The next morning, as soon as Harry woke up from a deep, delicious sleep to the horrible sound of his alarm clock, Draco said, "We didn't complete the bond, by the way. Just in case you were wondering. I took off the watch for a moment, just to check."
Harry jumped out of bed and attempted to stab his alarm clock. "You what?" he said as the thing deflected his attempts to kill it. He almost gave up and just tossed it out of the window, when it seemed to sense this imminent destruction and gave in. The silence it left was ringing, too, though. "You said the only thing that would complete the bond was . . ." He faltered, because it was an embarrassing thing to shout, but powered ahead. "Full-on shagging!"
Draco yawned and stretched. He was still wearing Harry's bathrobe, Harry noticed, and it had fallen open to reveal all he'd got. "I know I'm a wonderful sight," Draco said, avoiding the question, "but only rude people stare."
Harry stared at his face instead. It was a pissed-off stare.
"I was almost certain we wouldn't complete the bond," Draco said, failing to wilt under it. "Bonding spells being so obsessed with the creation of an heir. I mean," he continued thoughtfully, and shrugged, "I'm not even certain that if we fucked, the bond would stick. It probably would, given that I'm pure-blood, but it's not like I've grown a womb while we weren't looking."
This wasn't a good way to start a workday, Harry thought, especially after such a great night's sleep. He was pleased that Draco had been spared a nightmare, but did he have to raise things like this now, when Harry had to go to work? "All right, sunshine, get dressed, we're going to see Zabini before I start work," he said grimly, and was deaf to all protests. It was about time Zabini gave them an update, at any rate, he thought. It had been a week, and he and his team must have some news, even if it was just a list of things they'd tried that hadn't worked.
When they got to the Ministry, though, Zabini wasn't there. Kevin saw them instead, and seemed flustered that they'd hoped to see the Slytherin gitface. "H-he never works on Sundays," Kevin said apologetically. "O-or Saturdays either. S-sometimes he doesn't work on W-Wednesdays either, and T-Th—"
All right, all right, Harry got the idea. Zabini was, as he'd always suspected, a useless layabout who—
"I'm glad to hear that someone has some self-control over their working hours and takes proper, regular breaks," Draco said poisonously beside him. "A weekend is a weekend. One Saturday off a month is just self-flagellation."
Harry took from this that Draco was mad that he was back to work on a Sunday. "I work shifts!" he protested.
"Yes, always on and never off," Draco said. "But you were saying, Kevin," he said politely, turning back to the trembling Unspeakable.
Kevin explained that they'd tried loads of things, and done loads of research, but so far they'd found nothing useful. Apparently, no one in the history of wizard-kind had ever stopped a bonding ritual at this particular point. He gave some alarming examples of delayed rituals, which had Harry pressing his thighs together – but modern healing being what it was, Kevin said, they'd all ended happily. One old man had become overexcited by his beautiful new bride and had died, Kevin mused, but the death had released his wife from the spell, returning her magic instantly.
"H-have you considered c-c-c-c-comple-e-e—"
"No," Harry interrupted, putting Kevin out of his misery. "We haven't."
Draco sniffed, suddenly stiff and sarcastic. "Would it even work?"
Kevin frowned at this. "I-I expect so," he said. "It would have failed in the f-first place, if it wasn't going to w-work," he reasoned. "And there's always Polyjuice," he added brightly, "i-if heirs are required. I've often w-wondered if that could work for c-couples like yourselves."
"Will you be Astoria, Harry, or shall I be Ginny, I wonder," Draco said sarcastically under his breath, and Harry ignored him with a will. It was either that or throttle him.
^^^^^^
"Are you going to be late home again?" Draco asked on Monday morning. Harry had been late home the previous evening, and he'd tried to sneak out of bed without Draco noticing that morning. He was due in at work at ten, but he'd thought he'd try to get in for eight to deal with some extra stuff.
"I don't plan to," Harry said, turning back to where Draco lay in bed, obviously cross.
"That means yes," Draco said, and Harry couldn't deny it. "Would you mind if I invited some people over this evening, then? You can join us if you're home on time. And if you're not, I won't be bored to death."
"Who?" Harry asked.
Draco's eyes flashed with annoyance. "Does it matter, if you won't be there?"
Harry supposed it didn't. "All right," he said, "I trust you." He hadn't meant it to sound so patronising, but it did. As he left the room, he heard the whistle of something flying through the air, and he dodged. Draco had thrown a slipper at him. Harry left for work feeling guilty and uncomfortable, and promising himself he'd try very hard to get home on time that night.
