"Detention again, 'Arry?" Hagrid asked.

Draco pretended not to hear, pretended he hadn't heard the past four times, either, because Draco was under indefinite detentions due to his particular 'participation' in the war, and it was one of the many sacrifices he had to make just to return to school and complete his education.

Draco just pretended. He kept his eyes on his task, whisking away soiled straw from the many animal cages with an easy flick of his wand.

"Well," Hagrid said, "you boys 'ave been cleaning cages for the past week. What do you two say to a change in scenery, huh?"

Neither responded, but Draco paused in his straw-whisking.

Potter coughed.

Hagrid smiled widely, pleased to have their attention. He was either oblivious to the lifelessness to their eyes, or skillfully ignoring it.

"You two're old enough to scavenge alone, ey? 'Ere's a basket—fill it with the glowing mushrooms you see. The blue ones, not the green or orange ones."

"What about the red ones?" Draco drawled dispassionately. "The yellow ones?"

Hagrid frowned. "Just the orange ones."

"Of course, sir," Draco replied gravely. "And what is our quota?"

Potter stared listlessly at a dead canary, seemingly fried on it's perch. Possibly by a fire-throated agama, if Hagrid's previous lessons were anything to go by.

"Just, erm, as many as you can find."

"By sunrise?" Draco asked blandly, as though the thought didn't disturb him in the least.

Potter poked at the cage and watched detachedly as the corpse landed with a soft crunch.

Draco sniffed.

"But nine o'clock or so, I guess," Hagrid murmured, looking faintly uncomfortable. "I won't be 'ere, though, so you two'll 'ave to lock up when yer done."

Potter nodded, and Draco nodded, and then they were walking through the woods with baskets.

Draco glanced at Potter sidelong, aware that the glare of his lumos would block Potter from noticing. Not that he cared. He was just curious. What reason did the Boy Wonder have for being in detention? He wondered if he would receive an answer if he asked. He wondered why he cared.

"Potter," he said, breaking the silence that had floated between them since the start of Eighth Year. He was mildly impressed that, despite his predictions regarding the lumos wielded in his hand, Potter's dead eyes didn't even flinch when they swiveled in his direction and were promptly confronted by the nearly blinding light. "Why are you here?"

Potter looked back along the path and remained silent.

Draco gave a languid blink and felt his interest wane. He just didn't have the energy to really harass Potter. He hadn't had said energy since before Eighth Year, honestly. After the trials, after his summer of house arrest, after his father was sentenced to death... Draco didn't have much energy for anything, anymore.

He was surprised enough when he woke every morning, vaguely impressed that his heart bothered to keep his blood pumping for another day. That his brain bothered to continue functioning while the rest of him was numb.

Draco yawned.

"Bet you can guess why I'm here."

Potter almost tripped on a root, and after he righted himself, he stared down at it. Not angrily, just a little startled.

"Did you feel like falling down and not getting back up?" Draco guessed.

Potter glanced at him mutely.

"Because, same."

Potter kept walking, and Draco fell in step beside him once more.

They tread along the path quietly, disturbed only by the hooting of wild owls and the occasional twig or leaf crunching beneath their feet. The animals of the forest, be it predator or prey, were silent.

They reached a barrier of three trees, all fallen on their side and covered in moss.

"Hagrid said this is as far as it's safe to go," Draco commented.

Potter, by his side, stared at the trees through exhausted, bloodshot eyes.

"I have it on good authority, however, that we'll find the blue mushrooms not only faster, but in greater abundance if we bypass his warning entirely."

Potter raised an eyebrow at him.

"I'll be look-out if you pick," he offered.

Potter's other eyebrow joined the first.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'll pick if you be look-out."

Potter scoffed softly and trekked over to the trees. He peered over them speculatively for a moment before seeming to throw caution to the wind and climbing over them. Draco wasn't far behind as he scrambled to catch up, not wanting to be left alone in the dark.

