Chapter Text
“Harry Potter – did you just fucking giggle?”
“What? No! I don’t giggle. That’s not very manly and as you can see I am extremely—" Harry made an oomph noise as Draco straddled his middle, dumping all of his weight on him at once. Harry’s hair fanned the crisp white pillow as he smirked up at Draco. The sconce from behind them flickered, offering, for a breath, a dreamlike hue to the room.
Beneath him, Harry tilted his chin just enough to be considered arrogant and mischievous both. It made Draco’s heart clench.
He returned the smirk. “You did giggle, you filthy liar. Tut tut, what would your little band of sycophants say if they heard such lies tumbling out of the Chosen One’s mouth? The shame of it!”
He mimed fainting like a Victorian girl in a tight corset, hand across the brow and everything. Harry brought his hands to hips and squeezed, causing Draco to begin shrieking and attempting to scramble away.
“Draco, shhh! Someone might hear you!” Harry whispered.
He rolled his eyes and was eventually coerced back on to Harry’s hips. “I am excellent at Muffling charms, you know. I already put one on so you can stop freaking out –"
“I am not freaking out, I just don’t want anyone to hear you scream in my bedroom, alright?” The humour left Harry’s voice and he turned his head from Draco, face pinched.
Draco stilled on top of him, hands frozen on Harry’s chest, his arse a tempting inch from Harry’s groin, aware of how it drove him crazy.
He forgot sometimes that Harry would do this. Would have his hands down Draco’s trousers one minute and then, when someone walked past, turn to a polite conversation about quidditch statistics. Draco would always be lost for a second or two until he realised that he could no longer look at Harry the way he wanted to.
“Sorry, I’ll refrain from shrieking. Maybe they’ll just think you wank enthusiastically?” He tried for humour, or, more accurately, distraction from the sharp sting in his chest.
“Draco,” Harry said warningly, turning his head.
“Okay, okay,” he huffed and got off to sit at the side of the bed.
Harry’s room was one of the largest in the set of the eighth-year dorms. It was a simple arrangement: comfortable double bed (thank Merlin for that), a small wardrobe and two wooden beside tables. Harry hadn’t done much to personalise the room. Sun bleached covers, as they had been the first day he had arrived in September. A photograph of his parents sat next to the bed with a small lamp. A knitted blanket, courtesy of the Weasleys – he assumed the mother, likely the only one up to the task – the lone pop of colour in the otherwise bland room.
Draco had teased him merciless about it until Harry had told him that he was acting far too similar to his previous self and then he had stopped joking about it immediately and never brought it up again. He did that sometimes, as if he were putting Draco back in his place. Perhaps Harry meant it as a joke, but Draco had no idea how to push back. He couldn’t be trusted to try his hand at confronting Harry about anything, never having been successful at it before.
“Everyone’s probably heading to breakfast now. It should be clear for you to leave.” Harry’s voice came from behind him, a soft kiss pressed to his spine to soften the blow.
Draco smiled as he pulled on his clothes. His shirt had somehow landed on top of the wardrobe, a vague memory of Harry using magic to rid Draco of all garments came to him. “You need to stop stripping me like this, Potter. Someday I am going to have to leave this room starkers because you keep banishing my clothes to another dimension.” He pulled his jumper from under the bed, looking ruffled, “This is cashmere!”
“Stop being a prat,” Harry said, throwing Draco’s socks at his head. Once a seeker always a seeker; Draco caught them easily in his hand. He quirked an eyebrow at him, smug as ever.
“You know,” Harry began, grinning lasciviously, “You really shouldn’t look so smug when you’ve had my dick in your mouth not a half hour ago.”
“And you should really be careful what comes out of your mouth if you ever want that life-changing experience again.”
“Pfft.”
“Pfft is right.”
Harry smiled genuinely at him, “See you at breakfast, Malfoy.”
Draco returned his smile, but it didn’t come quite as easy Harry’s seemed to. Harry always did this right before Draco would leave his room. He would say ‘Malfoy’ and not ‘Draco’ as if to remind him that he was only ‘Draco’ when alone and always ‘Malfoy’ in company.
“See you, Potter.”
The corridor leading from Harry’s room to the rest of the eighth year rooms was a short but chilly stretch and Draco tended to make a run for it this early in the morning. One benefit to spending the majority of his nights in Harry’s room was the proximity to the bathrooms.
Beautiful though they were, they still didn’t live up the majesty of the Slytherin bathrooms. What was sleek black tiles and a brass finishing on every surface in the dungeons were instead bright white and gleaming in here.
Hogwarts had apparently known in some capacity that rooming for the eighth years was necessary and supplied the neat bedrooms, a cosy common room and two bathrooms for them all to use since day one. True other things were not quite in as working order as they once were, but he tried not pay that much attention.
