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Harry didn’t think waking up, getting ready for work, and walking into his office would flip his life upside down.
Boy, was he fucking wrong.
“Do you guys know why Malfoy has been out for two weeks straight?” Harry huffed in annoyance. He’d noticed the irritatingly handsome man’s absence—not because he missed him or anything of the sort. He just realized he could now walk past Malfoy’s desk without hearing any snide comments or sly flirtations. Malfoy really did enjoy taking the piss out of him. He only flirted because he knew it bothered Harry. He’d laugh and say, “Look how red you’re turning. Merlin, Potter, it’s just a joke.”
Harry turned red in anger, nothing else.
(Contrary to what his best friends had to say about it.)
“You didn’t hear?” Ron said, his freckled face a picture of nonchalant disinterest.
Harry shook his head.
“He’s a Veela, and he doesn’t have a mate yet, so he’s been having a rough couple of weeks,” Hermione offered when Ron didn’t bother looking up from his work.
Hermione noticed the look of realization wash over Harry—because of course she would. She raised an eyebrow.
“What is it, Harry?” she asked.
He quickly looked away. “’S nothing, ’Mione,” he lied.
She rolled her eyes. “Right,” she said doubtfully.
Harry huffed, clearly annoyed she didn’t believe his blatant lie. “It just makes sense, is all,” he muttered.
Now, Ron seemed interested in something other than his work. He turned his attention to Harry.
“What exactly makes sense?” Ron questioned.
Harry’s cheeks flushed red. “It makes sense that I always found him attractive. Since he’s a Veela, that’s obviously why,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s a relief, really. Thought I was mad for it.”
Ron burst out laughing.
Harry frowned, confused at his sudden outburst. He looked to Hermione for help in understanding her insane fiancé.
“Uh, Harry… Draco has a rare form of the Veela gene. One that doesn’t activate until he’s twenty-five—hence his struggle only starting in the past couple of weeks,” Hermione said sympathetically.
Harry let out an overdramatic groan before throwing his head into his crossed arms, which rested on his desk.
“Nobody talk to me. I’ve decided to pass away right here,” he whined.
Ron laughed again at his best friend’s antics.
“Harry, mate, it’s not the end of the world that you found him attractive. We were hormonal teenagers. Hell, I even thought I was attracted to Umbridge for a very brief and very mental second,” Ron admitted.
Hermione smacked the back of his head.
Ron grumbled to himself, “Last time I try to make someone feel better.”
Hermione’s break was just about over, so she said her goodbyes and headed back to her department. Most days, she spent her lunch in Harry and Ron’s shared office. It was nice—kind of like old times in the Great Hall. Ron and Harry had both taken the Auror route, but Hermione, of course, had gone the more humanitarian path. She worked for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She wanted to help as many creatures as possible.
The boys fell into a comfortable silence as they worked, which lasted for about an hour. Then, there was a knock.
“Come in,” Ron called.
To both of their surprise, Narcissa Malfoy stood before them, looking worried—understandably so, given what her son was dealing with. She locked eyes with Harry.
“Hello, Harry dear. Might I have a word with you?” she asked.
She had become quite fond of Harry. They often spoke at department gatherings and charity galas. This was after she had come to him following his testimony on her behalf. She had thanked him endlessly, breaking down as she told him all about how Lucius had been behind closed doors. He truly had been a monster—a coward to Voldemort, so he had needed to control his family.
Narcissa had become very active and philanthropic since Lucius had been sent to Azkaban. Harry had a feeling someone had been stopping her before. She seemed too adamant, too dedicated to her causes for it to be performative.
Harry hated Lucius for the damage he’d done to his family. But he had grown very fond of Narcissa.
“Of course, Narcissa,” Harry said softly.
She had insisted he call her by her first name. She hated being referred to as Mrs. Malfoy these days. Harry could understand why.
She glanced at Ron. “I was hoping we could speak privately,” she said nervously.
Ron nodded and made his way out.
“How is Draco?” and “I need your help.”
Both came out at the same time.
Harry’s eyes softened. “Of course. What is it?”
Narcissa’s worried expression deepened.
“It’s Draco. He’s not doing well, you see. This gene… it’s killing him. Gradually.” She tried to hold back tears.
Harry immediately stood and moved to hug her.
“Oh, Narcissa… how can I help?” he asked sympathetically.
“This gene requires a mate—and often consummation,” she explained. “The problem is, the mate can’t just be anyone. Every Veela who has had this variant has one mate, and that mate’s name appears somewhere on the Veela’s body after activation.”
She looked Harry in the eyes.
“Harry, you’re Draco’s mate,” she finished.
Harry’s jaw hit the floor.
