Draco's Boy

by empathic siren

No longer a repost. HPDM. Nonmagic AU. A mysterious little boy named Harry moves in next door to Draco Malfoy, and he's determined to make him his friend and learn all of his secrets. Years later, he's determined to make Harry more than a friend.

21. Harry and Severus Harry and Draco

Author's Note:Thank you, thank you to Sansa and Scoradh for the fabulous beta work and britpicking. Thank you too, to magichelmet for help with Severus's horses, though I must confess to thinking up their names. Also, a deeply felt thank you to all of you who read my little story and leave such wonderful reviews. I do wish I were able to keep up with them a bit better. Please know, though, that I appreciate them all.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and those to whom she has licensed her creations, including without limitation Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I make no money from this and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Chapter 21: Harry and Severus; Harry and Draco.

Harry woke with a start. He glanced around as he pushed his sweaty hair from his brow and got his breathing under control. He wondered what had woken him. Then he shifted a bit and felt cooling stickiness in his pyjama bottoms.

"Bloody fuck! Not again." He'd had that dream again. He couldn't believe it.

He sat up, causing the bedsprings to creak, their sound ricocheting off the walls of Professor Snape's guest room. Harry stopped moving, afraid he'd woken Draco. He cocked his head to the right and listened. Long, slow breaths told Harry that Draco was still asleep.

He looked over at the small clock by his bed. It was half-four—no use going back to sleep. With a weary sigh, he gathered his shower things and a change of clothing. It was going to be a long weekend.

&&&

Severus stumbled into the kitchen at quarter to six, desperate for coffee and the morning paper before having to spend a tedious day collecting tissue samples for his most recent hybridisation project. He stopped short at the sight of Harry hunched over a collection of books and several of his school journals. If the crumpled balls of paper were any indication, he'd been there for quite a long while.

Severus stood silently, weighing whether it might not be a good time to talk to Harry about a few things—things he'd been meaning to get around to, but which were inappropriate for classrooms or strolls to the hothouses. Things that couldn't be put off any longer, not after Narcissa's rendition of events at the Wolsford stables the day before and his own observations as they'd driven to the house.

His mouth quirked when Harry mumbled under his breath, "Who gives a flying fuck about the art of the Etruscans."

"If only Draco were as dedicated to his studies." Severus sauntered into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee.

The book Harry was reading toppled to the floor as he leapt back in his seat, making the wooden chair hop backward. "Professor Snape! Sorry. You startled me."

"Yes, well, imagine my surprise at finding a teenager poring over textbooks before the sun was up."

"Sorry. I'll be out of the way in a moment." Harry began gathering his books.

Severus sighed and fought the acidic retort poised to spring from his lips. It was difficult dealing with Harry and his bouts of insecurity at times, like now, when Severus was bleary-eyed and caffeine deprived and feeling rather sharp-tongued. "Don't be daft! I never said you had to move," he said instead, pleased with his self-restraint.

Harry's hands hovered over the books he'd gathered. He bit the inside of his cheek. "You sure?"

Severus turned and faced him, coffee mug in hand and a barbed quip at the ready. His eyes narrowed as he took in Harry's face. He was paler than usual, and had dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept at all the night before, or possibly the night before that.

"What's wrong with you? Why aren't you sleeping?" Severus stalked closer and stared.

Harry looked away. "Nothing. I—you know. New surroundings, different sounds. I just had a hard time getting to sleep last night, that's all."

"And the early morning? So excited about," Severus leaned over Harry to get a good look at his books, "the history of the Etruscan civilization that you couldn't possibly sleep past four this morning?"

Harry's face coloured. "I do have a paper due next week."

"Has this anything to do with Draco's surly attitude yesterday?" Severus wasn't in the mood for pussyfooting.

"Er, what?"

"Don't. It's far too early to test my patience, I assure you."

"No. I mean, Draco just had a headache. We didn't have a row or anything. Not much of one. Not really."

Severus's eyes narrowed. "You both seem to have a fair number of debilitating headaches as of late. How interesting."

Harry looked away.

"Close those books. I'd like to speak with you." Severus sat next to Harry and picked up Harry's Botany journal.

"We don't have to hand that in for two weeks," Harry cried as he tried to snatch his journal back. "It's not finished. I have two more weeks."

"The perils of spending your holiday with a professor. Now back to what I was saying. There are things of import I wish to address. I understand you've been invited away for a skiing holiday with Cecilia Buttersley's family." Severus didn't look up, instead focusing on the lab assignments in Harry's journal.

"How did you—I mean, yes, I was invited."

"You've been spending a bit of time with her, haven't you?" Severus turned a page.

Harry wriggled in his seat. "A bit," he hedged.

"And before that, I believe you were quite taken with Miss Smythwick."

"Er, well, you see, that didn't work out."

Severus set down Harry's Botany journal, pretending not to notice the speed with which Harry grabbed it and shoved it under his other journals. "Has any other young woman caught your eye? Or . . . perhaps someone else has?"

"No, sir," Harry said, as he ducked his head and cleared his throat.

Severus gathered that Harry hadn't quite caught the meaning of his last question, which answered some things but left larger issues unresolved.

"I assume you've been careful?"

"Careful? I don't . . ."

Severus watched as understanding dawned on Harry's face.

"Oh! I haven't . . . There's not been . . . er, yes, I've been careful."

"So, you haven't--"

"No. I haven't, uh. No, I haven't."

Severus cleared his throat. "There is no shame in abstaining from sexual activity."

Harry's nervous laughter rang throughout the kitchen. "Tell that to the other boys in my dorm."

"Have any of them pressured you into having sex? Has Draco?"

