XIX.
Harry avoided Hermione's probing questions for the following few days. His mind, in any case, was already far too preoccupied with everything that had happened with Draco in their meetings—in and out of the hospital. Too much had changed—or maybe it hadn't.
Maybe they'd been destined for it forever.
In any case, he was prone to thinking absurd things such as those. He made himself tea that was too strong. He stared off into the sunset. He flew a broom for the first time in years. He talked to Shaklebolt and the guards at Azkaban.
He fixed it all, hoping that it might make the universe, somehow, reward him for his good deeds.
Nothing magically karmic dropped from the sky, unfortunately, except for a series of letters that Harry refused to open. The Prophet sent him howlers, demanding interviews and following up his silence with yet another ludicrous title. The other people, whoever they were, sent him similarly red envelopes. They didn't explode on their own, though.
And he didn't dare to open them.
It was all a lot of pressure, building rather slowly but having reached some threshold. Harry outright refused to think about it all. The number of patients he was meeting with and assessing seemed to be increasing dramatically and he barely had any time to himself.
It occurred to him that he might have to postpone the meeting—date?—with Draco. It was all too much.
In the end, however, Harry found himself making all the arrangements necessary to meet Draco. Just as he had once taken the night off of work, leaving it all to the less qualified Healers for that Saturday, Harry worked and reworked his schedule in a determined attempt to give himself time to prepare.
He apparated home with enough time to take a quick shower, cast some charms, attempt to fix his hair, and apply just a little bit of cologne before it was time to leave again. They'd agreed to meet at Lucky Felix, but the night started off with Harry popping into existence as an owl flew into the same spot.
Just his fucking luck.
Feathers flying around him, Harry sputtered and waved his arms. When the offending creature was gone, Harry was left with yet another red letter in his hand. His stomach turned, but he shoved the envelope into his pocket and pushed his way forwards, spotting Draco's hair in the crowd ahead.
It was like every weight on his shoulders seemed to melt away when their eyes met and Draco offered a small smile. It was confirmation that Harry had not imagined the things that had transpired between them, that he wasn't completely mad.
They pushed their way to the table they'd occupied the last time, sharing secretive glances and small touches, electrifying the air between them. Harry could hardly breathe, and it wasn't only due to the smell of the club.
"I almost don't believe I'm actually here," Draco said as they ordered some drinks to begin. He seemed shockingly talkative, charming like a salesman. "I thought for sure you would have forgotten."
Not wanting to say that their rendezvous had hardly left his mind all week, in spite of the stress, Harry just laughed.
"Then again," Draco continued, "the way you're dressed, I'm tempted to think that you did forget. The masquerade is next month."
Harry looked down at his robes and noted that they were sprinkled with feathers.
"I apparated into an owl," he said quietly.
"I dare say you lost the fight," Draco said. The waiter placed their drinks on the table between them.
"He was looking for trouble," Harry tried, managing a weak smile.
"And what were you looking for?"
"You."
"Ah, the age-old distraction. Apologies." He smirked into his drink, causing Harry to increase the rate of the surreptitious brushing of his robes.
Malfoy, of course, noticed.
He raised one eyebrow and said, "You missed a spot. Your hair is also full of feathers."
Harry brushed a hand through his hair, ruining all of his earlier efforts to style it, and came back with a fist full of feathers. The disaster he'd made of their meeting caused his chest to tighten.
"Now, don't let me rustle your feathers," Draco said, stifling a laugh. Harry flushed at the joke and Draco finally relented. "Allow me."
He pulled out a wand and pointed it at Harry, who was immobile, unable to move even if he had wanted to. A whispered spell later, Harry was bathed in warmth, a trickling sensation that started at the top of his head and cascaded down his skin. He looked down and the feathers were gone, fallen to the floor.
"Now it just looks like you're moulting," Draco said, winking. "Much more dignified. I love older men."
Harry kicked the table instead of Draco's leg and Draco snorted into his glass. He didn't kick back, however, but found and nudged Harry's toe with his own.
"You seem a little tense, Potter," he said. "Anything you'd like to tell me, you know, as your Healer?"
"It's nothing," Harry said, not in the mood for Draco's line of teasing. "I'm fine."
Two eyebrows rose, but Draco just took another sip of his drink. Harry followed suit, wrapping his own fingers around the cool glass in front of him and lifting it to his lips.
"And here I thought you were Harry Potter, eager student in the art of martyrdom."
