Anything You Want

by motleygrrrl

When Harry returns to Hogwarts for his eighth and final year, he is no longer sure of anything—what he wants, where he's headed, why smiling is now so difficult. All he knows for certain is that he no longer wants to be with Ginny. And why can't he stop dreaming about grey eyes?

4. Chapter 4

Harry woke the next morning in what he could only describe as a goofily good mood. The hangings around his bed were pulled back just in time to find Ron doing the same. They grinned at each other before stretching and heading to the showers and Harry was relieved to find that this, at least, the friendship between him and Ron, was not changed. They were still Harry and Ron. Ron didn't look at him in disgust or judgment; he accepted that Harry had been with Ginny, but that was over, and he accepted that now Harry was with Malfoy.

At the thought of the blond, Harry lit up again. Ron quickly caught the good mood and was cracking jokes and leaving Harry gasping for breath by the time they met up with Hermione in the Common Room. She laughed alongside them on their way to the Great Hall and as they ate breakfast, and for the first time in so long—entire centuries, really—Harry felt as though he really did have his friends back.

The laughter died on Harry's lips, however, the second he spotted Ginny taking a seat down the table from them, sandwiching herself between Neville and Dean. She focused on her food and on Dean, who turned to speak to her the moment she sat beside him. Ron and Hermione had noticed her enter as well and were now equally subdued.

Harry looked past their somber faces to the Slytherin table to find familiar grey eyes watching him carefully—eyes that made him smile and he tried to put thoughts of red hair and burning shame from his mind. It wasn't too difficult with the way Draco Malfoy was currently gazing at him—he was looking at Harry as if Harry was food and Draco was starving. Like nothing, not the distance or the tables or the students stretched between them could stop the blond from pouncing on Harry and attempting to devour him. The Gryffindor shivered and looked away. His hands itched and he knew he needed to touch Draco now.

He pushed his plate away and leaned close to Ron and Hermione. "I'll see you guys in class, yeah?" he muttered.

"Going to say good morning to Draco?" Hermione teased and Ron guffawed.

Harry blushed but nodded as he stood. Green eyes met grey meaningfully as Harry began to make his way from the Great Hall, trying not to glance in Ginny's direction as he passed her. It didn't work very well. Their gazes locked for the shortest of seconds before Harry turned away. He felt guilty but knew he maybe wasn't entirely to blame for Ginny's difficult time in dealing with the end of their relationship. They hadn't been together in over a year, after all. And it had only been once, just once—as he was ending it with her, for Merlin's sake!—that he told her once it was all over with, Voldemort defeated, they would be together again. Have a future, something he thought he had wanted at the time. At that point in his life, he honestly hadn't truly expected to make it out of the war alive. And he hadn't, not fully. He had died. What he hadn't expected was to come back.

But he was back and Voldemort was gone and Harry was here and Ginny was hurt and in that way, his life and inner peace were somewhat twisted and aching, but in every other way, every way that included Draco Malfoy, everything felt good. Sharp. Brilliant. The drab veil that had draped so heavily over Harry's vision in the past few months was slowly being lifted to once again reveal the world in startling detail. It was almost as if he had forgotten what color was. Everything that had not too long ago been seen in flickering black-and-white and so very two-dimensional now felt alive again. The strings tying Harry to the earth had once again attached themselves, but this time it was to Draco Malfoy that they were tethered.

Harry had never imagined it was possible to feel like this about another person; he had almost resigned himself to never fully feeling anything ever again. Draco was giving him his old self back and Harry wasn't quite sure how to thank him for it. And thanking Draco seemed like a brilliant idea. Immediately Harry began making a list of all the ways in which he could thoroughly thank the blond, but he heard quick steps and turned instead to face them, mentally vowing to come back to the list at a later point.

They were standing in a narrow corridor, empty and quiet and dark, and Malfoy didn't hesitate to rush forward and launch himself at Harry. "You look far too tempting in the mornings, did you know that?" Draco murmured and Harry shivered.

"Do I?" he responded casually, attempting to slow his pounding heart.

"Far, far too tempting," Draco breathed, his lips brushing the skin of Harry's throat.

"Well, don't expect me to apologize, Malfoy. Not if this is the reward." He tipped his head back and moaned as Draco continued the exploration of his lips along Harry's throat.

"Fuck." Harry could feel Malfoy's growl against his skin. "Who the fuck needs Charms? Useless, horrible class. I won't possibly subject myself to it and I shan't abide you to, either."

"Hmm, but what would we do instead?" Harry whispered, searching for the reason he knew they should go to class…it was something to do with Draco…

As if the blond could sense Harry thinking his name, he chose that moment to press his hips against Harry's, who promptly lost all train of thought and began attacking Draco with kisses, hard and passionate and mind-melting; kisses that made Draco moan and cling to him even tighter.

"We can't be late, Draco…" Harry reminded him breathlessly. Class. Draco. Ministry check-ups and the need for perfect records.

Malfoy pulled back to glare at him. "Useless, horrible class," he insisted, ripping open the fastenings to Harry's trousers.

"Oh fuck," Harry breathed, shutting his eyes at the feel of Draco's hand gripping him tightly.

"Do you want me to stop, Harry?" the Slytherin asked sweetly.

"Fuck no," he groaned. "No, don't stop, Draco, never stop…"

"Anything you want, Harry," Draco promised, leaning in to kiss Harry as he began to stroke him.

Harry felt like he was being liquefied; like every atom and molecule within him was being melted down until all that remained was the feel of Draco and warmth of Draco and thought of Draco and just knowing that it was Draco Malfoy, touching him like this, in this way, this bone-puddling way, in an abandoned corridor and knowing that it meant something, that Draco cared about him and maybe even possibly loved him and Harry hadn't been sure if he was ready to be loved by anyone again, but the way the blond was staring into his eyes made him think that yes, he was definitely ready to be loved by Draco Malfoy. And the way Draco was showing it was making Harry tremble; he could feel himself coming undone.

And suddenly, it wasn't enough. He needed to watch Draco unravel as well and clumsily attacked the fastenings to the teen's trousers with the same enthusiasm that had torn his open. Draco hissed as Harry plunged a hand down his pants and gripped him, squeezing lightly.

"Fuck, Harry," the blond moaned and Harry sped up his movements, knowing they had no time to tease. The way Malfoy moaned his name made Harry's breath catch. They stroked each other with quick, sure strokes, occasionally bumping knuckles in the limited space. Harry knew that Draco was close; he could tell by the almost painful way he clutched at Harry's shoulder, by his short, panting breaths and soft gasps, by the way he began chanting Harry's name like a mantra. Harry had wanted to watch him as he came, but he had to kiss him. Now.

He kissed him hard and flicked his wrist, adding the twist to his stroke that Draco had done to him last time. That was all it took before Harry was swallowing the blond's groan and feeling himself come, as well. They stayed like that for several moments, just leaning against one another, trading gentle kisses before Draco pulled back and looked down at himself, nose wrinkled in distaste. "There is no chance in hell of me showing up to class in this state," he declared.

Several cleaning charms were cast by a smirking Harry. "Is that better, darling?" he asked sweetly, but Draco ignored the sarcastic tone and stepped forward to press a kis to his mouth.

"You are useful, aren't you?" he chimed fondly as he smoothed his hair and adjusted his clothing before turning to help the Gryffindor. Once decent, Malfoy kissed him one last time before sliding one hand into Harry's and pulling him toward the Charms room.

By the time they got to class, most of the students were seated and chattering. Harry and Malfoy tried to slip inside unnoticed, but the instant they walked through the door together, the volume dropped and heads snapped up. Malfoy raised one eyebrow at Harry and smirked, but said nothing as he walked to his usual seat in the back next to Zabini and Parkinson. Harry headed for his regular seat amongst the Gryffindors, unpacking his bag and pointedly keeping his eyes fixed on his desk. Ron snorted but made no comment.

---

The weeks began to slip by and the more time passed, the more often Harry found himself reevaluating his life. How had he lived eighteen years without Draco Malfoy? Eighteen minutes was difficult enough without the Slytherin's company. More and more he began to feel as if his life were split into two categories: the Draco Era and the Malfoy Years. The Malfoy Years were the years that Harry had spent feeling anything negative toward the Slytherin; the years they had spent hating each other and fighting—mostly with words, sometimes magic or the occasional fist. Those years were sometimes referred to by Harry as "The Time of the Great Git". But those days were long past. The Draco Era was happening now, and so far it was Harry's favorite categorized era. He couldn't remember what it was like to not touch Malfoy or not hear his dry sarcasm. He couldn't remember a time that he didn't feel grey eyes watching him and knowing he could glance up almost anywhere and Draco would be smiling a secret, private smile just for him. As time raced by he tried to think of the "Malfoy Years" less and less and focus on the present and on his newfound happiness and his newfound Draco. A Draco that was every day becoming more himself just as much as Harry was finding his old self the more time they spent together.