"No. Not really. In fact, er, Draco stopped something from, uh, going too far once."

"Well at least someone has the sense God gave him. Bear in mind, Harry, there isn't any shame in having sexual feelings. It can be quite confusing. But I want you to understand that having those feelings is natural. No matter what."

"We shouldn't be having this conversation. I mean, you're my teacher and stuff."

"If not me, then whom?"

Harry ducked his head again and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. He shrugged. His discomfort was palpable.

"You can always come to me, Harry. Whenever you have questions about relationships, sexual or otherwise." Severus hesitated. "Even if the problem or question involves Draco."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Harry's response was sharp, far too edgy, Severus thought. "You tell me. You two are either thick as thieves or carping at each other as if you were an old married couple."

"Things are fine. All friends have rows now and then. We just seem to have more of them lately."

"There's no need to get so defensive. I'm merely inquiring about the state of things."

"The state of things?"

"Yes, and that leads me to my next topic. Arrangements need to be made for the Christmas holiday. You can't stay at the school."

"I know."

"I assumed you didn't fancy returning to the Dursleys' for the holiday."

"I'd rather not."

"Well, then. Where shall you go?"

"I'd . . . I'd hoped that . . . you see, I assumed, well I shouldn't assume, I suppose--"

"You are not a babbling baboon, but a young man of some breeding. Spit it out."

"The Malfoys. I'd . . . I'd thought, perhaps, that I could stay with the Malfoys."

"And what if Draco decides to spend his holiday away? I understand he's quite taken with a young lady who's invited him on holiday with her. He might accept. What then?"

"I—I hadn't thought of that, sir."

Severus watched as Harry sagged in the chair at the idea of Draco going away, his eyes flashing with what Severus could only term jealousy. "Lucky for you, he is not leaving, and Narcissa has already inquired about your holiday plans. I shall write to your relatives and secure the necessary permission for you."

"Thank you."

"Harry--"

"Yes?"

Severus shook his head. He'd seen the way Draco gazed at Harry the day before—equal parts desperate lust and staunch loathing—while Harry stared out the window, oblivious. And when Harry wasn't being oblivious, he stared at Draco as if he were the very sun. Boys discovering they liked boys was nothing new. He'd seen it before. He was employed at an all-boy's boarding school, for God's sake, but up till now, his discoveries had always been from afar. He never thought something like this would hit so close to home. For the moment, Harry and Draco seemed content to stare longingly at each other and engage in a bit of pigtail pulling. There was no need to force anything to light. Thinking it was best to leave sleeping dogs where they lay, Severus changed the subject.

"Now. Why are you up so early whilst on holiday?"

"I told you. I couldn't sleep. Bad dreams."

"Nightmares?"

"I, yes. No. I—I don't know. Just dreams."

Severus let the conversation drop. He swallowed the rest of his coffee while Harry fiddled with the edges of his books.

"I have much work to do. I understand you're going riding today while Narcissa spends the day in town."

"Yes, sir."

"The horses are spirited, though Draco assures me that you can ride well enough to handle at least one of them. I expect you to be careful and not do anything beyond your ability."

"Yes, sir."

"Be back in time for lunch or I will come looking for you."

"Yes, sir."

"Avoid the back pasture—there are a fair number of spots where the horses are likely to get spooked. I will be most upset if I have to escort you to the hospital."

"Yes, sir," Harry responded dutifully, though this time with a bit of a chuckle.

Severus scowled. He checked the small temperature gauge sitting outside the window. "Wear a jacket. It's supposed to be cold. I've no intention of playing nursemaid, either. I expect you to eat breakfast before you go."

Harry nodded and Severus swept from the kitchen, hoping that for a long time yet he could simply counsel Harry on riding safety and the necessity of jacket-wearing rather than what to do when Harry discovered that he liked boys better than girls.

&&&

Draco felt like shite. He hadn't slept more than a few hours, consumed as he was with thoughts of Jordan and Harry and what the fuck all of that meant. When he'd finally drifted off, it was to dreams of having sex with Jordan, watching her face morph into Harry's as he pounded into him. Her. Him. Damn it! If the dreams hadn't felt so goddamned good, Draco would have insisted that they'd been nightmares.

He staggered into the kitchen at half-eight, stumbling at the sight of Harry's jumper riding up his torso, his head thrown back in pleasure as he stretched his arms high above his head. Heat pooled in Draco's groin and he felt himself harden. Fuck! Not now. Not fucking now! "What the fuck are you doing up so early?" Draco stalked around the kitchen in search of a coffee mug, slamming doors and cabinets as he did so.

"Somebody didn't get enough sleep."

"Who could sleep with all that goddamned moaning and flopping about you did."

There were a few moments of silence before Harry asked, "Do you have another headache, or something?"

"No. Though if I did, it'd be your fault."

"All right! So I'm a restless sleeper. Let it go."

"It's hard to let it go when I can't even think straight, sleep deprived as I am."

"You know what? Fuck you. I'm not in the mood for your shite this morning. Go riding alone. I've got other stuff to do." Harry stood and started gathering his books and journals.

Draco pursed his lips, trying to get himself under control. There should be no reason—no reason at all—for him to think about how soft Harry's skin probably was, or whether he would be able to feel his ribs if Draco were to skim his fingers across Harry's stomach, or whether Harry made any noises when he got off, or anything else as remotely perverted. But that was all he seemed capable of thinking about, and it was making him angry.

"God, you're such a little prat sometimes. Not everything's about you, you know. The fucking world does not revolve around Harry fucking Potter." Okay. So that wasn't much better. In fact, on balance, it was far worse, as he realized when he heard the kitchen chair scrape across the floor and topple over.

