ser·en·dip·i·ty. /ˌserənˈdipədē/ noun
The occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way."a fortunate stroke of serendipity"
…
"Harry," Hermione whispered, and he looked up from his battered spell book. "That's Katie, Katie Bell." She looked off to the side, and he followed her gaze.
In a minute, he was up off the bench and walking quickly to her. "Katie, how are you?"
"I know you're going to ask, Harry," she shook her head, looking regretful, "but I don't know who cursed me. I've been trying to remember, honestly- but I just can't." But then her gaze went past Harry, back to the entrance of the Great Hall, and she stilled.
Harry turned, and saw Draco standing near the doorway, frozen in the spot for a few seconds as he met her gaze. Then he seemed uncomfortable, looking away before he spun on his heel and strode out of the room.
Harry quickly followed him, having to dodge between students, almost losing sight of Draco. He was moving fast up the stairs, maybe back to the Room of Requirement. His safe haven. His hiding place. Harry went as quickly as he could in his wake.
He barely glimpsed Draco turning a corner to a quieter hallway, in a part of Hogwarts Harry had rarely visited. He crept slowly forward, not seeing Draco. Had he ducked into an empty classroom? Did he know Harry was following him?
…
Draco felt like he was drowning. Escape was the only thing he could think to do. Katie Bell was back and Potter was talking to her. Would she remember anything? How long until it was linked back to him? Time was running out.
He turned into the bathroom no one seemed to use. He could feel a sob welling within him, and tore off his sleeveless jumper. He turned on the taps, and splashed his face, trying to quell his emotions. Looking into the mirror, his face tensed as he tried to hold back and failed.
It was mortifying. Sobs came out of him, and he could only clutch the slippery edge of the sink. He couldn't hold them back, no matter how hard he tried. He was going to be a failure at this. Was he going to be killed? Would his father die in Azkaban before then? Would his mother be left alone in her grief, surrounded by such evil?
He saw a flicker of movement in the reflection of the mirror, and his heart sank. His worst fear, being seen in this state. And it was Potter.
"I know what you did, Malfoy. You hexed her, didn't you?"
Draco turned, his face still damp from the water he had splashed on it and his tears, and glared at the vile, interfering Gryffindor. Potter, the supposed Chosen One. The Boy Who Lived. Fucking Harry Potter.
Rage rose in him, pure seething hatred from all the years of their rivalry, and Draco had pulled out his wand before he even fully realized it. A wordless spell hurtled at Potter.
But his foe's reactions were quick. A defensive charm as he jumped out of the way, sending a stinging hex back at Draco. He was the one putting up a shield as he ducked out of sight.
It was a full duel now, sending volley after volley of spells, charms and hexes. Draco reacted without thinking almost, scrambling for a better position. Their missed and deflected magic hit the plumbing, with water spewing out everywhere. He was soaked, and shook his head to stop water from dripping in to his eyes.
He almost got Potter, peering beneath the bathroom stalls, crawling over the wet tiles. But he shot back, and Draco jumped out near the sinks again.
Potter ran around the corner, wand pointing straight at Draco. "Sectum S-" he started to say, but his feet slipped from under him. He flailed in the air, his arms and legs off the ground for what felt like seconds, before he fell, hard, flat on his back against the wet marble tile. His head hit last, a hard thump against the unforgiving surface. Potter slumped, his body completely lax.
Fuck fuck fuck! Draco could hardly think. Had he hit Potter with one of his spells, or had he seriously hurt himself from this fall? He had seen too much violence in recent years, too many dead bodies.
Draco dropped to his knees beside Potter. This couldn't be happening. He couldn't be dead. He pushed the wet hair off Potter's face. Was he breathing?
…
Harry felt incredible pain, like steel knives being thrust through his skull. He groaned, squeezing his eyes tightly closed, and wanting to roll into a tight ball. But his body felt so heavy, he couldn't move.
"Potter! Potter!" a voice nearby implored, and hands grasped his shoulders, digging in hard, shaking him.
It made his head ache even more fiercely, and he blinked his eyes open. It took a few seconds for his swirling vision to clear. Draco Malfoy's face was right above his own, his hair soaked and dripping on to Harry. His eyes seemed enormous, the pupils huge, and a strange expression on his face that Harry had never seen before. Concern. Towards him?
"You're alive," Malfoy whispered, and he hauled Harry up into a sitting position.
