"And you don't know who might have given you the gift?" McGonegall asks, gazing at him over her thin wire framed glasses. Oh he knows. He knows exactly who it is.
He's going to kill her.
"No... and I didn't see that Potter had received a similar package or I never would have opened it!" Draco ignores the scoff from next to him and stares intently at McGonegall. He's going to kill Pansy. His head pounds and he rubs the tips of his fingers against his temple. There's an odd thrumming coming from Potter, and Draco forces himself to sit still in the chair.
"Harry?" McGonegall turns her steely eyes on Potter and Draco holds in the growl as he sees her visibly soften. Of course. It couldn't possibly be the fucking Golden Boy’s fault. It's not like he's the Defence Against Dark Arts teacher or anything. Prick.
"I didn't notice anything suspicious about the parcel..." Potter's voice is surprisingly small and Draco can't stop his head from snapping around to glare at him. He's surprised to find Potter blushing. Draco notices with annoyance that it looks good on him, his normally tan skin becoming richer with the deep red colouring his cheeks. "I didn't think to check... it got past the house elves,” Potter mutters. Draco raises one eyebrow. Ah, yes. Potter has his post screened to prevent, well, just this sort of thing. He's going to kill Pansy.
He runs his fingers through his hair, resolutely ignoring the churning in his stomach and looks back to McGonegall. He needs a potion, something to settle his stomach and calm his nerves. And get rid of this fucking headache. He closes his eyes for a moment, focusing on putting the pain into a box, stashed behind the wall that he painstakingly created whilst the Dark Lord lived in his house. He knows that McGonegall is looking at him, studying him, but he can't give any energy to caring.
A soft brush of fingers startles him out of his reverie. He looks down to find Potter’s hand has moved to rest next to his. He ignores that way his stomach stops churning and his headache subsides. He knows enough about marriage bonds to know that proximity is what it wants. He doesn’t pull his hand away.
"Well, may I suggest that until we have broken the bond that one of you move into the other’s rooms?” McGonegall says after a moment, her sharp eyes still studying the two of them. Draco raises one eyebrow, his argument already on the edge of his lips. No. He can’t have Potter in his room. He spends enough energy trying not to stare at the attractive prick during meal times.
“Headmistress, do you really think…” Draco starts.
“The bond will not let you be separated for more than a few hours,” McGonegall interrupts, “not unless...” she trails off and Draco feels heat rise in his neck. She doesn’t need to say what they need to do to make the bond calm down permanently. The urge to lean over and rip Potter’s clothes off is stronger than normal.
“Of course… It’s probably best if I move into Draco’s rooms? Mine are… a little… messy.” Draco feels Potter shuffle in his seat, his hand pressing harder against Draco’s.
“Of course, Draco?” McGonegall looks at him and Draco takes a deep breath, counting to five in his head. Right. Potter in his rooms. A messy Potter in his rooms. Leaving his clothes on all the surfaces, sprawled on his sofa, on his bed, long and lean and. No. Draco bites the inside of his mouth and nods once, moving his hands into his lap. “Excellent. I’ll have the house elves put a bed in the living room. Harry, will you need any Auror assistance on this case?” she looks back to him and Draco frowns. Of course they need Aurors. This is a criminal case.
“No… I… uh,” Potter coughs and Draco turns to glare at him, “Ron already knows. And Hermione will be helping too…” Potter has the decency not to look at Draco as he says this. Perfect. The fucking Golden Trio. Draco is about to object when McGonegall gives a curt nod, her lips curling into a smile.
“Excellent. You’ll both have the rest of the day off to sort through this.” She gives a small wave of her hand and beside Draco, Potter stands. He tugs lightly on Draco’s elbow and Draco ignores the way his pulse speeds up and focuses on his annoyance. He stands, removing his arm from Potter’s grip and turns to walk away.
“Oh, and gentlemen,” McGonegall calls and Draco turns to look at her, “good luck.”
Draco walks into his rooms and grimaces at the large four poster bed now taking up half of his living space. The sofa is sat at the end of the bed, facing the fire and Draco’s bookshelf and desk have been moved next to either side of the fireplace. The room is full and cluttered. Homely, he supposes. He rubs at his temples, the headache getting stronger the longer he’s away from Potter. The prick.
