First - apologies! I intended to update over the weekend but I've just been crazy busy, hopefully the 2 chapters last week made up for the wait for this one!

As always - thank you to my wonderful reviewers! LadyWhiteRose2015, Ern Estine 13624, TazzieLuv13 and Liz.

Enjoy this next chapter.. It carries a warning.. M rating starts creeping in here on out. ;)

Note - as is obvious, none of the characters etc are mine - however I did use a quote JK made about George/Angelina within this chapter, because I love it!

Chapter Seven

A Bit Unhealthy

The first four days of the holiday passed in the same way. With no classes to attend both boys stayed in the common room, Harry flicking between the Christmas copy of 'Quidditch Quarterly' and his holiday reading. Malfoy seemed to do nothing but read his school textbooks. Odd, Harry had thought, Malfoy had never struck him as particularly studious, but that wouldn't be the strangest change he'd noted. Words were few and far between but the silences they shared were far from strained as they sat together from day to night. They attended meals together, a non-spoken agreement between the pair meaning they left the common room together each time a feast was served. The first time they'd gone down Harry had noticed that, indeed, McGonagall was right. Harry had stayed for Christmas before and knew most students opted to return home, yet this year the numbers were smaller than ever. In response, McGonagall had transfigured the four house tables into one, smaller table which ran parallel with the teachers table with just enough seats to house each student who had stayed behind. Through the lack of options Harry and Malfoy sat together and their proximity slowly faded through into the common room with Harry now taking the chair opposite Malfoy.

Christmas morning dawned, early and bright, as Harry awoke to a pile of presents at the foot of his bed. He grinned widely, caught up in the spirt of Christmas as he threw back the covers and dived toward his pile.

"Fuck!" He winced as he leapt out of the sheets – the house elves must have forgotten to light the fire in his bedroom. With most students home for the holidays they could be forgiven for loosing track of which fires to light, but Merlin it was freezing. He grabbed his school bag from under his bed, tipped the contents out and scooped his haul inside. The common room would undoubtedly have a roaring fire to warm by as he opened his gifts. Taking the stairs two at a time Harry bound down, stopping in his tracks as he reached the last step.

Malfoy. Of course.

The blonde was in his usual place by the fire, his back to Harry. Harry frantically grasped at his thoughts; Malfoy's mother had no money left to send him presents, his friends were dead, in Azkaban or had long since disappeared… In previous years Harry was sure he would have awoken to piles of neatly wrapped silver and green boxes filled with the finest money could buy. Now Harry doubted he would get anything. Memories of Christmas with the Dursley's flashed before Harry's eyes, himself as a much younger child watching Dudley open piles of glittering gifts as Harry watched on… He didn't wish to repeat the scene, even from the other side. He hopped from foot to foot, the stone cold under his bare feet. In his rush to open his gifts by the fire he was only in his night clothes, snitch printed shorts and a t-shirt. He suddenly felt very exposed. He'd go upstairs, cast a warming charm, dress and open his presents before returning.

"You'll catch a cold if you stand there all day, Potter." Malfoy drawled from his seat and the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood on end. Surely he hadn't been that loud coming down the stairs? Still, nothing he could do about it now. "Accio robe" he whispered, sighing with relief as his red and gold Gryffindor dressing gown flew down the stairs and landed at his feet. He hastily wrapped himself up, thankful for the cover it gave him. As he approached Malfoy, fully dressed in a dark green sweater and black trousers, he felt exposed even with the robe.