It was one of the worst moments of Draco’s life stepping back through Hogwarts’ doors. Visions of Death Eaters walking through the halls, the Astronomy Tower and its scars and the building didn’t seem to let him forget it either. Of course, there were the physical reminders: the seventh floor that still smelled of smoke, scorch marks that refused to leave, the students and staff no longer present. There was also the way Hogwarts had treated him. The sentience of magical buildings had never been so clear to him until he came back and found that her welcome had extended to everyone but him.
He was furious at first. Sure, he had let the Death Eaters in, but they had done far worse things than him, certainly. But no matter how he bargained and pleaded she refused to listen. While not out for his blood anymore, she made her presence known in a variety of inventive ways. Their current truce was based on his promise not to let any Death Eaters into the building besides himself. That didn’t mean that he didn’t slam every door he walked through. A quiet protestation on both sides.
The worst part of it was that she somehow always managed to get up to her tricks when other students were around him. Closing doors in his face, chairs moving out from under him, his room being the coldest of all rooms in their dorm. He couldn’t help but be flustered and turn red when others caught it. Hearing their sniggers and mutterings caused a weight around his feet that he dragged for the entire day.
The cold showers were a good thing to come out of it, however. Hogwarts seemed to remember from his time in Slytherin that he had a fondness for long, steaming showers. He would spend up to thirty minutes most days, more at the weekends, revelling in the heat and using potions for his skin and hair that his mother sent. He would also have a luxurious wank which really was better than any decadent hair potion of which he could think. Since the cold showers, however, the need to wank was non-existent, mostly from the temperature, but sleeping in Harry Potter’s bed every night ensured that his dick was well worn in by term two. If he were being entirely honest, he was relieved that his dick worked after seventh year where it had struggled to perform any task other than to take a piss.
He shouldered the large wooden door open, finding it empty save for Theo. He was midway through shaving, by hand as Draco had taught him when they both had more hair on their toes than on their faces. His hand moved ceaselessly, hips tilted over the sink as he held his face as close to the mirror as was possible.
“Draco,” Theo sighed by way of saying hello. He looked him up and down and frowned at him having the same clothes on as last night.
“Theo,” Draco said with a wink. He really did try to assuage the Slytherin’s worries about him. Theo, Blaise, and Pansy were the only people that spoke to him like a human being besides Harry and they made their disapproval of his relationship very clear.
Theo shook his head and began to wash his face in a manner so neat that no droplets found the floor or even his elbows.
Draco grabbed his towel from the rail and went into the cubicle bracing himself for the onslaught of ice that was to come. It was horrendous as usual, and he was convinced that doing this took at least an hour off his life each time. It was slightly exhilarating though he had found. Heart pounding, a strange excitement grew in his belly just as he was about to stick his head in. It was a safe way to be reckless.
Hogwarts was nothing if not consistent and he only just managed to soap his body and hair before his limbs began to shake. He rinsed and reached for the towel and could hear Theo chuckling at his sigh of relief once it was off. He stepped out and rolled his eyes at the other boy’s grin.
“Have fun?” Theo asked, a glint in his usually soft face.
“Try to refrain from teasing me, Theo. It’s far too early for that.”
“Why, Draco – was the shower cold? Again? Could you not summon the courage to wank in such temperatures?”
“Theo, if you can get that shower hot for me, I would be quite happy to give you a show.”
Theo’s mouth snapped shut and Draco cackled as he made his way to the mirror. His reflection looked tired but sated. The purple shadows beneath his eyes now from lack of sleep of a different kind rather than nightmares or plain terror. His skin was pale enough to see veins cross with the scars on his chest as he ran a quick hand though his hair.
“Draco look at you, for fuck’s sake.” Theo’s voice was closer than he expected him to be and dripping with dismay.
“Huh?”
“He’s…look at – can’t you ask him to be gentle with you?” Theo’s eyes, wide in disbelief, trailed up and down Draco’s back.
Draco dropped his gaze. “Please don’t. I’m actually in a good mood today, don’t scare it away with your worrying, Theo.”
“Draco you deserve bet –"
“Don’t tell me what I deserve,” Draco snapped, finally summoning the courage to look at Theo in the mirror. “Because if I think about what I deserve then it’s nothing and I don’t…just stop.” His face was hot under Theo’s concerned gaze. “You can fix it if you want but don’t lecture me about it. I’m an adult.”
Theo nodded and withdrew his wand. Softly, carefully, he began vanishing the marks from his neck that Harry had left. Then he moved to his back, scratches he presumed. Draco watched him in the mirror, a curling shame forming in his stomach as he observed Theo’s face flit between concern, anger and revulsion.
His fingers touched the base of Draco’s spine. “Can you lower you towel?”
“What?”
Theo appeared to have trouble speaking and briefly raised his eyes to the tall ceiling stretched high above them. “Hips. He’s left fingerprints on your hips.”
