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The final battle was not fought at Hogwarts among a sea of children. There had been no glorious clash of armies in front of the Ministry of Magic, waging a war between good and evil for all the wizarding world to see. No, not even Dumbledore could have expected that the calm summer night was different from any other until the wards at Privet Drive had fallen.
Two masked figures had raised their wands at the powerless muggles, murdering parents and son in a sickly flash of green. The scent of death had been strong in the air when Voldemort crept into the small second bedroom only to have a sleepy, messy haired teen with a telltale scar instinctively block the killing curse from his dusty, cramped bed.
The battling wizards’ wands had clashed and disintegrated in a blinding glow that illuminated the night sky for miles. In an instant, the Dark Lord’s twisted body had collapsed in upon itself, the life deflating from the scaled flesh. He had inhaled once, a shuddering, desperate breath, and then nothing. The Boy Who Lived, the Savior of the Wizarding World, had been consumed by the light, body and all. As he had disappeared, his expression was neither of acceptance nor fear. His jaw had been set, his eyes ablaze with power and determinations as he stared above the fallen flesh of He Who Must Not Be Named.
The final battle had no witnesses, not in this realm.
Those who bore the dark mark heard His final screams. The Death Eaters had felt the pull, the pain, when their lord reached for them in his final death throes. Voldemort had grasped the connection as an anchor to life. Instead, he had almost drawn them all into the abyss with him before the link had been severed. The marks had burned once again on the servants arms before fading into a mass of scar tissue, leaving a permanent reminder of past sins.
None had seen the final clash but all knew the result. Voldemort had been destroyed, never to return to torment, slaughter, or corrupt. As for the fate of Harry Potter, things were less clear. The Death Eaters had heard him curse the Dark Lord. Even as Severus Snape had stood over Voldemort’s stiffening corpse, he had heard Harry’s voice when he delivered the final killing blow. He had heard his heavy breathing and righteous words up until the connection had failed and Voldemort was no more. Still, Severus believed Harry to be alive even after months of fruitless searching.
Others were not convinced. During the Christmas break, a monument had been unveiled at the Ministry of Magic in a community wide ceremony. A statue of Harry defeating the Dark Lord had been erected to replace the ruined fountain that had once stood there. In effigy, Harry had become an eight foot tall, strapping man with the trademark lightning bolt scar covering half his face, posed to deliver the finishing blow to a crippled and weak Dark Lord. ‘The Boy Who Lived To Save Us All’ had been engraved at the feet of the memorial.
Harry’s friends had broken down at the sight while the Hogwarts teachers and the Order looked grim faced. No more searching would be done; the Ministry was content to let Harry Potter die as a martyr. Surprisingly, it had been an icy eyed Draco Malfoy, father and aunt freshly incarcerated for killing the Dursleys, who had spoken what all those close to Harry were thinking. “Potter would have hated this.”
Still, as the winter turned to spring and things at Hogwarts began to settle down once again, a certain Gringotts’s vault remained locked to the Ministry’s prying hands. Somewhere, a Potter still lived.
“Seriously, Draco, try to eat,” Blaise muttered under his breath as he lightly elbowed his pale and lately too thin friend.
“Fuck off,” Draco grumbled back. He rested his chin on his hand and pushed his food around on his plate with a fork.
Blaise sighed heavily and turned to glare. “I’m not joking. I think you have a problem.”
“You’re going to have a fucking problem if you start spouting shit again, Zabini.” Draco silky blond hair fell across his face and he swiftly pushed it back with a vicious motion of his hand.
Narrowing his eyes, Blaise leaned in closer so the surrounding Slytherins couldn’t hear him. The Great Hall was full of students eating lunch, most of them loudly chatting about the upcoming quidditch match. They were a colorful contrast to his morose friend who was only growing more somber as the months went by. “Bullshit, Malfoy. I’m not falling for your fucking empty threats. I want you to see Pomfrey—How are you going to fly tomorrow if you haven’t eaten in a fucking week, huh? You’re going to get yourself bloody killed and right now, I think that’s exactly what you want.”
Draco’s hand tightened on his fork and he bent the silver utensil. “Back. The Fuck. Off.”
“Or what? You’ll faint on me?” Blaise’s angry brown eyes dared him to disagree. “You’re a mess, Malfoy. You have a team of people depending on you tomorrow and you can’t even bring yourself to eat. Its time to get some help.”
Pansy reached a hand out, grabbed Blaise by his sleek ponytail and pulled the black boy back away from Draco’s silver glare. “This is not helpful. We’re in the Great Hall.”
“I don’t care anymore,” Blaise hissed under his breath. “I can’t just keep watching this.”
Glaring challengingly, Draco cut a piece of chicken with his knife and fork and put it in his mouth. Only to promptly turn green and spit it back out onto his plate. “Fuck. Fucking hell.” He pushed his food away, and turned on his friend. “You know what? Fuck you, Zabini. Spending one fucking summer with you because my parents were in jail doesn’t mean you get to be my fucking mother, okay? She’s still around and she’s shitty enough as it is.”
“Yeah, well, maybe if you told her to fuck off with that arranged marriage shit, instead of letting her run your goddamn life, you’d be eating right now,” Blaise shot back. “You’ve been a damn wreck since she messaged you. Why are you even doing this? Your dad is in jail, your mom is under suspicion—Why are you letting them fuck you over like this?”
Draco looked about moments away from punching his friend in the teeth. He fisted his hands, knuckles white in restraint as he slowly and calmly replied, “Its none of your bloody business, you nosy shit.”
“It’s your goddamn life, Draco. Stop throwing it away!” Blaise yelled. Pansy’s restraining hand did nothing to curb him.
Draco looked up to find nearly everyone at his table, never mind the Great Hall, turn their heads towards him. He took a deep breath and coolly and deliberately stood. “I’ll see you in class,” he said with a false sense of calm while extracting himself from the bench.
Harry Potter watched from his perch on the Gryffindor table between magically enchanted plates of food. He couldn’t pull his gaze away as Draco tried to escape whatever heated conversation he was having with his dormmates. “Holy fuck, Malfoy. You’re actually alive.”
When Harry stood, no one noticed. His legs passed through student and bench alike. The floor was solid beneath his feet but not much else in Hogwarts was. Passing through people was disconcerting usually, but he barely noticed at the moment, his gazed fixed on Draco Malfoy.
Alive. He was alive. Alive, angry, and damn beautiful.
Harry’s gaze roamed intently, taking in Draco’s slim form and tired expression. He paused when Ron and his quidditch teammates stepped up and blocked Malfoy from the Great Hall doors. Gryffindor was having a match against Slytherin tomorrow and everyone was wondering if Malfoy was going to choke. Draco’s teammates were also getting up, whatever being said enough to think the Slytherin captain needed defense.
Harry doubted Draco needed any defending. He never had a problem taking care of himself. Still, he stepped closer. There was something almost mesmerizing about Draco… Actually, was he glowing?
“You look like shit, Ferret. Can’t handle the pressure?” Ron asked while he casually folded his arms across his chest and blocked the doorway.
Draco stopped short and glanced up, not intimidated even though Ron was over a head taller than him. “What pressure, Weasel? You haven’t won a game since.” He blew his hair from of his face with a bored expression.
“Neither have you. I figure our odds are looking damn good.”
Draco rolled his eyes then fixing Ron with a sardonic sneer. “If you go in for empty victories, by all means. I sure as fuck don’t. Playing you tomorrow is a goddamn joke.”
Ron couldn’t disagree; their new seeker was shit and everyone’s morale down with Harry dead. “Well, it’s a fucking joke that we gotta see to the end. And I would appreciate it if you would actually put some energy into it, Ferret.”
“Oh, I’m not backing down,” Draco assured him grimly. “Even with him gone, I’m kicking the field with you stupid lions.”
Ron smirked at that and nudged Seamus, who was standing next to him. “Fucking told ya. Malfoy’s not going to make it easy.”
Seamus shrugged and glared at the Slytherins gathered behind their captain. “We’ll see.”
“Getting tired of all the charity matches already, Weasel?” Draco looked unimpressed. “I swear, they keep trying to hand you the fucking winning cup and your new seeker still refuses to catch the snitch. Must be a goddamn shame.”
“It sure fucking is.” Ron chose to ignore the scorn in his voice. “Tell your team to start sharpening their beater bats. I want to see some blood tomorrow.”
Draco laughed and glanced back at his currently muttering quidditch team. “As long as you don’t mind that it’s yours. I’m sure Potter would appreciate a blood sacrifice in his honor, even from his own house mates.”
Ron couldn’t help but chuckle back. “Just looking for a proper game. No more of this pity shit. I figured you’d be the last one to have any of that.”
Draco nodded only to distractedly turn his head when Blaise pushed past to whisper in his ear. “Draco, let’s go to Pomfrey’s. It’ll be just a second.”
“Let it the fuck go, Blaise,” Draco said with a scowl. He pulled away. “Weasley, move the hell out of my way already.” He shoved lightly at Ron’s towering form when he continued to lean on the only exit out.
“Whatever.” Ron raised himself off the door and tilted his head at his team. “Come on, clear out. We should go practice anyways.”
“I don’t know why you bloody lions think you’d have a chance if Potty was alive,” Theodore Nott called loudly as the group of players started to clear.
Stilling, Ron straightened to his full height and glared down at Theodore. “Watch your mouth.” Seamus and Dean were suddenly at his side with matching frowns.
“Why? Some fucking holy being going to strike me down for tarnishing Saint Potter’s name?” Theodore scoffed and met Ron’s glare head on. “All he did was get himself killed by You-Know-Who. The stupid fuck was a shit martyr, never mind terrible seeker.”
