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Dreaming of Harry

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The first night Draco Malfoy dreams of Harry Potter, everything changes. He wakes in his bedroom and pulls his sheets up to his chin. He’s shaking. Shaking and crying, with salt tears sharp against his tongue as they slide down his cheeks and land on his lips. He thinks he was crying in the dream, too. Crying because his subconscious self fully expected to meet Pansy Parkinson in the shadows of Hogwarts’ turrets. The rumpled shape of Potter takes dream-Draco by surprise and he’s so, so scared of it everything trembles. The world shakes and shifts as only dream worlds do, until the castle disappears altogether. Then it’s just Draco and Harry, both wearing heavy robes with house scarves knotted around their necks as they shiver beneath the vast midnight. Dream-Harry looks up at the moon, his face illuminated by silver and starlight. He blows on his hands and rubs them together.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he says. He smiles, the way the real Potter never smiles at Draco.

Draco can’t speak because he knows what this means. He knows why it’s Potter, even if dreams shouldn’t mean a single thing. He knows why it’s a boy with robes that don’t fit quite right and hair Draco wants to run his fingers through. He knows why it’s a lean body with no curves or soft parts. Even when dreams aren’t to be trusted and they’re nothing more than the fractured thoughts from an unconscious mind, it’s everything he’s been trying to keep at bay right there in front of him. He knows what he is. He knows who he is. The realisation I’m gay comes to him with blinding clarity and it’s too big and terrifying for the still night.

Harry frowns and he moves towards Draco, folding him in his arms. “Hey,” he says. “Don’t cry, Malfoy. It’s only a dream. Nothing to cry about. I’m not that bad, am I?” He pulls a face and sticks his tongue out because even in dreams Harry is far too awkward and charming for Draco’s heart to stand. Far too kind to be real. Even in dreams he’s too good for Draco, his hand sliding over Draco’s back and his voice low and rough. He holds Draco tight and then he kisses Draco. He kisses him with the force of a hundred thousand spells. He pushes Draco against the walls of the castle which conveniently reappear just in time for Draco to shudder, jerk and tremble in Harry’s arms.

When he wakes, Draco wonders if he’s crying because his pyjamas are sticky and his skin burns hot with shame. He wonders if he’s crying because Harry was so warm and everything in Draco’s room is sharp and cold. Maybe he’s just crying because the dream is slowly receding and he knows Potter’s never going to look at Draco like that unless he’s in the darkest shadows of Draco’s imagination when nobody else is around.

Draco wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and tells himself he won’t dream about Potter again.

He dreams of Potter nearly every night for the rest of the year.


Draco doesn’t see Potter after the war until he receives an unexpected visitor in Azkaban. He still thinks he’s dreaming and there’s an awkward moment when he presses into the warmth of Potter’s arms and Potter clears his throat, giving Draco an awkward pat, pat on the back. They disconnect and Draco waits for the cramped, dank space to shiver away to nothing but it doesn’t. The creeping realisation that he’s wide awake and it’s actually Potter staring at Draco is mortifying. This is nothing like the moments in his dreams when Azkaban fades away and the violent salt-water sea is replaced by the turquoise blue of the Med and the cool stone softens and heats into white sand.

“Sorry.” Draco sits opposite Potter, refusing to meet his eyes. “I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine.” Potter is unsure and wild-eyed when Draco finally meets his gaze. “People do that to me all the time these days. Gets a bit annoying.” He turns red. “That wasn’t annoying. If it’s strangers, I mean. Then it’s weird.”

“I bet.” Draco rolls his eyes. Only Potter. While Draco gets prison cells and nights that fill with the whispers of lost souls, Potter gets hugged to death. “It won’t happen again.”

“It doesn’t matter if it does.” Potter’s eyes dart from Draco’s face. He seems fascinated by a spot on the wall and he doesn’t look at Draco head on. Pink spots bloom high in his cheeks and he nudges his glasses onto his nose. “I’ve been working with the Ministry to try to get you out as soon as possible.”

“Why?” Draco sits back in his seat with a huff, picking at his thumbnail.

“Because,” Potter says. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”

Draco listens to Potter talk, but he still can’t quite believe he’s real.

That night when Draco dreams of Harry, the hug turns into kisses and everything cold gives way to the warmth of the hot summer sun.


Draco gets out of Azkaban in time to return to Hogwarts for another full year of study. He doesn’t need a year of lessons just to pass his N.E.W.Ts, but it’s easier that way. Easier because his father is losing his marbles in prison and his mother keeps cleaning the house from top to bottom, scrubbing the floors until her knuckles bleed and her hands are raw and burning with bleach. It’s as if she’s trying to scrub the past right off the floor of the Manor. The idea of studying in isolation at home holds no appeal.

Potter makes a few odd appearances to catch up on classes to help him complete the exams needed to tick the right boxes. He doesn’t have to be there. The Ministry don’t give two hoots about Potter’s academic record, but Draco gets the feeling he likes coming back from time to time. He sometimes sees Potter high in the clouds, swooping and diving on his broom and he wonders what kind of thoughts race through Potter’s mind when he’s flying alone.

He bumps into Potter one night, during a walk around the grounds. Potter’s sitting by the lake and he skims stones on the water which hop and bounce on the surface, before sinking into the darkness.


“Malfoy.” Potter doesn’t look up. He picks up another stone and turns it in his hand. He throws it and it skips and jumps. He’s quieter than Draco remembers. Potter always seemed so loud. “You’re out late.”

“You too.”

Potter shrugs. “Want to sit?”

“Suppose.” Draco sits next to Potter and keeps close enough to feel his warmth without being close enough to touch.

“Want to see how many bounces you can get?”

“Okay.” Draco takes a stone and their fingers touch briefly. It’s like sparks of magic on Draco’s hand. He rubs his thumb over the smooth stone and then throws it, high in the air. He aims his wand and makes the stone lift and drop six times before allowing it to sink beneath the surface. Potter hasn’t managed six yet. Draco’s been watching for a while.

“That’s cheating.” Potter sounds amused.

“I don’t play by the rules.” Draco gives Potter a look out of the corner of his eye. He’s smiling. “Go on, then. I’ll try it properly. This is a stupid game. You don’t even get to use magic.”

“Sometimes it’s nice not using magic.” Potter aims his stone and spins it. One, two, three, four, drop. “It’s refreshing.”

Draco takes another stone, the warmth of Potter’s skin against his own for a heartbeat. He swallows and throws the stone. It bounces twice before dropping into the darkness. “That was rubbish.”

“It just takes a bit of practice.” Potter throws another stone, this time not even bothering to skim it. It rises into the air and then falls with a plunk creating ripples around it.

“How long are you back for?”

“Not long.” Potter shakes his head. “A couple of days.” He pulls at the grass and seems to have decided to leave the stones be for a while.

“You don’t eat in the Great Hall.”

“No.” Potter doesn’t elaborate. “I do my classes and walk around a bit in the evening. It’s peaceful. Sometimes I fly.”

“I know.” Draco wishes he could swallow back the words. He doesn’t want Potter to realise how much time Draco spends noticing him. “I mean, I see you. Sometimes.”

“You can come with me one day if you like.” Potter stands and puts a hand on Draco’s shoulder. It’s warm and firm. “Night, Malfoy.”

“Night, Potter.”