He and Draco had never gotten along in school—or even now, really. It wasn’t that they hated each other anymore; they just didn’t speak much. Besides the occasional antagonistic flirting from Draco.
Harry did feel for him, though. He now knew what Draco had gone through as Lucius’ son. He couldn’t imagine.
“What does he have to say about it?” Harry asked.
Narcissa frowned.
“He refused to even tell you. He’s too proud to ask for help. I know it’s a huge thing to ask of you, Harry, but I don’t know what else to do. He’s my son, and he’s dying.”
She started bawling now.
Harry hugged her again.
“Of course I’ll do it,” he said.
He damned his savior complex.
Narcissa had asked Harry to come over after work. She knew Draco would be reluctant about the idea and furious with her for going to Harry when he had told her not to. Still, she figured Harry’s presence could help—maybe he could talk Draco into it. Harry, of course, insisted on going immediately, not wanting to waste any time.
Robards was understanding, given that Draco’s life was literally on the line, and let Harry off early. Harry felt his nerves on fire. He knew Draco would be tough to convince, but he wasn’t going to let the stubborn bastard die. He really hoped he wouldn’t have to resort to force—or worse, begging.
Narcissa led Harry to Draco’s door and quickly walked away, surely not wanting to face the full wrath of her son when he saw Harry’s face. Harry knocked gently, not wanting to startle Draco with a sudden noise. A muffled voice came from the other side, but Harry swore he heard a “come in” somewhere in there. He must have silencing charms on his room.
Harry pushed open the door to see Draco lying in bed, his back facing him.
“If you’re going to try to convince me to go to Harry again, you can just leave now,” Draco said in a weak attempt at his usual bite.
Harry made note of the fact that Draco referred to him as “Harry” when speaking to his mother. Curious—he didn’t even call him that to his face.
Harry moved closer. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can leave. Not with you like this, at least,” he said softly.
Draco visibly stiffened at Harry’s voice.
“Bloody hell, Mother never listens,” Draco huffed. “Sorry to waste your time, Potter. You can leave now.”
Harry hesitated before moving to sit on the edge of Draco’s bed, just behind him. He took a deep breath. They were both adults—they could do this without it getting weird.
“Look, Malfoy, I’m not leaving until I help you. We can do this however you want—impersonal, clinical, whatever—but it is happening,” Harry said firmly.
Draco turned over to face him.
Even sickly, Draco was still obnoxiously breathtaking. Harry took in his appearance—his weakened frame, his sunken eyes, his hollowed cheeks. Draco looked like a Tim Burton character. Somehow, Harry was still attracted to him in this state. He tried to push the thought away, refusing to even let his mind broach the possibility that it was because it was Draco. Of course he still found him stunning.
Draco tried to sit up but struggled. Harry quickly moved to help him settle against the headboard so they could face each other while they spoke. He tried to ignore the twinges of electricity that sparked where their bodies brushed.
“It’s really not as bad as it looks,” Draco tried to lie.
Harry raised an eyebrow at the obvious attempt.
“Draco, you’re literally dying,” he said flatly. “Is that really preferable to you over having sex with me? Am I that undesirable?”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll agree. For my mother’s sake,” he said.
Harry relaxed a little at Draco’s agreement.
“I’m assuming you’d like to set some guidelines? Probably best, so things don’t get messy,” Harry offered.
Draco was silent for a moment, lost in thought. “I have some ideas, but can we also figure it out as we go?” he asked.
Harry nodded.
Draco didn’t like how different Harry was treating him. Harry had never treated him like he was fragile, like something to baby. He sure as hell didn’t want him to start now.
“First off, I think kissing should be off the table,” Draco said. “It feels very… intimate.”
Harry nodded.
“No cuddling or anything of the sort afterward, either,” Draco added.
Again, Harry nodded.
“It’s taken two weeks to get this bad, so we’d probably be okay with only once a week, if that works for you, Potter,” Draco said.
Harry started to nod. “If you need more, we can always adjust the frequency,” he offered.
Draco cringed.
“If we’re going to do this, can we get on with it? You’re being too nice to me, and it’s frankly making me uncomfortable,” Draco muttered.
Harry laughed. “You say that like I’m normally rude to you. Not engaging in your taunts isn’t rude, it’s smart.”
Draco waved his hand dismissively, though the gesture was more playful than anything.
Harry stood and pulled off his shirt, then moved to unbutton his trousers. “I think it’s best if we undress ourselves—less intimate that way,” he teased, throwing Draco’s words back at him.
Draco was silent, causing Harry to turn back to face him.
“I would agree, Potter, but this time I may require your assistance. I don’t fancy the idea of asking my mother for help in this particular situation,” Draco said dryly.
