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(Un)Calculated Risk

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Draco automatically slowed when he neared the little coterie gathered at the wide window seat. It was the usual bunch of Gryffindors with Lovegood's fair head standing out as the single Ravenclaw – but Draco’s eyes remained on the one person who stood out like only he could.

Potter didn’t sit lounging across the length of the stone sill like one would’ve expected him to; it was Weasley who lay across it with his head on Granger’s lap, who in turn had her nose characteristically buried in a thick volume. Potter stood next to her her, hip leaning against the sill, and he was laughing at something Longbottom and Lovegood were doing – some weird dance move, Draco didn’t pause to take note. He had other things, other people, to take note of – namely Potter.

Draco’s gaze slowly travelled upwards, starting at the worn trainers, laces coming undone on the right one; the flap of a shirttail hanging out, crimson Gryffindor tie spilling out of one trouser pocket. Potter’s sleeves were rolled back haphazardly up to his elbows, thick forearms crossed across his chest, the first two buttons on his white shirt left undone. The mangy black head was thrown back in mirth, the unkempt mass of ebony making Draco’s hands itch with the desire to be buried in it. Light stubble shadowed the rugged jaw line; Draco could almost feel it on his skin already, scratching across him in a not entirely unpleasant way – not that he’d ever admit it. The soft, chapped lower lip was now being bitten in a thoughtful manner and when Draco’s gaze finally landed on the piercing green eyes, he realised why.

His stomach clenched in a mixture of excitement and embarrassment when he realised that not only had he been caught staring but was being thoroughly scrutinised himself. His pace, having had slowed down slightly, immediately went back up and he remembered to keep his chin raised.

“Alright, Malfoy?”

He paused. Turned. Lifted a brow in a well-practised expression of patient disdain.

It was Weasley who’d called out to him. “Weasley.” Draco nodded stiffly. The redhead laughed.

“Ready to lose again tonight?” he asked cheerfully. “I bet I can beat you in eight moves or less.”

It was taking a considerable amount of physical effort to stop himself meeting Potter’s gaze, now fixed so firmly on him that he could feel himself starting to sweat a little.

“There’s nothing I’d enjoy more than taking you down, you overconfident ginger git.” Draco smirked as Weasley’s sister sang a low oooohhhhh from between cupped hands and Granger shook her head without looking up, mouth curled into an exasperated smile. Longbottom made a soft pft as he leaned back against the wall, hands in his pockets, and Lovegood suddenly pranced over to plant a very wet kiss on Draco’s cheek.

Draco blinked, secretly horrified that he was now actually used to these people and their idiosyncrasies, wiping his cheek and ignoring the delighted laughter from the rest of them. He returned Lovegood’s bright smile with a rather watery one of his own. “Hello, Lovegood.”

“Draco Malfoy,” she said brightly. And then, “You have been highly sexually active lately.”

Weasley actually rolled off the windowsill, though unfortunately instead of rolling outwards and falling down six floors, he landed on the corridor floor on all fours, heaving with soundless laughter. Longbottom was grinning widely as the she-Weasel hooted in the most unladylike manner. Even Granger had looked up from her book to purse her lips at Lovegood, brown eyes dancing with amusement as she then glanced at Draco.

When he finally caved and let his gaze lock with Potter’s, he regretted it instantly. Potter was watching him, his gaze soft and dark, his mouth curved in a loose, terribly distracting smile that could only be described as adoring. Draco’s stomach fluttered and he could feel heat flooding his cheeks as he prepared to walk away, gulping hard and refusing to acknowledge the fond twinkle in those damn green eyes.

“Yes, alright, as charming as this has been.” Draco made to turn away.

“You never confirmed whether she’s right, though.”

Now Potter chose to chime in. Arsehole.

“No. No, I didn’t,” Draco said, facing Potter properly. The bastard hit him with a full blown grin, mischievous and aggravatingly attractive, and Draco wanted so bad to reciprocate. “Because it really isn’t anybody’s business but my own, is it, Potter?”

Potter shrugged exaggeratedly. “Yours and whomever it is you’ve been—” He paused, licking his lips over his smile and giving Draco the mere shadow of a wink, “—sexually active with.”

He was sure he was properly blushing now. And he was trembling very lightly from a mixture of genuine mortification and...


Twisting his face into the best sneer he could muster, given the circumstances, Draco calmly flipped him off, making Potter burst out into a delighted chuckle, and then turned around and walked away determinedly, grinning foolishly to himself once he was a safe distance away.

