They appeared in the living room of 12 Grimmauld Place with a tug and lurch, and then they were both gasping for startled breath.
"Merlin!" Weasley cried, eyes wide with shock. "What the-"
"Wings?" Granger asked softly, voice faint with awe.
"Malfoy!" Potter shouted, surprised. "Your wings!"
Draco laughed mirthlessly, "Yes, they are." He could still feel the fall in his soul. The wind in his feathers, the roar in his ears. He could almost see the mountains, where the earth met the sky.
"What's going on!" Weasley yelled, looking around as if hoping someone would jump out and yell, "Surprise! It's a joke!" No one did, of course.
"Veela," Ginevra said simply, pulling herself up and away from Draco. Her face was hard. "Not that this information will be leaving this room," she said icily, eyes narrowed.
Draco blinked at her, surprised by her protectiveness. It was endearing, of course, but part of him felt oddly unnerved by her. That feeling increased as she stepped towards Potter.
"Harry," she said gently.
Draco's eyes were sharp, watching them with the sort of detail he imagined one could only dream of achieving with some sort of ocular-enhancement spell. And yet.
When she reached up to cup his face, one of his wings flailed instinctively, knocking down a couple photo frames and one particularly ugly vase with a loud series of crashing.
He flinched, flushing with humiliation when all eyes snapped to him. He flushed harder at his own line of thought, which had been going something along the lines DON'T touch what's MINE!
"Still getting used to them," he coughed awkwardly.
Granger eyed him speculatively as she lifted her wand and cast a quiet reparo.
Ginevra smiled at him a bit—he felt guilty at the way his gut clenched, because he liked Ginny—before taking Potter's hand and gently leading him from the room.
Potter looked at him briefly before disappearing around the corner, but Draco could still hear his breathing, his footsteps, and if he really tried, his heartbeat.
He could hear Potter's bloody heartbeat.
"I—I should go," he stuttered, clambering up to his feet.
Weasley looked faint, and Granger was openly curious.
"Could I ask a few-"
"Any other time," he promised, sending her a brief smile. He felt Potters pulse pick up the pace, and he knew it was because of something Ginny was saying, and that just made him all the more jealous and possessive.
Granger nodded, eyes faraway, obviously already making plans.
He glanced at Weasley, who gulped at him.
"What?" he asked.
"You look..."
"Birdlike?" he offered, attempting a smirk but knowing he must have missed the mark at the way Weasley paled further.
"Scary," he admitted, grimacing himself.
Draco frowned a bit, feeling somewhat insulted. "They're just wings," he huffed.
"No," Granger cut in, "he's right. Your eyes are different. Your whole face..."
Draco blanched at the thought. "What?" he asked, horrified, imagining feathers and a beak before turning on his heel and slipping into the floo with a hasty, "Malfoy Manor!" called out behind him.
When he tumbled into the manor, he didn't bother waiting for Thuban to dash around the corner, as was their usual routine. He wasn't sure he wanted Thuban, his best friend, his everything, seeing him like this.
He flew up the stairs, quite literally, before scrambling into his bedroom and slamming the door shut. He hurried over to his mirror, and gasped at what he saw.
They had been right. His eyes, which had always been somewhat catlike, with their sharp, upturned outer corners, but with his large, round pupils—larger than usual, rounder than usual, if possible—he really looked animalistic. He couldn't pinpoint it at first, but then it occurred to him why.
Usually, Draco could tell what Thuban was thinking. Whether or not the dog was wagging his tail, Draco could see the excited glint in his dog's eyes, or the restlessness of an animal who needed to go outside for a bit, or the sleepiness of a stubborn child who refused to submit before his parent retired for the night as well.
However, occasionally, when Draco approached Thuban slowly, playfully keeping his expression blank as he approached, Thuban would stare at him. Thuban would stare at him with large, piercing eyes, which was unusual, because dogs weren't known for going out of their way to hold prolonged eye contact, except for when they felt challenged.
