The next morning found Harry late for breakfast, after having once again dreamt of Draco Malfoy, the pale blond hair becoming alarmingly familiar in his dreams. Ron had already left without waking Harry, something he had noticed the redhead doing more and more often.
Waking late, he found himself tangled in his bedsheets and bruised his hip falling off the mattress in an attempt to escape them—only to stumble blindly into the shower and bang his knee on the hard porcelain. Then, in his haste, he got shampoo in his eye, and it was finally with a sigh of relief that he finished dressing and made his way to the Great Hall.
Hurrying to the Gryffindor table, he sat and began piling his plate with food, oddly hungry for once. Despite the dismal start to the morning, he was in a surprisingly pleasant—if not wary—mood.
Hermione asked him a question and he answered her absently, his eyes drifting past her to the Slytherin table, where Malfoy sipped his coffee and thumbed through the Daily Prophet. Yawning, Harry pulled a cup of coffee toward himself and gulped it bitter and scalding, stealing glances toward the Slytherin table all throughout his hurried breakfast, towards Malfoy, who finally folded the newspaper neatly and tucked it away before standing and, flanked by Zabini and Parkinson, swept gracefully from the Great Hall.
Most of Harry's day was spent trying to catch Malfoy's eye: during class, during break, all throughout lunch, but all to no avail. The blond rarely looked up anymore in class. In fact, none of them did. The three Slytherins tended to focus only on each other, as if making a conscious effort to shut out the rest of the world, speaking only when asked a direct question and always sitting together at the back of every class.
Finally, Harry was able to corner him in Potions, following the blond to the supply closet and pressing his body in close behind him. Malfoy tensed but did not turn around.
"Potter," he drawled. Was Harry imagining the slight tremor? He said nothing, just scooted a centimeter closer. "I assume that you are in the supply closet in order to get supplies, yes? Well, have at them," Malfoy gestured toward the shelves.
"Yes, supplies," Harry murmured. The sharp, crisp scent of Malfoy's cologne was intoxicatingly heavy in his nostrils—a scent that was so clearly masculine. So clearly Malfoy. It was a thrilling, arousing smell and Harry felt almost heady from the aroma. He leaned closer to the Slytherin, breathing deeply. "But I seem to have forgotten what supplies I need for my potion."
Malfoy's breath caught and he turned slowly to face the Gryffindor. Grey eyes widened in surprise at finding Harry's face so close to his own and whatever he had been about to say died on his lips.
His lips. Harry's eyes traced the shape, committed the color to memory. The bottom lip was slightly fuller than the top and Harry felt the insane urge to find out what it tasted like. Maybe bitter and dark, like the coffee he drank, or else maybe sweet like the Sugar Quills he nibbled in class.
His mother's exile to France did not stop her from continuing to send her son sweets much more often than the average student and Harry had noticed the delight that crossed Malfoy's face every time the familiar eagle owl swooped down with a large package. He had also noticed how Malfoy had never failed to share the package with the other two Slytherins, always offering it to them first before then going through it himself, and Harry wondered if the death of Crabbe and absence of Goyle had anything to do with this new, more generous Malfoy.
Harry wasn't sure what sort of Malfoy stood before him in the darkened closet, half his pale face cast in shadow. He hadn't moved away from Harry yet, which was comforting—and slightly alarming. The brunet wasn't sure what had possessed him to stand so close to the blond, let alone fucking sniff him, like some sort of deranged stalker bloodhound. But he smelled so good and Harry was struck with the sudden longing to bury his hands in the silky, flaxen threads of the other boy's hair and tug the slender teen closer.
"First ingredient is mint…" Malfoy's whisper trailed off, interrupting Harry's fantasy involving the Slytherin's soft blond hair twined around Harry's fingers.
"Mint. Right." Harry made no movements or any attempt to look for the plant. Malfoy swallowed audibly and tried to step backward, only to have his back hit a shelf. "What's the next ingredient?" Harry lifted his hand to rest it on the shelf behind Malfoy's left ear as he leaned into him slightly.
"Um…hmmm…lionfish spine…" the blond breathed. Harry spied the bottle on the shelf near the Slytherin's right hip and leaned in even closer in order to reach it—an action rewarded with a soft gasp.
"How many?"
"Just one," Malfoy answered, a much more noticeable tremor lacing his voice.
Harry plucked two from the jar, holding one out for Malfoy to take and dropping the other into his ingredients basket. Malfoy reached out to accept it, his fingers brushing over Harry's in the gentlest of caresses and it was now Harry's turn to gasp at the contact as the spine slipped from between his fingers.
With a start, Harry realized that his heart was pounding. It was actually pounding and adrenaline was coursing through his body and with another start he realized that he was actually excited. He was nervous and excited and hyper aware of just how close Malfoy's body was to his own. The spine had dropped to the floor some moments ago, but Malfoy's hand still rested lightly atop Harry's, his fingers the slightest pressure against Harry's own suddenly nervous digits.
Harry wasn't sure what to do—it almost felt like he couldn't breathe. All he could see was Malfoy's eyes and all he could smell was Malfoy and his brain seemed incapable of doing anything other than mentally calculating the exact distance between their bodies whilst attempting to come up with some way, any way, in which to impress the beautiful boy standing in front of him.
A shadow suddenly eclipsed the dim lighting and they both jumped hastily away from one another as a voice called to them, "Are you boys finding everything all right then?" Glancing up, they found the light blocked by Slughorn's recognizable girth.
Harry was the first to recover enough to answer the question. "Yes, sir, fine." His eyes slid sideways to meet Malfoy's before focusing on the shelves once again. Under the watchful eye of Slughorn, they quickly gathered the rest of their ingredients and went to their separate tables.
Harry tried to focus on his potion, willing himself to brew it correctly and for once actually earn the grade he knew he would be given in this class, but it had been so long since he had been forced to care about the subject and he couldn't bring himself to begin now.
