Title: Remember Me Fondly
Author: writcraft
Characters/Pairings: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: Adolescentism (a form of ageplay relating to teenage years), Impotence
Other Warnings/Content: Fisting, Rimming, Injury, Angst, Romance
Word Count: 6,700
Summary/Description: He hates remembering the way Harry - Potter - used to look at him. Most of all he hates the way that more often than not, Harry wouldn’t bother looking at him at all
Reminiscing about the past was supposed to be fun, but with old animosities and buried insecurities, it was never going to be that straightforward.
Author's Notes: I had a lot of back and forth with the themes this month, and I have a totally different piece and pairing sitting in my working drafts. In the end it was Harry and Draco who pushed for this story to be told. Thanks to A for beta reading not just the fic which probably won’t see the light of day, but also this fic too. Thanks to the mods for being very good about me missing my original positing date.



18 October

Draco wonders when everything began to remind him of Harry and whether it will ever stop. He sees Harry everywhere, even in places where Harry has never been. It’s not as though he isn’t used to being alone. Sometimes Harry has to go away and Draco is left alone to the shadows of Grimmauld Place, which scurry over the walls and protect dark things hiding in the corners.

In those times, Draco forces himself to leave the house which is too full of noises he doesn’t recognise, and sounds which make him feel like maybe he isn’t alone. He blinks his eyes against the daylight and wraps his scarf around his neck. It smells like Harry and he can almost feel Harry pulling him close and murmuring in his ear about how good Draco looks all smartly dressed for a winter walk.

He supposes he should go to Hogsmeade and buy some supplies. It’s important to have food in the house for when Harry comes back, because Harry is always ravenous. Besides, Draco can’t remember when he last went outside.

He walks past Zonko’s and closes his eyes, remembering sugar-scented kisses. He thinks of sticky fingers clutching his hand and remembers Harry eating candy floss, his face happy and childlike. Draco would tease Harry for his taste in poor man’s sweets and would try to educate him with rich truffles, feeding him one and letting Harry’s tongue and lips linger over his fingers.

He wanders listlessly through the shop and finds the children too loud and the colours too bright.

He exits as quickly as he can, after picking up some sugar quills and chocolate frogs.

It’s been three days and he still hasn’t heard from Harry.

Draco tightens his scarf around his neck and returns home, where the shadows continue to move of their own accord.



1 October

“I’ve got to go away again.”

Draco doesn’t like that and he pulls Harry closer and kisses him as if it might be the last time. He begs with his lips, his hands and his mouth. He shows Harry how much he will miss him, the only way he knows how. Harry responds with a low growl and a rough chuckle, and he turns Draco onto his belly. He slides his fingers along Draco’s back and he uses slick lubricant to ease the passage of his fingers and his cock.

When he finishes, Harry collapses over Draco’s back and covers his shoulders and neck in messy kisses. He’s too hot and heavy and Draco always complains, but he doesn’t really mean it. He shifts under Harry as if he wants to break free and then comes back into his arms, full of false bravado. Draco doesn’t ever want Harry to see the true extent of his weakness but he wonders if – just maybe – Harry already knows.

“How long this time?”

“I’m not sure.” Harry looks at the clock as if it might give him his answer, and he moves his fingers down Draco’s chest in a careless back and forth. He brushes his thumb over one of Draco’s nipples and when the motion pulls a huff from Draco he does so again, with a light pinch. “You like that?”

“You know I do.” Draco’s cock twitches with enthusiasm and he wonders how Harry can always keep him in this state of heady arousal. They sometimes spend days in bed, just fucking, licking and sucking, until they ache everywhere and decide they should probably go out in the sunshine for a change.

“And this?” Harry’s eyebrow arches and he runs his fingers along Draco’s thigh, up towards his hole still slick and loose from being roughly fucked.

“You know I like that too.” Draco is amused and he parts his legs, tugging at Harry’s shaggy mop of hair. “You know it’s my favourite thing of all.”

