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The first time he felt it, Harry was half-dozing through History of Magic. It began in his midsection, a twisting, squeezing sensation that caused him to sit up with a jolt, drawing Hermione’s attention from her endless jotting of notes. Her brow barely twitched, but Harry caught the question as easily as if she’d asked it aloud. His answering head-shake replied in kind. No problem; all is well. He slouched back to the desk to prove it, but the odd flutter in his abdomen, just below his navel, suggested otherwise. At first he thought it was indigestion, but that vague hope was quickly put to rest. Instead, it felt like pulling, as if someone had gripped hold of his organs and claimed them as their own. Someone that wanted them immediately.
What now? Harry thought with a flare of annoyance. He was supposed to be finished with all of the weirdness that had plagued him throughout his life. Voldemort was gone. Harry had done his heroic deeds. Hogwarts was being rebuilt and they had all—well, mostly all, returned to school to complete their N.E.W.T.S. "Eighth-year" they called it, although it was still only the seventh for most of them. Those were Hermione’s words, of course.
A tug, insistent. Harry flattened a hand over his abdomen. What if he had a tumour? A leftover gift from being a Horcrux? Or something new. A curse. Harry still had a number of enemies. It would take years to round up all of Voldemort’s former supporters.
"Tomorrow, we shall learn about Beaumont Marjoribanks, the famous Herbologist." Professor Binns droned on and then and there was a mad scramble as students bolted for the doors. Harry forced himself to walk, aware of Hermione’s scrutiny. Luckily, she had Arithmancy while Ron and Harry had Care of Magical Creatures. Her hippogriff-sharp gaze pierced him and he pretended to be busy stuffing away his mostly-doodled notes. Thankfully, his false casualness seemed to work. "I’m off, then," she said. "See you after class."
"See you! Come on, Harry, it’s a bloody long walk to Hagrid’s."
"Coming." Harry did not mention the strange feeling. The pressure eased as soon as he started moving in the direction the tugging seemed to prefer. It diminished, but did not depart, becoming a gentle prod, prod, prod. He and Ron left the castle and headed for Hagrid’s hut. Only when they reached the path that veered towards the Quidditch pitch did the pulling increase in force. Harry stopped. Turned.
The Quidditch pitch?
"What is it?" Ron asked.
"I don’t know. I need to go to the Quidditch pitch."
"What? Why?"
"I don’t know."
"Merlin, don’t go all mysterious on me again." Ron shook his head and sighed. "But, whatever. Let’s go."
"No, you go on. Take notes for me in Creatures if any of it's worth noting. This shouldn’t be a big deal."
"Shouldn’t be. Famous last words with you, mate."
"Yeah, go on." Harry gave him a good-natured shove. Ron flipped him an obscene gesture and went. Harry started for the pitch, moving faster with each step until he was nearly jogging. The tugging felt like a wild bird, trapped beneath his skin and struggling to get out. He rounded a bend in the path and stopped short when he encountered another person hurrying in the opposite direction; trotting and out of breath like Harry. That was where the resemblance ended, however.
"Malfoy," Harry said, striving to have no inflection.
"Potter." Malfoy looked distracted and he managed no more than a vague sneer.
Harry gave him a curt nod and moved aside, bypassing him by a wide margin. Malfoy did the same and walked away with long strides. Harry took four steps and then spun back to face Malfoy; his jaw fell open. Malfoy had also turned back. He looked thunderstruck, eyes going wider than Harry had seen them since the Fiendfyre incident.
"What?" Malfoy snapped. "What the hell?"
Harry took a tentative step towards him. The tugging in his midsection leaped eagerly, battling with the sick sensation that had taken up residence in his stomach. Harry couldn’t speak as he slowly closed the distance between them.
"Listen, Malfoy…" Harry began, stretching out a hand as if to tame a wild beast. Any chance of blaming Malfoy for whatever had befallen him was eradicated by Malfoy’s near-panicked expression.
"What is it?" Malfoy demanded with a sharp downward gesture. "What is this?" Harry nearly cringed. Malfoy must have felt it, too.
"I don’t know! It just started!"
"If this is some sort of fucked-up spell that you’ve cast—"
"It wasn’t me!" Harry drew himself up as well as he was able, despite what seemed to be a pit of snakes squirming in his guts, urging him in Malfoy's direction.
"As if I believe—" Malfoy lifted his hands in a defensive manner as Harry moved closer. Harry’s hands rose reflexively and then, as if catching a Snitch, his hand snagged Malfoy’s. Immediately, the pulling, writhing feeling stopped. Harry drew a breath, his stare finding and locking with Malfoy’s.
"What did you do?" Malfoy asked in a hushed tone. They were stood so close together that Harry could make out individual colours in Malfoy’s lashes—not white-blond like his hair, but with hints of gold and copper. They made his eyes look vibrant, alive.
"I didn’t do anything," Harry insisted. He waited for the feeling to resume. After all, he had not done anything beyond touching Malfoy, although he was suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that Malfoy’s skin was warm and his fist was bony and almost fragile feeling beneath Harry’s fingers.
"I’m going to let go," Harry decided, since Malfoy did not seem inclined to move. Malfoy nodded.
Harry let go and stepped back. They watched each other for a tense moment. "Do you feel any different?" Harry asked.
"Should I?"
"I don’t know!"
"Well, whatever you hoped to accomplish I hope you’ve finished."
Annoyed, Harry started to yell at the git but Malfoy spun on a heel and tromped away.
"That was bloody weird," Harry muttered.
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
Harry shoved the oddity to the back of his mind and tried to forget it, which worked nicely for about three days. And then the fluttering sensation returned one morning as he stepped out of the shower. By the time he threw on some clothing and bolted through the common room—tossing a quick, "Come on, I’m starving!" at Ron—the butterflies had turned into wasps.
He took the stairs two at a time, ignoring Hermione’s shouted, "Harry! Wait for us!" He couldn’t decide whether he hoped or dreaded to find Malfoy at the end of the magical tether pulling him onward. What was that old saying? Better the devil you know? He met Malfoy on the third floor riser. His hair was mussed and he was breathing hard, as though he had been running, possibly all the way from the dungeons.
Before Malfoy could speak, Harry grabbed his arm. There was no change and Harry frowned because the—whatever it was—definitely proclaimed Malfoy to be the target. Malfoy growled and covered Harry’s bare hand with his own.
Everything ceased. The world seemed quieter and he realised there had been a ringing in his ears along with the tugging. The absence of both was noticeable and made the sound of their mingled breathing loud in the stillness, until a giggle and whispering of voices rose behind them.
Harry jerked away from Malfoy, face flaming, and stood silently as a group of Ravenclaw girls walked past. Harry did not recognise any of them. Third-years, maybe, or fourth.
When he glanced back, Malfoy was gone.
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
That night, Harry jolted upright in bed with a cry on his lips. He choked it back. The fingertips of his left hand were burning. The pain faded as he stared into the darkness, heart beating wildly. He thought it might be the remnants of a dream, but it seemed far too real. A familiar flutter drew him out of bed. He pulled on his dressing gown and then his invisibility cloak. His fingers throbbed as he bounded down the stairs to the dungeons.
He was nearly at the entrance to the Slytherin common room when he ran into Malfoy. Harry reached out and steadied himself to keep from falling.
"Potter?" Malfoy hissed.
"What happened? Why are my fingers burnt?" Harry pulled back his hood so that Malfoy could see his face, if not the rest of him.
"They are?" Malfoy sounded surprised.
"Yeah." Harry held them up and then reached out to touch Malfoy’s face, just to silence the jumpy, annoying clamour in his abdomen.
Malfoy pulled away. "Stop that. Blaise dared me to drip hot wax on my fingers."
Harry gaped at him. "And you thought that would be a good idea?"
"As if you’ve never taken a dare." Malfoy scoffed. "Or maybe you haven’t."
"Of course, I have. What are you doing out here?"
Malfoy looked back towards the common room. "I… I felt you panic like a ninny and assumed you would run down here. I see I was right."
Harry wasn’t sure what disturbed him more, the fact that he could feel what Malfoy felt or the reverse. "Okay, this has gone beyond weird. We need to find out what it is, since it seems to be getting worse."
"Agreed. Meet me in the library after breakfast tomorrow."
"The library?"
"Yes, Potter. That place where books are kept."
"I know what it is!" Harry remembered he was standing in the dungeons talking to a total prat. "Fine. Library. Tomorrow. Good night."
He pulled his hood over his head and went back upstairs.
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
They might have been in the library together, but they were most certainly not together. Malfoy had given Harry a quelling look the moment he’d walked in, and a flick of his eyes had directed Harry to a table at a far corner of the room. Malfoy was seated near the centre of the library with Parkinson and another Slytherin girl. Several books were scattered atop Harry’s assigned table. He sat down and pulled one closer. He wasn’t sure what to do if Malfoy planned to ignore him the entire time. It had been hard enough to get away from Ron and Hermione, even though they desperately wanted "alone time."
Malfoy got up and walked past Harry, giving him a sneer as he passed. A wisp of folded paper spun across the table and Harry quickly covered it with his hand, hiding it from sight. "Interesting reading material, Potter." After the sardonic drawl, Malfoy disappeared into the shelves.
Harry closed the book he'd been not-reading and looked at the cover. Magic While Menstruating: Does Your Cycle Affect Your Spells? Harry shoved it away with a moue of horror. He pushed his hands beneath the table and unfolded Malfoy’s note.
Magical biographies – Section M was all it said. Harry frowned and tried to remember where the biography books were kept. Upper level past Foreign Languages and World Historical Accounts, maybe? He took a different route than Malfoy, feeling clandestine and almost wicked, as if he were meeting a secret boyfriend. Or girlfriend, he corrected himself quickly. Merlin, where had that thought come from?
He found Malfoy without getting lost. Malfoy was leaned against the corner of an ornate shelf, tapping his wand against his hand impatiently. "You are incredibly slow."
Harry shrugged.
"Anyway, now that you’re here, we need to find as many books on magical bonding curses as possible. I’ve made a list. Here, this will keep us from duplicating our efforts." Malfoy tore the parchment in half and handed half of it to Harry.
"Are you sure it’s a curse?"
"Are you enjoying it?" Malfoy’s tone was scathing.
"Well, no, but…"
"Precisely. It’s a curse. We need to find out what it is, and then we need to determine who cast it, and then we need to remove their internal organs with a powerful and potent hex."
Harry thought he should probably say something about that being inappropriate and likely to get them expelled, but instead he reached out and touched the back of Malfoy’s hand. Malfoy’s vengeful expression fled, replaced by a startled widening of his eyes. "What are you doing?"
