shocfix (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} shocfix) wrote,@ 2001-02-06 01:00:00 |
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Aftermath - H/D - NC-17
Title: Aftermath
Author:shocfix
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco (implied Ron/Hermione)
Summary: The Battle was won and the Good Guys were busy. Was anyone paying any attention to Harry, any more?
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2700
Warning: a tad tragic – who says The Battle was a happy ending?
Not officially betaed, but many thanks tofourth_rose for looking it over for me, and confirming that it was, indeed, almost an actual Harry/Draco…
Aftermath
~+~+~+~
Harry slept late and woke confused. He was alive; now what?
Turning his head on the pillow and reaching for his glasses, he discovered Ron’s bed was already empty, and the sunlight pouring in through all windows indicated that even Ron – even a Ron in the luxury of a real bed - would have woken naturally.
He reached for the previous day’s filthy clothes, only to find a clean set of black robes draped across the foot of his bed. Sniffing an armpit gingerly and not wanting to disgrace what he was pretty sure was Kreacher’s work, he wandered into the bathroom and took the hottest shower he could stand. The needles of hot water massaged his weary muscles and the steam filled cubicle cleared his head and he stepped out of the shower feeling far more himself than he had in months.
Whoever that may be.
Himself seemed to be a bit numb.
He wrapped a towel around his waist and turned to go, but the bathroom door wouldn’t budge.
“What the…”
“Oh, no you don’t, young man,” a voice said behind him.
He whirled on the spot, heart racing, to find himself face to face with the bathroom mirror.
“You are not leaving this room until you’ve shaved,” the Mirror said firmly.
“You cannot be serious,” Harry said.
“No student is allowed to sport facial hair, as you very well know, Mr Potter.”
“I’m not a student,” Harry protested. “I’m of age; I’ve left school!”
The Mirror remained smugly silent until Harry had gritted his teeth and used the shaving kit laid out on the bathroom counter. Several days of stubble removed, he felt rather exposed as the Mirror finally allowed him to leave the room.
Getting dressed, he shook his head wryly. He’d saved the world the day before, but now he’d been put in his place by a mirror.
Good.
Almost normal.
He jogged down the achingly familiar stairs to the Common Room, and then the Entrance Hall and slipped quietly into the Great Hall. A little more order had been imposed, overnight, but there were still dazed looking people sitting beside shrouded bodies.
He saw Neville organising a work party and smiled proudly; Seamus was trotting after Dean, who had a quill and parchment in his hands and was trailing after Luna and taking dictation of a list of some sort; Professor McGonagall was striding through the room, magnificently in charge of everything, with Hermione bobbing in her wake like a Mini Minerva.
Harry made a mental note to tell Ron this new nickname.
Ron.
Harry’s eyes found a clot of red hair on the Gryffindor side of the room. Ron and Ginny were sitting with their family; Molly had her arms ‘round her daughter, Bill was running his hands through Fleur’s hair, over and over again.
And Ron’s eyes were fixed on Mini Minerva, following her wherever she went, probably without even realising it. Ron needed her so much; Ginny needed her family; Seamus needed his best mate.
Who needed Harry?
Ah, the day before they’d needed the Chosen One, but now?
He knew he was being unfair and selfish, but who really needed him?
And he knew he’d be ridiculously selfish to approach Ginny now, when she was with her parents. He felt strangely detached from her.
The room was full of intense emotions; he could feel it. He could feel it bypassing him, completely.
But then the hair on the back of his neck prickled and he was sure someone watching him. He turned slowly, to see three pale figures sitting, alone, at the Slytherin table.
Lucius Malfoy looked almost grey, clearly rudderless and lost; Narcissa was fussing with her son’s robes, talking to him in a low voice.
Draco was looking straight at Harry with intense eyes.
Harry felt a jolt of almost physical connection.
Which was absurd. Ridiculous. Preposterous. He’d ask Hermione for a few more synonyms, if it didn’t mean he’d have to admit to an emotional reaction to Draco Malfoy.
Draco Malfoy.
Well.
For eighteen years, Voldemort had been the Chosen One’s adversary, until the Chosen One had killed him and saved the World.