He was late home. Of course he was. There'd been too much to do, and then there'd been an incident in a town that didn't have its own Floo. They'd had to Apparate there in steps, Harry feeling faintly nauseous as he did so, because he wasn't really supposed to be leaving the office, let alone doing risky magic like this. They'd sorted the problem, but in the end Harry didn't get home till midnight.
Draco had already gone to bed, and his back was turned on Harry when Harry slipped in beside him, trying not to wake him up, even though he was pretty sure Draco wasn't asleep. Draco's nightmare that night was the worst it had been in ages, and Harry tried not to feel like he was to blame.
The next few days passed in a similar manner, with Draco barely talking to Harry, except to tell him, nose in the air, that he'd have guests round, and Harry was welcome to come. Welcome to come! It was his own bloody house! But Harry had the strangest feeling that Draco was trying to tempt him to come home on time, and that made him feel even worse. He didn't know what was wrong with him. It was like he was trying to ruin things on purpose, and he couldn't even tell why, let alone stop himself.
Harry would almost have suspected Draco of making up his guests – who was he inviting round, anyway? – except there was evidence of them, wherever he looked. Stacks of plates left lying round, and glasses smeared with lipstick, and empty bottles of alcohol. They weren't there for long, exactly – they were there for just long enough for Harry to notice them, before Draco Vanished them when Harry's back was turned.
Things kept appearing in the house, too: vases filled with flowers; stacks of new books, some wizarding, some Muggle; and boxes of chocolates, which Draco would eat in front of Harry, feet still in Harry's lap, if Harry ever came home early enough to sit there with him. There were samples, too, from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, although Draco didn't seem to do anything with those except glare at them out of the corner of his eye, as if he expected them to suddenly jump up and explode.
"You're allowed to go out and see your friends, you know, if you don't want me to be around when you see them," Draco said angrily one morning as Harry was about to leave for work. Harry blinked at him, and this seemed to make Draco even angrier. "Ron and Hermione!" he said. "I mean – Weasley and Hermione. Granger."
Ron mostly left work on time, Harry realised, now he came to think of it. And he'd been asking Harry to leave work on time as well, pretty much every day. Had his friends all been hanging out with Draco, while he'd been sending himself blind over paperwork in the office? "I—" he said, and stopped, confused and upset, and not sure what to do about it.
"I've had Ron and Hermione over," Draco said angrily, "and Longbottom, and I even put up with Luna, although thinking about what I did to her during the war makes me feel sick, and Ginny and Astoria popped in, and some of the Harpies came with them once, and they were all extremely polite to me and it was awful, and I really wish I hadn't bothered, because you didn't make an effort to come home on time once!"
Harry briefly considered the idea of calling in sick. He felt sick enough. But he found he was a coward, after all. "I have to go to work," he said, and fled, before the sight of Draco's burning, disappointed eyes could make him change his mind and do something stupid – though what that would be, he didn't even know.
As soon as he got to work though, he felt like an utter shit. So, instead of going straight to his office, he headed over to Hermione's. It was a Friday, so she'd probably be in at nine, he thought. He checked the clock when he got there: it was barely gone eight. But he thought if he went to the Auror office he'd just lose his nerve, so he sat in the tiny reception area outside Hermione's room, which gradually filled up with house-elves as he waited, until Hermione arrived.
She looked startled to see him, and then worried, taking him by the elbow and ushering him inside, before making him a cup of tea with her tiny office kettle. "You've been avoiding us," she said as she busied herself with the mugs. "Are you all right?"
Was Harry all right? "No," he said, and then, to his horror, he found himself saying, "I think I'm falling in love with Draco, and I'm fucking it all up."
Hermione didn't, as he'd half-expected, drop a mug, or even look surprised. "Well, I suppose that's good," she said, and then waved her hand at Harry's horrified expression. "The love thing, silly, not the fucking it up bit."
"Why would you say that?" Harry protested, and then took the tea she offered. It was too hot, and he didn't like tea.
"Oh, nothing," Hermione said vaguely. "It wouldn't be right to share a confidence like that." She took a sip of her own tea. "So, tell me about it," she suggested.
Harry found he didn't really want to tell her about it, and faltered.
"Tell me how I can help you un-fuck it up, then," she said. "Can I?"
"I – would you and Ron like to come round to dinner? With me and Draco," he said, in case that wasn't clear.
"Ah," Hermione said, as if everything had become clear. "I think maybe some time out of your house will do you both good. I'll expect you both tonight at seven, shall I?"
Tonight? Harry was due off work at half six. That wouldn't . . . leave much time to change. Hermione was looking at him, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. "You can come straight over after work with Ron. I'll go to yours and fetch Draco." She took another sip of her tea and cleared her throat. "I wouldn't stand him up again this time, Harry," she said, a warning note in her voice, and Harry flushed miserably.