“Dirty boy.” Harry’s voice deepens and takes on a rough edge and Draco hums his approval.

He likes it when Harry wants to play like this – his voice dark and his words gloriously filthy.

Even now, Draco still feels some surprise that Potter turned out to be such a kinky bastard. In the early days Draco had let Harry think that he was the one with all of the experience and talked blithely about positions, toys and things he had read in passing.

“You’ve had a lot of experience, Malfoy. Considering you’re only eighteen.” Harry’s face pulls into an amused smile as his quill scratches against parchment while they work together in the Ministry library. “When did you find the time for all of that fucking?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“If you want me to, I will.” Harry shrugs and drops down his quill with a frown at the parchment.
“Though for the record I couldn’t give two hoots if you haven’t so much as snogged anyone before.”

Harry’s fingers slip into Draco and they both groan. Harry bites down on Draco’s neck and flicks his tongue over the same spot as he crooks his fingers.

“I think you can take more.” Harry adds a third finger and pumps them into Draco, twisting his hand.

Harry’s dark gaze lingering on Draco’s face reminds Draco how much Harry likes to watch. He sometimes asks Draco to touch himself and pulls over a chair next to the bed. He sits and watches Draco sliding his hand over his cock, or fucking himself with one of their toys until he comes, shouting out Harry’s name.

Harry says he likes watching because Draco looks bloody good when he comes and Draco tells him off for being such a ruddy pervert.

“I want to try something.” Harry presses a fourth finger into Draco and the stretch becomes a little more uncomfortable.

“You always do when you get like this.” Draco tries to sound amused but his voice is embarrassingly rough and cracks completely when Harry’s thumb tucks under his fingers and his hand nudges against Draco’s hole.

“Tell me how you like it.” Harry’s breath is hot and tickles Draco’s ear as his hand presses inside Draco. “My eager little slut.”

Draco tries to reply to tell Potter to stop calling him eager, but the burn and stretch of Harry’s hand pushing inside him is too much. His body becomes limp and pliant under Harry’s touch and every twist and curl of Harry’s fingers inside him bring him closer to the edge, until Harry’s hand forms a fist and rocks, back and forth.

“Fucking hell.” Harry bites down again on Draco’s neck and sucks, rocking his hand a little more.
Draco feels his grip on reality slipping away and he wonders if he would let Harry turn him inside out if he wanted to. “Do you think you could come like this? From my hand inside you?”

Draco is quite sure he could, but he isn’t sure he can say as much because he’s no longer capable of speech. Apparently Harry takes that as a no, and decides to give Draco a helping hand, settling over his cock, flushed and grinning as his eyes flick between Draco’s face and the sight of his hand disappearing inside Draco. The image makes Harry pause for a moment and Draco watches as Harry licks his lips. They part, plump and damp, and a groan leaves Harry’s mouth as he moves his hand with more confidence, every brush of knuckles causing Draco to arch and writhe.

“Sorry…bit distracted.” With a sheepish grin, Harry gives Draco a wink before Draco’s cock is engulfed with warm, wet heat. Harry has become something of an expert at this over the years and Draco never fails to lose himself under Harry’s ministrations.

Harry does that thing he always does with his tongue and rubs the flat of it along the underside of Draco’s cock, pulling up, pushing down and swallowing carefully around him so Draco can thrust into the back of Harry’s throat. With a strangled cry, Draco grips Harry’s hair and holds him down until Harry’s nose presses against his belly.

If anything ever shifts the dynamic between them, it’s when Harry sucks Draco off. That’s when Draco finds himself holding Harry down, fucking his throat until he knows Harry’s voice will be rough and hoarse afterwards. He enjoys keeping Harry pressed down for just a moment too long and there are very few things Draco likes more than watching Harry choke around his cock. He knows from the way Harry ruts against the mattress or fists his own cock when he’s down on his knees, that Harry loves it too.

Harry moves his hand harder and deeper, reaching into Draco to pull Draco’s orgasm from him. When it is done, Harry sucks lightly on the tip of Draco’s prick and slides his hand slowly out of him, the sensation strange and painful as the pleasure dissipates.