Barely half a minute after he’d let himself into the alcove behind the tapestry with the angry centaurs on it, Harry was on him.

His startled gasp morphed into breathless sniggering as he accepted Harry’s vigorous flurry of moist kisses that were being pressed all over his face. Sturdy hands clenched at his hips and he was backed firmly into the wall as warm lips caught on his forehead, his eyelids, the tip of his nose, the corners of his mouth and his cheeks.

“You remind me of Hagrid’s slobbering beast of a dog,” Draco laughed, attempting to bat him away before cupping his cheeks and kissing him back instead. Playing along, Harry painted a firm lick up his cheek and Draco yelped, still laughing as he planted both his hands on Harry’s face and forced it away. “Ugh, you’re fucking gr--”

Harry cut him off by catching his mouth, mid-sentence, in his. Humming contently, he immediately kissed back, pushing his hands into that messy mane and gripping, clutching tight, just like he’d so desperately wanted to a few minutes ago.

Harry’s hands on his hips tightened and he ran a careful tongue along Draco’s own, the velvety slide making them both shiver. Tilting his head to further deepen the kiss, Draco made a sound of irritation when Harry abruptly pulled away.

They panted softly at each other, Draco frowning, angling forward for more, and Harry pulling back gently with a small smile that clearly indicated that he had something on his mind.

“What?” Draco rolled his eyes. The git always found the most inopportune moments to talk.

“Nothing!” Harry laughed softly. And then quite out of nowhere, “I wanted to kiss you back there in front of everybody like I’ve wanted nothing else.”

“You could kiss me now,” said Draco pointedly, cocking one brow and resolutely ignoring the swarm of maniacal butterflies that burst to life in his belly at Harry’s words. The hope and honesty in the other boy’s voice made Draco want to scream into a void.

“I could,” Harry agreed, leaning forward and planting a disgustingly sweet kiss on his mouth before pulling away once more. “I want to meet your mother.”

Draco spluttered quite vigorously and was certain that he’d unintentionally spat on Harry. “What? Why?!”

Harry frowned on a sigh. “Well, if my mum were alive, I’d have liked to introduce my boyfriend to her.”

Heart clenching, Draco grabbed his head and kissed him fervently before he realised Harry was trying (and failing) not to laugh. Then he shoved him back roughly and scowled. “That was a shit thing to say,” he informed him. “Why d’you want to meet Mother anyway?”

 “Because it’s the proper thing to do, Malfoy.”

“Proper?” Draco intoned incredulously. “Proper?! You eat every meal with your elbows on the table. You rock back in every chair you sit. You don’t own a comb. You do not get to talk about what is proper.”

Clicking his tongue irritably at Harry’s amused chuckling, Draco yanked him forward by the collar to snog him some more. Harry responded at once, curling his arms around Draco and holding him tight enough that his ribs protested, their mouths moving furiously together, wet and noisy. Draco began a gentle rut, grinding his stirring cock against Harry’s groin until there was a soft moan in response and one hand came down to roughly squeeze Draco’s right arse cheek.

“I just—” Harry broke away all of a sudden and Draco let his forehead thump onto his shoulder with a tired sigh, reaching back to close his hand over the one Harry had on his arse, holding it firmly in place as he pressed back into it. “I want people to know... you know?”

“Know what?” Draco refused to meet his gaze, instead pressing biting kisses along the stubbled jaw.

Harry’s grip tightened around his handful of his bum and Draco muffled a squeal. “About us.”

Draco sighed again. “Harry, we’ve been over this—”

You didn’t want to tell anyone in case it somehow affected our N.E.W.T preparations.” Harry frowned at him as Draco moved back to look at him steadily. “Well? We’re done with our N.E.W.Ts now,” he said pointedly while running his thumb over Draco’s still-wet lower lip.

Draco opened his mouth and neatly sucked his thumb in, closing his lips around it and deliberately moving his mouth along the digit in a way that was transparently suggestive. Harry’s breath shuddered out of him as he watched, transfixed, as Draco lapped at his finger, nibbling at the square corners of his nail before sucking the length back into his mouth.

“Draco,” Harry groaned, and it was with no small amount of satisfaction that Draco let himself be snogged breathless for the next several minutes, winding long arms around his neck and keeping him in place this time, kissing him back hungrily and guiding Harry’s hands down to his arse once more.