Instead, he turned his cauldron so that he was facing in the direction of the Slytherin's table and began spending far too much of his time watching Malfoy chop his ingredients. His eyes were glued to Malfoy as the teen set his knife aside and tipped a third of his chopped roots into the cauldron bubbling before him, prodding the flame with his wand before glancing up without warning, directly into Harry's eyes.
It was only when Harry noticed Zabini surveying them both speculatively that he averted his gaze. Malfoy followed his eye line to the dark-skinned Slytherin and flushed, opening his mouth angrily and saying something to Zabini that Harry could not hear over the hissing cauldrons. Zabini kept his head down after that, although Harry was sure he noticed him peeking over at the Gryffindor table more than once.
The curious glances of the second Slytherin boy were an even more unwelcome distraction and Harry's potion was now a deep violet, causing him to sigh as he noticed the chartreuse concoction in Hermione's cauldron. Oh well. Another O for Mr Potter for his shit attempt anyway, just in the hopes he'll attend my stuffy Christmas party, he thought harshly as Slughorn leaned over his cauldron and awarded his useless—most likely poisonous—potion an O.
Waving Ron and Hermione off, Harry packed his bag slowly. His temples were pounding and he wanted nothing more than to no longer be trapped in the confines of the castle. He knew that he had homework to finish; the fourteen-inch scroll for McGonagall outlining and detailing the numerous steps involved in human transfiguration into an inanimate object was already late, but it wouldn't matter. He didn't need to complete it. He didn't even need to be there. He knew that jobs awaited him upon graduation but also knew full well that every single position would hire him that instant if he accepted—no matter how many N.E.W.T.s he did or did not have. Kingsley himself had offered Harry a job at Malfoy's trial, which he had pretended to consider for less than a second before declining. By that time, he had already begun asking himself if he still wanted to become an Auror. Now, he wasn't sure about anything. What did he want?
At the question, his mind automatically went to Malfoy—soft blond hair and patrician features; that impossibly posh accent that Harry used to want to punch and yet now gave him gooseflesh; those storm grey eyes that he was finding himself lost more and more in every time they locked with his own.
Whoa. Malfoy? Did Harry really honestly want Malfoy? At the thought of the supply closet and the way he had practically pinned the other boy against the shelves with his own body, Harry's cheeks reddened and he had a strong suspicion that the answer was indeed yes.
Holy fuck. He used to hate Malfoy, didn't he? Did he? The more he thought back on everything, the harder it was for him to dredge up how that hatred had felt. The Slytherin had always been able to affect Harry more than anybody else seemed able to. They had always been at odds with one another, ever since the first day on the train, when Harry had refused to shake his hand for—at that moment—a tenuous friendship with Ron, his first actual friend after Hagrid.
And even though he felt a pang of guilt at the possibility of Malfoy getting his feelings hurt over Harry's refusal, he couldn't regret the decision. Ron had been a great friend, excepting the rare moments he had allowed his anger to take him too far. But he had been there for Harry, had risked his life with and for him time and again. Had opened his family to Harry without hesitation and given him the one thing that, as an orphan, he had craved so desperately his entire life. And without Ron, he probably never would have befriended Hermione, who had never once doubted or deserted him. His friends were both wonderful and he knew how lucky he really was. He felt a much larger pang of guilt shoot through him at the way he had been avoiding them lately. The three of them had all once been so close.
Would he and Malfoy have been that close? If Harry had run into Malfoy first on the platform, recognized him from the robe shop, maybe sat with him in his compartment instead? He might even have been sorted into Slytherin if that had been the reality. It had been Hagrid who informed him of Slytherin's reputation, but how influenced would he have been by Malfoy's friendship? How influenced had he been by Ron's?
But wondering was a waste of time—it would never have happened. Malfoy had been someone that Harry couldn't have liked if he'd tried, reminding him far too much of Dudley—spoiled, entitled, a bully. But maybe Harry was already beginning to like this humbler version of the Slytherin. Maybe it wasn't too late to find out what might have been had Harry taken his hand all those years ago.
Trees dotted his vision and he realized that his feet had led him outside and in the direction of the forest before he had made the conscious decision to head there. Stopping a short distance from the swaying branches, Harry removed both his tie and his robes, spreading the latter on the grass and lying atop the black fabric. The weather was just beginning to turn cool but the sun was warm and felt nice on his skin. His shirtsleeves were swiftly rolled up, as well as half his shirt unbuttoned, inviting the sun to touch even more of him and trying not to think about how it would feel if certain pale fingers were to touch him instead. His eyes closed as he recalled those pale fingers, attached to slender pale wrists and lean, muscular arms. Slytherin arms. Malfoy's arms.
Harry's breathing slowly deepened as he drifted off to thoughts of pale hands on his skin.
Without warning, Harry suddenly sat up, squinting blindly into the darkness. When had the sun disappeared? When had his glasses fallen off? Rubbing his eyes, he ran both hands roughly through his hair in an attempt to wake himself up.
"You talk in your sleep, did you know that?" A familiar voice drawled next to him, startling him mid-stretch.
"Malfoy?" Dim moonlight reflected weakly off the other boy's silver-blond hair. "What are you doing out here?"
"You mean besides listening to you unconsciously spill all your darkest secrets?" The smirk in his voice was heard more than seen in the deepening twilight.
"Very funny," Harry groaned. He knew he talked in his sleep. How many times had Ginny teased him for it in the past? "Fuck. What did I say?"
"The only words I caught were about a particular favorite Slytherin of yours and how intelligent and exceptionally good-looking he is." The particular Slytherin being discussed sounded far too smug as he handed Harry his glasses. Had they fallen or had Malfoy removed them? Had he leant over Harry as he dreamt and most likely talked about Malfoy, unaware that the object of his dreams was so near?
With his spectacles back in place, he could see the other boy much more clearly—especially the almost-triumphant smirk splitting his face. Suddenly thankful for the darkness that hid his blush, Harry groaned again and dropped his head into his hands.
"I'm mostly kidding," Malfoy laughed.
