Fic: A Year in Training (3/3)
Apr. 2nd, 2013 09:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
omi_ohmy<< Part 2
“Sit.” Hestia busied herself fetching glasses and conjuring water, her back turned to Harry without waiting for him to comply. The grey light of dawn slowly filled the room, and it seemed unnaturally quiet without the sounds of people in the background.
He sat in the bashed old visitor's chair by her desk, grateful for the short reprieve, and dared a look at his hand. The skin was red and shiny where it was swollen. He prodded it, gently, and couldn't help the face he pulled at the sharp pain this caused. Having to seek help in the middle of the night had not been fun: his reception, once he’d explained that he’d knocked Malfoy out, even less so.
“Don't do that—” Harry snatched his hand away, feeling guilty, but Hestia froze some of the water and made him a little ice pack. “Don't be silly, take this: a field healing charm isn't going to take all the pain away.”
Harry swallowed. Hestia pushed forwards his glass of water, but Harry ignored it. He forced himself to breathe out: someone once had told him that it wasn't remembering to breathe that was important, it was remembering to release theat breath you held that would keep you calm. He didn't feel calm. Harry looked down at his hand again, then up to the gentle yet disappointed gaze of his mentor.
“I– I didn't mean for this to happen again—” Even as he spoke the words, Harry wasn't sure how true they were.
“You never mean for it happen, Harry. And yet here we are again. You're just lucky that Draco isn't more seriously injured. I can't explain away your actions. You know that we can't treat you any differently—”
“I've never asked to be treated differently.”
“And yet you continue to behave as if the rules are there for other people, not you.”
Harry felt the sting of the injustice of her words. He wasn't the one who had pushed the situation to this point, Malfoy was. Malfoy was the one who had kissed him. He couldn't, wouldn't, mention it. Hestia kept her eyes fixed on him.
“Look, I know that it hasn't been easy for you, since the war, that it hasn't ever really been easy, but I also know that you want to be an Auror, right?”
“Right.” Harry tried not to glare. He was in enough trouble already, but this mix of understanding and disappointment was hard to stomach. There was always this hint of pity hidden amongst her words, and Harry hated it. He hated that she had met the Dursleys, that she knew about his past. Not because it made him weak, or because he was ashamed of having a Muggle background, but for this: the catch in the voice, the softening of the eyes, the gentle handling. He knew that she treated him differently, and he knew that it wasn't because he was a war hero or because he'd killed Voldemort, but because he had a narrow-minded, frightened and petty aunt and uncle whom she'd had the misfortune to babysit when they went into hiding.
Hestia carried on, her voice hardening as she became more of the disapproving Auror. “Well, as this is not the first incident this year, I think we are going to have to come up with some way of dealing with your ongoing antagonism with Draco. Tonight Harry, you've illustrated your total inability to work with another trainee.” She held up a hand. “Before you say anything, it doesn’t matter, shouldn’t matter, what your history with him is. We always knew that there would be some issues with this group of recruits after everything that has come before, especially given that we accepted someone with the Mark. But, and this is a big but, once you join the Auror corps, you will have to be able to trust your life to any other Auror on the team. Including Draco.”
“If you continue your petty rivalry, then I am afraid that neither of you will be able to pass training. And as you know there are no second chances once you leave the course. This is your last chance.” Harry felt sick. Now she was giving him responsibility for Malfoy’s chances too? How was he supposed to worry about that too?
“You are suspended for a week, Harry. Use that time to reflect on just what you want, then when you come back you will be partnered with Draco for the rest of the year. In classes, in practicals, in the weekly simulations. We will not have this discussion again. Understood?”
Harry knew he had no choice but to agree. Not if he wanted to become an Auror. He swallowed. “No, we won't. I do... I do want to do this. I do want to be an Auror.”
“I know that you do, Harry. I want this for you. I know how far you've come, and I have an inkling of how much further you could go.” She reached out and touched his uninjured hand.
And there was the other side of it. She knew more about him than anyone else, and it made her a devastating mentor. Because, with her warm smiles and gentle words, somehow Harry ended up always wanting to please her. To make her proud. It was just a pity that he always seem to fail.
“The next time I see you will be in a week's time, with Draco, at Auror training.”
Harry let himself out of her office, and slumped down once he had shut the door. The rest of the year partnered with Malfoy? But as he stood there, he remembered not the punch, but the kiss and the heat that had mingled with his anger. Harry groaned. Maybe he didn't want to be an Auror, after all. This was going to make it too hard: he’d never manage another three months. Not without going mad or killing the bastard.
:::::
Back on the rooftop of the Auror school, Harry contemplated the sky above him, stars twinkling in the darkness despite the background light of the city around him. The moon was wide and bright again, casting dark shadows but bleeding everything around him of colour. He wasn’t expecting anyone to find him, but he had forgotten that of course there was one person who knew about his hideaway.
“Potter.” Malfoy’s voice rang out across the roof. Harry groaned. “Ah, there you are.” Malfoy sat down next to Harry. The sounds of traffic rose from Muggle London in the distance, mingled with the sound of laughter from nearby Diagon Alley.
“Don’t you ever give up? I don’t want to talk to you,” Harry said, determined not even to look at Malfoy. The night breeze was warm enough, but it was only just May, and Harry shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. Malfoy sat himself down next to Harry anyway.
“You never think to use magic,” Malfoy murmured.
The sudden gentle heat of a warming charm spread over Harry. “Thanks,” he muttered. He paused. “I’m not going to say sorry, you know. You deserved that punch.” He could the pressure of Malfoy’s leg next to his. Suddenly Harry was more than aware of just how close Malfoy was sitting. He stiffened, his arm knocking into Malfoy’s side. Malfoy didn’t react, but Harry was aware of his own heart, beating faster and harder than it been before.
Malfoy snorted. “And I’m not going to say sorry, either. You… you needed that kiss.”
“Shut up,” Harry murmured. He turned to look at Malfoy. His nose looked sharp in the moonlight. His eyes… his eyes were filled with an openness that Harry hadn’t seen before. He looked fierce, yet vulnerable. It was just the two of them, sat on the edge of a rooftop above London, with nothing between them but cool night air. When Malfoy dipped his face forwards, and kissed Harry again, this time Harry felt his resistance to… this… break inside him. He closed his eyes, and wrapped a hand around Malfoy’s neck. “Just shut up,” he repeated, and he kissed Malfoy back, anger and hatred and every moment he had thought about this since Malfoy had kissed him earlier, poured into a hunger he didn’t know he possessed.
He was sick of worrying and thinking. He just wanted Malfoy, all of Malfoy. He wanted to feel hands in his hair, and a hard weight pushing him down. He wanted to feel nothing but his body, twisted and pulled to its limit, with his mind blank. Yes. A break from the thinking and the worrying and the—
Malfoy pulled back, his lips spit-slicked and his eyes half-closed. He pushed Harry away, gently, and touched his fingers to Harry’s cheek. “Not here,” he whispered. Harry nodded, and, his hand on Malfoy’s arm, Apparated them to the gloom of his room at Grimmauld Place. They were standing next to the windows, faded curtains half-drawn. A shaft of light fell across Malfoy.
Without even looking to see where they had ended up, Malfoy reached out and pulled Harry in for another kiss. Malfoy’s body was hard against his, so different to the soft press of Ginny’s. A mix of regret and excitement travelled through Harry, but as they kissed, mouths hungry and breathing harsh, he forgot all about Ginny, all about this being Malfoy. It wasn’t curves he wanted: it was heat, hardness, the straining flesh he could feel between them. With a shaking hand he began to unbutton Malfoy’s robes with urgent, clumsy fingers. Malfoy’s eyes widened, and then he too began to strip Harry of his robes, his hands no more steady than Harry’s.
Harry was trembling at the thought of whatever it was that they were about to do. Nothing so far in his life had been like this. With one final wavering thought he decided that he’d had enough of worrying. He didn’t care if this was hate, or messed up: he just needed this release, quick and hard and in the dark.
With a sense of courage that he hadn’t felt in a long time, his hands moved to Malfoy’s trousers, and he pressed his fingers along the hard heat pushing up against the fabric. Malfoy moaned, his hips twitching, and Harry felt a thrill that he was doing this, that he was making Malfoy react like this. His heart was pounding as he freed Malfoy’s cock and wrapped his fingers around it. It felt good, another man in his hand like this, hot and hard. Harry moved his thumb in a slow swipe over the head, watching as Malfoy’s mouth fell open and his eyes closed, his breath snatching in a shallow gasp.
A strange feeling of possession passed through Harry at the sight, and he moved his thumb again and was rewarded by another intake of breath. But then Malfoy opened his eyes, and looked directly at Harry, and the atmosphere in the room changed. There was fire in his eyes, and something else. Something… predatory. Harry felt trapped, and he began to tremble, suddenly unsure about what would happen next.
“You… you have no idea, do you, who you are?” Malfoy whispered, as he stepped back from Harry. “But I see you, I do. I see what you need.” Harry was mesmerised by his voice, low and intense, and didn’t respond. Malfoy reached for Harry’s t-shirt, and began to pull it up, dragging it slowly along Harry’s skin as he did so. It felt like Malfoy’s thumbs – the nails Harry could feel passing over his skin – were stroking in sharp lines of sparks all the way to his toes, his cock, as they moved. Harry groaned, and Malfoy smiled. He looked dangerous, as if he was some wild beast from a fairy tale, ready to gobble Harry up in one go. Harry raised his arms as the t-shirt was pulled free from his torso, but just as it snagged over his elbows, obscuring his face, Malfoy stopped tugging.
“Don’t move,” Malfoy said. Harry’s heart was squeezing painfully in his chest now, but at Malfoy’s words he froze. Suddenly he was aware of the fabric bunching around his shoulders, pulling against his arms. His hands rested against the cold wall behind, in the space between the room’s two tall windows. He couldn’t see Malfoy any more, and he shut his eyes, aware instead of every movement Malfoy made, every shaky breath he took. He felt as Malfoy undid Harry’s trousers. Harry arched his body towards Malfoy as the gentlest of touches whispered its way along his cock. His chest still ached, and as if the air itself was being squeezed from his body. He couldn’t help the way he began to shake in earnest as he heard Malfoy drop to his knees, and felt the first warm, wet touch of his tongue.
His arms were beginning to burn from holding them above his head, but Harry ignored the pain. And then Malfoy began to run his tongue up and down, over and around, and Harry didn’t think about his arms, or pain. He just felt the press of fabric on his face, his breath hot as it became trapped in the space, and then the knee-buckling sensation of Malfoy sucking him into his mouth. A hand grasped onto his side and pushed him back against the cool glass of the window. The hand kept Harry there, grounding him, connected him to the room and the cool night air outside, and to Malfoy in front of him.
There was nothing polished about the way Malfoy’s mouth was moving: it was messy and urgent, and Harry didn’t know what to think or do, so he just lost himself to the sensations. The sound of his own ragged breaths filled his world, harsh in his ears. As Malfoy continued, relentlessly, the sensation hovering between arousal and discomfort, Harry found that he began to make another sound, a series of moans he couldn’t contain until he groaned into a shuddering release.
His t-shirt was still close to his face, and suddenly it seemed too close, suffocating in fact, but then Malfoy stood and lifted it, freeing Harry’s face and arms. He tugged it off with such gentleness that the gesture was almost tender, but the look on Malfoy’s face was not. It was wild, and hungry, and filled with desire. He pulled Harry towards him, and kissed him, hard. His mouth tasted of Harry, a taste unfamiliar and yet familiar. Harry kissed back, with everything he had. They rested a moment, heads against each other, breathing heavily. And then Harry looked down, and saw Malfoy’s cock still standing stiff and proud, silver in the moonlight. Malfoy took Harry’s hand, pulling it down until, fingers threaded, they both began to rub and twist, over and over. The shiny head emerged, again and again from the fingers, and Harry wanted to see Draco come, but in the end it was too tempting to look up, to look at Draco with his head thrown back and his lips parted, his eyes half-closed. As he felt the pulse in his hands, the wetness against his skin as Malfoy came on him, all his attention was focused on Draco’s face, pale yet flushed, as he came undone.
