Chapter Text
During the second week of school, when Draco heard that Harry had earned another week of detention with Professor Umbridge, Draco invented an excuse to escape the Slytherin common room so that he could patrol the main stairway and second floor for as long as he could. He convinced Crabbe and Goyle that he was taking on extra duties for Professor Umbridge, to get on her good side and perform even better this year, hopefully knocking Hermione Granger off her pedestal of overachievement.
When Harry emerged from Professor Umbridge’s office, he spotted Draco pacing toward him in the hall and braced himself for the harsh onslaught he expected to inevitably come crashing down on him. “Heard I got hit with more detention?” Harry said, bristling when Draco smirked at him in welcome.
“The whole school knows about your little war with Professor Umbridge,” Draco taunted.
“Thanks to you, no doubt.” Harry cast him a dirty look, then started to walk past him.
“I was just wondering, Potter,” Draco said, whirling smoothly around as Harry made sure not to brush shoulders with him this time, “is it too late for us to talk?”
Harry slowed to a halt. He glared back at Draco, concealing the hope that had just filled him. “It’s too late for anything right now.”
Harry knew that Draco’s question referred to the conversation they had had at the top of the Astronomy Tower after their first real date by the Great Lake. He had been keeping score of all the hints and flirtatious insults that had passed between them over the past several days and was feeling giddy about all of it, but he was still very much on the defensive. Draco had clearly drawn his boundaries over the summer, even though he seemed to be crossing those boundaries quite often in a confusing way, and Harry did not want to pretend that the door was open to him if it was not.
Draco surveyed him with a searching look. Harry turned to leave, and Draco stammered. “Potter.”
Harry stopped again, feeling impatient this time. “What?”
“You’re out of your mind if you think standing up to her is going to do anything.” Draco braced himself, hoping that Harry would take the bait.
“Where’s your girlfriend, Malfoy?” Harry asked bitingly.
“Asleep. Where the hell else would she be?”
“Oh, I don’t know. In the prefects’ bathroom getting shagged by you, but I guess you haven’t figured out how not to throw up on her yet.”
Annoyed at that, Draco gave Harry a shove so that Harry’s back collided with the stone wall behind him. “Think you’re funny, do you?”
Harry shrugged. “Not really. Just tired is all, and bloody sick of running into you.”
“I’m a prefect now, Potter,” Draco reminded him slowly.
“I get it, Malfoy.” Harry scowled. “You’re bigger, badder, and better, isn’t that right? You can take points away from me, assign me detentions, and probably punish me in other ways—”
“Oh, absolutely.” A smile broke out over Draco’s face.
“But it’s not fair if you threaten to take points, but then don’t give me the chance to do what you want.”
Harry made as if to slip past him, but Draco shoved him firmly against the wall again and held him there.
“I can also give points, you know,” Draco whispered secretively, making Harry furrow his brow at him curiously. “So, Potter… why don’t you show me some respect? And not with sarcasm anymore, but let me really see you act like a good boy… I know you have it in you.”
Harry lowered his gaze, feeling heat rush into his cheeks. “You’d never give me any points…”
“Wouldn’t I?” Draco stepped closer, lessening the pressure on Harry’s chest.
“Obviously not. But I’m sure you’d love to see me grovel.”
Draco co*cked his head slightly to one side. “You’re a naughty boy, Potter, which is just as good to me as far as I care. But you avoid doing anything bad around me, so I can’t punish you. It’s not fair.”
“Are you dying to punish me that badly?” Harry looked up at him. An odd tingling sensation shot through his wrists.
“Yes,” Draco said bluntly, and Harry froze at the starved look in Draco’s eyes. “Seven hours of detention every night for two weeks is a bit much, but Merlin knows you deserve it, and much more.”
“You’re infuriating… The way you help Umbridge sink her grubby talons into everything—saying horrible things about Hagrid while she evaluated Grubbly-Plank—as if Dumbledore doesn’t think he earned that post.”
Draco lowered his voice while casting a quick glance at Umbridge’s door. “She’s a right old bitch, but she’d help even you if you’d just listen to her. She wants to help.”
“I find that hard to believe, seeing how she refuses to accept that Voldemort’s back.”
Draco recoiled slightly at the name and scowled at Harry’s apparent lack of filter.
“Oh, come on, Malfoy,” Harry said, misinterpreting Draco’s reaction. “You of all people know it’s true!”
“Alright, look,” Draco said in an unusually conciliatory tone of voice. “Those braindead tossers at the Daily Prophet are as blinkered as Muggle-driven horses, but you could manipulate Umbridge into helping you. Hell, you could convince her, believe it or not—but you have to know how the game is played!”
“Game?” Harry said. “What game?”
Draco readjusted Harry’s tie and smiled curiously down at him. “There’s a Slytherin somewhere inside you, and I knew it since the day I met you. But you’ve buried it under heaps of so-called courage and moral posturing. Don’t you see what I’ve been saying all these years? You’re absolutely hopeless without my help—”
“What do you want from me?” Harry cut in. He peered up the corridor, worried that Umbridge might pick up on the echoes of their arguing. “You said you moved on. I figured that applied to any friendship between us as well—so if you’re done having your way with me, let me through.”
But Draco wasn’t blocking his path at all, and when Harry noticed this, he hesitated, then looked up at Draco as though expecting to be herded back against the wall.
Draco snorted. “God. You’re such a puppy.”
“You won’t really let me go,” Harry decided. If he tried to leave, Draco would only say something else to make him stop, and he would rather get this conversation over with.
“Believe what you want, Potter.” Draco raised his eyebrows lazily at him. “What is she making you write on your hand, anyways?”
Knew it, Harry thought, since Draco had just introduced a new subject for them to discuss. This must be like the “game” he was just referring to…
Draco took hold of the hand in question, which was covered by a scarf to staunch the bleeding. Glancing first at Harry, ready to absorb whatever protests that he voiced, Draco unwrapped the makeshift bandage to steal another look at the wound that Harry had been forced to carve into his own skin for the past seven hours.
