By the time Draco and Hermione made it back from their day hike, Harry had dinner ready. While Harry's skills in the kitchen were far from the cuisine that he was raised eating or anywhere close to what the house-elves at Hogwarts served, the lemon chicken casserole and simple salad tasted better than usual. It could have been the ravenous hunger after the ten kilometer hike, but Draco had a feeling it had to do with the magic that still tingled across his palm from earlier.

Hermione and he had not spoken a single word on their way back to the little cottage. While outside it was easy to ignore the unexplainable draw he felt towards the curly haired witch, now that they were hidden behind the walls of the simple homestead, it was all he could bloody think about. The way her hair smelled like wild flowers, freshly bloomed from a heavy summer rain. Or the way her nose would wrinkle when she found something these little things that had gone unnoticed over the last couple weeks were now all he could focus on as they sat across from each other at the rickety dinner table.

It was bad enough he clearly still had feelings for Harry, but now this? This fascination with Hermione was absolutely not allowed. She was his client. He was hired to do a bloody job and get her better, not fantasize about what little noises she might make in bed. Was she a screamer? Or one of those witches who stifled their moans for fear of sounding too wanton. Adjusting himself underneath the table, he tucked his semi-erect cock into the waistband of his boxers and shorts, hoping it would concealed enough for him to sneak out of the room without it being noticed.

Draco excused himself from the dinner table, abandoning his plate, and he made a beeline for his room to retrieve fresh pajamas from his trunk. Once an acceptable pair had been found, he tucked them under his arm and moved into the bathroom. Turning the tap on the shower to an acceptable temperature of scalding hot, Draco stripped the dirty hiking clothes and left them in a pile in the middle of the bathmat.

He let out a small hiss of pained pleasure as he stepped into the shower, the spray biting at his back, soothing the expanse of muscles there. He allowed his head to tip back until a steady stream of water covered his face. With his eyes closed, and only the sound of the rushing water filling his senses, Draco allowed himself to finally think about what the hell this spark he felt with Hermione had meant.

It was so similar to the spark of magic he felt between him and Harry, but yet so bloody different. Where Harry created a fever, this magic from Hermione did the opposite. It soothed him. It was like finding a kindred spirit out in the wild. They both had experienced the grip of addiction and fallen prey to the darkness it ushered in. But the stir in his cock painfully reminded him that it was much more than just similarly damaged souls. He was attracted to her. He wanted to pick her brain apart and put it back together. He wanted to figure out everything that made her tick and make sure she never found the consuming void of addiction again. After the war he'd sworn he would never attempt to save anyone ever again—not after his last attempt of saving his family ended so bloody poorly—but that was exactly it. Gods help him, he wanted to save her.

His right hand curled around the shaft of his cock as his left rose to brace himself against the wall, the spray of the water still beating against his back as he began to slowly stroke himself. His mind strayed to images of the witch in just the other room, except in his mind she was not alone. A fantasy he hadn't even known existed began to bloom in his mind, unfurling and captivating him as he pumped his cock; Hermione on her hands and knees in front of him, his cock disappearing between her plump pink lips as he fucked her mouth. His hand wound in the endless mess that was her hair, and as he filled her mouth, Harry knelt behind her, filling her cunt. While Draco could only imagine what Hermione looked like lost in the throws of ecstasy, he knew exactly how Harry looked. How his eyes would roll to the back of his head, and his fingers would curl almost painfully tight around whatever he could grasp. Or the way his left leg would twitch just before he came.

It did not take him long to find release, his teeth clamping against his bottom lip to stifle his moan as his seed splattered against the slippery shower floor before swirling down the drain. His heart beat wildly, the forbidden fantasy burning the images into his mind despite his better judgement. Draco snatched the closest bottle of shampoo off the ledge and made quick work of washing his hair before using the shower gel he'd brought from America to cleanse the day's work from his body. Making sure no evidence of what he had done in the shower was left on the basin, Draco eventually turned off the water before toweling dry.

He dressed in a simple pair of black cotton pajama pants and a loose fit v-neck. Defogging the mirror with his hand, Draco ruffled the water from his hair before carding his fingers through the blond locks to achieve some semblance of order. Not everyone was as gifted as Harry in the art of appearing roguishly disheveled. He knew he was just wasting time, because the truth was he didn't give a shit about how he looked right now. He wasn't ready to face either of his two roommates yet, especially not after having a damn good wank to a truly depraved fantasy of which they were the starring cast. But, with a sigh, he resigned himself to the fact that he couldn't very well spend the rest of his night holed up in the bathroom.

