A/N: I'm so pleased with all the feedback from last chapter! I was super nervous about it, but the reception was almost entirely positive, and I'm so glad. I write for myself, of course, but for all of you as well, and your support is absolutely incredible.

I did have a chance to go over this one before publishing it (yay! Finally feeling better!), so hopefully there will be less stupid mistakes than usual.

Oh, and a WARNING: sexual situations. In order to skip them, stop reading when Harry hands Draco the box of truffles, and resume at the italicized letter to one Kingsley Shacklebolt.

Also, so, um, when you get to chapter twenty-nine, you may kill me. But everything will work out, I absolutely promise. Promise. I just really f*cking hate Pansy and needed a chance to show it.

One last thing; there is no dark!Harry here. There's helpful!Harry and concerned!Harry and perhaps a bit of blinded-by-emotions!Harry, but I don't write dark!Harry ever, so don't worry about that. My deepest apologies if anything has come across that way; I'll be more careful in the future.

Chapter Twenty-One:

The first eagle arrived at breakfast.

Harry and Draco were lying in bed together in their customary position, Harry on his back, Draco curled around him, Harry's arm anchoring him tightly. The entire bed smelled like Draco's vanilla soap. His hair was still damp from the shower Harry had insisted on, but Harry didn't particularly mind. Draco's breathing was slow and even, but Harry highly doubted he was asleep, no matter how much flying he had done that weekend.

"It's your bloody hero complex," Draco muttered suddenly. Harry could hardly make out what he was saying, given how quietly he was talking, that his face was turned into Harry's chest, and that his words were slurred with sleep.

"Sorry, what?"

"You need to get up in front of everyone to defend Lucius Malfoy, just to prove how good you are," Draco mumbled. "Your pathetic need to show the world you're endlessly forgiving, absolutely perfect is saving my family and I hate you for it."

Harry was at an utter loss as to how to respond. "I'm sorry?" he tried. "You're welcome?"

Draco half-hearted smacked him. "Don't be fresh."

"Don't be fresh?" Harry said. "Who even says that?"

This time the smack was harder. "I find it more elegant than a mere 'shut up' or 'fuck off'." Harry let it go, and it was a long time before Draco spoke again. "You told me you loved me."

Harry flushed, and he was sure Draco would be able to hear his heart speed up. "I—I, yeah, I did say that."

"Did you mean it, or were you just trying to make me feel better? I don't mind one way or another, I just think I should know."

Harry ignored the blatant lie. "I'd imagine so, yeah," he said nervously. "I mean, I didn't really think it through, I just said it."

"That was the least romantic thing I've ever heard, Potter," Draco said, feigning anger that covered up actual annoyance, and, Harry thought, a bit of fear.

"Here," Harry said, leaning over and causing Draco to let out indignant noises as he was squished. "Look. I bought you chocolates."

Draco took the small box and opened it, the enchanted ribbon that held it closed flying over to the bedside table. "Let's see," Draco said, as if evaluating one of Harry's potions, or the contents of something far more important and less romantic than a box of chocolates. "I see double chocolate, coconut, peanut butter, raspberry—"

"Oh, good, Luna said those are the best," Harry interrupted.

"—caramel and peppermint. Interesting choices."

"Draco, they came in a box, I didn't pick them out," Harry said, feeling judged. "I dunno, I saw the box, and I thought of you."

Draco kissed his cheek. "That was very sweet." He picked out the raspberry chocolate, something Harry would need to remember to tell Luna. "Would you care for a bite?"

Harry stared at the tiny truffle. "There are two bites in it?"

Draco grinned wickedly. "If you do it right." He gently bit the chocolate and kissed Harry. Draco bit down, raspberry center and chocolate filling their mouths. Harry hummed quietly, licking the filling off Draco's tongue as Draco sucked Harry's lips, getting every last bit of chocolate. "I daresay," Draco said, pulling away, "that was quite delicious. And I think enough for now." He set the box down, and the ribbon retied itself. "Not nearly enough of you, though," he said, looking entirely predatory.

"Draco, wait," Harry said, hating his words before they even came out of his mouth. "After everything you've been through—"

"I need a good fuck," Draco interrupted. "Not literally, you can stop looking at me like that. But I swear to god, Harry, if you don't let me touch you, there will be hell to pay." Harry didn't have time to answer before Draco slid onto his lap, grabbed his face and began kissing him, almost desperately. Harry couldn't stop the moan that came out of his mouth; they were both still naked from the shower, and his cock was nestled perfectly between Draco's cheeks. He thrust up experimentally, and Draco groaned.