Draco and Ron had adopted a somewhat tenuous friendship; mostly playing chess and sniping at each other, but it seemed to work well enough for them as a form of communication. Draco had indeed gotten back into the practice of the game and now won just as often as he lost. Harry knew that they kept strict count of the wins and losses, but they were constantly rechallenging each other and he quickly gave up attempting to keep track. Sometimes he would have to resort to bodily dragging Malfoy away from the board and up the Common Room steps to the small dorm he shared with Ron, where he would bolt the lock and attempt to make Draco completely forget everything he knew about chess.

Unsurprisingly, Draco and Hermione had struck up an almost instantaneous friendship, and would often discuss or argue a subject so in-depth it left Harry's head reeling. Draco filled a gap in the friendship of the Gryffindors that none of them even knew had existed; he could give both Ron and Hermione something that Harry had never been able to. With Ron, he gave him competition and friendly rivalry, something instilled in the redhead since birth with five older brothers to look up to and something that Harry had never wanted to encourage between the two of them. Ron had struggled enough at the beginning with comparing himself to the Boy-Who-Lived and Harry had never wanted to add to it.

As for Hermione, he gave her someone as intelligent as herself to bounce subjects and ideas off of, as well as another soul who took studying and schoolwork as seriously as she did. In between note-taking and quizzing each other, they would discuss topics such as philosophy and ethics.

Listening from behind a bookshelf in the library one day, Harry was astounded to overhear them discussing the subject of karma.

"I sincerely hope it's just a Muggle superstition because I'm quite sure I've done enough horrible things to warrant far more than an individual's fair share of bad karma," Draco sighed.

Hermione patted his arm and tsked. "You've paid for your errors, Draco," she reassured softly. "Don't worry; the universe is not going to give you Harry Potter only to snatch him away from you again out of cosmic spite."

Draco flushed, clearly embarrassed to have his thoughts spoken back to him so plainly from the Muggle-born girl he had once relished tormenting in the past. Harry shifted behind the bookshelf he was pressed against, trying to hear his response. It made his heart ache.

"It would be only what I deserved," the blond muttered.

"You stop it, Draco Malfoy," Hermione said sternly. "I mean it. You were a different person then; you were a child. You've learned from your mistakes and have become a better person. If you hadn't made every decision that led you to this point in time, do you think you might still have gotten the chance to be with Harry? Would you change any decision you had made if it might risk what you now have with him?"

Draco was silent and Harry peeked over the tops of the books to watch him regarding Hermione with a calculating expression. "No, Granger, you're right," he decided resolutely. "No, I wouldn't change anything about the past if it might jeopardize my present. Harry is all I've ever wanted and if I had to go through all of that hell to become the type of person worthy of being with him, then I'm grateful for it."

"All you've ever wanted, Draco Malfoy?" Hermione's tone turned teasing. "I seem to remember you getting everything you ever wanted. In fact, you were quite the spoiled brat."

"Yes, I was, wasn't I? I was quite the little monster," Draco laughed, a fond glint in his eye. "But I could never have Harry and it infuriated me to no end. Oooh, I drove my father absolutely mental with how much I would speak of the Gryffindor Golden Boy at home." He laughed again. "He actually forbade me from ever mentioning the words Harry and Potter in his presence for an entire summer holiday. And I mean literally forbade. He used a spell to stop me from being able to say Harry, Potter, Gryffindor, Quidditch, or Nimbus the entire time I was home." At Hermione's raised eyebrow he hastened to explain. "Well, it was the summer before third year and I honestly talked about nothing else for a straight week but the absolute unfairness of possessing a better broomstick than Harry Potter and still losing to the git." He laughed and shook his head. "My father is only mortal and does have a limit."

Hermione's lips twitched and Harry could tell she was trying not to smile. "That's horrible, though! Using a spell like that on a child!"

Malfoy shrugged. "It wasn't a common occurrence. No, my father normally tended to approach discipline from a very different angle." His words twisted slightly; Harry felt a chill and suddenly did not want to hear exactly what angles those might have been. Hermione was silent as well and Harry moved quickly, stepping from behind the bookshelf to wrap Draco tightly in an iron embrace. He looked surprised for a moment but promptly melted into the touch. Harry kissed the top of his head and breathed in the smell of his shampoo.

"You're my good karma, Draco," he whispered shyly in the blond's ear. Malfoy's arms tightened around Harry's waist as lips were pressed briefly to his collarbone. And everything was perfect.

---

Both Harry and Draco had tried inviting Zabini and Parkinson to join them more often, but Parkinson would only shake her head forcefully and study her lap, while Zabini would turn knowing eyes on Harry but politely decline, something Harry decided to change. Draco's friends were no longer going to be allowed to silently pull away from the rest of the school; this reticent disappearing act would continue no longer. They were going to accept his company and the fact that he sought no vengeance against either of them and deal with it.

Then one day he entered Potions, saw Draco setting up his cauldron at the regular Slytherin table in the back, and resolutely marched to his side and set his station up beside him. Zabini stared at him slack-jawed as the rest of the class watched his movements curiously.

"You lost, Potter?" Malfoy asked, a twinkle of amusement in his eye.

"In this subject? Absolutely. Fancy trying to give me a hand?" Harry asked cheerfully.

Malfoy smirked. "I suppose I've suffered through worse than your company."

"You have, Malfoy," Harry nodded gravely. "You've suffered eighteen years in your own company."

The class snickered and Draco's eyes flashed, but Harry could see his lips twitching.

"Zabini. Parkinson." The black-haired teen turned to face them and nodded politely. Zabini inclined his head in response, but Parkinson only managed a sort of half-grunt without looking in his direction. His lips twitched at the progress as he headed to gather his ingredients.

As he returned from the closet, Harry sighed and began chopping and dicing. Ever since the start of term he had been so distracted every Potions class with watching Malfoy, and it was even easier when the man in question was less than half a foot away. Malfoy smirked instructions to him, but his features turned smug every time Harry missed a step or miscounted stirs due to watching the blond next to him.

Zabini seemed to ponder the easy banter between the Gryffindor and the Slytherin with interest before joining the conversation just as Harry's potion turned a sort of salmon color (it wasn't quite the maroon hue that Draco's had achieved, but Harry felt it was a valiant effort). Blaise Zabini was surprisingly witty and charming, if not overly flirtatious, with an even more pronounced smirk than Draco possessed. Within moments of speaking, he had Harry chuckling with his innuendos and embarrassing stories about Malfoy, both of which he was now being shot icy glares for from across the table. But he paid them no mind and continued. Parkinson would occasionally glance up and snort with silent laughter, but she had yet to make any sort of actual sound.

By the time Slughorn started walking around assigning grades, Harry still had not heard a single word from the girl. But he wasn't worried. He would sit at this table every lesson if that's what it took. As long as it was where Draco sat, he was going to be sitting there, regardless.

Zabini helped Harry clear up and was just asking him a question about the Defense homework when Hermione and Ron sidled up to them. The dark-skinned Slytherin looked momentarily alarmed at finding himself suddenly surrounded by three Gryffindors, the three Gryffindors, but he recovered quickly and repeated his question. Hermione was the one who answered and he turned his response to her and before Harry knew it they were having a conversation. An actual, real, no-hexes, civil conversation. They were talking and walking away and none of them—with the exception of Parkinson— seemed focused on the fact that Harry and Draco were no longer with them. He smiled at Malfoy, who was already smirking back.

"Ever the hero, helping any in need of your services," Draco admired softly.

"Hmm, do you think there's anyone else round here in need of any services?" Harry asked, slipping his fingers into Draco's and squeezing.

Smirking again, Malfoy responded, "Why certainly, Potter. In fact, I can think of several services that I've found only you can provide." Harry's pulse sped. He knew exactly what those "services" were.

"All right," he agreed, stepping away from the blond and tugging. "Let's go."

Malfoy stumbled slightly but caught himself and glared at Harry. "Go where? And I do not appreciate being manhandled."

Harry pretended to adopt an apologetic air. "Well, it's just that, my room will be empty, and I'd really rather wait 'til we're alone to provide the aforementioned services…" He trailed off suggestively and Draco's breath caught.

"Very well. Merlin forbid I delay you servicing me," he leered. Harry chuckled as they turned to head to the Tower. They didn't speak until they had entered Harry's room and the door had been locked. He turned to locate Malfoy, but the teen was already in his arms and kissing him before Harry had lifted his gaze. "Missed you," Draco panted between hard kisses, "Missed you so much."

"What do you mean?" Harry responded breathlessly. "We've seen each other all day."