Nothing personal, old chap. All a matter of prophesies and Dark magic. And the World was grateful, but it had only really cared about the Chosen One, not about Harry.
But.
For seven years, Draco Malfoy had been Harry’s adversary. Harry, none of the Chosen One crap. He’d connected to Harry and he’d hated Harry, and it had all been very personal.
But Harry, Harry had saved his life.
Harry felt a thrill when he thought of it.
He’d taken time out from his busy pre-ordained schedule of self-sacrifice and he’d personally saved Draco Malfoy’s life.
Someone who’d never given a shit about the Chosen One.
He stared back at Draco, his heart racing.
His heart racing and the numbness receding as someone actually saw him.
He didn’t feel he was owed a life debt, or anything like that, and Narcissa had pretty much saved his life right back, not long afterwards, anyway, but he felt more of a personal connection to his old rival than to almost anyone in the room.
Shaking himself, he nodded to Draco and threaded his way between the groups of people milling around the Hall, until he reached the Weasleys.
“Oh, Harry,” Molly said numbly.
“Mrs Weasley,” he said, having no idea how to comfort her and returning Ginny’s small, sad nod before turning to face Ron.
He cleared his throat and Ron finally dragged his eyes away from Hermione, to focus on Harry and give him a tired smile, before running a hand over his own clean shaven jaw and nodding at Harry’s.
Harry rolled his eyes and sat down.
The horrible day dragged on. House elves brought food no one could face eating; George and Mrs Weasley disagreed about funeral arrangements; Ron stared at Hermione; Andromeda arrived, a swaddled bundle capped in lavender hair in her arms, to take her daughter and her son-in-law home.
Harry glanced over at the Malfoys, but Narcissa was ignoring her sister and Draco was still watching him.
Harry still felt rather detached when darkness fell overhead, visible through the smashed, rather than enchanted, ceiling.
He wondered if it was going to be possible to repair it, but didn’t have the energy to ask Hermione.
Most of the Weasleys had left, Molly not even questioning the fact that Ron was staying. Harry followed him up to bed, under no illusions that he’d stayed for any other reason than being near Hermione. Well, that was what he, Harry, had wanted, wasn’t it? He hadn’t got either of them killed, and they would be idiots to put him first, anymore.
He wondered where the Malfoys were. Asleep in the Slytherin dungeons, he supposed. He wondered what’d happen to them. No one had arrested them, no one asked them to help. Would they be allowed to return to Malfoy Manor? No one else seemed to care, and he didn’t have the energy to wonder why he was worried about it.
Ron muttered good night, rolled over and fell asleep. Harry lay in his old bed, his heart full as he listened to Ron, Neville, Seamus and Dean breathing in the darkness, and he fell asleep thinking of grey eyes.
Over the next few days, he and Ron were pressed into service by Neville and Hermione – although he was pretty sure Hermione had extra duties for Ron, that Neville didn’t require of him. The castle was slowly being cleared and readied for proper repairs and new protective Charms.
Smaller things needed doing, too. Students’ belongings needed to be identified, packed and sent all over the country, so Ron, Hermione and Ginny were sorting out the dorms in Gryffindor Tower, Luna, Dean and Seamus doing Ravenclaw, Harry, Neville and Hannah in Hufflepuff.
No one had mentioned Slytherin, but Harry supposed Draco had taken charge of it. The family still appeared at the Slytherin table for meals and Draco still stared at Harry and Harry was dying to catch him alone and ask him… what?
Well, ‘what?’ would be a good starting place.
Also, ‘why?’
Why are you looking at me, and why do I care? Why do I feel almost guilty about being alive when I’m with anyone else?
On the sixth day of repairs, Harry had had enough of Hannah’s starry eyed appreciation of the new Neville, and he ducked out of Hufflepuff’s Common Room, muttering something about lunch, only for the words to die in his throat.
Draco was standing in the shadows, what light there was glinting on his hair and his steady gaze.
“Malfoy,” Harry said quietly, his heart racing. Now he’d find out what Malfoy wanted; he’d be able to work out why he couldn’t stop thinking about him.
“Potter.”
“Everything… alright?” Harry asked.
“What?” Draco said, his brows drawing together.
Harry waved vaguely down the corridor, towards the Slytherin Common Room.