Draco leaned on the countertop, leveling his eyes at his own reflection as he mentally prepared himself to walk back out into the living room. He could do this. He could act like whatever he had felt was nothing. He could fix Granger without giving in to these feelings for her. She'd made progress today, and while she still had a way to go, it was something. A ray of hope that helped him cast the forbidden feelings to the back of his mind. He could do this. So what if he'd had a wank? It wasn't illegal, and it wasn't like either of the Gryffindors specialized in legilimency.

Pushing off the counter, Draco collected his clothing from the floor and hung his bath towel before exiting the bathroom. He tossed his dirty clothes into the small wicker basket in his room and made the trek down the tiny hallway towards the living room. Each step he took sped his heartbeat in anticipation of seeing Harry and Hermione again.

Stepping into the room, Draco glanced around the dimly lit space curiously, not seeing or hearing the pair, and it wasn't until he was halfway through the room that he finally noticed where they were. Harry was sitting on one side of the couch, his feet propped against the table, his body slumped into the oversized cushions with his right arm draped loosely around Hermione, who was laying across the rest of the couch with her head in his lap. Both of them were dead asleep.

Draco debated breaking his own rule and magicking them to their rooms but decided to leave them be for now. Instead, he covered each of them with a throw blanket before moving into his bedroom to retrieve a small stack of letters that had been steadily arriving for Hermione since they'd taken residence in the cottage. He might as well make the most of the alone time while he had it, as he'd put off dealing with this particular problem longer than he should have.

The clock on the wall above the black and white telly told Harry it was nearly two in the morning when he finally woke up. His tired eyes looked around in confusion, trying to assess why he was in the living room. It wasn't until he felt something stir in his lap that he finally looked down and remembered what had happened. He and Hermione had been waiting for Draco to come out of the shower when they sat down on the couch. She was tired after her day's hike, and he offered to wake her up once Draco vacated the only bathroom in the cottage so she could shower before crawling into bed. By the time her head hit his lap, she was almost immediately asleep. Obviously, the melodic rhythm of her deep breathing coupled with the sound of the running water had been enough for him to drift off as he waited.

Peeling away the throw blanket, Harry carefully lifted Hermione's head from his lap and shoved a small couch pillow underneath before he stood up. His back ached from the awkward position in which he'd fallen asleep, and his eyes felt like all of the moisture had been sucked from them. He hated falling asleep in his contacts. With all the magical advancement that had been made since the end of the war, how no one had come up with a way to make moisture regulating contacts was beyond him. He rubbed his aching eyes with the back of his knuckles, squinting in the darkness towards the propped open front door. The porchlight was on, and a distinct smell of cigarette smoke had crept into the room.

Harry's stocking-clad feet carried him across the aged wooden floor, not trying to conceal his presence, and he reached out and pushed open the squeaky screen door before stepping out into the chilly autumn night. "Draco?" His voice cracked as he spoke, and he dropped his hand from his face.

Draco was sitting in a wicker chair, his long legs crossed at the ankle and propped up against the railing that ran around the cottage. A cigarette hung loosely between his lips and in his lap sat a small stack of parchment. Harry's voice pulled him out from his own thoughts, startling him back into reality. "Merlin's beard, Potter. Give a guy warning, would you?" he mumbled, the cigarette bouncing between his lips.

"I didn't exactly sneak up on you, Draco," Harry said as he moved across the porch to claim the empty chair next to the blond. "What are you doing anyway? It's the middle of the fucking night."

Draco took a deep drag from his cigarette and turned his head to exhale, making sure to blow the smoke away from Harry as he dropped his feet to the ground. "Couldn't sleep." His lie was laced with truth. He had only planned on going through the letters before burning them, which would have taken an hour—tops—but their content revealed something more than what he'd expected.

When Draco took on Hermione as his newest client, he had made a point to reach out to Charlie to clear her debts. He never divulged his identity, of course, but rather kept the whole exchange simple. He was her new publicist and was clearing her name from Charlie's books. The four-hundred Galleon price tag that came with buying her freedom from him had felt inflated, but he sent the amount that Charlie required and wrote the transaction in his ledger for Potter to reimburse him later. At the time, he had assumed it would be the last he would hear from the Weasley brother . Typically, once the dealers had been paid their due, they tended to scurry off into the darkness like the cockroaches they were.