A loud cough from behind him signals Potter’s presence and he turns to glare at him.
“So…” Potter looks awkward, a large bag in his hand, his robes open to reveal a tight black t-shirt and scruffy jeans. Draco closes his eyes as he feels the increasingly familiar thrum of energy increasing as Potter moves closer to him, and counts to ten. He feels a soft hand on his arm and his eyes spring open. Potter is standing close to him, the green of his eyes almost moving in waves as he looks at Draco. Draco feels his pulse in his fingers, the warm sweet smell of Potter overwhelming him.
“Potter.” Draco’s voice cracks slightly and seems to shock Potter out of whatever trance he seems to be in.
“Uh… yes… sorry…” Potter stutters, taking a step back. Draco watches as Potter moves nervously around the room before dumping his bag on the floor next to the bed. Draco feels a pull in his stomach, his trousers becoming awkwardly tight as Potter takes off his robe, revealing just how fitted his jeans are, the t-shirt showing off every muscle in his arms, his abs, his back. Draco takes a deep breath and turns to his desk to collect the piece of paper that arrived with the parcel.
“So you’re the Dark Arts expert in the room,” Draco turns to look at Potter, one hand wrapped tightly around the desk, forcing himself to keep away from Potter. He’s going to kill Pansy.
“Yeah… uh… is your floo connected?” Potter moves towards the fireplace and Draco nods, handing the little bowl of floo powder to him. Their fingers brush and Draco closes his eyes against the sudden surge running through him. His eyes meet Potter’s again and he feels stuck, his head spinning. He takes a deep breath and counts to five. Right. Potions. He needs to start making potions. Something stronger than the normal headache and queasiness potions he takes.
Potter takes a pinch of the powder and Draco places the bowl back on the fireplace as Potter makes the call, turning his back to give him a little privacy. Flipping through the papers on his desk, he tries to think about what he needs to brew the potions. The ones he has in his bathroom should be enough until he can get down into his lab. Potter will probably need some too.
“Hello, Draco.” A soft voice behind him makes him jump and he spins to see Hermione Granger in his living room. Just as always, images of her, writhing on the floor, flash through his mind and he feels sick. He’s trapped, stuck still just like that day. He’s apologised. Of course he has. But no matter how many times he apologises, nothing will ever undo his shame at having stood there, unable to move as he watched in horror as his aunt. No. He takes a deep breath. How many is that?
“Gra- uh… Hermione.” He nods, belatedly realising that she doesn’t like being called Granger. The only indication that she has noticed his change is the small smile he gets from her. She gestures to the sofa and he moves, ignoring the bristling feeling at being told to sit in his own home. Potter stays standing and he feels a jolt of disappointment run through him, his body aching to be near Potter, his headache pounding, his stomach churning.
“So what have you two gleamed so far?” Her voice is strong and officious, and Draco remembers why she is a war hero. Potter looks embarrassed again and Draco tries not to grin. It’s like watching a child being told off by their parent.
“I… uh… I haven’t done any diagnostics on the parcels, but if I could get yours Draco, maybe I could see what sort of spells were used?” Potter turns his green eyes on Draco and Draco stops breathing. Fuck, Potter is beautiful. “And… maybe I could also have your hand? Then I can run some spells on the actual… uh… rings?”
Oh yes, the rings. The rings that had magically appeared on their fingers the second the both of them had touched the rings in the parcels. That bit must have taken Pansy quite a while to figure out how to do. It’s not a normal part of the marriage bonding ceremony.
He holds his hand out, the thin gold band shining in the low lamp light. He had to get a gold ring. He notices with a pang that Potter’s is silver. Of course. Fucking Pansy. Potter takes his hand and he closes his eyes as the headache immediately dissipates and his stomach calms down. After a moment Potter takes his wand out and starts to wave it over Draco’s hand, muttering to himself. Waves of Potter’s magic flows over Draco and his heart beats faster and his eyelids get heavy.