When Draco did his little game, face empty to hide his intention as he drew nearer, Thuban would look at him with dark, empty eyes. Draco could never tell whether the dog was going to run, or pounce, or simply wait until Draco got close enough to pet him. Thuban didn't look aggressive, or scared, or calm, but empty. It was impossible to read him, in those moments. As if Draco didn't know him, and he didn't know Draco. Those were the eyes of an animal, not a pet, not even a dog. Just some creature, some beast.
And then Draco would pat his head, and Thuban's tail would wag and his tongue would loll out. Sometimes, before Draco got close enough, Thuban would jump at him, tail whipping back and forth with abandon as he placed his large paws on the blond's chest and attempted to slobber over his face.
But Draco never knew what to expect. Not when Thuban looked at him with those eyes. That's what Draco's own eyes resembled, now. His pupils were large, and endless. Engulfing. Looking himself in the eye, he felt unnerved. His entire expression was just—unnerving.
Maybe it was that his eyelashes looked thicker—fluffy, almost feathery, as worrisome as that was. The white tufts shadowed his eyes, making them appear even more ominous.
Draco was brought back to the moment when he heard Thuban's worried pawing and whining at his door.
He sighed. Honestly, he needed to teach that boy some manners. But, alas, he adored the dog.
When Draco opened the door, however, Thuban took one look at him and barked once, sharply, before booking it as though he had hellhounds on his heels.
Draco blinked after him.
Then, he threw his head back and laughed. Thuban had barked, all tall and imposing and intimidating, before running away with his tail between his legs!
Draco wiped his eye, feeling lighter than he had all day. "He takes after me more than I thought," he sniggered to himself.
Attempting to find a comfortable sleeping position had been difficult, to put it lightly.
He usually slept on his side, but that left one wing slightly crushed. He couldn't really sleep on his stomach either, because it left his neck aching. He tried sleeping so close to the ledge of his bed that his wings fell over the side, but that just became tiring when he was forced to keep them pressed up against his back to fight the weight of gravity. He was nervous of allowing them to flop open and accidentally spraining something.
He'd ended up passing out from pure exhaustion on his stomach, neck 'supported' (poorly) by his crooked arm. He was awakened by a pressing hardness practically piercing his mattress, and the horrified groan of a man who'd had dreams about someone he shouldn't've.
Then came the dreadful sensation that he knew what this was. His Healer may had mentioned the subject once or twice—said subject being mates—and with their friendship, the brief, albeit playful romancing around Granger, and the whole egg-laying debacle, it was really no surprise that his abstinent and confused, affection-seeking self had deliriously fixated on Potter.
This didn't make it any more acceptable, of course, considering Potter was, as far as he was aware, heterosexual, with a wife and a child.
That being said, no, Draco did not wank himself to completion, instead, bypassing his morning wood entirely in order to do few gentle stretches, which soon turned into an hour-long session of yoga at home—Astoria would be annoyed that he didn't bother inviting her, but, well, he only got so into it because his erection had fought so admirably before finally deflating. She really did not want to be a part of that.
Draco had cast a quick freshening charm, wary of getting his wings unnecessarily wet with a physical shower, before getting dressed in casual, low-riding sweatpants and some band t-shirt in which he promptly slashed an opening in the back—despite how his mother loathed his muggle clothing—before going down for breakfast.
His mother had been startled, and then delighted, and then nervous.
"Should we go visit Dr. Gannet?" she asked.
Draco blinked. "Who?"
"Your Healer, Draco."
Draco flushed, horrified. Over a year, and he was just learning the man's name? Jesus.
"Perhaps tomorrow," he replied, still flustered.
She looked hesitant. "Are you... sure? You've that wild look to yourself again, dear."
Draco shook his head. "I'm certain. Besides, it's only polite to give a day's notice."
Narcissa acquiesced with a nod. "Alright. Have you seen Thuban today, darling? He was with me all morning, oddly enough. I know how you're usually with him."