He tried to will away the heat in his face. “Needn’t bother, no one will see those anyway.”
“I can see them.”
“That’s because I’m in a towel.”
A moment passed then, “Are you into it? Him leaving marks on you?”
The steam from the bathroom started to curl the ends of Theo’s hair that fell upon his forehead like a wreath.
Draco huffed a breath, “I thought you agreed to stop talking about this. Yes, it really doesn’t bother me. In fact, I rather enjoy it.”
Theo’s face grew tight. “You enjoy being someone’s hate fuck?”
“That is not what this is. I’m pale, I bruise easily.”
Theo’s hand curled into a fist that he pressed to his lips before speaking again. “Draco, I have literally seen you in fist fights as a child and I can never remember you bruising. He must be squeezing you really hard –”
“Theo,” Draco whipped round. Eyes hard and lips tight as he rounded on him but as he saw Theo’s face he wilted. Round brown eyes looked back at him, doe like. His heart shaped lips pulled to a pout, and head tilted down to be eye to eye with Draco, being a breath taller. “Theo,” he tried again, softer this time, “You’re too good for this world. Please stop worrying. If I want you to fret, I’ll tell you. Alright?”
Theo pursed his lips but nodded, reticent. “Alright.”
“Alright,” Draco nodded and moved away from him.
Theo finished dressing and gathered his things readying to leave. His hand was on the heavy wooden door when he paused and turned his shoulder, head still down as he spoke, “I wouldn’t do that to you. If I…I’d never – you’re my best friend, Draco.” He looked at him now and Draco could feel his anguish from across the tiled room. “Fuck, you should have more than this.” He huffed a laugh, “I would burn down palaces for you.”
Draco took a step towards him, voice barely a whisper, “Theo…Theo I –”
“I know.” He smiled sadly and left, the door thudding dully in his wake.
Draco scraped his hands through his hair, knowing he had missed something painfully obvious in Theo’s muted expression.
Thoughts swam in his mind as he headed for breakfast. Before he had even made into the Great Hall however, McGonagall stopped him. Her stern face regarding him disdainfully.
“A word,” she said briskly, hooking her finger at him.
Draco curled his lip at being beckoned like a Crup and wrestled his need to say something derisive. Longbottom trailed behind her looking worried.
“I need to see you both before you head to class this morning.” Upon seeing the concerned glances that Longbottom was throwing at her, she added hastily, “Nothing to worry about, I assure you.”
Longbottom nodded, his shoulders dropping from where they were practically touching his ears previously. She left them both in a flurry of tartan and wispy grey hair.
Draco spent the rest of breakfast wondering if he were going to be expelled and began a pessimistic route of what he would do if he were chucked out that night. By the time he had finished his tea, he was surly and biting at anyone who so much as glanced his way as he perched at the end of the bench at the Slytherin table.
Pansy, growing tired of his grumbling, finally snapped at him. “Oh, for Salazar’s sake, will you either tell us what’s bothering you or piss off, Draco! Your persistent griping is becoming rather irksome!”
“Oh, leave him Pans!” cried Blaise dramatically, “Our Draco is trying his hand at being broody: aren’t you darling?” he asked him, a grin, so catlike, Draco almost wanted to reach out and scratch him behind the ears.
Draco bit back a smile at Blaise’s teasing. Pansy was nonplussed as she viciously stabbed a piece of grapefruit with her fork. “I don’t care what look he’s going for; he’s a pain in my arse.”
“Use more lubricant then, Pansy. It’ll help,” Draco spat, smile souring.
Theo mumbled under his breath, “Here we go,” as he buttered his toast, a look of his resignation on his face.
“It’ll help will it,” Pansy said sweetly, “You’d know about putting things in your arse, would you?”
Someone snickered to Draco’s right, and he wanted to reach out and strangle the first person he could reach. “You better be quiet, Pansy. I am rather adept at Unforgiveables, if you remember.”
She clutched her neck, “Oh, how you frighten me, Draco!” she flopped onto Blaise, “The horror! Blaise do something, he’s going to do something unforgiveable!”
Blaise, who could never resist taking the piss out of Draco, joined in. “Something unforgivable? Like keep his ridiculous haircut you mean?” Pansy cackled.
Draco threw a slice of apple at him. “Savage!” Blaise cried and Pansy laughed even harder. “That’s muggle behaviour that is –”
“Would you lot quit doing whatever it is you’re doing?” They turned in unison to see a boy who looked to be about fifth year, glaring at them all.
“Or what?” Draco snapped. “Hmm? What will you do?”
The boy’s face reddened but determined, he continued, “You’re causing a scene and everyone is looking at us!” he hissed. He bent his head and picked at his toast, “Bloody hard enough being in this house without that display every day.”
“What a little bastard,” Draco said to no one in particular. “Honestly, don’t make them like they used to.”