“While Harry is doing that, I might as well tell you what I’ve found since Harry told me about the bonding an hour ago.” Granger’s voice cuts through the haze and his neck clicks as he spins his head to look at her. Her smile gets wider before she continues, “So this is clearly a marriage bond. That much is clear by the way that it was initiated by the touching of rings, and the fact that rings have appeared on your left ring finger. Marriage bonds, as I’m sure you are aware Draco, are mostly used for pureblood families to tie them together and secure fortunes. The bad news is that they can be quite difficult to break.”
“What’s the good news?” Potter mumbles between spells, his eyes still fixed on Draco’s hand. Draco feels a flush run through him and he takes a deep breath, counting to ten.
“The good news is that the bond requires a kiss to part seal it, and full consummation for it to be irreversible.”
Potter drops Draco’s hand and the pang of nausea returns immediately to Draco’s stomach. Right, because kissing him would be bad enough for the Golden Boy, let alone. No. Don’t think about it.
“Consummation?” Draco feels slightly pleased at the whimper hidden in Potter’s voice.
“Yes, Harry. Sex. If you and Draco have sex then the marriage bond won’t be able to be reversed. No matter what kind of bond it is. The bond wants you to have sex,” she states, raising one eyebrow at Potter. Potter shuffles awkwardly on his feet and Draco stores that image away for thinking about later. There’s something there. “You may have noticed that you feel uncomfortable when you’re not touching? Or that there’s a certain feeling when you’re in the same room? The books describe it as an energy.”
“Well… yeah… but…” Potter stutters for a moment before glancing at Draco and clamping his mouth shut. Draco raises one eyebrow. Interesting. Potter seems to realise what he’s just done because he takes Draco’s hand again and starts waving, his ears an unusual shade of red.
“I have noticed. Once we’ve finished here I’m going to go to my lab and brew a headache and nausea potion for us to take so that we can at least teach.” Draco gestures to Potter with his other hand.
“Oh, that would be fantastic Draco,” Granger sounds excited, “Of course, it’ll probably be dangerous for you to take them all the time, but a few hours a day should be alright. Until Ron and I can find out who sent you the packages so that we can find out what marriage bond they used.”
“We don’t know who sent them…” Potter says, finally dropping Draco’s hand and moving on to his own.
“Actually I do,” Draco tries to keep his voice steady. Potter and Granger stare at him and he sighs, handing them the note from his pocket. “Pansy included this in my parcel. She’s left the country until, in her words, ‘everything has cleared and we’ve realised that she’s right’.” He knows that he should have told McGonegall, but really, there isn’t any reason. It’s not like they can talk to Pansy. And there’s probably some sort of law against sending Potter gifts that bind him to people.
“I suppose there isn’t any way to contact her?” Granger’s voice is clipped and Draco holds back the wince.
“No. Any there’s no point in sending her an owl with a tracking spell on it. She’ll probably have wards up around her, and be hiding in a muggle town somewhere hot. If there’s anything Slytherins are good at, it’s looking after ourselves.” He smiles at the two Gryffindors in front of him, hoping that his joke will make them relax slightly. He sees Potter’s shoulders slump. Ok. One down.
“Well… that is unfortunate, but I suppose it also makes things easier.” Granger looks thoughtful and Draco is about to ask why when Potter holds a hand up. A second later Granger turns to them, “at least we can start to think about what bonding spells she might use. She’s a Sacred 28, which might mean that she would know the traditional bonding spells, but might not use them because Harry isn’t a pure-blood…” Granger’s voice gets quieter and she starts to wander towards the floo. Potter is obviously used to this way of her brain working because he moves over to his bag and starts to unpack.
Granger takes a pinch of floo powder and throws it into the fire. Frowning, Draco watches as she stands for a moment, still muttering to herself about Pansy as the fire glows green in front of her.
“Hermione?” Potter suddenly prompts and she jumps, spinning to give him a grin.
“Right. Bye Harry, Draco. If you find anything interesting, let me know.” She turns back to the fire, “Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes,” she states clearly, stepping into the floo and leaving Draco alone with Potter.
Whoever brewed the headache potion Draco has should be fired. His head is pounding, hands shaking and his eyes stinging. He’s pretty sure if he takes any more potion he’ll technically be overdosing. At this point that might be better than trying to teach when he can’t even think. There’s no way he’ll be able to brew his own potion until this headache goes away.
