sliver of Harry’s soulmark, and he knew what he wanted.
“My hand, then. Maybe my mouth, if you behave,” Draco decided, already shifting to fit between Harry’s legs.
Harry let out a choked whine, enthusiastically nodding his consent as he bent his knees and spread them to make room.
“You’ll have to stay quiet, darling,” Draco teased. He settled on the bed, his own knees bent beneath him, and leaned forward. He gave into his craving, trailing his lips and tongue across Harry’s chest. His hand curled around the waistband of Harry’s pajama bottoms as he dragged his tongue over a hardening nipple. He sucked at it, and Harry whimpered helplessly, his hand digging into Draco’s hair. The sound faintly reverberated around the whole room, and Draco chuckled lowly. He circled Harry’s nipple with his tongue and sucked again before pulling off, meeting Harry’s gaze. “I know it’s so hard for you, but really, Potter…”
“Shut up,” Harry mumbled, his hand tugging lightly at Draco’s hair.
“I’m good at keeping quiet. You’re the loud one,” Draco said, his lips curling in amusement. Harry gave a weak glare, and Draco dragged his tongue over his other nipple to make his point. Harry bit hard on his bottom lip, but his whine was still audible. Draco asked, “Do you need help with it? Staying quiet?”
“No.”
Harry’s tone was petulant and incredibly amusing. Draco chuckled again and let his attention return to the taste of Harry’s skin. He smothered Harry’s nipple with attention just as he had the first, and Harry tried his best to remain silent. His muffled groans and breathy swears were low and only loud enough for them to hear, and so Draco continued.
He kissed his way down Harry’s stomach, scooting further and further back. He targeted the spot beside Harry’s belly button that he knew was sensitive and enjoyed Harry’s squirming as he bruised the skin with persistent lips and hungry teeth. His hands found Harry’s pajamas again and dragged them down his hips, pulling Harry’s underwear along with them. Harry lifted his hips impatiently and Draco rose to his knees to tug the clothes off completely. They were thrown to the floor, instantly forgotten as Draco greedily devoured the sight before him.
“So gorgeous, baby,” Draco said with a breathy moan. His hands enveloped Harry’s ankles before sliding up his calves. Draco pressed a kiss to Harry’s knee and trailed his palms down bare thighs, gripping harder as he did. Harry’s cock rested against his stomach, hard and flushed and already making a mess of precum. Draco remembered the taste of it, remembered how it felt in his hand, his throat, his body, and his restraint was crumbling fast. He was quick to wrap his hand around it, collecting the precum beading at the tip and spreading it down Harry’s length with firm pulls. “Fuck, your cock... so fucking perfect, Harry.”
Harry failed to silence a throaty moan and quickly covered his mouth with a hand. Draco delighted in his struggle, hastening his pace and twisting his hand the way he knew Harry loved. He swiftly changed his position, lying on his stomach, his hand still tight around Harry’s cock, and made himself comfortable. Harry’s legs straightened on either side of him as Draco rested his arms firmly atop his squirming waist. Draco voraciously watched his hand stroke Harry over and over, blowing lightly at the tip just to see the other boy tremble some more. A stifled moan accompanied Harry’s full body shiver, and Draco ached to taste the fresh precum that leaked from the prick in his hand.
“You’re so hard for me, Harry. Does this feel good? Do you want more?” Draco asked, placing soft kisses along Harry's inner thigh, his hip, his stomach. His free hand glided across Harry’s waist until it covered the soulmark gracing Harry’s skin. He gripped it possessively, knowing well how the sensation felt, and Harry’s prick twitched, his body writhing helplessly.
“Mmm, fuck, Draco—”
Harry broke off into another moan as Draco mouthed at the base of his cock. A low groan left him at the taste, the smell of Harry’s arousal making his own erection throb. Draco couldn’t help himself. He trailed his lips lower and sucked at Harry’s balls, needing to savor more of him.
“Nngh—Draco, please...” Harry pleaded. His volume was slowly rising, and Draco tried to keep his head clear enough to heed its intensity.
“Please, what, baby?” Draco teasingly ghosted his breath up Harry’s cock, pressing his thumb to the tip and tracing the dribbling slit he wanted to lick desperately.