"Don't do that," he breathed, pulling away just enough that he could talk. "Not if you don't want to go farther."

"You were the one who positioned yourself like this," Harry replied, making tiny movements with his hips, enough to make Draco lose his breath entirely.

"I—my mistake," he managed. He slid off Harry, bringing him down with him, and moaned again. Now their cocks were brushing against each other's, and Draco dug his fingers into Harry's arms, biting his lower lip, eyes closed in concentration.

"What do you want?" Harry asked, still moving against him. "This is for you, tell me what you need."

Draco whimpered at his words. "You," he breathed. "I need you, I need you to never stop, never get off me, never let me go."

"I won't," Harry said, moving his hips faster, having to work to keep his own breathing even, to make sure his sentences came out correctly. "But now, right now, what do you want?"

Draco bit his lip again, chewing nervously, and his eyes were still closed. "What are you willing to do?"

Harry didn't know the answer to that. His brain was clouded with arousal, the only clear thought was that Draco needed him, needed this. He didn't want to have sex, that was the other thing he knew. That deserved a better night than this, one with a fancy dinner and candles. "I don't—"

Draco whimpered again. "Then just whatever you want," he said, voice heady with need. "I don't care Harry, just make me feel good, make me forget."

The part of Harry that could still think started to panic. He wasn't good at this, had never really even done it before. Draco needed someone far more experienced than him. "Draco, I really don't think—"

Draco sighed in annoyance. "No, you don't. Shut up and do something."

Harry pressed his lips to Draco's. He still tasted of chocolate and raspberries, still smelled of vanilla, and still had the undeniable Draco that Harry was addicted to. His slid his hand down Draco's chest, wrapping a hand around him, stroking. Draco responded immediately, moaning, thrusting up to meet every stroke. But it wasn't enough, Harry knew it wasn't. Draco needed to be overwhelmed, to lose himself. He slid lower, kissing everywhere, licking him, renewing the bruises on his neck and collarbone that had faded after a week of fighting, feeling every gasp, every tiny, uncontrolled jolt that he caused. Draco realized his intention before he even started, a clear sign that Harry wasn't doing his job well enough, not if Draco could think that clearly.

"Harry, no, you don't have to," Draco managed, though his body was saying something else entirely. "I know this is new for you, that you get scared off easily, don't—"

"Shut up," Harry said. "I won't do anything I don't want to do." Still, Draco's hands fluttered at his shoulders, torn between pulling him up and pushing him down. Harry arrived at his hips, trying not to notice how they much they jutted out. Draco had hardly eaten all week, and it showed. He licked and he nibbled, knowing how sensitive those spots were. Draco was making the most delicious sounds, and Harry almost wasn't scared as he took Draco into his mouth and sucked. Draco let out a loud moan and dug his fingers into Harry's shoulders, hard enough to leave bruises. "Oh, Harry, Merlin, Christ, don't stop," Draco gasped.

Harry felt something wash over him, rendering him entirely comfortable. It felt completely natural, as if he had been doing this his whole life. He took as much of him into his mouth as he could, sucking and licking, then moving back up, swirling his tongue around his head, licking at the slit—which earned him a delicious moan—and finding that he loved the taste of him. He used his hands where his mouth couldn't reach, feeling the silky smoothness, the absolute hardness. He reached down, cupping his balls, stroking them. And then, still not feeling nervous, moved his hand farther back, running his finger over his hole. Draco froze, his breath catching, and then he started shaking and moaning, variations Harry hadn't heard before.

"I—I'm not sure," Harry stammered. "Do you need—?"

"I'm fine," Draco gasped. "It's fine, just keep it at one finger."

Harry took him back in his mouth, sucked hard at on his head as he slipped a finger inside. Draco's hips were jerking uncontrollably and he was making a high, keening noise, thrusting further into Harry's mouth, pushing him further inside.

"Curl you finger," he moaned. "Up—no, not there, just to the right—" He cut off as Harry found the spot, first going silent and then letting out a guttural moan, voice cracking partway through. "Yes, Harry, right there, Merlin, fuck, don't you dare stop—" He cut off in another moan. "Wait, no, Harry, do stop, pull back—"

Harry didn't stop, didn't want this to end that way. He felt Draco tense beneath him, around him, shaking and jerking and thrusting uncontrollably. Then he screamed, and Harry felt his mouth flooded with warm, sticky, salty liquid. He swallowed as best he could, though some managed to slide down his chin. Harry continued until Draco stilled completely, though his gasps remained, as well as a stray shiver or two. Harry moved back up to lie next to him and Draco found his lips immediately, kissing him utterly senseless.