"About which part?" Please be joking about all of it.
"Well, only that you mentioned me. I couldn't actually tell what you were mumbling about," he admitted. "I am, however," and at that, he lifted a thin eyebrow, "deadly serious about the good-looking, intelligent part."
Harry couldn't help it—he burst out laughing and the sound nearly made him jump. How long had it been since he had laughed like that? Long enough apparently that he could honestly no longer remember. At the sound of the unexpected laughter, Malfoy looked extremely pleased with himself, making Harry chuckle again. Twice in one day. Maybe Hermione's fervent optimism was paying off and he was making progress at escaping the grey pit he had been trapped in for so long. Or maybe it was only around Malfoy that he showed any sign of improvement.
The teen in question pretended an affronted look at Harry's laughter. "I am quite genuine, I'll have you know. Many a lesser has told me how clever and handsome I am."
"Yes, but your reflection doesn't count," Harry grinned.
Malfoy's lips twitched and Harry's grin widened. "You know, you're lucky the Dark Lord is gone and you can lower your guard. I could have easily killed you a hundred different ways had I been an enemy." At Malfoy's words and sarcastic tone, Harry leant forward and shoved him lightly with one hand.
"It's a good thing you don't scare me then, isn't it, Malfoy?" he said, tilting his head mockingly.
"Oh, don't I?" Malfoy murmured in a low voice.
With a shiver, Harry was suddenly aware of the way his shirt gaped open at the chest. It was still mostly unbuttoned, for Merlin's sake! What should he do? Button it up and draw Malfoy's attention to his bare chest and the fact that it had been on display the entire time? Or try to act casual about it, ignore it as if he was used to walking about in the presence of his childhood nemeses in a semi-state of undress?
As if lifting the thoughts straight from Harry's brain, Malfoy's eyes slid down to lock on the wide expanse of visible skin, appearing tanner in the weak moonlight than usual.
"Erm, so, what are you doing out here?" Harry tried not to fidget under the heat from Malfoy's stare.
"I…" Malfoy cleared his throat but did not look away from Harry's chest. "I noticed you never arrived for dinner and I wondered where you were." As the words left his mouth he flushed and glanced away, suddenly embarrassed, as if what had come out had not been what he had intended to say.
"How did you find me out here?" Harry's tone was amused. An embarrassed, pink-cheeked Malfoy really was quite cute.
"Simple, Potter. I merely followed the sounds of hero worship," he drawled, his posh accent managing to somehow sound both sarcastic and flattering at the same time.
"And as a result learned that I talk in my sleep. How much do you think the Daily Prophet will buy that for?" There was a slightly bitter twist to Harry's words, but Malfoy made no comment on it.
"Your deep, dark secret," he smirked. "Perhaps I'll auction that juicy tidbit off between reporters?"
Harry chuckled—again!—and admitted without thinking, "Not so much of a secret. Ginny's mentioned it loads of times."
The instant Malfoy's shoulders stiffened he wished that he could recall the words. "Ah. Yes. I suppose the smallest Weasley would know better than anyone, wouldn't she?" His voice was sardonic and biting and it reminded Harry far too much of the old Malfoy. "Well, I have found you and thusly completed what I came outside for. Though why your girlfriend," Malfoy sneered, "seems to never know where you are, I'm sure I have no idea. I'll see you around, Potter." And with that, he stood and began to march back to the castle.
Harry instantly shot to his feet and began stuffing his belongings back into his bag before racing after the retreating figure. "Malfoy! WAIT!" He wasn't exactly sure why it was he wanted so desperately to catch the blond, but he knew that he could not let that be how the moment ended.
Up ahead, Malfoy had quickened his stride but was far too controlled to break into a run, something Harry had no hesitations about. Just as the Slytherin reached the castle Harry caught his shoulder and, panting, pulled Malfoy to a stop. Malfoy crossed his arms and glared off into the darkness. "What is it, Potter? We already said our farewells." Both his stance and his voice were angry and defensive and Harry was suddenly at a loss for how to handle this.
"Erm, Malfoy…look…" he began awkwardly. "Ginny and I…I don't…I mean we're not…" His voice trailed off as he realized that he had no idea what they were and were not and knew he could no longer put off speaking to her. Clearly for the sake of everyone involved he needed to find out. They needed to talk and it needed to be soon.
"Save your breath, Potter." The sneer was back. "You need not explain your relationship with your Weaselette to me."
"But she's not my Weaselette…er, I mean Ginny… she's not mine. Not anymore. We're not…" Malfoy glanced up as Harry's voice trailed off and the Gryffindor shrugged, "together," he finished.
That seemed to surprise Malfoy, who no longer stood stiff and upset, but instead held his arms rather loosely as he gazed directly into Harry's eyes. "Why not?" he finally asked and Harry shrugged.
"We haven't been since the end of sixth year. We had always meant to get back together once Voldemort was gone, but…" He shrugged again.
"But she so clearly still wants to be with you." Malfoy sounded frustrated, as though everything Harry was telling him was contrary to what he had believed and he was now having trouble accepting it as truth.
Harry shrugged again, but more out of discomfort than anything. A hand reached up to rake through his hair and he sighed. "Yeah, well…I know that," he muttered, yanking on the longer hairs curled around the base of his neck. "But I just—I mean, I-I can't…not with her…anymore…" Why did Malfoy always bring out the stammering, idiotic version of himself?
"Hmm, so if not Ginevra Weasley, who will the Gryffindor Golden Boy set his sights on next?" Malfoy pondered, shifting his weight forward.
"I—I dunno," Harry lied. The other boy raised a pale eyebrow, both at the stammer and at the obvious lie. Who was Harry kidding—he knew exactly which student held his interest. And if he was being honest with himself, Malfoy had always held his attention. He had always noticed Malfoy, always been aware of the other boy's presence—never more so than at that moment, however.
