Colin Jaz McVicar was the highest authority on dimensional planes and the creatures who exist and crossed between those planes. Unsurprising, the strange man was one of said beings. He existed in another realm simultaneously to the one everyone was currently inhabiting. He appeared to be in his late thirties. His white wavy hair was cut shoulder length and was stark contrast against his golden skin. He wore dark framed, narrow glasses, black lipstick and had the odd habit of nerding out in rants of information while humming obscure muggle music.
Severus, who just spent the last forty-five minutes with Jaz in his office explaining the situation, looked ready to throw him through a window. Preferably one connected to a tall tower. They were all currently standing around Snape’s desk. Harry watched from a corner while Jaz tried to explain what they needed to do next.
Harry didn’t exist with Jaz on any of the planes he was on but he didn’t doubt the man was within more than one. He could see a golden glow coming off Jaz, especially when viewed through the fifth plane where magic and Malfoy were easily recognized. Considering where the light flowed, Jaz probably had a tail and was much taller than his average height seen.
Although Harry was certain Jaz couldn’t see him, at the same time, he seemed to have Draco’s odd ability to know when he was near. His stare would point in Harry’s direction whenever he stood close enough. Harry had walked through Jaz a few times and startled the both of them from the odd sensation. Eventually Jaz insisted he stop and started babbling about energy switching while flipping through his never ending notebook.
“Now, Mr. Malfoy, you claim you have actual physical contact with Mr. Potter through the sharing of one plane. And this has been demonstrated, along with Mr. Potter’s interaction with a phoenix. Now, given that there are at least ten, and not the previously thought seven planes phoenixes dwell in, I feel focusing on Mr. Malfoy’s plane would be the fastest way to connect with Mr. Potter and then pull him back.”
“Is it that simple?” Draco asked, doubtful. “He said he ended up scattered from a huge explosion of magic and strewn across dimensions.”
Jaz nodded and riffled through his notes again. “Yes. Yes, but I have a suspicion Mr. Potter has always dwelt in at least one other plane besides ours. I know for a fact Tom Riddle, the fallen Dark Lord, did. I saw the spell first hand he used to cross the dimensions. Considering how Riddle fell and Potter didn’t suggests to me Potter may have always been in these five planes. Deeply embedded like yourself and I in our own, just never viewed from his current location… Which suggests he may be something a bit different than what we first thought… But what that could be, who is to say as long as…” Jaz looked up and met the confused expressions with his own confusion.
“You are rambling,” Severus snapped, his eyebrows knitted darkly. “Again. What must we do?”
Jaz pushed his glasses up his nose with a practiced move and tossed his notes aside on Snape’s desk. “Right. We must locate the dimension he’s in. First thing’s first. If you’re correct and he’s unraveling, specifically on the plane he shares with Mr. Malfoy, then that is the most important dimension to find. Again, it is just speculation at this point, but I believe his loss of connection with our world has ungrounded him. He’s in a limbo of sorts and although likely quite belonging where he is, without an anchor here he cannot sustain for too long. I’ve seen this actually with…”
Severus raised his hand to cut him off. “How do we find the dimension?”
Jaz waved his hand at Draco, his black talons glinting in the light. It was if he already explained it and was waiting for everyone to catch up. Confusion again flashed across his face when no one seemed to understand and Jaz went again for his notes.
Severus reached over and firmly took the book from his hands. “Mr. McVicar.”
“Jaz,” he corrected. He pushed his glasses again into place and stared up bemusedly at Severus’s stern expression.
Severus sighed in annoyance and his frown grew. “Mr. McVicar, what must we do with Draco’s help to find the dimension?”
“I will need his blood. A lot.” Jaz smiled and revealed sharp, pointed teeth. Draco shivered in response. “Also, a complete intake of his genetic history might alleviate a bit of that, depending if the dimension is already known. They’re like fingerprints, dimensions. Very similar, side by side and infinite in amount. It takes a lot to actually pin point exact ones, and even more difficult to entrench yourself once you do find it. But with the right spells, the right anchors…”
Harry stepped up to Draco while Jaz started another tangent. He placed a hand on his shoulder in show of support. Draco, naturally, threw him off. Malfoy was far less accommodating when other people were around, Harry was figuring out. He suspected it had to do with all the teasing tickling he inflicted in McGonagall’s class. Harry couldn’t feel the least bit sorry for it considering the results of said teasing afterwards.
He considered a moment and held Draco’s hand instead. Draco stiffened for a moment and then relaxed when Harry did nothing else. Maybe Ron and Hermione had something to it by not being so aggressive. It seemed stupid they didn’t think he was treating Draco like a person… but then, he couldn’t really remember how people were around each other.
Touching Draco because he could actually touch him seemed totally natural, if not obvious. That he hadn’t cared much if Draco wanted to be touched probably was a problem. Probably. He wasn’t certain Draco didn’t want to be touched no matter all his loud complaints. Actually, he was pretty certain he did and Harry was a lot of difficulty discerning the difference.
Jaz was saying something again after he finally and calmly wrested his notebook back from an irate Severus. “I understand your beast inheritance has not been awoken, Mr. Malfoy. Was that something you were considering to help in this process?”
“No,” Severus spoke up before Draco could answer. “Let him stay human.”
“Severus, I do believe you do not like what I am,” Jaz mused, looking him over as he peered up from his notes. Severus just raised an eyebrow brow, not denying or confirming. “Mr. Malfoy is no more human than myself; he just looks it. I look it, when I choose to. I’m sure Mr. Potter could be quite descriptive in just how non-human our glowing friend here is,” he said as he waved at Draco again.
“I can see some, such as the glow because my eyes and other senses are connected to my other dimension. Magic is a very visual experience there. From what I can gather, Mr. Malfoy’s sense of physical self through touch is in his dimension, along with his sense of smell and taste. Sight and hearing seem to be missing but that could change if he’s woken up. Having someone actually able to see Mr. Potter might be useful, wouldn’t you agree?”
“No,” Severus repeated. His was voice flat and left little room for discussion. “We will do without seeing Mr. Potter. Draco is not an experiment; he is someone caught up in all this. As his Head of House, it is my responsibility to make sure he is not exploited.”
“Exploited? You really don’t like me.” Jaz started flipping through his notes. He idly hummed to himself and completely ignored the glower sent his way. “Mr. Potter, do you have anything to add to our discussion, seeing as Mr. Malfoy has been spoken for?”
Harry raised his brows. No one bothered to get a quill and paper for him. “Er. You can’t hear me, can you?” he asked hesitantly. Given the silence, that was a no. He pulled at Draco’s hand when no one seemed willing to actually assist in him talking.
Draco blinked in his general direction, his brows furrowed for a moment. Harry rolled his eyes. He placed Draco’s hand to his head and nodded emphatically until he understood he wanted to talk.
“Ah, I need a quill.” Draco looked at his professor expectantly. Severus seemed relieved for something to do besides glare at the man infringing in his office. Odd to Harry, considering although a bit talkative, Jaz was fairly fun, not to mention helpful.
Draco sat at Harry’s urging and picked up a quill. Staring a moment at Draco’s bowed head, Harry bent down and wrapped an arm around his chest. He was getting used to the way Draco gasped and grew warm in response. Because Draco wanted him to touch him. Harry reached out his hand, grasped Draco’s, and stole a moment to stare at him from the side while Draco’s eyes fixed on the paper before him. Except silver quickly turned his way when Draco felt his breath so close. He really needed to stop breathing so much.
You mentioned waking Malfoy’s genetics up could help him sense more. What about me? If I’m in multiple dimensions like you think, would waking up my genetics help the situation?
Jaz hummed and notes again flipped. He sat on the side of Severus’s desk and missed the glare sent his way. “I was considering something like that, Mr. Potter, but the reality is, I can’t reach you to wake you up. Mr. Malfoy could through appropriate spells, but it would certainly require him to be woken for it, which is not an option.”
“Would it fix him?” Draco asked quietly. “I’d be willing, if it saved him.” Harry peered around so he could see his expression but Draco ducked his head.
This time Jaz held his hand up to interrupt Severus’s oncoming rant. “There is no guarantee. It’s never been done before, to my knowledge. Mr. Potter’s situation is unique because usually one does not cross dimensions unless one is made for it to begin with. Most in his situation ended up there from their own neglect in spellwork and…”
Severus cleared his throat, his long fingers tapping to keep the man from rambling again. “What would the likelihood be, Mr. McVicar, of Potter being saved by transforming?”
“Ah. I don’t honestly know.” Jaz turned and casually leaned his hip on the desk. He placed his notebook flat on the surface to page through and stopped to read a line. “We don’t know what Potter is, do we? No… Really, do we?” he asked as he blinked up at Severus.
“No. He said he is dark to see, with light cracking through his skin.”
“And that could just be signs of his poor condition, not even his actual form,” Jaz hummed. “Waking him up while still in limbo could possibly do harm. Or good. Like I said, it’s a unique case. It would be best to approach in the most known way and find the dimension.”
“So, how much blood are we talking about here?” Draco asked nervously.
“Oh, a few pints or so. Maybe more. No more than half of what you have.”
“Mr. McVicar!” Snape snarled as his hands slammed on his desk. “That would kill him!”
Still riffling through notes, Jaz didn’t bother to look up. “Severus, I have been clear. I prefer to be called Jaz.”
Harry was fairly certain Snape reached his hexing point. He’d never seen Snape attempt to bodily harm someone, but apparently Jaz was just too much for his quiet sensibilities of potions and solitude.
“I was wondering when it was going to come to this,” Jaz mused lightly. His eyes raised from his notes as Severus grabbed him by his collar. “Is it my glasses? Too hipster for you? No, you wouldn’t know that term.”
It wasn’t helping. Severus dragged him up and pulled Jaz towards the door. “You will not drain my student of his blood.”
“The lipstick, I think. You know, I get a lot of crap for the lipstick, but it’s really just the natural color of my lips.” Severus opened the door and Jaz stared out into the hallway. He raised his white eyebrows, and his blue eyes meeting very black, very angry eyes. “Well? Think you have it in you?”