Draco lifted Harry’s mutilated hand into the torchlight. He read the inscribed message aloud. “‘I must not tell lies’.” Draco squinted at the phrase, then let the hand go. “It’s the same as last week. You’re telling more lies?”
“No.” Harry pressed the still-bleeding wound against his crumpled scarf. “I’ve only ever been honest about how Cedric died.”
“That can’t be the reason she gave you this much detention. Seven hours? Because of something that actually happened? And with the Black Quill?”
“You asked her about my detentions, didn’t you?” Harry said, feeling shaken at the thought of Draco ferreting around that much. “I wouldn’t lie to you about this.”
Draco scoffed in disbelief. “I just assumed she wasn’t telling me something.”
Harry glanced nervously at the door to Umbridge’s office.
After following Harry’s gaze, Draco grabbed Harry by the arm, then led him into the stairway and pressed him out of view from the corridor against the wall. Starlight beamed down on them from the mullioned window above their heads.
“She’s probably asleep,” Draco murmured for his benefit.
Harry nodded mutely, willing to go along with whatever Draco said at this point. Harry pressed his hands against the cold, rough stone behind him, and while Draco was distracted, he took in the perfectly sculpted angles of the other boy’s slender nose and high cheekbones. Harry leaned forward from the wall, memorizing all the little details of his skin texture, spotting an imperfection here and a beauty mark there…
Draco surveyed the entrance to the corridor a second time before returning his attention to Harry. “Sorry. What were we talking about?”
“Professor Umbridge.” Harry swallowed against a strange fluttering in his throat. “And why I got so much detention. Whatever she told you was everything.”
“Right…”
“If that’s all you heard from her,” Harry went on, feeling dizzy at being this close to him again, “she wasn’t holding anything back. She’s evil, Malfoy. She hates the truth.”
“I just figured she would’ve made you write something that was actually worth carving into your skin, like Thorne did with me.”
Harry blinked as his scrambled brain worked to assimilate those words. When comprehension dawned, he leaned heavily against the wall, then shouted, “Not you—!”
Harry fell silent when a pale hand slapped over his mouth to muffle the volume of his words.
“Keep your voice down. But if she comes out here, run to your dorm and don’t look back, you hear?”
Harry let out a heavy breath when Draco removed his hand. His lips felt numb, and they tingled when the warmth of Draco’s skin left them. “You… you mentioned something like this last week. Does she have you writing lines in your own blood too?”
“Not her. I said it was Thorne.”
And without warning, Draco opened his robes and tugged his shirt out from under his belt, then held it up against his chest.
Harry swallowed with even more difficulty at the sight of the boy’s lean muscles, and he felt a powerful yearning he had not felt since they’d last been together by the lake. His lust was tempered, however, the moment he saw the weals covering the otherwise flawless pallor of Draco’s skin.
“‘Bent wizards get burned’,” Draco read aloud, while pointing out a segment of welts cast in white relief over the right side of his torso. “Would make an awesome tattoo, now that I think about it. Might get one when I’m old enough. After I’ve killed a few myself, that is.”
Harry’s heart plummeted at the sight of it. Without thinking, he reached a hand out to touch the scars in sympathy, but then let his hand drop when he remembered there was still a barrier between them.
“Mr. Thorne’s a friend of Umbridge,” Draco explained, smiling at the despondent way Harry was staring at the scars. “They were in Slytherin together, so naturally he took to the Black Quill when she told him she invented it a year ago. He was intrigued. Thought it would help him in his practice, so he bought a couple off her right away.” Draco tucked his shirt back in, and Harry blinked the daze out of his eyes. “He has me use the Quill whenever I take a moral inventory of myself. He says it’ll help keep my head straight while I write about things that could be tempting.”
Harry felt his temper flare to a dangerous new height. He didn’t quite know what Draco meant by “moral inventory”, but he had a mind to storm Umbridge’s office and tie her down, to make her use the Black Quill on herself for a good few hours with no breaks.
“How the hell is that Quill supposed to help with anything?” Harry asked impatiently.
“Of course, you wouldn’t understand.” Draco huffed. “It’s a tool of penance, Potter, a mark of my seriousness for wanting to change. I don’t have to use it for seven hours like you, though. I use it only once a month, and it takes only a few minutes for the message to sink in.” He laughed. “God, you must be stubborn.”
“What do you mean?”
Draco nodded toward Harry’s hand. “I mean, it only bleeds that badly when you feel ashamed and that’s when you stop. I feel ashamed before I even start writing, so the cuts go deep and tend to stick pretty early on.”
With that new information, Harry searched his mind for if whether or not he ever felt ashamed. At no point had he felt remorse for telling the truth, but he had felt sorry for upsetting Angelina Johnson and for missing out on Ron’s tryouts. Maybe the Quill was not very good at differentiating what exactly the user felt sorry for.
“Why doesn’t Thorne just wipe your memory of the things we did?”
“Because he knows it’ll only happen again at some point if I forget, and he wants me to get a handle on my behavior with all my faculties intact. He’s tried what you just mentioned on other patients, and it’s never ended well.”
“What you wrote to me over the summer,” Harry said, sincerely curious, “do you really think you can be cured…?”
Draco went silent while he pondered that. When he finally spoke, it was in a drawling monotone Harry found difficult to keep track with. “According to Mr. Thorne, not a single soul under his care has stepped out of line after a full year of his interference. He’s got a stellar reputation among the elite families for helping people like me to conform. They’re all still bent, of course, but he considers them cured because they’re behaving well. He says our sickness is no different from an addiction, and so he treats it as such, but with harsher penalties tacked on. He uses Dark artifacts and other methods of behavioral modification, and, if you ask me, I think he’s right to approach us the way he does.”
Like training animals, Harry thought crossly. “Why are you telling me all this?” he asked, realizing only then that there was no reason for them to be discussing this.
“Because when I saw your hand last week, I couldn’t deny that I still cared about you. I care how you end up, Potter, and I figured you ought to know that it’s an option. You can’t afford Thorne like I can, but I’m sure if you told Professor Umbridge—”
Harry grimaced. “You’re insane.”
Draco looked down at him, unblinking.