He finished his tea and looked to the staff table. McGonagall was still eating and listening politely to Slughorn.
He felt Theo nudge him in his side. “What did McGonagall want with you?”
“Unclear,” said Draco, absentmindedly playing with his shirt collar. “She just said that she wanted to talk to myself and Longbottom.”
“Longbottom?” Pansy asked with a small snigger, “You aren’t failing any classes, are you?”
“Play nice,” intoned Blaise.
Draco shook his head, his momentarily forgotten worry plaguing him again.
“Are you worried about it?” asked Theo quietly.
“Course not,” Draco replied churlishly. Theo nodded mutely, returning to the cup he was holding, and Draco rushed to add, “I mean…I don’t think I should be. Right?”
Theo smiled reassuringly but didn’t say anything else.
As the Great Hall began to clear, Draco debated heading to McGonagall’s office and just waiting there.
Just as he was about to announce this, Theo nudged him again. “Draco, look.” Theo nodded towards the Gryffindor table where McGonagall caught his attention as she stood behind Longbottom. As her eyes found his, she beckoned to him again with a crooked finger.
Draco clenched his jaw, “I swear if she summons me like that again, I’ll –”
“- complain about it?” Blaise cut in, peering at McGonagall from over his shoulder.
“At the very least,” Draco huffed as he stood. “She doesn’t really expect to talk to me in front of the entirety of Gryffindor house, does she?”
“Looks like it, old sport.”
Swallowing roughly, Draco made his way over to her, stomach turning as though he were instead headed for the gallows. He refused to look concerned and instead attempted to smooth his face of emotion despite the flush of his cheeks.
He ignored the stares as he walked round the table to come to stand before McGonagall and Longbottom.
“Ah, there you are Mr Malfoy,” she said before quickly raising her eyebrows at a first year who laughed loudly. His eyes widened before returning to his porridge.
Longbottom smiled faintly and returned his attention to McGonagall. “Did you need help with something, Professor?”
Nodding briskly, she fished a small piece of parchment from her robes. “There’s been a bad bout of Green Breath going around. Professor Sprout needs help with the ingredients in the Green Houses and well, Mr Longbottom, obviously you’re the best bet but Mr Malfoy could also assist you if need be. She needs help to tend to the Flufferpods as they develop.”
Draco breathed in relief, eyes closing briefly.
Three weeks into term, McGonagall had come bustling into the eighth-year common room and demanded to see them at once. Draco had avoided being near any of the other eighth years at first and so was the only one, ruffled and half asleep, who was pulled from his bed and ushered into the common room in pyjamas. McGonagall had delivered a strange speech about the responsibility of being eighth years and working together as a unit before telling them that they were to be given jobs around the castle. Some made sense and others were alarmingly bizarre.
It was only when Granger had clarified that those jobs were ones that the castle always took care of; ensuring the darker creatures of the forest stayed there, repairing itself and protecting her boundaries that McGonagall had looked suddenly wary. She gave a non-committal response about the castle needing help with this at the moment. This left everyone wondering just how grave the situation really was if it was struggling to perform basic tasks. Draco however, too consumed with worry for himself didn’t have the capacity to take on any more anxieties and simply waited to be given his task.
The first tasks given out had him hopeful, perhaps this would be beneficial in assisting him later with finding a career. After all, Potter and Granger had been given the task of repairing the wards. But as the list went on and when his name still wasn’t mentioned he began to lose hope. After an excruciating two minutes, Longbottom’s name was called. He was to be an assistant to Sprout in overseeing the Greenhouses and caring for some of the more delicate plants it housed. When McGonagall said Draco’s name, he was sure he could see a small smirk in the corner of her mouth. As she announced that he was to be helpful in any way he could to Longbottom and charged with taking care of the Greenhouses a few small snickers rang out around the room.
He was incensed and if it were not for the quiet but frantic tugging of Pansy on his sleeve, he most likely would no longer be at Hogwarts, either by choice or expulsion. It was for this reason that twice per week, Draco would supposed to traipse out to the Greenhouses and do jobs fit only for house elves. The greenhouses had been mercurial as of late; refusing to water themselves or keep any sort of consistent temperature and so Draco would step in and do it manually. Throwing warming charms or cooling charms into its corners and watering the plants like a glorified janitor. He didn’t dare tell his parents about any of it, insisting instead that he spent most of his time studying and playing Quidditch with the Slytherins. He wasn’t sure if they were convinced but they had yet to question him on it.
He cleared his throat and said, as politely as he could, “Is this in replace of my…elective or alongside?”
McGonagall pursed her lips, “I’m sure you’ll find time for both seeing as they link in with each other.” He nodded in response. “So, the Flufferpods need continual care and inspection for them to be brewed by Madam Pomfrey; although if any more get sick then she may need assistance with that.”