Harry burst out laughing. Draco sighed in dismay when Snape gave a ferocious growl and shoved Jaz toward the hall. It didn’t work. Jaz planted in place and was suddenly very tall as the potions master leaned over in attempt to push him out.
In what could only be described as graceful, Jaz fluidly spun Severus, set him in his chair, and shut the door to the classroom where he leaned against it. Transformed, he was tall and narrow with a long, cat like tail that flicked languidly against the door. Jaz studied his claws and let Snape calm down. “Mr. Malfoy, the blood would not be all at once, of course. Ideally, we would find Mr. Potter before reaching such a volume, but I do not like to mince words when it comes to the things needed to sacrifice.”
Draco didn’t reply. He was too busy staring at Severus’s confused, dazed face. Severus was holding his head in both hands while hunched forward in his chair like he was going to be sick.
“Don’t mind him. It happens from time to time. He should be okay in about fifteen minutes.” Jaz reached for his notebook once again. “The energy creatures like us give off just rattles some people. It makes them a bit irrational at times. Volatile. Likely why your Mr. Potter was always getting into so many fights.”
Harry raised his brows at that. How he remembered thing, most of those fights were with Malfoy, who was apparently another creature.
Do unwoken creatures tend to react to each other?
“Oh my, yes. It’s usually how they wake up. Bit too much energy… mix some bloodlust in there. We’re all just animals at the end of the day.”
Draco slid his gaze toward Harry, his silver eyes a bit hazy. “Always violent, or maybe sometimes just, um, lust?”
Jaz grinned wickedly, his sharp teeth again making an appearance as he flipped through pages. “I would avoid sex with another creature, if that is your concern. Many wake up that way.”
“So there might be a drive, then?” Draco gnawed on his lip and looked determinedly away from Harry’s direction.
“Mmm, most assuredly. Usually initiated by scent, sometimes blood, too.” As if he just heard himself, Jaz glanced up and met Draco’s gaze. “You may not want to be so close that you can smell him. Scent can be a rather dangerous game.”
Draco swallowed and shifted forward from Harry’s embrace. The back of his neck turned red. “But, they’re not all the same. Not everyone is going to, uh, respond, right? He might not even be anything like me.”
“Oh, he’s something. Same dimension, with intense power and strength. Tell me, would you say he’s possessive at all?”
I’m right bloody here, you know. Harry scrawled. Jaz and Draco’s eyes drifted to the page but neither bothered to address him.
“Definitely relentless,” Draco said with lashes lowered. “Entitled, like he just expects agreement. Bold, with no sense of personal boundaries at all.”
“That does sound like the type. Jealous?”
“Yes. He seems to be intent to make sure other’s know just how bloody close he can get to me.”
It’s the only way to show I’m here.
“Bullshit. You grabbed me in the Great Hall just to show them you could,” Draco snapped. “Licked me right up my neck. Who the hell does that?”
Harry glared and then shrugged. He nuzzled into Draco’s neck and fanned hot breath on his skin. “Yeah, so who the fuck cares? Not like you don’t like it.” He was fairly certain Draco fucking loved it, given the way his pulse increased and body tightened and then relaxed into him.
“It sounds like he’s chasing you,” Jaz spoke slowly, his eyes tight to where Draco’s hair was shifting. “Might be, he even thinks he’s caught you, which would explain his lack of the more competitive, aggressive behaviors. There’s no competition on his particular plane.”
“Oh, we used to fight all the goddamn time when he was visible,” Draco said shakily. He tried to throw Harry off his shoulder and failed. “Competed in quidditch to the point of a lot of bloody fist fights—Potter, I am fucking warning you,” Draco growled.
Harry just smirked and kissed his neck again. He let his teeth slide over the sensitive flesh. “Hey, you’re the one ignoring me.”
Jaz raised a brow, his notes discarded on the table. “Has he ever fought over you, not just with you?”
Draco went to shake his head and then stopped. “Once, I think.”
“Mr. Potter? Have you?” Jaz asked as he looked in Harry’s general direction.
“Oh, so now everyone cares what I think.” Anthony Holt called him a death eater in training and I beat his face in. Harry wrote out.
“I was thinking about Boyle, actually,” Draco muttered.
Ah. I could see how you might think that.
“Because he tried to kiss me…”
Shouldn’t have done it in front of me.
“It was just a fucking game,” Draco snapped.
So is quidditch and I fucking own in that too.
“You arrogant, bullheaded piece of shit…”
Jaz snorted loudly. “Well it doesn’t get much clearer than that. I would recommend some space if you’re serious about staying human. You two are a damn powder keg.”
“I’ve been trying to get space but the bloody bastard won’t give it!” Draco snarled and attempted to pull himself from Harry’s arms when both suddenly wrapped around him tight.
Harry pushed forward and trapped Draco against his chest instead of the chair back. “Maybe if you would stop moaning every time I breathe on you, I’d be more willing to give you space.” Although, even then he probably wouldn’t. He’d try pull said noises from Draco in other ways.
“I think the first thing we need to do is make you a proper pen. This,” Jaz indicated Draco’s flustered form as he tried to free himself, “Is not helping matters.”
Draco nodded quickly, then yelped as Harry nipped his neck. “He can touch things that hold enough magic.”
“Maybe we could wrap you in some sort of barrier? So that he can’t… He does not seem happy about that idea, does he?” Jaz hummed as Harry began to scrawl furiously with Draco’s hand.
Are you fucking serious? I haven’t had physical contact with another human being in nearly a year and you want to
“Malfoy!” Harry growled when Draco slammed his free hand down on the quill.
“Potter, you will compromise and acknowledge some fucking boundaries, or I’m putting a barrier up and keeping it up.”
Glaring at the very determined look in Draco’s eyes, Harry slowly relaxed his hold around his torso.
“More,” Draco insisted.
I won’t be able to write if I let go.
“Do I look like I give a fuck?”
You look like you want to be fucked, you sexy prat.
“Son of a—You are so fucking dead!” Harry realized very quickly although Draco couldn’t punch through the chair to get at him, he was more than willing to grab him by the hair and shove him to the ground.
Jaz waited patiently. He seemed unperturbed Draco was fighting an invisible force and kicking the ground ferociously. “Careful, Mr. Malfoy. He won’t fight you back and he’s already damaged.”
“It’s Potter; of course he’ll fight back,” Draco snarled.
“Not anymore. Considering your description, he’s going to be clingy, aggressive, and absolutely yielding to anything you want. Except space, because he likely can’t help himself.”
Draco stopped his vindictive kicking when he realized although Harry was blocking his feet very well, he wasn’t actually lashing back. “I thought you didn’t know what he was?” He asked, his face flushed as he sat back down.
“Still don’t. This is more identifying common behavioral traits in beasts. The same way you’re showing the common signs of pursuit through hot and cold behavior, luring attention and then pushing away…”
“Bloody am not!”
Jaz tilted his head. “And likely making things very interesting, if not confusing for our invisible friend here.”
Harry sat up and licked his bloodied hand. “Fucking knew it, Malfoy. You’re a bloody fucking tease.”
“Ridiculous. Luring… I didn’t even know he was here until yesterday!”
Harry grabbed Draco’s hand and waited for him to grudgingly pick up the quill.
Draco scowled and refused to speak.
You Want Me.
“Potter, I will wake up Snape so fucking fast, you won’t even understand how strong his protection spell will be!”
Jaz looked over at Severus, who had slipped from dazed into sleep at some point during the commotion. “That can’t be good. He must be particularly sensitive. Troubling, considering all the help I’m going to need from his potion work.” He pushed his glasses back from their slipped location and went to his bag across the room. “Alright gentlemen, I think it’s time we wrap this up. Mr. Potter, I will be taking some of Mr. Malfoy’s blood and I ask you be calm about it.”
Harry glanced up from where he was watching Draco’s emotions swiftly shift across his face while he kept reading the last line left on the page. He seriously doubted he was going to flip out over Draco getting a damn needle in the arm… Harry saw the wicked blade in Jaz’s hand and without any thought, pulled Draco up over the chair backward and across the room.
“It only looks gruesome, I promise,” Jaz said lightly. “The spell does the slicing and collecting. I just enchanted a weapon so no one would confuse it for something else.”
“Potter, you’re being ridiculous,” Draco muttered but Harry could see his was pale in fear.
“If you want, you can hold him steady. But it’s not going to hurt.” With a swift, fluid motion, Jaz crossed the room and pressed the blade to Draco’s inner arm.
Harry and Draco both stared. Draco went stiff in fear but not in pain. A container in Jaz’s hand swiftly filled with dark, deoxygenated blood and the blade was removed. Draco was left to stare blankly at the small drops of red left on his arm. Harry ran his finger over the fluid as he sought the wound, only to have the blood stick to his fingertips.
“Look at that.” Jaz hummed when he could see some shape to one of Harry’s fingers as the blood wrapped around his flesh. “Hardly a longterm solution, but you could just cover him in some of your blood.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so.” Draco wasn’t about to split his veins open just so he could see Harry.
“Alright, off with you. I need to fix your grumpy professor here and get this potion going. We should have some answers within the week. Hopefully.” Jaz waved them away and his eyes again strayed to his notebook. He left blood and blade on Snape’s desk as he looked something up. Harry had to wonder how long the strange man was going to let Severus sleep before he remembered to wake him.
Alone with Harry back in his bedroom, Draco found himself uncomfortable. Although Harry didn’t attempt to touch him beyond his hand to show he made it in the door, Draco felt edgy and flustered. He was expecting him to at any moment.
Partly, Draco wanted to ask Harry a million damn questions, many of them concerning just what the fuck he wanted from him. But that would involve the quill and the extreme closeness. Draco didn’t think he could handle that in his current state while alone with no other people to interrupt.
He missed lunch, barely ate breakfast and was not really in the mood for dinner even though it was the right time for it. Draco decided to catch up on some homework since he was extremely behind in most of his classes. He tried for as long as he could as his eyelids grew heavy and revealed just how difficult it was for him to concentrate. He kept trying to feel Harry’s presence but he was tucked away somewhere and wasn’t making himself known.