The room was cold. Harry hadn’t really realised that before, but now, as the dampness on his hand and against his stomach cooled, he shivered. As if coming up through water, he saw where he was: in a dark, decrepit bedroom. A place he hated. With a man he… hated. Didn’t he? Harry reached down, pulled his trousers up a little, and took a step back. He found his wand and tried to clean himself a little.
Looking over at Malfoy, Harry saw that he was watching him, still standing half-naked, pale and ghostly in the moonlight. His face hardened as Harry twisted away, refusing to keep up the eye contact. The ball of hatred had only disappeared for a while, and it was back, eating him up from the inside. He didn’t know who he hated most in that moment: Malfoy or himself.
“I want you to leave. That… that shouldn’t have happened,” Harry said. Shame filled him. He had used Malfoy, not caring who he was. But Malfoy… he hadn’t done that because he didn’t care. He had told Harry I know what you need, and even the memory of the words made him shiver. Malfoy couldn’t have that hold over him. He couldn’t know Harry’s darkest secrets.
Harry moved away from the windows, conscious of how exposed he was, in view of the street. He still refused to meet Malfoy’s eye. There was a moment, he knew, when he could, should, say something. But Harry said nothing. The moment – whatever it had been – ended when Malfoy reached forward, for one of the curtains right by his hand, glaring a challenge at Harry before wiping his cock on the faded damask, leaving a slicked mark across their centre. His mouth was tight as he dressed, and he Apparated away without a word.
Harry looked around the room. There was nothing there. Just the scent of sex and the mark on the curtains. He held his hand to his face, smelling Malfoy. Tentatively, he licked his fingers, remembering the hot and hungry kisses they’d shared. Harry sank down to sit on the floor. What had he done? What was wrong with him? He hated Malfoy, and yet… Harry bowed his head. He felt worse now than he had before. Closing his eyes, his mind went back to the memory of Malfoy on the Astronomy Tower, lowering his wand, and Malfoy’s trapped look as he failed to identify Harry at the Manor. Did he really hate Malfoy? He didn’t know. Despised? Pitied?
He sat in the dark for a long time before he was ready to go back to his blank little room.
:::::
It was a form of torture, Harry decided, being constantly bombarded by his memories of that night. His lips could still feel Malfoy’s mouth, pressing against him and moving with need. His arms still felt stretched and bound, an ache across his armpits, the sting of Malfoy’s nails down his chest. Wanking didn’t help: if anything, it just left him feeling more empty than before. At least he was suspended this week, because Harry didn’t know what he’d do once he was partnered up with Malfoy. Harry swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He was trying to study, but to be honest the words in the books weren’t making much sense.
A knock at his bedroom door gave him an excuse to leave his desk, but Harry stepped back in surprise when he saw that it wasn’t Neville checking up on him again, but Lavender on the other side.
“Harry.”
“Lavender. I – come in.” Harry held the door open, then settled himself on his bed, leaving the one chair free for Lavender. She didn't say anything, just wandered over to his desk and picked up his copy of Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts. She flicked through it, her fingers lingering over the inscription signed by both Remus and Sirius.
“Were you close to them, then?” she asked. Harry nodded, and she sat down, the book still cradled in her lap.
“Sirius was my godfather. Remus… looked out for me. And now I’m godfather to his son.” Harry thought of his little godson, both parents dead, just like him. It hurt too much to think about for any length of time, and he closed his eyes, trying to forget the sight of Andromeda Tonks with grief marking her face and a wailing baby in her arms.
“Losing people is difficult, Harry.” Lavender was so soft-spoken he could barely hear her words. He leant forward. “Look, I came to see you because I had an interesting chat with Hermione last week. I– I didn’t realise that you were finding things difficult.”
Harry felt his world turning upside down. Lavender was coming to give him advice? He’d seen her when she wouldn’t talk to anyone, when she jumped if anyone came near or she heard a loud noise. He frowned, but she was still looking at the book, sitting quietly, and didn’t seem to notice.
“Lots of us lost people in the war,” he said. “I’m nothing special.”
“I never said you were.” Lavender’s calm words shocked Harry. That wasn’t how people normally responded to him. “You were really just another seventeen-year old thrust into events bigger than any of us should have dealt with. I wear my scars here,” she said, pointing at her face. “And I’ve had no choice but to deal with them, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed in the morning, I wouldn’t be able to get on with my life. I think that many of us carry scars elsewhere, out of sight.”
Harry sighed, weighed down again by the thought of all the loss, and by the truth he could hear in her words. “I know.”
“I’m not just here to talk to you about loss. Or scars.” Lavender put the book down on his desk. “Hermione said that you’ve got some issues with Draco Malfoy.” Harry felt ice-cold prickles travel down his back. How did Hermione know? He leant forward as his chest tightened. And then he realised that she didn’t mean kissing or sex, but fighting and hatred, and he relaxed a fraction, resting back against the wall behind him.
“Malfoy?” He managed to keep his voice steady.
“Did you know that he came to see me, when I was in hospital?”
Harry shook his head.
“He came to see me when I wouldn’t talk to anyone. When I couldn’t look in a mirror without crying. He– we talked. We talked.” She paused. “He apologised.”
“He–“
“It wasn’t easy for either of us, and he didn’t have to visit me, but he did. For weeks.” She fixed Harry with a steely glare. “Whatever you think about him, you’re probably wrong. That’s what I came here to tell you. During the war, you were brave. He was a coward. But since then? He’s changed.” She stood up. “I would love to stay and chat properly, Harry, but I’m going to visit the friend who did come and see me when I was recovering. Not the one who didn’t.”
Lavender let herself out of the room, leaving Harry open-mouthed and alone. Half-formed thoughts were tumbling through his mind, and he found it hard to hold on to anything for long enough to make sense of it. Lavender had told him off. Malfoy had apologised. He saw, again, the anger in Malfoy’s eyes, and Harry groaned. He’d made a huge mess of this, just like he did with everything. Something… he didn’t even know how to describe it. Something had happened between him and Malfoy, and they hated each other, but maybe he’d got Malfoy wrong.
He remembered what Malfoy had said to him, the first time they’d spoken on the roof – probably their only real conversation, to be honest – and he felt, all of a sudden, the truth of it, deep in his bones. He had been bumbling through this past year, and he was doing exactly what Malfoy had said: throwing away everything. He did want to be an Auror, but you’d never guess, the way he behaved. He just… it had been….
Harry curled up into a ball, and just let it flow over him. It was too much to understand, but as the day gradually darkened, he began to see it a little more clearly.
From the moment he’d found out about Voldemort’s existence, it had been easy. Not what he had to do, or the fear or the challenges, but having a sense of purpose to his life. Not necessarily to kill Voldemort, but to exist in opposition to him. For Harry, the mere act of being alive had been enough to do this. He could see now, he needed to be an Auror to know that there was still Darkness out there, and if there was, then he knew who he was.
He could also see how he’d been looking down on the training sessions, the talks, even the other Aurors. Because what did they know? Had they died? Had they seen into Voldemort’s soul? Harry felt shame, hot and bitter, sweep through him. For all that he couldn’t work without a team to back him up, perhaps his real weakness was that he pushed people away and only focused on himself. He really was no hero if he could think like that.
Maybe… maybe it wasn’t just Malfoy who he hated, after all.
:::::
The first day back after his suspension was hellish. Harry had known it would be, but this time when he saw Malfoy, all he could think about was the way his face pinked up when he came, and the way the moon had painted him silver. Heat flooded his face, and he avoided looking again, instead examining the blank, beige wall opposite. They were both sitting outside Hestia’s office, waiting to find out exactly how they were going to be partnered up. He suspected she was making them wait on purpose.
He didn’t know what to say, but he knew he had to say something. “I—“
“Can we not? Please?” Malfoy’s voice was sharp, strained. “I just want to forget it ever happened. You can stop worrying about it. I won’t mention it, and I won’t bother you any more. You’ve made it perfectly clear that it’s not a path either of us are going to go down. I was mistaken in thinking it was.” He turned his back to Harry. It felt as if they were sitting miles apart, not next to each other. Harry swallowed, more than a little stung by the reaction. Although he knew that deep down he’d been expecting this, or something like it.
Harry continued to stare at the rather unexciting wall. He wanted to fix this, all of it, but he didn’t know how. Any further attempts at conversation were mercifully avoided when Hestia opened her door and ushered them in.
:::::
If Harry had thought that his memories of Malfoy’s naked flesh were torture, he was wrong. This was far worse: spending almost every day with him, watching him train, listening to him think through problems. He’d assumed that Malfoy was a bit of a prick for so long now that it was strange to find out that he wasn’t. Not just because of what Lavender had said, but also because… Harry realised he’d never really given Malfoy a chance before.
Not Malfoy, Draco, Harry reminded himself. Hestia had been quite clear about the name issue. Draco was polite but distant to Harry, and Harry hated it. He wanted a bit of fight, a bit of fire. A strong hand on his wrist. He missed Malfoy.
“Harry, I think that if you work on your wand movement, you’ll find the charm works properly.” They had extra work assigned to them, and one of their tasks was to help the other with something they found tricky. Draco was helping Harry with his Doppelganger Charm, and Harry had offered to help Draco with his Defensive magic, the Patronus in particular.
It wasn’t going well. Not the magic part – that was fine – but the stilted conversation and awkward silences were getting a little hard to bear.
“Like this?”
“No. More of a sideways movement before the upward flick.” Draco motioned with his hand as he spoke. Harry had a go but Draco just shook his head. “Look, like this,” he said, bringing his hand to Harry’s arm.
Harry froze, and Draco stopped moving too. Harry nodded that yes, Draco could touch him. Slim fingers wrapped over the back of his hand, and for a second, Harry felt dizzy. He took a deep breath, and dared a glance at Draco’s face. It was set in determined lines, a slight frown on his brow.
“Like this,” Draco said, and he moved Harry’s hand through the air. He let go and stepped back, but Harry could still feel the clasp of his fingers.
With difficulty Harry turned his attention back to the spell. “Gemino Hominum!” He tried his best to emulate the movement Draco had just shown him. Harry jumped back in surprise when a copy of himself, non-shadowy and looking as real as he did, sprang out of the end of his wand. He turned to Draco, a grin spreading over his face, unable to contain his glee. “I did it!”
Draco smiled. “You did,” he said. He looked over at the Doppelganger. “Uncanny really, having two Potters around like that.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure if I like it.”
It took some effort to maintain the spell, and Harry quickly tired, the Doppelganger fading from sight. When he looked back at Draco, there was still a small smile on his face.
“Well you’re going to have to put up with it, because I’ve got to do that again.” Harry was still filled with joy that he had he had finally cast the spell, but his smile softened as he spoke again. “Thanks, for helping me… I wish I’d asked you sooner.” He paused, and looked Draco straight in the eye. “And it’s Harry. Two Harrys. Not two Potters.”
“I was happy to help,” Draco said, with a small bow of his head. “Harry.” It was strange. As soon as Draco had said ‘Harry’, his smile had faltered.