Ron took a step to swing at Theodore, only to fall back when Draco whirled from the doorway and brutally grabbed his teammate by the face. Draco pushed Theodore backward and down to the floor, the force strong enough to smack his head against the tile.
“You have got to be some kind of fucking idiot,” Ron said as he used his tall form to block the view from the teachers’ table across the room. Draco knelt on Theodore’s chest, grabbed him by the throat, and stuck his wand in his face. Theodore didn’t dare speak, his stare cross-eyed at the wand burning red centimeters from his flesh.
“Theo, I will only say this once,” Draco growled as his hand tightened on his throat. “If you ever say anything bad about Potter in my presence again, I will kill you.”
“Draco, I didn’t mean—!”
“Shut. Up.” Dark anger curled into his voice. Draco reached over and tore the sleeve of Theodore’s robe up to reveal his scarred arm. “You can pretend all you want that you weren’t crying like a bitch when they beat the shit out of you and burned the mark on your arm. I fucking remember, Theo. I watched as each one was forced to kneel and scream. The monster is dead and you will not call his memory. You sure as hell will not belittle the name of the guy that killed him and freed us. I will not stand for it!”
Theodore didn’t speak, didn’t move. He stared at the power sparking off of Draco, who was trying to control his wrath.
His eyes tight on the scene, Harry stepped through classmates and friends to kneel in front of the glowing Draco. “You idiot, Malfoy, getting all worked up over nothing. People are going to start thinking you give a shit.”
It didn’t matter Draco was too thin and exhausted looking; he was beautiful, especially when death was blazing in his silver eyes. There was a time when Harry thought Draco wanted to be a Death Eater just like his father and aunt. But that was before last year when he heard Malfoy admit to his friends he was planning to kill himself over summer break. Draco thought death was better than life as a slave to Voldemort.
That was the moment he fell in love with the crazy prat.
“Mr. Malfoy, I think it would be wise to come with me.” Severus Snape stalked over and stood behind Draco, and placed a careful, restraining hand on his shoulder.
Draco took a slow breath, and then another. He closed his eyes to block out the current object of his anger. It wasn’t Theo’s fault. They all talked shit—It was what they did for years. It was how it was supposed to be. Except Voldemort died and killed another child in the process, and now you didn’t talk shit about Potter anymore. Not if you wanted to be in the same room with Draco or Ron and not be hexed into oblivion.
Draco’s hair fell across his eye and he automatically brushed it away. He froze mid swipe as something touched his hand. A familiar scent filtered in and he swayed dizzily as his blood roared in his ears. The memory of green eyes flashed in his mind’s eye. “What?”
Harry gaped, and held his hand to his chest where Draco had knocked into it. “Malfoy, can you—?”
“Come along, Mr. Malfoy.” Snape guided Draco up and helped him stand. All Harry could do was stare when his potions professor stepped through him unseeing.
Draco looked around in confusion as he tried to figure out what just happened. He noticed Theodore again, looking relieved and not as terrified as he should be. Draco shook back to reality and glared at Vince and Greg. His intention was clear as he tilted his head toward the fucker on the floor who was in desperate need of a bloody beating once the teachers were gone.
Draco caught Ron’s eye, his eyebrow raised as he pocketed his wand. “Weasel, I’ll see you tomorrow when I’m kicking your ass on the field.”
“Looking forward to it, Ferret,” Ron said gruffly. He deliberately stepped on Theodore’s hand as he turned. “Wear the pointy boots; those are always fun.”
Harry stared up from his sprawl on the floor while students walked through him oblivious. Draco followed his head of house out the Great Hall doors and down to the dungeons.
He imagined it. Glowing—But it felt so real. He held his hand tighter and relished the contact even as another student stepped right through him. It had to be real.
God, he needed it to be real.
Harry got up to follow Draco, then stopped when Blaise and Ron start arguing furiously under their breath at each other. Pansy came over and then Ron and her both rounded on Blaise to say something about not pushing Draco. It was only going to make him pull away. Hermione apparently agreed. She stepped around Theodore, who was finally pulling himself to his feet. Then everyone started yelling at Theodore, and demanded to know what the fuck he was thinking.
Theodore held his hands up, still very shaken from what he was certain was nearly a painful death. “What? How the fuck was I to know? His father and aunt helped get Potter killed!”
“You’re a waste of brain matter, Nott,” Ron growled. “Don’t you think Malfoy might be feeling a little fucking guilty about that?”
They separated. Blaise and Pansy walked with Ron and Hermione back to the Gryffindor table to whisper more, and Crabbe and Goyle hauled Nott by his arms and lugged him out the door.
Harry blinked a few times in disbelief. Maybe he hadn’t been thrown out of his dimension. Maybe he was just viewing an absolutely different reality instead because things were fucking bizarre.
He twitched uncontrollably and grabbed his side as power sparked painfully. “Fuck.”
It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Decided, Harry headed for the dungeons. If he could find Snape and Malfoy, he might be able to test if he could sense him.
Harry ended up sitting outside Snape’s office door. He was unwilling to barge in while the two were inside talking about whatever the hell was wrong with Malfoy. And clearly there was something very wrong with the prat. Draco used to be the epitome of self control. He’d play the part of the perfect bad boy while secretly plot ways to be free of the monster waiting for him at Malfoy Manor. Now, well, now he was attacking his own house mates, fighting in the Great Hall, and apparently being friendly with Gryffindors. Or at least, Malfoy’s friends were being friendly.
Guilty. Why the fuck would Draco feel guilty about what his father and aunt did? It’s not like he had any control in anything. Not like he could have stopped them, or warned anyone with enough power to stop Voldemort. It was ridiculous to waste so much energy on something one couldn’t control. Harry knew firsthand.
He spent the last months feeling guilty the Dursleys died. They weren’t perfect but they sure as fuck didn’t deserved a wand to the head. They did nothing to deserve their untimely death except take an orphaned wizard in under the protections of the wards. They paid with their lives.
With a sigh, he stretched his legs out. His head thumped back on the door in a way he could only hear.
He was probably still alive. Sure, he had no hunger, no need to sleep, or breathe, but still, he knew he was alive. He could feel. Hogwarts existed in more than one dimension and the magic infused into the stone castle made it solid to his touch. Harry constantly brushed his hands and feet on anything with a hint of magic just to remind himself he was alive. Especially during those small, terrifying moments when his magic flared and snorted as if what was holding him together was slowly unraveling.
He needed even more to feel alive because in those moments, he was certain he was dying.
The spasms occurred more often now, as well as he could tell with his limited ability to keep track of time. He lost hours, maybe even days for all he knew. Not sleeping, but not existing. He was starting to slip away and it scared him.
Ironic, when he considered how he got in the situation to begin with. He survived. Voldemort stalked him down and surprised him in the house at 4 Privet Drive during his summer before seventh year. He woke to feel the Dursleys die. The Death Eaters killed them while Voldemort cast the killing curse on him. Harry blocked it, raised his wand, and when Voldemort cast another spell, a terrible light exploded from their energies meeting.
Voldemort died. He made sure. Even though the twisted body fell when their wands met, something dark and stained filled the space where Voldemort stood. It was almost as if evil found a form, corrupting the air around it, shimmering in terrible magic. Harry’s body didn’t fall. He was encased in light and his magic was somehow stronger in the new realm. With an ease he still couldn’t fathom, he wandlessly cleaned the stain that was Voldemort from all the realms with a few powerful explosions of raw magic.
He was stuck after that. Whatever the explosion did to send them out of reality, it hadn’t reversed with Voldemort’s death. Harry watched the Aurors arrive and arrest Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange, the two Death Eaters who came with Voldemort that evening. Severus Snape, who was working for the Order of the Phoenix, looked everywhere while muttering and holding his searing arm, saying he was certain Harry was still alive.
For a while, Harry had hope he might figure something out. But Snape was waylaid by the group of gawkers and authorities sifting through the Dursleys’ house who were wrapping bodies and taking evidence. Harry stayed at Privet Drive once everyone left. He thought maybe there was something he was missing. A portal, a path—something to find his way back out of the strange echo of life he found himself in. But there was nothing.
Time moved differently where he was. He slipped, lost days without realizing it and missed the train to Hogwarts. He found the station and followed the tracks. He walked for months in nothing but the jeans he was wearing when Voldemort attacked. Not that it mattered; his feet felt no pain and he never got tired. The ground held enough life energy in it to keep him from slipping through, but not enough to hold solid.
Hogwarts was solid to him. Anything with a magical ward strong enough to keep people out, could stop him from crossing through. But there were plenty of doors that weren’t warded and he slipped through those easy enough. After observing Fawkes, Dumbledore’s phoenix, Harry learned to get through the passworded and locked doors as well.
Fawkes revealed to him exactly what happened, even if no solution was available to fix it. He read phoenixes existed on seven planes of reality. Harry now existed on five. Which would be fine, but none of them were of the realm he belonged in. Since he shared three of these same realms with Fawkes, he could interact with the phoenix even if not with anyone else.
“What if I imagined it?”
Malfoy was all weird and glowing and Harry sort of assumed he might be able to sense him. Magic was solid to him, so if Draco was cursed—or whatever made him seem full to the brim with power—it stood to reason he would be tangible. But things kept tricking him for a while now.
He thought Dumbledore could see him at first, had assumed because he was such a powerful wizard. But even weeks following him around in his office, shouting at the top of his lungs, Dumbledore didn’t noticed him at all. Maybe this was the same and he was just getting his hopes up. Maybe he just imagined touching Malfoy’s hand.