He dozed. Draco nodded awake to a dimly lit room and a full bladder. There was a spell in place to lower the lights during sleeping hours. He stumbled around his desk, careful not to knock his books from the surface as he made his way to the bathroom. Blearily he stripped and swayed in the tiled room after he dried his hands. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to shower or just go straight to bed. He’d have to wake up early to shower in the morning and that sounded miserable.
Hands touched his shoulders in the dim light, warm compared to the chill dungeon air. With a shiver, Draco didn’t resist when Harry pressed his hot body up against his back and held him lightly. “Thought I told you to stay out of my loo,” he murmured sleepily. Harry’s hands moved around his waist and with palms flat, pushed up his sides. “Oh.”
Harry bent his head against Draco’s neck, and spoke something he couldn’t make out beside it being ticklish. Draco’s gaze drifted down with nothing to focus on. He could feel Harry tremble behind him; his chest heaved as if he just ran and his pulse fluttered in the fingers digging in to his sides. “Potter, are you…? Oh, hell.” Draco’s eyes fluttered shut. He shifted so Harry had better access to his neck as hot, open mouthed kisses rained down.
This was very much a bad idea. Draco remembered the words Harry wrote while in Snape’s office. They were very true words, which made them extra dangerous. He wanted Harry. He wanted Harry to want him, take him, fill him. Right now, half asleep with Harry rubbing strong, unsteady hands over him, he couldn’t remember why it was a bad idea.
Draco arched back with a loud gasp when Harry’s hands moved up his flat stomach and chest. His hands slid down and fingers dragged wonderful friction with every inch. Harry stopped right above his boxers, his fingertips brushing to prove if he went lower, there would be no fabric to stop him. His fingers splayed wider and Harry hands moved slightly to the sides before he palmed up his body again. His touch was slow and so heated, Draco could only moan. Fingers teased around his nipples and squeezed, and fire tingled all the way down to his toes.
It was quiet. Draco’s uneven pants were broken by soft, aching cries that echoed in the dim bathroom. There was the light scrape of flesh on flesh as Harry rubbed his palms down and dared lower. Draco watched unseeing as fingers ran over the front of his hips and caressed his soft flesh stretched over hard bone. Harry moved lower to the tops of his trembling thighs. His large hands wrapped possessively as he stopped and again bit fingers in to indent Draco’s flesh.
“Harry.” Draco exhaled as the world spun. He could feel the unmistakable press of Harry’s erection against his ass. His eyes closed and Draco’s head fell back to land on the wide shoulder behind him. Soft hair tickled against his ear. Harry turned his face and kissed him slowly, deeply, until Draco knees grew weak. Harry’s hands moved to his hips again and held him up. He rubbed small circles on his flesh while Draco quaked.
“Oh, god… hell. Potter, please stop. I-I can’t stop.” Harry pressed up against him and ground his hard length between his ass cheeks. Draco was certain if he just moved a small inch or so, it would be up against his hole, stretch into him, claim him. It would be, god, so good. It would be so, so fucking good. “Please… have to stop,” he moaned even as he pressed back into the delicious sensation.
A low rumble tore through Harry’s chest. Cold suddenly hit his back when Harry stepped away, his large hands holding Draco’s shoulders hard to keep him from falling. Draco swayed with head bowed forward and gasps shaking him.
Harry’s hands felt like steel and his breath scalded as it hit the back of his neck in harsh pants. Harry pushed him forward, step after step. Draco raised his hands to catch the cool tile before his head touched against it. “Stop,” he whispered. He closed his eyes and rested his face on the wall. His hard cock jolted from the cold feel of the tile through his fabric barrier.
Rough, forceful hands pressed to Draco’s back, moved over his shoulders and shoulder blades, grasped and massaged and rubbed into him as if trying to ingrain his touch into his muscles. Down, over his back and lower, the curve of his spine and up his sides again, fingers dragged, and short nails scratched. “Oh, fuck… fuck, Harry.” Lower still, they grabbed Draco’s hips, fingers splayed over his ass, thumbs dug in and pressed firm as Harry cupped his cheeks and pushed him forward. “Oh, god. Please.”
The hands found his thighs, grabbed the thick, tense muscles and spread them wide. Harry kicked Draco’s feet as the side of a hand pressed against his crack and pushed in and brushed his hole. Draco jerked forward into the cool tile and cried out. His entire body tensed as Harry turned his hand and touched fingertips ever so lightly against his tight entrance. Draco sobbed from the soft touch. Sweat dripped down his face and he spread his legs wider in anticipation.
Harry roughly turned him, pushed him back against the tile and kissed him hard and demanding. Draco did everything he could not beg for more, to not turn and bend and beg Harry to finish what he started. Instead he threw his arms around his neck and clung the best he could while Harry kissed and nipped down his throat, his hot breath exploding in fast bursts. Harry’s hands moved over his sides possessively and his hips rubbed his hard burning cock into Draco’s. Draco spread again and lifted his knee up the side of Harry’s strong thigh. Harry grabbed his leg, pulled it up higher with a wrench and ground against Draco’s tight body. Just as abruptly, he shakily pushed away.
Harry was gone. His body heat and presence disappeared to leave Draco cold and confused. Trembling, Draco moaned. His knees gave out and he slipped down the wall onto the floor in a heap.
“Damn it… fucking damn it.” His head bowed down as Draco gasped. Sweat dripped down his face and his body was so fucking tight and aching he didn’t know how he wasn’t on fire. He felt like char left on the floor. He buried his face in his hands and felt the saliva drip down his chin. He followed with his hands, over his jaw, down his throat with hard, dragging fingers as he groaned. “Fuck!”
Fucking Potter. God, how the fuck was he supposed to ever touch that mean bitch after this? Bear a child with her? Fuck. A turkey baster had a better fucking chance.
Draco’s hands were on his thighs and through his boxers before he even realized it. One moved down to grasp his painfully hard dick and the other pushed fingers and roughly probed into the heat inside his aching hole. He didn’t care he was loud. His moans echoed as he bucked on the floor and wished it could be Harry fucking him instead of his narrow fingers.
He came with something near a scream. His head slammed back against the tile, body tingled, blood roared in his ears as red flashed behind his eyes.
He was so fucked. So impossibly begging for it, on his knees, fucked. God damn fucking Potter for ruining his fucking life.
Fox’s leg wouldn’t stop jumping. Ever since he saw Vince look like a fucking zombie yet seemed moments from bursting into tears, he couldn’t settle down. Except when Vincent smelled like he was seconds from tears, he looked like he was going to break all the muscles in his body all at once instead. Fuck… Fuck.
He was trying to stay away from Vincent, just he needed to allow his fox whatever the fuck it needed to keep from losing its mind. This was new territory for him. Sure, he had plenty of crushes growing up, and yeah, fine, he was a bit of a fucking bleeding heart for anything wounded and needing a shoulder to cry on. It didn’t help Vincent was fucking hot when he was moments from shattering into a million pieces.
Damn it, his fox was all fucked up. Seriously, he shouldn’t be thinking weird shit like that. It was weird shit.
Fox’s leg continued to bounce. He felt Forest’s eyes slip his way, his eyebrow raised in concern.
Raider was holed up in the room he shared with Forest. He outright refused to take any class involving magic, and fuck, that just made him want to learn magic even more. He was so sick of this shit. He hadn’t even realized how much he was fighting until Raider started spewing all his paranoid, discriminatory bullshit. Forest was definitely bearing the brunt of it; Raider actually went so far as to ask Forest to bring him his meals. Forest, naturally, told him he was going to starve before he brought crumbs into his room.
Forest wasn’t doing well. Fox wasn’t sure just what the hell Raider was doing to him, but his submissive sex scent was not meshing well with the feline heat thing. Forest started asking to hang in Chris and Will’s room if only to get away from it. Considering how Wylie and Dorian were still going at it all the time, the tree room was getting a bit crowded.
Fox sighed. Maybe that was the only reason he was jumping out of his skin right now. The place reeked of sex and tensions were tight. Being cooped up during winter was always one lingering glance away from being a fuck fest for a shifter, and he was really trying to blame his mood on that.
Except Vincent hadn’t returned from his impromptu trip to see Dr. Rob, and Fox couldn’t get the vision of his haunted silver eyes out of his mind.
The same pull he felt when Raider knocked into Vincent was hitting him again, hard. Each minute felt like a fucking eternity, and his nerves were fraying more and more. Vince walked out of there like a robot, like he was half dead and the more Fox remembered it, the more he wondered just how Vince looked at death. Some people, it was pretty damn clear they wanted to be alive. They were in their lives, talking to people, doing their hobbies, bitching about their jobs. What the fuck did Vince do beside everything laid out in front of him by the Academy masters? He barely talked to anyone. He barely had a damn spark in his eyes except when he was annoying the fuck out of him…
His leg gave a final bounce and Fox jumped up from his seat. Master Theodore stopped mid sentence and gave him his best warning glare. Theodore was extra testy since all the shifters came down with the flu. He wasn’t even going near Wylie, who was basically a walking razor blade with his horns and scales out.
“Bathroom,” Fox said simply and whirled before anything could be said to stop him. He caught Wylie’s eye as he was leaving, his gaze full of a fair bit of suspicion as to why he was running off. Fox shrugged and caught the movement of Dorian as he leaned in to twine fingers with his boyfriend. Jealousy stabbed at his heart and Fox looked away. He closed the door a little too loudly behind him, turned toward Dr. Rob’s and started walking at a fast clip.
Fine, he was being fucking dumb. Vince didn’t need his help. And fuck, if he did, he sure as fuck wouldn’t ask for it. But that was Vince, wasn’t it? That was all the sorcerers. They were so damn aloof, they didn’t know how to ask for something simple like help, like it would make them weak. He didn’t understand, not fully. All he knew was if he didn’t see Vincent, his inner fox was going to lose its shit.
It was a problem. This whole thing was turning into a problem. Fighting his rational mind was bad enough. Fighting his fox? That fucker lived to be irrational. It lived to dart, to hunt, to run around like a crazy child and play no matter if a car was running him over at the time.
Fox’s fingers twitched and he resisted the urge to shove them in his pockets, or comb them through his hair, or just punch at the nearest thing he could find. Once he caught Vincent’s scent, the urge to act out grew.