"Merry Christmas," He greeted Malfoy with only a slight air of awkwardness as he sat in his usual chair opposite him. Malfoy nodded in response, looking at Harry only briefly before returning to his book. Harry took a moment to take in the scene before him – the book wasn't one of Malfoy's usual school text books but a thick, leather bound tomb with fine gold scripture. On the table before him were two rolls of parchment and a box of what appeared to be very fine Belgian chocolates, brown paper wrapping discarded at his feet. Harry felt relief sag the tension he wasn't aware his shoulders had been holding. Malfoy had received something, at least, so he didn't feel so guilty as he opened up his bag and worked his way through his haul; as usual, a jumper from Mrs Weasley, a stash of chocolate frogs and other honeydukes favourites from Ron, and even more expected a book from Hermione neatly titled 'N.E.W.T's – Never Evade Working Toward Success!' A quick flick through the pages offered him hints and tips on how to get the most from his studying, how to best file his notes and a selection of blank revision timetables which could be magically altered. Very Hermione. Tossing the book onto the table between him and Malfoy, he rolled his eyes with an affectionate smile. A few more gifts gave Harry a typical Christmas selection of chocolate, butter beer and joke gifts. The final gift he pulled as wrapped with a scroll attached. Interest gained Harry unstuck it from the present, letting the gift lay forgotten in his lap as he unrolled the page.

Harry,

Merry Christmas, mate. I'm writing because it's Christmas, and well… Christmas is a soppy time for the bloody lot of us. Ronniekins said you weren't coming back to The Burrow so I figured I'd write. I just wanted to say thanks, really. I know it wasn't your intention, but helping you out with that potion really gave me the kick I needed to start living again, y'know? Fred would have wanted it. I've got the shop back on track – we're doing really well – and well… I've started seeing someone. I don't know what to make of it, I don't know what Fred would think, either. But I like her, she likes me. We can… I think we could be happy, y'know? I don't know why I'm telling you this; I suppose I've got no one left to tell… Bloody depressing sod, aren't I? It's Angelina, the girl I'm seeing. She came to talk about Fred, then she kept coming to the shop and well… It's like, we're both lost without – We understand each other. On our own were just bloody messes, the both of us, but together…

After reading this far, I think you'll probably need to open my present,

George

Harry let the words wash over him. George and Angelina, Fred's ex-girlfriend, dating… Surely that wasn't exactly healthy? 'It's like, we're both lost without – We understand each other.' The words swum before Harry's eyes, leaving him feeling uncomfortable as he recognised the gravity of George's words. He was talking about a lover with the same words Harry had begun to attach to Malfoy…

To distract him from the thought he ripped open the paper to reveal his gift; a rather large bottle of Firewhiskey. Despite himself, Harry laughed out loud. He'd only had it once; just a glass at the Weasley's not long after the war. It definitely lived up to its name; it burnt as it chased down his neck and had made him splutter. It wasn't an unpleasant taste, however, and the aftertaste had actually been quite nice. Just the one glass had been enough to make him feel fuzzy – he wasn't sure if that was the alcohol, his tired post-war body and mind or a mixture of both – but he hadn't found out anymore, retiring to bed not long after. The thought of pouring a glass definitely seemed appealing right now, although maybe not for the reason George had thought when he'd sent it.

Alerted by the sound Malfoy had looked over to him, an eyebrow raised.

"Just er… Present, from George" He said, quickly stuffing the parchment into the pocket of his Gryffindor robe and placing the bottle down on the table between them. Malfoy gazed over the bottle sent by George – and then the book from Hermione. "Maybe he'd seen the dismal gift Granger was sending and thought he'd try and save you." He commented with a smirk and Harry found himself laughing once again in response. That was weird – Malfoy joking, Harry laughing. The sound stopped as quickly as it came, the awkward feeling washing over both of them as Malfoy snapped his gaze back down and Harry cleared his throat, for some reason feeling desperate not to let the awkward frost come between them. Harry grasped at the nearest prompt for conversation.

"The book, a present?" He asked, nodding toward the leather in Malfoy's hands.

Looking up once again Malfoy looked startled, before stroking the cover with a far-away look in his eye. "Sort of." He replied almost softly, his eyes' watching his fingers as the traced the spine of the book. "It was already mine, my favourite. Mother saved it from the Manor before – well… So she sent it me."

Harry didn't know quite what to say and the silence pressed between them. Hearing Malfoy talk almost openly about what had happened unnerved Harry somewhat, he hadn't been expecting it. "The chocolates too?" He asked, determined to keep the conversation going.