"Who could forget that with Draco narcissistic, sodding Malfoy hovering everywhere?"

"Now who didn't get enough sleep?"

"What's your fucking problem with me? You say you want me here, but all you do is insult me. If I wanted that I could have stayed--"

Draco whirled around. "Don't you fucking say what I think you're about to say. Don't you ever compare me to those people."

Harry's face crumpled and the angry spots of colour that made him so beautiful went away. He righted the chair and sat down. Draco turned away and closed his eyes.

"What's going on, Draco? I don't understand. Have I done something? Do I need to change something? Just tell me. I can't—just tell me. I can't stand whatever this is that's going on. One minute you insist on me being here and then the next, you act like I disgust you."

Draco hated how unsure Harry sounded, but he'd been the cause of it, hadn't he? A rather large part of him wanted to reach out and do something as ridiculous as hug Harry. He dismissed such an abhorrent thought. He would admit to being a bit "touchy" with Harry, but on the whole, he knew that boys didn't hug other boys. Of course, boys didn't think about wanking other boys or watching other boys come, either. Not normal boys, anyway. Draco wanted more than anything to be normal.

"I do want you here," he said eventually, joining Harry at the table. "I'm . . . You don't understand. I can't explain it, okay. It's not you. It's me."

"Then tell me what's going on so that I can understand."

Draco looked away. The earnestness in Harry's gaze was too much to take. "I just said I can't explain it."

"That's stupid. Of course you can explain it. Just try. Is this . . . I mean, is this about Patricia? Are you having problems? Is that why you were so upset yesterday?"

"This isn't about Patricia."

"Oh." Harry fiddled with the edge of the table.

Draco braced himself—when Harry started fiddling with things, it was a sure sign that he was uncomfortable. Had Harry figured it out? Had he somehow seen the things Draco imagined doing to him? It was hard to breathe as he sat there, waiting for Harry's pronouncement.

"Is this about Jordan?" Harry asked. His stare bored into a textbook on ancient civilizations.

"What?" Draco felt like he was choking. Had Harry actually figured it out? Oh, God. Oh, fuck. Oh, bloody, bloody fuck!

"That's it. You miss her, right? You haven't heard from her all term, have you?"

Draco closed his eyes in relief, trying to ignore the trace of disappointment coiled deep within him at the realisation that Harry hadn't figured out anything. "I don't really miss her. But, you're right. It is about her. Indirectly."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly, no."

"Oh." Harry started fiddling with the cuffs of his jumper. "Professor Snape says it's okay to, you know, have—have feelings and such. It's natural."

"What?"

"You know, uh, feelings." Harry cleared his throat and stared at the wall. "It's natural to miss having sex with her. I'm sure you find yourself comparing others to her. It must be hard."

"You have no idea."

Harry nodded. "Course. I'll make breakfast, then. Toast all right?"

Draco reached out and grabbed Harry's forearm, squeezing a bit as he did. "Listen, Harry. I'm—I'm sorry, okay? I've been a right git the last few days. I'm sorry."

Harry quirked his lips in a soft smile. "S'okay. I'll, um, sleep on the couch or something, so that you can get a good night's sleep tonight."

"Don't be stupid."

"You sure?"

"Yes. I told you. I was just being a prat."

"Okay." Harry stood, gently shaking his forearm from Draco's grasp.

Draco started, not realizing he'd been holding on to him for so long.

&&&

Severus was on his feet the moment he heard Harry cursing and Draco saying, "Careful. Let's get you settled."

"I can do it myself," Severus heard Harry say, though the words sounded pinched.

"No, you can't. We tried that, remember? Come on, let's get you sorted out before Uncle Severus sees you."

"Before Uncle Severus sees what?" Severus said as he stepped into the hallway. Harry and Draco's heads shot up, both their mouths hanging open in surprise. Draco's arm was around Harry's waist, while Harry's arm was around Draco's shoulders. Severus might have thought it was a lover's embrace, but for the fact that Harry was dirty and mussed, and his trousers were torn in a few spots. Harry tried to take a step, but hissed in pain as he faltered. Draco pulled him closer, clutching at him and keeping him up upright.

Severus didn't waste a second moving to Harry's other side so that he could help get him to the sofa.

"I'm fine," Harry groused as he tried to pull away from both Draco and now Severus.

"The hell you are. Sit. Now. Draco, get the ice packs from the freezer and bring a few tea towels."

Draco nodded and darted from the room.

Severus sat on a small footstool and pulled Harry's ankle to him. He turned it gingerly, ignoring Harry's hiss of pain. "A mild sprain."

"I told you I was fine."

Before Severus could rebuke Harry for his sharp tone, Draco was at his side, the ice packs in his hands.

"Put those around his ankle whilst I wrap the tea towels around."

Draco nodded and began covering Harry's ankle with the ice packs. He flinched at Harry's yelp.

"Pay no attention, Draco. Do as I say."

Draco nodded again and went back to work, obviously upset by what was happening.

When Severus was satisfied that Harry's ankle was sufficiently iced and elevated, he sat back and fixed both boys with his most malevolent gaze. "What happened?"

The boys traded glances. Severus sighed. They were going to try to lie about what happened. Wonderful. Just what he needed on the first afternoon of his holiday—dressing down fibbing, recalcitrant boys who thought they could pull a fast one. The only question was which of the two would make the opening gambit. Draco was biting his lip, fascinated—apparently—by the trim of Severus's throw pillows. It was Harry who looked up, a sheepish smile already plastered on his face.