Harry moaned, both hands clutching his head. It was too much, too much. He squeezed his eyes tight, trying to ride out the pain, fearing he was about to vomit.
There were a few whispered words, and he felt the pain easing away, from sharp and overwhelming to a dull ache. He felt he could finally take a few deep breaths, his body slumping against the hands that held him up.
"That's better, eh? Can you stand?" Malfoy said, and urged Harry to find his footing on the slick floor. He was surprisingly strong, despite his wiry frame, heaving Harry upwards to lean against the sink.
He clutched it for support, hanging his head down as he tried to calm his breathing and get his bearings. They had fought. The bathroom was still spurting out leaks from many sources, and broken glass and other debris was scattered across the floor.
Reaching up with one hand, he felt along the back of his head. His hair was dripping wet as well, making it easier to feel along his scalp, finding the large lump that radiated pain still.
"You fell pretty hard, knocked yourself out," Malfoy said, standing in front of Harry.
Lifting his head, Harry looked him over. He was just as drenched as Harry, his white dress shirt clinging to his chest. He was slim, but had some muscular definition that probably had developed in the last year or so.
Looking Malfoy in the eyes, there was such a swirling mix of emotions displayed there. Anger, hate, pain, concern, exhaustion. Harry was sure his eyes were the same. How had it come to this? Almost killing each other in a bathroom?
This boy, months away from being a man. Draco Malfoy. He stirred up so much within Harry. So close. Practically in his face. Years of the taunts and sneers in classrooms and the dining hall, the battles on the Quidditch pitch, so many memories surging up in his mind. Old hate and mistrust, suspicions. It was almost overwhelming, the dark emotions Malfoy stirred in him, glaring at his enemy.
Malfoy's expression now matched Harry's, the familiar sneer of hatred and superiority on his angular features. He glared right back, his concern for Harry gone.
Who moved first, it was impossible to say. But Harry found his lips against Malfoy's, a hard, bruising kiss. His hands flew out, feeling unstable, and clutched Malfoy's shoulders. This somehow was taken as an encouraging gesture, and Malfoy pressed in closer, trapping Harry between the sinks and his body.
He was somehow almost sitting on the edge of the sinks, his legs spreading as Malfoy crowded between them. Harry's hand clutched into the wet fabric of his shirt, angling his head for a deeper kiss.
This was madness. An unthinking series of deep kisses, harder than he'd ever kissed anyone before. Bodies pressed closely together, Malfoy's arms tight around him now.
Malfoy shifted against him, and Harry gasped at feeling the hardness against his own. He hadn't even realized he had an erection until then, and tilted his hips upwards, seeking better contact. Was Malfoy aroused too? Hard for him? From this? His hands went down to his hips, pulling him in closer.
Malfoy dropped his face against Harry's neck, panting like he had sprinted a mile. He moaned as Harry rocked against him.
That was definitely a hard cock under those soaked school uniform trousers. Harry had never done this with another boy before, never kissed, never touched. Never been so aroused with another person. It was purely sexual, and he was dizzy with it. He couldn't stop pulling Malfoy against him, rubbing together, panting, gasping.
Malfoy was in the same state, breathing hard. His hands dug into Harry's lower back, keeping him in place.
Harry came first, his damp cheek pressed against Malfoy's. Unable to hold back as he shuddered, gasping, moaning. Malfoy jerked against him with his own gasp, stilling in Harry's slackened embrace.
It felt like many minutes before Malfoy pulled back. He was still breathing hard, but avoided Harry's gaze. He scanned instead over the floor, finding their wands and passing Harry's back to him. He turned away, and seemed to be drying off his clothes. Tidying up.
Harry felt a roll of shame wash over him, and shakily stood, still grasping the sinks until he knew he could stand firmly. His headache was still slightly there, forgotten for the last few minutes. He turned away, taking care of his own clothing.
When he turned back, Malfoy was repairing the bathroom. Fixing the broken pipes and mirrors. Vanishing the water.
Harry did the same. They must leave no evidence of what happened here today. He was still in shock. He had almost said the Sectum Sepra spell at Malfoy, without even knowing what it could do. Fear and dread pooled in his stomach at the thought of how much differently this could had gone.
And the rest? The kissing? The touching? Harry didn't even want to think about it. Not now. Maybe not ever. A moment of insanity. More shame and confusion filled him, and he pushed the thoughts away.
"You should go to see Pomfrey. I just did a basic healing spell," Malfoy said, almost at the door. "Do you need help getting there?"
