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“Like that?” Harry grunted above him, moving his body in such a way that had Draco arching into him, a whimper escaping from him that he would surely deny later.
“Yes,” he whispered, his hands scrabbling for purchase against Harry’s body. “Yes, yes!”
They’d been doing… well, whatever this was, for almost two months now. Two months of sneaking around and pressing each other against walls, of tugging one another into alcoves and touching each other frantically. Two months of Harry sneaking into his dorm in the middle of the night under his invisibility cloak; two months of Harry entrusting him with the very same cloak so he could sneak up to Gryffindor tower, so he could climb into Harry’s bed while all his friends were asleep.
Two months during which what had started out as just sex had transformed into something more. Draco found himself tugging Harry into alcoves only to ask him if he’d managed to master Flitwick’s latest assignment after all, or if he’d managed to finish McGonagall’s essay without his help (“Because I’m not helping you write your essay again, Potter!”). And he couldn’t help grinning when Harry snuck into his dorm only to persuade Draco to go somewhere with him, whether it be the kitchens or the library, usually under the guise of an “adventure”.
Of course, the sex was still good too, even though their relationship was now more than sex alone.
“Fuck,” Draco gasped, hastily sliding his hand into Harry’s hair and pulling. He loved Harry’s hair—it looked horrible always, and Harry didn’t give a flying fuck no matter how often Draco told him it looked like their were rats nesting in it, but its appearance didn’t stop it from feeling heavenly. Draco had discovered the joys of tugging on Harry’s hair very early in their relationship.
“Hey Harry, how’s about a game of—”
Harry quickly stopped moving, making panicked eye contact with Draco as Weasley continued speaking. They were panting, hard and sweaty and practically shaking from holding themselves still, and Weasley was on the other side of the hangings.
Grabbing his wand, Harry dismantled the silencing charm and cleared his throat. “Er—better not, Ron,” he said, sounding genuinely sorry. Draco felt oddly vulnerable having Harry’s cock up his ass while he conversed with his best friend. “I’m not feeling too well. Sorry.”
“What?” Weasley said, sounding concerned. Draco glared towards the curtain. They hadn’t expected to be interrupted, seeing as they’d snuck up here during dinner. Unless it’d really been that long already…? “Is that why you weren’t at dinner? Do you want me get some—”
“I’ll be fine,” Harry said, sounding a bit strained now. Of course, that was Draco’s fault for clenching around him, but he couldn’t help it. He was quite close, after all.
“Ron?” Granger’s stupid voice called, sounding as if it was getting closer. Draco threw his head back and directed his glare at the ceiling and the world in general. He was just trying to get properly buggered—why couldn’t he have even that?
“Hermione!” Weasley responded, sounding relieved. “Harry says he sick, I was thinking maybe we could go down to the kitchens—”
“Those poor house elves have worked enough,” Granger snapped, before she seemed to register the first half of the sentence. “I know a few spells anyway. One for stuffy noses, and another for upset stomachs. I even have one—” She broke off as loud footsteps thundered up the dormitory stairs.
“—and did you see the look on Filch’s face? Priceless!” Finnigan was saying, Dean Thomas’s signature laugh following directly after. Draco heard it often enough during breakfast, even when he was on the other side of the hall. The two somehow defied the concept of being tired and quiet in the mornings.
“Hey, why are we all gathered around Harry’s bed?” Thomas asked, his and Finnigan’s voices abruptly cutting off from whatever story they were retelling.
“Fuck,” Draco whispered, turning his head to the side and exhaling heavily. If only they had Harry’s cloak in here… but it was in his trunk, outside the hangings. Harry looked just as awkward and embarrassed as Draco felt. Moving slowly and carefully, Draco managed to dislodge Harry from himself, pulling the blankets around his waist immediately after.
“Harry feels sick,” Weasley provided helpfully.
“Oh, is that why he skipped dinner?” Finnigan questioned. “What’s wrong with you, Harry, mate? Would something from Filch’s confiscated drawer cheer you up? Because Dean and I—”
“No, I’m good,” Harry said loudly. “Just—gonna sleep it off, you know?”
“What a coincidence!” Longbottom’s voice suddenly joined in. And when the fuck had he gotten here? “Trevor’s been feeling sick too! Do you think there’s something going around?”
“People can’t get sick from frogs,” Finnigan said incredulously.
“He’s a toad!” Longbottom responded, offended.
“Actually,” Granger butt in, “there was once this case of Toadmoles that—”
“Hold on,” Weasley said loudly, suddenly interrupting Granger. Longbottom whimpered something that sounded suspiciously like Toadmoles?
“What is it?” Thomas asked. There was silence for a moment.
“What’s wrong?” Harry called, curiosity apparently getting the better of him.
“Harry,” Weasley said slowly. “Is there someone else in there with you?” Silence.
Draco only just managed to keep himself from gasping, and he and Harry exchanged startled looks.
