Archive of Our Own

For Harry it began when he’d gone to the Prefects’ bathroom with his golden egg on Cedric’s insistence. He sat there in the bubbly water, with his back leaning against the edge just to be safe, looked at the large shiny egg he’d retrieved from a furious Hungarian Horntail, held it up in front of his face, thought here goes nothing, and opened it. When the ungodly shrieks he’d heard before was still the only thing coming out of it, he jumped and closed it again hastily, and that was when he’d heard a chuckle behind him. 

He swung around in shock only to stare wide eyed at none other than Draco Malfoy. 

The Slytherin was standing there fully dressed in his school robes, arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the wall with his shoulder, and Harry (not currently wearing his spectacles) could just about tell that he wore that infuriating smirk that did unspeakable things to Harry’s insides, for some unfathomable reason. The thought, in addition to the realisation that Malfoy had somehow entered the room without Harry any the wiser, made him scowl. Who knew how long he had even been there!

“What are you doing here, Malfoy?” Harry asked while trying to hide his scarred upper body behind the edge of the bath. Hopefully the bubbles concealed whatever the bath’s edge couldn’t.

He had never showed his body to anyone, at least not on purpose. The scars were hideous, he knew that and did not need to be reminded, thank you very much. Ron and Hermione had seen some of them by accident, but he had nipped any attempt to discuss them or the cause of them in the bud. Malfoy, however, would probably love to make fun of his broken body, which was why Harry held the golden egg close behind the bath’s edge, still scowling.

“Have you tried putting it in the water?” Malfoy responded, completely ignoring both Harry’s question and scowl, strangely enough.

Taken aback both at the words and the apparent lack of ridicule, Harry glanced between Malfoy and the egg. Carefully, he dipped it beneath the surface of the water and opened it. A soft warm glow lit up the bubbles and what sounded like a muffled melody could be just be heard, so with one last wary glance at Malfoy — who had moved close enough that Harry could tell he was looking at him expectantly with one of his infernal eyebrows raised — he breathed in deeply and dropped beneath the surface himself.

Come seek us where our voices sound,

We cannot sing above the ground,

And while you’re searching, ponder this;

We’ve taken what you’ll sorely miss,

An hour long you’ll have to look,

To recover what we took,

But past an hour — the prospects black,

Too late, it’s gone, it won’t come back.

Harry broke the surface and gasped for air, using his one free hand he rubbed the water from his eyes and face, and then shook his head to rid him of some of the water from his hair. He was grateful, as usual, for magic making his life easier; had it been a muggle bubble bath the soapy water would have had his eyes red and painful by this point, instead it was just a slight annoyance.

“Steady on, don’t shake your dog’s hair water on me,” a voice said behind him and he turned around, blinking a little. Draco Malfoy crouched by the edge of the sunken bath, brushing barely there water drops from his sleeve. Harry ignored his words, thinking that was probably for the best and also because his mind was focused on the singing voices of his golden egg.

“Are there merpeople in the lake?”

Malfoy looked at him, his smirk strangely… fond? That couldn’t be right. He dipped his hand into the water, as if checking the temperature, then took it out and shook it once before speaking.

“Very good, Potter. Your boyfriend would be proud.”

Harry could only hope heat he felt across his face wouldn’t be visible in the dimmed light, while he schooled his expression. He didn’t have as much practice with that anymore since starting Hogwarts, but he tried anyway.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He was relieved to hear his voice was steady, but Malfoy merely cocked an eyebrow at him. It made Harry wonder how he could convey so much with such subtle an action. Whereas before it had been expectant, now it expressed both disbelief and challenge.

“Diggory,” he said, with a look that dared Harry to deny it. He cleared his throat before responding.

“We’re not together… anymore.” The last word was spoken quietly. “I wasn’t aware anyone knew.”

Which was all true. He and Cedric had only been together a few months the previous year after Cedric had apologised for catching the snitch when Harry had already fallen from his broom. Well, most of the school year, really. They’d spent those months snogging in alcoves and… right there, in the Prefects’ bathroom. Malfoy snorted, somehow making it sound both scathing and posh rather than uncouth, then abruptly stood up and began pulling off his robes.

“Of course I know. Hard to miss with you two snogging at every corner.” Harry stared, frozen, as Malfoy hung his robes up on the wall and loosened his tie, kicking off his shoes, as he spoke. “Don’t worry, I don’t believe anyone else is aware. Most people simply aren’t too observant, I suppose. I am. I do so enjoy knowing what’s going on in the castle.” He unbuttoned his shirt with deft hands. “Knowledge is power, as they say.” He smirked as he pulled the shirt off, revealing a slim pale chest. When he started undoing his belt, Harry finally managed to find his voice.

“What are you doing?”

Malfoy kicked off his trousers and toed off his socks (giving Harry an only slightly blurry glimpse of well-toned legs and blue boxers), neatly folding it all before placing it on the bench along the wall. Then, to Harry’s amazement, he ran towards the tub and jumped, full cannonball style, into the water so that it splashed everywhere and Harry had to cover his eyes. When his head broke the surface he whipped it back, using a hand to help get the water out of his eyes and flip back his hair, ruffling it a bit. The sight made Harry’s mouth go strangely dry, and he had to swallow hard a few times.

Malfoy swam over to him with an ease that Harry couldn’t help envy (of course Malfoy had been given swimming lessons, unlike Harry, who hadn’t known how to float until Cedric taught him the previous year), stopping just in front of Harry and standing up, looking with some significance between Harry and the egg. Harry was standing too now, and this close he could tell that Malfoy was somehow even taller than he had thought. Before he had maybe had an inch or so on Harry, but it was more now, and Harry had a hard time interpreting the feelings that realisation induced. 

“I want to hear it too.”

Harry blinked up at him, too surprised to really argue. So instead he nodded, took a deep breath when Malfoy did, and dropped below the surface again before opening the egg. Glancing to the side he could see Malfoy’s eyes glittering in the light from the singing egg. He had that look of excited curiosity that Harry had sometimes noticed, though rarely outside of Potions classes where he was completely absorbed in his work, his usually mask of bored disinterest forgotten in a space where he likely felt some sort of safety. Though that might be just a presumption of Harry’s, he didn’t think he was wrong.

