Title: Making Amends

Series: Broken Glass
Author: Prinzeßin Eilís
Fandom: Harry Potter
Type(s): Chapter-work
Genre(s): Smut, Angst
Content Rating: Explicit/X/M/NC-17
Summary: Harry makes it up to Malfoy in a way he really didn't exect
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.

A/N: This has not been Beta'd or Brit-picked. If you see a mistake, please point it out so I can fix it.

It's been a week.

It's been a week and he can't stop thinking about it. About the fight. About that fucking book. About Ginny in the Room of Hidden Things. That kiss...

About Malfoy.

About the fact that he was crying (and how had Harry forgotten he was crying?). That he was about to Crucio him. That he almost died.

God, he almost killed Draco Malfoy. He almost killed Draco Malfoy. Yes, he hates the bastard. Yes, he wishes all sorts of unpleasantness and pain upon the arsehole, but not death. Never death. Entirely too many people have died because of Harry already, and for one to be by his own hand because of his own ignorance and stupidity – in a school fight!

This war is fucking with his head. Not like it wasn't already all he thought about. Not like it wasn't already his entire reason for existing in the first place, but-

He can't do all of this on his own. Where the fuck are the adults who are supposed to know what they're doing? These people can't put all this responsibility on him and expect him to handle it. He needs to stop thinking he can handle everything by himself. Shouldn't he have learned this lesson already with Sirius?

God, but he almost did the same fucking thing, didn't he? Always thinking he knows better, that he can handle it when he can't! He can't, he can't, and –

Fuck there was a lot of blood, and his face- He's been replaying that picture over and over in his mind for the last week, like some kind of sick wizarding photograph, and every morning he wakes up with the sound of Draco Malfoy's agonized crying echoing in his ears. He hasn't slept since it happened.

He's tried. God and Merlin know he's tried. Tried to rationalize that he didn't mean to do that much damage, that it was in self defence anyway, that it wasn't his fault. Tried to bury the memory, focus on something else; on Ginny. Beautiful, lovely, wonderful Ginny. On the feel of her lips, feather soft against his own in the Room of Requirement- or Hidden Things, whatever-. Barely there but so sweet. So perfect. And she was so close and warm; much better than that mess with Cho. (And why can't he ever manage to kiss a girl outside that room? Is he Requiring them somehow? That makes it all seem rather dubious, now that he thinks about it. He really needs to stop thinking and go to sleep.) Even the memory of Ginny's red hair and soft pale skin though, doesn't help him forget because in his mind that hair turns platinum blonde and the red is entirely unnatural, and that skin is far too pale; deathly pale, and blue eyes turn to pained silver, and-

This is driving him mad. He needs to talk to Malfoy.

After not nearly enough sleep, and a day spent obsessively tracking Malfoy all over the castle (thankfully this wasn't much different from any other time, so no one questioned him about it), Harry finally managed to find Malfoy on his own.

Well. "Find." It was after hours, Ron and Hermione out doing their rounds as prefects, and Harry was discreetly studying the Map, when he saw the Slytherin make his way out of the dungeons alone. Seizing his chance, Harry quickly donned his invisibility cloak, and tracked the moving dot labelled "Draco Malfoy" all the way to the Prefect's bathroom.

Malfoy had just gone in a couple minutes before, and Harry almost followed him in before he was forcibly struck with the memory of the last time he'd barged in on Malfoy in a bathroom. Harry reared back from the heavy, wooden door, stricken and resolved to simply wait outside until he was finished.

Mumbling out a hastened "Mischief managed", Harry folded the map up and anxiously began to pace back and forth in front of the door. More than once he nearly gave up on the endeavour altogether and tried to flee, but not half way down the hall, he'd berate himself for his decidedly un-Gryffindor cowardice, and turn back around. Eventually he figured it would be better if he sat down. Probably seem less antagonistic anyway, which would be a good thing, considering.

Huffing, Harry sat impatiently against the wall facing the bathroom, tapping his fingers against his trouser-clad knees. As his knuckles grazed the sleek material of his cloak for the eighth time, Harry remembered the last time Malfoy had caught him skulking invisibly, and ripped the offending cloth off his head, bundling it up in his lap.