Harry stifled a laugh at the absurd thought.
“Right. Sorry, Draco,” Harry said.
Draco blinked, clearly thrown by the use of his actual name.
“I figured we’d at least drop the surname bullshit, since I’ll be inside you,” Harry said crassly.
Draco’s face flushed, but he nodded nonetheless.
Harry sat on the bed again, moving in close. Draco raised his arms, allowing Harry to help remove his shirt.
Harry felt dizzy. He felt sick. He felt like dying.
Draco’s chest was littered with silvery scars. Scars that Harry had caused. A Healer had clearly done their best to lighten them, but they were still very much visible.
Harry’s stomach churned.
These scars had been darker. Deeper. He had almost killed Draco.
Without thinking, he reached out to touch them.
“It’s probably best if we touch as little as possible, Potter—sorry, Harry,” Draco corrected himself, stopping Harry’s hand in its tracks.
Harry quickly recoiled, his cheeks reddening. He hadn’t even realized what he was doing.
“Draco, I’m so—”
Draco cut him off.
“It’s behind us now. You’ve saved my life twice before, and you’re about to do it again. I’d say we’re more than even,” he said simply.
Harry nodded solemnly, understanding that Draco didn’t want to talk about it. He wouldn’t bring it up again.
Harry had been so focused on Draco’s chest that he hadn’t yet noticed the faded Dark Mark on his arm. The ink, now a dull black, was marred with scarring—evidence that Draco had tried to remove it on his own.
Harry wanted to kiss the scarred skin.
He wanted to tell Draco that it was okay, that it didn’t define him. That he had been a child, that he had been manipulated.
Harry pushed the thought away. That line of thinking somehow felt even more intimate than kissing his lips.
And that was something Harry had admittedly wondered about before.
Draco may be a prat, but he was still gorgeous. And Harry liked gorgeous men.
Draco pushed down the comforter, revealing that he was wearing only pants.
Harry figured it made sense—he had only been in bed, and it was probably easier for using the restroom in this state.
Harry reached for the waistband of Draco’s pants, hands slightly unsteady.
“You can vanish those, if you’d like. I was just very fond of that shirt and didn’t fancy losing it to the abyss,” Draco said.
Harry shook his head with a quiet laugh before vanishing Draco’s pants.
He hadn’t realized he was staring until Draco cleared his throat.
Draco was beautiful everywhere.
Harry looked up, meeting his eyes. “Do you, uh, need help getting—” He gestured awkwardly at Draco’s crotch.
Draco shook his head. “Completion of the Veela isn’t necessary for the consummation to take. You just have to—inside,” he said quietly.
Harry couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed.
He had wondered what Draco’s face might look like, contorted in pleasure.
“It’s really a misogynistic thing. Most Veelas are women, and the man who created this blood curse didn’t care about the woman’s pleasure. He was a right bastard, really—infected his own wife to ensure she had to sleep with him regularly,” Draco said quietly.
Harry had no idea about the history of Veelas or the stipulations.
“Wow, what an arse,” Harry said. “We don’t need to follow that, Draco. I want it to be good for you too.”
“It’s alright,” Draco said. “Less intimate that—”
Harry and Draco started to speak at the same time before laughing.
“If you want to turn around and pretend I’m someone else, I won’t be offended,” Harry said, giving Draco the option.
Draco nodded and tried to flip over, obviously needing Harry’s assistance again. Harry quickly moved to help him. Once Draco was on his knees, with his forearms and head resting on a pillow, Harry removed his own pants.
“Are you okay like that?” he asked.
Draco nodded.
“Okay, I know a spell for lube, but I don’t know one for prep. I’ve never done this with another man, so I’ll need to do it the Muggle way,” Harry admitted.
“I’ve never done it with a bloke either. Do what you have to,” Draco said.
Harry whispered the wandless spell and hesitantly moved a finger to rub between the crease of Draco’s ass. Draco jolted forward at the new sensation.
Harry quickly apologized, but Draco shushed him.
Harry painstakingly took his time working his fingers in, one by one, terrified of hurting Draco. He had been so focused on the task at hand that he hadn’t even noticed the little sounds being forced out of Draco.
This must feel really good for him.
Harry’s chest warmed with pride.
Once Harry worked three fingers in, Draco informed him that he thought he was ready. Harry nodded before realizing Draco couldn’t see him.
Harry noticed that Draco’s dick hung thick and heavy between his legs. He had gotten hard from Harry fingering him.
That really shouldn’t turn Harry on as much as it did.
Draco’s cock was dripping precum onto the sheets below them.
Harry couldn’t wait any longer. He warned Draco as he stroked himself to spread the lube, then rubbed the tip against Draco’s hole to get him used to the feeling.