Truth was that while Malfoy worked hard to cover up his emotions, if you knew where to look you could work them out anyway. Of course you’d have to actually look to do that. Harry wasn’t as oblivious as people thought, he’d had to be hypervigilant about the emotional state of the people around him his entire life. However, he was much better at recognising negative feelings, and it was true that he tended to have tunnel vision, only focusing on what was immediately in front of him. Which meant that when his mind was solely focused on the words leaving the golden egg, he did not notice the look Malfoy sent him before they broke the water’s surface, gulping down air.

“So they’ll take some object from you and you have an hour to retrieve whatever it is,” Malfoy drawled once they’d rid their eyes and ears of water. Harry rolled his eyes, putting the golden egg on the floor by the bath, completely forgetting to cover his scars this time, his focus still on the issue in front of him.

“I think the bigger problem is the breathing under water for an hour to get the damn thing back aspect,” he said, looking at the coloured glass of the window. He knew it was a mermaid, one of those stylised versions that Harry felt belonged more to fairytale books written by muggles who didn’t know any better than to an ancient magical castle with the real deal right outside said window, but without his spectacles on it really just looked blobs of pretty colours.

“Yes, well,” Malfoy began coldly, “I’m sure your little friends will help you.”

Harry clenched his jaw. He didn’t like Malfoy talking about his friends. Turning around to where Malfoy had leaned sideways against the edge, he glared at him. “What are you doing here again?”

Malfoy, the git, only smirked response and moved closer. Without the egg to hide behind Harry felt strangely exposed, as Malfoy closed in on him where he’d been leaning his back against the edge of the bath (or pool, his mind absurdly interjected, it’s really too large to be called a bath). Malfoy stood right in front of him then, leaning into his space with a hand on either side of Harry, effectively boxing him in.

“Did you do it here then?”

“What?” Harry was honestly confused, and strangely rattled. Malfoy was too close, and he didn’t feel comfortable looking at him, choosing instead to focus his eyes on the colours of the stained window visible over the Slytherin’s left shoulder.

“You and Diggory. Did you do it here?”

Harry was blushing, he knew it, and he didn’t think it could possibly be hidden when Malfoy was so bloody close, despite his naturally darker skin and the dimmed lights of the bathroom.

“No,” he replied, too unsettled to lie. They hadn’t had sex, which he was sure was what Malfoy was asking about. They had been 13 and 16, at most they’d given each other handjobs. Harry hadn’t been comfortable showing Cedric his upper body, electing to wear a t-shirt even into the water. Cedric hadn’t understood, but he had been respectful and understanding, and hadn’t made any attempt to push Harry into doing, or just speaking about, anything he wasn’t fully willing to.

“Hmm,” Malfoy began softly, almost purring. “I wonder what is going through your mind to result in that lovely blush. Something terribly naughty, I expect.”

When Harry didn’t reply he grabbed his chin and forced him to face him directly. Harry’s breath hitched when he met his eyes, intense silver grey swirling with some indescribable mix of feeling. He thought he recognised something almost like jealousy and want, like when Dudley had wanted that game for ages, had been obsessed with it and whined through the entire wait for it to be available to buy, and then Piers had been gifted the game before him. Strangely though, despite his mind’s comparison to his odious cousin, Harry did not feel unsafe. 

So when Malfoy drew even closer Harry didn’t move. He almost felt like he couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything as Malfoy’s lips met his, and still he responded to the kiss on reflex, his eyes closing at the overwhelming sensation. Malfoy’s lips were soft and demanding, moving over Harry’s own and coaxing him into participating fully. When Malfoy pressed his body against his, Harry gasped and Malfoy took the opportunity to slip his tongue into Harry’s mouth, exploring it. 

Malfoy was kissing him. 

Kissing him quite senseless, in fact, and pressing him against the side of the bath, using his height as leverage, and Harry couldn’t think, it was all too much. The hand Malfoy had used to hold his chin was now wound into his hair, both holding him steady and grounding him. He tentatively, or perhaps accidentally, tugged on it and Harry whimpered, too far gone to even feel embarrassed about it.

When Malfoy drew back they were both breathing hard, and Harry couldn’t open his eyes right away. When he did he met those intense silver eyes that took his breath away again. Malfoy dipped in and caught him in another deep but much shorter kiss. Then he let go of Harry completely, jumped out of the bath and dried and dressed himself magically with a speed that Harry could only marvel at. Or he would, if he had been in any way able to string two thoughts together at the time.

“See you around, Potter,” Malfoy threw over his shoulder before he left, though he didn’t look back. Harry himself was in too much shock to say anything, the egg’s clue thoroughly forgotten for the moment.

He sat in the water until almost all the bubbles disappeared and even magic couldn’t keep the water from getting cold, and only then did he climb out. He dried himself (including the pants he’d worn into the bath) and put his clothes back on mechanically, not bothering to do up his buttons properly, only making sure that he was sufficiently covered.

He barely remembered to bring the golden egg with him before he left the Prefects’ bathroom, dazed and confused and with a thousand questions burning in his mind, though one burning stronger than the rest.

Why had Malfoy kissed him?

~ ~

“Tell me the lyrics again, Harry,” Hermione said as she paced behind where he was sitting in the corner of the Hogwarts library. Harry sighed heavily, but did his best not to roll his eyes at his friend. They’d been at this for hours, and at regular intervals Hermione would make them go through the lyrics again as if some secret answer might magically appear if they just repeated it often enough. 

“‘Come seek us where our voices sound, we cannot sing above the ground’,” he recited dully.

“Well, that’s obvious. The Black Lake.”

“Hermione, we know what the song means, what we need to find out is how to breathe under water for an hour.”

“I still reckon your best shot is the Bubblehead Charm,” Ron told him for the tenth time that night. Harry tried not to let it annoy him. It was their plan B, if a rather shaky one, and Harry knew that it was Ron’s nerves speaking.

They were interrupted before Harry could repeat his previous exasperated answer of “there’s not enough time for me to learn it well enough to hold it for an entire hour”. Malfoy appeared by their table, all posh and with his mask of bored disinterest in place, not really looking at any of them even as he addressed them directly.

“Granger, Weasley. Professor McGonagall’s looking for you. The Headmaster wants to see you, apparently,” he said coldly.

“Why?” Ron snapped nastily.

“As if I would know, Weaselbee. I’m only delivering the message,” Malfoy replied with the hint of a sneer.

“But the second task is only hours away,” Hermione argued.

