Author's Note:Thank you, thank you to Sansa, Opaquevision, and Scoradh for the fabulous beta work. 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.
Harry watched the hills roll by from the back passenger window. He listened to the soft patter of wind buffeting the car as it drove along the narrow street. Draco made little sounds of disgust every few pages of Middlemarch while his fingers turned the pages with the staccato snap of impatience. Mrs. Malfoy's lilting voice belied the ruthless precision with which she discussed holiday plans, Professor Snape's terse commentary about the inanity of the society holiday season an acidic counterpoint. It was all so very normal—as if nothing had changed. Harry's stomach filled with a gnawing sense of dread. He sunk further down in his seat, concentrating on the bare trees whipping by.
"Well, we simply can't accept the Squires' invitation for the twenty-third, not when we've been invited to the Smiths' that same afternoon," Mrs. Malfoy said.
"Why ever not? They aren't at the same time. Surely you have enough stamina to go to two parties in the same day. You've managed as many as five or more. Though why you would want to is beyond me. Every event is the same—too much rum punch, not enough smoked salmon, and far too many society matrons done up like tarts, festooned in garish silk and ridiculous feathers. That reminds me, please tell me you've seen sense and have disposed of that horrid ostrich feather handbag."
"That handbag was handmade in Italy. It's one of a kind and matches everything."
"Translation: you spent far too much on it, and the bank refused to honour any more of your bank drafts unless you promised to use it from now until the end of time."
Mrs. Malfoy snorted, rather uncharacteristically, Harry thought. "You're one to talk. Shall we get into those pretty little white flowers you fussed with last year, hmm?"
"Those were Cypripedium candidums, Narcissa. They were integral to my research at the time. I could never have finished my project without them. And have you any idea what I had to go through to get those from America? Do you? I had to—oh, never mind. Let's return to more important topics, like why you can't possibly attend two parties on the same day."
"You do this every year. You trivialize these events, yet you never fail to escort me all the same."
There was a tense silence for a moment before Professor Snape spoke again. "You should not have to attend alone, especially given the circumstances." It was the first time Harry had ever heard Professor Snape sound unsure of his footing. He wondered what that meant as he tried to focus on the festooned post box they had just passed.
"You're a lovely escort. You always have been. Thank you." There was an odd ring in Mrs. Malfoy's voice that Harry couldn't place. He glanced over at Draco, but he was still engrossed in his book, oblivious to the gentle sniping between his mother and godfather, and the odd, unspoken things that lay beneath their words.
"Explain why you cannot accept both invitations." Professor Snape's voice sounded as conciliatory as Harry had ever heard it.
"The Smiths and the Squires aren't speaking to each other. I've known the Smiths far longer, I couldn't possibly think of breaking rank like that. Though, I must say, I never thought what Tandie Squires said about Mildred Smith's cabbage salad was that ghastly."
Harry resisted the urge to laugh as he imagined Professor Snape's fingers tightening around the steering wheel. "All of this—this drama—over a curdled cabbage salad? I will never understand your preoccupation with such ludicrous, unimportant frippery."
"And that's what makes you such an excellent escort, Severus. You don't understand, nor do you want to," Narcissa said without missing a beat. She shifted in her seat. "Harry?"
Harry turned, startled to hear his name. He looked up at Mrs. Malfoy, his expression questioning.
"Is it all right if we don't attend the Squires' party?"
Harry nodded, shocked that he was being asked. "I don't even know them, er, do I?"
"Thomas Squires is in your class, I believe. He gets on well with Draco."
Harry turned to Draco, who was momentarily diverted from his task by the sound of his name. He simply shrugged and went back to reading.
"No burning desire to attend, then?" Mrs. Malfoy asked.
Harry shook his head, wondering if there would ever come a time when these ridiculous social games would ever make sense to him. He didn't even like cabbage salad, but neither did he know the Squires. "Have I, erm, I mean, do I need to send my regrets?" he asked, not sure how one asked—politely—why, or even whether, one had been invited to a party by people one had never met.
"No need. I'll send out all of the acceptances and regrets. My friends are well aware of your status in the Malfoy family." Mrs. Malfoy blushed and faltered for a moment. "Not like . . . like that, of course, just that you and Draco are close . . . close friends, that you are a close friend of the family. Like Severus—oh, god—not like that. I'm not implying . . ." Mrs. Malfoy tossed her head to the side for a moment and smoothed the front of her blouse. "I'm sure you get the idea of what I mean. I just want to make sure you're included in these kinds of decisions. You've always been important to us, to me. Even if I . . ."
