* * *
“Are you sure it’s a good idea to leave those two alone together for so long?” Harry asked, as they walked back along the path to the market.
Hermione shrugged, taking a sip of her drink. “They’ll be fine,” she said. “They get along better than they’ll ever admit.”
“Bit weird, really,” Harry said idly.
“No weirder than the two of you dating.”
“…Fair enough.” Harry sighed. “Sometimes I still can’t wrap my head around it. I mean, not that we’re – dating. But that he’s the same bloke I couldn’t stand for over six years.”
“It almost makes sense, in a twisted sort of way,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “Not that I ever would have guessed, but in hindsight, well… You always did react rather…strongly to each other. Oh, and last year. Don’t even get me started.”
Harry flushed and tried to keep from scowling too much. “Why is it always last year that gets brought up? I knew he was up to something, that’s all! And I was right, wasn’t I? Why doesn’t anyone remember the other five years before that when he couldn’t bloody well leave me alone? If anyone was harboring some sort of secret crush, it was him!”
Hermione laughed lightly and patted Harry on the arm. “Does it really matter at this point? Don’t be so defensive. What’s important is where things stand now. The past is the past.” She tossed her drink into a trash bin as they walked by, and then her brow furrowed slightly. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it would be nice to get some sort of apology out of him for being such a prat when he was younger, but I’m not getting my hopes up.”
Harry snorted. “Yeah, that’s likely.” He dragged a hand through his hair, looking skyward for a moment. “Sometimes I feel like things are moving too quickly between us. Except…” He huffed, feeling a mixture of frustrated and flustered. “Well, except things aren’t really moving quickly at all. And–”
“Harry,” Hermione interrupted gently. “It’s still January. It’s not even been a month.”
“A month?” Harry barked out a short laugh. “Hermione, it’s barely even been two weeks, let alone a month. But at the same time, this – the two of us – we started…” He waved a hand around aimlessly. “I don’t even know. In the fall. Forever ago. But we haven’t done anything since, and I want to, but it’s all – weird and I get nervous because he’s a guy, or – well, no, I feel like it should be weird, or different, but it’s not, it actually seems like it could all be pretty easy, and that’s. That’s kind of – scary.” Harry looked at Hermione almost pleadingly, not even realizing that he’d stopped walking and was having this outburst in the middle of the sidewalk. “I mean, is this something I should have noticed before? Should I have picked up on it at some point? This sort of thing can’t just suddenly happen, can it? Hermione…am I…?” He stopped, unable to say it, and Hermione let out a soft sigh.
“Gay?” she supplied, and after a moment, Harry nodded. Hermione stepped closer to him and reached out to take his hand. “That’s just a label,” she said. “You can be whatever you want to be, Harry, whatever you’re comfortable being. You don’t have to explain anything to anyone.”
“…Even how I’m suddenly gay for Draco Malfoy?” Harry asked wryly.
“Even how you’re suddenly gay for Draco Malfoy,” Hermione agreed, laughing.
Harry started walking again, keeping his hand curled around Hermione’s. “Are you sure? Because I’m pretty sure people will want an explanation for that one.”
“People,” Hermione said with a scoff. “Who cares? After what you’re doing for them, you don’t owe them anything at all. You can do whatever makes you happy, Harry. And if it involves Draco, well. We know he’s capable of being a halfway decent bloke.”
“As for being nervous–”
“Oh, you don’t have to–” Harry started to say, but Hermione shot him a look and he shut up, sulking.
“As I was saying,” Hermione continued. “That’s completely normal. After all, you and Ginny never…” She looked at him, raising her eyebrows, and Harry quickly shook his head.
“No,” Harry said immediately. “No, no. We definitely never.” He hesitated. “But – honestly, I never really got nervous with her. Shockingly,” he said, snorting. “I was a terrible mess with Cho.”
“You didn’t really know Cho all that well,” Hermione said. “But you were already friends with Ginny.” She shrugged. “I suppose it’s different with everyone. Each relationship is unique.”
“This one is definitely unique.”
Hermione hummed noncommittally. “…I think it’s because it’s Draco,” she said.
Harry frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re so used to competing with him,” Hermione said. “And you’ve always kept your walls up around him before. You hated embarrassing yourself in front of him.” She shrugged. “Maybe this is kind of an extension of all that?”
Harry slowed to a stop again, eyes wide as he stared at Hermione. “You think I might be afraid of embarrassing myself?”