They were nearly inside the castle, standing just outside the doors in a circular pool of lambent torchlight glowing from the brackets just above Malfoy's head, flames casting him at an interesting angle and making his eyes appear dark and flashing and his cheekbones dramatically elongated. Long eyelashes cast delicate spidery shadows over pale glimmering skin and his lips were parted just slightly—just enough for Harry to see the very tips of perfect white teeth and just the barest flick of a pink tongue. Draco Malfoy had never been more beautiful and Harry stepped closer without thinking. His pale lips looked soft, inviting, and Harry wanted too many things from them; he wanted to cover them with his own—taste them, caress them, feel them part in encouragement. More than anything, though, he longed to hear his name, Harry, slip from between those lips. He wanted to hear Malfoy gasp it, moan it, scream it.
It wasn't until he noticed how large and near Malfoy's eyes had gotten that he realized that he had been slowly stalking forward and that Malfoy was now pressed against the stone wall of the castle, staring at him with wide eyes. Their faces were only centimeters apart and Harry's gaze fell to Malfoy's lips. Pale, soft lips.
"Draco…" he murmured, and with a wild gasp from Malfoy, his hands slid into Harry's hair and tugged him closer, pressing their mouths together. Harry's arms wound automatically around the blond's waist and pulled him tightly against himself, pressed between Harry and the castle. The brunet parted his lips and felt the other mouth do the same. His tongue lightly traced the other boy's bottom lip before stretching it further to taste more.
And then he was kissing Malfoy. He was really, properly kissing Draco Malfoy and it was so different from kissing Ginny that Harry felt almost cheated that he had never known what it was like to kiss the Slytherin until that moment—because this was bliss. This was everything that Harry had ever wanted a kiss to be. Draco's chest was hard and flat against his own; his lips were soft and molded perfectly to Harry's, and yet were also firm and demanding; his hands were tangled gently in Harry's hair and he made a tiny whimper in the back of his throat, causing a warm rush of tenderness to sweep through the Gryffindor at the sound.
The kiss softened into something gentle, beautiful, something that made Harry's heart ache in his chest and his hands clutch even tighter at Malfoy's lower back. One hand slid around Malfoy's waist to his stomach and up his chest and throat, to cup at his jaw in order to gently break the kiss. Malfoy moaned in protest and pulled Harry back into him, pressing his lips sweetly against Harry's again and again before his mouth drifted lower to scatter kisses across Harry's chin and along his jaw.
Harry stroked Malfoy's sharp cheekbones lightly with his fingertips, marveling at the beauty he had never fully appreciated before. "Malf—Draco," he whispered, and the kisses turned more insistent.
"Harry," the other boy breathed.
At the sound of his given name falling from those lips, Harry froze and pulled back, green eyes wide. The two boys stared at one another cautiously for a few moments before Harry all but attacked Draco with the force of his kiss, pressing into him more fully and holding his face tightly between two palms until both teens were dizzy from the lack of oxygen and finally had to separate or suffocate. They broke apart to breathe and Harry rested his forehead against Draco's, panting.
"How long?" Malfoy's quiet voice was loud in the still darkness.
"Erm…I'm not sure," Harry answered honestly, thinking back over their long and turbulent past. "I think maybe since the Manor? Or maybe earlier. Maybe since the bathroom…" The words quieted as his voice trailed off in shame. Why the fuck would he bring that up now?
"You mean…" Malfoy cleared his throat. "You mean when you tried to kill me?"
"No!" Harry gasped, horrified. "No, Draco! I swear I had no idea what that spell did! God, I would never have used it on you if I had any idea!" The memory of Malfoy lying bloody on the bathroom floor—normally pristine white shirt soaked with crimson, face stained with tear tracks—bleeding and sobbing and drenched in both water and Harry's own self-loathing…Harry cringed and his hold on the blond tightened.
"For the record," Malfoy coughed, "I am sorry I cast the Cruciatus at you. You startled me in a moment of weakness and I lashed out in my brief period of vulnerability."
Lord help me, Harry thought—the man had just admitted to casting an Unforgivable simply because Harry had seen him crying, and the dark-haired youth still wanted him, maybe even wanted him more. Was it wrong that Harry found the idea of Malfoy knowing Dark spells arousing?
"So what did you mean, then?" Malfoy continued politely, but Harry could hear the burning curiosity layering the question.
"It was before the fight," Harry explained. "When I saw you crying…I had never seen you like that before."
"Like what?" Still that maddeningly polite tone.
"Like a real person," Harry shrugged. "That was the first time I had seen you upset like that and it…I hadn't even known that you could get upset like that, and it just…I dunno, it made me have to rethink a lot of what I believed about you." Malfoy's gaze was piercing straight through him, holding him in place and forcing his mouth to continue opening to allow embarrassing words to dribble from it.
"And then, at the Manor…" Harry continued, "when you refused to identify me, even though it was so obviously me…" the Slytherin shifted slightly but Harry did not lessen his grip. "I could see it, you know." It was now his stare that pinned Malfoy into place. "I could see the fear, the absolute terror you felt. At the notice being put upon you, the proximity of your aunt, the question being asked, the fact that Voldemort was fucking living in your house." He cocked his head and peered closely at Malfoy. "And yet, you refused to admit it was me." The blond closed his eyes and breathed slowly. "So now my question for you, Draco Malfoy, is the same. How long?"
"Since first year." Draco's voice was the barest of whispers and Harry had to lean in closer to hear him. "Since the first moment I saw you fly."
At Malfoy's words, Harry felt himself freeze. Whatever answer he had been expecting, it had not been that. "First year?" he echoed in disbelief.
"I had taken Longbottom's Remembrall," Malfoy spoke quietly. "Just being a prat. You were the only person who dared challenge me." His voice had gone distant, sounding as if he was rewatching the scene unfold before him. "I remembered you mentioning that you didn't play Quidditch or even own a broomstick and I had assumed that you would embarrass yourself and make me look better than the Boy-Who-Lived," he swallowed hard, "but you didn't. You got cheers and fans and a fucking position on the Gryffindor fucking team out of it. And watching you fly that day was…I wish you could have seen the expression on your face when you jumped into the air for the first time." He ducked his head and added shyly, "I thought you were beautiful in that moment."