Harry pushed a hand through his dried hair, the bump still throbbing and sore. He'd had knocks that bad in class and Quidditch. "No, no, I'll be OK." It felt weird to talk so normally, politely, after all that had happened here.
Malfoy just gave a curt nod, and slipped out the door.
After a few minutes, Harry left as well. He went to the hospital wing on autopilot, saying Hi to people who spoke to him, but not registering who they were. Too much to process. Feeling numb.
…
Madame Pomfrey treated him, and made him stay a few hours for observation. When he ate a bowl of soup and a cheese toastie for dinner with a normal appetite she appeared satisfied, and let him go back to his own bed.
It was a relief to tell Ron he wasn't feeling well, and crawl under the covers, curtains tight around the bed. A pocket of privacy.
He went over everything, moment by moment. Seeing Malfoy at the sinks. He had been crying, hadn't he? Harry was sure he'd heard it.
But then the attack, so quick. Harry reacting automatically, his years of experience right there. Malfoy was a powerful foe, not holding back. The damage to the bathroom bore witness to the serious magic they had levied at each other. Harry felt shocked at his own response. The spells and charms he'd used. No 'expelliarmus' at all.
Was there anyone Harry had years of bad emotions built up like that? Just Voldemort and Draco Malfoy. Five years of it had come out in that battle. How could it have ended if their magic hit the intended target? Would he be facing a murder investigation right now? Aurors called in? Dumbledore and McGongall staring at him in dismay. How could he have explained it?
Shifting through it, he knew he has been about to say Sectum Sepra to Malfoy, and he had a clear shot. It would have hit him square in the chest. But his foot had slipped, his balance totally gone, and he had landed hard. Malfoy's general healing spell had relieved the pain in his body from that impact. He couldn't remember hitting his head, but recalled coming around, Malfoy's concerned face so close to his.
When had it changed? Was it just too many emotions stirred up in that room? Malfoy crying by himself for whatever reason, to the fight, to concern over Harry being knocked out? Relief when he woke up? Somehow that spilled into… what? Sex? Attraction?
Maybe all those emotions just needed an outlet. They are teenage boys, and hormones are rampant. Sex is never far from their thoughts.
Harry scoffed at that, turning on his side. He was just wearing pyjama bottoms, cuddled under a big down comforter. Did he still have marks, bruises, from Malfoy clutching his shoulders so hard? He doubted it, or Pomfrey would have noticed in her examination.
Maybe there were no physical marks from what had happened, but Harry would never forget it. Those kisses. So hard and intense. All consuming. He couldn't even think. So different than the shy, sweet ones he'd shared with Cho. Was Malfoy experienced? Who has he kissed before? Was it like that?
The thought had Harry turning onto his back, the ideas disturbing. Was he jealous? Just crazy. But they stuck, and he couldn't help but picture Malfoy with some nameless classmate. Clutching each other, kissing just as hotly, pressing him up against a wall. The other boy's head thrown back as Malfoy kissed his neck, his legs moving to wrap around his waist. Moaning.
Harry realized he was hard, and his hand drifted down into his PJs. It was familiar wandless, wordless magic, producing lube. Something he did every morning and usually at night too. But this time, his strokes were slower. He had never imagined guys together in his fantasies. It felt strange but exciting, and quickly memories of that afternoon took over. Malfoy in his wet shirt. Imagining undoing the buttons, peeling it off him. Running hands down his slick chest, undoing his trousers. Hands pushing under clothing. Would he feel like this? Hard, thick, throbbing? Would he pant against Harry's mouth, gasping in pleasure, his hips moving like they had this afternoon?
Pleasure overtook him, hard and intense. He was glad he had done a silencing spell, unsure what noises he had made. Wanking was such a normal thing, why had this time been like that? So fast and good?
Maybe it was just the thrill of something new, something a bit forbidden. Sure, there were gay and bisexual wizards and witches around, just like for muggles. But everyone was assumed to be straight unless they declared themselves otherwise. There was always pressure to date girls. Take a girl to that winter ball in fourth year, and a girl to Slughorn's Christmas party. He'd never even had a male student flirt or approach him that way.
What about Malfoy? Harry had never seen him with guys that way either. He had Pansy as a date at some events. A girlfriend or a beard?
He feel asleep, with many unanswered questions.
…
A/N: Thanks for giving this story a try. It is an AU of the last quarter of Half Blood Prince. The draft is complete, and 6 chapters long. I'll post at least 1-2 chapters a week