"Moraea got spooked by something. I wasn't ready for it and I fell off when she reared. Really stupid of me, I know."

There was that sheepish, chagrined smile again—the one Severus knew Harry had used over and over and over again to charm others into looking the other direction. He curled his hands into tight fists, never letting his expression show his anger. Harry continued.

"Draco's always after me about tightening up on the reins, too. Guess I learned my lesson the hard way. Isn't that right, Draco?"

Severus's gaze swung to Draco, wondering if he'd be complicit in this shameful mockery.

"Ye-yes, that's right. Harry, uh, he . . . he always holds the reins too loose. Moraea saw a bird or something, I don't know what, and it startled her. She reared and Harry fell. Landed on his side and twisted his ankle."

"Sorry, sir," Harry added. He bowed his head in contrition.

Severus's eyes narrowed into little slits. He was furious. How dare Harry try to treat him as if he were another adult passing through his life, who only wanted to hear Harry's words and not understand them. Severus bit back the insults and barbs he had at the ready. Instead, he swallowed his anger and decided to use the situation to his advantage.

"That's what happened?"

Harry and Draco traded glances again. "Yes, sir," they chorused.

"Well. That answers that, I suppose." Severus stood. "Draco, please get Harry some pain relief tablets from the first aid box in the linen cupboard. I need to call Dr. Anderson."

"I told you, I'm fine," Harry said as he made to get up from the sofa.

"Sit down. Dr. Anderson is a veterinarian, not a physician."

Draco stopped short. "Why would you need a veterinarian?"

"Well, I can't have a horse that spooks at the sight of a bird. Imagine what she'd do if a fox came ambling by. No, it's better if I call Dr. Anderson. He'll know a good place for her." Severus took a step.

"Wait!" Harry cried.

"Yes? Is there something you wished to say?"

Harry's gaze darted to Draco and then back to Severus. "I . . . I . . . it might have been bigger than a bird. We couldn't see it, of course, but it was probably something much more startling than a bird. And I wasn't holding the reins right. Draco said. You heard him."

"Nevertheless, I think it wise that she no longer be stabled here." Severus turned and took another step, wondering which boy would speak next, and hoping it was Draco.

"Uncle Severus, wait! It's my fault! Please don't send Moraea away."

"Unless you have something else to add, I really see no other choice."

"It's my fault. Like I said."

"Draco!" Harry hissed.

"Quiet. I'm not going to let you or Moraea take the fall for this. It was my fault we had that row."

"Another row? You boys seem quite combative lately. Now are you going to tell me what really happened today, or shall I keep up my ruse to call Dr. Anderson?"

"You were lying?" Harry asked, his voice cracking with incredulity.

"Yes. You inspired me."

"What?"

"Do not take that tone with me. Do not forget that I know you, Mr. Potter. I know how you were treated by those awful people, and I know of the lies you told to cover it up. I will not tolerate such duplicity. Not in my home, and certainly not from you. I would hope, Mr. Potter, that you thought more highly of me than that."

Harry's head bowed again. Severus was sure that the contrition was genuine this time.

"I didn't mean . . . I just wanted . . . I'm sorry."

Severus returned to the footstool and patted Harry's back, an awkward attempt at comforting. "Don't do it again." Severus turned to Draco. "And you. Don't help him." There was another chorus of, "Yes, sir."

Harry was such a remarkable young man that it was easy to forget what he'd gone through all his life. Despite an outward display of swagger and confidence, he was a vulnerable, needy boy who was desperate for a little acceptance and love. Severus worried what dynamic Harry's past would add to what was happening between him and Draco. The sound of someone clearing his throat brought Severus from his thoughts.

"You wished to say something, Draco?"

"We went out for a ride and got into an argument. I was trying to teach Harry how to post. I was behind him, watching him . . . anyway, I said something I shouldn't have and one thing led to another and—and--"

Harry picked up where Draco left off. "And I got upset, pushed Moraea into a gallop, and I couldn't quite control her when she took off. I fell off and landed on my side."

Severus let the silence linger, not saying anything until both boys were sincerely regretful. "I see," he said at long last.

"I started it, Uncle Severus. It was my fault that Harry took off like that. Please don't be angry with him. If anyone should be punished, it should be me."

Severus was taken aback by Draco's protectiveness, though he shouldn't have been when he thought about it. "I think a twisted ankle and the rest of the day in bed is punishment enough for Harry."

"Bed? I don't need to go to bed. It's a twisted ankle. Nothing more."

Severus ignored Harry's protests. To Draco, he said, "And you can take care of the horses by yourself. I imagine you didn't take the time to brush them or anything else."

"No, sir. They're both still saddled. I wanted to get Harry back to the house as quickly as possible."

"Off you go, then. I'll see to Harry."

Draco opened his mouth, as if to protest, but shut it quickly and hurried out the door.

"Don't move," Severus said to Harry. Severus left the room, only to return a few minutes later with a glass of juice and two small, white tablets. "These will help with the inflammation and the pain."

"It's not that bad. Really. I can even move it around now. See? And besides, what happened is my own fault."

"Fault has nothing to do with whether you are permitted relief from pain. That is not an acceptable method of punishment."

"But--"

"There is no but in this, Harry. You and Draco both did stupid things today and for that I think no more riding for the rest of the holiday is sufficient punishment. Keeping you in pain for pain's sake is not appropriate. Do you understand?"

Harry rolled his eyes and muttered a curt, "Yes," under his breath as he reached out to take the tablets.

Severus pulled his hand back. "Do you understand? Do you really?"

Harry looked up at Severus and stared at him a long while. "I'm beginning to."

"Good. Take these and then we'll get you in the bath. You're dirty and chilled."

