A/N: This is a little oneshot that I felt like writing once, and now I feel like posting it, so here it is. This's actually my favourite Harry/Draco fic that I've written, so I look forward to any feedback.
Also, I feel like I should mention that Harry never almost killed Draco in the bathroom (and instead that scene happened in the way Harry describes their 'first time' here).
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its characters, plot, etc.
it's not a happy ending
It's not love, what they have, not even close. It's not gentle, or caring, or even affectionate. It's harsh, cold, and exactly what both of them need.
Harry ponders on this as he lets Malfoy pull him into a closet and rip his clothes off without even a kiss or a word of greeting. He returns the favour, and soon they're both standing there half naked.
It's always fast. Sometimes there's kissing – if it could be called that. Harry always imagined kissing to be a kind of a caress, not a brutal mashing of lips in an effort to drown out the voices in your head and the responsibilities waiting for you outside.
There's always preparation, though. Neither of them are that much into pain, and while it is as much about hurting each other (and themselves) as it is about the sex, they never cross the line into non-consensual. They aren't interested in rape.
Sometimes it's a bit gentler or thoughtful; a hand stroking down a stomach, lips pressing against the back of a neck, hips thrusting in time with a heartbeat. This time, it's none of that and Harry can't say he minds.
They change who does what. They never discuss it, but they are adept at nonverbal communication as only rivals who have spent years studying each other can be. It's a glare, a frown, tearing clothes with more aggression than usual, a noise made in the back of their throat. Perhaps it's all of these things, or none, but somehow they always know what the other wants.
This time, Malfoy needs an outlet – for what, Harry doesn't know, and he doesn't ask – and Harry needs to forget. It's natural to bend over and let Malfoy do what he wants. There's trust in that he won't abuse that power, though Harry couldn't say how it came to be.
Truth be told, he couldn't even say how it all started. He remembers a confrontation, shouting, cursing, and then lying on top of one another, soon their lips mashed together. He figures that he's probably the one who tripped them down because he's more likely to result to muggle means such as bodily attacking an opponent, but he can't remember which of them turned it from fighting to a session of letting out – or perhaps drowning out – emotion and thoughts in mutual agreement.
The second time was initiated by Harry himself; that much he knows. He had been looking at the Marauders' Map, unable to sleep, and upon seeing the very familiar dot of 'Draco Malfoy' wandering the halls of Hogwarts… Well, let's just say the rest is history.
He hadn't asked for permission, but he had given the other boy enough time to figure out what he wanted, and to protest, leave, or shout for help if he wished to. When Malfoy had pushed him against the closet wall and kissed him with desperation or anger or fear or hate – Harry could never read his emotions well – Harry figured that they were on the same page.
And they were. Randomly pulling each other into closets or empty rooms, silently agreeing on who topped that time, leaving without saying a word of goodbye.
It's not love. It's nowhere near that.
But somehow, it's exactly what they both need, and Harry wouldn't give it up for the world.
ooooo
Harry knew that Malfoy wouldn't kill Dumbledore. He knew it because at that moment, staring at that scene, he came to the realization that this was what Malfoy had been trying to escape from.
This was what led him to their short sessions of pain and sex.
It was only natural, then, that Snape showed up and Dumbledore died anyway. Ironic, Harry thought, as the Headmaster was the only one to fully trust the spy.
Now they're hunting for the horcruxes – random bits of history, as far as Dumbledore and Hermione could figure out – and it surprises Harry how much he dreams about that night. Not the part of Dumbledore dying, but the part where Malfoy looks so fearful and desperate and yet still starts to lower his wand. That part, where Harry's heart jumped and his brain flashed with the thought 'maybe there's a chance', which Harry still can't fully understand.
A chance of what, he's wondered many times. Of Dumbledore surviving? Malfoy turning out to be good? Everything turning out fine? Or perhaps, as he lets himself think but never say out loud, a chance of the two of them having something more?