When he felt Harry trying to pull away yet again, he growled and brought his teeth down over his lower lip, letting his displeasure be known by biting repeatedly until Harry let out a little snarl and deepened the kiss with a vengeance, sucking on his lips and licking around inside his mouth until Draco was forced to pull back with a long, desperate gasp.

“It’s our last week at Hogwarts,” Harry panted.

Draco made an impatient sound through his own laboured breathing. “And what? You want to ensure everybody knows about us before we leave? Hold my hand in the corridors? Snog me at breakfast? Undress me and fuck me in front of everyone during dinner? Oh, shut up!” he said irritably as Harry’s grin grew filthy and he squeezed Draco’s arse as if in approval of Draco’s suggestion. “What do you want?” he asked on a sigh, combing the wild black fringe off Harry’s forehead and gently flicking the pad of his thumb over his scar.

“To be with you.”

“You are with me.”

“You know what I mean.”


“At least tell me why you don’t want people to know! We haven’t even told our friends about us yet. And I’m pretty darn sure they already fucking know. Parkinson winked at me the other day when we got back from the Prefects’ Bath – I waited fifteen minutes before I followed you into the common room! But I think she still fucking knew.” He suddenly looked thoughtful. “And if she’s been able to guess, then it means Hermione’s probably already known for a lot longer, and that means that Ron as good as knows too.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed into slits. “What did you tell all of them when you came after me just now?”

“Er... That I had to use the loo?”

“And they believed you?” Draco’s asked scathingly.

“I didn’t wait around to check.”

Draco’s lip curled. “I really hate you sometimes, Potter.”

Harry wound his fingers in the soft hair at the nape of Draco’s neck, gently tugging until his throat was bared and his breath was audibly hitched. “Really?” He brushed his lips over Draco’s – once, twice; barely-there touches that made him whine and pull against Harry’s grip on his hair.


“Do you really?”

“Fuck off. And kiss me.”

Harry pressed their foreheads together, and for a while, they just stood like that. Draco brought his hands up to cradle Harry’s face, grazing the tip of his nose over his and following it up with a kiss.

“I don’t know how people will react,” Draco admitted quietly into the silence. “I can’t know for sure that the news will be received well and I can’t risk--” He stopped talking abruptly and leaned back, rolling his eyes in a way he hoped made him seem unconcerned. “Whatever, Potter. Can we drop it?”

“You can’t risk...what?” Harry prompted hopefully.

Draco shot him a glare before suddenly straightening up and reaching out to hitch the tapestry out of the way. “Fine. Since you don’t seem to be in the mood to fuck anyway--”

Next thing he knew, he’d been whirled around and pressed face first into the wall with his arm bent at the elbow, wrist being held in an unbreakable grip at his lower back. “I’m always in the mood to fuck you.” Harry closed his teeth around one earlobe and pulled gently, nipping at it as he released it.

Draco stood there wordlessly, shivering as the wet, hot mouth worked expertly over each of the sensitive little nooks along his neck, the light stubble catching on his skin, adding an edge to the softly sucked kisses. His tie was tugged loose and pulled off over his head and his collar was yanked aside for more access to his throat. When Harry bit firmly into the curve between neck and shoulder, Draco whined softly.

He’d learnt many things about Harry Potter in the seven months they’d been... ‘together’ – things he hadn’t picked up during the seven years spent antagonising him.

Harry Potter was exasperatingly impatient and had little regard for finely tailored clothing – Draco now knew several of the school house-elves by name simply because of the innumerable times he’d had to seek one of them out to request them to sew the buttons on his shirt back on. And so when his shirt was carelessly jerked open and he heard what sounded like at least two buttons pinging across the flagstones, Draco just tched lightly, knowing there was absolutely no point complaining out loud.

And for all the generosity of spirit that people associated him with, Harry Potter was a possessive bastard – and was utter shit at pretending otherwise. This one time Draco had sat next to a particularly handsome seventh year Slytherin during dinner (because, yes, Harry and he had had a fight that evening and Draco was nothing if not hurtfully petty), Harry had more than satisfied Draco’s passive aggressive need to see him completely lose his shit (Harry had fucked him so hard that night, Draco was fairly certain he was still bruised from it). And so when Harry gnawed a proprietary line of mottled red marks starting below his ear all the way down to his shoulder, Draco pushed a hand into the raven hair and bit his lip over a weak moan, because fuck, but Harry’s unabashed displays of possessiveness drove him into a frenzy like nothing else did.