He was alive. It was still difficult for Harry to get his mind around it. He went back to the Dursley’s last summer certain Draco would be dead within days and knowing there was nothing he could do about it but pray he would find a better answer. He might have become a bit obsessed with Malfoy then, as if hoping that if he thought about him enough, Draco wouldn’t really die. He didn’t want him to die.
A year ago when hiding under his cloak and wandering the halls he stumbled across Draco, Pansy and Blaise arguing in an empty classroom. Draco was terrified his father was going to force the dark mark on him and was threatening to kill himself. It was about the clearest he ever understood Malfoy in that moment while Draco’s friend’s argued dying really wasn’t going to solve a fucking thing. Draco insisted death was better than being a slave any fucking day, no matter how fucking terrified he was. In this he at least had a choice.
Blaise and Pansy convinced Draco to wait it out, to wait until he was certain. Voldemort made his attack only a few weeks into vacation, apparently before Draco did himself in. Harry had no clue. As each day dawned, he faced the possibility it was Draco’s last.
He shared what he saw of that night at Hogwarts with Hermione and Ron. He asked them not to give him shit for liking Draco. Maybe that was why everyone seemed so buddy buddy? Draco never showed any inclination in him—beyond whatever fucked up yelling thing they always found themselves doing. Harry was pretty sure the prat was straight and had a fiance ever since third year. But maybe Hermione and Ron were afraid Draco was unstable and going to off himself and took it on themselves to watch over him?
Draco sure as fuck was acting unstable. Too thin, too tired looking, fighting. Somehow Harry felt guilty about that too, even though he didn’t have any control in the matter. He fought damn hard to keep going and find a way back. Time was just running out.
He drifted in a place where he didn’t sleep but didn’t really exist fully. He felt depressed and hopeless. In his unconscious state, Harry was unaware of when Snape’s door flew open but he did notice the pain in his foot. He could not remember the last time he felt pain but it was not enjoyable to rediscover after so long.
Harry cracked his eye open and was privileged to the sight of a very flustered Malfoy strewn across the floor in front of him. The git was really cute since he changed his hairstyle to let it flow loose. Or maybe it was the embarrassed pout on his flushed face.
“Are you all right, Mr. Malfoy?” Severus looked down at Draco with a raised eyebrow.
Draco gave a long-suffering sigh and pulled himself to his feet. “Yes, Professor. I think I tripped over my shoe or something.”
“Not bloody likely,” Harry muttered and rubbed his sore ankle. He stood and crossed into Snape’s body, then passed through.
Snape gave Draco a dubious look, then nodded. “If you like, I can give you a pass for the rest of the day.”
“I’m fine, really, Professor. It was just, you know, stress from the quidditch match tomorrow.” Draco didn’t want to make a big deal out of anything. He was tripping a lot lately, losing his strength and his balance. It was likely from not being able to keep his food down. “If I skip out of class now, they’ll all think I’m unbalanced or something. It’s my last period of the day, anyways.”
He finished dusting off his pants and finally met his Head of House’s gaze. “Thank you, Professor. For um, listening.” His smile was unsteady at best, but Draco was proud he could manage that much.
“You know my door is always open, Mr. Malfoy. Better to come to me, than to go cursing students left and right.” Snape spoke in his normal manner but the affection was not unnoticed. With a quick bow and stronger smile, Draco slipped down the hall.
Harry followed after while limping slightly. He glanced at Severus’s expression as the man watched Draco leave. Snape looked downright concerned and Harry had to wonder what he knew about Malfoy he didn’t.
Malfoy’s last class of the day was Transfigurations and he happened to share it with the Gryffindors. When Draco came in late, he actually received a small round of cheers from everyone but Theodore, who now had a black eye, bloodied lip, and was scowling at his desk. Draco just frowned at them all and took his seat, clearly not proud with how anything happened that day.
Harry wandered the rows of the class and watched as the students chatted and cast their spells. He started switching his view. When he moved through the other four dimensions he existed in, he could see how their magic looked. He hoped to find some sort of clue on how to get free. He knew magic was part of the answer. It was how he ended up in the damn place, was the only thing he could touch, and was also something he lost a lot of his control over now he was without a wand.
It was while peering through the five different planes of existence Harry found out how Malfoy could trip over him and he could be hurt. It was the last plane, the fifth where the world fuzzed out and all he could see were shifting colors and the magic in the castle walls. Even Fawkes wasn’t present on this plane but he found Malfoy there, bright and glowing with luminous light. He looked like some otherworldly being. Absolutely nude, too.
Harry exhaled slowly, and slipped closer to take in the soft feathers and sleek scales peppering Draco’s ears and skin. Long, wicked talons ended from his fingers as he tapped the desk lightly. Harry grinned at the sight and walked around him to stare at the long curve of his back and his lithe tail slinking down. Either Malfoy was cursed or he was part magical creature. Which magical creature, he didn’t have a clue, but it was certainly long, taut and fucking sexy.
Harry’s appearance on this plane was more an absence of. He was still, dark, and the color around him faded as if he were stealing it away. This was where he could see the cracks forming; gold light dazzled out of his skin where his body slowly broke apart. He quickly switched back to the first plane. He didn’t want to see. He didn’t want to see his quickly approaching death.
He leaned over Draco, who looked beyond bored, and gazed intently at his creamy skin. “Hey, Malfoy?” Draco turned another page of his textbook unhearing. Harry took a deep breath and continued at the top of his lungs, “Malfoy, you crazy son of a bitch! Fucking answer me, and if we’re lucky, I’ll be back in time to wipe the quidditch field with your ass tomorrow!”
By the time he was done, he was breathing heavily. Harry whooped in triumph when Draco shifted and raising a hand to his ear. That was, until he realized his breath only tickled Draco’s neck where he was shouting furiously. He gave a sigh of defeat and quirked a smile when Draco swatted at the spot. He was fucking adorable.
Harry blew a steady stream of air into Draco’s twitching ear while he tried to think of his next course of action. Obviously Malfoy couldn’t see him or he’d be screaming bloody murder by now. How exactly could he communicate without sound or sight? There was no way Malfoy was going to recognize him by touch.
Harry shifted backwards and looked again at who he was idly tormenting. Draco growled softly and viciously rubbed at the side of his face in an endearing fashion. Harry couldn’t help but snicker at the dangerous glare Draco sent his fellow classmates. He waited a few minutes for him to settle back down before picking a new target. His eyes were drawn to the delicate dip where Draco’s neck connected to his shoulder. With a wicked smirk, Harry blew. The reaction was instantaneous and priceless. Draco yelped loudly and jumped to his feet while grabbing his neck. He snarled as he whirled around to find the culprit.
“Is there a problem, Mr. Malfoy?” Professor McGonagall asked while Draco twitched and glared. Her tone was less stern than usual; she’d been there in the Great Hall when Draco defended Harry’s name.
“Uh… no, Professor. Just a bug, or draft, or something,” Draco muttered. He sat obediently but his glare remained steady as he searched the students around him.
“Damn, you’re always good for a laugh, Malfoy.” Harry beamed while Draco glowered. Even if he couldn’t find a way back, he could spend the rest of his short life annoying the shit out of his gorgeous rival. He blew idly at the white blond strands of Draco’s hair, and watched as Draco became increasingly tense.
It probably wasn’t the best way to start off their relationship, seeing as Draco was the only other human to be able to sense him. Harry couldn’t seem to stop himself. He missed just how interesting Draco looked when absolutely pissed off. And now, well now he could see it very close up. Every time Malfoy whimpered softly and scrubbed the ticklish spots he kept seeking, Harry admitted to a delicious tightening in his stomach.
When he happened to lean very close to fan heat over his neck and Draco’s eyes glazed slightly while he squirmed in his seat, well, that was rather interesting as well. It would be nothing to flick his tongue out and lick up the side of Draco’s neck.
Fuck, would Malfoy even know if he did?
Harry stepped back, ran his hand through his messy hair and breathed deep. He was playing with fire and he fucking knew it. Being able to be this close and not have anyone know a fucking thing, even Malfoy… It was dangerous. Very damn dangerous when he considered how long he wanted to touch the prat. Harry was used to not being noticed and maybe, maybe he stopped caring about all the rules of being proper and respectful.
He leaned back in again and shifted until he was face to face with Draco. He watched his startling white eyelashes flutter as he read. “Malfoy, what if I kissed you right now? Would you even know? You’d feel it, but would you know?”
Draco’s lashes flickered and his silver eyes raised slightly. Harry ducked down to see clearer, his breath puffing over his cheek. Crystal eyes turned right at him and followed the heat of his breath. Harry held perfectly still and stared intently. He could make out the very light hair on Draco’s cheek, slight variations to his skin tone and even some fine stubble on his jaw. He was very real like this. Not some glowing lie, or fantasy. Draco Malfoy was real, alive, and could feel his touch.
Harry felt Draco’s breath brush over his chin, soft and warm when he sighed in annoyance. “Fucking hell,” Draco huffed quietly. He scratched at his neck where Harry was blowing earlier. His fingers lingered and slowly traced down to the dip in his throat with a soft noise of flesh brushing flesh. Harry followed with his face, moved down until he was right in front of where Draco’s muscles connected to his collarbone. He breathed hot breath, and listened as Draco gasped and touched the spot again, his fingers caressing his flesh slowly.
Harry sank to the ground and sat. He was on the verge of doing something very dangerous. Possibly immoral.