“Sex strips away all the walls. You’re never more vulnerable than you are in bed. But Harry…” Hermione stepped in front of him so she could face him straight on, and she grinned. “Sex is also fun.”
“Oh my God – Hermione, please!” Harry said, his face burning. He tried to pull away, but she wouldn’t let him.
“I’m serious!” Hermione said, laughing. “Come on, I know you did enough with Ginny that–”
“Right, yes! Okay, alright, we did,” Harry said quickly. “Merlin.”
“And it was fun, right?”
“Obviously,” Harry muttered.
Hermione leaned in, still grinning. “And intimate, right? Being with her that way, a way that’s so private, just the two of you–”
“Yes, alright?” Harry interrupted, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was all of that, but – what are you getting at?”
“Don’t you want that with Draco?”
Harry threw up his hands, dragging Hermione’s with him. “Yes!” he exclaimed. “Of course, I do! I – oh.” He paused, blinking at Hermione, and she laughed again and kissed him on the cheek.
“Let go,” she said softly. “You’ve nothing to worry about. You’ve got Draco Malfoy head-over-heels for you.”
“That might be a bit of an exaggeration,” Harry said dryly. He let Hermione start them moving again, brow furrowing as he considered what she saying.
“I’m not so sure,” Hermione said lightly. “I’ve seen him staring at you.”
Harry flushed again, and he couldn’t stop a pleased grin from working its way onto his face. “…He does stare, doesn’t he?”
“Yes. A lot,” Hermione said, looking amused.
Harry chuckled, and was quiet for a moment. “So – just let go, huh?”
“I think you’ll be very pleased with the results if you do. But,” Hermione added quickly, “only go as far as you’re ready to. Letting go and rushing into too much are two different things.”
Harry nodded and let his grin widen, his shoulders suddenly feeling a little lighter. He gave Hermione’s hand a squeeze. “Thanks, Hermione.”
She squeezed back, smiling up at him. “Just do me a favor?”
“If you get married one day–” Harry tripped over nothing and stumbled, but Hermione blithely carried on. “–don’t take his last name. Harry Malfoy just doesn’t sound right.”
“Is that even legal in the Wizarding world?” Harry asked, slightly hysterically. Hermione frowned, and Harry instantly regretted asking. Fuck, he could see the badges now. “Never mind,” he said quickly. “Not important – so, you’re not worried at all that Ron and Malfoy are going to go snooping through all your parents’ stuff looking for exciting Muggle things while we’re gone?”
“Oh, God,” Hermione said, her face going a shade paler. Luckily, that seemed to distract her from their previous conversation topic and she sped up, keeping her grip on Harry’s hand to tug him along. “Come on, no more dilly-dallying! We just need to get in, get what we need, and get home.”
* * *
“How do you suppose they get this to work?”
Weasley looked up from where he was trying to figure out the buttons on his game controller and glanced over to where Draco was staring intently at the light switch on the wall. “What, the lights?”
“Yes,” Draco said. He reached out and flicked the switch off. “The lights.” He flicked it back on.
“Well…they use eckeltricity, don’t they?”
“Eckel – what?” Draco frowned. “That doesn’t sound right. Are you sure?” He took a sip from his cup, which was filled with a very generous portion of Firewhiskey.
“Of course I’m sure.” Weasley smirked in his direction. “Surprised you didn’t know yourself. Aren’t you suddenly the expert on all things Muggle?”
“No. I would never call myself an expert.” He pushed his hair back, giving Weasley a haughty look. “I just know more than you do.”
“Except for what eckeltricity is.”
“That seems like a minor detail, really.” Draco flipped the switch again, and Weasley made an annoyed sound.
“Would you just keep the bloody lights on?”
Draco smirked. “Say please.” Weasley scowled at him and took a large gulp from his own glass of Firewhiskey instead. “Have you figured that out yet?” Draco asked, switching subjects abruptly and going over to stand behind Weasley so he could peer over his shoulder. Or try to. Weasley was taller than him, so he ended up having to shift around to get a good view of the controller thing. Weasley turned with him, though, keeping his shoulder blocking Draco’s view, which was just rude.
“No, I haven’t,” Weasley said, turning even further until he had to stop because of the cord attached to the controller. He settled for shoving Draco away instead. “Go turn the lights back on!”
“No need to get physical, you great brute,” Draco grumbled, but he did as told. He hovered by the door for a few minutes while Weasley wrestled with his game, but that quickly grew boring, so he spoke up again. “Hey, Weasley, did you ever read those Martin Miggs comics?”
