As Harry slept peacefully in the bed, Draco sat, feeling like a complete creep, in the armchair he'd conjured beside the guest bed. It hadn't been long since Harry had fallen asleep, and Draco knew he should leave, but he didn't think he'd ever get a chance to see Harry in this peaceful state again. Harry's jaw was a bit slack, his lips barely parted. Every so often, his facial expression would twist into one that caused him to look forlorn, and Draco wondered what it was he was dreaming of. Then, only a moment later, his face would relax, going blank. Sometimes the ghost of a smile would play on Harry's lips, and Draco hated how it sped his heart rate. Those sleep-induced smiles only lasted several seconds, but Draco didn't think he'd ever forget them, or the way they made his stomach feel as though billywigs had built a nest inside.
Leaning back in the chair, Draco gazed at Harry's foot, which was still free of bruises, albeit temporarily. By morning they'd be back, and another round of cream would need to be applied. As guilty as Draco felt— and Merlin did he feel utterly condemnable— he looked forward to rubbing the bruise healing paste on Harry's foot.
"Salazar's pants, why am I so bloody weird?" he whispered to himself, and rubbed both hands over his face and through his hair.
It wasn't as though Draco had a foot fetish. No, he simply craved any and all physical contact he could get with or from Harry. Not that that was much better, he reminded himself, as he had proven in the past that he was willing to do awful things to get the physical contact he craved. Those awful things were the reasons Harry hated Draco today, the reason Draco would never be able to tell Harry how he felt about him. And now he'd broken the man's blasted foot, to top it all off with a lovely, red cherry. Because if there was anything Draco was brilliant at, it was making matters worse with the Boy Who Lived.
For a moment Draco contemplated telling Harry how he felt now, while he was unconscious and there was no chance of him overhearing. He even went so far as to formulate the words he'd say, planning out a long, overly dramatic list of things he enjoyed about Harry, and how long he'd felt this way, and what Harry's sleepy smile did to his innards. When he opened his mouth to say these things, however, nothing came out. His throat dried up instantly, and his lips wouldn't meet to form the words.
Sighing, Draco stood, feeling like an utter fool. There would be no point telling Harry these things, sleeping or awake. It would do no good to pour his heart and soul out to this man who he'd spent years ensuring would hate him, good and properly.
Taking one last lingering look at Harry, Draco turned and left the guest room. If he stayed any longer, he was only bound to make himself feel worse.
oOo
The following morning, Harry woke to find the incredibly disgruntled, yet strikingly beautiful face of Narcissa Malfoy gazing down at him. So, today was going to start with more disaster, it seemed. The more awake and aware Harry became, the more pain he noticed his foot was in. Although Draco had apparently propped it up in the night, Harry had not stayed in the same position as he'd slept, and was paying for it.
"Good morning, Harry," Mrs. Malfoy said in a voice that did not match her demeanor, it was so cheerful. "I apparently cannot trust my son to be civil, nor to prevent our guests from being harmed in our home. Would you care to tell your side of the story?"
"It was my fault, Mrs. Malfoy," Harry began, doing his best to sit up without jostling his foot too badly. His cheeks heated in embarrassment as he told her what happened. "Draco— he wanted to be left alone, and I should've just, well, left him alone. I was, er, reciting some original renditions of some very old nursery rhymes— only, the lyrics were a bit rude, now that I think about it. I was trying to irritate him, to get him to talk to me. When he opened the door I pretended I hadn't done anything wrong, and when he slammed the door I sort of, er, slipped my foot in?"
Mrs. Malfoy pursed her lips and seemed to consider Harry's words. "So, you claim that it was your fault?"
"It was, Draco even said so last night— no, not exactly!" he corrected, seeing her disgruntled look turn momentarily to fury. "He said it was partially his fault, but he was right that it was also partially mine. I have to take responsibility, too. It's not his fault I put my foot in the door."
"Very interesting," she mused, her blue eyes dancing with anger. "He seems to believe that this is all his fault and has even gone so far as to say we should pay whatever bills you receive from the hospital. I'm inclined to agree with him."
"I couldn't accept that, Mrs. Malfoy," Harry sputtered, waving his hands wildly. "Please, I can afford any bills. You've been kind enough to offer me a bed in your home for the night, and Draco gave me an excellent pain potion. He even rubbed bruise removal paste on my foot, and it worked much faster than any kind I've used before." Draco must've created that, as well, and he really should start his own business, Harry thought distractedly.
"I'll not hear of you spending one knut on your treatment, Harry. You've been through quite enough." Mrs. Malfoy's tone was one Harry knew he shouldn't argue with, but then he never had been good at being tactful, had he?
"I won't even be getting a bill, as I'm not going to St. Mungo's," Harry said, hoping upon hope that Mrs. Malfoy wasn't anything like Mrs. Weasley in situations like these.
Surprisingly, however, Mrs. Malfoy only nodded, smiling in her feline-esque way. "This is true, you won't be. I've sent a letter to my personal healer already. She will be here by mid-afternoon, and I will cover the cost. She is very discreet." Personal healer? Harry hadn't even been aware one could have a personal healer.
"Now," Mrs. Malfoy continued decisively, "breakfast is being sent up to you. It should be here any moment. Should you need anything, until the healer arrives, please feel free to ring this bell. And I do mean anything." From the pocket of her pale pink robes, Mrs. Malfoy pulled a silver bell and set it on the bedside table.
Nodding her head to him, Mrs. Malfoy crossed the room to leave. Just as her hand touched the door knob, Harry remembered his manners and stuttered a frantic sounding apology for upsetting her so greatly.
"Harry," she said softly, turning to face him with a loving smile, "it isn't you I'm upset with, dear. Draco, on the other hand, is not so lucky to be exempt from my displeasure. Rest, now." And with that, she was gone.
Harry had only enough time to fluff the pillow behind his back before Draco entered his room, carrying a tray laden with all manner of breakfast foods and the same jar of bruise healing paste from the night before. The smell of bacon was tantalising to Harry, and his mouth watered as Draco came nearer.
"Morning, Potter," Draco said quietly, setting the tray down on Harry's lap. "Sorry about your foot."
"I know, and it's fine," Harry said, picking up a piece of perfectly cooked bacon and stuffing it in his mouth.
"Is there anything I can get you?"
"Er, no," Harry said with his mouth full, forgetting propriety yet again. Swallowing, he tried once more. "No, thanks. I appreciate the breakfast. My compliments to the house elf who cooked this up."
"I'm not a house elf, but you're very welcome." Draco smirked a bit at Harry's obvious shock.
"You cooked this?"
"As was part of my punishment for breaking your foot. Mother seems to think I'm unable to learn lessons of my own accord, so I'm to be your personal 'house elf' until the healer has come and gone." There was a bitterness underlying Draco's words, though it was clear he was struggling to contain it.