“For Merlin’s sake, Harry! Please, just put it in already,” Draco whined.
Harry was thrown for a loop by Draco’s outburst, but he listened, slowly sinking inside.
Nothing could have prepared him for the heat and tightness of Draco’s hole.
It was never this hot or this tight with girls.
This is what he’d been missing out on?
Harry didn’t think he could ever go back and be fully satisfied.
He cursed under his breath, his hands finding purchase on Draco’s hips.
Draco didn’t seem to mind the skin-to-skin contact—he leaned back into Harry’s touch.
That spurred Harry on.
He started to pick up the pace.
“Is this okay, Draco?” Harry asked.
A shiver racked through Draco’s body, and he nodded quickly.
Harry’s hips had a mind of their own. He fucked Draco faster, harder.
The man beneath him was a whimpering mess, like he couldn’t control the sounds coming out of him.
Harry loved that he was responsible for that.
“Fuck, Draco, I’m close,” Harry moaned.
Draco’s hole clenched around him in response. His body was urging Harry on.
Harry kept up the steady pace, and based on Draco’s moans, he was hitting his prostate with every thrust.
“Oh, fuck, I’m coming,” Harry moaned in warning.
His orgasm hit him hard.
Spurt after spurt of thick, hot cum filled Draco’s tight hole.
Draco let out a needy whine of Harry’s name as his body tensed up.
Draco was coming undone as well.
Harry hadn’t even touched Draco’s dick.
He had come untouched from Harry fucking him.
Harry groaned at the thought and barely managed to keep himself from collapsing onto Draco. He quickly pulled out and rolled to the side to avoid landing on the blonde.
“Fuck,” Harry panted, trying to catch his breath.
Draco flipped onto his back, already starting to look better.
“I know you said you didn’t want me to stay, I just need a second to get myself together,” Harry admitted.
Draco snorted.
“Harry, you just fucked me to save my life. You can take all the time you need,” he said.
The next morning, Ron waltzed into their shared office with a shit-eating grin on his face. Harry ignored the look, knowing it only meant trouble.
Well, he tried to ignore it for as long as he could.
Ron wouldn’t stop staring at him, smiling, and it was creeping him out.
“What’s wrong with you this morning?” Harry asked.
Ron laughed. “Oh, nothing’s wrong with me,” he said. “I take it you had a good night?”
Harry groaned. He had hoped Ron wouldn’t ask about it.
“How do you figure?” Harry took the bait.
“Malfoy’s back and looking like his usual annoying self,” Ron informed him.
Harry practically snapped his neck with how fast he looked up at Ron.
“He’s back already?” he asked.
Ron nodded and started to speak, but Harry was already on his feet and halfway out the door.
Harry wanted to check on Draco, but he wasn’t sure of the correct protocol in this situation.
Now that Draco was back, Harry could play it off as casual. He slowed his walking before passing Draco’s desk. He planned to feign shock at seeing Draco, but he didn’t have to.
The man looked like his normal, gorgeous self. His skin was glowing, his eyes looked lively, and his frame was filled out but still his lithe self.
“You’re back already? I take it you’re feeling better?” Harry asked.
Draco nodded. “Thanks to you.” He smiled.
It was odd—but not in a bad way.
“I forgot to ask before I left yesterday—what day would you like me to come over next week?” Harry asked.
Draco thought about it for a moment. “Today is Friday, so maybe next Friday?” he said before adding, “Can I Floo you if I start to feel under the weather sooner?” He asked quietly.
“Of course,” Harry said.
He gave Draco a smile and walked back to his office.
It was going to be a long week.
It was Wednesday, and Harry felt like an awful human being.
He found himself almost wishing Draco had felt ill again.
He missed the way Draco felt beneath him, the delectable sounds Harry pulled from him, the soft smile Draco gave him as they caught their breath.
He wanted to see him sooner than Friday.
He knew this was dangerous territory.
Draco didn’t want yearning.
Draco didn’t want feelings.
Draco didn’t want Harry to want him.
Harry felt like he was in the midst of a big mistake—but he couldn’t back out. Not now. Not ever.
Draco needed Harry to survive.
And Harry thought, in a way, he needed Draco too.
The message came in the form of a text rather than the Floo.
Harry felt bad that he was surprised by Draco’s use of Muggle technology.
He supposed he had been thinking of Draco in an outdated light.
Draco was no longer discriminatory against Muggles and all things related. He had grown, seen the immense errors in his father’s ways.
Harry wasn’t surprised that Draco had his number. All Ministry employees’ contact files were in the database, accessible to other employees.
I’ve been feeling a little off. Would you be available tonight?