"Yes, sir."

Severus drew Harry's bath and then helped him to the bathroom. "Are you fine on your own, or do you need assistance?"

"I can do it. It's really not that bad. I can put pressure on it and everything. I don't see what the fuss is about."

"You were hurt. You need a bit of looking after for the afternoon. That's what all the fuss is about. Now. I've left you some fresh pyjamas. I see Draco's used all the towels. I'll get some more."

When Severus returned, Harry was in the bath and the shower curtain was pulled halfway shut. He placed the towels on top of Harry's pyjamas. "I've left you towels."

"Thank you," came from behind the curtain. "Sir? I was—I was wondering if you had a few minutes to talk."

Severus hesitated for a second. "Of course." He sat on the sandalwood stool by the bath. "Mind, there are a few things I'd like to talk about as well."

"Of course. Um, why don't you start, then?"

"What happened today?"

"We told you. We had a row, I got upset--"

"No, I mean, what was the row about? What preceded it?"

Water splashed as Harry shifted. Severus could see the toes of his good foot flexing against the cold porcelain wall tile.

"He was barking at me about my posting. He said something about me always showing my arse. I don't—he was—it's really weird. Actually, this was sort of what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Go on."

"He . . . Things have been so strange lately. I think he doesn't want to be friends with me anymore, but doesn't know how to say it. He's always been a bit possessive—even when we were kids. But now it's as if he either can't get far enough away from me or he wants to be on top of me."

Severus bit the inside of his cheek, hoping to hold his tongue about what exactly what Draco wanted.

"Sometimes he looks at me as if I disgust him. I mean, I know I'm not much to look at and I don't act posh enough. But I didn't think those things mattered."

"They don't. You are very important to Draco. Never forget that."

"What's wrong with him, then?"

"Harry, remember our conversation this morning? About it being a confusing time for you and the rest of your friends? Well, it's confusing for Draco, as well."

"Confusing how, exactly?"

Severus looked up at the ceiling, cursing God and the heavens above. "Perhaps confusion is the wrong word. The point is that you—all of you—are going to be feeling things that you might not think are . . . normal, perhaps. But I don't want you to think about that. Normal is a relative term."

There was more water splashing and toe flexing. "I'm not sure I understand."

"You will. In time, you will understand everything. And when you do, Harry, there will be nothing wrong with what you find."

"Er, okay. Professor?"

"Yes?"

"Is it . . . I mean, do boys my age still have . . . dreams?"

Severus pursed his lips and knitted his brows as he tried to puzzle out what Harry was asking. He opened his mouth to say as much, when it hit him. "Do you mean dreams about--"

"Yes, those kinds of dreams."

"Are they just dreams, or are you having nocturnal em--"

"Not just dreams. Erm, dreams with the other."

"Well . . . Well . . . Of course it's normal. It's just your body's way of, er, helping you along in that department. Dreams help us face what we're afraid to see in our conscious lives."

"Oh. So, it's normal, then?"

"Yes. It's normal. But remember what I said, Harry."

"I know, I know . . . normal is a relative term. Thanks for the talk, professor. And for taking care of my ankle and everything."

"You're welcome." Severus watched Harry's toes flex again.

"It means a lot to me. I guess I always imagined that this was what . . . what fathers and sons did."

Severus closed his eyes.

"Not that I think, you know, that we're that way, just that—that--"

"It's fine, Harry. Really. These are the things people do for those whom they care about. It's okay to feel that way. And I do care about you. I thought that was evident. I don't bark or sneer at you nearly as much as anyone else."

Harry laughed. "Yeah, I suppose so. Thanks."

"Anytime."

&&&

Severus heard the backdoor close and the sound of booted feet walking into the kitchen. Draco was back from an afternoon of taking care of the horses.

"How's Harry?" Draco asked as he opened the door to the refrigerator and stared at its contents, as if waiting for the eggs to start tap dancing.

"Sleeping."

Draco said nothing as he continued to stare into the refrigerator.

"There's a horrific storm in London. Your mother's stuck there for the night. She rang a few minutes ago to say she wouldn't be back before tomorrow."

Draco nodded. He grabbed a bottle of juice and started to leave the kitchen.

"Stop. Sit down."

Draco hesitated, but did as he was told.

"I want to talk to you about Harry. And you."

The juice bottle stopped halfway to Draco's mouth. He set the bottle back down. "What about us?"

"All of these headaches and rows, do you know what they remind me of?"

"No."

"When you were a little boy, you were entranced by Pansy Parkinson. So much so that whenever you wanted her attention—which was all of the time—you pulled her pigtails, or flung mud patties at her, or stomped on her feet."

"I did not."

Severus chuckled. "Oh, but you did. And then when your father took you to task for it, do you know what you said?"

"No, I don't."

"You said you loved her."

The words hung in the air for a long stretch.

"Fine. So when I was five, I told a girl that I loved her. What's that got to do with me and Harry?"

"Think, Draco. Substitute rows and insults for pigtails and mud patties, and what do you have?"

"Nothing. You have nothing." Draco huffed and ran his hands through his hair. His gaze darted around the room. "Are we done?"

"No." Severus leaned forward. "I know, Draco."

"I don't know what you're talk--"

"I know."

Draco stared at him before lurching violently from his seat and backing into the closest wall. His sneer was full of false confidence. "So what? So what?"

"Draco--"

"Does Harry know? Is that why you made me leave? So that you could talk about me?"

"Stop this. Now. Sit down. I am not angry with you, or disappointed in you, or any other ridiculous thing you've conjured in your mind. But we need to talk about this. Harry could have been seriously hurt today. This is no longer a bit of pigtail pulling."