Maybe if Potter sits with him whilst he makes it. No. Not an option.
“Professor?” A small voice next to him sends sparks of pain through him. He really wishes his students would talk quite so much. Severus had the right idea. Draco takes a deep breath and counts to ten before smiling and turning to the student. It’s not their fault that he has a psycho for a best friend.
“Yes, Emily?” She’s one of the best students in his third year class. Smart and attentive and very precise. She’d make a wonderful Healer. Maybe she could brew him a headache potion. He dismisses the thought from his mind and turns back to her.
“The lesson is about to end, Professor,” she whispers, looking nervously around the room. Draco looks up and sees that all the other students are standing patiently by their cauldrons, waiting for him to test their potion and dismiss them. He gives Emily a small nod and smile and stands up to assess his class. He knows they’ll have done well. He’s a good teacher and they’re a bright year.
Once he’s visited the last student and confirmed that they have created a wonderful example of Confusing Concoction his head feels ready to explode. Maybe it will. And then Pansy will have to go to his funeral knowing that she caused his head to explode. He leaves his classroom and turns towards his rooms. He just needs to lie down for five minutes. And maybe take some more potion. It’ll probably be fine.
Someone rounds the corner as he gets close to the Great Hall and barrels right into Draco. Someone with a very pointy shoulder that hits Draco very hard right in the middle of his chest. Pain radiates from his sternum, but he doesn’t need to look up to know that it’s Potter. The thrumming is back and the headache is starting to subside. He feels the anger bubble in his stomach and tries to breath and count.
He looks down into Potter’s green eyes, flashing dangerously, and gives up even trying.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Potter?” Draco growls, watching as Potter stands straighter, his broad shoulders held back. Fuck, he looks hot. No. No he doesn’t.
“I was actually coming to see you, Malfoy. I don’t know what kind of potion you’ve given me, but my head…” Potter’s voice is deep and vibrates through Draco. The anger rolls through him and he makes himself taller, looking down his nose at Potter.
“And that’s my fault is it, Potter? If you had done your job properly we would have never been bonded in the first place,” Draco snarls, watching as Potter’s jaw twitches.
“You’re the potions Master, I thought that a potions master would be able to at least give me a potion that would work!” Harry shouts and suddenly Draco can’t take it anymore. Without really registering what is happening his hands are in Potter’s robe and he’s spinning him around, pinning him against the wall. Potter’s eyes are wide, his hands clenching at Draco’s hips. The energy thrums around them, making Draco’s ear buzz, and he can’t hear anything. His leg slides between Potter’s and he feels Potter, hard and heavy, against his hip. Fuck.
Potter’s eyes flick down to Draco’s lips and Draco feels his heart jump. Maybe. Maybe Potter wants this too. Maybe. Draco’s grip tightens as he looks at Potter’s mouth, pink and plump and fucking delicious. His head starts to move towards Potter’s, Potter’s breath warm on his cheek, their eyes stuck on each other’s.
He shouldn’t do this. Kissing Potter would mean that their bond was partially sealed. It would be harder to break. It. The Bond. No. This isn’t what Potter wants. The thought runs through Draco like ice and he pulls away, letting go of Potter’s robes. Stepping back he stares at Potter, Potter’s chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Professor Malfoy, Professor Potter?” A voice shakes his eyes from Potter’s and he turns to see a group of sixth year students looking at them worriedly. Shit. He and Potter nearly. In front of students. He blinks and turns to stalk back to his lab.
His headache is completely gone.
When Draco gets to his rooms after his last lesson of the day he finds Potter lounging on the sofa, his feet on the arm, parchment surrounding him. His hair is sticking up all over the place like he’s been running his hands through it, and there’s a muggle pen hanging out of his mouth, his lips full. Draco takes a deep breath and counts to five. Potter could at least try to look unattractive throughout this whole bonding process.
“Oh… hey…” Potter looks up from the parchment in front of him and Draco nods, not trusting himself to say anything. The thrumming has started, pulling him towards Potter. He turns and searches for somewhere to sit. He’s never needed more than one place to sit before, and he’s not fucking asking Potter to move up. After an awkward moment Potter seems to realise that Draco hasn’t got anywhere to sit and shuffles quickly, spilling parchment everywhere.