There was no name attached—but Harry didn’t need one.
His response was short and simple.
Of course. Be right over after work.
In an odd way, it felt nice to be needed.
Harry felt shameful for that line of thinking.
Draco only needed him because of a blood curse.
Draco didn’t want to need Harry.
Harry rushed through the rest of his work so he could finish up early. He wanted to stop by Grimmauld Place before heading to Malfoy Manor.
He wanted to freshen up for him.
Of course, Harry overthought everything.
Once home, he showered quickly, made sure to dry his hair, picked out an outfit that looked believable for work, and applied his favorite cologne.
He didn’t want Draco to know he had gone home to get ready again.
He knew it was stupid, but he didn’t want Draco to get the wrong impression.
He gave himself one last look in the mirror before using the Floo.
Draco was sitting in the cozy sitting room, seemingly waiting to greet Harry.
He looked normal.
Harry couldn’t help the swoop he felt in his stomach.
As gorgeous as Draco still looked while sickly, a fully healthy Draco would give most models a run for their money.
“Hello, Harry,” he greeted warmly. “Fancy a cup?”
Harry nodded, and Draco poured.
“Two sugars, please,” Harry said.
He sat in the armchair opposite Draco, the fireplace in front of them ablaze, warming the room on the rather cold night.
Harry thanked Draco and took a sip.
The tea was divine, and Harry told Draco as much.
“It’s my favorite,” Draco said. Then, after a pause, “That cologne you’re wearing is divine as well.”
Harry’s cheeks flushed. He wasn’t used to receiving genuine compliments from Draco. Most of the compliments Draco gave were in jest.
“Thank you, it’s my favorite,” Harry laughed.
Draco gave him a warm smile.
The two of them didn’t speak much while drinking their tea.
It was a comfortable silence that surrounded them.
Draco was the first to gently set his empty cup on the side table. He watched Harry with an intrigued expression.
Harry noticed his staring.
“What? Do I have something on my face?” Harry joked.
Draco laughed, and Harry realized that it might be one of his new favorite sounds.
“What is it that’s been ailing you?” Harry asked, curious as to what Draco was feeling.
He looked healthy—amazing, even.
Draco’s cheeks flushed.
Harry wondered if he was feeling warm.
“It’s more mental. I’ve had a sort of brain fog,” Draco paused. “It happened the first time too—it was the first symptom.”
Harry placed a hand on Draco’s knee.
“Well, I’m glad you reached out. I don’t want you to suffer,” he said softly.
“Maybe we should make our meetings twice a week.”
Draco smiled warmly.
“If you’d be all right with that, that would be amazing,” he said.
Harry had absentmindedly begun rubbing his thumb back and forth on Draco’s leg.
Draco noticed.
He tried hard not to look at it, worried that his gaze would scare Harry off from the sweet gesture.
But Harry seemed to notice on his own.
His cheeks flushed, and he slowly removed his hand.
“Shall we?” he asked.
Draco nodded.
As Harry stood, he tripped over the rug, and Draco caught him by the hand.
Harry gave Draco a sheepish smile.
Draco led him to his room—without dropping Harry’s hand.
He didn’t know what possessed him to hold Harry’s hand.
But he did know he didn’t want to let go.
This routine of tea by the fire continued. Draco would be waiting for Harry, his tea prepared exactly the way he liked it. The conversations grew deeper, and the lingering touches lasted longer. Harry and Draco could both feel they were hurtling toward something they couldn’t come back from, but they didn’t know if they wanted to come back.
It had been six months of biweekly meetings. The men had gotten to know each other in a way they never did as boys. Harry learned that Draco was hilarious and kindhearted. Draco learned that Harry was brilliant and charming. Harry started staying a while after they had sex. They never cuddled, but they’d stay and talk. Lying side by side, the occasional touch of bare legs went unmentioned. It always happened at Malfoy Manor, in Draco’s bed. Harry had grown used to the smell of Draco on the sheets, the hum of his bedside fan, the low light of his bedroom.
This was why Harry was shocked when he opened the front door of Grimmauld Place to find Draco sitting on his doorstep. The blond hadn’t knocked or rung the doorbell. He had contemplated leaving altogether, not wanting to bother Harry.
“Draco? Is everything okay?” Harry asked, genuine worry lacing his voice. As far as he knew, their biweekly meetings had been enough to keep Draco in good health. Draco stood and faced Harry.
“I’m sorry to show up unannounced. I was just feeling very peculiar. My chest felt tight and my head a little dizzy,” Draco said quietly.
Harry shook his head. “Don’t apologize, I’m glad you came to me. Come inside, please.” He ushered Draco into the warmth of his home. Draco allowed Harry to lead him in.