“Yeah, ‘course,” Weasley said, without turning around. “Who didn’t?”
“My father didn’t approve. I had to sneak them into my bedroom.”
Weasley snorted. “I somehow find that extremely not surprising,” he said, and then suddenly straightened up. “Alright, get your arse over here. I think I’ve finally figured this out.” He tossed Draco another controller, which Draco stared at blankly.
“Why are there three handholds? Muggles don’t have three arms.” He paused. “…Do they?”
“I have no idea,” Weasley said. “Pick your character.”
Draco squinted at the screen. “Is that supposed to be a mushroom?”
“…Possib…ly?” Weasley said, also squinting. “Who knows.”
“Muggles are so weird,” Draco muttered.
“Just be the bloke in green. He’s probably a Slytherin.”
“He’s wearing overalls,” Draco said, aghast. “He must be mad. Martin Miggs used to wear overalls!”
“Just pick, Malfoy!”
“Alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist, Weasley. I’ll just be this dragon fellow.”
“That’s not a dragon, he’s got a shell on his back,” Weasley said. “He’s just a big turtle or something.”
“He looks like a Hungarian Horntail, he’s a dragon.”
Weasley rolled his eyes. “Sure. Whatever you say.” He clicked through a couple more screens, and then leaned over to point at Draco’s controller. “That button makes you go. You’re on the bottom.”
Draco looked affronted. “I most certainly am not. I’ll have you know I’m a very dominant person, extremely manly, and when Potter and I finally do it I’m going to be on top!”
Weasley stared at him, the tips of his ears turning red, and Draco watched in fascination as the color slowly bled into the rest of his face until he looked like a giant tomato. Neither noticed that on the television, the race had started without them. “I meant,” Weasley bit out, jabbing a finger at the screen, “the game. You complete and utter ponce.”
Draco blinked. “…Oh,” he said sheepishly, and then quickly took a large gulp of Firewhiskey. “I knew that.”
“Fucking hell,” Weasley whined. “My brain. Augh, I did NOT need that mental image. Jesus, Malfoy, you’re such a tosser! For fuck’s sake!”
“Oh, get over it,” Draco said. He hesitantly prodded at the button on his controller Weasley had pointed out, and let out a delighted sound when his character on the telly moved. “Look, I’m beating you,” he declared, even though his kart had only moved all of an inch.
“What?” Weasley looked back at the television and cursed, quickly starting his own kart and zooming past Draco’s in the process.
“…Hey!” Draco shouted, rushing to catch up. His character slammed into the back of Weasley’s, sending him spiraling off the track, and Draco burst out laughing. “Okay, okay,” he said. “How’s this – loser has to finish off their glass. We’ll fill up again in between races.”
Weasley growled, his eyes focused on the game. “You’re on!”
* * *
“So, I was thinking,” Hermione said, as she tossed a bag of crisps into their basket. She lowered her voice. “About this whole Hogwarts thing.”
“What about it?” Harry pulled a box of cereal off the shelf, recognizing it as a brand Dudley used to eat all the time that Harry hadn’t been allowed to touch. “Can we get this?”
Hermione frowned. “It’s full of sugar.”
“Oh, fine, toss it in.”
Harry gave a mental cheer and added it to their quickly growing selection of food. “What about Hogwarts now?”
“Well, it has to do with what Ron said. About how maybe Voldemort is actually looking for something – I think he might be right.”
“You think he wants something that’s in the castle?” Hermione nodded, and Harry’s brow furrowed. “What?”
“Remember what we spent half the summer researching?”
“…Artifacts that the Founders might have left behind?”
“Exactly,” Hermione said. “And you told us that Dumbledore said the only remaining item of Godric Gryffindor’s is his sword.” Harry still looked confused, so Hermione continued, “Harry, the Sword of Gryffindor is at Hogwarts!”
“Yeah, but…Hermione, Dumbledore also said only a true Gryffindor could’ve pulled that out of the Sorting Hat–”
“He doesn’t need the Sorting Hat to get it,” Hermione said. “According to Terry Boot, it’s hanging in Dumbledore’s – I mean, Professor McGonagall’s office.”
“Terry Boot?” Harry repeated incredulously. “When the hell did you talk to him?”
Hermione waved her hand. “No, in fifth year! When we were meeting at the Hog’s Head, remember?”