However, Charlie Weasley was far from an insect. He held dragon's blood in his veins, which clearly made him as tenacious as a rabid Chinese Fireball. Within days of arriving at the cottage, owls had begun arriving for Hermione. The letters Draco intercepted began innocent enough, simply inquiring as to where she was staying and who this new publicist was, but as time went on with no response from Hermione, they quickly turned lewd and much more demanding. Charlie claimed he wanted—no, needed—to see her. He waxed on about how he missed her, specifically how her lips felt wrapped around his cock or the way her cunt spasmed when she rode him while high on his product. It was like watching two players collide during a Quidditch match. As sick as it made him to read the letters, Draco couldn't stop himself from ripping each envelope open and increasing his hate for the second-born Weasley son.

"Right…" Harry's eyes narrowed in disbelief at the wizard, and he gestured to the stack of letters that Draco had placed his hand on top of possessively. "What's that?" he questioned with a slight nod of his head.

Draco hesitated, bringing the cigarette back to his mouth for another deep draw. Gray eyes swirled like the smoke that filled his lungs. He knew Harry was well aware what an absolute tosser Charlie had become, but what he didn't know was if Harry was ready to see just how deviant his childhood friend had become. Ashing his cigarette against the arm of his chair, he let the embers fall to the earth before picking up the letter he had intercepted two days prior and held it towards him. "Charlie's been writing Hermione."

"Oh…" Harry's voice trailed off as he took the letter from Draco and leaned back in his chair. His eyes read over the hastily scrawled note. Even if it had not been signed to indicate the author, Harry would have recognized the script. It was distinct. Charlie's letters were sloppy and sharp, almost unreadable. When Harry had first received written correspondence from him back in his fourth year, he nearly had to have Ron decipher his brothers' words. But after years of shared holidays and occasional friendly postcards, it had become easier to decipher.

Of course, the letters he had received over the years had been nothing like what he held in his hand now. Charlie was demanding Hermione come visit him. Calling her two-week disappearance disrespectful. He even went so far as to remind her that her body belonged to him, and he was sick of waiting for her to turn up. He promised pills and to be gentle if she turned up at his London flat by Friday. As sickening as all of that was, the worst was his sign off from the despicable letter:

Just remember, Hermione: be the good girl I know you are and show up on Friday. I'll have a special treat for you waiting in my desk.

Dreaming of your cunt,

Charlie

By the time Harry had finished reading the letter, his fingers had curled tightly around the parchment, and his skin crawled with disgust. This was… this was fucking Charlie! This was the same bloody man who he'd shared numerous holidays with. The same man who looked out for him during the Triwizard Tournament. The same one who fought alongside both he and Hermione at The Battle of Hogwarts! Charlie was supposed to think of them as family. He wasn't supposed to say those things to Hermione, and he certainly wasn't supposed to fucking be telling her to come back to him with the promise of more drugs. And then, the reality of the situation hit him all at once.

Charlie wasn't just offering Hermione drugs to seduce her. He was keeping her addicted to Dragon's Breath so he could continue to use her. He might not have been the reason for her addiction, but he was taking advantage of her weakness and exploiting it for his personal gain.

A spark of magic popped from Harry's fingertips as rage overtook all of his senses, and the parchment he held burst into flames. Before he had a chance to react to his accidental magic, Draco had snatched the burning letter from his fingertips and tossed it on the ground with a curse.

"Bloody hell, Potter," Draco scolded as he pulled his bare feet away from the curling parchment embers that drifted in the soft autumn breeze.

Harry's right hand moved to the top of his head, his fingers twisting at the hair there while he watched the sloppy script that belonged to Charlie disappear amid the flames. "I… Sorry. I just—I can't fucking believe Charlie would write those things to her," he said, frowning as he lifted his eyes to watch Draco jam his cigarette into a small glass ashtray that had been sitting on the ground near his chair.

"Well believe it. I'd offer you more proof but I'd really not like to have to rescue Granger from a burning building if I can help it." Raising from the chair, Draco set the remaining letters on the seat he had vacated before he purposefully moved the chair away from Harry's reach with a warning glare that indicated he shouldn't bother trying to touch the rest. Moving around the pile of ash that had been the latest letter, Draco leaned back against the railing of the porch, his hands coming to rest on either side of his body on the wood.