"That's ridiculous!" Harry stammered, forgetting his breakfast for a moment. "Wait, is that what this bell is about?"
"I'm afraid so, Potter. If you ring that at any point today, I'll be alerted and drop whatever it is I'm doing to come assist you. With anything." Draco clenched his jaw and gave Harry a look that he couldn't quite discern the meaning of.
"Well… Well, I don't need your help," Harry decided, unsure of what else to say. "I can manage on my own until the healer gets here."
"Good, then I'll just re-apply the paste and be going," Draco said, and pulled summoned an armchair from close by.
Saying nothing, Harry ate his food and watched as Draco sat down and began unraveling the bandages on Harry's foot. They both winced at the sight of the bruises, making their comeback and looking twice as bad as they had the previous evening.
With tight lips, Draco opened the jar and scooped out some paste, applying it with a feather light touch. Harry paid very close attention to Draco's face as he rubbed on the paste and was awash with guilt of his own at the pitiable expression that formed there. As much as he wanted to tell Draco that this wasn't his fault, Harry thought doing so might cause more harm than anything. Not to mention it wasn't true. This was, in part, Draco's fault, but Harry wished he wouldn't look so damned remorseful.
After the paste had been evenly distributed and the bruises began fading away to pale pink flesh, Draco cast another bandaging charm and stood up.
"All set, then," he intoned, looking at his handiwork. "How does your foot feel now?"
"Better, now that you've redone the paste," Harry said around a mouthful of scrambled egg. Draco's only response was to look at Harry in mild disgust, then masking his expression a moment later with a blank one.
Before Harry could think of something else to say, Draco was walking briskly to the door of the room, as though he couldn't stand to be here any longer. Harry couldn't exactly blame him, he supposed.
"Thanks, Malfoy," Harry said, but Draco didn't reply before he had shut the door behind him.
Finally alone, Harry focused solely on his breakfast, amazed at how well Draco could cook. Harry hadn't even known Draco could cook, and in fact had assumed that he couldn't at all; if house elves were always doing the cooking for someone, why would they ever need to learn how to do it themselves? Regardless, Harry was very glad that Draco could survive without the assistance of house elves, and glad, too, that he was so skilled at cooking. The bacon was crisped to perfection, without being too dry. The eggs weren't too runny or overcooked, and the porridge had the most lovely hint of cinnamon, maple, and butter. Harry ate everything, finishing it off with the glass of orange juice, which he realised was freshly squeezed upon his first gulp. Draco had outdone himself, truly, and Harry appreciated his work with every bite and moan of approval.
His breakfast gone and his tray placed at the foot of the bed, Harry leaned back against the pillows, resting his eyes for a moment. That was when he realised, to his chagrin, that he hadn't used the loo yet that morning. He was well aware that the first wee of the day was one that came on strong and refused to be held, but he told himself that today would be different. It had to be, because there was no way he was ringing that bell, for any reason. Furthermore, there was no way he was going to allow Draco to assist him with using the bathroom, of all things.
Time seemed to crawl by, and his bladder grew more impatient with every passing moment. Finally, Harry was unable to pretend he could hold his bodily urges any longer and sat up in bed. He still would not ring the bell, but maybe he didn't need to. He placed his feet on the floor, being careful to treat his right foot very carefully. Taking a deep breath, he attempted to stand up, placing all of his weight onto his left foot. At first, he struggled to stay upright, but after a few seconds he found his centre of balance and grinned, feeling very satisfied indeed. He could do this.
There was no way he could walk on his right foot, but he was a strong bloke; hopping would be easy enough, he was sure. And so he hopped on his left foot, arms reached out on each side to keep him balanced, and slowly made his way to the door of the guest room. When he reached the door, after what seemed an eternity, he paused to lean against it, already out of breath. His incommunicable need to wee was growing ever stronger, and he pleaded with his body not to fuck this up.
Opening the door, Harry hopped out to the corridor. Suddenly, he was hit with a wave of dread; he still had no bloody idea where anything was in this god-awful place. Even with his hopping abilities, he would never manage to find a loo in time to relieve himself, not if he had to peek into every room he passed. And then, even if he did manage to find a loo, he doubted he'd be able to find his way back to the guest room.
"Damn it," Harry growled, realising his predicament was worse than he'd previously thought.
Turning around, Harry swallowed his pride and began hopping back across the room. He really had to wee, but he knew he'd never manage to do so in the appropriate location unless he rang the blasted silver bell.
Completely knackered and dripping with sweat, Harry practically fell back into bed. His left thigh was throbbing with the pain of overexertion, He'd managed to avoid banging his foot against anything, but he hadn't anticipated how tiring hopping could be. Then again, this room was very large. Too large, if he had anything to say about it.
Wasting no time, Harry rang the silver bell. It was something he'd promised he wouldn't do, and he hoped Draco could forgive him. When Draco opened the door not even half a minute later, he showed no hint of whether he was bothered by Harry's disturbance of his morning.
"Yes, Potter?" he asked, his tone neutral, if a bit tired.
"I, er… I have to use the loo," Harry said, his cheeks heating.
"Why are you so sweaty?" Draco asked, confusion morphing his face.
"I was hopping."
"Hopping? Why were you hopping? Don't tell me you thought you could get to the bathroom on your own."
"Malfoy, I'm about to piss on this expensive bed, so please stop asking questions and help me," Harry said, a bit too forcefully. He wasn't trying to be a knob, but he really, truly, didn't think he could hold his bladder much longer.
"Right," Draco said, all business, and came to put his arm around Harry, letting Harry's arm fall over his shoulder.
Supporting Harry's weight, they made their way to Draco's room and to the bathroom connected— because of course Draco had his own personal bathroom— as fast as possible. Even at that pace, Harry hardly managed to undo his trousers before he was urinating. The door to the loo clicked shut just before Harry had unzipped his denims, and he sighed in massive, indescribable relief at not only the privacy, but also the fading feeling of panic that went along with nearly wetting one's self.
Why was it that he seemed to only come this close to wetting himself at Malfoy Manor? He didn't have this problem anywhere else, and he hated to think he was reverting to toddler mannerisms at twenty five years old. No, it must be due to the sheer size of the house, and the fact that he had no idea where he was within the house at any given time.
"I'm done," Harry called, after doing up his trousers once more and hopping to the sink to wash his hands. Draco cracked open the door a bit, as though he were nervous to open it fully. "Really, I am."
"Can't be too safe, Potter."
With Draco's much appreciated help and an empty bladder, Harry made his way back to the guest room. As Draco helped him lay back down, it struck Harry anew just how odd his current situation was. Without really meaning to, he started laughing.
"What's so funny?" Draco asked suspiciously.