"Yes, but it wasn't enough," Draco groaned, unfastening Harry's robes and allowing them to drop to the floor. "It's absolutely maddening, staring at you all day and not touching you." His hands began to roam over Harry's faded t-shirt. "Especially in Potions. You get the cutest, most determined look on your face when you're trying hard to concentrate. It took every ounce of my considerable willpower not to knock everything to the floor and wrestle you to the table."

"I really don't think I would have fought you," Harry replied, lifting his arms so Malfoy could tug his shirt over his head.

"Nice to know," Draco hummed, stepping back to stare at Harry appraisingly.

"What?" the brunet asked self-consciously as the seconds ticked by and Draco continued to stare. How many times had the Slytherin now seen him shirtless, and yet Harry still felt a tiny twinge of doubt. How could anyone as breathtaking as Draco Malfoy possibly find him attractive?

As if sensing the direction of Harry's thoughts, Draco's expression softened and he bent forward to press a very sweet kiss to Harry's lips. "You're beautiful," he whispered. "I still have trouble believing you're actually mine."

"Yours," Harry sighed and relaxed. "And you better start believing it, because unfortunately for you, I don't plan on going anywhere."

"Yes, quite unfortunate," Draco said happily as his hands reached out to slide slowly and sensually along the bare skin of Harry's chest and stomach. Harry lifted his own hands to Draco's tie and began to gently tug it loose. He slipped it over the blond hair and tossed it into the corner before unfastening Malfoy's robes and starting on the buttons of his impeccable white shirt.

Soon both boys were completely bare, even their socks stripped off and discarded. They slowly made their way to Harry's bed, refusing to separate enough to be able to do much more than stumble until the backs of Draco's legs hit the mattress and Harry landed atop him with a sharp intake of breath.

"Am I crushing you?" Harry asked the boy beneath him in concern.

Malfoy scoffed. "Hardly, Potter. Have you seen yourself? You couldn't crush a fly." His voice was slightly breathless and Harry decided there were better things to do with his mouth than trading barbs with the Slytherin. He bent and captured Draco's lips in a searing kiss; one that scorched a burning path through his body, obliterating every thought that didn't include Draco, every molecule that wasn't drowning in sensation from the feel of touching Draco, everything in the world was stripped away and forgotten until the only thing Harry knew was the feel of Draco's skin sliding against his own, the panting gasps that he made, the fingers clenching and twisting in Harry's hair. Everything consisted of Draco and Draco was everything and Harry loved him and he needed him to know it.

He slowed his movements and raised his head to look down into grey eyes dark with desire, burning with a near-painful longing. "I love you, Draco," he murmured. The blond froze and Harry watched a bead of sweat slide down his temple. He bent to kiss him again and at the press of his lips the teen thawed, surprising Harry by deftly flipping them over so that now he was on top.

He straddled Harry's hips and began peppering his face with tiny kisses. "Fuck me, Harry," he whispered. And it was Harry's turn to freeze.

"I-I-what? Are you sure?" he stammered. While over the past few weeks they had gotten rather creative in their ways of bringing each other off, those had mostly been quick gropes and rushed fumblings. They hadn't done anything like this and Harry wasn't sure he actually knew how. He hadn't been a virgin for quite some time, but he had never been with a boy before. Without a doubt, though, he knew that Draco was the only person he would ever want to be with again.

"Yes. Yes," Draco insisted, his kisses turning almost frantic. Harry cupped his face and held him still until he met his gaze. He was surprised to see a delicate pink staining the porcelain features of the other boy. "I love you too, Harry," he admitted shyly, peeking at him from beneath his lashes. The expression on the blond's face and the words he had said caused Harry's heart to stutter and flip pleasantly. "Now please," his voice took on the whining tone that Harry pretended to be annoyed with but secretly found sort of endearing, "please fuck me, Harry. I've never actually…you know…done it before…" his blush deepened, "and I want you to be my first, all right?"

"I love you," Harry repeated simply, and kissed him. Draco responded with enthusiasm, cradling Harry's head and attempting to suck his heart out through his mouth. "This is a first for me too, you know," he broke the kiss to inform the blond.

"Sort of," Draco amended uncomfortably, shifting slightly. "I know that you and the Weaselette used to…"

"A first," Harry repeated firmly. "Being with her was so different, Draco. I've never felt this way about anyone else. I love you." Harry rolled them back over and attempted to imprint the image of Draco Malfoy lying sweaty and mussed beneath him onto his every sense—staring up at him with wide eyes and dilated pupils, his breath hitched and erotic. This was a moment he knew he would always remember.

But he was scared. Or he would be if Gryffindors were capable of feeling fear. No, more like he was worried. Worried that he might hurt Draco, worried that he would be terrible, worried that he would somehow fuck it up before anything had actually happened.

The panic must have begun to show in his eyes because Draco pressed a palm to his cheek and drew him down for a kiss. "Harry."

And the sound of his name from those lips made Harry groan deep in his throat and press himself more fully into Draco's warm body. "What do I do?" he asked huskily, nose and lips skimming lightly along Malfoy's jaw.

"Lube," the blond gasped as Harry's hand trailed along his chest, arching up into Harry's touch.

Harry pulled back to stare down at him, chewing his bottom lip. "I don't have any, Draco. I mean, Ron might…" He trailed off as Draco shuddered.

"Never mention Ronald Weasley to me again whilst we are naked, do you understand?" he demanded sternly. Harry nodded, blushing. "Also, it's not a problem. I have some in my bag."

Harry goggled at him, nonplussed. "Draco, you carry lube around with you in your schoolbag?" He had thought he had learned all of Malfoy's central habits and mannerisms, but if he had missed something like that, what else had escaped his notice?

"Of course, Harry. You never know when a situation may call for it," Malfoy's tone turned teasing. "I wanted to be well prepared in case we were somehow afforded such opportunity."

Harry kissed him admiringly. "Good thing we have you in this relationship."

Malfoy nodded seriously. "Something we're both grateful for."

Harry slid off him in search of Draco's bookbag. Once located, he upended the contents onto the floor, earning an amusing sort of squawk from Malfoy. "Potter!" he reprimanded harshly. "Do not break all my possessions in the process, hmm? Those are my personal things and I assure you they are quite expensive so show my belongings the proper respect." Harry's grin widened with every stressor Draco placed on his words.

"Yes, sir," he said triumphantly, holding up a small nondescript jar. Draco raised an eyebrow and smirked, beckoning Harry back to the bed. Harry all but jumped back atop him, settling happily between his thighs. He had just placed the stopper between his teeth when sudden pounding on the door startled him.

"Oi! Ron! Open up, you bloody prick!" Shit. That was Ginny's voice.

At the sound, Draco tensed but seemed to be thawing as he swatted at Harry's arm. "Tell her to go away! Make her go away!" he hissed furiously.

Harry shrugged helplessly. He was in no position to open the door to Ginny, but judging by the increase in pounding and yelling, she was settling in to be there for a while. Harry scrambled off the bed and quickly wrestled his jeans back on, tugging his t-shirt on inside out in his haste. Behind him, he could hear Draco rushing to do the same, muttering darkly the entire time about horrible she-Weasel gingers and their impeccably bad timing.

When Harry felt more or less presentable, he flung open the door somewhat hysterically and gazed at Ginny as evenly as he was able to. "Ron isn't here," he informed her in a polite voice, sounding as if she had interrupted him in the middle of something trivial.

She seemed surprised to see Harry, which was odd considering he did live there. "I—right. Sorry," she said awkwardly. "Erm, I guess just let him know I was looking for him then, yeah?" Less than a meter away and hidden from her sight was Draco, standing stiffly behind the wall on the other side of the door, and Harry wasn't sure what would happen if she insisted on barging inside to wait for her brother.

Nodding in silent agreement, he made to close the door but she cleared her throat and he hesitated. "How are you, Harry?" she asked. Her tone was somewhat cool, but Harry could hear the concern and slight trepidation underneath. "We really haven't seen much of each other over the past few weeks," she continued, "and I miss talking to you. I miss you." She fixed him with a steely look that he was unable to meet.

The truth was that he did sometimes miss her, but for the most part, he didn't really think about her. He missed her the way he missed Ron when he was out of the redhead's company for too long a period. He did not miss her in the same frenzied, burning way that he missed Draco when he was forced to part company with the blond. It wasn't her fault and it wasn't his, but he still felt aching guilt gnaw through him.

His gaze flicked to Draco to find him scowling, eyes flashing dangerously, and Harry stretched out one arm to place it over Draco's in an attempt to placate, just out of Ginny's line of vision. "Yeah, Gin," he said hollowly. "Er, me too." And it was the truth; he did miss her. He just wasn't sure it was wise to tell her as much. It would be too easy to misinterpret his meaning.