Draco picks up a stone after Potter leaves and skims it along the surface of the water. Three. It’s progress.


Draco has a scar on his arm from a spell that caught him unawares when he was shopping for his mother’s birthday present in Diagon Alley.

Death Eater! Malfoy scum!

When Draco held up his arm to cast Protego, he didn’t calculate on the spell curving and ricocheting. The scar is less angry now – a faded diagonal slice of raised skin which travels from his elbow to the knobbly bit of his wrist directly below his thumb. He tried to heal himself with half-arsed spells when nobody came to help.

Draco can remember the moment so clearly. The smell of singed cotton. The blood soaking into his ruined shirt. The enormous Harry Potter sign in the shop window, telling shoppers that they too could be just like Potter if only they invested in the right sort of quill. The sight of Potter’s face smiling down at Draco was almost more painful than the cut. Almost.

Draco files the scar away. He puts it with the ones on his belly and torso from Potter’s Sectumsempra. He keeps it next to the marks on his forearm where his father decided to help him cut the Dark Mark right out, before they hauled him off to Azkaban. It didn’t work. It just fucking hurt and Draco thinks his father was probably mad before prison. He showed the cuts on his arm to dream-Harry right after it happened and they kissed beneath starry skies until the pain receded. Whenever he catches sight of it, it reminds Draco of choices. The one's Harry made. The ones Draco didn't.

It feels fitting, somehow, that Draco gets his next scar standing next to Harry in potions class.

“Here, let me.” Potter takes Draco’s hand in his and turns it with slim fingers. He taps his wand against Draco’s skin and his voice is low and soothing, like he’s kissing Draco in a dream all over again. If it was a dream Potter would lift Draco’s hand to his lips, but it isn’t and he doesn’t. He looks at Draco with those mesmerising eyes and Draco lets himself pretend, just for a moment. It hurts so much, but the touch of Potter’s fingers on Draco’s skin is electric. His magic is a pulse of confident warmth and his eyes never leave Draco’s. Draco isn’t sure if he imagines the way Potter’s breath becomes a bit more ragged than usual, but even the probability that it’s a figment of his imagination doesn’t stop Draco from getting hard.

“It’s fine.” Draco yanks his hand away when the healing spells are finally cast. Everyone tries not to stare at them but Draco knows he’s getting more than one curious look. Thank Merlin for school robes.

“I think it’s going to scar. You might want to get Pomfrey to check it. I’m no expert.” Potter looks apologetic. He moves his chair and the dust on the floor rises into the air around them, making Draco cough.

“I will. Thanks. It’s just another scar. Who cares?”

“Yeah.” Potter touches his hand to his forehead, a movement which seems almost unconscious. Draco notices there are potions ingredients underneath Potter’s fingernails from chopping and slicing. His fingers leave a stripe on his cheek as he slides them from his forehead. He peers into their cauldron and pulls a face. “Our potion’s shit.”

Draco nods, looking at Potter instead of the cauldron. If he takes a moment just to let the warmth of Potter’s magic linger on his skin, well. Nobody has to know.

He dreams of kisses deep in the castle’s shadows that night and tells Harry how odd it is, that it’s his name Draco associates with every single one of his scars.


Draco has his first cigarette at eighteen years old, sitting next to Harry Potter and watching the stars.

It’s very strange. He has to pinch himself to check it isn’t one of his peculiar dreams. The pinch hurts so it definitely isn’t.

“Do you like it?”

“Not really.” Draco pulls a face. His mouth tastes odd and he can’t inhale without coughing. Potter can’t either and he coughs and splutters as he takes a second puff.

“Me neither. Do you reckon they’re off?”

“Do cigarettes go off?” Draco turns it from side to side, examining it. It looks a bit crumpled. He sucks on it a couple of times without inhaling, just to watch the tip glow in the darkness.

“Dunno. Maybe. They’re old.”

“They taste old.” Draco blows out a mouthful of smoke. “Fusty.”

“Might just finish this then not do it again.” Potter stretches out on the grass, looking up at the sky.

“Me too.” Draco lies next to Potter, their heads close together. The light from their cigarettes glow like orange stars.

It’s strange, watching Potter smoke. He seems to enjoy the idea of it more than anything else. Sirius Black used to smoke. Maybe that’s why Harry does it.

Draco inhales the nicotine and the tar just to see if he can taste a little bit of the past Potter wants to cling onto, but all he gets is smoke and the light wisps of grey disappear into the darkness.


Draco finds Potter in the library when everyone else has left for the day and the students are supposed to be eating in the Great Hall.

“Why do you always come here?” Draco asks. It’s one of those cold nights at the start of the year and the large fire in the library crackles and spits.

“To Hogwarts?” Potter shrugs. He sits back in his chair and watches Draco. He’s mussed and relaxed. He always has this look about him at Hogwarts. A look that makes Draco wonder what makes Potter ache enough that his smile can’t stretch into his eyes. “I like being back here. I sleep better in the castle than I do at home.”

“Your friends aren’t here, much.”

“No.” Potter tips his head to the side and gives Draco a curious look. “Are we friends?”

“I don’t know.” The question takes Draco by surprise. He’s not sure he’s ever thought of Potter in friendly terms. It sounds a bit like he’s going to ask Draco for advice about his relationship with Ginny Weasley and Draco definitely doesn’t want that. “Do you want to be?”

“Maybe.” Potter pushes a hand through his hair and nudges his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. His shirt sleeve is rolled up and his arm flexes and tightens, the muscles slender but defined. “What do you reckon?”

“It’s better than being bitter enemies.” Draco tries to make a joke out of it, but neither of them laugh. He holds out a hand and Potter shakes it. Their hands stay twined together for a beat too long. “Friends?”

“Yeah.” Potter smiles. “Friends.”

Draco doesn’t think he imagines the squeeze of Potter’s fingers around his own or the way Potter looks at him just a little too long.


Potter doesn’t come back to Hogwarts for a fortnight. There was just enough time for Draco to get used to having him around. Just enough time for Draco to hope. A dangerous, foolish thing. Malfoys don’t deserve hope. Draco should know that by now.

He sees Potter in his dreams. He looks scared, his face pale and slim.

“Hi.” He looks over his shoulder, as if someone’s watching. Even dream-Harry can’t stand to be close to Draco anymore. “I miss you.”

“Well I don’t miss you.” Draco does, but his dream self won’t be easily swayed by Harry’s apologetic manner. Not when the real Harry left for two weeks without a goodbye.

He moves closer to Harry and because his dream self also has no control and they kiss under the cloudy sky. The stars have all disappeared behind the clouds and the air smells like thunder.



Draco swallows. “Are you okay?”

He wakes in a sweat and he thinks he can still hear the discordant sounds that turned his dream into a nightmare and left dream-Harry in shattered pieces.


Draco’s in the middle of listening to a boring lecture on the anatomy of a hippogriff when Potter disturbs the class by coming in late, sliding into the empty seat next to Draco. There’s always an empty seat next to Draco. Potter’s the only one brave or mad enough to take it.

The class murmurs and Professor Quinn tells them all to settle down, giving Potter five points to Gryffindor. He doesn’t give a reason. Apparently, Potter gets house points just for existing. It makes his cheeks flush. Draco rolls his eyes. There’s something to be said for the sheer power of being Harry Potter – able to reduce half of the class to tears of joy just by opening a fucking door.