“Dirty bastard.”

“I’ve wanted to do that for ages.” Harry sighs, contented, and shuffles up to settle next to Draco.

“Was it good for you?” Draco eyes Harry’s cock which is still hard and leaking at the tip.

“Bloody brilliant.” Harry ignores Draco’s gaze and holds him close.

“You don’t want to come, I take it?” Draco grins and flicks his tongue in the shell of Harry’s ear. His neck is salty with light perspiration and he smells soapy and clean.

“I’ll live – I thought you might want to wait for a while.” Harry shrugs and his cheeks turn pink. He slides his fingers through Draco’s hair and he smiles. “It was a bit intense.”

“For you?” Draco snorts and kisses Harry on the cheek. “I was the one with your fist up my arse.”

“You were indeed.” Harry chuckles and rocks against Draco’s thigh. “You’re not done?”

“Not by a long shot. I can’t have you looking so eager and not do anything about it.” Holding Harry down on his cock has given Draco renewed momentum and he wriggles in place. “Though I don’t much fancy being fucked at the moment. Get on your hands and knees.”

“Like this?” Harry grins and shifts into position, looking back at Draco.

“Just like that.”

Draco reaches for the lubricant and the slim toy he knows Harry likes the best. Harry doesn’t like to be stretched and filled in the same way Draco does, but he has his moments. When he wants to be fucked, Harry usually takes charge of things and straddles Draco’s thighs, groaning with pleasure and rocking above him. The first time Harry attempted it, Draco wondered if he might die from the sight of Harry like that.

Draco slicks his hand and the toy, and then spreads Harry’s cheeks wide. He leans in and flicks his tongue over his hole, just for a moment, and pulls back. He presses the toy against Harry’s hole and grins when Harry pushes back against it.

“Bloody tease.”

“You’re going to have to work for it, Potter.” Draco holds his breath as Harry growls and curses under his breath. He watches Harry push back again and releases his breath when Harry stretches a little around the toy and it slips inside him, shaped to press against all of the right places.

Draco wraps his slick hand around Harry’s cock and keeps his movements as slight as he can, enjoying the sight of Harry pushing back and forth to seek out his own pleasure. When Harry’s breathing begins to come in rough pants and a series of pleas fall from his lips, Draco gives in. He grips Harry’s cock firmly and strokes him, pumping the toy in and out, until Harry comes with a shout and drops down onto the bed.

“Fuck, I’m going to miss that.” Harry turns and reaches for Draco, a tentative smile on his lips. “I’m going to miss you.”

“Of course you are,” Draco agrees. He goes to Harry willingly and settles into his arms.

“I know you’re going to miss me too.” Harry sounds amused.

“I might.”

Draco closes his eyes and purses his lips, to stop himself from begging Harry to stay.

I only stay in this house because of you, and it changes when you’re not around. Everything changes when you’re not around.

“You’re very quiet.” Harry slides his hands into Draco’s hair and moves his fingers through the strands, which lulls Draco into a sense of relaxation he hasn’t felt for some time.

“I’m a bit shagged out, Potter.” Draco keeps his tone as light as he can and changes the subject. “I had an idea for when you get back.”

“Oh?”

“Do you fancy a bit of role play?” Draco holds his breath and glares when Harry laughs. “What’s so funny?”

“It depends what sort of role play you have in mind.” Harry grins and kisses Draco on the nose, earning himself a light swat on the arm. “Healer and patient? Teacher and student? Pirate and busty wench?”

“You’re a prat.” Draco rolls his eyes and settles back onto Harry’s chest. “I had something rather different in mind. I suppose you could say there was an element of back to school about it.”

“I’m intrigued.” Harry yawns and pulls the duvets around them both. “Don’t get me excited again, Malfoy – I’ve got a bloody early start.”

“We’ll discuss it when you get back.”

Draco squeezes his eyes closed and holds Harry more tightly, wishing the morning away.