"Can we talk, Harry?" she asked, stepping closer to the door. The muscles of Draco's forearm tensed beneath his hand and he knew it wouldn't be long before the Slytherin lost that icy control and possibly hexed Ginny.

"Erm, yeah, I mean, course…but not now. Now's not really good," he said lamely.

She nodded and took another tiny step forward. "Sure, Harry. Whenever works best for you. You know how to find me." Her voice softened at the end, fading away before she suddenly reached out one finger and ran it down the side of Harry's face, from his temple to his jaw before she turned and hurried away, leaving a somewhat shocked Harry still staring wide-eyed from the doorway and an extremely angry Malfoy, shaking silently with fury. It took several moments for Harry to unfreeze enough to close the door, and even then he took his time with the locking and silencing spells before turning to face his very irate boyfriend.

"Of course?" Malfoy asked dangerously. "Me too? What the fuck, Potter?" He jerked his arm violently from Harry's light grasp.

"Draco, come on! You know that I don't want Ginny!" he exclaimed. Did Draco not understand how much he meant to Harry? How much Harry loved him and admired him and adored him and fucking just wanted him? He tried again to get a hold on Malfoy, but the Slytherin was squirmy and refused to allow Harry's hands to remain on his body. "Did you forget so suddenly, Draco?" he asked in exasperation. "I love you." At the words the blond stilled and Harry cautiously slid his arms around the other teen to pull him against his body. "I love you, even though you're slightly melodramatic, and sometimes you throw tantrums, and once you broke my nose." Harry grinned ruefully at the memory but hastily continued speaking as Draco opened his mouth. "But I know that it was my fault for spying on you, because according to Ron and Hermione, I was obsessed. With you. And that was long before I ever got together with Ginny or even recognized that I had feelings for her. And I was kind of hoping," he tucked his face into the crook of Draco's neck and tightened his hold around his waist, "that you kind of sort of love me back? Just a bit?"

Draco groaned and dropped a kiss onto Harry's head. "Of course I love you, you idiot. Honestly, as if there isn't a single person who isn't in love with the Chosen One." Harry opened his mouth to argue the statement, but Malfoy continued before he had a chance. "Especially when you play all Slytherin like that, using my attraction to you as a weakness against me, I quite approve. But I do not throw tantrums," he stated fiercely.

Harry huffed a laugh into his warm neck. "Of course you don't. I like to think of myself as half-Slytherin, you know. The Sorting Hat wanted to put me there," he informed the blond slyly.

"Are you serious?" Malfoy asked in a hushed voice. Harry nodded. "Merlin's fucking balls, do you have any idea how different everything would have been? How different we both would have been?"

Harry nodded again. It was something he used to think about at great length. "But then we might not have ended up here and I wouldn't be anywhere else for anything in the world."

"Or we might have gotten here a lot sooner," Draco muttered, but he smiled and kissed the tip of Harry's nose. "So where were we before that wretched ginger horror so rudely interrupted us?" he asked, breath warm against Harry's lips.

"You were about to get fucked," Harry answered, amused.

"Hmm, was I?" Draco murmured, stroking one finger down Harry's back. Harry shoved him hard toward the bed, climbing over him and sinking down to claim his mouth in a dizzying kiss. He had just started shifting and tugging at their hastily-thrown-on clothing so as to allow better access to the front half of Draco when there was muffled pounding on the door.

"Harry?" Ron called loudly, rattling the heavy knob. "Open the bloody door, you prat. What are you doing in there?"

Draco growled. "What is it with that fucking family? I mean for Merlin's fucking sake! Insufferable cock blocks, the lot of them! I am at my wit's end, Harry!" He threw one arm over his eyes dramatically and heaved an aggravated sigh. Harry was amused and thought about pointing out the abysmally short amount of time it took between Draco denying throwing any tantrums and then actually throwing one, but he shook his head instead and unlocked the door with his wand, not bothering to move off of Malfoy.

"Harry! I—GAH!" Ron's excitement gurgled off in horror as he entered the room to find his best friend straddling the pointy-faced git that sometimes lost to him in chess. "Fucking hell, Harry!" he exclaimed, covering his face with both hands and causing Harry to roll his eyes. Honestly, they were both clothed. "Warn a bloke before doing something possibly heart-stopping like that. I mean, bloody hell! After hunting down Horcruxes and battling the forces of darkness and evil, there's only so much my poor heart can take! Seeing you straddle the Ferret might just do me in where You-Know-Who failed."

"Ron!" Harry scolded at the same moment Draco cried "Hey!" and made a rude hand gesture, but he sighed and rolled off of Malfoy, who looked even more upset about the loss of contact than about the hurtful nickname and turned enraged eyes onto Ron, who had finally lowered his hands enough to peer at them.

"You and your bloody family, Weasley. Harry! Tell him about my wit's end!" Malfoy demanded theatrically.

"Erm, he's at it," Harry shrugged sheepishly.

"Too right I am. Now whatever business it is that had you knocking so insistently, kindly complete it or forget it, whatever takes the shortest amount of time, and then do us all a favor and politely fuck off. Harry and I wish to be left alone. Feel free to use your limited creativity imagining what I may mean by alone. Unless you wish for me to detail it for you?" he asked pointedly.

Harry flushed and looked at the ceiling as Ron began spluttering in horror. "No! No, Malfoy! That's all right!" he cried, and then muttered under his breath, "Poncy fucking ferret."

"Did you need something, Ron?" Harry asked loudly, cutting off whatever Malfoy had been about to respond with.

Ron cheered somewhat at the reminder. "Yeah, mate! There's a Quidditch game happening! More like a mini-tournament, really. But the teams are random and people are constantly switching out, so anyone can play. I came to get you and grab my broom; Seamus and Dean and everyone are all already down there."

Quidditch. Did the sport hold any interest for Harry any longer? He tried to recall the feeling of soaring through the sky on only a thin piece of wood to hold him safe, looking down and seeing a distant patchwork earth; tiny specks of faces and faraway blocks of color forming a quilt to gaze upon; he tried to remember the swooping feeling in his gut he got every time he dove for the Snitch or dodged a bludger. The memories all felt muted somehow, almost numb, and he wasn't sure what it would feel like any longer. Maybe it was time to find out. Maybe it was time to rediscover that part of himself again, especially with Malfoy by his side.

Glancing at Malfoy caused the sudden memory of the last time he had been on a broomstick to crash through him forcefully; flames surrounding him, crackling, shrieking, dancing across any surface they could, consuming everything in a thick choking black cloud of smoke that he tried to navigate through, even though his eyes watered and stung and he could barely see and his throat felt scorched and part of him was fully convinced that he was going to die. And he knew that he couldn't leave Malfoy in there like that; not feeling the heavy drag of air into his lungs and believing any breath might be his last, or feeling the blistering heat licking at his skin, getting closer and closer and hotter and hotter. No, not even Malfoy deserved that fate. He had more difficulty feeling the same way about Crabbe's fate, however, who had started the fucking fire in the first place.

But then Harry had dropped out of the sky and there was Malfoy and before he knew it the Slytherin was clambering onto the back of his broom and gripping him so tightly around the midsection that Harry was afraid he might rupture something vital, and then they were flying away from the flames and out the door into blessed cool and quiet safety. Sort of.

Harry saw shadows in Malfoy's eyes and wondered if he was thinking about the same moment. "Er, you go ahead, Ron. We'll be there in a bit," he said.

Ron shrugged as he lifted his broom. "Just make sure it's soon, yeah?" He paused in the doorway and turned back to them. "And for the love of Merlin's saggy fucking bollocks, do not ever do that to me again."

The door clicked shut and there was a heavy silence that Harry felt nervous breaking. "Did you want to, er, go? Down? To the pitch? To play, that is?"

Malfoy shrugged indifferently. "We can if you wish, Potter."

"We really don't have to," Harry pointed out. "I mean, the last time I rode a broomstick…" he trailed off and noticed a slight tremor run through Malfoy. "I'm sorry," he apologized hastily. "I shouldn't have brought it up…I didn't mean—"

Malfoy held up one hand in a placating manner. "It's all right." His tone was calm but his eyes still appeared hooded and Harry instinctively pulled him close.

"We really don't have to play," he said, but Malfoy shook his head.

"No, I think it's time I finally faced down a broomstick. I mean, if I'm able to face you again after everything, I am certainly capable of looking a bloody broomstick in the eye. Er, handle?"

Harry smiled. "All right. Let's go get your broom."