“Yes,” Malfoy said, suddenly turning to look straight at Harry. “So I’m sure Potter is perfectly ready and could do with some bloody sleep.” He rolled his eyes a little as he spoke, as if he couldn’t care less. 

“Just go, you guys,” Harry said before Ron could argue back. He didn’t want a fight before the task, he was too tired and too nervous to deal with it. The Hufflepuffs were bad enough, the only reason they hadn’t turned to hexing him was Cedric reining them in, he was sure.

Ron and Hermione packed up their things and began leaving, Hermione whispering “we’ll be right back” to him before they went, Ron glaring at Malfoy over his shoulder until they were out of sight. Only once they were gone did Harry dare look over at Malfoy. He was still standing there looking posh, an eyebrow cocked at Harry. Harry could feel his face heating up, and it annoyed him, so he glared at Malfoy.

“Anything else?”

Malfoy smirked, though Harry wasn’t sure why.

“Not at all, Potter. Good luck.”

Then he turned on his heel and stalked out of the library, leaving Harry to look after him, not looking at his arse at all. Not one bit.

He groaned and turned back to the heavy tome he’d been looking through, trying to find a way to breathe underwater for an hour, dropping his head onto the book and telling himself sternly that he was only resting his forehead against it and not to fall asleep. 

The next thing he was aware of was a hand shaking him carefully by the shoulder.

“Potter,” an insistent voice was calling. Harry could recognise those crisp consonants anywhere. No one else said his name like that. It was comforting in a way. A weird way. 

“Potter.”

The voice was getting more persistent and so was the hand on his shoulder, shaking him harder.

“Wha’?” he mumbled, not completely awake.

Malfoy winding his fingers through Harry’s hair and pulling was what finally woke him up fully, with a shuddering breath. He sat up, straightened his spectacles by habit, and looked around owlishly. Malfoy tsked from his position next to him.

“I should have known you’d fall asleep here.”

Harry blinked up at him, strangely disappointed that Malfoy’s hand wasn’t still in his hair.

“What are you doing here?”

“What do you think? The task is like a quarter of an hour away, you berk.”

“Oh fuck,” Harry said, scrambling to gather his things. “Oh fuck, oh fuck.”

“Here,” Malfoy said, holding out a hand full of— something… Harry stopped and stared at his hand in confusion.

“What’s that?”

“Gillyweed. It will help you breathe under water. It’s enough for an hour. More or less.” Malfoy shrugged.

“Why are you helping me?” Why did you kiss me? 

“I can hardly have the Boy Who Lived die on us in front of such distinguished guests now, can I?”

Malfoy still had that mask of bored indifference up, but Harry could see that the question had made him uncomfortable. His eyes had softened a little though, and noticing that convinced Harry to reach out and accept the gillyweed.

“Thanks, Malfoy. Where did you get this?”

“You should hurry, Potter,” Malfoy replied, ignoring his question. “I’m going down now, you will need to run to get your kit.” Then he spun around and walked off.

“You didn’t tell me where you got it!” Harry yelled after him.

Malfoy stopped, but didn’t turn.

“Dobby gave it to me,” he said, then he was gone.

Harry blinked after him. Why would Dobby want to have anything to do with Malfoy? Any Malfoy? The disconcerting feeling of the Gillyweed in his hand reminded him that he had some place to be, and, glancing at the time, he swore creatively under his breath before running off to the dorm.

~ ~

During their first Hogsmeade weekend immediately following the second task, Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked through Gladrags Wizardwear, looking for colourful socks for Dobby. Or rather, Harry was looking for socks for Dobby. He had told them Dobby was the one who took the Gillyweed. Which wasn’t strictly untrue, but naturally wasn’t the full story either. Still, Harry decided it would do no one any good to tell the whole truth just yet. 

Malfoy was confusing him. Of course, Malfoy had always puzzled him, he’d always been curious about the Slytherin, but now he was confused too. Was he messing with him? Was it an elaborate “joke” of some kind? But the Gillyweed had helped him, he would’ve been screwed if he hadn’t had it, he knew his Bubblehead Charm wouldn’t have held, he tended to overpower it.

And then there was the kiss… 

“Harry?”

Harry jumped a little. Hermione had come up from behind him and was now standing next to him with her eyebrows drawn down in a worried frown, her hand resting on his shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he replied a little too quickly, though managing a natural enough smile. Hermione looked like she wasn’t sure whether to fully believe him, but decided to let it go anyway. Harry was relieved.

“Did you find the socks? We should get going if we’re going to see Snuffles.”

Harry held up the lurid green and pink socks he’d chosen and nodded.

The socks were really just an excuse to talk to Dobby alone. He would have liked to talk to Sirius about all of this, but he didn’t dare. Not only would Ron and Hermione be there, and he knew they would have some choice words for him if he said anything about this in front of them, but Sirius wasn’t exactly objective either. He seemed to hate Lucius almost as much as he hated Snape. Of course, Harry also hated Lucius. With a vengeance. 

But Malfoy was… different. Well, he was still a poncy git, but for some reason he was helping Harry. And kissing him senseless. Just that one time, but still. He hadn’t said anything about the scars either. Harry had half expected the rumour mill at Hogwarts to be flooded about how ugly and scarred Harry was, but even weeks later there had been nothing. He must have seen them, at least those that weren’t hidden beneath the bubbles, but he hadn’t even acknowledged them, let alone bullied Harry for them. And that was something.

After curfew that evening, Harry left the Gryffindor Tower hidden beneath his invisibility cloak. He’d decided it was better to take the socks with him and talk to Dobby down in the kitchens, rather than ask him to come to the dorms, so he walked down the stairs to the dungeons with his steps magically silenced, turning corners until he was in a corridor with the walls covered in only paintings of food, with not a portrait in sight. Still he kept his cloak on as he made his way over to a large painting of a bowl of fruit, tickled the pear, and opened the door just enough to slip inside as soon as the pear had turned into a handle.

Inside the kitchen was completely quiet, the only light coming from the large fireplace, and it made Harry freeze just inside the door. For some reason he had assumed that the house elves would still be there, despite the time of night. It was the first time he’d ever seen the kitchen empty. He sighed in annoyance at himself for not considering such an obvious thing, but shook it off a moment later and removed his cloak. It didn’t matter, he was there and it was a more private location anyway.