Mrs. Malfoy bit her lip—like she'd done on a number of occasions over the course of the last few days.
He was suddenly aware of the stillness in the car. Draco was holding his breath, his fingers poised to turn a page, pretending as if he wasn't listening to what was going on. Harry saw Professor Snape staring at him in the rear view mirror, his gaze darting back to the road only when necessary. They were worried. They knew as well as Harry and Mrs. Malfoy that this show of normalcy was a way to cope with how swiftly the landscape of their lives had changed. Harry smiled inwardly, relieved that he hadn't dreamt everything that had happened over the holiday, relieved that all of them were feeling their ways.
Harry reached out and touched her shoulder, his fingers slipping away quickly. "Thank you for taking care of the regrets and things. If all of that was left up to me and Draco, you'd probably find yourself at few parties, and even then surrounded by bad cabbage salad and unhappy friends."
Professor Snape's sardonic voice leapt into the conversation. "Yes, Narcissa, it is a wise thing that you are here to handle our social calendars, otherwise we would be bereft of scandalous tales of misbegotten vegetables and the great honor of seeing society's highest ranking matrons bedecked in sparkles and feathers make merry with the punch . . . and the wait staff."
Mrs. Malfoy laughed. She smiled at Harry before turning back around. "I'll send our regrets tomorrow," she said before taking up an entirely new conversation with Professor Snape.
Harry returned to staring out of the window, trying to reconcile Mrs. Malfoy's exceedingly frank talk with them about sex and dating and growing up with cabbage salad and holiday parties.
The gnawing sensation in his stomach was still there, he discovered. He wondered when the bottom would drop out. As they passed a crumbling stone wall, he worried over whether—when—Mrs. Malfoy would stop liking him and stop inviting him to fancy parties. He worried about what Ron and Blaise would say. He worried about school, and the Dursleys, and what it was like to live life as a gay teenager. He worried about when Draco would discover that he had nothing to offer him and would find someone else to care about.
A warm hand took his and squeezed, shaking Harry from his thoughts. He looked over. Draco smiled, looked in his mother's direction and rolled his eyes. Harry smiled back. Draco squeezed again before letting go and returning to his book.
"Sanctimonious cow," Draco muttered as he turned another page—referring to Eliot, Harry surmised.
Harry continued watching the landscape rush by, constantly changing as they made their way back.
"Stop pacing. You're giving me a headache," Draco said. He sat on his bed, his back ramrod straight and his ankles crossed as if fused together.
"Can't help it. Blaise and Ron will be here soon. And—and we've got to tell them. God, what are we going to tell them?"
"You're so tense—why don't you come over here and let me work some of that out?"
Harry rolled his eyes at Draco's waggling brows. "Is that all you think about?"
"Yeah. In case it escaped your notice, I'm fifteen—sixteen in a few months. Shagging is pretty much all I think about."
"Well, redirect your energies will you, and help me figure out something clever to say to them."
"Why do we have to tell them, anyway? I mean, it's not like it's any of their business."
"We have to tell them—they live with us. You're insane if you think they won't figure out that something's odd between us. Besides, I remember what your mum said, even if you don't. I'm not risking one of us having to move because she thinks we're sneaking off to each other's beds in the middle of the night."
"You didn't really believe all of that, did you? I mean, Christ, she made us go to the chemist and ask for condoms. She was just overreacting. She's not going to have one of us moved."
"She will. I'm not risking it. We're telling Blaise and Ron what's going on."
"Look, I know what I said, okay? I know I agreed we should tell them. But why now? Why this very minute? Can't it wait?"
"No."
"Yes, it can."
"No, it can't."
"Christ, Harry, what's the big deal? Why do this now? Why are you so intent on this?"
"I just explained to you why." Harry rubbed his hand against his forehead. He was getting a headache. "I don't understand why you don't want to tell them. Are you . . . are you rethinking all of this?"
Draco muttered something under his breath that Harry couldn't hear, but he knew it wasn't flattering. "When are you going to get it through your thick head that I am not rethinking this?"
"Maybe when you're willing to act like you . . .like you . . . like we're . . . you know . . . like we are in front of other people. At least in front of our roommates, if no one else."
"Fine. Tell them, then. I can't stop you. I told you I wanted to wait, but you're insisting otherwise, so I'll leave it to you to tell Ron and Blaise."
"Tell us what?" Blaise asked as he strolled into their room, Ron at his heels.
Harry turned around so quickly, he nearly fell. "When . . . how . . . you're back."