“I’ve lived my whole life being tortured for who I am. I’m not about to give myself over to it willingly.”
“But when the Dark Lord cleanses society—”
“He’ll kill me for other reasons than for simply liking you,” Harry reminded him. “What other things has Thorne done?” he asked, forgetting that he was ever angry with Draco for how he had talked about Hagrid during class.
“It doesn’t matter, you can’t afford—”
“I wouldn’t want to afford sad*stic treatments like that—now tell me!” Harry’s heart felt like it was being strangled by a sharp cord. He yanked on Draco’s arm when he noticed how the other boy was losing focus. “Malfoy!”
“All that matters, Potter,” Draco said vacantly, “is that I’ve got it under control. I’ve stood in front of you like this how many times, and I’ve gotten sick only once, which means I haven’t thought about you inappropriately, otherwise the potion would have activated.”
“What potion?” Harry demanded.
“Keep it down.”
“I will if you tell me,” Harry snarled, and Draco smiled condescendingly, as if Harry were a kitten trying to yowl like a lion.
“If I step out of line,” he said evasively, “I know what to do, and I know Thorne’s got my best interest in mind. He’s constantly reminding me of my future, and that’s the only thing that matters.”
“What kind of future is that supposed to be?”
“A respectable marriage,” Draco recounted blandly. “Pure-blood children of my own, a prosperous career, honor and distinction, reputation and renown, my family’s approval, and ties to the best families in society—”
“Never knowing love,” Harry interjected. If he could just plant that seed of doubt…
Draco’s forehead creased. “I love Pansy.”
“Not the way you should,” Harry argued. “Not the way she deserves,” and he almost couldn’t believe that he was saying that.
“I’ll give her everything,” said Draco. “I’ll give up anything for her, including you, and that’s real love, Potter.”
“No, it’s not,” Harry said faintly, remembering everything Lupin had told him. “It’ll kill you. You’ll be torturing yourself for fake ‘purity’, and that isn’t love.”
“What’s a little bit of torture for all the gain that I’ll have soon?”
Harry cringed at that, not knowing what to say. But then he asked, “What else did he do to you…?”
After a long silence, Draco rubbed his eyes and said, “If you’re seriously okay with hearing this, then I need you to promise to stay calm. Are we agreed?”
“Sure. Whatever.” Harry readjusted his feet in preparation.
“Alright,” Draco said with a sigh, avoiding the furious way Harry was looking at him. “Thorne is a good man who knows what he’s doing. In order to help me, he had to take some serious measures, like forcing me to look at you-know-what while… while using a modified version of the Cruciatus Curse on me.”
“WHAT?”
“Shut up! I told you to stay calm, or do you want her to come fussing down here?”
Harry grit his teeth apologetically.
“The curse he used is nothing like the real thing, anyways.”
“I don’t care if it wasn’t the actual Cruciatus Curse, Malfoy,” Harry said, shouting in a whisper, “you’re bloody out of your mind if you think something like that is okay.”
“He used it only for a few days, but saw that it wasn’t working,” Draco explained. “For some of his other patients, it helped, but for me, it didn’t. So after that, he tried a lust potion on me, because the love ones that he made with his female colleagues wouldn’t work. He had a cow when he realized I wasn’t even a little bit inclined towards women. Things were worse for me than he realized, so he asked me to drink a lust potion while I was looking at girls, and he forced me to…” Draco’s eyes glazed over and his voice trailed off.
“Touch yourself,” Harry finished for him, mortified.
Draco wiped his forehead, then shrugged against a chill that wasn’t there. “I was able to finish, so it worked.” He forced a smile. “I want kids, right? Well, now I know what to do. A lust potion doesn’t give you any direction like a love potion does, unless it’s designed that way. I was out of control, and it didn’t matter what he put in front of me. He could have shown me a goblin orgy for all I cared. But Thorne tested other things on me as well, and there were lots of other tools that we didn’t end up using. Some of them you can wear, like this one thing in particular… it activates when the wearer gets aroused. For girls, he told me about cursed underwear they can wear—can you believe it? If they get wet, it pinches their…”
Harry stared at him, disgusted, but more fascinated now at the lengths to which this Mr. Thorne would go. “Their…?” he prompted awkwardly, but when he got no response, he asked more directly, “Well, their what?”
“Can’t you work that out for yourself?” Draco hissed, looking disturbed.
“Their… wrist?” Harry said obnoxiously. “Their side? Thigh? Armpit? Or bellybutton?”
“Cursed underwear, Potter. It pinches their cl*tor*s. God, you’re an idiot.”
But Harry did not understand. “What the hell is a cl*tor*s?”
Draco’s mouth hung open. “Are you serious?”
Harry shook his head at first, feeling embarrassed that he did not know something that he should, but then nodded.
“God… you’re actually serious?”
“Well, whatever it is, it sounds painful. I can’t imagine anyone would be okay with that—and they just agree to it? They’re willing to hurt themselves like that?”
“Of course, Potter!” Draco rolled his eyes. “Why not? These people are like me; they want to change. Is that so hard for you to accept?”
Harry’s expression fell when he realized they were coming to an impasse. Since there was no changing Draco’s mind, he decided to leave and turned up the stairs.
Draco’s voice cracked painfully when he spoke. “Don’t go.”
Harry went still, feeling those words slither up his spine in the most tantalizing way. Slowly, he turned back around and waited for the blond to say more. When Draco said nothing but merely stared at him, looking desperate, Harry sank back onto the tread that was level with the landing. Harry looked at Draco’s shining prefect badge and then his eyes. “Would you get angry, Malfoy, if I kissed you?” Worst case scenario, Draco would explode on him, but Harry did not feel like he had anything to lose. Not after the conversation they just had.
A deafening silence rang all around them. Then, Draco nodded.
“Would you get over it?” Harry dared to move an inch closer. He would do it anyways, and it didn’t matter what Draco said, since all the bullying and advice up till now seemed to have been nothing but a veiled cry for help. “It’s why you asked me not to leave, right? You want something from me. It’s why you waited for me all night.”