"I didn't mean to," Harry defended, teeth chewing on his bottom lip. "I don't know what came over me. I just—it kept getting worse. His letter, that is. It was fucking… fucking vile." Harry dropped his hand from his head, smoothing it over his face as he tried to rid himself of the mental image of Charlie doing those things to Hermione. His Hermione. She wasn't some thing to be used. She was his best friend. She was more than that—or at least, he hoped she would be once they made it through this program.

"I'm well aware how accidental magic works, Potter. Why do you think I was smoking while reading them?" Draco cocked a brow at Harry before gesturing to the pack of silver and blue Lambert & Butlers sitting next to the ashtray. While they weren't his brand of choice, they were what the Muggle store carried, and he was not going to find the American brand he had grown accustomed to over the years in a village this size in the middle of nowhere. "I've got it under control though."

Harry cocked his head to the side in a silent question as he leaned forward, placing his elbows on the tops of his thighs, his hands clasped between his knees.

"I'm going to go pay Charlie a visit tomorrow. I already cleared Hermione's debt with him before you brought her here, but I'm hoping with a bit more money—and a promise of bodily harm—I can convince him to stop writing her," Draco said with a menacing glint in his eye. Draco might have successfully turned his image around, but he was still a former Death Eater, and if needed, he would use the villainous tactics taught to him long ago to make sure Charlie stayed as far away from Hermione as was fucking possible.

A forbidden thrill of excitement ran down Harry's spine while he watched Draco simmer with rage that equaled his own. He didn't know if it was because Draco was willing to go stand off against a drug lord or because he was doing it for Hermione that excited him more. "I'm coming with you," Harry said without any hesitation.

"Absolutely not, Potter," Draco replied with a firm shake of his head.

"Why not? She's my friend! And he was supposed to be like family! If either of us deserves to go knock some bloody manners into Charlie, it's me," Harry said, a frown tugging at the corner of his lips.

"If we both run off to London, who the hell is going to stay here and help her?" Draco pointed out, his arms crossing against his chest. He watched as a flicker of recognition lit behind Harry's eyes, and the fire that had previously ignited his emotions began to simmer.

"Oh… right," Harry said, his lips quirking to the side.

"Besides, if you were to go, Aurora would have a litter of Kneazles," Draco pointed out, a smug smirk tugging on his mouth as he leaned back against the railing behind him. "Could you even imagine the headlines that would cause: "The Ministry's Golden Boy out visiting a known drug dealer with a Death Eater." We're trying to repair Hermione's public image, not destroy yours."

"Reformed Death Eater," Harry corrected, "Besides, I don't give a shite what Aurora or any of those Ministry officials think."

"You might believe I am reformed, Potter, but the rest of Britain doesn't give two fucks about my good deeds across the pond," Draco said with an amused laugh. "But by all means, defend what little honour I have left. Although, I hate to break it to you, no one's really going to care. I still bear the mark, which means I did the crime." Draco turned over his arm to Harry to expose the faded Dark Mark.

No matter how many time Harry had seen it, the inky blackness of the skull and snake still sent a shiver down his spine. Draco had taken the mark, there was no use forgetting that fact. But he was different than the others. Draco never murdered or hated the same way others did. And in the end, Draco and his family had even helped during the Final Battle. While they did not wield wands of their own in defense of Hogwarts, Draco had supplied Harry with a wand when it was most needed. And without Narcissa's deceit—well, he surely would have been buried beneath rubble in Scotland instead of sitting in a cottage with her son.

Harry knew that this was not a fight he would win. Clearly with all the healing Draco had done since the last time Harry had seen him, he still had demons he had not yet conquered. Maybe that's why he took this job? To help clear his conscious of his wrongdoings. Clearing his throat, Harry snatched the package of cigarettes and lighter from the floor before he moved to lean against the railing next to Draco. He planted his elbows on the wood railing as he pulled a single cigarette from the pack before setting the items on the far side of the railing—purposely on the opposite side of the railing from Draco so the wizard would have to reach across him to take them back. "When did you take up smoking?" Harry questioned, hoping the change of subject would put the blond at ease.