Harry was torn between wanting to forget, wanting to ignore that part of himself that had loved being pinned, loved his arms twisted in his t-shirt and at Draco’s mercy, and wanting to do it all again. He didn’t know if he wanted Draco to smile or scowl, or push him or kiss him, but every moment they spent together it became clearer that he wanted a chance to make all those things happen. But of course Draco just kept pushing him away.
:::::
“So why did you do it?” Hestia’s eyes narrowed slightly as she leant forward. They were stood over a smoking crater in the ground, amongst the trees. Harry could see that it didn’t exactly look good that he’d just shot a fireball at the ‘suspect’ he and Draco had been tracking.
“I, er, I know it’s not exactly standard practice,” Harry said, but Hestia waved her hand as if knowing that he was stalling for time. “But Draco said that the blast waves were potentially a helpful side effect to using the Confringo spell, so I thought I’d try it out.”
“In a simulation? Untested?” Hestia raised an eyebrow. Harry flushed, because put like that it did seem a little risky.
“Well, yeah. Draco doesn’t just make things up. And, er—“
“You had enough faith in his abilities to risk something new?” Hestia’s voice was almost as sharp as her gaze.
“I– I guess…”
“And how did you know that you wouldn’t blow us all up?”
“I couldn’t let Draco get hit again! That Leg-Locker curse caught him straight-on. He couldn’t get away, and I could see that he was trying to shield me, but he wasn’t going to last the attack.”
“So you acted without thinking it through? Again?”
Harry flushed, feeling caught out. At the time it had felt like the right thing to do, but now, with Hestia questioning his every move and decision, it was hard to hold onto that certainty. He cast his mind back to Draco as he’d looked across at Harry, eyes widened a fraction, then cast the perfect shield over himself, letting the blast knock his assailant over. Realising that he stood by his actions, Harry nodded. “I know it sounds like a bit of a leap, but yeah, I knew it would work.”
“Because…”
“Because I knew that Draco would know what to do! He’s no fool, and he taught me that trick in the first place! And I had to do something: we were going to both get taken out. And… I didn’t want to finish the exercise without him. “ He paused. “I know it wasn’t necessary for both of us to complete it, but it was important that we did. He was putting himself in danger to help me: I wasn’t going to let him take a hit because of that.”
Hestia looked like she was about to say something, but then she shook her head. She took a deep breath. “Only you, Harry, would save someone by shooting a bloody big fireball at them!”
At this, Harry did look a little sheepish. But when he got to the edge of the trees, Draco was waiting for him.
“Thanks,” Draco said, his hands jammed into his pockets. “I could hear her shouting. But you did the right thing. And... well, thank you, for thinking of me too.” His words were quiet, and he didn’t wait for a response, walking off with quick steps. Harry stared after him, unable to explain just why his heart was beating so fast. But then everything about Draco confused him.
:::::
Draco loved the Poisons and Antidotes course. Not surprisingly, Harry thought, but it was one aspect of training that he’d struggled with all year, and even though he was working with a knowledgeable partner he still didn’t enjoy it. Their current task was to match poisons to antidotes. There were vials for them to examine under the light, and descriptions of symptoms cards with gruesome photos attached. Some of the vials of poison were spelled shut, due to the danger of their fumes. Others they were able to sniff.
“That one smells like socks.”
“Are you always this ridiculous?” Draco had his arms folded.
“I try.?”
“Well do you have to try quite so hard? I don’t want to mess this up.” Harry enjoyed getting some kind of a reaction from Draco, but he could see how Draco was beginning to get anxious. It was clear in the way he kept looking down at the vials, then back up at Harry.
“As if you’re going to go wrong with this!”
“Well, I probably won’t, but you’re my partner, remember? You can still mess up half of this.”
“Hey! I’m not that bad at this, you know.”
Their talk was light, and they were always able to keep things civil, but inside Harry was dying a little. As each day passed, he began to regret that his thing with Draco – whatever it had been – had ended so quickly, and so badly. Draco, it seemed, was determined to never mention it; despite these odd moments of thaw, he was generally fairly cool towards Harry, and it was driving Harry wild. At night, unable to stop himself, Harry found himself thinking of Draco more often than not. And not just the feeling of his hand clasped tight on Harry’s side, or the sight of his eyes half-closed as he lost himself to sensation, but also the way he would get back up again no matter what life threw at him. Draco wasn’t quite who Harry had thought he was. He was unapologetic, confident yet highly anxious about proving his worth, and almost completely alone. But then based on his late-night imaginings, Harry wasn’t quite who he thought he was either. Not as straight; not as straight-forward, either.
Looking at the vials in a row in front of them, Harry felt a stab of trepidation. He glanced over at Draco, but his face was blank. The bastard was deliberately not giving him any clues. Right. He only needed to work out half of them, and he was going first so he couldn’t even accuse Draco of taking the easy ones first.
“You already know, don’t you?” Harry said.
Draco gave him an incredulous look. “Of course. But what we need is for you to know.”
Harry ran through what he knew in his head: colour, viscosity, odour, flecks. The first checks. He examined each vial, opened the ones he could, and looked at the cards. He didn’t think about moonlight, or fabric tight across his face. Instead he concentrated, determined to finally make progress in his training.
Draco’s smile when he correctly identified the poisons and the antidotes replaced all the other memories that night.
:::::
“Happy birthday, Draco.” Harry stood with his hands in his pockets. He had known that Draco’s birthday was coming up, but hadn’t known how to mark it. If they were friends he’d offer to go buy him a drink, take him to the pub, but they weren’t friends, not exactly.
“A few of us are going to the pub tonight,” said Draco, interrupting Harry’s thoughts. “If you want to come, you can.” Harry was as confused as ever. Maybe– maybe Draco could think of him as a friend. Although maybe that wasn’t what Harry wanted, any more. He said he’d come, and then spent the rest of the day trying to work out what it meant. Who was ‘a few of us’, and why had Draco asked him? He just didn’t know.
:::::
The pub was busy. Draco, it appeared, had more friends than he thought. He certainly looked shocked to see so many people waiting for him.
Lavender was ignoring Ron trying not to stare at her scars, Neville was talking to Megan and Su, and Pansy Parkinson was sitting with a drink in her hand, talking to Greg Goyle. When she saw Harry her face suffused with red, and she hung her head down, hiding amongst her hair.
“You should go talk to her,” said Draco. Harry stared at him. “Oh, I’m not asking you to forgive her being a selfish cow, I just think you should hear what she has to say.”
And so, while Draco was bought more drinks than he could ever manage, Harry sat down at the table with the two former Slytherins. No one spoke.
“Draco told me to talk to you.” Still nothing. Harry took a sip of his butterbeer, glanced over at Draco, who was watching them, and tried again. “Nice weather we’ve been having.”
Pansy raised her eyes. “You don’t have to,” she said. “Talk to me, that is.”
“Well actually, he said that perhaps you might want to talk.” Harry nodded over at Draco, who suddenly seemed to find Ron’s story very interesting and looked away from them.
Harry was surprised that Draco didn’t rub the back of his head in pain with the look that Pansy directed towards him. “Oh, did he? Bastard.” She pushed her hair behind her ear. “Look, Potter, I’ll just say this quickly, and then you can go off with all your Auror friends and Greg and I can sneak off once we’ve bought Draco a drink. Although it does look like he doesn’t really need any more.” She took a deep breath, and drained her glass. “I’m sorry for trying to sell you out. I was scared. I’m not noble like you and your friends. I do tend to just think about myself, first and foremost. I– I don’t think I can change who I am, but I still shouldn’t have done it.”
“Er.” Harry’s brain was trying to take this all in. “Ok.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m glad no one helped me. I’m glad you got rid of… him. And—” she picked up her glass, and frowned as she remembered that it was empty “— for some reason, that idiot over there is quite glad you’re still around. Just don’t… he’s more vulnerable than he looks. I can’t even imagine how much energy it takes for him to out-Gryffindor you all every day.” She shuddered, but her eyes were bright as she watched Draco talking. “And now, my glass appears to be empty. Greg, be a love and get me another. And one for Potter, too.” She opened her purse and pulled out some coins. “There you go.”
Goyle sighed, put down his still-full pint, and headed off to the bar.
Harry shook his head. “You really are… well, you know, what you said.”
“Selfish? Yes. But that doesn’t mean I’m not worth knowing.” She gave Harry an amused look. “We’re all more than we appear, didn’t you know? And we’re defined by more than what other people think.” She paused. “Do you know, I think I might need to powder my nose. Would you be a dear and wait for Greggy to get back? Thank you,” she said, and she rose and headed off into the crowd.
Harry was left by himself. With nothing to do but watch Draco, of course. Well, it was his birthday. And he did look… like he could stalk across the room at any moment, and push Harry back against a table, and push a hand under his robes and—
Draco looked over at Harry. The look in his eyes was… hungry. And fierce. Harry had seen it before, in the moonlight. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. Draco was watching him as if he didn’t regret anything that had happened. It was the look which had so infuriated Harry, so often, but which he hadn’t seen for weeks now. He’d always taken it to be one of pride, one which spoke of a lack of remorse. But now… now he saw it differently. It was the look of a man who had finally made a choice about his life. A man who knew what he wanted. Harry couldn’t breathe: the look was directed at him. The room was too noisy, too busy. Too many people.
“Are you OK?”
Harry looked up. Greg was standing above him with a tray of drinks. It was beyond Harry to utter much beyond a garbled word that could have been ‘Yes’. Or ‘No’. He stood, pushing the table back as he did so, his butterbeer spilling on the table. “Air… need air,” he managed to say, before staggering towards the nearest door.
The corridor leading to the pub toilets was quiet, compared to the main bar. Harry leant up against the wall, taking in deep breaths, trying to still the shaking in his hands, the dizziness of his head. He closed his eyes, focusing on easing the sense of tightness in his chest.
The door swung open, and Harry turned his head away, not really wanting to talk to anyone. A soft touch on his arm made him look up though. It was Draco.
“Harry…” Draco’s fingers slid along his arm, to his wrist, and then he moved to grasp Harry’s arm in in an almost painful hold. Almost. “I saw you looking at me. You looked… like a man who knew what he wanted.”
“Yes,” whispered Harry. “I know what I want.” Draco’s other hand moved to the back of Harry’s neck, into his hair. Harry’s hand moved to Draco’s side, and round to his back. He could feel the heat of Draco’s skin beneath his shirt, and he pulled Draco closer, until their bodies were flush.
He licked his lips, noting how Draco’s eyes followed his tongue. He could hear Draco’s breathing, open-mouthed, shallow.
Harry leant his head forward a fraction, and their lips met, sweet and warm and tasting of butterbeer. The kiss was full of hunger, but something else too: there was a recognition there, that this was one kiss, and that there would be others. More.
As their heads fell back, Draco sighed. “I think you might just have figured it out, after all.”
“I want you,” Harry said. “I don’t know why I couldn’t see that before.”
“Because you’ve been wallowing in self-pity with your head up your arse?”
“That’s what I want,” said Harry.
“Your head up your—“
“No.” Harry shook his head. “I want to leave the self-pity behind.”
“I can help you,” said Draco. It wasn’t a question, and he held Harry’s arm back tight, pushing his hips into Harry, pressing him against the wall. Desire prickled through Harry, and he ground his hips into Draco. At some point very soon Draco was going to pin him down, he just knew it. The thought made him groan.
“Yes. Yes you can,” whispered Harry. He could admit it: he wanted it, he needed it, the way Draco could make him feel. Draco’s breath was hot on his face as he pulled close again, and this kiss was deeper, almost leisurely. They took their time to get to know one another, finding a rhythm that the rest of their bodies wanted to match.
A door clanged open, but they ignored it.