Draco shifted uncomfortably and looked away. "I don't have one," he admitted. "Mother sold them all to pay my family's war reparations and Father's legal fees after the Ministry seized nearly all of our funds. She sold most of the art and furniture as well." He continued to speak to the wall, either unable or unwilling to look Harry in the eye as his voice shook and a tremor passed through his slim frame as he confessed things that Harry was certain he had not told anybody else. "The only reason we were allowed to keep the Manor is because of the blood magic and wards that are attuned solely to members of my family. So she was given the choice between house arrest or exile; she chose France," Draco paused for a moment to inhale deeply. "She might have tried to stay if my father had been granted visitation, but he won't be eligible for that for at least twenty years, a punishment thought appropriate for committing the crime of housing the Dark Lord. Christ," Draco's breath hitched dryly and he finally turned his head to look Harry in the eye. "I'll be fucking middle-aged by the time I have the chance to see my father again."

The sight of Draco trying almost desperately to hold back tears seemed to break something inside of Harry. His own eyes prickled in sympathy as he gently tucked the blond head against the hollow of his throat and leaned them both back against the pillows. He could feel the puffs of Draco's warm breath against his neck.

"I'm sorry," Harry said regretfully, wishing he could say more. He wished a lot of things; he wished so much was so different. He wished Draco's father had never been awful or prejudiced, or ever made terrible decisions that had endangered both his wife and child. He wished he knew Draco's feelings on the man and wished they weren't so complicated.

"I know that he did horrible things," Draco whispered, clenching the fabric of Harry's t-shirt tightly, "but he's my father. He wasn't the best father, not by any means, but I know he loves me." Despite the words, his voice sounded doubtful and Harry's heart clenched painfully.

"Of course he does," he soothed. "Of course he loves you. I saw him after the forest, you know; he didn't care about the war or about Voldemort or about his own life at that point. He was focused completely on finding you and making sure you were safe. Same with your mother. She lied to Voldemort's face just to get the chance to enter the castle to search for you. Not many people have lied to him and lived."

Malfoy said nothing and Harry was shocked to feel a hot splash of something wet against his neck. Was that a teardrop? Was Draco Malfoy crying?

"Both our parents wanted to shield us from the Dark Lord; only mine fucking followed the maniac first," he sniffed.

Harry shrugged. "People make bad decisions. I'm just sorry that you suffered as a result of theirs."

More burning tears dripped onto Harry's skin. "I deserved it, didn't I? I know how horrible I was; to you, especially. I deserved something bad to happen to me. And the universe fucking delivered in the form of pure fucking evil sleeping in my fucking house. And my aunt," he shuddered. "God, it might have been worse living with her than the Dark Lord."

Harry swallowed with difficulty at the thought of Bellatrix Lestrange. "She's dead now," he reminded in a harsh voice.

"Thank God," Draco agreed, nodding into his throat.

"No, just Molly Weasley."

"Would that be an odd thing, do you think, to thank Molly Weasley for?" Malfoy wondered and Harry chuckled darkly.

"Trust me," he said, "I've thanked her enough times for the both of us."

Draco fidgeted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry for that, by the way," he finally whispered. "For the loss of your g-godfather and my family's part in it."

Harry shook his head. "It's not your fault, Draco. You had nothing to do with it and you have nothing to be sorry for. I know exactly whose fault it is." His words had taken on a biting tone and Draco lifted his head to peer at him.

"What do you mean?" he finally asked, tears slowing in his curiosity.

"I mean, it's my fault that Sirius died," Harry shrugged. "I'm completely responsible and you have nothing to be sorry for."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Draco demanded. "My deranged aunt is the one who fucking killed him."

"Yes," Harry agreed patiently, "but I'm the reason he was there. I'm the reason they were all there. I was stupid and impulsive and reckless and Sirius paid for it and I'm just lucky the rest of them weren't killed as well." He tried to make his voice as detached as possible but knew he was failing miserably. The familiar burning self-loathing had begun churning immediately through the pit of his stomach at the first thought of Sirius.

Draco pulled himself upwards to stare down at Harry with a fierce expression. "Now you listen here, Potter. You are not the villain in this. Losing your godfather whilst attempting to rescue him does not make you responsible, it makes you a victim of misfortune. Being mind-raped by the Dark Lord into believing he was currently torturing and only moments away from killing the only parental figure you had up until that point does not make it your fault. Lay the blame at the feet of my aunt and the Dark Lord; they are the individuals to be held accountable."

Harry heard the words; Hermione and Dumbledore had both told him similar things: it wasn't his fault, Voldemort had tricked him, Sirius had made his own decision to go to the Ministry. But Harry knew who was really to blame. If he hadn't been so reckless, rushing in without a moment's hesitation, if he had just listened to Hermione for five seconds, or taken just a few minutes to think it through more; if he had just remembered Snape and gone to him earlier…

"Fucking hell Potter, you really are quite set on taking on far more than your fair share of martyrdom, aren't you?" Draco sounded frustrated. "Listen to me," he jerked Harry's chin down to force him to meet his eye. "It. Is. Not. Your. Fault." Each word was pronounced slowly. "I know exactly what you're thinking; you're shit at hiding your emotions. So stop it right now, because I'm telling you that you did nothing wrong."

Harry nodded, but it was stiff and mechanical and Draco growled in annoyance. "Would you blame me for Vincent's death?" he asked suddenly, startling Harry into automatically responding.

"Of course not!" he exclaimed, eyebrows shooting up. Crabbe's death was hardly Malfoy's fault. The boy had been killed by the very fire he had started.

"But I was the reason he was there," Draco argued. "If it weren't for me, he never would have been in the Room of Hidden Things."

Harry tightened his hold on the boy in his arms. "So? He was the one who fucking started the fire, that wasn't your fault!" Draco looked doubtful so Harry continued. "Just because he followed you there didn't mean you could foresee him going mental and trying to kill all of us! You're not to blame for his decision! You're not responsible for the actions of others, Draco!" He stopped short at the triumphant gleam in Malfoy's eye and swallowed hard.

"Right," he finally muttered, "fucking Slytherins."

"Do you get it now?" Draco asked seriously.

Harry swallowed again and nodded. "Yeah," he said weakly, "yeah, all right, I get it."

The blond kissed him lightly and laid his head against Harry's chest. "So, what's our next move?" he asked curiously. "Did you want to go down to the pitch?"

Harry wanted nothing more than to pick back up where they had left off before all the interruptions and painful discussions. But the past hour had been too tumultuous; there had been too many serious words exchanged to recapture the relaxed excitement of earlier.

They lay in each other's arms in silence for several minutes before Harry answered. "Yes," he said finally. "I don't want that to be your last memory of riding a broom." Malfoy nodded, pressing his lips to Harry's throat for a moment. "Besides, we've never flown together, you know," he added with a smile.

"What are you talking about, Potter? We've played against each other numerous times," Draco pointed out.

Harry shook his head. "Yes, but we've never just flown together. You know? Without the animosity and the Houses and the rivalry and the competition. Just us flying."

Draco stared at him with an unreadable expression for a second before leaping from the bed and tugging Harry into a sitting position. "Yes, all right then. Let's go. Where is your broomstick?" He peered around the room as if expecting to see Harry's Firebolt bronzed and on display on the wall.

"It's lost," Harry replied simply.

"Lost?" Draco echoed. "How does one lose a broomstick, Potter?"

Harry shrugged. "I just did."

Draco stared for a long moment but eventually allowed it to pass. "Well, school brooms for us it is, then," he sighed unenthusiastically.

"We've survived worse," Harry pointed out.

"Yes, but I thought my suffering was over," Draco grumbled and Harry fought a smile as they headed down to the field.

Never throws tantrums, my arse.

---

Despite Malfoy's misgivings, the school brooms weren't horrible and he was soon laughing and darting through the air on his borrowed Cleansweep Six. Harry had found an old Siberian Arrow that tended to veer much too far to the right, but none of the players were keeping track of the score and Harry was trying his hand at Chasing. He liked it but found himself missing being able to block out everything else and focus entirely on the Snitch and the other Seeker.

The other Seeker in question was Luna Lovegood, and she waved dreamily to Harry from across the pitch, her broomstick drifting almost drunkenly to the side. Malfoy was playing Keeper for her team, something Harry delighted in every time he went in with the Quaffle. The blond was a somewhat decent Keeper, but he was no Oliver Wood, something Harry took advantage of until he was hanging off his broom, gasping with laughter at the barely-muttered threats Malfoy was making towards the Quaffle if it dared go into the hoop one more time.

From the air, Harry could spy both Zabini and Parkinson sitting in the stands watching the game, Parkinson clearly having been dragged by Zabini. But they had both shown up and Harry was pleased that they were sitting next to Hermione as she took breaks from studying to watch Ron bat bludgers at Harry, who was shaking his head fondly down at Hermione as he watched her read. Some things never changed. In fact, he couldn't remember a single Quidditch match that Hermione had attended without one, or usually several, books in tow.