Why did Vincent always smell like he was on the verge of freaking out?
“Damn it.” He found Vincent standing in the middle of the hallway right before the stairwell which led to the upper level of the Academy. Vincent was staring stonily at his shoes, unblinking. His eyes were rimmed in red and tears streaked his cheeks. “Fucking damn it.” Fox breathed out slowly.
He couldn’t handle this. He had his stupid ears out and his tail and he knew it was going to upset Vince. But really, could it be worse? So what if Vince flipped the fuck out on him? So fucking what. He was done pretending he couldn’t see his pain.
“Vince?” Fox crossed the distance slowly, eyes glued to his tear-streaked face. Vincent’s eyes were unseeing and there was an unsettling stillness to his body. As he stepped in front of him, Fox could scent his fear, his confusion, and the distinctness of his tears. “Vince, are you okay?” Vincent still didn’t acknowledge him, even thought he was using the nickname he hated.
His fingers twitched. Fox grabbed him by the biceps and pulled him closer. Vincent was stiff in his arms, a trembling doll who didn’t look his way. Fox wrapped him tighter and exhaled slowly. He tucked his head in the crook of Vincent’s neck and listened to his pulse.
Let Vince slug him. Whatever. He needed a fucking hug.
Vincent was cold to the touch, his skin cool beneath the fabric of his long-sleeve shirt. Fox carefully ran his palms up and down his arms while hoping it might wake him out of it. He stilled when he heard Vincent whisper something. Fox tilted his head to watch his lips move, the words softly spoken and in German.
He wished he was as smart as Vince. Sure, he learned a few of his favorite swears but he wasn’t able to pick up the entire language the way Vincent learned English and Spanish. He had no idea what Vincent was saying and no way to reach him. Even here, in his arms, Vincent was too far away.
Not sure what to do, Fox tucked his head until his cheek was against Vincent’s and whispered right back to him. “Where are you right now, Vince? You’re cold and you’re crying.”
He wasn’t expecting an answer. Vincent’s whispering stopped and the silence stretched again. Fox lifted his head, wondering if he was going to have to carry Vincent to Dr. Rob’s, when Vincent suddenly spoke again.
“I… I don’t cry.”
Fox smiled wryly. Of course he didn’t. He wasn’t about to argue with a nearly comatose Vincent about the fact he was totally crying. “You’re standing in the middle of the hall. Did you get lost?”
Silent, Vincent’s shoulders slumped. It was like something broke inside and gave into the weight of the world a little bit. Fox wrapped his arms tighter and tried to warm him, to remind him what it felt like to be alive and aware. If it made him a total loser he was happy for the excuse to touch Vincent, he didn’t fucking care.
Vincent’s gaze turned his way but Fox was certain he didn’t really see him. He raised his hand and thumbed over the nearest streak of wet on his pale cheek. “I thought you were going to see Dr. Rob.”
Vincent’s jaw clenched. “Doctors aren’t allowed. No doctors.” His voice was halting, dry.
Fox pulled him sideways until Vincent’s shoulder was tight to his chest and he could see the way his eyelashes trembled with unfallen tears. “I think doctors are pretty important, Vince. Sometimes we all need a little help.”
“Can’t.” Vincent’s hair fell forward, a shield against the light of the hallway. “Help gets them killed. Telling gets people killed.”
Fox’s breath hitched. He forced himself to stay calm but his mind was racing with too many questions. “Have you seen people die?” He ducked his head and met Vincent’s empty stare, desperate to read whatever the hell was going on in his head when Vincent failed to answer. Fox wasn’t even sure he heard him.
Was it wrong, even now, with eyes rimmed red and face impassive, all he could think of was kissing him?
“No.” Vincent suddenly breathed out, his gaze focused on something far away. “Not then.”
Fox couldn’t be sure he was talking to him or to someone in his mind. “Not then?”
“People died but I didn’t see it. Not until…”
“Until? What happened?” He pushed Vincent up by his shoulders to get a clearer look as he tried to understand. “What did you see? Was it that guy you tried to save?”
Vincent’s brows twitched in thought. “Calvin.”
“Was that his name?”
“Calvin died. I couldn’t save him.”
Fox sighed heavily. His eyes raked over Vincent’s face and he realized just how out of it he was. It was fruitless to ask him questions. He needed to see Dr. Rob. Whatever this was was way beyond his ability. “I know, Vince. I’m sorry I brought it up.” He steered Vincent towards the stairwell and gently urged him forward.
Vincent’s legs refused to budge. “I killed him.”
Dread twisted in his stomach. Fox turned and again tried to read his face. “Who? Calvin?”
Vincent shook his head, the slightest of movements. “The one who killed Calvin.”
Fox didn’t realized how tight he was until his muscles unclenched with Vincent’s answer. Tension drained from his entire body in a wave. “Good,” he said gruffly and with conviction. Better to kill in defense. Better to protect. He knew plenty of shifters who wished there was such a justification for their murderous mistakes.
Fox wasn’t sure what the hell happened to Vincent before he came to the Academy but it had a hold on him. It haunted him even though he was safe. He again clasped his arms around the silent sorcerer. If he could only pull him out of the place he was stuck in, he would.
“I should have done it earlier,” Vincent said dully, his head ducked against Fox’s neck. “I waited too long and… so many… so many hurt.”
His chest twisted painfully tight as he felt fresh tears drip onto his skin. “It’s okay. You can’t change the past. You can only keep going after.” He pushed a strand of Vincent’s dark hair away and stared into his ethereal, red rimmed eyes. “Are you trying, Vince? Are you trying to live?”
Vincent’s brows furrowed again as confusion crossed his features. “I don’t… I…” He blinked and his head rose up as he looked around the hallway. Fox felt the change in him; a heat swept through Vincent, his muscles flexed and relaxed as he slowly came back to reality.
It was time to let go. Time to pretend Vincent was untouchable and perfect and just another sorcerer who didn’t feel.
Fox held him closer. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Vincent’s voice was frail as he looked down at where Fox was wrapped around him. “Yeah, but why? Why am I…? Where are we?”
Fox couldn’t answer. Was Vincent really so lost? Had he always been this lost? Fox didn’t know but he was done ignoring it. He was done watching him hurt.
Draco awoke late Sunday morning with yesterday just a very dull memory in the back of his mind. He could smell Harry, his scent all around him, but couldn’t feel his breath. Maybe that would be the compromise to their situation. Harry would hover, but not in a way he could obviously discern where he was.
Currently, all Draco could think about was how fucking hard he was. He had a fine dream with green eyes, tanned skin, and messy chocolate hair, likely inspired by the scent of who was lurking in his room. Draco was in his own bed, in his own room, where he could very easily, and usually did, take care of this problem. He did not want to have to kick Potter the fuck out, especially when he’d likely sneak back in anyways.
Shit, when did Potter become such a damn voyeur?
With eyes firmly closed, Draco slipped his hand down beneath the waistband of his boxers and tried to be quiet as he wrapped fingers around his erection. Another thing he resented. He never had to be quiet before, not since earning a room of his own. “Oh.”
He was also not very good at being quiet anymore.
Harry’s breath appeared, hot and scalding at the juncture where Draco’s neck met his shoulder. He did everything not to react to it, instead trying to focus on his hand and his dick and nothing about hovering Potter always watching him with those glowing green eyes he could no longer see. “Oh fuck.” He bit his lip to stifle a moan. Harry’s breath moved down his chest as if there was no material between them at all.
He could feel Harry’s body heat as he moved and floated very close above him. He had to be centimeters from touching him, maybe less. Before he could fully even process just how close Harry had to be hovering, he felt him move, the heat of his breath very much on his hand and fisted cock. Draco fought back a cry from the sudden rush of sensation. He threw his head back and bucked as he came into his hand.
Draco lay there panting on the bed, eyes resolutely closed. He waited for Harry to move the fuck away so he could get up and pretend he wasn’t there properly. Eventually he felt Harry move. His body heat disappeared and breath no longer lingered around his thighs.
Fucking Potter… fuck… Draco waited a few more minutes and spent the time wondering if Harry was touching himself, if he might come back over and try to touch him. How that might be a damn good idea.
Draco snapped his eyes open and got up. He was losing his fucking mind, needed to pee and shower and Potter better give him some fucking privacy.
Harry watched from his spot in the corner, his fingers curled on his face while he sank teeth into his hand. The prat hadn’t said a fucking word. Draco touched himself like he wasn’t there even though he damn well knew being a foot away was about the closest he could get before Draco noticed him.
What if he touched him? What would Draco have done then? Yell? Punch? Moan?
Fucking hell… just fuck.
His hand still firmly between his teeth, Harry walked to the bathroom door and peeked his head through the wood. Draco was showering. He looked nearly efficient like Draco was expecting him to be watching and didn’t want to give him any ideas. He had no idea how to deal with this.
All last night Harry decided he would talk to the prat in the morning. He’d convince Draco being gay was so much better than marrying for money, or prestige, or whatever the fuck Malfoy was throwing his life away for. Harry hadn’t prepared for this. Draco just gave him the coldest shoulder ever, pretended he wasn’t even there. He didn’t react to his presence at all to the point of jerking off right in front of him.
Hell, he might not mind too fucking much, either.
Harry stepped into the bathroom, and made sure he was far enough away so Draco wouldn’t be alerted to him. He watched as Draco washed yesterday’s match off his skin and the morning’s cum from his hand.
Was he supposed to pretend too? Ignore Draco Malfoy in the bloody room, nude with pale skin slick with soap and water. He didn’t want to ignore him. He wanted to touch him and show him how fucking good it could be if Draco just stopped fighting what he wanted. He wanted to take that soap, fill Draco’s tight hole with it, and fuck him against the shower until he wailed in delirious agony.
He settled for watching Draco shower while he stroked his cock and his mind swirled with all the many dirty, wonderful things he wanted to do with Draco. Right now they had a strange truce and he was grateful for at least that. If he pushed Draco, he might lose everything. Draco was definitely skittish enough, explosive enough to put him in his place if he pushed too far.
That wasn’t a bad thought either.
“Fuck, Malfoy. You’re such a fucking tease.” Harry grunted, his strokes slowing as he came, and his cum dribbled down. “Hell, I like it when you tease.”