“Thank you,” Draco mumbles, nodding in what he hopes is a courteous way. It’s not easy. He can’t really remember the last time he was actively courteous to Potter. He folds himself into the sofa, being careful not to touch Potter, the thrumming becoming more intense. Potter bends to pile the essays up and reveals a strip of skin, tanned and smooth and Draco feels his fingers twitch. Fuck. He can’t do this. He can’t sit this close to Potter when they haven’t been near each other all day. Their argument in the corridor not included. He closes his eyes and tries not to let the pictures of Potter’s strong body under him invade his mind.
“So… I… uh…” Potter stutters and Draco opens his eyes to glare at him. “I wanted to apologise for earlier. I know it’s not your fault that the potions aren’t working.” He looks pained and Draco squashes the need to lean forward and comfort him. He is not going to comfort Harry Potter. He’s not going to touch Harry Potter if he can help it. Not until the fucking bond is gone.
“Apology accepted.” He nods graciously, because proper wizards must be gracious sometimes. Not because he wants to get along with Potter. And definitely not because he wants to be friends with Potter. Or anything else. “How’s the investigation going?” he asks after a moment, heat spreading up his neck and his fingers itching to reach out and brush against Potter’s.
“There isn’t really one… not now that we know it was Pansy that sent us the parcels…” Potter mutters, looking up at Draco through his lashes. Draco takes a deep breath and counts to five. He will not think about how sexy Potter is. He will not file away that image of Potter for him to remember later when he’s alone in his room. He will not. “I don’t guess you know why?” Draco scoffs.
“Of course Potter–“
“What?” Draco frowns as he looks at the man sat opposite him on the sofa.
“Call me Harry. Potter was for when we were enemies… it reminds me too much of… uh… anyway… Harry. Please.” Potter – Harry – looks so uncomfortable it shocks Draco for a moment. He studies Po – Harry for a moment. His thighs are thick, tucked up next to his chest as strong arms wrap around them. His socks are odd, and his jeans ratty but it seems to work. His solid fingers dangle and Draco thinks for a moment about what they would feel like wrapped around his. No. Not thinking about that.
“Ok. Harry. No. I don’t know why Pansy would send us bonding rings. I could guess, but the idea is so ludicrous it doesn’t bear thinking about.” Draco raises one eyebrow and wishes he hadn’t said anything about guessing. Harry is a Gryffindor and one of the Golden Trio. Suggesting that there might be something is like insulting a hippogriff. And he knows exactly how well that goes.
“You don’t know that,” Harry insists, his green eyes flashing, and moves closer, “why don’t you tell me what the guess is and I’ll tell you if it’s ridiculous.” Draco clenches his fingers and stares at Harry. Fuck. He knew this would happen. Although, really, there isn’t any way to stop Harry once he gets going. Draco knows that from years of watching him at school. Once he has an idea he rolls with it. Draco groans and spins his legs, crossing them underneath him and facing Harry.
“Pansy thinks I need to settle down in order to be happy. She’s convinced that I’m becoming an old man at 26 and has been trying to set me up with someone for over a year now. My guess is that she finally ran out of men she knows to set me up with, and so resorted to forcing my hand.” Draco refuses to stop looking at Harry. That will just make him look guilty. Because it’s true. Pansy has been trying to set him up with people for the last year. But mainly as a way to help him get over his feelings for Harry fucking Potter. Not that Harry needs to know that.
“Men?” Harry asks, his voice thick, his green eyes trained of Draco and Draco feels his stomach twist. Right. Harry didn’t know he was gay.
“Indeed. I assumed that much was obvious?” Draco holds up his left hand, the gold band shining. Harry huffs, grinning and looking down at his own silver band.
“Yeah… I just… I don’t really have a preference, so I wondered…” he mumbles and Draco’s breath catches in his throat. He doesn’t know what to say. After all these years of imagining what he’d say to Harry if they were ever on their own he finally gets him along and is completely lost. Fucking hell. “Do you think she picked these rings on purpose?” Harry asks suddenly and Draco laughs.