"I don’t know. Maybe if we, you know… touch more frequently it will prevent this whole… pulling thing."
Malfoy smirked. "I think you just want to grope me."
Harry flushed and yanked his hand away. "Touching your hand is hardly groping."
"I wonder if groping would lengthen the amount of time between episodes?"
"What?" Harry really didn’t want to think about groping Malfoy, especially while in such close proximity to the prat.
"Don't have a conniption, Potter, I was merely theorising aloud. My, your face is red. Does talk of groping offend your prudish Gryffindor sensibilities that much or are you secretly curious?" Malfoy took a step closer. Harry backed up so quickly his shoulders hit the shelves opposite. Malfoy followed, looking distinctly predatory. Harry's pulse leapt as Malfoy moved even closer. "You have thought about it, haven't you, Potter? It's difficult not to in a dormitory full of fit boys—although there aren't many in Gryffindor, I'll give you that—but you must have given it a thought or two. Have you fantasised about touching a hot bloke? Grabbing a bit of cock? Have you ever wanted to fuck one? Do you think about having your cock sucked? Have you ever kissed a boy, Potter?" Malfoy was close, stiflingly so. Harry could hardly breathe, could hardly think through the wild pounding of his heart. Malfoy's stare was taunting and intense. Harry's eyes dropped to his lips and then snapped back to his eyes, afraid such a glance might be interpreted as an invitation.
Apparently, it was. Malfoy's lashes fell closed over his too-intense stare and his breath was warm on Harry's face. Harry wanted to escape, but he couldn't seem to move. Everything, even time itself, seemed suspended, hanging upon Malfoy's mouth as he closed the distance. Malfoy's lips touched his, barely a feather-light brush, a tease, really. It was still a shock, as everything Harry believed about himself took a tumble, fell into a thousand pieces, and rearranged itself between the space of one heartbeat and the next.
Malfoy pulled back, but only a hairsbreadth, as if waiting to see what Harry would do. Harry drew a ragged breath and collected his courage (if not his wits) and cast caution to the wind. The kiss was firmer this time, and most definitely initiated by Harry. It was terrifying, as though he'd stepped off the edge into an abyss. He half-expected Malfoy to shove him away with a derisive laugh and hurry back to the Slytherin dormitory with a tale of Potter the Bent. But there was no shoving. The kiss was dry, warm, and soft, different from all of Harry's prior kisses and yet fundamentally the same. Lips, as it turned out, were lips, and kisses were kisses, varying only in emotional intensity based on who was doing the kissing, and—Harry's rather clinical analysis shattered when he felt Malfoy's tongue brush against his lips and a fierce, overwhelming surge of something welled up from the centre of his being. He opened his mouth and the tip of his tongue grazed Malfoy's. Harry shivered, his nerve endings jangled and frayed. This was uncharted territory; he was swimming in the dark.
The sound of a throat-clearing caused Harry to jump so violently that the back of his head smacked into shelf. He wildly sought the source and noticed Malfoy sidling backwards like a shadow. Fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, someone just caught me kissing Draco Malfoy. The hysterical thought raced through his brain and the panic quintupled when he identified the onlooker as none other than Pansy Parkinson. She looked displeased.
Harry bolted. He didn't bother to look at Malfoy, having no desire to add ridicule to ridiculousness. He passed Parkinson in a flash and almost escaped the library entirely, but the reason for his being there was still valid, possibly more so in light of this latest disturbing trend, and so he dove into the chair and sat, pressing the heels of his palms into his thighs. Huh, he thought when his heart stopped threatening to choke him and retreated back into his chest from his throat. That was interesting. The vague thought was possibly the understatement of the year.
He stared hard at the scrap of list in his hand; it was partially crumpled and damp with sweat. He darted a glance at Malfoy and Parkinson when they returned to their seats. Parkinson craned her neck and gave Harry a glare. Malfoy looked more placid than ever and did not even glance at Harry. Harry looked back at the list and tried to concentrate.
A Compendium of Common Curses and Their Counter-Actions
Curses and Counter-Curses
Jinxes for the Jinxed
Fighting the urge to look over at the Slytherins again, Harry left his seat and went to fetch some books. He located the first two on the list and debated hunting down the rest to avoid returning to the table, but chances were good that he wouldn’t get partway through one before he had to leave. When he reached the table, he saw that Malfoy and the others were gone. Harry pushed the menstrual magic book farther away, plopped down the other books, and made a valiant effort to seek out potentially viable Bonding Charms. It was difficult to focus when his mind kept wandering to Malfoy and the kiss. Was Malfoy carrying the tale now? Was he owling the Prophet with the story that Harry Potter liked blokes?
Harry groaned and dropped his head to the book, thumping it a couple of times for good measure.
"Mr Potter. Please cease that infernal banging at once!" Madam Pince’s voice was a loud whisper, far more distracting than Harry’s quiet frustration, judging by the curious stares that now turned his way, but he only nodded and went back to turning pages.
What would he do if such an article appeared in the papers? It wouldn’t be his first time at being subjected to ridicule. Of course, same-sex relationships were not a big deal in the wizarding world, so being called a poofter would not carry the same venom as it would in the Muggle world. It would damage the expectation that he marry Ginny and have a Weasley-esque number of children, however. The largest fallout would likely come from the Weasleys. Harry took a steadying breath and got to his feet. There was no help for it. He had to tell Ron and Hermione.
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
"You did what?" Ron repeated.
"I kissed Draco Malfoy. But that’s not the important bit, Ron. Focus!"
"I’m… focussing on my best friend kissing the biggest git that ever walked the halls of Hogwarts! Well, apart from You-Know-Who. And possibly Snape. And Malfoy Senior. And Barty Crouch— But that’s not the point! The point is Malfoy! Why Malfoy?"
"He told you, Ron. It’s a spell. He's been cursed. Honestly." Hermione sighed. "Why didn’t you tell us earlier, Harry?"
"I didn’t know what it was! I thought it might go away!"
"The gay thing?" Ron asked.
"No, not the gay thing! The spell!" Harry fixed his annoyed stare upon Ron.
"Right, the spell. Of course. Good to know it’s a spell making you kiss Malfoy. Hey, how do you know Malfoy didn’t cast it?"
Harry shook his head. "He didn’t." In truth, Harry felt a bit guilty about making it sound like the spell was the only reason he’d kissed Malfoy. It was tempting to believe it himself, but if that were the case it didn’t explain why he kept thinking about it. The urge to touch his tongue to Draco’s had been entirely his own and he refused to lie to himself about that, nor about the fact that he wanted to do it again.
"How can you be sure?"
"I just am." Already Harry was having second thoughts about bringing it up.
"All right, we will rule out Malfoy for the moment. Who else might have had the motivation to do such a thing?" Hermione, thankfully, was at least willing to focus on the problem. Harry gave her a grateful smile.
"I have no idea."
As expected, she sighed heavily and pulled out a quill and parchment.
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
In the middle of the night, Harry bolted awake and sat up in the darkness, clutching his wand. He fought the clinging vestiges of a nightmare. Weirdly, it was of Neville, holding the sword of Gryffindor. Neville’s eyes were red and his chest cavity gaped open to reveal Nagini, hissing through venom-tipped fangs as Neville’s hands thrust the sword into Harry’s midsection. The pain was real, growing even as the terror of the nightmare faded. Harry dropped a hand to his stomach, thinking he might be physically ill. He swallowed the feeling, but swung his legs out of bed and pushed his bare feet into his trainers. He didn’t bother to lace them as he grabbed up his invisibility cloak and hurried out.
He met Malfoy on the fourth floor stairwell, Malfoy wore a black dressing gown and girlish-looking green silk slippers. His blond hair was uncharacteristically mussed and he gripped his wand in one hand. Before Harry could speak, Malfoy grabbed him with his free hand and shoved him against the wall. He seemed to know exactly where Harry was, despite the invisibility cloak. For a moment, Harry wondered if Malfoy really was the culprit. "Take it off," Malfoy snapped.
Harry pulled back the hood with both hands and then Malfoy’s lips were on his. Harry had only a moment to revel in the cessation of the annoying, painful sensation in his abdomen before it was replaced by something else, a warm, pooling heat that felt perfectly natural. Malfoy’s mouth was demanding; his tongue pushed past Harry’s lips and Harry let it come, hell, he welcomed it inside. He had no idea why Malfoy felt it necessary to kiss him, but he wasn’t going to ruin the moment by asking. Instead, he wrapped his hands around Malfoy’s hipbones and dragged him closer. Malfoy pressed against him and slotted into place, as though he’d always belonged there. The notion, vaguely acknowledged through the storm of emotion assaulting Harry’s senses, was probably a result of the spell, curse, or whatever it was, and yet Harry could not dismiss it entirely. Malfoy’s hands were in his hair, alternately tugging roughly and softening into gentle caresses.
They kissed for what seemed like hours; each time Malfoy drew away Harry would reel him back in, once by simply making a needy sound. Finally, Harry had to stop. His lips felt swollen and bruised and it was becoming hard to breathe. As if given some silent signal, they both stopped. Instead of pulling away, Malfoy brushed his cheek against Harry’s and his breath, mimicking Harry’s harsh gasps, huffed against his ear. He leaned on Harry as though too weak to stand on his own.
"This is fucked up." Malfoy's voice was a warm rasp.
Harry grunted in reply, neither agreeing nor denying, and tightened his arms around Malfoy’s waist. His pulse was racing and his thoughts were too jumbled to make sense of them. All he knew was that Malfoy was an incredible kisser. Snogging him was the most brilliant thing ever, and Harry didn’t want to let go. He had to, though. They were on a public stairwell. It was a wonder they hadn’t been discovered, either by Filch or a wandering professor, or by a disobedient student, a ghost or—worst of all—Peeves. The thought of the poltergeist cackling and making up horrible, petty songs about the two of them brought Harry back to his senses. "We should go back to bed."
"Together?" Malfoy’s voice was husky, amused and, most surprisingly, teasing. It was also ridiculously erotic and Harry’s cock, which had been off-and-on hard throughout the kissing, twitched with renewed interest. Harry was not ready to acknowledge what that meant. Kissing was one thing, but bed was a whole different level. Harry nipped him on the neck, unwilling to wade into those waters by hinting at agreement, but also not wanting to offend Malfoy with a denial. Malfoy made a soft sound of protest and Harry impulsively raked his fingers over Malfoy’s back. The resulting shudder was very interesting and Harry filed it away for future exploitation, even though the very idea of "later" was patently terrifying.