Draco's defiance left him. He shuffled towards the table and sat down. "Does Harry know?"

"He does not. He's hurt and confused and is sure that you don't want to be his friend anymore. I know you're dealing with something very confusing at the moment, but you must stop and think about Harry. With everything he's been through, he doesn't make the same assumptions or react the same way that others do."

"All I do is think about Harry. I can't get him out of my goddamned mind!"

"I am trying to have an open and non-judgmental conversation with you. Do not insult me with your adolescent vulgarities."

"I'm not gay."

"I didn't say you were."

"What is it you said, then?"

"I was referring to your attraction to Harry. I did not say that you were gay. That is not a determination that I can make about or for you."

"But. . . but you said you could tell I was attracted to him. Doesn't that mean . . . doesn't that mean I'm gay? I mean, that you think I'm gay?"

"Attraction can mean a lot of things. You are so insistent on pushing away these feelings that you haven't figured out what they mean. As a consequence, you're lashing out at everyone around you, most especially Harry who is only now grappling with the idea of any sort of sexuality."

"So, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that you need to stop pushing away these feelings. You need to figure them out."

Draco snorted. "Yeah, right. I can see the conversation now. Hello, Harry? Guess what, I have dreams about fucking you. Er, sorry, Uncle Severus."

"That's not entirely what I meant, but having a conversation with Harry might not be a bad idea."

"You've lost your mind. There is no way I'm ever going to have that kind of conversation with him. These—these feelings, or whatever, aren't normal. I don't know what they mean, but I am going to make them go away. No way am I in love or lust or whatever with my best friend. My male best friend."

"Draco--"

"No." Draco stood and backed away. "I'm not gay. They're just—just feelings. They're not important."

"I wouldn't care if you were gay, neither would your mother. Neither would Harry."

"Well, it doesn't matter, does it? Because this attraction, or whatever it is, is just—it's just—it's nothing. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I need a bit of air."

Severus heard the front door slam. He massaged his temples, wondering what had ever possessed him to try and sort this out.

&&&

Draco couldn't sleep. He kicked away his blankets and flopped onto his back. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop thinking about his conversation with his godfather, which made him think about his conversation with Ron, which inevitably led him to think about Harry. Harry. He'd almost choked at dinner when he'd passed the salt to Harry and their fingers had touched.

He wasn't attracted to Harry. Not like that. He just wasn't. He rolled over again and huffed as the bedsprings creaked.

God, he couldn't stop thinking about him. What had possessed him to try to teach Harry to post anyway, knowing that he was having all of these confusing, unnatural thoughts? He'd been behind him, watching his arse move up and down in synch with Moraea's laconic gait. All he'd wanted to do was reach out and give Harry's arse a good, hard squeeze. He'd screamed in frustration and told Harry that posting did not require him showing his arse like some sort of cheap tart and to stop doing it because it was disgusting.

Draco snorted and rolled over again. Why was he hiding like this? Did he really think there was any substance to what his godfather had said? Of course not. He'd simply got spooked and had made this—this issue into something far larger than it was. No matter what it was, he had to get some sleep. It felt like forever since he'd got any sleep.

He was just starting to drift when he heard the rustle of Harry's sheets and the creak of his bedsprings. Harry moaned. Draco felt himself harden. He squeezed his eyes shut, and willed it down. It was just another example of how he'd let this run away from him. The more he tried to make it go away, though, the harder he got. The harder he got, the more he thought about Harry. Images of him touching Harry, of Harry touching him, flew past his mind's eye, exciting him and gutting him at the same time.

And then he remembered what his godfather had told him earlier. If he kept pushing the attraction away, it would only get worse. Draco sat up. Of course. Why hadn't he thought of it earlier? He'd been so afraid of touching Harry, or getting that close to him for fear of what might happen, that he was making it worse. That was the answer. He would go over and give Harry a bit of a massage. He knew he was sore from the fall. Harry obviously needed it given all of the rolling around he was doing, and Draco would prove to himself that he wasn't attracted to Harry at all.

&&&

He was lying on the grass again. Something whispered at the back of his mind that he would be upset when he woke if he didn't leave the dream right then, but Harry couldn't be bothered with it. Nothing that felt this good could be wrong. He smiled as that familiar-but-not presence caressed him with its phantom touch.

Fingers trailed along his back, leaving Harry with the sensation of electric eddies swirling across his skin. He shivered. Hands kneaded at the base of his spine. They were strong and long-fingered. This hadn't happened in Harry's dream before, but it felt so good, so right, that he didn't think on it anymore. He let himself relax.

The soft grass started to fade and the summer sun waned. But the presence behind him didn't waver. If anything, if felt stronger, more real. Harry blinked. What was happening? As sunshine gave way to night, as grass transformed into sheets and blankets, Harry tumbled back into reality—though still not quite awake.

As he was coming around, he noticed that the room was cold and the shadows sharp and slanted. He missed the grass, warmed by summer sun. The bed creaked and his muscles tensed, as if he were about to be struck. That same heavy sensation was still there. He still felt the haze of arousal. He didn't understand. Was he still asleep? Was he dreaming?

"Stop tensing. It's just me, Harry," the presence—no, the person—whispered into his ear. He knew that voice. He knew it.

Soft hair brushed across Harry's shoulder. The combined smell of sunshine, grass, and earth wafted by as long-fingered hands kneaded and kneaded and kneaded. He heard his name again.

Harry gasped.