"What? Oh, no – Pansy sent those." Malfoy said then his cheeks burned – he was clearly remembering the way Pansy had so openly offered Harry up in front of the entire school at the Battle of Hogwarts. Malfoy had, of course, done much worse. The Parkinson's were not Death Eaters and Pansy had left the castle, returning home as battle broke. As such they were not tried for any crimes but had fled the country as soon as they could. Taking in the Belgian chocolates, Harry had a pretty good idea where. Harry said nothing, looking into the warm fire which roared between them. Silence folded over them once more as Harry closed his eyes, the words of George's letter burning in his mind.

It's like, we're both lost without – We understand each other.

He remained on edge for the rest of the day, leaving Malfoy alone in the common room as he showered and dressed for the day, making the excuse of going to the Owlery and writing several letters thanking everyone for their gifts and wishing a Merry Christmas – along with a special note to George which told him to go for it, Harry's honest sentiment about the matter – and sending them away with the many Hogwarts owls. Before he knew it, it was time for Christmas dinner to be served. He reached the Great Hall to find Malfoy already there, along with most of the other students who had stayed behind, already tucking into their meals. He slipped in silently to the empty bench space beside Malfoy, loading his plate with turkey and all the trimmings despite a distinct lack of hunger since George's letter. He picked at his food, tossing it back and forth over his plate before they magically cleared.

The pair returned to the eighth year tower in silence. It wasn't the companionable silence they'd become accustomed to over this past week, but a silence fraught with tension that almost crackled in the air between them. He didn't dare look toward Malfoy as they walked, scared he would read his mind if he did. Stupid, he knew, as only a very competent Legilimens would be able to perform such magic. Yet somehow he doubted Malfoy would need Legilimency to delve into Harry's mind…

We understand each other.

He needed to put distance between him and Malfoy. Fast. As the year had begun, even at the start of the Christmas break, Harry had been able to tell himself his understanding of Malfoy, his need to fix him had come on a purely platonic level. Now, after making the striking connection between his own thoughts and George's love letter, he felt as if he would much rather go ten rounds with the Whomping Willow than admit how he was feeling. He admitted to himself that, over these past few days alone, he'd begun to notice little things about Malfoy. Harry had noticed the way his brow furrowed as he read something particularly puzzling – most often when he was reading his Advanced Arithmancy text – and the two faint, but clear lines which would appear before the problem was solved and the lines eased away, replaced by a faint smirk of self-satisfaction Malfoy wore only for himself. He'd noticed the way that Malfoy's new found height meant he now rose several inches above him when they were standing together, leaving Harry on eye level with his lips and long, pale neck. He'd noticed the way, after a long day studying, Malfoy's hair would fall from its usual slicked back style, a few strands making an unruly break for it across his cheeks, almost as if teasing Harry, begging him to reach out a hand and push the strands away –

Stop. A voice in Harry's head, which sounded disturbingly like Hermione, told him. It was one thing feeling like he and Malfoy had a connection, an understanding, but thinking about what he looked like – well – Harry didn't even look at blokes, not like that.

He needed to put distance between him and Malfoy. Now.

Maybe he could ask McGonagall to use the personal floo he now knew, after using it in the summer, was in the Head teachers office. He could go to the burrow, the Weasley's would be happy to see him, he calm these irrational thoughts and return when Hogwarts was once again full of fellow students and distractions.

"You look like you could use a drink," Malfoy drawled from somewhere behind him. Harry turned sharply, unaware that he'd made it through the portrait hole and to the foot of the stairs as his thoughts ran away with him. As he turned he saw Malfoy standing by the fire, beside the chairs they'd claimed as their own and nodding toward the table which still held a large number of Harry's presents – and, of course, the Firewhiskey.

No. Distance. Go. Screamed Harry's mind, but apparently his body had different ideas. His feet were walking toward Malfoy without permission and before he knew it he stood before the blonde who effortlessly transfigured two bronze knuts into drinking goblets. He lifted the bottle with a questioning look and Harry nodded in response, licking his lips – a gesture Harry hoped Malfoy would take as directed to the drink, rather than his increasing nerves – as Malfoy poured two glasses. Malfoy passed the glass to Harry and their fingers brushed together for the most fleeting of moment. The touch, coupled with Harry's sudden awareness of everything that was Draco Malfoy, sent a spark through Harry so strong he could have sworn there were magic involved.