“Is anyone… are you... sorting things out in Slytherin?”
“What things?” Draco asked.
“Stuff,” Harry said. “We’re sorting out the students’ belongings…”
“Why?” Draco interrupted.
“What?”
“You just… saved the world, Potter, and now you’re saving Hufflepuff underwear.”
“Well,” Harry said, “when you put it like that…”
Draco snorted. “You have always wasted your time like this.”
“Always?”
“Wasted your Name, your Power, on idiots and lost causes.”
Harry laughed aloud. “You may have noticed that our cause won, Malfoy,” he said.
“You won,” Draco corrected him. “But all the bleeding heart campaigning for house elves and house unity was pointless. Nothing will change, but you risked the big picture for them.”
“Bloody good thing for you I did,” Harry snapped. He didn’t know why he was bothering; Malfoy obviously hadn’t really changed, even if he looked like he wanted something new from Harry.
“Me?” Draco asked, looking genuinely surprised..
“I took time out from the Big Picture to save your life, last week,” Harry pointed out. “Worked out well for you that I did, didn’t it?”
Draco blinked at him.
“Yeah, I know your mummy saved mine right back,” Harry went on, “so we’re even.”
He turned away, but Draco caught hold of his wrist and it scorched like a brand and Harry realised no one else had touched him since it was all over.
“Why did you do it?” Draco whispered urgently. “It’s been… even after everything else that happened, it’s been… driving me crazy. I… I can’t move on without knowing what you were thinking.”
The grey eyes were exactly level with Harry’s own and had been a burning lifeline for him all week; he was more aware of Draco’s hand on his wrist than of any other sensation he’d felt since… before he died.
He felt alive.
He took a step forwards, backing Draco against the wall and slammed his hand against the stone, dragging Draco’s hand up above his head.
“Potter?” Draco asked, his hand tightening on Harry’s wrist as he leant closer.
“I was thinking that you were alive,” Harry said quietly. “You were still alive, you were surrounded by fire, and I didn’t want you to burn.”
Draco nodded.
“I wasn’t thinking we could be best friends,” Harry went on. “I wasn’t even thinking it was the right thing to do – not when I was risking Ron and Hermione’s lives, and they are, oh, so much more important than yours. I was just thinking it was something I could do. Me, not the Chosen One, not the Boy Who Lived. Not because of a prophecy. But because I could.”
“Right.”
“Now,” Harry said, leaning so close that he could feel Draco’s breath puffing against his lips. “Why have you been staring at me, all week?”
“What?”
“Has mummy been telling you that all she did was save my worthless life?” Harry asked. “That I saved her precious baby boy, and you still owe me? Is that why you look so pale and scared? Worried what I’ll expect in return?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Draco whispered. “I'm not scared.”
“D’you know what I think,” Harry said. “I think you would love me to take something in return.”
And he kissed him.
He must have lost his mind.
The words what the fuck am I doing? drifted through his mind, as he watched surprise register in the grey eyes, before Draco kissed him back.
Draco gulped between kisses and his eyes closed and his free hand slid down between their bodies, before cupping Harry’s growing erection through his robes.
“Fuck,” Harry moaned, stepping even closer and desperately grinding into the other boy’s hand.
He had never done anything like this, but…
“Hey, Malfoy,” he whispered. “We’re alive.”
Draco’s eyes and mouth flew open, but his words were smothered by Harry’s tongue, so he spread his legs and removed his hand and Harry surged forward.
Harry braced his other hand on the wall, too and Draco let go of Harry’s wrist and grabbed his hips, pulling him hard against him on each stroke, whimpering each time the length of Harry’s cock dragged along his, even through two sets of robes.
However unlikely it was that Draco Malfoy would be the first person he ‘slept’ with, Harry felt too good to stop.
It felt like he was alive.
It felt like it was something to be celebrated, and no one else was celebrating.
His legs were shaking and one hand had somehow curled itself through Draco’s fine pale hair, and he thrust and ground and drove into the figure trapped against the wall, until a ragged climax ripped through him and he sagged in the arms that wound clumsily around him.
After a long moment, Harry took a step back, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.