Reality and fantasy superimposed, stealing Harry's breath and stopping his heart for a moment. Holy, mother of God, Harry was having wet dreams about his best friend. It was Draco touching him, kissing him, arousing him, in his dreams. It wasn't Pammy, or Cho, or Cecelia. It was Draco. It was Draco.

Well. Harry had no idea what to make of that. Professor Snape's words from earlier in the day came back to him. Professor Snape knew! He knew that Harry was . . . was attracted to Draco. Fuck! That meant that Draco knew, too. What was he going to do?

Tears of frustration and anger pushed at Harry's eyes. He fought them back. He scrambled out from under Draco and leapt from his bed, knocking away his blankets and Draco in the process. "Fuck," he said—loud enough to wake Professor Snape, if Draco's strangled cry hadn't already done it. "I'm so sorry."

"Sorry? For what?" Draco asked, looking slightly dazed.

And then Harry realized that Draco didn't know. "S-Sorry. Leg cramp!" Harry blurted as he sped towards the door, calculating the fastest way out of the house and the best place to hide, hoping beyond hope that Draco wouldn't follow.

"What's wrong with you?"

Harry paid no attention as he sped from the room, turned left, and ran straight into Professor Snape.

"Sorry sir," Harry stuttered in abject embarrassment as he scrambled to keep his balance, his ankle twinging with pain. "I just . . . I need . . . and he . . . and I . . . excuse me," he finished in a rush as he pushed past and ran out of the house, slamming the front door behind him.

&&&

Severus stared at the door, bewildered by the dishevelled Harry who had just run past. Fate seemed determined to make what was between Harry and Draco play out over the course of a school holiday while Draco's mother was stuck in London, leaving the hard work to Severus.

His mouth set in a firm line, Severus marched into the room the boys were sharing intending to find out what was going on. He stopped dead, though, when he saw Draco sitting on Harry's bed amongst tangled sheets and blankets, the pillows half off the bed.

"What happened? Why did Harry run from the house?"

Draco looked up, startled from his thoughts. "Er, sorry, Uncle Severus. Harry had a leg cramp."

"A leg cramp. That must be why he tore out of this room, hobbling along with a tender ankle, slamming the front door behind him."

"I suppose," Draco murmured, distracted and distant.

"Why are you in his bed, Draco? Why does it look as though a wind storm has travelled through? What has been going on in here? What have you done?"

"Oh," Draco said as he looked around. "Harry needed a bit of a rub-down."

Severus's steps faltered. "What did you say?"

"Harry's sore from when the horse threw him. He needed a bit of a rub-down. I gave it to him."

"Did Harry request such a thing?"

"Hmm? No, I suppose not. I just wanted to figure it out, you see. The attraction. If it was real. Uncle Severus? It's real."

"I know, Draco."

Draco nodded. They sat in silence for a long while.

"Uncle Severus?"

"Yes?"

"I think . . . I think I'm gay."

Severus's face softened. "And what has led you to this conclusion?"

"Harry."

Severus sat next to Draco. "I see. It's fine, Draco. I don't think any differently about you because of it."

"I don't want to be."

"I know you don't. But if you are, it's fine. It is not an easy road I imagine, but it's not one that you'll have to walk alone. I promise."

"Uncle Severus? I—I think I love Harry, too."

Severus chuckled. "Perhaps you do, Draco. But the question is, what are you going to do about it?"

"We had this conversation. Remember?"

Severus looked away and cursed whomever had put him into this situation. He was not a goddamned matchmaker. However. There was the little issue of sleep, not to mention his hybridisation project. He was already behind schedule, having played bloody counsellor and nursemaid all day. If this was going to happen, then it would happen when it was convenient for Severus.

"I think you'll find that Harry is more receptive than you think."

Draco's eyes lit up. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that you should find Harry and talk to him."

Draco bit the inside of his cheek for a moment before leaping from the bed and tossing on whatever clothing he could find. "He's at the stables. I'm sure of it. It's where he goes at school when he wants to think about stuff. I better take a jacket for him. And some shoes. I don't think he was wearing shoes. Only Harry runs out of the house without shoes. I'll be back. I mean, we'll be back. Don't wait up."

And with that, Draco flew from the room.

Severus smiled when he heard the front door slam again.

&&&

Draco entered the stable, breathless from having run from the house. Gas lanterns were lit everywhere, casting a cheery glow across the dark wood of the stalls and infusing the hay bales with light. Moraea was in the centre of the stable, calmly standing there as Harry made long sweeping strokes with a grooming brush. Her black, glossy coat and long mane shone in the soft light. Any other time, Harry would have looked ridiculous standing there barefoot in his pyjamas, dwarfed by Moraea, but now it only seemed to add to the alluring surrealism of the scene.

"Harry?"

Harry stiffened, but made no other acknowledgement of Draco's presence. He continued brushing Moraea, murmuring endearments to her as she swished her tail and bent her neck in pleasure.

"Harry?"

"Do you know what Moraea's name means?"

"Harry, please--"

"She's named for Moraea iridioides, the fortnight lily, a pure white flower that only blooms at night. It's quite clever, really. A solid black Friesian, graceful and powerful, named for a pure white flower that only blooms at night. I figured that out on my own, you know."

"Harry, I want to talk to you about something."

The brush faltered for a second. "What about?"

"About what's been happening the last few days. Weeks even."

Harry dropped the brush and turned around. There was a smudge of something high on his cheek. Draco quelled the impulse to walk over and brush it away.

"What?" Harry dropped his gaze and stared at the ground. He fiddled with the hem of his pyjama top.