"They should be along this path," he said, mostly to himself. Not a minute later, he saw the glow of blue, green, and orange mushrooms up ahead. He smirked slightly. It was nice to be right about some things, sometimes.

Draco bent down wordlessly and began picking the blue mushrooms. After the first few, he noticed his hands were then glowing bright blue as well. He peeked at Potter to find the other watching him apathetically.

Draco stuck out his tongue with a little curl of his lip before wiping them off as best he could on his pants—and now he had glowing trousers as well—before using his wand—glowing wand handle, brilliant—and finishing off using a levitation spell.

After his basket was filled with the mushrooms, he began filling Potter's basket with blue mushrooms as well. As an afterthought, he shaved off the top layer of blue mushrooms and covered the lot with orange and green, just to drive Hagrid 'round the bend when he checked on them the next morning.

"Any objections?" Draco inquired tiredly.

Potter said nothing, merely sighing.

"Lovely." He levitated a green mushroom and lobbed it at Potter's head.

The startled Gryffindor yelped and glared at him, readjusting his glasses and attempting to wipe the green glow out of his hair. It did little more than spread to his hands and the rim of his lenses, which made him scowl.

"Any objections?" Draco repeated drolly.

Potter glowered at him before jerkily snatching up his basket and making back for the castle.

Draco, startled, swiftly grabbed his own basket and hastened to catch up. "Some look-out, you are. What do you say to that, Savior of the Wizarding World, Except for Draco Malfoy?"

Potter's single look was scathing.

Draco grimaced. "Too long? I'll think of a better epithet. Give it some time, Potter."

Potter sighed inaudibly.

They re-climbed over the fallen trees, leaving glowing handprints in their wake. Draco kind of liked it. He must have stared too long because Potter was watching him.

"That doesn't look so lonely, does it?" he murmured, gazing at the handprints, blue and green, side by side. "Must be what it's like to have friends." He peered back at Potter, who was also admiring the markings left on the wood.

After a silence, Potter looked at him.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "This is where you pipe in with your input, seeing as you actually have a couple."

Potter blinked at him.

"Not good friends?" Draco asked.

Potter frowned at him.

"S'alright, Potter. I'll be your friend."

Potter's expression outright soured.

Draco huffed, trying not to be offended. "Well, I'm still not hearing any objections, and look where it's gotten us. I'd say this is a good choice."

Potter turned, growled to himself, and stomped on. Draco soon fell in step beside him, and after he was chastened by a glare, he walked slightly behind Potter instead.

But Draco smiled to himself. He hadn't felt this energetic in months. Turns out, he always had energy to harass Potter. Huh. Who knew.

They both froze at the sound of growling, and drew their wands as a snout followed by two glistening black eyes came into view. It was a Hidebehind, judging by the appearance and the silvery fur. That would explain how neither himself nor Potter had managed to spot the bloody beast before it was already on them.

Draco gulped, raising his wand higher defensively.

The Hidebehind saw this and lost it entirely, rearing back and throwing out a big, meaty claw.

Potter shoved him out of the way with a grunt, leaving a green hand print on the blond's chest, just as he threw up a shield charm which shattered on impact.

The next second, the bear-like spectre lurched forward, jaw stretching on its hinges and opening wide enough to, very likely, fit the entirety of the Golden Boy's head in its mouth.

Draco screamed, flashes of the war ripping through his mind. He grappled with Potter's cloak, leaving hasty, glowing blue smudges until he managed to pull Potter away, thankfully just in time as that powerful jaw snapped shut and the creature careened forward to make up for the momentum.

Potter opened his mouth, maybe to berate him, maybe to cast a spell—he always looked rather angry when he was in battle, didn't he?—but Draco beat him to it when he fired off a stunner, panic making him swifter.

The behemoth fell with a crash, and Draco and Potter, both panting, watched it with a sort of detached fascination.

Draco slowly looked at Potter, who stared back at him, just as wide-eyed.