“Um,” he said. “You…”
“Never mind,” Draco said quietly. “You’re right. You… saved my life because you could, and we did this because we could. No life debt crap, just…”
“Because we could,” Harry echoed. “But…”
“Don’t overanalyse things, please,” Draco drawled, pushing himself away from the wall and smoothing out his robes. “Just… be glad Longbottom didn’t come out and catch us.”
“Fuck,” Harry said weakly, looking at the little round door to the Hufflepuff Common Room. “Look… Malfoy…”
He turned back, but Malfoy had already gone.
“Fuck.”
He adjusted himself within his clammy boxers and turned in the other direction, heading up to Gryffindor Tower to change.
Ron, Hermione and Ginny had finished for the day, by the time he was presentable, so they walked down to the Great Hall in companionable silence, for dinner.
The hall was already looking much better – all the rubble had been cleared away, anyway – and those people still staying at the castle were working hard and coming in for meals with improved appetites, so the buzz of conversation was far healthier than it had been just a few days before.
Harry sat down beside Ron and pulled a dish of steak and kidney pie towards him.
“What’s gonna happen with the Malfoys?” he asked casually, serving them both.
“Um,” Hermione said. “Well.”
Harry looked up. “D’you know?” he asked.
“Well,” Hermione said. “I think Professor Slughorn said there was supposed to be a second cousin, or something.”
Harry frowned. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“To inherit.”
“Inherit what?” he said, mystified.
“What you asked,” she said. “What is going to happen to the Malfoy estates?”
“I didn’t ask that,” Harry said, gesturing with his fork at Draco’s usual seat. “Oh. They haven’t come down for dinner.”
“Who?” Ron asked thickly, through a large mouthful of pie.
“The Malfoys.”
Ron and Hermione and Ginny looked at each other.
“What?” Harry asked.
“The.” Hermione looked helplessly at Ron, who looked down at his plate. “The Malfoys were killed, Harry. I thought you knew. Draco died while you… when you were in the forest. And his parents were killed during the battle before you faced… Harry, what’s wrong?”
Harry was chalk white, and he dropped his fork on the table.
“He couldn’t move on without knowing what I was thinking,” he whispered, looking over at the Slytherin table, which was empty.
Title: Aftermath
Author:
shocfixPairing(s): Harry/Draco (implied Ron/Hermione)
Summary: The Battle was won and the Good Guys were busy. Was anyone paying any attention to Harry, any more?
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2700
Warning: a tad tragic – who says The Battle was a happy ending?
Not officially betaed, but many thanks to
fourth_rose for looking it over for me, and confirming that it was, indeed, almost an actual Harry/Draco… ~+~+~+~
Harry slept late and woke confused. He was alive; now what?
Turning his head on the pillow and reaching for his glasses, he discovered Ron’s bed was already empty, and the sunlight pouring in through all windows indicated that even Ron – even a Ron in the luxury of a real bed - would have woken naturally.
He reached for the previous day’s filthy clothes, only to find a clean set of black robes draped across the foot of his bed. Sniffing an armpit gingerly and not wanting to disgrace what he was pretty sure was Kreacher’s work, he wandered into the bathroom and took the hottest shower he could stand. The needles of hot water massaged his weary muscles and the steam filled cubicle cleared his head and he stepped out of the shower feeling far more himself than he had in months.
Whoever that may be.
Himself seemed to be a bit numb.
He wrapped a towel around his waist and turned to go, but the bathroom door wouldn’t budge.
“What the…”
“Oh, no you don’t, young man,” a voice said behind him.
He whirled on the spot, heart racing, to find himself face to face with the bathroom mirror.
“You are not leaving this room until you’ve shaved,” the Mirror said firmly.
“You cannot be serious,” Harry said.
“No student is allowed to sport facial hair, as you very well know, Mr Potter.”
“I’m not a student,” Harry protested. “I’m of age; I’ve left school!”
The Mirror remained smugly silent until Harry had gritted his teeth and used the shaving kit laid out on the bathroom counter. Several days of stubble removed, he felt rather exposed as the Mirror finally allowed him to leave the room.
Getting dressed, he shook his head wryly. He’d saved the world the day before, but now he’d been put in his place by a mirror.
Good.
Almost normal.