“Would you like anything to eat or drink?” Harry offered as he took off his coat and shoes. Draco only now seemed to notice that Harry was dressed to go out.
“Did you have somewhere to be?” Draco turned toward the door. “I’m sorry, Harry. I can come back later,” he said.
Harry grabbed his arm. “Nonsense. The only place I need to be is right here,” he said. Draco gave him a small smile of thanks.
“I’m alright on food or drink,” he said, and Harry nodded.
“Would it be alright if we started now?” Draco asked sheepishly.
Harry nodded and led Draco to his room. It was decorated in a beautiful scarlet red, the lighting warm and inviting. His bed was unmade and looked ready for them.
“Sorry about the mess, I never have anyone in here,” Harry said. Draco felt a relief he hadn’t expected. Harry didn’t have anyone in his room. That most likely meant he wasn’t seeing anyone else. Not that he didn’t have the right to—he and Draco had never made anything exclusive. He was only helping him out, after all.
“You don’t need to apologize for anything,” Draco said warmly, and Harry smiled.
Both of them turned around to undress. This was their routine. It felt too intimate to watch the other undress.
Once finished, Draco started to climb onto the bed. “Is it—” Draco hesitated. “Is it alright if I lay on my back? My legs are a little sore from the other night,” he admitted.
They had a particularly long session—not that Harry was dragging it out or anything. Harry always made sure Draco finished; that night, he had made sure Draco finished twice. Draco’s legs had felt strained afterward and still felt the slightest bit sore now.
“Of course that’s alright,” Harry said with a soft smile.
Draco lay back, his head resting on Harry’s pillow. It smelled like him. It smelled like Amortentia. Draco had only smelled the potion once, but he recognized it as soon as he first smelled Harry’s cologne mixed with his natural scent.
Harry made his way onto the bed between Draco’s legs. He parted them and looked down at Draco with a fond expression. Since starting this, Draco had done research on spells to make it easier. He cast the necessary ones, and Harry took that as his cue.
“Is this alright?” Harry asked. He wanted to check in, make sure Draco was comfortable with the position. It was odd—they had never faced each other before. It certainly wasn’t a bad odd.
Draco nodded his consent. Harry lined himself up with Draco’s hole and slowly pushed in. Both men moaned at the first contact. Draco was always so unbelievably tight and hot around Harry’s cock. Harry always felt too big and filling inside Draco’s hole.
Harry really looked at Draco. This was the first time he had gotten an up-close look at Draco’s chest and his scars since that very first time. Scars that Harry had caused.
His face fell, and he reached out before thinking. He traced the scars gently.
“Draco,” he said.
Again, before thinking about what he was doing, Harry leaned down and began kissing them. His guilt and remorse led him like an impulse. It took him far too long to realize what he was doing.
This was definitely not casual in the slightest.
He pulled back, scared to see Draco’s reaction.
“Fuck, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over—”
Harry was interrupted as Draco grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him down into a deep kiss.
This was untouched territory.
Neither had dared to break the rule.
They had both wanted to for a long while now, but they feared the other didn’t feel the same.
Harry moaned into Draco’s mouth as the blond sucked on his tongue.
This was what had been missing.
This was the line they needed to cross to finally admit what this really was to them.
They pulled apart to catch their breath.
Harry leaned his forehead against Draco’s.
“Fuck, Draco,” he said before kissing him again.
Harry picked up his pace, thrusting in and out of Draco’s tight hole. He pulled back from the kiss to watch him. Being able to see Draco while he was inside him was something Harry never knew he needed. He never wanted to take him from behind again.
“You’re so beautiful, Draco,” Harry said, making Draco blush. “So pretty for me while I’m so deep inside you,” he continued. Draco let out a whine.
Harry and Draco had had sex out of necessity before, but this was different. This was raw, emotional, filthy, and so, so good.
“Shit, Harry, you feel so big inside me,” Draco moaned out.
Harry gently pinched Draco’s nipples, making the blond let out another whine.
“Harry… don’t stop,” Draco gasped, his fingers digging into Harry’s back. He could feel every inch of Harry moving inside him, filling him completely. The sensation was overwhelming but in the best way possible. He had never felt so connected to someone during sex before.
“I won’t stop until you come on my cock and I fill you up,” Harry groaned.
“Merlin…” Draco moaned loudly, pushing back against Harry’s thrusts. “I’ve never heard you talk like this. You’re gonna make me… ngh!” He bit his lip hard as Harry changed the angle, hitting his prostate dead on. “Right there… just like that…” he trailed off.
“You’ve never let me have you like this before, either,” Harry said, not slowing his pace.