Draco grimaced. "He's unused to me like this. We'll have it all sorted out by tomorrow, however," he assured—whether it was himself or his mother, he wasn't sure. Possibly both.
Spoon lifted mid-way to his mouth, Draco was nearly startled into dropping it when the floo flared to life.
Draco and his mother stared at it as it rang. They rarely, if ever, received floo calls anymore. Unless it was Potter and his lot, in which Draco rather just wanted to let it ring.
Especially because the mere thought of Potter made his prick twitch a bit.
His mother gave him a look, and that was the only reprimand he needed before sighing and leaving the kitchen to enter the foyer, where he knelt down and took the call.
"Yes?" he drawled, and was startled to see Potter grinning back at him. Startled and painfully aroused.
"Hullo there, my feathered friend."
Draco groaned, pretending it was from annoyance and not from hearing Potter's voice. "Don't," he warned, quite seriously.
Potter laughed. "Are you kidding me? Isn't this great? You have wings!"
"I only still have wings because I'm not quite sure how to get rid of them yet," he grumbled. "I'll be seeing my Healer tomorrow, however, so hopefully it will all be sorted out by then." He would also make sure, of course, to talk to his Healer about this possessiveness. Even over the floo, he felt the desire to yank Potter to him, to press close, to smell him and—disturbingly enough—lick him. To make him mine.
"Hey, let me over, will you? Maybe I can help you out," Potter offered.
Draco barked out a derisive laugh. "Yeah, no."
Potter blinked. "What's up?" he asked, confused.
I want to bone you so hard, it's a miracle you can't see the tenting over the floo.
He cleared his throat, flushing. "How did your talk with Ginny go?"
Potter frowned at him a bit. "That's actually what I flooed about. Seriously, Malfoy, can I come through?"
Draco worried his lip between his teeth, shaking his head. "How about tomorrow afternoon," he offered. After his appointment with Dr. Gannet, of course.
Potter looked a little hurt. "Um, I guess," he replied quietly.
Draco groaned again, this time in actual annoyance, scraping his hands down his face. "Don't make me feel guilty, Potter, with your stupid puppy-dog eyes and your dejected voice, you absolute tosser. This is for your own bloody good!"
Potter squinted at him. "And 'this' is...?"
Draco knew he was turning red. He could feel the heat in his cheeks, and judging by Potter's sudden amusement, he could as well.
"Seriously, Malfoy," he repeated. "What's up?"
"You know I'm a veela, right?" he began awkwardly, voice high with anxiety.
Potter rolled his eyes. "Well I didn't, but now I sure do. What about it?"
"You know how veela have, um, eggs?"
Potter frowned. "Malfoy, what's wrong?"
"Well, in order to have those eggs hatch, veela want sex," he blurted, scrambling for some more bullshit to spout in order to explain himself, "so they go into some sort of, like, heat, I guess, like bitches do, a certain time of the year. Or month. I'm not quite sure," he babbled.
Potter looked shocked. "O-oh? But birds don't go into heat-"
"I don't fucking know, okay!" he shouted. "But I'm randy as all hell, Potter, and this isn't normal, and I really don't think now's a good time, because as horny as I am, even you look nice right about now."
Potter stared, eyes wide. "Um, yeah, okay," he replied stiltedly. "I'll just... floo tomorrow evening?"
"Please," Draco replied, miserable.
Big mistake.
Dr. Gannet had appointments all day, it turns out. He was free the day prior, of course, when Narcissa had suggested, but it was just Draco's sodding luck that he couldn't find an appointment the one day he needed it promptly.
When Potter flooed the next afternoon, Draco told him this warily.
"That being said," he continued, watching as Potter's face fell, which was both flattering and pant-tightening, "I think that, as long as you don't do anything to provoke me, we should be fine. I do have some self control, after all. And you're Potter," he scoffed.