His ears were definitely working—he heard every word being told him—but Harry's body had grown very still and seemed almost wooden as he listened in disbelief. First year? Beautiful? What?
"After that," Malfoy continued in a determined voice, sounding as though he was forcing himself to confess to everything, "I knew I had to have you notice me. I needed your attention on me, even if it was negatively directed." Trailing a fingertip down Harry's cheek, he admitted with a deprecating grimace—one quickly wiped away by a kiss from Harry—"I might have gone a bit far and gotten rather desperate in my attempts. Anything for your undivided attention."
"You have it," Harry whispered against Draco's lips. The blond shivered and kissed him and they stayed that way for hours, days, years, maybe before Harry stepped back and held out a hand, which Draco raised an eyebrow at but took, locking his fingers with Harry's own and holding tightly.
"Come on, I'll walk you back to your dorm," the dark-haired teen offered, causing Malfoy to huff but appear secretly pleased.
"My very own Gryffindor," he cooed. Harry turned slightly pink at the words, but raised their entwined hands and kissed the back of Malfoy's narrow wrist.
"Your very own Gryffindor."
The next morning found Harry awake and showered much earlier than usual, despite the rather late hour he arrived back at the Tower the previous night. Just thinking about that night made Harry smile and he hummed tunelessly to himself as he took a bite of egg. The Hall began to gradually fill as he picked at his food, keeping an eye on the door for a familiar shock of white-blond hair. He was so focused on spotting Draco the instant he arrived that he did not notice Ginny's ginger silhouette until she had taken the seat directly across from him.
"Morning, Harry," she greeted sleepily, yawning and pouring herself a cup of coffee. Harry watched in mild disgust as she spooned heaving mounds of sugar into the cup and stirred.
"Hullo, Ginny." He sipped his own cup of unsweetened coffee. "Taking out your exhaustion on the sugar bowl, I see," he tsked.
"Sorry, Mum, I'll be sure to eat my greens at dinner," she laughed, leaning forward to tousle his hair affectionately, a gesture she must have made hundreds of times in the past. And yet this time, it made Harry uncomfortable. He glanced past her to the Slytherin table and found grey eyes seated and silently assessing him. The corners of his mouth turned up but Malfoy didn't smile back.
As the vow he had made to speak to Ginny about their relationship as soon as possible slammed into the forefront of his mind, Harry's palms broke out in a sweat. Damn it, he had no idea it was going to be so soon. "Ginny," he began, speaking resolutely down at his coffee. "We, uh, we need to talk."
"Sure, Harry." Her tone was surprised but underlined with clear hope. She grabbed a couple slices of toast and quickly stood. "Let's go now." He cringed at her eagerness and was able to stall by slowly draining his coffee, but she tapped her foot impatiently until he rose to follow her out of the Hall and down a corridor, one that led to an empty hallway. They entered the first classroom they found and Ginny hopped up onto the teacher's desk, picking at her toast and waiting for Harry to speak.
"Ginny, I…" Now that he was here, truly alone with her for the first time in well over a year, he was at a complete loss for what to say. He had never ended a relationship with anyone before and had no idea how to go about it. The thing with Cho hardly counted as anything and he had no idea how to tell someone he genuinely cared about that he no longer wanted to be with her; that he no longer could be with her. He was not the same Harry he had been when they had first gotten together. He was not the same Harry who would wait outside the Quidditch locker rooms to surprise her, sneaking up behind her and swinging her around in circles before setting her down and kissing her breathless. He was not the same Harry who would walk hand-in-hand with her to Hogsmeade, or the same Harry who would gaze up at her adoringly, head pillowed in her lap as she stroked the hair from his forehead. He hadn't been that Harry for a very long time. And it was time to finally be fair to her.
"Ginny…"
At the mention of her name, she reached out and caught one of Harry's hands in her own. "Yes, Harry?" Her brown eyes peeked up at him from beneath long eyelashes and Harry was reminded for a moment of why he had originally had feelings for her.
"Look, I know what we talked about before the war…"—her fingers were so warm around his own—"but…"
She was lightly caressing his palm and at his hesitation, she smiled. "It's okay, Harry," she soothed. "I understand."
"You do?" He felt dazed. Was it over? Had he ended it?
"Yes, I do. We can keep taking this as slow as you need," she finished. Wait, what? "I know that you needed a break from everything after it was all over," her fingers never stopped their caress, "and that's okay. It's fine. Because there's really no doubt in my mind about it."
"About what?" This was somehow going horribly, horribly wrong and Harry wasn't quite sure how to fix it.
"That we'll be together." And with that, she leaned forward and gently pressed her lips to his. It was automatic, pure instinct. She kissed him and without thought he kissed her back. Her lips were soft and so very, very familiar. Those lips knew his body intimately—more intimately than anybody else, and he felt the ghost of what they once had between them stir weakly. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she deepened the kiss and he began to panic slightly, wondering how to pull away even as he responded. How did he end this? How did he let her down gently? He had hoped that her feelings for him had lessened the longer he had kept her waiting, but judging by the way she had molded herself to him, that hope had been in vain.
There was a sudden sharp intake of breath behind them and Harry tore his mouth away from Ginny's to spin around. Draco Malfoy stood in the open doorway of the classroom, mouth hanging open in shock and eyes wide with hurt—a hurt that quickly cemented into a violent glare.
The sound of Ginny's voice cut through Harry's frozen shock. "Can we help you, Malfoy?" Her hands clung tightly to Harry and he felt a frantic pounding beginning behind his eyes.
Draco's glare sharpened and, without a word, he spun on his heel and strode swiftly away.
"Wait!" Harry called hoarsely, attempting to untangle his limbs from Ginny's, but he was unable to and when exactly had she gotten so wrapped around him?