Draco could feel eyes around the Great Hall being drawn to the scene. The chatter had dimmed as the students headed off for their first classes.
“Is it serious, Professor?” Granger asked from across the table, brown eyes filled with genuine concern.
Draco just about refrained from sneering at the sincerity that emanated from her. Weasley seemed to be hanging on her every word, though Draco was unsure how much the idiot understood.
“Yes, well we’ve not had a bout of Green Breath as bad as this in some years. We always have one or two that take a turn with it, but I am fairly concerned, Miss Granger. I’d stay clear of the hospital wing if I were you,” she finished briskly.
Harry cleared his throat and Draco immediately averted his eyes. “What’s ‘Green Breath’?”
“It’s like Chicken Pox, Harry,” Granger explained in her lecturing tone, “Most wizards and witches usually get it when they’re very small and they recover from it quickly. It’s more of a problem for Muggleborns as they haven’t had exposure of it before and the older they get it the more dangerous it can be. The Flufferpods help fight the infection when brewed correctly and given in regular and small doses, but –”
“But they’re fernickety to grow, yes,” interrupted McGonagall, “and we usually only need a few of its leaves for one batch of medicine.”
“Can’t we get it from Mungo’s then?” asked Dean Thomas who was sat next to Weasley and tilting his head curiously.
“Too fragile to travel,” Longbottom replied quietly.
“When can you start, Mr Malfoy?” asked McGonagall in her business-like tone.
“Whenever suits,” he replied, avoiding Harry’s eyes that were currently boring into him.
“Very well,” she handed the parchment to him, and he scanned it, “Take this and report to either myself or Professor Sprout if you need anything or if there is a problem. That’ll be all.”
Once dismissed, Draco headed for the doors of the Great Hall. As soon as he left the door, he felt something catch round his ankle causing him to stumble into the wall.
“What the fuck?” he hissed, looking wildly around his feet.
“Careful now, Malfoy,” called a boy only a few years younger than himself, cockily straightening his yellow and black tie. “Don’t fall from such a great height now.” His friends giggled and he raised his chin defiantly at Draco.
Draco looked at him; from his spotty chin to his shoes that were slightly too big for him and smiled nastily. “Who do you think you’re talking to?” He laughed and took a step closer to the boy who seemed determined to stand his ground despite his friends taking a cautious step back. “Honestly,” Draco continued, loud enough for all passers-by to take notice on the scene unfolding before them, “The day I am truly offended by a Hufflepuff I’ll snap my wand. Now piss off and find a potion for that ghastly chin of yours.”
The boy blanched, hand automatically going to his chin as if this were a regular taunt thrown his way.
As he turned, he saw Granger frowning at him. Her mouth opened as though she were going to speak, but he allowed his gaze to travel beyond her as though she weren’t there. Something wild inside made him want to search the faces around her to see if they were Harry’s, but he refrained. Granger was far cleverer than he had ever given her credit for and did not want to jeopardise any element of his delicate situation.
The moment with the spotty Hufflepuff replayed in his head as he made his way to Charms. Thankfully most of the subject was theory with additional reading on the side. Due to Pansy’s carefully constructed seating arrangements, he was sat next to Theo who was excellent at the subject and likely the sole reason for the consistent high marks Draco received.
The corridor was empty of all students as he neared the top the steps until movement caught the corner of his eye.
Harry leant against the wall, one foot resting against it, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He didn’t appear surprised to see Draco and instead looked as though he were expecting him. Stuffing a piece of parchment in his robes he smiled at Draco and nodded his head at the classroom opposite.
Draco frowned but came to him anyway. Harry glanced down the corridor and, seeing that it was clear, took Draco’s hand and pulled. “You’re not going to Charms,” he told Draco, pulling him through the door to an empty room.
It was clearly a spare. Empty desks were piled at the back and there were random pieces of parchment lying on the floor. The light that came through the window was soft despite it being an early November morning.
The room held scorch marks in its corners, likely the reason it was out of use. Draco had a vague memory of it being used for some vile purpose of the Carrows, but he instantly dismissed the thought, centring himself instead on the intense gaze that Harry was bestowing upon him.
Harry still held his hand; his thumb rubbing small circles on the inside of Draco’s wrist. Turning, Draco fixed him with a serious expression that he didn’t truly feel. “I can’t skip class, you know. Some of us have –”
“Don’t start with your lectures; it’s far too early,” Harry sighed, pinching Draco’s cheek with his other hand as one would a small child. “You’re so grumpy in the morning.” It was unlike Harry to be playful and sent warning sparks in Draco’s stomach which he dutifully ignored.
“I am not,” Draco huffed, and Harry smiled at his point being made for him. “Well, this has been fun, but I do need to go to class –”
“Charms is cancelled. Hermione told me to find you and tell you. So here I am finding you and telling you,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Ah,” said Draco. “Why did she tell you to –”
“Does it matter?” Harry insisted, “You have a free morning…and I have a free morning. So that sounds like…we both have a free morning…together.” Harry’s words and indeed his expression were laced with meaning.