Potter rolled his eyes. "Gee thanks, Malfoy." But, he was smiling. "So, I can come through? As long as I don't make any crude jokes? Or, I don't know, offer you a handjob? I'm not sure what counts as a come-on to gay guys, but I'll try not to be too provocative," he assured, mostly teasing.
He obviously wasn't picking up on how gravely Draco was handling the situation, but in all honesty, Draco was surprised at how well Potter was taking it. He had all but just admitted to being sexually attracted to Potter just yesterday, and even though he was blaming it on his veela, didn't Potter find that even the least bit uncomfortable? Apparently, he trusted Draco's self control and honesty more than Draco did himself.
"Alright," Draco agreed, shuffling back from the floo as Potter tumbled in. Thuban remained hiding, wherever he was, but if Potter noticed, he didn't ask, too dumbstruck by Draco, whom he was staring at with wide eyes.
Draco felt embarrassment at being stared at so intently. "What?" he asked nervously, tucking some hair behind his ear. It was tied into a messy bun this morning, though some loose strands fell down to frame his face attractively. Not that he was trying to attract anyone.
Who was he kidding?
"You look..." Potter trailed off.
"Scary?" Draco offered, rolling his eyes.
"Really cool, actually," Potter said, and Draco flushed a bit too hard at the mild compliment. "Your eyes are... intense."
Draco took a deep breath. "Potter," he warned slowly, "complimenting me, in this particular situation and at this particular time, is being translated as flirting, which is not okay, yeah?"
Potter glanced briefly at Draco's crotch before turning bright red and stuttering, "O-oh, um, yeah. R-right. Shall we... sit down?"
Draco nodded stiffly. "You wanted to tell me about how things went with Ginny?"
Potter nodded mutely as he sat on the couch opposite Draco, looking at the hands in his lap. Potter clenched them into fists for a moment before releasing the tension and gently folding his fingers together.
Draco was uneasy with how fascinating this was, simply watching Potter's hands. The faint, dark hairs on Potter's digits. His squared fingers, his broad palms. Potter had masculine hands, Draco noted, swallowing.
When his eyes finally flickered back up to Potter, he was redder than ever before, eyes wide, lips slightly parted.
Potter resolutely shoved his hands in his pockets, and Draco felt his own face heat in shame.
Sweet Jesus, give me strength.
"Sorry," he murmured awkwardly, ducking his head. When he peeked up through the loose hairs which airly swayed forward and into his eyes, Potter was looking out the window, brows furrowed and mouth quirked oddly with discomfort.
Draco felt a pang of annoyance before he could really understand why. And when he did, he paled. It was because Potter wasn't looking at him, and he looked cute, dammit. He knew he did. With his hair framing his face, looking up through his thick eyelashes, face aflush, bottom lip caught between his teeth.
And he nearly slapped himself. He wasn't trying to flirt with Potter!
He quickly straightened. "I'm..." He grimaced. "Is this-?"
"Weird?" Potter blurted, looking back at him. "Yes."
Draco cringed. "We can try some other time," he offered softly.
Potter ran a hand through his hair, only making it look more wild. Bed-mussed. Recently-shagged.
Draco bit his lip again, but averted his eyes to his toes, only just realizing he was bare-footed.
He wiggled them, just to distract himself. When was the last time he'd walked the manner shoeless? Why hadn't his mother said anything? Had she noticed? How hadn't he noticed? The floors were chilly.
With a frown at his own absent mindedness, he curled his feet into the couch before returning his attention to Potter who, much to his pleasure, was looking at him.
"It's weird seeing you in normal clothes," Potter said.
Draco stared. "Is it?" he asked, just to say something. He was watching Potter's face for any hint of whether or not he liked it.
Potter's cheeks slowly pinkened again, and then he looked away, tugging a bit at his collar. "I can almost feels your gaze," he coughed awkwardly.