"Nothing, just… you broke my foot." As Harry laughed, Draco continued looking at him stone-faced and a bit concerned. If this was the sort of thing Harry found funny, Draco wasn't sure he did, in fact, enjoy Harry's sense of humour.
"Yes, very amusing, Potter. I think perhaps your brain was addled in the war more than we'd previously thought." Harry snorted at Draco's smarmy response, but Draco simply rolled his eyes. "Do you need anything before I go? I was in the middle of… things," he settled on, not wanting to tell Harry that he had been about to have a wank in the shower. Then again, it might have been worth the embarrassment just to see the look on Harry's face.
"No, I'm alright," Harry said, still grinning. Sucks to Draco for not seeing the humour in the situation. Harry rather preferred laughing to feeling sorry for himself, in any case.
Nodding, Draco left Harry in peace. Very boring peace. Harry resorted to playing with the shadows on the wall with his wand, which soon lost his interest.
For several of the most uneventful hours of Harry's life, he lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, thinking about everything that had happened in his recent visits to Malfoy Manor. Draco was back to being somewhat cold again, it seemed, so all his efforts the previous day were for nothing. All of his efforts every time he visited seemed to have been wasted. Harry wondered if he and Draco could ever really consider each other anything besides enemies at truce, and wondered why he wished this to happen so badly. In truth, Harry wasn't sure what he'd even want to call Draco. Friend? Unlikely. Though, it did sound quite like something he'd want very much. He wondered what it would be like for Draco to smile at him the way he'd done with Nott, Zabini, and Parkinson in school. He wondered what it would be like to receive compliments from Draco, or to be able to call on him in a time of need. These things were not bound to ever happen, and Harry didn't know why he yearned for them to so very badly.
He was lost in thoughts about a nonexistent friendship when a knocking sounded on the door to the guest room. It was the healer, accompanied by Mrs. Malfoy. The healer asked him a series of questions with a very stern expression. When she'd finished with that, she removed the bandages Draco had put there and inspected Harry's foot for longer than he thought was necessary. By the time she left, Harry had new bandaged and a very muggle looking orthopedic boot on his broken foot, with instructions to wear it for six weeks.
"Why couldn't she just cast a spell?" Harry asked Mrs. Malfoy.
"The break isn't that bad, Harry, so time is all it will take to heal it. Time and structure. A spell might heal the bones incorrectly. They just aren't accurate enough."
Harry nodded, resigning himself to his booted fate. "Can I go home, now?"
"Certainly, although I wish you'd consider staying until you've healed." Harry just looked at her, not wanting to offend her by saying that he would rather stay in a dog's cage than here for six weeks. "Ring your bell and Draco will be here shortly to help you use the Floo."
"Er, no, I think I can walk," Harry protested, beginning to stand. The boot made him feel lopsided, but he experienced very little pain, so that was a great improvement. The healer had explained that there were charms woven into the boot to make walking pain-free, and he was very glad for that as he began walking toward the door beside Mrs. Malfoy.
"If you're sure," Mrs. Malfoy said, sounding as if she were not convinced. Instead of arguing with Harry, however, she simply took his arm and showed him to the nearest fireplace. "I'm so sorry about this, Harry, dear," she sighed, handing him the pot of Floo powder. "Please don't let this experience deter you from joining us again for game night. Although, I don't blame you if it does. It doesn't seem as though game nights end well, between you and Draco."
"It's alright," Harry said, smiling in what he hoped was a reassuring way. "I'll be back next week." He wasn't finished working on Draco. Hopefully, if he played his cards right, he could formulate a better plan for getting Draco to open up to him.
oOo
"You may want to reconsider that choice," Draco said, looking down at the map with pursed lips and raised eyebrows.
"I'm allowed to use seduction, you said," Harry laughed. So far, this game night wasn't going too badly. Draco seemed to have softened at some point since he'd broken Harry's foot, making conversation flow more smoothly. It helped, too, that Harry had been doing his best to make Draco laugh all evening. This was his most successful plan as of yet, and he wondered why it had taken him so long to figure that out.
"Yes, but mostly people use that as a way to rob people, or to benefit themselves in some way. What good is seducing a bridge troll when he's already beheaded all your gnome mates?"
"Maybe he won't behead me?" Harry offered, shrugging helplessly. Draco sputtered and began laughing— really laughing, and Harry wasn't sure he'd ever heard that sound come from Draco's mouth before. It was… not a bad sound, not at all, Harry decided. In fact, it was just as good as Harry had pictured it while he had lay in bed waiting for the healer.
"You boys are absolutely ridiculous, and I'm going to bed," Mrs. Malfoy said, shaking her head. Harry was worried he'd offended her, but when he looked up at her, she was smiling softly, her eyes filled with fondness. In her mind, she was thanking Merlin for the fact that Draco seemed to genuinely be warming up to Harry, finally. It had only taken fourteen years, after all.
"Goodnight, Mrs. M," Harry said, grinning up at her sheepishly. She reached over toward him and swept his curls off his forehead in a loving way, and Harry unconsciously leaned into her touch. Mrs. Weasley was the only other person who did things like that to him, and it felt just as good coming from Mrs. Malfoy, though Harry couldn't pinpoint why that was.
"Goodnight, darlings," Mrs. Malfoy said, and leaned over to kiss Draco's forehead. "Behave, you two," she added sternly. "Let's not have a repeat of the last time."
"Yes, ma'am," Harry said, nodding once. "It wouldn't do to have two broken feet. One's enough for me."
"Whatever you say, mother," Draco drawled in disinterest, though his lips twitched a bit in his effort not to smirk.
"Roll one D-ten for seduction," the map told Harry once everything had quieted down.
"Alright, time to kiss a bridge troll," Harry said as he picked up his D-ten. He rolled a nine.
"Your attempt at seduction is very successful," the map narrated. "The bridge troll is helpless to your elvish charm and beauty. As you lean in close to kiss him, he loses footing and slips off the side of the bridge, falling to his death, and allowing you safe passage across."
Both Harry and Draco burst into laughter, wiping tears of mirth from their cheeks by the time they had calmed enough to comment on the scene that had just taken place in their campaign.
"I don't remember anything like this happening when I was a kid playing this game," Draco said, barely keeping his giggles under control.
"Yeah, this doesn't seem very child-friendly," Harry chuckled. "By the way, what was the special gift you wanted to give my character?" He'd nearly forgotten Draco's promise, and was glad he'd managed not to.
Raising a brow in a smirk, Draco replied, "You'll just have to wait and see, Potter, won't you?"
"Will you call me Harry, already?" Harry wasn't sure why that was what he'd said, but now that it was out, it seemed right.
"I wasn't aware you wanted me to," Draco said slowly, visibly thrown off.
"As long as I can call you Draco."
"Alright, deal… Harry."
"Draco."