“I see you’ve got your birthday present, Draco.” Pansy’s voice cut through their kiss, and they paused, foreheads touching, eyes closed. Erections pressing into each other. “I really don’t think there’s anything I could have got you that you’d even notice at this point.” She was quiet for a second, and Harry wondered why she didn’t just leave them alone. He had to get Draco alone, and soon. “I owe both of you, so just go. Find a room, and enjoy your birthday. I’ll… explain.”
Harry didn’t need telling twice, and he Apparated Draco back to his room, casting a quick locking charm on the door for good measure.
Before Draco could throw Harry down onto the bed, Harry put a hand on Draco’s chest. “Wait. There’s one thing.”
“What?”
“Don’t you dare wipe your cock on these curtains.”
Draco stared at Harry, then at the hideous orange and brown curtains, then burst into laughter. A warm bubble of relief rose up in Harry. This wasn’t like last time. It was still hot and a little desperate, but the same hate wasn’t there. Something had changed: it took him a moment to realise what. He had changed.
They tumbled onto the bed together, legs entwined, arms reaching for each other. Their hands sought out skin, running under shirts and robes. Harry marvelled at just how hot Draco’s thin body always felt. Whenever he thought of Draco, that was the word which came to mind: heat. Heat and something else. Strength. He pulled him close, closer. It didn’t feel close enough, and he fumbled for buttons, but Draco stopped him.
“Patience,” he whispered, and he kissed Harry again. It was a long, slow kiss, agonising in its pace. Harry felt as if he were melting into it, and after an initial burst of frustration, Harry forgot about undressing Draco. He just wanted this kiss to go on and on.
They kissed with murmurs to punctuate, words about skin and touch, about want and need. Draco rolled on top of Harry, pressing his thigh down to part Harry’s legs, rubbing against Harry’s aching cock. His hands found Harry’s arms, and pinned him down, and Harry couldn’t help the soft cry of relief that came with the sensation. A slow, proud smile curved across Draco’s lips.
“I knew it,” he whispered. “You love this, don’t you?”
Harry nodded. “So much.” Draco just bent his head down in response, and brought his hot mouth to Harry’s neck, making him squirm but keeping him pinned in place and he licked and kissed and sucked.
Cooling saliva soothed the newly-stinging skin on Harry’s neck as Draco finally pulled up. And then, still holding Harry down with his body weight, Draco began to remove his own clothes. After tugging away at his t-shirt, Draco moved forward to kiss Harry again, in almost a bite of hunger. Then he sat back up, pulling Harry with him. They focused on removing their tops, Harry feeling both light and bereft without Draco’s weight on top of him.
Harry’s new-found sense of lightness disappeared as he saw the thin white scars, running down Draco’s chest. “I did this,” he whispered, running his hand along the largest scar.
Draco brought his hand to cover Harry’s. “You did.”
“I never said sorry.”
“You didn’t.”
“You never say sorry.”
“Not to you.” Draco smiled wryly.
“Was it because of… this?” Harry asked, moving his hand along the smooth lines again.
“Yes. And no. I decided… I decided I could spend the rest of my life being sorry, bowing and scraping and taking whatever the wizarding world deigned to give me. A kick of the boot probably.” He shook his head. “Or I could set my own path. Not look back, and live my life as it should be lived.”
“Why is it different with me?”
This time Draco reached up and ran a finger along the zig-zag of Harry’s lightning bolt scar. “We all have our scars, Harry.”
“That’s what Lavender said.”
“Well, she would know, wouldn’t she?” Draco moved his hand down to Harry’s chest, brushing over the circular scar from the locket. “But what intrigues me about you is the way you carry so many scars, inside and out. I don’t think you even realise that you do, though.”
“Why would you like that about me?”
“It just seems more real, to me,” said Draco.
“Why like this though?” said Harry, running his hand over Draco’s chest again.
“Why not?” Draco tugged Harry close again and kissed him, with a fierce possessiveness that made Harry tingle to his toes. “You strike me as being one of those things in life worth making an effort for.”
“Oh,” said Harry. And then he decided to show Draco that he, too, was quite capable of making an effort. He slid down onto the floor. “I do believe it’s your birthday today.” He palmed Draco’s cock. “I’ve not done this before but I—“
“Enough with the talking, Potter. Just get on with it.” Draco unbuttoned his flies and Harry pulled off his trousers then, a little self-conscious at Draco’s gaze, removed his own. “Potter,” Draco repeated, part impatient moan and part order. Harry settled between his legs. Potter. Harry got such a thrill from hearing that. Draco sounded so… bossy.
It was and it wasn’t like Harry had imagined it, licking the soft skin, feeling the warmth, the hardness under his tongue. But he knew that it felt right: finally, something in his life felt right. When Draco threaded fingers through his hair, tightening them into a hold which stung Harry’s scalp, he had to stop his mouth moving for a moment as his hips involuntarily bucked. There was another “Potter” at this, and he forced himself to keep moving. He had been thinking of the tight pulling of his hair, since that first fight with Draco. As Harry hummed in pleasure, Draco groaned.
Harry realised that he loved it, the feel of a heavy cock in his mouth. He loved having Draco’s hands in his hair, and he redoubled his efforts until Draco was moaning softly, then tightened his grip, holding Harry’s head close, until the pull on his hair hurt.
Draco came in hot spurts, and it was messy and wonderful all at once.
Later, Wwith his arms pinned down above the bed as Draco wanked him off while sucking on his neck, relishing the feeling of freedom and skin-tingling arousal while he twisted with pleasure, Harry decided that everything would be different from now on.
:::::
“So, you and Malfoy then,” said Ron.
“Draco.”
“I never thought you’d be the one correcting me.”
“I have been calling him Draco for a while now.” Harry drew his feet up onto the bed.
“Yes,” said Ron. “But not doing whatever else it is you two get up to.”
“You don’t mind, do you?” Harry felt vulnerable talking about his… whatever it was with Draco, openly like this. He was also uncertain, not sure what to do if his friend disapproved. They were sitting in Ron’s room which, much like his room at the Burrow, was rather orange with posters and a little distracting with waving Quidditch players. Harry realised just how little he’d done to make his own room feel like home. But maybe that was because he knew it was only temporary, and he wanted to wait until he could put down some proper roots.
Ron looked thoughtful. “I’m glad to see you happy, mate. And, er, well you and Draco have always had something going on, haven’t you?”
“But Gin—“
“Have you ever stopped to think that maybe she was right to call it a day when she did?” Ron’s words stopped Harry dead. Oh. “I mean none of us knew you’d end up with Draco, but settling down with her? It was never going to happen.”
“Maybe not,” said Harry, reluctant to dwell on whatever his relationship with Ginny had or had not been. He still wasn’t sure himself, although he did know that she’d never made him feel quite the way Draco did. “But are you sure you’re OK with this?”
“Yes, I am. I’d trust him with my life on the field, so I reckon I can trust him with my best friend.”
Warmth spread through Harry at these words. “Thank you. And, er, sorry for being so moody, all this time.”
Ron smiled. “I don’t think you’ve got the monopoly on being the moody one. And if there’s one reason to like you being with Draco, it’s because I feel like I’ve got my friend back. Plus it’s great to see you finally kicking a bit of arse on training.” Harry smiled back, happy to be feeling at ease with Ron again, and with his training, of course.
The satisfied glow hadn’t faded when Draco and Neville knocked on the door half an hour later, four cups of tea bobbing along behind them. They settled into a study session, Draco keeping one firm hand on Harry’s foot, grounding him throughout.
:::::
The large training room was filled with mirrors. Draco sucked in a breath and muttered the word ‘cliché’, and Harry had to fight not to smile. The small group of trainees – Harry, Draco, Ron, Neville, Megan and Su– had been told that they were to work together to find their mentors, who were all hidden in the room
Harry ran through the main areas of training: concealment, poisons, tracking, practical defence, Dark Magic theory, and advanced charms. He tried to see more than just the room and the mirrors: what were they trying to test or teach them here? He thought of Malfoy, and glanced over to see him coolly surveying the room. Think like Draco, he told himself. See the bigger picture.
“Let’s search the room in pairs,” Harry said, keeping his voice low. The others nodded. “Draco?”
Draco nodded, and indicated which way to go with his head.
“Ok then.”
Instead of diving in, Harry made the effort to quickly communicate just where they’d look. They both had their wands out, making sure they covered themselves and each other. They knew from experience just how fond all their instructors were of Stunners.
It was disorienting, moving between the mirrors. Harry decided that this exercise was about how they processed visual information. And other information, too: he signalled to Draco to stop, and listened carefully. He could hear someone moving, out of sight, to his left. Draco nodded, slowly, obviously having heard the same noise. They began to track the few footsteps and robe swishes they heard, taking care to remain as near to silent as possible themselves.
Everywhere that Harry looked, there were reflections of him and Draco. He focused on the way that Draco moved, checking constantly that Draco was nearby, sensing his presence rather than relying on sight alone. A movement and a flash of black caught his eye. And obviously it had caught Draco’s too, for his arm shot up, holding Harry back. Harry waited, even as they both saw Su edge out from behind one of the mirrors. Her face was set in grim lines, just mouthing ‘Megan, Stunned’. They moved into a group of three then, searching through the room together.
They spotted Hestia, along with Savage, in a corner. Harry couldn’t be certain that they in turn hadn’t been seen, but nothing happened so he continued to look around him, checking with the others. The hairs on the back of his neck rose up at the constant pressure of searching and being watched.
A stumble had them all spinning round, in time to see Ron narrowly dodging a Stunner as he came out from behind a mirror, Neville following closely behind. “Savage,” he said, his voice tight with nerves. Draco met Harry’s eyes: Ron had come from the other direction to Hestia and Savage.
“There’s two of them!” Su said. As she spoke, the shadows of passing people flitted in Harry’s peripheral vision. He watched as short dark hair – Hestia it looked like – wove her way closer, as another Hestia worked her way in the opposite direction. His mind spun.
“Polyjuice!”
“A Doppelganger!”
There were several whispered suggestions all at once. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw one of the Hestias raise her wand, and his mind alighted on the perfect solution. He shook his head briefly at the other trainees as he raised his wand, quickly glancing at the copies. Su, Ron and Draco nodded, and they waited as he cast a spell.
“Evanesco Imago!”
The Hestia bearing the wand disappeared, and Harry quickly turned and disarmed the other. It didn’t take long, with any uncertainty over who was real or not disappearing along with the copies , for the trainees to disarm or capture the other mentors.
Once his wand was returned to him, Savage Vanished all the mirrors with a flick of his wand. The room was suddenly empty, only a group of people left, eyes wide with surprise.
“What was that?” Malfoy looked at Harry as if he’d sprung an extra head.
“The Gemino Counter-Curse,” Harry said.
“That’s not on the course,” said Su. All the attention in the room seemed to focus in on Harry with her words, and he swallowed, aware suddenly of everyone staring at him . “When I was trying to learn to cast a Doppelganger, I remember Ron saying something about the counter-spell, and I looked it up. Turns out the general Gemino counter-spell works just as well with the Doppelganger charm. I thought it might be useful.”
A slow smile spread across Hestia’s face, and she glanced across at Savage before turning back to Harry. “You did it, Harry. You showed us what you could really do.”
“Did I say something about a counter-spell? I don’t remember that,” said Ron, frowning as he tried to remember. “But that was incredible, Harry.”
Heat spread through Harry, a mix of relief and something else. Pride, perhaps, or even happiness. He had done it. All by himself.
“You used magic, and you saw the bigger picture,” said Draco. He shook his head. “Now I’m going to have to try twice as hard to keep ahead.”
“Something tells me you’ll cope.” Harry knew how much Draco loved a challenge. And suddenly, so did he. Harry was going to be a great Auror. For the first time, he believed it.