Draco's eyelids lowered, and he felt a smirk pulling at his lips. "I can think of plenty of other things I could make you feel-"
"Alright!" Potter said, jumping to his feet, posture stiff. "I'll just be taking my leave, then-"
"No!" Draco demanded, eyes wide, lurching forward and grabbing Potter's wrist. He nearly lost his balance, the distance being what it was between the couches, and his wings raised to accommodate for the change in center of gravity.
When Potter looked ready to flee, Draco flinched a bit.
"Sorry," he murmured, slowly leaning back in the chair, dropping his grip on Potter's wrist. "I'm... not in my right mind right now, but I... It means a lot to me that you want to confide in me," he whispered, peering down dejectedly at the hands folded in his lap.
He heard shuffling, and then a sigh, and then Potter plopped back into the chair.
The same chair as Draco.
Draco stiffened. "Do you think that's a good idea?" he rasped, throat suddenly parched.
"Er..." Potter paused, but then his face turned determined and he leaned over and wrapped an arm over Draco's stiff shoulders. "Mal-Draco," he said carefully, "I know this isn't really you, and as soon as we find a way to put your wings back into rights, you'll go back to normal-"
Draco brightened visibly. "The wings," he murmured, "I hadn't even thought of that! Maybe if I— just a moment," he assured before turning. "Accio hormone pills," he commanded, just before his hand touched his wand, yet Draco still heard the telltale clack! of the pill bottle as it clinked against a couple walls and marble pillars on it's way over.
He stared, heart pounding in his head, in his ears, as he stared down at his wand, mere centimeters from his wand.
Had he just...?
Wandlessly?
Draco glanced at Potter to see if he'd caught any of that, but Potter seemed suitably distracted by Draco's wings, which he regarded with interest.
Before he did anything stupid, like ask if Potter wanted to touch them, Draco grabbed the bottle of pills from the air and downed a couple, as was the recommended dosage before the bloody things had sprouted from his back.
Draco sat, waited, and after a scant few minutes, he felt a brush of cold sweep through his heated flesh, and when his body relaxed, his eyes fluttering closed, he felt the stretching and compressing of his wings until there was nothing against his back but the faint flutter of the edge of his t-shirt, the gouge in the back from his early morning haphazard cutting now obvious.
He was too elated to care, however.
He looked to Potter with a grin. "I'm good," he said.
Potter blinked. "You're... good?"
"I'm not the total horndog I was earlier," Draco amended, "and, I got rid of my wings!"
Potter blinked again. "Oh." Then, he smiled. "Well, that's brilliant. I was just..."
"Getting uncomfortable, I know. I promise I will make no more passes at you," he swore, one hand over his heart while the other was raised, as if making an honest oath.
Potter was amused, and his smile was warm.
Draco wondered if he would be able to keep his promise.
"So," he began gently, leaning towards Potter just enough to brush their arms encouragingly before he leaned away again. "How did things go?"
Potter sighed, suddenly looking worn out. "Right. Well, Gin told me about her... postpartum depression, I think it was?" At Draco's intrigued nod, he continued. "And, of course, I told her we could do everything within our power to heal her, but..."
"But?" Draco prodded gently.
Potter seemed transfixed by his eyes again—which was peculiar, because he was no longer 70% veela, but perhaps that was why he was staring—before saying, "She wants a break. She said that she felt she needed to heal on her own, without the burden of... well, me. Us."
Draco was shocked. "She... You're..."
Potter smiled crookedly. "I'm officially single for the first time in—what—nine years?"
Draco didn't dare let any emotion other than compassion show on his face, but was careful to avoid looking Potter directly in the eye, because he didn't want to show his hunger.
"Is that what a break is?" he asked softly. "You've broken up, temporarily? Does that really mean you're single?"
Potter regarded him. "I don't really know, actually. I can't imagine I'll be doing any dating between work, and James, and helping Ginny as much as I can without helping her, if that makes sense. I don't know how she would feel about me showing interest in other people, anyway. She told me she wasn't sure how long things would take, but I can't imagine doing that to Gin."
Draco nodded faintly. "So what, exactly, does this mean?"