Had Draco and Hermione really made friends while he wasn't looking? How was that even possible, though, Harry thought. Draco had called her a Mudblood and wished her dead! It wasn't exactly a good basis for a friendship. Except . . . Draco had tried to Crucio Harry, and Harry had used a spell 'for enemies' on him in response. That wasn't exactly a good basis for a relationship, either, he supposed.
"What did you think of Astoria?" he found himself asking, which was possibly the last question he'd wanted to ask of someone like Hermione, who could always see right through him.
"I think she's lovely," Hermione said, drinking some tea. "Ginny thinks she's lovely too," she continued with pointed emphasis. "Do you mind?"
Did he mind? That Astoria and Ginny . . .? He felt wobbly with relief, at the stupid, ridiculous, useless confirmation that Astoria liked Ginny and therefore wouldn't try to steal Draco.
She didn't need to try to steal Draco; even if she didn't want him, as soon as Draco was released from the bond, the Greengrass and Malfoy parents were likely to make them marry anyway. He supposed the love thing wasn't important, if you were a pure-blood. It was all about creating an heir. He swallowed hard and tried not to feel bitter. It wasn't as if Draco would want to marry him anyway, even if he'd had the choice.
"All right," Harry said, trying to sound firm but only managing wobbly. Even if he was falling apart, he still wanted to make up with Draco, and this was the only way he could think of right now. "I'll see you at six thirty-ish, then." He stood up, abandoning his tea and trying to avoid Hermione's sympathetic frown, and went straight to his office.
Ron already there, and he was giving him a funny look. "You're five minutes late today," Ron said. "Late! Not early! You all right?"
"I'm – we're – Draco and I are coming round to yours for dinner tonight. After work," Harry said.
Ron considered this in silence. "He's not going to get drunk and start yelling again, is he?" he asked piteously. "Last time he cried snot all down my shoulder."
"No, he didn't," Harry said evenly, and sat down at his desk, eyeing his paperwork with dislike.
"No, he didn't," Ron agreed. Harry could feel him grinning, even behind his back. "Mostly, he complained about you and all your terrible habits. And, as someone who shared a room with you for many painful years, I couldn't help but agree."
Harry snorted. "Is this loyalty?"
"Yes," Ron said. "I'm putting up with Draco Malfoy. That's definitely loyalty. You remember what he said about Hermione? My – my fiancée?"
Harry turned, feeling his eyes widen. "Since when?" he demanded. Then: "Er, congratulations, I mean! I thought you'd never grow a pair of big enough balls to ask her."
"Since last week," Ron said awkwardly. "I tried to tell you, but you weren't really in the mood. She's wearing a ring!"
Harry hadn't noticed. "I haven't been a very good friend recently," he said, feeling that this was an understatement.
Ron pulled a face. He'd gone a bit pale, his freckles standing out on his skin like tiny beacons. "Yeah, but it's understandable, mate. Don't worry about it. I – I haven't always been the best friend to you either," he said, uncomfortable.
They shared an awkward look, and then Harry found himself grinning at Ron's awkwardness, even as Ron himself started to grin at his.
"Can I feed Malfoy – I mean Draco – some poison tonight?" Ron offered. "I'll make it good poison. Only the best for our purest of pure-bloods."
"No!" Harry said. "I mean, only a little."
Ron grinned happily, and then turned back to his desk.
"Congratulations again," Harry said to his back, suddenly feeling very, very happy, even if he was a little bit jealous all at the same time. "I really mean it."
"Yeah," Ron said, his whole voice a smile. "Thanks, mate. You'll be my best man, right?"
"Yeah," Harry echoed. "Of course." He turned back to his work, to his piles of paper, to his duty and . . . he wanted to do it, of course. But before he did that. "I'm just going to pop to the post room to owl Draco about tonight, all right? I'll be back soon," he said to the room, and tried not to hear Ron's snort of knowing laughter and the other Aurors cooing sarcastically as he went.
^^^^^^
By the time half six approached, Harry was starting to feel slightly less bad about how he'd treated Draco, while simultaneously moving slightly more towards the view that Draco was a passive aggressive wanker. All of his friends had seemed to develop a passive aggressive streak in recent weeks, as far as he could see, working himself up into a bit of a lather. Hermione, who hadn't told him about her new correspondence, new friendship, with Draco, just because he hadn't made the time to go and see her. Ron, who'd apparently been going to Harry's own home every night of the last week, but hadn't told him because 'mate, if you ever went home on time, like I kept asking, you would have found out for yourself'. And King of Passive Aggression himself, Draco Malfoy, who'd invited a whole load of Harry's friends to his house without telling him properly, and then had got upset and offended that Harry hadn't known. He couldn't know if no one ever sodding told him anything!