Clearly agitated, Draco readjusted his stance. A faint queasiness came over him as Harry’s lips curved into a tempting smile. “You idiot. Asking for permission was the last thing I was hoping you would do…”
Draco had survived the encounter so far, even after having entertained a few dirty thoughts. But Draco had to will his stomach to retain its contents, out of habit, now that Harry was coming closer with obvious affection in his eyes. He hoped the three days since he had stopped taking the potions was long enough for them to have no more effect, but…
“You look sick. Should we go to the—?”
“No.”
“But this happened last week, right? In front of Pansy. Madam Pomfrey could probably figure out what’s making you—”
“It’s an enemic potion, alright?” Draco snapped impatiently. “From Mr. Thorne. I stopped taking them three days ago because the effects are crippling when I’m at school, and—” Draco swallowed back his next several words. He had almost said that he’d been hoping to catch Harry alone like this, and even though Harry had already figured that out, Draco did not feel good about admitting to it.
“A potion is making you sick?”
“Doctor’s orders, so to speak. When I think inappropriate thoughts, that’s when it works. I stopped taking it. I can’t anymore. Not while I’m here.”
Harry stepped closer, still smiling. “Are you thinking inappropriate thoughts about me right now?” It was brutal of him to ask, but the nervous twitching that resulted in Draco’s face was worth it, and Harry was glad that he had done it.
“I thought you said that I look sick,” Draco deflected, looking weak.
“I’m willing to chance a bit of an accident if you are.” After all, it couldn’t be worse than the accident he had experienced with the Stinksap on the train. “Besides, you look really cute like this. I almost never get to see you off your guard…”
The burning in Draco’s stomach intensified the closer Harry got. It churned dangerously, threatening to turn him into a heaving mess—but when Harry’s lips touched him, the tidal wave receded, leaving nothing but a violent tingling in its wake. Draco closed his eyes and yielded to the kiss. After a while, however, Draco flinched away, but Harry tugged lightly on the collar of his robes.
“It’s all right,” Harry said, reading the anxiety on Draco’s face. “Thorne’s not here. We’re alone. It’s just you and me.”
What am I doing? Draco thought to himself, feeling excited but also afraid. He smiled nervously when Harry turned his chin up and waited for Draco to meet him the rest of the way. Lowering his head, Draco touched noses with Harry and then kissed him. He felt a thrill of pleasure when he heard the little noise Harry made in the back of his throat, and he nestled the smaller boy comfortably in his arms. Draco had missed this. Every kiss he had shared with Pansy suddenly felt like it’d been draining him, and Pansy slipped out of his reality like a dream he would never be able to hold on to.
“I wanted you all summer,” Harry murmured softly against his lips. “I want you now. I’m sorry for yelling before, and hexing you. I was—”
“It’s alright.” Draco massaged Harry just below one of his ears. “You don’t have to explain. I’m just pissed you wouldn’t let me help.”
Harry swallowed back his tears, feeling confused because there wasn’t an obvious need for him to cry. I don’t have to explain, he thought incandescently, and he wished he could tell Lupin what he had just been told.
“I want you,” he repeated.
“I want you, too, Potter.” And Draco chuckled lightheartedly when Harry pawed impatiently at his shoulders. “If you wanna know a secret, I don’t think there’s anything Thorne could ever do to make me stop wanting you…”
Harry pushed onto his toes and kissed Draco with more force, to let him know just how he felt about that statement. Everything that had ever upset Harry over the past few months melted away as Draco’s tongue snuck inside his mouth, and all that mattered was this boy he had fallen in love with and the feelings they were giving each other now.
At some point—Harry wasn’t sure how much time had passed—Harry broke the kiss and whimpered timidly. “I’ve… I’ve got a hard-on…”
“Do you?”
Draco went for Harry’s neck then, and pressed their hips together so they could feel each other’s arousals through their robes. Harry groaned at the realization that Draco was harder than he was, and he breathed heavily into the other boy’s ear while savoring the kisses on his neck. He had never felt anything quite like this, and so he wrapped his arms around Draco’s shoulders and pulled him tight. He strained to feel as much of him as he could, and he squirmed under the assault, grinning at the bursts of pleasure that blazed through him without warning. Harry knew exactly what he needed. More friction.
More skin…
“That note you sent during Potions was right.” Harry clawed at Draco’s neck. “I want your dick.”
“God…”
Harry rubbed himself more forcefully against Draco’s hips, smiling at the pleasure that it gave him. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“Who taught you to run your mouth like this?”
“I’m just being honest.”
“Yeah? Well, you’ve got a bad habit of that. Honesty has gotten you into enough trouble as it is.”
“Am I in trouble?” Harry clung to Draco’s neck and panted eagerly when he felt the other boy’s co*ck rubbing against him too. “Punish me.”
“Bloody hell, Potter… Do you realize what you’re saying…?”
“You’re a prefect, aren’t you? What use is that if you don’t do something?”
Without warning, Draco grabbed Harry by the throat and looked him firmly in the eyes. “You’re really asking for it, aren’t you? Filthy half-blood.”
A thrill rushed through Harry when Draco had grabbed him, but he was genuinely miffed at the unwarranted insult. “Don’t call me that.”
“I’ll call you whatever I want. Brat. If you wanna talk dirty, I’ll treat you dirty.”
“I’m serious.”
Harry shoved Draco off, but, stunned at the realization he was being rejected, Draco slammed Harry back against the wall and scowled down at him.
“What—are you seriously gonna punish me now? Finally?” Harry’s eyes were bright with defiance. “I might be a brat, or a filthy half-blood, but it’s not like you’re gonna do anything about it.”
Draco stared in amazement for a while before regaining his capacity for speech. When he felt like his voice had returned, he said hoarsely, “Are you flirting with me, or are you seriously looking for a fight?”
Smirking, Harry reached into Draco’s robes.
Draco frowned at first, then swallowed anxiously when he felt he was being groped over his clothes. Draco closed his eyes and then leaned forward into Harry’s hands when fingers traced the outline of his co*ck. He jerked his hips forward, in an attempt to get more friction going between them, and Harry obliged him by petting more insistently, squeezing around the girth as much as he could.