"We need to sleep," he said rationally. "I’ll see you tomorrow. Today. Whenever."
Malfoy returned Harry’s affirmative grunt and took a step back. For the first time, their eyes locked. Malfoy’s expression was unreadable in the darkness, and then his lips quirked in a way that made Harry want to pull him in for more kissing.
"Until tomorrow, today, whenever, then, Potter."
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
Harry should have been tired, but he felt strangely energized the next morning as he dressed and bounded down the steps to the common room before his dorm-mates even awoke. He might have thought his Malfoy encounter to be a dream except that his lips still felt tender and his jaw ached whenever he opened his mouth.
Ginny and Neville were awake, sitting before the fire with a large book and a number of scrolls. "Morning, Harry. You’re up early." Neville yawned.
"Hello, Harry. Are you planning to rush off somewhere? I haven’t seen you in days." Harry didn’t think he imagined the tone of censure in Ginny’s voice. He realised with a guilty start that they had never quite reconnected after the war. She hadn’t pushed or pursued him, but she always seemed to have an air of expectation about her, as if they would eventually pick up where they had left off and become the couple everyone believed they should. Harry hadn’t really questioned it even though he’d been in no hurry to leap back into a relationship. He'd rationalised that he just wanted some time and space to unwind after the trauma of the war. He hadn’t really thought about it, at least, not until Malfoy.
With a jolt, it dawned on him that he hadn’t once thought about Ginny whilst kissing Malfoy. Now that he had a basis for comparison, he wondered why he’d never felt such raw, all-consuming need when he’d kissed Ginny as he had when kissing Malfoy. Was it the spell, after all? "Um… hi," he said lamely and pushed a hand through his hair. The gesture made him think of Malfoy’s silky-soft hair and he shoved the memory firmly aside as he sat down next to Ginny. "What are you guys doing?"
"Nev is helping me with my Herbology homework. You look pale. Are you feeling all right?"
Harry reflexively put a hand on his stomach. The tug was there, a mere flutter, but the time between episodes seemed to be growing shorter. Already, he itched to get to Malfoy. He nodded. "I’m fine. A bit hungry. I think I’ll go down and see if the house-elves have breakfast ready."
"Great idea," Ginny said. "I’ll come, too."
Harry’s midsection produced a flutter of anxiety. Neville frowned. "But what about—?"
"I think I’ve got the seventeen principle uses of nettle down now, Neville, thanks." Ginny quickly rolled up a scroll, tapped it with her wand, and tucked it into a pouch she wore at her hip. Harry couldn’t think of a logical reason to stay her, so he screwed up his fortitude, nodded goodbye to Neville, and led the way out of the common room.
"So, what have you been up to, Harry? I’ve barely seen you."
"Um… you know. Just schoolwork and stuff. Trying to catch up after missing a year." Harry descended the steps quickly while trying to make it look like he wasn’t hurrying. The flutter in his stomach was growing, letting him know it would soon be a full-blown feeling of need. He would have to touch Malfoy soon. The thought of touching Malfoy after the previous night’s snogging activity left him a bit lightheaded. He missed a step and might have fallen headlong if Ginny hadn't snagged his arm and hauled him back.
"Merlin! Be careful! What’s your hurry?"
Harry righted himself and then pulled away from her grasp. She frowned and he forced a smile. "Sorry, just… bacon."
Ginny gave him an odd look and they continued on at a slower pace. They were nearly to the ground floor when Ginny stopped him by clutching his sleeve. "Harry."
He halted with a longing glance at the entrance to the Slytherin dungeons, visible just beyond the stair railing.
"Harry, I’d hoped we could get back together by now. You know, officially, like we were before you left. I understand why you had to go, and maybe I even get why you left me behind. After everything, you know, the war, and Fred, and all of that, I thought you needed space, so I left you alone. But now…" She trailed off.
Harry met her earnest stare for only a moment before he looked away with a surge of remorse. If she had brought this up a week ago, or even a few days ago, things might have been very different. Harry had meant to take up with her again, he really had, but first there had been grief, and anger, and long stretches of nothing but bone-deep exhaustion that no amount of sleeping seemed to cure. He had slowly regained his energy only to be thrown into returning to Hogwarts and planning for his future. And now there was this Malfoy thing. "To be honest, I’m really… confused right now."
"Confused?"
Harry nodded, uncertain how to elaborate when he didn’t really understand his feelings enough to articulate them. Sorry, I might like blokes, or maybe just Malfoy seemed ridiculous even in thought form.
At that moment, Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson exited the dungeons and started across the entrance hall. A multitude of emotions assailed Harry. His heart leaped at the sight of Malfoy while his chest monster threatened to claw its way out through his throat (why was Malfoy always with Parkinson). The tickle in his abdomen turned into a near-physical pull, urging him to rush down the stairs and leap on Malfoy. Harry took hold of the stair-rail to prevent such foolishness. Malfoy took two steps in Harry’s direction before Parkinson stopped him with a hand on his arm. Their eyes locked and Harry nearly gasped aloud. Malfoy looked furious.
"Harry, what’s wrong?" Ginny’s head snapped round and she glared at the Slytherins. "Has Malfoy done something?"
Harry nearly laughed hysterically. Yes, he wanted to shout, he most assuredly has, and Harry wanted him to do more. He wanted to throw himself on Malfoy, tumble him to the floor, and kiss and touch him… "No," Harry croaked as Malfoy gave him one final, glacial stare and turned away. "It’s nothing."
Nothing beyond his heart pounding nearly out of his chest and the cold sweat that had broken out all over his body. Nothing beyond the screaming need, need, need trying to propel him down the steps. "Malfoy!" Harry called, desperate.
Malfoy paused before the doors leading to the Great Hall. Harry pounded down the steps and stopped close to Malfoy, probably too-close, judging by Parkinson’s stare and lifted brow, but Harry didn’t care. He groped for Malfoy’s hand, caught it, and then stood awkwardly as the world righted itself. He looked at Malfoy, at a loss for words, but he noted with a flush of pleasure that much of the ice had thawed from Malfoy’s pale eyes.
"Potter," he said quietly after a moment, "you just felt like holding my hand?" Parkinson snickered and Harry dropped Malfoy’s hand and stepped back.
"Oh, he’s got it bad," Parkinson said. "Are you sure it wasn’t a Love Charm?"
"I’ll talk to you later, Potter." Malfoy's gaze dropped to Harry’s lips and back to his eyes and he smiled. Harry hoped he wasn’t imagining the gleam of promise there. Malfoy and Parkinson continued into the Great Hall and Ginny gave Harry a sharp elbow to the ribs. "What in the hell was that all about?"
Harry started and then took a deep, steadying breath. "I think maybe we should have a talk."
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
Ginny said nothing as they walked down to the lake. She toyed with the ends of her hair and waited when they stopped at the water’s edge. Harry scanned the ground for a stone to skip out into the lake, but the area had been picked clean of rocks by generations of students. All that remained were tiny pebbles that he could probably transform if he had the energy.
"I think someone hexed me," Harry admitted. "Well, not think. I know someone hexed me."
"What do you mean?"
"Every so often, every few hours or so, I have to… find Malfoy. I have to um… touch him. His hand or something. Skin." He felt a flush creep into his face and tried not to think about Malfoy’s skin, or his lips, or his hands on Harry’s—
"You have to touch Malfoy?"
Harry winced. "A bit louder, Gin. I don’t think they quite heard you in Edinburgh."
She looked around but the mutinous set of her face did not change. "You have to touch Malfoy," she repeated more quietly. "Why?"
"We don’t know why. It doesn’t seem to make sense."
"It does if you’re Malfoy. Obviously it’s some sort of Slytherin trick."
"If it’s a trick, Malfoy doesn’t know about it. He was as surprised as me the first time it happened."
She tugged on the ends of her hair roughly. "The first time? How many times has it happened?"
"Um… four?" Or was it five? He was losing count.
"And all you have to do is touch him?"
"Yeah. It—the spell, whatever it is—just sort of pulls us together and then we have to… touch." For some reason, saying it aloud made it sound both crazy and erotic at once. He wiped his palms on his jeans.
"Who would do that? And why?"
"I don't know! We haven’t figured that out, yet. It doesn’t seem harmful, really." Except mentally, because of the kissing thing, and Harry’s growing attraction.
"Not harmful? What if it gets worse? What happens when the holidays come? What will you do when you’re too far apart to touch? What happens then?"
"Hadn’t thought that far ahead. We’re looking for the curse itself right now, to see if we can find a counter-spell." Of course, Harry hadn’t done much actual hunting for the spell, being too wrapped up in the novelty of kissing Draco Malfoy.
"Does Hermione know?"
"Yeah. And Ron."
"Of course they do." He knew he wasn’t imagining the bitter tone in her voice. "I’m sure Hermione will have it all figured out in no time. Thank you for allowing me into the inner circle."
Harry nodded uncertainly and decided it wouldn’t be prudent to mention the kissing thing. Ginny seemed upset enough.
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
The next episode happened during Quidditch practice on Friday afternoon. Harry tried to ignore it as he scanned the sky for the Snitch. He was not technically on the team, since no one quite knew how to rewrite the rules to incorporate the "Eighth-year" students, so Harry had agreed to help train the new Seeker, a Third-year student named Bonnie Shale. She had short black hair that stuck out in tufts and she wore glasses. People had taken to calling her Potter Junior, which she didn’t seem to mind at all. Ginny had given up the Seeker position to become the team’s Keeper, as well as team captain.
"What’s wrong, Harry?" Bonnie asked, flying closer when he clutched at his stomach and fought a wave of dizziness.
"Must be something I ate," he said. He jerked a thumb towards the castle. "I think I’m going to head in. You keep scanning and don’t forget to keep moving. And pay attention to their Seeker." Bonnie nodded and Harry turned his broom and shot back to the earth. He leaped to the ground and slung his broom over his shoulder in a casual-looking move that only worked because he’d practised it six thousand times over the summer at the Burrow. He was rather proud of it.
"That’s almost impressive, Potter," came a dry tone from the shadow of the Hufflepuff stands. Harry’s pulse leaped even though he’d known Malfoy was there. The tug was becoming painful. Malfoy lifted an edge of the yellow tapestry and ducked beneath. Harry followed after making certain there were no curious eyes on him. The Quidditch players had moved off to the far goal, racing frantically as Ravenclaw tried to score. Harry scanned the darkness beneath the wooden beams. Rays of sunlight shone through the cracks, revealing dancing dust motes. There were no snogging students in attendance, probably because the practice match was between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. The few Hufflepuffs watching were clustered in the red and blue stands with the others.