Almost as if Ron knew what he was thinking, though, as soon as the clock bonged the half hour, Ron turned towards him and said, without heat, "You're coming, right? Don't be a dickhead."
Harry wasn't a dickhead! At least, he didn't want to be one. He supposed, gloomily, that he would be one if he didn't go out for dinner, not least because he'd promised Hermione. "You should have told me what Draco was doing," he said.
Ron went red and stood up, stretching widely and Accioing his overcoat in one fluid move. "Yeah, maybe," he agreed. "But Hermione said not to."
"Do you always do what Hermione says?" Harry needled, standing up too and shoving his chair under his desk. "Are you not master of your own house?"
Ron grinned. "Have you met Hermione?"
Harry grinned back, and they headed together to the exit Floos. They arrived at Ron and Hermione's house before Hermione did, and Ron led Harry straight to the kitchen. "I know you haven't been much of a drinker recently," Ron said, shooting a sidelong glance at Harry as if to imply that he thought his friend had gone round the twist, "but I reckon a quick gallon or two of this wine my mum sent over would be a good idea before Hermione and the ferret get here."
Harry snorted and tried not to remember, right in front of Ron, that he'd drunk a fair amount of Firewhisky in recent weeks, and it had always seemed to end in some kind of Draco-related wanking. He could feel himself going red.
"Here," Ron said, passing over a large glass. "Cheers!" They clinked glasses, and Ron let out a hearty sigh after he'd drained a third of his own glass down in one. "That's better," he said, and took another swallow. "Now I feel ready to face my doom. Are you ready to face yours?" he asked, and grinned at Harry.
Was Harry ready to face his doom – er, his Draco? No, he thought, panicking. It was too late, though, because he could already hear the whoosh of the Floo, and then again, as Hermione and Draco arrived.
Ron and Hermione had a lovely home, Harry thought about an hour later. And Hermione was a lovely cook – no, a lovely selector of takeaway food. But this probably couldn't be described as a lovely evening, despite everyone's best efforts. Draco was trying so hard to be polite that it looked like it hurt. It did hurt Harry, a bit, that Draco was trying just as hard to be polite to him too – formal, and well-mannered, in a way that Harry thought he'd never been before. He was used to Draco treating him like he was no one special. He liked Draco treating him like he was no one special. Right now, Draco was as formal, well-mannered and distant as if he was talking to – well, to famous Harry Potter, rather than Harry. Famous, amazing Harry, who'd saved the world and therefore could no longer be treated as a normal human being. Harry didn't like it one bit.
It got a bit better after another hour, although by 'better' Harry really meant 'drunker'. They'd all loosened up a bit, and unfortunately this seemed to mean that they felt freer to tell each other what was on their minds. What was on Ron's mind was work: how annoying he found it, how much there was to do, how he felt he wasn't really helping, how boring the paperwork was. Harry joined in a bit, whenever Ron took a breath, because he agreed in some ways: the systems in place in the department were shit, and they were understaffed, and the rules weren't followed because no one knew what they were, and—
"Wow, this is boring," Draco interrupted, and Hermione let out a snigger, raising her glass at Draco in a silent toast.
"My work is boring?" Harry said slowly, feeling cross and sore, and not really knowing why.
Hurt flashed in Draco's eyes. "I know you don't find it boring. You certainly value it above everything fucking else."
"Shall we talk about something else?" Hermione said firmly. "Ron, will you make some tea – I think we've had enough of the wine."
"I don't like tea!" Harry snapped, and then subsided. "Sorry," he said to Hermione, who just frowned at him.
"Do you want my advice?" Draco said, leaning back in his chair and pushing his plate away. He'd barely touched his food.
Harry didn't want his advice.
"Here's my advice," Draco continued. "Harry, you should be Head Auror, and I can't see why you're not angling for the job. It's ridiculous. All you do is moan about how things aren't done right, and yet you won't put yourself out there and actually change things!"
"We already have a Head Auror," Harry snapped back.
"Yes, and he could be promoted to Head of Magical Law Enforcement!" Draco said, raising his eyes to the heavens, as if this was obvious.
It . . . sort of was obvious. The position was vacant, had been vacant since the war, and was possibly one of the reasons why the whole department seemed to be imploding.