“Dobby?” Harry spoke softly into the room. A pop behind him made him spin around quickly, and there was Dobby, gazing up at him with large green eyes.

“Harry Potter has called on Dobby,” he squeaked. “What an honour, Sir!”

“Hello, Dobby.” Harry smiled at him. He was tremendously fond of the house elf, really. Despite Dobby’s disastrous attempt at saving Harry during his second year, he knew that Dobby was brave and good and would always do his best for those he cared about. Pulling out the socks he’d wrapped neatly in a spare length of parchment and a green ribbon left over from Yule from his pocket, he held it out for the elf. In the end he had bought two pairs, as he’d gathered that Dobby wasn’t one to wear anything that might match.

“Here, this is for you. I wanted to thank you for the Gillyweed, it was a lifesaver.”

Dobby jumped and squawked delightedly and took the gift, deftly opening it, and held up the four socks with a look of awe. “Thank you, Harry Potter! You is too kind to Dobby!”

“You deserve it, Dobby,” Harry assured him at once. “I heard you were the one who had Malfoy give the Gillyweed to me, I really appreciate it.” He said it in hopes it would make Dobby explain further, and was relieved when it worked, if somewhat confused by what he heard.

“Dobby had meant to do it himself, but Winky…” He trailed off and shook his head mournfully. “Winky was in a bad way. She is not be doing well, Harry Potter. So Dobby was happy when Young Master Draco said he could do it. Young Master Draco has always been nice to Dobby.”

“He has?” Harry frowned. This was news to him, but then they had never actually discussed anyone but Lucius. Dobby’s demeanour went from solemn to beaming in a heartbeat.

“Oh yes, Harry Potter. But Dobby must not tell Mast— Mister Malfoy, or he will hurt us.” He suddenly squawked worriedly. “Harry Potter will not tell, will he??”

“Oh no, Dobby, I won’t tell anyone,” Harry scrambled to reassure him, and the house elf visibly relaxed.

After leaving the kitchen, Harry walked somewhat aimlessly around the dungeons, deep in thought. “Or he will hurt us”, Dobby had said. Did he mean himself, the house elves of Malfoy Manor, or himself and Malfoy? Would Lucius hurt his son? Despite Harrys own childhood, the idea that Lucius Malfoy could harm his own heir was a new and startling one.

Malfoy had always seemed a bit… in awe of his father, but maybe it was actually fear? It would explain many things. If Malfoy needed to be like his father, to meet his expectations, in order to not be hurt. Harry could understand that, he supposed. After all he himself had always tried to behave in whatever way would give him the least grief with the Dursleys, and they had never shown him an ounce of love or care in any way, shape, or form.

Harry was so wrapped up in his turbulent thoughts that he was taken completely by surprise when a hand wrapped around his wrist and pulled him into an old barely lit classroom. He found himself pushed against a wall and before he could orient himself there were insistent lips on his own, a tongue delving into his mouth when he opened it on instinct under the onslaught.

He couldn’t help sinking into it. The pressure of a hard body against his, his arms held by the wrists over his head by a strong hand and another holding onto his waist. It was intoxicating. The rough treatment somehow made it even better. Harry was used to either being treated as a hero who could take care of anything or something fragile to handle with care, usually both, however nonsensical that was. Even Cedric had been overly careful with him.

There was no need for Harry to open his eyes to know that it was Malfoy kissing him. He recognised the feel of his body against his own, his lips on him. He had dreamed about it a lot since last time. Probably too much in the last month, frankly. And he could smell him. Citrus and a woodsy smell that reminded Harry of Quidditch.

He whimpered when his bottom lip was nibbled on and Malfoy kissed along his jaw to his neck and down to the sensitive spot where neck met shoulder. When he bit down, Harry’s hips rolled forward of their own volition, and both Harry and Malfoy groaned at the feeling. They were both hard. The thought had Harry’s head spinning. Or maybe that was the hands tightening around his wrists and waist, who knew.

No one could deny that Malfoy was attractive. The pointiness he’d had when they first started Hogwarts had changed. His features were prominent, but aesthetically pleasing. Especially when he wasn’t sneering or scowling. Especially when he looked at Harry with those intense silver eyes or he smirked. When he did both it took Harry’s breath away, it was a bit of a hazard really. Not that Malfoy had looked at him at all lately.

Harry couldn’t understand. Why was Malfoy doing this? Why was he still either ignoring him or making nasty remarks (and fucking badges) otherwise? Why was he so damn infuriating? Why… why was he so damn good at this, Harry thought as Malfoy sucked marks into the skin on his neck and soothed them with his wicked tongue after.

When Malfoy rolled his hips firmly against Harry’s, all thought disappeared from his mind in a puff of smoke and all he could do was attempt to press himself impossibly closer, rolling back against Malfoy. Stuck helplessly between Malfoy’s solid body and the unforgiving stone wall and getting that delicious friction made Harry whimper and moan so pitifully he knew he would have died of embarrassment were he not such a horny mess at the moment. As it was he had more important things to focus on.

“Malfoy,” he said on a broken groan. “I’m…”

Malfoy’s lips let go of Harry’s neck only to attack his mouth. The hand around his waist moved to his hip and then slid underneath his knee, lifting it slightly and holding it in place against Malfoy’s hip. Harry understood why right away. The change meant more friction, and Harry whimpered into Malfoy’s mouth when he sped up, pushing against him with a new sense of urgency.

He was so close to coming. Their kissing had turned into panting against each other’s mouths, sometimes moving their lips or tongues against the other’s. Harry opened his eyes to look straight into Malfoy’s silvery grey ones, and that was all it took for his world to shatter. He came harder than he ever had before in his life, seeming to pull Malfoy with him over the edge, his hips stuttering a little against Harry’s and his groan somehow adding to the fuel of Harry’s orgasm.

Malfoy dropped Harry’s arms and rested his forehead on Harry’s shoulder as they caught their breaths. Arms free, Harry took the chance to circle them around Malfoy’s shoulders and run his fingers through that blond hair. He’d wanted to do that for years now, ever since he stopped wearing it in that stiff slicked back fashion it looked so soft. And it was soft. Like silk running through his fingers.

Neither of them said anything for a few minutes, and Harry did his best to focus on the grounding feeling of their position and the rough stone at his back. That was until Malfoy broke the silence, speaking so quietly that Harry wasn’t sure he had even heard him correctly.

“What are you doing to me?”