Harry polished off his drink in a few small gulps, feeling it slosh in his stomach as he stood, and he was extending an arm and speaking before he even realized it.
"Draco, no offence, but shut up. Shall I leave or would you like to dance?"
There was a look of confusion for a second, and then the glass tipped against Draco's lips. He caught the last few drops there, then stood as well.
"If you flaunt your dancing in some attempt to prove yourself, I'll have to remind you that I'm not a bird who understands that particular mating ritual."
Harry wanted to punch him—shut him up somehow.
"Scared, Malfoy?"
It didn't matter; one more owl joke and Harry would not stop himself any further.
"I took dancing classes for seven years, Potter. You wish."
When they finally emerged on the dance floor, however, Harry saw the nervousness flicker through Malfoy. Harry was sure that in all those years of preparation, never once had Malfoy been taught to dance as they were being pushed to.
The crowd folded them into the centre of the mass of bodies and Harry felt himself finally start to relax. He moved along to the beat of the music, feet moving and eyes sliding closed. He swayed and responded to the energy along with everyone, losing himself in sensation until the moment when he was rudely pulled out by Draco.
"I can't do this!" Draco shouted, pale, the only still body on the dance floor.
Harry gave him a smile that was probably a touch too challenging for his own good. Draco stopped protesting. "Allow me," Harry said.
He stepped behind Draco, memories flashing through him, and then he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Draco's stiff torso. He pressed himself against the curve of Draco's arse, the dip at the small of his back, and leaned his forehead against Draco's shoulder.
Then, listening again to the music and allowing himself to slip away from reality, he started to move. His hips moved against Draco's, filling him with a thrill that was only heightened when Draco hesitantly moved along with him. Harry swayed in spot, breathing Draco's scent in, and he allowed himself to let go completely.
The beat pounded, amplified in part by magic and in part by the sympathetic thudding of Harry's heart. He pushed them to turn, to move more, and Draco responded well, grinding back against Harry in a way that was almost too perfect to convincingly be the first time he'd ever done it.
Harry's arm resettled just above Draco's navel, pulling him closer. His other hand continued to rest on Draco's chest, above his heart, and he felt the two of them melt into the moment, becoming one with the booming music.
Some time later, Draco pulled away, causing Harry to look up in protest. What he saw in those grey eyes was arousal, dark and heavy even in the flashing lights, and then Draco was closer to him, facing him, pushing against him and pulling them together. They were one, rhythm demanding so that they were slipping, their bodies always touching, one of Draco's legs between Harry's as they twisted together.
The music never seemed to end, the movement around them infinite. Other people pushed against him, the drink was warm in his belly, and their lips connected once in a searing moment of passion that stole his breath more than dancing ever could.
Harry knew the moment that something changed because Draco's heat was suddenly ripped from him, his shout lost in the din of the crowd. Someone was holding onto Draco, dragging him away, and Harry heard only echoes of shouts.
The crowd became an obstacle, impossible for Harry to push through. They were a wall that separated him from Draco, but he somehow made it past the bodies. Draco was being dragged past the doors and into the bathrooms, doors closing behind him.
Wand immediately in hand, Harry surged forwards just as the music reached a crescendo and burst through the doors to hear accusations being hurled at Draco, who was on the floor at wandpoint.
"Murderer!" someone shouted. "Death Eater scum. You don't belong here."
Someone else kicked Draco to the ground, his hair splayed out on the dirty floor. Harry tasted blood.
"You don't deserve anything, not even Harry Potter. The two of you deserve nothing from the rest of us. You need to pay. Scum!"
A spell twisted and lurched from the tip of the wand, colourful light that Harry caught the briefest glimpse of before all but flying forwards. His fist collided with the man's stomach, sinking into the doughy fat, but it didn't stop him from repeating his action again and again and again until the man was as unresponsive on the floor as Draco. Fucker.
The other man cowered somewhere behind him, but Harry wasn't finished yet.
"If you think you have any right to judge my life," Harry whispered, voice low, "I might remind you that I killed Voldemort. Do you think you stand a chance?"
The man shook his head, trembling. "N-n-no, Sir."
"You will collect your friend, you will never approach me again, and you will remember that Draco Malfoy is a million times the man you are for learning from the past. Do you understand?"
Harry drew himself up to full height, anger burning through him. The man seemed to shrink even further, and he sniffed rather pathetically. "Yes. Please don't hurt me."
