DISCLAIMER/ CREDITS:
Many of you Drarry-shippers are familiar with the Drarry classic "Sex Magic," by the amazing VelvetBlood. My fic takes place as if the events in "Sex Magic" have already occurred in their past (i.e, HP and DM have already hooked up "against their will" after confessing their attraction to one another under the influence of Veritaserum, which continued multiple times, and both boys secretly desired it but denied their feelings to one another). My fic operates on the assumption that: Sex Magic took place in their sixth year, and both boys, embarrassed and confused, vowed to forget anything ever happened between them, and that they only hooked up because they were "forced" (and afterward avoid each other at all costs, though they both still think about it). Part of why I liked Sex Magic so much was because 1) It made feelings between HP/DM seem believable, and 2) It was written in a J.K. Rowling-esque style, which I tried to preserve here. There are several references to Sex Magic throughout this fic, which I denoted with an asterisk "*". I do not take credit for such events. The characters in this story belong to J.K. Rowling.

BACKGROUND:

After the Malfoys' attempted escape post-battle, Narcissa Malfoy has met her fate by the dementors while on the run and Lucius has been imprisoned. Harry arrives at the scene upon seeing Malfoy and Narcissa fighting the dementors, just minutes too late—his Patronus couldn't save her. The fic picks up here, at which point Voldemort has just been vanquished, Hogwarts students are united, and Malfoy is left without a mother and father. Though they took the rest of the school year off after the battle, they have been required to return for a semester during the following year, to finish up the schooling they missed. In addition to providing some closure post-Sex-Magic, the current fic essentially serves as a window into Harry's "memories" regarding Malfoy.

An Unexpected Arrival

~Year seven, one month before the schoolyear ends~

At the edge of the vast forest stretched a wide and grassy field upon which Harry now stood, a tangible sensation of spongy earth underneath worn-down soles. He was acutely aware of his own presence, speechless and immobile— and face to face with Draco Malfoy.

It was dark outside, and the Slytherin boy's smooth, pale complexion and unmistakable silvery hair was illuminated eerily in the moonlight. Malfoy was bent over his mother's motionless body, holding her limp hand tightly in his. Harry felt slightly lightheaded, as if in a dream, yet it was clear to him just how the other boy was feeling at the moment.

"If there's anyone who knows," started Harry quietly, a million thoughts reeling through his head as he heard his own voice echo through the silence, "what it's like to lose your parents, I do. Like losing your protection, your security." Malfoy was listening intently, his cold, grey eyes narrowed, an unreadable expression on his face. Oh god, Harry thought, here I go, I'm babbling. Except this time, neither of them was under the influence of Veritaserum.* Harry silently recited Albus's last words to Malfoy in his head. I once knew a boy…who made all the wrong choices.

"You don't!" Malfoy snarled, turning his head away, "I have no one now, no one! You still had people who believed in you at least! At least you still had friends!"

"But you've got your own friends too! Isn't that what you've been building up your seven years here? They're practically your fan club…" Harry said incredulously.

"You call Crabbe or Goyle a friend?" Malfoy spat, still gripping his mother's lifeless wrist so tightly that the skin turned even paler. "They're so dumb they wouldn't even know what that word means! Parkinson is a complete nuisance, and Zabini just looks down on everyone! At least my mum was always there!"

"Well, have you actually tried giving more people a chance?" Harry retorted, his voice rising.

"Tried giving people a chance? Tried?!" Malfoy looked desperate as he let a high-pitched, crazed sort of laugh. "Do you really not remember? I was…the first person you met in the wizarding world to reach out to you as a friend. I introduced myself to you first at Madam Malkin's, and then on the train I offered you my hand and asked you to be my friend! But oh no, the famous Saint Potter thought he was too good for me! Ha!" Malfoy hid his face again, disgusted with himself, but the words kept spilling.

"So from then on I vowed to prove you wrong, to be superior to you, show you what you'd be missing and that you should've chosen the better crowd," he seethed, "but you chose Gryffindor, and made friends with all the wrong people, like the Mudblood girl and that redheaded Weasley git."

"Malfoy, you insulted my friends before even getting to know them. Your choices were based upon their blood and nothing else!"

"Well, that's what it's all about isn't it!" he said darkly, moving to meet Harry's eyes.