“Definitely. Gold for me and silver for you? It is exactly Pansy’s sense of humour.” Draco can’t help the smile on his face as he watches Harry’s face light up.
“I like it… I think if it had been… I mean… if we were together and we’d chosen… um…” Harry blushes and the thrumming grows, almost pushing Draco forward as waves wash over him. He could end it. The head aches and the nausea and the thrumming. He could lean over and. No. No, he couldn’t.
“It does have a certain beauty to it,” Draco keeps his voice low and looks at his hand. His pale skin makes the gold seem richer and he can’t help but think how Harry’s tan makes the silver shine brighter. Maybe if it had been real he would have chosen these rings as well.
“So you were going to make the head ache potion today… how’d that go?” Harry asks and Draco is shocked out of his reverie. Ah. Yes. The stupid potion.
“Unfortunately it didn’t. I couldn’t concentrate enough to even attempt to brew it,” Draco sighs and Harry’s brow creases in front of him.
“Why didn’t you tell me? I could have come and sit with you as you made it. I don’t know about you, but my head ache basically goes away if we’re near each other…” He leans forward, letting go of his legs, his fingers brushing against Draco’s knee and something runs through Draco. Sparks. Hot and white and needy. Fuck. He wants Harry. He wanted Harry before, but now it’s worse.
“Well, if you’re not busy now.” His voice feels tight in his throat and his body aches as he tries to keep himself from launching at Harry. Harry’s hand lowers onto his knee and his brain stops. Fuck. Fuck.
“Definitely. Come on…” Harry’s hand moves to slip into Draco’s and he tugs them both off the sofa. The movement is too sudden and Draco’s legs sprawl as he moves them to try to place his feet on the floor. He feels himself fall and them something wraps around his waist. He pants, his heart racing, as he looks down into Harry’s eyes, his whole body singing. Harry’s eyes dart to his lips and he can’t breathe. No. This isn’t right. This is just the bond.
He goes to move, to step out of Harry’s arms, but Harry’s grip tightens. Fuck. No. He takes a deep breath and –
“You don’t have to be nervous,” Harry whispers and Draco freezes. “You always take a deep breath and count when you’re nervous. Or angry. Or anything, really…” Harry’s breath tickles at Draco’s lips and he feels his trousers start to become tight. Fuck. Not only is he hot, he pays attention. Draco’s head starts to tilt, his mouth moving to meet Harry’s, like he’s wanted for years. His fingers tingle and his chest hurts and the thrumming becomes loud. The thrumming. No. This is the bond.
Draco steps back, untangling himself from Harry’s arms and ignoring the sadness on Harry’s face.
“The potion, Harry. I need to start now or it won’t be ready for tonight.” He gives Harry a small smile and it seems to appease Harry because he nods back. Together they walk towards the door, ignoring the energy flowing between them.
“Oh… Hello Draco,” Hermione’s voice is fast and excited as she steps through his floo. He frowns at her, not entirely sure when it was normal for Gryffindors to randomly walk into his rooms. In the two weeks that Harry has been living in his room he’s spent more time with one of the Golden Trio there than time alone. He sort of enjoys having them around. Hermione is good to talk to and Ron is the only person who gives him a decent game of chess.
Not that he’ll ever tell them that.
“Hermione,” he smiles at her, moving to let her sit down on the sofa. She shakes her head and looks around the rooms.
“Do you know where Harry is?” she asks, looking around the room.
“Teaching. He has lessons throughout the day today.” Draco’s frown deepens as he watches her. There’s something wrong. “Hermione? What’s happened?”
“Oh!” She stops and looks at him, seemingly remembering that he’s in the room. “Of course. I can tell you! I’ve figured it out.” She comes to pace in front of Draco and he immediately stops breathing. She’s figured it out. Of course she has. It’s only taken her two weeks, and she’s figured it out, because she’s Hermione Granger.
“You’ve figured it out,” Draco reminded her as she paces, muttering to herself.