Harry sneered, wishing the other man knew just how angry he was, but then he remembered Draco and immediately knelt at his side. Harry apparated them out with one more murderous look at the man, seething.
Draco was conscious when they reappeared at Harry's, but Harry's anger had not yet been dealt with. He paced furiously as Draco tried to speak, pushing over three different chairs in the kitchen.
"Why did you do that?" Draco asked.
Harry shot him a look and continued to pace, his hands curling into fists.
"He had no right to touch you. After everything you've survived. No fucking right. Are you all right?"
"You protected me, Potter. Why?"
"Answer my question!"
Draco shrugged. "I feel fine. I think the spell was a modified stupefy, but nothing more. Why, Potter?
Dread at the thought that the spell might be something more serious—a curse?—sat heavily in Harry's stomach, but he was successfully tipped away from the immediate worry, emotion giving way to frustration. Harry whirled around to him, "Why? Because I've done enough harm to you."
He took a step towards Draco, knowing he might never be able to explain how he was feeling.
"Why?" His voice dropped an octave. "Because you're important to me. Because I know you."
Draco's tongue darted out, a little flash of pink to moisten his lips, but he remained still, cautiously watching Harry approach.
"I know you, Malfoy. I know you and they don't—never will—but they think they do. I can't believe they think they know the first thing about you."
The air was still between them, killed by Harry in his explosive anger. "I fucking know you, and—"
Harry's brain went silent.
Draco always managed to make his thoughts disappear, didn't he?
Harry's worry died in his throat as Draco managed to smooth out his rumpled edges with one rough kiss.
Draco's mouth was against his. The thought suddenly reached his mind, a hot shock to his system.
They broke apart in wonder, staring at each other, and then Harry looked around at their surroundings.
He wanted to make Draco feel welcome. He wanted to undo everything that they'd ever held against each other. When they were both naked, and Harry suddenly knew they would be, he wanted it to be just Draco, not some other, younger, bitter version. The twist in the pit of his stomach was borne of butterflies, nerves, shock, and dizzying desire.
Around them, he saw reminders of starting again. Some boxes he hadn't unpacked, some bags of things he'd purchased for the flat, a wall that was neither red nor gold but a dark grey.
"I want you," Draco whispered. His voice was scratchy, weak, but Harry was even weaker for it.
"Just hurry," Draco whispered as they stumbled, suddenly unsteady on their feet, wicked smile on his lips that Harry only just managed to catch before they were kissing again. Draco stole his attention in a few swift moves, pushing Harry against the nearest wall and grabbing his wrists with both hands. He pushed back, separating from Harry and giving him a once-over with intensity burning in his gaze.
"Why are you letting me do this?" Draco asked
"I don't want to say," Harry said, words flying from him as he yearned to continue with Draco. Nothing with Draco ever came out just how he wanted it.
"This is insane."
The words were said more to himself than to Harry, and soon later, Harry let out an oof as Draco's torso pushed against his, pressing him firmly against the wall. Harry wondered just how much Draco was understanding from the desperation in the way Harry was kissing him.
In a way, Draco had shared a lot with him during their sessions, sometimes unwillingly, but Harry was scared of the story his body was telling. The way he pressed his hips against Draco's, rutting against the pressure and friction, exposed his desire for what it was.
He was burning up from the inside, blinded by heat, moans escaping his lips, unbidden.
Draco wasn't much better, but he maintained his control. His hands remained firmly against Harry's, but the restraint meant nothing more than a chance for Harry to push back.
The two of them were never passive about one another. There was a dynamic nature to the way they coexisted in time and space, though Harry lost track of both as Draco kissed his way down Harry's neck.
Merlin, he'd waited too long to indulge himself. Hadn't it always been blindingly, deafeningly, obnoxiously obvious? The sweet tingling that rushed through him as Draco grazed teeth against sensitive skin was dizzying, breathtaking, and almost impossible.
With words, Harry didn't think he could ever manage to tell Draco anything that he could understand, in that moment, except perhaps, "Bed. Fuck me, Draco."
Cold air rushed between them as Draco ripped himself from Harry, eyes searching.
"You want me to top?" Harry bit his lip and looked up at Draco through his eyelashes, hoping that Draco saw how much he needed it to be that way. "Oh, fuck. Fuck, that's perfect."
With a groan, Draco started on his clothes, deft fingers darting in and out of the holes of his shirt to unbutton it.