"No," Harry mumbled softly, returning Malfoy's steely gaze. "That's where you've gone wrong." There was a very long pause, as both boys felt extremely uncomfortable. "There's still a chance she can survive this, I'll go send for a teacher to take her to the healing room, I think that will be best right now…"

Malfoy just looked at him with a cold, empty expression and said nothing more. He wasn't crying, not even a tear. Perhaps he truly was this emotionless? Maybe it just hadn't hit him yet. Maybe he didn't want to shed a tear with Harry there, surely he would feel embarrassed. But it was his mum, not just anyone. Maybe he didn't want to look weak in front of Harry, to make himself vulnerable. That would be such a Malfoy thing to do, Harry thought bitterly. The Slytherin boy just crouched there blankly, as though paralyzed, staring at his mother's still form.

"Everyone," Malfoy whispered, more to himself, burying his face in his mother's shoulder, "every single person I've ever trusted…except I shouldn't have trusted the half of them…"

"I can imagine it seems like that now," said Harry, "and I know this sounds silly… but not everything is gone, I mean for every person you lose there are two more great friendships waiting to be made. And then you won't feel as hopeless. I know it's hard for me to say, because I never even knew my parents, but I lost Sirius, the closest thing I ever had to a parent, Dumbledore, Lupin… I've lost a lot of people close to me, and you never stop missing them. But things keep moving forward, and if you've got great friends they'll be there to support you."

"I already said, I don't have real friends," Malfoy replied through gritted teeth.

"Well," continued Harry, trying to conceal his growing frustration, "people are only going to be there for you if you are for them! And not all my friends are against you like you think, and I'm sure there are plenty of teachers who would reach out to you if you only let them." He felt Malfoy staring at him, as expressionless as ever. Harry didn't know if the words were even getting through to the boy, or if there was any purpose in him trying to get his point across at all. What good would it do? But he decided to take the risk.

"And…" he found himself blabbing, "and… I'm here too, you know, if you need someone to talk about these things with, or anything…" He mentally slapped himself in the forehead. Why was he so awkward? Why couldn't he be more eloquent like Hermione? He was just making the situation worse. Malfoy's eyes narrowed.

"I just mean," said Harry, his voice softening, "that I do know what it's like to lose someone close to you. I'm not that great of a wizard—I just happened to be lucky, Hermione knows much more than I could ever dream of—but if there is one thing I feel I know better than anyone here, it's what it's like coping with losing someone you love."

Harry realized then that he himself had actually had it easy in some ways, with supportive paternal figures telling him what to do, while Malfoy had been forced to shut down compassion to prove himself worthy, out of fear, and to suppress nearly all the good in himself. They were now both an only child, estranged from their families, having been surrounded by powerful wizards, both good and dark. Malfoy would have no one left to guide him, or to tell him which path to take.

"And one day I really think you're going to find someone you trust, and feel something other than hatred for once," Harry said, slightly annoyed that it had sounded less corny in his head. The atmosphere became suddenly very awkward, and to his surprise, he found himself uncomfortably laying a tentative hand on the boy's shoulder.

It was a few seconds before Malfoy seemed to realize it was there. He flinched and shook it off violently.

"Geroff," he hissed thickly.

"I—" Harry started. Malfoy caught him with an icy glare.

"Just… go," he whispered.

Harry felt it was best to just leave him be, so he turned away and walked back toward the grounds, the seven towers of the Hogwarts castle looming far off in the distance, silhouetted against the inky night sky. When he turned back to give one last look, he saw Malfoy hunched over Narcissa's motionless body, in a sad embrace that was never to be returned.

. . .

~Fast-forward to the following year: The last week of school, after Harry has gone to bed around midnight~

He was plummeting through a spiral of smoky blackness as countless dark images flashed past. As if caught in a tornado, he felt himself tumbling through a series of haunting scenes, from blood splatters to graveyards, to shrill screaming and high-pitched laughter that gave him chills. Bodiless he spun, through skulls and black capes and a man holding a wand over his head, mouthing Crucio! as a body writhed underneath. Dark hooded figures swirled around him, and if he had felt attached to his body he would've given a great shiver, as the flurry of horrific nightmares whirled past.