Harry was also infuriatingly tenacious, impressively witty, and was also funny with a sassy sort of confidence that left a person momentarily speechless before they laughed. He was consistently, overtly kind in a way that left Draco gritting his teeth at the warmth in his chest, and was unwaveringly, unflinchingly loyal.

He was also not a believer in the artful concealment of one’s true feelings and intentions. The way he spoke to, looked at, touched and kissed Draco left absolutely no doubt in his mind about how Harry felt about him – and frankly speaking, that as well as the realisation that he himself likely felt the same way about Harry in return terrified Draco like few other things did.

“Harry, fuck.” Draco let his head drop back onto Harry’s shoulder as his cock was pulled out and lovingly fondled, pushing his damp hardness into his fist and whining again when the grip tightened obligingly.

“We’ll get there,” Harry said, fondly amused. Draco’s belt buckle clanged loudly as it hit the floor, the elastic of his pants snapping loudly against his skin as Harry dragged it down the curve of his buttocks and down past his thighs.

Draco only realised that Harry had knelt when his left arse cheek was unexpectedly bitten – hard. “Argh! I’ll hex your teeth into marshmallows!” Draco threatened, even as arousal spread outwards from the sting that Harry was now lovingly easing away with his tongue, chuckling at Draco’s outburst. “Please,” he added, shivering as hot breath puffed over his crack.

Suddenly Draco’s elbows were being tugged at, prompting him to drop his arms and let Harry take his hands, guiding them behind himself. Face heating immediately, Draco slowly gripped and parted himself for Harry’s perusal, because Harry Potter was also shockingly filthy and it was probably one of his top three traits, in Draco’s top-secret opinion.

Pressing his lips tightly over his teeth to prevent any pathetic, premature sounds slipping out, Draco leaned his forehead into the cool stone and waited. He could feel Harry’s breath on his hole now and Harry’s fingers on the backs of his thighs, calloused and wonderfully warm, stroking him in slow, unhurried caresses.

When the first lick came, Draco jerked purely out of surprise. Then he planted his feet more firmly, toes curing inside his shoes, and shamelessly pushed his hips back out. There was a low chuckle – and then Harry planted his face in Draco’s crack with the air of a man settling down for a much looked-forward-to feast.

Draco eyes slammed shut as a little yip of pleasure sounded in his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hurriedly. Harry painted wide, wet strokes over his hole, pressing the flat of his tongue hard against it, his scratchy jaw instantly inflaming the sensitive skin along the insides of his arse cheeks. Draco could feel the way Harry’s whole torso moved with him, with the way he was throwing himself into eating Draco out, with every last iota of his nearly boundless energy. He didn’t bother easing his tongue in by fractions, instead simply forcing the wiggling muscle through the stubbornly tight ring of Draco’s arsehole until he’d breached him completely.

Now Draco moaned – he really couldn’t help it and nor could he be blamed for it – and rutted his sadly bobbing cock into thin air. Harry ate him with the same relentless tenacity with which he worked to put asunder Dark Lords; as if his sole purpose was to reduce Draco to a babbling mess as he was wracked with increasingly violent shudders that made his skin burn red hot and his cock leak a small spurt of pre-come, the skin along his crack reddened from that rough stubble.

Over and over Harry stabbed that tongue in and out of him, easing up a little only when he deemed Draco’s arsehole sufficiently pliant, after which he closed his lips over it and started to suck, noisily and with an embarrassing lack of shame.

Harry then made a little tut of disapproval. “Open,” he ordered gently and Draco, now perspiring all the way down to the small of his back, realised that although his grip on his own bum was painfully tight, his arms were limp and his arse wasn’t as wide open as Harry liked it to be. “Here.” He eased Draco’s hands away at the little whimper that escaped him, grabbed him and opened him up mortifyingly wide, pushing his face back in with an eager growl.

“You’re like an animal,” Draco said, talking over the devastated little cry that he’d nearly let out. “Only animals eat arse with this sort of unapologetic enthusiasm.”

“Are you complaining?” Harry asked mildly before running the very tip of his tongue in a lazy circle along the inside of his rim. Draco shook, pushing his arse back onto that tongue and then bucking forward so his cock slid against the wall.

“Fuck, no.” And then, when Harry blew lightly over his sopping wet hole, “Please, you bastard.”

Laughing, Harry turned him around and immediately nuzzled his cock, guiding it into his mouth with his left hand while his right slipped in between Draco’s legs. Grabbing him by two handfuls of his hair, Draco drove his cock into that wet warmth, panting through his mouth and groaning roughly when Harry pressed two fingertips into the yielding softness of his stretched hole. Draco’s stomach pooled with the kind of dull but terribly fierce heat that steadily spread outwards until his hips and groin and back all ached with it.