This was much better than the invisibility cloak, he realized dizzily. He could get so close and never worry about getting caught. Even if Draco bumped into him, he would never know it was him. He could never get angry for staring. Maybe even touching a little…
Harry groaned and buried his head in his hands. It was a very dangerous tangent. He should just try and talk Malfoy, not… fuck… Well, yeah, not get into his pants.
Could he get into his pants like this?
Harry groaned again and bit his palm sharply to keep from doing something stupid. He was feeling like a fucking raving lunatic. Draco Malfoy was at his fingertips if he just had the nerve to take him.
A spasm of energy hit Harry all of a sudden, painful and alarming. It pulled him from his heated thoughts and reminded him how little time he had.
He stood and took in how beautiful Draco was as he leaned in again. This time he chose the ear he first assaulted. He trailed a soft stream of air while Draco twitch, and told himself this was all he was going to do. Annoy the prat. Look and annoy.
By the time class was finished, Harry was doing his best not to laugh at how pissed Malfoy was. Draco collected his school things while muttering about fleas under his breath the entire time. Harry’s stomach was tight with lust and anxiety from the many fucked up thoughts he really shouldn’t be considering. He felt a bit woozy from the many emotions but did his best to follow the scowling Draco down into the dungeons.
“Bloody… fucking… unicorns.” Draco scrubbed at the back of his neck while he juggled books and parchments to get his wand free. “Lice. It has to be fucking lice… or fleas. The oaf probably has both—Shit, fuck… Oh, fuck.” Another wave of air hit the side of his neck and reduced him to broken gasps as he tried to open his damn door. As a prefect and an upperclassman, he had his own set of small rooms. Right now he needed the bathroom to shower the fucking bugs off and wank desperately.
Draco had this thing with his neck. He was very sensitive there, ridiculously so. Not to mention, lately he kept thinking he smelled Potter, and to mix thoughts of the wild, green-eyed Harry and his neck was just fucking explosive. Finally, he managed to get the door open. He pushed it wide, threw his school things on the bed and then spelled the door locked.
Wand in hand, Draco pushed his robes off his shoulders and examined the fine fabric for crawlies. He couldn’t find anything damning but spelled some pest control over it just in case. He then unbuttoned his shirt, pulled it off and glared at the collar closely. Nothing… Fucking nothing. He moved to the mirror in his room and examined where he itched. His neck was pink in spots from his scratching and rubbing. Draco ran tentative fingers over the area and tried to see if there were any bumps to indicate a rash.
His eyes half closed and he released a broken breath from the sensation. He fanned his fingers wide and watched his hand move down his throat. He thought someone was breathing on him. He could have sworn it was hot breath moving over his neck, teasing him, tempting him… smelling like Harry Potter.
“Fuck. I’m losing my fucking mind.” He was particularly dizzy that day. Usually he could keep some juice down, but Blaise arguing with him turned his stomach too much for even that. Clearly he was just losing it.
Draco kicked off his shoes and arranged them by the foot of his bookcase before he scooped up his clothes to throw in the laundry in the adjoining bathroom. He finished stripping in the small room, turned on the water and charmed it to a near hot temperature. He quickly leaned under the spray with head raised to let water caress down his neck. “I’m losing my fucking mind,” he muttered as water slipped in and dripped out between his parted lips.
Draco’s eyes closed and the water sluicing down his face. He tried not to think about what he used to think of whenever he would argue with Harry. It always left him hot afterwards and sometimes—most times—hard. There was just something about Potter’s eyes, especially when flashing in anger, that was so fucking intense as they tried to bend him to his will. Be it to speak nicely or care about the things he cared about. Harry’s righteous anger was infuriating and damn sexy in its need to change him. Draco was always happy to bait him with things to piss Potter off.
He wasn’t supposed to think about that anymore and not just because Potter was dead. Draco’s body experienced difficulties with the responsibilities placed on it as it was. Reminding himself he got hard over guys was going to make raising a family with a girl very difficult. Having Harry’s memory of scent around him today was a challenging reminder. He was aching inside. He hadn’t felt this ache in a long time, not since his last day of school before summer.
Potter was staring at him on the train. He went so far as to strike up a conversation with him while alone in the narrow hallway, and asked him what he was going to be doing that summer. Harry’s wild eyes demanded something of him—what, he had no idea—but he stared so intently, so demandingly while Draco blathered something about summer reading. He ached so much once Potter left. Draco ended up in the small bathroom of the locomotive where he jerked off desperately while biting his wrist to keep from making any noise.
When he came, he wished for something else, something inside him to fill the ache. Then he quashed the feeling down, told himself just how fucking wrong it was to want that. He was a guy, and guys weren’t supposed to want other guys. Even if it might be okay to want another guy, there was no way he could want to be filled—stretched open wide and stuffed full by a guy—could be redeemable. To do the fucking maybe, but wanting to be fucked was definitely wrong.
Only girls wanted that and he had no interest in being a girl. Draco didn’t like how girls looked. He didn’t like how soft and waif like and wide eyed they were always trying to be, as if guys were supposed to see their weakness and save them. He didn’t need saving, and he didn’t want just any guy to come around thinking he could have a shot at doing such a thing. He was strong and he liked strong things. He liked wild things that were even stronger than he was. Fuck, he liked wild things that could make him feel weak in comparison.
Potter made him feel weak sometimes. He was a damn combustion of hot power most of the time, especially when angry. Faced with that power, Draco thought maybe it could be enough to shut up the voice in his head which told him wanting guys was wrong. If Harry was just a little more demanding of him, he might have let him kiss him… maybe even touch him. And one day, if Harry was stronger, and wild, and very demanding, Draco might even let him fuck him.
But Harry was dead and he was getting married soon.
Today Draco ached and needed something inside to fill the empty feeling. Maybe today, just today, he would think of Potter and give in to those demanding eyes in his mind. Just once. Just because tomorrow was the quidditch match Harry should have fought him in. His eyes would have demanded from him, and now never would again.
“Right.” Harry stood on the other side of the bathroom door and stared at the wide crack where Draco failed to shut the door completely. “Okay.” Draco just stripped, right in front of him, and touched his neck like some—Hell, like someone who really liked his neck being touched.
Harry let out a shaky breath and moved towards the door. He wasn’t sure what the fuck he was thinking, just that it was very important he make sure Malfoy was still on the other side. The shower was filling up with white steam and he could barely make anything out. Hand raised, he pressed at the wood of the door. It was unwarded and allowed him to pass through without resistance. Harry licked his lips and stepped slowly through. Steam engulfed his vision even as it failed to wet his skin.
Draco was touching his neck, his long fingers tracing up and down in teasing strokes. His eyes were closed, brows furrowed and lips parted as he panted quietly. In his other hand was a loofah which currently scrubbed mindlessly as it trailed soap and small bubbles over his slick torso.
“Shit, Malfoy, fucking look at you.” Harry took a step closer with hands determinedly at his sides. Draco was drop dead gorgeous. His long toned body, pale, strong and lithe. He was compact and nearly deceptively delicate, even though clearly muscled over his narrow hips, tight torso and flared shoulders. He was a damn fine athlete, which Harry recalled well from quidditch.
His white blond hair was nearly transparent under the water as it dripped down his body. Harry stepped closer and the water moved through him as if he wasn’t there at all. The element clung to Draco, moved over his flesh possessively, slid down the curve of his ass, the flat planes of his stomach, and slipped between his muscular thighs. It was currently being directed over his throat as he bent his head back even further, pressed his pale flesh into the spray and gasped as water streamed out of his mouth.
Harry couldn’t seem to stop himself. His hand was suddenly inches from Draco’s throat. His fingertips outstretched and brushed ever so gently where the water spray hit his flesh. That very dangerous feeling was rising in him again with his eyes caught on Draco’s mouth. Harry pulled his hand away, dipped his head, and blew on the back of Draco’s wet neck.
Draco groaned. The hand touching his neck reached forward to brace on the tile before him. The sponge was clutched soapy in his tight grasp, his movements stilled to feel the return of the strange torment very much like someone breathing on him. Harry shifted. His eyes moved to the curve of Draco’s neck and his hot breath followed. He watched Draco turn his body to direct the sensation until Harry was blowing across the center dip by his collarbone again. He raised up slowly and fanned breath over Draco’s throat, jaw, and gasping lips.
“Losing my fucking mind,” Draco mumbled dizzily with eyes shut tight under the water. Harry’s own breath was strained and he forced himself to step back while holding his hands flat against his sides to keep from reaching out. After a moment, Draco’s hand returned to his neck and his fingers brushed the trail Harry just took. “Fucking mad.”
Draco’s other hand dropped the loofah on the floor so his shaking fingers could curl around his erection. He was long, flesh flushed red as his cock rose up from his body. Draco pulled with slow, long tugs and used the water to smooth his motions. After a moment he let go. His fingers moved down, palm cupped his balls and caressed. Further still, his tense thighs spread to make room as his fingertips danced across his entrance.
Harry dragged his eyes up to his face, and found Draco’s ripe bottom lip worried between his teeth as he hesitated. Was this the first time? Harry groaned and bit his palm even though Draco couldn’t hear him. He assumed he liked to bottom. Probably because, well, fuck, because he wanted to fuck Draco’s, round, tight bottom. Had he never even touched himself there?
“Fuck, Malfoy, fucking do it,” Harry commanded hoarsely as he watched the struggle of embarrassment and want flicker over Draco’s face. “I think you’re going to like it. Pretty fucking sure you’re going to be begging for it.”
He stared intently when Draco’s expression slowly changed. Draco released his trapped red lip to pant, his brows furrowed tight as he suddenly gasped and body jerked. Harry’s gaze jumped down to watch as Draco stroked a finger inside his entrance, twisted and thrust to stretch his tight, virgin hole.