“Hermione, that was two years ago!”
“Well, you were just there not too long ago,” Hermione said impatiently. “Do you remember if you saw it or not?”
“I have no idea,” Harry said. “I wasn’t looking around much; I was a bit distracted talking to Dumbledore’s portrait.”
“Right, understandable,” Hermione said. “But regardless, the last time there was any news about the sword, it was in Hogwarts. It’s the only remaining artifact of any of the Founders, as far as we know, and we know Voldemort is interested in making another Horcrux! Harry, it all adds up. He plants his men there, he has the map – he can take over the school, have a new stronghold, and get a new Horcrux all in one move! He can sneak people in and out all day long if he knows all the secrets passageways, and if Wormtail manages to get the new map to show all the people in the castle, he’ll know exactly when the best time to attack is!”
Harry stared at her, wide-eyed, and tried to let all that sink in. “Alright, take a breath,” he said. “Blimey, Hermione.”
“Not to mention,” Hermione said, ignoring Harry entirely, “that he’s putting Professor Snape in the headmaster’s office. No one would even know if the sword went missing!”
Harry exhaled noisily. Well, shit. “…Right, you may have a point,” he admitted. “And there are Merlin knows how many places he could hide a Horcrux in Hogwarts – if he gets his hands on the sword, we’re really in trouble.”
“Do you think Professor Snape would know if that’s what he wants?”
“Doubtful.” Harry frowned. “He’s not supposed to know about the other Horcruxes, is he? If that’s what Voldemort is after, maybe he’ll wait until he has control of Hogwarts to get it.”
“Maybe we should still ask him,” Hermione said.
“I owled him days ago,” Harry said. “He hasn’t replied yet and I don’t want to send him anything else until he does. It’ll have to wait until we see him in person.”
Hermione chewed on her bottom lip. “Hopefully that’ll be soon,” she murmured. She looked down, sorting through their shopping basket for a moment, and then her eyes narrowed. “We need more vegetables – Harry, what is all this rubbish? We’re shopping for meals, not snacks!”
“Oi, hey, you put the crisps in there!” Harry exclaimed. He lifted up another bag. “And the chocolates, thank you.”
Hermione flushed. “Oh, lay off,” she said, snatching the bag out of Harry’s hand. He looked amused. Hermione promptly turned her nose up and marched toward the produce aisle.
“Can we pick up Chinese for dinner?” Harry asked cheerfully, following after her.
“Only if you promise to carry all these bags for me when we check out.”
* * *
“YES!” Draco crowed, throwing his arms up the air. “I beat you, I so beat you, Weasley!”
“Malfoy, you idiot, there are three laps! The race is still going!” Weasley let out a loud whoop as his character flew past Draco’s, firing a shell at him for good measure.
Draco let out a frustrated cry as his kart seemed to explode on the screen. “No,” he moaned, jabbing at the ‘go’ button even though his character was still in the middle of righting himself. It caused his kart to spin out of control, and he shouted in irritation again. “Stop doing that, damn it! Or tell me how to do it, as well – it isn’t fair!”
“Not telling you if you can’t figure it out yourself,” Weasley said smugly.
“But I’ve tried hitting all the buttons,” Draco whined. “Nothing happens!”
“Because you don’t have anything in your little box thing, I’ve told you that at least a thousand times.”
Draco steered his character around a curve, his entire body bending with the motion. A line of rainbow-colored boxes were in front of him, and he slowed down, making sure to drive through one. “Okay,” he said, stopping on the track entirely so he could figure this out. “I’ve got – ha, a lightning bolt. What’s that going to do, vanquish all the evil Dark Lords riding around in these little miniature car things?”
Weasley burst out laughing like that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “That would be amazing,” he said. “But no – I think that just shrinks everyone.”
Draco’s brow furrowed, and he pushed every button on his controller until the screen finally flashed. “There!” he said triumphantly. “Finally.” It didn’t do him much good, though, because Weasley was nearing the finish line again, despite being suddenly small and slow. He zoomed straight through it before Draco could even get his kart up to speed.
“Now that’s how you win,” Weasley asked, looking ridiculously proud of himself. Draco flushed a light pink and crossed his arms over his chest, scowling. Weasley smirked. “You have to say it.”
“You said you would!” Weasley cried. “That was the bet!”
“I’m not saying it!”
* * *
And that was how Harry and Hermione found them when they Apparated into the room a few minutes later.