15 October

“Alright, Malfoy?”

Harry grins and desire threatens to overwhelm Draco. He swallows around the lump in his throat, as he takes in Harry’s sleep-rumpled hair and broad, open smile. He flicks his gaze over Harry to take in every last, perfect detail. Harry has found his old wire-rimmed glasses which frame his eyes and strands of dark hair fall over his scar, covering it completely. His white shirt is crumpled and untucked, and his Gryffindor tie has been knotted in a hurry, slightly askew. Harry looks as if he can’t be bothered to dress himself properly and Draco remembers everything he ever felt for Harry when they were too young to know much about anything at all.

“You shaved.” Draco brushes his fingers along Harry’s jawline and allows his touch to linger for a moment.

“I thought I should.” Harry nods and tugs at Draco’s tie, pulling him closer. “You look bloody brilliant.”

“Pervert.” Draco smiles nevertheless and tangles his hands in Harry’s hair, pulling him nearer. Harry has showered and his damp hair leaves cool droplets on Draco’s cheek. The soap carries a warm, spicy scent and which makes Draco itch to bury his head in Harry’s neck and just breathe.

“No more of a pervert than you,” Harry responds, cheerfully. “I think this was your idea, after all. You said you wanted to be a teenager again, Merlin only knows why.”

Draco stands back because he can’t breathe properly with Harry dressed like this. He sometimes hates Harry for their past and the fact Harry was right, when Draco was wrong. He hates remembering the way Harry - Potter - used to look at him. Most of all he hates the way that more often than not, Harry wouldn’t bother looking at him at all.

“You think you’re so perfect, Potter.” Draco sneers and watches Harry’s lip set in a line and his eyebrow arch in confusion. “Such a fucking hero.”

“You’ve got me all wrong, Malfoy.” Harry holds up his hands and responds smoothly, playing along with Draco’s scene, his expression faltering for just a moment.

“I don’t think so.” Draco moves closer and presses into Harry, winding his tie around his hand to pull their faces together. “Everybody thinks you’re so brave and strong, but you’re really just as scared as the rest of us – a pathetic child who can’t sleep at night because he has nightmares about the Dark Lord.”

“That’s a bloody low blow.” Harry’s face turns stony and he bats Draco’s hand away, pushing him and putting distance between them again, as Draco feels everything start to unravel when Harry turns his back on him.

Draco wants Harry to shag him over the desk they Transfigured in the corner of the room and maybe yank his trousers down and give him a thorough spanking. He doesn’t want to allow himself to be consumed by overwhelming anger and a sense of deep inadequacy. The very last thing he wants is for Harry to ignore him.

“What’s the matter? You think I don’t know that you cry yourself to sleep at night thinking about your dead parents.”

Harry turns and his face is fixed in fury. He clenches his fists by his side and the look in his eyes makes Draco step back. Harry might hit him for this and he wonders why he wouldn’t care. Part of him wants Harry’s fist to connect with his lip and split it open – he needs to taste his own blood and wants to beg Harry to stop him before he says something else that can never be taken back.

“Red.”

“Red?” Draco is confused, because that isn’t much of a response at all. It takes a moment before he remembers and everything goes cold.

“If I go too far – if you need me to stop – just say red, okay?” Harry looks nervous and he slides the belt through his hands.

“I won’t need you to stop.” Draco sounds more confident than he feels and spreads his hands against the wall, where they have been bound against the brickwork using magic and silk ribbons.

“Well, just in case. Red means too far, too much, no more. You understand?”

“Yes.” Draco closes his eyes and arches his back under the first strike of the belt. “I understand.”

“I need some air.” Harry pulls at his tie and drops it onto the sofa. He pushes past Draco and grabs his coat from the bannister.

Draco stays in place and only moves when he hears the door slam behind Harry. He pulls open the door open and a gust of cool air makes him shiver. When he looks around, Harry is nowhere to be seen.