Potter shrugged. "I dunno. More guys-nights, I suppose. I get to sleep in my own bed. I can let loose on my grooming since I've no one to impress, anymore."
Plastering a confused expression on his face, Draco mused aloud, "Do you normally groom?"
Potter punched him in the arm with a laugh.
Draco smiled. "So, do you?"
Potter laughed again. "What?"
"No, seriously."
"No, seriously, what?"
"Do you groom?"
Potter raised an eyebrow. "Does it matter?"
Draco frowned a bit. "No, I'm just curious."
"Oh," Potter said, shrugging. "Okay."
Draco stared at him.
After a few moments of staring off in the distance, Potter glanced back at him, eyebrow raised. "Can I help you?"
Draco felt an eye twitch. "Are you going to tell me?"
Potter regarded him for a moment, and then sighed.
Draco watched with anticipation as those lips parted.
"Am I going to tell you what?" Potter stressed.
Draco grabbed the thing nearest to him—luckily for Potter, this happened to be a throw pillow— and bloody launched it at the git's shocked face.
"Do. You. Groom?" he hissed, accentuating each word with another smack of the pillow.
Potter was utterly cackling with glee. "This is killing you, isn't it?" he wheezed between bellows of laughter.
This enraged Draco more. "You utter twat, you were being purposefully obtuse?"
Potter finally grabbed the pillow and, with surprising strength, shoved Draco back, pressing the pillow into the blond's face, smothering him.
Draco flailed out wildly, beating at Potter's shoulders, before dramatically spasming and lying still.
Potter snorted. "Cute," he said, pulling the pillow away.
Draco sprung up as soon as the pressure was released, startling Potter with a yelp as he quickly leaned back in fear of clashing heads.
Draco grinned at him, hair in disarray as his hair clip pitifully clung to the ends of his hair. The bun was nothing more than a fond memory, at this point.
Still laughing a bit, Draco tugged the clip from the tangled strands at the end of his hair before sliding it on to his wrist and gently raking his fingers through his hair, from ends to roots.
"So, are you worried? About Ginny," Draco said, half his attention on his hair.
Potter leaned back, propping an elbow on one of the armrests as he watched Draco fuss with his pale locks. "A little? To be honest, we've been distant for a couple years now. Before James, really. I can't imagine much will change, really, except she's going to stay with her Mum for a while, so I'll have the house to myself."
"And James?" Draco inquired before flipping his head forward in order to scoop all of his hair into one loose fist. Once he'd gathered most of the wayward strands in the back, he leaned back once more and lifted his head.
Potter looked surprised. "That scared me," he admitted. "You lurching forward like that. Scared me a bit more when your hair smacked me in the leg."
Draco snorted. "Grow your hair out and I'll do yours for you some time. James?" he prompted, his empty hand moving towards his forehead in order to pin back the shorter strands in the front. When he spoke with Potter, he didn't want any messy hair in his face anymore. He wanted to see Potter. He wanted Potter to see him, open and vulnerable.
He felt bare, once he'd lowered his arms. There was nothing between Potter and himself, and judging by Potter's soft, small smile, he understood the severity of this choice.
But, ever the Gryffindor, Potter didn't get too soppy, and simply answered the previous question. "James will be staying with Gin at the Burrow. I'm... Well," Potter huffed, and it was a little too adorably indignant, "I'm not upset, because I know that part of her healing, probably, is spending time with him. I get that. But also, part of me is upset, because, in a way, it feels like I'm being kicked out? Which, I know, sounds selfish and shallow, but I don't mean it like that, I just-" Potter made a few shapes with his mouths, several aborted attempts at words and concise explanations, before huffing again, this time looked a little less righteously indignant, and more dejected.
Draco placed a hand over Potter's, rubbing awkward circles on the back of his hand with his thumb.
Draco studiously didn't stray his eyes from Potter's head, fearful of becoming transfixed by those broad hands beneath his, once more.