A sudden breeze swept up the pitch, forcing Harry to adjust his grip on his broom handle and feeling a sharp twinge in his shoulder as he did so. Signaling to Seamus to send another player in for him, he swooped low before dropping suddenly down into the stands to land smoothly on the bench right next to Hermione.

"Harry," Blaise greeted, cocking his head and smiling cheerfully.

Harry automatically smiled back. Blaise really was nice.

"Blaise. Pansy." Harry had been trying to get into the habit lately of calling both Slytherins by their given names, but he often had to remind himself first.

Parkinson glanced up at him briefly. "Potter."

For a moment, Harry felt frozen in shock. Not once that year had she spoken to him. She had never once spoken in his presence period. Maybe Draco had finally gotten through to her? Instantly Harry wanted to say something to test it, but he was worried about severing this possible fragile thread that had just sprung up between them.

"Er, are you two not playing?" he asked.

Blaise laughed. "Draco and I have never been able to convince Pans to get on a broom," he nudged her. "And she's threatened the wellbeing of my bollocks if I abandon her to the mercy of any Gryffindors just to play Quidditch." Parkinson turned angry eyes onto Zabini but he ignored them.

Stretching both arms, Harry winced at the pain in his upper back. The flash of discomfort was noticed instantly by an intrigued-looking Blaise. "How's the shoulder, Potter?" he asked, looking concerned.

Harry shrugged and winced again. It had been a while since he'd last played Quidditch. "Mostly fine, long as I keep it still." He shrugged again and immediately reprimanded himself.

"Want me to rub it for you?" Blaise offered.

At the offer, Harry's eyes widened but he quickly recovered. "No, that's all right. It'll be fine." He just needed sleep and a hot shower and it would be back to normal once more.

"Where did Draco disappear to?" Harry wondered, squinting up into the bright sky and hoping that the subject change would be enough of a distraction for Zabini.

As though summoned by the sound of his name, Draco dropped down into the stands in front of them. "Pansy, Blaise," he nodded before turning to Harry and smirking. "And there's the runaway Chaser. My team scare you away, then?"

"Yeah, Draco, you and Luna scared me away," Harry snorted, "If you must know, my shoulder hurts from scoring so many points, actually, so I'm taking a break."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "You listen here, Potter, I will play you one-on-one anytime. Seeker's game, you and me. Anytime you like."

Harry sniggered. "Sure, Malfoy. Bring it on. I'll be a gentleman, however, and graciously allow you the opportunity to rescind your challenge anytime you come the fuck to your senses."

"Hmm, I suppose we'll just have to wait and see who will be the one rescinding, won't we?" Malfoy leered. Zabini's curious eyes darted between the two boys; Parkinson had fixed her steely gaze on Harry and he felt rather fidgety under the scrutiny of three Slytherins.

Hermione was the one to come to his rescue. "Did Ron happen to mention how much longer he plans to remain out here?" she asked from behind her book, lowering it just enough to peer over the top.

"Not sure," Harry told her. "I mean, he's having the time of his life, isn't he? Just look at him." He gestured to where Ron flew through the air, swinging his bat and bellowing with delight. Hermione followed Ron with a soft look before starting slightly and coughing.

"Yes, well, I suppose I can stay out here and watch him for a bit longer."

Harry hid a smile. Course she could.

"Does your shoulder really hurt?" Draco asked suddenly, concern thinly veiled beneath a casual tone.

"Yeah, quite a bit, actually," Harry admitted. Now that he was on the ground and the adrenaline of the game had faded, his shoulder was beginning to stiffen and throb.

"I offered to massage it for him," Blaise sighed, "but he chose suffering like a true martyr."

Draco tensed and slowly turned to gaze at his friend. "Did you now? That was rather nice." His tone was suspicious.

"I am a rather nice man," Blaise beamed angelically.

"Yes, well, if you care about your shoulder, Potter, you'll take it to the Hospital Wing first," Draco said in a clipped tone. "Blaise once accidentally turned Greg's collarbone magnetic trying to 'help' him. Imagine what chaos might befall the wizarding world if he managed to turn the Chosen One magnetic?"

"Care to find out, Harry?" Blaise asked teasingly, twirling his wand. "I'm sure most of the population would be quite happy to find themselves stuck to someone as fit as you. I know I certainly would."

One corner of Harry's mouth pulled up in a half-grin and he shook his head. "I don't think I would be as happy about it, though." He turned to smirk at Malfoy only to find him silently seething, glaring at Blaise as if he would like nothing more than to rip out the man's intestines with his fingernails. Blaise only smiled innocently at Draco, resulting in the blond's anger worsening.

"I'm going to find Seamus," Harry said quickly, standing and throwing a leg over his broom in a hasty attempt to escape before Malfoy could explode at the other boy.

Hermione sighed with relief. "If you see Ron, let him know I went back to the castle, all right?" Not waiting for a response, she shoved her book into her bag and left hastily, almost bruising Harry as she swung the heavy bag over her shoulder.

Waving in agreement, he kicked off into the air, gritting his teeth against the ache in his shoulder and glancing back down at the stands. Blaise looked slightly less comfortable at suddenly finding himself alone in the company of his fellow Housemates. Harry watched with amusement as Draco advanced on the dark-skinned teen menacingly—he would never understand the mercurial friendships of the Slytherins.

Circling the pitch for a few moments, Harry landed near the edge of the crowd on the grass below and chatted with Neville for several minutes before his neck started tingling with a prickly awareness of being watched. Just as he turned to scan the crowd, a large shape loomed over him and seized him roughly in a tight bear hug. "Harry!" the shape exclaimed gruffly. "It's been bloody years." The arms didn't release him and his face was squashed awkwardly into the other man's (it was definitely a man's) shaggy brown hair. Harry shoved against the chest until the arms loosened enough for him to peer up at the face so near his own. The familiar features were instantly recognizable and he felt his jaw drop wide in surprise.

"Oliver?"

Oliver Wood beamed and nodded, arms still wrapped around Harry tightly.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked stupidly, glancing around as if his surroundings might answer the question for him. "Last I heard, you'd just been traded to the Kestrels."

"Been following my career, eh, Harry?" Wood smiled slyly and for some reason, Harry blushed.

"A bit," he shrugged. "They do occasionally print something in the paper worth reading."

"Oh, I dunno, Harry," Wood said, eyes glinting mysteriously as he finally dropped his arms but made no move to step back. "I think I've read just about every article that even mentions your name. Many of 'em are shite, of course, but there are more than a few I found fascinating."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Right, I'm sure you're quite the fanatic," he snorted sarcastically.

"Don't believe me, eh?" Oliver's eyebrows rose challengingly. "Quiz me, then."

Harry gaped at him. "I'm not going to quiz you on my personal life, Oliver."

Oliver huffed good-naturedly. "There really hasn't been any mention lately of your personal life. Why don't you tell me all about it and I won't have to rely on the Prophet for my Potter updates?"

Harry shrugged. "Not much to tell, really. Unless you're interested in how my homework is coming along."

Oliver grinned. "Not sure I believe that. There must be something happening."

Harry's brain instantly flashed with memories of Draco; holding Draco and whispering to Draco and feeling more secure in Draco's arms than he had ever remembered feeling. But none of that was something he could or wanted to share with his old Quidditch captain.

"I heard that you and Ginny Weasley broke up," Oliver said, causing Harry to splutter and cough. Even Oliver had heard about that?

"I, uh, yeah. Yeah, we did," he affirmed. He hadn't been expecting to get asked about his romantic life. He had thought that Oliver had meant the standard regular questions: such as, what was Harry going to do after graduation? How many Quidditch teams had already made him offers, and so on.

"So who's the new lucky person in your life?" Wood asked, still smiling widely.

"Person?" Harry echoed. "What makes you think there's a new person?"

"Oh come now, Harry," Oliver snorted. "You can't honestly expect me to believe that the Saviour is going to remain single for any length of time, can you? Not with the entire wizarding world lusting after you." He pinned Harry with a heated gaze that traveled slowly up and down his body. "Not without good reason, too. You're certainly all grown up now, aren't you?"

The comment caused the skin of Harry's face to instantly grow hot; he could feel himself turning red and decided to change the subject, hoping to never again discuss how many strangers lusted after him. "So, what are you doing here, Oliver? You never told me."

Oliver grinned. "My brother made the Quidditch team and plays his first game in a couple days. He asked me to help him train so I've been coming up for the past week to fly with him."

"That's really sweet of you," Harry smiled. "Taking time from your crazy Quidditch schedule to help train your little brother?" At that Oliver's smile widened, revealing the familiar dimples that Harry had dreamt about a time or two when he'd been younger.

"You should come up with us," Oliver invited. "Finlay is right over there." As he spoke he pointed to a small knot of younger students standing clustered together some distance away, all clutching broomsticks and laughing.