Draco made a strained noise, to which Harry said, “You like that?” Then, he loosened Draco’s trousers, shoved his hand past the waistband, and quickly found what he was looking for. Draco’s mouth fell open, but he muffled his moans against the mess of Harry’s unkempt hair. Harry squeezed Draco’s co*ck around the middle and slowly began to work it up and down.
Unable to stop himself, Draco pushed within the grip of Harry’s hand at a slow, sensual pace. “Potter…” He whimpered as Harry made a little corkscrewing motion with his hand. “That’s so good…”
Harry smiled at this reaction, happy to hear that he was doing a good job, and he hoped it was better than anything Pansy had ever done. After drawing a shaky breath, he said, “You’re leaking… Kinda makes me wanna lick my fingers.”
“Shut up, or I swear I’ll come.”
“But that’s what I want.”
“Not until I’ve felt your dick against mine.”
Harry let go of him then, and took a moment to catch his breath. He hadn’t noticed until now just how tingly his arms had gotten and how he could feel his own pulse thudding in his toes. Everything was moving so quickly, but that was exactly what Harry had hoped for, and so he undid his own trousers and pushed them partway down his hips. Harry lifted his shirt from his stomach, and Draco glanced down at where Harry had just exposed himself. He stared at the shy head peeking over the waistband of Harry’s trousers. It was red, even in the white cast of the moonlight, and the vulgar little slit at the tip made Draco’s mouth water.
“Come get it,” Harry said breathlessly.
All of Draco’s nerve endings screamed from too much excitement. He shifted Harry’s trousers down another few inches, until the whole co*ck was exposed, and, when Harry retracted his foreskin, Draco admired the red flush that reached partway down its length. “Look at it,” he whispered shakily. “It’s so pretty… begging for attention like that.”
Harry smiled, having never expected it to be called pretty, but he took the compliment for what it was.
Draco lowered his own trousers, then stepped closer so that the only thing preventing their erections from touching was their fingers while they handled themselves. Draco’s breath shivered at the sight of a glistening bead of fluid sprouting at Harry’s tip. “God… It’s beautiful.”
With a bashful smile, Harry leaned up and kissed Draco softly on the neck. Using both his hands—the bloody scarf having been discarded on the stairs—Harry brushed Draco’s hands aside and squeezed their erections together in a double grip. His cuts still smarted, but the pleasure radiating from his co*ck made him forget that it had ever even happened, and the underbellies of their co*cks touched from root to tip, although Harry was slightly smaller. Like Draco, Harry couldn’t take his eyes off the sight of their glistening co*ckheads rubbing together. He massaged them both, flitting their shafts from side to side almost playfully, and he even tugged on the folds of their foreskins, and ran his fingers over Draco’s pubic hair before fondling the musculature of his lean stomach.
Harry kissed Draco’s cheek when he felt a warm pressure swelling like a balloon inside his chest. He had reached the point of bliss and couldn’t believe how perfectly in love he felt.
Draco kissed Harry on the lips every so often while watching their foreskins gliding up and down as one. They were both leaking a fair amount, more than they usually did on their own, and Draco couldn’t get over the thought of their fluids being mixed together like this. It had to be a dream, and if it was, Draco never wanted to wake up.
A few minutes in, after sneaking a few touches at Harry’s co*ck and pubic hair as well, Draco grabbed hold of Harry’s hands and said, “Hold them together like that. Now push your dick up through your hands with me, like we’re f*cking a hole together. I wanna see…” He sucked in a breath of air when Harry’s co*ck started sliding against his, and he pushed frantically against Harry in return. “That’s it, Potter—like that…”
Harry smiled at the amazed look on Draco’s face. “You like it?”
“Like? It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen… It feels so good.”
“Yeah, it does…” Harry watched the expressions play out on Draco’s face for the next several thrusts. He couldn’t get enough of the greedy look in Draco’s eyes, and he wished he could somehow channel the other boy’s lust and feel it all for himself.
Draco reached under Harry’s shirt to feel his skin, to supplement the sensations that were already overwhelming him, then he said, “I’m getting close.”
“Me too.”
Harry felt as if his whole body was glowing hot. He would have shed off all his clothes, to relieve himself of the feeling of being trapped inside his robes, but the org*sm would be perfect if they just kept going, and he thought there was something unbearably hot about their clothes still hanging off their bodies while they lost control of themselves.
Harry reached up for a kiss, but Draco allowed it for only a moment, since he wanted to see what it looked like when they both came. One after the other, their co*cks squirted ropes of molten fluid, and Harry buried his nose against Draco’s shoulder for a few spurts, since he couldn’t bear how good it felt without seeking comfort from the other boy. Draco, meanwhile, wished he had a spell to burn the image of their org*sm onto his retinas forever… He had never seen anything like it, and knew it was the most wonderful thing he had ever experienced.
Harry had to resort to rubbing on their co*cks normally when he couldn’t maintain the momentum of his thrusts, and the last few drops leaked out, flecking the inner linings of their robes. Harry panted heavily, mesmerized at the way their mingled cum dripped like hot candlewax between them. He played discreetly with the mess they had made, enjoying how slippery everything felt now that they were completely coated in each other’s cum.
“Wow…,” was all Harry could say.
Draco pulled Harry into his arms and nudged his mouth against Harry’s ear. “Potter,” he breathed, “I missed you…”
Harry’s stomach did a somersault, and the shivery dregs of his org*sm worked down into his toes. “I missed you, too.” And he really meant it. Even though Draco had been acting like a petty tyrant since the year began, he couldn’t help wanting to be near him.
“We shouldn’t have done this.” Draco bit gently on the lobe of Harry’s ear. “But no one can tell me that it wasn’t worth it…”
Harry snuggled Draco protectively with one arm, while his other hand still gripped their softening members between their stomachs. “Thorne isn’t going to find out, is he?”