"You know," Draco wheezed, "it worries me a bit that it always takes a near-death experience for me to remember that I'm not the saddest sod out there."

Potter's face crumbled and for a horrifying moment, Draco thought he was going to cry. Instead, he choked out a laugh, and it looked like it hurt.

Draco cupped his cheeks, trying to steady his breathing, and let one hand slide up to run through his undoubtedly disheveled hair.

Potter took one look at him, and then he doubled over and was laughing harder.

Draco stared, more horrified than he'd been at the Hidebehind.

He pinched the bridge of his nose to ease the headache he felt coming on, and ran his thumbs over his eyelids before he let his hands fall.

Potter was on the ground, clutching his stomach, face red and sweaty as he laughed so hard, he looked in pain.

Draco just watched. He watched as Potter slowly calmed, as his breathing evened, as his eyes fluttered shut.

They didn't open.

Draco saw the slow rise and fall of his chest just before he remembered the bags beneath Potter's eyes.

He sighed, lifted the baskets, and walked over to Potter. Then, he levitated the other boy with his wand and began his trek back to castle.

After he deposited the baskets at the door of Hagrid's hut, Draco took his opportunity to run his thumb along Potter's lips and plant both his hands on Potter's pecs, giving them a grope before backing up with a snigger. He considered also copping a feel, just so Potter would look thoroughly debauched with glowing blue lips, prints suggesting he enjoyed his chest being fondled, and a bright patch over his nether regions, as though he had come out of a hot session with a blue stranger, but didn't want to cross that line.

Feeling content with himself, he continued levitating Potter to the infirmary. He shrugged, acting innocent at Pomfrey's wary glance—she didn't really trust him yet, either—and it wasn't until he returned to his quarters that he saw the glowing mess of his own face. Handprints on his cheeks, spots at his inner eyes and smeared across his eyelids like poorly applied eyeshadow. There was a streak of blue in his pale hair as well, and, well, Draco rather liked that.

He snorted his own laugh before shaking his head and heading towards the showers. He washed off the colors, hoping belatedly that it wasn't poisonous and wondering why that mattered. Just this morning he was wondering why he was still alive. Not in a suicidal way, but in a, 'why am I bothering with these people and their scorn? Why don't I run off and become a recluse, living off of the remainder of the Malfoy and Lestrange fortune with Mother? Why not? Why stay?' sort of way.

He sighed, enjoying the cool water as it slid off his heated skin.

Well, for one thing, it was nice being able to shower without a house elf surreptitiously peeking in on him to assure he was still breathing. He knew his mother meant well when ordering them to even after Draco demanded they don't —"You've really nothing to be ashamed of, dear,"—but there were some things he preferred stay left alone. She would have to ascertain herself that he wouldn't abandon her like her husband in less humiliating ways.

He turned off the water.


Hagrid sighed. "What'd ye do this time, 'Arry?"

Potter shrugged.

Hagrid sighed again. "Go to the Herbology rooms, lads. Yer needed there more than y'are 'ere."

They walked in silence. Potter didn't ask about the blue markings he'd been left with the night prior, and Draco didn't ask why Potter's chest was so oddly nice to squeeze. They didn't feel like breasts, obviously, but Potter's pectorals were not rock hard with bulging muscle, either. Obviously. No, his chest was firm, but thick, and warm, and Draco rather wanted to grope him again and was disturbed enough by his own line of thought that he decided not to look at Potter at all, in fear of wanting to grope other parts.

Potter, however, didn't seem to share these sentiments.

After Professor Sprout set them to work re-potting plants which had grown too large for their old ones, Potter grabbed his materials and settled down right next to Draco.

"I was doing research on that thing we saw yesterday," Potter said, voice quiet.

"Oh, so we're talking now?" Draco's plant was wilting sadly.

"Found out it was something called a Hidebehind."

"Well, of course. What else could it be?" Draco frowned at the pot before him, absentmindedly running his finger along the crack in its side. The plant perked up in interest.