“Say it,” Ron growled, trying to wrestle Draco’s controller away from him. “Say ‘Weasley is my king’, damn it!”
“I won’t!” Draco twisted away, holding the controller out of reach as best he could.
“Never! I refuse!”
Hermione gaped at them. “What the hell are you two doing?” she exclaimed, her voice slipping up a notch. Both Draco and Ron spun around, their faces startled, and then they broke out into identical grins.
“We were just playing this game your dad showed me–”
“You have to try this, Potter, it’s brilliant–”
“I’m kicking Malfoy’s arse, of course–”
“You drive this Hungarian Horntail around a track and – what? The hell you are, Weasley, I’ve beaten you a million times!”
“You’ve beaten me once, you git–”
Harry was pretty sure his eyebrows were about to fly off his forehead at any moment, they were raised so high. He glanced down at the coffee table, and then nudged Hermione. “That’s probably the explanation you’re looking for,” he said lightly, gesturing at the nearly empty bottle of Firewhiskey and the two full glasses next to it.
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. “Merlin help me,” she muttered, and then looked up again. “Ronald, why is there a tie wrapped around your head? And – is that my dad’s?”
Ron lifted a hand to the tie, looking vaguely surprised like he’d forgotten it was even there. Beside him, Draco snickered, although he was wearing a tie knotted to the side of his head the same way Ron was. Harry honestly couldn’t even begin to fathom what that was about. He wondered how much the two of them had drunk, and hoped fervently that the bottle hadn’t started out full. “This is how Martin Miggs wears his ties,” Ron said, as though the answer was obvious. “I think it should be part of the new uniform at Hogwarts. We look cool, right?”
“You look like a couple of university dropouts,” Hermione informed them.
“Oh, don’t be such a mood killer, Granger,” Draco said. “Sometimes I think flobberworms have a better sense of humor than you do.” And then eagerly, he added, “Potter, watch this!” Without waiting to see if he was paying attention or not, Draco turned back to the television and started the next race, where he promptly drove his character straight off the edge of the course and into the water. “Shit! Wait, no, that’s not what I wanted to show you.”
“Hey!” Ron cried. “You can’t start without me!” He quickly joined in, as well, and Hermione let out a huge sigh.
Harry squinted at the screen, recognizing some of the characters from games Dudley used to play. “How is it that Ron managed to pick the good guy and Malfoy managed to pick the bad guy when I’m nearly one-hundred percent certain neither of them have a bloody clue who those people are?”
“Oh, who knows,” Hermione said with a groan, dropping down onto the couch.
Harry slowly sat down beside her and piled the shopping bags at their feet, watching as Draco tried to control his character with his entire body. He swayed in place, dodging out of the way of the oncoming obstacles and twisting his shoulders with every turn the kart took.
He looked utterly ridiculous, and Harry suddenly couldn’t stop grinning.
“We can never leave them alone again,” Hermione muttered, before she raised her voice and called out, “You’re going the wrong way, Ron!”
“Ah – bollocks, that’s what that means.”
“They didn’t get into too much trouble,” Harry said, reaching for one of the glasses. “At least the house is still intact.”
Hermione made a tsking sound, and then her eyes zeroed in on Harry’s hand and she frowned. “Harry, what are you doing?”
Harry shrugged. “Letting go,” he said simply, and then he tossed back the glass and drank half of it in one go. It burned its way down his throat, quickly adding to the warmth that had already bloomed in his stomach. He set the glass back down on the coffee table and abruptly stood up before he could change his mind. Hermione wasn’t saying anything; she only watched as he took two swift steps toward Draco, then reached for his arm and spun him around.
“Hey–” Draco started to say, but his protests were quickly cut off as Harry kissed him square the mouth. Draco blinked at him once, twice, and then the controller fell from his hand as his arms flew around Harry’s neck. He pulled Harry in close, making a low, needy sound in the back of his throat as he pressed against his body, and Harry’s own arms immediately snaked around Draco’s waist.
“–Oh my God,” Harry heard Ron suddenly gasp from somewhere off to the side. “Bloody – fuck – did not need to see – Hermione, make them go away!”
“Ron, honestly,” Hermione said exasperatedly, but Harry pulled back the tiniest bit and gave a minute shake of his head.
“S’fine,” he said breathlessly, lips still brushing against Draco’s. His hands were already slipping up the back of Draco’s shirt, almost like they had a mind of their own. He met Draco’s eyes, saw the want and need reflected in them, and nearly went straight back in for another kiss. But instead – “Are you extremely drunk right now?” he asked.