“Have I missed anything?” Potter leans close to Draco. His breath tickles Draco’s ear and smells faintly of chocolate.

“Nothing important.” Draco checks no one’s watching and then makes a motion of pointing a wand at himself.

“It can’t be that bad.” Potter sounds like he’s swallowing back a laugh.

“If you find hippogriff balls interesting.”

“Not hippogriff balls, no.” Potter still sounds amused and a flush of heat courses through Draco.

“I can think of more interesting body parts.”

“Maybe one or two.” Potter opens his text book with a dull thud. Draco wonders if they’re flirting, but the idea is so ludicrous he puts it to the back of his mind. Dream-Harry might flirt with him. Real Harry is just…odd.

Draco stifles a yawn. The class is so fucking boring, honestly. He can’t believe he’s doing this for the second time. Once was more than enough. He sneaks a glance at Potter. He looks different. He looks as though he’s caught the sun, as if he’s been abroad. There’s no sun in England at this time of year. It’s all grey clouds and icy mornings. It doesn’t matter where he’s been, Draco supposes. The sun always shines on Potter. Draco tries not to be bitter about it.

he’s run-run-running into the sun

Celestina Warbeck is back in the charts with a hit about an unnamed boy hero. The press has already constructed stories about an illicit love affair which left Celestina heartbroken. Draco was tempted to write an anonymous letter pointing out that Harry was about twelve when Celestina was at her prime and he’s barely eighteen now. An illicit affair seems a bit of a stretch. He didn’t, in the end. He couldn’t be bothered. Listening to the song is like hearing about somebody unreal – a person who isn’t flesh and blood – like one of those statues in the Ministry commemorating fallen heroes. It gets blasted from magical speakers all over Hogsmeade, which is annoying when all Draco wants to do is buy a fucking shirt.

“I like that new Warbeck song.” Draco gives Potter a smirk, pleased to see the tips of his ears turn red. “It must have been difficult fighting a war and doing homework in between all that shagging popstars and breaking their hearts. I’m not surprised you have to take a few classes to get up to speed for the N.E.W.Ts.”

“Give over.” Potter snorts and he jots something down about a hippogriff’s bowel movements. “I didn’t sign off on any of that.”

“I bet.” Draco rolls his eyes. He whistles the tune under his breath.

he’s fly-fly-flying away

Potter rubs his jaw and pulls a face. “Seems like you spend a fair bit of time listening to it for someone who thinks it’s so stupid.”

“Only because it’s everywhere I go.” Draco stops whistling. “Shut up, Potter. I’m trying to concentrate on the hippogriffs.”

Potter laughs under his breath and he presses his leg against Draco’s under the table. It’s just a brief touch but it’s good enough to make Draco hot all over. “Good to be back, Malfoy.”

Draco gives Potter a look out of the corner of his eye and doesn’t respond.

Good to have you back, Potter. Good to have you back.


Draco finds Potter outside the door of his room when it’s way past their curfew.

“Can I come in?” Potter peers over Draco’s shoulder. He’s got a heavy outdoor cape on, edged with burgundy and gold. He opens it a little to reveal a bottle of something that looks alcoholic.

“Potter.” Draco tuts under his breath. “Ten points from Gryffindor.”

“Shove off.” Potter laughs and turns his eyes to the ceiling. “Can I come in, or what?”

“If you like.” Draco stands to one side and lets Potter in. “So, this what being friends with you involves. Smoking, illicit drinking and impromptu late-night visits?”

“Possibly.” Potter grins. “I haven’t decided yet.” He shifts Draco’s books to one side of his desk and sits on it. As the only other option is the bed, Draco is both relieved and disappointed. One of the blessings of returning to finish his education is the private room he secured largely on account of McGonagall worrying that other students might try to attack Draco in his sleep.

“I’m supposed to be studying.” Draco sits on the bed, crossing his legs and leaning against the wall so he can face Potter. “We’ve got exams at the end of the year and I’m not doing a ninth year.”

“You’ll pass with flying colours. You could do it in your sleep, probably. We both could.” Potter uncorks the bottle and takes a swig. He sends it towards Draco with a flick of his wand, without saying a word. Non-verbal magic. Fuck. Draco really shouldn’t be as turned on by that as he is.

“Show off.”

“A bit.” The corner of Potter’s mouth curves.

“Why are we here if we don’t need to be?” Draco raises an eyebrow at Potter.

Potter shrugs. “You tell me. I’m here because I like Hogwarts better than home.”

“Same.” Draco pulls a face. “Shouldn’t I be the one corrupting you with booze?”

“I don’t know. Should you?” Potter looks amused. “Why?”

“It feels like something a Slytherin might do. You should tell me off for breaking the rules.”

Potter laughs and the sound makes everything warm. “Have you met me?” Potter gives Draco a wave. His hair’s sticking up, his cheeks are flushed and he’s so bloody handsome it leaves Draco breathless. He’s endeared by Potter, which is a complete fucking disaster. “I’m Harry Potter, pleased to meet you. I like flying, I’m fond of a chocolate frog and I’m not very good at rules.”

“Gryffindors are so sanctimonious.” Draco sniffs and eyes Potter, up and down. “Earnest.”

“Are we?” Potter laughs again. “Maybe. We know how to have fun. I might surprise you one day.” Potter winks. Winks. Draco hopes he doesn’t look in the slightest bit flustered.

“I bet,” Draco mutters.

“If I wasn’t a Gryffindor we wouldn’t be sitting here drinking my booze,” Potter says. He has a point.

“Where would we be?”

“You’d probably be plotting a way to get me pissed without making it obvious. Some accidental meeting in the corridor or an anonymous owl to lure me into the dungeons.”

Draco swallows. “Why the fuck would I want to lure you anywhere?”

Potter takes a swig of the booze and sends it back to Draco with another obnoxious display of magical prowess. “Dunno. Might be fun to be lured.”

“I’ll try to remember that for future reference.” Draco thinks he sounds a bit faint.

Potter glances at Draco’s notes and looks sheepish. “We can go to the library tomorrow if you want? To make up for me keeping you from it tonight.”

“I’m sure having you breathing last night’s booze all over my neck will be really helpful.” Draco examines the bottle. The label is dusty and it looks like an expensive fortified wine. Not exactly the kind of thing Draco expects from Potter. “Where did you pick this up from?”

“A cupboard at Grimmauld Place.” Potter’s relaxed expression flickers. “Sirius liked it.”

“Oh.” Draco takes a swig from the bottle. “Black had good taste.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Potter looks around the room. “This is nice. Bit of an upgrade.”

“It does the job.”

“I’ve got one too. In the Tower. You can come and see if you like. Now we’re friends.” His legs kick, kick beneath him and he begins to unlace his boots. He looks as if he’s just come back from flying although Draco can’t see any evidence of a broom. “Do you mind?”

“Whatever.” Draco waves his hand. Potter’s sweaty feet are the least of his concerns. “Nice boots.”

“Thanks. They’re dragon hide. Charlie gave them to me.”

“Bully for Charlie,” Draco mutters. Jealousy rolls like thunder inside him just from the sound of another man’s name on Potter’s lips.