"Yes. I thought we'd established that, what with my question and all. So. What have you got to tell us?" Blaise dropped his valise on the floor and flopped onto his bed.
Ron, Harry noticed, kept his head down and made straight for his bed, his face flushed almost the color of his hair. "You okay, Ron?" Harry asked, stalling for time. Draco was no help whatsoever, sitting cool as he pleased on his bed.
"Fine, Harry. You and Draco have something to t-tell us, do you? Fine, fine. Good stuff."
"Ron?"
Ron undid the zip of his garment bag and started hanging his things.
"What the bloody hell is going on?" Blaise asked with a loud groan. "You'd think one of you was about to . . . oh, I don't know, confess some deep dark secret." He sat up straight, a hint of glee in his eyes. "That's it, isn't it? Confession is good for the soul, you know. Hey, Harry, are you going to finally fess up to being a murderer or something? Killed a bloke, didn't you? Some guy trying to pinch your junk, yeah?" Blaise twisted around and addressed Ron. "Isn't that what they say on that cop show? Pinch and junk?"
"Don't know," Ron said, his response terse.
"I think that's right. So, yeah, some bloke tried to pinch your junk, didn't he, Harry? It's all right, you can tell us, you know. We've all be speculating about it, wondering if you were some sort of bad boy, or something." Blaise narrowed his gaze. "Though, come to think of it, you're awfully passive to have been involved in much rough and tumble. No, you strike me more as the scrappy type—defender not bully. Besides, you're far too keen on those plants." Blaise snapped his fingers. "That's it! You grew suspicious plants, didn't you, Harry? Huh? That's it, isn't it?" Blaise asked, chuckling.
"Yes, Blaise. You've figured it out. I'm a drug manufacturing kingpin who's been whisked away to an elite all-boy's boarding school, hiding out from my former partners in crime, whom I turned on to get a better deal. I'm really thirty-three. Did you know?"
Blaise laughed. "Why you sneaky little fuck. And here I thought you were some sweet little boy-man."
"Harry was not a drug dealer, you pathetic oaf," Draco said, obviously not amused by Blaise's bizarre sense of humor.
"He's just trying to take the piss out of me. Calm down," Harry said to Draco. "Cut it out, Blaise. I'm serious—there really is something that I, that we, need to tell you," Harry said, though he realized neither boy was listening to him.
Blaise tapped his finger against his chin. "Hmm, not a drug dealer then. Ooh! A rent boy. You were a rent boy, weren't you? Did Draco find you on the street, tired, hungry, and cold?" Blaise let out a low whistle. "I bet you looked quite fetching all tarted up. Why, Mr. Potter, are there leather trousers at the bottom of your trunk? Did one of your regular johns"—Blaise turned to Ron again, asking, "they call them johns, don't they Ron? In that cop show, yeah?" before turning back to Harry—"Did one of your johns box your ears and toss you out?" Blaise waggled his eyebrows at Harry, teasing. "Is that what's so secret about your past?"
Harry started laughing hysterically at both the ridiculousness of Blaise's imagination and from the tension swirling around the room. It was either laugh or toss furniture around. Laughing seemed the better choice. Unfortunately, not everyone felt that way, Harry discovered.
Draco lunged towards Blaise. "Take that back, you sorry son-of-a-bitch. How dare you say something so vile about Harry!"
"Calm down, lover boy," Blaise said with a laugh, still seeming to think it was all one big joke. "What, you wanted him all for yourself, then?"
Draco screamed as he rushed forward and knocked Blaise onto his bed, spoiling for a fight.
Harry darted forward at the same time Ron did, both pulling Blaise and Draco apart.
"Calm down, you idiots, before you break a fucking nail and whine about having to see Madam in the Hospital Wing," Harry snarled as he tried to jerk Draco away from Blaise.
"What's got into you?" Blaise asked before yelping at a narrowly avoided punch. "Stop it, you psychotic arsehole. I was only joking. Everyone knows Harry's still a blushing virgin—you've made quite sure none of the Collenton girls could touch him, poor bastard."
"He is not a bastard," Draco screamed, still trying to get in a punch or two.
"Fuck you, Zabini. I'm not some—some . . . just because I haven't had sex doesn't mean I can't pound you into the ground," Harry said, tired of having his sexual experience—or lack thereof—be the subject of conversation.
"All of you, stop it! Stop right now!" Ron yelled, finally yanking Blaise back. "Now," Ron finally said. "What's this all about?"