Draco turned around and matched Harry's stance beside him, his shoulder brushing against the other wizard's as he leaned on the railing. "About the same time I stopped drinking." Reaching out, he took the cigarette from Harry's fingers and placed it between his own lips. His right hand turned palm up, and his eyes flicked between Harry's and the lighter he still held, silently asking him for it. He wasn't a fan of avoiding topics, but at nearly two a.m. he didn't much feel like getting under Harry's skin.

"Seems rather odd," Harry commented as he begrudgingly gave over the lighter, "giving up once vice to develop another."

Draco chuckled, his lips wrapped tightly around the cigarette that he was breathing to life. With a deep inhale, the nicotine smoke filled his lungs and brought a burning calm to his heart that had begun to beat faster than before at Harry's proximity. "Clearly you've never had a drinking problem."

"Obviously, but what the hell does that have to do with smoking?" Harry questioned as he reached out and pulled the cigarette from Draco's lips and placed it between his own with a deep inhale.

Draco's eyebrows raised as a slow trickle of smoke rose from the corner of his mouth. Harry smoked? Well, colour him surprised. He would never expect the boy-who-lived to develop such a nasty habit. Especially since his public image was nearly as important to the Ministry as the value of the Galleon. "You drink to numb the pain. Smoking's as close as you can get to that feeling without actually drinking," Draco replied before blowing the lingering smoke out into the night. "Since when do you smoke, Potter?"

Harry shrugged, his tongue darting across his bottom lip as he held out the cigarette for Draco to take. "Couple years ago… and I wouldn't go as far as to say I smoke," Harry explained. "I enjoy one on occasion."

Draco hummed in amusement, taking a slow drag from the cigarette, the embers burning bright red in response. They stayed like that for several minutes, passing the smoke between the two of them, enjoying the quiet of the night. It wasn't until the first cigarette died and a new one was lit in its place that the silence was broken.

"Thank you," Harry said, his voice softer than before, trying not to disturb the peaceful silence around them.

"For what?" Draco turned his attention back to Harry, his brow furrowed.

"For helping Hermione… and me. For going to London to talk to Charlie." Harry explained, holding out the fresh cigarette for Draco to take as he blew his smoke away from them.

"There's no need to thank me, Potter. I'm doing my job," Draco reminded him, but the lie even sounded funny to himself at this point. Yes, he had received an initial payment for his services, but no money had been exchanged since then, and this was becoming much more than just work. He, gods help him, cared for both if the damned Gryffindors. He knew that if he wasn't successful in helping get Hermione clean it wasn't just her that was going to be affected. Harry would be hurt too, and Draco wasn't willing to let that happen.

"But you aren't. There's nothing in the contract that said you were required to threaten bodily harm to drug dealers. And there certainly wasn't anything in there about paying them off," Harry pointed out as he plucked the cigarette from Draco's lips with an small grin. "So… thank you."

Draco only responded with a roll of his eyes before waving his hand. "You paid me enough money already to cover whatever Weasley wants. Don't think I'm being chivalrous, and don't bloody tell anyone. You'll ruin my image," he teased, a slow trickle of smoke lifting from the corner of his mouth as he blew it away before offering the cigarette back to Harry. Once the wizard had taken it, he turned around so his back pressed against the railing and he could see Harry better.

With it held loosely between his thumb and index finger, Harry ashed the cigarette over the railing in preparation for taking another hit when it suddenly dawned on him. He had only paid Draco the initial deposit. Per their contract, he was supposed to have given him half of the remaining balance nearly two days ago. "Oh fuck. I was supposed to have paid again by now." Harry set the cigarette down on the railing, making sure it wasn't going to roll to the ground before he turned to face Draco head on, his left elbow resting against the wood. "I completely fucking forgot. I can owl Aurora tomorrow and ask her—"

Draco raised his hand to silence Harry, his head shaking slowly. "Stop. Don't worry about it. We've had our hands full, and it's not like I'm desperate for the Galleons. I do know where you're sleeping, remember? You can just hold off until we're finished. I know you're good for it," he said.

Harry cocked his head slightly to the side, his brows lifting. "You don't want the money?"

Draco scoffed. "It's not about want or need. I have plenty in my personal vaults to get me through several decades should I suddenly decided to stop working—which I have no intention of. However, there is the simple fact that bothering your assistant will raise concern within the Ministry, and I'd rather not add that to my list of problems to navigate while Granger should still be our sole focus. So no, I suppose I don't want the money… right now." It wasn't entirely a lie. Draco did intend to collect the debt at some point, but as the days wore on, staying in this cottage with both Harry and Granger was feeling less like a business transaction and more like a moral obligation.