Potter watched his finger idly. "Turns out, they're extremely dangerous."

Draco tapped his wand against the pot, whispering a soft incarnation. The crack flowed with yellow magic for a moment before mending itself.

"They are, however, very sensitive to light. That's probably how it found us. The handprints."

The plant warily straightened up, stem oddly curved due to being bent at so severe of an angle for so long.

"Are you blaming yesterday on me?" Draco asked hollowly, staring at the plant happily situated in its too-small pot.

"No. I think that's why you stunned it so easily—why it was so careless. Because we were glowing, and all. So. Thanks, I suppose."

Draco looked at Potter, blatantly surprised. "Say that again."

Potter rolled his eyes, turning away from him and leaning forward as if to stand up.

Draco grabbed his wrist, eyes fluttering shut briefly as he held Potter in place. "Just... one more time. Say it. Please." He sounded pained.

When he opened his eyes, Potter was staring at him, lips parted, eyes big.

"Thank you," he repeated quietly.

Draco released him, ducking his head in both shame and flattery before turning back to the plant.

Potter was silent, probably still staring at him, and Draco felt anxious beneath his gaze, and guilty for what he had to do to the plant, so he lashed out, shoving the pot aside and into the done pile before yanking another plant towards him and levitating it roughly into a new pot.

Potter crouched down next to him, abruptly, quickly, before yanking at Draco's arm.

"He-" he began to protest before he was cut off swiftly with Potter's mouth pressing against his own.

Draco froze, tensing up, and Potter's grip on his arm tightened briefly before he pulled away.

His face was still close, his eyes searching.

"Did you feel anything? Just now?"

Draco could barely hear over his pulse thundering in his ears.

"Like what?" he asked faintly. Your breath on my skin? Your hand on my arm? Your hair tickling my nose? Your mouth against mine?

"Your heart. Is it... racing? More than usual?"

"My heart doesn't usually race, Potter."

"Well? Is it?" the Gryffindor persisted, leaning closer, as if to hear it.

Draco leaned away in fear that he might. "Why does it matter? What are you doing?"

"Yesterday, my heart was racing," Potter whispered, still looking in his eyes, and it was all too close for Draco. "I thought that, maybe, it was the attack, but I've been attacked several times in my life."

Draco swallowed a little too loudly for his liking, and Potter's intense gaze didn't waver.

"I figured, maybe it was you. When you pulled me aside to stun that thing. And when you grabbed me just now, when you asked me that. And, so, I kissed you, and it's just racing more. I haven't felt anything in awhile," he said, voice odd and uncomfortably close.

Draco had never considered someone's voice being too close, too intimate, but Potter's most definitely was. Of course it was. This was Potter.

"That sounds like you have a thing for me," he scoffed.

Potter regarded him.

"Maybe," he said, finally.

Draco gaped, mouth swinging open. "What?"

Potter looked a tad defensive at that, finally leaning back and putting some breathing space between them, which Draco hadn't noticed he needed until suddenly he could breathe in without breathing everything Potter.

"Well, Hermione and Ron have always said I was a little obsessed."

"Because we hate each other."

"We do?" Potter asked, looking surprised.

Draco bit the inside of his cheek lightly. "No. Not really, anymore."

"So, yeah."

"No, not, 'so, yeah'! Just because we don't hate each other doesn't mean we fancy each other!"

Potter abruptly flushed bright red. "I never said I fancied you!" he exclaimed, voice high.

"And you were rude to me yesterday!"

"I'm sort of like that with everyone, now," Potter admitted, calming slightly, though he was still pink. "It's more tiresome to pretend to be happy all the time."

"Yes, well, I don't like it," Draco decided.

"Alright," Potter said slowly, looking at him. "I won't be like that with you anymore."

Draco didn't like the sound of that. Rather, he didn't like how much he liked the sound of that.

"I'm not gay," he said, instead, because he should have said that first, really.