“I see,” said Draco, feigning ignorance, “So, you want to study? I mean I’ll need to go and get my books and everything but –”
“I’d like to study you,” Harry said bluntly, “Up close, naked, in my hands, under me –”
“Well, you should have just said that,” Draco grinned and waited for Harry to move.
He didn’t wait long as Harry took Draco’s face in his hands and placed a breath of a kiss on his cheek before backing him to one of the desks. Draco breathed a laugh, and he could feel Harry’s smile against his own lips.
“I – fuck, Harry,” Draco groaned, “We shouldn’t…here…someone could walk in.”
Lips pressed to his neck, Draco let his head fall back, revealing the pale column of this throat. Harry squeezed his hips, pulled them closer to his own and Draco made a pathetic noise at the contact.
“Harry…” Draco pressed before he lost all of his control entirely, “We can’t have sex in a classroom –”
“Fine, fine,” he conceded and moved back slightly to see Draco, a boyish smile warming his face, “Just let me look at you then.”
Draco rolled his eyes hoping that Harry didn’t see how affected he was by him, how he always was by him. It didn’t matter whether Harry was ignoring him, fighting or fucking him he held Draco’s attention as though he had commanded it.
Tracing a finger along Draco’s cheek, Harry did indeed look at him. Searched his face for something, as though trying to commit it to memory. Eyes resting on his lips, he brought his finger there too and pressed. Draco moved to suck the finger into his mouth because to allow this moment to continue, tender as it was, felt too much for Draco, as though he couldn’t bear it. But Harry didn’t allow him to break away. With the smallest shake of his head, he traced his finger around Draco’s lips, corner to corner, reverent. It was far from flirting or even remotely sexual, it wasn’t how they looked or what pleasure they could give but somehow that belonging to Draco was what made them anything of note.
Harry blinked slowly, eyes lifting. “You’re so beautiful, Draco. It’s too much sometimes. It’s like I can feel it; I’m not sure how I never noticed it before.”
A hundred different quips came to him; snarky and biting as Harry expected and enjoyed Draco to be, but he found they stuck in his throat. Instead, he just stared at him, openly in awe of Harry Potter and bewildered as to how he could look at him this purely, tenderly.
Sensing that Draco was having some internal struggle, Harry leant forward again and kissed him. Similar to their kisses in early morning when lust had waned, and they were soft and exploratory. The kiss wasn’t to sate something; it was to reassure. Draco revelled in it. Drinking in everything Harry gave to him.
When they finally pulled apart it was with shy smiles and awkward glances. And when Harry held his hand as they walked to the door and kissed a place on his cheek before leaving, Draco knew that something had changed. As though a final barrier that had stood between them was finally gone, leaving them free.
He spent the rest of the week in a haze.
When Draco went to Harry at night, he was gentle. He would speak to Draco a little before they fucked rather than rush into it as he usually did, as though hesitating would cause him to lose his nerve. After, he would spend a long time exploring Draco. Every part of his body caressed and explored under Harry’s careful hands. Draco was drunk with it; could have lived off of this alone for the rest of his life if allowed.
He found it increasingly difficult to focus on anything else in his life than the brief moments where Harry came to him and made him forget. Thoughts of Harry, of his hands, his lips, permeated his mind and bled into every waking moment.
It was ridiculous. He was fully aware it was ridiculous. But these moments could carry him through the day, no matter how brutal or banal. No matter how many wary looks he received from Granger, chastisements from Pansy or how every interaction with Theo was strained for a reason he did not know, could taint the feeling that Harry left him with.
At the end of the week, Longbottom approached him at breakfast. Wary and standoffish, he informed Draco that he would actually have to visit the Greenhouses in order to look after the stupid plants. Apparently, there were some issues with the more sinister occupants the Greenhouses held, and Draco’s assistance was required.
His thoughts the whole day had been spent analysing a passing remark that Harry had made earlier that morning and few other thoughts were able to compete with it.
When Draco was preparing to leave, Harry had pulled him back before he reached the door and crowded him against it. His arms had wound their way around Draco’s waist and, with lips pressed to his ear had whispered, “Come back quickly to me. Even for a moment.”
Draco had laughed, hating and relishing the earnest way that Harry seemed to say everything. “Or what?” he said teasingly, eyebrow quirked.
Harry had smiled, shook his head and pulled back enough to look at him. “Dunno. Go mad, I guess. I can’t get enough of you,” and then in a rush of breath, “Don’t think I ever will.” And then the door was opened, and Draco was stood in the cold corridor, wondering if this was all in his head. For there was no possible way that Harry could mean those things about him.