"I know how Ministry politics works. How you could get yourself the job. And I also know you're going to say you don't deserve it, because you're stupid enough to think that you don't. Who else would be better at it than you, though? And if you dare say that you haven't proven yourself, that it's not fair if you don't get the job by hard work, then I might just have to hex your ears off. Do you not think you've worked hard enough already? Harry, if you want the job: all you need to do is ask." He left a pause and raised his eyes to stare at Harry, a clear challenge.
Harry wanted to meet this challenge, but he wasn't sure how. He supposed Draco was right, blast it. He tried to smile, apologetically, at Draco, but Draco remained unmoved. "And as for you, Ronald Weasley," Draco said, rounding on Ron.
"Me?" Ron squeaked. "Leave me out of it, Malfoy!"
Hermione raised her eyebrows, seeming unimpressed. "No, go on, Draco," she said, and Ron gaped at this rank disloyalty.
Draco had lost a bit of his head of steam, but he shrugged. "I just – if you don't like your job, you could quit. Try something else."
Ron sat up very straight. Steam didn't quite come out of his ears, but it did so metaphorically. "Easy for you to say!" he said angrily. "You don't have to work to feed your family!"
Hermione let out an irritated breath. "Excuse me? You work to feed me? Don't I have a job of my own?"
"Ah! Oh! Of course you do!" Ron stammered, backpedalling frantically. "I only meant—!"
Harry began to feel like even though he'd arranged this evening to make things better between himself and Draco, all he'd managed to do was spread his own unhappiness to Ron and Hermione as well. They were engaged to be married! They shouldn't be sniping at each other like that! If you were in love, it should be all . . . well, hearts and roses, and Madam Puddifoot's, and gentle calmness, shouldn't it?
Harry considered what he'd had with Ginny. That had been hearts and roses, and gentle calmness, and in the end the lack of fire had been the very thing that killed it.
"I've been telling you for months that if you wanted to quit your job and go in with George at the shop, you should do it," Hermione said, frustration leaking out of every pore. "You'd probably end up earning more!"
"It's not as easy as that!" Ron protested, and shot a look at Harry, before looking back at the table.
"Love, I hope you're not telling me that the only reason you're still an Auror is because Harry is," Hermione said, suddenly gentle.
"No-o," Ron said unconvincingly. "But if I left right now, I'd be leaving him in the shit! There's already too much work, and he's not at full – ah – strength right now. It wouldn't be fair. And," he said, before Harry could respond to this depressing revelation, "I know you have your own job, Hermione. I only meant that I – I saw how my own mum and dad struggled, and I don't ever want you to feel like you have to go without." He went red, but he didn't look embarrassed, Harry thought, trying not to cringe at witnessing this private moment. He just looked sincere.
"You really are my favourite male chauvinist," Hermione said lightly, and grinned, but the look in her eye was very warm and kind. Ron grinned back, ducking his head after a moment. Now he was embarrassed, Harry realised, but by Hermione's warm smile, rather than the mushy words he'd just spoken.
"Well, shall we have some coffee?" Hermione said, and rolled her eyes at Harry when he looked at her and mouthed sorry. There was a brief pause, then Hermione said, "Well, go on then, Ron. I cooked."
Draco sniggered.
"You didn't!" Ron protested. "You popped an order in the Floo!"
"Who wrote the order though?" Hermione asked, the light of battle in her eyes. "Hmm?"
"All right, all right, I'm going!" Ron said, and vanished into the kitchen to slam some mugs about, returning a few minutes later, his face a bit sheepish, with a large pot of coffee, a teapot, and a selection of odd shaped mugs all bobbing all behind him.
"You didn't think to get out the best china?" Hermione asked.
Ron sniffed at this, waving the miscellaneous cups down on to the table. "It's only Harry," he said, and passed Harry the largest mug, which coincidentally had the largest chip in it.
Harry took a sip of coffee when the pot had tipped over his mug, feeling surprisingly content. And to his surprise, everyone else seemed surprisingly content too. There was some happy slurping for a while, as they all drank the too-hot liquid, and then they moved into the living room, to squash on seats already taken up by stacks of books, and piles of samples from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, and stray woolly jumpers, and the wrappers from chocolate frogs. And they sat there and talked, for at least an hour, until it all got slightly awkward again, and Harry decided he'd better put Ron out of his misery and take Draco away again.
"Well, this was fun," Draco said with determination as they said their awkward goodnights. "Let's make it a regular thing."
"Oh Merlin," Ron said on a groan. "I mean, yes, let's!" he amended quickly as Hermione gave him an obvious elbow in the side.
"Yes, we look forward to it. Don't we, Ron?" Hermione said brightly.
"Hah!" Ron said, and then turned to grin at first Harry, and then Draco, as if to say what is she like?