He truly cannot say for sure. Maybe it's a combination of those things, or maybe it's nothing he can think of now. Maybe it was just a flash of thought with no meaning; a beginning to something else that got cut off, a random idea that had no place in that situation, a wondering of something he has never consciously thought about.
Yet as he lay in bed at night, when he can't seem to fall asleep because he's too worried or fearful or pumped up on adrenaline after a day of chase, he misses his times with Malfoy. He misses the oblivion those short moments gave him, the pain and pleasure mixed together, the warmth of a body pressed against his own.
The part he misses the most is how his brain shut down, and didn't think about the future or responsibilities or Voldemort for a few minutes. He can't seem to empty his mind now – not that he was ever any good at Occlumency – and he misses the blessed obliviousness their moments provided him with.
But among those thoughts and that nostalgia and melancholy and a fierce pain of need is a softer spot, something that aches within. Something that aches with want, not need, because while he needs to lay his mind to rest, he wants to do it with Malfoy. His heart is aching, he realises one night, because he misses the blond prat.
It's a realization that isn't exactly welcome, but one he couldn't possibly avoid. And it makes sense, he supposes; they had something together, something that helped him a great deal, so it's only natural to want it back.
It might not have been a conventional relationship, or something that was necessarily good for either of them, but it was an escape. And escaping is a journey; travelling down that road apparently brought them closer together than Harry could have anticipated, and truly even realised.
A gradual process, he muses. It's not a bad thing, missing Malfoy; the ache gets lost in other phantom pains that inhabit his body and mind. It doesn't stand out, and he doesn't really mind it because it doesn't hurt all that much.
It's something to look forward to, at least. Provided both of them survive.
ooooo
Harry saw Malfoy once during the year of running. He was glad to see that the other boy was alive and fine – well, at least physically fine.
He could feel the fear rolling off of Hermione and Ron, who were terrified that Malfoy would tell the other Death Eaters that he was Harry Potter, but Harry was calm.
They had always understood each other's' needs, if not emotions or thoughts, and thus he knew that what Malfoy needed at that moment was for someone to help him. And while Malfoy could occasionally be stupid, he wasn't an idiot; he knew that Harry was his – everyone's – best bet at defeating Voldemort.
He tried to signal his gratefulness with his eyes, however, as he also knew that lying to his aunt couldn't have been easy for Malfoy. If not for familial reasons, then because the Slytherin was clearly terrified of her.
They managed to escape, later, but not before Hermione was tortured. They also found Luna and Ollivander and a goblin there, and all in all Harry counts it as a win. He only wished Hermione didn't have to go through that, and that they could have taken Malfoy with them – and that Dobby didn't have to sacrifice his life to save them.
But the running is over now, and the time to fight has come. They need to take care of the diadem first, though, which they manage to locate with Luna's help.
And because the universe hates him, they meet Malfoy and his goons there.
Starting the fire wasn't a good idea by any stretch of the imagination. Flying comes as naturally as walking to Harry, however, so escaping is pretty easy – but then he realises that Malfoy is still there, in the midst of the fire.
He turns back.
This inspires his friends to try to save the others as well, but unfortunately they couldn't manage to rescue Crabbe. Regardless, feeling Malfoy leaning against his back and breathing in panicked, short breaths feels much better than it has any right to. Malfoy's arms are around his middle, and Harry lifts a hand from the broom handle for a moment to squeeze Malfoy's wrist. The other responds by dropping his head to rest against Harry's neck.
When they land, Harry tells Malfoy that they're even now and to leave, but Malfoy must know it for the recognition of their past which it is; their arrangement was always give and take, equal amounts on equal grounds. This, they both know, isn't much different.
As they part with amiable nods and slight confusion lingering on Hermione and Ron, Harry's hope for a chance – of something, he doesn't know what for sure – with Malfoy soars.
Then he walks to his death.