There was no answer and he was left to rest against the wall, eyes trained on Draco as he finished his shower. Once he stepped back into the bedroom, Harry waited in the corner to give Draco whatever perceived sense of space and privacy he needed as he stared unceasingly at the beautiful blond.
He was late for breakfast and Draco was surprised to find Blaise and Pansy waiting for him. Chatting with his friends were Weasley and Granger who were sitting across at the Slytherin table. The Great Hall was nearly empty, but still, it was a bizarre sight.
“Are you two lost?” Draco sat down between his friends and stared pointedly at the Gryffindors.
“Nope, just wanted to say hi to Harry,” Ron replied cheerfully.
Draco glanced at Blaise and Pansy, who did not seem remotely surprised at the news. “And you just assume Potter’s following me around everywhere I go?”
“Duh. Given the chance, I can’t imagine he wouldn’t.”
Draco sighed. He was getting somewhat annoyed with everyone insinuating Harry had a thing for him. Then again, he was late because he ended up having to heal all the fucking bites Potter left on his neck from the night before, so maybe there was a damn point to it. “I haven’t eaten yet, and I would prefer to enjoy my breakfast without having to write at the same time.”
Hermione waved her hand airily. “No really, just to say hi. I doubt he wants to write all the time either. Oh, and to let you know Dumbledore’s specialist has arrived and is waiting down in Snape’s office when you’re done.”
“Okay.” Draco started eating, only to realize the Gryffindors were content to stay where they were, talking to Pansy about something. “Am I missing something here?”
“Just catching up on the feathers and scale thing.” Blaise grinned wickedly.
“Ah… crap.” Scowling, Draco began to shovel food into his mouth to prevent anyone from asking questions. Harry hovered behind him by his shoulder, not touching him for a change. Draco couldn’t tell if he was upset, or what. Harry hadn’t touched him the entire morning, except for a brief moment when Draco held his hand out to make sure the invisible boy was out the bedroom door.
Draco wasn’t oblivious to the relationship Pansy and Blaise had with Potter’s old tag-a-longs, but this was the first time it was blatantly flaunted in front of him. It was a bit odd, but then, so were his friends and he didn’t have an interest in losing them over something as trivial as lions.
“You told them to keep it hush about Potter, right?” Draco asked. “The wrong people could hurt him.”
“Yes, although I still don’t see how that can happen,” Ron said, looking around as if he expected to see Harry. “You’re the only one he can touch.”
“And magic,” Blaise added. “Magic can do a lot of things, even if it’s as simple as caging him and squashing him flat.”
Draco was momentarily stunned. He hadn’t even thought of that, fixated on his fear of someone taking over his body to attack Harry. Without thinking, he reached up behind him until hesitantly Harry touched his hand.
Seeing Draco’s distressed look, not to mention how pale Harry’s friends had gotten, Blaise added quickly, “If anyone could even see him to find him. He did defeat the Dark Lord, after all.”
“No, you’re right,” Draco muttered. “We should be testing him to see if he is effected by our magic.” Draco let go of his hand, only to have Harry wrap around his shoulders and lean on him. His hot breath ruffled Draco’s hair. Apparently he’d given the paw me and hover signal.
Pansy gave Draco a long glance and eventually pointed to his hair. “Bit clingy, huh?”
“Something like that.” He ignored her amused smirk and went back to eating. Granger and Weasely started talking to Harry as if he could answer back. They went over all the things that went on at school that year, what he missed, and how they kept his things in storage at the Burrow. It all blurred in Draco’s mind, especially when Harry shifted. Heat suddenly was on his neck as Harry leaned onto his shoulder for support.
“Potter, are you alright?” he asked quietly. Harry’s face was now pressed against his throat. Draco suddenly groaned and grabbed the idiot by his messy hair as Harry licked up the side of his neck. “Fucking ass! Last time I worry about you!” He shoved Harry backward and tried to ignore how his neck was tingling, his cheeks were flushed, and everyone was staring at him.
Ron burst out laughing and Hermione shook her head in a cross between amusement and reprimand. “Harry, that’s not very polite.”
Draco realized they must have seen his hair move. He covered his face with his hand as Pansy cackled in his ear. “You know, I don’t have to take this. I don’t have to help that stupid wanker, and I don’t have to hang around and let you lot make fun of me.”
“No—No one is making fun, I swear!” Ron choked out between laughs. “It’s him… laughing at him… He used to say something about… making you untidy.”
Draco scowled and moved his hand up to find Potter had ruffled his hair into a mess before being thrown back. “For fuck sake.” He combed his hair back into place, and met Blaise’s twinkling eye.
“I’m sure he’ll stop if you stop reacting to him. He seems like a five year old.”
As if to prove his point, Harry suddenly wrapped arms around Draco, pulled him back on the bench and held him tight against his chest as he whispered something into his ear he could not hear.
Draco twitched, the air very ticklish and skin very warm. He watched as Harry lifted his writing hand and held it out for a pen. Hermione was ready, quill and parchment placed before them. Draco was only just getting the suspicion whatever Potter was going to say would likely be just as bloody annoying as his current behavior, when Harry moved his hand across the paper.
Three year old. I’m very much in need of attention.
Pansy frowned and looked at Draco. “You sure you didn’t write that?”
Please, he’s pretty sure I’m just a dog humping his leg. Right Malfoy?
“Bitter and true.” Draco glared in the direction of Harry’s face.
“Oh Harry, what have you done?” Hermione asked woefully as she read the words upside down.
Well, you’re bloody wrong. And my friends will be happy to tell you.
“I don’t need your friends to tell me you’re a fucked up perv, Potter.”
Ron held the quill still before Harry could respond. “He’s in love with you and let’s leave it at that,” Ron said sternly. His eyes went to Draco’s very wide ones, then to where Harry was pressed into his hair again. “Harry, stop pestering him. He thought you were dead. We all thought it. Have some damn consideration.”
Draco wasn’t sure if he was more shocked the Weasel just said Harry was in love with him, or for berating Harry to protect him. He blinked down when Harry used his hand to write again.
Consideration? Try existing like a fucking ghost for nearly a year, all because some sick fuck didn’t have enough power to kill me.
It was Hermione’s turn. Her hands thumped flat on the table as she stood and glared at Draco’s shoulder as well. “You want a damn pity party? Think we’re going to all sit around and cry because you’re stuck and falling apart in that dimension? Not bloody likely, Harry. Buck the hell up and remember you’re coming back home. Start acting like it.”
Harry tightened around Draco, anger clear in his tense muscles. There was the echo of another spark, as if something jolted Harry around his back. Just as quickly, he was gone; Harry released Draco and stepped away. Draco grabbed the table in surprise to keep from falling backward.
“He’s pissed,” Draco muttered to no one in particular.
“He’ll get over it,” Ron said flatly. “He’s been alone for a long time and he needs to realize you’re a person, not just some fantasy. He probably thought you were dead, too.” He pushed himself up from the table and held his hand out to Hermione. “Come on. We have our whole Sunday still. You know he’ll sulk the day away.”
“Probably.” Hermione turned to Draco with an apologetic look. “Don’t let him bully you around. He’ll hate himself later for it. Whether he’s back and healthy or dies in that place.” She looked up and glanced around the room. “You know I’m right, Harry. Try and get your head on straight.”
Draco stared after their retreating backs. His eyes narrowed as he turned to his remaining friends. “Why would he think I was dead?”
Blaise looked away, but Pansy didn’t back down. “He heard us that night trying to convince you to keep living. Told them. They approached us around Christmas after he died. They didn’t want to talk to you about it but they were worried about you. We were all worried.” She stopped and stood as well. “They helped make it easier for us while we watched you fall apart. It’s been a damn difficult year.”
Draco didn’t say anything, studying his hands instead. He was barely passing his classes, barely eating, barely playing quidditch… barely living. Did he have to feel guilty for his friends’ suffering too?
Pansy didn’t leave right away. Her hand grazed Draco’s chin until he met her eye. “Not blaming you, just explaining how it’s been. We’re all very glad that you made it through.”
Draco nodded and let her kiss his forehead. “Sorry.” He pushed his plate away, not even remotely hungry anymore.
“Did you want me to come along with you?” Blaise was very still as he sat next to Draco.
Draco shook his head. He watched as Blaise got up and left the Great Hall to catch up with Pansy. “Shit. Don’t I feel like a fucking ass?”
He didn’t get an answer for a long time. Harry was off doing whatever it was he did to let off steam. Draco waited patiently. The rest of his day was going to be dedicated to figuring out how to get Harry back. He wasn’t resentful. A part of him wanted to be. A part of him wanted to want more than to spend time with Potter and try to save him. But he wasn’t. Draco was near happy he could help him, even with how annoying and frustrating things were between them.
Was that why Potter stared so much the end of last year? Harry discovered he was going to protect himself against Voldemort the only way he had available. By taking his life. For someone with a severe hero complex, Harry hadn’t said a goddamn word, or tried to do a damn thing. Draco appreciated it. It was his life, and his choice on what to do with it. That Harry loved him… Well, that was a lot of food for thought.
Maybe Potter wasn’t a groping, pawing dog trying to get into his pants once he realized he liked guys. Maybe Harry didn’t even think he had some right to him because he killed Voldemort. Maybe he was just fucking lonely, and lost, and very much wanted to share feeling alive with another warm body. A warm body he apparently had feelings for since last year.
Harry was again across the table, Draco noticed with a start when a hand pushed into his aura of awareness. Draco slowly ran his hand over the table and stopped when his fingertips found Harry’s. “Let me know when you’re ready to go.”
Harry’s fingers brushed over his hand but Draco resolved to stay and not react angrily like he kept doing. He wasn’t angry Harry insisted on touching him, he realized. He was more angry he wouldn’t be able to have it always. Every touch was intense, hot and wild, and it made Draco jump. It was hard enough dealing with the madness it drove him towards and it would soon be taken away. Harry would be brought back and go on with his life as the savior of everything. While Draco would continue on his path of numbness with no more wild sparks to make him feel alive.