“What’s wrong with Charlie?” Potter slides off his boots and wiggles his toes. He’s wearing Gryffindor socks and his feet don’t look sweaty at all. Draco hates him.

“Nothing. I suppose flying dragons and hanging out with a dragon tamer in the feeding sheds is a lot more exciting than being at Hogwarts.”

Potter raises his eyebrows at Draco. “They don’t feed dragons in a shed. Are you mental?”

Draco probably is. He’s been accused of worse. “How do you feed them, then?”

Potter grins. “Very carefully.”

Draco sends the wine back towards Potter. He has to use actual words, unlike bloody Scarhead with his non-verbal magic. “You’ve been flying?”

“Yeah.” Potter’s legs swing and he curls his toes, studying his socks. He glances at the fire. “It’s warm in here.”

Draco studies Potter. “Get rid of some of the layers, then.”

“How many?” Potter stands, unbuttoning his cape and holding Draco’s gaze. There’s something about the way he looks at Draco that makes his stomach flip.

Draco tries not to sound as if he’s imaging Potter doing a strip tease. “Keep it decent.” If you must, he adds for his own benefit. Draco’s excellent at Occlumency so he’s pretty sure he’s safe.

“Okay.” Potter strips out of his clothes until he’s down to his trousers, socks and a t-shirt with a picture of a tongue on the front and Rolling Stones scrawled underneath. It looks Muggle. He sits back on Draco’s desk. He’s fucking up all of the papers with his scrawny arse and he’s far too close to knocking Draco’s favourite paperweight onto the ground, but it doesn’t feel like the moment to say let’s keep things tidy.

The silence stretches between them and Potter takes a glug of the wine before sending it back to Draco.

“You’re an odd one.” Draco contemplates Potter, sitting in comfortable silence on Draco’s desk like it’s normal behaviour for them. “Why do you even care about being friends?”

“Life’s too short to have enemies.”

“You’ve had a few in your time.”

Potter winces. “Well, if Voldemort was around I wouldn’t be cosying up with him. No offence, Malfoy, but I hardly put you in the same league.”

Draco bristles. Not because of the same league comment but because of the no offence. “You think I’d want to be in that league now?”

“No.” Potter frowns at Draco. “I wouldn’t be here if I did. Bad choice of words. I just think we’ve got stuff in common, that’s all. That’s why I thought we should stop being twats and shake hands. Put the past behind us.”

Draco stares at Potter. “What the hell do we have in common apart from both being stupid enough to take a lesson on hippogriffs twice because we don’t want to go home?”

Potter’s lips quirk into a smile. “That’s a pretty big thing to have in common. Don’t you think?”

“Is it?” Draco doesn’t know anymore. Maybe it is. Some kind of mutual understanding. Finding safety within the castle walls.

Potter looks away. “Can I tell you something?”

“If you like.”

“I’m not sure I’m all that interested…” Potter finally looks at Draco again. “In girls.”

“Oh.” Draco’s heart stutters and beats out the oh-oh-ohs from that stupid fucking Celestina Warbeck song. His body warms as Potter looks at him from across the room. The thing is, it’s not even really a surprise. It’s just odd, hearing Potter say it out loud. Now the confession is out there it hangs between them – big enough to fill the whole room.

The silence makes Potter frown and he looks down at his toes as he swings his legs again. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to make it awkward.”

“It’s not awkward.”

“Feels like it is.” Potter gestures for the wine and takes a deep gulp. “Still friends?”

Draco nods. “I’d miss the free wine.”

“Good.” Potter seems to be waiting for Draco to say something. Bloody Potter.

“Pansy Parkinson tried to kiss me once.” Draco grabs the wine back, picking at the label instead of looking at Potter.

“Did you like it?” Potter’s voice is low and encouraging.

“Not a lot. I spent most of the time wishing it was Zabini.” Wishing it was you, wishing it was you.

Potter laughs and the air in the room feels lighter already. “Was it ever?”

“Hardly.” Draco snorts and shakes his head. “He would have hexed me.” He finally plucks up the courage to look at Potter. “What about you?”

Potter flushes. “I haven’t really done anything with another wizard. Not even a snog.”

Draco swallows. The strange, crackling tension is back. “Neither have I, so that makes two of us.”

“Oh.” Potter’s gaze leaves Draco’s face, flicks to the side and lingers on the bed. “Do you want to try it? To see if we like it?”

Draco’s had long enough to come to terms with the fact that he definitely will like it, but if Potter’s offering to experiment then Draco’s not going to say no. “If you want to.”

Potter hops off the desk before moving to the bed. He gets on his knees opposite Draco. He leans forward and presses their lips together. It’s sweet like the fortified wine. He pulls back and sits on his heels, pushing a hand through his hair.

“That was okay.”

“It wasn’t horrible.” Draco’s voice cracks. “Although it did feel a bit like kissing my mother.”

Potter frowns and his jaw tips as if to say is that a dare? He presses forward again and Draco uncrosses his legs so Potter can get nearer. This time the kiss isn’t so sweet or soft. Potter slides his hand into Draco’s hair and tugs him into a proper kiss. Their mouths open and Potter’s tongue slips into Draco’s mouth. When Draco puts his hand on Potter’s chest he can feel Potter’s racing heart beneath his fingertips and it’s glorious. He leans into the kiss and shifts up to meet Potter until they’re both on the same level, on their knees and pressed together. He never wants the kiss to end. What starts as tentative and nervous becomes a confident, deep, searching kiss. It makes Draco hard in his pyjamas and he keeps his body back from Potter’s just enough that Potter won’t notice. The kiss is desperately good.

“Does your mum kiss you like that?” Potter pulls back looking pleased with himself. His lips are plump and his cheeks are lightly flushed.

“You’re disgusting.” Draco shudders at the unwelcome thought and he stares at Potter. “No. Obviously.”

“Did you like it?” Potter seems keen to analyse their kiss when it’s all Draco can do not to tackle him onto the bed.

“Yes.” Draco’s voice is rough. “Did you get hard?”

Potter nods, biting his bottom lip. “Did you?”

Draco nods.

“Oh.” Potter’s eyes dart down and then up to Draco’s face. “Do you…want a hand?”

Draco tries not to shiver but he’s not sure he manages. “I suppose.”

“Okay.” Potter stretches out and he beckons for Draco to join him. When they’re lying next to each other, Potter leans in for another kiss. It’s not long before his hand slips into Draco’s pyjamas and he wraps his fingers around Draco. Draco aches for Potter. It’s too much and it only takes a couple of strokes and another searching kiss before Draco spills himself all over Potter’s fingers. He doesn’t miss Potter’s groan or the way he rocks closer to Draco. Draco kisses him again – hard and fierce – and works open the zip on Harry’s trousers.

“Merlin.” Draco can’t help but breathe into Harry’s mouth because he’s hung. Christ, he feels so good. Hard and hot in Draco’s hand, pushing into his fist. Draco groans into the kiss and he wanks Potter until he feels the pulse of Potter’s climax and the sticky dampness on his hand.

“Fuck.” Eloquent as ever, Potter rolls onto his back and tries to catch his breath.

“Fuck,” Draco agrees.

They have more wine and Draco keeps the rest of the bottle for next time. Potter leaves with a smile on his face after giving Draco a slow, sweet kiss that very nearly becomes something else.