Longbottom, with his dirt stained fingernails and habitual plant under his arm, had widened his eyes in surprise at how quickly Draco had agreed. Draco, however, longed for a moment to digest Harry’s words that morning without having to control his face.
This was how he found himself rushing to his room to fetch his cloak before making his way to the greenhouses to attend to the Flufferpods.
It was mild for November, considering how biting autumn had been. Smoke drifted from Hagrid’s cabin, their shapes ominous in the dark as he headed towards the greenhouses
The door to Greenhouse Two stuck as he tried to heave it open. It took him over five minutes and several expletives to finally shoulder his way in. Unsure whether the door was truly just stiff, or Hogwarts was playing tricks again, he gave it a good kick as he entered, smirking when he heard a glass pane wobble threateningly.
Lighting the torches that lined the back of the greenhouse he searched for the Flufferpods. Lurking closest to the window, they stood, long stems wriggling under the shadow of the torch. Its shadow cast huge shapes on the walls that had him doublechecking his wand sat firmly in his robe pocket.
After rereading his instructions from McGonagall, he got to work checking their leaves and moisture levels before digging out some of Sprout’s books that she kept under a stack of broken terracotta pots. The one he needed was propping up a withering plant that Draco didn’t recognise. He drew his wand in case it tried to grab him unexpectedly; the last indignity he wanted to suffer was being mauled by a vicious plant in the middle of the night and being found by some innocent first years.
The plant didn’t move however, and Draco presumed it harmless as he dragged the weathered tome from under the bench. It was a mess and had seen better days. Its pages curled from being exposed to so much damp and the corners had been gnawed at by something.
When he finally found the page, he checked and double checked it before taking a cutting and replanting it. A gale whistled through the greenhouse, rattling the windows in its wake; Draco brought his sleeves down again with a small shiver.
Deciding that he should probably read up on the plant a little more thoroughly, he grabbed it before leaving through the rickety door. It was distinctly colder now on the walk back up to the castle and he pulled his cloak closer to his neck.
As he approached, he saw that the door was closed. Frowning, he came closer and pushed. Usually, it didn’t close itself when someone had left and was expecting to return.
“Shit,” he murmured as he gave the door another thump with his foot. “Fucking shit.”
The grounds were unnervingly silent and void of all who could help him to get into the castle. Withdrawing his wand he cast, “Alohomora!” Nothing.
“Oh, come on, stop being a right bastard! Open the bloody door!” Despite it being completely deserted his face still flushed in embarrassment as he pounded his fist on the door only to be ignored. “Why are you doing this?” he demanded.
With a creak the door opened a sliver and Draco leapt at his chance. Throwing himself through the impossibly small space, his head collided with something hard. It gasped in shock and stumbled backwards.
“Motherfucker!”
Draco, whose vision had swum for a moment at the collision squinted to see Harry clutching his head, face contorted with pain.
“Harry? What the fucking hell are you doing?” he asked incredulously.
“The fuck am I doing? What are you doing lurking outside and then ramming your head into things?” he replied, wincing as he pressed a probing finger to his forehead. “Shit that hurts.”
He righted himself and fixed his cloak. “I wasn’t lurking, nor was I ramming my head into anything. You rammed your head into me and what were you doing by the door?”
“I was trying to see if you were alright. You were just standing outside for no reason.”
“Did you lock me out?” Draco asked, eyes narrowing.
“No! There’s no way you could be locked out. You’re warded in!” Harry said, furiously blinking away the tears that had gathered in his eyes.
Draco hummed. He had kept Hogwarts’ treatment of him mostly to himself. It was embarrassing. Embarrassing that he had doors slammed in his face, cold showers, seats that would poke his spine as he sat on them. Never had he been treated this way in any magical building, and it pissed him off that Hogwarts decided to be the first.
“Anyway,” Harry said slowly, walking towards Draco with a grin, “Now that you are here…”
Draco chuckled in spite of himself and allowed Harry to crowd him against the wall for the second time that day. Just as he leaned forward to kiss him, footsteps echoed from further down corridor. Harry jumped back as though burned, backing away from Draco and looking wildly around to see if they had been spotted.
Draco burned. Humiliation flooding through him for the second time that night. He hated that Harry treated him like a leper in public; running to the other side of the room lest he be accused of giving Draco a smile let alone a kiss.
Filch’s mangy silhouette came into view and Draco’s lip curled. Was this who Harry really sought approval from? The fucking squib janitor? He wanted to spit at them both.
“What’re you two doing here? Prowling?” he asked, his greasy voice making Draco want to gag.
“Having a shag, what does it look like?” Draco said cattily.
“Draco, shut up,” Harry hissed from the side of his mouth. He was moving further still from Draco as if he could pretend that he hadn’t been there at all. This only spurred Draco on.
Filch poked a knobbed finger at him. “Don’t be talking –”
“A great shag actually. If you could shuffle on to fuck knows if I care, we could get back to it.” Draco shooed his hand at him. “Go on, pip pip!”
