'With great power, comes great responsibility, Potter,' Draco drawled the next morning over breakfast. 'You shirked your responsibilities last night by a) making me stay up too late watching unbelievable films about some geeky boy who was bitten by a mutant spider, and b) making me drink too much wine.'
'You brought all that wine over,' said Harry, putting a vial of hangover potion on the table in front of Draco.
Draco grabbed it up greedily.
'Anyway, I thought you enjoyed the film. You said you wanted to watch Spider-Man 2 this morning.'
'So long as you don't mind if I fall back asleep. And I'll need lots of coffee. Proper coffee, not this de-caffeinated shite you've got in the cupboard.'
'I'll nip out and get some. Feel free to help yourself to anything in the bathroom. Do you want anything else?'
When he got back, he wasn't surprised to find that Draco was already upstairs and fighting with the remote control to try to work the television.
'Press the big red button, that'll turn it on,' he said. 'You went home?'
'Only to get my Quidditch kit and pick up some fresh clothes.'
It was funny, Harry thought, that he totally accepted seeing Draco in a t-shirt and jeans (and how damned fine he looked too). He turned away, feeling a little pervy for staring.
'Do you want a bacon butty with your coffee?' he asked as he headed back downstairs.
'Sure,' Draco called after him.
Harry found the day actually torturous, mostly because Draco insisted on dragging up the duvet from his bed and also insisting that Harry join him under it. Worse still, Draco did fall asleep... on Harry, cuddled in against his shoulder. Harry desperately want to put an arm around him and pull him closer but even he thought that was pushing things. They literally spent the day lazing in front of the television and recovering from their hangovers. It turned out that Draco was very hard to drag away from the TV. He found the concept fascinating, especially the different programs that Muggles had produced. Even the News channels captured his attention.
It was a lot later when Harry and Draco met Oliver Wood on the corner of Vauxhall Road at just gone 6pm. Their brooms were disillusioned because they didn't want to shrink them and because Harry insisting on taking Draco on the tube. He'd not mastered the London Underground even though he worked and visited London so often and Harry took it upon himself to teach him.
Harry noted that Oliver didn't even raise an eyebrow at seeing the two schoolboy rivals stood side-by-side. He hugged Harry, shook Draco's hand, and then led them into the Surrey Cricket Club with a brief nod to the groundsman.
'A Squib,' Oliver explained. He flicked his wand at the roof of the pavilion and muttered a quiet spell. 'Shield, so no one can see you from the surrounding high-rises. I'll come back at eight and lock up. Have fun boys.'
They both looked at each other nervously.
'I haven't sat on a broomstick since sixth year,' said Harry.
'Fifth year,' muttered Draco, 'not including last night.'
They both looked at the Firebolts laying on the ground next to them and held out their hands.
'Well, at least we can both still summon them,' Harry said, his lips twitching, 'otherwise it would be very embarrassing.'
'You didn't need to buy top of the range brooms for us both. Cleansweeps probably would have sufficed.'
'Only the best for you, Draco,' Harry teased as he mounted his Firebolt, because he always teased Draco about broomsticks in The Stories™.
'Ready?' said Draco, ignoring his comment.
Harry pursed his lips, he was surprisingly nervous. It's one thing to do this as a fearless eleven-year-old boy and quite another to do it as a nearly twenty-five-year-old adult who hasn't flown for eight years and who clearly remembers what it's like to fall off the broom from a great height (he'd still not forgiven Cormac McLaggen).
Draco leant towards Harry. 'Scared, Potter?' he said in a low voice that was altogether too close to Harry's ear.
'You wish,' he returned through clenched teeth because how could he not complete the renowned exchange from their second-year duel. He wondered how so many people knew about that whispered challenge and why everyone focused on them as sexually charged when they'd only been twelve at the time. Now, of course, it was an entirely different matter, even if Draco didn't realise.
His first sweep around the grounds was kept to a low level (falling tended to hurt more when you were older and rigid with fear).
'Come on, Potter, you look like Longbottom the way you're gripping that broom handle,' goaded Draco, swooping past him and whooshing higher with laughter.