Harry looked at Draco, who was avoiding his gaze. He rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to start what was sure to be a very convoluted explanation, when Draco beat him to it.
"You were right, Ron," Draco whispered.
"Right about what?" Harry asked, Blaise echoing his question.
"I was?" Ron asked Draco, ignoring Harry and Blaise.
"Yeah. You were." Draco took a deep breath and took Harry's hand in his. "You were right."
Harry felt a little jolt of electricity as Draco's warm hand curled around his. He smiled and was turning to catch Draco's eye, when Blaise interrupted.
"What the fuck is that?" Blaise asked, stumbling away from Ron and pointing a shaky finger at Harry and Draco's hands.
"It's two hands, Blaise, clasped together—usually a sign of affection in most cultures," Draco said.
"Yeah, I get that, I mean—I mean—fuck, Draco, why is your hand clasped with Harry's? Why the fuck are you holding Harry's hand?"
"Because I want to. You have a problem with that, Zabini?"
"I . . . Christ, Draco, does this mean you're a goddamned shirtlifter? Both of you? I was only kidding before, about the rent boy business. Oh, fucking Christ, I wasn't . . . I mean, that's not true is it?"
"No, it's not, you stupid wanker."
"Well, when the fuck did this happen? Is this some sort of joke? Not funny, guys. Not funny at all."
"It's not a joke," Harry said. "We're, we're . . . well you can see that we're together. We wanted to tell you, that's all."
Blaise shook his head. "I don't . . . fuck all, is this true?"
"Yeah, it is. And as I asked before, you have a problem with it?" Draco asked.
Blaise shook his head again before turning to Ron. "You're not in on this, are you? This really isn't a joke?"
"It's not a joke, Blaise. Think about it. Think of all the times we talked about, well, you know, how weird Draco was around Harry," Ron said.
"Hey!" Draco cried out.
"You know what I mean," Ron said to Draco before turning back to Blaise, who appeared to be thinking about something.
"The thing with Jordan, you mean?" Blaise asked.
"Yeah, partly."
Blaise walked over to Harry and peered at him closely, but backed off when Draco made an unpleasant sound in the back of his throat. "I see what you mean," Blaise said, finally. "So. You're both—well, you know—you're, well, like you are."
"We're still the same people, you idiot," Harry said.
Blaise opened his mouth to respond, but Harry cut him off. "Don't forget, I can still pound your limp-wristed, skinny arse into the fucking ground."
"Heel, Bruno. I get it." Blaise effected a voice that sounded like a poor imitation of a cave man. He pointed at Harry and grunted. "You, tough and angry—Grrr—regardless of sexual orientation and love of flowers." Blaise pointed at himself. "Me, ass-pounding material." There was a moment before Blaise's words caught up with him. His eyes widened and he immediately colored as his hand slapped across his mouth. "That is not what I meant," he mumbled through his fingers.
There was silence for a long moment before all four boys broke out into hysterical laughter. Blaise fell backward on his bed, howling. Draco leaned against the wall, holding his arm across his stomach as if that would somehow keep the undignified guffaws from escaping. Ron rolled his eyes and chuckled, though his gaze darted between Harry and Draco. Eventually, the laughter stopped.
Blaise nodded. "So, you're gay," he said, staring at Draco, who now sat crosslegged on the floor.
Draco fidgeted with the hem of his trousers. "I suspect that's right."
"You suspect, or you know? I mean, help me out here, Draco, but how do you go from bedding every girl in sight to holding hands with Potter there?"
Draco shrugged. "Don't know. I just know that . . . that—look, I just know, okay? Let it go."
"You don't have to get so defensive about it."
"I don't, do I? What was it you called me? A fucking shirtlifter?"
"You caught me off guard! One minute we're joking about Harry there being a tarted-up rent boy and the next you're holding his fucking hand, like he's some sort of blushing virgin. Oh that's right, he is one."
"Stop with the sodding virgin jokes," Harry snapped, amid the soft sniggers. "So what if I'm a virgin? A gay virgin, on top of that? What does it say about you that all you can think about is whether I've gotten laid or not?"
"I'm just teasing," Blaise said in between soft chuckles. "And it's not like I have anything else to tease you about, do I? Well I suppose I could joke about you being gay, probably will actually, but the virgin thing is just too much. Besides, we don't know anything about your past, really, and I--" Blaise sobered. "And I suspect that what's there isn't something to joke about."
Harry looked away, missing the shared glance between Ron and Draco. He thought about all of the times he'd seen Blaise needle Ron about Hermione, Draco about his clothes, and realized something. He rolled his eyes. "This is some bizarre way of saying we're . . . that we're friends, right?"