That night, Draco dreams of Harry and they go a lot further than tentative hand jobs. He wakes up hard, with his heart pounding and the scent of Harry still lingering on his pillow.


Fancy that day in the library?

An owl arrives on Draco’s desk with a thud. The parchment looks raggedy and the owl pecks Draco’s fingers as if it’s already decided it doesn’t like him much.

Not a lot

Draco pauses, because that’s not entirely true. His head aches and he doesn’t fancy pouring over fusty books but he still wants to see Potter. He adds another sentence to the note.

We could go flying?

The owl flaps off into the morning and Potter replies with an enthusiastic YES! and a couple of ink-blots.

Draco has to have a word with himself when he folds up the note and puts it in his drawer, as if Potter’s just sent him the key to his vault at Gringotts.


Flying turns out to be a terrible idea. Potter’s in those boots again and he looks fit and confident, straddling his broom in a way he has no business straddling anything. Apart from Draco. It’s all Draco can do to focus on the once familiar feeling of flying through the clouds without getting distracted by Potter’s arse when he bends over or the way his smile finally reaches his eyes, his features highlighted by the cool winter sunbeams.

“This was a brilliant idea.” Potter twists his broom up, up into the clouds and swoops back again, circling Draco as if he’s prey. “Have you ever snogged anyone on a broom?”

“No.” Draco gives Potter a glare. “I’m not about to, either. I haven’t flown for a while and I don’t fancy falling off.”

“Oh.” Potter looks quite proud of the fact one kiss might be enough to make Draco fall off his broom. It’s far too charming. “Come with me, then. I know a place.”

Draco follows Potter through the clouds, edging closer until they’re side by side and Draco can’t feel anything but the rush of wind against his body and the chill in the air.


They end up out of Hogwarts grounds in a spot on the outskirts of a vast forest, miles away from anywhere. The whole place is quiet and still and the only sounds come from rustling leaves and birds in the trees.

“We should’ve made a picnic or something. I’m starving.” Potter looks gloomy, dropping his broom on the floor and pulling off his cape. He puts it on the ground and stretches out.

“Next time,” Draco says. He hopes he doesn’t sound too nervous.

“Yeah,” Potter agrees. “Next time.”

They lie on the cold ground together and watch the clouds move through the sky. They don’t say much before Potter shifts closer to Draco, leaning over him and obscuring the view.

“You’re in the way,” Draco mutters. His heart races and he wants to yank Potter closer and kiss him senseless.

“Of what?”

“The clouds.”

“Sorry.” Potter doesn’t look sorry. He takes off his glasses, putting them on the edge of his cape. He licks his lips and his cheeks turn pink as his gaze drops to Draco’s lips. “Can I?”

“If you must.” Draco tugs Potter closer, despite his less than enthusiastic capitulation. If he allows himself to say what he really wants, Potter might get back on that broom and fly off into the sunset.

Their lips connect and it’s the same kind of deep, slow kiss from the previous night. It tastes different now – like the cool breeze and coffee – but it’s just as dizzying even without the fortified wine. Potter seems to grow in confidence, shifting over Draco until their bodies are stretched out and they steal one another’s warmth. Potter is a warm, heavy weight on top of Draco and it feels so good to be underneath Potter like this, Draco can’t stop his body from reacting.

“Malfoy…” Potter pulls back and he looks red-cheeked and nervous. “Can I maybe…maybe suck you?”

Draco swallows, his throat dry. His body jerks up into Potter and he huffs out a nervous laugh. “Please.”

“Brilliant.” Potter grins and he kisses Draco quickly before shifting down his body. He slowly unbuckles Draco’s belt. It seems to take an age for Potter to fumble with Draco’s outer layers and to yank Draco’s trousers and pants down just enough for easy access. When he finally manages it, Harry gives Draco a smile which is so fond it sends Draco’s heart tripping recklessly. Of course Draco would get all fluttery eyed over Potter’s smile when he’s about to have his cock sucked for the first time. Of course Draco’s an absolute fucking idiot.

“Do you want to or not?” Draco tries to sound bored and snappish but he thinks it just comes out slightly choked. He feels too exposed with Potter staring into his eyes and the cool air against his skin reminding him that his prick’s hard and currently out on display.

“Yeah. Yeah, I want to.” Potter slides one hand into Draco’s, strange fish that he is. Draco doesn’t miss the clamminess of his palms or the way his fingers tremble. It’s good, that Potter’s nervous too. It makes Draco feel less awkward and inexperienced. When Potter’s lips first touch Draco’ cock it’s almost too much. His movements are tentative and exploratory, his lips slick and warm as he takes the head of Draco’s cock into his mouth. Draco tries not to push up into Potter’s mouth because he doesn’t want to choke the hero of the wizarding world and land himself in Azkaban all over again. He settles for an embarrassingly wanton groan and squeezing Potter’s hand hard enough to hurt.

Potter seems to get the knack of things, largely from taking the huffs and pants leaving Draco’s lips as instruction. He quickly works out that if Draco shifts and rocks into Potter’s mouth it’s when Potter does something particularly good with his tongue. He soon seems to latch on to the fact that letting Draco push into his mouth with shallow thrusts is enough to leave Draco breathless. It’s messy and it’s definitely Potter’s first time doing this, but it doesn’t matter. It just doesn’t matter. It’s insanely good, the way Potter holds him steady at the base with his free hand and obviously sees Draco as something of a challenge. It’s typical Potter – diving right in there and trying to take as much as he can even when he has to pull off for a moment and catch his breath. That’s before he masters the art of breathing through his nose and settles into a rhythm with his mouth – each slow slide driving Draco to distraction.

The slick heat of Potter’s mouth and the tease of his tongue against Draco is exquisite. When Potter slides his hand out of Draco’s and pushes both of his hands under Draco’s backside to pull him deeper into Potter’s mouth, that’s all it takes. Potter’s hands are large and firm and the way he hauls Draco up sends shivers down the length of Draco’s spine as his orgasm pulses through him. Potter doesn’t manage to catch it all, his eyes blown and dark as he looks up from his position. He swipes his hand across his lips and then murmurs a spell. A wandless spell, which leaves Draco clean and warm instead of uncomfortably sticky. The magic hums against Draco’s skin and it’s almost enough to get him hard again.

Potter helps Draco back into his trousers and then shifts up, taking Draco’s hand and pushing it against his trousers. His breath is ragged and a low moan leaves him. “Don’t need much. Just please - please make me come.”

With a groan, Draco pushes his hand into Potter’s trousers and brings him off with a few quick strokes. Potter shudders through his orgasm and plants damp kisses on the curve of Draco’s jaw, up to his mouth. They fall into another searching kiss and stay like that for a long time afterwards.


“Was the thing earlier okay?” They’re back at Hogwarts and freshly showered. After a boring hour trying to work, Draco decided to investigate Potter’s room, bringing the fortified wine with him. It’s a smart room, high up in Gryffindor Tower. The clouds turn pink and orange as the sun sets low in the sky and turns the room the colour of firelight.

“The thing?” They haven’t even bothered keeping their distance this time, both lounging on Potter’s bed as they drink the wine straight from the bottle. Draco raises his eyebrows at Potter. “Do you mean the thing with the flying? Or the thing where you had my cock in your mouth?”

Potter flushes. “The second. Idiot.”