She was lovely, Harry thought. Annoying, yes, but really, really lovely. It had been an odd and uncomfortable evening, he thought as he slipped his hand into Draco's, to Side-Along him home. Odd and uncomfortable – but somehow enjoyable, after all.
^^^^^^
Harry and Draco didn't talk when they got back home. In fairness, Harry thought, trying not to fall over, they didn't have time to. As soon as they landed in the entrance hall, and he had barely caught his breath, Draco was on him: pushing him up against the wall and reaching for his belt.
Harry didn't object; he was too busy fumbling at Draco's own trousers, cursing himself as his fingers wouldn't work properly. His trousers and boxers were already halfway down his thighs, Draco's hand hot and tight around his dick, when he managed to undo Draco's belt. Soon, though, he triumphed over Draco's trousers, and Draco hissed against his neck, breath hot, as Harry took his cock in hand.
They didn't move somewhere more comfortable, didn't talk. Just stood there, bodies tucked together, wanking each other off with urgency. The wall was hard behind Harry, the picture rail digging into his back. Draco's left hand was a painful grip on his shoulder. But the discomfort seemed to make it hotter. Draco really wanted this, he thought, eyes glazing over as Draco's hand worked on him. The thought of it. The feel of Draco's cock in his hand, getting fatter with every slide. The grunts Draco was making. Draco's own arousal was almost hotter than his hand on Harry's own cock.
Almost hotter? It was hotter. Draco started to squirm against him, hips jerking. He was obviously close. The thought of this was too much for Harry. He couldn't hold back. He came with a grunt into Draco's hand, his own grip on Draco's cock slackening.
Draco made a sort of sob, and barely before Harry had finished coming, he was pulling his hand off Harry's cock. Draco wrapped it around Harry's hand instead, encouraging Harry to pump his cock faster, tighter. Their hands slid together, working Draco's cock together.
Draco came after only half a dozen or so strokes, tightening his hand around Harry's, and then relaxing, his whole body flopping against Harry's, who struggled to keep them both standing upright.
They stood there for a moment, both panting, Draco's hand still wrapped lightly around Harry's, keeping it in place. Draco was still hard, Harry realised, even though he'd come. He'd definitely come; Harry's hand was slippery with it.
Draco released Harry's hand with a relaxed sigh, but Harry didn't move his own hand for a while. Instead, when Draco's breathing had slowed a fraction, he took a slow, experimental stroke of Draco's penis. Draco shuddered, breathing quickening again, so Harry did it again. Still slow. Still soft. Up. Down. Using Draco's own come as lube.
"Merlin," Draco mumbled against Harry's neck. He was clinging on to Harry now, a heavy weight against him. All his strength seemed to have left his body.
Harry kept up the slow, soft stroking. Draco was fully hard again now, and each stroke seemed to almost be a mini orgasm, from the way he was jerking. His cock was leaking copiously too, a dribble of pre-come pulsing out as Harry worked his fist.
The seconds and minutes stretched out as Draco twitched and moaned against him. Harry could feel his blood sing. This was amazing. He was . . . he was happy, right now. It was an odd revelation to have in his hallway, his trousers round his ankles, Draco Malfoy's cock in his hand. But . . . he was happy.
"Feel good?" he mumbled at Draco.
Draco's breath was coming so hard he could barely speak. "No. Terrible," he managed. "Be. Better."
Harry slowed his hand down. Draco's hips moved helplessly, trying to pump into his fist. That was . . . hot. He slowed down a bit more.
"Faster," Draco hissed. "Fucking tease."
And . . . that was hot, too. Draco talking. He sped up his hand, but only a tiny bit.
"Faster. H-h-harder," Draco managed. His grip on Harry's shoulders, his neck, had tightened. Like he could barely stand up.
Harry relented, his heart pounding. Faster, harder it was, then. All right. He could do that. He moved his hand faster, harder. Draco's breath sped up. And then he was shaking. His whole body was trembling. Harry had to clutch at him to keep him upright. Draco teetered on the brink of orgasm for what felt to Harry like several minutes. He was swearing continuously now, his hips jerking like crazy as Harry pumped his cock. Legs dithering. And then he came, his whole body freezing, then jerking, then freezing again as his orgasm crashed over him in waves.
"T-that was hot," Harry managed from his place on the floor. They'd both collapsed there together, sliding down the wall, legs unable to keep them up any further.
Draco turned his face towards him. His hair was damp with sweat, his forehead beaded with it. "Yeah?" he asked, chest heaving. He looked puzzled now, as if he couldn't quite believe what Harry had just said.
There was no denying it, though. It had been hot like burning. "Yeah," Harry said, and Draco looked away, still gasping for breath.