He lifted the goblet to his lips and drained the lot.

He shuddered at the burn in his throat as he dropped his head back down to be met with a raised eyebrow from his drinking companion.

"That bad, Potter?" He asked; gone was the dripping sarcasm, the obvious glee that would have once laced Malfoy's voice at the prospect that Harry was suffering. Instead, his voice, well it sounded almost… Concerned? No. That was definitely the Firewhiskey. One glass and he was hearing things already.

Aware he hadn't spoken for some time, Harry steeled himself to reply. "You wouldn't know." He said, impressed with how level and calm his voice sounded despite his increasing nerves. Aware his shaking hands may give him away he busied himself by pouring himself another glass of Firewhiskey and flopping down onto the sofa he normally occupied.

The sofa he normally occupied alone. With Malfoy sitting in the armchair opposite. Not the sofa that Malfoy sat beside him on, as he was now. For some stupid reason Harry had to remind himself to breathe as Malfoy said,

"Try me."

Harry didn't know what to say. Could this be that Malfoy really cared? That he was worried about Harry? Harry didn't think that he wanted to score points against Harry's upset, Malfoy had clearly changed somewhat since the war. But Harry wasn't a fool; he probably just wanted to find someone feeling shittier than him to make his life seem better.

"George said he's dating Angelina Johnson," The words escaped Harry's lips before he knew it. Inwardly, he cursed himself. From the tone of George's owl he probably hadn't told any of the family his news yet and here was Harry telling Malfoy of all people.

"Johnson… Quidditch…." Malfoy mused, clearly rembering the name of the Gryffindor before both his eyebrows shot up in surprise "The one that – well – dated…" Malfoy trailed off as he placed the name.

Harry nodded; he'd started the conversation now, he may as well roll with it. After the gesture, a silence rolled out between them. They had never gone this far. Their truce had been amicable over the holidays but ensuring that meant conversations were kept light; quidditch, N.E.W.T's, the weather. Not war. Not the ones they'd lost. Not the ones Malfoy's side were responsible for taking. It was too much for either to handle and they both sat in a rhythm, draining and emptying glasses – well, come to think of it, Harry was sure Malfoy was still on his first glass - until Harry's head felt fuzzy.

"George, he says, they understand each other." Harry broke the silence, looking over at Malfoy as he spoke. He'd clearly interrupted an intense thought as the blonde's grey eyes seemed clouded and deep as Harry begun speaking, snapping toward Harry as they cleared. He didn't say anything, just sat there, staring at Harry. Maybe it was the Firewhiskey, or maybe it was the Gryffindor courage willing him on. Either way, he spoke again, willing his voice, his eyes, to make it clear that the words he spoke were not just simple quotes, but were actually what Harry wanted to say, but couldn't find the words himself "He says that when they're on their own, that well… He says they're both messes, but he says when they're together…" Harry trailed off, that's where George's letter had ended, but somehow when he was looking at Malfoy Harry could continue the sentence George hadn't finished. "He says when they're together, its better. They understand each other. It's like they fix each other. Save each other."

Harry's throat was almost painfully dry and his heart was beating so fast he was certain Malfoy would be able to hear it. The silence from him was deafening. He sat, stony faced and emotionless, staring back at Harry. Harry didn't know how long they sat like this, Harry's green eyes unashamedly pleading for something, anything, and Malfoy's grey ones robust in their lack of emotion.

"Maybe it's a bit unhealthy…" Malfoy finally said, breaking the silence as he turned away from Harry for a moment. When he looked back towards him his eyes were burning, all the emotions once locked away now fighting to be seen. "But maybe they'll be happy." Something seemed to linger in Malfoy's voice. He didn't know George or Angelina, he didn't know what would make them happy. But maybe, maybe he understood the situation, understood George's words in the same way Harry had. Maybe he it was a question in his voice. Was he asking… Was he asking Harry if they understood each other? If they could be happy?