“Sit.” Hestia busied herself fetching glasses and conjuring water, her back turned to Harry without waiting for him to comply. The grey light of dawn slowly filled the room, and it seemed unnaturally quiet without the sounds of people in the background.
He sat in the bashed old visitor's chair by her desk, grateful for the short reprieve, and dared a look at his hand. The skin was red and shiny where it was swollen. He prodded it, gently, and couldn't help the face he pulled at the sharp pain this caused. Having to seek help in the middle of the night had not been fun: his reception, once he’d explained that he’d knocked Malfoy out, even less so.
“Don't do that—” Harry snatched his hand away, feeling guilty, but Hestia froze some of the water and made him a little ice pack. “Don't be silly, take this: a field healing charm isn't going to take all the pain away.”
Harry swallowed. Hestia pushed forwards his glass of water, but Harry ignored it. He forced himself to breathe out: someone once had told him that it wasn't remembering to breathe that was important, it was remembering to release theat breath you held that would keep you calm. He didn't feel calm. Harry looked down at his hand again, then up to the gentle yet disappointed gaze of his mentor.
“I– I didn't mean for this to happen again—” Even as he spoke the words, Harry wasn't sure how true they were.
“You never mean for it happen, Harry. And yet here we are again. You're just lucky that Draco isn't more seriously injured. I can't explain away your actions. You know that we can't treat you any differently—”
“I've never asked to be treated differently.”
“And yet you continue to behave as if the rules are there for other people, not you.”
Harry felt the sting of the injustice of her words. He wasn't the one who had pushed the situation to this point, Malfoy was. Malfoy was the one who had kissed him. He couldn't, wouldn't, mention it. Hestia kept her eyes fixed on him.
“Look, I know that it hasn't been easy for you, since the war, that it hasn't ever really been easy, but I also know that you want to be an Auror, right?”
“Right.” Harry tried not to glare. He was in enough trouble already, but this mix of understanding and disappointment was hard to stomach. There was always this hint of pity hidden amongst her words, and Harry hated it. He hated that she had met the Dursleys, that she knew about his past. Not because it made him weak, or because he was ashamed of having a Muggle background, but for this: the catch in the voice, the softening of the eyes, the gentle handling. He knew that she treated him differently, and he knew that it wasn't because he was a war hero or because he'd killed Voldemort, but because he had a narrow-minded, frightened and petty aunt and uncle whom she'd had the misfortune to babysit when they went into hiding.
Hestia carried on, her voice hardening as she became more of the disapproving Auror. “Well, as this is not the first incident this year, I think we are going to have to come up with some way of dealing with your ongoing antagonism with Draco. Tonight Harry, you've illustrated your total inability to work with another trainee.” She held up a hand. “Before you say anything, it doesn’t matter, shouldn’t matter, what your history with him is. We always knew that there would be some issues with this group of recruits after everything that has come before, especially given that we accepted someone with the Mark. But, and this is a big but, once you join the Auror corps, you will have to be able to trust your life to any other Auror on the team. Including Draco.”
“If you continue your petty rivalry, then I am afraid that neither of you will be able to pass training. And as you know there are no second chances once you leave the course. This is your last chance.” Harry felt sick. Now she was giving him responsibility for Malfoy’s chances too? How was he supposed to worry about that too?
“You are suspended for a week, Harry. Use that time to reflect on just what you want, then when you come back you will be partnered with Draco for the rest of the year. In classes, in practicals, in the weekly simulations. We will not have this discussion again. Understood?”
Harry knew he had no choice but to agree. Not if he wanted to become an Auror. He swallowed. “No, we won't. I do... I do want to do this. I do want to be an Auror.”
“I know that you do, Harry. I want this for you. I know how far you've come, and I have an inkling of how much further you could go.” She reached out and touched his uninjured hand.
And there was the other side of it. She knew more about him than anyone else, and it made her a devastating mentor. Because, with her warm smiles and gentle words, somehow Harry ended up always wanting to please her. To make her proud. It was just a pity that he always seem to fail.
“The next time I see you will be in a week's time, with Draco, at Auror training.”
Harry let himself out of her office, and slumped down once he had shut the door. The rest of the year partnered with Malfoy? But as he stood there, he remembered not the punch, but the kiss and the heat that had mingled with his anger. Harry groaned. Maybe he didn't want to be an Auror, after all. This was going to make it too hard: he’d never manage another three months. Not without going mad or killing the bastard.
:::::
Back on the rooftop of the Auror school, Harry contemplated the sky above him, stars twinkling in the darkness despite the background light of the city around him. The moon was wide and bright again, casting dark shadows but bleeding everything around him of colour. He wasn’t expecting anyone to find him, but he had forgotten that of course there was one person who knew about his hideaway.
“Potter.” Malfoy’s voice rang out across the roof. Harry groaned. “Ah, there you are.” Malfoy sat down next to Harry. The sounds of traffic rose from Muggle London in the distance, mingled with the sound of laughter from nearby Diagon Alley.
“Don’t you ever give up? I don’t want to talk to you,” Harry said, determined not even to look at Malfoy. The night breeze was warm enough, but it was only just May, and Harry shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. Malfoy sat himself down next to Harry anyway.
“You never think to use magic,” Malfoy murmured.
The sudden gentle heat of a warming charm spread over Harry. “Thanks,” he muttered. He paused. “I’m not going to say sorry, you know. You deserved that punch.” He could the pressure of Malfoy’s leg next to his. Suddenly Harry was more than aware of just how close Malfoy was sitting. He stiffened, his arm knocking into Malfoy’s side. Malfoy didn’t react, but Harry was aware of his own heart, beating faster and harder than it been before.
Malfoy snorted. “And I’m not going to say sorry, either. You… you needed that kiss.”
“Shut up,” Harry murmured. He turned to look at Malfoy. His nose looked sharp in the moonlight. His eyes… his eyes were filled with an openness that Harry hadn’t seen before. He looked fierce, yet vulnerable. It was just the two of them, sat on the edge of a rooftop above London, with nothing between them but cool night air. When Malfoy dipped his face forwards, and kissed Harry again, this time Harry felt his resistance to… this… break inside him. He closed his eyes, and wrapped a hand around Malfoy’s neck. “Just shut up,” he repeated, and he kissed Malfoy back, anger and hatred and every moment he had thought about this since Malfoy had kissed him earlier, poured into a hunger he didn’t know he possessed.
He was sick of worrying and thinking. He just wanted Malfoy, all of Malfoy. He wanted to feel hands in his hair, and a hard weight pushing him down. He wanted to feel nothing but his body, twisted and pulled to its limit, with his mind blank. Yes. A break from the thinking and the worrying and the—
Malfoy pulled back, his lips spit-slicked and his eyes half-closed. He pushed Harry away, gently, and touched his fingers to Harry’s cheek. “Not here,” he whispered. Harry nodded, and, his hand on Malfoy’s arm, Apparated them to the gloom of his room at Grimmauld Place. They were standing next to the windows, faded curtains half-drawn. A shaft of light fell across Malfoy.
Without even looking to see where they had ended up, Malfoy reached out and pulled Harry in for another kiss. Malfoy’s body was hard against his, so different to the soft press of Ginny’s. A mix of regret and excitement travelled through Harry, but as they kissed, mouths hungry and breathing harsh, he forgot all about Ginny, all about this being Malfoy. It wasn’t curves he wanted: it was heat, hardness, the straining flesh he could feel between them. With a shaking hand he began to unbutton Malfoy’s robes with urgent, clumsy fingers. Malfoy’s eyes widened, and then he too began to strip Harry of his robes, his hands no more steady than Harry’s.
Harry was trembling at the thought of whatever it was that they were about to do. Nothing so far in his life had been like this. With one final wavering thought he decided that he’d had enough of worrying. He didn’t care if this was hate, or messed up: he just needed this release, quick and hard and in the dark.
With a sense of courage that he hadn’t felt in a long time, his hands moved to Malfoy’s trousers, and he pressed his fingers along the hard heat pushing up against the fabric. Malfoy moaned, his hips twitching, and Harry felt a thrill that he was doing this, that he was making Malfoy react like this. His heart was pounding as he freed Malfoy’s cock and wrapped his fingers around it. It felt good, another man in his hand like this, hot and hard. Harry moved his thumb in a slow swipe over the head, watching as Malfoy’s mouth fell open and his eyes closed, his breath snatching in a shallow gasp.
A strange feeling of possession passed through Harry at the sight, and he moved his thumb again and was rewarded by another intake of breath. But then Malfoy opened his eyes, and looked directly at Harry, and the atmosphere in the room changed. There was fire in his eyes, and something else. Something… predatory. Harry felt trapped, and he began to tremble, suddenly unsure about what would happen next.
“You… you have no idea, do you, who you are?” Malfoy whispered, as he stepped back from Harry. “But I see you, I do. I see what you need.” Harry was mesmerised by his voice, low and intense, and didn’t respond. Malfoy reached for Harry’s t-shirt, and began to pull it up, dragging it slowly along Harry’s skin as he did so. It felt like Malfoy’s thumbs – the nails Harry could feel passing over his skin – were stroking in sharp lines of sparks all the way to his toes, his cock, as they moved. Harry groaned, and Malfoy smiled. He looked dangerous, as if he was some wild beast from a fairy tale, ready to gobble Harry up in one go. Harry raised his arms as the t-shirt was pulled free from his torso, but just as it snagged over his elbows, obscuring his face, Malfoy stopped tugging.
“Don’t move,” Malfoy said. Harry’s heart was squeezing painfully in his chest now, but at Malfoy’s words he froze. Suddenly he was aware of the fabric bunching around his shoulders, pulling against his arms. His hands rested against the cold wall behind, in the space between the room’s two tall windows. He couldn’t see Malfoy any more, and he shut his eyes, aware instead of every movement Malfoy made, every shaky breath he took. He felt as Malfoy undid Harry’s trousers. Harry arched his body towards Malfoy as the gentlest of touches whispered its way along his cock. His chest still ached, and as if the air itself was being squeezed from his body. He couldn’t help the way he began to shake in earnest as he heard Malfoy drop to his knees, and felt the first warm, wet touch of his tongue.
His arms were beginning to burn from holding them above his head, but Harry ignored the pain. And then Malfoy began to run his tongue up and down, over and around, and Harry didn’t think about his arms, or pain. He just felt the press of fabric on his face, his breath hot as it became trapped in the space, and then the knee-buckling sensation of Malfoy sucking him into his mouth. A hand grasped onto his side and pushed him back against the cool glass of the window. The hand kept Harry there, grounding him, connected him to the room and the cool night air outside, and to Malfoy in front of him.
There was nothing polished about the way Malfoy’s mouth was moving: it was messy and urgent, and Harry didn’t know what to think or do, so he just lost himself to the sensations. The sound of his own ragged breaths filled his world, harsh in his ears. As Malfoy continued, relentlessly, the sensation hovering between arousal and discomfort, Harry found that he began to make another sound, a series of moans he couldn’t contain until he groaned into a shuddering release.
His t-shirt was still close to his face, and suddenly it seemed too close, suffocating in fact, but then Malfoy stood and lifted it, freeing Harry’s face and arms. He tugged it off with such gentleness that the gesture was almost tender, but the look on Malfoy’s face was not. It was wild, and hungry, and filled with desire. He pulled Harry towards him, and kissed him, hard. His mouth tasted of Harry, a taste unfamiliar and yet familiar. Harry kissed back, with everything he had. They rested a moment, heads against each other, breathing heavily. And then Harry looked down, and saw Malfoy’s cock still standing stiff and proud, silver in the moonlight. Malfoy took Harry’s hand, pulling it down until, fingers threaded, they both began to rub and twist, over and over. The shiny head emerged, again and again from the fingers, and Harry wanted to see Draco come, but in the end it was too tempting to look up, to look at Draco with his head thrown back and his lips parted, his eyes half-closed. As he felt the pulse in his hands, the wetness against his skin as Malfoy came on him, all his attention was focused on Draco’s face, pale yet flushed, as he came undone.