Draco tried to order his thoughts. He had no idea what he was going to say, how he was going to explain to his best friend that he was in love with him. He ran his hands through his hair and turned away. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harry lift his head and stare at him. He turned a bit and started at what he saw. Harry wasn't looking at him any differently than he ever had—but Draco had only just noticed what was hidden in his gaze all along. Desire. For Draco. Suddenly, Draco didn't feel much like talking.

Draco crossed the stable and stood in front of Harry. He let Harry search him with his gaze. He didn't want Harry to be frightened. Not of this.

Moraea whickered and pressed her front hoof into the ground. Draco lifted his hand, letting it hover close to Harry's face.

"What are you doing?"

"You've got a smudge." Draco leaned forward and cupped the back of Harry's head with one hand, letting his thumb sweep over Harry's cheek. He smiled as Harry's eyes fluttered shut.

"You don't have to do that."

"I know."

Harry made no effort to move or to stop Draco.

Draco brushed his thumb across Harry's cheek again, sweeping away the last of the dirt. He didn't stop moving his thumb, though. He'd thought the urge to touch Harry would go away when he'd removed the smudge. It didn't. If anything, the desire seemed grow stronger with each passing brush of his thumb.

"Is it still there?"

Draco didn't say anything. His gaze was fixed on the movement of his finger, watching it sweep back and forth across skin that was as soft as he'd imagined it. He felt bewitched.

"Draco?"

Draco looked up into wide, green eyes. There were golden flecks in them, he thought. He leaned forward to get a closer look, now only centimetres from Harry. He had to see if there were golden flecks, just as he had to feel how soft Harry's skin was.

"Draco? What--"

Draco tore his gaze from green eyes with golden flecks and rested his gaze on soft lips, more pink than red. The top lip was thin, while the bottom one was plump and a bit pouty. Perfect for sucking and worrying and biting, Draco thought as he leaned in, not caring a whit that this was his best friend, or that Harry was a boy. He curled his other hand at Harry's nape.

Time hung, caught in the pendency of Draco's thoughts. His breath ghosted across Harry's lips, as Harry's head tilted slightly to the left.

There was a moment of hesitation, a moment in which he understood that everything he'd ever known was about to change. He didn't care. He ducked his head, closed his eyes, and leaned in.

He felt the soft warmth of Harry's lips meet his. There were sparks, electric tingles, something leaping and coiling around the exhilarating rush of desire coursing through him. He felt tentative hands reach around him and skim across the small of his back as they sought purchase. He heard and felt the low groan swallowed deep in Harry's throat.

As he pressed his lips to Harry's again, and as he felt Harry kiss back, Draco Malfoy knew that nothing—nothing—had ever felt so right as kissing Harry Potter. That's when he knew that magic existed in the world.

Draco crushed Harry against a nearby post, ignoring Moraea's stamping hooves and snorts of amusement. Harry made more noises, moans, little catching breaths—as Draco dragged his hands through Harry's hair, clutched at him, and pulled him closer, because, fuck, he wasn't close enough. His lips smacked against Harry's, His teeth sucked in Harry's bottom lip, gleeful that it was as plump and soft as he'd thought. He felt Harry move against him, kissing back, matching Draco's ferocity. Harry's tongue darted out and licked Draco's bottom lip. Draco responded to the invitation and soon they were both moaning as teeth clicked and tongues twined.

They were both breathing as if running a marathon, but neither yielded. As if knowing that the world would change the moment they stopped, Draco and Harry refused to let each other go as they kissed and kissed and kissed.

Finally, the electricity settled into a gentle hum. The need for proper breaths trumped desperate need. Draco pulled his lips away, shivering at the sensation of the sparks still dancing between them. "I--" he began, but Harry shushed him with another kiss, this one clumsy, sweet, and agonizingly slow.

They broke apart, but held each other in loose circles of arms. Draco felt warm contentment as Harry's eyes flashed with wonder.

"You kissed me," Harry said.

Harry's eyes looked glazed to Draco, like maybe Harry thought he was in a dream. "Yeah, I did," Draco said.

"Why?"

"I wanted to see if what I felt was real."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry about the kiss."

Harry looked down with a slight frown. He let his arms drop and stepped back, forcing Draco to drop his. "It's okay. Don't worry about it. Experiment over, right?"

"No. I mean, I kissed you without asking. That's why I'm sorry," Draco blurted, struggling to find words—any words—that weren't wrong ones.

"Oh."

Moraea stamped her hooves again and whinnied, unhappy that she was no longer the centre of attention. Outside the stable, something moved through the underbrush. Harry scuffed his foot across the floor.

"Did you, I mean, did you like it?" Draco asked.

"I—I don't know. I think so. I don't know what to think."

Draco saw the uncertainty in Harry's eyes. It made his heart pound and his lungs burn. "I liked it too, you know."

"You did?"

"Of course I did. I want to do it again, actually. If you'd let me, of course. I should have asked before I did that—that's why I said I was sorry."

"You mentioned that."

"Yeah. Sorry, forgot."

"S'okay."

Harry shifted closer. Without thought, Draco's arms encircled Harry's waist. Harry didn't object. He brought his arms up and did the same to Draco. His touch was tentative and . . . reverent, Draco thought. He lifted on of his hands and brushed Harry's fringe from out of his eyes.

So. Can I kiss you again? To help you figure it out, of course. Whether you liked it or not, I mean."

"Yeah. Okay." Harry smiled. "I think I'd like that."

Draco leaned in and Harry met him halfway, the dazed look still in his eyes. Their lips touched and that same familiar tingle of magic followed. Draco closed his eyes and kissed, warmth suffusing him with Harry kissed back.

It was too early to think about what kissing Harry meant in the grand scheme of things. For now, it was better just to kiss, because nothing had ever felt so perfect.