“Because you’re too bloody gentlemanly,” Draco hissed, throwing his head back as Harry hit that spot again. “You’re too sweet and careful. You treat me like glass. Like this…” He spread his legs wider, taking Harry deeper. “Is too rough for you,” he said.
“Did you know that it’s been killing me? This impersonal, contractual sex? All I’ve wanted to do was have my way with you. I want you in every way possible, Draco,” Harry admitted.
“Harry…” Draco’s voice was barely a whisper, his eyes wide with surprise and something more profound. “You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted you to do just that.” He admitted, his fingers tracing the lines of Harry’s back gently. “I thought you didn’t want me like that.” He hesitated. “It’s why I made those stupid rules in the first place.”
Harry fucked Draco slowly but deeply, hitting the blond’s prostate roughly with every thrust.
“That couldn’t be further from the truth, you tosser,” Harry said with a smile.
“Fuck…” Draco’s eyes rolled back as Harry hit his prostate again. He could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge. The combination of Harry’s deep, rough thrusts and his honest words was too much for him to handle.
“Harry… I’m gonna come…” Draco warned.
Harry wrapped a hand around Draco’s cock and stroked him in time with his thrusts.
“Come for me, baby. Come on my cock,” he moaned.
“Harry!” Draco cried out, his back arching as he came hard, his release coating Harry’s hand and stomach. He felt Harry’s rhythm falter before the raven-haired man buried himself deep inside him, filling him with his own release. The sensation of being filled by Harry was overwhelmingly intimate.
Harry raised his cum-coated hand to his mouth before licking Draco’s spend from it. He moaned at the taste and maintained eye contact with Draco while doing it.
Draco’s eyes widened as he watched Harry lick his release off his hand, a soft whimper escaping his lips. He had never seen anything so erotic in his life. The sight of Harry—normally so proper and gentlemanly—being so filthy was almost too much for him to handle.
“Harry…” he moaned.
Harry leaned over Draco, not yet pulling out.
“You taste so fucking good,” he moaned in Draco’s ear before kissing him deeply.
Draco wrapped his legs around Harry’s waist, pulling him deeper, not wanting him to pull out just yet. He kissed Harry back fiercely, tasting himself on Harry’s lips.
“You’re a dirty bastard,” he whispered against Harry’s mouth, a smirk playing on his lips.
Harry’s smile matched his. He placed a loving kiss on Draco’s forehead before gently pulling out, his come spilling out of Draco.
Draco watched as Harry pulled out, his release spilling out of him. He felt empty and sensitive, his hole twitching around nothing. He reached down, gently touching himself there, feeling sticky and used.
“Fuck…” he muttered softly, watching Harry’s cum drip down his thighs.
Harry moved between Draco’s legs, licking a stripe across his hole, tasting his own release on Draco’s warm skin. He moved to kiss Draco again, giving him a taste. As their lips met, Draco moaned into the kiss, tasting himself and Harry mixed together.
“Fuck, that’s dirty…” he smirked. “And so hot.”
Harry laid back against his pillows and pulled Draco into a tight embrace.
“So what exactly was it about me coming here and basically begging you to let me fuck you that gave you the impression that I didn’t want you?” Harry laughed.
“Because you were all, ‘Would you let me save your life already?’ like you were asking for a cup of sugar,” Draco chuckled, nuzzling his face into Harry’s chest. “You were so polite about it. Like you didn’t actually want to ravish me.” He smirked. “I figured you were only doing it to help me,” he added.
“I did want to help you, but I’ve also always had a thing for you. Ask Ron and Hermione—I’m sure they’d be more than happy to tell you embarrassing stories about it.” Harry laughed.
“Wait…” Draco paused, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks. “How long exactly have you…?” He trailed off, suddenly very interested in this new information. “And don’t you dare tell me ‘since sixth year!’” he said, poking Harry’s chest playfully.
Harry laughed hard. “Fine, I won’t say sixth year, because it wasn’t. It was fourth year when I first realized I might have felt more for you than I was supposed to,” he admitted.
Draco’s eyes widened in shock. “Fourth year?!” he exclaimed, sitting up to look at Harry in disbelief. “You mean… when we were still fighting all the time? When I was being a complete arse to you?” he asked, his voice softening slightly.
Harry laughed again. “Yeah, call me mental. Something about you made me question if I even liked girls. None of them got my heart racing the way you did,” he said.
“You can’t be serious…” Draco murmured, his mind racing with memories of fourth year—the arguments, the duels, the constant bickering. “You actually had feelings for me back then?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Even when I was being horrible to you?” His voice was laced with guilt.