He jogged down the achingly familiar stairs to the Common Room, and then the Entrance Hall and slipped quietly into the Great Hall. A little more order had been imposed, overnight, but there were still dazed looking people sitting beside shrouded bodies.
He saw Neville organising a work party and smiled proudly; Seamus was trotting after Dean, who had a quill and parchment in his hands and was trailing after Luna and taking dictation of a list of some sort; Professor McGonagall was striding through the room, magnificently in charge of everything, with Hermione bobbing in her wake like a Mini Minerva.
Harry made a mental note to tell Ron this new nickname.
Ron.
Harry’s eyes found a clot of red hair on the Gryffindor side of the room. Ron and Ginny were sitting with their family; Molly had her arms ‘round her daughter, Bill was running his hands through Fleur’s hair, over and over again.
And Ron’s eyes were fixed on Mini Minerva, following her wherever she went, probably without even realising it. Ron needed her so much; Ginny needed her family; Seamus needed his best mate.
Who needed Harry?
Ah, the day before they’d needed the Chosen One, but now?
He knew he was being unfair and selfish, but who really needed him?
And he knew he’d be ridiculously selfish to approach Ginny now, when she was with her parents. He felt strangely detached from her.
The room was full of intense emotions; he could feel it. He could feel it bypassing him, completely.
But then the hair on the back of his neck prickled and he was sure someone watching him. He turned slowly, to see three pale figures sitting, alone, at the Slytherin table.
Lucius Malfoy looked almost grey, clearly rudderless and lost; Narcissa was fussing with her son’s robes, talking to him in a low voice.
Draco was looking straight at Harry with intense eyes.
Harry felt a jolt of almost physical connection.
Which was absurd. Ridiculous. Preposterous. He’d ask Hermione for a few more synonyms, if it didn’t mean he’d have to admit to an emotional reaction to Draco Malfoy.
Draco Malfoy.
Well.
For eighteen years, Voldemort had been the Chosen One’s adversary, until the Chosen One had killed him and saved the World.
Nothing personal, old chap. All a matter of prophesies and Dark magic. And the World was grateful, but it had only really cared about the Chosen One, not about Harry.
But.
For seven years, Draco Malfoy had been Harry’s adversary. Harry, none of the Chosen One crap. He’d connected to Harry and he’d hated Harry, and it had all been very personal.
But Harry, Harry had saved his life.
Harry felt a thrill when he thought of it.
He’d taken time out from his busy pre-ordained schedule of self-sacrifice and he’d personally saved Draco Malfoy’s life.
Someone who’d never given a shit about the Chosen One.
He stared back at Draco, his heart racing.
His heart racing and the numbness receding as someone actually saw him.
He didn’t feel he was owed a life debt, or anything like that, and Narcissa had pretty much saved his life right back, not long afterwards, anyway, but he felt more of a personal connection to his old rival than to almost anyone in the room.
Shaking himself, he nodded to Draco and threaded his way between the groups of people milling around the Hall, until he reached the Weasleys.
“Oh, Harry,” Molly said numbly.
“Mrs Weasley,” he said, having no idea how to comfort her and returning Ginny’s small, sad nod before turning to face Ron.
He cleared his throat and Ron finally dragged his eyes away from Hermione, to focus on Harry and give him a tired smile, before running a hand over his own clean shaven jaw and nodding at Harry’s.
Harry rolled his eyes and sat down.
The horrible day dragged on. House elves brought food no one could face eating; George and Mrs Weasley disagreed about funeral arrangements; Ron stared at Hermione; Andromeda arrived, a swaddled bundle capped in lavender hair in her arms, to take her daughter and her son-in-law home.
Harry glanced over at the Malfoys, but Narcissa was ignoring her sister and Draco was still watching him.
Harry still felt rather detached when darkness fell overhead, visible through the smashed, rather than enchanted, ceiling.
He wondered if it was going to be possible to repair it, but didn’t have the energy to ask Hermione.
Most of the Weasleys had left, Molly not even questioning the fact that Ron was staying. Harry followed him up to bed, under no illusions that he’d stayed for any other reason than being near Hermione. Well, that was what he, Harry, had wanted, wasn’t it? He hadn’t got either of them killed, and they would be idiots to put him first, anymore.