“Not anymore,” Draco said immediately. Poor timing, however, had him suddenly lurching forward and nearly falling on Harry, but he caught himself just in time and gave a somewhat sheepish laugh. “Right, well, maybe a little, but I swear I’m sobering up quickly and please for the love of Merlin don’t stop now.”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” Harry said with a grin. He curled his fingers around Draco’s wrist, and quickly tugged him toward the stairs. “We might not make it back down for dinner,” he called to his other two friends. Ron promptly stuck his fingers in his ears and started singing the Hogwarts school song in an extremely loud voice, and Hermione rolled her eyes.
“Harry James Potter, you’re washing those sheets when you’re finished!” she called after them, but Harry barely heard her because he was too busy racing up the stairs.
He burst through the door to their room, quickly shutting it behind them and pushing Draco up against it. Draco was already reaching for him as Harry leaned in, and they met in the middle for an open-mouthed kiss that had all of Harry’s blood rushing south so quickly he felt a little lightheaded.
Draco’s hands slipped under Harry’s shirt, fingers gliding over the smooth planes of his stomach for a moment before they dipped down to undo the button on his jeans. Harry’s breath hitched and he pulled back just long enough to mutter, “Bed,” at Draco, and then he was walking backwards, leading them both in that direction until the back of his knees hit the mattress. Draco kissed him again, hard, his tongue sweeping into Harry’s mouth. He pressed into Harry until the other boy had to sit down, but even then he didn’t stop, instead crawling forward until he was straddling Harry’s hips, his knees digging into him on either side.
“’S about bloody fucking time,” he said against Harry’s mouth. He tasted like the Firewhiskey he’d just been drinking and Harry delved in for more, unable to get enough of it. His hands buried themselves in Draco’s hair, but they only stayed there for a moment because the need to feel him, touch him, was overwhelming and soon enough he was pushing Draco’s shirt up again.
“Sorry,” Harry murmured in between kisses, his voice a low rasp. “Sorry, sorry – don’t know what – what kept me.” He kicked his shoes off and then pushed at Draco until he lifted enough for Harry to scoot fully onto the bed. Draco plastered his body against Harry’s again as soon as he was settled, his hips grinding down against Harry’s, and Harry gasped, one hand coming down to squeeze Draco’s hip.
“Pants now?” Draco asked, and Harry nodded rapidly.
“Pants,” he agreed, groaning when Draco thrust down against him again. Draco’s hands found the front of his trousers again, going for the zipper this time, and Harry pushed himself up with one arm so he could claim Draco’s mouth while he worked. Except that only distracted Draco as he kissed back, and Harry nearly let out an extremely undignified whimper when he felt Draco’s fingers on his face instead. “Malfoy–”
“Glasses,” Draco interrupted, swiftly pulling them off and tossing them somewhere to the side. “They’re digging into my face.”
Harry frowned, squinting even though he could see Draco perfectly fine at this close distance. “They were not.”
Draco didn’t reply, staring at him instead. Harry blinked, about to ask what the problem was, when Draco suddenly made a hungry sound and wrapped Harry up in a bruising kiss. “Fuck,” he gasped a second later, pressing his forehead against Harry’s, their heads bowed together as they watched Draco finally, finally release Harry’s cock from its confines. “Fucking – fuck. Potter.”
Harry answered him with a groan, his arm suddenly giving out so that he fell flat on his back. He tried to focus enough to get Draco’s cock out as well, but it was damn hard when Draco was moving his hand like that. Harry panted, his toes curling against the mattress, and then abruptly he surged up, deciding out of nowhere that he’d rather like to see Draco on his back. Whatever objections Draco may have had about that died on his lips when Harry’s fingers curled around him, and instead he tossed his head back against the pillows, his back arching up.
“Good?” Harry asked, somewhat smugly, as he jerked his hand up and down in quick, smooth motions.
Draco shuddered beneath him, his own grip on Harry loosening only briefly before he picked up the pace with renewed determination to make Harry come before he did. Harry gasped, his head falling forward and his hips thrusting against Draco’s hand.
He wanted to be closer to him, Harry decided suddenly. He needed to be as close as physically possible. Through sheer will power he managed to force himself to knock Draco’s hand out of the way. Draco made a whining sound in the back of his throat, probably because Harry’s own hand movements had slowed for the moment, but Harry pressed close, wedged his knees just under Draco’s arse, tight against him so Draco had to spread his legs wider to let Harry in, and then Harry wrapped his hand around both he and Draco together and picked up the pace.