Harry leaned back against the shower tile a couple of feet away from Draco’s softly moaning form. He blindly fumbled for the zip on his jeans. He couldn’t pull his attention from where Draco’s long finger disappeared inside him, and then up to his face where his pink mouth was wide in gasping pleasure.
Malfoy would fucking stop if he touched him. He would stop, and freak, and never again shove fingers deep inside with hips bucking to bury them even further. And it was very, fucking, important Draco do this again. Preferably every time he touched himself, especially if he happened to be watching.
Oh hell, and he was begging for it. With hand fisted around his straining dick, Harry listened as Draco leaned his face against the cool tile and murmured while he pressed two fingers into his tight hole.
“Please. Oh, please. Fuck deeper. Just a bit deeper… uhn.” Draco whimpered when he withdrew his fingers. He moving around his outer thigh in the hopes to reaching deeper. He sheathed two fingers into his tight flesh again. His mouth gaped and air shattered out of him as he thrust his hips back onto his hand. “Oh, god. Oh… my… god. Fuck me. Yes.”
“Fucking told you, you fucking hot… sexy… prat.” Harry felt his resolve crumble as Draco continued a stream of very nasty, very desperate pleas for more. More length, more thickness, more force.
He would stop. There was no way Malfoy would continue if suddenly touched, and licked, and bit all over. No matter if Draco was currently aching for more and Harry had plenty more he would happily fucking give him.
“How do you like it, Malfoy? Shit, do you even know how you like it?” Harry turned his face so he was eye to eye with Draco’s moaning face resting on the tile wall. “Do you like it soft, slow, sweet? Or hard, and rough, and god damn savage? How do you like to be fucked, you gorgeous, beautiful bastard.” He watched as Draco’s white eyelashes fluttered. Draco peeked his tongue out and pressed it to the tile to lap in a firm, hard motion.
“Fucking hell. Holy fucking hell,” Harry whispered. He swallowed thickly, eyes caught on Draco’s very red tongue as he continued to lick the tile with abandon. Draco’s moans and gasps muffled into the unyielding wall while he pumped fingers inside his passage. “You like something in your mouth. Deep in your mouth. And someone touching your throat. Maybe a collar, so you can… can always feel something there. Mmm… something big, and long shoved up your tight ass. Pumping into you. Taking you. Filling you.”
Harry groaned and flicked his tongue out and ran it over the wall. It tingled from the feel of magic in the surface. “I would really like to be that big, long cock shoved in your hole.” He fought the urge to shut his eyes and give in to the feel of his palm running over his length in quick, desperate motions. Draco kept pushing back on his fingers, his knees shaking, tongue dancing over the tile, and he didn’t want to miss a thing.
With a desperate whimper, Draco turned and leaned his shoulder against the wall, unknowingly showing Harry his hard, smooth lines. Harry’s gaze was drawn down his pale form to linger on his belly button and the soft white hair dusting his navel and thicker at his groin. He watched as Draco took his free hand and wrapped red fingers around his flushed dick. He spread his legs wider as he began to rock, first pushing back onto his fingers and then thrusting into his fist. He looked like he’d done this a million times and knew how much he loved it.
“Fucking slutty, little tease,” Harry gritted out. His own hand sped up. Draco threw his head back and sobbed, rocking on his fingers, and swayed so fucking close he could feel the heat of his body. “That’s it, Draco, that’s it. Fucking take it. Fucking want it. You’re so close, aren’t you? So fucking close.”
“Oh god… Oh, fuck, yes. Fuck… fuck.” Draco gave a choked sob. His back arched when he added another finger roughly. Three now stretched his passage wide and made his entire body ache. It was so hot inside him, so slick and tight. His fingers squeezed together as his channel clenched around him in a desperate need to be full. “Oh fuck… need more… need. So good but not enough.”
“That’s it. Fuck, I could give you more.” Harry pressed closer. He made sure his fisted hand would be clear of his fisted hand as Draco’s hips continued to buck. He just really couldn’t stop himself. Harry leaned his head forward and blew softly over Draco’s throat and chin. “Come on, you fucking tease. You’re begging for it, and you’re so ready to come.” He watched Draco’s face; silver eyes blinked open to reveal such absolute want and confusion.
“Fucking… fucking can’t be,” Draco whimpered even as the familiar scent filled his senses once again. “Oh fuck… Oh, Harry.” He came with a gasp, his body tensed so tight he bowed backward and his cum splattered his stomach in long streams.
Harry watched, green eyes wide in shock as he jerked his release. His own orgasm ripped through his body and was nearly lost in the roar of his blood in his ears from when Draco said his name. How could he have…? Did he…?
Draco swayed. With both hands he grabbed the wall behind him. He sank down to sit in the spray, his eyes fixed at the floor blindly as he caught his breath. “Holy fuck. Going crazy… Going fucking crazy.”
Harry had to fucking agree because there was no way Malfoy could know he was there. Not from a little air on his neck and just once, very soft fingers on his throat lost in the sensation of the shower. There was no fucking way.
He stared down at Draco, his eyes following his smooth neck which led to toned shoulders as he leaned forward. Draco’s knees were bent up and his long hands ran over his feet as he held his legs. Harry crouched down beside him and watched his ripe lips pant while he took in every healthy, fit inch of him. “You are fucking beautiful, Malfoy. Fucking magnificent. And you would never waste a fucking thought on me.”
Harry stood, fixed his jeans and sat all the way on the other side of the room. He was unwilling to leave, but also unwilling to stay so close to the one he desperately wanted to touch.
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. 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?
Maybe he really was going mad.
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,” Draco 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.
Harry didn’t know what to feel while Dumbledore sat and peered twinkly eyes at where he was standing behind Draco. The headmaster couldn’t see him at all. Harry wasn’t even sure he should be doing this. He planned to not bothering Malfoy, to not reveal he was still alive because of just how short a time it might be.
Of course, once again he followed the prat, concerned with how listless Draco seemed when he landed after catching the snitch. Then Draco was yelling—and fuck, the crying. The fucking crying over him dying was a damn nightmare and Harry couldn’t help but reach out to him. Who the hell would have guessed Draco Malfoy was hiding so much depth beneath his perfect hair and creamy skin? But he was and it just poured out on the floor as he sobbed and Harry held him tight.
And well, he sounded a bit more than sad, hadn’t he? Like maybe Malfoy missed him as more than just some classmate. Like he was someone he might have a crush on. Like Draco might just say his name in the shower while touching himself.
It felt good to hold another human being again, to feel such warmth again against his skin. It was easy to sink into the smell of flesh, the feel of soft rhythm of breath and pulse of Draco’s heart. It was extra good because it was Malfoy. With his soft hair, and such smooth skin, Harry didn’t want to move. He wanted to stay there forever with Draco’s breath warming his skin and his tears drying between them.
There was a problem when it came to touching Draco, one Harry noticed the other night when he licked him. It was difficult to stop once he started. He kept wanting to touch Draco again, to press against him, run his tongue over him. It was a problem Harry was still struggling with while Draco and Dumbledore talked.
While talking, Malfoy sipped a cup of tea now his hands finally stopped their incessant shaking. The two of them were already through the preliminary stages of, ‘Yes, Harry is alive. No, I can’t hear him. Yes, I can touch him, but no, it doesn’t seem anyone else can.’ It was a lot and they were throwing around theories of why Draco could be tangible to Harry but no one else.
Draco was biting his lip and Harry couldn’t help but press his hand to the side of his pale, beautiful face. Draco’s gaze looked up and through him. “Ever since I was young, strange creatures have… I guess you could say they’re drawn to me.” Draco’s eyes were full of anxiety when he looked to Dumbledore. “They aren’t always friendly. Sometimes they’re plain frightening. I had a pet when I was young. My parents said she was imaginary but she was real. That sounds crazy, I know.” Draco stopped and smacked his hand to his forehead. Harry was quick to pry it free. Instead of releasing him, he twined their fingers together.
Draco lost his train of thought and stared at here his hand was caught. Harry wasn’t sure why he kept grabbing him so boldly but Malfoy hadn’t told him to stop. Eyes blinking, Draco continued talking. “I know it sounds crazy. But I wouldn’t be here, putting my sanity in questions, if I wasn’t certain that Potter was alive.”
“I don’t think you’re insane, Draco,” Dumbledore assured even as Draco looked doubtful. “I’ll have to speak with an old acquaintance of mine, then we can start from there. Do you know if this gift runs in your family? It would be a great help if you could give me as much information you have on it. I believe it’s the only clue we to have to what has happened to Harry.”
Harry watched as Draco’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared. Malfoy jumped to his feet and pulled from Harry’s hand. “You’re going to call my mother, aren’t you? Oh hell, she’ll kill me. Shit, don’t tell her it’s for Potter! Please, just don’t mention him.”
Harry stepped around Draco’s pacing form, and rested on Dumbledore’s magic infused desk. He wasn’t sure just why Draco was so worried. Dumbledore spoke behind him, just as confused. “Mr. Malfoy, your mother has been clear with her loyalty for you. I don’t believe she’ll be upset.”
Draco snorted. His hand pulled mindlessly at his shining locks. “Right, because the woman who married my psycho father is totally not going to finish the job once she discovers Potter’s alive.” Draco snarled it with such conviction, Harry gaped at a loss for words. Draco’s parents were clearly fucked up.
“Are you suggesting she would be a danger to Harry?” Dumbledore asked slowly, his fingers bridged as he sat forward at his desk.