“Maybe…” Draco sighed happily at the feeling of Harry continuing to tug lightly on them both. “I’ll write this down in my next inventory… just to be on the safe side. I’ll mention it was a fantasy I wanked off to after quitting those potions. If Thorne asks about it, chances are he won’t use Legilimency, since writing something that detailed will come off as honest enough. He’s only ever tried to interpret my thoughts twice… since he trusts me. He barely even looks into my eyes at all during our sessions because of how honest I seem… so I think I’ll be okay when I go home.”
Not understanding a word of what Draco had just said, Harry nestled against him with a sleepy groan and toyed with their spent members until they were both soft and pliable. He loved the way it felt to have them slipping and sliding together in his hands, and he knew they would both need a shower and clean clothes when they returned to their respective dorms.
“I don’t want you to change,” Harry said softly. He leaned back against the wall for support, then let his hands drop to his sides. “So please don’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean… I like the way you are. Bent. I want you to be my boyfriend.”
“But last year…”
“I blew up on you last year and it wasn’t fair. I’m sorry.”
“No—I don’t care that you yelled at me, but you gave me whiplash the way you just flipped. You’re the one who wanted this so badly—you even begged. So I thought you hated me when you told me to stay away.”
“I did hate you.” Harry bit his lip. “I sort of still do, actually… if I’m honest.”
Draco’s smile reached only one side of his face. “Is there anything I can do to maybe change that?”
The glow in Harry’s cheeks intensified. “Yeah. There’s plenty you could do. Not changing would be a start.”
“Not changing? I’m never f*cking changing unless Mr. Thorne pulls off a miracle. You’re all I think about, even when I’m painting the floor with my guts. You’re my whole world, Potter. I hate it, but it’s true…”
Harry let off a sigh of relief. While he wasn’t sure if Draco could be trusted, he was more than willing to stick his neck out like Lupin had said, to see where things went. “Why didn’t you tell me how you feel? Why all the mixed messages?”
Draco shrugged uncomfortably, since he wasn’t sure of the answer himself. “Guess I was trying to cope with you not being expelled. I was afraid. And I guess I was testing myself… testing my limits. I thought I could learn to stop liking you for sure this time, but I ended up wanting you even more than I did last year, and it made me angry. Sorry if I took it out on your first-years, but they’re easy targets…”
Harry smirked at Draco admitting to his abuse of power. “Is Thorne keeping an eye on you while you’re at school?”
“No. He wants me to write to him once a month, but that’s about it.”
“Then be with me. If I’m your whole world, Malfoy, let’s make it official. When no one’s looking, let’s be boyfriends. We’ll make each other feel good, and I’ll make sure you don’t regret it.” Looking down at their shared mess, he added, “I don’t think I want to be at Hogwarts anymore if I can’t have this…”
“O.W.L.s making life hell for you already?”
“Umbridge,” Harry answered gloomily. “And everything’s so different with Hagrid gone. I feel lost and angry all the time, and everyone keeps looking at me as if I’m crazy. Dumbledore doesn’t care about me, and—” Harry’s eyes flooded unexpectedly with tears, but he pressed them back by blinking hard. “I’m having a hard time coping, also. Even my friends piss me off, but you also piss me off—and you better tell me what you know about Hagrid and Sirius, you prat!”
Draco was stunned at the sudden shift in subject. “I don’t know anything.”
“You’re lying.”
“And if I was, I wouldn’t tell you.” His expression hardened for a split-second but then relaxed. “Sorry, Potter, but that’s the way it is. You’d understand if you were me.”
It hurt for Harry to think that Hagrid and Sirius could still be driving a wedge between them. He would have thought that Draco would be choosing him over everything by now, but he supposed sex and love could not be traded for information. He knew what it was like to have his needs leveraged against him, and he didn’t want to do that to Draco. It could ruin what little trust they had built between them, and it seemed like they were both dealing with enough guilt as it was.
“I want this,” Harry said, returning to the former subject. “You and me. This is the only thing that has felt good in a long time.”
“Are you just looking for someone to play with?”
“Sort of… but not just that. I want you, Draco, and everything that comes with being your boyfriend.”
Draco had not heard his first name come out of Harry’s mouth since they’d first met. He held on to the moment for as long as he could, then said, “Yeah,” when he realized there was no way he was going to say no to an offer like that. “Yeah, of course, I want that too. All of it. I was planning on offering the same thing at the end of term last year, and—I wanna play too. A lot. If I have to change how I act in a couple of years, then I want to spend as much time having fun with you as I can before that happens.”
“You’re letting Thorne win, then?”
“I’m not really thinking of it in those terms. We get to be together until we graduate—if we even last that long. But as soon as I propose to my girlfriend—”
“You always have to bring her up.” Harry hiked his trousers up and wiped his hands clean on the inside of his robes.
Draco’s forehead creased. He zipped his trousers up as well, tucked his shirt back in, then tried to interpret the look of resentment on Harry’s face. “I can’t be with you when I get married. You know that, right?”
“If you get married.” There was a jealous quaver in his voice.
“Potter,” Draco said, irritated.
“If you get married,” Harry repeated, guessing exactly what had just upset his new boyfriend. Thinking about marriage seemed morbid to Harry, since they were only teenagers, but he guessed Draco had a mountain of expectation bearing down on him.
“You could try finding a girlfriend too, you know,” Draco said, trying to be reasonable. Harry fiddled with his robes to distract himself, but Draco grabbed one of his wrists and shook him. “Potter. Look at me.”
Harry glared up fiercely, then yanked his wrist free.
“You know this isn’t love, right? Not real love, anyways. It can’t be. You can barely stand me.”
“As stupid as you are, Malfoy, I like you so much that I’ve decided I won’t let your bullsh*t come between us.”
Draco blinked. “Bullsh*t? What bullsh*t?”
“Just—the way you are,” Harry mumbled grumpily.
“You’re saying that me being me is coming between us?”
“f*ck, Malfoy, how could it not? You think that everyone is below you, when you’re the insufferable git.”