Malfoy wandered deeper into the maze of wood and then stopped short to seize the front of Harry’s t-shirt. He dragged Harry into a bruising, greedy kiss that made Harry drop his broom and wrap his arms around Malfoy to pull him closer.
It was insane, really; they were practically in a public place, devouring one another where anyone could see them by simply lifting a tapestry. Muted cheering echoed the sound made by Harry’s libido when Malfoy shifted even closer and something brushed against Harry’s crotch, something deliciously hard and full of potential. Harry pulled back, suddenly aware of the implications of the wayward thought. "Malfoy." He gasped for breath. "This is—"
"Potter." Malfoy’s hands gripped his shoulders. He looked serious. "I need you to check something for me."
Harry’s thoughts, racing down an increasingly frantic path, stopped in confusion. "What?"
Malfoy gave him a shake. "Wake up. Listen, I was in the shower this morning and Blaise noticed that I’ve—"
"You were in the shower with Zabini?" Harry’s rage was sudden, shocking and immense. His fists clenched and dust trickled down from the seats overhead. The wooden structure might have shaken a bit.
"Merlin, Potter, that’s… Are you jealous?"
Harry rolled his eyes and made a scoffing sound. "Certainly not." He was pleased that his tone was mild, even as something inside screamed Liar! Liar! Liar! He shushed it. "You were saying?" He was saying shower and Zabini, his traitorous mind reminded him, sending down another puff of dust from the beams above.
"I was saying," Malfoy continued with another wary look upwards, "that Blaise spotted a strange mark upon my person. Here." Malfoy moved back and touched a spot beneath his left armpit. "You should examine yourself and see if you have something similar."
Finally distracted from the idea of Zabini and Malfoy in the shower, Harry frowned. "What sort of mark?"
"A sigil, I think. It’s very faint. Flesh-coloured, almost like a scar." His nose wrinkled. Harry could relate; he’d also had enough of scars to last him a lifetime. "It's hard to see, really."
Hard to see unless you’re ogling, Harry thought bitterly. "Do you think it has something to do with the spell?"
"I don’t know what else it could be. Nothing else weird has happened to me lately."
"Check right now," Harry said and grabbed the hem of his shirt to pull it from his waistband.
Malfoy’s hands were on his instantly. "Stop that! Not here!"
Harry glanced over his shoulder. "But we were just…"
"Snogging is one thing. Undressing is quite another."
Harry thought Malfoy sounded rather prudish. He discovered he liked it. "Then where?"
Instead of suggesting Harry go and look for it on his own, Malfoy scowled. "Don’t you have that amazing cloak of yours?"
"I don’t carry it with me everywhere I go, no." Harry grinned.
"Well, you should. But fine, if you’re determined to do it right now…"
"I think it’s important, don’t you?"
"I suppose. Come on, then" Malfoy paused to peer through the tapestry as Harry picked up his broom. Malfoy went through and Harry followed. They left the pitch with Harry trailing far enough behind that they would not quite be mistaken for being together. It wasn’t long before Harry figured out where they were bound. The old broom shed had been half-destroyed in the war, so much so that repairing it would have taken more time than simply building a new one, which they had done instead. The new building had been erected closer to the pitch and on the side closest the Gryffindor stands, far from where they now stood. The old shed had been fenced and warded against intrusion. Eventually they would likely knock it down.
"Can you get us in?" Malfoy asked and Harry recognised the words as a challenge.
"I think so." He pulled out his wand. A few moments later, they slipped through a break in the fence and waited a minute to see if the wards would allow them through without a hex or a warning sounding. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. The door was gone and the doorframe listed heavily to the right, contorted and splintered. Harry wasn’t sure that entering was a good idea, but Malfoy ducked inside without hesitating. Harry followed and then spent a moment wrestling with nostalgia. The place where he had hung up practice brooms time and again was gone, covered in dust and debris. Sunlight highlighted the broken pieces of a broomstick and a scrap of leather with a rusted buckle attached, streaming down through large holes in what remained of the roof.
Malfoy’s nose wrinkled with distaste and Harry wondered if he saw memories or only dust. "All right, then. You were so eager to remove your clothes; let’s see it."
For a shocked moment, Harry thought "it" referred to something else, until he remembered the possible mark and the reason for their ducking into a more private place. He dropped his broom again and yanked his t-shirt over his head before he could change his mind. Malfoy’s eyes seemed to burn into him.
"See anything?" Harry asked and turned in a slow circle.
"Raise your arms."
Feeling self-conscious, Harry lifted his arms over his head and nearly shivered when Malfoy reached out to touch his skin beneath his left armpit. "There. Look."
Harry craned his neck and stared at the barely-visible, whitish design. He touched it and felt nothing unusual. Just skin. How could it have got there without him noticing? "You have the same thing?"
Malfoy nodded and Harry waited expectantly, hoping he didn’t look too eager. Malfoy hesitated and then began to unbutton his shirt. Harry tried not to appear too interested, but his mouth had gone dry and he couldn’t help but stare at every iota of pale flesh as it was revealed. Malfoy might never have seen sunlight, so white was his skin, but it suited him. He looked like a marble statue. Malfoy shrugged out of the shirt and held onto it with one hand—as Harry had; they were both unwilling to drop them onto the filthy floor. Malfoy turned slightly and lifted his arm. Harry stepped closer and bent to examine the mark. It looked like a Celtic knot of some sort.
Harry pressed his fingers to it and then met Malfoy’s eyes when he heard a startled sound. He swallowed hard and then practically pounced on Malfoy, smashing their lips together, marks forgotten. Kissing was so much better when it involved hands running over bare skin and fingers leaving gooseflesh and shivers of sensation behind. It almost seemed a contest with each of them trying to out-kiss and out-touch the other. Harry thought Malfoy might be winning, especially when he stepped backwards, pushed his hands into the waistband of Harry’s jeans, and dragged him into the vee of his legs. Their groins bumped together and Harry drew in a ragged breath, overcome and shaking. It was quite possibly better than anything, ever.
Harry made an experimental thrusting motion with his hips and his blood sang when Malfoy made a hoarse cry and raked his fingers over Harry’s back. "Again," Malfoy said breathily. Harry did it again, and reached down to grip Malfoy’s hips for better leverage. His cock pushed against Malfoy’s and the answering hardness was blissful. He frotted faster and faster, knowing he wouldn’t last long, hoping only that Malfoy came before he lost it. Malfoy would come; he had no doubt about that, judging by the gasping breaths, the matched jerking of his hips, and the fingers digging painfully into Harry’s skin. The wall shook from the force of their movements.
A cracking, splintering sound made Harry freeze and then he grabbed his wand from his back pocket and cast a hasty Shield Charm just as a section of the roof tumbled down upon them.
"Fuck," Harry said as a cloud of dust arose. He coughed.
"Not here, apparently," Malfoy said dryly.
Harry coughed harder, overwhelmed by the implications of Malfoy’s words. He stared, wide-eyed, into Malfoy’s half-lidded eyes. A lazy smile curved his lips. "Then where?" Harry asked, hardly able to believe he’d forced the question out.
"My dorm? You can fetch your cloak and meet me there. My dorm-mates are used to being locked out for certain stretches of time."
Harry’s flash of rage could not be mistaken for anything other than jealousy. "Are they?" he asked through teeth clenched so tightly it could probably be described as gnashing. Malfoy’s noncommittal humming sound did nothing to alleviate Harry’s surge of possessiveness. His fingers tightened on Malfoy’s hips.
"I bruise easily, Potter." He detached Harry’s fingers and stepped away. Harry’s gaze fell to Malfoy’s trousers and the bulge displayed with no apparent shame. He took a step closer, but Malfoy held up a warning finger. "I would rather not be buried in rubble, and it’s filthy in here. Meet me in my room and I’ll make it worth your while." With a wink, Malfoy Summoned his now-filthy shirt from the floor where it had fallen, shrugged into it, and slipped through the broken door. As he left he called, "The password is 'Asphodel'."
Harry waited a few minutes, heart pounding, and then snatched up his shirt and broom and followed. He didn’t bother to put his shirt on as he sprinted to Gryffindor tower to retrieve his cloak. He only paused long enough to wash his hands and face and comb wet fingers through his hair before snatching up a clean shirt and hurrying out. Halfway down the steps, he nearly stopped, overcome with nerves. Were they really going to do this? His steps slowed when he considered the fact that he was going into the snake’s den. What if Malfoy planned to humiliate him? He could have alerted his fellow Slytherins; they could be waiting to laugh at Harry for having a very inappropriate crush on one of their own. Despite Malfoy’s obvious enjoyment of their brief rendezvous, he doubtless had no feelings for Harry, beyond—hopefully—a bit of healthy lust.
"That’s all it is," Harry muttered to himself. "Just some casual attraction. It’s normal for boys to want to…to have sex. Just a harmless bit of fun." Despite his muttered pep talk, his gut churned at the thought of doing something so intimate without attached emotion. He wasn’t the sort to have meaningless flings, no matter how he might want to. And he most assuredly wanted to. He picked up his pace. Fine, I like him. More than he’ll ever like me. And if I’m only a notch on his bedpost, then so be it. It seemed an odd time for a revelation, but Harry supposed it was better late than never. But please, he begged silently, don’t let it be a joke.
Steeling himself, he put a hand on the entrance and spoke the password.
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
Two students lounging on the green sofa looked up when Harry walked in. He moved as quietly as possible and then stopped walking entirely, afraid they might hear his footsteps.
"What's that, then?" one asked.
"Dunno. Maybe they decided not to come in."
The first shrugged and went back to reading her book. The second looked through Harry for a moment longer and then lifted his wand and cast a spell at a mantle clock on the table before him. It transformed into a cuckoo clock and toppled over. The girl snickered. Harry pulled his invisibility cloak more tightly around himself and then studied the two archways that led from the room. Malfoy hadn't bothered to tell Harry how to find his room, damn the prat. Hoping that the planners of Hogwarts believed in consistency, he made his way to the left-hand doorway. He would likely be in trouble if it led to the girls' side.