Making a face, Draco said, "It sounds… interesting, coming from your lips. Do it again." It really shouldn't turn Draco on, hearing Harry say his name so casually, but he couldn't stop the feeling from arising. At least nothing else arose at that moment, Draco thought thankfully.
"No, you're making this weird," Harry laughed. Deciding he didn't mind making it weird as well, he said again, "Draco."
"Harry," Draco said, his voice going husky, but his eyes and smirk very teasing.
"Alright, this is getting to be too much for me." Harry's lips were twitching in their effort to hold back a grin. "Is it your turn yet?"
"No, the map will tell us when it's my turn, as you should know by now." Shaking his head, Draco added, "I don't know how Granger ever put up with you. Make your next move."
"I cross the bridge fully and continue on the path I've been walking, due South."
"Are you following me?" Draco asked, smug.
"Only always."
"Yeah, since sixth year, it seems."
"Not true, I took a break since the war ended. Not, you know, consciously, but… well, you understand."
"I'm not sure I'll ever understand you, Potter."
"Harry," Harry corrected.
"Harry," Draco practically moaned, and even as Harry laughed it off, his face turned red and he knew it. Draco moaning his name, even facetiously, was an even better sound than Draco's laughter.
"Through the wood you wander, unimpeded, for quite some time. Your walk is peaceful, the wind blows gently through the trees, adding a comfortable ambiance to the forest noises. The scent of lilacs and wild roses reaches you, putting you at ease, and you begin to stop paying attention to your surroundings—"
"Oh, here we go," Harry sighed.
"— until suddenly you realise you've managed to put yourself in the midst of a blazing hot, wild forest fire. Up ahead, you see an elven man, who stands in a part of the wood that no longer burns, but smoulders. What is your course of action?"
"What the fuck?" Harry asked as he looked down at the map. His character stood near the place Draco's character had started off at, but surely the fire would've gone out by now, wouldn't it? "Why is it still burning?"
Shrugging, Draco replied, "My only guess is that it's due to the magical origin of the fire. Maybe curse fires last longer than their natural counterpart."
"Thanks for the forest fire, Malfoy," Harry said sarcastically.
"Draco," Draco corrected with yet another smirk. "And it wasn't me, it was the mermaid."
"Yeah, well, if you hadn't pierced her with your stupid fishing hook and called her a minger for being understandably upset, she wouldn't have started the fire. So, still your fault."
"Your flesh begins to bubble as you simply stand in your place, allowing the flames to reach your exposed skin. Bits of your clothing have already been sacrificed to the ever-hungry flames."
"Fuck— okay! 'Help! Please!' I call to the man and cast a fire-repellent charm."
"Roll two D-tens for fire-repellent charm strength." Harry rolled his dice, only managing to roll a three, total. "To your chagrin, the spell falters. Erevan's turn." The map paused and then continued, telling Draco's story this time. "Ahead of you, through the scorched trees, you see an elven man. He stands in the part of the wood that roars with fire, burning along with the trees around him. Nearly nude, the flames licking hungrily at his clothing, he calls for your help, desperate for a saviour. What is your course of action?"
"I always wanted to play saviour, for once," Draco said, his begrudgingly adorable smirk making Harry's stomach feel strange. "And look who it is I get to save. 'Don't worry, you poor, helpless soul,' I tell the man. 'I'm here to rescue you, your elven knight in leather armor.' And I attempt to save his life."
"Roll two D-ten to save his life," the map directed, and Draco followed suit. He rolled sixteen, punched the air and hissed 'yes,' excitedly. "Casting your most advanced fire-shield charm, you brave the burning wood to rescue the half-dehydrated elf. He falls to the ground, unable to hold himself up any longer. What is your course of action?"
"I toss the pathetic bastard over my shoulder and carry him out of the fire," Draco responded easily, pretending with all his might that he wasn't giddy at the prospect of saving Harry, even fictionally.
"As smoke begins to fill your lungs, you carry the fallen elf out of the wood. He is unconscious, a dead weight on your back. Your legs begin to weaken as you near sanctuary, and, once free of the flames at your back, you collapse to the forest floor. Your energy is depleted, almost completely, but if you stay here for long, you're sure to suffocate."
"Shit, we're dead. Let's see… with my remaining power, I revive the other elf in the hopes that he will return my favour and save both our lives." Hoping Harry would take the hint, he placed both their character's lives in Harry's hands.
The map requested that Draco roll for this, and as if the dice were charmed in Draco's favor, he rolled a nineteen and successfully revived Theren. This meant, however, that Erevan fell unconscious.
"Don't worry, Draco, I'll save you. Just like always," Harry teased. Draco, however, didn't seem to find this very funny.
"Yes, just like..." he muttered bitterly. "Always the saved, never the saviour."
"What are you talking about? You just saved my life, not even three minutes ago. You nearly killed yourself in the process. So, yeah, I'd say you played the saviour, there."
"In life, though, not in a vapid board game." Draco crossed his arms and turned his face away, his jaw muscles twitching as he clenched his teeth together. He was aware that he was being melodramatic, but it hurt, knowing just how useless he tended to be in life, whereas Harry shone as the hero nearly every time the world needed one. "I'm sure it's easy for you to overlook your heroism, as it's a near constant thing. It's been rubbed in my face since the day we met."
"You don't mean less than me because you weren't the hero." Becoming uncomfortable, Harry spoke in a petulant way. He hated it when people referred to him as a hero, even if he knew he had been one.
"No, I mean less because I was the villain." Shaking his head, Draco began putting the game away. "I think I'm finished for the night."
"Seriously?"
Draco's eyes flashed as he looked up at Harry through his pale eyelashes. "Yes, seriously."
Shaking his head, Harry thought about how he could fix this, and maybe avoid Draco feeling this way in the future. Now that Harry knew how pleasant Draco could be as company, he wasn't fond of the times when Draco reverted to his frigid, distant self. If they could just get everything out in the open, maybe Draco would stop feeling so badly every time Harry's successes were mentioned.
Deciding that, yes, they really did need to talk things out, even years after the war was done and over, Harry squared his shoulders and prepared to do one of the most uncomfortable things he thought he'd done in years: discuss his feelings about the past with Draco bloody Malfoy.
"Here's the deal," he began forcefully, looking straight into Draco's eyes and holding him with his gaze. "We're going to rehash everything. I don't care if you have to yell at me, or hex me, or whatever— we're going to settle whatever remains of our feud right here, right now."
"Oh, really? You're just going to force me to, what? Talk about our feelings? Do you honestly think there's a point in that?"
"Yes." Harry raised his eyebrows, daring Draco to back out of this, to disagree. "I have a feeling we'll never be able to grow together in any way until we do this, Draco."
"And you'd want that? To grow together?" What was Harry playing at? "What do you mean?"