Harry’s hand stilled and rested lightly on his. With wicked impulse Draco pulled and smacked his hand over Harry’s. “How the hell did you beat snakehead with reflexes like that, hmm? I can’t even see you.”
He felt Harry’s hand twitch as he got ready to strike. Draco pulled his hand away with a smile. “Too slow—Hey!” Harry grabbed his wrist in his surprisingly strong grip and slowly pulled his hand closer.
“Don’t be a poor loser, Potter. Ah…” His lashes lowered as breath warmed his fingers. He felt words mumbled into his hand. Draco used his other hand to push the parchment and quill towards Harry but he didn’t seem interested. Lips pressed to his fingertips next. Draco took a shaky breath. His eyes flitted around the Great Hall, which was now empty of anyone else.
When Harry started to nip at one of his fingers, Draco wasn’t too concerned with being seen gasping and hand hanging in the air like a weirdo. He wondered what Harry’s expression looked like. Was it was intent on the fingers he was gently biting, or on his face to see him react. It was frustrating not to know, not to see him at all.
“Oh… oh, okay. I don’t know if…” Draco trailed off as Harry’s tongue slipped around his fingers. Two were pulled into his hot mouth and sucked down and Harry’s tongue lapped further to reach his palm. Maybe Potter was just a fucking dog trying to hump his leg every moment. Draco could feel his teeth, the brush of the roof of his mouth and then the flat of his tongue with absolutely nothing in front of him. He was torn between the damn delicious sensation and the bizarreness of it all.
Swallowing, he closed his eyes and carefully pulling his trapped finger out of Harry’s mouth. He lingered on the warm swell of flesh when he pressed into his lips. He couldn’t see the saliva but could feel it clinging to his flesh. It was such an odd thing; to be at the cusp of a window with no way to see the other side, but still, just so close. With his eyes closed it was far more real. Harry was just on the other side of his eyelids licking his hand like some perverted deviant.
That it was turning him on was more Draco’s problem than anything to do with the continued fact that Potter was totally messed up. He slowly extracted his hand from Harry’s and let it fall to the table again. When he opened his eyes, all their information revealed he was completely alone in the room. “Come on, Potter. Let’s get you fixed up already.”
Blaise was waiting for Draco at the breakfast table. The entire Slytherin quidditch team was surrounding him, dressed in their uniforms in preparation for the game. Blaise had a fortifying draught in hand and an apology.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made it about me.” Blaise pushed the vial towards Draco when he sat.
Draco nodded distractedly. His eyes scanned around him as he sought something out. He was so certain last night in the dark with Potter’s scent and breath on his face. But when he woke, nothing. Just a faint linger of scent and fucking nothing else.
Looking at the draught, Draco decided it was better to try and focus on the game than deal with his swirling, desperate thoughts of insanity. He pulled the stopper out and sipped the warming fluid. He closed his eyes as warmth flowed through him, the potion strengthening his weak limbs and pushing the dark buzz out from his mind. After a few moments his stomach settled, the warmth calming him even there.
Draco slowly took the plate Blaise offered, cut a piece of pancake off and touched it to his tongue. There was no revulsion from the flavor, no churning in his stomach. He bit down and slowly chewed. It felt strange after so long of not eating. His teammates started perking up as he continued to eat with steady bites. The warmth filled him more and strengthened his resolve to make it through the day and the bloody match to come.
Blaise was glancing at him worriedly again, which was odd seeing as he was finally eating. Draco raised an inquiring brow and sipped some juice.
“Sorry,” Blaise mumbled. “Just, you seem very still today. Like that other time last year.”
Draco turned to his plate silently and chewed on a piece of bacon. The last time Blaise called him still was right before he admitted to wanting to kill himself to escape being a Death Eater. “I’m fine… sort of. It’s not that, I promise. It will never be that again, Blaise. I’m just a little confused lately.”
Blaise nodded. Relief was clear on his dark features. “Today is just one day. It’ll be done by tomorrow and then it won’t ever be this day again.”
Draco nodded and swallowed down another bite of food. “And I won’t have to think about him again.”
“If that’s what you want.” Blaise drank down his pumpkin juice and let the conversation drop.
Draco wasn’t sure if it was what he wanted but it wasn’t not like he had many options when it came to Potter. He could continue to allow himself to go insane, hallucinating scents, and breaths, and invisible kisses. Or he could finally let the memory of him go.
Just, starting tomorrow.
“Alright, men. This is a particularly important game today,” Draco said. His face raised to meet the gazes of his quidditch teammates. the green and silver uniforms distracted him a moment as he thought of Harry’s eyes looking into his. “I have never asked this of you, and I will likely never ask it again. I want a clean game. No matter what those bloody lions throw at us, I want it clean in his honor. Because of the fucking life he gave us while he gave up his own. Agreed?”
They agreed, even Theodore. The fire in his eyes burned in understanding today instead of confusion at being so very wrong yesterday.
“We’re going to give it our all, like we always do. And so are they. So expect a damn good fight and a damn good game.” Draco stood and smacked Goyle on the back with a grim smile. The group got up and filed out of the Great Hall to get the rest of their gear from the locker room.
Harry watched from the teacher’s table where he was sitting between plates in front of Hagrid’s large form. Malfoy seemed more himself, if not very solemn. Stronger since the potion Blaise gave him. A potion he watched Hermione hand to Blaise before Draco got to the table. Harry was grateful his friends were so amazing even now. Even with him not there to ask of them, they were still the good-hearted, best friends he loved.
It was relieving to know they would help watch over Draco if he never… well. It was good to not have to worry about the prat being alone and without friends. People cared about Malfoy, even if he seemed to be shutting them out at the moment.
Harry had kept his distance the instant Draco started to wake up that morning, standing far out of reach as he got up. He watched the change, the way Draco’s tired silver eyes slowly focused. A small furrow took his brow and then a pout to his mouth as he ran fingers softly to his lips and then down his throat. He snapped right after, eyes clear, head jerking up. His hands immediately touched beside him on the bed where Harry was sitting minutes ago.
Draco knew; Harry was certain after that. Somehow Malfoy could sense when he was near. Enough, that to be close to him would be to reveal he still existed. Maybe it was body heat Draco picked up through the nerves of his sensitive skin. Touch went both ways; if Draco could sense when he touched him, he’d be able to sense the small prickling of hair as heat and air brushed by his skin. Especially now he knew enough to look.
Draco was looking for him. With hands wide, he moved around the room, his frown growing with each step revealed nothing. Harry backed through the closed bathroom door and then slipped around and into the bedroom when Draco thought to check there for him as well.
Why did he run? Harry still wasn’t a hundred percent certain. It seemed like the right thing at the time when Draco was glaring and hunting him down, his nostrils twitching and head tilted just waiting for him to slip up and reveal himself. Maybe because another flare just occurred, like Harry’s body was reminding him he was falling apart. Did he want to tempt the both of them with the possibility of saving him when it was probably too late already?
Harry didn’t really know. He watched Draco crumple and sit back on the bed when no sign of him was found. He almost went to him then but thought again better of it. What was the fucking point, really? What would Malfoy be able to do everyone else hadn’t, except feel him slip further away until there was nothing left? It would be wrong to put him through that. It would too hard on Harry to know he dealt another blow to someone surprisingly sensitive.
So Harry just watched Draco get ready for the game. Eyes stormy and lost, Draco barely glanced in the mirror, so confident of his appearance. He washed his face, spelled his teeth clean, stripped his beautiful pale body and dressed for battle. Harry stayed very still as he leaned against the bedroom wall and waited for Draco to step through the door to the hall. He slipped out behind him and Draco’s hair nearly, so nearly brushed his face as it hung loose around his shoulders. Draco kept walking after locking his door, oblivious, and Harry stepped ahead.
He thought to go somewhere else—Dumbledore’s office, the library to look up Malfoy’s ancestry—anywhere but another trip of following Draco around. But still, Harry couldn’t seem to stop himself. He ended up following him to the Great Hall and watched the curious looks Draco gained from walking in tired and weak.
Harry would sit with his house and watch the match from the sidelines. Hell, he might even steal the teachers’ seats. It wasn’t like anyone would care. After that he would have to decide what the fuck he was doing following around Draco Malfoy, standing far too close while watching him wank, and sleep, and dream.
The air was just starting to get a hint of spring to push back the frozen wind of winter. The students and teachers below were in their seats dressed in colorful scarfs. They cheered and waved with shining eyes and red noses as they gazed up at the Quidditch match. Draco spent most of his time above his fellow teammates, only swooping in once in a while to distract, and lure, and all around annoy.
Somehow the normal thrill of flying was gone that day. The fortifying draught warmed him but still he was numb. He was playing for a ghost, a ghost currently haunting him in a terribly tormenting fashion. That it started now seemed less a coincidence and more cruel. Right before this stupid match against a seeker who just couldn’t compare. Beneath it all, Draco felt bone-wearily tired.
Asking for a clean game was difficult on his house even though they were keeping to the promise. The less the Slytherins cheated, the more they took to fighting. They were unsure without their natural cunning. Usually when they felt cornered, they could rely on a stray bludger at the keeper or a swift elbow to the more competitive chasers to raise morale. Now all they could do was shoot their mouths off. Dull to play but the crowd loved it.
As did the Gryffindors. Ron Weasley was a strange cross between ferocious and solemn, with odd moments of laughter hitting his eyes, only to shut down and be replaced with a fierce scowl. Their team was completely unsettled with the Slytherins playing fair. The lions were ready for blood, but no one was willing to spill it first. For the best. Fighting now would be fucking brutal. Even if they all needed the pain to feel alive.
Draco watched the vicious battle between the four beaters. Vince was nearly cracked on the skull before he got himself righted. They weren’t doing poorly, they were almost even at the moment just trailing behind Gryffindor. But no one was feeling right and Draco supposed he needed to stir things up again.
He dropped down and ignored the foolish girl trailing behind. If she bothered looking for the snitch on her own, he didn’t know about it. She had been on his ass since the start of the game. Weasley probably sent her on a simple mission given her very green nature to the sport. Pathetic.