The corridor was dark, lit only with dim green globes that floated overhead. To Harry's surprise, the first door he encountered in the gloomy corridor was labelled with a silvery plaque engraved with three names. BONN - MARCHFIELD - NOTT. Harry wondered if all of the doors were labelled; it would certainly make things easier for him. Apparently they were; the next two doors also held plaques, each with names Harry was unfamiliar with. The fourth door read MALFOY - WESTON - ZABINI. Harry turned the handle and found it unlocked. Three beds stood in a row in the small room, with two tall windows between. A school of dark fish swam lazily into view and then out again. Harry felt a flash of claustrophobia, remembering they were deep underground. If the windows should crack, the lake would rush in and flood the dungeons. How did the Slytherins sleep at night?
"Potter? Are you there?" The voice came from the right-most bed and pulled Harry's attention from the windows. Malfoy lay on the bed, just visible between the open curtains. The centre bed had curtains open all round; no one could be hiding there unless they had a cloak like Harry's, but the last bed…
Harry walked over and dragged back the curtains with a mighty tug. He half-expected to see a group of eager Slytherins hovering inside, waiting to leap out and ridicule Harry the moment he revealed himself. Instead, the bed was empty. Harry let out a half-breath of relief.
"So you are there. Perhaps you can take off the cloak?"
Harry walked back to Malfoy's bed and pulled back the hood. He pushed the cloak from his shoulders and looked down at Malfoy; only then did the enormity hit him. He was in Malfoy's room, and Malfoy was in bed. Where more kissing and…other things might happen. Harry's mouth went dry. "Hi," he said.
"Hi." Malfoy's smile was fleeting and his pose looked somewhat staged, as though he had arranged himself on his bed to look casual and relaxed, but something in the line of his body gave it away. The very thought that Malfoy might be as nervous as him relieved some of Harry's tension. With exaggerated ease, he tossed the invisibility cloak on the foot of the bed and walked forward to take the book from Malfoy's hands. A fancy-looking silver-embellished leather bookmark sat on the bed, so Harry dropped it into place and shut the book before placing it on the bedside table. Then he crawled onto the bed and placed his hands on either side of Malfoy before looking down at him with a grin that he hoped was predatory and not foolish-looking. "Where were we?"
Malfoy made a growling sound and pulled Harry into a kiss. The last of Harry's anxiety fluttered away like startled birds and he relaxed into the kiss, amazed at how much better it was on a bed, and in a more horizontal position, as if gravity itself approved.
"Salazar, the door," Malfoy murmured after a few minutes (during which they did nothing more than kiss, possibly both terrified to move beyond it, now that the moment had come). Malfoy grabbed up his wand and threw a Locking Spell at the door. Harry added one of his own, in case Zabini had learned to counter Malfoy's. They both set their wands aside and then Harry felt Malfoy tugging at his shirt.
"You smell like soap."
Harry hoped it was a good smell as he helped Malfoy to remove his shirt, hauling it up and over his head. His hair suffered for it, but he knew it was a lost cause anyway. Malfoy's hands touched Harry's torso, sliding over his ribs, grazing the new mark they both shared, and moving on to touch his nipples. Malfoy pinched one lightly, earning a quick intake of breath and then he dragged the fingers of one hand through the whorls on Harry’s chest.
"You’re so hairy."
"Well, that is my name."
Malfoy snickered and tugged at a bit of hair.
"Let’s see yours then, Mr Hairless."
Malfoy’s shirt was quickly removed and Harry slid his hand over Malfoy’s chest—if there was hair at all it was invisible—and then his fingertips touched and lingered over the remains of an old scar, faint but visible. "Forget it," Malfoy said roughly. "We’ve both got worse on the inside."
Harry gave him a sad smile and then bent to kiss the scar anyway, as mute apology that Malfoy might accept. He did so, hands curling in Harry’s hair. The problem was, once begun, Harry couldn’t stop. He kissed a path across Malfoy’s torso to his navel, where the scar ended, and then he discovered that Malfoy had hair, after all, invisible to the eye, but detectable to lips and tongue. He followed it, a delicate trail from navel to waistband, and then beneath, assisted by deft fingers and spurred on by breathless gasps.
"Fuck, Potter."
"That’s the idea, isn’t it?" Harry asked cheekily, and pulled at Malfoy’s trousers with trembling fingers. He was surprised at his own ability to come up with a flippant response, considering he was about to combust with nervousness and need. Malfoy groaned and lifted his hips. Harry tugged the trousers down over Malfoy’s long legs and tossed them aside. He had to remind himself to breathe because Malfoy was nearly naked now, sprawled on the bed with arms out, by all appearances at ease with Harry’s avid staring. He wore green boxers, not surprisingly. Harry wondered if he had donned them for the amusement value, or if he really preferred to wear his house colours at all times. The question flitted through his mind and was gone, lost in a deluge of wordless emotion generated by the sight of the bulge lifting the green silk. That was there because of him, Harry knew, and the knowledge was dizzying.
"Like what you see, Potter?" The words were casual, as though he’d uttered them a thousand times, but Harry sensed quiet insecurity beneath them, something Malfoy would likely rather die than admit. He wanted Harry’s approval, just as much as Harry wanted his, and that was more powerful an idea than even the knowledge that Malfoy wanted him.
"You’re bloody gorgeous and I'm quite sure you know it." Harry leaned down to kiss him again. They were getting very good at kissing, he noted, and spent a few minutes refreshing his grasp of what Malfoy liked his tongue to be doing in there.
Malfoy broke the kiss and shoved at him. "I think it’s time you reciprocated. Clothes off." He plucked at a fold of Harry’s jeans. Harry nodded, half undone by the kissing, and he stood up to shrug out of his jeans. He was thankful he preferred them loose, as they were relatively easy to remove. His boxers weren’t nearly as nice as Malfoy’s, made of cotton rather than silk, but they weren’t Gryffindor red, either. Harry had chosen blue, with a silver paisley pattern that he thought looked classy and, frankly, Malfoy-worthy.
Malfoy smirked, although whether in acknowledgement of the lack of red or for another reason, Harry didn’t ask, because Malfoy beckoned at him and Harry hopped back onto the bed. As soon as he was near enough, Malfoy’s hand touched his cock without hesitation. Harry’s nervous system nearly short-circuited—it was the first time anyone had felt him there. Despite their many hot and heavy snogging sessions, Ginny had never been bold enough for that, and now Harry was glad of it. Somehow it felt right, having Malfoy do it, although he wouldn’t have thought so a week ago, would have laughed himself silly at the incongruity.
Malfoy squeezed, and his thumb moved over the cotton. Harry groaned raggedly. It felt amazing. Utterly, brilliantly amazing. He wanted to share the sensation, and placed his palm over Malfoy’s erection. He fixed his gaze on Malfoy’s and his lips twitched in a smile when Malfoy's lashes fluttered shut. His lips opened and his hips moved, a mute request for Harry to explore. Harry did, sending questing fingers up and down the length of Malfoy’s shaft. The silk was soft and slippery and… in the damned way. Harry let go only enough to slip his hand down to Malfoy’s thigh and then up inside the pant leg, shoving the hem up and taking Malfoy’s naked cock in hand.
"Fuck," Malfoy murmured again, gasping a little as Harry marvelled at the feel of it. Velvet-soft and oh-so-different from his own. It was wondrous, really. Emboldened, Harry pulled at the silk with his other hand, easing the pants down and away. Malfoy kicked them off and then shifted his legs, encouraging Harry to park himself between them. He stared down at Malfoy, nude at last, and the most amazing sight of Harry's entire life.
"Yours," Malfoy said and for a moment Harry thought he'd died and gone to gift heaven, until Malfoy frowned and lifted his chin in an impatient gesture. "Yours, too."
He means the pants, idiot. Harry chastised himself and tried not to be disappointed. Lose the pants. He pushed them down and away and went immediately back to stroking Malfoy's cock; the few seconds he'd been forced away from it had seemed like ages—what if Malfoy changed his mind in that short time-frame? It could happen.
"Come closer." Malfoy's tone was imperious, but for once Harry didn't mind being ordered around by the git. He scooted up until his cock was lined up next to Malfoy's and the tops of his thighs pushed beneath his. The enormity of being naked with another man nearly overwhelmed him, until Malfoy grabbed his cock again and he stopped thinking entirely.
They stroked in unison for a time, matching the movement of their hands to avoid bumping fingers and thumbs. Harry stared unabashedly at Malfoy's body and felt only a slight blush staining his cheeks when he saw Malfoy doing the same.
Malfoy's lifted his wand in his left hand. "Accio lube!" A small bottle shook free of the bedside table drawer and sailed into his hand. Malfoy smiled and uncorked it before shaking several drops onto their cocks. Harry had to shut his eyes at the new sensation; slippery bliss. He bit his lip to keep from praising Malfoy for his brilliance. They resumed stroking and Harry knew he would be lucky to last much longer.
"Do you want me to…?"
"Yes. Bloody hell, yes, but… Fuck. We can't." Malfoy's words set a new fire raging in Harry's blood, right up until the last two.
"Wait… we can't?"
"It didn't occur to me right away, but now it has. We have no idea who hexed us with this bond, or why. If we… consummate it, we just might make it permanent."
Harry froze. "Permanent?"
"Yes, Potter, you dolt. I can't say I haven't been enjoying your newfound enthusiasm and apparent willingness to let our past history slide, but you can't tell me you want this to last forever."
Harry frowned and glanced down at their erect cocks, trying to will his sluggish mind into providing a downside.
"Not this! This!" Malfoy made an expansive, waving gesture between the two of them, obviously meant to encompass something bigger than the pornographic encounter they were in the midst of.
"Oh."
"Yes, oh. You… you don't, do you?" Malfoy looked uncertain for the first time and Harry slid his hand gently up Malfoy's cock to glide his thumb over the head. He wanted to erase the uncertainty and bring back the sexy expression he'd grown to appreciate.
"What if it's already permanent?" Harry asked.
Malfoy's eyes fluttered shut. "Merlin, I can't think when you're doing that."
"Hmmm. Perhaps you're thinking too much, then. Can't be good for you." Harry bit his lip and set to with renewed determination. It was fine if they daren't go any farther than they currently were; Harry was perfectly fine with pulling Malfoy off with his hands and… He caught his breath.
Malfoy's eyes opened at Harry's gasp and then he levered himself onto his elbows with an oath when Harry moved down and took his cock into his mouth. Harry gazed up, enjoying Malfoy's astonished expression before Malfoy collapsed onto his back again. "Merlin, Salazar, and Merlin," Malfoy babbled and then his fingers tangled in Harry's hair, gently. "Potter, you are a surprise." Harry hummed agreement and judging by Malfoy's reaction, he seemed to like it, so Harry did it again. Then he hollowed his cheeks and sucked. He had expected the lubricant to be tasteless, but to his appreciation it was fruity. Something tropical, possibly, although Harry was far too busy to bother with categorising it. His gag reflex was a bitch, but Harry found that if he concentrated on the huffing and whimpering sounds Malfoy made, it was easier to ignore. Malfoy's hand in his hair, alternately clenching and relaxing, helped also.