"What the fuck are you waiting for?" Harry didn't need any more prompting to do the same, heart racing when faced with Draco's complete enthusiasm.
He allowed himself to be pushed to the bedroom, littering clothes along the floor on the way, and then bare torso met bare torso, unimaginable smoothness threatening to push Harry into insanity.
Draco's leg slotted between Harry's, thigh pressing tantalizingly against Harry's cock, which protested beneath several layers. Ignoring the disadvantages of their present state of undress, Harry threw his head back against the mattress, arching his back.
"How do you want me to touch you, Harry?" Draco whispered, lowering his lips to the skin just below Harry's ear for a split second before dropping a kiss to Harry's shoulder. "You have to show me."
A hand trailed along the centre of Harry's chest, dipping into his navel before traveling up, higher, circling a nipple and continuing higher, higher, to tangle in Harry's hair. Draco pulled and bit down simultaneously, drawing a whimper from Harry.
"Please…" Harry said, "whatever you want."
"Mmm, what an offer."
The hand travelled back down again as Draco worked his way along Harry's chest with his mouth, raising gooseflesh and captivating exactly all of Harry's attention. Suddenly, a warm pressure gripped him, drawing a gasp, and Draco's hand started working through the material of Harry's trousers, teasing his cock with sure fingers.
"Incoherent, are we?" Draco asked. "I'll have to remedy that. I want to hear you."
He slipped lower, sitting back so that he was between Harry's legs.
"I do know a handy spell that will remove these," he said, then whispered something that did, in fact, do that, but Harry was so overwhelmed by Draco's cold hands on his thighs that he hardly realized it. All he knew that he might explode if Draco didn't continue. "What do we say?"
Harry looked down, meeting Draco's gaze, and regretted it the moment he did. The image of Draco's red lips beside his straining cock, even before flesh met flesh, caused his heart to race. He could hardly breathe. He could hardly think.
"Merlin, please."
"Good," Draco said. He licked his lips, lowered his head, and sucked Harry's length into his mouth, stretching around the head and looking obscene in a way that Harry could hardly fathom. It wouldn't take long if Draco's tongue continued to swirl with each upstroke, if his hands kept smoothing down his skin, massaging, if he continued looking so perfect.
Merlin, he was fucking Draco's mouth and Draco was just kneeling over him and taking it. Harry could hardly remember that he should worry about Draco's breathing. Merlin, he was just taking it. Draco's grip tightened in the bedclothes around them.
As Harry lost every shred of composure he could possibly muster, Draco rose and released him, grinning evilly. Harry'd been right the whole time. Evil. Pure evil. Frustration rolled through him.
Draco raised an eyebrow to silence him. "Turn over, Harry," he said. "You won't be complaining in a few moments."
Harry was going to say something back. Something about having a huge ego. Something about being too sure of himself. Something about… something, but it came out as, "Merlin, your cock is—"
It rose from a bed of springy hair, light and translucent, and it was flushed. Draco circled one hand around the base, whispering a few spells that Harry actually could follow, some standard protective spells.
"I've been told," Draco said, altogether too collected for Harry to be able to understand.
Another spell—wandless? No, his wand was in his hand. God, it was all too much, too, too much—and Harry saw Draco's fingers glisten before he followed them past Harry's cock, brushing just against his perineum before dipping to the tight ring of muscle that lay past it.
Harry's eyes rose, inexplicably, to Draco's face as he was loosened and prepared. It usually didn't take too long, but the few moments passed by in a blur as Harry shivered at the concentration that creased Draco's brow. He was flushed, cheeks rosy and eyes bright, his muscles shifting below his skin as his hand worked under Harry.
Harry's eyes followed the line of his torso, the tapered waist and v of muscle that drew him back to the length that would soon be inside him. He clenched around Draco's fingers, earning him a hiss. Then, before Draco withdrew from inside him, Harry spotted the burn scar on Draco's thigh, just above his knee, and a wave of emotion threatened to overtake every other sensation.
His mind was sure to shut down, Merlin, he'd been so close for so long, but Draco had frozen and Harry had to know why. His lips were turned down at the corners, and Harry knew he'd been caught looking at the burn.
"Draco, it doesn't mean anything," he whispered fervently. "You survived. You've grown. You have what you need to move past it."
Harry lifted up on his elbow, reaching the other hand up to grasp Draco's left forearm. Very gently, he lifted it to his lips, pulling Draco a little closer, and kissed above the mark.