18 October


When he hears someone step through the Floo late into the evening, Draco’s heartbeat quickens. He picks up the remainder of the chocolate he purchased earlier that day and makes his way slowly through the house, so as not to make it look as though he’s been desperate for Harry to return.

“Harry?”

“’Fraid not.” Weasley pockets his wand and shakes the rain from his hair, looking around. “Don’t you have any candles in this place?”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Weasley looks official and more serious than Draco is used to. He’s far more accustomed to Weasley singing Quidditch anthems and tipping a frothy pint in Harry’s direction, or snogging Granger with absolutely no sense of public decency.

“I’m looking for Harry – haven’t seen him for days and I assumed he was hiding away with you again as Hermione said you haven’t been in work either.” Weasley grimaces and shakes his head as if he still can’t get over Harry’s decision to set up house with a Malfoy. “He does that from time to time.”

“I’m well aware of that.” Draco leans against the wall for support and thinks he might be sick, because a visit from Weasley in the middle of the night can’t be good news. His hands tremble and his stomach twists into unpleasant knots. All he can think about is how miserable the last three days have been without Harry and how much he hates Grimmauld Place when Harry goes off to fight another war.

“He’s not here and he’s not with you and Granger, so where the fuck is he?”

“Really, I have no idea. I’ve been trying to reach him since he handed in his notice.”

“I haven’t seen him for three days. We argued.” A dull roar sounds in Draco’s ears and he clenches his hands together. “He handed in his notice?”

“Around three days ago. He reckoned he didn’t like being away from home so much.” Weasley eyes Draco, shrewdly. “I assumed you knew – I half thought you asked him to give up his job, I was going to have a word with you about it.”

“I did no such thing.” Draco’s voice tightens and he swallows back his fear to glare at Weasley. “Is there anywhere else he would have gone?”

“Not that I can think of. It’s not like Harry to bugger off without telling anyone, even if you were behaving like a total prat.”

Draco doesn’t even bother to defend himself because he knows he hasn’t got a leg to stand on. All he can think of is Harry laughing and kissing him with chocolaty lips and pulling him into a stupid dance while one of their favourite songs plays in the background.

“We’ve got to find him.” Draco’s voice cracks but he knows this isn’t the time to break down.

“Yes – we really do.” Weasley frowns and gestures to the Floo. “Put on some clothes and we’ll go and see Kingsley.”

Draco looks down at his pyjamas and wonders what Weasley must think of him sitting in the semi-darkness in fluffy tartan and clutching a half-eaten bag of chocolate frogs.

The first jumper Draco finds is one of Harry’s and he pulls it over his head despite the fact the sleeves are too long and it lost any of its shape long ago. He brings the sleeve to his nose, and nothing matters anymore. All he can smell is Harry and he tells himself that Harry would never leave without saying goodbye.

When Draco makes his way downstairs, Weasley eyes the jumper and arches his eyebrow. Draco huffs and gestures to the Floo. “Get on with it, Weasley.”

They leave the house together in a puff of green smoke and a sharp tug of magic.



Draco wraps his arms around himself as they arrive at Godric’s Hollow. The air is cooler than it is in London, where the traffic and the throngs of people make everything hot and uncomfortable. Weasley, Granger and a handful of Aurors lead the way to a small grave, and Draco remembers his visit to Godric’s Hollow, a long time ago.

He had clutched Harry’s hand as he talked about his parents and when they returned home later that night, Harry had pulled Draco close and asked to be fucked. Draco had taken him harder than usual, because that’s what Harry had said he wanted. He knew Harry had just wanted to feel something other than grief, but he hadn’t made any comment. He had asked the same of Harry more times than he cared to remember.

You think I don’t know that you don’t cry yourself to sleep at night, thinking about your dead parents?

Draco shivers again and traces his fingers over the grave. “He’s been here. The flowers look fresh.”

Hermione’s kneels beside the grave and she reaches into the flowers. Draco wants to tell her to stop and to treat Harry’s arrangement with a bit of bloody respect, but when she sits back on her heels and holds up Harry’s wand, everything stops.