“Shit,” Draco cursed, letting his hand fall atop Harry’s to help him out. Harry just grunted at him in return, unable to find the breath to even form words, let alone string enough of them together to say anything coherent. The feel of Draco against him, the way they were touching like this, skin against skin, was almost too much. He gasped and panted, feeling the muscles in his stomach tighten, enjoying the way something built in his gut, slow heat that grew steadily, coming closer and closer until Harry’s movements grew erratic and his blood felt like it was boiling beneath his skin.
“Come on, Malfoy,” he growled, but it was Draco curling his free hand behind Harry’s neck and pulling him down for a wet, needy kiss that finally sent Harry spiraling over the edge first. He came with a loud gasp against Draco’s mouth, feeling like the air had been punched out of him, and Draco followed him not long after with a choked groan.
They froze together, panting against each other’s mouths for a long, drawn out second, their foreheads pressed together again, and then Harry shuddered once more and collapsed on top of Draco.
“…Bloody hell,” he gasped out, flopping onto his back.
Beside him Draco gave a low, tired sounding chuckle, and patted around on the mattress for his wand. “Bloody hell, indeed,” he murmured, lips stretching into a wide grin. He cast a quick cleaning spell on the two of them, and then let out a happy sigh.
Harry stared dazedly up at the ceiling, his brain rushing to catch up with what had just happened. For fuck’s sake, he hadn’t even hesitated – apparently it really was just that easy! Merlin, to think, they could have been doing this weeks ago. Why the hell had he held off for so long? Whatever reasons he had suddenly seemed small and insignificant. And far away, like they belonged to someone else. Another Harry Potter in another life, one where he was still stubbornly refusing to admit that he liked that prat, Draco Malfoy.
He laughed, almost in disbelief, and when Draco rolled on top of him he could only grin up at him.
“Could’ve been doing this weeks ago,” Draco said, which just made Harry laugh again because it was so fucking true.
“Believe me when I say that my current biggest regret in life is not doing this sooner,” Harry said seriously. A pleased look washed over Draco’s face, and Harry leaned up to kiss him. “…You realize you’ve still got this tie on your head, right?” he asked when he pulled back, reaching up to tug at it, and Draco abruptly went pink.
“Shit,” he muttered, ripping it off. “Don’t – shut up, I was pissed.”
“Probably still are, a bit,” Harry pointed out, and Draco scowled.
“Well, I didn’t know you were going to come home all randy and such. You might have warned me.”
“Didn’t know myself,” Harry said. “But you’d probably best get used to it now.”
Draco looked as though he was considering that. “I suppose that might be okay,” he said, and then suddenly he sat up and pulled at Harry’s shirt. “Take this off.”
“Why?” Harry asked, even as he moved to do so. Draco didn’t answer at first, too busy unbuttoning his own shirt. Harry watched eagerly as each inch of pale skin was exposed.
“…Because,” Draco said after a moment, which wasn’t an answer at all.
Harry raised an eyebrow at him, but he quickly got distracted by the scar zigzagging across Draco’s chest. “…Still sorry about this,” he said softly, fingers trailing lightly over the slightly raised skin.
Draco paused, shivering a bit, and then he shrugged out of his shirt entirely. “It’s fine,” he said. “It’s possible I might have deserved it.”
“No,” Harry said, shaking his head. “No, you really didn’t. I was–”
“Potter,” Draco interrupted. “We’ve had that out already. It’s fine.”
“…Alright,” Harry murmured. Draco leaned back down, bracing himself on one elbow above Harry. Harry watched him curiously.
“I just–” Draco started to say, before stopping abruptly. He looked suddenly embarrassed, and rather than try to put into words what he wanted, he just lowered himself completely until he was pressed half against Harry, stomach to stomach, and half against the mattress. He rested his head on Harry’s shoulder. “You are a scrawny, speccy git, Potter,” he said loudly. “But – I kind of like touching you.”
Harry wisely didn’t say anything. He settled for grinning some more up at the ceiling, and kept his arm wrapped firmly around Draco’s waist as they dozed against each other.
I swear there will not be such a long wait for the next chapter! PROMISE!!!
Thanks for sticking with me! Any thoughts are appreciated. :D
You can also read it at Skyehawke.