Harry tossed and turned violently in his bed as his mind hurtled through a myriad of green flashes and dead bodies, until the blackness began to subside, and the scenery skidded to a halt as his eyes flickered open. He sat up from a cold sweat, his head reeling. He rubbed his eyes to glance around the room, peering through the red velvet curtains gathered safely around his bed in the boys' dormitory. A slight shifting sound from the corner of the room caught his attention and he froze.

Standing in the shadows was a tall pale frame, the silhouette of a boy he instantly recognized.

Malfoy.

"What… the bloody hell?" Harry whispered accusingly, fumbling for his wand. "What are you—?" But he stopped when he realized the boy was not poised threateningly, but simply standing there with a sort of harrowed look on his face. As Harry's eyes grew accustomed to the dark, he could make out Malfoy's silvery blond hair glimmering in the moonlight filtering through the window, just barely illuminating his slim frame, skin smooth like sculpted ice.

Harry realized it hadn't been since their sixth year, that he'd been able to bring himself to really look at the boy. Since Professor Rosemary's class, a memory that he tried so violently to shove from his mind, tried so desperately to pretend never happened—the events from that year which still caused him pain and still stirred up such deeply-buried emotions that he felt it better to be numb to it, and forget about it altogether.*

Harry remembered the anger he'd felt toward Malfoy, the tangle of pent-up complicated feelings throughout his years at Hogwarts, and how he had completely obsessed over the boy, quietly sneaking around the castle underneath the invisibility cloak to find out what he was preparing for, in hopes to turn him away from the Dark Lord's side before it was too late.

He remembered back to the very first time on the train, through those awful Potter Stinks badges, to how the boy constantly tried to impress and outdo him, vying for his attention. How the boy had always just happened to appear next to him, eavesdropping and listening to whatever he was conversing about, watching his every move, all to get back at him, find out as much as he could about him, or throw some silly little taunt his way.

No, the events of their sixth year hadn't been some forgettable incident, some easy-to-pass-up, shoddy mistake… it had been very real.* And suddenly all the old feelings came whirling back, invading his thoughts. Malfoy looked taller still, his hair a bit messier, and his face looking like it had aged more than just two years, as his cold grey eyes carried the burden of a hundred terrible memories, lost loved ones, and dark recollections.

A hardened look, Harry thought absentmindedly, as his shoulders were slightly broader, his frame sturdier. He thought back to the feverish, once-nervous, pale teenage boy who tried so desperately to deny having feelings for him, their tension-filled relationship as complicated as a Horcrux split a thousand different ways.*

Malfoy simply stood there in the shadows, shivering slightly in his flannel pajamas, and Harry felt a sudden urge to jump up and grab him, to travel back through time, and revisit Professor Rosemary's classroom and the memories that had stayed there, remaining faithfully locked up in the Room of Requirement.*

Malfoy remained still in the silence, until Harry put his wand down. Harry stared back blankly in confusion, not sure if he was dreaming, as Malfoy smoothly, almost automatically, advanced over to his bed. Without speaking, the Slytherin lightly pulled off a corner of the covers and slipped under the sheets. Harry's heart began to hammer in his chest. Surely he was dreaming? It happened so quickly he didn't even have time to comprehend what was really going on, or pinch himself to make sure it wasn't just his imagination.

Harry allowed instinct to lead him almost blindly, as Malfoy impulsively wrapped his arms around him, quavering slightly, entwining his fingers in Harry's untidy black hair. Harry's heartbeat quickened as he grasped him back, holding his breath, feeling the boy's hair tickle his neck. Malfoy slowly pressed his lips against Harry's, for a long time, crushing Harry's mouth with his. Harry lay frozen, feeling as though he was going to pass out.

This kiss was quite a bit different than the way he'd experienced it two years ago. It had only been two years, yet there was no tentative awkward touching, no silly uncomfortable pausing.* Malfoy moved his lips urgently this time, pressing into Harry hard, and Harry kissed him back passionately, his breathing steadily growing quicker. Harry smelled the alcohol on the boy's breath and knew he had been drinking, a lot.

Malfoy was breathing huskily from where he was positioned under Harry, silver-grey eyes staring up at him intensely. The boy didn't stall or move his lips sloppily this time but kissed him smoothly with more control, his lips pulling and enticing. He snagged Harry's lower lip with a flick of his tongue, clasping him with sturdy arms.