'Good Lord,' he thought fretfully, 'is there anything that won't start a duel between us?' Then he remembered that this was Draco Malfoy he was talking about, and no, there wasn't. In fact, he was almost guaranteed to return to the tower covered in his own blood again, if he returned at all, and Malfoy didn't AK him on sight. Maybe he should have warned his friends. Maybe he should have written out a Will beforehand. Maybe he should have left his wand back in his dorm- but no, Malfoy will probably start a fight, and Harry will need to be prepared to defend himself. Non-lethal defence of course. Spells he knows. And has used before. On second thought, maybe he should just cast a quick Expelliarmus right at the get-go, nip the impending attack in the bud- but no, that'll just put Malfoy on the defensive, and make him think that Harry's come to start a fight with him so-

Caught up in his considerations, worrying his cloak in his clenched fists, Harry actually missed the door opening silently (it must have been enchanted, there's no way a door that big would be so quiet). It wasn't actually until he heard Malfoy swear out in surprise that he realized that his moment was upon him.

"Shit!" he burst out, stumbling to his feet and hurriedly trying to organize his burdens in order to spread his arms in what was hopefully a non-threatening display, while Malfoy grappled for his wand.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Potter?!" Malfoy snarled, holding his wand out defensively. Harry noticed he was wearing a Slytherin Prefect bath robe open to reveal black silk pyjamas, which really didn't surprise Harry in the least, except that it was so informal that for a moment, he forgot what he was going to say.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for being out after hours!" Malfoy declared, snapping Harry out of his observation. The brunet made a face somewhere between a wince, a frown, and a scowl, which probably didn't look very attractive. "Now I'll ask again, Potter: What the fuck do you think you're doing here? Did you come to finish the job, is that it?"

"No!" Harry actually paled at that, though he really should have expected it. "No, Malfoy I came to apologise!" He extended his arm placatingly, wincing when Malfoy flinched. "Please, just put down your wand, Christ, I'm not here to attack you. I swear, I'm just here to talk."

The Slytherin eyed him warily for a moment before slowly lowering his wand. Harry let out a relieved breath.

"Talk?" he asked disbelievingly. "You actually came here to apologise? To me." He gave a derisive snort. "Forgive me if I don't believe you." Even still, he made no move to raise his wand again, instead crossing his arms defensively across his chest and leaning back away from Harry, against the door frame.

Sighing through his nose, Harry shuffled his cloak to one arm, and slowly, deliberately, slid his wand into the back pocket of his trousers, watching as Malfoy tracked his movements with narrowed, silver eyes. Hugging his cloak to his chest, he looked back at Malfoy's pale, thin face, noting as if for the first time, how unwell the other boy appeared. He'd lost half a stone this year, at least, and his face seemed even pointier than usual, add to that the fact that his normally pale skin looked downright pasty, and the obvious bruises under his eyes which couldn't be recent given how profound they were (maybe he'd been using glamours?). This image culminating with the untreated hair and pyjama-clad body, and Malfoy looked positively vulnerable. Well, that at least made Harry's task easier.

"Look, Malfoy," he started, "I really am sorry about what happened. I know it's no excuse, but I honestly didn't know what that spell did. I never meant to hurt you like that."

"Bullshit."

Harry's eyes snapped up from where he had been tracing the lines of stone on the floor. He opened his mouth to reply, but Malfoy cut him off.

"That was dark magic, Potter. I know you don't understand magical theory because you were raised by muggles, and you rely on Granger to know everything for you, but dark magic requires intent. As in when you perform a spell, you have to mean it. You don't just accidentally do dark magic, you idiot. If a spell is meant to kill, you need to be willing kill. If a spell is meant to torture you need to be meaning that, as well. You may not have meant to do what that spell did, but you had the gist of it well enough, so don't you fucking stand there like the self righteous icon of Gryffindor Morality that everyone seems to think you are, and tell me you 'didn't mean to hurt me', because if you didn't mean it, it wouldn't have fucking happened!" Malfoy was panting now, furious with his fists clenched and knuckles white; Harry was surprised to see that he hadn't broken his wand.

Thinning his lips, Harry raised his hand, raking it through his messy curls. "Alright, yeah. I did mean to hurt you. The spell said it was meant for an 'enemy', and you were one. I didn't mean to wound you – I mean, you nearly died, Malfoy! I didn't want to kill you! Incapacitate you, yeah, but not that! Not-" He cut himself off, and inhaled sharply through his nose. "God, Malfoy, seeing you like that was just... I'm sorry." He met the blond's molten gaze, and earnestly pleaded with him to understand that Harry was sorry.