His body once again detached from his mind and any rational thought Harry lunged forward and pressed his lips to Malfoy's. At first they were flat and unresponsive and Harry almost pulled back, stung. He'd misread the situation, it was all in his head. Now he was definitely going to have to beg McGonagall for her floo connection –

Before Harry could finish the thought or remove his lips from Malfoy's completely a spark seemed to jolt between them, urging Malfoy into life. His lips moved back against Harry's in a heated frenzy. The movements were rough and fast and wanting. Something in the back of his mind compared these lips to Ginny's; they were not as soft, as tender or gentle, but they felt warm and firm and alive. The kisses tasted like Firewhiskey and everything Harry needed. He returned the passion, pouring all the words from George's letter, all the emotions that had been stirred into the action.

On our own were just bloody messes, the both of us, but together…

Harry had no idea how long they were kissing. Hands snaked into hair, Harry found Malfoy's hair surprisingly and pleasantly soft, not at all greasy from the product which slicked it back. His hands moved down his long, pale neck and across a pair of broad shoulders. He wasn't used to feeling a body like this beneath his hands. His hands usually trailed slight shoulders, round curves and soft edges. Malfoy's body was lean and hard. It was different. Barely registering the moan that escaped him Harry also noted that was different, the teeth sinking into his bottom lip in the midst of a kiss, dragging the skin with a tug before releasing it, sweeping a tongue across as if to apologise before diving back inside. It was certainly different, but it was good.

And that was all Harry needed to convince himself that he needed more. The mood between them changed in an instant and their already heated kisses turned harder as hands explored bodies, Harry's hands fumbling over the buttons of Malfoy's robes that he insisted on wearing even at weekends. Harry's attire was clearly a much easier obstacle for Malfoy to overcome and Harry hissed as his hands ran up his jumper, tracing the muscles of his back. The jumper didn't last long, however, as Malfoy grasped the hem and tugged it over Harry's head. Fleetingly Harry was glad he'd begun playing quidditch again which gave Malfoy something to look at rather than skin and bone. He was also pleased to notice Malfoy removed his own robes, long fingers deftly opening the buttons to reveal the dark green sweater below. Harry swallowed at the sight, the sweater Malfoy had been wearing this morning. He remembered how, although the thought had been subconscious and unregistered at the time, how good he had thought Malfoy looked in the colour, how the material clung to his skin just so. But now wasn't the time for that thought. Harry wanted to see more. He reached for the hem of his jumper, ready to return the gesture, before Malfoy pushed back looking clearly alarmed.

"What?" Harry breathed, confusion furrowing his brow. Surely Malfoy wouldn't have gone this far if he didn't want this? If he didn't feel the same as Harry did? A subtle eye toward the crotch of Malfoy's trousers told Harry that, yes, he did indeed still want this. A lot. So what was the problem? Malfoy didn't answer, though his hands trembled as they pushed Harry's away and, instead, lifted the jumper himself.

Harry didn't know where to look first. His chest was covered by several, faded yet still visible, scars which coloured his pale chest. Harry's fault, he thought, as he winced at the memory of their fight in sixth year. Malfoy obviously misunderstood Harry's wince, pulling his jumper over his forearm with what Harry would have sworn was magically enhanced speed. It took a moment for Harry's mind to catch up with the reaction, then he realised; The Dark Mark. Harry had no words; instead he simply tugged away the jumper and dropped it to the ground, revealing the symbol on Malfoy's forearm. It was faded, now almost burnt in appearance, but still clearly visible against his pale skin. He wasn't aware how his hand had reached out to hover above the mark, but he was aware of the tension radiating from Malfoy. Catching up with his bodies actions he grasped Malfoy's forearm firmly and pulled him with such force they both tumbled back against the sofa. Within seconds they were a tangle of arms and legs and lips, fighting and entwining together and forgetting their pasts, forgetting the things that had been said and done by both.

Forgetting everything but the moment.