Harry drew in a sharp breath, shuddering as he felt smooth hands running underneath his shirt and along his chest, catching boy's familiar scent mixed with expensive-smelling cologne. Both boys were gasping again, moving and breathing rhythmically. They were no longer awkward young sixteen-year-olds, but had grown up quite a bit, since the memories so long ago.*

Suddenly, Malfoy flipped Harry onto his back with an unexpected force, as he smoothly poised himself on top, pushing him down against the bed, moving his lips and tongue against Harry's neck, under his chin and down to his collarbone. Like last time, Harry thought, but not quite so messily and sloppily. The Slytherin boy reached up, clutching a fistful of Harry's jet black hair and kissed him properly this time.

Harry gave in, allowing Malfoy's lips to crash against his, holding him tighter still, feeling the friction between their bodies as the boy sunk into him, and they moved their hips in an unforgotten synchronized rhythm. This time around, he knew what to do. Unlike their last encounter, Malfoy wasn't immediate to respond, as he continued longer and with more restraint, even as Harry ran his hands over the boy's defined abdomen, trailing down to brush against his hip bones.

Harry realized he was almost missing the boy's repressed whimpering sounds, as just two years ago Malfoy had been trying so desperately to control himself while his feelings betrayed him,* his face now strained in a blissful agony.

Two years. So much had changed between now and then, he realized, as they rocked back and forth in the surrounding silence ridden only with their heavy, husky breathing.

Harry eventually repositioned himself above, and when he opened his eyes he saw the Slytherin's face in a strained expression, the moonlight casting a pale sliver of light across his smooth forehead. His heavy-lidded grey eyes were narrowed with a rare longing, his mouth slightly open, chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Harry moved his lips and tongue forcefully along the boy's neck and he thrashed underneath, tugging at Harry's hair so hard he felt he were going to wrench it out of his scalp.

Malfoy, writhing in ecstasy, couldn't control himself any longer and his breath began to come in quiet moans and whimpers. Harry paused for only a moment to reach toward his nightstand, snatching his wand to cast a muffling charm around his four-poster. Feeling a sense of familiarity returning, Harry took Malfoy's ear into his mouth, sliding his lips around the fleshy lobe and thrusting his tongue into the crevices as the boy whimpered and gasped underneath him,* his blond hair flailing as he shook, clenching Harry's shoulders back roughly.

As Harry cradled the boy's face in his hands, he felt the pent-up anger seeping out of him as the animosity that was left seemed to gradually melt away. This was the one night that had badly needed to happen for a long time now, and they did not feel embarrassment or denial this time, as the tension that had been built up for so many years was being finally cast away. Harry Potter wrapped his arms tightly around the boy's body, kissing him urgently, as a willing Draco Malfoy sturdily gripped him and kissed him passionately back.

. . .

~Much later that same night, around 3:00am~

Harry woke again with a start, blinking in bewilderment as he felt hands shaking his shoulder. An indiscriminate amount of time had passed and Harry's eyes adjusted to the dim light of his four-poster. "Lumos," he whispered softly, and a faint glow revealed the other boy's shadowy face, his hair damp and his eyes puffy and red. So it hadn't been a dream.

"Mmmf…what's going on?" Harry hissed, "And what…the hell…was that for?" His voice softened a bit, but he was still wary, as the past couple hours' events seeped back into his memory again. They must have drifted off to sleep, and it was now so late into the night that it was bound to be morning soon. He sat up in four-poster, noticing that he was now alone in the bed. Malfoy was no longer lying next to him but standing at the edge of the bedframe wearing his robes, with a defensive and heavily guarded expression.

"What the hell was that for?!" Harry repeated, feeling confused. The boy looked away.

"My mother…." he whispered shakily. "They've been keeping her at St. Mungo's, and they announced to me this morning that she won't survive…and now she's…she's gone." Harry heaved himself up, reaching for his glasses, his face aghast in the dim light, unable to comprehend.