"What team is he?" Harry squinted but was unable to discern any colors the boy might have been wearing.

"He plays Chaser for Hufflepuff," Oliver answered proudly, and Harry smiled at the sound of the man's voice. Hearing it reminded him of late-night Quidditch practice—playing well into the dark and cold and sometimes biting rain, returning sore and muddy; he remembered all the times arriving back at the dorm well after the sun had disappeared, dirtied and frozen and sore and the feel of easing his aching muscles under the scalding spray of a hot shower; he remembered listening to Oliver Wood's determined pep talks before every game and feeling his own heart pound with excitement. He heard the man's voice and instantly smelled the wood of the broomshed—varnish and handles and familiar. He heard his voice and felt the steam of the changing room showers; heard the laughter of his teammates and felt the hushed, grim determination that would settle over them before a match; he recalled how his body would tense tight in anticipation and how hard it had been to wait for Madam Hooch to blow the whistle for kick-off. Oliver was Quidditch; the man had represented the sport for Harry for the entire three years he played under his captaincy. Even after he had graduated, Quidditch and Oliver Wood remained somewhat synonymous. Quidditch had been one of the most freeing experiences in Harry's life; he had found such excitement and bliss on a broomstick, diving and twisting and evading other players; searching for the golden glint of the Snitch and keeping watch on the whereabouts of the Seeker out of the corner of one eye. And it had been Oliver who had first taken him and explained the sport; he had trained Harry and coached him and believed in him and they had even won the Quidditch Cup together one year.

"Sure, Oliver," he accepted. "I'd love to help you coach him."

"Just wait 'til he finds out that not only does he get to fly with Harry Potter, but the Chosen One is going to help train him as well," Wood smirked. "He and all his little friends have crushes on you, you know."

Harry's lips twitched. Crushes. Right.

He began rethinking his earlier amusement when they approached the knot of students and they all seemed to turn as one to stare at Harry in wide-eyed awe.

"Finlay!" Oliver called and jerked his head to beckon him over. "Grab your broom, Harry's coming up with us."

Finlay flushed as he stared at Harry. Chewing his bottom lip nervously, he stepped forward and nearly tripped over the broomstick held loosely in his grasp. It tore from his hands and slapped to the ground with a hard thwack. Under the heat of Oliver's disapproving stare and folded arms, as well as the titters of his Housemates, his blush deepened. Ducking his head he quickly bent to pick the broom up.

Looking away from his younger brother, Wood turned his gaze to Harry and every ounce of disapproval was gone, nothing but an open, genuine smile stretching across his handsome features, features both familiar and yet more rugged than Harry remembered. The man's eyes flicked over Harry's body from head to toe before he turned and headed beyond the stadium to where a large crate and broomstick lay, Finlay scampering hastily behind him.

Harry turned to follow the two but paused as the tingling awareness of being watched prickled his neck yet again. Draco Malfoy was examining him intently from several meters away, broom handle clenched tightly in both fists and face a curiously blank mask.

Ignoring the twinge in his shoulder, Harry jogged over to him. "Where are Parkinson and Zabini?" he asked, peering around for sight of them.

"They left." Draco's tone was light, conversational, and it immediately made Harry uneasy.

"Oh, right," he responded lamely, but Draco ignored him.

"And what are your plans now, then?" the blond asked politely, tone sounding bored and uninterested, as though Harry had asked him the question first and Draco was returning it out of polite obligation. Harry's sense of unease grew.

"Oliver's visiting and I told him that I would help train his little brother for his first game on Saturday."

The knuckles wrapped around the handle of the Cleansweep Six whitened, but when Draco spoke his voice was suspiciously calm. "Yes, I imagine you two have quite a lot of catching up to do, hmm?" The mild tone was belied by the dangerous narrowing of his eyes.

"Well, I mean, I haven't seen him in a few years," Harry ran a hand through his hair awkwardly. "Not really. I mean, I saw him at the final battle, but we didn't really get a chance to talk, or anything, you know?" When he had accepted the invitation he hadn't thought it to be a big deal, but he definitely did not want Malfoy to be upset with him over it.

Draco was silent for several moments and Harry wasn't sure if he should be the first to break this stand-off.

"I'm sure it'll be lovely, Harry, catching up with an old friend," Draco suddenly said in a gracious voice, startling the Gryffindor, who had been expecting thinned lips and barely contained anger. But Draco's grip had loosened on the broom handle and he looked more or less sincere. "Go, Harry. Go catch up with your old captain and come find me later, all right?"

Harry smiled gratefully. "Of course, love. I won't be long."

Turning, he could feel Draco's eyes on his back the entire walk over to the open crate spread out below the shadows of Oliver and Finlay, already airborne, but when he turned back to look, the blond was nowhere to be seen.

The worry instantly uncoiled in his gut the instant he kicked off from the ground and felt the rush of wind through his hair. God, but he had missed flying. How had he forgotten this feeling? This feeling of complete freedom, utter abandon? Harry ascended in tight, dizzying circles, then started and laughed when Oliver suddenly appeared right in front of his broom to spiral higher and higher with him.

"Been a while for you, has it?" Wood called. "Other than earlier when you discovered your Chasing abilities?"

"You were watching?" Harry asked in surprise. The circles had slowed to a lethargic drift. Oliver hovered in front of him, strong and relaxed. Harry could see the hard muscles of his forearms beneath the tight sleeves of his navy jumper, bunching and relaxing as he changed position or shifted his grip.

"Of course, seeing as I'm the one who trained you," the owner of those forearms grinned. "I needed to make sure you didn't embarrass me or anything."

"And did I?" One corner of Harry's mouth quirked up in a grin. He felt fairly certain that Wood's coaching reputation was safe, something affirmed when Oliver shook his head. Harry could see Finlay drifting below, staring up at the two of them.

"Well, we came up for a reason, didn't we?" Harry asked, dropping into a steep dive and pulling up sharply alongside the Hufflepuff boy, who gasped and flushed, saying nothing but blushing deeper when Oliver chuckled.

They were out much longer than Harry had been expecting; twilight had fallen on the empty pitch when they finally packed up the crate and Oliver walked the two of them back to the Entrance Hall.

"See you tomorrow, Ollie, yeah?" Finlay asked cheerfully. Harry had found that he liked the younger boy once he actually began speaking to Harry instead of only staring at him in nervous silence.

"Course," Oliver responded, reaching out a hand to ruffle his younger brother's hair affectionately.

"What about you, Harry?" Finlay asked as he ducked Oliver's hand. "Will you be there?"

At the question, Harry hesitated, not wanting to agree quickly as he did earlier only to further upset Draco.

"Please?" Finlay's voice was pleading and uncertain and Harry remembered how he had felt the days before his first Quidditch match.

"Possibly," he said cautiously. "I'll find one of you tomorrow and let you know, all right?"

"All right then, Harry," Finlay sounded slightly disappointed. "See you guys," he waved and went back inside, leaving Harry and Oliver alone in the torchlight.

"That was fun, flying together again," Oliver turned to face him, "You should definitely come tomorrow."

"It was fun," Harry nodded. "Although, I did sort of miss the absence of one of your famous maniacal speeches."

"Would you like one?" Oliver laughed. "I still have them memorized by heart."

"So do I." The corners of Harry's lips twitched.

"I'll definitely see you Saturday at the game, right?" Oliver stepped closer to Harry, who took an automatic step back, an action he hadn't realized he'd made until he saw Oliver's frown in the torchlight.

A Quidditch match. God, Harry hadn't been to a match in ages. Playing the sport earlier had brought back some of the excitement he had once felt on the pitch. Surely he could convince Draco to attend with him; they could invite Zabini and drag Parkinson along. They would sit in some neutral stand, maybe with the Hufflepuffs, and maybe they could sit in the very back and Harry could hold Draco's hand as they watched the game, and Harry already knew that he would end up watching the blond far more than the game, but that was okay because Draco really was beautiful and Harry missed him.

"Yeah, sure, Oliver. I'll see you there and I'll let you know about tomorrow." Harry took several steps further back and lifted a hand in farewell.

"Goodnight, then, Harry," Oliver's eyes glittered in the starry purple of the deepening twilight.

Harry turned from the sight. "Night, Oliver," he called over his shoulder, as he hurried inside and up to the dorm to fetch the Map. Now that he was back inside the castle, his focus was once more on Draco. Where would the blond be? It was much later than Harry had initially thought. The corridors were mostly empty, most students having long retreated to their common rooms or dorms for the night. Harry ignored the dull ache in his shoulder as he jogged up the stairs to the room he shared with Ron. Once inside, he glanced down at himself and immediately made the decision to take a quick shower.