"I feel... I feel bloody awful about all of this Malfoy. I can't get it out of my head. I want to make it up to you, somehow. Please, is there anything I can do that could make up for this? Within reason, I mean, I can't..." he trailed off, unsure. He hadn't actually meant to say that, but what else was he supposed to do? Just saying 'sorry' seemed so fucking inadequate.

Malfoy scoffed. "Can you 'do something' for me? What can you possibly have to offer me that can make up for trying to killing me? What the fuck do you expect, Potter? What, do you intend to just blow me or something and call it even?"

Harry sucked in a breath, blinking wide-eyed. 'What?...'

For a moment Harry just stared, brows creased, unthinking. After almost half a minute had gone by, Malfoy raised his eyebrows, and flung his arm out in an impatient gesture. "Well, Potter?"

Harry gulped. "Is that what you want?" he asked in a small voice.

The other boy narrowed his eyes in confusion. "Is what what I want? I didn't say anyth-" His eyes widened in clarity, "Do I want a blow job, you mean? No, that was sarcasm, Potter, I didn't actually ask you to suck my bloody cock. Merlin."

Harry felt his face heat in realisation, "Oh," he said unintelligently, mentally scolding himself for taking the Slytherin seriously.

Malfoy didn't let him off so easily, though, having caught on to Harry's mistake.

"You thought I was being serious?"

The Gryffindor huffed, frustrated, and turned away, "Piss off, Malfoy, forget it."

Malfoy barked a sharp laugh, though, and didn't. "You were actually offering to give me a blow job to make it up to me." His grey eyes shone in disbelief, and a cruel smile twisted his lips.

"How am I supposed to know if you were being serious or not?" Harry snapped. "Look, it was stupid, I was just feeling really guilty, and I wanted to get this off my chest. It's fine, whatever. I made my apology, I said my piece, I give up."

Face flaming, shoulders pulled up to his ears, Harry tightened his hold on his cloak, and twisted sharply in the direction of Gryffindor tower.

Before he could make (a brisk walk, not a run!) for it, however, he felt long, cold fingers, wrapping themselves around the wrist of his free hand.

"I accept."

What?

Harry turned around so fast he got whip lash, arm twisting awkwardly in the other boy's firm hold. "What?"

Malfoy looked at him strangely, and licked his lips, never letting go of Harry's wrist, as if to make sure he wouldn't flee (which, to be fair, he probably would have).

"I accept your offer."

Mouth opening and closing like a fish, Harry looked around as if to find Crabbe and Goyle lurking around with a video camera (did wizards even have film?). "Wh- Um. What? You- What? You- You- you... want me to... to..." he stuttered, unable to get the words out, settling for looking vaguely horrified in the direction of Malfoy's silken crotch.

"Suck me off, yes." And there was a distinctly mocking look to his eyes now, which were twinkling in amusement, mixed with some other emotion Harry couldn't decipher. "You give me one blow job, and we're even. Your guilt assuaged, justice delivered, compensation made; we can go back to hating each other like before, no harm done. Deal?"

Harry could see the challenge in his eyes. The silent 'Scared, Potter?' echoing between them, as clear as if he'd said it out loud. This time, he knew Malfoy was being serious. He squared his shoulders and raised his chin defiantly (he wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing). "Fine."

Oh, Hecate, Mother of Magic, was this actually happening?

Draco stared at Potter's face in wonder for a moment. Was he really about to get sucked off by the Boy-Who-Lived? Was this actually his life?

Yes. Yes it was.

Shaking his head, he tightened his grip on Potter's thin wrist, turning to look down the hallway in case any well-meaning prefects came by. Satisfied that they were alone, Draco smirked and nodded toward the still-open door to the Prefect's bathroom. "C'mon, Potter, in here."

Without waiting, Draco tugged the shorter boy along behind him, flicking his wand to close and lock the door behind them. Wouldn't do to have Weasley and Granger come barging in and interrupting them midway through (Merlin knows they wouldn't understand).