He began to realize now, the sudden turn of events that had brought Malfoy back, back to Harry, craving his companionship that was never quite reached, never quite fulfilled back in their sixth year or throughout their time at Hogwarts. No closure had been experienced, he thought, understanding dawning on him. So much had been left unsaid, as both boys had tried to shove the memory from their minds, a mutual and unspoken vow to forget anything had ever happened between them.* But it had been difficult, and he knew it nagged at them both every now and then. Malfoy's harassing him had lightened up, aside from the occasional sneering taunts when he wasn't occupied with what the Dark Lord's side had bade him to do.

And yet here he was, and it had happened again, not just a fleeting memory, not just an angry one-time-situation that was forced, but on Malfoy's own accord.* He, like Harry, had just lost a loved one. Harry was at a loss for words. What time was it? It was as if time had stopped, and the atmosphere seemed to have a sort of static mistiness to it, as Harry wondered whether it indeed were all a dream, and he would just fall back into the mist, and Malfoy would just disappear and simply leave him there.

"Sit," Harry motioned. Malfoy stood rooted to the spot for a second, teetering a bit, and then Harry felt the mattress dip slightly as the boy slumped down on the corner of the bed, right next to him. His face was very close to Harry's now and Harry could still smell the intoxication on his breath. Malfoy turned away, hiding his face, avoiding Harry's gaze. Harry sat watching him silently tremble and inhale slow, shuddering breaths. To Harry's surprise, he once again found himself putting a hand on the boy's shoulder, and to his even greater surprise, the boy didn't flinch this time. He just sat with his face turned away so Harry couldn't see him. Harry wrapped an arm around him, pulling him closer.

It felt so much less awkward than he knew it should, felt so much more natural, and with a flick of his wand the light went out. He felt the Slytherin boy scoot ever so slightly closer to him in the pitch darkness. Harry felt jittery and he tried desperately to think of something to say, something wise, something consoling.

"Where is—I mean…how do you know for sure—" Harry spluttered.

"She's… gone," Malfoy's voice wavered as he turned toward Harry. "I have no one now…" and his voice finally broke. He shook as he tried desperately to control himself and not let himself go in front of Harry.

"No, that's not true," Harry whispered, his voice so soft it was barely audible, and the other boy began to shudder violently as he came undone. Malfoy shook and gasped, crying silently except for his punctuated sharp breaths, and Harry felt the hot tears splashing onto his skin. He slowly, hesitantly put his other arm around the boy, praying to whatever deities existed that the boy not push him away. Instead, Draco scooted just a bit closer, leaning in, and returned the embrace, limply at first.

After a few seconds passed Harry expected him to let go. But Draco didn't, and pressed his body closer into the Gryffindor's, holding him tightly around the shoulders and grabbing fistfuls of Harry's sweater as he buried his streaming face into Harry's shoulder and neck. Harry gripped him back with all his might. He no longer saw a snotty little Slytherin boy anymore with shallow opinions or cruel intentions. He saw a vulnerable boy who had been bullied as Myrtle had said, told he wasn't good enough, led down the wrong path, upon finally realizing the consequences. A boy who had made all the wrong choices.

Or perhaps, a boy who'd had no choice. They really had been through a lot, Harry reflected, and as much as he hated to admit it, he felt a certain bond with the Slytherin Prince. He had witnessed him change and grow, had been with him through his moments of glory (which were, most of the time, unshared) and moments of utmost terror. Through the rise of Lord Voldemort, to the battle leading to his fall, and everything in between.

He thought back, flipping through scenes, memories, like the pages of a picture book. From the day on the Hogwarts Express when Harry had denied his friendship, Malfoy had committed the rest of his time at school to trying to show Harry up, impress him, prove to him he made a mistake; tried, but failed. From the endless taunts, the constant attempts to one-up each other, trying over and over to outdo and impress one another. As much as they thought they hated each other, they instinctively followed each other, keeping close tabs on each other's lives, friends, love lives, conversations and intentions.

He thought back to their sixth year, through the tumultuous feelings bubbling to the surface from Rosemary's class, to trying to "turn him" away from Voldemort's side, eventually vowing to pretend nothing between them had ever happened, even though in the back of their minds both boys knew the very real truth.*

During their sixth year, Malfoy had become not merely an interest, but an obsession. An obsession which consumed Harry, and only grew with his unhealthy need to follow the boy everywhere and to find out what his true involvements were with Lord Voldemort. He recounted how Malfoy had failed to tell Bellatrix when he found out it was Harry who had been disguised. "Why didn't you tell her?" he had asked. "You knew it was me." But Harry, though bewildered, felt he knew the truth in the back of his mind. Malfoy had a perfect shot at turning Harry in, gaining the fame and glory he so seemed to crave, and finally winning over his arch-nemesis, and yet… he gave nothing away, and protected Harry.