“What the fuck are you doing?” Harry said, voice void of any feeling.
Draco looked at him coldly. “Why do you care? You only see me in the corridors after all.”
He walked away, heading for the stairs leading to the eighth-year dormitories. Heart thudding, he clambered up the stairs with as much dignity as he could muster despite the cloying want to turn around and demand that Harry acknowledge him. He couldn’t quite believe that only this morning, Harry had said words that sent Draco for a loop, had him cautiously thinking about the future with the faintest hope that the boy with brilliant green eyes and famous scar would feature in it.
“You come back here!” Filch demanded, “You’ll be in detention for talking to me like that!”
“No can do, I’m afraid,” Draco called back, blinking the wet from his eyes, “Diary’s full!”
The Slytherins had taken prime seating at the fireplace when he burst into the common room. In his haste, his shoulder collided with the edges of the door causing the huge herbology book to clatter noisily to the floor. The entire room paused and turned to look at him. He could only imagine how ridiculous he looked right now; hair mussed and tears streaking his face and carrying this stupid big mouldy book.
“Draco?” Theo asked softly, his quiet voice carrying over the stillness of the room.
“What?” Draco spat and crossed the room in a few strides towards the safety of his room.
Once inside he threw the book at the wall and heaved a breath. It was stupid. Stupid to get himself so worked up over some boy that clearly did not care for him no matter what his lips or touches said otherwise.
A chap at his door roused him early that morning, earlier than even the elves would find themselves awake.
“Draco?” A voice, tentative and muffled from being so close to the door, stirred him enough to sit up. “Draco, open the door.”
He debated making Harry pay for his humiliation and ignoring him. He truly considered it. It was beneath him to be treated like this, he told himself. He was a Malfoy; no-one treated Malfoys like this. Except that now everyone did, he supposed. Draco refused to accept the notion that his name had never held less clout.
“Draco, please,” Harry whispered again from behind the door.
Hating himself, Draco slowly got up from his bed and went to the door. He could hear Harry from the other side. Draco rested his forehead on the cold wood, briefly closing his eyes. Sighing, he opened the door.
Harry was a mess. Hair standing on end and purple smudges under his eyes, he stared at Draco. He had on his pyjama bottoms only; soft and worn with age that sat low on his hips leaving his chest bare.
A collection of scars clung to Harry’s body. Draco knew them all intimately even if their origins were secret from him. Anytime Harry caught Draco looking at them closely, even touching them, he would shift uncomfortably. Would curl his shoulders away from Draco as though he couldn’t be trusted.
Now Harry was bare. Hiding nothing, he stood before Draco, appearing as desperate as Draco felt every fucking minute he was around Harry. It wasn’t fair that this was so one-sided. Draco had every advantage in life against Harry, but found himself bested every time. For Harry held himself with a grace and manner so natural that which had to be beaten into Draco. He wore it like a cloak around his shoulders that used to drive him mad with envy, but now only made his heart hurt.
“Come to bed,” Harry pleaded.
Not in Draco’s wildest dream could he imagine Harry Potter pleading to him in any regard. But it fell flat now. Hollow. “I was in bed,” Draco replied, his finger travelling the grooves of the heavy door.
“No. That’s not –” Harry sighed, rolled his shoulders as though pushing himself to be brave. “I want you with me, Draco. I can’t sleep without you, I…” he trailed off. A haunted look passed over his face that Draco knew only too well.
His head demanded that he be reasonable, but Draco couldn’t listen. “Alright.”
He stood aside to let Harry in, but Harry was on him. Hands skating across his shoulders, down his back, the sides of his thighs. He felt a desperate breath escape his chest, pulling a dry sob with it. Harry seemed to mistake this for something else as he hissed a “Yes,” into the dip of Draco’s neck and pulled off the soft shirt he was wearing.
Draco felt himself be pushed back onto the bed and felt Harry’s mouth on him. Hot and warm and everything he wanted but not what he needed. He felt delirious. Wanted to shout at him to just hold him. To smile at him in a corridor, speak about him to his friends or touch his arm when he walked past. Draco wanted all of it. He wanted everything he couldn’t have, and it burned him more than the Fiendfyre ever threatened to.
But then Harry was trailing soft lips up his stomach and his chest and then hovered over him. Draco brought his hand to Harry’s face, traced the line of his cheek as though to see if he were a spectre or a trick of the light. Even in the dark he could see Harry’s eyes, bright and sharp, take in the mark on Draco’s arm. Before Draco could move, Harry pulled the hand from his face and placed it delicately on the bed, the Mark now carefully hidden in the swathes of cotton.
It took a moment for his heart to catch up. When it did, he felt it clench in his chest and threaten to crack as Harry whispered lovingly in his ear, “Draco…”