“Harry!” Draco let out a startled yelp as a hand suddenly closed around his ankle and lifted his shoe-clad foot onto one sturdy shoulder. “Merlin, warn me, dammit.” He whined in disappointment when his cock was abandoned rudely, Harry moving down to catch Draco’s balls in his mouth for a quick suckle before he moved his mouth lower, so he could nibble at his arsehole again. “I was close, you tit!” Draco groaned, trembling as the hot, damp skin of his back was plastered against the cold stone of the wall where his shirt rode up.

Harry ignored his grumbling, pushing his tongue back inside him along with the two fingers in a slick, wildly arousing tangle. The fingers went straight for his prostate, no dilly dallying, and waged a direct assault on it, massaging and squeezing until Draco was sure he was going to pass the fuck out. He was moaning hoarsely now, his eyes rolling back into his head, and simply focused on staying upright and leaving some of Harry’s hair attached to his scalp.

He knew the exact moment Harry conjured lube into the whole mix; he felt the sudden coolness of it, and then Harry finally pulled his tongue out, added another finger to replace it and scissored them all at once. Draco thrashed as much as he deemed prudent for a person standing balanced on one leg, and at that point, Harry looked up.

Draco’s breath hitched, and he gazed back down through half-lidded, pleasure-glazed eyes, releasing his hair to stroke the backs of his long, nimble fingers down Harry’s face instead. His glasses were slightly lopsided, side-effect of being an excellent rimmer while also half blind without corrective lenses. But his eyes shone up at Draco, vivid green and intensely bright as he stared with that half smile he reserved just for him.

And Draco’s knee buckled. He collapsed with a gasp of shock, arms flailing wildly, but Harry caught him, fingers pulling out of him and both hands firmly grabbing on to the cushiony softness of Draco’s bum, giving it a teasing squeeze as he positioned him to straddle his thighs, pants and trousers still tangled around his ankles before Harry pulled off one shoe and then tugged that leg free from the constricting garments so Draco could spread his knees open wider.

“Aren’t your knees sore?” Draco murmured softly, reaching up to straighten the black, square framed spectacles and pressing a quick kiss to the jagged scar under the messy fringe.

“And so what if they are,” Harry brushed aside huskily, releasing Draco’s arse to reach between them and unfasten his trousers, finally releasing his own flushed thickness, damp and streaming with slick. Draco moaned and closed his hand over Harry’s, stroking him in quick, practised movements that had Harry tossing his head back.

Draco attacked his throat at once, leaving his own set of marks on the sun-bronzed skin, smiling against the jutting collarbones as Harry let out gritted grunts of pleasure into his mussed blond hair, jerking as Draco cupped his balls, rolling them in his hand before giving them a little squeeze--

“Fuck, stop, come here,” Harry panted, knocking away his hand and hefting Draco up with one arm crooked beneath his arse, using his other hand to guide his cock into place.

They moaned into each other’s mouths as Draco sunk, not very carefully, onto Harry’s cock. The shaft pulsed and throbbed inside him, the burn of accommodation making Draco go cross eyed. “Wait!” Draco gasped as Harry lifted him back up so only the head was inside; but before Harry could scrabble to obey, to hold him firmly in place, Draco was already sliding down once more, gravity and his own weight dragging him into place around Harry’s cock, which then slid snidely over Draco’s prostate in a flash of near blinding pleasure. Draco thrashed. “Oh fuck! Okay, don’t wait, do that again!”

 Harry laughed breathlessly into his neck, grabbing Draco’s waist and using a bruising grip to hoist Draco in a steady rise and fall, grinding his cock up into him with deep, wilful thrusts.

Harry’s effortless displays of sheer physical strength during sex left Draco, each and every time without fail, breathless and wildly aroused. He’d been on edge for several minutes already and now, with Harry inside him, around him, lifting and hauling him as he pleased, growling filth into his ear – Draco realised through the red haze that clouded his vision that he’d long since lost his mind.

He leaned back until his shoulders rested against the wall, instinctively tightening his thighs around Harry’s hips in a grip that was probably far from comfortable for him. But Harry simply pinned him with that steady, scorching green gaze and fucked up into him with enough force to leave Draco gasping for air. His cock slapped against his belly, neglected by both of them, and Draco couldn’t even bring himself to reach for it.