"Course, you prat."
"You aren't going to stop, are you?"
Blaise smiled. "Not bloody likely."
"Well, then . . . okay."
Blaise clapped his hands together. "Brilliant. Now, on to more delicate topics. You two aren't going to kiss and shit here in the room, are you?"
"It's our room too," Draco said.
"Yeah, but I'm really not into blokes and I have a sneaking suspicion that Ron isn't either. So. No kissing and shit in the room. Unless we're, you know, gone for an extended period of time—like the summer holidays—and there's no chance of us walking in on the two of you doing," Blaise made odd gestures with his hands, "whatever it is you do."
"That's fair," Harry said, before Draco could object.
Blaise nodded. "You going to tell the rest of the school?"
"No," Draco said. "Just the two of you, so we'd appreciate if you kept this to yourselves."
"Sure, mate. Whatever you say. Okay, now that this has gotten sufficiently odd and uncomfortable, I'm going to head to the library. I suspect I should have finished my history essay before we left," Blaise said as he gathered his school things and left the room, leaving Ron, Harry, and Draco sitting in a lopsided circle on the floor.
"So, do you think everything's going to be okay? Do you think Blaise is all right with things?" Harry asked Ron.
Ron pursed his lips and tilted his head, thinking. "I can't imagine he wouldn't be all right with everything. I've known Blaise a long time—so has Draco. He jokes around all the time, but he's serious about his friends. Loyal. Really loyal."
"So you think everything's normal?"
"As normal as it can be. It's a bit of a shock, of course. You can't discount that. But don't worry, mate. Things will work out--eventually. Just . . . just be careful, yeah? There are a lot of guys here who aren't as, er, open-minded, I guess."
Draco nodded. "Which is exactly why I didn't want to say anything to begin with."
"There's always going to be someone who objects, someone who's prejudiced, someone who thinks he's better than everyone else. Can't get away from it, really. We can't live our lives based on what other people think of us. We do that too much already," Harry said.
Draco squeezed Harry's hand. "It's going to be fine. Blaise and Ron don't have a problem with it, so we just have to be careful about how we go about things."
Harry snorted. "You mean, we need to line up a few good broom cupboards."
"Something like that," Draco said with a waggle of his brows.
Ron sighed. "Bloody hell, it's like being around Charlie."
"Piss off, you know you don't care. Not if your impassioned speech before the holiday was anything to go by," Draco said.
"It's all true, you know. I'm happy for you. I really hope it works out. It's . . . well, it's a hard life, I expect. Hard way to keep a relationship together. But this one, Harry," Ron motioned towards Draco, "I'm sure you've gathered he's a bit possessive."
"Really? I never would have guessed," Harry deadpanned.
"Sod off, you prat," Draco said with a playful push. "So, what now?"
Ron shrugged. "Up for a game of snap?"
And Harry felt that maybe—just maybe—things might really be okay.
Harry got up the next morning as he always did and headed to the shower. He set his things down and carefully arranged his towel and angled the showerhead so that he had as much cover from the tiled walls as possible. Blaise was chatty in the morning and had this thing about looking people in the eyes as he talked. More than once, Harry had been on the receiving end of flung shampoo suds as Blaise whipped around to ask a question.
He stepped under the spray and started washing. He was halfway through when he realized he was still alone. Biting his lip, he continued cleaning up, dallying much longer than normal, but Blaise never appeared. Sighing, Harry finished up, toweled off, and trudged back to their room.
"Found a broom cupboard on the fifth floor. Doesn't look like it's been used in ages. I think we should give it a thorough inspection after breakfast," Draco whispered in Harry's ear as he dropped down beside him in the dining hall.
Harry didn't look up as he wended his fork through his scrambled eggs. It had been three weeks since he and Draco had come out to Blaise and Ron. Not only had Harry showered alone every morning, but Blaise had taken to changing in the washroom. Even Ron seemed a bit hesitant around them. Only Draco didn't seem to notice what was going on. He was far too focused on the upcoming holiday and kissing and finding long-forgotten broom cupboards in which to explore.
"Harry," Draco said with a nudge. "Did you hear what I said? Unused broom cupboard. Fifth floor. Nice and roomy."
"I'm tired of ducking into cupboards," Harry mumbled.
"Well we can't go back to the stable, now can we? Hagrid almost caught us last time and Eloise looks at me funny. It's unnerving."
Harry snorted. "Eloise is a horse, in case you've forgotten."