“It was good.” Draco shivers just thinking about it. “Really good.”

“What does it feel like?” Potter doesn’t seem to be angling for a blow job himself, at least not yet. He just sounds genuinely curious.

“Hot. Wet.” Draco pulls a face. “Better than I’m making it sound.”

“Good.” Potter heaves out a sigh of relief. “I’m glad.”

“I’ll do you next, if you like?” Draco nudges Potter’s toes with his foot. He’s got on Gryffindor socks again. Draco might have to get him some Slytherin ones for his birthday, just so he doesn’t have to be reminded what an insufferable Gryffindor prat Potter can be sometimes. His chest gets a bit tight at the thought of birthday presents. Don’t get ahead of yourself.

“Yeah.” Potter nods. “I’d like that.” He seems to be pondering something and he nudges Draco back, his toes pressing against Draco. “What do you think about when you’re…you know?”

Potter’s obviously in the mood for a bit of dirty talk. It makes Draco’s stomach squirm pleasantly, so he can’t say he minds. “Isn’t that a bit personal?”

“No secrets between friends.” Potter lets out a huff of laughter.

Draco swallows and he studiously avoids looking at Potter. “Is that what we are?”

“I reckon.” Potter pauses. “Friends who are boys.”

“Oh.” Draco’s heart picks up its pace and he turns to Potter, who’s watching him with an amused smile on his face. “So that would be…”

“Boyfriends.” Potter’s smile fades and he looks serious and hopeful. “If you like. I’m not doing this with anyone else.”

“Okay.” Draco does like. He likes so much he wants to kiss Harry hard and never let him go. “Me neither.” He knows boyfriends in the privacy of their rooms is different from strolling through Hogwarts hand in hand boyfriends, but it’s a start. It’s something. It means Potter isn’t taking his newfound experience elsewhere and that’s good enough for now.

“So, what do you think about?”

Largely to avoid saying you, Draco takes his time answering. “The usual, I suppose. Getting sucked off. Hand jobs. Fucking.” The heat builds underneath his skin, rising from his neck to his cheeks. “Fingers.”

“Oh.” Potter sucks in a breath and he takes a swig of the wine. “Have you ever done that to yourself?”

“No.” Draco shifts, the conversation getting him hard. “I’ve thought about it.”

“I have, a couple of times.” Potter’s cheeks are dark pink. “It felt good. I reckon it might feel better if it was someone else.”

“I thought about using my wand once, but then I remembered that story-”

“The one about the wizard who accidentally cast a spell while he was…” Potter bursts out laughing. “I heard that one too. Sounds like the kind of story adults make up to stop teenage wizards doing stupid things when they’re wanking.”

Draco grins and shifts to face Potter, who puts the bottle down and turns to face him. “You’re such a rule-breaking Gryffindor, Potter. I’m amazed you didn’t try it in the heat of the moment.”

“Shut up.” Potter turns beet red and Draco wonders why.

“I'd rather not.” Draco runs his finger down Potter’s chest. “I think you’re going to end up being quite kinky.”

Potter catches Draco’s hand. His eyes are dark as he studies Draco, his lips damp and kissable as he runs his tongue over them. “And what if I am?”

Potter’s tone makes Draco even harder and it’s all he can do not to moan. He bites his bottom lip hard as he composes himself enough to answer. “I suppose I could tolerate it.”

Potter snorts with laughter. “Cheers, Malfoy. Hope that’s not too painful for you.”

“I’ll do my best.” Draco watches as Harry slides off his glasses and puts them next to the bed.

“Hi.” Potter blinks and brushes a thumb against Draco’s cheek. His hair is soft and messy from his shower and he looks different without his glasses on, unguarded and cosy. “You’re a bit blurry.”

“It’s not my fault you’re blind as a bat.” Draco pushes closer to Harry. “Potter?”


“Do you think about which way you want to do it?”

Harry’s hand finds its way onto Draco’s waist. He presses his mouth over the pulse point on Draco’s neck and kisses it before pulling back to respond. “Not sure. I’d like to try both. I think about being on top though, when I’m…you know.”

“Wanking,” Draco offers. They both laugh.

“What about you?”

“I think about it all.” Draco huffs out a breath and his voice shakes. “I think about you fucking me most of all, though. I’ve thought about that.” Draco can’t even be bothered to change the you to a more neutral someone. It’s Potter that fills his dreams after all. It has been for such a long time.

Potter stares at Draco and then he tugs him into a heated kiss. They push and grind against one another, rolling around on the bed until they end up with their hands down one another’s trousers, sticky, sated and smiling into the kiss.


Potter was everywhere after the war. In Azkaban, fighting with the guards to get them to uncuff Draco because he’s okay, he’s really okay. Draco doesn’t think he can ever taste the salt spray of the sea without being reminded of the days Potter visited him when Draco was in rags and everything was so grey. Draco didn’t ask for it. He didn’t want to be saved by Potter. He didn’t want Potter to become the only good thing in his life and yet here Draco is. Standing by the lake watching Potter throw stones, like a love-sick crup.

“You don’t usually stay at Hogwarts this long,” Draco says. The memory of the wild Atlantic sea and the hammering rain on mossy prison walls fill his brain. Part of him still can’t believe he got out.

“I know.” Potter throws another stone into the water. Draco notices the half-smoked cigarette butt by Potter’s feet and wonders why he’s gone back to smoking unsuccessfully again. Potter’s voice cracks. “I don’t want to go back.”

“Why?” Draco sits next to Potter and picks up a stone from the pile. He sends it into the lake with a skip, bounce, drop and he rubs his hands together to try to heat them. “Is it the Ministry?”

“Grimmauld Place, mainly.” Potter rubs his forehead and Draco thinks of the way Harry burst apart and fractured into nothing in one of his early dreams.

“Is everything okay?” Draco half expects the world to shake and Harry to fall to pieces again, but he doesn’t. The clouds continue moving in the light breeze and cloak the moon with grey cotton-wool strands.

“I don’t know.” Potter’s voice sounds gruff and he rubs his eyes with his knuckles as if he’s trying to fight back tears. “I don’t know if I want to be an Auror. I think there’s something wrong with my mind.”

“Everyone feels like that after the war.” Draco puts an arm around Harry, lets him drop his head on Draco’s shoulder. He can’t imagine it’s comfortable because Draco’s bony as fuck, but Harry doesn’t seem to mind. “I sometimes feel a bit like a jigsaw puzzle that someone’s put together all wrong but they’ve tried to force the pieces together anyway and left a few bits unfinished.”

Potter listens closely and he relaxes against Draco. His breathing steadies and Draco feels him nod. “Yeah. I know that feeling. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m just a bit lost, I think. I never thought I’d have much of a future and now I’ve been given one I’ve got no bloody idea what to do with it.”

“Then stay for a while,” Draco says. “You can, can’t you? Say you want to do some work on the broken parts of the castle and catch up on the things you missed at the same time. They let me come back and you missed a lot more than I did.”

“I don’t think Kingsley would mind.” Harry looks up, his eyes red-rimmed. “Isn’t it just hiding away, though?”

“Maybe.” Draco slides his fingers through Harry’s hair. It’s ridiculous, how his chest aches for Harry when he looks so lost and uncertain. Ridiculous. “But who cares? You saved the world from a maniac who would have destroyed everything. I think you’re allowed to hide for a while. At least until you work things out.”