"Fuck. Oh fuck, Harry, I'm going—"
That was Harry's only warning. He braced himself and tried to take Malfoy even deeper. He held Malfoy's hips tightly and felt immense satisfaction at the vibrations thrumming beneath his fingertips and in his mouth. Malfoy must have had one hell of an orgasm, judging by the tremors and his ragged, wordless cry.
Harry pulled away slowly and didn't bother to hide his smirk of satisfaction. Malfoy's hand fell away from his hair, taking only a couple of strands with it.
"Where the hell did you learn that?" Malfoy's tone was sharp, accusatory.
Harry laughed. "Not from practice, I assure you, but I will admit to having spent many a long, lonely night imagining the things I'd like done to me. Vivid imagination and willingness to give it a go leads to… success?"
Malfoy sighed, but he seemed to relax. "Naturally bloody gifted at everything," he muttered.
"Then you did enjoy it." Harry's grin returned.
"You were fucking brilliant, all right? Better than… well, anyone, so far."
Harry's grin fled and he barely bit back the urge to demand to know better than whom, exactly and so far? The intensity of his jealous rage surprised him. Maybe it was already too late; maybe the bond was already permanent.
"Except possibly me," Malfoy said and shoved Harry onto his back with a swift move. Harry had only a moment to blink up at him before Malfoy's hot, hot mouth covered his cock. Harry forgot to think after that, or he simply couldn't manage it through the cadence of oh god that seemed to be on permanent repeat, broken only by utterances of hissed "yes" and occasional wordless moans. It didn't take long. Malfoy's tongue was a marvel and his sucking ability could put a Muggle hoover to shame. He tried to warn Malfoy and made it only to, "Oh—!" before he was coming in Malfoy's mouth, so thoroughly he wondered if he'd be able to move at all afterwards.
Malfoy pushed himself up to flop next to him. They both stared at the ceiling for long moments, breathing hard and saying nothing. Harry had to bite his lip to keep from babbling nonsensical things like thanks and please, please can we do that again?
"I suppose we should try harder to determine the source of the hex," Malfoy said finally.
"Harder," Harry said emphatically. And then he snickered.
Malfoy's palm smacked against his chest. It stung. "Merlin, Potter, are you fucking twelve?"
Harry could only smile, because Malfoy pushed himself up and looked down at him, and his expression could only be considered fond, something Harry never expected to see from Malfoy. Not ever.
"Idiot," Malfoy said and kissed him. They snogged for long, long minutes, until Harry was half-hard again, but then Malfoy kicked him out, insisting that Zabini and the mysterious Weston would not take kindly to being locked out all afternoon. Harry put his clothes back on and shared one more sweet kiss with Malfoy before hiding himself beneath the invisibility cloak.
He slunk through the open door and out of the Slytherin common room without anyone the wiser. It wasn't until he was safely back in his Gryffindor dormitory that he realised Malfoy had called him Harry, just once.
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
Hermione slammed a huge book down on the table. Harry waved at the resulting dust cloud and gave her a frown, but she had already cracked the cover and was flipping through pages.
"I think I found it. Your matching marks were the key. I had to find one with sigils that could be made without the victims being aware. Many of the other curses require blood or something more permanent, like a brand or a tattoo…" She trailed off, probably thinking about the Dark Mark, as Harry was. She coughed. "Anyway, thankfully, this was a much milder spell, although I'm not quite certain of the intent. It was originally created as a sort of Compatibility Charm. It was used as a party game during the Renaissance. Can you imagine?"
"Not really, no, since I don't know what it does."
Ron snickered and then grinned when Hermione shot him a glare. "I'm getting to that. What the spell does is bind two people together and then enhances whatever emotions they feel towards one another. It's a gradual process, apparently, and was designed to test whether or not one’s chosen paramour felt more amorous or more revolted towards one another. The two persons were required by the spell to touch every so often, and each touch strengthened the bond and brought the relevant emotions to the forefront."
"Blimey! It's a wonder you and Malfoy haven't killed each other by now. What happens if hate is the primary emotion? Do you think that's why someone cast it on them?"
Harry felt a blush creeping into his face. Apparently the primary emotion felt by both he and Malfoy towards one another had not been hate. He never would have guessed the reality prior to the spell.
Hermione said nothing; she merely stared at Ron and lifted a brow. After a moment, Ron groaned and clapped a hand to his forehead. "Oh, bloody hell. You kissed him. Don't even tell me… No, don't tell me! I'm going to go upstairs, dig that Firewhiskey out of my trunk, and set to."
"No, you are not. You are going to stay here and help me to determine why someone would cast this spell on Harry and Draco. The question is, did they expect you to have… gentler… feelings for one another, or did they expect you to start hexing out of enhanced rage?"
Ron groaned. "Oh, Merlin, and that means Malfoy kissed you back. There was mutual kissing. I might be sick."
"Ron, please don’t tell me you are homophobic." Hermione’s tone was disapproving.
"’Course not. I’m Mal-phobic. It’s Malfoy." Ron paused and his eyes widened. "Does Ginny know?"
Harry’s blush deepened. "She knows about the spell, but…"
"But not about the kissing and the gay thing?"
Harry shook his head. Ron crossed his arms and sat back with a roll of his eyes. "Good luck with that, mate."
"Yeah."
"Never mind that. Now, let’s make a list of everyone who might have hexed you and when they would have had the opportunity. There is a limited time until activation, so it has to be someone here at Hogwarts…"
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
Harry’s guilt—and Ron’s disapproval—led him to seek out Ginny the next morning. He found her at breakfast and she nodded when Harry asked to have a word with her. His gaze shifted to Malfoy, who met his stare for long minutes. He gave Harry a curt nod that gave Harry a twinge, since he couldn’t fathom its meaning, and went back to his conversation with Parkinson. She gave Harry a much more pointed stare, as if goading him into action.
"I’m taking action," he muttered and stuffed a piece of bacon in his mouth.
Ginny followed him out of the Great Hall and Harry ignored the stares of curious onlookers. They walked towards the Quidditch pitch. Ginny had her broom in hand, obviously intending to get some flying practice in before her first class.
"Has Hermione figured out how to break the spell?" she asked.
"Well, she figured out which spell it was."
"Of course she did." Ginny smiled, possibly to ease the sting of her tone. Harry wondered if she was jealous of Hermione’s abilities, the same as she had always envied Hermione’s status in Harry’s life. He sighed; she wasn’t making this any easier on him.
"It’s a Bonding Spell. The thing is, the spell apparently enhances whatever latent emotions the bonded pair feel for each other."
Ginny kicked at a stone on the path and watched as it tumbled into a path of gorse. "So, what’s the problem? You and Malfoy hate each other, so as long as you don’t come to blows…"
Harry tugged at his hair. He cleared his throat. "As it turns out, we don’t."
"You don’t what?"
"We don’t hate each other."
Ginny faced him, eyes narrowed. "And?"
"We might actually… like each other. A bit. Well, a lot." Harry swallowed and looked away. Confessing attraction to another bloke was difficult enough without having to do so to one’s former girlfriend.
"Are you saying you have a thing… for Malfoy?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah. I’m attracted to him. And it seems to be, well, mutual."
Her fists clenched around the handle of her broom. "It’s the spell."
"No, the spell just enhanced—"
"I don’t believe it! That bastard cursed you and now you think you’re in love with him, or something."
Harry frowned. She was taking it much worse than he’d expected. "Look, Gin—"
"No, you look. Malfoy hexed you and he’s going to undo it if it’s the last bloody thing he does. I’m going to make sure of it." She swung a leg over her broom.
"Wait, Gin, what are you doing?"
"Don’t worry, Harry. He can’t get away with this." Before Harry could stop her, she rose into the air and shot back towards the castle.
"Shit," Harry said and broke into a run.
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
Malfoy was not in the Great Hall when Harry returned. He debated checking the Slytherin dungeon, but doubted the resident Slytherins would take kindly to him bursting in without his cloak. And Malfoy would be safe there, anyway, if he was inside. Instead, Harry ran to Gryffindor Tower to retrieve the Marauder’s Map. He was wheezing with exertion as he yanked out the parchment. "I solemnly swear…" He gasped for breath. "…that I am up… to no good." The map appeared and he concentrated hard on searching out Malfoy. To his relief, Malfoy’s dot showed him outside near the lake. Ginny’s dot was nowhere near him, although Pansy Parkinson’s was. Harry pushed aside a pang of jealousy. He had no time for that now.
Harry stuffed the map into a pocket of his robes before hurrying out. Ron was just coming into the common room, chewing on a handful of toast. "Hey, mate—"
"I told Ginny and she didn’t take it well. I think she’s going to hex Malfoy. I have to warn him."
Before Ron could reply, Harry shoved through the portrait hole and pelted down the stairs, pausing to look at the map. Malfoy hadn’t moved; he was still next to the lake with Parkinson. Harry looked for Ginny and found her in front of the Slytherin common room, probably banging on the door and demanding admittance. Hopefully the occupants would take their sweet time getting to her. Harry took the stairs two at a time and then a shortcut through a side door that would get him outside faster. By the time he reached the lake, Parkinson was nowhere in sight and Malfoy was… destroying things. Harry slowed his approach and watched as Malfoy Transfigured something into a sparkling glass vase, tossed it into the air, and then blasted it into shards with a snarled, "Reducto!"
Harry swallowed, hoping Malfoy's rage wouldn't spill over in his direction.
A gleaming blue bowl met the same fate as the vase, and then a faceted goblet that Harry liked so well he nearly jumped forward and rescued it, except that Malfoy tossed it into the air too quickly. As the twinkling bits of glass fell to the ground, Harry ventured, "Draco?"
Malfoy spun around with something clenched in his fist. He relaxed after a tense moment. "It's you. Of course it's you." He sighed and tapped at the object in his hand. It turned into a delicate-looking glass candlestick, tinted red. "It will save me a trip to find you, I suppose." He made as if to throw the candlestick and Harry bounded forward and grabbed it.
"This is… really nice. Can I have it?"
Malfoy blinked at him and then released it with a shrug of his shoulders. "It's just a stone." He bent down to pick up a tiny pebble from the ground.
"Why are you smashing things?" Harry asked as he felt the smooth edges of the candlestick.