"I love you," Draco said, finally getting his breathing under control. He reached up and wiped away what Harry had missed. "I can't believe you did that."

Harry's brows furrowed. "You're still talking," he said. "I think I've done it wrong."

Draco laughed throatily. "You did it perfectly," he said. "I just have a remarkable talent with words."

"I'll fix that one of these days," Harry replied, kissing him again, almost chastely. Draco started to snuggle into his arms, but Harry pulled away, earning himself a hurt look. "Just a second," he said, going to the couch and grabbing a spare piece of parchment and a quill. "I've got a letter to send."

To Kingsley Shacklebolt—

I believe I have information pertinent to the trial of Lucius Malfoy. If at all possible, I would like to provide testimony on the matter.

Harry stared at the note. It seemed short, incomplete, but he didn't know what to add.

Regards,

Harry J. Potter

He put the letter in an envelope and addressed it to the Ministry, assuming it would end up in the right place. "Draco, have you got a way of summoning Capry?" he asked. "I don't fancy a walk to the Owlery."

"Nor do I want you to leave," Draco said. "Hand me the letter, and my wand. It's in my overnight bag; probably should've taken it out of my bag before I left it to be laundered." Harry handed him the necessary materials. "Ire invenire Capry," he said, and the letter flew out the window. "That ought to do it. Now get back into bed."

Harry was woken early by a sharp tapping on the window, very different from Capry's excited taps or Pig's random bangs. He groaned and stumbled out of bed, Draco making a feeble attempt at holding him back before returning to sleep. A screech owl flew into the room and landed importantly on the mantle, easily avoiding Harry's photographs. Harry untied the letter from its leg and it took off, letting out a shriek as it soared out the window.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Draco yelled, voice only slightly muffled by his pillow.

"An owl from the Ministry," Harry said, opening the envelope with shaking hands.

Dear Mr. Potter,

Regarding your letter sent to Mr. Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic, on 16 September—

If you feel you have information relevant to the trial of Mr. Lucius Malfoy, we invite your testimony with open ears. You have been written in to testify at nine in the morning on the day of 21 September; this date is subject to change regarding trial proceedings. If this is inconvenient to you, please send an owl as quickly as possible, but be aware it is most likely impossible to reschedule.

Thank you for your interest in the trials,

Gertrude Barker,

Department of Magical Law Enforcement

"Well, I guess that's that, then," Harry said, passing the letter to Draco. "The 21st; that's, what, this Friday?"

Draco nodded, and Harry thought he was taking much more time than necessary to read the letter. "So you're really going to do this, then."

"Yeah, seems I am."

Draco hugged him with surprising strength. "Thank you."

"Yeah, it's nothing," Harry said, feeling as if it was, in fact, a very big something. What's more, it was something he couldn't talk to Ron or Hermione about, and Harry didn't feel voicing his concerns to Draco would improve the situation.

"What time's it?" Draco said, handing the letter back to Harry.

"Uh, six-thirty," Harry replied. He sat the letter on the table and ran a hand through his disorderly hair. "Fancy a game of Quidditch?" he asked. "I've got to, uh—"

"Clear your head?" Draco finished for him, and Harry nodded. "Suppose so." He slid out of bed and stretched, giving Harry a wonderful view. He let out a huge yawn. "You're going to win, though, so no betting."

"You might be asleep but I've got the weight of your entire family resting on my shoulders," Harry said, starting to get dressed. "We're even."

Draco mumbled something unintelligible, jostling Harry away from the dresser. "Fine, but not for anything of import."

"Winner gets half my chocolate stash?" Harry suggested, elbowing Draco out of the way so he could get to his socks.

"You have a chocolate stash?" Draco asked, intrigued. "In any case, that's rather daft, don't you think? If you win you're just getting something you already have, and even if I were to lose, I'm sure I can find ways of getting chocolate out of you."

"Would you just get out of the bloody way so I can get a pair of pants?"

Draco smirked. "I don't know, Harry, I rather like you sans pants."

"Oh yes, I'm sure riding a broomstick without pants on would be a joyous experience," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Now shove off, and let me get dressed."

The Quidditch game was genuinely enjoyable. They had settled on the winner having the right to dictate any place in the castle to make out, no matter how public, and if Harry let Draco win, well, that hardly mattered. Draco was smug at first, listing off all the possibilities—McGonagall's desk, Whisp's classroom, the Great Hall—but as they neared the front doors, he got steadily quieter and quieter, and they walked to the Great Hall together in silence, holding hands. Harry started in, but Draco held him back.

"Must we sit with your friends?" he asked, looking pained. "Just this once can't it be just the two of us?"