“You going to come for me?” Harry murmured, thumbs tracing Draco’s hipbones as he dipped down to run the flat of his tongue over the length of one of the scars across Draco’s chest. His cock was pressed ruthlessly against Draco’s prostate and when Harry shifted his head to bite down over one tight, pink nipple, Draco shuddered all over, crying out helplessly.

Harry’s mouth didn’t relent, sucking on the hard nub until it was reddened and shiny with spit before flicking his tongue over it in swift, teasing strokes that had Draco keening and yanking on his hair again. Over and over those teeth scraped at his nipple, leaving it delightfully sore and perversely throbbing for more of the same treatment. And Harry obliged, loudly sucking on it until Draco’s spine bent inwards and he unravelled completely.

His orgasm hit with the same jarring force it always did when Harry fucked him. Completely overwhelmed and simply shocked into silence, Draco came with sharp, upward bucks, ropes of come flying onto the flat of his belly and chest, Harry now thrusting wildly, head thrown back and jaw clenched.

“Draco,” he breathed, his grip on Draco turning savage as he stiffened and let out a guttural cry, pressing Draco onto his cock as if determined to come as deep inside him as physically possible. Whimpering, Draco pushed off the wall and wrapped both arms around Harry, clutching him to himself and pressing hot kisses onto his face which was still frozen in that rapturous mien of completion. “Draco,” he whispered again, and then Draco kissed him.

Despite being far from comfortable in the way they were sat tangled together on the cold, hard flagstones, but neither seemed to care as they kissed in frenzied desperation. Hands grabbed at hair and clothes as they clung onto each other in a sudden, embarrassing burst of emotion that neither wanted to formally acknowledge.

They were both fighting for breath by the time they pulled apart with a wet smack of swollen lips, and Draco waded through the slight dizziness to whisper, “Risk this.” He rested their brows together and pressed his hand flat over Harry’s chest, right over his heart which he could feel thundering under his touch. “I don’t want to risk losing this.” His voice shook and for once, he didn’t give a fuck. “I can’t risk losing this.”

Harry was silent, his arms tightly wound around Draco’s trembling form. “Malfoy.” A little confused by the sudden reversion to his family name, Draco leaned back to peer into the bespectacled face that shone seriously at him. “We’re not going to lose this.” Harry paused. “Ever.” Draco licked his lips slowly, shutting his eyes against the glare of the fierce promise in that declaration. “Draco...” Harry kissed his name onto his forehead.

“My back is killing me,” said Draco drily, quirking a crooked smile at the other boy before struggling off his lap (and cock). He slid off his thighs, landing on his bum with a grunt, hissing at the blunt pressure against his puffy hole, his arse deliciously sore.

Harry leaned back onto his hands and stretched his legs out alongside Draco with a broken groan of pain. Ignoring his near complete nudity for a few more seconds, Draco reached out and gave one of Harry’s ankles an empathetic squeeze. Harry sighed, smiling lazily as Draco got stiffly to his feet and pulled his clothes back into place, muttering under his breath as he Summoned first his tie, and then the buttons he’d once again lost, applying a Sticking Charm to fix them back onto his shirt – these charms never lasted long; he’d have to make another trip to the kitchens. Or maybe he’d just teach himself to sew. He might as well; it’s not as if Harry would ever not wrench his shirt open like a Neanderthal.

Harry, lounging against the wall, only had his fly hanging open, pink cock nestled soft and thick amidst the damp black curls. He watched Draco with the faintly heated gaze of a person still seeped in post-orgasmic lassitude and when Draco held out a hand meant to help him up, Harry grabbed it and nuzzled his face into the soft palm.

Clicking his tongue with the indulgent patience of familiarity, Draco let him press dry kisses into his hand before combing some of the hair out of his face. Cupping his cheek, he murmured a soft, “Get up, you stupid lump,” and tugged firmly as this time, Harry accepted his hand and hauled himself up to his feet.

He watched as Harry eased himself back in and did up his fly, leaving his shirt un-tucked. Draco made another sound of disapproval as, to add to his general unkempt appearance, Harry raised both hands and gave his hair a vigorous, completely unnecessary ruffle.

Grinning at Draco’s haughty sneer, Harry gathered him up in a sudden tackle and kissed him deeply. Simultaneously attempting to pat his hair into place, Draco kissed him back with a low hum, pushing his tongue in under Harry’s and gently nibbling on his lower lip.

“It’s the Finals tomorrow,” Harry pulled away and panted out of the blue. Draco blinked slowly, wet lips parted.