"Harry!" she exclaimed in shock. "What are you doing? Are you going after Malfoy?" She still hadn't released him and he was beginning to feel desperate to get away.
"Ginny, I'm sorry, I have to go." He tried to sound apologetic but felt far too frenzied to pull it off.
"But, Harry…I thought you wanted to talk…I thought we were talking…"
We were, he thought angrily, until you decided to pounce on me. But he bit his lip and slowed his struggles. "I…Ginny…" He took a deep breath and forced the words out in a rush. "Idon'tthinkweshouldbetogetheranymore."
"What?" Her voice was a whisper and Harry was certain that she had understood him.
"I don't think we should be together…you know, anymore," he repeated lamely. "Sorry," he added, staring anywhere but at her.
"But, Harry, why?"
He was gratified to hear no trace of tears in her voice. Ginny was strong, he reminded himself, she would be fine. "I can't really…I dunno, I just—I'm sorry," he shrugged evasively, not wanting to explain but knowing that he owed it to her. She was silent and he risked a glance up. There was a hard look in her eyes as she squared her jaw and nodded.
"Have it your way, then, Harry. But we'll see what my response will be when you finally come to your fucking senses and realize that you tossed aside the only person who's ever genuinely loved you."
He flinched at her words and her brittle tone and watched in silence as she marched from the room. That definitely could have gone better.
Malfoy's hurt expression flashed again before his eyes and the panic returned full-force. Where had he gone?
Harry tore through his bag until he located the Marauder's Map, tapping it and scanning quickly for Draco's dot. Fuck. It showed him already waiting in the Charms classroom next to Zabini and Parkinson. Tucking the Map back inside his bag, he hurried to the room, praying earnestly for the opportunity to force Malfoy to listen.
Most of the class period was spent desperately attempting to catch the blond's eye, refusing to look away until he glanced up, but the Slytherin stubbornly refused to raise his gaze from his notes. Several students, Hermione and Zabini among them, noticed how intensely Harry was staring at Draco and how resolutely Malfoy was ignoring him, but Harry couldn't bring himself to care who noticed what.
As soon as class was dismissed the Slytherins disappeared, vanishing as if they had simply Disapparated from the room, a move he had no trouble believing Malfoy would make if it was possible within the castle. The blond was not seen for the rest of the day; he was missing from Defense and did not appear at lunch or dinner. Harry could do nothing but stare at his dot on the map, unmoving in the Slytherin dorm. How long was he planning on staying in there?
Harry sat in the common room in a trance, attempting to do homework but mostly just scribbling words he wasn't sure actually made sense. What did it matter what he wrote, anyway? Finally, the crowd began to thin and Harry allowed himself to look at the Map again—Malfoy's dot had vanished from the dorm and Harry's eyes eagerly scanned the parchment until he located it. In Snape's old office—the one Slughorn had refused to use, choosing instead to enlarge and convert a broom cupboard down the hall from the potions room. Harry wasn't even sure if there was anything still left in Snape's old office. What was Draco doing there?
He slipped from the portrait hole before ducking beneath the Invisibility Cloak and heading for the dungeons. The door to the office was closed but unlocked, and Harry cast a silencing spell at it before easing it open and squeezing inside. The door was then shut and locked with a whispered spell before he turned to study the room, which was more or less exactly how Harry remembered it, minus the hissing cauldrons and Snape's greasy presence.
Malfoy was sitting atop Snape's desk in his pajamas, chin resting on his updrawn knees as he used some spell to carve neat letters into the smooth surface of the desktop. Harry crept closer and peered at the carving, which read:
I can teach you how to bottle fame,
Brew glory,
Even put a stop
"Per on death," Harry finished softly.
At the quiet words, Malfoy jumped and twisted around, nearly falling off the desk. "Who's there?" he squeaked, wand held out in front of him defensively. Harry lowered the hood of the Invisibility Cloak and Malfoy gaped at him, wide-eyed. "What the fuck are you doing here, Potter?" His tone was icy and far too much like the old Malfoy and Harry was suddenly rethinking the wisdom of locking himself in a room with the man.
"I came to find you," he answered honestly.
"Why?" Malfoy spat, and Harry flinched.
"To explain," he said simply.
"Well, I hope you enjoy giving your explanations to an empty room, because I have no interest in hearing them," Malfoy sniffed dramatically and attempted to storm from the room, only to find the door locked. "What the fucking fuck, Potter?" he snarled, rattling the knob angrily. "Unlock this door at once!"
"No." At Harry's refusal, Malfoy's eyes flashed dangerously and the grip on his wand tightened. "Not until you listen to me."
"Um, no," the blond responded patronizingly. "Believe it or not, Chosen One, not everybody has to do everything you command. Now release me immediately."
At his words, Harry's eyes slid with obvious appreciation over the blond's slender form. "Hmm, I'd have to be touching you first to be able to release you, wouldn't I?"
Malfoy colored and looked away, glaring at the floor as if it was responsible for everything. "I don't have to fucking talk to you if I don't want to, Potter." He crossed his arms and stuck out his bottom lip petulantly.
Harry sighed. "No, you don't. But please just listen, all right?" He waited until Malfoy nodded tersely before he continued. "What you saw, earlier…that wasn't what it looked like…I'm sorry I…" Malfoy looked up and his glare froze the words on Harry's lips.
"Really? What part of it wasn't what it looked like? The part where you were kissing your ex-girlfriend only hours after kissing me? After telling me that you no longer wanted to be with her? Well, I hope the two of you will be very happy together with your mongrel hoard of ginger vermin and your Weasel brother-in-law."
Harry wanted him to shut up. He wanted to prevent the hateful words from coming out of the other boy's mouth. He needed Draco to know that none of that was what he wanted. "I broke up with her," he blurted, interrupting Draco at the beginning of what was clearly a long and angry tirade. "I ended things for good this time; it's over." Malfoy said nothing, only stared at him in surprise, mouth still open, and Harry decided to seize the rare opportunity of the blond's silence. "And I never kissed her. She kissed me. And then I ended things. For good."