"I mean— only..." Blimey, why did Harry have to be so terrible with words? He took a deep breath and tried again. "I mean, we'll always have some residual negativity towards each other. We'll never grow from being enemies, or from feeling…" Jealous? Hateful? "The way that we feel right now," he settled with, not wanting to presume he knew how Draco felt.
"The way we feel right now," Draco echoed, trying to pinpoint just how he felt at that moment, and finding he was unable to.
Something warred inside Draco as Harry nodded once, firm and decisive. On the one hand, he'd always wanted to establish a friendship— at the very least— with Harry, ever since he was a boy, and Harry was probably right that this was the only way. After everything that had happened between them, they couldn't just 'start fresh' without reopening every wound they'd caused each other, and Draco didn't mean sliced flesh and broken feet.
On the other hand, Draco had a very low pain tolerance, physical or otherwise. This was bound to be a bloody affair, this 'rehashing' of things— probably mentally, but possibly also physically. The two of them had been known to try and hurt each other when aggravated. Then again, the two of them were also adults now, and not hormonal teenagers. Their frontal lobes were now fully developed, and they had much better control over their emotions and decision making. At least, Draco liked to think he did, and Harry's first meal at the manor proved his capacity for restraining himself.
"Alright, fine," Draco said, rubbing his eyes tiredly. The clock on the mantle of the fireplace read that it was past ten, but Draco felt as though it was hours later. "How do we do this?"
"I don't… I'm not really sure," Harry admitted, a bit embarrassed.
"This was your bloody idea, Potter, so figure it out."
Quickly, Harry thought about what Hermione would do in this situation, and an idea struck him. "Okay. You list the things that have bothered you about me in the past— and don't filter yourself, yeah? We have to get everything out, or else we're just going to continue falling back into our pattern of hating each other."
One of Draco's eyebrows raised as he considered this. "You want me to list every single thing that bothers me about you? Are you sure? Because I distinctly recall you reacting badly the last time I attempted that."
"I don't think you really meant any of that," Harry said, shrugging. "You said so yourself in your letter. And if you did mean those things, then we'll settle it all tonight, anyway. Don't worry; I'll get my turn, too."
"And how is ripping each other apart going to fix any-fucking-thing? Seems as though this will just cause us both to get offended and run off to our little safe spaces to lick our wounds."
"You'll see. I've got a plan." Harry hoped he could prove Draco wrong.
Huffing dramatically, Draco said, "Hope it's a good one. Alright, where to start." For a moment, Draco eyed Harry, trying to think of some complaint he'd held back all this time. Finally, he settled on, "Your hair. It's fucking awful, all over the place. You should learn how to use a hairbrush every once in a while."
"Come on, you can do better than that." Harry already knew Draco hated his hair, and this wasn't the sort of thing he'd been picturing in this scenario.
"I'm getting to it, Potter, be patient. Oh, and that's another thing— you have no patience. Everything has to happen right now, for you. It's annoying. Almost as annoying as the way you strutted around Hogwarts like you owned the place, showing up late for class whenever you pleased and essentially telling the teachers to fuck off when they reprimanded you for it.
"You're so fucking smug, all the time— so full of yourself— and you never seem to realise when you're hurting the people around you. You're everyone's hero and you just take it for granted. Everyone's always waxing poetic about how great and wonderful you are, but they've never been left bleeding to death on the bathroom floor because of you, have they?" Draco was on a roll, now, his face twisting into its old sneer, and while Harry had always assumed this expression was an angry one, he could now see the pain beneath its exterior. How could he have missed that before? It wasn't even buried deeply; it was right there, in Draco's eyes, how much he hurt. "Yeah, I bet their tune would change rather quickly, had they been in my position.
"I barely managed to survive that, you realise, and what did you do? You didn't spare a passing thought for me. You flourished, at every turn, and never looked back, while I withered under the pressure of my family and the Dark Lord's expectations. Always, I was being cut down, either by my you or the teachers— and at home it was no better. I was surrounded by countless bloody Death Eaters— not to mention the Dark Lord himself— who took up every sanctuary I'd thought I'd had here, ready to report on me if I showed too much how I really felt. And did you care? Did you ever once look at me and wonder if I was worth saving like the rest of the people you took the time for? No, because I'm an insolent little prat, aren't I? I'm cruel, bigoted, and hateful, not worth anyone's time, but especially not yours. It seemed you had time to protect nearly everyone else around you, whether they deserved it or not… except me.
"I know I was a horrible child. My father told me regularly. I was too much, for everyone except mother— no, even her sometimes. But it never hurt too badly, being too much, until it came to you, and I've never been able to figure out why that is."
Closing his eyes tightly, Draco took a deep breath and tried hard not to cry. Behind his eyes had started the tell-tale burning that came just before tears, but he couldn't let Harry see him be weak, not after he'd bared his soul for him. His voice shaking, he carried on.
"I thought and did a lot of wrong things, growing up— believe me, nobody knows this better than I do— and there's no excuse for that. I'm aware of my own faults, haunted by them daily. What I wasn't aware of was how irredeemable that made me, by your standards. So, you see, I did matter less. You, and everyone around you, made that painfully clear. I've always mattered less than you. You were so bloody perfect all the time, and I—" Draco's breath hitched, here, and he stopped attempting to go on. If he did, he really would begin crying, and he refused to do so.
For several long moments, where only the ticking of the clock and Draco's heavy, laboured breathing could be heard, Harry ruminated over Draco's words. They'd hurt, of course, there was no denying that. Hearing how Draco felt about him cut him right in his pride, but that was easily set aside when Harry considered how much Draco had been hurt in order to be able to say those words at all. Yes, Draco was a right fucking prat, and he apparently knew that. They both knew there was no reasonable excuse for the way he'd acted in school. Still, Harry kept thinking back to Ron's theory, which he decided was effectively proven correct. Harry thought of Ron's theory that Draco's meanness was just a front, and knew it to be true. How often had Draco been hurting, and instead of letting someone know, he'd lashed out? Why had no one explained to him that there was a healthier, more productive way of dealing with his emotions?
"Are you finished?" Harry said, his voice fading in and out from disuse as well as pent up emotions. Draco nodded, saying nothing. "Okay, then it's my turn." Harry took a moment to transform his sadness and pity into anger. It wasn't difficult to do, as he'd had a lot of practice. "Since you started with my hair, I'll start with yours. It's too neat. It would be one thing if your parents still forced you to keep your hair slicked back and looking like a knob, but you're twenty five years old, now. Give yourself a bit of room to fucking loosen up, yeah? Maybe if your hair wasn't so orderly and uptight, you'd realise you can take the large stick out of your arse. You have no idea how many times I've wanted to just—" Here, Harry stopped and narrowed his eyes. What if he did? What was the worst that could happen?