“Thanks, Malfoy.” Potter leans in and kisses Draco. It’s soft and it’s clearly not leading anywhere tonight. Draco’s fine with that. He’s happy just to lie back with Potter and watch the sky.

That night, Draco sees Harry again in his dreams. They sit on damp grass and count the shooting stars.

Because he doesn’t want to jinx things, Draco doesn’t dare to make a single wish.


The first time Draco sees Potter’s cock close-up, is the first time he fully appreciates the term sight for sore eyes. They spend an uncomfortable minute staring at one another when Draco lands them with a bump on his bed, before there’s lots of shoving and pushing and kissing with Potter mumbling off, off as he yanks at Draco’s clothes. When they finally get their clothes off and fall into an ungainly tangle of limbs, Draco lets himself be enjoy Harry’s naked body against his own before he pulls away and nudges Harry onto his back, moving down his body. Harry twists and reaches for his discarded glasses which he slips back on, his cheeks pink.

“Sorry. I want to see.”

“Pervert.” Draco smiles at Harry nevertheless. He’s glad Potter wants to see. He’s glad he isn’t going to close his eyes and pretend it’s someone else. It’s new, being completely starkers and not wearing a stitch. It would be enough to make him nervous if the sight of Potter’s cock wasn’t currently making him salivate. “Has anyone told you that you have quite an intimidating prick?”

Harry flushes even more and laughs, shaking his head. “I haven’t really found myself in a position where anyone’s stared at it for as long as you have.”

Draco huffs. “I’m not staring.”

“You are a bit.” Harry twists a hand in Draco’s hair and oh fuck he juts closer to Draco’s mouth. It’s like he’s got a sixth sense when it comes to the things that are going to make Draco blindingly hard and desperate. As Harry clearly has a notebook which details things that will make Draco Malfoy want to come on the spot he grips his cock and slides the head of it over Draco’s lips. The tip is already damp with pre-come and Draco is going to fucking explode if Harry keeps doing things like that.

“Stop it. You’re a bloody tease.” Draco pushes Harry’s hand away and he replaces it with his own. He strokes Harry a couple of times, watching how he looks pushing into Draco’s fist. He looks good. So good. With a low moan, Draco gets himself comfortable and takes his time. He licks over Harry, finds the bits that make him twitch and learns how to use his tongue to leave Harry shaking and desperate. That’s what he wants. He wants to work Harry up until he’s humming with pleasure – until he’s tugging Draco’s hair and begging. With a smirk, Draco finally slides his lips over Harry. He takes his time sucking him and relishes the way Harry makes his jaw ache and his lips stretch wide. Harry twists his fingers in Draco’s hair and Draco goes as low as he can manage. He knows it’s not nearly to the base, but he can practice. If Harry lets him. Draco speeds up his movements and works out how to use his hand and his mouth simultaneously, until Harry comes in Draco’s throat. The taste is strange and salty but not unpleasant. Draco catches all of it, running his tongue lightly over the sensitive tip of Harry’s cock as he finally slides off him.

“Okay?” Draco licks his lips and leans in for a kiss which Harry accepts eagerly.

“Better than okay.” Harry’s hands slide down Draco’s back, his fingers running over the bumps of his spine and following the curve of his backside. “So good.”

“Potter?” Draco’s voice comes out slightly hoarse. He blames Potter’s cock, although he’s not sure that’s all there is to it. “Do you remember that thing we talked about?”

“We talked about a lot.” Harry sounds amused. He pulls Draco closer, the hand on the base of Draco's spine brushing lower. “Anything in particular?”

Draco lets out a strangled sound and he shifts slightly into Harry's hand. “Don’t make me say it.”

Oh.” Harry’s hand stills and he looks at Draco. “Yeah?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.” Draco says, through gritted teeth. “Yes.”


“There’s lube in the drawer.” Draco gestures vaguely and Harry hops off the bed dutifully. He rummages around and then retrieves a vial, holding it up.

“This?” He narrows his eyes at Draco. “I thought you said you didn’t do that to yourself? Not that I care, but this has definitely been used.”

“You’re nosy as fuck.” Draco rolls his eyes and squeezes the base of his cock because he’s already turned on from sucking Harry and nervous anticipation. “Sometimes I wank with it. I like it slick. Just get over here, will you?”

Harry moves swiftly to the bed and kisses Draco until his head spins. Eventually he pulls back. Harry mutters a curse as he tries to get the lube open, finally releasing the cork with a pop. The anticipation is nearly too much to bear. Draco is so hard and so turned on the arousal pulses through his veins. Potter’s magic is a steadying yet powerful force which gathers around them. He settles over Draco, warm and strong. Harry's hands on Draco’s hips pull him into position. When Potter first breaches Draco with one slick finger, Draco groans and arches. He pushes back against Potter, so ready.

“Malfoy?” Potter sounds far too clear headed as he slides his finger into Draco, pushing deep inside him up to the third knuckle.

“Nngh?” Is about all Draco can manage in response.

“I might have, uh, wanted this for quite a while.” Potter pushes his finger again and oh that’s good. “I’ve been dying to do this for ages. For ages. You’re gorgeous. Bloody sexy as fuck. It’s been driving me mental coming back here.”

Draco snorts out a laugh, quickly followed by another moan as Potter curls his finger and twists his wrist just so.


“Yeah?” Harry’s definitely breathless now, making Draco slicker with lube. The sounds and sighs in the room are filthy and obscene.

Later. Let’s talk about that later.”

“Sorry. Yeah, okay.” Potter presses forward and slides his tongue over Draco’s collarbone as if he wants to taste the perspiration on Draco’s skin. He keeps fingering Draco at a steady, bone-shakingly good pace. “Just wanted you to know.”

The way Harry speaks – soft and slow – reminds Draco of the Harry of his dreams. He’s so good. So earnest. It’s more endearing than it should be. Hotter than Draco usually finds the insatiable need to do good in the world. Potter has him all fucked up and it’s really not good in the slightest. Harry slides another finger into Draco, painstakingly slow. He takes his time working them inside Draco and keeps whispering okay? against Draco’s neck. He presses close enough that Draco can feel when Harry gets hard again and he knows what he wants Harry to do. He knows.

“Potter?” Draco’s voice shakes.

“Yeah?” It’s okay, because Harry’s voice trembles too.

“Do you want to fuck me?”

Harry’s movements still and he huffs a breath into Draco’s neck, nodding. “So much. So bloody much.”

“You can. Use lots of lube.”

“I will. Tell me if it-”

“I will. Get on with it, will you? I’m going to come otherwise.”

Harry laughs, low in his throat. He finally stops driving Draco mad with his talented fingers. Draco’s going to have to modify his thoughts about Harry not being a quick learner. He seems to have taken to sex with the ease he took to flying. It would make Draco jealous if he wasn’t enjoying every possible benefit. When Harry slides his fingers out, it makes Draco clench with the loss of him. He doesn’t think he’s needed anything this much in a long time. They rearrange themselves with Draco's leg raised in a slightly awkward position. Harry leans forward, touching his fingers to Draco’s collarbone and placing a kiss on his lips. Draco feels as though he’s being bent double. It doesn’t matter, though. Potter seems happy enough and Draco’s so ready to feel Harry inside him he can’t bring himself care. Slowly, Harry pushes in and the stretch is almost too much for Draco to stand. Potter feels even larger than he looked when taken from this angle. It makes Draco whimper and writhe as he tries to adjust to the unfamiliar stretch.