Once secure in their privacy, Draco finally let the Gryffindor go. Chewing on his bottom lip, he tapped his wand against his thigh. How to go about doing this. It was one thing to talk about it, but quite another to actually have a willing Harry Potter at his mercy. (Well. 'Willing'.) Steeling himself, he nodded, walked around Potter so he could stand braced against the bathroom wall, tucked the open-folds of his dressing gown behind him, and gestured to the floor at his feet. "Alright, Potter. Go on and kneel just there." The Gryffindor hesitated, and Draco cast a cushioning charm on the stone, raising his eyebrows the the brunet when he was done.

Potter swallowed audibly, glancing back and forth between Draco's face and the floor, before slowly approaching and folding up his bloody impossible cloak to lay between Draco's feet. Potter looked at him, green eyes glowing with his unspoken challenge, and knelt.

Oh, this is going to be fun.

Draco smirked and slowly thumbed down his sleep-pants, leaving them bunched around his thighs, freeing his half-hard cock.

The brunet gasped, and Draco imagined that his ears, hidden beneath his curls, were burning. Shamed and intimidated or not, however, he also saw how the boy's eyes darkened and his mouth fell open. He was scared, yes, but it was obvious that he wanted it.

Draco wondered if he was aware of that, or if he was just as oblivious as he was about everything else about himself. (Probably the latter.)

As Potter pushed his ridiculous glasses up his nose, Draco slipped his wand behind his ear and lowered his hand to grip his- ahem- other wand.

Fingers wrapped loosely around his cock, he slowly stroked his thickening length, enjoying Potter's enraptured expression as he pulled on the hood of his foreskin to reveal the pink mushroomed head beneath. Draco didn't hurry, was content to take his time and let his reluctant lover get a good look at what he would soon be taking, get him gagging for it. The sight of those AK-green eyes staring enthralled at his cock, of that pink tongue wetting those soft, dry lips, eager to get a taste of what Draco was teasing him with... The blond found himself fully erect rather quickly.

As his cock jutted out out in front of him, he saw Potter make a little aborted jerk in his direction and decided it was time to get to the fun part.

Harry had no idea how he had gotten here.

Nowhere is his plan to apologise to Malfoy did sucking him off ever make an appearance.

What was he even supposed to do?

He'd seen pictures – wizarding photographs in dirty magazines. He'd heard stories from Seamus who was openly bisexual, but even still. Even still, Harry had never really looked at another bloke's bits. Had never had anyone else near his own. He had no idea what he was actually supposed to do with his mouth, or- or-

Harry wasn't gay.

At least, he didn't think so.

But.

Staring at Malfoy's long, thick cock which looked so different from Harry's own – pale and pink where Harry's own was dark and red at the tip, longer than Harry's, though near about the same thickness, with a prominent, pulsing vein. It stood out away from the boy's body, curving up toward the ceiling, with a thatch of straight fair hair at the base which hid nothing of the firm bollocks hanging tight between pale thighs. He wondered if the wispy strands continued up Malfoy's stomach under the black silk night shirt. He wondered if this hair shone like the hair on Malfoy's head when it was in the Sun.

He licked his lips and wondered what it tasted like. Harry almost leaned forward to find out, but stopped himself, clenching his fists.

Suddenly he saw Malfoy's left hand dart forward, and almost flinched when long fingers wound through his hair and jerked his head nearer to Malfoy's groin. Right hand gripping his base, fingers toying with his bollocks, left guiding Harry right there.

"Alright, Potter. I'll tell you what to do, so you needn't worry. For now, I just want you to lick me. Get my cock nice and wet for me. Go on." He sounded a little breathless now, which made Harry feel a little better.

Another soft tug, and Malfoy's prick was resting against his cheek, to the left of his nose. Harry inhaled, smelling the sharp scent of arousal cutting through the lingering traces of sweet soap. He licked his lips again, then turned his head and set his tongue on the pale flesh resting there.

Harry looked to the blond for reassurance, then tentatively reached up to hold the hard organ in his hand as he bent his head and followed that throbbing vein with his tongue.

Immediately Malfoy groaned, hips jerking forward even as his head leant back. Feeling his confidence boosted, Harry pressed firmer with his tongue, still licking from base to tip in broad swipes. Malfoy removed his hand, placing it with its partner on Harry's head and giving him free reign to manipulate the appendage to his liking.