“F-fuck, fuck, f-fu...” Harry stuttered through shaky breaths. His whole body arched, his head falling back against the pillows as his hands lunged for something to hold. One gripped Draco’s arm tight enough to bruise while the other found his hair. Harry swallowed harshly before looking down at Draco again, panting as he said, “Please... I’ve been good...”
Draco hummed, pulling up on Harry’s cock and squeezing the head. He was unable to resist giving it a lick with his tongue and immediately wanted to choke himself on it.
“You have been good,” Draco agreed, and Harry let out a weak whimper. Draco met his gaze, his lips curling. “You’re getting too loud, though. As usual.”
Draco watched Harry fight back a full-on whine and smirked, brushing a soothing thumb across his soulmark.
“Please,” Harry begged. “I need it. Need it so bad...”
“You must stay silent, or we’ll be caught,” Draco stated firmly. He shifted closer, pressing his lips to Harry’s soulmark once, twice, before letting go of it. He paused his stroking hand and shifted even more, his chest now over Harry’s waist as he reached. His hand covered Harry’s mouth, and Harry’s eyes rolled as he whimpered behind it.
“Do you want it like this?” Draco then turned his hand and pressed it gently to Harry’s mouth. Pretty lips opened obediently, sucking in two of his fingers. Draco licked his own lips at the sight, his voice falling deeper. “Or like this?”
Harry made no move to pull away from Draco’s fingers and answer. His devious tongue swirled around them, nudged between them, and Draco swore as he was reminded of how talented that tongue really was. His hand moved on its own, pulling away to push back in, and Harry groaned around his fingers, slackening his mouth to encourage Draco to do it again.
“Fuck—yeah, we’re keeping it like this,” Draco muttered.
The firm press of his fingers into Harry’s mouth was the only warning he gave before he wrapped his lips around Harry’s cock. He traced the tip with his tongue just like he wanted to and swallowed down a moan. A suck to the head had Harry’s hand in his hair tightening and a muffled moan sounded around his fingers. Draco swirled his tongue, sucked again, and fuck, he needed more.
The angle was odd, but that didn’t stop him from taking Harry deeper. Draco groaned around Harry’s length as he filled his mouth, and a cried whimper had him fitting a third finger between Harry’s lips. His hand around Harry’s cock slid down, squeezing Harry’s balls in time with each bob of his head, and Draco could tell Harry was close by their tightening, by the twitching of his cock, by his labored breaths and the tight grip on Draco's hair.
Desperate for Harry’s release, Draco relaxed his throat and swallowed Harry’s cock whole, his nose brushing against coarse hair, and felt Harry’s mouth go completely slack. Draco pulled back and did it again, and again, and with the next deepthroat, Harry let out a choked moan around Draco’s fingers. His cock twitched hard and filled Draco’s mouth with his release. Draco swallowed as much as he could, sucking and licking at Harry’s prick to collect the cum that dribbled past his lips, only stopping when Harry’s moans ebbed into overstimulated whines. He let the hand gripping his hair pull him off with a pop and he panted pleasantly as he caught his breath.
Only a second later, hands were yanking at his arms, tugging him demandingly over Harry’s body. Draco let his hand slip from Harry’s mouth and groaned helplessly at the sight of swollen lips and glistening fingers.
“‘Good at keeping quiet,’ my ass,” Harry taunted.
Before Draco could give a hoarse retort, Harry’s lips were on his. They both moaned, almost too loudly for where they were, as Harry tasted himself on Draco’s tongue. A hand buried back into Draco’s hair and kept their lips together as another unbuttoned Draco’s trousers. Draco moaned around their tangled tongues as Harry’s hand slipped beneath his underwear and gripped his throbbing cock. Harry gave quick, firm strokes and Draco felt so fucking close already.
“Fuck, you’re gonna come, aren’t you?” Harry teased, and Draco could only pant in response. Harry panted with him, whispering, “God, look at you. So good to me. So perfect for me.”
Eyes rolling back, Draco came. His whole body tensed, then trembled as pleasure washed over him. He burrowed his face into Harry’s neck to muffle his shivering moans, whimpering his name as his release spurted from him, encouraged by Harry’s tight hand.