"Yes. It's a marriage bond, but not a normal one for pure blood marriages. Those tend to be marriages that are born out of convenience and not love, so their bondings have to be strong enough to counter any lack of emotion. Pansy wouldn’t have used one of those because she knew she was sending the ring to Harry and Harry isn’t a pure-blood wizard. We still don’t know what the effects are of non-pure-bloods using rituals specifically designed for pure-bloods. However, muggle born and non-pure blood witches and wizards also wanted a bonding ritual in their marriage ceremonies. They’re romantic and bind families. Those bonds, like the one you have, they didn't have to fight against a lack of love because the betrothed were already in love!" She stops pacing and looks at him, her hair flying everywhere and her smile wide.
"And?” Draco prompts, his brain fuzzy and his chest tight. This couldn’t mean what he thinks it means. It couldn’t. No Malfoy has ever been this lucky. Hermione pauses and looks at him for a moment, her brown eyes deep and shining, and he knows she knows. She doesn’t have to explain anything to him. He already knows.
"I have to go and find Harry, but it seems to me,” Hermione says as she starts to sweep from the room, “that the bond isn't only very easily broken, it also would have only worked if you and Harry already loved each other!"
“Draco!” Harry shouts as he runs into the room. Draco jumps, his eyes wide, and he drops the book he was reading on the floor. He doesn’t have time to say anything, or even to move before Harry is on him, pressing kisses to his forehead, his nose, his jaw. Harry’s fingers are in Draco’s hair and Draco instinctively moves his hands to Harry’s waist, sliding down the sofa and arching to meet Harry.
"No. Harry. We can't," Draco protests weakly as Harry's mouth moves to his neck, sending shivers through him, his cock hardening. He runs his hands through Harry’s hair, the strands thick and smooth, and a groan escapes from the back of his throat.
"Yes we can Draco. I want you..." Harry mutters, his breath tickling Draco’s skin and making him clutch at Harry’s side.
"Fuck, Harry. No you don't. I mean maybe you do. But not like this. Not now. It's the bond. I wish you did but–"
"We're not bonded anymore," Harry sucks at the nerve at the base of Draco's neck, his thick thigh pressed between Draco’s legs. Draco groans, his brain fuzzy and his legs numb before what Harry has said registers. He shoves at Harry’s shoulders, ignoring the sudden rush of cold, and tries to search for the familiar thrumming. It’s not there. It’s gone.
“What?” Draco frowns, gazing into Harry’s eyes, black with lust. Harry grins and props himself up on one elbow, the other hand tracing along Draco’s jaw.
“Hermione found me… She basically dragged me out of my classroom. She told me everything and I told her to take the bond off. Apparently you didn’t even need to be there…” Harry moves, trying to slide back down and Draco almost gives in. Almost. He grunts, pushing back to make Harry sit up.
“But how?” he insists. Harry rolls his eyes and presses his groin into Draco’s. Draco ignores the pang of longing that runs through him and glares at Harry. No. He needs to know.
“All I had to do is say I didn’t want to be married anymore and take my ring off as Hermione said a spell. The bond goes away because the love has gone and if we had actually been married we’d have to go through all the legal stuff.” Harry presses forward again and Draco shuffles away, knocking Harry in the chest with him knee. “Ow–“
“But Hermione said that the bond would have only worked if we already loved each other? Does this mean that you don’t? That–“ Draco’s words are cut off as Harry’s lips clash against his. They’re warm and soft and insistent and Draco can’t help but fall into the kiss. Harry’s hands weave through his hair and he finds himself moving closer, pressing his body against Harry’s. Harry pushes him back again until he is lying on the sofa, his legs open and Harry slotted between them. His hands move to stroke at the hard muscles under Harry’s shirt. Opening his mouth he slides his tongue into Harry’s, tasting something sweet and hot, and a groan escapes from the back of his throat.
“Do I need to do anything else to convince you that I do?” Harry breathes a moment later, pulling back to gaze down at Draco. Draco’s heart thumps, his head spinning. It doesn’t make sense. The rings could tell they loved each other.
“I don’t understand.” Draco’s voice sounds scratchy and rough. “The rings could tell we. They could tell. I don’t believe just saying you didn’t would trick it.”
“That’s what Hermione’s spell was for… anyway I said I didn’t want to be married to you,” Harry mutters, looking at Draco through those fucking eyelashes, “not that I didn’t love you.”