Completely taken aback by Harry's sudden lunge, Draco was a bit too slow to avoid the hands that tangled into his hair. Draco stilled, frozen as Harry completely ruined his carefully shaped, pompadour, not bothering to be gentle with the movements of his fingers. Some hair felt as though it got ripped out in Harry's efforts, but mostly it felt… really good, having someone else's hands in his hair. Draco wondered how it would feel if Harry were to be tender with him instead and yearned to know.
Sitting back on the floor, Harry crossed his arms and inspected Draco's almost chin-length hair. Swept back, it had seemed much shorter, but now that Harry had parted it and let it out from its charmed-in-place position, he saw that it was cut to be short in the back and longer in the front. Draco's hair was a-symmetrical in the front, framing his face perfectly. It sharpened his cheek bones, but softened almost all his other features. Harry was surprised by how much more appealing Draco looked with his hair mussed, and even more surprised by how silky Draco's hair was. It was so soft that Harry hadn't really wanted to stop touching it.
"T-that's better," Harry said, trying to gather up the steam to keep insulting Draco. It was hard, seeing how truly stunning the man across from him was, to think of all the terrible things that man done. So Harry looked away, and memories flooded into the forefront of his mind. "You say that I'm full of myself, but have you ever analysed your own behaviour? Who the fuck walks up to a hippogriff and calls it ugly? Someone with a lot of nerve, who has no regard for others, that's who. Someone who doesn't give a damn about the consequences of his actions— someone like you. And then you had the audacity to blame Buckbeak and Hagrid for your own shitty choice, nearly getting Buckbeak killed. And on Hagrid, did you really have to try so hard to get him fired? Why couldn't you have just asked to drop his class? Wait, I know; it's because you love making other people's lives as miserable as yours. You had no way of fixing your own situation, so you took out your frustration by fucking with everyone else. You say I didn't care what sort of pain I put other people through, how I hurt them— well you're one to bloody talk, aren't you? It wasn't good enough for you, making my life absolute hell, was it? No, you had to go and make my friends' life hell, too. And if I remember it right, I never curb stomped your face and left you alone on a departing train, did I? Oh, and sorry I cut you up so badly, I just wasn't sure how else to respond to being Crucio'ed, for fuck's sake—"
"I wasn't actually going to do it," Draco interrupted, shame coating his words.
"How was I supposed to know that?" Harry shouted, throwing out his arms. "You'd been acting weird all year, and now I know why, but at the time I just thought it was your Death Eater activities making you seem more suspicious. I had no idea you were struggling so much with everything you were forced to do, so when I found you crying in the bathroom, I didn't know what to think. And then you attacked me... what was I meant to do in that situation? Just let you torture me?
"That's just it, though," Harry said, a harsh laugh accompanying his words, "you always expect everyone to make exceptions for you— whether it's because of your father's influence, your money, or just because you're a spoiled brat— but you never think about how difficult it is for others to make those exceptions. And on top of that, you act like it's everyone else's fault that you're so unhappy in life, but don't look for healthy ways to deal with your emotions. That's most of what I gathered from your rant: you were sad, too wretched and angry to handle on your own, but you never looked for a way to deal with it properly, you just took it out on everyone else and left it at that. And we're just supposed to accept that? I'm just supposed to take the blame for your shitty coping skills? I've been abused before, Malfoy, and I know what it's like to feel unloved and unwanted, but I've never once gone and made it my life's mission to fuck with someone else until I felt better." Harry ignored the surfacing memory of the time he'd goaded Dudley just to feel better, right before those dementors had attacked. In Harry's opinion, Dudley had earned it. Then again, Draco had probably felt everyone else had deserved his goading, too. Regardless, Harry continued, not letting himself lose steam. "That's a 'you' thing. You can't be upset with me all because you never learned emotional maturity."
"You know what it's like to be unloved and unwanted?" Draco asked, sneering and scornful. "Right, the boy with unlimited sources of love and adoration, the boy who was immediately adopted by the Weasleys— only one of the most loving families in all of Great Britain— felt unloved and unwanted. Pull the other fucking one."
"You don't know what it was like, before I came to Hogwarts. You have no god damn clue," Harry growled, his anger building. Maybe his plan wasn't such a good one, after all; at that moment, all he wanted was to put his hands around Draco's throat and squeeze. He wouldn't, but Christ did he want to.
"Oh yeah? Tell me, then. If your life was so bloody awful, then fill me in." Draco scoffed. As if Harry's upbringing could compare to the way Draco's father treated him. "I'll bet your aunt and uncle never used Unforgivables on you starting from age five, did they? Oh, wait, they were muggles. What sort of punishment could a muggle possible dish out that compares even slightly?"
"Fuck off, Malfoy," Harry growled. "No, they never did, but they found ways to make sure I knew they didn't give a fuck about me, that I was a burden on their perfectly normal lives. Do you know what it's like to beg, crying for even a bit of comfort from the only maternal figure in your life, only to be shoved away and ignored, time and again? Do you know what it's like to be called 'the boy' for so long that you didn't even know your own name? Do you know what my 'bedroom' was, until I was eleven years old? A bloody cupboard under the stairs. I didn't even have room to stretch my legs by the time they let me have Dudley's old room— the smallest bedroom in the house. And the only reason they let me have it was because they thought Dumbledore was watching them, that they'd get in trouble for child abuse if they continued keeping me in the cupboard.
"That lavish meal your mother's elves made for us when I came for dinner that first time? Yeah, that probably amounts to about how much I ate per year. And say what you will about the clothes I wear today, but know that they're a huge improvement when compared to the dyed-grey rags I wore back then, all hand-me-downs from my fat-arse cousin. Never did manage to grow into those, but with how little they fed me, it's no wonder. Ever think about why I was so short and small, growing up? Well, now you know." Harry was shaking, by that point, but couldn't seem to stop himself. "The entire neighborhood, all my teachers, all the kids at school, thought I was a child criminal, thanks to my aunt and uncle. Never had a birthday party until after Hogwarts, never knew the truth about my mum and dad's death until Hagrid told me." At Draco's shocked expression, Harry said, "Oh, yeah! Yeah, my aunt and uncle told me they'd died in a car accident. They couldn't have me knowing anything about my magical connections, or else I'd risk infecting them with my freak nature."
"Merlin, Potter, what an excellent pity party you throw. Your broken foot really adds to the full picture." Draco tried to sound biting, but he couldn't quite manage it; hearing about Harry's childhood struck a chord in him, and compunction combined with the strongest hatred he'd ever felt— directed at Harry's aunt and uncle— surged through his chest. He hadn't known, and yet Draco had bothered to compare his father's treatment of Draco to Harry's family's treatment of him. How could one compare trauma? He realised, then, for the first time, that maybe one couldn't.
"Yeah, I'm just great at pity parties. Woo," Harry deadpanned, hating how cruel Draco could be sometimes.