"Whatever you say, Draco," Harry said, doing his best to level the amusement from his voice. Just as he reached out to retrieve the cigarette from the railing where he left it, Draco's fingers moved, obviously with the same intention. As their fingers brushed against one another, the magic like an electrical current that had passed between them before was back. This time though, the magic that sparked between them didn't just feel like a tingle, but rather like he'd just put his hand on a hot iron. Harry gasped, and he froze, physically unable to pull his hand back from Draco's. His heart skipped a beat. Everything that they had just spoken about—the money, Hermione, and the Ministry—vanished, and suddenly the only thing that mattered was Draco.

It was as if the world moved in slow motion. Harry watched Draco's Adam's apple run the length of his throat as he swallowed, and when those gray eyes lifted to find his, he was done for. He would never know who made the first move this time, but seconds later, his lips crashed into Draco's. Harry's hand ran up the soft skin of Draco's arm, his fingers dancing across the Dark Mark, earning a small whine from the other man. As his hand journeyed up to the side of Draco's head, he slipped his fingers into his impossibly soft hair.

Draco tasted exactly the same as he remembered. Smokey. Forbidden. Hermione was just inside the living room and could literally walk out and see their lips locked in passion if they weren't careful, but at this point in time he didn't give a shite who saw. He'd gone years without this feeling, and he was going to be damned if it was taken away from him again so quickly.

Draco's hands found Harry's waist, his fingers curling around the hem of his cotton tee, and he pulled the wizard against him with one swift motion. Turning Harry, he pushed him against the railing until their bodies pressed together. He could feel Harry's heartbeat thundering beneath his chest, the rhythm both exciting and captivating. As Harry's nails scratched against his scalp, Draco gave a low growl in warning, his teeth nipping against the wizard's tongue before his lips left Harry's.

His right hand rose, fingers snaking into the back of Harry's thick black hair and with one forceful yank, he exposed the column of Harry's throat and earned a hiss of approval from the wizard. Draco took his time kissing and sucking at the delicate skin on the exposed neck, nibbling across his jawline, relishing the way Harry's rough stubble felt against the delicate skin of his lips. Draco pressed his hips against Harry's, taking control of the situation much like he had previously. Harry's heavy breaths, combined with the little moans of pleasure, were enough to nearly send him over the edge. It had been ages since he sought physical comfort with another. He hadn't been celibate since last being with Harry—gods no—but it had been months. Work had picked up, and he just didn't have the time nor the energy to find a worthy candidate to grace his bed. But besides that, it absolutely never felt like this with any other partner. In this moment, Harry's kiss tasted better than any drug he'd ever taken and quenched a thirst he didn't even know he'd had. While the rational side of him knew he should stop, the primal side told him he couldn't end at just a kiss.

Harry jumped, nearly climbing the railing behind him when he felt Draco's hand move from his waist to unbutton his jeans and slowly pull his zip down. As each tooth passed through the zipper, Harry swore he could feel the noise reverberate against his spine. Draco's name was a whispered plea, his hips jutting out in hopes of encouraging the wizard to move faster.

Draco only chuckled in response to Harry's need, his teeth ghosting painfully across his earlobe. "Patience was never a trait you possessed, was it?" the wizard purred into his ear, causing Harry to whimper in response as he felt Draco's index finger tease the elastic band of his boxers, tugging on the fabric and snapping it against his abdomen. "You know what I'm waiting for… say it."

"Please," Harry didn't even hesitate, already putty in the wizard's hands. He would say whatever the bloody fuck Draco wanted him to in this moment. "Please, Draco."

"Please what?" Draco growled, his left hand tightening its hold in Harry's hair, and he ground his own erect cock against the other man's hip as he dipped his index and middle finger beneath the elastic band once more.

"Please touch me."

Draco smirked against Harry's skin, the pleas sending hot thrills running down his spine. There was quite possibly nothing better in this entire world other than hearing Harry—the man who had once been the biggest thorn in his side—beg for him. Although, to be fair, he had yet to hear Granger's pleas. His mind spun out of control at that thought, instantly transporting him back to the forbidden fantasy from earlier, and all sense of composure was instantly lost. His hand dropped quickly, and his long fingers curled tightly around Harry's cock, caressing the velvet-like skin that wrapped so tightly around his engorged member.