“Priori Incantato”

Granger whispers the spell, and ghostly images float from the wand. Harry’s Patronus gallops through the night and ethereal flowers sprout from the tip, floating off into the darkness. The green and red flashes of something darker flicker and turn into the night air and Draco can almost hear Harry’s voice yelling out his defensive spells.

“He won’t fight to kill – why doesn’t he fight to kill?” Draco’s voice wavers and Weasley glares, his cheeks pink and his eyes filling with worry.

“Because he’s a better man than that.”

They walk through the winding streets of the village, looking for any sign of Harry. Eventually they reach a small, dilapidated house and Granger pushes open the door.

“Someone has been here recently.”

“Where is this place?” Dawlish rubs a web from his hair and shakes his head. “I’m damned if I know why Potter would come here.”

“It’s Bathilda Bagshot’s old house and Harry’s been here before. If he couldn’t get very far he would have known he could at least shelter here.”

“I don’t know why he wouldn’t just Apparate, he wouldn’t have needed his wand for that.” Dawlish looks around again with a shudder. “Better than ending up here, I’d have thought.”

“He might not have been able to Apparate.” Granger turns away from Draco, but he knows enough about magic to understand the unspoken words. Harry would only have decided not to Apparate in the event that he was too badly injured to believe he could do so safely.

“He’s here – in the kitchen. Hurry up, for fuck’s sake.”

Weasley’s voice sounds loud in the quiet house where the floorboards creak restlessly. Draco fights his way through the group of Aurors, shouting their commands and sending silvery wisps of magic off into the night.

Harry’s face is pale and covered in the dust and grime from the floor. His leg is bandaged with a makeshift tourniquet and Draco notices he has used his school shirt – that stupid bloody shirt – to make a knot at the top of his thigh.

Bile rises in his throat and he can’t look – he won’t look – at the blood on the floor and the dark red on Harry’s hands. Next to his body is a broken cup, filled with water which Harry must have cleaned using the most basic wandless magic.

“Is he alive?”

Draco isn’t sure who asks the question, and when Weasley stands, the look on his face makes Draco’s legs buckle beneath him.

“Yes. He’s alive.”



Draco can’t explain why he doesn’t go back to St Mungo’s after Granger comes barrelling out of the room, flinging her arms around Draco’s neck and letting him know that Harry’s awake.

Instead, he tells her he’ll be along in a minute and uses the hospital Floo to go back to Grimmauld Place where he tidies everything until it’s spotless. He tells himself that’s what he should be doing, despite the fact he has never tidied anything in his life. No matter how much Draco tries to keep the house from succumbing to its dust and shadows, he finds nothing he does can make it bright anymore.

Weasley sends him owls and Draco hears the fire flare more than once as Weasley tries to contact him, but he refuses to respond. When he hears somebody come through the Floo several days after getting the news about Harry, Draco half expects to see Weasley and clutches his wand in his hand just in case he’s about to get his arse hexed.

Harry

Harry looks tired and pale, and his expression flickers when he sees Draco. He leans heavily on a wooden stick and it looks very much as though he’s left his hospital bed before anybody told him he was free to go.

“You idiot – you should be in bed.” Draco helps Harry to the sofa and closes his eyes as Harry’s arm wraps firmly around his waist. He keeps them both steady and takes his place next to Harry, trying to resist the urge to hold onto him tightly and kiss him until nothing else matters anymore.

“When I woke up, do you know what I wanted most of all?”

“Food, if your previous form is anything to go by.” Draco snorts and folds his hands into his lap. Even though there is still too much distance between them, having Harry in their home again makes it hard to think clearly.

“You, Malfoy – you daft prat.” Harry sighs and rubs his forehead. “I needed a bit of space after everything, but I was always going to come home to you that night. At least that was the plan.”

“Even after the things I said?” Draco hates the way his voice sounds small and uncertain and he glares at his hands, twisting them together.

“Even after that – although I expect we should probably talk about why you tried to make me punch you in the nose.”