With a swift swoop, Draco descended in a nose dive and laughed inwardly when the Gryffindor seeker tried to keep up. He stopped mid dive, flipped back and met the wide-eyed girl face to face. He gifted her his more well-known superior smirk as she went flying by, unable to stop in time. Her eyes were blue—Nothing like the brilliant green he was unconsciously expecting, and he scowled. She ended up in a pile with one of her teammates and he cursed himself for hating her. It wasn’t her fault she wasn’t Potter. No one was Harry Potter. Not anymore.
He flew up above the pitch again, away from the noise and dullness of it all and waited patiently for the flicker of gold to finally reveal so they could finish the mockery of a match.
Was it a dream? Was it just a hallucination brought on by not enough food and a whole lot of stress? He never once thought he was woken up by a kiss, or ti someone sitting very close, next to him yet unseen.
Draco swooped and barrel-rolled idly as his mind whirred. That wasn’t quite true, was it? There was Karia, his sweet pet. His protector for his younger years before he started Hogwarts and left his parents’ house. Soft furred, winged, with four long delicate legs and antlers that rose up. Draco never saw Karia. He could only guess her from how she felt to his touch. His parents sneered and told him there was no such thing as imaginary animals. Draco agreed; there was no such thing as imaginary anything but Karia was real, not some sort of fantasy.
He let his eyes stray to the Forbidden Forest stretched out to the right of him. There were things in there similar to Karia but much more dangerous. Creatures who stalked him once when he was foolish enough to get too close to the forest. Unseen creatures who could communicate just like Karia through thought speak. He could sense them, although never see…
A shout broke Draco back to the game. The Gryffindor seeker wove furiously through the Slytherin side of the pitch where a glint of gold hovered. As if sensing her approach, the snitch took off and whizzed in the opposite direction. Draco was behind it like a shot, his body so in tune with his broom it was effortless to fly and direct.
He spun around blurs of reds and greens, a garish Christmas crashing around him. Players tried to stop anyone from aiding and prevent him at the same time. He effortlessly slipped through, past players and furious bludgers, and left the poor rival seeker far behind where she was caught up in awkward turns and sudden dips. It was over in mere moments.
The snitch fluttered in his hand as Draco descended slowly to the ground. A numbness settled in once again. How many times did he reach out, gold just brushing his fingertips, to have Potter snatch the snitch right from his grasp with brilliant eyes blazing in triumph? He would never have that again. This was just like any other match against any other team. It didn’t fucking mean anything.
Draco blinked up and was surprised to find Madame Hooch next to him and the crowd cheering all around as they gathered on the field.
“The snitch, Mr. Malfoy,” Madame Hooch asked politely. Draco handed it over stiffly. A shout quickly went up when Slytherin was announced victorious. Staring blindly at the joyful faces, Draco slowly turned and began to walk towards the school.
The Slytherin team ran after to try to congratulate him. “Draco, great bloody catch!” Greg cheered, but Draco slipped away before he could be hugged.
“What did you say? Draco, are you all right?” Vince pulled on his sleeve.
It woke something up in Draco. The numbness pushed aside for hot anger as he tore his robe from his friend’s grasp. “I’m not fucking alright—I fucking quit! Now get the hell out of my way,” he snarled and pushed through the crush of taller players threatening to trap him on the field. He marched through the locker room and back into the school, his only hope everyone would stay the fuck away.
Draco pushed into his room, threw his broom across the small space and watched it smash into the stone wall. Bristles fluffed out and rained down in every direction. “Fuck. Fuck!” He whirled, slammed the door behind him and then screamed into the warded space. “You just had to fucking die, you fucking ass! What’s the fucking point! What is the goddamn fucking point of trying so fucking hard if you’re not there to compete! You fucking ruined everything!”
He turned and punched the door, his knuckles splitting and blood dripping. “Fucking Voldemort! Fucking piece of shit stealing every fucking thing from me! My home. My father. My mother. My fucking life! And then Him. You fucking stole the last fucking hope left! Wasn’t it enough, all those other things? Why did you have to take him too? Fuck… Fucking hell.”
He was crying, Draco realized dully. He touched his face with his bloodied hand. Turning, he leaned heavily against the door with head down, his good hand holding his throbbing one. “You fucking reckless asshole. You never had a sensible bone in your body. Kept looking for fucking trouble until your luck ran out. And fuck, you died! You fucking died! Even though—No. No don’t!”
Draco threw his hands up to ward off the sudden weight of arms as Harry’s scent surrounded him. “No. Stop doing this to me! You’re a lie! A fucking insane hallucination. Because you’re dead, Potter. Fucking dead!” He fought against the surprisingly strong, solid arms that pressed him back into the door and wrapped tight. His tear fell and stuck in the air before him and Draco froze. He watched as the droplet dripped down something, someone who smelled just like Harry.
“God… why are you doing this to me?” Draco whimpered as he felt fingers brush his face to wipe his tears away. Hair, soft and tickling, feathered against his cheek when Harry’s face pressed against his neck and he was wrapped tighter. Pulled down to the ground, he was crushed by arms and chest, and a strong jaw rested against the top of his head. Draco sobbed into a warm, invisible collar, his moist breath hitting his face as it bounced off flesh.
He was not a crier, not since small and aware crying could get a child killed by men as terrible as his father. Draco didn’t cry for anything beyond a few stray tears swiftly hidden before they flowed. But now, in this insanity he cried because it was all just too fucking crazy and he didn’t know what else to do.
He cried until he ached and was empty, his throat raw and eyes burning. Through it all, Harry rocked him. His breath ruffled his hair, arms held him tight, and large hands rubbed up and down his shaking arms and shoulders. Eventually, Draco could slow the irrational gasps for air and after, could stop gulping and trembling like a crazy person who had no fucking control left. He closed his eyes and panted softly while resting his head against an invisible, muscular shoulder. He couldn’t help but wonder dimly why Potter wasn’t wearing a shirt.
“You’re a fucking ass,” Draco mumbled as fingers brushed through his hair and combed and soothed with each touch. Suddenly something sparked next to his face from the surface he was resting on. Draco flinched away with a yelp. “Ow.” he touched his cheek and felt the remaining sting. “What the fuck was that?”
A hand lifted his and pressed it to the top of thick messy head of hair. Beneath his palm, the head turned; first left to right, and then up and down. Draco sighed in understanding. “You can’t speak.” The head shook and Draco’s hand was moved again. Lips brushed his flesh as Harry spoke into his palm. Draco gasped and quickly pulled away from the sensation. “Fine, I can’t hear you,” he mumbled. His eyes looked downcast as he was hit with a wave of self consciousness.
Draco’s hand was grabbed again and pressed flat against the hair-strewn forehead. Draco looked up to stare at the room behind where his hand rested. He closed his eyes and focused on his hand and the strands of hair. He ran fingers through, seeking out the ripple of flesh he never touched but was certain he would recognize. Sure enough, a small lightning-bolt shaped dip with ragged edges was discovered beneath the silky fringe. Draco pressed his thumb against it and brushed gently.
“Scarhead.” He smiled shakily. “It’s really fucking you. You’re really alive.” He continued exploring. His fingers brushed over eyebrows, fanned wide, and found the edge of Harry’s face. He traced down to his cheekbone. “You’ve lost your glasses. Half blind and invisible. You’re damn useless, Potter.”
Harry smiled in the flat of his palm and Draco tried very hard to not gasp. He went to pull his hand away but Harry’s grip was strong on his wrist. Lips brushed over his fingertips and Draco was certain he was going a bit mad again. He swallowed, opened his eyes and blinked at his hand as soft, warm flesh ghosted his skin. It was the one he punched the door with and his blood was everywhere.
“Hold on, you’ve got blood.” Draco grabbed his sleeve and tried to wipe the red stain off of Harry’s face, only to have the fabric go right through. “What the…?” Peering closer, Draco deliberately tried his quidditch robe sleeve. Again the material slipped right through. “Potter, I think this is a problem. It’s almost like only I can touch you.”
He ran his thumb over one of the red spots and the blood slipped away onto his own flesh. Draco stared at the pad of his thumb and then again the spot in the air. He slowly realized hot breath was puffing against his cheek and he was actually very close to Harry’s face. A warm shiver moved down his spine at the thought and his eyes slid from where he could feel Harry’s stare. He took a steadying breath and carefully began to brush all the little spots of blood away on Harry’s lips and nose. He could feel his skin firm and warm under this thumb.
“Potter, we should, uh, take you to see Dumbledore. Get you righted.”
Harry’s face again pressed into his palm. Draco felt the bridge of his nose, touch of lips against his wrist and then a nod. “Alright, let’s—Hey!” Harry suddenly stood and hauled Draco up, then held him tight. He spoke something against his skin Draco couldn’t understand, but likely something to do with relief of being found. Flustered, Draco could only focus on the fact every part of his body felt like it was touching bare skin. Harry’s bare skin.
“Let me go. Right now,” Draco whispered breathlessly as he pushed at the unseen arms. He felt Harry still, his hold relaxing but not fully releasing him. Draco was feeling very hot, his head swimming dizzily to realize just how close Harry was. Draco grabbed his arms—for balance or pushing away he couldn’t decide—and noticed Harry’s biceps flexing beneath his fingers were thick, powerful and bare. As was the hard chest pressed against his and the strong abs flush against his own flat stomach and then lower, where things started to get very hot and confusing when he dared to think about it. “Potter, please. You’re not, um… Clothing isn’t working properly.”
Harry slowly untangled his arms from around him. Draco was far too busy squeezing his eyes shut and willing his body’s reaction down to fully notice. He did notice when Harry’s hands suddenly touched down on his waist—his seemingly bare waist. His palms were large, hot and a bit scratchy against his smooth flesh. Draco bit his lip hard and hissed softly. He felt like the biggest damn fool but was unable to stop just how wild and very hot he felt.
“Let go. All the way.” Draco whispered. He shuddered when Harry eventually complied; Harry’s hands ran up his sides, palms pressed in firmly, fingers dragging slowly until he reached his arms and finally relented. Draco stood, rooted and swaying for long, dizzying moments while his fast breaths panted free. Harry’s hands seemed very large compared to his stomach. It was an odd thought to focus on, but the one he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about.