"I-I'm sorry," Draco stuttered quietly. He stared down at his long fingers and waited for Harry's response.
"You're what?" Harry struggled to believe how quickly Draco had gone from foul and nasty to mindful and contrite. Then he remembered what Ron had said. The nastiness was a front, as usual.
"I'm sorry I assumed that you were treated better than you really were, as a child. It was wrong of me. I'm sorry for a lot, actually, but we'd be up for days if I went over every reason, so just— I apologise. I'm sorry." Draco paused for a moment, then added, "That extends to your friends, too. Granger and, well, all the Weasleys, but Ronald in particular."
"Never thought I'd hear you apologise for anything you'd done in the past, Malfoy, especially not to my friends. I'm impressed."
"There's a lot I don't say." He paraphrased his words from the time Harry had discovered his lab, leaving it at that and knowing Harry would understand.
"Yeah, well, the things you do say are usually not that pleasant to hear. Thank you. You're… you're forgiven, at least in my opinion. And I'm sorry, too."
"As if you have a reason to be. All the things I listed that bother me about you are just petty, unimportant things. You're the one who deserve an apology, not me."
"You're wrong; if I did things to hurt you— and we both know I have— then you do deserve an apology, regardless of what you think, or how petty you think your grievances are. So, I'm sorry, Malfoy— er, Draco."
Draco closed his eyes and allowed Harry's words to brush over his flesh, sinking into his every pore and soaking deep into his bones. As he did this, he let go of all the things he'd hated Harry for over the years. All the angry words, the fights, the hexes they'd cast, the glares that could kill— all of it. When he'd let it all go, at least for now, he found that all that was left was admiration. He admired Harry, for all that he was, all that Draco wasn't capable of being. He admired Harry for his bravery, his tenacity, his ability to see through Draco's uptight pretense and get to the bare structure that was Draco, at his core.
"Thank you," Draco whispered, opening his eyes and meeting Harry's green ones.
"Any time," Harry replied with a crooked little smile that threatened to seal Draco's lungs closed. "Now, I think, we'd better get to the good parts, shall we?"
Letting his lips curve upwards as well, Draco said, "You first?"
"Sure, why not?" Harry said, sighing. Of course Draco wanted him to go first, not that Harry could blame him. "Alright, let's start with… your hair," he began, mirroring Draco's smirk. "It's much better, let loose like that. You should wear it that way more often, it suits you."
"Thanks, I've just had it done, you see," Draco said, mockingly. There was no harshness, to it, however, and Harry savoured this.
"It's… it's really soft. I wasn't expecting that. There's a lot about you that I've come to realise, none of it expected. Like the way you light up when you talk about things you enjoy. When you were explaining Your Adventure to me it was like I was talking to a different person entirely. Your eyes were so open, instead of guarded, like I'm used to seeing from you. Your smile is… It's much better than your sneer, I've gotta say. When you were laughing at my jokes earlier it was something else, I don't think I'll ever get used to that sound. I don't mean that in a bad way, though!" Harry paused, knowing he sounded ridiculous. "I'm not good at this, sorry."
"No, go on. I like where this is going." With a satisfied grin, Draco leaned back on his hands and listened as Harry complimented him thoroughly. He hadn't known that Harry thought any of these things, had never imagined Harry had a kind word to say about him at all, so hearing that he did was all the more delightful.
"I've always wondered what it would be like to have you laugh at something I'd said the way you were today, but I didn't think I'd ever experience it. And, although you're definitely an attention-seeking git, I'm much more fond of giving you attention when you're not seeking it by starting a fight. I never knew you could be kind and patient, or that you would be that way with me, like how you were when you broke my foot." Harry laughed as Draco pulled a face.
"I thought you hated me so much that you couldn't be that way with me,
Harry continued. "It feels like I'm learning so much about you, during my visits here. While you've only been pleasant with me a few times times, out of the many times I've visited— and one of those occasions only became pleasant because you broke my foot— I feel… I really like you when you're not being a prick. More than I expected to. It doesn't help that you're one of the most attractive blokes I've ever seen, though. That fact definitely gives you more leeway than you probably deserve, to be honest." Harry figured, if they were getting everything out on the table, he might as well be honest about that, too.
"You think I'm— fuck off," Draco laughed, shaking his head. "There are far more attractive people out there, Potter, you just have to look for them."
"Take the fucking compliment," Harry said, rolling his eyes and waving off Draco's words. "I don't think you realise how many people I've seen, and from all over the world." The word 'seen' could easily be replaced with 'fucked,' but Harry decided to keep things vague. "I don't know why, but since I started visiting you I've been having this stupid, unrealistic desire for you to like me, and every time I come here I'm disappointed, but I can't give up on you. I seriously could not tell you why that is, but it's probably why we've had such a hard time with each other. After years of nothing but animosity, it's got to be strange, and a bit suspicious, to have me suddenly being nice to you."
"Why did you start being nice to me?" Draco asked, hesitation clear in his voice. "I noticed the change immediately, but I'd thought mother had put you up to it. When I asked her, she said she hadn't, but I didn't believe her until last week when you came reciting awful poems at my door."
"Honestly, I was testing a theory," Harry said, and he could already tell that he was headed in a dangerous direction when Draco's eyes narrowed. "But when you started reciprocating, it just… came naturally, sort of."
"Sort of?" Draco scoffed. "And what theory were you testing? I should've known your kindness was nothing but a farce."
"Don't even start," Harry sighed, exhausted after all the emotional heights he'd been to that evening. "I was trying to see if you… if you maybe, er, had feelings for me? But then you started being a prick again, so I figured the theory was proven wrong, eventually." God, this was embarrassing. Harry mentally cursed Hermione, even though he knew this wasn't her fault in the slightest.
"Is that so?" Harry couldn't decipher the look on Draco's face, and felt like he'd plunged off a cliff. "Interesting."
"That's all you have to say?" His heart was beating frantically, unsure of where he stood, at that moment, with Draco. Probably, he should've just left that last bit out, or lied and said the theory was about something else entirely. Reminding himself that this was all or nothing, Harry swallowed thickly and accepted that he'd made an arse of himself yet again, and wondered what was the worst that could happen.
"For now. It's my turn, right?" Harry nodded, feeling his panic being replaced by anticipation. What would Draco say about him? His excitement turned into a very large rolling of his eyes when Draco said, "Your hair."
"You said you hated my hair!" Harry laughed, shaking his head.
"Yes, and you said you hated mine. It's a love/hate relationship, alright?" he said impatiently. "It gives you this rebellious look, as though rules never have, and never will matter to you. Which, I suppose, they probably don't. Curls are sort of my weakness, Potter," Draco said in a rough, hushed tone. It was an embarrassing thing to admit, but after all the deliciously personal information Harry had given him, he felt the urge to reciprocate in some way.
"Then why did you list it as your first complaint about me?"