The room was cold. Harry hadn’t really realised that before, but now, as the dampness on his hand and against his stomach cooled, he shivered. As if coming up through water, he saw where he was: in a dark, decrepit bedroom. A place he hated. With a man he… hated. Didn’t he? Harry reached down, pulled his trousers up a little, and took a step back. He found his wand and tried to clean himself a little.
Looking over at Malfoy, Harry saw that he was watching him, still standing half-naked, pale and ghostly in the moonlight. His face hardened as Harry twisted away, refusing to keep up the eye contact. The ball of hatred had only disappeared for a while, and it was back, eating him up from the inside. He didn’t know who he hated most in that moment: Malfoy or himself.
“I want you to leave. That… that shouldn’t have happened,” Harry said. Shame filled him. He had used Malfoy, not caring who he was. But Malfoy… he hadn’t done that because he didn’t care. He had told Harry I know what you need, and even the memory of the words made him shiver. Malfoy couldn’t have that hold over him. He couldn’t know Harry’s darkest secrets.
Harry moved away from the windows, conscious of how exposed he was, in view of the street. He still refused to meet Malfoy’s eye. There was a moment, he knew, when he could, should, say something. But Harry said nothing. The moment – whatever it had been – ended when Malfoy reached forward, for one of the curtains right by his hand, glaring a challenge at Harry before wiping his cock on the faded damask, leaving a slicked mark across their centre. His mouth was tight as he dressed, and he Apparated away without a word.
Harry looked around the room. There was nothing there. Just the scent of sex and the mark on the curtains. He held his hand to his face, smelling Malfoy. Tentatively, he licked his fingers, remembering the hot and hungry kisses they’d shared. Harry sank down to sit on the floor. What had he done? What was wrong with him? He hated Malfoy, and yet… Harry bowed his head. He felt worse now than he had before. Closing his eyes, his mind went back to the memory of Malfoy on the Astronomy Tower, lowering his wand, and Malfoy’s trapped look as he failed to identify Harry at the Manor. Did he really hate Malfoy? He didn’t know. Despised? Pitied?
He sat in the dark for a long time before he was ready to go back to his blank little room.
:::::
It was a form of torture, Harry decided, being constantly bombarded by his memories of that night. His lips could still feel Malfoy’s mouth, pressing against him and moving with need. His arms still felt stretched and bound, an ache across his armpits, the sting of Malfoy’s nails down his chest. Wanking didn’t help: if anything, it just left him feeling more empty than before. At least he was suspended this week, because Harry didn’t know what he’d do once he was partnered up with Malfoy. Harry swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He was trying to study, but to be honest the words in the books weren’t making much sense.
A knock at his bedroom door gave him an excuse to leave his desk, but Harry stepped back in surprise when he saw that it wasn’t Neville checking up on him again, but Lavender on the other side.
“Harry.”
“Lavender. I – come in.” Harry held the door open, then settled himself on his bed, leaving the one chair free for Lavender. She didn't say anything, just wandered over to his desk and picked up his copy of Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts. She flicked through it, her fingers lingering over the inscription signed by both Remus and Sirius.
“Were you close to them, then?” she asked. Harry nodded, and she sat down, the book still cradled in her lap.
“Sirius was my godfather. Remus… looked out for me. And now I’m godfather to his son.” Harry thought of his little godson, both parents dead, just like him. It hurt too much to think about for any length of time, and he closed his eyes, trying to forget the sight of Andromeda Tonks with grief marking her face and a wailing baby in her arms.
“Losing people is difficult, Harry.” Lavender was so soft-spoken he could barely hear her words. He leant forward. “Look, I came to see you because I had an interesting chat with Hermione last week. I– I didn’t realise that you were finding things difficult.”
Harry felt his world turning upside down. Lavender was coming to give him advice? He’d seen her when she wouldn’t talk to anyone, when she jumped if anyone came near or she heard a loud noise. He frowned, but she was still looking at the book, sitting quietly, and didn’t seem to notice.
“Lots of us lost people in the war,” he said. “I’m nothing special.”
“I never said you were.” Lavender’s calm words shocked Harry. That wasn’t how people normally responded to him. “You were really just another seventeen-year old thrust into events bigger than any of us should have dealt with. I wear my scars here,” she said, pointing at her face. “And I’ve had no choice but to deal with them, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed in the morning, I wouldn’t be able to get on with my life. I think that many of us carry scars elsewhere, out of sight.”
Harry sighed, weighed down again by the thought of all the loss, and by the truth he could hear in her words. “I know.”
“I’m not just here to talk to you about loss. Or scars.” Lavender put the book down on his desk. “Hermione said that you’ve got some issues with Draco Malfoy.” Harry felt ice-cold prickles travel down his back. How did Hermione know? He leant forward as his chest tightened. And then he realised that she didn’t mean kissing or sex, but fighting and hatred, and he relaxed a fraction, resting back against the wall behind him.
“Malfoy?” He managed to keep his voice steady.
“Did you know that he came to see me, when I was in hospital?”
Harry shook his head.
“He came to see me when I wouldn’t talk to anyone. When I couldn’t look in a mirror without crying. He– we talked. We talked.” She paused. “He apologised.”
“He–“
“It wasn’t easy for either of us, and he didn’t have to visit me, but he did. For weeks.” She fixed Harry with a steely glare. “Whatever you think about him, you’re probably wrong. That’s what I came here to tell you. During the war, you were brave. He was a coward. But since then? He’s changed.” She stood up. “I would love to stay and chat properly, Harry, but I’m going to visit the friend who did come and see me when I was recovering. Not the one who didn’t.”
Lavender let herself out of the room, leaving Harry open-mouthed and alone. Half-formed thoughts were tumbling through his mind, and he found it hard to hold on to anything for long enough to make sense of it. Lavender had told him off. Malfoy had apologised. He saw, again, the anger in Malfoy’s eyes, and Harry groaned. He’d made a huge mess of this, just like he did with everything. Something… he didn’t even know how to describe it. Something had happened between him and Malfoy, and they hated each other, but maybe he’d got Malfoy wrong.
He remembered what Malfoy had said to him, the first time they’d spoken on the roof – probably their only real conversation, to be honest – and he felt, all of a sudden, the truth of it, deep in his bones. He had been bumbling through this past year, and he was doing exactly what Malfoy had said: throwing away everything. He did want to be an Auror, but you’d never guess, the way he behaved. He just… it had been….
Harry curled up into a ball, and just let it flow over him. It was too much to understand, but as the day gradually darkened, he began to see it a little more clearly.
From the moment he’d found out about Voldemort’s existence, it had been easy. Not what he had to do, or the fear or the challenges, but having a sense of purpose to his life. Not necessarily to kill Voldemort, but to exist in opposition to him. For Harry, the mere act of being alive had been enough to do this. He could see now, he needed to be an Auror to know that there was still Darkness out there, and if there was, then he knew who he was.
He could also see how he’d been looking down on the training sessions, the talks, even the other Aurors. Because what did they know? Had they died? Had they seen into Voldemort’s soul? Harry felt shame, hot and bitter, sweep through him. For all that he couldn’t work without a team to back him up, perhaps his real weakness was that he pushed people away and only focused on himself. He really was no hero if he could think like that.
Maybe… maybe it wasn’t just Malfoy who he hated, after all.
:::::
The first day back after his suspension was hellish. Harry had known it would be, but this time when he saw Malfoy, all he could think about was the way his face pinked up when he came, and the way the moon had painted him silver. Heat flooded his face, and he avoided looking again, instead examining the blank, beige wall opposite. They were both sitting outside Hestia’s office, waiting to find out exactly how they were going to be partnered up. He suspected she was making them wait on purpose.
He didn’t know what to say, but he knew he had to say something. “I—“
“Can we not? Please?” Malfoy’s voice was sharp, strained. “I just want to forget it ever happened. You can stop worrying about it. I won’t mention it, and I won’t bother you any more. You’ve made it perfectly clear that it’s not a path either of us are going to go down. I was mistaken in thinking it was.” He turned his back to Harry. It felt as if they were sitting miles apart, not next to each other. Harry swallowed, more than a little stung by the reaction. Although he knew that deep down he’d been expecting this, or something like it.
Harry continued to stare at the rather unexciting wall. He wanted to fix this, all of it, but he didn’t know how. Any further attempts at conversation were mercifully avoided when Hestia opened her door and ushered them in.
:::::
If Harry had thought that his memories of Malfoy’s naked flesh were torture, he was wrong. This was far worse: spending almost every day with him, watching him train, listening to him think through problems. He’d assumed that Malfoy was a bit of a prick for so long now that it was strange to find out that he wasn’t. Not just because of what Lavender had said, but also because… Harry realised he’d never really given Malfoy a chance before.
Not Malfoy, Draco, Harry reminded himself. Hestia had been quite clear about the name issue. Draco was polite but distant to Harry, and Harry hated it. He wanted a bit of fight, a bit of fire. A strong hand on his wrist. He missed Malfoy.
“Harry, I think that if you work on your wand movement, you’ll find the charm works properly.” They had extra work assigned to them, and one of their tasks was to help the other with something they found tricky. Draco was helping Harry with his Doppelganger Charm, and Harry had offered to help Draco with his Defensive magic, the Patronus in particular.
It wasn’t going well. Not the magic part – that was fine – but the stilted conversation and awkward silences were getting a little hard to bear.
“Like this?”
“No. More of a sideways movement before the upward flick.” Draco motioned with his hand as he spoke. Harry had a go but Draco just shook his head. “Look, like this,” he said, bringing his hand to Harry’s arm.
Harry froze, and Draco stopped moving too. Harry nodded that yes, Draco could touch him. Slim fingers wrapped over the back of his hand, and for a second, Harry felt dizzy. He took a deep breath, and dared a glance at Draco’s face. It was set in determined lines, a slight frown on his brow.
“Like this,” Draco said, and he moved Harry’s hand through the air. He let go and stepped back, but Harry could still feel the clasp of his fingers.
With difficulty Harry turned his attention back to the spell. “Gemino Hominum!” He tried his best to emulate the movement Draco had just shown him. Harry jumped back in surprise when a copy of himself, non-shadowy and looking as real as he did, sprang out of the end of his wand. He turned to Draco, a grin spreading over his face, unable to contain his glee. “I did it!”
Draco smiled. “You did,” he said. He looked over at the Doppelganger. “Uncanny really, having two Potters around like that.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure if I like it.”
It took some effort to maintain the spell, and Harry quickly tired, the Doppelganger fading from sight. When he looked back at Draco, there was still a small smile on his face.
“Well you’re going to have to put up with it, because I’ve got to do that again.” Harry was still filled with joy that he had he had finally cast the spell, but his smile softened as he spoke again. “Thanks, for helping me… I wish I’d asked you sooner.” He paused, and looked Draco straight in the eye. “And it’s Harry. Two Harrys. Not two Potters.”
“I was happy to help,” Draco said, with a small bow of his head. “Harry.” It was strange. As soon as Draco had said ‘Harry’, his smile had faltered.
Harry was torn between wanting to forget, wanting to ignore that part of himself that had loved being pinned, loved his arms twisted in his t-shirt and at Draco’s mercy, and wanting to do it all again. He didn’t know if he wanted Draco to smile or scowl, or push him or kiss him, but every moment they spent together it became clearer that he wanted a chance to make all those things happen. But of course Draco just kept pushing him away.