Once he was clean and changed and smelled much nicer, he glanced at the Map for several moments before spying Draco's dot in Snape's old office once again. The journey down to the dungeons was swift and largely incident-free. The door to the office had been left unlocked, something Harry changed the moment he was on the other side.

Draco lay on Snape's desk with his robes folded under his head like a pillow and half his shirt unbuttoned. His tie lay pooled several inches away in a silky green puddle and his thin legs were bent at the knees. The wand between his pale fingers was held like a cigarette, and Harry watched in fascination as Draco rhythmically flicked the wand every few seconds, sending colored smoke rings out of the tip. His eyes snapped onto Harry and his wand dropped. "How was Wood?" he asked casually.

"Fine," Harry shrugged and immediately flinched. Fucking idiot, he thought savagely as his shoulder burned at the careless movement.

Draco sat up and peered at him carefully. "Are you all right, Potter?"

Harry caught himself just before he shrugged again and nodded instead. "My shoulder's a bit sore is all." He rotated his left shoulder and grimaced, slowing his movements at the dull throb. Maybe Pomphrey could give him some sort of pain relieving potion in the morning.

Draco hopped off the desk and took a few steps closer, looking concerned. "Which shoulder?" he asked as he steered Harry into a chair.

"Erm, my left, but I mean really, it's fine, I don't think…" the words of protest trailed off into a deep groan as Malfoy began massaging the knot of muscles between Harry's shoulder and neck. His fingers were brilliant, Harry decided as he let out another moan. His head dropped onto the desk in front of him and he lost track of the time as he focused on the feel of Draco's lovely, wonderful fingers kneading away the stiffness in his muscles.

"Merlin, Harry, you are tense, aren't you?" The blond's voice slid over Harry's skin like smooth velvet.

"Only when you're not around," he murmured, breathing in sharply as Malfoy dug into a particularly taut bundle of muscle. "I missed you." The fingers stilled for a moment and Harry felt lips press into the skin at the back of his neck.

"I missed you too, Harry," Draco breathed.

But the next moment he stepped back and Harry felt a chill at the loss. Until Malfoy spoke. "Take off your shirt and lie down on the desk." The surface against his forehead quivered and changed and he raised his head in curiosity to see that Draco had transfigured the large rectangular desktop into something much softer and more comfortable. Wanting to fully test the comfort, Harry hastened to comply, sighing as he peeled off his shirt and stretched out on his stomach on the newly transfigured surface before Malfoy straddled his hips and his talented fingers began the massage anew.

"So what did you and Wood talk about?" the voice above him asked conversationally.

Harry removed his glasses and closed his eyes, lowering his cheek to the transfigured bed and relaxing. "Oh, Quidditch and his career for a bit," he mumbled. Draco's hands were amazing and Harry was fairly certain he was using magic because it felt brilliant. "His brother's not a bad Chaser." Draco hummed and deepened the massage as Harry's groans grew louder. "Fuck, Draco, that feels incredible."

"Blaise gives incredible massages," Draco informed him and Harry felt a twinge of jealousy. Was that something else the two Slytherins had practiced together? "Maybe you shouldn't have turned down his offer to rub your shoulder for you." His hands slid lower along the muscles of Harry's back.

"I don't want him touching me." Harry's breath hitched as Draco's fingers ghosted over his sides.

"So who do you want touching you?" Draco mused, bending to press a kiss between the shoulder blades beneath him.

"Only you," Harry arched into the touch. Hands slid down his back, settling on his waist and turning him over, and then they were kissing and Malfoy's shirt had been completely unbuttoned and tossed somewhere. He was sitting directly on Harry's hips and it felt fucking amazing when he rocked forward like that and Harry had never wanted the blond more than he did right then but he stilled as Draco fumbled with the button and zipper on his jeans.

"What is it?" Draco panted as Harry's fingers encircled the Slytherin's wrists, halting his attempts at fully exposing him.

"I dunno, isn't it weird and sort of wrong to do this in Snape's office? On his desk?" Harry felt as if Snape's spirit could see them and was currently glaring down at him in otherworldly spectral detest for his most loathed student tainting his office and memory with the defilement of his favorite pupil.

"Maybe a bit," Draco admitted, "but I need you, Harry."

Harry looked up at him in surprise. Draco needed him? Did anyone still need him anymore? "Need me?" he pondered aloud. Needed his what? His name, his money, his fame, his power? Needed him to throw himself recklessly into a dangerous situation with only a simple hope he would come out alive? Needed him to be the face of a generation? The poster child for justice and mercy and benevolence and love? Needed him to be the vanquisher of Malfoy's demons? Needed him to once more be a shield between evil and the world? Needed him to once again offer himself up as a sacrifice? Play the martyr? Did the world see him in any other terms? Wasn't that all he was good for? Suffering and dying? Harry didn't know how to be needed by anyone. Ginny had never needed him, not in the way that Draco's eyes were telling Harry it was true. He felt lightheaded. Draco fucking Malfoy needed him.

And maybe it wasn't Harry Potter that he needed. Maybe it was just Harry. Maybe for the first time, he would truly be allowed to be just Harry. Ever since he had set foot in the wizarding world, he had been Harry Potter: the Boy-Who-Lived. Even with Ron and Hermione, in ways. They had both met him knowing exactly who he was. Hell, they had both met him knowing so much more about his own life than he himself had. He had been Harry Potter to them first—the Boy-Who-Fucking-Lived.

With a start, he realized that Draco had been the first wizard he had spoken to that had not known who he was. After Hagrid, Malfoy had been the first in the unfamiliar magical world that he had made some sort of connection with, albeit a rather unpleasant one.

And now Draco Malfoy needed him. He needed him in the exact same way that Harry needed him now, which was always. He would always need the blond and always love him and only Draco could make Harry's heart pound fiercely like this and make the blood boil in his veins. Draco had changed everything; he had changed Harry so fundamentally that the black-haired teen could hardly recall what he had been without Draco—he knew that it hadn't been much.

"I need you too, Draco." He yanked the Slytherin down to meet him in a brief kiss, pulling back just enough to whisper, "I love you," against his lips.

Draco moaned and melted into the kiss for a moment before pulling back to stare Harry in the eye. "Fuck me, Harry," he whispered.

Harry's breath hitched. Fuck him? Now? It didn't sound like a horrible idea, but Harry knew he had reasons, good reasons, for hesitating. Hmm, something to do with homework, maybe? But no, Harry had finished his homework. Mostly. No, it was something about detention? Maybe for not completing his homework? But Harry hadn't gotten detention since sixth year. Since Snape.

Fuck! Snape!

With the reminder of the greasy-haired Potions master, the sallow specter of the dead professor rushed back into the forefront of Harry's mind. Knowing what he knew about Snape and his mother, it was just too fucking weird to think of their first time happening here.

"We can't, Draco," he declined haltingly. "I want to!" Draco's eyes flashed hurt and he hastened to continue. "But not here! I can't do that, in here…it feels like Snape is watching, you know?" He glanced around uneasily as though expecting Snape to jump out and start deducting House points.

"Yeah, all right," Draco sighed. "I suppose this really isn't the place, is it?" He slid off Harry and both boys sat up. Harry swung one leg up to lay it on the desk before pulling the blond into the v of his body, tucking one pale shoulder against his chest and resting his chin on it.

"Besides, I want our first time to be…special, you know?" Harry confessed, staring determinedly at Malfoy's hair and not meeting his eye. "I want it to be somewhere that we don't have to rush or leave to separate dorms afterward. I want us to be able to spend the entire night together."

Draco smiled and kissed the tip of Harry's nose lightly. "My very own Gryffindor romantic," he sighed fondly.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry flushed. Was he being too sentimental? Was that not something that Draco wanted as well?

But Draco cupped his cheek and kissed between his eyebrows and murmured, "I love it. I love you. I love that you want it to be special because that's what I want, too." Harry nuzzled into Draco's touch and sighed. Of course it would be special.

They stayed like that for a while, Draco stroking Harry's face and hair, whispering the occasional endearment and returning the small declarations of love. Harry's eyes were closed and his arms were tight around Malfoy's warm body and he felt more relaxed than he could ever remember feeling as he sat there drawing slow breaths, for once completely content.

"It's late," Draco finally spoke. "We should probably go." Harry nodded but made no other movement.

Jolting, he caught himself as Draco slid suddenly from the table to stand beside him. "Come along, Potter," Malfoy cooed, as he helped Harry to his feet. "Walk me to my dorm, yes?"

Smiling, Harry wrapped an arm around his waist and happily obliged. Once they arrived at the dungeons, his chivalry was rewarded with a long and passionate goodnight kiss—one that left Harry feeling as if he was still high in the air, swooping through the clouds on a broomstick.

He stumbled up to his bed and dreamt of pale skin and blond hair.