“Like I said, call me mental. When I found out you were a Veela, I felt kind of relieved, like my feelings finally made sense. Then Hermione so kindly informed me of your variant after I’d embarrassingly admitted my attraction.” He laughed again.
Draco chuckled softly, imagining Hermione’s reaction to Harry confessing his attraction to him. “She must’ve laughed in your face,” Draco said, smirking. “What did she tell you about my variant?” he asked curiously, his smirk growing wider.
“That it only activated once you turned twenty-five,” Harry said.
“Ah, yes…” Draco said, his voice taking on a slightly smug tone. “And what a night that was,” he murmured, leaning in closer to Harry. “I remember the look on your face when you first saw me like this—the shock, the desire… it was priceless. Even though I looked like I was dying,” he added.
“You were still as beautiful as ever. Made me mad, honestly—on the brink of death, and you still look like that,” he said, emphasizing the last word.
Draco chuckled darkly at Harry’s words, feeling a warmth spread through his chest at the compliment. “You have no idea how much it pained me to look like this,” he said, his voice low and husky. “The weakness, the vulnerability… it was humiliating,” he admitted.
Harry pulled him closer. “I can’t imagine what you went through,” he said. “I could tell you were in pain—it’s why I wondered why you were so reluctant to let me help you,” he finished.
“Because admitting I needed help killed me more than the fucking pain,” he muttered, burying his face in Harry’s neck. “Especially when you were the one offering—the golden boy who hated me for most of our lives,” he said, his breath hot against Harry’s skin. “Not to mention I was scared of getting hurt. It’s why I told Mother not to ask you,” he added.
“Getting hurt?” Harry asked.
“Emotionally,” Draco admitted softly, tracing patterns on Harry’s chest with his finger. “I knew you’d see me at my worst—vulnerable… and part of me was terrified you’d look at me like everyone else did. Just another weak Veela that couldn’t control his magic.” He paused. “I was also scared because—” He cut himself off.
“What is it, Draco?” Harry asked encouragingly.
Draco hesitated, his fingers pausing their movement. “I was also scared because…” He swallowed hard, his mind replaying the memory he’d been pushing away.
“Because if you saw me and were affected, I was worried you’d developed false feelings. I wouldn’t be able to bear having you, only for you to eventually realize it was the Veela and not me you wanted,” he admitted. “I’d been in love with you for a while before this agreement started,” he said quietly.
“Really?” Harry asked incredulously.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Draco said, his voice a mix of embarrassment and defensiveness. “You’re not exactly hard to love, you know. All brave and selfless and… bloody perfect.” He added hastily, as if he could take back the last part.
Harry laughed. “So when you flirted with me, you weren’t just trying to rile me up?” he asked.
“Not entirely,” Draco admitted, a small smirk playing on his lips. “I mean, it was fun to get under your skin, but… there was always something more to it. I couldn’t help but push your buttons because you reacted so strongly. It was addictive,” he admitted.
Harry kissed his temple. “You absolute numpty,” he laughed.
“Says the man who fell for a Veela’s tricks,” Draco retorted, but there was no heat behind his words. Instead, he snuggled closer to Harry, feeling content and safe in his arms. “I’m glad it’s you, though,” he said softly.
“I’m glad it’s me too. It’d be a shame if you found your mate, just for me to clobber him,” Harry joked.
Draco burst out laughing, the sound genuine and warm. “I’d hate to see this Gryffindor’s protective side come out,” he teased, nuzzling Harry’s neck. “Though honestly? I’d let you beat the shit out of anyone who tried to take me away from you,” Draco said.
Harry laughed and rolled them over so he was hovering over Draco now. He brought Draco’s arms above his head. He leaned in to kiss the blond but stopped short when he noticed his name now on Draco’s wrist.
“How did I never notice this before?” he asked.
Draco’s breath hitched as Harry’s warm body pressed against his, his arms trapped above his head. He followed Harry’s gaze to his wrist, where the mark of their bond was now clearly visible—a delicate intertwining of their names.
“It showed up the night I presented, but it faded gradually. It only becomes permanent once both mates are in love,” Draco informed him.
Harry kissed Draco deeply. “Guess the secret’s out now. I love you, Draco Malfoy,” he said sweetly.
Draco melted into the kiss, his lips curving into a soft smile against Harry’s. He opened his eyes slowly, gazing up at Harry with a tenderness that contradicted his usual cold exterior.
“Bloody hell, Potter,” he murmured breathlessly. “Took you long enough to say it.” He laughed.
Harry kissed his cheek.
Draco leaned into the affectionate kiss, a soft blush dusting his cheeks. He couldn’t help but bask in the warmth spreading through him, the love radiating from Harry palpable.
“I love you too, you idiot Gryffindor,” Draco whispered.