Then he moved off Harry’s shoulder and kissed him deeply before disappearing again, leaving Harry to stare into empty space, his legs barely able to hold him up where he leant against the wall.

With shaky hands he got his wand out of his pocket and cast a cleaning charm on himself. With a deep sigh he dropped his head back against the stone wall, grateful for the slight sting of pain at the impact, feeling strangely like he might cry.

~  ~

Malfoy completely ignored Harry for weeks after their encounter in the dungeons.

Frankly, he could not decide how to feel about that. In a way he was glad that Malfoy wasn’t actively bullying him, but at times it felt even worse to be so actively ignored. Like he didn’t even exist. The implication was that Harry would rather have negative attention than no attention, which was an entirely new concept for him.

Harry was more confused than ever, in fact. It was just another thing to worry about together with everything else. It was constantly at the back of his mind as he trained for the Third Task with Ron and Hermione (Ron complaining about being on the end of Harry’s Stunning Spells, as he kept missing the pillows they’d prepared for his fall), and as things became… weird.

Barty Crouch had turned up, trying to impress upon Harry something one minute and regaling a tree with boasts of the academic achievements of his dead son as though the boy had just graduated the next, then switching to speaking in riddles, and subsequently disappearing as if he had never even been there, leaving only a Stunned Viktor Krum behind. 

Sirius had not been happy with him for being outside so late and made him promise not to do that again. Harry couldn’t help but think it was mighty hypocritical of the man, but he also wanted to be a good godson, to make his godfather proud of him. Another part of Harry wanted to actively look for Malfoy though. That part wanted to demand his map back from Professor Moody, find a way to corner Malfoy, and force him to talk.

What was he after? How dare he act as though Harry was the one doing anything? Malfoy was the one approaching him, not the other way around! Malfoy was the one who suddenly turned up out of nowhere and helped him and, and… and pushed him against walls, kissing him within an inch of his life. 

He might not have considered it much before, but with things as they were Harry really felt he could have used a pensieve like the one Dumbledore had in his office, if it could help him sort out his mind. Or even to just relive Draco’s body against his own. At least that might have taken his mind off everything else. The dreams about Voldemort were still bothering him in between the more pleasant (if somewhat torturous) dreams about Malfoy, and Rita Skeeter (the bint) had somehow found out about the Voldemort dream he’d had during Divination. 

“Hey Potter! How’s the head? You’re not gonna go berserk on us, are you?” Pansy Parkinson, of all people, yelled out across the Great Hall at breakfast the morning of the Third Task.

Several of the Slytherins sniggered maliciously at the taunt, but Pansy was clearly put out by Malfoy’s lack of support in her bullying. In fact he was pretending he hadn’t even heard her. He was ignoring everyone then, it seemed. That was something, he supposed.

Apparently, Harry was insane, or perhaps simply fame hungry. According to Rita Skeeter, that was. The article quoted Pansy too, about Harry’s anger issues and his ability to speak Parseltongue.

Harry couldn’t bring himself to care too much. Besides he’d rather focus on Mrs Weasley and Bill, both of whom had turned up at Hogwarts to cheer him on. Having his surrogate family there with him had a way of elevating his mood impossibly, making him more cheerful than he thought he would be considering everything that was going on and how the Third Task was that very same evening.

At least with this task he was fully prepared. Or at least as prepared as one could be before being forced into a maze of horrors. He’d been practicing with Hermione and Ron for weeks now and he knew what would happen, so he actually found himself able to relax and laugh with Mrs Weasley and Bill — who Fleur Delacour was eyeing with much interest.

Before Harry left the antechamber where the champions were meeting their families Amos Diggory, Cedric’s father, had taken the chance to say something nasty to Harry about him not being “so full of himself” now that Cedric had caught up to him in points. He was taken aback at first, being the recipient of that sort of venom out of the blue from Cedric’s father, but Cedric made a point of telling him not to listen to Mr Diggory, so Harry did his best to ignore it. 

Cedric had always been nice like that. That was how they had first gotten together after all, after Harry had fallen from his broom during a Quidditch match against Hufflepuff the year before. Cedric had come alone to the Infirmary to apologise and explain that he’d tried to say that it wasn’t fair to make their win official since Harry had been so affected by the Dementors, but that nobody would listen to him. Harry had been devastated by the loss, of course — it was the first time he had ever lost a match — but he knew it was right. Cedric had caught the snitch, it wasn’t his fault that Harry reacted so strongly to the Dementors. He had been surprised when Cedric kissed him though. He still liked Cedric, just as a friend. He was really good looking, terribly so, and very kind, but somehow they just didn’t fit together as a couple. And that was fine. 

Of course Cedric had told him about his dad’s high expectations while they were still together, how the man was so proud of Cedric and how much pressure Cedric was under as a result of it. The pressure to be his father’s perfect son. Harry could relate in a way, though his own situation was much more twisted. 

At dinner that evening, Harry was seated between Bill and Ron and facing the Slytherin table. His mood had taken a nosedive as soon as they sat down, as soon as he was reminded that the next Task was happening sooner rather than later. He was trying not to let it overwhelm him, to allow the Weasleys to continue distracting him, but it was hard. He wasn’t sure why, but somehow Harrys eyes were drawn inexplicably towards Draco Malfoy, as if that would help.

Malfoy was looking right at him, his grey eyes so intense it made Harry dizzy. Malfoy looked… worried? Annoyed? It was hard to tell. 

“Harry?”

Harry flinched a little when something connected with his shoulder, but managed to drag his eyes away from Malfoy and over to Bill, who had spoken to him. Bill was frowning at him, and it was his hand that had been placed on Harry’s shoulder. 

“You alright? Worried about the task?”

Harry drew a shaky breath and gave Bill a wry smile. It had been a while since he’d reacted like that to physical contact. He was relieved that Bill had jumped to the conclusion that he was thinking about the task though (granted, he really should be thinking about it), rather than lost in Draco Malfoy’s eyes and wishing to be lost in his arms.

Good Godric, I sound like a schoolgirl with a crush, he thought with a mental eye roll. Before he could even fully form the thought, however, he froze, the implication of it hitting him full on.

Oh Merlin.  

He had a crush on Draco Malfoy. 