“What? No!” Harry responded, sounding passably incredulous, as if he couldn’t believe the suggestion. He was still kneeling above Draco, though thankfully he was no longer inside him, and he ran his hand softly over Draco’s stomach, making his eyes fluttered shut in pleasure. It wasn’t even sexual, he just liked it when Harry touched him; it didn’t matter where.
“Well, It’s only—there’s two pairs of shoes out here,” Weasley responded. There was a sudden flurry of gasps and startled noises outside the curtains, quickly followed by,“Good one, Harry!”
“Fuck,” Harry whispered, glancing towards the edge of the hangings. Now that he thought about it, Draco did recall the two of them toeing off their shoes before tumbling into Harry’s bed and discarding the rest of their clothes.
“Who is it?” Finnigan demanded, apparently having just as much class as Draco would’ve expected him to have.
“Er—” Harry tried. “I accidentally duplicated my shoes?”
“Oh,” Weasley said easily. “Well then—”
“They’re two different sizes,” Granger interjected quickly. Harry cursed.
“Wait, are you—right now?” Finnigan asked, and Harry choked.
“Of course not!”
“We stopped when you all so kindly interrupted us,” Draco drawled, and the entire room turned silent.
“Is that—?”
“Was that—?”
“Malfoy?!”
Draco pulled Harry down onto the bed and tugged the covers up over his lap, before grabbing Harry’s wand—his must’ve rolled off somewhere during their… activities—and flicked the curtains open. It revealed an array of Gryffindors, all looking thoroughly astounded.
Draco was carefully reclined on the mass of pillows on the bed (some of them were his, actually. He’d gotten tired of Harry’s relentless pillow-hogging, not to mention the fact that more pillows was always better than less), his entire side pressed casually against Harry’s. He was aware that his hair was sweaty and a mussed, that his chest was flushed and pink. He was also aware that he looked damn good caught in the act.
“Harry…” Weasley said, frantically looking between him and Draco as if trying to understand why they were in the bed together. “What? How long?”
Harry’s face was redder than Draco had ever seen it, and he suspected that maybe he should’ve warned him before exposing their activities to the room. But he liked dramatic reveals, and taking the time to warn Harry definitely would’ve ruined it.
“Two months, Weasel,” Draco answered. Weasley was avoiding making eye contact with him, and he was pretty sure it had something to do with the fact that he and his best friend were naked in a bed together. And possibly because they’d been doing it for two months now, which Weasley now knew.
“Well, that does explain a few things,” Granger said finally, her head cocked to the side as she stared somewhere past Draco, not really taking in her surroundings.
Longbottom just looked a little frightened, and Finnigan and Thomas appeared more entertained than anything else. He could almost imagine what they would be saying when they left the room… And did you see the look on Ron’s face?!
Looking queasy, Weasley finally spluttered, “And you’ve been doing… that… in our dorm?!” Harry, finally getting his whits about him, just shrugged.
“We put up silencing charms.”
“I was wondering why you’d starting sleeping with your hangings closed…” Finnigan finally said thoughtfully. Weasley looked even more like he might throw up.
“Well, seeing as you’ve all done such a spectacular job of ruining the mood,” Draco interjected, using Harry’s wand to summon his underwear, which he slid on under the blankets. He then climbed out of Harry’s bed, tugging on his trousers as he looked at Harry. “I’ll see you later, okay?” And mainly for the audience, Draco leaned down and kissed Harry on the mouth, before stalking out of the dorm, still buttoning up his shirt and with his tie in hand. (Luckily, he’d found his wand on the floor under his shirt).
Walking through the Gryffindor common room was an experience, all the go-happy Gryffindors staring at him in astonishment, evidently wondering why the fuck a Slytherin was in their house. Draco just sneered at anyone who made eye contact with him before climbing out of the portrait hole.
And later that night he returned, having not received any owls telling him not to. He already knew the password and he walked, relaxed, passed everyone in the common room.
Once in Harry’s dorm, he avoided looking at or talking to any of the other boys, all of whom were doing various activities in the room. Draco walked into the bathroom and brushed his teeth next to Weasley, who said nothing, before departing once more and climbing into Harry’s bed.
“Well that was an experience,” he said finally, and Harry snickered into his ear, warm breath spilling across his skin.
“They’re all fine with us, you know,” he said softly.
“Good,” Draco said with a sniff. “Otherwise we’d have to start going to my dorm more often.”
“Mmhm,” Harry mumbled. “Would you like some pajamas?”
Draco ignored him and crawled to the end of the bed, snatching Harry’s pajamas from his trunk himself. He made eye contact with Weasley as he pulled on an old quidditch jersey of Harry’s, the word ‘POTTER’ splayed on the back. Weasley just gave him a tentative smile, and Draco smirked. Having his relationship with Harry not being a secret anymore might’ve been the best thing that could’ve happened.
Draco couldn’t wait for breakfast; he was going to make Harry sit at the Slytherin table with him.