Draco rolled his eyes in exasperation. “That’s a nice way to put it. I doubt she’d do anything outright, but I’m sure she’ll tell anyone who can and find a way to take him out while he’s weak.”
“I hardly think that’s a concern. You’re the only one who can even touch him,” Dumbledore pointed out.
Draco took a deep breath and slowed his pacing. He came to a stop in front of Dumbledore’s desk and right next to Harry. He looked genuinely worried at the idea of protecting Harry from another fucked up relative. It was kind of sad.
“Listen, I know this won’t make sense,” Draco said solemnly, eyes full of concern. “There’s something wrong with him. Something unstable in his life force is sparking. I sensed it earlier and I’ve seen it once, in another of those creatures… right before it died.” Draco looked around suddenly and turned back to his chair.
Harry realized he was looking for him and reached his hand out. Draco was damn jumpy, he noticed as he took in his flushed face. He stepped up and grabbed Draco’s other hand.
“Potter, stay out of the Forbidden Forest while you’re like this, okay? There are creatures out there. Dangerous. I don’t know what they want, but they’ve stalked me before. In your condition, well, I think you should be careful.”
He wanted to ask how Draco knew so much; knew it was him, knew he was sick, knew the creatures were foe and not friends. But he couldn’t. All he could do was raise Draco’s hand to his head and nod to let him know he would comply.
Draco gave a sigh of relief and relaxed. “Sir, my parents never believed me about my pet or the creatures. I seriously doubt it would be worth risking Potter to ask.”
Dumbledore seemed more interested in Draco’s hand resting in mid air on Harry’s head. “Harry, can you show me just how tangible you are with him?”
Harry smirked while Draco looked confused. “Like what—Damn it!” Draco yelped when Harry lifted him. His hands flew to his invisible shoulders for stability. “Potter, you could have warned me. Put me down.”
Harry refused, too busy staring into Draco’s stunning eyes as he blinked down in his general direction. With a smirk, Harry lifted him higher.
“Shit. When did you get so strong?” Draco asked breathlessly.
Harry couldn’t say. He knew his magic and strength were monstrous when he fought Voldemort in this realm. It was difficulty to focus when Draco’s waist was just so warm where his hands gripped. This time Harry was very careful to not press against him and wreck havoc on the both of them. He glanced over to Dumbledore, who passed his hands through him and was staring at where it appeared Draco was hovering in the air.
“Very interesting. It really does seem all he can touch is you. Your robes aren’t even bunched. Harry can you put him down and touch a spot we can see?”
Harry gently lowered Draco to the floor. He wasn’t blind to the haze in Draco’s beautiful silver eyes. He moved closer and felt Draco stiffen in response, gaze following to where his breath hit his cheek. Harry carefully ruffled his blond hair, threading fingers in and raising the strands up. He didn’t have to stand so close for this but couldn’t seem not to. It helped Draco looked ridiculously cute with his hair a mess.
“Amazing. Yes, we have something here…” Dumbledore mussed. His hands carefully touched Draco’s hair. He noted how it resisted being moved but he could still press his hand through where Harry’s hand should be. “I’ll send note to McVicar today; he has experience with other realities. I suspect it’s what we’re dealing with here, some sort of dimensional drift.”
Harry quickly moved Draco’s head in a nodding motion and Draco smacked his hand in response. “Potter seems to agree, Sir—Stop dragging me around!” Harry would have apologized but couldn’t, so instead picked the now extremely irritated Malfoy up by his arms and placed him in front of Fawkes. He moved Draco’s hand to then point at the bird.
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled again as he stepped towards his phoenix. “Yes, I think I’m beginning to understand. Can you touch Fawkes as well, Harry?”
Harry gently ruffled the sleeping bird’s feathers across it’s fluffy breast so they could all see. Draco peered very close, oblivious to where Harry was in relation. Harry felt a spark of danger again, one he was sure wouldn’t go over well at all considering the situation.
“Harry, I know that the circumstances are a bit odd but I can’t help but recall seeing a lot of your friends out watching the game today,” Dumbledore said. “If Draco would be willing, I’d like to invite them up to see you. Well, not see. But to know that you are well. Would that be okay with the two of you?”
Harry wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but Draco, reluctant as he seemed, said yes. Harry pressed Draco’s hand to his forehead and nodded as well. As Dumbledore called owls, Harry watched Draco, who sat again and looked exhausted. With Dumbledore around, Draco practically ignored Harry and he was finding it annoying. He didn’t know if it was personal, or if Malfoy just didn’t want to look like he was talking to himself.
He knelt next to Draco and peered at the side of his face. He remained until Draco scowled from the feel of his breath curling around his ear and turned toward him. “Potter, don’t you fucking dare start. I figured out it was you in class yesterday. If you can torment me, I can bloody well punch you. Got it?”
Maybe he was just tired and cranky. Harry carefully reached up and brushed fingers to his frown. Draco gasped and caught his wrist. “Seriously, you need to stop that,” Draco hissed softly, although his anger had curbed.
Maybe Draco didn’t really understand he wanted to shag him into the nearest sturdy surface. How many ways did he have to get this damn close before Malfoy figured out that he wasn’t being weird and oblivious, but intentionally seductive? “Malfoy… you’re a bit dim. Like dense even.”
Harry cupped his face in his hands. He watched Draco’s eyes blink crystal, then gaze lower when Harry’s breath teased over his mouth. “Potter…?”
“You really are fucking dense. Wow.” The mumbled words did something to Draco; his eyelids grew heavy and lips parted slightly as his breathing sped up. Draco jerked back the moment Dumbledore stepped back into the room and kept his gaze fixed anywhere but near Harry.
Harry gave an annoyed sigh and stood. He was restless but Draco’s stubbornness rarely had limits. He walked to the back of his chair and rested his hands on Draco’s shoulders while they waited.
Draco could not remember seeing so many Weasleys in one place ever. It seemed when they were together, their numbers somehow increased exponentially. Nearly all six siblings came to watch Ron play, Percy the only one off doing Ministry related things. Along with Granger, the werewolf Remus, and Draco’s cousin Sirius, it was a packed house in Dumbledore’s office. Sofas and chairs of all shapes and sizes were spelled up to house the lot of them. The Headmaster stepped out with Snape to converse by floo with the specialist he hoped could help with Harry.
An hour in, Draco was pretty sure he was going to lose his shit. It was already a difficult day, what with the quidditch match, and his breakdown and all. Now he had to deal with countless gropings. Bill noticed you could actually feel where Harry touched Draco’s skin. And of course, they all had needed to try it. Repeatedly. Not to mention fucking Potter kept touching his neck, like a god damn ass, until Draco promised he was going to curse every single one of them if they didn’t keep it to the back of his hand.
Granger came up with the bloody brilliant—and it was actually brilliant—idea to have Harry move his hand around while Draco held a quill so he could finally communicate. It would have been fine, except to do it, Harry wrapped himself up tight around Draco’s back. His head leaned on his shoulder to see while he held Draco’s chest for balance. It was a lot of skin on bare skin with things lining up in ways which made Draco remember a particular ache. It was all very maddening. Especially now Harry was permanently breathing down his neck. Much longer, and Draco was fairly certain he was going to melt into a puddle of goo.
Ha, see them try to converse with Potter then.
Everyone leaned in to focus once again on whatever Draco’s hand spewed next.
My magic doesn’t work properly here. My wand was destroyed and I’ve been having difficulty keeping in control.
They already went over the big things like making sure Voldemort was really, really dead. And Harry wasn’t actually dead. Apparently Potter was concerned about his condition and well, feeling each spark as Harry pressed up against him, Draco was getting concerned as well. There were the pleasantries. The apologies for having never found Harry or realizing what happened. Also many please don’t annoy Malfoy moments, which seemed to be increasing the longer Draco was forced to be a living quill while fighting an erection.
Thankfully, all the crying finally stopped. Ginny was just down to sniffs and Sirius ceased his loud bawling only moments before her. Draco didn’t know if Sirius gave him hope for his bloodline or more concern of insanity dwelling. Considering how the man was sprawled over the werewolf, he had to imagine Sirius wouldn’t be siring children anytime soon to find out.
Dumbledore came in and interrupted the flow of conversation for more information. He handed Draco a new roll of parchment. “Harry, I need as much information about the dimension you share with Draco as you can think of. Please, every minuscule thing. It could be the defining factor in figuring out how to bring you back.”
Draco sighed and cricked his neck to the side. “Must you? My hand is cramping up.” He shuddered as air fell in snickering bursts over his neck. “Potter! What did I tell you about tickling me? Get away from my neck,” Draco growled. He twisted his shoulders back and forth, hoping to throw Harry off as the room went silent.
Draco raised his eyes to find everyone staring at him. “What? Read the bloody paper and leave me alone already.” He huffed and rolled his eyes, then caught sight of what Harry just wrote.
You know you like it.
“Bloody—You are so dead, scarhead!” Draco snarled. He stood so he could beat the crap out of the annoying git. He was hampered by Harry’s arms when he grabbed him expectantly by the shoulders like he knew he was going to get angry. This revelation naturally made Draco angrier. “Let go, you bloody wanker!”
“Well, I’m definitely convinced now,” Sirius said with a grin. His eyebrows wagged.
“Indeed,” Bill agreed while whistling low. “I think you’ve been hiding something from us, Harry.”
Fred and Ron both shrugged. “Not really. He was kind of clear about it last year,” Fred said and threw a whizzer at his twin. “You weren’t home at the time.”