"Why did you do the same?" Draco said, lifting an eyebrow in challenge. "It's because I was never allowed to let my hair go wild like yours, you idiot. Like you said, my parents forced me to slick my hair back, so when I saw that you— you, who were permitted to do pretty much everything I couldn't— had this unmanageable, unpredictable, curly mass of hair, free to do as it pleased, I hated it and loved it immediately."
"Love is a-a pretty strong word," Harry pointed out, not really minding the use of it, necessarily. Hearing Draco use it in reference to him caused his head to swim a bit, though.
"I'm aware. Moving on." Draco looked Harry up and down and wondered what he didn't like about Harry's physical appearance, and whether he should let Harry know that he couldn't come up with anything. "You're bloody fit, though I'm sure you're aware. It's pointless to even talk about the things I like about you that are physical, because the list is long and all-encompassing. Suffice it to say that I also find you incredibly attractive. Don't let my saying so give you a big head, though," he added as Harry began smiling hugely at Draco's words. "Merlin knows it's big enough already.
"Your capacity for love is… it's terrifying, to someone like me, but so staggering. You're like a modern-day Jesus Christ," Draco laughed.
"I hardly think that's true," Harry said, shocked at the comparison, and that Draco even knew who Jesus was.
"Alright, perhaps that's a bit of an exaggeration, but you get what I'm saying. I've never known someone who could forgive so easily, and love so fiercely. The way you love your friends… I've always wanted that, or to be able to love that way, but I'm not sure I can. You make it seem so easy." Draco paused and shook his head. "You've always been a beacon of hope, to me, and I know others have thought of you that way, too. I may have never showed that— primarily because you were constantly adored, and didn't need my praise as well— but it's true. Call it one of my deepest, darkest secrets. And now, before I embarrass myself further, I'll leave things off there."
"Wow," Harry breathed, completely lost for words with more syllables or thought than that.
"I know. Pathetic, aren't I?"
"No, not at all." Harry shook his head and willed words to come to him. "A bit shorter than my 'Things I Like' list, but not bad."
"Well, I figured you've had your fair share of praise for the past seven years. If it wasn't enough, feel free to pick up tomorrow's edition of the Prophet." Draco's real reasoning behind keeping his list short was that he was worried he'd let something a bit too personal slip out, something he wouldn't be able to take back and might desperately want to after it was already too late.
"Okay," Harry said, drawing out the word as he gave Draco an odd, sort of analytical look. There was a lot Harry could say to that, but for the sake of keeping the peace, he asked, "So, how do you feel now that we've gotten everything out in the open?"
"Better," Draco answered, a bit lamely.
"Me too. Oh!" Harry exclaimed, remembering something. "You never gave Theren that gift because you wound up throwing a fit and running off like a baby."
"Malfoys do not throw fits, Potter," Draco drawled.
"Is that right?" Harry asked, his disbelief evident in his smirk. "What would you call what you did, then?"
"I'd call it, 'Harry Potter Can Go And Fuck Himself.' It wasn't that important anyway. Why do you even remember that?"
"You made it seem important in your letter. Or, at least, interesting. That's probably why I remembered it."
"You really want it?" Draco saw a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity arise, here, and knew he had to take it.
"Er, yeah? But we'll have to get the game back out, won't we?"
"Not exactly, and remember you said that," Draco said, his voice deepening slightly.
Refusing to think before making his decision to possibly ruin whatever semblance of a friendship they were working toward, Draco got on his hands and knees and crawled the short distance between himself and Harry. As he closed in, Harry's face passed through several emotions; first confusion, then comprehension, and, finally, something akin to desire. By the time the third look had crossed Harry's features, Draco was closing in and then, by some miracle, pressing his lips to Harry's.
Self doubt and fear of rejection be damned. Draco was aware that this was a show of stupid, irresponsible, Gryffindor bravery, and it was completely out of his nature. As surely as he knew this, a pressure was building in his chest and he didn't think he could pull himself back if he tried.
At first, Harry did not return the kiss, and Draco's lips rested completely motionless against Harry's. Then suddenly, and to Draco's utter amazement, Harry was kissing him back. That was all it took for Draco to know he'd taken the proper risk. That was all it took for Draco to lean into the kiss, eyes closed, and put all of himself into this small meeting of flesh. He didn't know if he would ever experience this in the future, and he would be remiss, slipshod, negligent if he didn't take this for all it was worth.
Never in his life, not even for a moment, did Draco think that he would be leaning over Harry, kissing him as if his life depended on it, and yet here he was, doing just that. Harry could say the same about himself, and was thinking so as he wrapped his arms around Draco's waist and pulled him in closer. Their teeth clashed once before they figured each other out a bit, and fell into an easy snog that rivalled any Harry had participated in before. Whether it was the history behind the two of them or the buildup and release of heavy emotions that evening, this was different from any kiss Harry had given or been offered before. Not one of the men Luna had brought back on her travels had caused Harry this sort of empty-brained feeling he was experiencing. None of them had made Harry lose all his mental faculties, the way Draco was doing. Harry resorted to pure instinct as he gave Draco as good as he himself was getting.
Groaning, Harry clutched Draco's shirt, his nails biting into the flesh beneath unapologetically. Draco responded in kind, pushing his chest even tighter against Harry's. Their lips moved in sync, but he needed more— they both did. Tentatively, Harry opened his mouth and sighed heavily, shakily, when Draco met him half way with his warm tongue.
Every nerve in both of their bodies was on high-alert, every bit of friction against each other causing waves of pleasure to roll up their spines. Draco's hip bones were sharp, but Harry liked that. Liked that so much, in fact, that he placed his hands on Draco's backside and tugged, revelling in the sensation of Draco's response, which was to arch his back and let his hips to grind against Harry's. As their tongues tasted each other, swirling and twisting, they met each other on equal ground. This was the first time either of them had felt to be on the same footing, and they both knew it.
As incredible as they both felt, it couldn't last forever. Harry was the first to pull away, incapable of hiding his ecstatic bewilderment. For a while they stayed just like that, with Draco kneeling over Harry in the middle of the parlour, their erections straining against fabric they both knew needed to stay in place— this time. Harry searched Draco's eyes for some sort of meaning, but knew it was pointless; he already knew what Draco had meant by kissing him, and he was pretty sure this wasn't the gift Erevan was going to offer Theren.
When he said as much, Draco's cheeks lit up in response. "No, not exactly," he admitted sheepishly.
"Then… why?"
"Because I wanted to, and I wanted to know if… if you wanted to, too." Draco hated how poorly he expressed himself sometimes, usually at the most crucial moments.
Harry chuckled and asked, "Did you get the answer you were looking for?"
"No," Draco said, keeping his face as impassive as he could. At Harry's crestfallen expression, Draco continued. "I think we'd better try again."