Draco scoffed. "I was there, Potter. I saw you kiss her. It was not exactly one-sided."
Harry dragged a hand harshly through his hair and sighed. "Look, everything just happened so fucking fast. I was trying to tell her it was over and she was talking about our future, and how she's willing to wait for me for however long I need, and then out of nowhere she was kissing me and you were there and then you were hurt and I fucking tried to come after you then, but she wouldn't let me just leave and so I told her it was over and she said something about not taking me back when I come to my senses but by then you were already in class and you've refused to even look in my direction so yes I used my map to stalk you down here and yes, I locked you in here with me so you would have to listen and now I've been talking for too long and all I know is that I need you to believe me when I tell you that you're the only person I want!" By the time he finished speaking, Harry was breathing hard. Malfoy stood frozen near the door, holding his breath as though he thought daring to exhale would shatter whatever spell Harry was under and cause him to take back his words.
"Please believe me, Draco," he murmured, stepping close to the blond and tentatively raising a hand to stroke his cheek. "I need you to, because in about two seconds I'm going to kiss you, and I would really rather not get hexed for it."
Two seconds ticked past and Malfoy still did not move away, which Harry took as encouragement. Heart pounding, he uttered a quick prayer in his mind as he bent forward to press a chaste kiss to the other boy's lips. With a moan that tore straight through Harry's blood, Draco's lips parted and his hands shot out to grasp at the brunet, spinning them around in an unexpected move and pinning Harry to the heavy wooden door. Harry trembled as Draco's hands slid beneath his t-shirt and ran lightly up his ribs. A second later, the shirt was being tugged over his head and thrown carelessly to the side, catching Harry's glasses on the collar and scattering them somewhere along the floor—all of which Harry responded to eagerly by pulling Draco even closer and attempting to devour him through his mouth.
Draco's fingertips ghosted over Harry's skin, tickling across his chest and shoulders, grasping at his biceps and dragging along the hard trembling muscles of his abdomen. His mouth began moving lower, over Harry's chin and down his throat, making the brunet groan and tip his head back further in invitation as he slid his own shaking hands under Malfoy's grey pajama shirt, smiling at the tiny gasp from the blond as his fingers connected with bare skin.
Attempting to remove the shirt, however, was a feat made difficult by Malfoy's refusal to detach his mouth from whatever section of Harry's flesh it could find. Finally he was able to coax it over the blond head after long minutes and both boys moaned as their bare chests came into contact. Harry could feel Malfoy's heart pounding against his own and with a sudden jolt, he realized just how hard his own heart was beating. His heart was hammering so fast it nearly hurt and everything was razor-sharp with intensity, the entire world appearing crystal clear for the first time in what felt like years. Harry felt alive. He felt amazing. Draco's tongue was drawing patterns across his chest and that was bloody incredible, and for the first time in what felt like an entire fucking lifetime, Harry felt brilliant. And he suddenly wanted to make Draco feel just as good.
Without thinking too hard about what he was about to do, he plunged a hand down the front of Malfoy's loose-fitting pajama bottoms. Harry grinned at the silk boxers but made no comment as his hand slid inside and encountered something hard. Something long and hard and warm. Curiosity made him slow as he wrapped his fingers around the hard flesh and stroked lightly. Emboldened by the tremor and the whimper that followed, he tightened his grip and began stroking more firmly.
Pale fingers clutched at Harry's upper arms, matching the pale face tucked into Harry's throat as the blond moaned and twisted in pleasure. Harry had never done this to another boy before, but he knew what he liked and hoped it was something Draco found pleasurable as well, which, if the way Draco was groaning and rocking his hips was any indication, he found very enjoyable indeed.
"Oh, fuck…oh fuck, Harry…" he moaned, and Harry sped up his strokes before tipping his chin to meet Malfoy's lips in a kiss, his mouth resting just beneath Harry's jaw. The instant their lips touched, Draco came, crying out against Harry's mouth and holding onto him tightly as his body spasmed in Harry's grasp. Harry stroked until the shudders stopped then raised his eyes to meet Malfoy's own as he finally released the other boy's cock. The grey eyes were warm with awe and affection and more open than he had ever seen them, leaving Harry with no choice but to kiss him. The blond kissed him back for a moment before shoving him hard against the door and dropping to his knees. Harry thought he might come just from the sight of Draco on his knees before him, hair mussed and lips swollen, fingers stroking the waistband of Harry's jeans and eyes silently seeking permission—permission granted with a nod that made Draco smile.
The fingers Harry had fantasized about so often in the past few days slowly popped the button of Harry's trousers loose and worked the zipper down teasingly. Harry wanted to groan and beg him to go faster, but the look on Draco's face silenced any protests. He looked grateful. Humbled. As if he was being given the most precious gift he would ever receive—one he knew he would never be able to repay. It was an expression Harry had not expected and he found that he could not look away.
Finally, Harry's trousers and pants were pooled around his ankles and he was shivering slightly in the cool dungeon, hands resting lightly on Draco's hair and brushing the soft strands with affectionate fingers. One of Draco's palms was languidly stroking Harry's hip while the other wrapped itself firmly around the base of his cock and guided the tip into the kneeling teen's mouth. It slid past Malfoy's lips and Harry cried out, trying to force himself not to buck wildly into the warmth. Tightening his grip, Malfoy sucked hard before withdrawing, barely kissing the tip and pausing there for a moment before lowering his mouth along the shaft once more and hollowing his cheeks, only to withdraw just as slowly. It was repeated several times, driving Harry to what he was convinced must be the absolute brink of madness.
"Draco," he gasped. "Draco, please." He wasn't really sure what it was he was pleading for, but at the sound of his name, Draco grabbed Harry's hips securely and swallowed him to the root, burying his nose in the dark curls of Harry's groin. "Oh, fuck!" Harry exclaimed raggedly. "Oh fuck, Draco, fuck. Oh my god…" His voice hitched and trailed off brokenly as Draco kept up the fierce assault and it was only moments later that Harry was shaking and attempting to warn the other boy. "Dra…Draco…Draco, fuck, I'm about to—" Malfoy's only response was to tighten his grip on Harry's hips and pull back just far enough to flick his tongue over the engorged head.