He wondered where the Malfoys were. Asleep in the Slytherin dungeons, he supposed. He wondered what’d happen to them. No one had arrested them, no one asked them to help. Would they be allowed to return to Malfoy Manor? No one else seemed to care, and he didn’t have the energy to wonder why he was worried about it.
Ron muttered good night, rolled over and fell asleep. Harry lay in his old bed, his heart full as he listened to Ron, Neville, Seamus and Dean breathing in the darkness, and he fell asleep thinking of grey eyes.
Over the next few days, he and Ron were pressed into service by Neville and Hermione – although he was pretty sure Hermione had extra duties for Ron, that Neville didn’t require of him. The castle was slowly being cleared and readied for proper repairs and new protective Charms.
Smaller things needed doing, too. Students’ belongings needed to be identified, packed and sent all over the country, so Ron, Hermione and Ginny were sorting out the dorms in Gryffindor Tower, Luna, Dean and Seamus doing Ravenclaw, Harry, Neville and Hannah in Hufflepuff.
No one had mentioned Slytherin, but Harry supposed Draco had taken charge of it. The family still appeared at the Slytherin table for meals and Draco still stared at Harry and Harry was dying to catch him alone and ask him… what?
Well, ‘what?’ would be a good starting place.
Also, ‘why?’
Why are you looking at me, and why do I care? Why do I feel almost guilty about being alive when I’m with anyone else?
On the sixth day of repairs, Harry had had enough of Hannah’s starry eyed appreciation of the new Neville, and he ducked out of Hufflepuff’s Common Room, muttering something about lunch, only for the words to die in his throat.
Draco was standing in the shadows, what light there was glinting on his hair and his steady gaze.
“Malfoy,” Harry said quietly, his heart racing. Now he’d find out what Malfoy wanted; he’d be able to work out why he couldn’t stop thinking about him.
“Potter.”
“Everything… alright?” Harry asked.
“What?” Draco said, his brows drawing together.
Harry waved vaguely down the corridor, towards the Slytherin Common Room.
“Is anyone… are you... sorting things out in Slytherin?”
“What things?” Draco asked.
“Stuff,” Harry said. “We’re sorting out the students’ belongings…”
“Why?” Draco interrupted.
“What?”
“You just… saved the world, Potter, and now you’re saving Hufflepuff underwear.”
“Well,” Harry said, “when you put it like that…”
Draco snorted. “You have always wasted your time like this.”
“Always?”
“Wasted your Name, your Power, on idiots and lost causes.”
Harry laughed aloud. “You may have noticed that our cause won, Malfoy,” he said.
“You won,” Draco corrected him. “But all the bleeding heart campaigning for house elves and house unity was pointless. Nothing will change, but you risked the big picture for them.”
“Bloody good thing for you I did,” Harry snapped. He didn’t know why he was bothering; Malfoy obviously hadn’t really changed, even if he looked like he wanted something new from Harry.
“Me?” Draco asked, looking genuinely surprised..
“I took time out from the Big Picture to save your life, last week,” Harry pointed out. “Worked out well for you that I did, didn’t it?”
Draco blinked at him.
“Yeah, I know your mummy saved mine right back,” Harry went on, “so we’re even.”
He turned away, but Draco caught hold of his wrist and it scorched like a brand and Harry realised no one else had touched him since it was all over.
“Why did you do it?” Draco whispered urgently. “It’s been… even after everything else that happened, it’s been… driving me crazy. I… I can’t move on without knowing what you were thinking.”
The grey eyes were exactly level with Harry’s own and had been a burning lifeline for him all week; he was more aware of Draco’s hand on his wrist than of any other sensation he’d felt since… before he died.
He felt alive.
He took a step forwards, backing Draco against the wall and slammed his hand against the stone, dragging Draco’s hand up above his head.
“Potter?” Draco asked, his hand tightening on Harry’s wrist as he leant closer.
“I was thinking that you were alive,” Harry said quietly. “You were still alive, you were surrounded by fire, and I didn’t want you to burn.”
Draco nodded.