"She still looks at me funny. Cupboards are better. More private. Less cold and there's no hay strewn about. It was quite difficult to explain to McLaggen why I had straw stuck to the back of my shirt the other day."
"God, I hate that prat," Harry said, having moved to smashing the eggs with his fork. "Do you know what he said to me two weeks ago? Do you? He called me 'stable boy.'"
"Well, you were in Buckbeak's stall, weren't you? I mean, it could have been an honest mistake."
"Come off of it. He knew exactly who I was. We've only walked past each other about a million times."
"I'm sure he was just joking."
"I don't know what's worse, that I know you really believe that, or the simple fact that you do."
Draco sighed. "Look, I don't know what's had you in such a mood lately, but I was looking forward to doing . . . . you know . . . with you for a little bit. It's been forever."
"It's been three days, you stupid prat. That's not forever."
"Yeah, well, it's Saturday, we've nothing to do, and there's a perfectly good cupboard waiting for us."
"Why does it always have to be cupboards," Harry groused, giving up on his eggs and flinging his fork down. "Sorry. I know I've been moody, I just. . . . I don't think Blaise is taking things as well as he pretended to."
"Okay. Not sure where that's coming from."
"It's . . .he . . . never mind. It doesn't matter, I guess."
"He'll come around. Promise. He's just . . . well I imagine it's a bit like if Hermione were suddenly living with us, you know?"
"I'm not going to jump him. Surely he knows that."
"Yes, he probably does, but . . . sodding hell, Harry, just let it go, yeah? Stop thinking about it so much. Let's talk about better things, like New Year's at Mum's house. I convinced her that we were good little boys whom could be left alone for the evening. So, nothing to stop us from kissing all night on the sofa. I might even be able to wangle a bit of champagne."
Harry grinned. "You're pathetic."
"Watch it, or I might be disinclined to share my champagne with you. How about that broom cupboard, then?"
Harry laughed. "Yeah, okay."
It was the day before the winter holidays. Harry got up early—just like every morning—and trudged towards the washroom. He didn't arrange his towel or angle the showerhead to shield him from view. There wasn't any point, really. He stepped under the warm spray and sighed, getting lost in the rhythmic tumble of water.
"Haven't you learned to ride, yet?" came somewhere from Harry's right. He yelped in surprise and almost lost his footing on the slick tile. He turned and squinted. It was Blaise.
"Blaise?"
"Who else would it be? So, when are you going to learn to ride? Draco must be an awful teacher."
"What? What are you talking about?"
Blaise twisted around and stepped forward, flinging soap sods at Harry in the process. He pointed at Harry's hip. "That huge bruise. Fell off of another horse, did you?" Blaise made a tsking sound and leaned forward as if examining the bruise more closely.
Harry started, shuffling away to avoid Blaise's gaze. "I was doing a jump. Unfortunately, Eloise wasn't," Harry said through clenched teeth.
"Jumping already? And here I thought Draco would force you to do that mamby-pamby dressage business he's so caught up in. Just as well that you're not on the team. That McLaggen bloke can be a bit much. I don't know how Draco stands him."
"McLaggen is an arse," Harry said, still feeling awkward with Blaise washing right in front of him, facing him.
"Oh, so you've had a run in with him, have you? Figured you wouldn't have run into him and his lot."
"Saw him in the stables. I was brushing Buckbeak. He called me 'stable boy.'"
Blaise broke out into sharp barks of laughter, leaning against the low ledge that separated his stall from Harry's. "He didn't! Classic stuff. Did you come out swinging? Threaten to pound his—let's see, how did that go? Oh, right—did you threaten to pound his limp-wristed skinny arse into the ground?"
Harry laughed, relaxing. "No. I reserve that for my closest friends."
"Pay no attention to him, Harry. McLaggen's an idiot. Always swaggering around school, wearing his riding breaches as if—at any moment—there could be a dressage emergency requiring his immediate presence at the stables."
Harry laughed.
"Do you know what I heard him say the other day? And mind you, he was being dead serious. He said, 'I don't understand why this school has a scholarship policy. Poor people work in factories and things. What good is English Literature to them, then?' Idiot."
Harry couldn't agree more, beginning to dislike McLaggen more and more.
Blaise stepped under the shower, washing away the soap and shampoo suds. "God, I've missed these early morning showers. I've, er, been sleeping in a bit. Staying up too late, or something. Won't be doing that anymore, I don't think."
Harry smiled to himself. "Yeah. I know what you mean."