And at that, Harry came, fingers tightening in Draco's hair and throwing his head back in a sharp movement, connecting roughly with the wood of the thick door, distantly hearing a dull thud from the contact, but he had never felt pain less than in that moment—not when he was coming down Draco's throat and Draco's mouth was still on him and everything was brilliant.
Eventually the shaking subsided and Malfoy's mouth slid off him with an amusing pop. Harry helped him to his feet, pulling him up and into his embrace. "I've never done that with another boy," Harry confessed shyly, and Draco's arms tightened around him until Harry was almost having trouble breathing, but he didn't ask him to loosen his hold. "Have you?"
"Just Blaise," Draco admitted. "But that was really more for practice than anything."
Harry frowned. "I don't think I like the idea of you practicing with anybody who isn't me."
Malfoy pulled back to look Harry in the eye very seriously. "No one but you."
The words made Harry smile and he kissed the other boy. "No one but you either," he repeated against Draco's lips.
It wasn't until Harry shivered that they remembered they should probably get dressed, buttoning and adjusting things until they were more or less in a semi-decent state of attire. Neither made a move to leave once clothed, however.
Instead, Harry watched as Draco finished his inscription on Snape's desk and listened to him talk about the man, reminiscing about the class and attempting to come up with a number for all the times Neville had received detention for an exploded cauldron. It wasn't until well into Draco's fifth story about various incidents occurring in Potions class from the Slytherin's perspective that Harry found himself laughing. And not some quiet chuckle or forced approximation of a laugh that he was too often pressured to resort to, either—actual genuine laughter that had him gasping for air, almost falling from the desk where he sat perched next to Malfoy. How long had he been laughing? When had he started and why had it taken him so long to notice?
Draco seemed amused by Harry's reaction; his smile was smug and he appeared extremely pleased with himself. It was an expression Harry couldn't resist and he bent forward to capture that smug mouth in a searing kiss. Malfoy responded with a moan that sent shivers racing through Harry and any brain functions being used to calculate how long it had last been since he'd laughed were quickly being focused elsewhere.
It was a long time before Harry made it back to Gryffindor Tower.
Dreams of blond hair and pale skin tumbled pleasantly through Harry's subconscious and he woke up very late and extremely hard, and was made even more late taking care of how hard he was in the shower. By the time he stumbled, yawning, into the Great Hall, it was mostly empty.
Ron and Hermione were still seated at the Gryffindor table, as was Malfoy at the Slytherin one, Harry noticed with delight. The black-haired teen flopped down onto the bench across from his two friends and silently thanked every deity he knew for introducing Hermione into his life, because the girl had laid out a plate just for him, complete with a steaming mug of dark, beautifully dark coffee.
Ignoring the rising steam and the burn that followed, he lifted the warm cup to his lips and took a large gulp, feeling more alert already whether due to the caffeine or the kindness of his two classmates sitting across from him, Harry wasn't sure. A large part he knew was also due to the grey eyes that could be felt silently assessing him from across the room. Harry blushed under the scrutiny and took another large sip of his scalding beverage to avoid looking anywhere.
"How are you, Harry?" Hermione asked, the question layered with a concern that surprised him.
"You look tired, mate," Ron added before Harry could respond.
"I'm fine," he shrugged. Better than fine, in fact. More like fucking brilliant. And the reason for that was still watching him from across the Hall.
"Look," Ron began, somewhat awkwardly, "Ginny talked to us."
The fork slipped from Harry's fingers and his palms broke out in a sweat. Ginny. Fuck. After everything that had happened the previous night, he had completely forgotten about her. "What did she say?" His head remained firmly lowered—if he didn't look at Ron, he wouldn't be able to see the anger or betrayal on his face at his best friend having first asked permission to date then later dumping his baby sister. Twice.
Ron heaved a sigh. "Look, Harry, why didn't you bloody tell us that you didn't want to get back together with her?" Green eyes looked up in surprise. "I mean honestly, are we your friends or not?"
Harry wasn't sure he understood. Ron was mad that Harry hadn't confided in him? "I'm sorry," he shrugged. "I didn't mean to keep anything from you."
"But you did, Harry," Hermione said seriously. "We hardly even see you anymore and you rarely talk to us about anything. And then to find out from Ginny and not you that things between the two of you are over…I thought we were closer than that." Her tone was hurt and Harry felt a hot stab of guilt at his behavior. What was wrong with him? When had he closed himself off from absolutely everybody?
Well, maybe not everybody, he amended as he caught Malfoy watching him from the corner of his eye. "I'm sorry, Hermione, Ron, really," Harry apologized miserably. God, did he actually deserve any of the people in his life? When had he become this cold, solitary figure? And more importantly, did he have to be? Was it too late to become the person he once was? He could never again be the Harry that had belonged to Ginny; that Harry hadn't existed for quite some time. But maybe he could get back some parts of who he had been. Maybe he could get to keep both his friends and Draco Malfoy. And maybe they wouldn't like each other at first and maybe Ron especially might have trouble accepting it, but Harry knew with absolute certainty that his friends would forgive him of anything and that Ron was long past his days of storming from tents and leaving Harry behind—the redhead had emerged from the war with a new level of calm and maturity that Harry had never thought possible in him.
But he wasn't sure if now was the right moment to test it by confessing to having feelings for the only son of Lucius Malfoy. Maybe it should wait until Harry was on more solid footing with his friends.
"It's fine, Harry," Hermione said gently, placing a warm hand over his own. "It's understandable, pulling away like this, after everything. We just want you to remember that we both love you and we're always right here." Ron nodded vigorously beside her and Harry smiled a sincere smile at them both.
"I know."