“I wasn’t thinking we could be best friends,” Harry went on. “I wasn’t even thinking it was the right thing to do – not when I was risking Ron and Hermione’s lives, and they are, oh, so much more important than yours. I was just thinking it was something I could do. Me, not the Chosen One, not the Boy Who Lived. Not because of a prophecy. But because I could.”
“Right.”
“Now,” Harry said, leaning so close that he could feel Draco’s breath puffing against his lips. “Why have you been staring at me, all week?”
“What?”
“Has mummy been telling you that all she did was save my worthless life?” Harry asked. “That I saved her precious baby boy, and you still owe me? Is that why you look so pale and scared? Worried what I’ll expect in return?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Draco whispered. “I'm not scared.”
“D’you know what I think,” Harry said. “I think you would love me to take something in return.”
And he kissed him.
He must have lost his mind.
The words what the fuck am I doing? drifted through his mind, as he watched surprise register in the grey eyes, before Draco kissed him back.
Draco gulped between kisses and his eyes closed and his free hand slid down between their bodies, before cupping Harry’s growing erection through his robes.
“Fuck,” Harry moaned, stepping even closer and desperately grinding into the other boy’s hand.
He had never done anything like this, but…
“Hey, Malfoy,” he whispered. “We’re alive.”
Draco’s eyes and mouth flew open, but his words were smothered by Harry’s tongue, so he spread his legs and removed his hand and Harry surged forward.
Harry braced his other hand on the wall, too and Draco let go of Harry’s wrist and grabbed his hips, pulling him hard against him on each stroke, whimpering each time the length of Harry’s cock dragged along his, even through two sets of robes.
However unlikely it was that Draco Malfoy would be the first person he ‘slept’ with, Harry felt too good to stop.
It felt like he was alive.
It felt like it was something to be celebrated, and no one else was celebrating.
His legs were shaking and one hand had somehow curled itself through Draco’s fine pale hair, and he thrust and ground and drove into the figure trapped against the wall, until a ragged climax ripped through him and he sagged in the arms that wound clumsily around him.
After a long moment, Harry took a step back, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.
“Um,” he said. “You…”
“Never mind,” Draco said quietly. “You’re right. You… saved my life because you could, and we did this because we could. No life debt crap, just…”
“Because we could,” Harry echoed. “But…”
“Don’t overanalyse things, please,” Draco drawled, pushing himself away from the wall and smoothing out his robes. “Just… be glad Longbottom didn’t come out and catch us.”
“Fuck,” Harry said weakly, looking at the little round door to the Hufflepuff Common Room. “Look… Malfoy…”
He turned back, but Malfoy had already gone.
“Fuck.”
He adjusted himself within his clammy boxers and turned in the other direction, heading up to Gryffindor Tower to change.
Ron, Hermione and Ginny had finished for the day, by the time he was presentable, so they walked down to the Great Hall in companionable silence, for dinner.
The hall was already looking much better – all the rubble had been cleared away, anyway – and those people still staying at the castle were working hard and coming in for meals with improved appetites, so the buzz of conversation was far healthier than it had been just a few days before.
Harry sat down beside Ron and pulled a dish of steak and kidney pie towards him.
“What’s gonna happen with the Malfoys?” he asked casually, serving them both.
“Um,” Hermione said. “Well.”
Harry looked up. “D’you know?” he asked.
“Well,” Hermione said. “I think Professor Slughorn said there was supposed to be a second cousin, or something.”
Harry frowned. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“To inherit.”
“Inherit what?” he said, mystified.
“What you asked,” she said. “What is going to happen to the Malfoy estates?”
“I didn’t ask that,” Harry said, gesturing with his fork at Draco’s usual seat. “Oh. They haven’t come down for dinner.”
“Who?” Ron asked thickly, through a large mouthful of pie.
“The Malfoys.”
Ron and Hermione and Ginny looked at each other.
“What?” Harry asked.
“The.” Hermione looked helplessly at Ron, who looked down at his plate. “The Malfoys were killed, Harry. I thought you knew. Draco died while you… when you were in the forest. And his parents were killed during the battle before you faced… Harry, what’s wrong?”
Harry was chalk white, and he dropped his fork on the table.
“He couldn’t move on without knowing what I was thinking,” he whispered, looking over at the Slytherin table, which was empty.
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