Hermione kindly reached forward and crossed the line off the page with the dropped quill. “Ignore him, Malfoy. Harry hasn’t talked to anyone in months. He’s probably feeling a bit silly. I’m sorry this has been so difficult on you but we really appreciate all your help.” She gave her most agreeable smile and Draco, damn him, found himself nodding back as his anger drained.
Glaring at everyone in the room, Draco sat. “Potter, you have half an hour, then I’m through playing quill for the day. I suggest you get writing while my hand is still attached.” He bowed his head and stared determinedly at the table. Harry once again settled behind him, far too close and hot in his strong arms. Draco swallowed hard.
I’ll make it up to you.
“Not bloody likely,” Draco grumbled. His lashes lowered as heat fanned over his neck. He stilled, his eyes closed when Harry kissed the back of his neck for a slow moment. Draco went to snap again, but thought better of it with so many people staring at him curiously. Instead he shrugged his shoulders and tried to move Harry away from his odd display.
Seriously, was Potter trying to piss him off so much he’d start kissing at him?
“So, Harry, how come you haven’t fallen through the floor yet?” Hermione stared down at the paper expectantly.
The castle is full of magic. The earth too but not as solid. I can stand and hold anything with enough magic in it.
“That could be useful,” Remus mussed. “We might be able to make you your own pen, at the very least.”
“Ah, and now I’m listening,” Draco perked. He watched his hand move across the page. Potter’s handwriting wasn’t too bad, now they’d gotten the hang of things.
I would really appreciate it. So would Malfoy.
“I am not a fan of being a puppet,” Draco agreed.
“So… is that why you can touch Malfoy, then?” Ron asked. “He’s full of magic?”
Draco raised his brows, actually wondering as well. “Do you know why, Potter? I always wondered why those strange creatures would seek me out.”
I can see why. But I don’t want to alarm you. Harry wrote hesitantly.
“Well, now you really have to say, don’t you?” Sirius said flatly. “Talk about suspense.”
Draco took his free hand and buried his face in it for a moment. He massaged his eyebrows. “Just tell me, Potter. Whatever it is, it’s not new. It’s hardly life or death.”
Okay. You might be part… something. I don’t know what. But you have a tail and claws and feathers. And you glow very bright.
Draco pursed his lips as everyone once again turned their intent gaze to him. He met Sirius’s very startled eyes and narrowed silver back at his cousin. “Potter, what about Black? Or the werewolf? If it’s just about magical creature ancestry, why can’t you touch them?”
“Hey, no one said I have…”
“Bullshit, Black, I can smell it a mile away,” Draco snapped. “If Potter is outing me, then you’re outed too. Considering you were disinherited already, hardly a damn loss.”
Sirius growled but didn’t disagree. He looked around the room, and glared at the many Weasleys watching interestedly. “No one tells a soul, understand? Especially about Malfoy. You know what this kind of information can do if leaked. He’ll lose all chance of getting a job and having a damn life. He’ll certainly lose his pretty little fiance. I’ll spell you to secrecy if I have to.”
Draco was trying very hard to ignore just how still Harry became behind him. The arm around his chest suddenly felt more like a steel trap than anything else. Instead he looked at the words he wrote in answer to the earlier question.
Malfoy shares one specific dimension with me. No one else does. Fawkes shares three different ones, which is why I can touch him as well. It may be less about magic and more about sharing space—
He ended the last word with a scratch and Draco imagined it was about when Sirius mentioned Serene. Now really wasn’t the time to talk about it and Draco did his best to divert his attention. “Cousin, you don’t have to worry. I have yet to meet a more upstanding family than the Weasleys. And Granger is, well, Granger. Hardly someone to go blabbing secrets. And Remus is a werewolf, so no one will listen to him anyways,” he added with a playful smirk.
“Geez, had me worried you were complimenting us,” Ron said with a chuckle. “You have not been well lately.”
“Guess it’s just part of having feathers and a tail on a different plane of existence.” Draco turned his head to where Harry was again resting on his shoulder. He felt calmer. “So Potter, what do you look like? Since I’m apparently feathery.”
Scales too. You have both. I look like I’m breaking apart on that plane.
It was Draco’s turn to still. His hand mindlessly went to the arm wrapped around him and held. “How so?”
Cracks of light, like my energy is breaking out of my skin.
“The energy sparks?”
Draco nodded blindly and his mouth twisted into a frown. “Hopefully the specialist will be able to figure it all out.”
They started their goodbyes after that when everyone realized Harry needed to get his information to Dumbledore sooner rather than later. Ron and Hermione lingered while everyone else gave Harry farewell pats on Draco’s hand. They chatted for a while. Harry would interrupt his descriptive text to jot conversation on a different page to join in with his friends. The day caught up to Draco and he drifted in the peaceful droning of their voices and the scratching of the quill.
Draco opened his eyes and looked around from where his cheek was pressed flat against the desk. His hand was moving, the sound of the quill quiet in the room. There didn’t seem to be anyone there besides the cooing phoenix and Potter, who was currently tracing his other fingers through Draco’s hair.
“God, it’s dark out. How are you still writing?” Draco sat up slowly.
Don’t sleep. Don’t get tired.
“Ah. That must get boring.” Draco looked around blearily, only to start when Harry leaned forward and rested his body on him heavily. Breath was suddenly on Draco’s cheek and he glanced to where Harry was likely staring back. “What?”
You’re mad cute when you’re asleep.
Draco stared intently at the words but they didn’t reveal themselves to be an illusion. He tilted his head and wondered if he was just very, very tired. “Potter, I really don’t know what you’re thinking here.”
Seriously, still? You’re Hot. Sexy. Very fucking sexy. How blunt do I need to be?
Everything sort of went red. Draco blinking dumbly at the page as heat rushed to his face.
I can’t stop thinking of you. Yesterday in the shower when you—
He used his free hand to slam down the quill and cut off Harry’s words. “Don’t. Not that,” he whispered hollowly.
Harry pulled the quill away and wrote quickly. Why? You were beautiful.
Draco shook his head and breathed out unsteadily. “It’s not funny, Potter. Just because I’m the only one you can talk to doesn’t mean you get to fucking tease me about this. Just stop it.”
I’m not teasing!
“Fucking are, you bloody—” Draco stopped. He quickly crumpled up the spare piece of parchment right before Dumbledore walked into the room. “Sir, if I could go already, that would be great.” He rose and pulled away from the extremely warm, and now motionless body behind him.
“Of course, Draco. I wanted to thank you for all your help today in bringing Harry back to us. And with the writing.” Dumbledore picked up the pages of text Harry wrote while Draco slept and glanced through them quickly. “Hopefully there will be something here to give us a clue on how to get Harry back.”
Draco nodded but he was distracted and irritable. All he really wanted was to get out of there already. “Not a problem. And if you would just not mention any of this to my mother?”
Dumbledore looked grave and Draco stopped his fidgeting. “What? You spoke with her?”
“No, but I have a feeling she will be owling you.” Dumbledore combed his long beard a moment, then sighed. “We made some inquiries into your ancestry once it was revealed you weren’t fully human. Nothing that could harm your standing in the society, but I’m certain your father has a network to catch these sorts of things. It was definitely from his side, Draco. As his only heir, they will want to protect you from word getting out.”
Fucking hell. What did that mean, exactly? Was he going to end up as fucking crazy as his father now? Harry’s hand touched his shoulder and Draco started from his thoughts. He ran a hand through his hair as he pulled away and edged towards the door. “Fine, whatever, it’s done. I really need to get going.”
Dumbledore held his hand up. “Draco, we’re going to need your help once McVicar gets here. We will try to work around your class schedule, but I’m sure you can understand the urgency of this. Given Harry’s condition—”
“It’s fine. I’ll do whatever I can to help,” Draco interrupted. “Just ask. But now I really need to eat, sir.”
“Of course; my apologies. I’ll have the house elves send something to your room. Harry, it is such a relief to have you back with us.” Dumbledore led them to the door and Draco was finally free. He pulled again out of Harry’s hand when he tried to hold his back while they walked down the hallway.
Harry wasn’t sure exactly why Malfoy was pissed but he was clearly angry. After about five minutes of pretending to eat, Draco gave up to stalk around his room and pace. Harry kept trying to grab him and get him to write but that only seemed to make Malfoy more upset. Instead Harry stood in a corner out of the way while he watched him fume.
He loved the flash in Draco’s eyes and the way his hair flowed around him as he whirled and muttered. He was still in his quidditch uniform, not having thought to change even now. With him pacing, snarling, and being over all hot, Harry was realizing he might have a problem when it came to the prat.
“Potter, where are you?” Draco called as he stopped in the middle of the room. Seeing the quill in hand, Harry stepped forward and brushed fingers over his arm. Draco jumped and he had to wonder why, seeing as he knew he was right there.
Draco pulled him over to the desk and threw a piece of parchment down. “Promise me, Potter. You won’t tell a goddamn soul about yesterday.”
Harry curled fingers around Draco’s and carefully moved his hand.
What about yesterday?
“Potter!” Harry stumbled back when Draco shoved him.
“Fuck, Malfoy. What the fuck is your problem?” He quickly grabbed the hand trying to punch him.
“Damn it!” Draco struggled in his grasp and Harry only held on harder. He stepped closer to look down at the annoying, beautiful prat. “I have responsibilities, you dolt. People can’t know that I… that I like that sort of thing. It… it’s not really accepted with purebloods, or, well, most normal society in general,” Draco finally muttered.
With a start, Harry realized he was talking about the shower. Malfoy actually looked distressed. Harry never had any issues with his own sexuality, but then, he was able to talk to Remus and Sirius about it. Who the hell did Malfoy have to talk to, besides his fucked up family?