“You’re taller,” he muttered, then shook his head. He ran a hand over his face and realized he must be a fucking sight after crying and flying all day. “Uh, let me just wash my face. I’ll be quick.” He strode into the bathroom before he could think of a reason not to. In the quiet of the small room he splashed cool water over his face repeatedly and tried to restore some intelligence to his lust addled mind. Potter was fucking invisible. Hardly a goddamn sight to be aroused by. Yet Draco felt like some stupid, sex-crazed idiot all of a sudden.
He sighed heavily down at the sink. He ran his hands under the faucet and slicked his hair back into some kind of order. His eyes were red rimmed and face a little splotchy, but otherwise nothing was glaringly wrong with him.
Draco returned to the other room and looked around in confusion. “Potter—Shit!” He jumped when Harry’s arm suddenly touched his hip. Not his robes, or his pants, but his bare side. It was very much flesh touching warm flesh and it left him heart-poundingly dizzy. “We need to get you a fucking bell.” Draco licked his lips and started towards the door.
As if realizing his mistake, Harry’s hand moved up and stayed at the center of his back, blessfully away from his hip. His touch was a solid, hot reminder as Draco opened the door, shut it behind and made his way down the corridor towards the Headmaster’s office.
Draco let the warm water wash over him. He sat on the tiled floor, studying his hands and feet as they turned pink and pruned from being too long in the water.
If fucking himself with his fingers while thinking of Harry fucking Potter didn’t prove he was gay, he really didn’t know what the fuck would.
His mother wanted him to marry, have children, run the Ministry. Stupid, trivial shit he had little interest in but his mother was very determined about. Like it did so much good for his father. All the money he made and hours away from the house, just to end up a damn psycho, who murdered innocent defenseless muggles while secretly hoping to kill a boy the same age as his own son. A boy who did nothing wrong except live the first time some other psycho tried to kill him.
After taking a look at his family bloodlines, Draco was pretty certain kids were not the way to go. Very few of his relatives weren’t insane, murderous, or just fucking terrible people in general. There was Sirius Black… Nymphadora Tonks… and him. Since he was fairly certain he could smell someone who was dead for nearly a year, and not in a rotting way, he wasn’t so damn sure about himself anymore.
Serene Vellamorn, the pureblood Narcissa researched, pursued, and managed to contract into engagement with her gay son, did not have much of a better family history. Oh, sure, the occurrence of squibs and human hearted likely made their way in only to be struck out of record, but it had little effect on the young lady herself. She was wealth oriented and hateful. So hateful that on meeting her for the first time at thirteen, Draco decided he needed to change. Because talking so much shit about mudbloods and muggles just left you looking awfully dim and ugly.
Not that Serene wasn’t beautiful. His mother managed to find a girl as waif like and delicate as possible, almost as if she was hoping to make him look much more manly next to her. Draco feared they’d probably spend too much time fighting over the mirror, not to mention he’d likely cut out her tongue a week into the relationship just to prevent the horrible creature from speaking the things she spoke. How someone so lovely and privileged could hate the world so much was beyond him. Serene’s parents weren’t Death Eaters.
It didn’t matter. His fate was sealed. Draco made a promise to his father when the man was towering in rage. His strong fingers wrapped around his arm in a painful death lock were moments away from dragging him down the hall to his Dark Lord. He would stop insisting he was gay and continue the Malfoy bloodline if Lucius would not force the dark mark on him. It was one slavery for another.
Blaise and Pansy could speak all they liked about being under duress and in extenuating circumstances, but he made a promise. A promise which allowed him to stay free from the sick fuck, Voldemort, and alive for the final week before the Dark Lord died. Draco was not broken, corrupted, maimed, or harmed—unlike the other’s who received the mark while Lucius made him watch.
With Lucius jailed permanently, Draco was responsible for restoring the Malfoy name and making sure their bloodline continued. That was okay, even when his intended was hateful and dim, because he wasn’t marked by the Dark Lord and not tied to his power. Voldemort didn’t take his magic and strength into his battle. That one promise ensured Draco hadn’t assisted in the murder of Potter.
Still, it seemed Harry was determined to haunt him.
“Fucking hell. Fucking quidditch. Fucking Potter.” Muttering, Draco got to his feet, turned off the water spray and nearly fell. Darkness edged his vision and he swayed. “Fuck. I can’t eat, can’t sleep. Losing my motherfucking mind.” He grabbed a towel from the bar and wrapped himself in the fluffy black material to dry off.
“Over a fucking Quidditch game. Shit. I am losing my fucking shit. Haunted by a scent—Who the fuck does that? Who the fuck hexes someone’s dead scent everywhere?” Shaking his head in disbelief, Draco tossed his towel in the laundry and padded to his bureau in the other room to throw a pair of pajama pants on. He didn’t feel like eating. His stomach was still queasy at the slightest mention of food. He was tired and didn’t care how early it still was.
He crawled under his magically charmed sheets, enchanted to keep him warm in the chill dungeon air. It was his own fault, really. He paid too much attention to Potter, loving his fucking eyes, wanting his damn rude mouth. Even liking his messy hair. It was the color of chocolate, and always rumpled, and so very different from the people around him. Potter was wild, passionate, and not afraid to speak up for what he wanted in the face of every fucking terrible thing going on in the world. He was fearless.
Draco didn’t even know the meaning of the word. His parents didn’t know the meaning. They struck so much fear in him and yet, were filled with it themselves, afraid to be killed by the lord they served. All he had was fear. Fear and hope that he could escape one day. Potter was a big part of that hope. Fuck, Potter changed his entire world.
Then he disappeared. Each day Draco waited, waited for news he would be found—Alive, full of arrogance and triumph. Fuck, just alive would be enough. But they didn’t find him. Over half a year later, they weren’t going to find him because surely he was dead. And as that thought seeped into him, his hope left as well.
Potter changed his world but Draco couldn’t. He wasn’t fearless. He barely knew how to live.
Sleep clung as Draco felt breath move across his face and tickle his cheek. He reached up to rub the spot, sighed and let his hand rest and fingers curl. He had the nightmare again, the one where he was being chased by an unseen force. He didn’t have to see to know it was Voldemort. The monster’s presence was always the same mixture of terror and hopelessness in his mind. It was the dream where he was running but no matter how hard he tried, he was moving so slowly, just out of reach of the grasping claws…
He must have woken himself up crying out. It wouldn’t be the first time… No. Something woke him. A faint brush to his forehead, a warm weight on his lips… That’s what woke him.
Draco opened his eyes and blinked sleepily as he tried to see where the figure must surely be. Again, soft breath fanned so close and he peered in the direction. The dark didn’t revealing anything. He touched his lips and felt them tingle. When he breathed deep, Harry’s scent was very strong in his senses, like he was all around him.
“You must think it’s funny,” he whispered. “Some sort of fucking joke to drive me crazy. Haunting me.”
His eyelids drooped as sleep pulled him again. Draco turned his face towards the warm puffs of air, moved closer to where he could sense someone resting only inches away. “Jokes on you, Potter. I was already fucking crazy when it came to you.” His eyes fell shut and sleep washed back over him.
He was pulled again from sleep. Warm breath ghosted over his cheek, fanned across his mouth. Draco gasped softly when lips brushed his and fingertips gently touched his face. There was a soft exhalation next to his nose and warm lips pressed persistent until his own parted and a wet tongue met his.
Just as suddenly it pulled away. The heat left his mouth although fingers still gently stroked the side of his face. Draco breathed out unsteadily and eyelashes fluttered. The hand pulled away and he frowned and huffed. “S’alright… don’t leave.” Sleep again was calling him down. Lost moments slipped by and then the hand returned. Fingers traced his features as he drifted off to sleep.
This time he dreamed of summer and laughter.
Harry watched Draco sleep while he rested on the magic imbued sheets and wondered if he was losing his mind as well. He stayed in the bathroom for the longest time until he couldn’t bear it anymore. A part of him feared Draco left and he would again be alone with the strange bursts of energy tearing his body apart.
How the fuck did Malfoy know it was him? He said something about his scent. But how could Malfoy know what he smelled like? People smelled like people, not like individual people, just enough to recognize flesh and know another of the same species.
He bent close to Draco’s ear and intentionally breathed in his scent for the first time. Harry hadn’t smelled another living being besides Fawkes in months. Draco didn’t smell like the slightly dusty, fire-soaked bird. But he didn’t quite smell like what Harry remembered other people to smell like either. What he did smell like was amazing, that was for certain.
Could this have to do with Malfoy’s glowing white form of feathers and scales? Did maybe that part of Draco sense him in a different way than how normal people sensed each other? It was the only place they actually touched, on that fifth plane of existence. Maybe it was there that Malfoy could recognize him. Maybe Draco could even recognize him before when he wasn’t trapped out of sync with the world.
Draco sat in at least two different planes of existence every moment of his life, one of them very much being the dimension Harry needed to get back to. Surely, somehow, Malfoy was the key to getting him whole again. Harry breathed up his neck and tried to absorb. He wanted remember his scent the same way Draco knew his. Without his consent, his tongue flicked out and caught on his skin. If Draco smelled amazing, he tasted even more so.
Harry wasn’t sure why he was having such a difficult time controlling himself. He touched Draco in the shower and was licking him now. Even as he stared at Draco’s sleeping face and told himself not to, he knew he was going to lick him again. He bent his head, his tongue wide and flat as he ran from Draco’s collar up the long column of his pale throat until he reached his jaw. Draco shifted in his sleep, murmuring softly. Still, he couldn’t stop himself. Harry licked him again while breathing in his sweet scent and trailing saliva over Draco’s sensitive neck.
He could bite him right on the side of his warm flesh. He could sink his teeth in, clamp his jaws tight and… And something. Harry wasn’t exactly sure what biting Draco was supposed to do but the dangerous spark bubbling in him since he realized Draco was alive seemed to have a voice. That voice knew biting Malfoy would be a very, very good thing to do. Shaking his head, Harry licked Draco instead. He trailing another long swipe to soothe the neck he tormented so readily just earlier that day.
He gazed at Draco’s face, who was finally calm now free of nightmares and deep in sleep. Was it worth going back? Did he want to live like before, where he never had a chance to be this close to Draco Malfoy?