"So are you spending the holidays with Draco and his mum?"
"Yeah. What about you?"
"Skiing in Austria with my cousins. I go every year."
"What about your mum and dad?"
Blaise shrugged. "They're both so busy. It works out better this way. Besides, I'll spend my summer with Mum traveling around Greece. We haven't done that in a few years and decided it was time to go back. What about you? Any plans yet for the summer?"
Harry went cold. He hadn't thought about the summer. Would he have to go back to the Dursleys? He couldn't ask Mrs. Malfoy to house him for an entire summer, could he? He dismissed his thoughts. He wasn't going to let anything bother him. Things were looking up. Things were returning to normal. He'd sort out the summer later. "Erm, no plans yet."
"Well, I'm sure something will turn up." Blaise turned off the shower and grabbed his towel, drying off before slipping into his robe. "Have a great holiday, if I don't see you. I'm leaving right after my morning classes. See you in January," he called as he sauntered out of the washroom.
"See you," Harry called out, smiling.
Harry sat on the sofa, wrapped up in his favorite green blanket, reading one of the botany books Professor Snape had given him for Christmas, and drinking the warm cider Mrs. Malfoy had insisted on making before she left for her New Year's Eve party. He glanced up when he felt Draco flop onto the sofa, his face screwed up with petulance. Harry raised his eyebrows in question.
"She only left us enough champagne for one glass each. One glass! Honestly, what does she think we're going to do?"
"Perhaps get drunk on champagne and rut away in her living room? Though why she would ever suspect that we might be tempted to do such a thing, I have no idea."
"Piss off," Draco said as Harry chuckled. "Well, at least it's one glass. We'll have to save it for midnight, I guess."
"You can't honestly have expected her to leave us with a bottle of champagne. I'm surprised she doesn't have someone popping around every thirty minutes or so, asking for sugar and things, just to check up on us."
"I suppose you're right." Draco stared listlessly around the room before focusing on Harry's book. "Is that one of the books Uncle Severus gave you?"
"Yeah. It's great. It's all about this new theory of cross-germination and—well, you get the idea."
"Hmm. So, did you . . . was Christmas all right? You were . . . you were really quiet."
Harry put his book down and unconsciously drew the blanket around him tighter. "Christmas was great. Did I forget to thank your mum for a gift? Bloody hell," Harry swore under breath, "I forgot something didn't I? It's—well, I mean, there were just so many of them. I thought for sure--"
"Calm down, Harry. You didn't forget a thank you. You just seemed so . . ." Draco shrugged. "It was hard to see you so . . . unsure, like you'd never had a Christmas before. And then I thought about it and I realized that you hadn't."
Harry sighed. "That's over now," he said, refusing to think about the uncertainty of the upcoming summer. "Look, I don't want everything I have now to be marked by what I didn't have before. It doesn't matter anymore. It doesn't."
"But--"
"I can't let it go, not if you don't, if your mum doesn't, fuck, even if Professor Snape doesn't. Christmas was great. I had fun. And now it's New Year's and we're alone. Do you really want to waste that time talking about stupid things that don't matter anymore?"
Draco cast a furtive glance at Harry. "I suppose there's merit to that," he said slowly.
"I was hoping you'd feel that way." Harry tossed away the blanket and moved closer to Draco. "There are so many other things we could talk about," he whispered as he leaned forward and brushed his lips against Draco's. "So many other things we could do," he said as he ran his fingers through Draco's hair, settling his hands so that they cupped the back of Draco's head. He leaned in and brushed his lips against Draco's again, chaste kisses over and over, and he continued teasingly until their mouths were mashed against each other, open and wet, and they were kissing hard. Their hands roamed across each other's torsos, over their backs as they moaned and gasped and murmured incoherent endearments.
Draco took command of the kiss, pushing Harry to lie on his back. Draco followed him down, kissing and nipping and licking all the way until he was settled on top of Harry.
They continued kissing, both losing themselves to the sensation. Harry shifted and inadvertently bucked his hips, coming into contact with Draco's hips and his very hard cock. Draco jumped a bit—surprised—before closing his eyes and moaning.
"Holy fuck," Harry exhaled, as a frisson of energy burned through him.
"Let's do that again. Feels good when we do this. Didn't know—so good," Draco said, emphasizing his point by flexing his hips so that his erection rubbed against Harry's. "God, you're just as hard as me."
Harry's hips flexed again, startled by the feel of Draco's hips grinding against his own. He shuddered and flexed again, desperate for whatever was making him feel so good.