:::::
“So why did you do it?” Hestia’s eyes narrowed slightly as she leant forward. They were stood over a smoking crater in the ground, amongst the trees. Harry could see that it didn’t exactly look good that he’d just shot a fireball at the ‘suspect’ he and Draco had been tracking.
“I, er, I know it’s not exactly standard practice,” Harry said, but Hestia waved her hand as if knowing that he was stalling for time. “But Draco said that the blast waves were potentially a helpful side effect to using the Confringo spell, so I thought I’d try it out.”
“In a simulation? Untested?” Hestia raised an eyebrow. Harry flushed, because put like that it did seem a little risky.
“Well, yeah. Draco doesn’t just make things up. And, er—“
“You had enough faith in his abilities to risk something new?” Hestia’s voice was almost as sharp as her gaze.
“I– I guess…”
“And how did you know that you wouldn’t blow us all up?”
“I couldn’t let Draco get hit again! That Leg-Locker curse caught him straight-on. He couldn’t get away, and I could see that he was trying to shield me, but he wasn’t going to last the attack.”
“So you acted without thinking it through? Again?”
Harry flushed, feeling caught out. At the time it had felt like the right thing to do, but now, with Hestia questioning his every move and decision, it was hard to hold onto that certainty. He cast his mind back to Draco as he’d looked across at Harry, eyes widened a fraction, then cast the perfect shield over himself, letting the blast knock his assailant over. Realising that he stood by his actions, Harry nodded. “I know it sounds like a bit of a leap, but yeah, I knew it would work.”
“Because…”
“Because I knew that Draco would know what to do! He’s no fool, and he taught me that trick in the first place! And I had to do something: we were going to both get taken out. And… I didn’t want to finish the exercise without him. “ He paused. “I know it wasn’t necessary for both of us to complete it, but it was important that we did. He was putting himself in danger to help me: I wasn’t going to let him take a hit because of that.”
Hestia looked like she was about to say something, but then she shook her head. She took a deep breath. “Only you, Harry, would save someone by shooting a bloody big fireball at them!”
At this, Harry did look a little sheepish. But when he got to the edge of the trees, Draco was waiting for him.
“Thanks,” Draco said, his hands jammed into his pockets. “I could hear her shouting. But you did the right thing. And... well, thank you, for thinking of me too.” His words were quiet, and he didn’t wait for a response, walking off with quick steps. Harry stared after him, unable to explain just why his heart was beating so fast. But then everything about Draco confused him.
:::::
Draco loved the Poisons and Antidotes course. Not surprisingly, Harry thought, but it was one aspect of training that he’d struggled with all year, and even though he was working with a knowledgeable partner he still didn’t enjoy it. Their current task was to match poisons to antidotes. There were vials for them to examine under the light, and descriptions of symptoms cards with gruesome photos attached. Some of the vials of poison were spelled shut, due to the danger of their fumes. Others they were able to sniff.
“That one smells like socks.”
“Are you always this ridiculous?” Draco had his arms folded.
“I try.?”
“Well do you have to try quite so hard? I don’t want to mess this up.” Harry enjoyed getting some kind of a reaction from Draco, but he could see how Draco was beginning to get anxious. It was clear in the way he kept looking down at the vials, then back up at Harry.
“As if you’re going to go wrong with this!”
“Well, I probably won’t, but you’re my partner, remember? You can still mess up half of this.”
“Hey! I’m not that bad at this, you know.”
Their talk was light, and they were always able to keep things civil, but inside Harry was dying a little. As each day passed, he began to regret that his thing with Draco – whatever it had been – had ended so quickly, and so badly. Draco, it seemed, was determined to never mention it; despite these odd moments of thaw, he was generally fairly cool towards Harry, and it was driving Harry wild. At night, unable to stop himself, Harry found himself thinking of Draco more often than not. And not just the feeling of his hand clasped tight on Harry’s side, or the sight of his eyes half-closed as he lost himself to sensation, but also the way he would get back up again no matter what life threw at him. Draco wasn’t quite who Harry had thought he was. He was unapologetic, confident yet highly anxious about proving his worth, and almost completely alone. But then based on his late-night imaginings, Harry wasn’t quite who he thought he was either. Not as straight; not as straight-forward, either.
Looking at the vials in a row in front of them, Harry felt a stab of trepidation. He glanced over at Draco, but his face was blank. The bastard was deliberately not giving him any clues. Right. He only needed to work out half of them, and he was going first so he couldn’t even accuse Draco of taking the easy ones first.
“You already know, don’t you?” Harry said.
Draco gave him an incredulous look. “Of course. But what we need is for you to know.”
Harry ran through what he knew in his head: colour, viscosity, odour, flecks. The first checks. He examined each vial, opened the ones he could, and looked at the cards. He didn’t think about moonlight, or fabric tight across his face. Instead he concentrated, determined to finally make progress in his training.
Draco’s smile when he correctly identified the poisons and the antidotes replaced all the other memories that night.
:::::
“Happy birthday, Draco.” Harry stood with his hands in his pockets. He had known that Draco’s birthday was coming up, but hadn’t known how to mark it. If they were friends he’d offer to go buy him a drink, take him to the pub, but they weren’t friends, not exactly.
“A few of us are going to the pub tonight,” said Draco, interrupting Harry’s thoughts. “If you want to come, you can.” Harry was as confused as ever. Maybe– maybe Draco could think of him as a friend. Although maybe that wasn’t what Harry wanted, any more. He said he’d come, and then spent the rest of the day trying to work out what it meant. Who was ‘a few of us’, and why had Draco asked him? He just didn’t know.
:::::
The pub was busy. Draco, it appeared, had more friends than he thought. He certainly looked shocked to see so many people waiting for him.
Lavender was ignoring Ron trying not to stare at her scars, Neville was talking to Megan and Su, and Pansy Parkinson was sitting with a drink in her hand, talking to Greg Goyle. When she saw Harry her face suffused with red, and she hung her head down, hiding amongst her hair.
“You should go talk to her,” said Draco. Harry stared at him. “Oh, I’m not asking you to forgive her being a selfish cow, I just think you should hear what she has to say.”
And so, while Draco was bought more drinks than he could ever manage, Harry sat down at the table with the two former Slytherins. No one spoke.
“Draco told me to talk to you.” Still nothing. Harry took a sip of his butterbeer, glanced over at Draco, who was watching them, and tried again. “Nice weather we’ve been having.”
Pansy raised her eyes. “You don’t have to,” she said. “Talk to me, that is.”
“Well actually, he said that perhaps you might want to talk.” Harry nodded over at Draco, who suddenly seemed to find Ron’s story very interesting and looked away from them.
Harry was surprised that Draco didn’t rub the back of his head in pain with the look that Pansy directed towards him. “Oh, did he? Bastard.” She pushed her hair behind her ear. “Look, Potter, I’ll just say this quickly, and then you can go off with all your Auror friends and Greg and I can sneak off once we’ve bought Draco a drink. Although it does look like he doesn’t really need any more.” She took a deep breath, and drained her glass. “I’m sorry for trying to sell you out. I was scared. I’m not noble like you and your friends. I do tend to just think about myself, first and foremost. I– I don’t think I can change who I am, but I still shouldn’t have done it.”
“Er.” Harry’s brain was trying to take this all in. “Ok.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m glad no one helped me. I’m glad you got rid of… him. And—” she picked up her glass, and frowned as she remembered that it was empty “— for some reason, that idiot over there is quite glad you’re still around. Just don’t… he’s more vulnerable than he looks. I can’t even imagine how much energy it takes for him to out-Gryffindor you all every day.” She shuddered, but her eyes were bright as she watched Draco talking. “And now, my glass appears to be empty. Greg, be a love and get me another. And one for Potter, too.” She opened her purse and pulled out some coins. “There you go.”
Goyle sighed, put down his still-full pint, and headed off to the bar.
Harry shook his head. “You really are… well, you know, what you said.”
“Selfish? Yes. But that doesn’t mean I’m not worth knowing.” She gave Harry an amused look. “We’re all more than we appear, didn’t you know? And we’re defined by more than what other people think.” She paused. “Do you know, I think I might need to powder my nose. Would you be a dear and wait for Greggy to get back? Thank you,” she said, and she rose and headed off into the crowd.
Harry was left by himself. With nothing to do but watch Draco, of course. Well, it was his birthday. And he did look… like he could stalk across the room at any moment, and push Harry back against a table, and push a hand under his robes and—
Draco looked over at Harry. The look in his eyes was… hungry. And fierce. Harry had seen it before, in the moonlight. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. Draco was watching him as if he didn’t regret anything that had happened. It was the look which had so infuriated Harry, so often, but which he hadn’t seen for weeks now. He’d always taken it to be one of pride, one which spoke of a lack of remorse. But now… now he saw it differently. It was the look of a man who had finally made a choice about his life. A man who knew what he wanted. Harry couldn’t breathe: the look was directed at him. The room was too noisy, too busy. Too many people.
“Are you OK?”
Harry looked up. Greg was standing above him with a tray of drinks. It was beyond Harry to utter much beyond a garbled word that could have been ‘Yes’. Or ‘No’. He stood, pushing the table back as he did so, his butterbeer spilling on the table. “Air… need air,” he managed to say, before staggering towards the nearest door.
The corridor leading to the pub toilets was quiet, compared to the main bar. Harry leant up against the wall, taking in deep breaths, trying to still the shaking in his hands, the dizziness of his head. He closed his eyes, focusing on easing the sense of tightness in his chest.
The door swung open, and Harry turned his head away, not really wanting to talk to anyone. A soft touch on his arm made him look up though. It was Draco.
“Harry…” Draco’s fingers slid along his arm, to his wrist, and then he moved to grasp Harry’s arm in in an almost painful hold. Almost. “I saw you looking at me. You looked… like a man who knew what he wanted.”
“Yes,” whispered Harry. “I know what I want.” Draco’s other hand moved to the back of Harry’s neck, into his hair. Harry’s hand moved to Draco’s side, and round to his back. He could feel the heat of Draco’s skin beneath his shirt, and he pulled Draco closer, until their bodies were flush.
He licked his lips, noting how Draco’s eyes followed his tongue. He could hear Draco’s breathing, open-mouthed, shallow.
Harry leant his head forward a fraction, and their lips met, sweet and warm and tasting of butterbeer. The kiss was full of hunger, but something else too: there was a recognition there, that this was one kiss, and that there would be others. More.
As their heads fell back, Draco sighed. “I think you might just have figured it out, after all.”
“I want you,” Harry said. “I don’t know why I couldn’t see that before.”
“Because you’ve been wallowing in self-pity with your head up your arse?”
“That’s what I want,” said Harry.
“Your head up your—“
“No.” Harry shook his head. “I want to leave the self-pity behind.”
“I can help you,” said Draco. It wasn’t a question, and he held Harry’s arm back tight, pushing his hips into Harry, pressing him against the wall. Desire prickled through Harry, and he ground his hips into Draco. At some point very soon Draco was going to pin him down, he just knew it. The thought made him groan.
“Yes. Yes you can,” whispered Harry. He could admit it: he wanted it, he needed it, the way Draco could make him feel. Draco’s breath was hot on his face as he pulled close again, and this kiss was deeper, almost leisurely. They took their time to get to know one another, finding a rhythm that the rest of their bodies wanted to match.
A door clanged open, but they ignored it.