The atmosphere was strangely awkward as they got ready for bed together, putting on their pyjamas side by side in the bedroom, not really looking at each other. When they got into bed, Draco didn't lie down. He just sat up by the headboard, and looked down at the duvet. Harry, pulling himself back up to sit by him, gave him a shove with his elbow. "What?"
Draco didn't look up. "Quiet," he said, a bit snappily. "I'm working up to saying something horrible."
Great, Harry thought, fucking great. And then, because he was Harry and he didn't know what was good for him, he said this out loud: "Great! I love a bit of something horrible."
Draco snorted. He had his arms stretched out in front of him, and Harry had a bad feeling about what this 'something horrible' would be.
He was right, of course. Of course! He was always right, Harry thought gloomily, when it came to horrible things. It was his special talent.
"I just wanted to say," Draco said, staring at his left arm, "that you can't possibly find my Dark Mark more disgusting than I do."
Harry thought he probably could, to be fair, but kept quiet with difficulty.
"I don't even know why I wanted to say that," Draco said, his tone disagreeable. "I . . ." He pulled a revolted face at his arm. "Sometimes I want to cut my own arm off," he added, tone more light now, which made it all the worse. "I covered it up all the time at first," he added, still talking to his arm, not Harry. "Even when I was in the shower. But that felt worse – knowing it was there. That I wasn't facing what I was. I suppose this is my punishment," he said blankly. "I know you think I got away with it, not going to Azkaban, but . . . I don't always feel like I got away with it. Not entirely. If that helps."
Harry took a very deep breath, to try to stop all the words that were trying to boil out of him. Instead, he gave Draco a nudge. "You done?"
"Am I . . . done?" Draco repeated, and turned to actually look at Harry, his eyes wide, mouth tense.
Harry shrugged. There were so many things he wanted to say. About what a shit Draco had been. A really awful, unforgiveable shit. OK, so it was hard to rebel against what your family had made you, but it wasn't that hard. Sirius had managed it. And Regulus. And Snape, in a different kind of way. Draco wasn't a special case, with a special excuse. He was just a weak-willed spoiled child, who'd grown up without ever considering what growing up actually meant. Cutting the apron strings. Being your own person. Having some goddamn fucking morals.
But . . . Harry shrugged again. "You did what you did. Stop wallowing in it, Draco. You can't use it as an excuse to be unhappy forever."
Draco flinched, as if Harry had hit him.
Harry looked away and said carefully, trying to find the right words. "I don't know. I can't forgive some of the stuff you did. That would make it sound like you had a good enough excuse for doing it. I dunno." He felt his words tangle up, and tried again. "But I can forgive the you that's here, in this room, with me now. But only if you're trying to move on, be different. I think you are." Many things flashed through Harry's mind: Draco's lists of pros and cons in his journal. His confession that he'd taken Muggle Studies. His reading list of Muggle books. "You are, aren't you?"
"I tell you I want to cut off my own arm, and you give me a lecture," Draco said in a hoarse, unhappy whisper.
"You CHOSE to take the Dark Mark!" Harry snapped, goaded by this self-pity. Had Draco even been listening? This was met by silence, and when he looked over at Draco, he'd coiled a hand into the duvet and was trying to strangle it.
"Yes," Draco said, very tight and very controlled. "I did. I didn't have a choice—" He broke off. "No," he said, more quietly. "I did have a choice. I could have run away and left Father to the Dark Lord's mercies. But I didn't." He let out a laugh that wasn't a laugh at all. "I did say I was working up to say something horrible, didn't I? I knew your suggestion that I talk to you about the war was a terrible idea."
Harry tried to pull himself together. "I've got scars I don't like too," he offered.
"Yes, noble, heroic, self-sacrificing scars, I'm sure."
"Draco . . ."
Draco finally turned to look at him. He didn't seem well, his eyes dark hollows in his face. "What," he said, very flat.
"Thank you for talking to me," Harry said, unsure what else he could say. He appreciated it, even as he wished he'd never made the sodding suggestion. They could hardly not talk about for the rest of their lives, could they?
He supposed they could, if they reversed the bond and never saw each other again, other than as distant acquaintances, he thought. A chill came over him.
"And I'm sorry I haven't been very nice, the last couple of weeks," Harry said, thinking that there was blame on both sides, but still. He'd been a bit of a git.
"Mm," Draco said, still stiff and flat, and then he gave an equally flat sigh. "Go on then, show me your noble, heroic scars. You've seen mine, it's only fair."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, first I have this small and not at all obvious lightning bolt on my forehead," he said, helpfully pushing his hair aside in case Draco couldn't see it. "No one has ever noticed it before, so feel lucky."