“You should have done – too bloody noble, that’s your problem.” Draco looks up and finally meets Harry’s eyes. “I hated you then – or I thought I did. It was a stupid game to play.”

“I remember.” Harry’s brow furrows and he puts his stick down, stretching his damaged leg out with a wince. He looks slimmer than Draco remembers, even after just a few days apart. “I don’t expect the stuff I tell you about the war or my parents to be used against me when we’re trying to have sex. It doesn’t exactly get me in the mood, just so we’re clear on that.”

“I didn’t plan for any of that to happen.” Draco hesitates and his apology catches in his throat.

“You can’t say it, can you?” Harry rolls his eyes and gives Draco a look. “I’m sorry - it’s not that bloody difficult. I’m sorry, I don’t want you to work abroad anymore, I want to move out of this place and find somewhere which doesn’t remind me of the Manor, you matter to me, I want you to make me hurt sometimes – for fuck’s sake, Draco.”

“I’m not sure why I need to say any of it if you’re so sure you know everything already,” Draco snaps. He feels the same sense of anger and shame that he felt when they dressed up for his silly game. Harry nearly died and still Draco can’t say the fucking words I’m sorry. He clenches his hands into fists and squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m never good enough when I’m with you – you’re too damn honourable.”

“You’re more than good enough for me.” Harry’s voice falters and he brushes his fingers against Draco’s arm. “Or at least that’s what I think, and isn’t that what matters?”

“Not really.” Draco tries to gather his thoughts but he can’t when his head is full of Harry on the floor of that horrible house, covered in his own blood.

“I can’t do this now.” Harry grits his teeth and rubs his eyes furiously. “I just want to go to bed and sleep for a while. I’m bloody knackered, and I’m sick to the back teeth of sleeping in a hospital bed without you there.”

“We just go to bed and forget about this?” Draco looks up as Harry pulls himself to his feet with a wince.

“I’m not forgetting about anything. I’m going to bed and you’re welcome to join me.” Harry opens the door and looks back at Draco. “I’ll tell you how you feel like a better man, shall I? You stop being such a selfish git. You don’t run off and leave me on the pretence that you think I’m too good for you – if you do that, you’ll prove yourself right and I won’t come chasing after you.”

“Go to sleep, Potter. We’ll talk when you can stand properly without looking like you’re about to topple over.”

“Yeah, maybe we will.” Harry gives Draco one last look before leaving the room.

Draco stares into the fire and doesn’t move until nightfall, hearing the heavy thud of Harry’s stick on the stairs long after Harry has already gone to bed.



“You took your time.” Harry shifts when Draco climbs into the bed and stretches out at Harry’s side.

“Considering you can’t even undress yourself I thought you might need some help.” Draco looks at Harry’s shoes, kicked off onto the floor without being unlaced and he notices Harry is still wearing his jeans and socks. He moves down the bed to take Harry’s socks off and watches his eyelids flutter and his lips twitch. “I was there at the hospital, you know. I didn’t leave until you woke up.”

“I know. Ron told me.” Harry opens his eyes momentarily, his gaze lingering on Draco. “He said you were a right prat but he reckons you probably care more than you let on.”

“Weasley’s an idiot,” Draco mutters.

“Of course he is.” Harry sounds amused.

Draco wonders how far he should go with helping Harry out of his clothes, but he can’t imagine Harry wants to sleep in thick jeans. He unbuckles Harry’s belt and works open the zip on his trousers, tugging them down over Harry’s hips. He’s surprised to find Harry naked under his jeans and suspects he probably did just leave the hospital in a hurry without being told he was fit to leave.

“You’re in pain?” Draco takes off his own shirt and trousers and settles next to Harry, tracing his fingers over his chest. He can’t help but notice that Harry doesn’t seem to react to his touch anymore and that fills him with panic.

“It’s not too bad.” At last, Harry opens his eyes and turns his head on the pillow to watch Draco. “I’m not fully healed by a long shot. Some of the things we did…you’re going to have to be patient with me.”