"I just wish I could be there," he whispered. "I don't—not necessarily as her husband, which, I know, sounds... wrong. But I just... first and foremost, Ginny is my best friend. Sometimes, sure, I like to romance her, but, to be perfectly honest, I'd really just like to talk. I want her to open up to me more, and for me to do the same. I want to feel like she needs me for something, I guess, which is needy in itself, but I just..." Potter sighed.
"I get it," Draco agreed.
Potter looked up at him.
"I understand your desire to just... be there with her. Not personally," Draco added quickly, "because, heh, no—but, I get what you're trying to say. You want to be the one to take her pain away, or at least to be the one she turns to for help, yes?"
Potter nodded, eyes open and vulnerable, worrying his lip between his teeth. Draco looked at his hand, still on Potter's, instead, because even that was better than that.
"But, see, Ginevra doesn't strike me as the kind of girl who wants that," he said softly. "Not that I'm claiming to know your wife better than you do—of course not—but I think that, for someone like Ginny to allow someone to hold her close like that... The fact that she wants to work things out on her own tells me that she's an independent woman, yes, but a woman who doesn't want you to always be there to heal her wounds. That she knows that's what you'll try to do."
Potter clenched his hands into a fist, one hand clutching Draco's fingers.
"But what can I do, then?" Potter whispered harshly, face drawn into a hopeless sneer. "If she never comes to me..."
Potter was was loosely arched over his crossed legs, like a large turtle, facing Draco on the couch.
With a small sound, the blond scooted closer and put a hand on Potter's shoulder. When he wasn't rebuffed, fearful of crossing any lines at as poor a time as this, he just barely moved his hands to Potter's neck, where he gently pressed the skin with his knuckles.
"It's definitely not all her fault, Potter," he murmured, close enough that they could speak quietly, "but some of it is. I'm not denying that. Depression or not, as someone who hopes for you to continue to stand by her, she needs to stand by you as well. You're partners. Two halves of the same coin, and all that mushy rubbish. I'm not implying either of you are perfect, or even more so than the other, but Potter, if she doesn't want to talk to you, and you want her to talk to you, then I agree with Ginny on this. Perhaps a break is in order."
Potter's neck shifted as if he were going to look up at him, but Draco pressed into his neck harder, shifting forwards a bit so he could massage Potter's neck with more ease.
Potter exhaled deeply, before relaxing again. With a slight sniff, he leaned forward just a scarce inch, and his head was pressed into Draco's t-shirt, firmly against his chest.
"Not because you don't love each other," he whispered, "but because... You don't know what you have until it's gone, or however that depressing proverb goes. How much are you willing to sacrifice to keep this relationship going?"
Potter stiffened. "Wha-"
"How much is she willing to give in order to keep you around?"
Potter pulled away, looking at him with mildly insulted bemusement. "We're not breaking up," he insisted slowly, as if speaking to a child.
Draco eyed him warily. "I'm only trying to help," he replied loftily. "I've never been in a serious relationship, however, so perhaps I'm off."
Potter scoffed derisively. "I'd say. Love isn't about how much you're willing to give up in order to keep someone around, it's about how you both accept each other."
"Aren't those, kind of, the same things?" Draco asked, perhaps a tad defensive. "You love Ginny. You guys go 'off break' and are back to being married, let's say. Let's say, something's up, and she doesn't want to talk about it. 'I'll handle it,' she says. Well, Potter, you may 'happily accept' this as one of Ginevra's personality traits, just one of those things about her, but you're giving up on your desire for connection though confession. You like to talk about your problems, and ask for help-"
Potter reeled back, as if stung.
Draco winced at his own poor wording. "I didn't mean it like that-"
"Oh, no, well, if it just seems like I want to talk about all my problems," Potter hissed, pushing away from him and off the couch, "all my issues," he seethed.
"Potter," Draco sighed. "Harry."
"Don't," he warned.
"No, I..." Draco flopped back against the couch, on his back, staring at the ceiling.