“I see you’ve got your birthday present, Draco.” Pansy’s voice cut through their kiss, and they paused, foreheads touching, eyes closed. Erections pressing into each other. “I really don’t think there’s anything I could have got you that you’d even notice at this point.” She was quiet for a second, and Harry wondered why she didn’t just leave them alone. He had to get Draco alone, and soon. “I owe both of you, so just go. Find a room, and enjoy your birthday. I’ll… explain.”
Harry didn’t need telling twice, and he Apparated Draco back to his room, casting a quick locking charm on the door for good measure.
Before Draco could throw Harry down onto the bed, Harry put a hand on Draco’s chest. “Wait. There’s one thing.”
“What?”
“Don’t you dare wipe your cock on these curtains.”
Draco stared at Harry, then at the hideous orange and brown curtains, then burst into laughter. A warm bubble of relief rose up in Harry. This wasn’t like last time. It was still hot and a little desperate, but the same hate wasn’t there. Something had changed: it took him a moment to realise what. He had changed.
They tumbled onto the bed together, legs entwined, arms reaching for each other. Their hands sought out skin, running under shirts and robes. Harry marvelled at just how hot Draco’s thin body always felt. Whenever he thought of Draco, that was the word which came to mind: heat. Heat and something else. Strength. He pulled him close, closer. It didn’t feel close enough, and he fumbled for buttons, but Draco stopped him.
“Patience,” he whispered, and he kissed Harry again. It was a long, slow kiss, agonising in its pace. Harry felt as if he were melting into it, and after an initial burst of frustration, Harry forgot about undressing Draco. He just wanted this kiss to go on and on.
They kissed with murmurs to punctuate, words about skin and touch, about want and need. Draco rolled on top of Harry, pressing his thigh down to part Harry’s legs, rubbing against Harry’s aching cock. His hands found Harry’s arms, and pinned him down, and Harry couldn’t help the soft cry of relief that came with the sensation. A slow, proud smile curved across Draco’s lips.
“I knew it,” he whispered. “You love this, don’t you?”
Harry nodded. “So much.” Draco just bent his head down in response, and brought his hot mouth to Harry’s neck, making him squirm but keeping him pinned in place and he licked and kissed and sucked.
Cooling saliva soothed the newly-stinging skin on Harry’s neck as Draco finally pulled up. And then, still holding Harry down with his body weight, Draco began to remove his own clothes. After tugging away at his t-shirt, Draco moved forward to kiss Harry again, in almost a bite of hunger. Then he sat back up, pulling Harry with him. They focused on removing their tops, Harry feeling both light and bereft without Draco’s weight on top of him.
Harry’s new-found sense of lightness disappeared as he saw the thin white scars, running down Draco’s chest. “I did this,” he whispered, running his hand along the largest scar.
Draco brought his hand to cover Harry’s. “You did.”
“I never said sorry.”
“You didn’t.”
“You never say sorry.”
“Not to you.” Draco smiled wryly.
“Was it because of… this?” Harry asked, moving his hand along the smooth lines again.
“Yes. And no. I decided… I decided I could spend the rest of my life being sorry, bowing and scraping and taking whatever the wizarding world deigned to give me. A kick of the boot probably.” He shook his head. “Or I could set my own path. Not look back, and live my life as it should be lived.”
“Why is it different with me?”
This time Draco reached up and ran a finger along the zig-zag of Harry’s lightning bolt scar. “We all have our scars, Harry.”
“That’s what Lavender said.”
“Well, she would know, wouldn’t she?” Draco moved his hand down to Harry’s chest, brushing over the circular scar from the locket. “But what intrigues me about you is the way you carry so many scars, inside and out. I don’t think you even realise that you do, though.”
“Why would you like that about me?”
“It just seems more real, to me,” said Draco.
“Why like this though?” said Harry, running his hand over Draco’s chest again.
“Why not?” Draco tugged Harry close again and kissed him, with a fierce possessiveness that made Harry tingle to his toes. “You strike me as being one of those things in life worth making an effort for.”
“Oh,” said Harry. And then he decided to show Draco that he, too, was quite capable of making an effort. He slid down onto the floor. “I do believe it’s your birthday today.” He palmed Draco’s cock. “I’ve not done this before but I—“
“Enough with the talking, Potter. Just get on with it.” Draco unbuttoned his flies and Harry pulled off his trousers then, a little self-conscious at Draco’s gaze, removed his own. “Potter,” Draco repeated, part impatient moan and part order. Harry settled between his legs. Potter. Harry got such a thrill from hearing that. Draco sounded so… bossy.
It was and it wasn’t like Harry had imagined it, licking the soft skin, feeling the warmth, the hardness under his tongue. But he knew that it felt right: finally, something in his life felt right. When Draco threaded fingers through his hair, tightening them into a hold which stung Harry’s scalp, he had to stop his mouth moving for a moment as his hips involuntarily bucked. There was another “Potter” at this, and he forced himself to keep moving. He had been thinking of the tight pulling of his hair, since that first fight with Draco. As Harry hummed in pleasure, Draco groaned.
Harry realised that he loved it, the feel of a heavy cock in his mouth. He loved having Draco’s hands in his hair, and he redoubled his efforts until Draco was moaning softly, then tightened his grip, holding Harry’s head close, until the pull on his hair hurt.
Draco came in hot spurts, and it was messy and wonderful all at once.
Later, Wwith his arms pinned down above the bed as Draco wanked him off while sucking on his neck, relishing the feeling of freedom and skin-tingling arousal while he twisted with pleasure, Harry decided that everything would be different from now on.
:::::
“So, you and Malfoy then,” said Ron.
“Draco.”
“I never thought you’d be the one correcting me.”
“I have been calling him Draco for a while now.” Harry drew his feet up onto the bed.
“Yes,” said Ron. “But not doing whatever else it is you two get up to.”
“You don’t mind, do you?” Harry felt vulnerable talking about his… whatever it was with Draco, openly like this. He was also uncertain, not sure what to do if his friend disapproved. They were sitting in Ron’s room which, much like his room at the Burrow, was rather orange with posters and a little distracting with waving Quidditch players. Harry realised just how little he’d done to make his own room feel like home. But maybe that was because he knew it was only temporary, and he wanted to wait until he could put down some proper roots.
Ron looked thoughtful. “I’m glad to see you happy, mate. And, er, well you and Draco have always had something going on, haven’t you?”
“But Gin—“
“Have you ever stopped to think that maybe she was right to call it a day when she did?” Ron’s words stopped Harry dead. Oh. “I mean none of us knew you’d end up with Draco, but settling down with her? It was never going to happen.”
“Maybe not,” said Harry, reluctant to dwell on whatever his relationship with Ginny had or had not been. He still wasn’t sure himself, although he did know that she’d never made him feel quite the way Draco did. “But are you sure you’re OK with this?”
“Yes, I am. I’d trust him with my life on the field, so I reckon I can trust him with my best friend.”
Warmth spread through Harry at these words. “Thank you. And, er, sorry for being so moody, all this time.”
Ron smiled. “I don’t think you’ve got the monopoly on being the moody one. And if there’s one reason to like you being with Draco, it’s because I feel like I’ve got my friend back. Plus it’s great to see you finally kicking a bit of arse on training.” Harry smiled back, happy to be feeling at ease with Ron again, and with his training, of course.
The satisfied glow hadn’t faded when Draco and Neville knocked on the door half an hour later, four cups of tea bobbing along behind them. They settled into a study session, Draco keeping one firm hand on Harry’s foot, grounding him throughout.
:::::
The large training room was filled with mirrors. Draco sucked in a breath and muttered the word ‘cliché’, and Harry had to fight not to smile. The small group of trainees – Harry, Draco, Ron, Neville, Megan and Su– had been told that they were to work together to find their mentors, who were all hidden in the room
Harry ran through the main areas of training: concealment, poisons, tracking, practical defence, Dark Magic theory, and advanced charms. He tried to see more than just the room and the mirrors: what were they trying to test or teach them here? He thought of Malfoy, and glanced over to see him coolly surveying the room. Think like Draco, he told himself. See the bigger picture.
“Let’s search the room in pairs,” Harry said, keeping his voice low. The others nodded. “Draco?”
Draco nodded, and indicated which way to go with his head.
“Ok then.”
Instead of diving in, Harry made the effort to quickly communicate just where they’d look. They both had their wands out, making sure they covered themselves and each other. They knew from experience just how fond all their instructors were of Stunners.
It was disorienting, moving between the mirrors. Harry decided that this exercise was about how they processed visual information. And other information, too: he signalled to Draco to stop, and listened carefully. He could hear someone moving, out of sight, to his left. Draco nodded, slowly, obviously having heard the same noise. They began to track the few footsteps and robe swishes they heard, taking care to remain as near to silent as possible themselves.
Everywhere that Harry looked, there were reflections of him and Draco. He focused on the way that Draco moved, checking constantly that Draco was nearby, sensing his presence rather than relying on sight alone. A movement and a flash of black caught his eye. And obviously it had caught Draco’s too, for his arm shot up, holding Harry back. Harry waited, even as they both saw Su edge out from behind one of the mirrors. Her face was set in grim lines, just mouthing ‘Megan, Stunned’. They moved into a group of three then, searching through the room together.
They spotted Hestia, along with Savage, in a corner. Harry couldn’t be certain that they in turn hadn’t been seen, but nothing happened so he continued to look around him, checking with the others. The hairs on the back of his neck rose up at the constant pressure of searching and being watched.
A stumble had them all spinning round, in time to see Ron narrowly dodging a Stunner as he came out from behind a mirror, Neville following closely behind. “Savage,” he said, his voice tight with nerves. Draco met Harry’s eyes: Ron had come from the other direction to Hestia and Savage.
“There’s two of them!” Su said. As she spoke, the shadows of passing people flitted in Harry’s peripheral vision. He watched as short dark hair – Hestia it looked like – wove her way closer, as another Hestia worked her way in the opposite direction. His mind spun.
“Polyjuice!”
“A Doppelganger!”
There were several whispered suggestions all at once. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw one of the Hestias raise her wand, and his mind alighted on the perfect solution. He shook his head briefly at the other trainees as he raised his wand, quickly glancing at the copies. Su, Ron and Draco nodded, and they waited as he cast a spell.
“Evanesco Imago!”
The Hestia bearing the wand disappeared, and Harry quickly turned and disarmed the other. It didn’t take long, with any uncertainty over who was real or not disappearing along with the copies , for the trainees to disarm or capture the other mentors.
Once his wand was returned to him, Savage Vanished all the mirrors with a flick of his wand. The room was suddenly empty, only a group of people left, eyes wide with surprise.
“What was that?” Malfoy looked at Harry as if he’d sprung an extra head.
“The Gemino Counter-Curse,” Harry said.
“That’s not on the course,” said Su. All the attention in the room seemed to focus in on Harry with her words, and he swallowed, aware suddenly of everyone staring at him . “When I was trying to learn to cast a Doppelganger, I remember Ron saying something about the counter-spell, and I looked it up. Turns out the general Gemino counter-spell works just as well with the Doppelganger charm. I thought it might be useful.”
A slow smile spread across Hestia’s face, and she glanced across at Savage before turning back to Harry. “You did it, Harry. You showed us what you could really do.”
“Did I say something about a counter-spell? I don’t remember that,” said Ron, frowning as he tried to remember. “But that was incredible, Harry.”
Heat spread through Harry, a mix of relief and something else. Pride, perhaps, or even happiness. He had done it. All by himself.
“You used magic, and you saw the bigger picture,” said Draco. He shook his head. “Now I’m going to have to try twice as hard to keep ahead.”
“Something tells me you’ll cope.” Harry knew how much Draco loved a challenge. And suddenly, so did he. Harry was going to be a great Auror. For the first time, he believed it.
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Date: 2013-04-02 06:47 pm (UTC)And then PINNING :DDDDD
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