It took them no time to find a comfortable rhythm. Harry rutting into Draco's hand like a pre-teen on a date in Hogsmeade, and Draco grinding himself against Harry's hip to relieve his own tension. His hand dropped from holding Harry's hair to cup the back of his neck, and their lips found each other once more. Draco greedily swallowed all the little noises that Harry emitted, not willing to share them with the world. This moment was his and his alone. This was a side of the Boy-Who-Lived that no one else knew, and that fact alone thrilled him.

Harry felt his balls tighten, his entire body trembling with need as his inevitable release came dangerously close. Breaking their kiss, he pressed his forehead against Draco's, but he didn't dare open his eyes. "I—I'm going to cum." He didn't know if it was a warning, or an announcement, because while he felt obligated to let the wizard know, he might actually fucking explode into a tiny thousand pieces if Draco stopped what he was doing.

Thankfully, his words only seemed to encourage the wizard, as the fingers curled around his cock tightened and the pace increased. Every muscle in his body began to tense as Draco brought him even closer to release, his hands dropped from the wizard to clutch the railing on either side of his body, and he felt his breath catch in his throat as he hurdled head first into oblivion. His body trembled, and his hips gave jerky thrusts as he felt his cock pulse his release across Draco's wrist and the ground between them.

Draco's ministrations slowed, but he did not stop stroking Harry until he felt the wizard quiver with completion beneath his fingertips while he milked every last drop from Harry's cock. Tucking the softening member back inside his boxers, Draco zipped up and rebuttoned Harry's jeans before pressing a slow, sensual kiss against his mouth, taking his time to taste him once more as Harry slowly recovered.

Harry happily took the kisses, his shaking hands resting against Draco's chest, his fingers brushing small patterns across his skin through the thin black t-shirt. When his heart finally slowed to a normal pace and his mind no longer felt fogged by his orgasm, Harry reached down to Draco's waist, intent on returning the favor when the blond wizard stopped him with a single word.

"Don't."

Harry pulled back, his brow furrowing as he looked at the kiss-ruffled wizard. Didn't he want to find his own release? He could feel Draco's cock against his hip still, swollen and throbbing with need. "Why not?"

Draco ran his fingers across the length of Harry's jaw as he looked into the pair of emerald eyes that had invaded his dreams for so long. "It's fine. This isn't a tit for tat, Potter," he told the wizard in a soft whisper, pulling him up by his chin once more for a soft kiss before he took a reluctant step back from him. "It's late, and I need leave for London by nine," he explained as he stepped out of Harry's reach and turned to pick up the stack of letters that sat in his vacated chair from earlier.

"Oh… right. I forgot," Harry admitted, not moving from his reclined position against the porch railing just yet. He watched curiously as Draco collected his things, neatly stacking the letters and placing them in a purple folder. "Where do I tell her you've gone?"

Draco looked over his shoulder to Harry and he gave a small shrug. "That I've gone to take care of business in London. You can say you don't know what I'm doing if it makes it easier," Draco offered before moving to the screen door, and he paused, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment before he looked over his shoulder to Harry once more. "Don't do anything stupid tomorrow."

"Like what?" Harry questioned with a breath of a laughter.

"Like… leave the cottage or talk about the war. Just try to have fun tomorrow… take care of our girl."

The words lingered in the air as if they were visible. Our girl. And suddenly Harry could sense a possessiveness that had not been there before. He felt his heart thump in approval, and his fingers tightened their hold on the wooden trailing, his nails digging against the soft wood. "O—okay," he responded with a small nod.

Draco's lips quirked up in the hint of a smile before he turned and pulled open the screen door. "Night, Harry." Could be heard as he moved inside before he let the screen snap closed against the house.

Harry stayed still, his eyes glued to the spot Draco had just vacated as his mind swirled with curiosity. Our girl… take care of our girl. What exactly did he mean by our girl? Harry chewed on his bottom lip as he thought about the possibilities of Draco feeling something for Hermione in addition to him, and for the briefest of moments, his mind wandered to think what it might be like to be with both his best friend and the boy he used to hate.

Author's Note:

Come follow me on tumblr ms-merlinblack! (& Happy Game of Thrones night to fellow watchers!)