“I know,” Draco said tightly, sulky displeasure clear in his voice; he scowled at the teasing grin he got for that.

“I know it’s also your birthday, you prat.” Harry laughed softly, burying his face in Draco’s neck. “I remember. I’ll catch the Snitch for you, I promise.”

“Excuse you, but I expect a quality present, Potter,” Draco said, sniffing snootily before immediately ruining the effect by planting a wet kiss on Harry’s cheek.

“I thought I just gave you your quality present.” Harry laughed again as Draco smacked him up the head. “Hey, extended rim jobs are perfectly acceptable presents, you spoilt brat. Learn to appreciate the sm-- Ouch!”

The stands heaved, as if overcome by the breathtaking energy of the thronging students. The players shot through the air in streaks of cobalt blue and rich crimson, the Quaffle switching hands with electrifying speed, Beater bats smashing into Bludgers with enough force to send them rocketing around dangerously, each player’s face indecipherable from the other.

Except for Harry’s of course.

Draco sat between Pansy and Granger, his eyes fixed on the thumb sized, scarlet shape on the far end of the pitch, high enough that Draco knew Harry wouldn’t be able to spot him in the crowd even if he tried to, but could probably take in the entirety of the pitch from that excellent vantage.

His heart thundering in his ears, he ignored the roar from the Ravenclaw supporters as they scored another ten points. In retaliation, one of the Gyffindor Beaters sent a Bludger hurtling in the direction of the Chaser who’d just scored, who was then saved from a broken face by an astonishingly quick Ravenclaw Beater. The teams were almost neck and neck, Gryffindor at a hundred and thirty, Ravenclaw leading by ten points at a hundred and forty.

“WRAP THIS UP, HARRY!” Weasley bellowed from next to Granger. He was on his feet, like a majority of the students were, and was bouncing up and down with pent up tension. “COME ON, YOU FUCKING KNOB-HEAD!

“Ron, please shut up,” Granger said tetchily, but Draco could see the way her knuckles had turned white from gripping the railing in front of them, anxiety pouring off her in waves.

“Yes, Weasley, kindly spare us your aggravating cheerleading.” Draco’s voice was cracked with nervousness but he covered it up by rudely flipping Weasley the bird when he turned around to scowl at Draco.

He’d not had the chance to wish Harry luck that morning before breakfast like he’d hoped to. He’d overslept like a fucking arsehole, before being jolted awake to Pansy’s shrieked happy birthday, you great big ponce, and had then spent half an hour opening presents with her while still half asleep.

It was only after she’d wandered away asking him to hurry up and move his fat bum – the fucking bitch, Draco’s arse was his pride (and also Harry’s pride, he supposed) – that he’d spotted one more gift, half-hidden under the folds of his bedcovers. Wrapped in delicate silver paper with little silver Snitches on it, Draco had lifted the lid of the nondescript black box to discover – a Snitch.

Unlike a real gold Snitch this one was silver, and had tiny wings, also silver, that didn’t flutter. Inside the shiny, spherical ball, he’d found the cufflinks he’d pointed out to Pansy one evening, several weeks ago, as they’d flipped through that month’s copy of Wizarding Elite in the Eighth Year Common Room. Harry had sauntered past with a derisively snorted cufflinks, honestly, and Draco had chucked an empty Chocolate Frog carton at him with a stilted snarl before creeping out to an empty broom cupboard with him ten minutes later and sucking his cock till he’d come down Draco’s throat.

The cufflinks were gold and in the shape of a sinuously wound snake, jaws stretched wide, tiny fangs, also gold, gleaming on either side of the emerald in its mouth. Its eyes, small pinpricks, were also studded emeralds. They’d mainly caught Draco’s fancy because the model who’d been wearing them in the picture had been rather good looking and had winked saucily at Draco. And it was just like Harry to have fucking remembered and bought them for him anyway, despite the fact that they were actual gold and emeralds and probably cost a fortune.

Underneath them, he’d found a note and had unfolded it to read, ‘No other bloke our age would ever wear cufflinks, you posh git, but if anyone can carry these off, it’s you. Happy birthday!’ scribbled across it in Harry’s barely legible scrawl.

He’d shot out of bed and had raced through his morning ablutions with the soppiest fucking grin on his face and the desire to kiss his idiot boyfriend throbbing through him. But by the time he’d gone up to the Great Hall, the Gryffindor team had already left for their warm-ups.