“Oh.” Draco stutters, not really sure what to say to that. Harry loves him. It isn’t possible. It’s Harry Potter, Golden Boy and the Saviour. And he’s Draco Malfoy, ex-death eater and the prick who let Greyback into the castle. Harry can’t love him. It doesn’t make sense. How? How could Harry love him? He opens his mouth to ask, but Harry has clearly gotten bored of talking because he takes the chance to push their lips together. Teeth clash and tongues stroke as they kiss, Draco’s mind completely blank for the first time in a long time.
Draco’s cock presses painfully against the zip on his trousers and he shifts to try and give it some friction, to turn the pain into pleasure. Harry groans into his mouth and presses down with his hips, his hard bulge rubbing against Draco’s. They start to rock, their movements fluid and perfect as Harry’s hands plunge into his hair and his clings to Harry’s shirt.
Harry’s hands move, sliding down his side, sending shivers through him. Nimble fingers start to undo the buttons of his shirt and for once he thinks about just ripping his shirt off. But then he remembers how much this shirt cost and lets Harry work, carefully undressing them as their mouths move. It’s slow, slower than Draco thought it would be, and he feels energy flow between them. A different energy than before. Something more real, more them. Draco groans and arches up as Harry slips their clothes off.
Finally their naked bodies are pressed together, the smooth slide of Harry’s skin setting Draco’s on fire. He writhes on the sofa, feeling Harry against him. Harry’s hand moves lower, brushing against Draco’s hip and Draco can’t hold back the moans. Fuck, Harry is going to kill him. In every thought he’s had about this moment, hidden away in the dark of his room at night, he’s imagined Harry fast and angry. This Harry, slow and sensual. Well, this Harry is going to kill him.
“Harry. Please. I can’t wait anymore,” Draco murmurs against Harry’s lips and he feels the smirk.
“I wondered how long it would take you to say something…” Harry whispers back, his hands moving to wrap around Draco’s thighs.
“Fucker.” Draco tries to sound angry, but Harry jerks him, pulling him further down the sofa. Their hips roll together and Harry slips a hand between them, wrapping his solid fingers around the both of them. Draco’s chest tightens as Harry starts to pump his hand, running his thumb over the tops of their cocks on every up-thrust. Their pre-come mixes together as Harry carries on stroking them, the pleasure running through Draco making his head spin.
Harry leans his forehead against Draco’s and Draco stares into his eyes. His beautiful green eyes, dark with need. Their breath mingles as their hips rock, their eyes stuck on each other. Draco runs his hands down Harry’s back, tracing the rippling muscles. Slipping his fingers between Harry’s arse cheeks, he brushes lightly over the tight ring of muscles. Fuck. He wants that so badly. Maybe later. His balls tighten at the thought and he knows he’s not going to last much longer.
“Fuck, Draco, I’m so close…” Harry mutters and Draco nods, not able to say words. Harry bends his head forward, pressing his lips to Draco’s and Draco comes, his orgasm ripping thorough him, his come splattering across his chest. Harry judders on top of him, his own release joining Draco’s. It is possibly the sexiest thing Draco has ever seen. Because it’s Harry, not because he enjoys being covered in come.
Harry jerks slightly before removing his hand and flopping down, his weight pushing the air out of Draco. Harry starts to nuzzle into Draco’s shoulder and Draco smiles, tightening his arms around Harry. It’s probably worth suffocating for. Probably.
After a moment Draco wriggles and Harry sits up, reaching to take Draco’s wand from where it’s lying on the floor and casting cleaning spells across them. Draco’s body aches, and his brain is fuzzy, but he knows he needs that again. As soon as possible.
“So? Bed?” Draco smirks at Harry. Harry rolls his eyes before bending to press a hard kiss to Draco’s lips and standing to drag them into Draco’s room.
The next morning Draco wakes up to a warm body next to him and a feeling of complete happiness. Blinking blearily he sits up and looks down at Harry next to him, naked and asleep, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheek and his hair dark against Draco’s white sheets. Ah. Yes. Harry loves him. They aren’t bonded. They’re just together. Forever.
Maybe he won’t kill Pansy after all.