"Oh," Potter said.

Draco didn't like the way he said that, either. It wasn't surprised, really, and not insinuative, either. Just... neutral. As though Draco's sexuality didn't really matter, in the grand scheme of things. As though he knew something Draco didn't.

"Yeah," he repeated anyway. "So don't kiss me again without my permission."

"Oh." There was that blasted word again. "Alright." Fuck Potter. "Can I kiss you again with your permission?"

Draco blinked. "I suppose. Yes, consent is important. Unless you're planning on drugging me-"

Potter reeled back, appalled. "I would never!"

"Then why were you asking such a dodgy question!"

"Well," Potter began in a voice as though Draco were slow, "what if, some day, you want me to you kiss you? I'll know I need only ask."

Draco wrinkled his face in distaste. "Sure, Potter."

"What if, what if you were dared to?" Potter asked, and his tongue darted out to dab at his lower lip for a second, leaving it shiny.

Draco eyed him warily. "What if I kissed you again, right now, and then you don't bring this up again?"

Potter worried his lip between his teeth, making it red, and looked at him behind his ridiculous glasses.

"Yeah," Potter whispered, "alright."

Draco didn't like the thrill that ran up his spine.

Potter just watched him.

"Well?" he asked, a little too impatiently to his own ears.

Potter ducked his head shyly.

Draco rolled his eyes before reaching forward and plucking the spectacles from Potter's face.

"I can't see you," Potter said, leaning in too close too quickly.

"You don't need to see," he mumbled before leaning in.

He lifted one hand to card through Potter's ridiculous hair before settling it against his neck, cradling it as he pulled Potter nearer, changing the angle of their mouths a bit.

"Oh," Potter breathed against him, and Draco licked a stripe along that bottom lip of his before plunging his tongue inside, and Potter, the brute, fisted the front of Draco's robes tragically.

Potter wasn't cute when he kissed, Draco thought as he licked the inside of Potter's mouth, avoiding the other boy's tongue, just to be difficult. Potter screwed up his eyes like he was hurting, clenched his hands and ruined others' robes like he didn't want it, even though they both knew he did. Judging by Potter's little surprised noises and eager sounds, he very much did.

When Draco pulled back, his lips remained parted as he panted, and he watched the string of saliva connecting them with a surprising lack of disgust.

He looked at Potter through lidded eyes, and the other boy grabbed him by the front of his robes once more before hauling him close.

"Wait," Potter said, before pressing into him again, fervent hands sliding up to hold his face as Potter slanted their mouths and ravaged him.

This was a snog, Draco thought, lightheaded. This was snogging, what it felt like, why people liked it so much.

Potter used him, used his mouth like it was his only means of pleasure, like Draco's mouth was all he wanted, not Draco himself.

Draco kissed him back, trying to push Potter back a bit, but Potter moaned loudly and raked his hands up and down Draco's sides.

Draco bit Potter's lip, hard, and Potter jerked back with a yelp.

He was panting, eyes wide but hazy, as he lifted one hand to prod at the vertical cut at the corner of his bottom lip.

There was blood, and Potter licked it away with a swipe of his tongue.

"Malfoy?" he asked.

Draco wordlessly plucked his glasses from the ground. They were covered in stray mulch and smudged with fingerprints, so Draco cast a quick spell before returning them.

They fairly gleamed when Potter slid them back on the bridge of his nose.

"Are we good?" Draco asked, pleased to find his voice even.

Potter stared at him. He dabbed at his cut with his tongue again and Draco was tempted to do the same with his own tongue, disturbingly enough.

"Yeah," Potter said, and Draco felt angry, all of a sudden.

"Fine," he snapped, before rising and grabbing his bag and his wand.

"What about detention?"

"You can handle it, can't you?" Draco asked, looking down at him apathetically.

Potter licked his lip again. "Yeah," he said.

Draco nodded before turning and leaving the room, fuming the whole time.