So now, nearly two hours later, Draco was practically bursting with the need to just be with Harry. The fact that Harry flew with a weightless grace and a nearly impertinent ease made it so much worse – he was fucking majestic up there, his posture perfect, his balance impeccable – Draco could barely keep it together.

He fucking hated the Ravenclaw team with a vengeance, having personally lost to them the previous month but he couldn’t for the life of him bring himself to openly cheer on the Gryffindors, and so he simply sat there, spine stiff as a board, expression carefully arranged into bored impassivity, and unblinkingly watched Harry as he flew lazy circles over the pitch.

Until, suddenly, the indolently hovering figure Draco’s gaze was fixed on moved so quickly that for one discombobulated moment, Draco thought he’d simply vanished into thin air. Harry flattened himself on his broom and plunged into such a steep nosedive that Draco’s stomach lurched just watching. Pansy gasped and Granger let out a soft shriek as Weasley, and the rest of the fucking school, hollered so loudly that the Forest beyond the pitch seemed to wilt from the noise.

Hundreds of students seemingly held their breath as Harry Potter hurtled towards the freshly mown grass, the Ravenclaw Seeker’s panic palpable as he followed far, far too slowly.

And then Harry was shooting back up, hand held aloft in triumph, the feeble fluttering of the gossamer white wings just about visible against his gloved knuckles.

The stands exploded.

Weasley was bellowing with both arms up in the air, eyes popping and the tendons in his neck bulging. Granger was crying and laughing all at once, and was, shockingly, tangled in a completely spontaneous hug with Pansy. Applause thundered, Charmed lion-hats roared and students shrieked with the same joy that Draco, horrifyingly enough, felt in his own chest.

He was on his feet – when had got to his feet? – and Harry... wait, Harry was looking at him; was flying at him.

Grinning that open-hearted beam that Draco privately swooned over, Harry was making a beeline for him, speeding in a maroon blur. Draco only then realised that he himself was grinning right back. As Harry drew nearer, it suddenly became crystal clear just what he was about to do.

Out of nowhere, Draco suddenly thought back to their first kiss – hesitant, clumsy, and laced with Firewhiskey as they’d lounged by the fireplace in the common room long after everyone else had gone to bed. He thought of the kiss after their ‘first fight’ – Draco had screamed at Harry about how he probably still thought of Draco as nothing but a Death Eater who’d gone scot-free; it had been a completely irrational bout of insecurity and Harry’s eyes had been wet as they’d later kissed with a nearly violent need to reassure, shivering in the cold as they’d stood pressed together in the snow behind one of the greenhouses.

He thought of their kiss just the previous evening, the one after which Harry had said those things about... them, the promise ringing clear in his tone.

He thought about the way Harry looked at him, smiled at him; about the way Draco’s head was nearly always full of him, all day every day, and about the way Draco sometimes deliberately went to bed still smelling of him, refusing to acknowledge what it meant – because he already fucking knew what it meant. What all of it meant.

And then Draco decided, fuck it, he was going to risk it. They were going to risk it together, Harry and Draco.

For then Harry descended on him, one arm winding around Draco’s waist and pulling, the Snitch’s wings fluttering against the small of his back, his other hand pushing into Draco’s hair as he crushed their mouths together.

Cogency fled Draco as he grabbed Harry by his robes and yanked him closer, sliding both hands into his wind-ruffled hair as he slanted his head and let Harry ravage his mouth, giving back as good as he took. The noise of the stadium faded away into white noise – the only thing he even remotely cared about was kissing this gorgeous prat right here. Harry hovered in mid-air, seeming perfectly content to risk falling and breaking his neck as long as he could kiss Draco right there in front of hundreds of pairs of keenly staring eyes.

Draco felt as though he was flying too.

Their mouths moved wetly together; Harry's mouth tasted of sunshine and pumpkin juice. His face was cool from having the wind cut across it for so long and Draco’s fingers moved warmly over his cheeks, their lips curling into identical smiles of shy delight at the same time.

They pulled away and Draco’s heart sang in his ears, his chest rising and falling as they beamed at one another, both of them completely out of breath, Draco completely out of words.

“Happy birthday,” Harry whispered, grabbing Draco’s hand where it lay on his cheek and then pressing something into it. Draco’s fingers closed around the Snitch and he looked back up at Harry with a soft snort. “I keep my promises.” Harry winked.

And with another kiss to Draco’s wryly grinning mouth, he was zooming away, leaving Draco there with the winning Snitch and jauntily flying away with his heart.