More than that, maybe. He wasn’t even sure when it had started. When had it started? Malfoy could still be a git, for sure, but for some reason he had stopped actively bullying people some time ago. Instead he had helped Harry. In the dungeons, when he’d asked him “what are you doing to me” he had sounded so… afraid, or perhaps sad. The words still echoed in Harry’s mind as he walked down to the Quidditch pitch for the final task, and it was only when he was about to actually enter the maze to that he managed to force it away and focus on what lay in front of him.

~ ~

Harry was in a daze, only half awake.

He couldn’t believe what had happened. Or perhaps he just didn’t really want to. Cedric was dead. Moody wasn’t Moody, he was Barty Crouch Jr. and Fudge’s dementor had given him the Kiss, and Fudge refused to believe that Voldemort was back. But he was. 

Voldemort was back. Cedric was dead.

And it was Harry’s fault.

“Numbing the pain for a while will make it even worse once you feel it,” Dumbledore had told him before questioning him, and perhaps he was right, but Harry didn’t feel better for having spoken to the Headmaster about what happened. Mostly he just felt numb anyway.

Harry felt himself wake up slowly at some point during the night, his mind cottony and his eyes noticeably bleary even while closed, but his magic was more aware and pulling at his consciousness. Keeping completely still as though still asleep he took stock of his body first, a habit borne out of lifelong necessity. He felt none of the pain from the numerous injuries he knew he’d accumulated from either the maze or the graveyard thanks to a strong pain reliever, as well several healing potions and spells, and a slight tremor in his extremities was the only sign of his time under the Cruciatus Curse, so physically he seemed to be doing alright. That was good, he supposed.

He had fallen back asleep once more after Fudge left, the Dreamless Sleep he’d been given with the pain reliever not completely out of his system, but it was his magic that had interfered with his sleep somehow. A disturbance in his magic, or a slight nudge. It was hard to make out with his mind still so woolly though, so in the end he carefully opened his eyes and investigated his surroundings instead.

The infirmary was silent and lit only by the soft glow of the waning moon through its large windows. To Harry’s right he could see the real Mad-Eye Moody was still lying a few beds away, but when he turned to his left he saw, to his great surprise, Draco Malfoy sitting by his bed, watching him.

“Hey,” Harry whispered, his voice rough from sleep, and probably from screaming in the graveyard too, but he was trying not to think of that.

“Hey,” Malfoy whispered back. He looked unusually soft, but also tired and worried from what Harry could tell without his glasses. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Harry replied without even giving the question any thought. What else was he meant to say anyway?

“I’m sorry about Diggory.”

Harry closed his eyes briefly. He felt wrung out and raw, and he didn’t want to think about this. He may not have liked Cedric romantically anymore, but he had liked him. They had been close friends still. And he had watched him be killed as if he was nothing. The thought made a flicker of fury lick at his spine before the emotion was drowned again. He hated Voldemort. When he opened his eyes again he noticed Malfoy staring at him.

“What?” he asked. Malfoy looked apprehensive.

“Were you still…”

He didn’t finish the question, but he didn’t have to. Harry could tell what he’d wanted to ask. He sighed.

“No, we were friends. It still hurts,” he told him in a tired voice.

“I’m sorry,” Malfoy said again. He looked sorry too.

“It’s not your fault.”

Malfoy shook his head, as if he disagreed. He looked up at Harry, his eyes large and afraid. “He’s back, isn’t he?”

Again, he didn’t have to specify. Harry understood the question. He nodded. Malfoy took a shaky breath.

“You look tired.” Harry moved further towards the opposite edge of the bed and lifted the blanket in invitation. “Come lie down?”

Malfoy searched Harry’s face for something, though Harry wasn’t sure what. Whatever it was he must have found it, because then he nodded once, kicked off his shoes, and climbed into the bed with him. He settled down under blanket, facing Harry and took his hands in his. It felt nice. It felt safe and warm, and when he noticed the tremors, Malfoy frowned and tightened his hold.

He seemed to want to say something. Harry studied him as he swallowed hard several times, his mouth in a thin line, his eyes switching between looking into Harry’s and looking at something over his shoulder. He seemed to decide that looking at their hands was preferable to either of the other options, before he finally spoke.

“My father… I heard him talking over Christmas. His mark. He was scared, but also… It was disgusting, some of the things he was saying.” It was strangely endearing to hear Malfoy so inarticulate. Malfoy suddenly raised his eyes and looked directly at Harry. “He was there, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Harry confirmed, apologetically.

They were speaking quietly, their faces close. Harry could see Malfoy’s pale eyelashes despite not wearing his glasses, that was how close they were. It was interesting how Malfoy’s hair and eyelashes were so pale, while his eyebrows were a few shades darker. Not much, but noticeable. Harry had wondered once if he filled them in, but this close it didn’t look as though that was the case. They seemed to just be naturally darker. Just like the trail of hair going down from his belly button that Harry had caught a glimpse of in the Prefects’ bathroom.

“I’m so sorry,” Malfoy said in a pained whisper, closing his eyes.

“Hey,” Harry said, nudging his chin with his thumb, his hands still in Malfoy’s. “I told you, it’s not your fault.”

Malfoy’s eyes were still closed, but it was obvious he did not believe Harry’s words.

“Your father,” Harry began carefully. He wasn’t sure whether this was a good idea or not. “He’s not very nice to you, is he.”

It was phrased like a question, but he wasn’t actually asking. It was a statement. He was quite sure he was right by now. Malfoy opened his eyes and then narrowed them slightly. “Did Dobby say something?”

Harry had to smile, a little smug really. Malfoy had just confirmed his statement. Harry knew he was sneakier than people thought, there was a reason the Hat had wanted him in Slytherin, but it was nice to have it confirmed now and then. “He did mention something, but I was already suspicious.”

He watched Malfoy’s adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, strangely distracted by the view despite Malfoy’s clear panic. “You haven’t told anyone?”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t.” Malfoy visibly relaxed. 

“No, you wouldn’t. You’re a better person than me.”

“You’re not too bad,” Harry replied, and Malfoy snorted. 

They were quiet for a moment, both of them looking at their joined hands. Harry found he liked looking at his darker fingers in Malfoy’s pale ones. Malfoy’s hands were surprisingly soft. They were barely calloused from where he’d grip his broom. Harry had those same callouses, except his were rougher, and he had more calloused hands in general.

It was Malfoy who broke the silence.

“How are you really? And don’t tell me you’re fine, you’re not fine.”

Harry sighed heavily.