“Are you okay? Malfoy?” Harry presses kisses all over Draco’s hot skin, his voice trembling. Harry’s tender, even when he’s taking Draco to pieces.

“Okay. It’s fine. Just move.” Draco grits his teeth and tries to relax. He presses his face against Harry’s skin, breathes in the familiar scent of him. When Harry does start to move slow and deep it gets easier. Harry establishes a mutually satisfactory rhythm that has Draco mumbling Potter’s name into their messy kisses. It shouldn’t feel this intimate, but it is. It does. The pleasure is endless but Draco’s climax feels almost insurmountable because he wants to prolong this. The pain of his scars flood back, to be replaced with the glorious, perfect pain of Potter inside him. Inside his body. Inside his head. Inside his heart. He wonders what Potter’s thinking, wishing he could read the look in his eyes and ask him has it been me for you, too? Did you meet me under the castle turrets in your dreams?

Choking back a sob of pleasure, Draco spills over Potter’s fist. He lets Potter take him again and again until he reaches his own climax and their bodies disentangle. Draco wipes the back of his hand over his eyes and for the second time in his life he can taste tears caused by Potter sharp and salty on his tongue.

Neither of them say a word but Harry wraps Draco in his arms and whispers it’s okay, Malfoy and he sounds so small and scared, Draco wonders if he’s going to wake up in an empty bed with just a handful of broken dreams.


Draco wakes slowly. It’s still dark and Harry’s arms are wrapped around him. He aches all over. In a good way. Christ, did he cry? He hopes not. He really fucking hopes not.

“Are you awake?” Potter whispers in Draco’s ear, his breath tickling.

Draco pulls himself from Harry’s arms and stretches out. “I am now. Sorry about earlier.”

“It’s okay.” Potter’s brow furrows and he bites his lip. He looks worried. “You just…closed your eyes and I think you went to sleep for a bit. Were you upset? Did I do something to hurt you?”

Draco shakes his head. He closes his eyes again and steadies his breathing. “Did you know I have four scars on my body and every one of them reminds me of you?”

Harry pauses, then shakes his head. “No. Show me?”

Draco shows Potter. Counts them: one, two, three, four. Harry slides his fingers over each one. He gets that angry, fierce look he gets when he’s defending hippogriffs and house-elves when he sees the mess made by the attempts made to remove the Dark Mark. His face turns pale and guilty at Sectumsempra. He spends a lot of time down there, kissing along the lines as if his mouth can erase the marks – as if Draco even needs or wants him to.

Harry shows Draco his own scars. The lightning bolt, of course. That’s the famous one. Then there’s one on his upper thigh and one on the side of his torso. Battle scars. They both have them, after all. Harry takes Draco’s palm and kisses the scar there as he looks into his eyes.

That night Draco dreams of Harry Potter kissing him under the starry skies.

When he wakes up, the night has disappeared but Harry’s still there.

It makes the bed as warm as the light from the morning sun.


Harry looks a bit dazed when Draco slides into the seat next to him a few weeks later.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“What?” Harry blinks at Draco and then he shakes his head. “No, not exactly.”

Nerves creep over Draco and he swallows around the lump rising in his throat. This is why he doesn’t get invested. This is why he can’t let himself wish on shooting stars, even in a dream.

“Has something happened?”

“You could say that.” Harry doesn’t seem to notice Draco’s distress. He lowers his voice when they get a sharp look from Professor Briggs. “McGonagall asked me to go and see her.”

Draco’s brow furrows because he wasn’t expecting that. “Why?”

“Because Hooch is leaving next year.” Harry looks at Draco. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes shine. He looks happy. Really fucking happy. “They’re looking to replace her.”

“And you’re it.” Draco makes sure no one’s watching and then he presses his fingers against Harry’s leg. It’s just another sign of how things have changed. He would be so jealous ordinarily, but all he feels now is pride. Potter’s turning him into a terrible sap. “Are you going to take it?”

Harry nods, still dazed. “I think so. I need to speak to Kingsley and Ron but…yeah.” He makes a note in his book as Briggs gives them another look and peers over Harry’s shoulder. When he moves on, Harry presses his fingers against Draco’s thigh under the table. It’s very distracting. “She mentioned they’re still trying to find someone to take over from Snape permanently. Asked if I knew anyone that might be interested.”

A flush of pleasure runs through Draco. “Do you?”

Harry gives Draco a smile. “I don’t know. Do I?”

Draco takes a shaky breath, barely allowing himself to hope even as the first shoots bloom within him. “They wouldn’t let me teach here.”

“I reckon they might.” Harry leans close, whispering in Draco’s ear. “Isn’t it better to try than not at all?”

For the first time since the war, Draco thinks yes. He nods and scratches a few notes in his book. Staying at Hogwarts for as long as he wants. Staying at Hogwarts with Potter. It’s almost too much to believe it could really happen.

“I’ll have to start actually working instead of drinking and shagging.” Draco gives Potter a look.

“Fine.” Harry sits back, grinning. “We can go to the library tomorrow.” He looks around and then he leans in again, his breath hot and his lips brushing Draco’s ear. “I’ve always fancied a snog in the Restricted Section.”

Really Draco can’t be blamed for the tug of arousal deep in his belly or the way Harry’s whispers in his ear send a shiver along the full length of his body.

He makes a point of ignoring Harry for the rest of the class.


The last time Draco Malfoy dreams of Harry Potter, everything’s changed and it doesn’t feel half as big or scary anymore. It feels exactly as it was meant to. Draco’s glad not to find Parkinson waiting for him. Instead he drinks in the sight of Harry, leaning against the wall of the castle and giving Draco one of his gorgeous smiles. It makes Draco shiver in the best way. Now he knows what it’s like to see that smile close-up. He knows what it’s like to kiss the corners of it and to taste Harry’s lips against his own when they’re sweet with fortified wine or cold from the brisk winter air.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Draco joins Harry, leaning against the wall and watching the stars.

“Not that unexpected, is it?”

“No.” Draco’s not sure finding Potter in his dreams was ever entirely unexpected. Draco’s always known himself – even when he pretended not to – even when he woke up young and afraid with lips that tasted like tears and the memory of Harry’s kisses.

“Nearly time for the sun to come up.” Harry points at the sky, where the clouds burn red and the first flush of sunrise creeps onto the horizon.

“I always preferred kissing under the stars.”

“Doesn’t have to be morning yet.” Harry shrugs. “It’s your dream.”

“Let the sun come up,” Draco says. He gives his dream-Harry a lingering kiss and it feels like goodbye. It’s strange, the idea of missing this. The place that kept Draco hopeful for so long. “Morning doesn’t seem so bad anymore.”

“Then it’s time to wake up, I suppose.” Harry whispers something in Draco’s ear and the sun slides into the sky, up behind the wispy clouds.

When Draco opens his eyes, Harry’s asleep next to him with a smile on his face. He looks like he’s having a good dream. Draco brushes his hand through Harry’s hair and touches the scar on Harry’s forehead.

He watches Harry sleep and wonders if Harry ever dreams of him too.