Harry tugged Draco’s hand back down to the table and wrote again, the letters lopsided from the angle.
I wasn’t planning on telling anyone.
Draco visibly relaxed. He sat and slumped down in the chair. “Thanks.”
Why does it matter?
Harry watched as Draco scowled and his free hand covered half his face.
You’re fucking beautiful.
“Stop!” Draco tried to wrest his arm away. Harry used his other hand to hold him still and scrawled quickly.
Why would I joke about this? Who the fuck would find it funny?
“I don’t bloody know, but its all you fucking lions joke about. Everything is a fucking broom ride with you lot, and this is my god damn life!”
Draco managed to pull his arm free and tried to get past him. He nearly knocked his head right into Harry’s bowed one. Because he could, and he fucking wanted to, and he was sick of this very frustrating feeling, Harry grabbed Draco around his waist and lifted him up.
“Potter! Stop being so annoying!” Draco was hazy eyed again, face flushed across his pale cheeks and Harry really just couldn’t stop himself. He tilted his head up and pressed his lips to Draco’s.
It was very much the wrong move. Draco’s hands quickly found his hair and pulled hard until Harry placed him back on the ground.
“I’m fucking serious. I am not some fucking toy, you asshole!” Draco snarled somewhere around his shoulder since he still couldn’t seem to remember Harry was taller than him.
“You’re out of your fucking mind, Malfoy! Who the fuck kisses someone they don’t like? You’re fucking intentionally oblivious!” Harry growled loudly. The prat couldn’t hear him and the damn writing only seemed to be so easy for Draco to misinterpret. He apparently he just couldn’t fucking let it go, even with Malfoy looking like he was going to murder him. Before he even knew what he was doing, Harry cupped his face and kissed him again.
Again, very much the wrong move. Draco grabbed his fingers and tried to bend them backwards. It was beyond confusing given how Draco also moaned, his lips parting to Harry’s tongue. Harry sacrificed one of his hands to Draco’s malicious retaliation, and used the other to thread through the hair at the back of Draco’s head and keep their mouth’s sealed together.
God, he really was just fucking divine. Fiery and wet and damn fucking perfect.
“Fuck, Potter… stop,” Draco gasped into his mouth. His hand finally stopped the painful finger bending and came to rest on Harry’s chest. Free, Harry wrapped his arm around Draco’s slim waist, pressed their bodies together and earned a wonderful, shaky cry. Bare hot flesh pressed against bare hot flesh. Draco started to tremble and Harry felt a strange, wild heat rise in him.
“I don’t want to stop, you prat. I don’t ever want to let you go. Why can’t you understand that?” Harry murmured between deep kisses. He pulled gasps and moans and even one very adorable squeak from Draco’s red mouth.
Just as suddenly, Draco hit him again. The little ferret went so far as to bite in a less sexy and just plain painful way until Harry finally pulled his mouth away.
“I’m getting fucking married!”
“To some fucking bird when you are clearly gay and hot for me, you idiot.” Somehow, once again his argument was lost on Draco because when Harry went to kiss him again, his ear was twisted. “Shit… shit… owww.”
“I am getting married,” Draco continued determinedly, his eyes alight with anger and a fair bit of torment. “In less than a month. It is difficult enough, without you… you fucking reminding me I very much don’t like women. You are a very good kisser, by the way, so please fucking stop it.” Draco shoved him. Harry stumbled back in surprise and crouched to keep from falling.
Fuck. Fucking Malfoy. Harry stood, and paced around Draco’s stiff form, who looked like he didn’t know whether to start yelling or hitting. “Don’t fucking marry her!”
“And you know what else, Potter? What the fuck are you kissing me for, anyways? When did seeing me in the shower make you think you could just fucking kiss me? I never said a goddamn thing about that being okay! Like you have some fucking right, just because no one can see you?”
Alright, Harry knew at this point he definitely had a problem. The prat was just too fucking gorgeous when he was angry. It was a problem a year ago. Now he really just couldn’t stop himself after having spent hours pressed up against Draco while writing, stealing long licks when he slept, kissing him repeatedly. He saw him naked, and fuck… He knew just how much Draco would enjoy getting his ass shagged. Once again Harry stalked forward, pulled Draco’s slender form toward him, and kissed him deeply.
Draco must of had a similar problem. At the first press of lips to his, he grabbed Harry’s shoulders and kissed back just as hard. He readily gave in to Harry’s demanding tongue, his lips swollen and hot juice dripping from the corner of his panting mouth. Only to again push him back, silver eyes so hazy Harry was certain he would cave if he just kissed him once more.
“Potter, I can’t even fucking see you!” Draco shouted and threw his hands up in frustration. “It’s like kissing thin air. It’s weird!”
Ah, maybe not so much. “Crap. Close your eyes or something.” Harry gently pressed his hand down over Draco’s eyes. It seemed to do the trick. Draco no longer resisted when Harry pressed lips to his, the kiss softer this time. They didn’t stop until Draco was gasping and his short nails scraped at the back of Harry’s neck. With a groan, Draco pulled away and sat in a heap on his bed.
“Fuck, Potter… What the fuck are you doing to me?” Draco ran a shaky hand through his hair. “I’m getting married. Soon. There is no way around it… And you, you’re not even here, are you? You’re off in some other fucking plane of existence which just happens to have a bit of me in it. Hell, you wouldn’t even be in the building if not for the magic keeping you from falling through. What the fuck is kissing going to do except drive me mad?”
Harry wasn’t sure and didn’t really care. He really wanted to keep kissing the gorgeous prat whenever the urge hit him. He reached his hand for Draco’s right one and touched his fingertips.
“No. I don’t want to talk with you. You’ll find some fucking way to convince me and I can’t do this, Potter. I can’t.” Draco threw his arm over his face to block his eyes from the sight of absolutely nothing. “I can’t tell if you’re having me on. I can’t tell if you’re happy, or sad, or angry. I can’t tell a goddamn thing, except you seem to enjoy pissing me off and kissing me. In that order, at that.”
Harry pulled harder on his hand but Draco resisted. “Come on, Malfoy. How the fuck can I make you understand if you won’t let me?”
“We need some fucking boundaries, Potter. I need you to not go in my loo while I’m in there. And you should stop kissing me and touching me all the fucking time too. Especially… especially when I’m sleeping.”
There was no way Harry was about to agree to any of that. Fuck boundaries. He spent the last months drifting aimlessly while waiting to die. He had no interest in wasting the little time left not enjoying it with the most stunning creature on the planet, who just happened to be able to touch him back. Harry raised Draco’s hand to head and shook a clear no.
Scowling, Draco pushed Harry back by the forehead. “You’re a fucking pain, Potter. What, you think just because you killed You-Know-Who that you can bloody have whatever you want from me? Arrogant ass.”
Harry snorted at the very notion and sat next to Draco on his magically charmed sheets. “Malfoy, if I thought for a bloody second you didn’t want me, I would not be pawing at you. Although I would still be looking, believe you me.” Of course, Draco couldn’t hear him because he refused to get the quill. He did seem to be able to sense him though, his eyes flickering to where Harry was sitting now.
“Potter, I’m fucking tired. Today’s been shit. Let me sleep and stop bloody staring at me.”
Harry wrapped his fingers around Draco chin, leaned forward and watched his silver eyes widen as Draco’s breath sped up. “I am going to stare all I fucking like, Draco. You are beautiful and deserve to be stared at. That no one stares—hell, that no one touches you is a goddamn crime and one I am not willing to commit.” He brushed his lips to Draco’s and listened as he gasped.
That dangerous feeling was rising in him again and with hot intent, he slid his tongue out and slowly licked up the side of Draco’s face. Draco made a noise between a shout and a moan and brought a hand up to shove him away. Harry quickly caught it and dipped his head lower to lick up Draco’s neck.
“Potter, you’re a fucking dog… Oh god… Get the fuck off me and stop licking me.” It would be easier to stop if Draco’s free hand wasn’t stuck in Harry’s thick hair, holding him down while he continue to lick and suck at Draco’s neck. For all his words of protest, Draco was enjoying himself, his head lolled to the side, eyes half closed while Harry held him up and continued marking his neck with red, mouth sized spots.
Suddenly Draco’s hand pried at his face. When Harry pulled away he could see the agony in his silver eyes. “Stop. Please. I’m getting married, and it’s not… it’s not right, Potter. Stop making things so difficult.”
Harry sighed heavily as his words sank in. He got up reluctantly and moved to the corner of the room to put space between them. Draco was exhausted, he could see that. And yes, as determined as he was, Harry could see he wasn’t helping Draco with anything at the moment, just infuriating and exasperating him.
“Malfoy, why the fuck are you getting married? You’re only seventeen. You’re clearly gay. Marrying some oblivious girl is just going to hurt her more than anything.” Just speaking the atrocity out loud was frustrating and Harry crouched with hands flat on the floor so he could feel something solid. “Shit, Malfoy, even if it wasn’t me you’re with, it sure as fuck shouldn’t be a girl. I would prefer it to be me. But don’t live the rest of your life pretending to be straight. It’s fucking stupid.”
Draco didn’t answer. He stripped the majority of his quidditch uniform off in the perceived silence and curled under the blankets and closed his eyes.
Harry stood. He didn’t approach the bed but watched from where he was. “Why the hell are you doing this?”
Naturally, he got no answer. Another spark tore through Harry’s form, this one right across his stomach and extremely painful. Cursing, he began to pace. He was in no mood to sit and drift.
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.
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