“I suppose I’m not, really. I feel more numb than anything, if frustrated and tired. I feel like there’s a storm coming and I’m watching it, trying to warn people, and no one will listen.” He paused, and Malfoy kept quiet, giving him the chance to go on if he wanted. Or perhaps wanting him to elaborate. In the end he added, “Fudge refuses to believe that he’s back.”

“Fudge is a fucking idiot,” Malfoy replied promptly, and Harry smiled a little despite everything. 

“I’m glad you’re here. Even if you have ignored me for months.”

Malfoy had the good sense to look sheepish. Then he sobered up. “Everything’s changing now. You know where my family’s loyalties lie, Harry. I can’t do anything about that.”

Harry blinked at him. 

“You called me Harry.” It sounded nice too, in Malfoy’s— Draco’s crisp accent. Much like when he said Potter, no one else ever said his name like that. 

The dusting of pink on Draco’s cheeks was frankly adorable. “You’re focusing on the wrong part of what I said.”

“No, I’m not, Draco.” He smiled a little Draco drew a sharp breath at the use of his first name, but then acquiesced and gave an answer to what the Slytherin had actually said. “It’s not your fault that your father is awful.”

“I’m awful too,” Draco said quietly.

Sighing, Harry brought his hands up and cupped Draco’s face, Draco’s hands slipping to his wrists. “You’re not though, are you?”

Then he leaned in and covered Draco’s mouth with his own. Draco’s hands tightened around his wrists for a second before he relaxed into the kiss, taking control of it. His hands moved, one to Harry’s neck and the other to his lower back, and pulled Harry closer and Harry couldn’t help but sigh contentedly against Draco’s slightly chapped yet soft lips. 

When they drew back for air they didn’t go far. Harry was pleased to be so close to Draco, being able to see him even better. He should probably do something about his vision. It wasn’t terrible, but it was bad enough that he relied on his spectacles.

Harry stroked his thumb along those high cheekbones, while Draco’s hand was playing with the hair at Harry’s neck. He really needed to cut it soon, he supposed. It was getting too long. 

He looked at Draco’s face. He’d look good with long hair. It was strange, because he’d always thought that Draco looked very much like his father, but looking now he thought he really saw more of his mother in him. He had his mother’s silver eyes, for one, rather than his father’s blue ones. Her cheekbones and nose too, he thought. Her lips, with the pronounced Cupid’s bow, though his mother’s were fuller. He had that elf look about him. Not like house elf, but rather the elves from the Tolkien books Harry had found in the school library. He’d enjoyed those books. If they made a film, Draco could easily have played the part of Legolas.

“I really like you,” Harry said, almost laughing when Draco’s eyes widened in shock.

“Really?” Harry nodded, smiling a little. “I really like you too.” He paused for a beat before continuing. “Despite being told I should hate you. And I did try that. Seeing you with that dragon scared me shitless though.”

Harry snorted a little. 

“It was fine, I managed.”

Draco shook his head.

“You have no idea how close that dragon was to getting you. It was terrifying. Your flying was excellent though.”

“Thanks,” Harry replied with a tired smile. He cleared his throat a little. “So if I really like you and you really like me, does that mean that we are together?”

He couldn’t help the hopeful look he sent Draco, who was biting his lip, looking strangely torn.

“Now that He’s back it will be dangerous for us to be together, Harry.”

“We can keep it a secret? Please?”

He could see Draco’s eyes flashing, his pupils dilating, when Harry said “please”, and he made sure to file that knowledge away for later use. 

“Are you sure?” Draco asked, his voice a whisper.

“Absolutely sure,” Harry replied immediately. He moved one of his hands from Draco’s jaw into his hair, running his fingers through it. “I feel safe with you, you know. I’m scared and tired and sad. Things are so overwhelmingly shitty. But right now, here with you, I feel like I can actually get through this.”

Draco’s hand moved from his neck to his jaw, cupping his face and stroking his thumb over Harry’s cheek. He looked more open and soft than Harry had ever seen him. It was a strangely nice look on him, however foreign it was for Harry to actually see it. Was this how he would have usually looked if it wasn’t for Lucius?

“Alright,” Draco said after a moment’s pause.

“Really?”

“Really.”

The smile slowly blooming on Draco’s face was beautiful, and Harry couldn’t help returning it. He wasn’t sure who moved first, but their lips met in a frenzied kiss. Draco pulled him closer, and Harry moaned into the kiss when he felt Draco’s cock against his hip. He rolled his hips automatically, and Draco groaned, sending delightful shivers down Harry’s spine.

They jumped apart when a loud snore broke the silence of the Infirmary. Harry looked over his shoulder. Moody was still asleep, but they should probably not risk anything. Harry grabbed his wand from underneath the pillow, having put it there out of habit, and magically drew the curtains around the bed, throwing up a Silencing Charm for good measure before putting his wand on the bedside table.

Then he turned back to Draco, throwing his leg over his hip and pulling him closer again with both his leg and a hand in Draco’s hair. Draco’s hand tightened in Harry’s hair in turn, and Harry whimpered at the feeling. The slight pain that sent jolts of pleasure through him. He began rolling his hips against Draco’s, Draco helping by moving his hand down to his arse, grabbing a cheek.

After a while, Draco pulled his hips away a little, and Harry gave a whine of displeasure at the loss of friction. Draco shushed gently against his mouth, stroking his hand up and down his side. Then his hand moved to the button of Harry’s trousers, pausing slightly until Harry nodded, and he opened it swiftly before doing the same with his own. He pulled both their trousers and pants down slightly, and then he got his wand and cast the spell every teenage boy at Hogwarts somehow learned, slicking his hand.

When he brought their hard cocks together, Harry’s hips jerked forward and he moaned wantonly into Draco’s mouth, Draco groaning in return. He pulled them off with confident strokes, adding a twist at the end every other time. Draco was big. It was impossible not to tell, even with how far gone he was, he knew Draco was big. His hand too. It was big and his fingers were long. He wondered how they might feel inside of him. Opening him up. He hadn’t thought about it much before, but now he longed for Draco to do just that. Just imagining it was driving him crazy.

Draco had moved off his mouth and over to his neck, nipping at his earlobe on the way. Harry bared his neck for him, urging him to keep going, kissing and licking and sucking more marks to make up for those Harry had been forced to heal after last time.

“Please.”