Harry used his hand to stroke and spread the slickness along Malfoy's shaft, as he placed wet kisses all along the base, massaging the flesh with his tongue, nose buried in golden hair.

Apple scented soap. Musk. Sex. Harry had never smelled a boy before. Or, he had never really noticed anyway, apart from quidditch sweat and BO and the general odour that lingers in a boys toilet or dormitory, which really was nothing like this at all. He recalled Ginny smelling vaguely floral. He wondered if she would smell similar between her legs. If she would smell as deep, if he would be able to taste her on her tongue with every inhale. If her wet slick would taste anything like the salty, woody flavour on his tongue now.

His eyes were half-lidded as he explored, guiding the rigid sex to his lips so Harry could lick at the precome beading at the pink tip. The taste was familiar, not so different from his own.

Malfoy gasped and the hand in Harry's hair squeezed causing him to wince a little and look up.

"Ah! Alright that's... good. Good." He cleared his throat, shaking his head a little to clear it. "Now I want you to open your mouth wide and cover your teeth with your lips like this," he showed Harry what to do, then, setting the head of his cock at Harry's lips, he gently moved him down, pushing the brunet to take it in. He didn't go very deep, thankfully, but rather than let Harry adjust to the feeling of the weight on his tongue, he tugged at his curls and pulled him back up, starting a slow rhythm, leaving Harry to adjust his mouth and his breathing in order to keep up.

Shuffling closer on his knees, Harry set his hands on Malfoy's naked, jutting hips and closed his eyes to Malfoy's slow rocking.

"Ohh... Merlin. I knew you'd look good like this, Potter- ungh!" he stopped himself from thrusting his hips, instead letting one hand wander to the back of Harry's neck, fingers petting the soft, damp skin there. "Okay, now try to use your tongue and suck a bit- kinda- uhhhm- hollow out your cheeks and make some- mmm- suction."

Harry hummed his affirmation and was rewarded with a deep, shuddering gasp. Immediately he tried to do as Malfoy told him, hollowing his cheeks and sliding his tongue along the hard sex as Malfoy guided him deeper. Harry tried to keep his mouth and throat opened and relaxed, but still he gagged when the tip grazed the back of his tongue. Malfoy pet his hair in apology, and Harry squeezed the pale hips with his fingers, determinedly moving forward to take him as deep as he could.

The Slytherin was continually making loud moans and groans and harsh gasps and pants, and Harry found the noises spurred him on. Draco had stopped guiding him now, and Harry sped his pace, taking Draco's cock almost to the root as he tried to keep up the manoeuvres that he had been taught. One hand slipped down to play with Draco's bollocks as he'd seen the other boy do earlier, and Draco couldn't stop himself from jerking forward, thrusting into the hot, wet mouth on his sex.

"Ohhh, yeah, Potter that's it, Luv, just like that," he cooed mindlessly as he felt his balls draw tight. "Mmmmmm... gonna come..." he warned, and Harry obligingly took his lips away. Draco looked down to see Harry gazing up at him with his pupils blown, rimmed with brilliant green, his lips bruised and wet with spittle still connected to the tip of his cock, arousal colouring his pale cheeks, glasses sliding down his sweat-slick nose, cock tented in his trousers, and Draco couldn't help but come.

Biting his lip and nearly snarling, Draco took his pleasure in long, pulsing waves, only barely having the presence of mind to aim for Potter's stupid glasses.

Harry flinched as the warm wetness hit his face, splashing against his lips and cheek, then up across his glasses, causing him to scowl.

As Harry sat confused and aroused, hair a mess, and covered in cum, Draco muttered a cleaning charm and set himself to rights. The Gryffindor moved to wipe the fluid from his face, but Draco caught him once again by the wrist, and hauled him up. Taking Harry's chin in hand, Draco turned his head and licked a swipe along Harry's cheek, tasting salty skin mixed with his own come.

"Thanks Potter," he said in a surprisingly sincere tone. "I really needed that. Consider yourself forgiven." Then, with a sharp grin, he reached down and squeezed Harry's neglected erection through his trousers, surprising Harry into an orgasm of his own.

Crying out, Harry's legs gave way and he slid back onto the floor.

As he sat in a heap on the stone coming down from his unexpected climax, come cooling rapidly in his pants, he realised that Malfoy was gone.

What the hell just happened?