"God, you're so fucking hot," Draco murmured as he flexed his hips again, pressing against Harry.
Harry looked up and gasped. The way Draco was looking at him made him feel a funny sort of flapping feeling at the bottom of his stomach. His hands twined around Draco's back, pulling him closer as he flexed his hips up again and again, trying to find some sense of rhythm. He didn't know what he was doing exactly, only that he wanted more of whatever they were doing.
Draco pushed away and snaked his hand in between their bodies, settling on Harry's crotch. Harry's breath caught as the hand unbuttoned the fly of his trousers. Harry trembled.
"I want to try something new," Draco whispered as his warm hand dug into Harry's undershorts and wrapped around his cock.
Harry cried out and jerked up in response. "What?" he started to ask, but stopped as the hand began moving up and down, up and down, up and down. He couldn't help himself as he started rutting against it.
"Not so hard," Harry muttered. The hand loosened a bit. "Better," Harry said, shivering at the little jolts of electricity coursing through him.
Quick as it came, the hand was gone, leaving Harry feeling bereft. "What," he said again, before a finger across his lips silenced him. Harry opened his eyes. He cocked his head to the side and watched in fuzzy detachment as Draco undid his own trousers and pulled his cock free. He turned and looked at Harry. Harry gasped, Draco's possessive gaze pinning him.
Wordlessly, Draco resettled himself on top of Harry. Harry could feel the fine tremor of Draco's muscles. It was Draco's only display of hesitancy, as his hands moved deftly with his gaze still intent on Harry's face.
"Ah," Harry cried as Draco squashed one of his balls. "Budge over a bit."
"Sorry, about that." Draco shifted. "Better?"
"Yeah," Harry said, as he shifted as well. "Just what kind of experiment is this?" Harry asked in between gasps, trying to seem smooth and collected.
Draco stilled and leaned down. "The exciting kind," he whispered, his breath ghosting across Harry's parted lips.
Harry pushed up and licked his lips. He started to say something—what, he wasn't sure—but it didn't matter, because the next thing he knew, Draco's lips were attached to his an instant before they both started moving.
Harry's body arched up and his head dug back into the sofa. Moving like this—their cocks rubbing against each other, uninhibited, had to be what heaven was like.
"Like that?" Draco whispered.
"Yeah. Fuck, yeah," Harry replied in a breathy moan.
Draco gave Harry a crooked little smile—one that was unguarded and nervous.
Their movements were awkward. They had to stop and start as adjustments had to be made. Many "sorrys" and "s'okays" were mumbled between them. Despite all of that, the feeling of their cocks rubbing against each other was amazing. Hands wound into each other's hair, pulling.
"Oh, fuck," Draco cried, feeling his release coming.
Harry wasn't quite there, but he knew it wouldn't be long.
"Can't wait," Draco wheezed.
"Don't," Harry said, having the sudden, inexplicable desire to attack Draco's neck with nipping kisses.
"Oh, fuck," Draco cried again, arching into Harry's mouth, into Harry's body. He shuddered, his eyes rolled back and his hands clutched at Harry's hair hard enough for Harry to hiss in pain. "Sorry, sorry, sorry," Draco mumbled, but unable to relax his hands or stop himself from coming.
Harry felt something warm spurt all over him, making the movements between their two cocks much, much better. He slid into that frictionless glide faster and faster, panting as Draco still clung to him. He came in a glorious rush of heat and electricity, his body jerking as the waves of his orgasm flooded him.
Draco released his grip on Harry's hair and dropped bonelessly against him.
"Oof," Harry cried at the sudden weight, still panting from his own release. "That was, that was," he said after few minutes.
Draco shushed him and shook his head. He rolled off Harry and fished around for something to clean up with. Finding nothing, he wriggled out of his trousers and pants, wiped himself off with them before tossing them aside, and gestured for Harry to do the same. Soon, both boys were lying on the sofa, naked from the waist down, and feeling a bit dazed.
Harry was on his back, Draco on his side, his head propped in his hand. His free hand carded through Harry's hair. Harry could feel the small tremors in Draco's fingers. He turned his head to look at Draco, who still bore the intense gaze from before, though it was slightly hooded now.
"Draco," Harry began, before the clock on the mantle began to chime. It was midnight. A new year had begun. Harry had never imagined so much would change in his life in so little time. But here he was, mostly naked, sated, and feeling warmer than he ever recalled feeling.
Draco leaned down and kissed him gently. "Happy New Year."
"Happy New Year," Harry replied, liking the way the new one had started.