All it took was the simple insult from Draco and Harry urged the broom higher and faster. He steadily relaxed, sitting deeper onto his Firebolt and loosening his grip on the handle so that he teased the steering rather than strangled the broom shaft. And, honestly, if all these thoughts about shafts and how to hold them and flying harder and faster and urging each other on couldn't be read as euphemisms for sex, he didn't know what could (or maybe he'd just got a one-track mind around Draco since he'd started reading The Stories™).
They didn't even bother releasing the Snitch for the first forty minutes, they were too busy chasing each other and flying faster and rolling and tumbling around each other before diving down and then charging up at an acute angle as they chased each other towards a climax before dropping away again. And Harry swore it was the best thing in the world to see Draco laughing and relieved from his troubles, to see him free.
By the time Harry released the Golden Snitch both men had remembered their form and muscle memory had slotted back into place, even if they were a little rusty. The competition was still strong and the games were close, going from best of three to best of five to best of seven until Draco won four games to three.
They collapsed in the middle of the cricket pitch, laying on their backs in the sunshine with their brooms and bracers discarded. They were both shattered.
'Well, I didn't quite flatten you,' said Harry because the games had been so close.
'There's still time for that,' Draco said with a smirk.
'Not today though. I don't think I can move.'
'Me neither. And to think we do all that training. Then you get the two of us on a pair of broomsticks for an hour and a half and we're both knackered.'
They lay there for a moment.
'Draco, can I ask you a question?' Harry said as he looked up at the clear blue evening sky above them.
'You already did,' he answered but Harry heard the humour slipping away as Draco realised it was going to be about the past. 'Go on then,' Draco said quietly.
'It's very personal.'
'I guessed as much.'
They didn't look at each other.
'Did your father hurt you?'
'Beyond drawing me into his ways, being the maker of my misfortunes? Beyond him being the main reason I bear the Dark Mark on my arm, the reason I was tasked with murdering a man and bringing Death Eaters into a school full of innocent children? Beyond him being utterly responsible for the future I am left with; the ruins of a disgraced family name and a reputation that will always haunt me and cause distrust from those around me?'
'I'm sorry,' Harry said softly. He reached out without looking at the man by his side and found he'd touched Draco's hand. Gently, tentatively, their fingers interlinked and a security was offered. Harry never wanted to let go.
'That wasn't what you meant, was it?' Draco said.
'I meant with magic or physically,' Harry whispered.
'No,' Draco said.
Harry sighed in relief. There were too many stories that suggested Lucius had tortured Draco with the Cruciatus or taken his cane to Draco and beat him violently.
'It would be nice to say that wizards understand a sacrosanct life but that's clearly not true. You met my aunt so you know that and that's before we get to Voldemort and his debased behaviour. Still, I can be grateful that my father loves me, in his own warped way. I am his perfect Pureblood heir. He would kill anyone who lays a nefarious finger on me, except his precious Dark Lord obviously but then the Dark Mark was supposedly an honour.'
There was a pause before Harry said, 'I'm glad Lucius didn't do that. You had enough to carry.'
'I still love them both, you know, despite the past. They tried to give me the world, even if their ideas were utterly flawed and horrific at times. Because of that, they're still my everything.'
'That's important,' Harry said quietly. 'I wish I still had my parents. Sometimes I think I'd do anything to have them back. I understand your need to love them. I like that compassion...'
'Sometimes I can't forgive them...'
Harry understood that too.
They lay in silence for a while, still holding hands.
'What about you, Harry? I understand that family were abusive.'
'Neglectful. A lack of care. A life of servitude from a young age. There was a general lack of food. No medical care. The cupboard under the stairs, which everyone seems to know about even though I don't remember telling anyone about that. It was mostly psychological mistreatment but that's left behind now. There were threats of beating the magic out of me but Vernon never actually raised his fist or took his belt to me. I know some have inferred it but that's complete fiction.'
Draco snorted softly and muttered, 'there's a lot of fiction out there.'
Harry wondered, not for the first time, if Draco had read The Stories™ too.
'You've left it behind?' Draco said. 'How do you leave behind what we've been through?'