And in that moment, something hard and hot pressed against Harry's leg. Merlin. Harry could not hold back his hiss of pleasure as he felt Malfoy's arousal, hot and heavy, against him. Seeing the bulge in his trousers had been one thing, but feeling the heat against him… The only thought that Harry could coherently register was that he wanted more and with that he rolled Malfoy onto his back, moving himself against Malfoy so their arousals could meet. Harry was pleased to hear that his movements earnt a moan of approval from the blonde beneath him, which Harry captured between his lips, kissing him deeply. Tongues continued to battle as hands fumbled for buttons and zippers, Harry reaching down to work on the fastenings of Malfoy's black trousers as he in return worked on Harry's jeans. In no time at all they were both stripped to their boxers, aroused and panting with need. Harry gazed down at Malfoy below him, his once pale skin flushed and his ever neat hair mussed from their embrace. He licked his lips. He looked fucking fantastic and Harry wanted more.

He dove down again, this time his lips connected with Malfoy's collar bone, gently kissing, caressing and nibbling the skin as he moved along and upward, tracing the expanse of Malfoy's smooth neck. As he reached a spot just behind Malfoy's ear he nipped the skin between his teeth which elicited a soft whimper from wizard below him. Harry smiled against the skin he was caressing as he heard the sound, trailing his lips to the opposite side of Malfoy's neck, desperate to repeat the action there and be rewarded with the sweet sound again. In no time at all he was and Harry returned the compliment by grinding his hips down onto Malfoy's, allowing their cock's to rub together through their boxers, the thin, soft cotton the only boundary between them, the only line between the heights of pleasure they had already reached and total oblivion. As if reading his mind, or his body, the hands that had been kneading Harry's arse moved in between the pair and grasped the edge of Harry's boxers and firmly tugged away the material, releasing his heavy, throbbing length from the cotton confines.

As Malfoy's hand grasped him firmly Harry gasped and groaned, the sounds vibrating against Malfoy's skin. Taking the sounds as the encouragement they were, Malfoy's hand began to move up and down Harry's length, building pleasure more quickly than Harry had ever experienced. It was almost too much; the feel of Malfoy's thin, but strong, fingers gripping him. His grip was sure and certain; expertly mapping the length of Harry's cock from base to tip, sometimes pausing at the top of a stroke to tease the leaking head with his thumb. An upwards buck of hips from beneath him reminded Harry that he had a favour to return and in moments he had slid his hand down the waistband of Malfoy's boxers and grasped hard, pumping his fist up and down as he would when pleasuring himself. Except this was so much better than anything he had ever done alone. Better than anything he had ever done with anyone else – granted, he'd only ever fooled around a bit with Ginny – but Merlin this was intense feeling Harry had ever experienced.

Harry gritted his teeth, trying to hold back the pleasure building inside him and instead focusing on matching the rhythm of his fist to Malfoy's so their strokes were in time. Their hisses and moans wound together as they pleasured each other, the sounds echoing around the empty common room. He opened his eyes and looked down to see Malfoy's grey eyes staring into his, filled so deeply with passion and need that the connection was Harry's undoing and he called out loudly as he came. Harry's calls of pleasure had a similar effect to Malfoy's wanting gaze as within moments of his orgasm he felt Malfoy shake beneath him and a warm, sticky liquid coat his fingers as the length in his hand throbbed.

Once Malfoy had fallen silent Harry removed his hand from his boxers and – in his clean hand – grabbed his wand, murmuring a cleaning spell over them both. Thankfully, he didn't have to reach far for his wand which meant he didn't have to move from the spot beside Malfoy in which he had collapsed as they both came.

For the longest moment, they lay in silence. Their chests both rising and falling as their breathing returned to normal. Harry's mind swirled with more feelings than he ever thought it was possible to feel in one moment, his head almost bursting under the pressure of what he felt, of what he wanted to say. He parted his lips to say something – anything – but a voice stopped him.

"Don't." Malfoy's voice was sharp, cold and it caught Harry off guard. He noted, however, that the arms around him didn't move. "Don't, Potter." This time the voice was softer, but still carried the weight of the seriousness of his request. "You're drunk."

I'm not! Harry opened his mouth to reply, but before he knew it, his eyes fluttered shut and spent from the passion of their embrace, sleep claimed him.