"Because I am angry at a certain person for meddling in my life." Malfoy tapped the pebble and it turned into a teacup, complete with a pink and green floral pattern and a golden edge. A flick of his wrist sent it into the air where a spell demolished it. Harry ducked to avoid the splinters. Malfoy's Transfiguration skills were phenomenal.
"Who?"
"Pansy. I might as well tell you, since Granger will probably figure it out, eventually, but Pansy cast the spell on us. The Bonding Spell."
Harry looked up from admiring the candlestick in his hand. "What? Parkinson?"
"Unless you know another Pansy, of course Parkinson."
"But why?"
Malfoy looked away and walked down the shore some, eyes scanning the ground. He bent down to pick up a suitable pebble. "To torture me, I suppose. How does it feel to be under the influence of a Love Charm, Potter?"
Harry shook his head. Hermione had said nothing about the spell being a Love Charm. In fact— Harry was distracted by a whistling noise and he turned to see Ginny hurtling towards them on her broom. "Oh damn."
"Apparently someone else isn't too happy about it," Draco said dryly and then Ginny leaped off her broom, wand in hand, and marched forward.
"Malfoy! Get away from Harry! Haven't you done enough damage?"
"Ginny, stop it. Draco isn't at fault here."
"You don't know any better right now, Harry. You're under the influence of a curse. A curse that Malfoy is going to reverse right now if he values his face."
Harry raised a hand. "Ginny, seriously. This has nothing to do with you."
She turned her angry stare on him. "Nothing to do with me?"
"We broke up more than a year ago!"
"We never broke up! We were simply taking a… a sabbatical! We were always meant to get back together once that You-Know-Who business was taken care of!"
"Look, I know that was the original plan, but things have changed." Harry dragged a frustrated hand through his hair. He didn't really want to air his and Ginny's dirty laundry in front of Malfoy.
"Things have changed because of him!" Her wand was up again and pointing at Malfoy. "Take the curse off, Malfoy!"
Harry didn’t need to turn about to know that Malfoy was rolling his eyes. "I see six years of education haven’t done anything to increase your mental acuity, girl-Weasel."
With a snarl of rage, Ginny drew back her wand, probably intending to let a hex fly. Harry’s wand was in his hand in a blink. "Expelliarmus!"
Ginny’s wand snapped into his hand and she gave him an outraged stare. "Harry, give that back. You don’t know what you’re doing."
"I know perfectly well what I’m doing! You and I are going to go and talk with Headmistress McGonagall right now before you do something that will get you expelled." He glanced over his shoulder at Draco—Malfoy—Draco—oh, Merlin. "I’ll be back to talk with you."
"Whatever, Potter." He picked up another pebble and turned it into a salt cellar.
Harry turned back to Ginny and gestured with both wands and the red candlestick he still held. "Let’s go."
"Fine. I’m sure the Headmistress will see things my way." Ginny turned and flounced back in the direction of the castle. Harry followed and heard the crash and tinkle of breaking glass behind him.
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
Forty minutes later, Harry was still in McGonagall’s office. He had finally snapped and shouted, "I am not under a Love Charm and we are never getting back together because I am gay!" but even that hadn’t been able to penetrate Ginny’s wall of denial. Her insistence that Harry was under the influence of a Love Charm had forced Harry to explain, with a bit of judicious omission, pretending that he had no knowledge of the caster. McGonagall had sighed heavily and tried to satisfy Ginny’s demands with some detection spells, finally pronouncing Harry free from any amorous hexes.
The resultant storm of tears and shouted recriminations had been exhausting and McGonagall had sent for Madam Pomfrey to give Ginny a potion to calm her down. Once the hysteria had subsided, Ginny had agreed to seclude herself in her room and Pomfrey had escorted her to Gryffindor Tower. Harry felt like a complete heel, but there was nothing he could do to change his feelings. McGonagall had said little, simply providing him with a bracing cup of tea and several chocolate biscuits.
"You don’t think I led her on, do you?" Harry asked, thinking of Malfoy when the teacup clinked against the saucer. He wondered how many other hapless dishes had met their end.
"Mr Potter, the teenaged years are often a tumultuous time when emotions are extreme and hormones run amok. Changes in feelings and desires are quite common and cannot be turned on and off like valves, they can only be examined for durability. What you once felt for Miss Weasley was correct for you at the time, but if your feelings for Mr Malfoy are genuine, you can only deny them at the peril of your emotional well-being. In the long run, acceptance of who we are can prevent more problems than it can avoid. Once Miss Weasley accepts the reality of the situation, she will fare better and let go of her fantasies, difficult as that might seem to her right now. In the meantime, of course, I will keep an eye on her and make certain she does not take further rash action."
Harry nodded. "Thank you."
"Now, perhaps you should go and find Mr Malfoy before he causes injury to our younger students by showering the school grounds with glass and broken pottery."
"I will. And thank you again, Professor."
"Never a dull moment, Mr Potter."
Harry had barely exited the office when he ran smack-dab into Ron.
"Harry! What’s going on? Pomfrey came into the common room with Ginny and she was sobbing like someone had killed her favourite puffskein. Pomfrey told me to talk to you and then took her to her room."
Harry gripped Ron on the shoulder. "I hate to put it to you this way, mate, but your sister and I will never be an item."
"Well, I figured that much when you weren’t exactly eager to get back with her and spent half your time at the Burrow avoiding her by practicing Quidditch moves or playing Exploding Snap with me. And now—"
"I think I’m in love with Draco Malfoy."
Ron clapped his hands over his ears. "Can we just pretend you never said that last bit?"
Harry chuckled. "Yeah, okay, but it might be kind of obvious if he and I start snogging in the halls or groping one another out of doors and whatnot."
"La la la la, I can’t hear you."
Harry grabbed Ron’s wrists and pulled his hands away. "Ron, I’m serious."
Ron scowled. "I’ll deal with that when the time comes, yeah? It’s going to take me some time to get used to it. Merlin, of all people. Surely there are other blokes in this school that would be more acceptable?"
"I think it’s always been him," Harry admitted, acknowledging it for the first time.
Ron huffed an explosive sigh. "I guess. But if he’s an arse to me, I’m going to be an arse right back."
"I suppose that’s fair. I’m going to go find him now, okay?"
"Fine. I think I’ll go and shout at Hermione. That always makes me feel better."
"I’ll warn her if I see her."
"Won’t matter. She always wins."
Harry laughed and headed down the stairs, pulling out the map to look for Draco again.
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
It took Harry some time to find him as he was no longer at the lake. Several minutes of perusing the map finally led him to spy Draco near the ruined Room of Requirement. Harry wondered what he was doing all the way up on the seventh floor. Had he been looking for Harry? Shaking off the thought, Harry started off. On the way there, he spotted Pansy Parkinson walking with a group of Slytherin girls. Harry yelled and beckoned to her. For a moment, he thought she would ignore him completely, but then she shrugged and walked over.
"Why did you tell Draco it was a Love Charm? And why did you cast it in the first place? Why me?"
Parkinson glared at him and flipped her black hair out of her face. "Why should I tell you?"
"Because you if don’t I’ll have no reason not to mention it to the Headmistress. Maybe she could get some answers."
"I’m not afraid of McGonagall."
Harry refrained from rolling his eyes and pointing out that she was obviously stupid, if that were the case. And he doubted she wanted to be expelled, despite her bravado. He shrugged. "All right, then." He turned to leave, but she caught his sleeve.
"If you must know, Draco was being an arse. All he ever talked about was you, about how he hated the sight of your face and couldn’t stand the way you paraded around as if you owned the world."
"So you… bonded him to me?"
"You probably know what the spell does by now. I expected Granger to find it much quicker, honestly."
"I know it’s no Love Charm."
She smirked. "Apparently it is. I expected it to enhance Draco’s hatred of you, and hopefully goad him into doing something—anything—as long as it stopped him constantly moaning about you. I thought you two would hex each other and get stuck with detention before Granger found the answer. I didn’t expect your animosity to be a front for… other things."
"Neither did we."
"Funny how that worked out."
"Yeah, funny. It doesn’t explain why Draco thinks I’m under the influence of a Love Spell."
She shrugged. "He was yelling at me and I saw no reason to make it easy on either of you. Frankly, you both deserve each other. You can thank me later. If you don’t kill one another, that is." With that, she turned and re-joined her friends before flouncing down the steps. Harry shook his head. Parkinson was perfectly awful, but without her evil interference, he probably would never have figured out his real feelings. He made a note to send her something nice if he managed to work things out with Draco. If nothing else, she might die of shock, which would be all right, too.
When Harry finally found him, Draco was seated on one of the stair risers near the corridor that led to the Room of Requirement. Harry had been past the place a number of times, but no matter how hard he concentrated a door never appeared. Harry flung himself down next to Draco, who said nothing, but at least he didn't jump to his feet and attempt to escape. Harry waited for a few awkward moments and then glanced at him sidelong. "Fancy meeting you here."
"I came to see if I could get into the Room of Hidden Things, although that might seem macabre. I think about it sometimes. I still wonder why you saved us. After we tried to kill you, and all."
"You never tried to kill me. You even saved me, once." Harry allowed his mind to drift, just for a moment, back to that horrible time when the Snatchers had dragged him into Malfoy Manor to face the Malfoys, and Bellatrix. It seemed a lifetime ago. He shrugged. "It might be a little macabre, but I understand."
Draco flicked a bit of lint from his trouser leg. "Has your ginger girlfriend been contained?"
"She’s not my girlfriend and yeah, we had a talk."
Draco made a noncommittal sound and tapped his wand against his hand. It was much lighter wood than his other wand had been, the wand that resided permanently in the bottom of Harry’s trunk. This one had a delicate grain and a sculpted handle inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Somehow it made Draco seem friendlier than the dark solidity of the hawthorn had. Harry wondered if a wand was a reflection of a wizard’s personality, and if it meant Draco had changed. He smiled sardonically at the thought. Of course he had changed; they all had.
"You must have made Parkinson pretty angry," Harry said, sensing that Draco was about to make a snide comment. Harry would rather not get into a sniping war. Not now.
"Sometimes I think that angry is Pansy’s natural state."
"It was still pretty cruel of her to lie to you about the spell."
"Lie?" His grey eyes fixed on Harry and narrowed.
"About it being a Love Charm. It wasn’t."
"Of course it was. You felt it. Otherwise—"
Harry shook his head. "No. Everything we felt was already there. We can’t blame it on any curse and you can’t wish it all away by insisting it was magical."
"You aren’t making sense."