"It's proof that you're stronger."
Draco shook, fingers twisting sharply inside of Harry, and then the passion was stifling again, robbing them of any further conversation. It could be left for another time. Contemplating the fallout of what they were about to do was beyond Harry's ability, so he gave in to sensation and turned to his stomach, letting his legs sit wide beneath him.
Spread out before Draco, he should have felt some kind of vulnerability, but instead he just felt excited, sparks of anticipation jumping inside of him. He lifted his arse a little higher, hearing Draco let out a low sound before feeling the warmth approach, fit itself against him, and then the stretching started. Harry groaned against the mattress, pushing back against Draco with equal force, exquisite heat pushing inside of him.
He grew accustomed to the sensation in a few seconds, but there was no more patience left in him, so he rocked back against Draco, who seemed to have frozen again. Harry reached an arm back, grabbing onto a part of Draco's thigh and pushing, pulling, drawing them closer together until it was impossible to go further, and then drawing away.
Something clicked into place. Draco drew in a shuddering gasp and then his hips remembered how to move, drawing back and forth, dragging his cock in and out. All the while, his head was bowed over Harry's back, letting tendrils of hair trail over the skin there.
Harry was jerked backwards and forwards, the bed rocking beneath them with the movement, and the air, previously still, grew heavy with their groans, whispers, and breathing. He felt obscene, like everything he did was the dirtiest thing ever. He loved the heavy weight of Draco's balls as they slapped against him, wanted to feel everything more.
The urgency of the moment overtook them, the sound of skin on skin growing ever louder.
The monumental event that was happening with them at the very epicentre was impossible to believe, except how couldn't Harry when his cock was leaking beneath him, tip dragging against the fabric of the bed with each thrust.
How could he forget who was pounding into him when everything was Draco?
The scent in the air, the animalistic groans, the smooth skin that drew in and out of him—it was all Draco.
It was unmistakable, it was irreplaceable. When a hand closed around his cock, Draco's breaths growing ragged beside his ear, Harry drew up, balancing on his elbows so that he could arch his back and press against Draco. His heart felt tangled, full, and he could no longer control the way his hips pressed back. He was Draco's antithesis, responding to every move he made, every twist of his hips, and then the hand underneath him was twisting, pulling, tight, and Harry was caught in a web.
For a second, time seemed to stop, Harry's muscles tightened, and then he was coming in ropy strings underneath himself, pushing forward frantically into Draco's grip until he was empty, lost—but somehow he felt anything but.
God, the heat inside of him seemed endless. He couldn't remember how he had ever been content with a cock that wasn't Malfoy's.
"Harry! Oh—fuck, Potter!"
Draco was still pumping his hips into Harry, moaning low and pressing one fist into the mattress below Harry's head.
"Oh—oh—Merlin—oh, fuck—Harry! Oh, yes, yes, yes!"
He lost it with one last shout, thrusts erratic as he filled Harry one last time, shuddering and then stilling against Harry's arse, bottomed out, delicious and sticky and sweaty and everything Harry could ever have hoped for.
"Oh," Harry whispered, head turned to the side, cheek pressed to the bed. He felt Draco slide out of him, felt the depression in the mattress as he fell beside Harry, and was pleasantly surprised when Draco draped an arm around Harry's waist.
"Exactly," Draco said, breathless. Merlin, if that was how he sounded after sex, Harry couldn't think of any other activity he wanted to do more. He didn't think he could ever have enough of that voice, that relaxation, that embrace that was so complicated and simple all at once.
"That was—"
"Something I wouldn't mind repeating, Potter."
Harry couldn't help but agree with that sentiment, though he rejected every response his tired mind could come up with in favour of turning around and cuddling closer to Draco. The moment was surreal. The staccato rhythm of Draco's heart under Harry's ear was soothing but unbelievable, something far away but closer than ever previously possible.
There was so much to work out between them, years and years of history to rewrite, but in that moment, he thought that maybe it was possible. Maybe Draco was thinking the exact same thing—wouldn't that be wondrous?
Maybe it was even worth all of the struggle and pain. Maybe it was worth having to tell Hermione.
Maybe things would finally be all right. Maybe all the angst could be resolved, all of the competition relaxed, the fire extinguished and a new one lit.
A new beginning.
Harry drifted off to sleep feeling satisfyingly achy, warm, and content, Draco already snoring beneath him.