He wasn’t sure what he was even asking for, but whatever it was, Draco seemed to respond. He moaned against Harry’s neck and sped up his hand, the one on Harry’s neck grabbing his hair. He played with it briefly and when he pulled on it it pushed Harry over the edge so suddenly he arched his back and gave a broken cry, his hips stuttering as he spilled between them. Draco was right behind him, biting down on Harry’s neck as if to hold back his groan, his come mixing with Harry’s between them. He worked them both through their orgasms before letting go, resting his arm on Harry’s hip, letting his hand hang loosely behind his back so as not to get any lube or come on Harry. Not that Harry cared.

Draco’s face was still hidden in the crook of his neck as they regained their breath, and Harry brushed his fingers through Draco’s hair, again marvelling at the silky feel of it.

“Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to ignore you?” Draco said after a while, not moving his head from Harry’s neck at all. Harry smiled slightly. It had been a nice break from all the negative feelings swirling in him, he could breathe for a moment without feeling like he didn’t deserve to.

“No, but I do hope it was terribly hard. I know it was hard for me, at least.”

“Sorry,” Draco muttered into his neck.

“Mmm, you’re forgiven,” Harry replied, still brushing his fingers through Draco’s hair. He probably used one of those fancy shampoos, like the ones Aunt Petunia used and Harry wasn’t allowed to touch. Draco’s smelled much nicer though. 

“And I’m sorry about Pansy. I know I started it, but I should’ve told her to stop.”

“You were an arse, but you won’t be anymore, right? You didn’t stop her, but at least you stopped actively participating. That’s a good start.”

“Too little too late though,” Draco replied bitterly.

“It’s not too late, Draco. Just do what you can whenever you can. I know you have to pretend to be the cold hearted Slytherin Prince you’ve been pretending to be since we first met, but it won’t be forever.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” Harry replied, kissing the top of Draco’s head. And he meant it. He would make sure of it.

~ ~

The last week of school was mostly a blur. People stared and whispered, and Harry found himself avoiding the Great Hall as much as possible. He often got food from the kitchen, talking to Dobby and Winky (who was still a bit of a mess) as it was packed up for him, and then went off to eat together with Draco in secret.

The times he spent alone with Draco were the only times he felt properly grounded and sane. After Mr and Mrs Diggory had visited the morning after the Third Task, Draco had found him staring blankly into space, and had promptly climbed into bed with him and held him tightly until something in Harry burst and he cried against Draco’s chest.

“You’re not allowed to blame yourself, Harry. Cry and grieve and feel sad all you want, but don’t you dare blame yourself. There are several people to blame, but you’re not one of them, my darling,” he’d told Harry as he rocked him gently back and forth, brushing his fingers through Harry’s hair and kissing the side of his head. Harry had never been held like that before. Not that he could remember anyway. Discovering that Draco Malfoy, Slytherin Prince, was so soft and cuddly was both wonderful and strange. He would probably need time to get used to this new open side of his boyfriend, and he sincerely hoped he would get time to do so.

The Marauder’s Map somehow found its way to Harry’s bed a couple of days after the Third Task, and once he had it back it made avoiding other students much easier, as well as hiding away with Draco. They’d find hidden alcoves and empty classrooms where they could eat together and snog and rub against each other until they orgasmed.

Harry hadn’t told Hermione or Ron about his relationship with Draco. He hadn’t told anyone, since Draco wanted it kept secret. He could understand why. He was scared himself. What if Voldemort found out and decided to hurt Draco to get to him? While the thought was terrifying, he couldn’t find it in himself to let go of Draco. He felt like he could do anything as long as he had him.

On the evening before they were due to leave Hogwarts for summer hols, Harry and Draco sat together in the Astronomy tower. Dobby had provided them with blankets and pillows as well as a picnic basket of food. They’d both been to the feast, briefly, but Harry hadn’t managed to eat anything. He was feeling wrung out and washed up. The stares and whispers had only gotten worse after Dumbledore’s speech, and he had barely held himself back for ten minutes afterwards before he almost ran out of there. Draco had caught up with him and told him to meet him in the Astronomy tower. He was the one who had asked Dobby for the food and everything.

So now they were sitting close together and looking out at the stars. It was a clear night, and looking up at them while Draco held his arms around him, sometimes pointing out constellations, was calming him down in a way he thought nothing else could.

“I have a surprise for you,” Draco said after they’d been quiet for several minutes, both simply staring at the night sky. Harry turned to look at him, noting that he seemed wary.

“What is it?”

Draco hesitated minutely, then he pulled something out of his pocket and enlarged it. It was a pair of notebooks. They were beautiful brown dragon hide bound things; not too big, but not so small that it would be difficult to write in them, and they seemed to have a lock of some sort. One was a lighter brown and the other darker.

“One is for me and the other for you. They’re charmed so that we can write to each other through them, and they can only be opened by using mine or your blood.” Harry raised his eyebrows slightly at that. “Oh, not a lot. You just place your finger on the lock and a tiny needle pricks your finger, you can hardly feel it. If it recognises your blood it opens and your wound heals right away. I figured this might be safer than sending owls.”

“This is brilliant, Draco. Thank you,” Harry told him honestly. He turned the light brown leather book Draco had indicated was his in his hands, noting a small printed image on the lower back of the spine. The head of a forward facing stag with a small snake curled around its antlers. Draco seemed to notice where he was looking.

“I don’t know what my patronus is, can’t cast one, so I figured a snake would make the most sense. And you’re a Parselmouth, so people probably won’t find it too weird if they spot it. When you receive a new message the mark will glow, not flash or anything too bright that might draw more attention from others, just glow softly, and the book itself will heat up enough that if you keep it in a pocket you should be able to feel it.”

“It’s perfect.” He looked up at Draco with a smile. “I could teach you, if you want. To cast a patronus, I mean.”

Draco stared at him.

“You’d do that?”

“Of course I would, you git. I can’t guarantee I’ll be a very good teacher though.”

“Well, then I’ll just have to be a very good student to make up for it.” Draco was smirking at him in that way that made Harry feel dizzy and warm all over, and he pulled Draco in by his shirt and kissed him soundly.

“Write to me his summer?” he asked once they let go to catch their breaths.

“That was the entire point of the notebooks, you know, Potter.”

Harry snorted.

“Git.”

“Idiot.”

“Ponce.”

“Sod.”

“Kiss me.”

“Always.”