"How long has it been since we were required to touch one another? Have you felt any…" Harry gestured towards his abdomen and then motioned at Draco, "pull? Because I haven't."
Draco’s eyes widened and Harry nodded with a satisfied smirk. He straightened and dragged his shirt off with a swift motion. "The spell wore off. It was a Compatibility Charm with a limited effective period. So you see, there was no deep and abiding Love Spell, no falsified emotions, and no charm-induced lifelong commitment. And yet… here we are."
Draco stared at the spot on Harry’s ribcage where the mark had once resided. His skin was back to normal, unblemished. "That bitch!" he murmured.
Harry chuckled. "Well, I wouldn’t call her that to her face, but…"
"Salazar! Then that means…"
"Yeah. Apparently we really do want to shag each other senseless. The spell just made it obvious."
Draco blinked at him. "That’s… not possible."
Harry leaned closer, broaching Draco’s personal space and staring into his eyes. "No? That’s odd. Then perhaps it’s another maddening blond I’m hopelessly obsessed with. I suppose I should go and look for—" Harry’s words were silenced by Draco’s mouth. Harry made a satisfied sound and pressed closer, throwing himself into the kiss and wrapping himself around Draco. As they snogged, Draco’s hands slid over Harry’s bare skin. He remembered their time together in Draco’s room and cursed the anti-Apparition wards; he would happily have taken them straight to Draco's bed. Draco pulled away, eyes wide, but Harry dragged him back into a kiss. A group of students passed by and Harry heard whistles, murmured conversation, and a gasp or two, but he didn't care. All he wanted was to keep kissing Draco. Let them go to the papers.
"We… we should…" Draco tried at one point.
"We should go to your room and shag?" Harry finished. Draco nodded emphatically and Harry stood, pulling him to his feet so quickly they nearly overbalanced and tumbled down the stairs. "I hope your bloody roommates are out."
They hurried to the Slytherin dorm and Draco did not even bother to hide him as they hurried past several shocked-looking Slytherin students. In Draco's dorm room, Blaise Zabini lounged on his bed, reading a book. His jaw gaped open when Draco and Harry entered.
"Get out, Blaise. Potter and I are going to have sex."
Harry’s cheeks flamed and Zabini’s brows climbed towards the ceiling. Harry made a mental note to have a chat with Draco about possibly being less blunt.
Blaise got to his feet. "Is this a private party, or can anyone join?"
Harry gaped at him, but Draco only sneered. "Private. Now get out!"
Zabini sighed and picked up his book. "Fine. But if you change your mind…" He leered at Harry, waved, and went out. A number of Locking Spells hit the door when it closed behind him.
"Is he always so—?" Harry began, but his words were forgotten as Draco pounced on him and savaged his lips with bruising kisses.
"Clothes off."
Harry might have bristled at Draco's imperious tone, but it was a smart idea so he simply obeyed with alacrity. Draco did the same and it became a race to see who could get naked the quickest. Harry won, but only because he was already shirtless and jeans were easier to remove than fancy pure-blood quality trousers. Their hands were reaching for one another's cocks before the last garment hit the floor and then they were kissing again, just before they tumbled onto the bed. It was even better than last time, less awkward, as though Harry's admission had cracked the wall of ice that Draco had built around himself.
They spent little time on foreplay. The atmosphere was electric and they both seemed to sense that they were crossing a bridge from which there would be no return. Harry could feel Draco's nervousness, and tried to reassure him the way that seemed more effective, with his hands and his mouth. He touched Draco everywhere, trying to express his feelings.
"Potter…"
"Harry."
"…Harry."
A huge smile stretched Harry's lips and Draco groaned. Harry chuckled. "It's not that bad."
"It's dreadful. We—"
Harry silenced him with a kiss. "Stop it. You know it's not dreadful. It makes perfect sense. We've been dancing around one another since we were eleven years old. I've spent nearly half of my life watching you."
"And hating what you saw."
"Maybe then. But not now."
"But what if—?"
"Draco," Harry said sternly and kissed him. He kept kissing him until Draco went soft and pliant beneath him. Harry smiled down at him. "It might have taken the silly spell to open my eyes, but they are open now. They are open and all they see is you." Draco rolled his eyes, but the blush staining his cheeks spoke more clearly than his attempt to ignore Harry's words, and then he bit his lip and Summoned the lube from the drawer.
"I suppose this means we are boyfriends," Draco said sardonically as Harry uncapped the bottle.
"You bet your sweet, perfect arse it does," Harry replied and generously coated his cock with the slick lubricant. "And I'll go Boy-Who-Lived on anyone who has a problem with that."
Draco grinned at that and then began to chuckle. After a moment, his chuckles became a full chest-rumbling laugh that screwed with Harry's attempts to get lube on all the right surfaces. "Merlin, that was pathetic."
"Shut up. You know it was badass."
"Badass? Really? I think you—"
"I'm going to fuck you now, Draco," Harry said and pushed a lube-coated finger into a place guaranteed to silence his new boyfriend. It worked admirably. Whatever Draco had been about to say died away with a choked gurgle. His fingers dug into the blankets and he moved several inches closer to the headboard. Harry kissed him to make up for the intrusion. "Are you okay with this?" he asked to be certain. Draco nodded and canted his hips, pushing Harry's finger a bit deeper. Harry had to remind himself to breathe. He had planned to prepare Draco the way the books had taught him, studied after everyone had gone to sleep the previous night. (He'd found them on his bed, wrapped in brown paper. How the bloody hell did Hermione always know everything?) But Draco had other ideas.
"Bugger that. Just put it in, Potter. Harry. I'm past ready."
Harry nodded and removed his fingers before steadying his cock and lubing it once more. He quelled a sudden burst of nervousness, knowing Draco was just as uncertain. This was new ground for both of them, but at least they were facing it together. Merlin, we're really doing this, Harry thought in awe. In another second I'll no longer be a virgin. Harry took a deep breath and pushed in. Draco made a sound of discomfort and Harry stopped immediately, but Draco shook his head and his fingers tightened on Harry's arms. Harry's heart was pounding. He had thought nothing could be better than a blow job, but he'd been wrong. Not that this was necessarily better, just different. Different good. Different very good.
Realising his thoughts were turning into another witless jumble, he focussed on Draco, whose erection had flagged slightly. Harry concentrated on that for a minute, stroking Draco back to hardness while closing his eyes at the brilliance of being deep inside of him. The task helped to stave off his own imminent orgasm, as did another bout of kissing.
"You can move, Potter. I'm not going to break."
Harry nodded without acknowledging Draco's attempt at levity and then began to move. Draco made encouraging sounds and it didn't take long to find an exquisite, rapid rhythm that Draco seemed to enjoy as much as Harry, judging by the breathy whispers of encouragement.
When Draco came, it was unexpected, and so erotic that Harry had to stop moving in order to watch. He quickly picked up the pace again, but the pearlescent liquid gleaming on Draco's abdomen was mesmerising. He surprised himself by wanting to taste it. Oh god, he thought, I'm a deviant! And then he came, shooting his release into Draco and shouting aloud at the force of it.
"Merlin, Potter. You should have warned me you'd be a screamer. I would have put up a Silencing Spell. No doubt the rest of Slytherin house enjoyed that."
Harry fell atop Draco and then rolled over to lie next to him, too sated and contented to care. He gave Draco a half-grin. "Good. Maybe they'll know to keep their hands off."
"I see. Getting possessive, are we?"
"Well, since I can't rely on a silly bonding spell to make you mine, I'll just have to do it myself."
Draco snorted, but his expression was anything but sardonic as he rolled over and attacked Harry with his mouth. And thus began round two.
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
Three weeks later, Harry was flying high above the Quidditch stands, keeping a close eye on Bonnie as she watched for the Snitch. Harry couldn't play, but he'd be damned if he'd sit on his hands in the stands when his teammates were in the air. They all looked so young and Quidditch was a dangerous game. He chuckled to himself and wondered when he'd got so old. He wiped his brow with the back of his arm. It was an unseasonably hot day and he hoped the match would end soon so that he could take his ancient bones back into the castle for a cold drink.
Hufflepuff scored again—their Chasers were bloody fast. Bonnie would have to find the Snitch soon or the game would be lost. Harry bit his lip when he spotted it. He daren't so much as gesture, but to his relief she angled her broom and shot towards it like an arrow. The Hufflepuff Seeker was below her and he put on a burst of speed, trying to reach it before her.
"Junior! Junior! Junior!" the Gryffindors chanted and Harry shook his head. He loved all of those idiots, and the stands erupted in cheers and shouts when Bonnie's hand closed on the Snitch. She'd done it! Harry's gaze went straight to the Slytherin stands and picked out a head of blond hair that had pulled his attention time and again. Draco was talking to Zabini and hadn't seemed to have even noticed the game had been won. Harry sighed and shook his head as he turned his broom and went to congratulate the Gryffindor team.
It was even warmer on the ground and someone had cast a Sprinkler Charm on the pitch. Water sprayed in a glittering spiral, drenching the players that danced beneath it. Harry joined them with a laugh and dragged off his shirt. The cool water felt lovely.
"Hey, Harry! Nice tattoo." Neville's voice carried and several people began to whisper and point.
Harry grinned. "Thanks, Neville. It's less a tattoo and more of a… mark of ownership."
"And don't you forget it."
Harry turned at the sound of Draco's voice and fairly launched himself at his boyfriend. He stood beneath an Umbrella Charm, of course; Merlin forbid he get his hair wet. Harry pressed his wet body closer, intending to make Draco as damp as possible.
"Get a room!" Ginny yelled.
Harry pulled away from Draco and looked at her, but she was smiling and gave him a tentative thumbs-up. Things had been tense between them recently, but now they seemed to be looking up. Harry beamed at her.
"For once, a Weasley has a good idea. Let's go to your room and renew our bond."
Harry touched the spot on Draco's ribs where the tattoo that matched his own resided. They had got them in Hogsmeade the prior weekend on a whim. The tattoos mimicked the design of the original bond that Parkinson had cast, a permanent thanks to that happy not-quite-accident. He nodded. "We should do that, yeah. We don't want it to wear off, do we?" Harry swung a leg over his broom and pulled Draco on behind him. They could get there faster by flying. "Don't hurry back, Ron!"
"I hate you both!" Ron shouted.
Harry laughed aloud as they sped across the grounds. Draco's arms were wrapped tightly around him and his lips nuzzled at Harry's nape. He could hardly wait to get Draco's clothes off and trace the tattoo with his lips.
After all, if a Bonding Charm ever wore off, it was simple to make your own.
With love.