After several moments, Potter stepped closer, angling his head forward enough to peer down his nose at the blond.
"I can see up your nose," Draco said.
Potter's lip quirked. "Charming."
Draco sighed again. "I'm like you, in that regard."
Potter raised both eyebrows. "You think I'm charming," he said.
Draco sniggered. "No, I meant..." He sobered. "I meant about wanting to talk things through," he explained quietly. "Briefly, when I first moved in with Muggles, I did date around a bit. But... I didn't like not being able to tell them everything. About my mark, my past, my—well, me. I don't usually want to go off blathering about all my woes, mind you, but it's different choosing not to do something, and-"
"Not having the option altogether." Potter smiled. "I know."
Draco smiled back at him a bit. "And when it was the opposite way, I would go crazy, a bit. I hate being treated like... Like they don't need me, don't want me as much as I want them. I'm not obsessed, really, or possessive, or jealous or anything, but when they wouldn't talk to me, wouldn't just tell me what they wanted, or how they wanted it, or when—and I don't mean that in a solely sexual manner, of course, but yes, virgin Potter, blush at that anyway."
"Sod off," Potter huffed. "You're probably more virgin than I am," he insisted, however.
"How so?" Draco asked.
"Well, I've a kid. That implies sexual intercourse at some point."
Draco face warped. "I did not need that image."
"I thought you like the thought of me-" Potter cut himself off, sputtering at his own bloody bravado.
"I," Draco didn't know how to respond, knowing he was as red as a copper cauldron and without the ability to do much about it. "I was on bird hormones," he protested weakly, anyway. "Besides, I'm bi."
"So?" Potter asked, struggling for casualness, even after his previous... yes. Draco was impressed, honestly, that Potter had acknowledged what Draco wanted enough to comment on it so accurately. It was embarrassing, but also... kind of hot.
"So, I doubt you've done anal."
Potter sputtered again, but this time, with a cough as well. "Well, no-"
"Blowjob?" Draco asked, smirking wickedly. "Rimming? Pegging? I've even tried docking once, if you can believe it. Unique experience, that one. Snowballing, perhaps? Oh, but you don't seem like a polygamous sort of guy."
Potter looked a mixture of interested and horrified. "I don't even—Snowballing? What even is that?"
Draco laughed. "It's a fun game. I'll show you, some time."
Potter looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Perhaps I'll pass."
Draco made a face. "You don't even know what it is yet."
"True, but I don't like that smug look on your face."
Draco smiled, and it wasn't a smirk, just a little grin. "Truth or Dare, Potter?"
Potter blinked, surprised. "Since when are we-"
"Dare, it is!"
"Truth," Potter insisted.
"You pathetic bastard."
Potter smiled more confidently. "Truth," he reiterated.
Draco smirked. "Do you groom?"
"Oh, my God. You're still on that?"
"Answer the question!"
"No, I don't."
Draco hummed. "Alright," he said simply, and Potter made an exasperated noise. "Your turn."
"I don't-"
"Fine, my turn again then. Dare, this time?"
Potter rolled his eyes. "You're going to force me into it, anyway, aren't you?"
Draco smiled. "I dare you to... order us some pizza."
Potter smirked. "You have all that power, and you want me to order pizza?"
"No, I want pizza, and you just happened to be here and willing. It's a win-win, really. And you're Gryffindor, so of course you'll hold to your word and do so, yeah?" Draco fluttered his eyelashes.
Potter huffed. "Sure, sure. You owe me a truth and a dare, Malfoy."
Draco grinned. "I'm shaking, truly. Now, I don't eat animal shit, but I have a menu for this great vegan place-"
"I can easily go grab some nuts and leaves from outside, Malfoy. Honestly."
Draco threw the throw pillow at him again, annoyed when Potter caught it, the grinning troglodyte that he was.
"More for me," he sniffed.
Potter laughed but grabbed the menu Draco accio'd anyway.