"Uh, yeah, of course," Harry said, scanning the room for a row of empty seats.

"Come on, we can sit at the Slytherin table," Draco said, leading him over to a cluster of empty seats. "Nobody's going to sit anywhere near me, it'll be private enough."

Halfway through a mostly silent breakfast, the eagle from the other day swooped over to them, and Draco hastily unwrapped the note, holding it so Harry could see it as well.

My dearest Draco—

I send you this note as I walk out the door, one last prayer between mother and son. Think of your father, and think of him often. He will feel your love, and it will give him strength. Send Carus back soon; I will owl you as often as I can.

And Harry—thank you. You have no idea what your support means to our family.

Love and kisses,

Mum.

"She never signs her notes 'mum'," Draco said rather numbly, turning paler than usual. "It's always Mother."

Harry took his hand and Draco grabbed it, squeezing as tightly as he could. "It'll be okay," Harry said, knowing his words were empty.

Draco gave his hand a final squeeze and took out a piece of parchment and a quill.

Mother—

Thank you for thinking of me, when all your thoughts should be with Father. He will be in my heart and my head every day until this nightmare is over.

Harry

He hovered for a moment, then continued.

Harry offered his assistance, I did not ask for it. But he is pleased to do anything he can to help. He will be testifying Friday.

Kisses,

Draco.

He tied the letter to Carus' leg, and the eagle flew away. Harry leaned his head on Draco's shoulder, wishing for more contact but knowing he couldn't in the Hall, and certainly not with Blaise and Pansy eyeing them the way they were.

"I—it's actually happening, isn't it?" Draco said blankly. "My dad's going to Azkaban."

"You don't know that," Harry insisted. "Kingsley is a good man, you couldn't ask for a fairer trial."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

Potions seemed to move in stops at starts; one minute they were pouring Harry's potion into the cauldron and Slughorn was congratulating them yet again, the next they were brewing something Harry didn't catch, he was just following Draco's orders, and then they were leaving.

"I'll see you at lunch," Harry said.

Draco nodded vacantly. "Have a good—what is it you've got now?"

"Muggle Studies," Harry said with a grimace.

"Then enjoy your nap." Draco swept into the crowd without another word.

This time they sat with Ron, Hermione, Neville and Aurora. Harry was extremely pleased to see Neville and Aurora sitting next to each other closer than they should have been, but most of his attention was focused on Draco, and he didn't have the wherewithal to track their conversation. His friends didn't know what was going on and wisely didn't ask, largely leaving Draco alone, only talking to him long enough to offer a jug of pumpkin juice, or an offer of rolls. Draco seemed a little more aware of himself than he had this morning, and accepted both with a vague "Thanks".

Halfway through lunch Luna floated over and sat next to Draco. "I'm sorry about your father," she said.

Draco jerked, and it was Harry's quick reflexes that prevented his glass of pumpkin juice from being knocked over. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said stiffly.

"Why, his trial, of course," Luna said. "My father is a journalist, and he knows all about it."

Draco's jaw clenched, eyes staring straight ahead, avoiding Luna completely. The others had stopped talking as well, and Harry was desperate to change the conversation, but he didn't know how.

"He thinks it won't last long," Luna said, and while Harry thought she meant it as comforting, Draco clearly did not take it that way. "Do you think a copy of the Quibbler would cheer him up?" she asked. "I can have my father send him one, free of charge."

Draco stood up and swept out of the hallway with another word. Harry turned to glare at Luna. "Do you really think that's helpful?"

"I imagine so," she replied, and her dreamy tone which Harry usually found rather pleasant was now infuriating.

"He didn't want anybody to know," Harry snapped. "Why do you think he was so quiet during lunch?"

"Perhaps he was daydreaming," Luna replied. "That's how I spend much of my time. And I hardly think he could keep it a secret; it will be all over the papers, I'm sure." This had not occurred to Harry or, as far as he knew, Draco. Missing something so obvious only made him angrier.

"Harry," Hermione said quietly, laying a hand on his arm. "Leave Luna alone. It's not her fault."

"No, of course not," Harry yelled, attracting the attention of most of the table. "Blurting out secrets like that, anyone with half a brain would know better." He slammed his fork down and grabbed his bag, storming down to Hagrid's hut, despite class not starting for another half hour. He collapsed on the grass behind Hagrid's hut, hoping he wouldn't be seen and forced into an explanation, and began angrily pulling up the grass. Harry knew Hermione was right, Luna was just trying to be nice, but it didn't make him feel any better; in contrary, he felt worse, for having yelled at her. So he took it out on the grass, like any reasonable wizard would.