"Fascinating," Draco said politely, eyes flickering up the scar and then away again. "Is that it?"
"No!" Harry protested. "Heroic, remember!" He pointed out a faint one on his forearm. "This is where a ginormous snake bit me. And—" What else? He'd been really fucking heroic, so there must be more evidence, surely. "Oh!" he said, and clenched his right hand into a fist, really hard. The scar that Umbridge had left there was very faint now, but if he squinted the words were just about legible. "Look," he said, shoving his hand at Draco. "From Umbridge."
"I must not tell lies," Draco said, peering at it. His forehead puckered into a frown, and he reached out to run a finger lightly over the white lines. Then he withdrew his finger. "That it?" he said. "You annoyed a snake and learned a valuable lesson about telling the truth?"
"Lightning bolt! Lightning bolt!" Harry protested, gesticulating at his forehead, forcing a grin from Draco.
"Yes, all right," Draco said, and shifted on the bed, lying down. "Lights," he said, leaving Harry sitting up in the dark.
"Wanker," he said, also lying down, which made Draco laugh out loud.
"Didn't it scar?" Harry asked after he'd stared into the darkness, the wardrobe he knew was at the end of the room resolving itself into a dark lump. "The curse I used on you, I mean. In the bathroom at school."
"Oh, that," Draco said, sounding fairly normal for a conversation about a spell that had left him bleeding to death on a wet floor. "No, it didn't. I mean, it scarred on the inside," he added facetiously. "Basically, every evil thing I did after that was your fault. Just so you know."
It wasn't very funny, but Harry found himself laughing anyway. "Evil? I don't think you ever achieved full evil."
"I did!" Draco protested. "Proper full-on evil. I won't have you besmirching my good – I mean evil – name."
Had Draco truly been evil? Harry didn't think so. He'd been evil in the gaps, maybe. The things he hadn't done: not standing up for what was right. Not standing up to his parents. Not protesting when good people were tortured in front of him. Not standing up to Voldemort. But then his bravery had been in the gaps, too: he hadn't killed Dumbledore. He hadn't identified Harry to Bellatrix. Draco appeared in Harry's mind as a pale, inactive figure, unable to tear himself away from his upbringing enough to be a good person, but equally unable to be properly bad. Not deep down inside, where it counted.
Was it all an excuse? Was Harry making things up, to try to reason away why he could want someone like Draco so badly? Because he did want him, he realised. He wanted him desperately, despite everything.
"What would your evil name be?" Harry asked, trying not to think about it all too hard. It was giving him a headache. "I mean, Voldemort had the whole anagram thing going on."
Draco made a considering noise, and there was a rustle as he reached for his wand. The letters of his name twinkled into the darkness, curling around the tip of his wand. Draco Lucius Malfoy. He gave his wand a twist, and the letters coiled into . . .
Harry sniggered. "I am Lord Foul Yuccas," he said. "Very evil."
"I'm sure it took the Dark Lord a few goes to get something good," Draco said snootily. "You can't get everything right first try."
Harry supposed not. "Well, on that happy note," he said as he felt himself start to yawn. "Goodnight, Draco."
Draco curled in towards him, and Harry curled right back. They lay there together in silence for a while, and just as Harry was starting to drift off, he felt Draco touch the back of his hand, where the white lines of I must not tell lies lurked, beneath his skin.
"Do you still not want to complete the bond?" Draco asked, his voice very low.
It wasn't a fair question, Harry thought, battling against sleep. A thousand million things flooded his mind, reasons why they shouldn't. Draco's Dark Mark. Draco's need to produce an heir. Draco's horrible family. And he thought of all the reasons they should, which was a much shorter list, and basically boiled down to the fact that Harry was falling – had fallen – in love with him, and he wanted to, desperately, with all his heart and soul.
Merlin. The realisation floored him.
"Harry? Are you awake?" Draco asked, but Harry heard the doubt in his voice. Draco knew he was awake. He was just giving him an out.
Harry thought about it some more, a chasm of uncertainty opening up beneath his feet. Love wasn't a good enough reason, was it? It – it was for him, but it didn't seem like it would be for Draco. And . . . he wanted to choose his partner, and be chosen. He'd spent his life living a destiny, following a path laid out for him by someone else to its inevitable conclusion. He'd spent his childhood bound to Voldemort, Harry thought uncomfortably. Did he really want to spend the rest of his life bound to someone else he hadn't chosen?
"Goodnight then, Harry," Draco said, very low, and rolled over, turning his back on Harry. They were still tangled together, bodies close, but Harry could feel the distance stretch between them like a chasm.