“I see.” Draco swallows and moves his fingers over Harry’s chest, tracing Harry’s name with his thumb.

“Is it a problem?” Harry’s lips tighten into a firm line and he turns his gaze away from Draco to look at the ceiling.

“Did you think it would be? I expect you think I’m just with you because you’re so good in bed.” Draco rolls his eyes. “It takes a lot more than a couple of blow jobs to make me clean a house of this size from top to bottom. You’ve turned me into a house-elf.”

“Well my mouth still works just fine.” Harry turns back to Draco and grins.

“Gryffindor.” Draco knows Harry well enough by now to know he probably isn’t feeling as brave about his attack as he pretends to be. “Has the Healer given you any indication about the extent of your injuries?”

“Professional Quidditch is out if I fancied a career change.” Harry shrugs. He drops his gaze to his cock and he winces. “I also think you and I might have to get a bit more creative about things.”

Draco swallows and nods, pressing closer to Harry and kissing his cheek. “I can be very creative. I have lots of experience with being creative.”

“Of course.” Harry arches his eyebrow at Draco and nods. “All that fucking you did during the war.”

Draco begins a smart response but the way Harry watches him makes him stop.

“There was no fucking during the war. There’s only ever been you.”

“I never would have guessed,” Harry replies, seriously. He smiles broadly and tugs Draco close, brushing their lips together. “Will you do something for me?”

“As long as it’s nothing horribly perverted.” Draco kisses Harry back and knows he wouldn’t give a monkeys even if it was.

“It’s a bit odd.” Harry draws a breath and nods to the wardrobe. “I’ve got a spare uniform in there – from Hogwarts. Do you fancy getting me dressed up again and showing me what filthy things you would have done to me if I’d have found my way into the Slytherin dorms by accident?”

“I’d have tied you up and hexed you – and not in a good way.” Draco smirks but moves to the wardrobe nevertheless. “Is there any particular reason you want to do this? It didn’t exactly go according to plan last time.”

“Perhaps that’s why I want to try again.” Harry shrugs and watches Draco move around the room. “Will you change, too?”

“If you like.” Draco pulls on his own uniform, resizing it a little, and then does the same for Harry’s shirt and trousers. He watches Harry sit up and button up his shirt and helps him on with his trousers, although he plans to take them off again pretty sharpish and fuck Harry until he forgets they ever had any kind of argument.

Harry knots his tie with the same carelessness that leaves him looking rumpled and unkempt all over again. With a rush of affection, Draco reaches for the glasses on the bedside table and places them on Harry’s face, brushing his fingers over his cheek.

“There – now you look like the prat I remember.”

“Good.” Harry reaches for Draco and pulls him down, their bodies sliding together on the sheets. “Do you still hate me?”

“No.” Draco notices how Harry looks different somehow, the wariness behind his steady gaze new and unprecedented. He ruffles Harry’s hair to try to give it some sort of shape and rolls his eyes when it refuses to behave. He slides his hand into the thick strands and kisses Harry slowly until they’re both breathless. “It turns out I don’t hate you at all, Potter – although I still find you entirely too aggravating for words.”

“Well that’s good, then.” Harry grins and kisses Draco back, wrapping his tie around his hand and pulling him closer. “Because I was hoping you could show me what you Slytherins like to do in your spare time.”

“Oh, lots of things. You probably wouldn’t be interested in most of them.” Draco dips his voice and nips at Harry’s ear, smiling against his skin. “Tell me, Potter, has anyone ever fucked you before?”

Harry chuckles and arches his neck to give Draco better access.

“I can’t say they have – I’ve been pretty busy killing Dark Lords.”

“Well then, I suppose somebody should show you how.” Draco heaves a sigh as if he resents the task. “There’s all sorts of Dark magic which requires a virgin sacrifice. Think of it as my doing you a favour.”

“Absolutely.” Harry grins again and pulls Draco down over him. “I wouldn’t look at it any other way.”

~Fin~