It's not his only regret, the thing with Malfoy, but it is at the forefront of his mind. Regardless, he pushes it back because he can't be selfish, not now, not when all he's done and all he is has been leading up to this moment.
He was never destined for a happy ending.
But then he isn't dead, and Narcissa Malfoy is leaning over him and asking about his son. Harry tells him he's alive because last he knew Malfoy was, and he would never forgive the Fates or stars or God or whatever for bringing him back to life but killing Malfoy, who deserves a second chance as much as Harry does.
Narcissa Malfoy lies for him. Well, not for him, but for her son, but it keeps Harry alive anyway. Mother's love, he thinks absently, is something one should never underestimate. It has kept him alive more times than he cares to count.
Hagrid carries him back to Hogwarts, and soon Voldemort is announcing his death to everyone. Before he can reveal that he's alive – truly, dying is much overrated – there's some drama with the Malfoy family and Harry bites his tongue.
They're leaving the fight. They're abandoning Voldemort because they care more for each other than Voldemort's cause.
Harry wants to grin, but holds it back because Neville is talking and he wants to hear what the other has to say before revealing himself. After Neville's little speech which makes Harry feel so, so proud of his friend, he jumps down from Hagrid's arms.
Everyone is shocked, naturally, but after Voldemort has thrown some words at him, there's a loud cry of 'Potter!' which comes from a source he'd never have imagined: Malfoy.
But there it is; the Slytherin is running away from his parents who are standing well away from everyone else, and towards Harry who's in the middle of the scene. Before Harry can do more than let a small smile slip through, however, the fight truly begins.
Malfoy finds him even as Harry is trying to get Voldemort to follow him to someplace else. There's no time for heartfelt words or a kiss, so all they exchange is a tight grip on each other's hands and a 'please' from Harry, and a 'later' from Malfoy.
Harry isn't quite sure what he's asking for. Probably for a chance to be together after the battle, which Malfoy seems more than glad to grant him. Perhaps he's pleading for Malfoy to stay alive until then.
Then Voldemort is firing spells at him and Harry separates from Malfoy with one final glance. He has no time to track down his friends, but he trusts them to stay alive. So many have been lost already, in the war before and in the previous fight, and Harry doesn't want there to be any more casualties – precisely why he needs to kill Voldemort.
He manages it. Eventually.
Watching Voldemort's body falling down to the ground, as if in slow motion, wasn't something Harry had ever expected. Knowing he has to win and believing he can win are two very different things.
Everything happens in a blur after that. Deaths Eaters apprehended or killed, everyone celebrating or grieving over losses, his friends hugging him or clapping him on the back. It's all so surreal.
Then he shakes his friends off, tells them to go back to their families and share their joy and pain with them. He gives a small smile and tells them he'll be fine, he just needs some time alone and that he'll join them in the Great Hall later. His friends assume he doesn't want to revel in the congratulations most seem keen to offer him, and let him go.
Only Luna smiles at him in a way that makes Harry think she knows what he's planning.
He makes his way towards the Gryffindor tower. He doesn't get very far before there's a small cough behind him, and then a hand is pulling him into a nearby classroom. Harry greatly appreciates the warning because the last thing he wants is to accidentally kill Malfoy himself.
When they're inside the room and appropriate spells have been cast to keep everyone else out, they stare at each other for a moment. It's different from every time before, but so are they.
This time, they aren't looking for an escape. This time, they're not looking for oblivion but the pleasure of being together. This time, they want to revel in the fact that they made it.
It's Harry who takes the first step. He doesn't start with taking clothes off, however, but with cradling Malfoy's head between his hands and resting their foreheads together. Malfoy releases a shaky breath before tilting his head just so and pressing their lips together gently.
It's slower this time, more caring, though still not completely pain free because they need to be reminded that they're alive. Yet now they share small smiles and stares and the words whispered aren't hurtful but affectionate, if only because of their tone.
It's still not love, what they have. But Harry thinks that it might be very close to it.
A/N: Hope you liked it!