And of course, Harry had done the same in return, when saving him from the raging fire, and again from the Whomping Willow when he could have simply gotten Malfoy into the trouble he deserved, when he could have simply allowed him to die. Yet his hatred for Malfoy wasn't enough to leave the boy behind as he went back to rescue him.

And now here they were, both orphans, but Harry with a full support of friends and parent-like figures and Malfoy with only his shallow Slytherin fans, refusing to be close to anyone, choosing to suppress his own emotions and shut himself off from others, and who had been under the influence of all the wrong people. It was almost luck, really, Harry thought, the way they had turned out differently. The connection was stronger than he realized.

They had been both two young wizard boys, walking separate paths, with the influence of different people and different experiences. Harry thought about how close the Sorting Hat had been to placing him in Slytherin, how easily he could have gone down the same path as the sly, cunning blond boy whose fingers were now intertwined with his.

The animosity that Harry had toward the boy faded, as he held him close, finally understanding. Malfoy had let down his defenses, freeing the boys of their long-standing enmity, as the wall between them finally came crashing down, forever destroyed. Harry very softly pressed his lips against the boy's face. Against his mouth, his neck, his forehead, his eyes, catching the salty tears. Malfoy's breathing gradually began to calm down. For a moment Harry almost felt like he was comforting a child, a young boy. Though a boy who had seen death and darkness, things no child should ever have witnessed, teetering on the brink between good and evil. A boy who had led a difficult and complex life—just like he had.

They stayed like that, locked in embrace for what seemed like hours, with Malfoy's face buried in Harry's neck. Entwined in the darkness, in silence except for an occasional gasp and shudder from the boy as Harry ran his fingers down his silky hair soothingly. He was holding his arch-enemy, Draco Malfoy, who had caused him so much frustration, anger, and humiliation—the Slytherin with whom he had so much tension, so many contradictory feelings, and such strong passion. There was no more hiding, no more lying to themselves, and they were enemies no longer. Harry held him tightly, feeling his own eyes beginning to cloud up too. But by then, the darkness was beginning to allow the faintest glimmer of dawn, and that very same Draco Malfoy had fallen asleep in his arms.

Harry laid him down on the bed, pulling the covers over both of them. The other boy shifted and lazily opened a grey eye just slightly, still half-asleep, then shut it again and pulled Harry closer. Harry wrapped his arms around the boy, pulling the sheets up to their chins, and they held onto each other for a long time, even after they had drifted fast asleep.

. . .

~Early dawn, the following morning~

Much later, Harry was suddenly aware of the body next to him shifting again, tossing and turning and then propping itself up slightly. Harry felt the form being lifted off him, though his own arm was asleep from being wrapped underneath the other boy's weight. Harry pretended to sleep on, knowing Draco would likely jump up, curse fiercely, and leave.

But when Harry tried to open his eyes just a crack, he found Draco's silvery gray ones staring back into his. His expression was once again unreadable, yet Harry was unable to detect any hint of anger. The boy next to him swiftly and noiselessly got up, messily tossed on his robes, and turned around in the near-dawn silence. Harry tried to pretend he had fallen asleep again, hoping he looked convincing and waiting to hear the sound of soft footsteps leaving the common room, quickly and anonymously.

But the sound of footsteps never came. The boy seemed to stay put, as if to say something but thinking better of it, as Harry still pretended to sleep on. He felt the boy reach out and cradle his face, as he wordlessly leaned over, and for a fleeting moment, pressed his lips softly against Harry's. Draco rose again quickly, neither boy making a sound. He then hastily straightened his tie, and with a swish of his silky hair and slightest hint of a smirk he resumed his usual strut, and glided smoothly out of the common room.

. . .

A/N: Thank you to my lovely beta-readers, Xrucious and Mayle!

*Sentences with asterisks "*" are references to Sex Magic by VelvetBlood.

Review, and let me know what you think, and what you would like to read more of. Hope you enjoyed! :)