'Therapy helped. Time. Understanding of how our paths crossed and why they hated me. The understanding that although I was a victim, I wasn't to blame and they don't define me. The journey hasn't been easy but I've had other things to focus on. They're still family, though I don't see my aunt and uncle. I rather think Vernon would drop down dead with apoplexy if I turned up on his doorstep. I'm in regular contact with Dudley; in the end, it turned out my cousin was alright, he apologised and, in doing so, opened the way for me to forgive my aunt and uncle. That was all I needed. I still make sure they're safe. Like you say, there's a lot of fiction out there and I wouldn't forgive myself if something happened to them.'
He felt Draco squeeze his fingers lightly and it meant everything in that precise moment.
'Oliver will be here soon,' Harry said.
'Yes,' said Draco, non-committedly but he let go of Harry's hand.
Harry didn't want to move – he wasn't sure he could move. 'Well, one thing's for certain. I won't be pursuing a career in Quidditch at this time in my life.'
'No, I think you missed the boat with that one.'
'Are you now saying I could've have been a professional Quidditch player?'
'I've no doubt, Potter, that if you'd set your mind to it, you would have achieved it. Something to do with bloody-minded stubbornness and utter recklessness. However, I happen to believe you make a far better Auror than Seeker. You may doubt yourself but you're driven by your integrity and you're far better than that fool Robards.'
Harry snorted. 'That's not much of a compliment, an Inferius would be better at the job than Robards.'
'Well, I can't have it going to your already enormously swollen head.'
'Alright, you two?' Oliver said as his shadow fell across them.
'Can't move,' said Harry, scrubbing a hand through his hair despite his vows to stop the habit because of The Stories™. He caught Draco looking at his hair in horror.
The following day, Harry was definitely stiff and sore (that is, his muscles were). They had their weekly Auror combat and defence training the mats in the gym and Harry squirmed and fidgeted as he sat between Lee Jordan and Draco.
'What's wrong with you?' Lee hissed at Harry as he winced and accidentally knocked Lee as he tried to find a more comfortable sitting position.
'My arse is sore,' he muttered.
Lee's eyes went very wide, 'should I even ask why?'
Harry couldn't help glancing at Draco, embarrassed to even admit he was so out of practice at Quidditch.
Lee suddenly grinned wildly. 'Oh my god! Finally –'
Harry suddenly realised what he'd said and where Lee's mind was going with this. 'Draco and I played several Seekers Games yesterday,' he hurriedly interrupted before Draco caught wind of what was being inferred. 'I'm not used to riding a broomstick for two hours.'
'Ohhh!' said Lee knowingly. 'That sounds like a very long session. You two really know how to go at it. I normally only last about five minutes these days. I hope Draco helped you warm up and stretch first, otherwise you deserve to be pain.'
Harry felt the blood drain from his face. Euphemisms... Lee was doing it on purpose. And the thoughts of what Lee was inferring only served to bring to the front of his mind's eye the pornographic images he'd seen with the two lookalikes in all sorts of compromising positions. He felt, for want of a better expression, his cock twitch treacherously with interest (he'd definitely read that description too many times in The Stories™). Oh gods, he thought, now was not the right time or place for such reactions. He blushed at his own imagination and caught Lee smirking, probably because the colour of his cheeks only served to confirm Lee's allusions. Thankfully, Draco was utterly oblivious to the conversation.
'Potter... Jordan... onto the mat,' announced Robards. 'You two can demonstrate.'
'I'll go easy on you,' Lee whispered in Harry's ear as he helped him up. 'Seeing as Malfoy has well and truly shagged you.'
Harry wished he was as good at the wandless magic-thing as he was in The Stories™. He could think of a few Hexes he'd like to hit Lee with. He also had a feeling that rumours about him and Draco would be flying around the department before lunch was finished. Harry was grateful to get out into the field straight after the training session. They were finally staking out the town house in Bristol (though Robards was acting on his latest tip on Rowle and not Harry's suggestion of several weeks). That was ignored even though everyone knew Robards had dropped a bollock on this one.
***