“Everyone is below me,” Draco said forcefully, “especially those idiots you hang around, and I’ll never apologize for saying that. God, for someone who’s obsessed with truth, you’re pretty damn choosy about what you’ll believe.” Draco rolled his eyes when he noticed Harry losing his temper with every subsequent breath he took. Deciding he needed a few seconds’ break from the conversation, Draco reached down to pick up Harry’s scarf and, noticing that Harry’s hand was bleeding again, he took hold of it. The two boys glared at each other, one defiant, the other patronizing. Draco blotted the scratches gingerly with the end of the scarf, until Harry yanked both the scarf and his own hand out of his grip.
“You’re a coward,” Harry spat. “You said you love me.”
“I never said that. I said I like you. In one of my letters I said there’s a type of love.”
“Then what do you like about me?” Harry said pettily. “Do you like anything besides the fact I’m not a girl?”
Draco’s eyes narrowed, but, to Harry’s surprise, he deigned to give him a truthful response. “You want me to serenade you even more than I already have? Alright then, Potter, have it your way… I’ve liked everything I ever heard about you, even all the things I heard my father say before we met. But I didn’t know you as a person back then, so when I finally met you, I liked how kind and accepting you were, even though I’ve always thought you were wrong to be that soft. I like how you don’t take snark from anyone and can hold your own against me. Even though I’d like you to do everything my way, it’s still the sexiest thing I’ve ever had to deal with. I’ve never met anyone like you—no one as loyal, selfless, or fearless. Or stupid. Not to mention, you’re really sweet when your hackles aren’t raised like they are now, and you kept my secret this whole time when you didn’t have to.”
“I told you off,” Harry reminded for the third time.
“You met with me at the Yule Ball. You set everything up just right, and you showed me how you felt, and I kept those letters you wrote because they meant something to me. Even when you wrote that there were things you still hated about me, you looked past all that and still met with me.”
“Which was probably a mistake.” Harry thought of Sirius’s advice and wondered what he would have to say about all this.
“If you think I’m bad for you, then we can forget this ever happened. But if you take your words back, Potter, it’s never going to change how you made me feel, and I don’t want to let that go. You’ve only ever wanted me, and not my money. Everyone else just wants what I can give them. Do you have any idea how that feels?”
“Rich boy problems,” Harry said bitterly. Although he thought of Remus’s advice, and how he had said that Draco would struggle with being seen as more than an extension of his father.
“You liked my poetry. The simple Valentine I wrote, and even the overdone one where all your friends said I was crazy.”
“Something tells me they were right.”
“My mother got me into writing,” Draco went on, ignoring the insult, “and she’s also the reason why I care about animals so much.”
“Buckbeak,” Harry said accusingly.
“He’s alive, right? He got away—and I never meant for him to be executed anyways, because I was aiming for the idiot who was taking care of him. All I wanted was for that stupid half-breed to be gone, and at the very least I wanted him to suffer. Giants have no place among our kind, and I couldn’t stand how close he was to you because I love—”
Harry’s head jerked up, and all the horrible things Draco had just said were soon forgotten. Draco loved him. He was almost sure of it…
It took a minute for Draco to recover, but when he did, he cleared his throat, then said, “I want to get to know you. And I want more than us just dicking around.”
“Then stay up with me.”
Draco tilted his head questioningly.
“Let’s call this a date. That’s pretty much what this is at this point. We can talk right here on the stairs. You’ve shared a lot already, though, so I can tell you about me if you’d prefer that.”
Draco leaned against the wall next to Harry, folded his arms and then looked sideways at him expectantly.
Harry searched for what to say. Then, deciding he could start with the most obvious and go on from there, he said, “Well… you know my parents are dead.”
“Tragic.” There was a note of sarcasm in his voice.
“Voldemort killed them,” Harry said angrily, “and I’m only here now because they protected me.”
Draco hung his head at that, but did not apologize.
“I was just a baby, but I have vague memories of my mum screaming when she was murdered. I can hear Voldemort’s laughter in my head sometimes, and…” An unpleasant heat rose into his cheeks. Tears were falling down his face, and he knew that Draco could see them, but he went on talking, his voice unchanged, almost as if he could not feel the sorrow that was plainly manifest on his face.
“I live with my aunt and uncle, the Dursleys. My cousin’s name is Dudley. They’re the three worst Muggles in the world, and I can’t remember ever being treated like part of the family. They hate everything about me, especially the fact that I’m a wizard. Actually, if they knew about us, they’d hate that too, and my uncle would probably kill me if he knew what we just did. They hate anything that doesn’t act the way it ‘should’. A bit like you, actually.”
Draco absorbed the unflattering comment without saying anything in return.
“They badmouth my parents constantly, won’t even mention them by name. They insult their memory every chance they get.” He swallowed painfully, and he couldn’t stop the flow of tears, although he wiped them with his sleeve. “It hurts more than you realize, when you talk badly about them, Malfoy. They might be dead, but sometimes it’s like they’re still here watching over me somehow—and don’t look at me like that!”
Draco thought better about the judgmental way he was sneering at Harry and rearranged his face. “Sorry, Potter,” he said. “I’m listening.”
Harry tried to dislodge the painful lump in his throat, but it only hardened like a tumor. “I saw them in the Mirror of Erised when I was eleven…” He gestured out in front of him, as if he could see their specters even now. “Just one… stupid… solid… piece of enchanted glass separating me from them… It was maddening. I wished so badly I could walk right through it, as if it were water, and feel their arms around me… hear the love in their voices without the screaming… and I don’t bloody care if you think that’s weird…”
One minute, Harry could see. The next, everything was a blur. Arms came around him and pulled him gently to the side, and Harry knew he was being held when he felt Draco’s prefect badge digging into his cheek. He let himself fall apart for a bit, and rubbed his eyes into the fabric of Draco’s robes.
“I hear you.” Draco raked his fingers through the other boy’s hair. “It’s alright, Potter, I don’t think it’s weird.”
Harry had never cried about his parents in front of anyone, although he had recounted their story often enough. Something about being with Draco tonight had stripped him bare, and he felt naked, as if everything that had once protected him was gone. It was scary because he felt unaccountably safe even with the judgmental glares and sarcastic remarks, and maybe it was because of what Draco had shared earlier about his own suffering. They both had skin in the game in more ways than just one.