“That’s it, baby,” Harry mumbled against his temple, and Draco gave a gritty hum as a new warmth spread through his already sweaty body. He pressed an open-mouth kiss to Harry’s throat and Harry nuzzled into his hair.
Draco sighed as his breathing became more controlled. Harry gingerly tugged his hand from Draco’s pants and whether it was his innate seeker reflexes or just because he knew Harry, Draco was quick to grab Harry’s sticky arm before it managed to wrap around him. He held it away from his still-clothed body, lifting his head from its resting place to glare at the other boy.
Harry huffed, sagging deeper into the pillows with a pout. “I just wanted to hold you...”
“Your hand is covered in cum, you lunatic,” Draco said, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice. He sat up to look for his wand.
“I can just lick it clean.”
Draco paused, his wand already in hand. He considered this idea, and Harry snickered up at him. Looking down at the other boy, Draco suddenly wanted nothing more than to hold him in his arms. A few cleansing spells were cast in quick succession before he tossed his wand onto the bedside table and fell into Harry’s waiting arms. Draco tucked his head beneath Harry’s and hummed, content.
“Why didn’t we just cast a silencing spell?” Harry mumbled into Draco’s hair.
“Boring,” Draco replied simply.
When he went to pull Harry closer, his hands met bare skin. He instead tugged down Harry’s shirt to the best of his ability—with absolutely no help from Harry, he might add—just to sneak his hands beneath it anyway. Harry chuckled, and Draco pinched his side, right above his soulmark.
They laid in silence for a few peaceful minutes, and then Harry opened his mouth.
“So you don’t know who cast the curse...?”
Draco sighed dramatically. “I do know.”
“Who was it?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“It absolutely does—”
“It doesn’t matter because the second I saw you fall to the ground, I did some things I probably shouldn’t have,” Draco admitted. He felt his cheeks flush at the confession and was grateful his face was hidden from Harry’s view.
There was a pause, and then Harry’s arms tightened around him.
“You cursed them back, didn’t you?”
Harry’s voice was laced in giddy amusement and Draco’s blush deepened.
“I took care of it,” he said simply.
“Did you jinx them? Hex them? What did you use? They had to have been in one piece by the end if you weren’t expelled,” Harry rambled, and it was obvious he was smiling wide.
“I took care of it,” Draco repeated firmly, pinching Harry’s side again. Harry chuckled before pressing a kiss to the top of Draco’s head. A few seconds passed and Draco thought he had peace again, but then Harry snickered into the pillow. Draco clicked his tongue and lifted his head to glare at the other boy. “Would you stop being an idiot? It’s not that big a deal.”
His breath left him when Harry met his gaze, his blinding smile the prettiest thing Draco had ever seen.
“I’ll always be an idiot,” Harry said, tugging Draco closer until his head rested on the pillow beside him. Their noses were nearly touching, their breaths mingling, and Harry whispered, “I’ll always be your idiot.”
Harry’s hand slipped beneath Draco’s shirt and grazed the soulmark hidden beneath it. Like he always did. Like he always will. Draco swallowed, and his hand moved on its own. He brushed a gentle knuckle across Harry’s cheekbone, right below his beautiful, green eyes.
“My idiot,” Draco whispered back.
Harry smiled at him like he had hung the stars, and Draco understood why they shared a soulmark.
It wasn’t about what Draco thought of himself or what he had done.
It was about how Draco would do absolutely anything for the boy in his arms. He would use up all of his expensive hair potions to try and tame those wild curls. He would demand a rematch every time he lost a seeker’s game just to watch Harry win again. He would embarrass himself around Muggle technology just to hear Harry’s delighted laughter and encouraging words. He would be kinder, gentler; practice patience and empathy and generosity.
Draco would choose him. Every time, he’d choose Harry.
In the light of the pale moon, Harry’s eyes studied him, peering past who Draco thought he was and seeing what he could be. Somehow, it seemed Harry had watched Draco realize what this all meant.
A hand cupped his cheek, and they gravitated closer. Against Draco’s parted lips, Harry smiled.
“My idiot.”