Even while Draco held him, Harry felt like a little waif, as his Aunt Petunia used to call him. All he wanted were these crumbs of love from Draco’s heart, something to fill the void that he had lived with his entire life. Lips were in his hair, and Harry smiled. Arms were clutching around him tightly, and it felt better than when Mrs. Weasley had tried to comfort him at the end of the Triwizard Tournament last year. He sniveled, embarrassed that he was getting Draco’s robes soggy and wet. “Sorry…” He leaned heavily against Draco’s warm body. “You probably knew all this already…”
“I knew the facts, Potter,” Draco kissed his ear, “but I never knew how it made you feel.”
“Sorry,” he repeated, feeling calm and quiet now. Although he was scared Draco would take a swipe at his open heart while it was still hemorrhaging over his parents.
“The cutest boy in the whole school is crying on me. What’s to be sorry for?”
Harry sniffed, feeling flattered at all the compliments he’d been getting all night so far. “Do I get points for this?” he asked, making an attempt at levity.
“For crying?”
“No. For making us both come with an injured hand.”
Draco clicked his tongue. “Oh, hang on now… That’s why you want to play so badly? For points? Well, if that’s your angle, you’re going to have to do a lot more than just that.”
“Like what?” Harry wiped his nose and lifted his head from Draco’s shoulder. His eyes were swollen, his glasses tilted at an angle and fogged up from the heat of his own tears. “What do you want?”
Draco stemmed a tear from Harry’s cheek with his thumb and smiled mischievously. “Your mouth,” he said softly, thumbing Harry’s bottom lip next with a brilliant luster in his eyes.
Harry went still at that. His mouth watered slightly, and his breathing came easier as he imagined doing just that. “You mean…”
“Yep. I’d lose my mind if you ever did that.”
Harry swallowed, feeling hot all over. He had fantasized about it enough times, but Draco requesting it almost seemed too good to be true. His cheeks shined silvery pink in the moonlight. “Anything else?”
“Yeah. I love it when you cry, but you shouldn’t be allowed unless I’m doing something to you.”
“Well, I’d prefer not to. It’s not like I enjoy it.”
“It makes you look cute, Potter, and I want more of it. But I also want to kill the one who made you feel this way.”
Harry pawed at Draco’s green and silver tie. He felt like he couldn’t take much more of this; he was falling in even more love, and he was willing to do almost anything if it meant they could be together.
“None of what you shared were exactly secrets, by the way, and I’d love to hear those,” Draco suggested delicately. “I want to know things you’ve never told anyone, not even the Mudblood or Weasley. I want your heart, Potter, bloody and raw. I want the gore, and I don’t want you to clean it off before you give it to me.”
Harry held his breath. His pulse pounded in his ears, like an ominous drumbeat. He was frightened of yielding to that request, but he was also edging closer to the precipice of blind trust, and it seemed inevitable that he would obey.
Draco smirked gently at him, then pushed Harry away. He slid down the rough stone wall so that he was perched on one of the stone steps. His eyebrows raised at Harry expectantly, and Harry sat beside him, feeling uncomfortable but also excited at the turn their relationship was taking. Draco wound an arm around Harry’s waist, and Harry blushed, remembering all the times he had seen Draco with an arm around Pansy. But now he was Draco’s boyfriend, and—if Pansy only knew…
Draco traced the lines on the palm of Harry’s hand, then outlined each of Harry’s fingers one by one. “What was it like growing up with those Muggles? Tell me the worst of it, and the best, if there is such a thing.”
“Well, the best could be summed up pretty quick, but you won’t like it.” He gave Draco a meaningful look. “When my uncle said I couldn’t be cured—when he said I couldn’t be fixed—I was really happy then. He called me abnormal, a freak of nature, and said I’d never be like him. I felt so happy, like I’d done some type of magic they could never take away from me.”
Draco knew what Harry was getting at and did not want to be forced into the defensive again about complying with his parents. He swallowed roughly when Harry’s fingers closed around his own.
“As for the worst of it. Do you have all night?”
“I can stay all night if you want.” Forever, even, Draco would have said.
Harry smiled, then began to relate parts of his story from as far back as he could remember. He talked about the beatings he had received, the times he had been locked out in the shed, and the neglect. He spoke for over an hour, against Lupin’s good advice, maintaining his stride even when Draco interjected with questions or comments, and by the end of it, Harry’s eyes were dry, and the moon had circled around the windows out of sight, and he was safe.
“Bloody Muggles. I’d put an end to them.”
Exhausted, Harry nudged his nose against the hot warmth of Draco’s neck.
“I wouldn’t leave their bones behind. I’d incinerate them. And then I’d take you with me and order our house-elves to wait on you hand and foot.”
“I’d like that,” Harry said dreamily, slipping into semi-unconsciousness.
“Muggles are scum. They’re not worth an iota of your time.”
“You’re right.” But Harry wasn’t aware of what Draco was saying. He was half asleep, half in a dream, and they were at the Black Lake again, stripping off their clothes so they could skinny-dip.
Draco readjusted Harry in his arms, then swiped his black fringe out of the way so he could look at the jagged mark upon his forehead. He pressed his lips against its rough texture, smiling at the way it made Harry twitch and croon, and he remained with Harry like that for the next half hour.
After going to their separate dorms, Draco climbed into bed and dreamed about drowning the whole world in the tears he had collected from Harry’s eyes. Even if they broke up at some point, Draco figured he would do it eventually. No one would be spared who had ever mistreated him, and he would pay special attention to the Dursleys and make sure their torture was something to be remembered.
As far as Draco was concerned, he was the only one allowed to hurt Harry. Not even his father or Voldemort could claim that right, although he preferred not to hurt him if he could avoid it.
But all wizards, even Harry, sometimes needed to be disciplined. Draco would be there to soothe him when the need arose, even if he had to be the cause of Harry’s suffering for a while.
Harry would come to understand, and he would be grateful for Draco’s punishments one day, when he finally realized that Draco had the best intentions at heart. It was only natural for a pureblood to know better than a half-blood, and Harry was lucky to have someone like Draco showing him the way.
